by Jaime Samms
A few seconds later, the thump of footsteps retreating up the stairs and the clap of closing bedroom doors testified to their obedience.
“If only they always listened like that,” Wayne groused.
Silence resumed as Trevor watched his mother pour him tea.
“Is that l-lemon loaf, Ma?” He accepted the mug with a faint smile.
“Of course, dear. Do you think you can manage a slice?”
“You know I can. You spoil me.”
Wayne snorted, then grunted as Julie kicked him under the table. “What?” he complained. “She does.”
Stella placed a plate with a thin, neat slice of lemon cake and a fork in front of Trevor. “And don’t just pick at it,” she admonished him.
Stanley could feel the vibration going through the younger man’s body that told him Trevor’s leg was bouncing a mile a minute. The hush of the room fairly hummed with his disquiet. Shifting one leg, Stanley pressed his knee against the bounding thigh.
Trevor shot him a fleeting smile. The fingers of his near hand twitched.
Hoping it was a clear enough invitation, Stanley rested his hand on the table, palm up.
Trevor noticed and accepted the invitation, lacing his fingers through Stanley’s. Gradually, his body stilled and he wrapped his free hand around his mug.
“Boston first,” he said, sliding a furtive glance in Stanley’s direction. “So you know.”
Stanley nodded. “Okay.”
“Let me, honey,” Stella interrupted, taking her seat and patting his arm. “It’ll be easier if I tell it.”
“No, Ma.” Trevor took a deep breath and glanced at Stanley again, a question in his eyes.
Stanley squeezed the singer’s fingers.
“I have to do this.” Trevor turned to look at his mother, but his fingers tightened around Stanley’s. He squared his shoulders. “Not that I don’t appreciate you wanting to make it easier.” He touched the back of her hand and smiled when she looked at him, her eyes deep and sad. “But you can’t. Not really.” He kissed her cheek. “You never could, Ma. Now I have to do this.” He shifted to face forward again, fixing his gaze on his plate and picking up his fork. “It’s part of the rules.”
Wayne frowned. “Rules? What rules?”
Trevor met his brother’s stern gaze, cool gray eyes steadfast. “It’s a personal thing. Between Stan and me.”
“He gives you rules.” Wayne’s frown deepened, his eyes flicking between them.
Trevor’s grip began to hurt, but it was the only outward sign of his tension, and Stanley held on to him, supported him, and allowed himself to feel the bursting pride swell in his chest for Trevor’s bravery. Admitting he needed or wanted the rules in the first place was a huge step. Telling his forbidding older brother was unexpected.
“Yes, he gives me rules. Because I’ve been out of control and I need them. I need him. Trust me, Wayne, this is a good thing. He’s giving me things I’ve never had.”
“It’s him I’m not sure I trust,” Wayne replied, turning his glare on Stanley, since it was obviously having no effect on his younger brother. “You said Lenny’s out of the band. Why?”
Trevor twitched, his fingers spasming within Stanley’s. His cheeks flushed and the grip on his fork tightened. “I’ll get there,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze, but remaining in control, even though he was clearly feeling the stress of the situation. “Just give me a minute.” Again, he drew a deep breath and finally relaxed both hands with an apologetic smile for Stanley. “Boston first.”
Stella settled back in her chair with a sad little huff, but said nothing.
“So.” Trevor bit his lower lip and poked at his cake with his fork. “You know Dad opened the garage. He was a good mechanic. Had a great rep for being quick and fair. Tourists came here all the time, because he could usually get them back on the road with a minimum of fuss. So this family from Boston stopped by one Sunday, a couple and their son, and it was no biggie. Dad looked at their car, they sat around in the waiting room, and since the kid played and had his guitar with him, I brought him upstairs to the apartment. Chris and Lenny lived there at the time, but they were both out. I was supposed to just keep him occupied, and it was fine. I’d done it more than once, usually with little kids, playing board games and shit.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Stanley said.
Trevor nodded. “We jammed for a while.” He shrugged. “But you know how it is. He was gay. I’m gay. Couple of teenage boys. Just dumb making out and shit. It was fun. But then Dad couldn’t get their car fixed without ordering parts. Since they couldn’t delay getting home, he gave them a loaner and promised to drive their car back to them the next week, once it was fixed. Seemed pretty straightforward. We had a fun afternoon, and he went home.”
“You were a minor,” Wayne growled. “Wasn’t he older than you?”
Trevor snorted. “I was horny, Wayne. It was harmless, and a long time ago. It wasn’t like he was the first guy I ever fooled around with. It’s all spunk under the bridge now.” He was quiet for a while, picking small crumbs off the darkened edge of his slice of lemon loaf with one tine of his fork. “’Course we called a bit, and e-mailed, and I talked Dad into taking me with him when he drove down to return the car.” He shook his head. “I was an idiot. I made him think it was supposed to be some bonding thing between us.”
His leg started up again, vibrating the whole table. Everyone exchanged glances, already knowing the end to this story Stanley hadn’t yet heard.
“So I screwed that up royally,” Trevor went on. “We f-fought most of the way down. He tried to talk me into w-working at the garage, and I t-tried to convince him he should at least listen to me sing. Even just once.” He pulled in a long breath as Stella patted his arm.
“Take your time, dear.”
Trevor gave her a weak smile and continued, with less stuttering this time. “By the time we got to their p-place to return the car, Dad wouldn’t even l-look at me. He noticed Greg did, though, and he automatically bitched me out. Right in front of them.” He shrugged. “I was so pissed. Because it was h-humiliating. And because he was right when he said the only reason I went with him was to see Greg. Obviously, he refused to stay at their place and we got a hotel. If we had stayed….”
“Oh, baby, you can’t—”
“Mom.” Wayne reached across the table and took her hand. “Let him finish.”
“Don’t even bother telling me I shouldn’t b-blame myself for what happened. We checked in and pretty much s-said n-nothing to each other the rest of the evening. Soon as he was asleep, I snuck out to meet Greg.” He sniffed, and Stanley realized there were tears streaming down his face, though his voice hadn’t wavered, and he hadn’t stuttered very much throughout the entire story. “So while I was out getting my virgin ass pounded by a douchebag who didn’t give two craps about me, Dad was back at the hotel probably worrying himself into a massive, fatal coronary.”
He lifted his face, peering at Stanley, misery the only emotion in evidence in his luminous eyes.
There was silence around the table, accompanied by shocked expressions. Evidently, Stanley wasn’t the only one for whom at least parts of this story were a revelation.
When Trevor continued, he did so looking directly at Stanley, trembling and avoiding even a glance at any of his family members.
“When I got back, I found him on the floor next to his bed. Obviously, they weren’t going to release his body to a minor. I had to wait two days for Mom and Wayne to get there. I stayed with Greg’s family. They were nice enough to let me stay there instead of the hotel. I guess when I called Greg in a panic, he told them, and they called the police. Everyone was nice but Greg didn’t speak to me or look at me even once while I was there.”
“Fucking ass!” Wayne burst out, drawing all attention to him. “I know he was eighteen. That’s statutory—”
“Wayne, it wasn’t statutory anything,” Trevor said. “It was two teenagers being s
elfish pricks. It wasn’t like I was in love with him. I wanted him to fuck me and he did.”
On Trevor’s other side, Stella gasped and got up from the table, moving to the sink where she leaned on one hand and made a feeble effort with the other to make it look like she was tidying the sink area.
“Ma—”
“Just stop, Trev.” Wayne got up and went to her, putting both arms around her. She turned and quietly sobbed against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” Trevor said. “I wish I had told you—”
“No, honey.” Stella pushed herself away from Wayne and came back to the table. “No, it isn’t that.”
“I told everyone I found him when I woke up, Ma, and I wasn’t even there when it happened.”
“Oh, sweetheart, it was not your fault. I should never have let you be the one to go. Your dad was sick for a while before that. His blood was clotting and causing problems, and the thinners weren’t working. He didn’t want to say anything. We were still waiting to see what the doctors could do, but he had an aneurism. For all any of us know, he was asleep when it happened. Whether you had been there, awake or asleep, there was nothing you could have done.” She pulled in a deep breath. “It should have been Wayne or me to go with him. I suppose I really did hope it would be a chance for the two of you to find some common ground. Get closer. He was so afraid to die without ever really being a father to you.”
Trevor snorted. “And here I acted like a spoiled asshole, and made his worst fear happen anyway. Ma, I’m so sorry.”
“Honey, your daddy loved you more than he could ever manage to put into words. He was proud of you, even if he couldn’t find a way to say it. It was easier for him with your brother. They always had so much in common. They spoke the same language. I’m sorry you’ve carried this around with you all this time, and never felt that you could tell us.”
Stanley watched the scene of family reparation going on. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing for him to say. Trevor’s story went a long way toward explaining his life of wild, uncontrolled sex and self-destruction. And it gave him a frame of reference for how to help him fix himself. But this moment, between mother and sons, was not one for him to intrude on.
Quietly, he got up, and Julie joined him in the living room, leaving them to sort through the emotional whiplash.
“Well,” Julie said as they stood looking out the picture window at the still street and the empty garage parking lot. “That explains a few things.”
Stanley nodded.
“Can I ask you something?”
Again, Stanley nodded.
“Do you love him?”
That brought a rueful smile to Stanley’s lips. “God help me,” he whispered.
She chuckled. “Sometimes I think he isn’t as fragile as everyone thinks. Not even as fragile as he thinks he is.”
Stanley made a noncommittal gesture.
“I mean, I understand he must have been carrying a lot of grief and guilt around over this, but he’s still….” She shook her head. “He could be a lot worse than he is, and much as everyone around here loves Lenny, I don’t think he helped much.”
“I don’t have anything against Len,” Stanley said. “He’s a decent guy. But you’re right. He’s not been good for Trevor, and Trevor has not been any better for him.”
“Len. Somehow, I can’t picture him fitting that name. Sounds too mature for him.”
“I seriously hope next time you see him, you’ll rethink that.”
She turned to face him. “His hands. That was Lenny, wasn’t it?”
She was a shrewd one. “How did you know?”
“A guess. He wears his bar brawl injuries like a badge. Or camouflage over the track marks and the sex. Plus, I have the advantage of knowing the only other time he wouldn’t talk about how he got a black eye and bruised face, it was because Lenny lost it and shoved him into a wall. I was dating Wayne at the time, and had gone up to get something from the apartment. He always let the guys hang out there. I walked in as Lenny smashed Trev into the wall. He had him by the hair, and I thought he was just going to keep hammering his face into the plaster. I thought Lenny was going to beat the shit out of him. Never seen anything so scary in my life. He took off soon as I walked in on them, and Trev made me promise not to tell anyone. I haven’t. Until now.”
She went back to looking out the window. “I should have. Lenny’s always had a temper. I always wondered how many bruises were really from the bars, and how many came from Lenny.” For a few minutes, she was quiet. “I knew about Greg.”
“He told you?”
“Yeah. Don’t know if he remembers telling me. He was pretty drunk.”
“And you didn’t tell them?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t mine to tell. And he was hurting so bad. And the thing with Lenny. I didn’t want him to ever find out I’d broken a confidence, in case there was ever something really bad he needed to talk about. I wanted there to be one person he knew he could trust unconditionally.”
“And did he? Ever tell you anything really bad?”
She tilted her head and met his gaze in the reflection of the glass. “I think if he has anything else to confess, you’ll be the one he tells now. And if you’re not, then he still needs me.”
Stanley nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s not the only one who’s stronger than they look.”
She smiled a shaky smile. “I lied and kept secrets from my husband. Does that make me strong?” She gave herself a shake. “I don’t even know. Maybe I should have said something. Maybe they could have helped him, or kept him away from Lenny, and he wouldn’t be such a mess now.”
“And maybe he would have felt betrayed and alone and be in much worse shape now. I’m a firm believer in not second-guessing the decisions that bring us to where we are. We’re all still here, so there’s a chance we can fix whatever’s broken and make it work.”
She breathed deep, wrapped her arms around herself, and turned to face him. “I hope you’re right, Stan. Maybe the fans don’t see it, but I know the guys. The whole band, but especially Trevor and Lenny. I love those two like brothers, and it’s been killing me, watching him and Lenny slowly implode over time, and the rest of them being too stunned to figure out what to do about it.” She smiled sadly at him. “They were never going to be good for each other, but try getting them to see that?” She shook her head. “Maybe now he’ll get a taste of the kind, strong hand he’s always needed.” She patted his arm and stepped past him, heading back to the kitchen. “He needs rules. The fact that he knows it, finally, is more than half the battle.”
Stanley could only hope to all the ends of the earth she was right, because he was running out of fight, and the very last thing Damian needed was another man in his life who took without giving back.
22
THERE HADN’T been much to say after Trevor’s confessions about that long-ago trip to Boston. He’d been surprised at how accepting his mother and brother had been about it all. Not so shocked about Wayne’s vehemence over Greg’s being a bully and a rapist, but Trevor had managed to calm him down and point out, if Greg had his own load of guilt over it all, he didn’t need any more. If he didn’t, there was nothing they’d be able to do to him anyway, since the timeframes governing statutory crimes were long past.
And truthfully, Trevor had never laid any blame at Greg’s door. Greg might have been technically legal at the time, but he hadn’t been any more mature or ready for the experience than Trevor. The sense of abandonment he’d felt over Greg ignoring him had hurt. Now he saw it for the terror it had probably been. So much could have been laid at the other boy’s feet and made to look like blame. There was no point bringing any of it back to him now, even if they looked for and managed to find him. It was in the past, and as far as Trevor was concerned, that’s where it should stay. Greg had just been another kid making a stupid decision. One he very probably regretted, and there was no more point ruining his lif
e over it now than there had been then.
Damian had created enough destruction for both of them over the years.
“Are you all right?” Stanley asked.
This time, they were tucking each other into that big bed in the apartment over the garage, and Trevor wiggled back until his cotton-covered ass came into contact with Stanley’s warmth. He could feel the soft flesh of Stanley’s cock between them, and the gentle scratch of his chest hair on his bare back. For once, he ignored it all in favor of enjoying the feel of strong arms wrapped around him and the peace that embrace brought.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Good.” Stanley kissed his hair. “You did good tonight, brat.”
“Why do you gotta keep callin’ me that?” Damian whined, a heavy load of teasing in his voice.
“Because that’s what you are.”
“Yeah, but you love that about me.”
“God help me,” Stanley muttered and buried his face in Damian’s hair.
“They weren’t very surprised about the fight with Lenny,” Trevor said after a while. He’d explained about his hands after Trevor had managed to calm Wayne down and soothe his mother.
Stanley nodded. “Let’s just say I’m not the only one who’s pretty sure that isn’t the only time things have gotten physical between you two.”
Trevor sighed. “Everyone loses their temper.”
“Not everyone makes it physical.”
“Don’t blame him, Stan. He isn’t the only one who’s thrown a few punches, and I’m not being a victim when I say I deserved some of it.” He remembered what Beks had said. “I beat him up plenty, even if I didn’t leave any marks. There were lots of times he should have hit me and didn’t.”
“So then why are you still best friends with him?”
“Because. We aren’t always hitting each other. He’s the only one who never had to ask all kinds of questions about Dad. He understood about how we never got along. He never had to try and fix it. He’s the one who made me learn to play guitar and got me to sing. Singing is what helped me stop stuttering. He cried on my shoulder when his asshole boyfriend used him as a punching bag, and….” He shrugged and Stanley pulled him a little bit closer. “We grew up in each other’s back pockets. It’s just… we wanted things from each other we couldn’t have—couldn’t give—and neither one of us knew how to say no. I love him.”