Men of Halfway House 01 - A Better Man (DA) (MM)

by Jaime Reese

  He sat at his desk and sighed as he thought about what had happened yesterday. In an attempt to be around Julian for a while, he'd offered his help with some of the drywall upstairs.

  "Come here," Julian said.

  Matt, being the obedient assistant, did as ordered.

  Julian unexpectedly reached up. "You've got something here," he said as he pulled at the side of Matt's locks. He showed him a small piece of a white substance, evidence of what he had removed. Then Julian ran his fingers through Matt's hair a few times slowly, claiming there was more 'construction crap' in it.

  Construction crap, dirt, dust, he didn't give a shit. It felt great to have Julian's fingers in his hair. But Julian abruptly stopped. "There you go," he said rather hoarsely then turned to continue working on the wall he was rebuilding. Moment over. Matt still remembered the sensation of Julian's touch. Soft, caressing, not harsh or rough as one would expect with his appearance.

  He sighed and tried to focus on the spreadsheets in front of him. Everything was moving along rather nicely. He finally had the money from the sale of his condo and the project was going as planned. Somewhat. He weighed the pros and cons of pushing things with Julian. He just couldn't do it. Things were great between them and the renovation was on schedule. He hoped the trend would continue even though the situation with Julian was slowly wearing away at him.

  Chapter 8

  July

  Matt continued to work on the state government paperwork as he tried to ignore the vibrating cell phone that danced across his desk again. Even though the call was expected, he didn't have the heart to answer it just yet. He grabbed the phone after it quieted and looked at the display—one voice mail and four missed calls.

  He sighed. He figured it might be safe to start with the voice mail. He swiped his finger across the screen a few times and heard the familiar tinny voice through the ear piece.

  "Happy birthday, Matt," his brother's voice began.

  Matt fidgeted with the ends of the paper, trying to busy himself as he listened to the hesitation in his brother's voice. He knew the tone. His brother still harbored guilt for what had happened.

  "I…um…just wanted to call to wish you a happy birthday. Shit, uh, I said that already. Um…I hope you're okay. I just wanted to talk to you and maybe work something out where we can see each other. I know it's been a few years, but…I…fuck, Matt…I hate this stupid machine. Just don't shut me out, okay? I want to see you and try to make things right. I stopped drinking and I'm trying to…I'm trying…Matt, just please call me. Okay? I miss my brother…happy birthday," he finished quietly, losing his stamina.

  Matt ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled deeply. He hadn't seen his brother in years, outside a few random visits while in prison. With each visit, the guilt grew heavier for his brother until Matt finally asked him to stop coming by. He had made his decision based on what he thought was best at the time, and all he wanted for his brother was for him to clean up his act, stop the drinking, and focus on being the man Matt knew he could be. Now that Matt was out of prison and his brother sober, he was worried about reuniting with him—worried it would send his brother in another tailspin of guilt and return him to the bottle that had played such a role in his downfall.

  His frustration was at an all time high. Family had always been so important to him and he just didn't know how to handle things now after so much change in the last five years. More than anything, Matt had changed. He felt as if a veil had been lifted and his tolerance was no longer what it was.

  Matt exhaled when his cell vibrated again. He could no longer avoid the call. Resigned, he finally swiped his finger across the screen and answered.

  "Hi," he said.

  "Happy birthday, sweetheart," his mother responded.

  "Thanks, Mom."

  "Something odd is happening with the phone. I wasn't able to get through on the first try."

  "I seem to have poor reception where I'm at," Matt lied.

  "I had my driver take me by your apartment to bring you your gift but your apartment is empty," she said with a hint of accusation in her tone.

  Matt rubbed his eyes, trying to stave off the headache that began to form. He had hoped the call would be quick and painless, but who was he kidding. He should have known better. "I moved, Mom."

  "Where?"

  "Closer to work."

  "Matthew, you should be working with your father. We tolerated enough during your time in prison and you should be making every effort to try and work your way back into society," she said with her signature disapproving sniff.

  Matt shuddered as that single sound echoed in his head, plaguing almost each action since his childhood.

  "Matthew, you need to make an effort. Your father and I paid a small fortune for your education—"

  "I had scholarships, Mom."

  "Do not interrupt me, young man. You need to start working again and try to rebuild your position with the Collings-Lloyd name. Your father has a job for you here. It's an entry level position, but after spending five years in prison, you can't possibly expect to return to anything more."

  Matt felt the anger begin to simmer as his headache grew stronger. He hated when his mother started on her usual tirade. "I have a job."

  "I'm certain it's not of the same caliber as working at your father's company."

  "In an entry level position," Matt threw in as a subtle jab, no longer caring to tolerate her rant today.

  "Your father mentioned how nice it would be to have you and your brother at the company again…"

  Matt tuned her out and filed away the unfinished papers until he could focus on them later. He'd heard this argument during each phone call since his release. His family's textiles company employed hundreds in the various divisions nationwide. He had worked his way up to management from a clerk position while studying, but left to work for a brokerage firm after finishing his finance degree—he had no interest in working in the family business. His brother quickly followed his footsteps but Matt still believed it was his way of escaping their mother's clutches. Each call was another recollection of what he already knew. Ironically, she felt that restating his history with the family business would somehow guilt him into returning. All it did was anger him and push him farther away.

  He made his way to the front porch with the phone still pressed to his ear, inserting the occasional "yes, Mom" in between.

  "But it would be best to settle down beforehand. Your father was already married by your age. You need to—"

  "I'm sorry?" Matt asked. He'd obviously lost track of the conversation and it had veered down a different path.

  "There is an opening at the company in the financial division. I'm certain your father would employ you, but it would be best to settle down to show some stability in your life first. And, of course, your work would be supervised by the manager."

  "Supervised?" As a twenty-nine-year-old adult who had graduated magna cum laude in both accounting and finance, why would anyone be required to oversee his work? And why was he even discussing this?

  "We have to be sure we can trust you with our money, Matthew, especially now after being in prison," she said with a sniff.

  Matt was speechless. Hurt knifed through him and he rubbed his eyes again trying to stave off the headache that kept growing.

  "A marriage to someone with a good family name, and diligently working your way up again, maybe you could salvage your reputation."

  "I'm not going to work for Dad and I'm not settling down just to salvage my reputation," he said firmly.

  "We're just thinking of you, Matthew," she said with a sniffle.

  A sniffle, not her sniff. Matt ran his fingers through his hair again and lifted the sweaty locks off his neck. Now he felt guilty at the possibility he had actually hurt his mother's feelings. Was it conceivable she no longer played the wounded victim role she had cast herself into and was actually worrying about him?

  "I'm sorry, Mom, I know you're—"<
br />
  "Do you realize I can't speak of you to my friends?" she interrupted furiously. "How can I be proud of you? You're a criminal who stole from family friends…I'm not sure even working here will make any of that right."

  Matt lowered his head and inhaled deeply as pain wrapped around his heart.

  "You need to come home, find a nice young lady—"

  "I'll come by and visit soon. I have to go, Mom, the reception is too bad and I can't stay in this spot. Say hi to Dad for me," he finished before allowing his anger to take over.

  He pocketed his phone and stepped down to pace on the front yard. Why did he always let his mother get to him? He tried. With every fiber of his being, he tried to be the ideal son with the slight hope that his parents would be proud of him, approve of decisions he had made on his own. He had done what he felt was right and had served his time. Didn't every child deserve unconditional love and support from their parents?

  He stopped pacing and looked up at the house he and Julian were rebuilding. He needed to block out his mother and her harsh words, but all he could think about was the anger that continued to build in him, at her rejection, her demands, her inability to accept him making a decision.

  He yanked his hair out of his face again. It was too damn hot to have his hair so long. Even Julian had made a comment about his hair being completely impractical for a builder. Rebellion be damned, he just needed to get rid of this hair because the heat was going to drive him mad.

  He stalked back into the house and stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for a break in the noise before calling Julian's name.

  Julian peered over the top banister and looked down at Matt expectantly.

  "I'm going out," Matt said without further explanation.

  "Thought you were going to help reinforce the support beams?"

  "I'm leaving. I'll be back later," Matt said in a firm tone harboring all the anger he should have directed to his mother.

  "Yes, boss," Julian said with a hint of sarcasm and a raised eyebrow.

  Julian's remark hadn't been meant to offend, but it added to Matt's guilt, now worried he had inadvertently hurt Julian's feelings with his snappish tone. He grabbed his wallet from his office and left the house. With anger thrumming through his body and pushing adrenaline through his system, his quick strides had him in the neighboring strip of shops in record time.

  Thoughts of his family whirled in his head. If his mom knew what he had done for his brother, would she feel proud he had spared both her sons from prison? More likely, she would blame everything on him for having left the family business. From the halfway house to his own sexuality, he had become an expert at hiding anything that would cause ripples. Keeping secrets was his survival tactic. Hell, he had no idea what Julian would do if he admitted he was an ex-con. He'd probably walk off the job.

  He needed to finish the house, both to make things right and so that he could feel independent from his parents and his prior decisions.

  He'd ended up amongst a tangle of small shops—a tattoo parlor, a pharmacy, a small mom and pop diner, and an old-fashioned barber's shop. He stood outside the barber's shop and stared at the reflection looking back at him in the glass.

  He didn't recognize the man staring back at him. The man had a shadow of stubble lining his jaw, he was lean from work, dressed in worn jeans and a plain T-shirt with paint spots and hair that partially covered his eyes and touched the edge of his shirt collar. He looked away, not happy with the exhausted, angry man he saw himself to be. He stepped into the barber's shop and was welcomed by a man about his father's age.

  "Do you have any appointments free?" Matt asked quickly before he could change his mind.

  "Have a seat, young man. What are we doing for you today?" the man asked.

  Matt sat without further encouragement and stared back at the dust-covered face reflected in the mirror. He had let his hair grow out in an attempt to separate himself from the man he was before he went to prison, hoping a visual difference would equate to a difference under his skin. The longer hair also made it easy to hide behind the length, but he tried to not dwell on that much. It was going to take more than hair to feel different.

  "I want to cut it all off," he said, staring down the man in the mirror.

  The older man stood behind him, placed his hands on his shoulders and leaned in. "How about we trim it down quite a bit instead?" he asked with a knowing look.

  "And a shave," Matt added, catching the older man's gaze in the mirror.

  In less than an hour, he turned to see a completely different man staring back at him. This man was smoothly shaved and clean faced with short, styled hair. His new look actually worked with the worn jeans and T-shirt. He paid and left with a "thank you" then walked down the strip to the diner to grab some lunch before heading back to the house. It was just before noon, and he hoped he could convince Julian to take a quick lunch break rather than work through the rest of the afternoon as he always tried to do.

  He stopped at the gate and looked up at the second floor of the house. Matt closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling the burden of the lie like a lead vest on his shoulders. Somewhere inside this beautiful old place was the man who, every single second of every single day since his arrival, made Matt feel as if he was a good person. He may not be able to share all his secrets with Julian, but he needed that feeling to make it through each day.

  He finally walked up to the house and dropped off the sandwiches in the empty room they were using as a kitchen. He slowly worked his way upstairs, cautiously avoiding the stack of piping and coiled wiring at the foot of the stairs. He'd learned to look down when he walked in the house now, something he had taken for granted before Julian's arrival.

  "Julian?" he called out, unable to hear a sound to guide him to his location.

  "Up here," Julian's voice echoed.

  "Up where?" Matt asked, not finding him on the second floor.

  "Checking the trusses," he said before dropping nimbly on his feet in a swift catlike movement from the trapdoor above. He brushed his dirty hands on his dusty jeans.

  "I thought you could take a break. I brought you a sandwich and one of those cookies you like from the diner down the street," Matt said.

  Julian looked up and his expression immediately darkened. He straightened then stalked forward, the look on his face both frightening and hot as hell. Matt found himself taking a step back, his skin tingled as if Julian's intense gaze caressed his skin. Matt's backward movement was stopped by the newly erected wood beams and suddenly, Julian was in his space, looking both angry and needy.

  "Why?" Julian demanded, his voice husky and deep.

  "I thought you might be hungry," Matt responded then gulped when he realized that was exactly how Julian looked.

  "Why did you do this?" Julian asked, ghosting his fingers in Matt's hair.

  "It was too hot and…and I kept getting stuff in my hair," he said, trying to focus on forming a coherent sentence as Julian flattened his hand against the side of Matt's head. He closed his eyes and let the heat and scent of Julian flood his senses. Had he known cutting his hair would draw Julian this close, he would have shaved it all off that very first week.

  "I liked it long," Julian offered quietly in a distant tone. "The way you'd try to hide behind it to look at me when you thought I didn't notice."

  "Oh," Matt said, not knowing anything else more appropriate to say as the heat rose to his face.

  Julian's thumb caressed his cheek. "I liked the way your hair felt, how soft and smooth it was as it slipped through my fingers."

  Matt's pulse sped, remembering that first week when Julian brushed debris out of his hair. "It'll grow back," Matt said, leaning into Julian's touch, craving his heat and the feel of those large calloused, yet gentle, hands against him.

  Julian traced Matt's features with his other hand, his finger leaving a heated trail as they traveled down the side of Matt's face to his mouth. Matt parted his lips on a breath as his pulse
quickened in anticipation of a kiss. Julian closed his eyes and leaned in that final inch to brush his lips gently against Matt's. With their lips pressed together, Julian's fingers traced down Matt's jawline to cup the side of his face, holding Matt as he angled his head and softly deepened the kiss.

  Matt stilled, hesitant to move and break the spell. Nothing else existed in time and space but the taste of Julian, the soft pressure against his mouth, and the heat and scent of this man. He wanted to reach up, grip Julian, and hold him close, hoping to prolong their first kiss. But all he could do was stand there, still as a statue, as the desire for this man raced through his body, heating his blood and melting away every other thought in his mind. With only their mouths connected and Julian's cautious caress of his hands making contact, they continued to leisurely explore the kiss until Matt's annoyingly insistent phone pulled them apart.

  Matt retreated to quickly cancel the call. He fumbled with his phone, unable to press the proper buttons with his shaky hands. When he looked up into Julian's green eyes, he saw a mix of emotions flicker quickly in his gaze. Without saying another word, Julian took two steps back and hopped back up into the crawlspace. Matt was left there, standing alone, wondering what the hell had just happened and why he was left feeling as if there was so much unsaid in so many ways.

  With a sigh, he walked over to the other room to continue his work from the morning. He licked his lips and closed his eyes at Julian's still lingering taste on his mouth. The thoughts of lunch and problems with his family no longer remained. Instead, all he could think about was the man who had just given him the best birthday present he had ever received.

  * * * *

  Julian tried to focus on the measurement he needed, but all he could think about was that kiss from the day before. That slow, knee weakening, gut wrenching kiss that didn't allow him to sleep or focus on whether he had just measured a third or an eighth of an inch. Shit. He wasn't sure how Matt felt about the kiss and the thought of Matt not wanting a repeat of it was screwing with his head. He stretched the measuring tape and, again, made a mental note of the measurement for the partition. He grabbed the piece of wood stacked in the corner and the pencil from behind his ear.