Home and Away (35 page)

Another family came over, this one with two teenage boys who played hockey. Callum asked them about their teams, what positions they played, how their last season had gone. They hung on his every word, which had always made him feel awkward as hell, but this time was probably for the best. Because he could barely hear what they said back, instead watching how their parents hovered nearby, ready to protect. To scold and encourage. They were just so
present
and that, that right there, was what Christian needed. What he deserved.

And, god fucking damn it, what Callum wanted to give.

But couldn’t.

Rupert felt a lot like a laboratory specimen. He’d been captured at the airport, caged in a minivan for two hours of subtle interrogation, and now he was under the microscope in a house full of men who looked hauntingly familiar.

Given the way Mary was eying him and the boys, Rupert was convinced dissection—metaphorically speaking—was still in store.

To be fair, the Morrisons were, to the last, charming and kind. He and the boys had been welcomed with hugs and smiles and the promised chocolate chip cookies. Mary and Callum’s father, Bruce, had sat with them in the kitchen, ignoring Rupert’s protests while others unloaded the car and took their bags upstairs so that Garrick, Savannah, and Rhian could check in at the Inn down the street. No one said a word when those three didn’t come back for over an hour, but their return was met with a burst of snickers and giggles from the Morrison brothers present.

The boys were to sleep in the twin beds in Savannah’s room, while Rupert’s bag had ended up in Callum’s, much to his hot-cheeked horror when Mary, of all people, mentioned it.

Rupert wasn’t sure Callum wanted Rupert to share his tiny full-sized bed to begin with, and he was completely certain it was a bad idea regardless. The last two weeks had been the longest of Rupert’s life. Sleeping curled up with Callum would not help. Rupert was almost relieved when Callum’s arrival was pushed back and Rupert learned he’d be spending the first night alone.

As to the second night, they would see. Rupert couldn’t pretend he’d ask Callum to sleep elsewhere. Or offer to leave himself. That would all be up to Callum.

Bruce and Rupert spent a solid hour having tea—an excellent distraction from thoughts about sleeping arrangements—and talking about places in England and Scotland where they’d both been or lived. It was obvious Bruce missed his homeland, and was delighted to learn Rupert and Oliver had such close ties.

 “Hey, Rupert, you don’t play hockey, right?” asked Duncan when he came into the kitchen.

Rupert calmly took a sip of his tea. “No, I do not.”

“I do,” Christian offered quietly.

“Great!” Duncan said as he flopped into another chair at the table. He ruffled Oliver’s hair. “You’re too young to play with us, buddy. But you’ll get there soon.”

“I want to figure skate. Like Rupert.”

“And are you going to make it all the way to the Olympics like him, too?” Duncan teased, providing startling evidence of the Morrison phone tree’s reach and depth of knowledge.

“Yes,” Oliver stated, as if it were already fact.

Duncan grinned. “Good for you.”

“But if I can’t play, what will I do?” Oliver asked.

Mary scooped Oliver onto her lap. “You can sit with Mimi and watch, okay? Rhian’s sister Chelsea doesn’t play either. We’ll have a grand time, I promise.”

Oliver nodded eagerly, but Duncan looked positively aghast.

“But, Mom, you have to ref!”

Mary eyed Rupert. “Do I?”

Rupert had no idea why she was asking
him
. Unless... “Oh! I, you want me to—what? But, I’ve never—”

He shut his mouth when Mary patted his hand. “You don’t have to. I just thought you might like to be out on the ice, and, given your current position, you probably have a good grasp of what’s needed.”

“It’s not like a real game,” Duncan added. “We don’t fight—” Mary arched one eyebrow. “Uh, much. Hardly ever. It’s mostly just off-sides and icing and stuff.”

“And maybe a few penalties, here and there,” Mary added dryly.

“Yeah, those, too,” Duncan conceded.

Just then Kieran and his husband, Chance, exploded into the kitchen. “What are you all talking about?” Kieran asked, throwing himself into the chair next to Rupert’s and practically into his lap. Kieran, Rupert had discovered, loved to flirt. A lot. And his husband, if the benign amusement on his face was any indication, wasn’t bothered in the least by this.

“Your mother is suggesting I referee the big game tomorrow,” Rupert supplied. He’d learned of the Morrison family tradition of a full hockey match long before he’d arrived this weekend. He’d been looking forward to watching, not
participating
.

“That’s a great idea!” Kieran declared, bouncing right back out of his chair. “Let’s go shopping!”

Rupert was beginning to accept that Kieran would always have him feeling a little off-kilter, like he was out on the ice with only one skate on.

“Shopping?” he asked nervously.

“Well, unless you happened to bring a black-and-white vertically striped shirt?” Kieran eyed Rupert’s shoulders will ill-disguised admiration. “There’s no way you can borrow Mom’s.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right? I mean…”

“Did you bring your skates?”

“Yes. Figure skates, though. And I haven’t—”

“That’s what Mom wears, too. Works great,” Kieran assured him, dragging him from his chair.

Honestly, why did he even bother to argue? Kieran was already herding him out the door, announcing he knew just where to go and that they’d be back in time for dinner.

Rupert managed a weak wave to Oliver and Christian, neither of whom seemed concerned over his departure.

Callum pulled into his parent’s driveway just after eight o’clock the next morning, his eyes gritty from a long night, his knees and back sore from sitting up so long.

He’d managed, maybe, a total of five hours sleep between the waiting area in the airport and the flight to New York. That must be why now, having finally arrived, he decided it was a good time to panic.

Rupert was in the house. Waiting for him to arrive. The boys, too.

So why was he frozen in his seat?

He let out an embarrassing yelp when his car door flew open. Garrick, Savannah, and Rhian grinned down at him, their faces glowing with a sheen of perspiration. Shorts and running shoes clued Callum in.

“You ran over from the Inn?”

“Five miles, then here,” Savannah explained. Not one of them appeared to be more than slightly winded.

His sister was obviously a terrible influence.

“You going to go in? They’re dying to see you, Callum,” Savannah said gently.

Oh god, he was dying to see them, too. Leaving his bags, his sister, her lovers, and the car door wide open in the driveway, Callum bolted up the front walk and through the front door.

“Anybody home?” he called, ignoring the half dozen or so members of his family sitting in the living room, staring at him.

“Callum!” came twin replies. Footsteps thundered across the kitchen and then the boys burst into the living room. Oliver’s feet hardly touched the floor after that as he flew through the air and into Callum’s arms. Christian slammed into them a second later.

Callum buried his face between their heads, taking what felt like the first full, deep, breath since he’d left Moncton. Oliver’s arms almost strangled him as he babbled about how much he’d missed Callum, while Christian was completely silent, his face smashed to Callum’s shoulder as he held on for dear life.

Callum peeked at the rest of the room. His family’s expressions ranged from stunned to amused. Then his eyes settled on Rupert. Callum’s breath left him again as the band around his chest constricted tighter than ever.

Rupert hovered in the kitchen door with a wobbly smile and a painfully uncertain expression. Callum wanted to demand he come over and join them. That he fling himself into Callum’s arms and let Callum hold him, too. But, then, Callum didn’t know if that was right. Or fair. To any of them.

With a last squeeze for the boys, Callum stood and smiled at his family.

“Sorry I’m late.”

His mother was the first to recover, slipping past Rupert to come give Callum a hug and kiss. Then it was a free-for-all.

God, Callum loved these weekends home, looked forward to spending time with his family, but for the first time, instead of easing the lonely ache he’d carried with him so long, he felt worse. His father seemed to understand, giving Callum an extra-long hug and a long look Callum wasn’t sure what to make of.

Once things settled down, Mary told Callum to go get his bags, and shooed the boys back into the kitchen. Rupert shuffled to the side to let them pass, his smile still uncertain.

“I’ll help you with your things,” he said and gestured to the door.

Callum nodded, and they made quick work of lugging his suitcase and gear bag up to his room. He was congratulating himself for not getting distracted by the view of Rupert above him on the stairs when he stuttered to a stop in the door to his room, instantly recognizing Rupert’s pajamas draped over the footboard.

Rupert hovered nearby. “Is this okay?”

“Did my
mother
put you in here with me?”

“Um…yes?” Bright pink spots bloomed on Rupert’s pale cheeks. “I wasn’t sure if you’d mind, then when you didn’t arrive last night, I thought I should just stay and see if you…”

Callum dropped his bags. “Come here,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Rupert didn’t hesitate, fingers threading into Callum’s hair, mouths crashing together. Callum held Rupert as close as he could, until he could barely breathe as their tongues met and chased from one mouth to the other.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered between kisses, reveling in the familiar scents and tastes of Rupert, even while he desperately tried to memorize them again.

“Me, too. God, Callum,” Rupert said, wriggling until their hips were aligned and they were damn close to falling onto the bed.

Callum kissed Rupert until his lungs burned and his dick ached and his eyes stung. Until Rupert ended it with a gasp and Callum dropped his forehead onto Rupert’s shoulder, shuddering, unwilling to loosen his hold.

“I’ve been miserable,” he confessed. “I thought seeing you would help, that being here would make it better, but—”

“We can go.”

“No!” Callum’s heart stopped and he squeezed Rupert even tighter. “Please, don’t go. I don’t want you to go. Unless you feel like you have to. I don’t have any right to ask you to stay, so I’ll understand…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, his voice going hoarse, then choking off entirely.

“I don’t want to leave, Callum. I want you. However I can get you,” Rupert admitted, and Callum knew how much courage it took for Rupert to admit that.

Callum lifted his head and looked directly into Rupert’s eyes. “Good, because I want you here. So much.” It didn’t even begin to cover what Callum wanted. How much he wanted it and for how long. All things he couldn’t say because he couldn’t figure out how to make those dreams
possible
. He felt sick at the idea that he would hurt Rupert. Or worse, try to hide him and make him complicit in Callum’s lies.

God, he was such a selfish bastard. Rupert deserved so much better.

Rupert’s lips pressed gently to his, derailing Callum’s thoughts in favor of long, slow kisses.

“Callum!” His mother’s voice rang from the bottom of the stairs, jarring them apart. It was followed by the thud of footsteps too heavy and quick to belong to her. One of his nosey siblings, no doubt.

He stepped away from Rupert reluctantly, smoothing his hands through his disheveled hair a moment before Duncan came around the corner.

“Hey, Cal, breakfast is almost ready. And I don’t know if Dad told you, but the game is right after lunch.”

Shit. Right, the big game. He looked at Rupert apologetically, reminding him, “We have this thing—”

“Oh, I know,” Rupert said with a laugh. “I’ve already been wrangled into service, don’t you worry.”

Callum was about to ask what that meant when Duncan said, “Come on. The boys are making you pancakes.”

Callum hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say to Rupert, but he didn’t even know if he could. Or should. It all felt so…unfinished, but he didn’t have the right to ask for anything until he could figure out how to
give
.

Before he could begin to sort out any of that, Rupert slipped past him and followed Duncan down the stairs.

Rupert wasn’t proud of himself for ducking out on Callum before they could talk more, but he’d been steadfastly fooling himself into believing that seeing Callum wouldn’t be that hard, that it wouldn’t make the last two weeks seem even more lonely and frustrating. That it wouldn’t change anything about what he wanted and what he was willing to ask for.

Obviously, he was an idiot.

He took refuge in the kitchen, where he’d spent most of his visit thus far. Oliver tended to pop in and out with various members of the Morrison family, while Christian spent more time here, his gaze steady on Mary for long periods. The naked longing Rupert sometimes saw in Christian’s face was heartbreaking.

Mary had proven endlessly patient with Rupert’s questions. He’d hesitated to ask at first, but Mary was easy to talk to about his concerns over helping Christian balance school and his training, and how to pick the right school program for Oliver, and how to handle the travel once the season started. The latter discussion had to be conducted when Oliver wasn’t within earshot. Christian tried hard to be casual about it, but any of the adults could see it was stressing him out, too.

Rupert wondered, as he tucked himself into the corner of the kitchen with Savannah and Murdoch to watch the boys and Mary cook breakfast for an army, how he’d ever thought he was a suitable guardian for these children who needed, who
deserved
so much.

 The answer wandered through the door and sat down next to him.

Rupert couldn’t decide if he wanted to shake Callum and scream, “Why, why, why?” or kiss him senseless to show him how grateful he was.

Mary smiled at her son and turned back to the stove, where she was supervising Christian in the scrambling and cooking of three dozen eggs. Oliver stood on a stepstool beside them, spatula in hand, watching the pancakes critically and glancing at Mary every few seconds to see if it was time to flip one.

“So, Christian, are you excited about going back to school?” Mary asked.

“Uh…I guess?” He cast a glance at Rupert, then Callum, before turning a single-minded focus to the pan of eggs.

Mary arched one delicate eyebrow, watching his face carefully. “What’s your favorite subject?”

Christian shrugged. “Math, I guess. Maybe science, now that we’re getting into the experiments and stuff.”

“Just like my Murdoch,” she said with a smile for her son, who gave Christian a run for his money in the eye-roll department, even if his smile was fond. “Maybe you’ll be a doctor like him someday, too.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Christian was obviously unconvinced.

“And what about after school? What do you do beside your figure skating?”

“Hockey,” he mumbled.

“What’s that, sweetie?” Mary asked.

“Hockey,” Christian said more firmly. “I used to play a lot of hockey.”

“Used to?” Savannah asked.

“He doesn’t have to anymore,” Rupert said, hoping to dispel Christian’s rising tension.

“But he can if he wants to,” Callum clarified. It garnered him an approving, if somewhat narrow-eyed look from his mother.

“Of course,” Rupert agreed, reaching for Callum’s hand, but pulling back at the last moment.

Christian sighed. “I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay, too, kiddo,” Callum said gently.

“My dad made me play,” Christian explained to Mary. “He wouldn’t let me quit. Said it would
make a man out of me
.”

Savannah let out a bright laugh. “Look how well it worked for me!”

Christian looked stunned for a second, then giggled. “Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty dumb thing to say.”

No one bothered to defend Christian’s father.

“I kind of like playing with my friends, though,” Christian admitted with another glance at Rupert.

“Then you should,” Rupert said.

Callum nodded encouragingly.

Mary’s eyes narrowed on her son again.

“And what do you do when you’re home? It’s summer, so you don’t have homework. Do you read?” Mary asked.

“Some, I guess.”

“At least a half hour every day,” Rupert affirmed.

“And I play video games and watch TV and stuff,” Christian added.

“But only for an hour and a half max, right? That’s what we agreed on,” Callum reminded him.

“Until school starts,” Rupert confirmed. “Then it’s down to an hour at most of screen time.”

“And none in the morning before school,” Callum added.

Everyone around the table wore identical expressions of wonder as they stared at Callum. Rupert bit his lip to hide his smile. Callum didn’t seem to notice the attention.

Christian rolled his eyes. “What if I don’t have a lot of homework? Or practice?”

“Still then,” Callum said firmly.

“Geez, you have a lot of rules,” Christian muttered.

Rupert’s heart clenched, but he forced back the worry. He and Callum agreed about these limitations. They’d spoken about them at length, consulted with Mary, the internet, and their consciences before deciding what was best. And it wasn’t like the rules couldn’t change. Rupert knew he would screw up sometimes, and then he’d correct. He had it on good authority from Mary that this was par for the parental course.

Perhaps with this in mind, Mary came to his defense. “It’s about trying to be a good parent, Christian.”

Christian smiled crookedly at Mary. “I know.”

“It’s not easy, believe me,” she said.

“Yeah, but they don’t have anything to worry about.”

“
They
don’t?” Mary asked, looking back at her son.

“Yeah. Ollie and I know we’re really lucky,” Christian said with a shrug. “We have more than most kids. We have
two
great dads.”

 It was for the best the boys couldn’t see the look on Callum’s face at that moment, or how it broke Rupert’s heart.

No one said a word as Callum stood and quietly left the room.

By lunchtime, Callum had managed to hone his entire world down to thinking about only one thing—hockey. He couldn’t begin to deal with what Christian had said, or Rupert’s sad smile, so he spared not a single thought for anything but getting through the next few hours.

He loaded up on food at lunch to fuel what no doubt would be a grueling game. Goalies were the only players on a hockey team that regularly played the entire sixty minutes, but that didn’t apply to a Morrison game. They’d draw teams and positions from a hat, putting Callum out of the net, in all likelihood. And with so few players, shift changes were rare or non-existent.

He helped Oliver cut up his food, and reminded Christian to drink his milk, and absolutely did not respond to the looks he was getting from virtually every single member of his family. They were confused. And concerned. And, if Callum wasn’t mistaken, feeling increasingly protective of Rupert. Which was hilarious, actually, since those were pretty much the same feelings eating
him
alive, too.

When lunch was over, he suited up in his hockey gear and went down the hall to see if Christian needed any help. When Callum arrived in the door to the boys’ room, he froze.

Goddamn his mother.

Oliver sat on the edge of his bed, bouncing up and down with excitement about his bright green Morrison hockey jersey, the name SMYTHE stamped across the back of his narrow shoulders. It was tiny and so fucking cute, the already fragile pieces of Callum’s heart cracked in half.