by Cole McCade
“O-oh,” Chris said faintly. “I didn’t know you could do things like that. I guess... I guess we’re not very good at not having money.”
Rian quirked his lips. “Heaven forbid you learn how to live as a commoner.”
Chris let out a choked, hiccupping laugh, wiping the tears off his lashes with his fingertips. “I want that,” he admitted softly. “I wanna be normal. I don’t care if people know we’re not rich anymore. But I don’t want to let my parents down. They want me to graduate from here, and I... I want to do that.”
“Then we’ll do our best to help you,” Rian promised, curling his hand tighter around Chris’s; Chris’s fingers twitched weakly, then grasped his. “But you and your parents both need to learn from this. If either of you had asked, had just reached out, you could have been spared all of this and they wouldn’t have had to worry, either. You’re a good kid—but you’re only sixteen. You don’t need to keep these kinds of secrets. Doing that only makes more trouble than it saves.”
“Promise us,” Damon murmured.
Chris nodded quickly, almost desperately—but he was smiling, that cloud of misery lifting even if his smile was shy, unsteady. “I... I p-promise. Really. I will.” He paused, then, giving Rian a tentative look. “But, um... Mr. Falwell...?”
Rian smiled again and squeezed his hand. “Yes? Whatever you want to say, it’s all right.”
“I...um...” Chris winced. “I... I know you like the stuff I do in art class...but... I don’t...really wanna do art, either. It’s okay, but... I don’t think it’s my thing. Though I’ll finish my semester project! I—I just...”
Blinking, Rian just looked at Chris—then couldn’t help laughing, looking away and tucking his hair behind his ear. “Well. There went my ego, thinking you preferred my class to football. You really are talented, too...but no hard feelings, Chris. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. This isn’t about me. It’s about what you want.”
And Rian didn’t need to hold on to that, to try to control that.
As long as Chris was happy.
“That’s just it,” Chris said shyly. “I... I know I’m good at it. And at football. That’s why I don’t want to do them. What’s the point if I don’t have to try? If it’s so easy it doesn’t feel like anything?”
That question hit so hard Rian couldn’t help how his gaze flew to Damon, his heart struck and quivering—and found Damon looking back at him with the same stricken gaze, unspoken things trembling in the silent connection between them.
If it’s so easy it doesn’t feel like anything.
This had never been easy.
Learning how to talk to each other. Learning how to listen. Learning how to work together, instead of at cross purposes.
But God...
It was starting to feel like everything.
At Chris’s uncertain sound, though, Rian shook himself, turning his attention back to the boy. “What do you want to do, then?”
“I...” Chris flushed, ducking his head. “I want to write. Maybe like, shoot for a creative writing major in college. And maybe try for AP English next year.”
Damon grinned wryly, his eyes crinkling bright with affection. “I’ve seen your scores in English,” he teased gently. “You might get As for completion...but getting up to AP levels is gonna take a lot of work.” His knuckles stood out as he lightly shook Chris’s shoulder in a companionable grip. “But I know damned well you can do it.”
“That’s just it,” Chris said breathlessly. “I’m not good at it. I know I’m not good at it. Like, grammar, sure. But like, I gotta try. And that’s why I want to. Because I want to be good. Without it being easy.”
Something sweet softened inside Rian, and he watched both of them fondly. “Then you can do that,” he murmured. “And I’m so proud of you for wanting to.”
“He’s damned right,” Damon said. “You got a good head on you. You really are a good kid. And I think you can do anything you set out to.”
Chris’s eyes widened, hope lighting in them. “Y-you really think so?”
“Hell yes,” Damon said firmly.
They only had a moment’s warning—a sniffle, Chris’s mouth crumpling up—before he burst into tears again. But this time he was smiling, wet globules running down his face, breaths coming in great heaving gasps as he grappled at Rian’s hand and Damon’s wrist.
“Th-thank you,” he rasped out. “I...it’s...it’s gonna be okay? It’s really gonna be okay?”
“It is,” Rian said—then let himself be pulled in as Damon stood.
And gathered them both into a firm hug.
Rian allowed himself to be enveloped, held in close with Chris, and hung on to that feeling of family for just a few moments longer. Just until Chris started to fall still and quiet; just until the tension in the boy began to ease. But even if he knew this was for Chris...
Rian couldn’t help loving it, too.
Feeling a part of something bigger.
A part of something with Damon.
And he was reluctant to part, but it had to happen. It was late, and they needed to sort out so many things still, and get things moving for Chris’s sake. So when they broke apart...it was with smiles, quiet promises. Assurances that Chris should and would rest, and take his time getting better; that they’d make sure he got his homework in the infirmary. Vows that they would fill in Principal Chambers and Assistant Principal Walden so Chris could make up his missed assignments, and get things started with applying for financial aid. Chris’s embarrassed mumbles about getting his parents to actually pick up the phone.
And then they were outside.
Less by choice and more because Nurse Flanaghan said Chris had had quite enough for one night, and evicted them into the hallway with the door closed firmly in their wake.
Rian stood there numbly for several seconds, just blinking. “Uh.”
Damon looked over his shoulder at the closed infirmary door, wide-eyed. “...did he just pick me up and bodily remove me from the room?”
“It...felt like it.” Then Rian laughed, pressing his face into his palms. “Oh my God. Oh my God, I feel like...like...”
“Like we just got a reprieve on a death sentence,” Damon said, then let out a laugh of his own, before groaning and raking his hair back, glossy black looping between his fingers. “I don’t know. I don’t know, man. But fuck, it feels good to finally sort this out.”
“And to know Chris is going to be fine.”
“Fuck, I wish—well, wishing won’t fix shit.” Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fucking kids. This didn’t have to go this far, but...”
“They do that. Try to fix things themselves and then just make a bigger mess.” Rian peeked up at Damon with a smile. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, his chest feeling like it was full of too much air and he was going to float away on it, this happy sailing balloon of Rian. “Not like I know what that feels like.”
Damon lifted his head, thoughtful brown eyes drifting to Rian, nearly black in the night-locked shadows of the hall. “Seems like maybe you could do with a little talking, too.”
“I...yeah.” Rian darted his tongue over his lips, his racing heart giving a little twist. “We should—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish, as his phone rang in his back pocket. He sighed, trailing into a groan. “Timing,” he muttered, but he couldn’t risk missing it, when it might just be Chris’s parents calling back at an opportune time. So he fished it out, thumb hovering over the answer button...only to freeze as he saw the number on the screen.
585 area code.
Rochester.
“Wrong parents,” he muttered, his flittering heart going still, clutching into a small motionless anxious knot.
“You gonna answer that?” Damon asked softly.
“Can’t tell Chris not to hid
e his problems if I hide from mine, right?” Rian whispered, but his throat was tight, closing in on itself, and he looked up at Damon, lower lip trembling. “Hold my hand?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Damon said—and then Rian was suddenly in Damon’s arms again, pulled against his chest. Rian’s heart refused to beat, but Damon’s beat steady and firm enough for them both, and Rian hid himself against Damon’s warmth, clutching at him with his free hand.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and Damon kissed the top of his head.
“Answer it. It’ll be okay.”
God, he hoped Damon was right.
So Rian tapped the call right before it went to voicemail, catching it at the last second, his stomach tightening as he lifted it to his ear. “Hello...?”
“The shock may be too much for my heart,” his mother lilted pleasantly. “He actually answers the phone.”
He smiled faintly. “Sorry. I’ve... I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to check your voicemail?”
Wincing, Rian closed his eyes and thudded his forehead to Damon’s chest; Damon answered by tightening those strong, protective arms around him, warm hands smoothing down his arms.
“...avoiding my voicemail,” he admitted, and outright flinched at the hurt note in his mother’s voice.
“Why, dear?”
“The last time we talked...” Rian bit his lip. “You asked when I was coming home. If I was still working at ‘that place,’ and when I was coming home.”
“Oh,” his mother said faintly. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“I mean you said when, not if,” Rian said. “And you’ve been acting like you just don’t understand why I’d want to be on my own instead of letting you make my whole life easy. Like it was just...like I’d get tired of this silly little experiment and come running back. And I don’t want to. I like it here. I like working, I like... I like the life I have.” His fingers tightened, clenching in the front of Damon’s shirt. “But you never even asked me that. You just assumed I wouldn’t be fine out here on my own. And you made me feel so...so small, when you did it.”
Silence, on the other end of the line, then, “...have you really not answered the phone for nearly eight months because I said something so careless?”
“I...yes...?”
“Oh, Rian. Dearest, I’m so sorry.” His mother sighed. “I thought if you wanted to stay, you’d simply say so. I’ve never thought you wouldn’t be all right. You’re delicate, but resilient. You always have been. I’ve been worried, of course. A mother does worry. But I never meant to hurt you with that worry, and I wish you’d said something sooner so I could apologize. Really, my love...if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”
Rian flushed and tried to nearly melt into Damon, as if he could merge with him by osmosis and just hide. “Then...then why have you kept calling?”
“If you’d listen to your voicemail, you’d know that,” she answered with tart humor. “One, you’re my son, and I don’t think it’s particularly unreasonable or unbelievable that your mother would like to know you’re alive. Two, your father’s birthday is next month, and he would like to see you before he’s too much older. Can you come?”
“Oh, God.” Rian groaned. He really was as bad as Chris—making something out of nothing, taking too much on himself and just...assuming too much.
And he really needed to stop.
But right now he didn’t want to stop smiling, as he settled closer in Damon’s arms. “I can probably make it, if it’s on a weekend or during a holiday break. And maybe...there’s someone I’d like to bring home for you to meet.”
Chapter Twenty
Damon listened while Rian finished talking with his mother—and just enjoyed the calm, the quiet, of Rian taking shelter in his arms.
Felt like Rian damned well belonged there.
Felt like their rough edges had sanded smooth, and right now...
Right now, they just fit.
And after Rian finished, hung up his phone, and slipped it into his pocket...they stayed. For long, lingering moments they stayed, Rian’s arms curled between them, his breaths warm through Damon’s shirt as Rian rested his head to Damon’s shoulder.
Hell of a day.
Hell of a day.
Too many ups, too many downs, but right now he was pretty fucking happy about ending on a pretty even keel of wordless contentment.
He nuzzled into Rian’s hair and murmured into the quiet. “That sounded like it went okay.”
“Yeah.” Rian let out an amused sigh. “I’m just...no better than the kids, sometimes. I hid from something that didn’t have to be a problem.”
“So your parents aren’t...?”
“They’re happy as long as I’m happy.”
“Are you?” Damon asked. “Happy here.”
Rian drew back, looking up at him with his pale, delicate face tilted up so sweetly, and offered Damon a smile so genuine, so openly heartfelt that Damon felt like he was seeing Rian for the very first time.
“More and more every day,” Rian whispered.
Damon threaded his fingers into Rian’s hair, cupping his hand against his smooth cheek, and nearly groaned with pleasure as Rian leaned into his touch, rubbing his jaw to the heel of Damon’s palm. “Ri,” he murmured. “Can we talk?”
“We should.” Voice soft, so soft, as if they’d just...forgotten how to argue with each other, and Rian brushed his lips to Damon’s palm, tingling-smooth and silken, hazel eyes glowing as he looked up at him—then slowly drew back, lacing his fingers into Damon’s. “Walk with me?” he entreated, and drew on Damon’s hand. “I want to show you something.”
Damon only nodded, and fell into step with Rian.
He didn’t need to speak.
Right now...
Just being with Rian was enough.
Their arms brushed lightly, their fingers remaining intertwined as Rian led him down the quiet and ethereal corridors, gray wood turned to pale-shimmering lavender in the moonlight—and then out. The faint sound of the security code on the front door, the creak of the hinges, the heavy groan of the great oaken double doors of the school falling shut...and then they were on the winding road leading down the hill, walking together beneath the bower of climbing, twisting birch trees, and every moment was a moment Damon took into himself.
Walking with Rian beneath the sky, the trees, and needing nothing else but this:
The scent of cool evening, and Rian’s hand clasped close.
He lifted his head to take in his surroundings, though, as Rian stepped off the paved road and into the trees; the fresh-fallen leaves crunched underfoot, and Damon reached ahead of them to push aside branches and the boughs of bushes that lightly scratched their browning foliage against his arms as he followed where Rian led, curiosity building inside him; curiosity and a sense of silent peace, as now and then he glanced over at Rian and took in the elfin line of his features, the way the shadows caught in the hollows of his eyes, the parting of his lips, the way his hair trailed behind him, the way now and then the night caught in his eyes to turn them into fireflies.
But he found his gaze drawn from Rian to the sight before him as the trees parted before them into a clearing, one where in the center of the showers of leaves and yellowing grass...
A single towering tree stood, its bark burnt away by what looked like a long-ago lightning strike to leave only pale, luminous-white wood and a blackened, charred heart at the fork of it, scorched down to the core and yet...
He thought the tree was still alive.
Still alive, and still growing ever upward, its naked branches clutching for the sky.
Rian drifted to a halt, and his stillness stopped Damon, and together they stood and looked at that lightning-split tree with its exposed inner gnarls, naked and strange and lovely.
But fina
lly Rian broke the silence, his fingers tightening on Damon’s.
“This tree...” He trailed off, his eyes lidding as he looked up, gazing high into the branches. “It made me think of you.” His lips quirked faintly. “Lightning-struck until your heart’s split open, but you never stop reaching for something more. I’ve been trying to paint it, but every shape...” He glanced at Damon sidelong, shy and sweet through the spidering spray of his lashes, glimmers of gold sparks. “You’re in every line of it. The way your body moves, the way your arms stretch. Every angle and shadow of you somehow became part of that painting.” With every word he spoke, his blush melted over his cheeks, across his nose, up to his ears, down to his throat, as if he was a sunrise in the shape of a man. “It’s strange how something creeps in when you don’t even realize it’s coming, until suddenly it’s there and just...part of you.”
Damon let his gaze drift over the lines of Rian’s face, the tentative hopefulness in his eyes, the way this moment seemed to tremble as breathlessly as Rian’s lashes.
“What’re you trying to tell me, Ri?” he whispered.
“I’m saying...” Rian bit his lip. “Somehow you just...you got inside me. And in all this push and pull and conflict between us, it’s like when the wounds healed over they sealed you inside me until you’re just...there. And you feel right, as long as you’re there...but it would hurt to try to cut you out.”
Those compelling eyes, those soft words, seemed to ask Damon for something—something deep, something fragile, something that was as hidden and personal as the heart of this tree that had been cut open...and for a moment, just a moment, Damon wanted to pull back. To shut down, to stop talking, to not risk that when he knew how the hell he and Rian clashed and fought and hurt each other, except...
Catching a breath, he looked away from Rian, letting his gaze be captured by the tree once more, turning his thoughts over.
But not letting go of Rian’s hand.
Because all those wounds were as much his fault as Rian’s.
The way he locked up inside himself, and wouldn’t let anyone else in.
Because letting them in meant letting them close enough to hurt.