Home and Away (25 page)

Rupert sighed and explained quickly how he knew Christian, and all that had happened in that relatively brief a period of time. Gabriel looked appropriately alarmed that Christian’s father was responsible for the damage to Rupert’s face. Rupert finished by saying, “As you can imagine, I didn’t want to send Christian home that evening, but I didn’t feel I had much choice.”

Gabriel frowned. “You didn’t.”

“Then I’m sure you can understand that I’d like to see Christian and be sure he’s okay.”

“Please,” Callum added sincerely, and it was a testament to how frazzled Rupert was that Callum Morrison was the one with good manners.

“Come with me,” Gabriel said, leading the way further into the building, including through another set of locked doors. He explained how the center helped families in crisis and the homeless, including children whose families no longer wanted them at home.

“Are there many?” Callum asked.

Gabriel sighed. “One is too many, but yes, we often have as many as a dozen minors here with us, just from the immediate area. Christian is younger than most we see, but it’s not unheard of.”

Callum had the same mixture of horror and rage on his face as was brewing in Rupert’s gut. The boy was
twelve
. He packed it all away, though, when they entered a lounge and found Christian slumped on one of the ratty old couches.

“Christian.”

He jumped to his feet and faced them, eyes red and fingers white where they clenched each other.

Rupert rushed to his side, then hesitated. He didn’t know this boy well. He knew what he wanted to do, but—

Callum saved Rupert the effort of figuring out what was right by grabbing hold of Christian, and Rupert, and smashing them together in his arms and against his chest.

“We got you, kid,” Callum said.

Christian wrapped his arms around Rupert and collapsed into tears.

Callum held Rupert while Rupert held poor Christian. The boy’s sobs broke Callum’s fucking heart, but his rage was also still burning bright. Callum would never forget how broken Christian had looked.

Callum glanced up at Gabriel, who was watching them closely and yet trying to give them some space. The other people in the room, mostly children, weren’t as discrete.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?” Callum asked.

 “I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, “but I can’t let you be alone with him. There’s a room down the hall where we can all sit down together, if you’d like.”

“That’s fine,” Callum said, herding everyone in that direction as best he could, respecting that the center was careful with their charges’ safety. As soon as they were all inside, Callum planted Rupert and Christian on a couch together and sat on the coffee table facing them. Gabriel shut the door and remained standing there, watchful.

Christian still had his face buried against Rupert’s shoulder, his chest hitching with every breath, but he was calmer.

“Christian,” Callum said, “Can you tell us what happened?”

Christian squeezed his eyes shut. Callum shared a helpless look with Rupert as a tickle of fear worked its way up Callum’s spine.

Rupert ran a hand over Christian’s head. “Please, Christian. We want to help.”

“He was really mad,” Christian said, his voice hoarse.

“Your dad?” Callum asked.

Christian nodded.

“You mean the day before yesterday? When he came to the rink?” Rupert asked.

“No,” Christian said, then paused and looked up at Rupert’s face. “I mean, yes. That started it.”

Started it?
Callum pressed his damp palms to his knees. “What happened after that?”

“When Mr. Belov and Mr. Erdo dropped me off at home, he wouldn’t look at me. They brought me to the door and I could tell he’d been drinking, but he was nice to them. When they left, he made me give him my phone and told me to go to my room, so I did. I didn’t come out.”

Okay, that didn’t sound too bad. Not great, by any stretch, but not terrible.

“At all?” Rupert asked. “Did you have supper?”

Christian shook his head.

“To use the facilities?” Rupert asked gently.

Christian hesitated, then shook his head again.

Gabriel stood straighter. Rupert pressed his lips to the top of Christian’s head and sighed. “I had nights like that,” he confessed quietly. “When I was about your age, too.”

Callum tried to imagine it. Rupert trapped in his room, terrified to go out and face his dorm mates just to use the bathroom. Where had the teachers been?

“I was always glad to be a boy, those nights. And that I could keep an empty pop bottle handy.”

Christian twitched, then made a sound that almost sounded like laughter. Callum met Rupert’s eyes and thought everything he was feeling must have been right there on his face.

“What happened in the morning?” Rupert asked Christian, still looking at Callum.

“He told me I couldn’t go out. Not even to hockey practice. That I had to stay.”

“Home for the day?” Callum asked.

“In my room.”

Rupert’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath before asking, “How long?”

Christian shrugged, as if it was nothing. “He stayed home, too. Called out sick to work. When he cooked himself dinner, I could tell he was drinking again, so I waited until I was sure he was asleep. Then I left.”

“What time was that?” Callum asked, trying not to picture Christian, hungry in his room, smelling his father cook dinner for himself, waiting for him to pass out drunk.

“Four o’clock this morning. I’ve just kind of walked around for a while, then I thought I should come here.”

Gabriel spoke up. “I know you already spoke with Kelly, but can you tell me why you don’t want to go home, Christian?” He raised his hands to fend off Callum and Rupert’s glares. “Not that I think you should, I just want to make sure I understand, too.”

“I don’t feel safe,” Christian said automatically, and Callum understood, in that moment, that someone had taught Christian what to say in circumstances like these. Not that this made it any less true or important, but Callum could see why Gabriel was trying to get another answer.

Callum put a hand on Christian’s knee. “How so?” He was expecting Christian to be worried about being trapped in his room for days again, or that his father might hit him.

He wasn’t expecting Christian to say, “I think I’m gay.”

Callum blinked, otherwise frozen. Twelve years old, and already braver than Callum ever was. Rupert put his hand over Callum’s and squeezed.

“And your father?” Rupert asked hesitantly.

“I think he’s guessed. I mean—” Christian looked up at Rupert’s bruised face. “I think that’s why he was so mad at you. Why he doesn’t want me to skate with you.”

Christian was a very perceptive kid.

“But you haven’t told him?” Rupert asked.

“No. I can’t. He’ll…” Christian swallowed. “
He’ll hate me
.”

The very worst part was that neither Rupert nor Callum could deny it. Or maybe the worst part was how Christian looked between them, clearly hoping for that denial, and then seemed to fold in on himself.

Callum would have liked to drive directly to the Christian’s house and beat John Shaw within an inch of his life.

“What can we do?” Rupert asked Gabriel, sounding determined. Callum hoped Christian found that as reassuring as Callum did.

Gabriel sighed, studying Rupert’s face. Callum hoped it served as a reminder of what John Shaw was capable of. “I need to notify Christian’s father that he’s here.” He looked at Christian. “Do you want to spend the night with us?”

He shrugged. Then looked up at Rupert. “Can I come home with you?”

Rupert opened his mouth, but Gabriel cut him off. “I can’t let you go home with Rupert just yet, Christian.”

Christian looked like he was ready to burst into tears again. “Why not?”

“I’m sorry. I have rules I have to follow, and they exist to make sure you’re safe. Once either Child Services or your father says it’s okay, you can stay with Rupert.” Gabriel ducked his head to force Christian to meet his eyes. “Do you want me to call your father?”

Christian pinned Callum with wide, wet eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

Answers crowded Callum’s brain, jockeying for position between the simmering rage and the burning desire to call his parents and tell them how much he loved them. He settled on the one that would keep Christian the safest and not result in a life sentence in Canadian prison for either kidnapping or murder.

“I think if you don’t feel safe at home, Christian, then you should stay here with Mr. Santangelo.”

Christian nodded, his shoulders slumped. “Okay.” He looked at Gabriel. “I’ll stay, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, Christian. What do you want me to tell your father if he asks to speak with you, or wants to come see you?”

Christian’s eyes widened, a hunted expression taking over his face. “I don’t want to.”

Gabriel raised a placating hand. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He paused, cocking his head toward the door when a faint ringing reached them. “Christian, dinner is ready. Why don’t you go get something to eat while I talk to Rupert and Callum some more.”

Christian hesitated until Rupert nudged him along. “We’ll be here when you’re done. Go on.”

Christian nodded and left the room. Gabriel closed the door behind him and turned to Rupert. “Would you have taken him home?”

“Yes,” Rupert said without hesitation.

“For the night?”

Rupert glanced at Callum, then sat up straighter. “For as long as he needs me.”

Gabriel nodded. Callum pressed his hand over Rupert’s on his thigh. He was so fucking brave. Not that long ago, he’d been afraid to take in his own brother, and now…

Gabriel cleared his throat, dragging their attention back to him.

“I’m not going to lie, it’s a long shot. But you have two options, if you’re serious.”

Rupert sat on the edge of Oliver’s new bed and gently stroked his hand over his brother’s dark, silky hair. It had taken the better part of an hour, but Oliver was asleep, curled up on his side and blissfully unaware of the massive panic attack that was slowly turning his big brother inside out.

For a while it had been easy to put it aside and focus on getting Oliver settled in their new home. Rupert was pleased with how everything had turned out. There were things Rupert would still need to buy or have shipped over from Woodcock, but Oliver’s room was already cozy with its new rug and furniture. So much so that Oliver had not put up nearly as much resistance to sleeping in here as expected.

Callum had stayed with them until Oliver was tucked in. Rupert had watched Callum kneel by the bed and brush Oliver’s hair off his forehead before kissing him there and saying goodnight. Oliver had kissed Callum’s cheek and told him he loved him, and Rupert had been so proud of all of them at that moment. The scared and silent child they’d brought home was almost gone now, and in his place was a sweet and affectionate boy who knew he was safe. And loved.

Every child should be able to expect that much from any adult, but most of all from his parents. Rupert
should
have had that, and would make sure Oliver did from now on. He considered himself infinitely fortunate to be able to do it.

He only wished he could do the same for Christian. Tomorrow he and Christian were going to speak with his father, and Rupert was going to do everything in his power to see that someone, somewhere, loved Christian exactly as much as he needed and deserved to be loved.

With a last kiss to the top of Oliver’s head, Rupert slipped out into the hallway and pulled the door almost closed.

“Hey,” Callum said from close behind him.

It was the most natural thing in the world to step into Callum’s arms and bury his face against his neck. Callum held him close.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Rupert nodded, but didn’t let go.

“You sure about that?”

He was. He was fine. Better than most, luckier by far, to have Oliver home, to have Callum here. His silent and constant support today—hell, for the past two months—was a debt Rupert could never repay. A gift he could never properly or sufficiently thank him for. And yet it didn’t feel like either of those things, exactly. It just felt like…

Well. Rupert understood perfectly why it was so easy for Oliver to love Callum. Rupert felt the same. He only wished the words would come so easily, or be so well received, if they were to come from him.

Rupert pressed his lips just behind Callum’s ear, trying to communicate maybe one small part of what he was feeling.

Callum shivered in reaction, his hands flexing against Rupert’s back.

Oh
. Rupert did it again, delighted when he got the same reaction and Callum shifted closer, their hips brushing.

And then, in a deep voice that belonged in the bedroom, Callum said the sexiest thing Rupert could possible imagine. “I already did the dishes.”

It was sad testament to the state of Rupert’s life that this was the sweetest of sweet nothings Callum could have whispered. He checked over Callum’s shoulder and saw most of the lights in the kitchen and living room were out, the door to the master bedroom wide open, the soft light of the bedside lamp spilling into the hallway.

Rupert pressed his lips to that spot again, an open-mouthed kiss this time, his tongue tasting the salt of Callum’s skin. Callum shuddered against him and tilted his head to the side.

“Is this what you wanted?” Rupert asked, smiling against Callum’s warm skin.

“What? No, I—” Callum words became garbled when Rupert sucked the delicate skin, letting Callum feel his teeth. His hips twitched and Rupert slid a thigh between Callum’s, a shudder shaking his own spine when Callum pressed into him, against him, his hands scrabbling at Rupert’s back to pull him closer and keep them on their feet.

The moment Rupert released the abused skin with a gentle pop, Callum dove in for a kiss. Rupert groaned into his mouth, hitching his leg higher. They staggered and almost crashed into the wall.

“Come on,” Rupert said, taking Callum’s hand. He towed him into the bedroom and locked the door behind them, smiling when he saw his big bed, made with fresh linens and piled high with pillows. It looked decadent and welcoming, particularly after weeks in the hotel. But none of it looked at good as Callum, standing in front of one of the tall posts, staring at Rupert like he wanted to tackle him and yet rooted to that spot.

Callum’s eyes widened, tracking Rupert’s hands when he untucked his shirt. Rupert wasn’t going to attempt a strip tease, since he was fairly certain he’d look like a complete idiot, but he went slowly, watching Callum’s face as he pulled the shirt up and off, exposing his belly and shoulders. Callum’s eyes followed his every move. Rupert toed off his trainers, managing to remove his socks without falling to the floor, then fingered the button of his jean thoughtfully.

Callum stood stock still, mouth hanging open, utterly fixated on Rupert’s fingers, nerves conquered by curiosity, perhaps. Or need. Or, even, the loss of blood flow to his brain, given the impressive bulge outlined by his old jeans.

Rupert knew what he wanted. He was desperate to finally have the time and space to explore Callum fully. To learn everything he could about his body and what he liked. But before he could do that, he wanted to know what, exactly, Callum wanted.

“May I?” Rupert asked seriously, mindful that to date, Callum had only ever seen him with his trousers around his thighs and his shirt shoved up. This would be different.

“Take them off?” Callum asked, voice hoarse.

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen it all before.”

“Pardon?” Because honestly, Rupert was aware that Callum had spent enough time in locker rooms to see all manner of man without his clothes on, but Rupert would be damned if this was
anything
like those times.

“I mean,” Callum said, “I saw you. Once. By accident, before London.”

Rupert arched a brow. “Did you, now?”

“You were wearing briefs. Black ones,” he confessed, his voice little more than a scratch. “Made my heart stop.”

Rupert smiled, warmed by Callum’s confession. Charmed by the genuine apology in his voice. “Would you like to see it again?”

Callum licked his lips. “Yes, please.”

Rupert popped the button, then slowly slid down the zipper, pressing his other hand to his erection, more out of the necessity to protect himself than to tease. He peeked down. “Black again today, I’m afraid.”

Callum took a step toward him. “Can I—”

Rupert let his hands fall away. “Whatever you want.”

Rupert made a sound that he would forever deny was a whimper when Callum fell to his knees at Rupert’s feet. And again when his hands hooked in the waist of Rupert’s jeans and tugged them down.

Callum left the briefs in place, and Rupert didn’t push, lifting his feet when Callum’s hands pressed his ankles, using Callum’s shoulder for balance as he carefully peeled the jeans off and threw them to the side.

 His hands returned to Rupert’s waist, then spanned his hips, his thumbs rubbing over bone. Rupert stumbled then caught himself when those hands pressed gently, turning him in place until he faced away from Callum.

“Your ass is ridiculous.”

Rupert let out a startled laugh. “In a good way, I hope.”

Callum’s only answer was to slide his hands over the bum in question, shaping its every curve in his palms. Rupert groaned, then groaned again, louder, when Callum pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses above the waistband of his briefs, his tongue dipping into the dimples there, his nose burrowing into the trench of Rupert’s spine.

Rupert’s legs shook with the effort of keeping himself upright, his knees weakened by how Callum worshiped every inch of exposed skin he could reach. His hands coasted over Rupert’s thighs, his knuckles tickling the backs of Rupert’s knees, his calves. Shins. Palms flat against the front of his thighs until they separated and held Rupert’s hips still. He’d unconsciously begun to shift, pressing back against Callum’s lips.

“Please, Callum,” he said, not even sure what he was asking for but ready to beg. Because once again, his carefully constructed plans to thoughtfully introduce himself to anything and everything there was to learn about Callum were burnt to ashes by Callum’s innocent explorations.

Callum seemed to revel in every touch. In every taste. And Rupert would do nothing to change their course if it risked losing that.

Callum might be buried in the back of a closely guarded closet when he was in Denver, or even Las Vegas, but here in Moncton, in Rupert’s bedroom, he didn’t have to hide. He could be himself. He could be gay—and not just for selfish reasons did Rupert want that for Callum.

Rupert reached back and ran his fingers through Callum’s hair, his hum of pleasure transmitted directly through Rupert’s skin, like electricity along his nerves. He wanted to tell Callum how proud he was of him for coming out to Mike and Alexei and Reese. For holding Rupert’s hand in the Pathways Center’s little meeting room and not caring what Gabriel thought. For trusting that regardless of what Gabriel thought, he would be discrete. For letting any worry he had about any of these things be trumped by his desire to support Rupert while they sat and listened to Christian’s options, most of which were grim, the rest so unlikely it was impossible to hold much hope.

But there was
some
hope. With Callum here, Rupert could be brave enough to do anything. He loved all the crazy twists and turns his life was taking. He thought he might even give up making lists for his personal life, because they would change in a matter of minutes. And that was fine. Good, even. Truly, the only twist he didn’t want, the one he knew was coming, was Callum’s return to Denver.

Rupert turned, cupping Callum’s face in both hands and bending to kiss him. Callum rose on his knees, the meeting of their lips quick and desperate. Rupert could not put into words all the things he poured into that kiss.

They tore apart with a gasp, their foreheads still pressed together.

“If we don’t get on that bed in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to fall to the floor and beg you to ravish me,” Rupert said between breaths.

Callum’s eyes creased up with a smile. “Isn’t that what I was already doing?”

Rupert laughed. “Fair point. How about, then, we move this ravishment to the bed? I promise, it will be worth your while.”

He’d meant only that the bed was wonderful and soft, but the look Callum gave him as he climbed to his feet said that he had interpreted it to mean something else entirely.

He wasn’t wrong about that, either.

Callum stood by the bed and watched Rupert carefully peel his obscenely tight, extremely
brief
briefs down his legs. When he stood again, all long limbs and smooth pale skin, Callum’s breath caught in his chest.

Rupert crawled onto the high bed, and Callum had to press a hand over his pounding heart. All the air in his lungs left in a rush, like he’d been punched in the solar plexus by the sight of Rupert’s perfect, round, firm butt. Rupert pushed aside a pile of pillows, until he was left kneeling in the center of the mattress, knees spread. He settled back on his heels and dropped his hands between his legs, a passing attempt at modesty when he was still fully, gloriously, on display for Callum.

Callum had been surrounded by naked men his entire adult life. Hockey locker rooms weren’t built for modesty, and they certainly weren’t built with the wandering eye of a lonely gay man in mind. But they were also a sacred space, to him. A place for team and work. A place where he wasn’t gay, and the men around him, his teammates, weren’t sexual beings so much as a bunch of stupid braggarts and liars and merciless pranksters. Of course they joked about sex, but it wasn’t about the bodies in the room, even when they were the ones bragging or being called out for their bullshit.

Sure, he’d looked. They all had. To see how colorful a particular bruise had become. To study the healed incisions of surgical repairs, or judge the trainer’s ability to put in a decent, straight stitch. Any team could tell you who among them had the strongest thighs, heaviest shoulders, most brute strength. Every team had at least one player who was ruthlessly teased about the size of their ass—it was a hazard of the business. Just as any team could say who among them was deceptively lean, able to hide the power coiled in their smaller frames until you felt them run you into the boards like a fucking Mack truck.

Rupert was like that. They might be the same height, but Rupert was lean, while Callum tended toward brawn. Smooth where Callum had coarse hair and a tracery of veins over his muscles. But Rupert was also achingly pale, his fair skin glowing in the warmth of the bedside lamp. Soft, even over places Callum knew to be all firm muscle beneath. Aside from his blackened eyes, the only color was the hint of pink in his cheeks, his sharp blue gaze, and the thatch of dark hair hidden behind his hands.

Callum knew Rupert was trying not to freak him out too much, to let him get used to this. He probably ought to be embarrassed by it, but mostly he was just grateful that Rupert had guessed this was something he needed. That being here, doing this, might freak him out a little.

Though Callum wasn’t really
freaked out
so much as painfully out of his element. It was a lot to take in. A lot to learn. The guys in the locker room liked to talk about a woman’s curves, how they drew men to touch and learn each dip and swell. Callum hadn’t really understood that. He’d heard men practically lose their minds over women who looked the same, to Callum, as the girlfriend before. Bigger chests, smaller butts, longer legs. It was still all mostly the same, he’d thought.

But now he knew differently.

Rupert had curves. Lots of them. And not just the swell of his skater’s ass, tucked between his heels. His quads arced from hip to knee where his calves pressed from below. His biceps and triceps swelled gently beneath his ivory skin. His shoulders, as wide as Callum’s own, led to the strong column of his neck, the shallow divot between his collar bones, and the smooth expanse of soft, hairless skin over his pectorals. He didn’t have a six-pack, just the hint of tone beneath milky skin, above the twist of his belly button, and on to the flat plane of his stomach, framed by the line where his thighs met his hips, the twin ridges that pointed down, in an utterly enticing vee, to…