by Smith,T. M.
Mattie jumped then giggled when Victor came up behind him, grabbing his hips and sliding his hands up to tickle his husband’s ribs. “Cut that out.” Mattie chided, still smiling. Victor kissed the top of his head before pulling out a chair and grabbing a plate to make himself a sandwich.
“Yes! The contract finally came in,” Andrew shouted from the hallway. He had a large manila envelope shoved under one arm, sorting the stack of mail in his hands. Obviously seeing nothing of importance to him, he tossed the stack of envelopes onto the table in front of Mattie, bending and kissing his husband on top of the head before turning and leaning against the bar, tearing the manila envelope open.
Micah tore into his sandwich; finishing it in just a couple bites he was so hungry. He had just grabbed the bowl of fruit salad when Mattie shrieked, “Dammit!” and jumped up from the table, turning and running to the bathroom on the other side of the kitchen. He slammed the door so hard the picture on the wall fell off. Micah could hear his broken sobs as if Mattie were still sitting right next to him.
“What the hell?” Colton asked, standing and reaching for the balled up piece of paper Mattie had been reading.
Victor snatched it out of Colton’s hand, his eyes moving as they darted over the words. He sucked in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, shoving the piece of paper at Andrew before heading toward the bathroom. Andrew didn’t look happy as he read either, tossing the once again balled up piece of paper on the table, turning and following Victor through the kitchen to the hallway.
“Matthew, you be opening this door now.” Victor didn’t shout, he didn’t need to; his voice was very commanding regardless of his tone.
Mattie muttered something that sounded like Go away! followed by a loud sob.
“Mattie, baby, please. Open the door; let us in. We know how much you want this baby. Don’t shut us out; open the door and let us be there for you.” Andrew’s voice was soft and steady, soothing almost. Victor grumbled something in Romanian which drew a glare from Andrew who kept whispering to the closed door, begging Mattie to let them in.
A soft mutter behind him made Micah turn around. “Oh no,” Colton’s eyes were wide, his face grim.
“What the…” Micah was about to ask Colton what the fuck was going on, what was with the letter of doom, when Victor shouted and there was a loud bang.
“Enough!” the big man that reminded them all of Count Dracula barked, lifting one leg and kicking the door open.
Mattie shrieked but before he could speak Victor was on top of him, grabbing his partner by the waist and lifting him off the ground. He shoved Mattie into the wall, hard, and then kissed him. Mattie fought him briefly before Micah saw his hands grab Victor’s face, his small fingers carding through the dark waves of Victor’s hair, gripping tight. Victor held Mattie against the wall with one hand, the other shot out and grabbed at the air behind him a couple of times until landing on Andrew. He fisted Andrew’s shirt in his hand and jerked him into the bathroom, his foot lifting and kicking what was left of the door shut, just as Andrew stumbled into the tiny room, never breaking the kiss.
“What the hell was that all about?” William asked Colton.
It took Colton a few seconds to peel his eyes off the now shut door that had a large, black boot print on it and meet William’s gaze.
“Did you guys know that Mattie was trying to adopt or become a foster parent?” Colton asked. “Well, all three of them actually, but Mattie has been the one filling out all the forms and talking to lawyers and such.”
“No…” Micah squinted, thinking he hadn’t, but then he remembered hearing Mattie talking to Victor and Andrew about filling out the child services application one day. “Wait, yes. Now that I think on it I do remember him talking about an application for child services. Why? What does that have to do with all this?” Micah waved his hand from the table to the hallway.
“Well, this” — Colton held the letter up — “is a denial based on the fact that not only are they gay, there are three of them in the relationship that they consider a true marriage, but is not actually a valid marriage in the eyes of the State of New York. Furthermore, they are in the business of adult entertainment often filming out of their home.” Colton snarled, snapping the paper in his hand and reading off one of what Micah was certain, were many untrue or unrelated statements listed in the letter. “Our top priority must be the safety and well-being of the children being adopted and fostered. We feel that the type of lifestyle you lead and the type of business you run would cause detrimental and unrepairable damage to the psyche of any child we would put in your care.”
“Fuck.” William sighed, running his hands down his face as he sunk back into his chair. “Mattie is so passionate about having a family. This is going to wreck him.”
“That’s bullshit,” Micah said flatly. “There has to be something they can do. Some type of appeals process.”
Colton opened his mouth to speak, closing it quickly when the bathroom door opened. Victor came out first, Mattie still wrapped around him. It pissed Micah off something fierce, watching Mattie’s long, lean body wrapped around his husband, shaking as he cried on Victor’s shoulder. Victor didn’t stop or acknowledge any of them; his sole focus was on his husbands. He headed straight toward the stairs with Andrew following close behind.
Micah, William and Colton sat and talked for a while, then cleaned the kitchen, but not one of the three men came back downstairs. Eventually Colton and William left and Micah resigned himself to his room. It took him a long time to fall asleep, his mind racing and refusing to still. He thought of ways he could try to help the three men that had been so kind, loving and understanding since he had started working for them. They opened their homes and hearts and never asked for anything in return. Except for honesty and loyalty.
In fact, Micah was certain that if he told them tomorrow he was no longer going to shoot porn, they would still allow him to live in their home until he made other arrangements. While on a rational level, he could see where the business aspect would be an issue, couldn’t the state simply tell them they had to stop using the home and only film at the office in the city? He reached for his phone and fired off a text to Tristan, only realizing what he’d done after he hit send. Things like that were happening more frequently as of late, him relying on Tristan and Gabe, their opinions on things, spending time with them. His phone buzzed and snapped Micah out of his reverie.
Tris: Damn. That has to suck, but you have to understand where the state is coming from. I agree though, there shouldn’t be an issue with the business if they stop shooting at the house.
Micah had already started typing a response when his phone dinged again, another message from Tristan.
Tris: I’m actually at my parents’ right now so I can’t really talk. Are you coming out with Gabe next week to see the house?
Micah: Yes, I am. As luck would have it, we had to do some rearranging on the schedule so I don’t have another shoot for a couple of weeks.
Tris: Great! Maybe we can do dinner after again. Perhaps burgers and beers — probably need to keep Gabe away from the wine.
Micah: LOL! Right you are, sir. Sounds like a plan. I’ll talk to Gabe to see where and when. See you soon.
Tris: Night.
Setting his phone back on the bedside table, Micah couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. He had been doing that a lot lately, smiling. The nightmares were less frequent, and for the first time in years, Micah thought that he might actually be okay. And while some credit was due to his new family and all the unconditional support they gave him, there were two men in particular that made Micah want to thrive, move beyond the ghosts of his past: Tris and Gabe.
Micah would eagerly agree he was attracted to them both. Hell, he’d masturbated more than once thinking about one or both men. Fantasized about a life with the tall half Irish half Italian therapist that could see past all Micah’s walls, see the person underneath that Micah usually kept hidden
from everyone. Then there was Gabe with his long blonde hair, sharp features and Icelandic blue eyes that caused Micah ‘s heart to beat a little faster anytime those blue eyes were focused on him. Both men had starred in numerous wet dreams, so vivid that Micah would wake with wet, sticky pants, having come in his sleep.
“Fuck, Micah, don’t do this to yourself. They are just your friends, nothing more.” Micah spoke softly in his dark, empty room. As if he feared someone might hear him. Rolling to his side, Micah pounded on his pillow a couple of times, trying to get comfortable. It took a long time before he finally fell asleep, his mind swirling with self-deprecating thoughts, guaranteeing that his dreams would be anything but vivid and sexy.
Micah swallowed down the lump in his throat and met Annia’s eyes. “I promise not to do anything stupid.”
“Good, then.” She smiled and reached across him to remove the restraint on his right wrist, then the left before she moved down to his legs and removed the one around his right ankle. Micah expected the nurse to move to his left leg then; instead she took the two steps back to stand beside him. She took his hand in hers as the realization hit him.
His head shot up, eyes slowly trailing down his body, going wide when he saw the bandage wrapped around his left knee. Micah fell back on the bed, squeezing Annia’s hand as the tears started to flow.
“Now, now.” She spoke softly, reaching up and wiping away a tear falling toward his neck. “What you need to focus on now Micah, what you need to remember, is that you are alive.”
“Fuck a lot of good that will do me, I’m a fucking one-legged freak!” he shouted. He didn’t lash out or throw anything, he was far too busy wallowing in misery at the moment to throw anything, including a fit.
Annia stood holding his hand, not speaking, reaching up and wiping the tears away with a tissue she had pulled from her pocket. It took a good fifteen minutes for Micah to stop crying and regain his composure. “Please, Annia, fill in the blanks.”
“Okay darling, you be a good boy though and don’t make me call the orderly in here again to tie you down.” She smiled when Micah snorted.
“As I said, you’ve been here for two weeks. You were flown in on a medical transport with eighteen other soldiers; only four of you survived. You were barely clinging to life Micah; your body was torn and bleeding, shrapnel embedded in too many places to count, but your leg…” When she didn’t finish the sentence Micah turned to look at her. He figured she was waiting for him to let her know he was good so she could keep going.
He nodded once and she gave him a small smile. “Your leg was hanging on by a tendon, the blood flow interrupted too long to save it. The doctor kept as much as possible, just below the knee. The longer we waited, the more of the leg you would have lost. Do you understand, Micah?”
Micah stared up at the ceiling, his eyes stinging with fresh tears. He didn’t even try to give the nurse a verbal response, his throat raw and ragged from days of silence. A jerky nod was all he could produce for a response.
“A week after you arrived, a soldier came to see you. He was headed to the states to deliver death notices, but he wanted to stop here first to ‘see for himself’ that you were alive and okay. He gave me this to give to you when you woke up, said to tell you he knew it wasn’t important, but it was something you clung to and he thought you would like to have it.” Annia reached into the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a silver chain. A “B” pendant swung in the air as the chain dangled left, then right.
Hand shaking, Micah reached for it. He stared at it for a few seconds before a fresh wave of tears had him gasping for breath. It was Banks’s necklace. It had to be Homer that came to see him, brought him the necklace. Homer was the only other person that knew about the relationship between Micah and Banks, knew that it was far from a commitment, but something that both he and Banks clung to in order to maintain their sanity.
“The survivors, who else?” he managed to say, his voice completely unfamiliar and wracked with pain.
If possible, Annia looked sadder than she had just minutes before. “I don’t know the other names; you may or may not have known them, but…” her voice trailed off again.
“But what?” he asked.
Annia looked at him with so much sadness. “No one else from the ambush and bombing of your team survived, Micah. Only you.”
Micah shot up in the bed, eyes darting around the room. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to fight off the combative urge that usually followed nightmares or flashbacks. Once his mind stopped replaying the image of Banks’s body, blown apart and scattered, accompanied by the sound of gunfire rattling his teeth Micah was able to focus and breathe. He fell back onto his sweat-soaked pillow, reaching for the pack of gum on the nightstand. The nightmares always left the phantom taste of Iraqi sand in his mouth.
He lay there for an hour or so trying to go back to sleep. It was no use though, his mind was frantically replaying the first year after the bombing. Waking up in the hospital minus one leg, the months and months of PT that followed, psych evals, nightly nightmares and daily flashbacks. Micah supposed he should be thankful to even be alive and he was thankful that the nightmares and flashbacks were nowhere near as frequent now, two years later.
But this would always be a part of him. He would always be this: less than normal. Finally giving up on sleep he sat up and reached for the bedside lamp, flipping the switch, illuminating the room in soft, yellow light. Micah opened the bedside drawer and pulled out the cigar box he kept important papers and such in. A blue felt bag sat on top. Gently, he picked up the bag, setting the box down next to him on the bed. Reaching into the tiny bag with two fingers, he pulled the chain out and let in dangle in the air.
“I know what we had was nothing special, but dammit if I don’t think about you all the time, Banks.” Micah sat there on the bed, staring at the necklace someone took off the dead body of his wartime lover and gave to him. Not his family, but Micah. Over the years Micah had thought to try and find Banks’s family, to return the bobble to someone that it might hold more meaning for. But the necklace held the only decent memory he had of that godforsaken place and he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. He sat there and cried. Cried for the life he could have had, the leg he lost, the pain and misery he lived with every goddamn day. But mostly, he cried for the seven other lives lost that day, when all he lost was his leg.
So much for being okay.
Chapter 6 | Sunday Funday
Tristan’s phone vibrated in his pocket but he ignored it until he got to the parking garage at his apartment. He tried not to use his cell phone at all when he was driving, aside from the occasional conversation if it was important. As soon as he was parked, he pulled his phone out and read the text message. It was from Dr. Prescott, stating that he could bring the keys to the brownstone by Tristan’s office any day the following week. All Tris had to do now was find out what day Gabe was free to go look at the house.
He grabbed the bag of Brazilian takeout before he climbed out of his truck, heading toward the elevators. Once he was inside his apartment and settled on the couch in his comfy sweats, takeout on the coffee table and a cold beer in hand, he texted Gabe to see what day would work best for him. Tristan just prayed it wasn’t a day he would be at Harvard. Almost as soon as he hit send his phoned dinged.
Hottie elf: Wednesday or Friday afternoon I’m free.
Tris: How about Friday then? We can even do dinner again afterward. Minus the hangover, of course.
Tristan chuckled as he hit send, laughing when he read Gabe’s immediate response. It was the emoji of a hand flipping the bird, an angry face and a devil emoji.
Tris: LOL. Friday afternoon then?
Hottie elf: Yeah, that sounds good.
Tris: Do you need a ride?
Tristan knew Gabe didn’t have a vehicle, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for anyone that lived in New York.
Hottie elf: Nah, I’m sure one of the guys will be h
ere and be able to bring me back to the city in the afternoon.
Hottie elf: Might need a ride back after though.
Tris: I can do that. Text me when you’re leaving the day of and I’ll send you the address. We can meet there, if that’s okay.
Hottie elf: Sounds suspiciously like a plan!
Tristan grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels to see if there was anything worth watching. When he found nothing, he pulled up his DVR and decided to catch up on Arrow. He loved the darker side of John Barrowman as the Dark Archer, and now Ra’s al Ghul on the show. He’d been a fan of the actor for years after watching him on Torchwood and Doctor Who.
Three hours, four beers and an empty takeout container later, Tristan shut off the TV and dumped the bottles and Styrofoam into his recycling bin. Checking the door was locked and latched, he headed toward the shower to clean up before crawling into his nice, warm bed. He preferred to shower at night so he could sleep those few extra minutes in the morning, hitting snooze on his alarm.