Art House

by Charley Descoteaux

  “I’m….” Chase grabbed Garrett into a hug. He was trembling, and Garrett hoped he would head for the bathroom—or at least give some warning—if he was going to throw up. “I love you.”

  “I know, babe. I love you too.” The hug went on and on, and as much as Garrett loved him, he didn’t necessarily want to support all of Chase’s weight two minutes after waking up. “Hey, I promise, it’s okay. My cheek is a little tender, but I’m fine.”

  “No more dizziness?”

  “Not since we went dancing with Kyle and Bran, and no headache right now, so you can stop worrying.” He gently tried to separate from Chase but only found himself held tighter. “I’m sorry about last night. I really did try to come right home.”

  “Okay.” After one final squeeze Chase released him and went down the hall.

  Garrett followed and sat on the corner of the bed to wait. He was about to call out to see if Chase was all right when he came out of the bathroom. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Chase stood beside his easel, pointedly not looking at the ruined canvas. “Didn’t want to come out ’til I remembered what happened last night.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I went into the den and looked at your new secret project.”

  “I don’t care about that. Why don’t we go back to bed?” Garrett swept his gaze around the room. It looked much worse in the light of day—everything on the dresser had been swept to the floor, and if Chase hadn’t had a drop cloth under his easel, the carpet would be ruined on that side of the room—the smear of color made Garrett think Chase had spiked his palette like a football. “Or lie down on the couch.”

  Chase shot him a grateful, if queasy, look, and they went back out into the living room. The couch wasn’t really big enough for two to stretch out on, but they made it work, settling in with Chase’s head on Garret’s chest.

  “I’m sorry,” Garrett said and kissed the top of Chase’s head.

  “Not your fault. I went out and got trashed.” Chase sighed. “You didn’t pour the alcohol down my throat.”

  “I may as well have.”

  “No. I’m responsible for my own actions. Not you. I didn’t have to… lose it. But I did. Did I really tell you to leave?”

  “No. That was one of the other guys.” Chase squeezed him, and Garrett realized his back and left side were also a little sore, to match his left cheek.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You asked me to stay and I left. I shouldn’t have. I could have called Jess but instead I barged in on her and made an ass of myself. It was sex-related, the reason she blew us off last night.”

  “Does she still want to come over?”

  “Yeah. She’s going to pick the next time. She feels bad for bailing, but I think the relationship might be serious. Jess and whoever she’s sleeping with, I mean.”

  “I hope it is. She should be happy.”

  Chase’s tone sounded suspiciously as though he’d been thinking that someone should be happy if he—or they—couldn’t be.

  They cuddled on the couch for a little while. Garrett expected Chase to fall back asleep, but he stayed awake. A few times he caressed Garrett’s arm or left a soft kiss on his neck, but neither made a move to go further. Garrett had started to wonder at his own non-reaction—usually all it took to get hard was being in the same room with Chase, but even snuggled close on the couch, he had nothing. The thought had just occurred to him that Chase might have noticed and gotten the wrong idea—that Garrett was upset with him, or anything besides that he was tired and sore—when Chase sighed. Before Garrett could say anything, Chase did.

  “I know why you asked her to move in. If you’d rather not—I mean, if you changed your mind and want to have her place to go to—”

  “No. I really don’t. I’ve been treating you badly, and I want to stop. I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you, and I don’t want to mess that up any more.”

  “I feel the same.” Chase nuzzled his neck, his breath warming Garrett’s skin. “The night at the gallery… hmmm.”

  Even though it wasn’t near that one spot that always made him hot, Garrett’s cock took note. Thank fuck.

  “That wasn’t the first time.”

  “What?” Chase’s whole body stilled. “I don’t remember meeting you before. I would remember that.”

  “No. We didn’t meet before your show. But I saw you the day before.” Garrett snaked one hand up Chase’s back and tangled his fingers in his hair. “I was downtown when I should have been in class, scoping the First Thursday announcements. You were walking into the gallery, your hair twisted up and held with a beat-up old fan brush, wearing tight jeans and a white T-shirt splattered with red and purple paint. A white fabric scarf with a fleur-de-lis pattern…. You were gorgeous. I—well, I stalked you at your show. From the moment you turned to go in the door and I saw your ass, I couldn’t think about anything except how much I wanted you. I’ll never forget the way you looked that day. Or the way I felt when I saw you.”

  A shiver passed through Chase’s body and spread to Garrett like ripples through water. Or maybe I started it.

  Images of that first night flitted through Garrett’s mind. The electricity the first time their eyes met, and the hungry look in Chase’s when he asked if Garrett had plans after the show. They’d gone back to the purple foursquare house in the Hawthorne where he rented the room on the southeast corner and fucked until the sun came up. And Garrett had stayed for four years before he ran to Jess in Northeast the first time.

  “It took me by surprise when you let me stay that first night. Best. Surprise. Ever. To be honest, sometimes it still surprises me.”

  “No. I mean, I don’t want that to be a surprise. I’ll always want you to stay.” Chase twisted to bury his face in the hollow of Garrett’s shoulder. His shudder clearly felt different than the shiver a few moments ago. He didn’t move his head when he spoke, but Garrett heard every word. “It was so hard. To watch you leave. For the record, I’ll take it sleeping over that.”

  “I don’t want to do that anymore.” Garrett hugged Chase tighter and wrapped his leg around him. “I know I’ve said that before. I’ve had that thought before—forever starts right now—but maybe it’s different now. I’m managing my anxiety instead of letting it knock me around.”

  “It seems to be working. Does it feel that way to you too?”

  “Yeah. Most of the time.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Chase’s stomach rumbled, but they didn’t leave the couch for another half hour. When Garrett’s joined in, Chase insisted they get up and find something to eat. After eggs with cheese, and a little too much espresso, Garrett said he would help Chase clean up the bedroom.

  “No.” Chase smiled to soften the way he’d barked out that word, and took their dishes to the sink. He rinsed them out and left them in the dishwasher before either spoke again. “We could just move into one of the other rooms and leave it.”

  “I’ll help you clean up the bedroom.”

  “No, you—”

  “Not a question.” Garrett’s relief when his voice conveyed the right amount of conviction mixed with levity brought a smile to his face.

  Chase looked up from the floor, surprised, and returned Garrett’s smile.

  He still tried to do the cleaning himself, but Garrett refused to leave the room except to get more cleaning supplies. As much because the state of the room is my fault as because I don’t want Chase to watch me walk away from him again.

  Garrett didn’t see what Chase did with the ruined canvas—it disappeared while he was looking for a trash bag in the kitchen—but didn’t ask about it. They’d done enough talking for one day. It hadn’t been as easy as Garrett would have liked, but they had actually discussed something important, and the world hadn’t ended. Nobody had hurt feelings, and no words had been spoken in anger or even frustration. Throughout the rest of the day, while they napped and fucked and then napped again, Garr
ett felt an immense satisfaction and the solid conviction that they could make things work.

  Chapter Seventeen

  CHASE HAD let himself relax sometime during dinner, even though it went against his better judgment. The day before, when they’d talked about the worst symptom of their most serious problem, he had let things go too soon, let the conversation fade away while they cleaned up the mess he’d made in the bedroom. He still felt like a coward, but Garrett had come home. Everything else paled in comparison. Chase had said something wrong—set Garrett off and made him leave—but he had returned in only a few hours.

  Dinner at a real sit-down restaurant had been Garrett’s idea. Obviously he’d still felt guilty for leaving and the fallout—for my bad behavior—even after a day of working on the movie poster and a meeting with the St. Clouds at their studio space in the Hawthorne.

  But instead of trying to talk Garrett out of his misplaced guilt, Chase had accepted the dinner invitation and made light conversation for over an hour, even flirting a little.

  I’m getting better at this. Maybe.

  They had talked about the meeting and the contract the St. Clouds had offered—based on the rough sketches and a few sentences of description, which had made Chase a little uncomfortable because they were Garrett’s sketches and sentences—but which they both planned to sign. Chase hoped they could work on the poster once they made it back to the condo but sensed that he wasn’t alone in holding a bit of sexual tension.

  Maybe after we get that released.

  Chase had been so close to taking Garrett’s hand as they crossed the last street before the condo and had just decided to do it as they mounted the front steps. Garrett would appreciate even that small gesture, see it for what it was—the best PDA Chase could manage. For now. Before he could, though, a familiar figure stood from the top step and came toward them.

  “We need to talk.”

  Chase’s feet stopped as his father strode toward him. For a second he had the same reaction he always had to seeing his father: abject terror. The feeling of being ripped away from his adult life and catapulted back to the dirty white mill house, the cramped rooms stinking of stale beer and failure, that he’d almost drowned himself to escape.

  But after those few seconds, everything changed.

  Instead of seeing an authority figure coming at him, ready to give him a well-deserved scolding—at best—Chase saw an aging man, hair more gray than blond, shoulders rounded in a worn-out bow, lined face tired and creased in an ever-present frown. He saw someone who was poison, someone who didn’t have or deserve any real power over him.

  “No, we don’t. You need to leave.”

  For a moment, the whole world seemed to stop and hold its breath to see what would happen next. Chase thought Garrett might have moved away a step or two, but he refused to break eye contact with his father to check.

  He’ll see that as weakness, as some kind of submission.

  “This is a public place. Let me come in with you, and we’ll talk.”

  Chase stepped closer, but he didn’t lower his voice. “I don’t care if the whole city hears. I’m not bringing you into my home so you can tell me how stupid I am, how I should have been the one to die. I’ve heard it enough times, and I already know that. Don’t you think I’ve felt guilty every day?” He felt like he’d just pedaled a pedicab up a hill, but after a deep breath he pushed on. “Why did you even have me? You already had the perfect son, you didn’t need me.”

  “So he wouldn’t be an only child.” John Holland Senior looked surprised at his own words, and then his face slid back into the look he’d worn before that—he felt confident Chase would do what he wanted because he wanted it, confident Chase would take his punishment without any back talk. Just like he always had. Well, almost always. “You think I planned it to go down this way, John?”

  Chase’s hands balled into fists, and he stepped forward into his father’s personal space, forcing his voice out through gritted teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Fine. Chase. Whatever you call yourself.” He looked like he struggled with what to say next, and muttered, “John’s not good enough for—”

  “Good enough? No. Your name wasn’t good enough for me. You weren’t good enough. What kind of a man—a father—tells his own kid he’s disappointed that he lived? How the fuck did you ever think that was okay?”

  “I’m sick.”

  “Good. I hope you suffer for a long time before you die alone.” Chase felt his own words like a punch to the gut but didn’t even think about taking them back or softening them. After the hardest glare he could manage while trying not to throw up the lovely dinner he’d just eaten, Chase walked around his father and stormed up the front steps, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. He punched the security code into the keypad so hard his finger went numb, and made sure the door had closed tightly behind Garrett before turning toward the elevator.

  As soon as the elevator doors closed, Chase sagged against the wall, trembling so hard his vision blurred. Garrett stood silently beside him until they reached their floor, then slipped an arm around his waist and guided him down the hall. Once inside the condo, Garrett didn’t stop until they reached the bedroom. Chase sank down onto the bed, a little surprised he made it there at all.

  “It was my fault.” Chase’s breath came in painful rasps, and he couldn’t get enough oxygen to keep from getting dizzy.

  “I’m sorry.” Garrett sat beside him, pulled Chase’s head down onto his shoulder, and gently ran his hands over Chase’s back and shoulders.

  After a few moments, Chase felt himself still. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt more fear than he had when he’d looked into his own father’s eyes and told him he hoped he died alone. “You’re not going to ask?”

  “No. I’m not forcing you to talk about it right now. And I’m not saying it’s not your fault either. If I said that, you’d just try and convince me that whatever happened was your fault by telling the whole story and breaking your own heart all over again. I don’t want you to relive the worst parts of your life for me, Chase. I love you too much to want that.”

  Chase didn’t doubt that Garrett knew exactly what the worst day of his life had been: the day Tom died. That he didn’t want to hear the story—that Garrett loved him more than he wanted to hear the story—was more than Chase could handle, more than he’d ever thought he’d get. He took a wet, hitching breath, and when he let it go, it came out on a sob. He tried to hold it back, but all of his guilt and shame forced itself out, leaving Chase unable to do anything more than clutch at Garrett and let it come. He cried the way he had that day, so hard he emptied himself out. So hard he only stopped when he fell asleep in Garrett’s arms.

  THE FIRST thing Chase knew was that his head hurt. Pounded. His face felt like someone had beaten him through a pillow—swollen and tender but intact, unbroken. He shivered when he remembered how he’d fallen asleep and felt Garrett’s arms around him—both in the same moment. Garrett gently rubbed his back, tightened his leg where it draped over both of Chase’s. After a long few minutes, in which the gentle force of Garrett’s love cradled Chase’s broken pieces, fit a few together, he swallowed hard and forced his voice to work.

  “He told me not to jump from the rocks.” Chase’s voice sounded as raw as he felt, and it hurt to talk, but he didn’t consider stopping. “It was dangerous. Kids got hurt there every summer. Broken legs and arms, drownings. I thought it would be funny to jump and not come up until I was as far as I could get from the spot where I landed. I’d never held my breath so long… thought I was so cool, that he’d put me in a headlock and laugh because he’d be proud I made it so far.”

  Chase took a moment to breathe, and it wasn’t any easier than it had been when they’d first reached the bedroom.

  “Tom’s friends told me later—much later—that he freaked when I jumped and then didn’t come right up. Everyone did, popped right back up, because it wasn’t very deep there, and t
he water was so cold it felt like falling out of a tree onto the ground—knocked the wind out of grown men. And I was just this stupid, scrawny fifteen-year-old.

  “He didn’t hesitate, just dove in after me. Broke his neck.”

  They lay, still and quiet, for so long Chase was sure Garrett agreed. It had been his fault. He was stupid, pathetic. He’d done a ridiculous thing and killed his brother. His hero. The one person in his life—pre-Garrett—he’d loved so hard he would have done anything to impress him. Chase had thought he’d cried so much already that day he’d never shed another tear in his life, but the thought proved him wrong. What would happen to them now that Garrett knew and—?

  Chase couldn’t even think it aloud. He shuddered and moaned in pain as a few tears forced their way out.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Garrett whispered, his face pressed into Chase’s hair. His voice sounded raspy and wet, as though he’d cried as much as Chase had. “You didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. You were just a kid. You had no clue anything like that could happen.”

  “I should have listened.”

  “Kids don’t listen. Especially when they want to make someone proud, to impress them. It’s not because they’re stupid, it’s because they’re kids. I’m so sorry. It’s so hard to be the one left behind.”

  “My family… fell apart after that. A few months later, Mom left, and then it was only me and Dad….

  “My dad found out I’d been skipping school and they were going to hold me back, make me do my freshman year over again. It wasn’t the first time… they held me back in the third grade. Things were bad after Mom left, but I didn’t expect him to go off like that. We fought like two drunks in a bar parking lot. That night I stole his car and crashed it into the river.”

  Garrett made a low groaning sound and tightened his hold on Chase.

  “Nobody believed it wasn’t on purpose. Probably because that was partly a lie. I knew I was taking the turns way too fast and didn’t slow down. I spent ten days in a mental hospital and a couple of months going to doctors three times a week, eating so many pills I had to look out a window to know if it was day or night. He was so pissed. My dad. Pissed that I tried to off myself, pissed that I lied about it, and even more pissed that I was too stupid to do it right, that I screwed it up and lived. Said I should go into the military and at least earn enough to pay him back for the doctor bills, but I left instead.”