by Kelly Jensen
Oh, for Christ’s sake, Montgomery. Stop with the pity party.
He’d been down this road before and he’d recovered before. Not enough to save a promising football career, but enough to live a good life. A great life, all of which would resume January second.
Had he been this depressed after wrecking his shoulder? Probably. What he did remember was the enormity of having to rethink his direction in life. Thankfully, that wasn’t an issue this time.
He would be going back to work. He would walk again.
Until then, he’d content himself with furry cuddles from Lois, and a few more fantasies about Brian Kenway.
As she always did, Lois greeted Mal at the door, somehow managing not to trip him, despite needing to wend her way around his crutches, between both legs and then around the left, her tail trailing up to his knee.
“Hey, sweetness,” Mal crooned, wishing he could bend to stroke her sinuous back, ending with the little tug to her tail she seemed to enjoy. Once they got settled on the couch, he’d give her the full attention she deserved as his most loyal companion, his best friend with fur.
With a distinctive chirrup, Lois led the way to the kitchen, which wasn’t far. Mal lived in an updated split-level ranch, and he’d never been so happy to exist in a space with four steps up and a few more down instead of full flights of stairs. If he lived in Donny’s house, he’d have broken his neck twice by now. Of course, Donny had practically moved in here with him after he’d been released from the hospital, both times. Mal had had a pretty bad concussion right after the initial accident and hadn’t been able to walk at all after the surgery on his broken leg. If he thought his life was limited now, he only had to think back a few months. The most recent surgery to repair his ACL hadn’t been as traumatic, but again Donny had been here, and the one to pet Lois, feed her, clean her litter tray, and watch her frolic among the falling leaves.
His kitchen wasn’t as fancy as Donny’s, but it had been completed on schedule and suited the open-plan feel of his house. Light flooded the space, spilling in from tall windows lining the kitchen side to meet the more muted ambience illuminating the large bay window on the living side. His couch beckoned beneath a warm blanket of sunlight.
Lois was on the island counter, wandering back and forth, leaving a trail of loud purrs. Her food and water bowls were perched at one end, making it easy for him to feed her.
Mal fed Lois and gave her the sort of petting she sometimes tolerated while she ate, laughing as she turned to nip at his hand.
“I know, I know. You’re eating. Hurry up, sweetness. I need a cuddle on the couch.”
Then, leaving her to it, he began the arduous process of taking a shower. After navigating the short flight of stairs to his bedroom, Mal stripped, tossed his leg brace onto the bed, and hobbled to the bathroom. With every step, he imagined his knee buckling. While he waited for the water to heat, he deliberately thought about nothing. Thought about nothing as he sat on the plastic chair Donny had gotten for him, and turned his face toward the spray. Thought about nothing as he soaped up, his back twinging as he reached here and there, his head throbbing, his body one large ache.
Thought about nothing as he washed his junk.
Definitely didn’t think about the fact he hadn’t jerked off in months.
Ignored the subtler ache in his balls.
Thought about the trail guide his sister-in-law had given him for Christmas.
Thought about a man he shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about, and stroked the appendage he’d paid too little attention to for far too long.
He hardened quickly, his cheeks heating with a mixture of shame and arousal. Brian would never have to know. He climaxed quickly and efficiently, guilt stripping most of the sensuality away. But as he sat waiting for the shower to rinse him a second time, he felt calmer than he had in a stupidly long while. More together. More . . . human.
Ellen’s house was typical of Newark: crowded by its neighbors and slightly depressed by that fact. The block on Summer Avenue—sullied by dirty snow and grimy cars—was otherwise neat and orderly, with all the houses being in decent repair. It reminded Brian of . . . not home. Of the house he’d grown up in. Three stories of narrow functionality, packed with his cop father, hairdresser mother, and four brothers and sisters.
“Told you she wouldn’t be here,” Josh said from his slump in the front passenger seat. He’d all but stated his mother was psychic and never around when she needed to be, unless it was to kick her son out into the street.
Brian had the idea she was in there and not answering, though. “You’re sure you don’t have a key?”
Josh rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t have a key. If I had a key, we wouldn’t be here.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I’d have gone back to get my stuff and then . . .” Josh waved a hand through the air, as though the rest of his sentence should be obvious.
Brian suppressed a sigh. They could break in, but he’d left his criminal days far, far behind him. Also, he should be setting a good example for Josh. Sitting in a car outside the house of the woman who’d thrown Josh out probably wasn’t doing that. He was showing Josh what he didn’t have anymore. Likely wouldn’t ever have.
Had he really thought Ellen would answer the door? Take Josh back? She’d kicked her own kid out of the house the week before. With fifty bucks. Nothing else but what he was wearing and a piece of shit phone.
Shaking off an unwelcome feeling of déjà vu, Brian muttered, “God, what a bitch.” He probably shouldn’t be saying that, either.
Josh grunted in agreement before saying, “So, can we go now?”
Brian pulled out his phone and opened the map screen again. “Where did you say Will lived?” He didn’t have a clear memory of his much younger brother, but had a vague feeling he might be the most sympathetic of his remaining siblings.
“I don’t want to go to Uncle Will’s. He’s a cop like grandpa and has been calling me a delinquent since I was nine.”
Scratch that. “What about—”
“None of them want me, okay? That’s why I ended up out in Hicksville with you.” Josh reached for the door handle. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll go live in the shed out back.”
Brian squashed more unwelcome memories—helped along by the persistent cough Josh had had since Christmas Day. Josh tried to hold it back, but the cough won out, forcing a horrible bark from his throat.
He’d die in that damn shed.
“Josh, wait.” Gripping the wheel, Brian gave himself a stern talking to. This is your nephew. Hell, this is you thirtysomething years ago. Be the one who makes a difference in his life. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”
Brian peered through the window again, ducking to take in the whole shape of Ellen’s house. Then, sighing once more, he put the car in gear and pulled out into the street.
“Tell me about your dad,” Brian invited as he navigated his way back to Interstate 78.
“I told you all I know. He left when I was four.”
“And they weren’t married?” Yay for double standards. Unwed mothers were fine. But not gay sons. “Where did your mom get the money for that house?”
“I don’t know. She works and she has boyfriends. Maybe they help her out.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s the branch manager at City Savings and Loan.”
Brian tried to picture Ellen in a suit and failed.
“How come you don’t know what she does?” Josh asked.
“Did you miss the part about having to look me up on Google? I’m officially disowned.”
“Why’nt you change your name, then?”
Good question.
Brian merged with traffic onto the interstate, then glanced over at Josh’s ragged attire. “We need to go shopping. Get you something else to wear.”
“Fine.”
He took the exit to Short Hills Mall and circled the sprawling lot twice before finding a
spot where he judged his car would be safe from door dings and teenagers with sharp objects. Josh peered through the windows with narrowed eyes the entire time.
“What?” Brian finally asked.
“I’m going to be the only person in this mall with blue hair.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Grumbling, Josh pushed open his door and practically threw himself under an oncoming car. Brian managed to get around the hood and collar him in time, yanking him back. “Jesus Christ! Watch where you’re going.”
“Like you care.” Cough, cough.
Fuck. My. Life.
The mall was busy, as any self-respecting mall would be the week after Christmas, and Josh did indeed stand out, but not because he had blue hair. It was his attitude, which Brian had taken as typical teenager. Weren’t they all defensive and rude and waifish? Not according to the clientele of an upscale mall in New Jersey. The teenagers sprinkled throughout the mall looked and acted like models in a photo shoot.
Brian blended well with his dark, fitted denim—skinny jeans for the nearly fifty-year-old—a heavy button-down shirt and fine-gauge cotton sweater. He knew the soft blue of his sweater brought out the color of his eyes and flattered his skin tone and hair. And he knew his ass looked good in the jeans. It should. He’d done thirty minutes of squats and lunges before getting dressed that morning.
Josh, in his wool coat and baggy jeans, wasn’t underdressed. He was overdressed, and his furtive manner gave the impression he was ready to smuggle out half of every store in his pockets. Brian should have asked him to leave the coat in the car.
It was enlightening to watch Josh’s reaction to the mall and its stores. Brian recognized a lot of himself—all those years ago, and in fleeting instances now as Josh wavered between interest and a disdain that might be fueled by the knowledge he could never afford to wear that.
Brian paused outside a row of stores designed to dress the young and said, “So, we should get you at least one more pair of jeans. A couple of shirts. A sweater? Socks and underwear.” He indicated the worn black shit kickers taking up more floor space than Josh’s feet probably warranted. “And shoes.”
“What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Nothing. But you can’t wear them every day.”
“Why not?”
Because shit kickers don’t go with everything, Brian had been about to say. But who was he to judge? Also, he was a self-confessed shoe whore who never wore the same pair twice in one week if his outfit didn’t demand it. Glancing down at the deep burgundy ankle boots he’d put on with his jeans, Brian pursed his lips. “How about a pair of sneakers?”
“All the better for running.” Josh’s upper lip curled in a sardonic manner before he nodded toward a store across the way. “How about there?”
The store was Brian’s worst nightmare. Unlike the places on their side of the walkway—neat, color coordinated, and playing bland, contemporary music to bland, contemporary shoppers—the store on the other side was black on black on black, with streaks of purple graffiti and a window display of clothes that had surely been rescued from donation bins across the country.
“I don’t see any Giants’ gear in there,” Brian said, referring to the hoodie Josh wore under his coat.
Rolling his eyes, Josh started across the mall. Brian followed.
Several hundred dollars later, Josh had two new outfits, only one of which bore rips and tears not rendered by excessive wear.
Tucking his credit card back into his wallet, Brian said, “I cannot believe we paid eighty bucks for a ripped pair of jeans.”
“You paid it, not me. Can we get something to eat?”
The food court was another adventure. Being lactose intolerant, vegetarian, and turned off by the texture of most vegetables—including beans—meant the only option was sushi. Apparently Josh’s version of vegetarianism included raw fish.
“So you’re a pescatarian.”
Josh shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Brian hated sushi. The very idea of it turned his stomach. He also harbored a lingering suspicion that anyone who ate it was either riddled with intestinal worms or about to expire from mercury poisoning. Josh inhaled thirty bucks’ worth, his cough never interfering with the slurping of rice and raw flesh.
Gross.
They picked up sneakers (black with a black logo), sweats (dark gray, thankfully not already distressed in any way), and a purple sweatshirt with a skull and crossbones across the back. Brian was exhausted by the time they turned toward the car. But when they were passing the cell phone booth in the center of the mall, he called out, “Hold up.”
Josh looked up with a bored expression, as if he weren’t holding most of Brian’s weekly wage from string handles looped around his wrists. “What?”
“Let’s get you a phone.”
“I have a phone.”
“Who’s paying the bill on that one?”
Josh scowled. “Whatever. If she cancels it, I’ll live.”
“What if I need to call you?”
“When? After you’ve found me some other place to crash? No, thanks.” Josh turned away.
“Don’t you have any friends you’d like to stay in touch with?”
Under the wool coat, Josh’s slim shoulders hitched up and down. A shrug? Did that mean no?
“What about your brother and sister?”
“I’m pretty sure Ava has moved into my room by now, and Liam is just like Uncle Will.”
Assuming Liam was short for William, apparently well named, then. “You could try calling your mom.”
Josh spun around, his bags flaring out in an arc of expensive rainbows. “Why? She doesn’t want to hear from me.”
“She’s . . .” Mad wasn’t the right word. Mad didn’t kick a kid out onto the street. Deluded might be better, but . . . “She’ll think things through. Ellen isn’t stupid. She has to know—”
“You don’t get it.” Josh’s lower lip quivered. “I can’t go back. She won’t take me back, and even if she did, I wouldn’t go. You didn’t hear what she said. She said I was unnatural and that God had no place in His world for people like me.”
Brian shuddered inwardly as more unwelcome memories rolled through him. His father speaking in low, biting tones. His sister screaming. His mother looking on, expressionless.
He glanced around at the audience he and Josh had managed to attract—gazes averting as he met them, the not-so-subtle open mouths—and lifted his chin. Put away the past.
He’d long ago decided not to be ashamed of who he was. Of whom he loved.
“None of that is true,” he said, his tone inviting no argument. “God made you as you are, Josh.”
Also aware of their audience, Josh flung himself into a turn and stalked off. Brian strode after him and resisted the urge to reach for his collar. Again. How did one rally a recalcitrant child? Leashes were only for pets and toddlers, weren’t they?
“Josh.”
Josh kept moving until they were back at the doors they’d entered by. There, he turned, stony-faced, and lifted his chin. Then a fit of coughing caught him, and Brian experienced an odd urge to hug the kid, this lost little boy. Brian’s chest was constricting and hurting and whispering secrets he didn’t want to hear. Josh wouldn’t thank him for a hug, though. Brian remembered enough about fourteen to appreciate that. So he stood there, feeling all kinds of useless, until Josh had stopped coughing.
Eyes red from the effort, Josh finally looked up. “Can we go?”
“Yeah, we can go.”
Mal checked his watch. “Shouldn’t you be going?”
Brian Kenway hadn’t made an appearance at the Colonial tonight, and probably wouldn’t. But just in case he did, Mal needed the stool next to him free. So they could . . . chat. Yeah, chat.
“Long as I’m home to kiss Rach at midnight, we’re all good,” Donny said.
“Didn’t you guys go somewhere nice last year?”
“You implying my place isn�
�t all that?” Leo said, appearing suddenly on his side of the bar. He eyed their glasses. “Drink up. I’ve got a mortgage to pay.”
“Love this place,” Donny said. “Don’t know why we ever go anywhere else.”
Snorting, Mal picked up his glass and drained the swirl of nearly flat beer at the bottom. “I’ll take another.”
“Coke for me,” Donny said, pushing his glass across. “I’ve got to drive soon.”
“Seriously, you should go now. Not like I don’t have any experience holding up my end of the bar.”
“True that,” Leo put in, sliding a fresh glass through the beery puddle left by the last one. As usual, Mal’s coaster littered the floor at his feet.
Donny checked his watch. “Kids are all into it this year. That’s why we didn’t go out. They’re old enough to want to stay up until midnight.”
“Then go be with them. Leo will look after me.”
“No, I won’t.” Leo moved off to not look after another patron, and Mal caught a glimpse of golden-blond hair at the other end of the bar.
Refusing to let his breath catch in his throat, Mal pushed air outward and turned his attention back to Donny. “Go. I’m fine. It’s the last day of the year, meaning I made it through the holiday season without offing myself. Your shift is done.”
“Not funny.”
“I’m not as depressed as you all seem to think I am. Not being able to walk well yet is getting me down some, that’s all. Don’t you ever feel old and useless? Add a pair of crutches to that.”
“I could have come out tonight because I wanted to drink a beer with my brother. Ever think of that?”
“You’re drinking Coke.”
“Don’t be an ass.” As always, Donny sounded patient, but in his place, Mal would rather be drinking beer. And sitting with someone he could kiss at midnight.
“Go home, Donny. Thank you, love you, appreciate you spending time with me on New Year’s Eve. Now go home and kiss your wife and kids, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. You good for a—”
“I’ll be fine to drive. Stop worrying. I’m the older brother, remember?”