by Tinnean
“Good afternoon, Tom.”
Tom gazed hopefully up and down the hall outside the office, but it was deserted. “Damn. All right, Hansom, there’s no getting out of it. Time to roll up your sleeves and dig in.”
He went into his office and opened the storage closet. Inside, stacked three deep and six high, were cardboard boxes.
“Bastard didn’t even have the smarts to label them!”
Tom muscled out the first box, opening it with caution. No telling what might pop out, and while there wasn’t much that… disturbed… him, spiders were one of the things that gave him the willies. He figured it had to do with the time he’d been bitten by one when he’d taken refuge in his dog’s doghouse.
He’d loved that goofy-looking mutt, and he gave a sad smile. Marshall Dillon, with the long droopy ears and ropes of saliva swinging from his jowls. Staying with his dog was the only thing that made him feel safe when his father had been drinking.
Not liking where that train of thought was taking him, he pulled out the first file, tapped it against his desk cautiously, then began to thumb through the contents, pushing all memories of that time aside with practiced ease.
It was after 6 by the time Tom got home.
Tired, grungy, and hungry, he inserted his key in the lock.
“Yoo hoo! Mr, Hansom!” It was Mrs. Wiggins. “You really should leave a spare key with me, dear.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I could have let your cousin in. He was here earlier, but you must have forgotten to give him the key.”
“How remiss of me.” His smile was tight. “I’d see about correcting that, of course, but I regret to say that Cousin Jack won’t be staying with me any longer.”
“He won’t? I’m so sorry to hear that. Such a well-mannered young man.”
Meaning I’m not? he was tempted to snap at her, but all he wanted was a shower, a drink, and dinner, and in any order in which they were available.
“Yes, well, he changed his plans.”
“That wasn’t the impression I got.”
“Excuse me?” Was the witch being arch?
“The way you two were coming and going over the weekend… I couldn’t help but notice all the little chores he was doing around the house, and your yard? My, my, my! Your yard has never looked so good. I’ll have to look to my laurels, I’m sure.” She was being arch! “It certainly seemed to me as if he were ready to settle in. Are you sure he isn’t? He was here only a short time ago, after all.”
For a second, Tom couldn’t catch his breath. “How long ago?”
“Oh, I’d say about forty-five minutes, perhaps an hour. When I told him you weren’t home yet, he said something about having to run some errands.”
Tom relaxed. Jack had probably used that as an excuse to escape the nosy woman. For whatever reason Jack had dropped by, he wasn’t likely to be back. His first ex-wife belonged to some church group or other, and they met to spend Monday evenings on their knees, and not in the fun way. They’d be praying for those who weren’t fortunate enough as to believe in their god, belong to their congregation.
Jack had his kids for those few hours, and he’d never let anything interfere with his seeing them.
“Well, I’d like to stay and chat, Mrs. Wiggins, but it’s been a long day. Good evening.”
“Oh! Er… good evening, Mr. – ”
Tom shut the door, with its newly caulked window, tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, where the faucet no longer dripped, and stalked to the bedroom. He came to a halt in the doorway. The room was still a wreck, and he was positive if he inhaled deeply enough he’d be able to smell the scent of their lo – fucking.
With savage movements, he tore the sheets off the mattress, stripped the pillows bare, and remade the bed.
While the sheets and pillow cases were in the washer on the sun porch, he poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels, knocked it back, and grimaced as it seared its way down his throat.
He slammed the glass down on the counter and went to check the fridge.
The proverbial cupboard was bare. “This is your fault too, Jack,” he snarled. They’d intended to go shopping to stock up the larder, but Jack had gazed at him with slumberous eyes, licked his lips, and they’d wound up in bed again. Afterwards, they’d ordered Chinese take-out, and there had been no leftovers. “I’m dead beat, and now I have to go out to eat.”
He deliberately ignored Mrs. Wiggins’ words about Jack running errands.
If one of those errands consisted of picking up the groceries they hadn’t shopped for the day before, Tom would toss him and his bag of groceries – if he happened to bring a bag of groceries – out the back door.
His stomach rumbled, as if wistful at the thought of food. “All right, goddammit! I’m talking you out for dinner!”
He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. If he had to go out, he might as well find himself a piece of ass and get laid as well.
He was coming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and another catching the last stray drops of water from his hair, when he spied the man lounging in the doorway.
“Jack!” NO! he snarled at his heart, the stinking traitor, as it turned over in his chest. You will not be happy to see him!
“Hi, Tom. You weren’t home when I got here, so I thought I’d…”
“I see students on Mondays after my last class.”
“That’s right, you told me that before. I guess I just thought…”
“You thought what?” There was a bite in his tone.
“I just… after this past weekend, I thought you’d be home early, and we could spend this evening together. We had such a great weekend...”
There! You see! He wants to take over your life!
“How’d you get in?” He’s not gonna get the chance!
“The door wasn’t locked.”
Fuck. He always locked the door after himself. What the hell was the matter with him?
“Well, what are you doing here?”
“I remembered we didn’t have time to go food shopping yesterday, and since I knew you didn’t have any food in the house… Babe, I told you I’d see you tonight.”
“No, you told me – and I quote, ‘I’ll see you later.’”
“It’s the same thing.”
“It isn’t. Anyway, I’ve made plans.” He went to his dresser and pulled out clean clothes.
“Okay. Let me put this stuff away while you’re getting dressed, and then we can go out.”
“You hate going out to dinner during the week.” Tom felt oddly uncomfortable dropping the towel, so he tried to do it casually. He turned his back, and where yesterday he would have made a slow production of drawing the silk boxers up his legs, now he had to battle not to scramble to get into them.
“I don’t mind…”
“Look, don’t do me any favors, okay? Besides, you always spend Mondays with your kids.”
“I told Reba I couldn’t tonight.” Jack pulled a face. “She was some pissed, let me tell you.”
Tom couldn’t help grinning. He’d met Reba Sweet, nee Benoit, on the same day he’d met Jack. Jack had tackled him in a game of shirts and skins, practically burying the younger teen under his big body. Tom had gotten hard in spite of himself.
The grin faded from his face. Afterwards, apologizing profusely for causing scraped elbows, Jack had brought him over to the sidelines and introduced him to his fiancée. The aversion had been mutual and instantaneous, but Jack had been oblivious. He insisted that once they got cleaned up, his new-found friend join them for ice cream.
Tom had taken pains to conceal the antipathy from Jack, but Reba, ostensibly such a good Christian, had felt no such compunction. Eventually, she’d given Jack an ultimatum – his queer Jew friend, or her and Jesus and the certainty of eternity in his bosom.
He hadn’t been surprised when Jack, the preacher’s son, had chosen the side of god and the angels.
It had hurt, but he�
��d let him go.
The fact that he’d transferred to Florida State U shortly afterwards had nothing to do with it.
“My purpose in life isn’t to help you score points off Reba, Jack, but never mind her. You always spend Mondays with Theodore and Catherine. How are they going to feel?”
“They’ll be okay for one night.” To Tom, Jack sounded uneasy, though. “It’s just for tonight.”
The way what happened over the weekend was only supposed to just be for one night?
“I… I wanted to see you again.” Jack offered a hopeful smile. “I told you…”
“You’re choosing me over them?” And how soon would it be before Jack began to hate him for that? He dropped down on the neatly made bed and put on black dress socks.
“Tom? What are you doing?”
“Dressing. Obviously.”
“Yeah, but those are dress clothes.”
“Give the man a cigar. I’m going out. Alone.” Some demon made him continue, “Although I won’t be alone when I come home.”
“Tommy?” Jack was pale now, and Tom felt a perverse sense of triumph. “What’s going on, babe?”
“Nothing’s going on. I’m going out to dinner, and then I’m going clubbing, and if a tasty twink with a bubble-butt catches my eye, I’m bringing him home and fucking him through the mattress.”
“This mattress? On… on this bed?”
“Do you see any other bed in here?” Tom dragged the white Ralph Lauren polo shirt over his head and smoothed it over his torso. This shirt always drew attention. It was certainly drawing Jack’s eyes. However, that hadn’t been why Tom had chosen it.
“But…”
“But what?”
“The last few days…”
“What about them?”
“They were so great! We had such a good time. At least…” His voice dropped. “I did.”
“You fucked me. So fucking what?” Tom stepped into his black trousers and yanked them up his legs.
“But…”
“You’re repeating yourself, and it’s getting old. Go home, Jack.” He zipped his fly and went to the closet to take a pair of loafers from a shoe tree. It wasn’t an excuse to avoid the desperation in his friend’s eyes.
“No. You’re my… we’re best friends. I know you liked what we did.”
“I repeat. So. Fucking. What?” Tom forced himself to look at Jack.
His best friend’s face was almost gray now. “Do you wa… want to f… fuck me?”
“And if I said yes? You’re so fucking scared to have a cock up your ass you can barely get the word out.”
“If… if that’s what you want…”
“Like I have time to break in a virgin.”
“What do I…” Jack swallowed, the sound so loud Tom could hear him where he stood. “What do I have to buy you?”
“What?” Tom felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Why would you think…”
“That’s how it goes. That’s how it always goes. I’ll… I’ll buy you anything you want. I’ll be anything you want.”
“You can’t be what I want, Jack.” Tom clutched at that. “You’re straight.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Since when? Friday night? No. Go home, Jack.”
“But I…”
“You’re straight.”
“You’re just using that as an excuse.”
“I don’t play with straight boys.”
“You… you were playing with me all this time?”
Tom made his voice bored. “Whatever.” He could do this, and if that was what Jack wanted to think... It occurred to him that when Jack walked out the door, he would be losing his best friend in the world. There was a tightness in his chest, and his heart fucking started to break, which he’d always thought was a load of bullshit.
Jack’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “You… you made me fall in love with you…”
Tom smacked down the leap of joy hearing that gave him. He wouldn’t be owned by anyone, not even this man who’d been his friend for more than half his life, who stood before him, bleeding without shedding a drop of blood.
“I didn’t make you do anything. Grow up, Jack. We’re not in high school. Go home. Or go hit the bars. See if you can find some woman to screw.”
“Tom…”
“I’m leaving.” If he stayed any longer he’d forget he was Tom Hansom, the man who needed no one. He’d be on his knees, begging – for forgiveness, for love, for whatever his friend would deign to give him. “Lock the door on your way ou…”
“You fucking tease!” Jack’s large hand landed on Tom’s shoulder and spun him around.
“Get your hands off me, you asshole!” Tom had always been careful to keep his volatile temper under tight rein around Jack. His best friend had never seen him out of control. Tom lashed out now, throwing a punch and striking Jack in the shoulder.
The blow barely made an impression on the infuriated man before him. Jack’s own fist shot out, catching Tom in the mouth, knocking him off his feet.
“Get up, you cocksucker! I’m gonna…” Jack’s eyes widened as he took in the blood dripping from Tom’s mouth. “Oh, jesus, Tom… What have I done?”
“You… you hit me.” Tom blinked and tried to sit up. Jack was there, sliding an arm around his shoulders, bracing him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, buddy.” Jack’s head dropped to Tom’s shoulder, and Tom felt the material dampen.
“Jack?” His mouth was swelling, and it was becoming difficult to talk. He rested his hand against his friend’s cheek.
“My fault. I know, it’s my fault. I’m too… too needy and desperate, and why would someone as wonderful as you want me? Love me?”
“Jack, I …”
“Oh, jesus, you’re bleeding so much.” Jack fumbled for a handkerchief and held it to Tom’s mouth.
Tom flinched.
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry …”
“Call…” Tom swallowed a mouthful of blood and struggled to enunciate. “My ’dress book. James Rochester. ’e’s doctor…” He pointed toward the top drawer of his night stand.
Jack found it, an innocuous little book covered in maroon leather, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed the number. He took a deep breath, and Tom felt something inside him crumble at the pain in his best friend’s voice when he spoke.
“Dr. Rochester? My name is Jack Sweet. I’m a… I’m calling for Tom Hansom. Can you come here to his house, or can I bring him to you? He’s had an accident, and… No, nothing like that, but I think he may need some stitches. You will?” He covered the receiver. “He’s coming here, Tom.”
Tom nodded. “’ames ’ows ’ow ’oo ’et ’ere.”
“Okay.” He uncovered the receiver. “Okay, Dr. Rochester, we’ll … Is there anything I should so in the meantime? Okay. Yes, okay, that makes sense. We’ll see you in a little while, then. Thank you.”
“Ut ’id ’e ’ay?”
“What?”
Tom sighed and looked for the notepad he kept on his night stand. He frowned when he couldn’t find it, and muttered under his breath as he opened the draw and scrabbled through the stuff in there – a flashlight, an egg-shaped vibrator, a tube of Glide, a box of condoms, a vibrating cock ring. He finally found the notepad and a pencil, and he wrote something and handed it to Jack.
“Oh. ‘What did he say?’ He’ll be right here.” Jack was heading out of the bedroom.
“No…” Tom flinched and wrote again. He heard the icemaker on the freezer door being activated.
When Jack came back in, he had a towel in his hand. Tom shoved the paper at him.
“I mean what did he tell you to do?” Jack held out the towel. “He said ice it. There’s crushed ice in here. Put this on your mouth.” As soon as Tom took it, Jack stepped away from him.
Tom made a questioning sound.
“Don’t come close to me. I’m… I’ll hurt you again.” He avoided Tom’s eyes. “I should ha
ve known… I’m so much bigger than you…”
Oh, Jack. What have I done to you? He’d been so busy trying to protect himself… And why hadn’t the punch he’d thrown at Jack stopped him? He’d taken down men bigger than his friend with a blow like that. He decided he’d think about it another time. Meanwhile, Jack was looking like he’d lost his best friend. Tom would have laughed in sour amusement, but his mouth hurt too much.
He put down the ice and went to Jack and hugged him. “’orry, ’ack.”
“No, I’m sorry, Tom. I never wanted to hurt you. As soon as the doctor takes care of you, I’ll leave.”
“No.” Tom left his friend’s arms, wrote on the pad, then showed him the page. I’ve hurt you too, and that was the last thing I wanted. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“Why, babe? What did I do wrong?”
Nothing. You didn’t do anything, Jack. This isn’t your fault.
“Then why?”
Tom tried to look away, but Jack caught his chin with gentle fingers and wouldn’t let him. There was that stubborn look on his face that told Tom he wasn’t going to let it go.
The knock on the door saved him from having to confess his arrant cowardice: Jack had just gotten too close.
“I’ll get it.”
Tom nodded, then winced as the slight movement caused his mouth to throb. He picked up the ice and gave it a thoughtful glance. He’d been punched in the mouth before. How bad could the injury be? He walked into the bathroom, turned on the light, and flinched. Was part of his lip bisected? No wonder why Jack had almost passed out. He was ready to pass out.
He covered it with the compress and went back into the bedroom.
Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day… The Mamas and The Papas
James was just walking in. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked over his shoulder.
“No, this is Tom’s blood.”
“Well…” He came to a halt as he took in Tom’s appearance. “Holy mother of god!”
“’ot a ’ood…” He made an impatient sound, set aside the ice, and scribbled on the notepad.
“‘Not a good reaction from one’s doctor’? Asshole. Get in the kitchen. The light should be better in there.”