Room for Recovery

by D. J. Jamison

  “Of course.”

  “But what if it was Katy?” he asked, too cowardly to ask his mother how she’d react if he was gay. “If she brought home a girl, you’d be cool with that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I should be so lucky. Katy has been drooling over boys for years,” she said. “You and your sister are a pair. Between all your girlfriends and all her crushes, you’re taking years off my life!”

  Wade chuckled weakly. He wasn’t sure how reassuring her words were. She’d played off his question without a serious answer and re-emphasized just how well he’d fooled her. Fooled everybody.

  Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to talk to Beau. To see him with his own eyes. He couldn’t go home, but he could video call him.

  Wade had been sick with himself about the way he’d ended their friendship. He wanted Beau in his life, even if he wasn’t ready for more than that. If he’d explained himself instead of pushing Beau away, Beau would have understood. He knew it, with the clarity of hindsight.

  He only hoped Beau would accept his call — and his overdue apology.

  “Can I be alone?” he asked his mom.

  “Sure,” she said. “Try not to guilt yourself too hard. If you want to feel bad, feel bad about ruining dinner with Ray.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She laughed on her way to the door. “No, you’re not. It’s okay. He is trying too hard,” she said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t buy you anything nice.”

  He recognized the teasing tone in her voice and rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

  ***

  When Beau’s phone buzzed with a text, he’d already fielded calls from Ker and Nate, so he was tempted to ignore it. He hadn’t received word from Dr. Rollins about Amos Jacobs’ condition, though, so he picked it up.

  Then he saw Wade’s name on the screen.

  Relief swept through him. He still cares.

  Beau was still upset with Wade about how everything went down between them. Wade freaked and pushed him away, and it hurt. But Beau also missed him.

  He had no doubt Wade heard what happened, and he wished it didn’t take getting beat up to make Wade reach out to him. But he was glad he did.

  Wade: Are you okay? I heard you got a beating

  Beau: I’ll live

  Wade: I texted in case you were sleeping. I’m going to video call now

  Beau: No!

  The last thing he wanted was to show Wade the ugly, lumpy shape of his face just now. That wasn’t cute or sexy, and even though Wade might very well stick with denial, Beau knew Wade felt some level of attraction or he would never have kissed Beau.

  Wade ignored his text, and a moment later his phone rang with a video call. He hit decline. A few seconds later, it rang again. He hit decline again.

  His phone buzzed with another text.

  Wade: I’ll call you all day if I have to. Answer.

  When his phone rang again, Beau gave in. He’d never been good at refusing Wade. He accepted the call, holding his phone up in front of his face to center Wade in the screen. He felt self-conscious about what Wade might see, so he focused on looking at Wade again.

  He looked good, as always. His hair was tousled. Either he’d been sleeping or running his hands through his hair in frustration. Knowing Wade, it was the latter. He was wearing a long-sleeved thermal shirt layered under a T-shirt, but though his clothes weren’t tight, his broad shoulders and biceps stretched the fabric nicely.

  “Damn,” Wade said softly, his eyes darting back and forth as he studied Beau’s face. “I’m so sorry, Beau. I should have been there.” His voice went rough. “This is my fault.”

  “What? No, it wasn’t.”

  “I fucked up—”

  “Well, yeah,” Beau said, interrupting before Wade could beat himself up. “You should feel shitty for what you did to me.” Beau waved at his face. “But this? This isn’t your fault.”

  “If I’d still been giving you rides, they wouldn’t have gotten to you.”

  “Look, I’ve been pretty pissed at you. You were an asshole. But you don’t get to take credit for this. You were out of town on holiday. That wouldn’t change, even if you weren’t a total douche.”

  Wade’s lips twitched. “Don’t hold back now. Tell me how you really feel.”

  Beau’s heart squeezed in his chest. “You can’t handle how I really feel,” he whispered.

  Wade blinked, apparently speechless. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

  Beau shrugged. “I just wish you would have talked to me. Been honest about what you felt. I still don’t understand what happened.”

  “Can we still be friends, maybe?” Wade asked, an oddly vulnerable note in his voice. “I mean, I understand if you hate me.”

  “We can be friends,” Beau said firmly, latching on to the offering.

  He might want more from Wade, and he might even believe Wade wanted more too, but friendship was enough for now. It was so much more than he thought he’d ever have.

  ***

  Wade video called Beau the next day, unable to go too long without making contact now that he’d reconnected. He could have just texted, but he liked seeing Beau’s expressions. Plus, he could gauge better how he was feeling than through black type on a screen.

  “My money’s on a secret family,” he announced when Beau answered the call, looking sad and bruised.

  Beau’s eyebrows shot up. He was in his bed, Wade could tell, from the pillows he could see behind his head. Curls tumbled over his forehead, unrestrained by a hat for once. His right eye was still black and swollen, but his left eye was as big and brown as ever, looking innocent and doe-like. If anything, the bruises only accented his features, drawing Wade’s gaze from his eyes to his jawline, speckled with bruising that gave the illusion of a five-o-clock shadow, to his perfect, kissable lips.

  “Secret family?” Beau asked blankly.

  “My mom’s boyfriend,” he said. “I’m betting he has a secret family. Why else would a guy like him be interested?”

  “A guy like him?” Beau asked, parroting him again, but at least his look of exhausted depression was lifting. He looked intrigued.

  “Well, yeah. He’s got a good job. He has a nice house. He’s so fucking normal—”

  Beau chuckled. “Wade, your mom is beautiful. Why wouldn’t he be interested?”

  “Yeah, but there’s lots of pretty women in Kansas City. He’s a good-looking guy. He doesn’t need to date online. There’s got to be some shady reason for it.”

  Beau shook his head, looking fond. “He’s good-looking, huh? Like on a scale of one to ten, how hot is he?”

  Wade hesitated, realizing what he’d said. It was unlike him to comment on a man’s looks. He was usually so careful. But then he’d kissed Beau, so it seemed silly to pretend with him.

  “Well, he’s no Beau James.”

  Beau blushed, his cheeks turning a strange shade when the pink mixed with the bruising. “So, he’s above a three then.”

  “A three? Are you kidding me?” Wade asked.

  Beau looked down, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Wade couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

  “Beau, even bruised up, you’re a solid eight.”

  Beau snorted in total disbelief. “No way.”

  “Why are you so insecure?”

  Beau lifted his shoulders, but he didn’t look at the screen.

  “Look at me,” Wade ordered.

  Beau reluctantly lifted his head, an embarrassed expression on his face. “Let’s just talk about something else. Your mom’s boyfriend is cute. Moving on …”

  “Look, this isn’t easy for me to say,” Wade said, “but I’ve always thought you were cute.”

  “Like a puppy,” Beau said. “Like a little brother.”

  Wade laughed. “Uh no. I wouldn’t kiss my little brother.”

  Beau looked surprised he’d brought up the kiss. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to remember that.”<
br />
  “I can’t forget it,” Wade said softly. “It replays in my mind every night.”

  A small smile curved Beau’s lips. “Yeah? For me too.”

  “I don’t really know how I feel about everything. There are things …” He paused, clearing his throat as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. “There are things I haven’t told anyone.”

  Beau held his gaze now, his insecurity of moments before gone. “You can tell me anything. I’m not going to judge you, and I’m not going to tell anyone.”

  Wade nodded. “I know. I just need time to figure things out.”

  “I get it,” Beau said.

  “So, what’s my rating? I’m a ten, right?” Wade said playfully.

  Beau rolled his eyes. “I see your ego is as big as ever.”

  Wade laughed. “I’m kidding. I don’t really think I’m a ten.”

  “More like a twelve,” Beau muttered, still a little red from embarrassment but smiling. Before Wade could respond, Beau coughed into his hand. “So, tell me more about this boyfriend of your mom’s who’s a six?”

  “Yeah, somewhere around there,” Wade agreed, before launching into a story from earlier in the day, when he’d taken them to Crown Center for some holiday shopping. He’d opened doors for Wade’s mom, and he’d attempted to talk sports, action figures and music with Wade to no avail. The guy was seriously too good to be true.

  Finally, he ran out of entertaining gossip to share, and they said their goodbyes.

  “If we don’t talk tomorrow, Happy Thanksgiving,” Beau said.

  “You too. What are you most grateful for this year?”

  “Tylenol.”

  Wade snickered.

  “What about you?” Beau asked.

  Wade considered everything that happened that fall. His eyes met Beau’s. “Friendship,” he said, “and forgiveness.”

  “Those are good.”

  “Yeah. Take care of yourself, okay? Take it easy on that face.”

  Beau attempted a smile. “Will do.”

  Chapter 20

  Thanksgiving Day was surreal.

  Every year, Beau helped clean the house within an inch of its life, then prepped vegetables for the side dishes. He scrubbed and peeled potatoes and chopped up carrots and celery for an appetizer platter. Gran made the turkey and stuffing; she baked the pies the day before: apple, pumpkin and pecan. His mother made the green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, sweet potato pie and corn casserole. Maggie set out the relishes, cheese and crackers.

  But not this year.

  Beau got out of bed Thanksgiving morning feeling every one of his bruises. He was tender and sore, but the worst of the pain was gone. He popped a couple of Tylenol, so he’d be in fighting form for the holiday and dressed in jeans and an oversized hoodie, sure that his mother would make him change later but determined to be comfortable as long as he could.

  He ventured into the dining room, where Gran and his mother sat nursing tea and coffee, respectively.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “You’re up early,” his mother remarked. Frowning at his face, she said, “How does the bruising feel? The color is changing.”

  Out of habit, Beau touched the edges of the largest bruise high on his cheekbone. “Still hurts, but it’s better.”

  Gran pushed her chair back, standing with effort. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “I can get it, Gran,” he said, but she waved him off as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  He turned to his mother. “Do you want me to run the vacuum?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just us this Thanksgiving. Without the Ritters, it seems silly to run ourselves ragged removing every speck of dust.”

  Beau thought it was silly even when the Ritters were in attendance. Wade’s house was tidy, but it was far from immaculate. He knew Helen didn’t care about those things, but his mother treated it as a point of pride, and Beau never won that fight with her.

  “If you’re sure …”

  Gran returned with a sturdy ceramic mug. “Here you go,” she said. “Why don’t you take it in the living room and get comfortable on the sofa.”

  She herded him out of the dining room, shuffling behind him and nudging his back. “Okay,” he said uncertainly. “But what about helping in the kitchen?”

  “Not today,” she said firmly, then pointed at the sofa. “Sit.”

  “But—”

  She gave him a little push, so Beau sank into the corner of the brown sofa. It was past its prime, but it was comfortable. No springs had rebelled yet.

  Gran sat his coffee mug on a coaster on the coffee table next to him, then grabbed an afghan from his mother’s crocheting phase, about three years ago now, and draped it over him. “Just take it easy and enjoy the holiday, Beau. It’s about time Maggie steps it up in the kitchen anyhow. She’s always let you do the real work.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  She smiled and brushed a hand over his hair. “I know, dear. You’re a good boy. But you’ve had a rough couple of days. So, just relax. Be grateful you’re healing. I know I am.” Her eyes grew bright, but Gran wasn’t one to shed a tear. She turned around and fetched the remote, tossing it onto his lap.

  Beau flipped channels on the television, alternating between the football game he’d found — hard to complain about tight football pants, even though he couldn’t follow the plays — and a mindless action movie that so far consisted of a car chase and a big explosion. He hadn’t quite caught the plot, not that it mattered. His mind wasn’t engaged.

  As if it wasn’t strange enough to be treated like an invalid when Gran and his mom subscribed to the belief that idle hands were the devil’s workshop, or however the saying went, Trent and Xavier arrived with two surprise guests in tow: the doctor who’d treated him at the health clinic and a good-looking, dark-haired guy who appeared to be in his mid-twenties.

  “Xavier,” his mother said with a tight smile, “you should have told me you were bringing guests!”

  Beau bet she regretted taking it easy on the house-cleaning now. The house was perfectly in order, though. He hardly thought these men would inspect the ceiling fans for a layer of dust.

  Xavier gave her a big hug. “Relax, sis. Be grateful the house isn’t a total wreck.” He winked at Beau, who laughed.

  Once Twyla welcomed them more graciously, Xavier disappeared into the kitchen, Trent settled in Gran’s favorite recliner, and Paul and Zane both took a seat on the sofa next to him.

  “Beau, you remember Dr. Paul Johnston?” Trent asked.

  Beau nodded. “Yeah, thanks for seeing me the other day.”

  “No problem. How are you feeling?”

  “No concussion,” Beau said immediately. “I’m bruised and tender, but I’ll live.”

  “This is Zane,” Paul added, placing his hand on the dark-haired man’s knee in a proprietary manner. “My boyfriend.”

  “Hi,” Beau said, feeling awkward. Next to him on the sofa was a real gay couple, other than his own uncles. It was pretty amazing to look at them and know they were like him in that way and happily settled in a relationship. But it was also weird. These two guys had sex with each other, and Beau wasn’t sure he wanted to picture that and yet couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  He blushed, looking at the television in search of a distraction.

  “I’ll just check on Xavier,” Trent said. “He’s probably gobbling up all the olives.”

  Dr. Johnston stood. “I need the bathroom, if you don’t mind?”

  Within seconds, Beau was left alone with Zane. “So, you’re doing okay after what happened to you?” Zane asked.

  Beau looked at Zane out of the corner of his eye while staring at the TV. “I guess. Your boyfriend told you about it?”

  “With your uncle’s encouragement,” Zane said. “He typically can’t report patients’ situations to me.”

  Beau nodded. He knew all about HIPAA regulations. He didn’t really care that the doctor had
told someone, but he wasn’t eager to rehash it. He remembered, vaguely, that Zane had a similar experience.

  “You got beat up too, they said. Is that why you guys are here? To talk to me?”

  “Partly. Paul and your uncle thought it might be good for you to meet another gay guy who’s been bashed.”

  Beau groaned, lifting a hand to his eyes. “Our situations aren’t the same at all.”

  “Aren’t they?” Zane asked, cocking his head. Beau reluctantly looked at him as he smiled sympathetically. “I get that you may not want to talk about it. You might not be ready to process everything that happened. I was the same way for a while. I was angry and hurt, and I just wanted people to leave me alone.”

  “Yeah?” Being left alone would be excellent.

  Zane nodded. “I don’t know about you, but I was so angry. Funny thing is, I wasn’t really angry at the guy who put me in the hospital.”

  “Your stepdad, right? Why not?”

  Zane leaned back, crossing a leg over his knee and getting comfortable. Apparently, Beau was in for a story.

  “Guess I misplaced some of that anger on my real father. He and I had a fight, and as a result, I was at my mom’s place. His rejection hurt more than those fists, if I’m honest.”

  “Oh,” Beau said, not really relating. His family was so supportive, it was difficult to imagine them rejecting him. “That must have been hard. Are things any better with your father?”

  “They’re never going to be perfect, but they’re better. Me getting hurt shook him up, made him think about what was important. It’s been a few years since then, and he’s come a long way, but he still looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’ll never fully have the answer to.” Zane shrugged. “He’s trying, though, and that’s what counts.”

  “That’s good.”

  “How about you, Beau? You mad at these assholes who hit you?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said weakly.

  Zane just looked at him, one eyebrow raising skeptically. Beau sighed. “Okay, maybe I kind of feel like I brought it on myself.”