Ammo and Enchiladas Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

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  Copyright

  Ammo and Enchiladas

  By BA Tortuga

  A Border Crossing Novel

  After a night at the movies in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Brantley’s best friend, Matt, is shot right in front of him during a robbery. Stunned and devastated, Brant tries to help Matt’s husband, Travis, deal with the funeral details even as he struggles with his own grief and Travis’s blame. When Travis’s best friend arrives, Brant is both annoyed and grateful, because he is so darn tired and can use the help.

  Lex Espana is ashamed to admit he hasn’t seen his childhood best friend since Travis’s wedding. He’s even more amazed that he barely remembers Brant from that wedding, because he’s sure interested now. While it’s weird to fall for someone at a funeral, his feelings for Brant are real and make him long for a life he didn’t realize he was missing.

  Neither Lex nor Brant knows how to be part of an us, though, and they both have a lot to work through before they can settle in. To become a real couple, Brant and Lex will have to dig deep to get past the roadblocks in their relationship.

  As always, to my girl. I love you. BA

  Acknowledgments

  THANK YOU to Jodi for your support. You rock my world. BA

  Chapter One

  THE CALL came in at about 2:00 a.m., which was about half an hour after the swing shift coffee had worn off and Lex Espana had staggered to bed. He’d been on 7:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. for two weeks, barring days off, so switching to swing had him blinking and feeling brain stupid.

  He groped for his phone on the nightstand and hit the button to answer just in time to keep it from going to voicemail. “’Lo?”

  “L-Lex? Lex, honey?” The words dissolved into sobs on the other end of the line.

  He sat up, reaching again to turn on the light. “Travis?” The voice was a bit of a blast from the past, the kind that came with calls on holidays and birthdays mostly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Matt. There was a shooting. Please. Please, I don’t know what to do.”

  It took a second to put all those words together in a way that made sense. Matt was Travis’s husband.

  “A shooting? What? Tonight?” He hopped out of bed. “Is he okay? Is he in the hospital?”

  “He’s gone. He was out with a friend—a movie. I had to grade papers. They stopped for gas.”

  “So a gas station.” Ask leading questions. They taught cops that. Let people babble and give information.

  “Yeah. At the Smith’s. They were getting gas, and someone tried to rob them.”

  “Oh God. Wait, did you say gone?” Lex went still, his whole body freezing. Gone as in dead. Holy shit.

  “Uh-huh.” There was a long, horrifying silence.

  “Oh, Trav. Oh, honey, what do you need? I can come up.” He’d known Travis Garcia since sixth grade. He’d been Travis’s wingman. They’d been each other’s experimental lovers. Confidants. And now Travis’s husband was gone. Just like that.

  He’d been Travis’s best man at their wedding, for fuck’s sake.

  “Can you come? I don’t know what to do next. I have no idea.” Travis was so choked, Lex barely heard him.

  “Of course I can. I’ll be up in about three hours.” This time of night, no one would be on the road, so he could fly. “I’ll bring coffee and sausage biscuits. You at home?”

  “Yeah, they…. He was dead from the get-go.”

  “Oh, hon.” He tossed clothes into a bag, then his kit bag and his phone charger. “I know platitudes don’t help, so I won’t say them.”

  “Just come? I feel so lost.”

  “I’m on my way.” God, this was…. He would call in to work on the road. He had time off coming to him, and Travis was as much family as any of the dozens of blood relatives he could pull out of the woodwork.

  “Thank you. Lex, I’m freaking out.”

  “Okay. It’s okay. I can stay on as long as you need.” He would just put on the hands-free in the truck.

  “No. No, I need to…. What am I going to tell his parents?”

  “I don’t know, but you have to call them before someone else does.” The cops might not, since Travis was the next of kin, but word got around. Someone would call to offer condolences.

  “Right. Right, God. How do you do it, honey? Seriously? How do you manage?”

  “I don’t know, Trav. I just do. I guess it’s a calling.” He never questioned his need to help people.

  “But how do you tell someone their… their person is gone?”

  “You just do. It’s the worst part of the job, even if it doesn’t seem like the cop feels anything.” He grabbed his bag, then looked at his one houseplant. He could ask the guys to come water it, he guessed. Dusty had given it to him, saying he needed to commit.

  That was it.

  He sent a text as he listened to Travis: Nate—fam emerg. ABQ. Water plant?

  “The ones that came to the door were… nice? I guess? I don’t really remember. It’s an awful blur.”

  “I’m sure they did their job. It’s too much of a shock, I think, to remember them.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I… I’m scared to go upstairs. They have Brantley down at the police station for questioning, and I don’t think he’s going to come here.”

  “Who’s Brantley, honey?” His natural inclination was to get all the details.

  “Brant? He’s Matt’s best friend. You remember him from the wedding? The buff little blond. He was a soldier then. So dapper. He went to school with Matty, from kindergarten on.”

  “Ah, yeah.” Vaguely. He’d been trying hard to hook up with the bartender at the cash bar, so he hadn’t had much time to socialize. He’d bet Brant was in the pictures he had. “So, they were together?”

  “Yeah. They went to the movies, remember? I was working, and I wanted to watch Stranger Things and get those papers done.”

  “Oh, honey. I hate that. Is he okay? The Brant guy? I mean, physically?”

  “I think so. I haven’t gotten to talk to him, but he’s at the station, so he has to be okay, right?” Travis asked.

  “They would have taken him to the hospital if he hadn’t been.” Mental note. Check on the dapper soldier.

  “That’s what I thought. He’s not a suspect. Just a witness.”

  “That sucks for him. I know it sucks worse for you.” Poor guy, having to see his best friend gunned down.

  “You think? I mean, how… how can it be true?”

  “I’m so sorry, Trav.” He knew Travis just needed to babble. It happened. Matt’s folks needed that call, th
ough.

  “Me too. I—” The sobs started again, hard and deep, and Lex’s heart broke. Poor baby.

  He waited out the storm, murmuring ridiculous shit like “It will be all right.” Not that it would. It might take years for things to become all right for Travis.

  Fuck.

  “I… I’m going to call his parents. I’ll be waiting for you. Thank you for coming, honey. I’m just…. I need a friend.”

  Lex knew Travis had a hundred friendly acquaintances—from fellow teachers to the people at their church to the mutual buddies Matt and Travis shared—but there was something about an old friend, someone who was more family than anything else.

  God knew Travis could use someone who’d been his friend mainly, not the couple’s. Those visits were so damn awkward and hard, when people had only known the couple and now had no idea what to do.

  “I’ll be there in a few hours, Trav. No worries. I’ll help you out.” He would get Travis through the next week or so. It was the least he could do.

  “Thank you, sweetie. I’m calling Matt’s people now, okay? Call me back if you need help staying awake. I just realized what time it is.”

  “You know it. I love you, Travis.”

  “I love you.”

  He hung up after Travis got off the line, just shaking his head. God knew, in his line of work he was aware how fast people could die. It just never got easier when it was someone he knew personally.

  His phone rang, Nate’s name showing up.

  “Hey, man.”

  “Lex, what the hell? You okay?” Nate sounded groggy but solid.

  “Hey. No, I’m not. Look, can you guys take my plant for a week? My friend Travis, the one I went to the wedding in the Burque? His husband was shot and killed tonight.”

  “Oh, shit. Shit. Man, that sucks. Is he… I mean, of course he’s not okay.”

  “No. He’s calling Matt’s parents now, so I would bet I’ll get another call in a bit. I’m driving up now, but you have my key.”

  “I do. Is there anything else you need? Anything at all?”

  “Not that I can think of, but I’ll call. I just got milk and eggs if you want them, huh?”

  “Thanks. Keep in touch. We’ll be worrying.”

  “Of course you will. Dorks.” Dr. Dusty was a notorious worrywart. He’d give himself a stroke over keeping the damn plant alive. Nate was less OCD, but he would text every couple of hours. These days the two of them were so touchy-feely. He remembered fondly when Dusty rarely put two words together.

  Of course, damn near being blown to bits had changed them all, and God knew, Dusty had been more blown than any of the rest of them.

  And delivered a baby too. Lord.

  “Call us if you need us,” Nate repeated.

  “Will do. Bye, man.” Lex hung up, glad to be off the phone. He drove better with fewer distractions. He had no trouble being alone with himself.

  He found the Lithium station on Sirius and put the pedal to the metal.

  Travis needed him, so it looked like he was heading back home to Albuquerque. Whether he wanted to or not.

  Chapter Two

  BRANTLEY SAT staring at his hands. His fingernails were filthy.

  He’d cleaned his hands up, but he’d missed his nails. You’d think after all the years of scrubbing he’d never miss his nails.

  “Can I get you anything, sir? Coffee? Anything?” The cop’s voice was sympathetic, soft, like he was fixin’ to shatter into a thousand pieces, which he reckoned he was.

  Brant stared up at the detective, his vision swimming. “I…. Coffee? Please?”

  “You got it. We got a K-cup thing. Coffee has been better around here.” The detective moved away, and Brant wasn’t sure he could remember how to breathe.

  Matty. What the actual fuck? It had happened so fucking fast. The guy hadn’t even given Matt a chance to give over his wallet, his keys, anything, before the motherfucker shot. The asshole panicked and ran then, or Brant had a feeling he would be dead too. Christ, how was he gonna tell Travis?

  Had someone already told Travis? He closed his eyes, nausea rising up. His nails had Matt’s blood under them.

  As soon as the asshole had taken off, he’d been there, trying to do triage, but the shot had gone right into Matty’s temple. It was over before it had begun.

  He hiccupped, and the cop handed him a paper cup.

  “We’ll be getting you home soon. We appreciate your patience.”

  “What else do you need from me?”

  “Just to sign some paperwork, but that takes time to print out and get approved. I’m so sorry. I know it’s been a long night.”

  “The longest of my life so far,” he agreed. The coffee wasn’t bad. Better than doctor’s-office coffee.

  “I can only imagine. You have my condolences.”

  “Thanks. I guess you see a lot of people on the longest night of their lives.” He understood hard jobs; he dealt with the parents of sick kids.

  “Eee-a-la, you know it. Some nights this job is all bad, huh?”

  “Some nights. Tonight.” He’d lost his oldest and best friend all in the matter of the same second.

  “Here you go, Sarge.” A uniformed officer brought in a clipboard loaded up with papers.

  “Okay. I’m going to need your signature on the statement; that’s all. Then we’ll have an officer take you home.”

  “Thank you.” He signed the papers, initialed all the things, and then handed back the pen. “Can they take me to my friend’s house? His—his spouse is alone.”

  “Of course, but…. Sir. You might want to go home and change first.”

  “I—” He looked down at himself and almost threw up. “Oh God. Okay, yeah. Home. I can drive over.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, just give those back?” The papers were grabbed back, and then he was taken outside and plopped into a police cruiser. What were they going to do with Matt’s car?

  He guessed someone would tell Travis. He guessed. Christ.

  “What address, sir?” the young cop asked. He still had pimples.

  He gave them the address of his little house over off Griegos. He’d kept saying he was going to buy one day, when he decided which neighborhood to look in. Not yet, he’d said. Not quite yet.

  Matty had told him life was short and he should put down roots.

  He’d bought his adobe and never looked back, and his momma had cried and said he should come home to Texas. Albuquerque was too dangerous, too far away. God, she was going to lose it when he told her about Matty.

  Brantley wasn’t ready for that shit right now. Not at all.

  No, he’d call Momma during the day, after he’d had some sleep and some food and was over his existential crisis. Which might be a few days.

  Maybe a week.

  It wasn’t like she’d be coming out for the funeral. She was slammed with calving. Maybe he’d call Bridey, report to his brother in the morning. Bridey might be willing to talk to the folks.

  Lord.

  He rubbed his chin, feeling the bristles. Not much traffic this early in the morning. He needed to call in to work, give them a chance to find someone to take his shift. There was no way.

  He couldn’t be patient; he couldn’t be calm. He just couldn’t. Not after….

  He shook, swallowing back bile.

  “Here you go, sir. If you think of anything else at all, you have the detective’s number, right?”

  “I do. Y’all just catch the guy, okay? Please?”

  “We’ll do our best, I promise. Good night.” The kid opened the door for him, and he looked at his house, not sure what to do. The cop waited, though, so he guessed he was supposed to go inside.

  He went in and locked the door, managing to make it two steps forward before pain shot up along his leg and he collapsed, right there in the foyer. The electric sensation zipped up his hip, and he groaned, grabbing at it.

  “Dammit!” He sobbed softly, shaking his head as he let the pain move through him
, cleanse him.

  He hit the floor with the flat of his hand, furious as hell at the whole world. Matt was his goddamn friend. Had been. Whatever. How was he supposed to do this, here, Stateside where they were supposed to be safe?

  He covered his face with his hands, hiding his sobs. Not that there was anyone to hide from. Oh, Lord. What a fucking mess. What a fucking, awful mess. Anything like this happened to him, he would normally call Matt….

  Travis. He needed to go clean up, change clothes, and get to Travis.

  He would grab some Whataburger or something. Maybe just coffee.

  Maybe….

  Please God, let me get up. Let me go take care of things. Let me do this. Please.

  Brant grabbed the doorknob on the front door and hauled his ass up off the floor. Travis didn’t need to be alone, and he could help with that. He tugged out his phone and looked at the time—4:18 a.m. Jesus.

  Matt had been dead for six hours. Six hours.

  He called work, left a message. “Hey, Cherie. Can you call Lena and see if she can fill in for me? There was a terrible incident tonight and a friend of mine got shot.” His voice broke on the last word. “Call me if you need. I’ll be at his husband’s.”

  Stumbling over his own boots, he made his way to the bedroom to strip off his stiff clothes. He needed to shower, just so he didn’t stink of blood when he went to see Travis.

  He needed to….

  Wash Matt off him.

  He wadded up his clothes after he took them off, then stuffed them into the bottom of the hamper so he didn’t have to think about them. The water was steaming by the time he stepped in, even if he felt like he was cold and shriveled. He was afraid nothing would ever feel right again.

  “I’m sorry, Matt. I swear to God. I…. There was nothing I could do. Nothing at all.”

  So fast. It had all happened so fast. And God knew, he’d been trained to handle armed assailants. No one could fight a point-blank headshot.

  Matt was strong, but damn.

  He turned his face up to the spray, letting it burn away the returning tears. He had to get his shit together before he went to see Travis. Had to.