Thankfully, Emma had caught on and put a stop to the whole thing, explaining to him that it was okay for two people to have kinks, but they had to match or it was abusive. She and Ron had remained cautious friends, and Ron had backed off Michael immediately, apologizing for any harm he’d caused and explaining that he’d enjoyed consensual BDSM relationships and thought that’s what Michael wanted too. Michael, for his part, opted out, backing away from the whole thing without ever sorting it out in his heart or his mind.
Tristan, it seemed, understood implicitly. Michael got back in his squad car and took off, making the turns he needed to get back out to Harbor Boulevard. Tristan had given him precisely what he needed by holding him down and screwing him into the futon, controlling him utterly without stripping him of his dignity or hurting him physically. Which made him more than a man in Michael’s book; it made him a damn hero.
Michael shook his head. He took his phone out at an intersection and checked it for messages. He didn’t have any, but decided to text Tristan anyway, accepting his invitation to Thanksgiving dinner on behalf of himself and his mother. Michael was nervous about meeting Tristan’s family, but philosophical. Children and dogs usually liked him. He cooked and was handy, so moms probably would too. If not, he’d just kidnap Tristan in the middle of the night and that would be that, because no way in hell was he giving him up.
Tristan was in an impromptu study group when he got Michael’s text message. He smiled to himself and took some ribbing from the guys about his red cheeks. He wondered what would happen if he just told them the truth, that the chick they thought he was dating was a guy. He went back to his books, smiling sadly. Chances were they’d distance themselves from him, not because they didn’t like him or because he’d changed, but because they’d be embarrassed by the mental images they had of him and his lover. Sometimes even he just froze up, unable to comprehend the things he’d done.
“Earth to Tristan,” said one of them, and he looked up.
“Hm, what?” he asked.
“I asked if you’re doing anything special for Thanksgiving, or going out of town. Some of us are going to try to go to Vegas and see the Blue Man Group.”
“Oh, we’re having guests for dinner Thanksgiving, and we always do the holiday as a family. I’d like to go to Vegas, though,” he said, thinking of going on the back of Michael’s bike. “That would be cool.”
“Yeah,” said Jonathon. “Michelle can’t get home for Thanksgiving. We tried that last year, and between the weather, the traffic, and all the other people traveling, she spent more time in airports than she did with her family. She has a friend in New York, and she’s going to have Thanksgiving there. We’ve scheduled phone sex for midnight on the twenty-seventh.” He sounded resigned.
“How romantic and spontaneous of you,” said Tristan, laughing.
“By midnight I would be in a food coma if I were going to my grandmother’s,” said Daniel. “But she’s going to my aunt’s in Arizona, and my mom doesn’t feel like doing it this year.”
“I know this will shock you, but Thanksgiving isn’t really a traditional Pakistani holiday,” said P.K., who had been assimilated into their group the week before when they’d seen him coming out of Diho Bakery with his arms full of veggie buns. “I can’t exactly spend it with my family, who’re on another continent, so…”
“Damn,” said Tristan, realizing how glad he was that he had his family and Michael. “You guys are pathetic.”
Jonathon smiled. “Well, we can’t all be the Ass Master.”
“Excuse me?” said Tristan. “What did you just say?”
“You know what I mean. It seems like you’re getting texts every five seconds in class and blushing like a fool. You come to school all marked.” He held his hand over his heart. “Makes us proud, dude.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s the hair and the blush. Every time that white skin of his lights up, women fall like bird shit from the sky,” P.K. said. “I blush, but you cannot see it as well.”
“I don’t blush,” said Jonathon. “But you might have something there. Let’s all try to blush in unison, shall we?”
“Would you all just shut the hell up?” said Tristan, who was trying to control the flush on his face and just making it worse.
“Look, there he goes,” said Daniel. “Do you suppose we could just get contact mojo from that?”
“I doubt it very much,” said P.K. seriously. “I think it is his very whiteness that comes into play. I wonder if that’s why the sun never set on the British Empire during the time of Queen Victoria. The glow from Tristan’s very pale skin makes me want to experiment.”
“Perhaps we could just use it to annex the physics department,” said Daniel.
“You sicken me,” said Tristan returning to his books.
“Well, I must say, Tristan, that’s harsh,” said Daniel, laughing. “We only want to share in your glory.”
“I doubt that,” said Tristan. “I doubt that very much.” He thought of using his tongue piercing to tease Michael’s ass open. Once again, damn it, he felt the skin of his face heat.
“Look at him,” said P.K. “Oh, someday, at least, I hope you’ll write epic poetry about this.” He shook his head, going back to the study guide. “For posterity.”
“Of course I will,” said Tristan. “I’ll hardly be able to help myself.”
After the group dispersed to move on to their next class, Tristan headed to philosophy, thinking hard. He wondered if he should tell his friends he was gay just so if they found out later they wouldn’t think he’d been lying to them all this time. Recently the thought had been plaguing him that it was rather inauthentic to keep letting them think he had some sort of harem. He was no nearer to coming to an answer when he got a phone call. He checked caller ID and found it was from his brother.
“Randy,” said Tristan.
“No, Devon. I’m using Randy’s phone.”
“Okay, Devon, what’s up?”
“Psych, it’s really Randy.”
“Randy,” Tristan warned. “I don’t care who it is; what is up?”
“I’m just calling to tell you that Edward got permission from his dad to meet us at the park to go jogging tonight.”
“Hey, that’s cool. How’d you manage that?”
“Mom talked to him. She told him you were the only deviant in the family as far as we knew, and I guess he accepted it.”
Tristan pursed his lips. “Very funny.”
“Yes, well, he said he’d withhold judgment. He’s hoping we’ll be there to watch your every move. You know, so we can insure little Neddie’s virtue stays intact.”
“How were you getting to the park again?”
“C’mon, Tristan. Lighten up, bro.”
“All right, bro, I’ll see you when I get home. Get your homework done and tell Mom I said thanks for talking to Jeff, okay? And I’ll be home by four so we can run before the park closes. Tell Edward to expect us around four-thirty.”
“Okay.” Randy hung up.
By four-thirty, Edward was waiting for them in front of the gates at the entrance of the regional park. He was dressed all in black, loose shorts and a T-shirt, and had a hoodie wrapped around his waist. His black hair and nails rebelled against his pale skin. Tristan, Randy, and Devon joined him.
“Hey, Tristan,” said Edward, coming forward shyly. Tristan thought it was amazing that his brothers got this kid out from behind his computer at all, much less to go for a run. He looked like he expected the sun to kill him like a vampire.
“Hey, Edward. These two” ‑‑ he indicated Randy and Devon ‑‑ “are my brothers. The one in red is Randy. He’s the one who has to stop and pet all the dogs when we run. The other one is Devon. He’s the one who will complain about it.”
“Hi,” said Edward, still uncertain, as the four of them took off at an easy pace. Tristan pushed a little ways ahead in order to give them a chance to talk t
o one another. As he’d suspected, they had a lot in common, and even though Edward’s dyed dark hair and black nails put them off at first, soon they were laughing together, although probably the joke was on him. He’d introduced Edward and his brothers over the Internet, and the three of them had messaged each other for a week or so, finding they had, among other things, music in common and a deep and abiding passion for manga, anime, and fan fiction.
Tristan ran along, listening to the sounds of their laughter. Edward sounded younger to his ears than he had the night of the party, and Tristan knew he hadn’t been wrong about Edward and his brothers. They were definitely going to get along. They rounded the bend and were jogging down into the low-lying area by the baseball diamonds when Randy spotted a dog that he knew and ran toward it. All three of them went, although Devon hung back on principle, and Edward seemed to be wary of dogs. The smallish woman the dog had on his leash seemed to be wary of Edward, as well, and Tristan hid his laughter.
“Dogs love Randy,” said Devon, explaining the attraction to Edward. “He seems to think on their level, and they can sense that.”
“Unlike Devon,” quipped Randy. “Who rarely thinks at all and bores them.”
It wasn’t going to be Devon’s night at all, Tristan thought. Just about every dog they’d ever seen was in the park, and those that weren’t were probably on their way. One after another, Randy stopped and greeted the dogs and the owners, until Devon was jogging in place enraged, and Edward and Tristan were laughing out loud. Randy was tearing across the grass with someone’s Jack Russell terrier on a leash when Tristan heard a shriek from behind him. He turned his attention away for a moment to see a small woman controlling a Saint Bernard on a short leash and turned back to see Randy on the ground, and the laughter died on his lips.
“Randy!” he shouted, running toward his brother, who was on his back, clutching his ankle and cursing.
“There’s a hole,” said Edward, looking at the ground where Randy had tripped. “Oh, man, you must have stepped in just the wrong place.”
“Randy,” said Devon. “Is it broken?”
“How the hell should I know?” said Randy, through his teeth. The terrier’s owner came over to take her dog.
“Randy,” she said, worried. “I’m so sorry, should I call someone? Can I do anything?” She was tiny and frail, like the dog, Tristan noted absently, and had a plastic bag of poop over her wrist like a purse.
“Thank, you,” Tristan said. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine. It could’ve happened to anyone. I wonder if they play ball here ‑‑ it’s dangerous.” He looked around at the uneven ground.
“I feel just awful,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” said Randy, and Tristan thought he was saying it more to the dog than its owner. He was still cradling the dog, petting its fur as it licked at his hands. Eventually, the woman moved on, and Randy waved good-bye.
“It’s going to be all right,” Tristan said. He made Randy stretch out on the grass and went to his knees to examine the injured foot.
Randy grimaced. “You sound like Mom.”
“I could sound like worse people.” He looked at Randy’s ankle, which was already swelling.
“I think you should stay right here ‑‑ don’t move. I’m going to bring the car.” The curious Saint Bernard was on his way over, pulling his reluctant owner with him. “The biggest problem I foresee is getting you away from all these dogs.” Randy already had a whitish tightness around his mouth, and in the dying light, Tristan could see the sweat beading on his forehead. Tristan pulled off his sweatshirt and helped Randy put it on over his head.
“It hurts, Tristan,” said Randy, who sounded very much like he had when he was a really small child, and Tristan felt his stomach clench.
“I know, bro, hang in there. I’m going to be back quickly, okay? I’ll call Mom, but I think she’ll tell me to take you to emergency. We can drop Edward home on the way.” He looked at Devon, who nodded at him and sat on the grass next to his brother.
“I can walk, or call my dad ‑‑” Edward began, but Tristan cut him off.
“No, it’s on the way.” Tristan took off, calling over his shoulder, “Besides, if your dad thought I was a flake before, just think what he’d say if I left you in the park alone after dark.” He took off running, his thumb already pressing the speed dial for his mom.
Tristan was in the emergency waiting room, reading the Newsweek he’d picked at random from a stack of torn and outdated magazines. Randy was in the emergency room, waiting to be taken to radiology. It was already taking longer than he thought it would, but he wasn’t surprised. The last time Randy had been in emergency, when he’d broken an arm rollerblading, he’d been in the ER for hours. Tristan’s mother asked him to drop Devon at the house and take Randy to the hospital. Eventually she would meet them there, but she was stuck in traffic. He noticed the sign that said ##No Cell Phones.## The automatic doors opened with a swish as he returned to the parking lot, dialing Michael’s number, knowing that at this time of day he’d likely get only voicemail.
“Hey, Michael,” said Tristan, scanning the parking lot for his mother’s car. “It’s me, Tristan. I just wanted to let you know there was an accident, and it looks like Randy might have a broken ankle. I’m at St. Jude Medical Center, and I’ll be turning my cell phone off. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll call you, okay?” He hung up and went to his car for his backpack, lugging it in with the intention of getting some work done. He was writing the outline for a paper on rationalism and empiricism for philosophy when a body hurled itself at him and pulled him up into a hard hug.
“Crap,” said Michael. “Sparky, are you all right?”
Chapter Eighteen
It probably didn’t go unnoticed by Michael that Tristan’s mouth hung open in surprise. Michael shifted from foot to foot, his nervous agitation flooding out through every pore. He looked around, realizing he’d just manhandled someone in public while in uniform.
“Why wouldn’t I be all right?” asked Tristan. He put his work aside carefully and gave Michael his full attention.
“You called and said there’d been an accident…you were at the hospital…Randy might have a broken ankle.” Michael took a seat beside him. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” he said. “How’s your car?”
Understanding dawned. “No, hey…whoa. Baby,” said Tristan quietly, leaning toward Michael to talk in a low voice. “No. It wasn’t that kind of accident.” Michael’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. Randy had an accident. He fell. He stepped in a hole at the park and wrenched his ankle.”
“Oh,” said Michael. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s cool. I guess I overreacted.”
“I guess,” said Tristan. They sat side by side staring at the information desk. Neither one looked at the other for a long time.
“I’m going to have to get rational when it comes to you, or I’m going to make a complete ass out of myself.”
“Could be,” said Tristan, not so secretly delighted.
“Unless I already have.”
“That too.” Tristan grinned like an idiot.
“Stop that, will you?” said Michael angrily. “In case you hadn’t noticed, scooter, I practically had a heart attack thinking you were in some kind of accident. That doesn’t make me the most capable civil servant.”
“I will not be scootered by anyone,” said Tristan. “I happened to have left a perfectly clear message on your voicemail. I’m not the one at fault here.”
Michael rubbed his face, all the fight gone out of him. “It’s my fault, I know it,” he sighed. “In my job I don’t always see the best that life has to offer. I think I worry a lot.”
“It’s not a fault to care. I’m sorry I said it like that,” said Tristan. “I love you. If something happened to you, I’d bust my ass to get there. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” said Michael. “Ye
ah.” He smiled.
“Do you want to know what?” Tristan asked. “I have ICE numbers on my phone. Why don’t I change them so that if anything does happen, you get a call too?” He pulled his phone out and turned it on, earning a look from the woman at the information desk. “Let’s go outside.”
“Okay,” said Michael, following him.
Once outside, they walked companionably. “Here, in my ‘in case of emergency’ data, I’ll write ‘call both,’ okay? And I’ll tell my mom to call you right away if anything… You know.” He added Michael’s cell number to his mother’s, which was already programmed in.
Michael pulled out his own phone, doing the same. “I’ll mention it to my mom as well, and program your number into her cell phone. You do the same with your mom’s, okay?” said Michael, looking relieved.
“Feeling better?” asked Tristan, seeing Michael smile. Really the man was delicious. “I guess I can’t kiss you. I could eat you up right now.”
It was Michael’s turn to blush. “Yeah, I really don’t do that. Love you, though.”
“Me too. I’m going to help Randy and Mom out, and then I’m on the hook for a whole ton of homework.”
“Guess I won’t be seeing you.”
“Guess not, sorry. Till tomorrow, at least.”
“Oh,” said Michael. “I’ll try to last that long.” He stood there, at war with himself. Tristan saw his discomfort and butted Michael’s shoulder with his own.
“You know what? My friend has phone sex with his girlfriend because she’s at NYU; I thought it sounded like fun, call me later? Midnight?”
“If I’m still awake ‑‑ I’m covering a shift for someone, and I’m likely to be pretty tired tonight.”
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