by Jerry Cole
“Marc,” Brent said, peering around the back of Polly to get Marc’s attention. Marc didn’t respond, closing his eyes and trying desperately to get his breathing under control. “Shit.”
Pushing himself off the couch, he dropped to his knees in front of Marc, aware the conversation around them was dwindling, but not caring. He rested his hands on Marc’s knees, feeling the trembles wracking Marc’s body.
“Listen to me,” Brent said firmly, lifting a hand to Marc’s face and cupping his cheek. “Breathe slowly, Marc.”
Marc’s eyes shot open, mouth opening on a gasp of breath, and Brent’s grip tightened. Marc’s eyes darted around the room, and Brent shook his head, pressing their foreheads together. “Shut your eyes, Marc, focus on me, okay?”
It took a while, but Marc’s breathing started to slow, even as he was gripping hard at Brent’s shirt. It was a switch of their usual roles, Brent aware he spent half of his time hanging off Marc, but he didn’t much care for the comparison.
“Slow, that’s it,” he said, keeping his voice low, watching the rise and fall of Marc’s chest calm. When Marc opened his eyes once again, he kept them on Brent’s face, which Brent was grateful for. “All right?”
“Fuck,” Marc said emphatically, and Brent watched the flush rise on his cheeks, embarrassment obvious in his expression. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Brent said, as forceful as he usually would.
There was an obvious silence in the room, and though Brent wanted to urge everyone to leave them alone, Jack leaned over the arm of the couch, giving Marc a slow once over.
“They suck, right?”
Marc looked startled, raising his eyebrows at Jack. He didn’t say anything, still leaning heavily against Brent.
“Panic attacks,” Jack explained. Her mouth was twisted downward and Brent’s chest tightened painfully. “I have my fair share, and they fucking suck.”
Brent had no idea how Marc was going to handle it; though Brent helped him through the panic attacks, they never spoke about them. It had always been safer to acknowledge them but only bring them up when Marc wanted to—and he never did.
“Yeah,” Marc said eventually, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “They’re not the nicest things in the world.”
Jack immediately launched into the many stories of her own panic attacks, and though Marc looked mildly uncomfortable, he seemed content enough to answer Jack’s questions and listen to her stories. He released his grip on Brent enough for Brent to drop to the floor in front of him, immediately jumped on by the two dogs. Brent looked up to see his mom watching him, her expression proud, and Brent had to duck his head, his own blush heating his cheeks.
Though Marc had been a little distant after his panic attack, he still managed through the rest of the gathering without having another one, and by the time he disappeared into his own apartment so Brent could accompany his family to the hotel, he was starting to smile more genuinely. Brandon promised to look in on him the next day when Brent took them to the airport, and Brent was glad at least Marc wasn’t going to be alone.
Brandon and Amanda disappeared not long after Marc, announcing they were going out to a bar, and Brent eyed them suspiciously as they left, hoping they weren’t going to end up dating. That would be awkward.
Thankfully, they stumbled back to the apartment before it got too late, especially with Amanda due to fly out with his family. She managed to wake Brent up as she fell face-first into the couch, and Brent left her there until morning, when he ducked into Marc’s apartment for breakfast and a kiss. He was just coming out of the apartment when his mom and sisters arrived at the apartment block, ready to pick up Amanda and head out.
“I’m proud of you,” his mom said, when they arrived at the airport. She neglected to talk about Marc the entire trip. She wrapped him up in a warm hug. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky too,” Brent said. He tightened his hold. “Is Jack all right?”
“She will be,” his mom assured him. “Believe it or not, I think Marc helped a lot there.”
Brent’s answering grin was as much pride in Marc as it was his own happiness.
“I love him,” Brent said.
“Yes,” his mom told him with a wide smile. “I know.”
Polly was even more enthusiastic, though she didn’t leave without threatening him twice that if he didn’t keep a hold of Marc, she would find him and punch him in the face.
“Aren’t you supposed to give him the shovel talk?”
Polly laughed, hugging him quickly, and then patting his cheek. “See you soon, brother.”
Rachel was a little calmer, though Brent could see from her smile she would not be leaving him alone about this. “You owe me so much for keeping your secret.”
“I know,” Brent said, making a face.
“Good,” Rachel said, pressing a kiss to Brent’s face. “You can buy me some new shoes.”
Brent promised he would look into it.
Jack was the last to say goodbye, and if Brent was being honest with himself, it was the farewell he was least looking forward to. She wasn’t going to be the first to talk, and he knew that straight away.
“I know I haven’t been the best,” Brent said, avoiding looking her in the eye. “I kinda let you struggle alone—and with Rachel’s help—but I didn’t bother to figure out what it was like with you. Now I have Marc, I realize how much of a dick I’ve been.”
Expression impassive, Rachel didn’t look like she’d answer. Brent resigned himself to trying to fix their relationship long distance, when Jack surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his collarbone. Brent held her tight.
“I didn’t lie about how awful it is,” Jack said, not relaxing her grip on Brent.
“Yeah, I get it,” Brent said quietly, tugging Jack away so he could look her in the eye. “Call me if you need me, yeah?”
“You mean, you’ll answer?” Polly said, sounding amused.
Jack laughed gently, and Brent let go of his irritation at Polly’s interruption, and relished the sight of Jack’s smile. “I’m not forgiving you for this right now.”
“I know,” Brent said, serious once again. “I wouldn’t expect you to. If mom lets you,” he said pointedly, and with a quick glance at their mom, “I’ll buy you a new video game or whatever.”
“I might forgive you once it’s arrived,” Jack said thoughtfully.
“Now me?” Amanda said, appearing at Brent’s right arm.
“I guess,” Brent said, with a long-suffering sigh. Jack laughed and lounged around the pillar they were gathered around. “Thanks for coming.”
“As if I’d miss your birthday,” Amanda said. She shrugged easily. “Or miss drinking Brandon under the table.”
“Yeah, that didn’t happen,” Brent said, giving her a quick hug. He had been hugging too many people lately, and he hated saying goodbye. “Sorry to say it.”
Amanda sighed dramatically but was laughing as she grabbed her carry-on. “I love you, Brent, don’t mess this up.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Brent laughed himself and gestured at the gate. “Go on, get out of here.”
He waited until he couldn’t see his family or Amanda anymore, and then turned back to the entrance, ready for the train trip back home. His phone vibrated in his pocket just as he was headed for the station.
Marc: Come to mine after you’re done there ;)
Brent snorted at Marc using an emoji, and then grinned at the implication of the text. He had a few presents from his family, but Marc promised to give it to him later, when they had a more private setting, and Brent couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
Not that he cared much; Marc could have forgone the present altogether and Brent would have been happy.
He had it bad.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was something to be said for putting distance between himself and friends.
It had barely been two d
ays since his birthday, and Amanda was already calling him, sounding amused. “I see the blog is still empty.”
“I do have another business,” Brent pointed out. “Which you know because you just saw me.”
He could practically see Amanda’s eyeroll. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Fine,” Brent continued. “Thanks to Marc’s buddies, I now have more dogs than I know what to do with.”
Amanda laughed. “You’re actually running a kindergarten for dogs now?”
“Just call it a doggy daycare,” Brent said, rolling his eyes. “I know that’s what Brandon’s been calling it when he speaks to you.”
“Doggy daycare.” Amanda sighed. She sounded wistful. “I would love to work with dogs all day, but the law won’t uphold itself.”
Brent smirked. “Someone has to keep the criminals in line.”
“Well, you could always report on them,” Amanda said pointedly. “Unless you’ve given up on journalism?”
“No,” Brent said, dragging the word out. He hadn’t, not really. There had just been so many other things to do with Marc and his PTSD, his family, and the VA. Finding time to write out an article and post it to his blog had been next to impossible.
Though, he thought, he had been making excuses not to write something more than he’d actively tried to make time. He said as much to Amanda, and she made an assenting noise.
“Find something to write about and just do it. Your doggy daycare pays the bills,” she said. “But I know you want to write as well.”
There was nothing to say Brent couldn’t have both. He told Amanda he had to go, hanging up before she could cuss him out, and pulled his laptop toward him, cradling it on the edge of his knees. Having his family around, seeing Jack and Marc talking, explaining to his sisters and Mom about how amazing Marc was, had all culminated in an idea that, once formed at the VA, blossomed into something more now that he was actively thinking about it.
By the time he finished typing, it was almost three in the morning and his fingers were aching as well as every other part of his body. He hadn’t had much sleep the last couple of days, both spent with Marc half the night and then relocating to the couch when Marc’s nightmares woke him. Brent had no doubt it was because of his party, and the guilt caused him to put a little distance between them, as much as he’d been trying not to.
Of Dogs, Love, and PTSD, posted by Brent Strome.
Brent chewed at his bottom lip, wondering if it was the kind of blog—the kind of article—that would appeal to anyone. When he thought about setting up a blog to get his name out there, it had been about journalism. Whatever journalism came out of this blog would be accidental, but that didn’t change his mind they were the subjects he wanted to focus on.
Before he could change his mind, he sent the first blog post to Amanda, hoping she wasn’t too pissed off about him hanging up on her and wouldn’t immediately veto it. To be fair, it wasn’t a particularly long post, but it said enough about what he was turning the blog into that she would be able to give an opinion.
His eyes landed on Marc’s present for him, still unwrapped and on display. Brent had yet to find somewhere to hang it, wanting it in the perfect place. He remembered opening it, curled up on the very couch he was sat on now, Marc draped over his shoulders. The tissue paper had been delicately wrapped around the simple, white frame, and Brent’s breath had hitched when he’d seen what Marc had framed.
“Marc,” he’d said, breathless.
He had no idea when Marc would have taken the picture; it had to have been on a timer to include them both, but he couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen Marc set up the camera. They were in Marc’s apartment, and Brent was used to having Marc snap him on his camera phone, but this didn’t look like that kind of quality.
“When did you take this?” He asked, running his fingers reverently over the glass.
“I always wanna take photos of you,” Marc admitted. It wasn’t an answer, but maybe he couldn’t remember either.
They were curled up on the floor, Stanley and Juliette begging for cuddles. Brent had a few gifts through the years he could say he’d hang on to for life, and this had to belong in there. He didn’t want to think about breaking up with Marc, but even if they did, he couldn’t imagine releasing his hold on this. They all looked so happy, his own smile bright and wide as he looked at Marc, whose own expression was soft and beautiful.
The photo, still on the table, gave Brent an idea.
The blog would need pictures, and what photos he took were always on his phone, so while they were good quality, they weren’t professional. Marc’s were so much more so. Marc was a great photographer, and though Brent was adamant he wanted to include Marc’s pictures along with his articles, he was worried Marc would say no.
There was no need to ask if Amanda didn’t like the article. That didn’t stop him from asking to see Marc’s photos again, and though he felt a little guilty at the joy on Marc’s face, he took the time to ask Marc about each one, and whether they had any stories attached.
There was one of Stanley in his harness, the service dog logo on the side, and Marc’s hand and leg in the photo. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough that Brent could see it working well with the article. He didn’t want to take it without permission, and put it on the coffee table, leaving it separate from the rest.
Marc was staring at it, lips quirked up into a soft smile, and Brent smiled, leaning into him. “What’s so special about that one?”
“It makes me think of you,” Brent explained, sliding the picture closer. “It encompasses my favorite things about you without even showing you in the picture.”
“It was a terrible shot,” Marc said, waving his hand.
“So, I can keep it?” Brent asked, kissing Marc’s jaw.
“What would you even do with it?” Marc asked incredulously, reciprocating the kiss with one of his own.
Brent shrugged, knowing it was a little underhanded, maybe, but he desperately wanted the picture. “Whatever I want.”
Marc raised his eyebrows, but he looked more amused than put out. He sighed, shrugging easily as he pressed two quick kisses to Brent’s mouth. “Fine.”
“You mean it?”
This time, Marc shook his head, smiling slightly. “I just said yes, didn’t I?”
It was a big thing, Brent knew, for Marc to part with his pictures when he was so private about them, but hopefully Brent was going to help change that.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“It’s good enough?” Brent asked.
Polly was on the other end of the phone, low music playing in the background. “It’s great.”
“But?”
“There is no but, don’t be negative,” Polly said immediately. She hummed thoughtfully. “I didn’t know half of this stuff.”
Admittedly, Brent had been more candid in the article than he might have been otherwise, but he was sure his sisters would have known most of the stuff he’d talked about.
“Really?”
“It’s mostly about Marc,” Polly pointed out. “The stuff about you, duh, but the stuff about Marc?”
Brent winced. “So?”
“It’s not bad,” Polly started. She let out a slow breath. “It’s really good. What does he think about it?”
“I don’t want him to see it yet,” Brent admitted. “I wanted to get people’s opinions on it first.”
There was a pointed silence on the other end of the phone, but Brent didn’t know what to say to prompt her into talking. He let the silence drag, started putting away the dishes piled up on the draining board.
Eventually, Polly let out a soft noise. “Are you worried about what he’ll say?”
“No,” Brent said.
“So why are you showing it to other people first?”
“I didn’t want it to be in bad taste,” Brent admitted. “I don’t want him to think I’m using his shit against him, you know?”
“You are kin
d of worried about what he’ll say, then.” Polly didn’t sound annoyed, and when she next spoke, her voice was kind. “You should show him. I think you’ll be surprised by his reaction.”
Brent left it alone for a couple of days, not sure he actually wanted to do anything with it, even after Amanda gave it the go ahead and told him the picture was more than perfect, and she couldn’t wait to see them both again, so she could congratulate them. Brent was going to have to tell Marc soon, otherwise someone was going to let the cat out of the bag.
After a long day, both working separate clients, Brent came home exhausted, promising Marc he would see him the next morning for breakfast. They parted with a kiss and a soft I love you from Brent, and as soon as the door closed on the real world, Brent fell face-first onto the couch and was happy to just stay there for a while. Unfortunately for Brent, his phone started vibrating in his pocket and didn’t seem to stop. He rolled over onto his back, holding the phone above his head so that he could see why his phone was blowing up, and froze.
Amanda had sent him a text with a panicked Sorry and !!! and a link.
“Oh, fuck.”
Brent scrambled to his feet, yelling at Juliette to stay back as he shut the door between the living room and the hall, skidding to a halt at the front door. As it swung open, Marc standing in the doorway, face like thunder, holding his phone in his hand. When he saw Brent, he thrust it forward, mouth curled up into a sneer.
“What the fuck is this?” He snapped.
The picture of Stanley and the title of Brent’s blog stared back at him, mocking him. It was if the universe was shitting on him for not telling Marc when he should have, and he couldn’t even protest.
“Marc, I can explain.”
The phone hovered in front of Brent’s face for another beat, and then Marc shoved the phone angrily in his pocket, folding his arms across his chest, jaw locked. He didn’t say anything.
Brent swallowed thickly, hands trembling as he rubbed at his face, desperate to explain. “I just wanted to write something that—”