The Rebuilding Year (10 page)

“Maybe he’s too important,” John suggested softly.

“Maybe I just don’t want to have to explain.” Ryan leaned back against the counter, green eyes gazing at nothing. He had that little crease between his eyebrows. His fingers folded the dish towel hanging beside him into tight pleats.

“You don’t need to explain to me.” John wanted to bring back that sunny smile Ryan had given him when he walked in. “You should eat your bagel before it gets cold.”

Ryan didn’t look at him. “David always wanted to be a firefighter. From when we were little, you know. I wanted to be a doctor, or maybe a paramedic, and he wanted to fight fires. When I went off to college, I went into pre-med. David skipped college and took the firefighters’ service exam in New York. He passed, he did the training, and joined a crew.”

Ten years ago in New York?
“Oh God,” John breathed. “9-11?”

Ryan gave him a twisted smile. “Nope. He would have been there. Lots of guys he knew were. But six months earlier, his fiancé got an offer to do a bit part in a sitcom in LA. He followed her out there, went to work for the LAFD. When 9-11 hit, that was the only scrap of good news in all the bad, that David wasn’t there, inside those towers coming down.” He blew out a breath. “The flags were still all at half-mast when we got the call.”

Ryan turned to look out the picture window, at the dim expanse of lawn and trees. His fingers were white on the edge of the counter. “It was a stupid little house fire, some idiot smoking in bed. The house had a basement. I mean, this was LA. How many houses out in California have basements? But this one did, and the teenage daughter had her room down there. The fire started in the night. She was supposed to be home in bed. No one knew she’d sneaked out to go be with her boyfriend.”

“Ryan.” John stepped closer, wanting to offer something.

“Davey and another guy went down after her. But of course they couldn’t find her. The place was shit built. The floor caved in. David was under it.”

Ryan was leaning on his arms, his back bent. John reached out a tentative hand and rubbed Ryan’s back, just the barest touch.

“I was in college, senior year. I had all these med-school applications spread out on my desk, waiting to be filled out. But I felt like…I don’t know…like other people were out there, working and dying to keep us safe, and I was looking at five more years hiding away in school. The LAFD didn’t have any openings, but San Diego did. I ripped up those school applications, dropped out and flew to the west coast for the funeral. And stayed there.”

John rubbed a little harder, slow circles over muscle tight as iron, and just listened.

“I liked being a firefighter. It was hard; it was important. The guys in my crew were like brothers, like a new family. Because my real family was shot to hell. Mom died just three months earlier. Which was maybe a blessing in disguise, because David was her baby, her favorite. Losing him would have devastated her. But Dad was a wreck. Andrew’s wife had had a miscarriage, and he was all wound up with her. Brent left the country, went to work in South America for a while. He said every 9-11 tribute made him think of David, who was just as dead and no one cared. He couldn’t take it.”

Ryan pulled in a long shaky sigh. “So I fought fires. And I was good at it. But something was always missing, and when…when I couldn’t do that anymore, I thought I’d give being a doctor one more shot. I’d finished the biology degree on the side, just to be done with it. I had the grades. But I was still lucky to get in anywhere. So now I’m a student again. And I never talk about David. Because it fucking hurts. Still. After ten years.” Ryan’s voice was getting rougher. “You’re older than me, John. Explain that to me. They say everything gets better with time. So why does it still hurt so bad to talk about him?”

“I’m not sure,” John said slowly. “I think, maybe, it’s partly because it
does
get better. You go along just fine, and you never think of them. You’re happy, life’s okay, and then when you do get reminded, it’s worse. Because you feel like you betrayed them. Like, how could you forget, how could you be okay, when they’re gone?”

Ryan froze under his hand, and then turned. Their eyes met. “Who did you lose, that makes you feel like that?”

John could have passed it off. A lot of people had died in his life. But only one that mattered that much. “My son,” he said quietly. “I lost my son.”

“But…”

“My first boy. Cynthia was pregnant when we got married. We were a little drunk on prom night, maybe a lot drunk. It was my first time. I think it was hers too. We screwed up. But it was okay because I was in love with her. And my dad still had money then, to help us out. But the baby came early. He was over four pounds, he had a chance. But he got a couple of infections and…” John’s throat closed. “He lived three weeks in the NICU. He never made it to his due date. The only time I got to hold him out of the incubator was after…” He tried again. “It’s not like your brother. I don’t even know what color his hair would have been but…”

“Shh,” Ryan said. Somehow it was Ryan’s hands on John’s arms now. “He was your son and you loved him and he died. We don’t need to compare. Did you name him?”

“Daniel.” John took a deep breath. He could do this. “He would be eighteen this year. And sometimes, when I look at Mark, when I hear that fucking Elton John song, it still hurts.”

And there they were, staring at each other. Ryan’s green eyes were bright, the dark lashes clumped from unshed tears. They were both breathing hard.

Ryan gave a short laugh. “God, we’re pathetic. What do we do now to work off all that? What are the traditional remedies? Cry, run, fight, fuck?”

“I don’t want to fight you,” John said. His vision had somehow tunneled in to those green eyes. Like nothing else in the world existed. Ryan was just looking back at him, not moving. Slowly John leaned forward and kissed the man.

It was meant to be just a touch of lips on lips. Hell, it wasn’t meant to
be
at all. He didn’t think. But his mouth found Ryan’s, and it was like fire rushing through him. And they swayed together, arms around each other, lips and tongues and warm, living breath. And then Ryan broke free and was across the room.

They stared at each other. Ryan’s chest was heaving as if he couldn’t catch his breath. And John couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking downward and yes, Ryan’s body had been just as interested as his own in what they had just done. Both of which scared the shit out of him.

“What the fuck was that?” Ryan demanded.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t even know why it happened. I swear, I’m not gay. I’ve never…”

“Me either.” Ryan sat heavily in his chair.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” God, he needed to fix this somehow. He was suddenly terrified that Ryan would leave. They’d been so good, so close, and he’d screwed it up. “I won’t touch you again. I promise. I’m so sorry. That was wrong.”

Ryan shook his head. “John. Stop.” He rubbed his forehead. “I can’t think about this right now. But it wasn’t all your fault. Maybe I’ve been…too close. I don’t know.” He looked up. “For a moment there, when you… I liked it.”

John took all his courage in hand, and said two words. “Me too.”

Ryan stood abruptly. “I need a shower. I have to get to class. I can’t… Later. We need to talk later.”

“You’re not…leaving?” John asked. He had to know. “Can I still give you a ride to campus?”

Ryan gave him a smile that was the ghost of his usual grin. “Door-to-door service, or two crowded city buses. Let me think. Yeah, I still want a ride.” He looked a little uncertain. “A silent ride?”

“I can do that,” John promised.

And it was only after Ryan walked out, and the water came on, that he remembered the wet hair. Ryan already had a shower this morning. John pressed his fingertips to his skull to not think about Ryan up there under the water. To somehow exorcise the stranger who had taken up residence in his head.

Ryan never got much out of embryology lecture, even on a good day. For one thing, it was right after lunch. The professor turned off the house lights and showed an interminable series of slides. Each differed from the one before by a tiny amount. The man’s voice droned on.

For another, he just couldn’t get into the subject. Sure, knowing how a baby developed might help explain certain birth defects. But locating the exact formation of the branchial arches in an embryonic chicken? Not so much. His classmates obviously shared his opinion, since sometimes the only thing keeping him awake was how loud the guy in the next seat over was snoring.

Usually he could lean back, let enough soak in to pass the class, let his mind drift. But today his mind was like a fucking arrow. Every time he let loose of it, it aimed straight back at that morning and John.

He was going to have to sit down with the man and say…something. So maybe he should figure out what. Because he didn’t want to move out. He liked John, liked living in the house. It was almost like being back in the fire station. You had someone around to talk to, share a meal with, but you didn’t have to cater to them if you weren’t in the mood. No one got huffy if you spent the meal with your nose in a book. But they were there to share the funny parts with, to share the chores with, to appreciate it if you made the coffee or took out the trash.

Actually it was better than the fire station. That place was a bit high on testosterone and adrenaline, and low on social graces. When you were working, the guys were closer than brothers. When you weren’t, well, they were still like brothers. Brothers who might prank you by putting your cell number on an Internet dating service, or borrow your last clean shirt. You could never quite let down your guard.

John wasn’t like that. Ryan felt like an equal, just two grown-ups living in the house. Even though John was bigger and older and owned the place, he never gave orders or threw his weight around. If something needed to be done, he’d ask Ryan if he’d mind catching it. Or more likely do it himself. John really did more than his share.

And he was quiet, restful to be around. Considering the amount of coffee and Mountain Dew the guy put away, he should have been a raging maniac. But somehow despite the amount of caffeine in his bloodstream, John managed to be solid and dependable. Paradoxical drug reaction, maybe? It was like you could lean on him and never fall.
And wasn’t that just the thing that got you babbling about David, which got you into this mess.

So he needed to figure out what to say, to get them back on solid footing. Because he sure wasn’t gay, and he didn’t think John was either. Every time they were out, if one of them noticed a hot body, it was a girl. A woman—John didn’t seriously look at anyone under thirty. But he
had
looked at some of the older ones. And he could have had any of them. The guy might not be a twenty-something underwear model, but he had the kind of face that would just keep getting more handsome as he got older. Those light smile lines just accented his craggy features. He’d be drawing women like flies when he was sixty. John was in great shape too. All those muscles, everything a woman would go for.

So why would the man be interested in Ryan? He wondered if he somehow gave off some kind of gay vibe. He didn’t think so. Sure, men had come on to him a couple of times when he was younger. But not in a serious way. That happened to all men if they weren’t ugly, right? And he’d never thought twice about another man.

He’d had his pick of the firehouse groupies, the girls who hung around in the hopes of picking up a man in uniform. He’d learned early to tell the difference between the ones looking for another badge to hang on their wall, and the ones who wanted to become Mrs. Firefighter. The latter he left strictly alone. The former, well, if both people understood it was only sex from the start, where was the harm in scratching an itch?

And he liked sex. He didn’t obsess over it, like some of the guys, but he liked it fine. And the women seemed to have no complaints. He’d refined his skills over the years, from the shy nerd he’d been in high school. He didn’t think he’d ever left a woman unsatisfied. Although really, how could you be sure? A woman could fake it. A little shaking and moaning and who would know? Now a man was different. If you were having sex with a man, using your mouth on him or whatever, there would be no hiding whether he really liked it. It would all be right there.
Shit!

Ryan bit his tongue, hard. John had him all messed up. He was so not thinking about that.
Conversation. You were plotting your conversation.

Right. So he would sit down with the man and he’d say,
John.
And then he’d say…um. Yeah, he probably
would
sit there with his mouth open saying um, if he didn’t figure this out. Start again.

He’d say,
John, I really like you as a friend.
Because he did. Already more than any other guy he’d hung with since Corey moved away in fifth grade.
John, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I like living with you.
No.
I like living in your house, and I hope we can go back to how things were. I want to stay friends. I’m just not interested in anything else, okay?
No, drop the okay. Because he had to be firm, cut this off, wherever it was coming from.
We got kind of emotional, and it’s no one’s fault, and I want to stay friends.
There, that would do it. And then John would agree that yeah, they got carried away with some weird vibe and let’s order pizza, and they’d be good. Ryan hoped.