by RJ Scott
“Always. It’s always incredible with you.” He rolled his head to kiss my curls. “My dad and mom…”
I held my breath.
“They took me in. We talked. It was, uhm, it was nothing as…… I’d thought or was expecting. It was good.”
Tears welled, but I willed them away. “I’m so happy. So, so happy!” I kissed his chest, his side, and then I buried my face in his armpit and kissed him there. He snorted at the ticklish brush of lips to pit hair, tugging me away from that tender area with a firm but gentle hand on my arm. I snuggled into his side, inhaling the trace of soap on his skin that mingled with the smell of sex.
“Yeah, it’s good. I think it’s going to work out. They’re moving, though. I didn’t know why that kind of shocked me, but I get it. The house is too big and too full of memories.”
“Mm, I understand that.” I thought of Jay-Jay’s mom and dad, alone in that big house with nothing but recollections of their son and a life they no longer had. “I wish people we love didn’t have to die. I miss Jay-Jay so much at times. You would have liked him. He was brilliant and funny and chivalrous. Always standing up to bullies for me, helping me through the dank, disgusting pit that’s high school. He was a good friend who deserved a much longer life.”
“I know I would have liked him because he loved and shielded you.” Another kiss to his curls. I sighed dreamily, sinking into his side, the familiar rousing strains of Winter fading as sleep crept up on me. “What were you painting?”
“Storm, gods, upheaval, strife. I was worried about you.”
“You can stop worrying, babe. It’s all going to be okay.”
I drifted off in his arms, the storm having passed.
The not worrying about things lasted exactly two days. Handing in my thesis and my senior independent work painting—which turned out to be God’s Wrath, the storm painting that was still damp to the touch in some places—set off anxiety that was compounded as final exams began a mere ten days later. I studied, cried, studied, curled into a ball in Scott’s arms, and simpered into his throat for a solid week. The one time we ran into the guys, the hockey guys that is, as I had no guys, Ryker looked exhausted, and Jacob appeared to have been tossed into a hay baler.
“My brain is toast,” the big farmer moaned, his forehead dropping to the table at the The Aviary that had become our hangout over the semester. I reached over and patted his head.
“I can sympathize,” I said, then lifted a cup of decaf blueberry tea to my lips. Mimi had sent it to us because I was known to get antsy—her words not mine. Ryker and Scott and Ben just stared at us, wide-eyed, knowing that they were all next in line to feel the senior crush.
Just as the insanity of finals ended, my landlord called to tell me that he was selling the house and that he’d be by on Saturday with a couple who wanted to invest. That set off a whole new round of stress that nothing, not Mimi’s blueberry tea or Scott’s neck rubs, could alleviate. We rushed around cleaning, fretting all the while because we had nowhere to go once classes were done for the summer.
“If we’d known this earlier, I could have asked my folks to let us live in the pool house,” Scott said the morning the potential buyers and my landlord were due to arrive. The house smelled good, of lemons, and it was as clean as we could get it. There were things that showed wear and tear. Fresh paint was needed in several rooms, and the carpet on the stairs was worn bare in spots, but that was up to the new owners, not us as renters. “But they’re moving into a condo, and there’s no extra room.”
“No, no, it’s it’s fine.” I dusted off the TV for the tenth time in five minutes. “if push comes to shove, we’ll move in with Mimi and Mom. I hate to do that but—”
The front door opened, and I bit down on my lower lip. Scott walked over to me, looped an arm around my neck, and pulled me close.
“Everything will be okay,” he whispered as Mr. Binkes, my elderly landlord, stepped into view, his bald head as shiny as ever.
“Oh, here they are,” Mr. Binkes said with a toothless smile and tottered into the living room, two big men walking in behind him. Scott made a choking sound. I blinked up at him, worried that he was having some sort of fit, given the clicking sounds he was making. “This is—”
“Scott and Hayne, yes, we’ve heard a lot about you two,” the older man said and offered his hand to Scott. I wrinkled my nose in confusion. Scott gabbled and grinned as he shook the hand of the big blond man, then moved to clasp hands with a dark-haired guy around my age. “Ryker was the one who told us about your housing situation.”
“Uhm?” I weakly said, hoping for some clarification of things.
“Oh, these are Jared Madsen and Tennant Rowe,” Scott said, then looked at me as if that were all the information I needed. I raised a brow. “Ryker’s father and future stepdad. They play hockey for the Railers. Hayne, dude, we talk about Ten all the time.”
“No, hey, it’s cool. Nice to meet someone who’s not looking for an autograph,” the young man, Tennant, said, then offered me his hand. It was huge, but then again most of the hockey players I’d gotten to know had massive mitts.
Neither one of them seemed like big-name sports stars. There was no ostentatious jewelry to be seen, just slim bands on their ring fingers. They wore super casual jeans, T-shirts and jackets. Pricey sneakers on Tennant Rowe’s feet, though.
“We’re looking to diversify some cash before we get married, so a rental property near campus for Ryker sounded like a good investment. Will you two be staying here over the summer? If we buy, we’ll need someone to take care of the place until fall when Ryker moves in. He’s expressed some concern about living alone without Jacob here and said something about you two probably renting the attic come Fall…”
Ryker’s dads were trying to make him less lonely come fall. I’m convinced that was something that my mom or Mimi would’ve done if they’d had money to diversify.
“We… uhm… sure. Yes. We’d love to stay!” I replied in a voice a pinch too high for human ears. “I mean yes, we’d love to be house sitters over the summer.”
Jared nodded, Ten smiled, and Mr. Binkes led them off to explore the rest of the house.
“See,” Scott said, pressing a kiss to my lips. “I told you things were going to work out.”
“I guess so,” I replied, then grimaced when someone turned on the radio in the kitchen and Waltz of the Flowers blared to life. Scott laughed into my hair, spun me around, and led me through a horrible waltz where we stumbled and stepped on each other’s feet until the volume was lowered and Tennant Rowe was yelling out apologies for cranking up the Mozart jams.
“It’s not Mozart,” I began to shout back, but Scott cut that off with a brisk kiss.
“He doesn’t really care, babe.”
I started to say that people should care if a song was written by Mozart or Tchaikovsky, but he just kept kissing snobby classical music me into submission until I stopped talking and hung off him and licked back into his sweet, hot mouth.
That was how the landlord and Misters Madsen and Rowe found us when they returned to check the thermostat in the living room. Me draped over Scott’s arm as he sucked on my tongue.
Face feeling as red as an apple, I hid behind Scott for the rest of the tour. As soon as the door shut on the back of my landlord, Scott chased me up to the attic, pinned me to the bed, and kissed me all over several times, making me squeal, groan, and then howl in pleasure.
Maybe things would work out after all…
Epilogue
Scott
Luke’s birthday is always a bad day. He would have turned twenty-six this year, and maybe by now he’d be out there living the dream, playing in the big leagues. He could have been a dad by now, or a bachelor with a string of girls on his arm. He could have been on television, interviewed, a whole mess of fans wanting to know him.
I think that was the hardest part of today, listing all the possibilities and knowing he would never see any of them happ
en.
Hayne came with me to the cemetery, holding my hand and only dropping it when he saw my parents were already there.
“I’ll stay here,” he murmured and stopped walking. I only took a single step before I stopped and extended my hand to him.
“I want you to be with me, if that’s okay.”
“Really?” he peeked past me at where my parents stood, and bit his lip. “Does that seem right?”
I wasn’t sure if there was anything in this world that could be more right than us holding hands and sharing time with Mom, Dad, and Luke. I tugged him to get him to come with me, and finally he acquiesced, staying close to my side and staying super quiet.
Luke was buried in a serene place, a corner of the graveyard under the canopy of a tree that dropped golden leaves every fall to keep him warm and brightened his sky every spring with emerald green. Mom had chosen the spot, told me at the funeral that she wanted to be with him in the same place. I thought she would have left me by now, scared to face the world without him. But she hadn’t. She was still here, still my mom, and even through her tears, she smiled at me and pulled me into a hug.
“It’s good to see you,” Dad said and hugged me after, then held out a hand to Hayne. “Hello. It’s Hayne, right?”
Hayne shook his hand, all formal, and stiff-backed. “Yes, sir.”
“Call me Gordy, or Gordon,” he said without pause. “Gordy is… was my hockey nickname, and this is Melanie, my wife, Scott’s mom.”
Then it was Mom and Hayne, and tears spilled as she cupped Hayne’s face. “Oh my,” she breathed. “I’m so pleased to see Scott in love. You are beautiful.” She tugged at one of his curls, and he gave her a shy smile. “What I wouldn’t give to have your curls.”
I took Hayne’s hand again. “Come and meet Luke.”
Dad stood to one side, and then he and Mom backed away, to give us a private moment.
“Hey, Luke,” I laid my hand on the smooth marble, then crouched down in front of the simple words. “Luke Caldwell, aged twenty-one. Beloved son and brother. Taken by the ocean. Forever in our hearts.” I read them quietly, and Hayne went to his knees on the grass next to me, tracing the letters. He looked at me uncertainly, then cleared his throat.
“Hello, Luke. I’m… I don’t know what to say…”
“Tell him who you are,” I encouraged.
“Okay, so, Luke, my name is Hayne, and I’m your brother’s boyfriend. We’ve been together since last winter, so it’s been a while now. I’m a painter, not houses you know, pictures. I did one of you, and I’m going to give it to your mom and dad. It’s expressive, so they might not know what the painting means, but it’s you.”
Tears choked my throat. I’d seen him painting yesterday, with a permanent frown on his face. I wasn’t allowed to look, and he tutted and fussed until it was dry and to his liking. He’d brought it with him, wrapped in paper, and left it propped up next to a tree by Mom and Dad’s car.
“I love your brother, Luke, and I’ll try to look after him as much as an emotional artist who gets lost in his work can.” He huffed a soft laugh. “And I think Scott will look after me, too.” He touched the marble again. “Happy birthday, Luke.”
We stayed for a moment, quiet, and then Hayne eased away and left me alone for a while.
“Hayne’s everything to me,” I said. “You’d have liked him.” I stared at my feet, forcing my hands into my pockets. “I’m sorry, Luke, sorry that you aren’t here to meet him or see the things you should have seen. I’ve been lost without you, we all have, but I think Mom will be okay. She’s more positive, focused, and Dad? He’ll make it through the other side. I’m going to get him involved in the hockey kids I work with, and I think that will help.”
I kissed the tips of my fingers and pressed the kiss to his name.
“Happy birthday, big brother. I’ll be back to visit soon.”
I walked back to Mom, Dad, and Hayne, just as Hayne passed them the painting. Mom carefully removed the paper and held up the canvas. It was smaller than Hayne usually worked on. Narrow and tall, and in splashes of red and gold, he’d copied the photo I had of Luke in my wallet. It was beautiful, lines that bled to the edge, and in the center, Luke was smiling.
“This will go in our new house,” Mom’s voice was choked with emotion. “Thank you.”
Hayne smiled up at me, and the worry he’d had in his eyes this morning was gone. I held him close to my side, and a weight I didn’t even know I’d been carrying lifted, my heart feeling lighter.
Maybe it was Luke telling me that everything was okay.
Who knows?
Hayne
“Oh, my stars and sugar knots, look at you!”
Mimi pinched my cheeks and kissed me on the chin, again, as a sharp wind tugged on my mortarboard. Scott plunked a hand down on my head, keeping my headgear in place. The stupid thing was too small. Well, I think it was that my hair was too curly, but whatever the issue, it refused to stay on. Mom had tried bobby pins, but they’d all fallen out by the time my name had been called and I had strolled up to get my degree in fine arts.
“My precious little artist, you’ve done such grand things with your life.” Mimi kissed me once more, then moved on to Scott, smooching his cheeks as well, then adjusting his tie and patting down his lapels. “And this handsome young man is just one of those fine things!”
Scott’s nose grew red. Mimi hooked his arm and dragged him to the other side of the restaurant. Mom giggled and dug into her purse, a tiny purple thing that matched her flowery plum-and-white summer dress. She looked so pretty all dressed up, so did Mimi. And Scott as well. All this fuss over me graduating. It felt weird and yet super nice.
“She’s proud of you and Scott,” Mom said, wetting a tissue, then scrubbing at the orange-red lipstick marks Mimi had left on my face. “I am too. And, honey.” I glanced from Scott introducing Mimi to his parents, to Mom’s pretty face. Her blue eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Your father would be busting his buttons to see you here, a college graduate with a fine boyfriend and a new job.”
“Mom, I’m the caretaker of the house Mr. Madsen bought. I’m literally living where I always have and doing the same things I always have, only now I’m getting paid to fix the bathroom sink when it drips.”
She nodded and scrubbed at my chin harder. “I know, and there is nothing wrong with working while you create. Your grandmother did. I did. Hell, I still do. Poetry doesn’t make the payments on the car, for the most part.”
“I know. I’m proud of us too,” I confessed.
She nodded and scrubbed with more authority on my left cheek. “I think it’s a fine way to start your young life. You have a job, a man who adores you, and a budding career in art. Yes, your father would be incredibly proud of you. He always said that you were going to be someone someday. And here you are. Being the man that he knew you would turn into, a caring, emotional, creative, loving man who’s out and living life by his own rules and… and… and… oh shit.”
The tears broke free, and she hurried to dab them up with her wet tissues.
I gathered her into my arms, my robes flowing around us, and hugged her tightly while she got herself together.
“He would have been so very proud.” She kissed my cheek.
“Hey, you two okay over here?” Scott asked, sneaking up on us as best as a man his size could sneak.
“We’re good,” I told him, draping my arm over my mother’s slim shoulders.
“Come here and let me kiss you too,” Mom said, her eyes still dewy, as she reached for Scott’s face, cupped it, and kissed him on both cheeks. So much kissing and shaking and backslapping today. I could barely keep my feet on the ground I was so elated with my life. “You take good care of him, understand?”
“Yes. Mrs. Ritter. I promise.” Scott’s laughing eyes darted to me. I rolled mine so hard my mortarboard tumbled off again.
“Make sure he eats and doesn’t spend days in that attic doing nothi
ng but painting. He does that, you know?” Mom said as she held Scott’s head tightly between her hands.
“I promise I will make sure he eats and doesn’t spend all his time in the attic painting.” His smile was bright and pure. I bent over to get my mortarboard, and when I stood, Mom had given him his freedom and was making her way to the table where both of our families were seated.
“You’re the most beautiful man in the world, you know that?” He slid his fingers into my curls, fisted them, and then led my lips to his. Up on my toes I went, greedily needing the taste of him to get me through the rest of this wonderful, chaotic day. “It’s going to be my sole goal in life all summer to make sure that all the time we spend in that attic isn’t devoted to painting.”
“What else is there to do in a hot, old attic all summer but paint?” I coyly asked, sliding my arms around his thick neck.
“I plan to show you.”
He kissed me with promise. It was a vow made with passion and devotion and I knew for sure that our lives would be a kaleidoscope of brilliant, loving colors.
THE END
Coming next in the Owatonna U Hockey series
Benoit
When the lines between career and love blur, will Ethan and Ben find a way to create a future that will work for both of them?
Senior year is here, and everything is on the line. Benoit’s time to shine in the crease is now, and he’s going to do everything he can to make sure those professional scouts take notice. He’s earned a great reputation for his skills in the net, and his laid-back demeanor is his key to maintaining his cool when things get heated in the goal crease . As the Eagles roar into a new season, Ben’s laser-sharp focus is shattered by his attraction to Ethan Girard, the team’s new defensive consultant. Trying his best to ignore the budding friendship that’s taking a hard, fast turn into something far more passionate, Ben is determined to keep his mind on the sport he loves and not let his feelings for the handsome older man creep into his performance. But love, like hockey, is wildly unpredictable, and soon Ben finds that he’s unable to distance himself from Ethan who is slowly and surely working himself into his heart.