Calvin’s Cowboy (17 page)

“Run, you idiot!”

Calvin was snapped back to the game. A man, presumably one of the player’s fathers, was yelling at someone on the field.

Brock sighed and shook his head.

As the game progressed, Brock would occasionally mutter quietly to himself. The third time it happened Calvin asked what was wrong.

“He should have caught that ball.”

Calvin shrugged, Junior was doing just fine as far as he could tell.

However, a short time later when Junior caught a ball that seemed to hurtle toward him, Brock was one of the first to cheer.

But, despite his best efforts, Calvin’s mind began to wander again.

Junior had invited both Brock and Calvin to take a seat in his dorm room. There was one spare chair, which Calvin had opted for. Brock and Junior had sat on the bed, Brock’s left hand moving from Junior’s shoulder to the small of his back, even once high-fiving him when Junior had related some feat he’d achieved during his stay.

All through the short visit, Junior had kept bringing his roommate into the conversation, praising him for his achievements, and generally making the kid feel included. Calvin had been amazed by the young man’s maturity. No wonder Brock was so proud of him.

Brock slapped Calvin on the shoulder, making him jump. “Well, that’s it,” he announced.

Calvin looked around; people were standing up, packing their coolers and generally making ready to leave. The players were dispersing, many to go talk to relatives in the crowd.

Junior approached.

“Good game, Champ. Proud of you.” Brock patted the boy on his shoulder.

“Thanks, but…” Junior’s head was down. “I screwed up a couple times.”

Brock gave the back of his son’s neck a squeeze. “Your team won. You helped them win.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Did you enjoy the game? Did you enjoy the camp?”

Junior nodded, but still didn’t meet Brock’s eyes.

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Junior’s head came up, a tentative smile on his face.

“I’m proud of you, Champ. Always will be.”

Around them, kids were being praised—or in a couple of cases harangued—by their parents.

“You wanna get changed, gather your stuff together and then we’ll get on the road?” Brock asked his son.

“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

“And then Calvin has a surprise.”

“He has?” Calvin was confused.

Brock leaned in and quietly said, “KITT. He’s,” pointing at Junior, “a big fan of the show.”

“Oh, right.” Then Calvin remembered his need to call Tim. If he didn’t do it now he’d have to wait until that evening, and he couldn’t wait. “Listen, guys, while you get yourselves organized I need to make a phone call. I’ll meet you in the parking lot in, say, half an hour?”

The two Brockwells nodded.

* * * *

Calvin had found a shade tree and had sat under it for about five minutes staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button. Did he really want to do this? Depressing the button, Calvin brought the phone to his left ear and waited.

As soon as the phone was picked up, Calvin said, “Tim, it’s me.”

“Hello me.”

This made Calvin smile, but it didn’t last.

“What’s up?”

“Why should there be anything up?”

Tim did his usual silent waiting thing.

Calvin let out a breath. “You know me too well.”

“So, I repeat, what’s up?”

“It’s Brock. You remember, the contractor guy I—”

“Yes, I remember Brock. You’re bailing him out by paying him to renovate your mom and dad’s house.”

“Yes.”

“So? Or don’t I need to ask? His business is in a worse state than you first thought and you’re going to give him money?”

“No…yes.”

“Well, that’s clear.”

“Yes, his business is failing. I’m going to go with him Tuesday to see a bankruptcy lawyer.”

“And?”

“And,” Calvin let out a breath.
Here goes.
“And I’m in love with him.”

There was silence at the other end.

“Tim, you still there?”

“I’m here.” The man’s tone was steady. He wasn’t yelling, or telling Calvin he was mistaken.

“And?” Calvin eventually asked.

“Are you sure? You’ve only known this Brock for a week…less than a week.”

“We were in high school together.”

“Where you couldn’t stand him.”

“I know. But…” Calvin started picking at the hem of his cut-offs.

“If you can fall in love with someone in less than a week, how long will it take to fall back out of it? And do you know if Brock loves you as much as you say you love him?”

Calvin didn’t answer. Although he trusted Tim’s judgment on almost everything, his friend was wrong about him and Brock.

“I won’t tell you that this is Roger all over again.”

Calvin resisted the temptation to point out Tim had done precisely that. “I never loved Roger, you never heard me say that I loved Roger.”

“No, I didn’t hear you say it, but—”

“I didn’t love Roger,” Calvin repeated. He didn’t care he was sounding like one of his dad’s former students.

“I know you, Cal Hamilton. A sob story plus a pretty face, and you’re ready to open your checkbook.”

“Brock’s not like that!” Calvin snapped.

“Cal, love, he is. And you know it.”

“Brock is different. I swear he is.”

“Uh huh.”

“Tim, you haven’t met him. Brock’s genuine, and nice and—”

“Sexy and hung.”

“Tim!”

“Well, is he?”

“We had this discussion earlier this week. The only man you’re interested in is Bruce Springsteen, so keep your mind above Brock’s shorts.”

“And up to his face? Is he handsome?”

“He’s beautiful, and I tell him so, often.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Tim, it’s the real thing, I know it.”

“There are several things wrong with this picture. But to make it simple I’ll focus on just one. You live in New York. Brock lives in Texas.”

“I know.” Calvin sighed.

“Are you prepared to move back to Bumfuck, Egypt?”

Was he? “No. Manhattan is my home.”

“And I suspect Parish Creek is Brock’s. Look, Cal, I honestly don’t want to burst your bubble, this…whatever it is between you and Brock, it has no future.”

Calvin blinked away tears. He couldn’t argue with his friend’s logic. Calvin had expected the man to say exactly what he’d said.

Tim was continuing. “How much longer do you expect you’ll stay in Texas?”

“Don’t know.” He was back to sounding like a middle-schooler.

“Try for a minute to take all your emotions out of this. Looking at the situation purely from a logical perspective, do you need to remain in Texas? You’ve hired someone to renovate the old homestead. You can engage a Realtor. Let these people do what you’re paying them to do and come back home and do what you pay yourself to do.”

“I’ve been working while I’ve been here.” Calvin fired back, not following Tim’s advice to remove emotion from the situation.

“Cal, no one has said you haven’t been working. But you know yourself that you can’t do everything from thousands of miles away.”

Calvin did know that, but just then wasn’t willing to admit it.

They talked for a while longer, not getting any nearer a resolution. Eventually Calvin looked at his wristwatch and realized he’d been on the phone for nearly twenty minutes.

“I’ve got to go. I’m at a baseball game and—”

“You hate baseball.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I bet.”

Calvin explained about Brock’s truck, Junior’s camp, and how he’d offered to drive Brock there.

Tim sighed. “You’re in deep this time, buddy.”

“Yep, up to my neck.”

“More like over your head. Look, Cal, you’re a big boy and—”

“You back to contemplating the contents of men’s underwear?”

“Shut up. Like I said, you’re a big boy now. And much as I think you’re making a huge mistake, I’m not going to stand in your way…I can’t.”

“Thanks, bud.”

“You’re welcome. Just…oh, shit I don’t know…just be careful.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Calvin pressed ‘end’ and gazed up into the leaves of the shade tree. “I’m screwed, just…screwed.”

Chapter 8

“Dad?”

Brock started and turned from the window to see his son coming into the room, dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt and sleep pants.

Brock looked at the mantle clock. It was five till five. “Why are you up so early?”

“Wanted to see you off.”

Brock saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned back to the window. A white Ford Focus drove down the street.

Junior chuckled. “I bet you’ve been checking the time and the window for the past ten minutes.”

It was more like fifteen, but Brock wasn’t going to admit that. “I don’t want to keep Calvin waiting. The roofing crew’s supposed to arrive at five thirty.”

“Uh huh.” Junior yawned. “Tell me something. Are you and Mr. Hamilton, how would you have said it back in your day, ‘sweet on each other?’”

“What? I’m not that old!”

“Whatever. But are you?”

Brock checked the window again, all the while nervously swinging his hardhat in his right hand.

“I wouldn’t mind if you were. He’s a nice man. He’s good for you.”

Brock felt himself blushing. He wasn’t having this conversation. Parents did not discuss their love lives with their children.

“It’s okay.” Junior came over and gave him a one-armed hug, which Brock returned. “And what’s with the old football jersey with the cut off sleeves?”

“It’ll be hot today, and I’ll be on Calvin’s roof and—”

“Oh, I see.” Junior’s smile increased. The little shit probably did see.

Brock scratched at his bare right arm. “What time did you say Kyle’s mom was expecting you?” Brock hated having to ask the parents of Junior’s friends to mind his son while he went out to work.

“In a couple hours. Kyle’s got a new game for his Xbox 360. We’ll probably play on that for most of the morning.”

Brock wished he could afford to get his son more of the technological gadgetry teenagers seemed to crave, but to give Junior his due, the boy had never asked for anything that wasn’t essential for his studies.

Another car—a white Taurus—passed down the street.

“Dad, please come away from the window. The neighbors will think you’re spying on them.”

Brock did so. Flopping down in his armchair, hardhat on his knee, he looked back up at the clock.

“It’s only a minute since the last time you checked.”

Brock stifled a yawn. Then he heard a car come onto the driveway. Standing quickly to see whom it was, he dropped the hat, much to Junior’s amusement. Picking it up, he scowled at his son before looking out the window. It was Calvin.

Jogging to the front door, Brock paused with his hand on the doorknob. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Don’t know what time I’ll be back. If Kyle’s mom doesn’t feed you, there’s five dollars in the coffee canister on top of the fridge. Get yourself a burger or something from Dairy Queen.”

“Okay, Dad. Have a good time.”

“I’m working.”

Junior appeared in the doorway from the living room. “Uh huh. Now don’t keep your honey waiting.” He grinned.

Shutting the door behind him and approaching KITT, Brock knew he’d have to have a conversation with his son. But all thoughts of Junior’s teasing evaporated when Brock saw Calvin, left arm bent and resting on the open window. The bright blue, short-sleeved button up shirt, the dark sunglasses: Brock realized he was frozen in place, staring. Calvin looked so…sexy.

“Brock?” Calvin lowered his sunglasses to ask.

“Uh—” Brock started moving again.

“You want to go get your Resistol? I can take it into town later this morning.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Brock turned and re-entered the house. “Me again,” Brock called out, walking down the hallway to his bedroom.

On his return trip, misshapen hat in one hand, hardhat in the other, he saw Junior leaning against the doorpost of his own bedroom, a smirk on his face.

“Would it help if I stayed at Kyle’s tonight?”

“Help?” Brock stopped to ask.

“I know I’ve only just come back from camp an’ all, but…you know…me being out will give you an’ Mr. Hamilton a chance to be alone and…”

“Thanks, son.” Brock didn’t stop to analyze the offer. He was running late. “See you later. And you be sure to mind Kyle’s mom.”

“Yes, Dad!” Brock could hear the eye roll in his son’s voice. “And you make sure to—” the rest of Junior’s words were cut off by the closing of the front door.

“Sorry about the early start,” Brock yawned, “but the guys will need to get as much done as they can before it gets too hot,” he told Calvin after situating himself in the car.

“Seatbelt,” was Calvin’s expected reply.

Brock had gotten so used to it he’d started to deliberately forget to put it on, just so Calvin would tell him about it.

“I was worried that the bundles of shingles the home-improvement store delivered yesterday afternoon would fall off the roof overnight.” Calvin handed Brock a Styrofoam cup.

“Thanks,” Brock peeled off the lid and took a sip of the hot coffee. “They didn’t fall off, did they?”

“Nope.” Calvin reversed down the driveway, Brock balancing the cup to try to avoid spillage.

* * * *

Brock was pleased to see the crew hadn’t arrived by the time Calvin pulled up outside his folks’ house.

“Better put her in the garage, don’t want any roofing material falling on her,” Calvin said, driving into the garage.

“I thought KITT was a him?”

“Whatever.”

“And there shouldn’t be much by way of falling shingles, remember we’re not ripping off, just putting another layer on top of the old.”

“Uh huh.” Calvin yawned.

“Too early for you?”

Calvin undid his seatbelt, leaned over and kissed Brock’s cheek. “It’s never too early for my beautiful cowboy.”

Brock turned his head so he and Calvin could kiss on the mouth. Calvin’s sunglasses got in the way, so Brock pulled them gently away.

“Bit early for dark glasses isn’t it? Though they look sexy on you.”