In the Blaze of His Hungers (8 page)

“That’s because he compliments my cooking. Unlike
you
.”

“
Only ’cause Ryan doesn’t have any taste buds to speak of.”

“Guys…” Ryan says,
caught between them, and Fiona pats his arm.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your taste buds are
perfect.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Ryan
follows Pete upstairs.

Pete’s room is exactly like it used to be, with the s
ame posters on his wall and a mountain of dirty laundry piled haphazardly in a basket. Pete sits down on his desk’s sole chair, so Ryan has no choice but to sit gingerly on his bed.

There’s a long silence.

“So, uh,” Ryan says, when the wait becomes unbearable. “Javier told me he called you guys the other day. Asked if he could meet you.”

Pete’s mouth twists. He looks away. “He spoke to Mom. Mom isn’t even… she isn’t angry with him, anymore.
She hasn’t been, for a while.”

“That’s… good, isn’t it?”
At least, Ryan thinks it’s good, because it’s been good for Javier, because some of that tightness has gone from around Javier’s eyes, and some of that self-recrimination has faded from the way he speaks.

“It would be, if I could stop hating him.” Pete grits his teeth
. “
Why
can’t I stop hating him? He’s not – Mom’s explained it to me, about how messed up he was and how bad his father was and how it made him kind of implode, when he left us. It doesn’t excuse what he did, but I can understand. I
should
understand. It’s like, my mind gets it, but the rest of me doesn’t. I just – I can’t forgive him. I can’t.” Pete’s shoulders are hunched, tensed, as if for a blow. “And then there’s you. He’s fucking you up, too, but in a different way – ”

“Don’t.” Ryan swallows. “Don’t say that about him.
”

Pete
goes quiet, watching him. “Holy shit,” Pete says, eventually. “You love him.”

“I – ”

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you? Whatever happened to… to what you said, about not being serious about Mister Mysterious?”

“Wow. That rhymed. You
wanna take up rapping?”

“
Ryan
.”

“Yes, okay? Yes, I – I care about him.”

“You’re a lunatic.
He
doesn’t love anyone. He can’t. He isn’t built that way. You should give up on him and move onto someone, I don’t know,
your age
?”

“Maybe I don’t want someone my age.”

Pete throws up his hands. “Do you even listen to yourself? You’re – and he’s my
dad
, I know him better than you do, all right?”

“Do you?” Ryan asks. “Do you,
Pete?”

Pete surges u
p out of his chair and begins pacing the room. Back and forth. Back and forth. His hands clench and unclench with every step, and Ryan’s never seen him like this, never seen him so upset. Pete’s usually calmer than this. Calmer than Ryan.

“You haven’t spoken to him properly since he returned
,” Ryan says. “You don’t know what he’s been doing, all these years. You may know who he was, but you don’t know who he’s
become
.”

“And I should give him a second chance, because why? Because he’s shown t
he excellent moral judgment to bang my barely-legal best friend?”

Ryan winces.
What Pete’s saying reminds him too much of that conversation he’d had with Javier, about the same thing. “He… cares about me, as much as I care about him.”

Pete snorts. “He’s got you fooled.
Like he had Mom fooled.”

Ryan raises his chin, refusing to be stung into making the sort of cruel comeback that’ll hav
e Pete slamming the door on him and putting an end to this diplomatic mission. But Ryan won’t let it end like that. He won’t. “If you’re so worried about me, why don’t you just meet him? Tell him to keep his hands off me?”

“You
want
me to do that?”

“I want you
to talk to him, and tell him everything you feel. Because you need to say it. And he deserves to hear it. He’s your father.”

“He’s my goddamn curse, is what he is.”

“Pete.” Ryan reaches out for Pete’s hands as Pete passes him, grabbing one of them and forcing Pete to halt. “Please.”

Pete
gazes down at him. A series of emotions flash across his face – anger, grief, helplessness – and Pete closes his eyes. When he finally opens them, he appears washed-out and tired, but he’s his normal, poised self again. “All right,” he says, heavily, as if the concession’s been pulled out of him against his will. “I’ll meet him.”

And that’s it. Ryan can’t do any more than this.
If he can get Pete and Javier to meet, and hopefully to carry on meeting, then gradually, their relationship will change for the better. Or
might
change for the better. Maybe Pete will only punch Javier in the jaw, like, a couple of times.

As if to prove the
probability of incipient violence, Pete continues: “But you oughta remember that while Mom’s okay with Javier now, she
won’t
be okay if she ever finds out what he’s been doing to you. If she does, she’ll knee him in the balls so hard his nuts will end up in his throat.”

“Ouch.”

Pete shrugs. “I said it before. She worries about you.”

“Like you do?”

“God knows why.” Pete tugs at his hand. “You can let go of me, now,” he says. “Quit holding my hand, man. I ain’t no Disney princess.”

“Nope. Not
gonna let you go. Not until you say we’re friends again.”

“We were always friends,” Pete says. “Dumbass.
”

The
light of dawn slips past the blinds, pink-tinged and soft, turning all the objects in the room hazy and distant, like the remnants of a dream. Ryan yawns, unwilling to stir from his semi-comfortable position under Javier’s arm. It’s like being pinned under a sleeping lion, huge and heavy and warm, all muscle and idle power, velvety to the touch. Javier’s still unconscious, his features oddly young in repose. Javier’s been more relaxed recently, and while Ryan can’t be sure that it’s because Pete’s resumed talking to him, he has a hunch that it is.

When Ryan trails a finger
tip down Javier’s nose, Javier wakes up, grumbling, and pulls Ryan in tighter.

“Stop that,” Javier mumbles,
drowsily, which of course means that Ryan has to do it again. Javier bats at him irritably, and when Ryan doesn’t stop, Javier finally seizes Ryan’s wrist and presses it to the bed.

“I was wondering when
you’d resort to bondage-y behavior.”

Javier’s half-open eyes are
dully accusing, and his voice is hoarse. “If you use the word ‘bondage-y’ again, I
will
have to discipline you.”

“Is that supposed to discourage me?”

Javier grunts. “Greedy brat.”

“Mm. A glutton for punishment, that’s me. By the way, um
… Do you want to come over to my dad’s, this Christmas?”

Javier’s eyes open
all the way. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I
… I think it’ll be nice if, y’know, everyone turns up. Pete, Fiona, me, dad, you…”

“
Sounds like a disaster.”

“No, see, what it
will
be is a brilliant way for you and me to celebrate Christmas together while making it seem like a harmless family reunion. Between two families that may as well be a single family, because of how long they’ve known each other. Trust me. It’ll be a blast.”

“It’ll be a nuclear explosion.”

“My dad kinda likes you, now. He’ll be happy to have you over.”

“Let’s see how long that lasts. He
has a gun, doesn’t he? It’ll be me he shoots as soon as he guesses we’re seeing each other.”

“
No disrespect to my old man, or anything, but he isn’t that great at picking up on romantic undertones. My mom almost had to hit him over the head with a corsage before he realized she wanted him to ask her to the prom.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to assault you with flowers.”

“I prefer kisses.”

“Like I said. Greedy brat.”

“Don’t you get it? This is my genius plan for him to grow even fonder of you by the time I graduate from college and tell him we’re dating. I’m… how do I say it? I’m preparing the fields for a rich harvest.”

“
Prepare a grave for me, too.”

“
Don’t be morbid.”

“Don’t be stupidly optimistic.”

“That does it. No blowjobs for you.”

Javier’s eyelids dip lazily, and his
lips quirk in a sly smile. “Like you can resist giving them,” he murmurs, and damn it, he’s right.

“Shove over,” Ryan
gripes, nudging Javier’s unreasonable bulk with his shoulder. “You’re smothering me and I can’t sleep. I still have three hours left before I have to go to class, and I plan to use them well.”

“Too bad. I’m awake, now. And I plan to use
you
well.”

Ryan genuinely tries to argue his case in favor of sleeping – he really, really does – but, when he inevitably loses, he can’t say he minds.

- FIN -

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