Stitch Me by K. C. Carmine

Chapter One

Caleb

It had been three months and Caleb still found it weird to ride on the upper deck of a bus. It was one of many things that made him feel completely uprooted from his beloved Chicago when he moved to Bristol.

Nearing downtown, or rather, the city center, he pressed the button for the bus to stop. Hefting up his backpack with a folder full of his sketches, he patted his pocket to make sure he hadn’t lost the thumb drive before he bounced down the bus’s stairs. The commotion in the center reminded him of his home city, even more so as he approached a rusty bridge he kept forgetting the name of. Brunel’s Swivel Bridge—yeah, that was it.

Much like Chicago’s downtown, Bristol had lively areas, as well as some seriously seedy ones. Walking under the wrought iron marked by age and weather, he headed towards a row of brick houses that had been built during the reign of some monarch three kings or queens back and were probably full of mold. He had spent little time in the UK, but he was certain by now that the smell of old damp buildings would be stuck in his nostrils forever.

Caleb knocked on a white door that had a little glass window with a rose on it. Weird fucking choice, considering who lived there.

The heavy footsteps contradicted the slim frame that appeared on the other side of the panel.

“What do you want?” Kris cracked the door open, showing his unkempt mustache.

“It’s Caleb. I brought some drawings.”

Kris pushed the panel open wearing a worn robe over a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, a joint hanging off the side of his lips.

“I hope these are better than the previous ones,” Kris grunted as he tightened the sash around his waist.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Caleb paused with his hand closing over the thumb drive in his pocket.

“The designs from last month didn’t sell.”

“Like fuck they didn’t.”

“I’m telling you.”

“Then you have shit advertising or whatever ‘cause they were killer.” Scanning them then digitally fixing them on the slow computer at the local library was no small feat either.

“I pay you for designs, not business opinions. Last I checked you didn’t run one of your own, so your expertise means shit here.”

Fucking asshole. Caleb had found him through an online forum after delicately asking around if there were places that would pay cash for his art. Kris uploaded them to a website with stock designs and Caleb had a feeling he was not the only one being paid shit for their art.

“Fine. Just gimme the money.” Caleb sighed, handing over the thumb drive into Kris’s sweaty palm.

“I have a check for you.” Kris fumbled in the pocket of his robe.

“Can’t you do a transfer or fucking PayPal like people do in this century? Who the fuck uses checks anymore?”

“I do. Do you want to be paid or not?” Kris waved the paper with his chicken scratch on it.

Caleb had spent ages fucking around trying to find proof of address last month just to open a basic bank account. Still, if that allowed him to use the money from Kris, it had been worth the hassle. He snatched the paper and frowned.

“This is half of what you paid me last time!”

“You didn’t deliver so I can’t take a risk anymore. Now, bugger off.”

“Piece of shit,” Caleb mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“It’s lovely,” he chirped in his best fake-English accent.

“See you next week, boy!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“And you better deliver,” Kris smirked. “Boy.”

Caleb caught the bus back home, to a tiny flat his friend let him crash in. He’d met Sandra nearly two years before on Twitter. He’d followed her after reading her extensive thread about David Bowie’s impact on music fashion. Liking each other’s posts and glamrock discussion quickly turned into DMs, and they’d hit it off pretty quickly over music and general life rants.

When Caleb had told her he was moving to Bristol, the place where his recently-deceased grandpa had been born, Sandra invited him to stay with her. It was an offer Caleb couldn’t refuse. The money Grandpa had left hidden in an envelope under the bedroom rug was enough for the ticket to the UK and an unexpected expense, courtesy of his mom. Within days, Caleb had packed Grandpa’s old suitcase and bought a plane ticket to Bristol.

It had been his first flight and he’d been scared shitless. O’Hare International was huge, and he’d felt like a three-year-old at a shopping mall who’d lost his parents. Once he’d sat in the plane, he’d thought the worst was over. Then he’d re-lived that huge-ass rollercoaster ride at Six Flags that he’d gone on once. At sixteen, he’d sold his bike to afford the ticket. It had been money well spent, but unlike the rollercoaster, the plane hadn’t been anchored safely to the ground during turbulence. Thankfully, he’d survived the nine-hour flight and stepped on UK soil on wobbly legs.

Since he was little, he’d loved his grandpa’s stories about his childhood in England. After Caleb had moved in with the man, he’d told him that if Caleb ever wanted a new beginning, he could go to the UK and apply for citizenship based on his mother being born on the British Isles.

Once in Bristol, Caleb had filled out all the paperwork to confirm his automatic citizenship. He’d presented his mom’s birth certificate, and attended the UK Visa and Citizenship Application Services office to give his fingerprints and photo. As bureaucracy goes, they’d told him he’d have to wait up to six months for the approval. Which meant he was stuck on a tourist visa with no way to work. Well, not legally…

He’d known that starting from scratch in a new country wouldn’t be an easy ride but he was beginning to think that it had been a bad idea altogether. The streets of South Side Chicago raised him not to be a quitter, but having never gone further than Indiana or Wisconsin, he hadn’t been prepared for the realities of becoming an immigrant with no right to work. If not for Sandra, he’d be in even deeper shit. No wonder so many Americans didn’t emigrate. Thankfully, he’d found a few places where he could get some money under the table to cover his expenses until he could get a UK passport and he could look for legal work.

The bus stop was just a few minutes’ walk from Sandra’s Southville flat and Caleb sent his roommate a text asking if she wanted something from the local Tesco Express. Three dots appeared before a message came through.

‘Nope. Cause we’re going to a pub to celebrate. I got my boobs appointment.’

Sandra’s excitement was so infectious Caleb could feel it traveling through the phone line, filling him with happiness for her.

‘Awesome! Be there in 5.’ He shot the text back, grinning all the way to the apartment.

Sandra was a year into her transition and was waiting for an appointment with a doctor to see about breast implants. For some reason, the clinic couldn’t send a text or an email—it had to come by fucking letter, making the process much longer than necessary.

After reaching the long, four-story building, he bounded up both flights of stairs two at a time.

“Congrats, Sandy!” he yelled, the moment he set foot on the apartment’s blue carpet.

“Thanks, babe!” Sandra threw herself into Caleb’s open arms, squeezing him so tight his ribs nearly cracked. “I’m stressed but feel so much better already.”

“You’ll have a beautiful big rack in no time,” he said. With Sandra plastered against his body, he felt her laughter erupt before he even heard it.

“Silly.” She pushed him away. “It’s going to be a moderate B, thank you very much.” Her long brown hair fell around her shoulders as she twirled, sending her flowery skirt flying above her knees. “So, I’m thinking The Lion’s Mane for a drink?”

“Is that the one with the pulled lamb sandwich?”

“Yup,” Sandra grinned, reaching for her light jacket. Despite it being late May, the typical English evening chill had long outstayed its welcome.

“I’m in. Just gimme a sec.” Caleb stepped into his room to toss his backpack and the folder with his art on the bed. He sniffed his t-shirt and decided on reapplying deodorant and changing clothes. His worn black jeans would have to do, but he spiced up his outfit with a badass black t-shirt before re-entering the living room.

“Oh, Lady Gaga. Fancy.” Sandra pointed at his chest.

“Perfect to celebrate.” He smirked, grabbing his leather jacket off the hanger by the door. The weight of it was like home on his back. He’d put care to make it look like new after he found it in a Goodwill store back home. It had been just his size, so he’d deemed it fate and spent all the cash in his wallet on it.

After a short walk, Sandra and Caleb entered the old-English pub, with wooden floors, a long bar, and a huge-ass TV reserved for soccer—or rather football—evenings. Caleb ordered the pulled lamb sandwich for himself, fries for Sandra, and two beers. Their tiny table in the corner overlooked the patio with more tables and a few potted plants.

“I’m glad I broke up with Peter, but it still hurts that he didn’t want to stay friends. As if fucking was the only thing keeping us together.” Sandra wrapped her hands around the cold glass in front of her.

“Fuck that douchebag.” Caleb nudged the fries towards Sandra to encourage her to eat. “He hasn’t texted back in two weeks now. He’s probably still crying into a pillow and it’s too hard for him to contact you. Or he’s just an asshole.”

“Yeah, well.” Sandra took a sip of her beer. “I think I need a break from relationships. You on the other hand…”

“Oh no, I’m not looking for a relationship. I can’t imagine trying to find someone decent with all the other shit I’m dealing with right now. Besides, relationships are not my strong suit. I mean, Natasha was great but we never clicked as a couple. And every guy I’ve been with just lays there to be serviced. I need someone who’d take some fucking initiative, but people like that don’t just fall into my lap.”

“But maybe you could find someone to cuddle,” Sandra sing-songed, waving her finger at him.

“Eat your fries.” Caleb pushed the plate again.

“These are chips, you filthy American.”

“Filthy, huh?” Caleb laughed. They’d had a running joke of him using Americanisms on purpose, even if he knew things had different names in the UK.

“I’m serious, Caleb. Have you heard of this new dating app?” Sandra asked, dipping a fry in ketchup.

Caleb sighed, looking towards the bar to see if his sandwich was ready. “Not again with the dating apps. I need to get citizenship, then a stable job. I can’t waste time on dating.”

“Oh, come on, you can date and do the rest at the same time. Martin said this one was good for those who like bigger guys. Sure, he may not have clicked with the bloke on the first date, but he said it was still nice.” She cheekily pointed a fry at him. “How about you try it with a daddy?”

“Fuck you, Sandy. That’s the last thing I need. Someone to boss me around. Fuck that shit.”

“But you do like big, cuddly bears, right?”

“That’s beside the point. I haven’t found one who wouldn’t pull his macho shit on me. I’m not gonna cater to their every whim in exchange for some decent fucking.”

“Yes, your pride and your muscles wouldn’t let you do that.” Sandy waved a hand, indicating Caleb’s entire body. “Which is great.”

“How’s that great?” he mumbled around a stolen fry.

“Maybe you could find yourself a teddy bear daddy. And well, this Bears-4-U app—”

“That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up and let me finish.”

“Fine.” Caleb stole a thick fry from Sandra’s plate and tossed it into his mouth.

She glared at him and continued. “This app allows you to sort of build your own bear and then depending on the info you put, it searches for people on the app to match with you. Let me show you.” She extended a hand. “Gimme your phone.”

Caleb grunted but fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. “If you see my porn folder, you’re welcome.”

Sandra snorted and started tapping. “Ok, got it downloaded. Now, some basic information about what you need.”

“What I need? Show me that,” Caleb protested with his mouth full.

“No, cause you’ll ruin it all. Promise me you won’t look at what I put in your profile.” Sandra was typing furiously, a grin on her face.

“Why would I promise that?”

“Cause you trust me and you know I want you to be happy.”

“Pffft. Fine.” Caleb sat back and reached for his beer.

“Done. Now a picture.” She pointed the phone at Caleb.

Caleb smacked a hand on his face to cover it up. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re grinning, despite not showing your face. So cute,” she squeaked.

“I’m not cute.”

“Course you’re not, you grump.” Her thumbs worked overtime. “Now, we can pick a bear or a teddy bear for you. Then if someone has the characteristics and needs I put for your profile, you’ll match. It might take a while.”

“What do you mean by ‘my needs’?” Caleb narrowed his eyes. This was getting out of hand.

“Let me handle this. You’re a switch, right?”

“Yeah,” Caleb sighed, burying his face in his hands. This was going to be a disaster.

If he ever connected with people, it was beyond gender and looks, so an app devoted to a body type wouldn’t work for him. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt giving it a shot either.

He liked girls, always had, even though his attraction to men was a lot stronger. His latest girlfriend, Natasha, was into mixed martial arts, and worked at a gym she’d opened with her friends where women kicking ass wouldn’t be snickered at. He’d been the first man to sign up for her classes and learned her tough love pretty quickly. She was as commanding and strict in the gym as she was dominant in the bedroom.

They hadn’t worked as a couple, but she’d taught him how to throw a punch better than the average street fighter, and they’d remained friends.

Caleb shot to his feet as Simon, the barman, waved at him to pick up his sandwich. Simon handed it over, but his gaze stayed on something behind Caleb. A fist landed on the bar with a thud, drawing Caleb’s attention. On its wrist a black, tattooed 88 stood out against the pale skin.

“You’re not welcome here, I told you that before,” Simon said, his voice calm but clearly on edge.

Caleb eyed the muscled guy next to him, easily a head taller than Caleb, with close-cropped hair.

“Don’t be a tosser and do your job. I need a beer. We all do,” the asshole said, nudging the two lackeys at his sides.

“That’s not my problem. Now please leave.” Simon enunciated slowly.

“You know this dick?” Caleb asked, putting his sandwich away.

“He’s about to go, right Leo?” Simon replied, looking pointedly at the trio.

“What did you call me?” Leo asked, smacking Caleb’s arm.

Caleb braced for a punch but Leo pushed his sandwich off the bar. Like a fucking angry cat. Aware of the diversion, Caleb didn’t move, only heard the flop of his food on the floor.

He looked up to meet the dude’s gaze and smiled. “I called you a dick cause you’re not very nice. But I was mistaken.”

“Damn right you were,” Leo snarled, looking Caleb up and down.

“I meant to say small dick.” Caleb held his smile as he saw Leo’s fist tighten in the corner of his eye.

Caleb ducked the blow and sighed, straightening back up.

He didn’t want to do this.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he did.

He grinned before his fist flew to connect with Leo’s jaw.

Leo’s head snapped back as pain exploded in Caleb’s hand. Oops, Leo didn’t fall. Well, then.

Caleb ducked when the meaty fist swung his way and aimed a shot at his opponent’s side.

Sliding on the filthy floor of the pub, he bumped into someone behind him. “Sorry,” he shot as he bounced off the guy and back into the makeshift ring in the middle. There were no ropes, just people. It was all the same to Caleb.

At 5’8, he wasn’t a giant but he’d learned how to use his size to his advantage in a fight.

“Toss him into the river!” someone yelled and a cheer erupted.

Caleb ducked and landed another punch.

“Caleb, watch out!”

Sandra’s voice made him turn her way. Was she OK?

Pain exploded in his head, and his vision got blurry. He swayed but caught himself on the edge of the table.

“Oi! That’s enough! Get the fuck out of my pub!” A yell sounded behind him.

Caleb gave Sandra an apologetic look and hauled ass before security dragged him out.

“He started it—” Leo whined, but Simon stopped him, a baseball bat in his hand.

“I said bugger off. And I don’t give a rat’s arse who started it, I’m not your mother.”

A wave of laughter erupted as Caleb followed the asshole.

“I’ll see you around!” Leo pointed a finger at him, his lackeys flanking him as they walked away.

Caleb sat on the sidewalk, his back to the cold brick wall of the pub.

“Caleb, you idiot! Are you alright?” Sandra’s footsteps echoed close before she squatted next to him, his jacket safe in her hands.

“I’m fine,” he said, despite his swelling eye. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I got your jacket. You cross the street when you see those guys, not start a fight with them, you know?”

“Fucking Nazis. That fucker owes me a sandwich, too,” Caleb mumbled, trying to rein in his anger.

Sandra laughed then sucked in air, crouching closer. “Oh, hell, you’re bleeding.”

Caleb blinked and swiped his hand over his eye. Red. “I’ll be fine.”

“That needs stitches.” A low voice sounded from the direction of the pub, the rumble sending a warm shiver through Caleb.

“I said, I’ll be fine,” Caleb snapped, then followed the sound of footsteps until they stopped in front of him. He looked from black combat boots, up thick thighs, to a wide chest and bearded face.

Who the fuck is this guy?He glanced at Sandy but she shrugged, clearly not knowing the dude either.

“Of course, you will. But if this won’t stop bleeding, you’ll end up with a five-hour wait in A&E. I can save you the trip if you just let me look at your head.” The guy kneeled in front of Caleb, right there on the wet pavement. His deep brown, kind eyes were a contrast to his huge frame and the vicious burn scar above his left eye that partially deformed his eyebrow.

A hot bear dude wanted to inspect him. Who am I to say no?

“Sure. Are you a doctor or something?” Caleb followed the movement of the man’s thick arm as he lifted it up to Caleb’s face. Well, I’ll be damned.

“Nah. I just had a bunch of accident-prone siblings growing up. I’m Rod, by the way.” He tilted his head, brushing the hair off Caleb’s forehead with gentle fingers.

“Caleb.” He nodded. “And that’s Sandra.”

“Hi,” Sandra said, standing out of Caleb’s field of vision.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rod rumbled, breaking away to look at Sandra, then back.

Caleb stilled when Rod used his other hand to keep his chin steady. Heat flooded his abdomen at the decisive, yet gentle touch.

The movement opened Rod’s bomber jacket to reveal a black t-shirt with a colorful picture. “Are those unicorns fucking?” Caleb snorted, pointing at Rod’s chest.

“That they are,” Rod smirked. “I need to bring some water to clean this. And paper towels. And sanitizer.” He started to get up, but Sandra stopped him.

“I’ll get it all. You just…” She waved her hand between the two of them. “Yeah.” She darted off. The minx. It was as if she knew Caleb’s heartbeat quickened with every second Rod’s fingers touched his face.