Growing Pains

by Cass Lennox

  Mark glanced up at him, misery on his dumb jock face. Gigi had to change that.

  “Plus, he has a macho big brother looking out for him.”

  Mark’s mouth quirked.

  “Lots of kids don’t even have that much. You’re a good guy.” To Gigi’s eternal surprise, he actually meant that. “I think it’ll make a lot of difference knowing you’re in his corner.”

  “Fuck yeah, I got his back.” Mark pointed at himself proudly. “I’ll make sure he gets to university one way or another. Or whatever he wants to do and stuff. But, like, this is my question, man. He’s so down about it all, you know? I’ve never seen him this down about anything. And he sometimes says stuff like he’s being a burden to me and that I’m only helping him out because no one else in our family will. So, dude, I was wondering, if you were in that situation and your straight older brother did a dance competition like this with a dude, would that, like, convince you your bro was seriously on the level?”

  Gigi wanted to laugh in his face but managed to restrain himself. “I think he’ll appreciate it, and he’ll get it. But I have a question for you, Marky Mark.”

  The guy leaned forward, hanging on every word.

  “Have you told him you’re looking out for him because you’re his brother and you love him?”

  Mark’s eyes went wide. “Dude. That’s, like, obvious. Do you think I need to actually say that?”

  Gigi nodded. “Yeah.”

  “It’ll help?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “But the dancing thing is cool too, right?”

  Gigi couldn’t help smiling. “Honey, it’s fucking excellent.” He waggled a finger. “Or it would be if someone would get it right all the way through.”

  Mark groaned. “Man, you are killing me here.”

  “I think that’s the point,” Katie said from the door. Gigi and Mark jumped, but Gigi resisted the urge to look around. How the hell did she and Brock sneak in like that?

  Gigi woke up, the sense of being interrupted lingering in a sleepy haze. Dregs of some dream involving Mark and Brock and a battle and Jason Momoa sifted weirdly in his head, and he blinked up at the ceiling to help clear it. His room was quiet, and downstairs activity was muted through the floorboards.

  Something had woken him up. Maybe a door closing? Or a phone ringing? Not his alarm, which he’d failed to set again after last night.

  Whooaaa, yes, okay, last night. Time to think about last fucking night. A night of nights. Gigi was going to have material for his show for years. The bachelor party had been kind of tame in the end—just lots of pool and drinking, which was pretty much what Mark had said it would be. And bellowing. Disappointingly tame, except for that small intermission where Brock had stepped up and owned Josh Rogers’s ass.

  Holy.

  Fucking.

  Shit.

  Gigi had never seen Brock like that. Never. So fucking fierce. But in this crazy, manly, rough, primal way. His gentle giant had turned into this roaring muscular fury, and Gigi had been scared and turned on. Mostly turned on. Massively so. Like, ughn. Who wouldn’t love their guy sending their school bully to the curb?

  The memory of the intense way Brock had looked at him afterwards sent shivers down Gigi’s spine. If Marjorie and the entire bar hadn’t been watching them, Gigi had no doubts they’d have been fucking in seconds.

  Kind of a shame they hadn’t. After all, they’d barely touched each other this weekend. That almost never happened, even when they’d fought before.

  Though Gigi had to admit, a tiny part of him had been kind of worried. Tiny. Miniscule. But big enough to step in and hold Brock back when he looked ready to pound Josh into the tarmac, even when Josh was backing off. Because Brock was normally not that guy, not at all. It was one of the things Gigi loved about him.

  Shit. Forcing him to be here this weekend had been an awful idea.

  After the fight-that-almost-was, Brock hadn’t wanted to talk much—he’d just gone all quiet and moody, and after sitting outside for a while, had come back in, played some pool, then requested a lift home without even talking to him or Marjorie.

  And she’d been a surprise too. Two blasts from the past in one evening. It had been great to catch up with her, actually. She’d talked about her life in Edmonton, and how she’d had a bad time in high school too, then they’d rehashed the shit they’d given each other back in the drama group. Turned out she’d known about him and Brock at the time, but hadn’t said anything. Surprise of surprises, Brock had bumped into her earlier that day and invited her out, after telling her they were together, and she’d been really happy to see them.

  Huh. Who knew people could be crazy nice when there weren’t rumours flying around about their sex lives?

  It meant something, the fact that she’d known about them at the time. Like, her knowing and not really caring, even though they’d kind of hated each other, meant a lot. It was like his and Brock’s thing behind the curtains had been more sweet than secret and bad. Even though it hadn’t even been bad, not until the end.

  Plus no one else had given him shit this weekend. Literally no one. He’d gotten a few Looks from people, especially in the bar, but no one had actually said anything. That was an improvement on his adolescence. And when Josh had appeared, no one had joined him. Okay, Gigi’d had a team of guys around him, like, immediately, which helped, but it seemed important that no one had backed Josh up. When Brock had diverted him outside, the rest of the guys had been ready to pile on if things got ugly. Like, the support. People had been there. And afterwards, the people in the bar had said a few disparaging things about Josh that confirmed to Gigi he was better left behind.

  Maybe he’d overblown just how bad this place was. Like, he’d assumed the intense, petty, everyday shittiness of school extended out into the town, but maybe it hadn’t. Or it had, but over time things had improved, and people had stopped caring, especially about someone who no longer lived here.

  Ah. Well. So he’d overblown the expectation of constant queer-bashing. But it was better to be pleasantly surprised by a lack of it than to be underprepared for it, right? And it was good that people had moved on. Seemed that he wasn’t the only one who’d changed since he left.

  The number of voices and steps going on downstairs meant there was probably chaos happening.

  Oh, right. His sister was getting married today. Time to move.

  He sat up and gasped.

  Brock’s bag was gone. Brock had been asleep by the time Gigi had come home, but now he and his stuff were gone and that wasn’t okay.

  His skin prickled. Gigi tore out of bed and ran down the stairs, almost colliding with his dad, who was helping Ed with his tie.

  “Morning, Toby,” Dad said.

  “Nice shorts,” Ed said.

  “Where’s Brock?” Gigi asked.

  Dad finished the tie. “In the kitchen, I think.”

  Gigi practically skidded through the door into the kitchen. Sophie sipped coffee there in her wedding dress—which was a frankly stunning mermaid cut of ivory edged with carmine. Wow. She looked beautiful. Gigi couldn’t have made a better dress himself.

  There was a problem though: no one else was there, not even Grandma.

  Fuck.

  “Hey, bro,” she said.

  “Have you seen Brock?”

  “Nah. He’s probably getting ready like everyone else.” She glanced pointedly at his boxers. “I know you have clothes.”

  Gigi paused. “How are you all made up and dressed so quickly?”

  She shrugged. “Got up early to serve tea to the new in-laws. It’s a Chinese thing. I’m just waiting for everyone else now.” She put down her coffee cup. “Hey, did Josh Rogers really gate-crash the—”

  “Gotta go.” He ran through the hallway to the front door and checked for the rental car. It was still there. Ohthankgod.

  Gigi stalked through the various rooms downstairs, dodging kids and adults putting on clothes, and found his
boyfriend sitting on the couch at the far side of the rec room, braiding Gigi’s littlest cousin’s hair.

  Brock wasn’t wearing a suit like the other guys. He wore a sweater and jeans, and there were dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his face. The bruises had turned a nasty purple, and one eye was completely encircled. Gigi ached. His guy looked so tired and crumpled, yet still incredible.

  Plus, the sight of him with Rosie, who was five and the flower girl, was so freaking cute. And somewhat darkly weird, given the contrast between bruised face and little girl. She patted the tulle folds of her dress as Brock gently folded and wove her hair into a French braid. She said something to him, and he chuckled quietly, his smile sending small shockwaves through Gigi. Holy mother of God. Adorable. So adorable. Gigi finally got the whole hot-dad thing. Look at that shit. His proverbial ovaries were totally exploding.

  Brock caught sight of him and the smile dropped. “Gi.”

  Oh jeez, since when did seeing him make Brock sad? “Babe. We have to talk.”

  Brock nodded. “Sure. Give me a sec.”

  Rosie giggled. “Toby’s in his underwear.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t know how to get dressed,” Brock said to her.

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh. I know how to get dressed, and I’m five.”

  Who was going around teaching five-year-olds how to give shade? “Don’t listen to him,” Gigi told her. “I am the best dresser.”

  “But the wedding is starting soon!”

  Brock nodded. “It’s in an hour, Gi. You seriously need to put some clothes on.”

  Gigi crossed his arms. “Can I ask why you’re not dressed, honey?”

  Brock rolled his eyes and tied off Rosie’s hair. “All done.”

  “Thank you, Brock!” She jumped up and gave him a hug, then ran away, making her dress floof around her.

  Damn. Gigi needed a tulle skirt. Well, LaMore needed a tulle skirt. Huh, there was a thought—his queen hadn’t come out as much as he’d expected her to this weekend.

  Brock rose to his feet. “Upstairs.”

  Gigi led them upstairs, mind churning quickly over what the lack of bag and suit meant. Brock didn’t plan on going to the wedding. Why? What was going through his head?

  It wasn’t like Gigi hadn’t wanted to talk to him yesterday after that stupid fight. But it had been hard to pin Brock down. Gigi had given him some space during dinner, and then at the bar Brock had totally ignored him, then Josh had happened, and Brock had definitely shrugged him off right after that and gone all moody, and Gigi just hadn’t known what to do then, so argh. Letting him have space seemed the best thing, but now he was wondering if that had been a good idea. Brock had gone straight home afterwards and now he seemed to be going home home.

  Gigi really didn’t want that to happen.

  In his bedroom, Gigi shut the door behind them and gazed at Brock nervously.

  Brock stared back, his eyes roving over Gigi. He was suddenly very aware that he was only wearing boxers, that his chest and legs were exposed, and that Brock was looking at him with that expression that Gigi absolutely loved, the one that said Brock wanted to eat him up like ice cream.

  Brock blinked and looked away. “Put your suit on.”

  Oh no. None of that. Gigi went up to him and put his hands on Brock’s shoulders. Brock went still, then stepped back. Gigi let his hands drop. “And where’s your suit?” He could hear the disappointment in his voice.

  “In the car.”

  Oh no. “Brock, don’t leave.”

  “I don’t want to be in this town anymore.” Brock suddenly looked incredibly sad, then he turned away, his face contorting into a scowl.

  Gigi took a deep breath. “I want you to stay.”

  Brock threw his arms up. “Seriously? Still? Why? How? Aren’t you pissed off about last night?”

  “Uh, no? You totally owned Josh Rogers.”

  Brock’s eyes went wide. “Did you see me? I lost it.”

  “Yeah, but not totally.” Gigi let himself grin. “It was kind of hot.”

  Brock shook his head. “No. It’s not a good thing, Gi. I’m not that guy.”

  “What guy? The guy who shows assholes where to go? Because you’re totally that guy.”

  He grimaced. “The kind of guy who goes for other people. Fights them.”

  “You’re right. You’re not that guy.”

  “But I was.”

  Gigi was super confused. “No, you weren’t. He started shit and provoked you into yelling at him. You didn’t actually fight him.”

  Brock shook his head. “I was ready to, though. I wanted to. That’s the scary part.”

  Yeaaahh . . . Still didn’t get it. “I wanted to fight him too. It’s kind of human to want to fight someone who’s pissing you off, you know? It’s, like, a legit reaction.”

  “No, it’s not!” Brock dragged his hands through his hair. “Oh my God. Are you being this clueless on purpose?”

  Clueless? Excuse me? Gigi put his hands on his hips. “No. Are you being this incoherent on purpose?”

  Brock snorted, then stared at Gigi’s chest. Without a word, he turned around and knelt down to dig into Gigi’s bag.

  The hell?

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you a shirt.”

  “Oh my fucking God, Brock, can you just fucking talk to me?”

  Brock pulled out several shirts, including the one Gigi had planned on wearing to the wedding. “I’m trying, but you’re not listening.”

  “I think my listening skills are fine, actually.”

  He was turning the bag inside out. Gigi made a frustrated noise and took his intended shirt out of Brock’s hands. He slid it on.

  “Okay, so I didn’t beat him up, but I was angry enough to want to do it, and I’m still angry now.” Brock tossed the rest of the shirts back in the bag. “I want to go and not feel like this anymore. Getting out of this town will help.”

  Okay, Gigi could vaguely get that. “I know this weekend has sucked, baby. Leaving here will totally help. I know. But, like, the wedding is literally less than an hour from now, and the weekend is almost over. Don’t you think having fun at the wedding would make all this worth it?”

  Brock scowled. “No. I don’t. And at what point did this weekend suck for you anyway?”

  Gigi paused in buttoning up his shirt. “Excuse me? Did you just say what I think you did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you miss the part where you got hit in the face? By your dad? Whose assholery, by the way, you neglected to ever mention? And where Josh got nasty? And the part where you told me I’m so fucking high-maintenance that you’re done with me?” Gigi was almost yelling now. “Because all of that fucking hurt, sugarplum, and I didn’t expect any of it.”

  Brock sighed. “I didn’t mean that. What I said about you.”

  “I think you meant some of it.”

  Brock glared at him. “Even if I did, it’s not something I want to change about you. And I wasn’t the only one dishing out some hurt, honey.”

  “Oh please. I don’t mean half the shit I say normally, let alone when I’m angry.” Gigi finished buttoning his shirt. It was slightly creased, but he thought the suit would cover it. “Okay. You’re right, I said shit too, but it was a fight. Those happen. We’ve fought before, you know?”

  “This was different.”

  Gigi couldn’t disagree with that. “Yeah.” He went to where he’d hung his trousers and jacket and began pulling the trousers on. “It felt super fucking personal.”

  “It was super fucking personal.”

  “I’m sorry.” Gigi zipped them up and tucked the shirt into the waist. “I get that this weekend has not been pleasant for you. But here’s the thing, boyfriend: you fought back. You owned this weekend. You kicked its ass.”

  Brock shook his head. “That’s not the point. That’s not what I wanted from this weekend. And I don’t think that’s even what you wanted. You
don’t get it.”

  Oh for fuck’s sake, what now? “What don’t I get?”

  “Brock?” Dad called. “Can you come here?”

  They froze. Gigi glanced at Brock, who looked as surprised as Gigi felt. Like, everyone in the house had to have been hearing their conversation through the walls, so why would his dad interrupt them?

  “Now, please.” That sounded serious.

  They went downstairs together, Gigi buttoning up his cuffs. He could hear muted chatter from the living and rec rooms as his family got ready. His dad, though, stood by the front door. Standing next to him was a man Gigi had only seen before from afar: Brock’s dad. Instantly recognizable as an older, creased, and less-happy version of Brock, with bruises on one side of his face.

  Huh. Brock really hadn’t been kidding about that chair.

  He wore the basic uniform of everyone over the age of forty in Maney: a light cap, a heavy-duty jacket over baggy jeans, hiking boots, and an aw-shucks-buddy expression. If Gigi didn’t know better, he’d’ve said he was your average, friendly neighbour stopping by for some coffee and a yarn.

  Brock froze beside Gigi on the stairs, and Gigi instinctively stopped with him.

  Brock’s dad smiled. “Hi, Brock.”

  “What are you doing here?” Brock asked.

  “Just wanted to have a chat.” His dad’s gaze flickered over Gigi, and his lip curled. Gigi felt his face heat up.

  “Outside,” Brock said. “Now.”

  “You sure? John has a nice place here.” Brock’s dad looked around, craning his neck to see into the rec room. A few people glanced back curiously, but no one moved. Trust Gigi’s family to be too focused on buttons and hair styles to care about what was happening in the entrance hall. “Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable inside?”

  Gigi’s dad cleared his throat. “Pete, we’re, ah, we’re kind of short on time here . . .”

  “What’s going on? Who’s this?” Sophie stepped forward from the kitchen, looking at them all curiously.

  Pete beamed. “This is your daughter, John? Congratulations, miss. Your fiancé’s a lucky man.”