The Rebuilding Year (20 page)

John took a smack at Ryan’s arm, but his expression was grateful. “Trying to have a serious conversation here, Ry.”

“Well, I think we need some serious dinner.” Ryan pulled himself to his feet. He figured the emotional level needed to ratchet down a little. “Mark, if you’re gonna freeload here, you can help wash some salad greens. I figured I’d make pasta. John, you have half of the campus under your fingernails. Go shower.”

John blinked up at him.

“Shoo.” Ryan flapped a hand at him. “You’re not going to solve everything in the next five minutes, so get clean, get fed, and look at this again after dinner. Right, Mark?”

“Okay.” The boy went over to the fridge and began pulling out salad fixings. Ryan figured he was hiding his face in the open door. Which was fine, for now.

Reluctantly, John headed for the door. “I should call Cynthia back.”

“After dinner,” Ryan said firmly. “If you don’t make it back down before the spaghetti is cooked, you can eat yours cold. Go.” His eyes met John’s, and he gave the man his best supportive smile, since a hug would clearly be too much. How long would it be before he could give the man anything more than a smile? Ryan forced himself to turn away and get down the big stockpot. “Mark,” he said. “Before you start washing that stuff, why don’t you put the small table away and get out the big one. If it’s going to be three of us here, we’ll need the space.”

That evening, John hesitated at the door to Ryan’s room. It was closed. Did that mean he should keep out? Was Ryan mad at him? From down the hall, Mark’s fast, angry guitar licks echoed. John’s head throbbed like a drum, and he just needed…he needed. He knocked lightly.

Ry pulled the door open. “Hey.” His smile was gentle and friendly. Maybe he wasn’t angry. He grabbed John’s arm. “Get in here.”

As soon as the door closed, he kissed John. But it was more sweet than hot. Ryan’s thumb brushed over his forehead, soothing him. “You look like hell.”

“Headache,” he admitted.

“Did you take something or are you trying to be a martyr?”

“Took some. Hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“Come sit down.” Ryan led him to the bed and pushed him onto it. John didn’t have the will to resist, but he scooted back until he was sitting up against the wall.

“Things didn’t go well with Cynthia, huh?” Ryan sat beside him, their hips touching.

“Not particularly.” She had accused him of brainwashing their son, of bribing, of coddling, anything to get Mark away from her. He had snapped and accused her of allowing her new husband to psychologically abuse the boy. You might say it hadn’t gone well. “She would have sicced the law on me, except that Mark told her flat out that if she forced him home he’d just run again. And maybe not to me.”

Ryan rubbed a hand on his arm. “That’s scary.”

“Yes.”

“So he’s staying with us?”

“For now.” John hesitated, unsure where to start. “I guess I sympathize more now about you not telling your brother about us,” he offered tentatively.

“This isn’t the same thing.”

“No. But, Ry, I can’t tell him. Not now.”

“Of course not.” Ryan sounded surprised. “That’s what I meant. This isn’t just you being reluctant to let someone know about us. He needs you to be his safe, familiar dad right now. I get that.”

“You do?”

“Idiot. The last thing that kid needs tonight is to deal with finding out his dad is gay, or bi, or whatever the hell we are.”

“I’m scared that if he doesn’t trust me, if he thinks I’ve been lying to him about important stuff right now, he’s going to take off. And God knows where he’d go.”

“John.” Ryan cupped his cheek and turned their faces together. His lips brushed John’s softly. “I moved back into this room because he’s a troubled fifteen-year-old boy, and I’m thirty and settled. I can wait while he gets his life together.” He kissed John again, harder. “Not that I’ll like it. But we’re back to being roommates
without
benefits, until you think he’s ready.”

John pressed his forehead into Ryan’s neck, inhaling his scent. “God, that bed’s going to seem empty without you. And I do want to tell him. I want us to be out in the open, to everyone. But…it could be a while.”

“If he stays, he’ll surely be in school sometimes. Or at the movies. Or something.”

“It’s not the sex I’m thinking about,” John said. “Or not only. It’s all the little stuff, day to day. It was just starting to feel right, like natural. I don’t want to give up kissing you over coffee in the morning. But I don’t want him to see.”

“Considering that half the time it ended with one of us on our knees in the kitchen,” Ryan teased gently, “we’d better take a pass.”

“I can’t send him home.”

“I don’t want you to,” Ryan told him firmly. “Johnny, I like the kid and he’s your son. If he’s that miserable at home, he should stay here with us. Hell, I always wanted kids. Anyway, it’s not forever. In three years, he’ll be off to college.”

“I just want to get through the next three days.”

“One day at a time, baby.” Ryan rubbed his thigh reassuringly. “Tonight he’s here, he’s safe, and warm and fed. Tomorrow, we’ll go on from there.”

John leaned his head back against the wall. “I’m just really glad that Cynthia
didn’t
know he was gone until I called her. Can you imagine going through the last two days,
knowing
the kid was out there in the wind somewhere?”

“No what-ifs,” Ryan said firmly. “We go on from here. What do you want to do with him tomorrow?”

“He can tag along to work with me,” John decided. “Earn his keep with some shoveling.”

“I’ve got a jacket in the closet he can borrow,” Ryan offered. John raised an eyebrow. “He came with just a backpack, no gloves, no coat.”

“Shit, I didn’t notice.” What kind of father didn’t notice that his kid had no winter coat in February? A sharp pain in his thigh made him yelp. Ryan had pinched him! “Hey, what was that for?”

“No wallowing. You’re a good dad and you didn’t notice because he was indoors when you got home. Quit blaming yourself for mistakes you didn’t make. There’ll be enough real mistakes to go around.”

“No doubt. I haven’t been a full-time father since he was ten.”

“Ten is nothing like fifteen. Maybe we just have to start from scratch.”

“We?” John liked the sound of that. It didn’t look so insurmountable if he could share the job.

“Sure. I’ll help as much as he’ll let me. Sometimes a kid talks better to someone who’s not their real parent.”

John thought about people who were not the real parents. Like stepfathers. He was worried about Torey. He’d insisted Cynthia let him talk to his daughter. She had sounded subdued, but all right. But how could you tell from two thousand miles away? Anything could have been happening and he wouldn’t know it.

“Do you think something happened he’s not talking about?” Ryan asked, echoing his thoughts.

“How can I tell? If that bastard did do something to Mark, I’m going to—” Ryan silenced him with a hard kiss.

“We focus on taking care of Mark himself first. Don’t borrow trouble.”

“Right.” To distract himself, he looked around the room. Ryan’s clothes had mostly still been in there, although they had slowly been migrating piece by piece into his room. But he recognized the robe that had hung on his door yesterday, the novel from the nightstand. The bookcase was overflowing. “This room is really small.”

Ryan laughed, and kissed him, hot and dirty. “Now that’s just pathetic, if you’re feeling guilty because I have to stay in my tiny, dank, dingy little room all by myself.”

“You insulting my house?”

Ryan’s eye held a wealth of heat. “Go back to your own master bedroom, big man, and go to sleep on your nice, big, soft bed, while I lie here cramped and uncomfortable.”

“Only one reason you’ll be uncomfortable.” Against his will, John’s eyes tracked downward, and yes, that did look uncomfortable.

Ryan shoved him over and smacked his ass firmly. “Git. Before we forget our resolution.” He cocked an ear toward the music in the hallway. “I think that’s the end of the song.”

Right.
It was really hard to walk away from Ryan when he had that glow in his eyes and the growl in his voice. But John went to the door and let himself out.

“Sleep well. Don’t let…anything bite.” Ryan’s voice held a shiver of laughter. John closed the door, and adjusted his pants. Two doors down the hall, Mark’s guitar had fallen silent. His door was shut, and when John gave the handle a surreptitious turn, it was locked.

He knocked lightly. “Hey, Mark?”

After a moment there was a begrudging, “Yeah?” from inside.

“You need anything?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He hesitated.
You’re the dad here. Don’t wimp out.
“House rules, Son. No loud music after ten p.m. Ryan’s up at six thirty. There’s breakfast if you want some. We leave for the campus at seven thirty. Dress warmly tomorrow. You can come with me and earn your keep.”

A hesitation and then, “Can’t I just stay here? I’m pretty tired.”

He probably was, but instinct said not to leave him alone to brood. “Get a good night’s sleep then. If you don’t want breakfast, you can get up just early enough to be dressed for seven thirty.”

He held his breath, because really, what would he do if Mark said no? But eventually he heard some kind of affirmative grunt. At least he would assume it was affirmative. “Good. Sleep well, Son,” he said firmly.

His room was warm and quiet. The Tylenol was kicking in, and his head just ached mildly. He went over to the window and looked out. The field behind the house was dark. The light from his window and Ryan’s dusted the nearby lawn, making the fresh snow glisten. His guys had gotten a start on clearing the campus paths today, but enough white stuff had fallen over the weekend to keep his two winter crewmen busy. He’d be able to give Mark some exercise. Physical work was good to take the mind off one’s troubles.

And off other things too, which was why he’d be right out there with them shoveling tomorrow. As his head eased, he became more aware of his body. His ass was a little sore. Ryan had been wild last night, dominating and impatient and passionate. John wasn’t complaining. Being with Ryan was already way out beyond anything he had done with Cynthia. It was sex ramped up to an eleven, when Cynthia had been lucky to be a five. He wondered suddenly if this was what she had found with Brandon. If so, her leaving was easier to understand.

Looking back, he thought his love for her had been more of an infatuation. They had married so young. He had been obsessed with her for years, and then paralyzed with delight when she finally let him have her. And then there was the baby. He had loved her being pregnant. Loved the thought of a child of his growing inside her, adored the children when they were born. But he had never been as easy and as close with Cynthia as he already was with Ryan.

And now she was carrying another man’s child. And the only thing he felt was a mild irritation. He had been crazy jealous when she first told him about Brandon, and asked for the divorce. But maybe it had been more because this intruder was getting the life John had built for himself, wife, children, house and all, and less because the man was sleeping with Cynthia.

Now if
Ryan
ever dated someone else… A rush of heat swept over him. Well, he’d just better not. The barest thought of Ryan naked in a bed had him hard and he slid a hand into his pocket, brushing himself lightly through the fabric.
Ryan’s just down the hall. Children sleep soundly.
But he knew he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t take the chance of Mark hearing or seeing something. Not until he could make the boy understand.

He tried out phrases in his mind.
I’m in love with Ryan. I’m sleeping with another man, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t love your mother. I’m gay.
He hadn’t said that out loud yet, but he knew it was true. Ryan might still be pussyfooting around the word, talking about having sex with a man like it was a different thing. And hell, maybe it was for Ryan. He couldn’t be certain how the other man felt. But he was gay. Having another man’s mouth on his, another man’s dick in his hand or in his ass was just plain right. Loving another man satisfied him at a level that loving a woman never had. It fit. He was gay. He just didn’t know how he was going to tell that to his fifteen-year-old son.
 

Chapter Twelve

The cab of his pickup truck was crowded with the three of them the next morning. Mark was squeezed into the middle seat, drowning in Ryan’s parka. Ryan, riding shotgun, looked tired. John wondered if the man had slept as badly as he had.

“I’ve been thinking about buying a car,” Ryan said, breaking miles of silence. “I was being all economical and ecological and other virtues, riding the bus home. But I’m a lot less virtuous now that the temperature gets down near zero.”

“You were never virtuous,” John quipped, and then bit his tongue.

Ryan gave him a mock glare and then whined, “Maaark, your dad’s picking on me.”

Mark snorted. “How old are you guys anyway?”

“Old enough to know better but not old enough to care,” Ryan said.