Stand by Your Manny

by Amy Lane

  Oops! Too much of his soul on display. “Why is it so damned hard to eat?” Cooper demanded.

  “I just forget,” Sammy lied casually.

  “This is the third time I’ve asked. Now please, Sammy—I’ll….” Oh God. “I’ll tell you anything you want. I promise. Just… my whole life I’ve wanted a family just like yours, and you’ve got them, and they’re freaking out over your health. Can you tell me why it’s so hard to eat?”

  Sammy regarded him carefully, that open, trusting sort of look Cooper had grown used to suddenly hidden behind protective shields, titanium grade.

  “You first,” Sammy told him—but he grabbed his plate as he said it and took a bite.

  “Fine.” Cooper snuggled into his pillow, pulling the blankets tighter around his chin. “There’s never enough money. Not for clothes or covers or sheets or books or backpacks. Every home I was placed in was crowded. I don’t know—some kids get that one family and they get adopted, and some kids are too small or too quiet and whatever, and they just get placed. So you never look good. You’re always wearing hand-me-downs, and when someone’s lunch money goes missing, you’re always the first person at the end of the pointed finger. So yeah. If you and me went to school together, people would accuse me of being there to steal your lunch.”

  Sammy let out an unamused breath and took another bite. His plate was getting empty, but he didn’t talk right away. Just chewed thoughtfully.

  “Sam—”

  “I would have given you my food,” he said unexpectedly.

  Coop smiled, feeling bitter, because it was the truth. “I know it.”

  “I told you about my mom, right?”

  Cooper couldn’t have forgotten that if he’d tried. “Yeah.” He wanted… something. To hold Sammy’s hand, to pat his thigh. Sammy seemed so… kind. So familiar. His touch on Cooper’s face when he’d been out of it and lost in composition still tingled. But even if Sammy was receptive to Cooper’s advances, Cooper wasn’t ready to advance. He’d spent so long hiding, so long making his own survival—and then Felicity’s survival—his priority. Sammy had an entire family he could depend on. Cooper had only himself, and he wasn’t feeling strong enough to risk this moment of haven for his tiny, fragile family.

  But that didn’t stop him from looking at Sammy hungrily, recording every expression, every voice inflection, to ponder over later.

  “It’s just… I put so much hope in that dinner,” Sammy continued, his gaze fixed at a point of time in the past. “In the idea that this one particular meal would change my life. I could taste it, smell it—and see my mom across the table as I ate it. And when I realized that wasn’t going to happen… it’s just, eating became sort of… a chore. And you know, you hit your teenage years and all you want to do is….” Suddenly he was back in the room again as he offered Cooper a game smile.

  “Shirk your chores,” Cooper said, understanding.

  Sammy shrugged. “And now, whenever I’m stressed or under pressure, it’s like eating—not my favorite.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Oh God. Too personal. Cooper didn’t want to go there himself. “If you eat, I mean.”

  “That feeling.” Sammy said and then grimaced at Cooper’s confusion. “I’m sorry—I spent a year with a kiddie shrink trying to find better words than this. But you probably know that feeling. That this person who’s your entire world will walk out the door and never come home again. And your whole world will change, and nothing will. Same four walls, breakfast lunch and dinner, school—but no center of your world. That’s what food means to me. That the breakfast lunch and dinner are there, but the thing in here”—he held his hand to his chest—“that’s disappeared, and every time you think about it, you fall into the void it left.”

  Cooper swallowed, his throat tight. Every ache in his body suddenly screamed out loud for a comfort that never came, that hadn’t come since he was six, that would never come again.

  “Yeah,” he said, shocked as he always was about how close to the surface that wound was, when he’d told himself years ago that parents were a thing Cooper Hoskins would never get. “I know that feeling.”

  “You’re brave,” Sammy told him, sounding bleak. “If you have that feeling and you keep eating. When I get stressed or worried—or sometimes just lost in my own head—I forget to be brave.”

  Cooper’s chest constricted. “Eating shouldn’t have to be an act of bravery,” he said, wanting more—so much more for his angel.

  Sammy’s brief kiss on his cheek startled him so much he didn’t move, even when Sammy said, “Loving people—learning to be loved—shouldn’t be one either.” Then, before Cooper could even gather himself to answer, Sammy set his plate down and slid under his covers, pulling them up to his chin. “Tino should be in soon with your dinner,” he said, yawning. “No crumbs on the bed, but you can stay.” That smile—so sweet. “I promise, I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  Cooper couldn’t stop himself anymore—not after so many painful revelations. He smoothed Sammy’s hair back from his forehead, his chest aching with the intimacy. “I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he said.

  “Me neither.” Sammy blinked up at him. “I know I can’t wish you a mom, Cooper. But I really hope you stay here and keep Tino and Channing.”

  “I’m too old to be adopted,” Cooper said practically. They were so close, face-to-face, whispering like kids at a sleepover.

  “No, you’re not. Brandon and Taylor were adopted. That’s how you’re here, you know. Brandon barged in the front door and said, ‘He’s good—you need to take him!’”

  Cooper smiled then, because he could imagine Brandon doing just that. “Well, I don’t think he meant permanent—”

  “Don’t fight me,” Sammy muttered, his chin set obstinately. “And sit up. If you stay here, you’ll fall asleep and forget to eat.”

  Cooper sighed and sat up painfully, situating himself with the pillows all over again. When he looked down, Sammy was asleep, face pale against the brightly colored pillows and comforter, full mouth relaxed and trusting.

  Carefully, he swept that dark blond hair back from his forehead again, feeling the softness of the strands. Oh, Sammy. You had me fooled for a minute there. Thought you were perfect, with the perfect family and the perfect life. But you’re fragile, my angel. You need your people. I’ll make sure you don’t forget.

  The footsteps in the hall warned him, and by the time Tino pushed the door open, his hands were in his lap like that gesture of intimacy never happened.

  “He invited me,” Cooper said quickly when he saw Tino’s eyebrows raise. “On top of the covers, see?” He pulled back the afghans, and Tino shook his head.

  “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Cooper. I promise. Here—soup and a sandwich. You look pretty beat too. Just put the tray on the end table when you’re done. Channing and I will come collect it later.”

  Cooper took the tray from him and balanced it on his lap. “Thank you.” He noted the two pills next to the plate and the bottle of water on the end table. “Sincerely,” he muttered, washing down the pain pills as quickly as possible.

  “You should have called us when he asked for your help,” Tino chided—but not unkindly.

  “He was embarrassed,” Cooper told him. “I think he felt like a little kid.”

  The look of pain on Tino’s face cut Cooper to the bone. It was the same pain Cooper felt when he couldn’t afford new clothes for Felicity or to take her someplace interesting for the weekend. It was the feeling of letting someone who depended on you down.

  “Sammy was so very rarely a little kid,” he said, a nostalgic smile flirting with his lips. Tino was a handsome man, but even if he hadn’t been married and older, Cooper really couldn’t see anybody but Sammy.

  “An old soul?” Cooper hazarded, taking a bite of his sandwich. He’d had one good foster family—he’d loved it there. Lauralyn, his foster mother in that home, had told him that he’d been an old soul as well.
Maybe that was why he and Sammy had felt such an instant rapport.

  “Very much so,” Tino conceded with a nod. “When Channing and I first got serious, I was afraid—what if it doesn’t work out? What will happen with Sammy? But Channing said he already loved me—I was already a part of his life. So if we didn’t try, it would be the same as if it didn’t work out. Everybody would have broken hearts.”

  Cooper set his sandwich down. The thought of the three of them so tenuous, when they felt like everything he’d ever imagined a family to be, that hurt. “It must have been frightening,” he admitted.

  Tino shrugged. “I saw it that way. You do. Channing and Sammy? They just close their eyes and leap. Sammy’s crushes all though school? Same way. Just fell. No way of saying ‘This girl, she’s too old’ or ‘I’m not sure this boy is gay’ would do it. He’d just fall.”

  “Did he bounce back?” Cooper asked, afraid of either answer.

  “Would you?” Tino asked perceptively.

  Oh, Cooper could really see that thing about eating being a chore. He shoved a huge bite of sandwich in his mouth and chewed doggedly.

  Tino shrugged. “Sammy neither. But he kept leaping. Bravery has never been Sammy’s problem.”

  Cooper took a look at the sleeping boy next to him, snoring softly, who thought he wasn’t brave.

  “I can see that,” he said. His fingers itched with the urge to touch again. No one had ever told him that one touch couldn’t possibly be enough.

  “Cooper?”

  Cooper looked up, startled, and shoved a bite of sandwich in his mouth—just like Sammy had. Oh God, he could feel the heat thrown off by Sammy’s body through the covers, and he wanted to crawl into it and never come out. “Mmff?”

  “If you and Sammy… well, you know. If you guys take a shine to each other, and things don’t work out?”

  Oh God. Felicity was happy here. Cooper might blow her chance to be happy by—

  “It wouldn’t change anything,” Tino continued, and Cooper almost choked on his sandwich.

  “Mmthorry?” He wiped sputtered crumbs with the back of his hand.

  “It might be hard for you and Sammy to talk, but once you start working, as long as you put the kids first, we’re not going to fire you for a failed love affair. Not even with our boy. And we’ve watched you—you let the kids play in your room for hours when you should be sleeping. Felicity can’t check on you soon enough when she gets in the door from school. You practically killed yourself getting Sammy to bed, and he’s not even a kid. You will put the kids first—I have no doubt. So… whatever that look on your face is, when you look at him? Wanting to talk to him some more isn’t a crime.”

  Tino was an adult. Maybe he would believe Cooper when he said this. “I’m too old to adopt. You know that, right?”

  Tino wrinkled his nose. “You only say that because you haven’t met my mother. Don’t worry—that’s tomorrow. Get some sleep.” He ruffled Cooper’s hair—like a little kid, he ruffled his hair—and then turned around and left, turning off the overhead light but leaving the lamp on.

  Cooper finished his meal in the quiet punctuated by Sammy’s breathing and tried to remember what his life had been like two weeks before, when he got up, got Felicity to school, and then worked his ass off on a site.

  And he worried with every breath that if something happened to him, Felicity would be on her own. And that if Felicity ever got taken away, nobody would care if he stopped eating, stopped breathing, stopped living.

  And here he was, full stomach, full life, a pretty boy in his bed—even if he was under the sheets and Cooper was on top—and people who would bring him dinner and all but kiss him good night.

  He couldn’t make these two pictures fit, no matter how hard he tried. Finally he set his food on the end table and sat up—easier now with his pain meds—and went to use Sammy’s attached bathroom and clean up.

  The room was decorated in white tile with little sea turtles in unexpected places. Painted sea turtles on individual wall tiles, a sea turtle rug, sea turtles on the shower curtain. Since the room itself was done in pale blond wood with a blue-and-green carpet, bedding, and drapes, Cooper got the feeling that Sammy might just—possibly—love the sea.

  He must have really wanted to go on the outing this day, but he’d given it up to keep Cooper company and do his homework.

  Like Tino had said—an old soul. And not one who would play with Cooper’s feelings, no matter how fragile.

  Cooper made his way back to bed and crawled under the throws, then turned off the light. He watched Sammy breathe, in and out, tranquil and troubled and so very loved, until his own eyes closed and he fell asleep.

  HE woke up slowly, trying to place himself in space and time. He was curled on his side, and sunlight streamed through the window into his eyes. When he’d adjusted to the glare, he realized that someone—Sammy—was lying next to him, grinning quietly as Cooper oriented himself.

  “You scowl a lot,” he whispered.

  Cooper couldn’t help it—he smiled. “You smile all the time.”

  “I’ll have to share the smiles,” Sammy said gravely, and oh! Cooper could see it now, the old soul in the young man’s body. “You deserve more.”

  So close—his mouth cherry ripe, his eyes dancing, warm and sweet and soft against the glare of the January day. “I have to give them to get them,” Cooper said practically, recalling an old motivational poster that had been placed near a temporary bed.

  Sammy’s grin turned thoughtful. “Does that work with kisses?” he asked. “Because I’m going to kiss you now, unless you tell me not to.”

  Cooper opened his mouth in surprise, lips parted slightly, and that’s where he was when Sammy’s cherry-ripe mouth covered his own.

  The little shit had brushed his teeth, and his tongue, minty fresh, swept into Cooper’s mouth with enough expertise to let Cooper know he had endured a few crushes, and he’d learned some things in the process.

  Cooper wanted to learn them too.

  He groaned, splaying his hands against Sammy’s chest and kneading, the luxury of being able to touch a man enough to make his stomach flutter and his groin tingle. Sammy pushed up on one elbow, pressed Cooper back gently against the mattress, and kept the kiss going.

  Cooper wanted to hold him, to lift his arm and sift his fingers through that soft blond hair again, but when he raised his arm, his ribs and shoulder protested, and his next sound wasn’t one of pleasure.

  Sammy backed off immediately. “Oh no! I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Oh God—I swear, I haven’t been kissed that much, but I thought I was improving. Are you okay? Do you hate me? Should I get Cha—”

  Cooper shushed him with two fingers on his lips—redder now and swollen with kisses. Cooper’s kisses.

  “No, for God’s sake, don’t go get your uncles,” he said, smiling ruefully. “And I’m glad you haven’t gotten kissed that much, because that was my first kiss ever, and it almost stopped my heart.”

  “Ever?” Sammy asked against his fingers. “I’m your first kiss ever?”

  Cooper nodded gingerly, his neck protesting all the shenanigans before everything was completely healed. “It was wonderful,” he whispered. “I just tweaked myself reaching for more.”

  “You need to do that more often.” Sammy went in for one more brief kiss. “Reach for more.”

  Cooper melted, falling against the comforter as boneless as an amoeba, and let Sammy plunder his mouth again. This time he didn’t stretch his body or try to do too much, just allowed this good, by-the-grace-of-God thing to happen and didn’t try to fight it.

  When Sammy came up for air this time, they were both breathing hard. Bright spots of color burned on Sammy’s pale cheeks, and the glance he shot Cooper was hooded and sultry.

  “Please say that’s not our last kiss,” he begged.

  The knock on the door kept Cooper from begging. Sammy grinned at him and held his fingers to his lips as three excited voices called ou
t in cacophony, “Sammy! Sammy, are you up yet? We want to tell you and Coop about yesterday. Tino’s making waffles! Are you coming down?”

  “I’ll be right out!” he called. “Go down without me!”

  “Promise?” Felicity asked plaintively, and Sammy’s face softened even as he replied.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he told them. “Neither would Cooper. Don’t get him up just yet, though—give him a few.”

  The herd-of-elephant footsteps pummeled down the stairs, and both of them sagged in relief.

  “Can you make the stairs alone?” Sammy asked seriously. “I didn’t think you’d want to answer their questions about….” He bit his lip.

  “I might need help,” Cooper admitted, then struggled to sit up. “Wait….” He pushed himself up off the bed. “Wow.” His grin down at Sammy must have shown his relief. “Wow. Sleep and pain meds—I kept hoping they’d work, but I’m feeling much better!”

  “It was yesterday,” Sammy said wisely. “All the peace in the house—I know it works for me when I’m sick.”

  Cooper nodded. “So, uh, if you want to go downstairs and distract everybody….”

  Sammy popped out of bed, only the faintest tremor in his hand showing that his body was still a little weak after the night before. “I should, uh, eat,” he apologized, looking away. Then he seemed to remember himself. “Uh, Coop?”

  Their eyes collided, and Cooper’s neck broke into a saturating sweat. “Yeah?” he whispered.

  “I… uhm… if we keep kissing, I won’t want to hide it. But… this is your first one. I wanted it to be mine.”

  Cooper nodded dumbly, and Sammy made his way around the bed, pausing for a moment as he passed. They stood eye to eye, and Sammy brought his thumb up to stroke Cooper’s lower lip. Just that, the smooth tickle of Sammy’s skin, and Cooper’s lips parted, his gut clenching in need of one more taste.

  “Later,” Sammy whispered, pecking him on the cheek. “I promise.”

  And then he whisked out the door, leaving Cooper to follow, sneaking down the stairs after Sammy wandered into the kitchen and called everybody’s attention to himself.