by Sidney Bell
“I used to, though,” Miller confessed. His voice was hoarse. “Not that word. I never thought or said that word, ever, until—well. I mean, I didn’t think those things so much about women...”
It was easier to talk about women who liked women. Guys were supposed to think that was hot. Shit, Miller would talk about lesbians all day if it meant he could avoid the rest of this conversation, even if thinking about women that way, objectifying them that way, didn’t do much to erase the knot of anxiety twisting in his gut.
Still. Way better than this.
“But you did think bad shit about gay guys?” Church asked in that careful, even voice.
“Well, the rules are different for men, aren’t they? We’re supposed to be...you know.”
“Not really, but whatever. Go on.”
“I mean, when you hear enough scorn about the way certain guys dress or talk or what they want, because they’re not like guys are supposed to be...it sounds normal to you. When I was a kid, I didn’t think about what those kinds of comments meant.”
He was fucking this up. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “After you grow up and you hear other people say that it’s wrong to think those things, it’s still easier to believe your dad or your friends when they say that gay equals wimpy or weird or whatever, because otherwise it means the people in your family are...well, jerks, both for thinking that way and for passing it on to you, and nobody wants to admit that.”
“I could see how that’d happen.” Church tipped his head to one side, listening. Some of the manic energy had drained from his frame.
So Miller continued, “All that went away when you told me you were gay, though, because I couldn’t think those things about you, and that made it kind of obvious how wrong it was to be thinking them at all.” He had to clear his throat. “For a while after you told me you were gay, sometimes that crap would pop up in my head, but I knew it was crap by then. Each time it happened, I made myself think about it, and that crap never held up, and eventually it went away. I figured it out, Church, I did.”
He broke off, and he couldn’t look at Church while he said the rest of it. “But when I was angry and I thought that you thought I was... Well, the crap was there, and I said it because I knew it would get you to back off. I’m so sorry.”
Church dredged up a small smile. “I forgave you that same night.” Church even managed to replicate Miller’s gentle tone, and when he put a hand on Miller’s shoulder, Miller leaned into it.
“It’s not like I don’t know what it feels like to do stupid shit because you’re angry,” Church added. “I am the king of doing stupid shit when I’m angry. At least you only say the stupid shit instead of getting violent. In comparison, you’re a saint.”
“You were a kid,” Miller pointed out. “From an abusive home. You’re not violent.”
“Tell that to the guy whose skull I cracked open.”
Miller had already pressed his luck enough for one day, but it’d been five years. Five years of not knowing, of worrying, of regret, and he found himself asking, “What happened? I only know what the news said.”
Church shrugged, staring at his hands. “I asked him to buy me beer. He said no, in a way that made it clear what he thought of me for asking. I lost my temper and he paid for it. End of story.” He curled his hands into fists until the skin over his knuckles turned red, and studied them for a second before letting them relax again. “They were right to lock me up, Miller. I’ve got a lot of mean swimming around inside me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should.” The guilt in Church’s expression was as transparent as glass. He went to the window, peering out like the neighbor’s house was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “You shouldn’t have let me come here, you know that, right? I’ve seen this so many times. She went back every time too, even when I begged her not to. Yeah, you’re not, you know, my boyfriend or whatever, but you gotta learn to say no, Miller. You look at me and you see that stupid, useless kid, but that’s not what I am anymore—”
“Hey, screw that.” Miller stalked over to Church and yanked him around before cupping the back of Church’s neck with both hands. Church looked startled for a second, and tried to tip his face away, so Miller tightened his grip.
It might’ve been like pulling teeth to talk about some of that other shit, but Miller’s urge to take care of Church had been etched into his very bones by now. This was easy to say.
“That kid you’re calling stupid and useless? He was the best friend I ever had, and he was strong and loyal and capable of real kindness. Your father put all this crap in your head, and you’ve done some terrible things, Church, I won’t sugarcoat it, but you’re not him. You’re never going to be him, because he couldn’t warp that good core in you that knows it’s wrong to hurt others. You’re doing what it takes to change. That’s what makes you different from him.”
Church laughed, but it was sour like a new lemon. He still wouldn’t look over. All Miller could see was one bright-red cheek and dark eyelashes thick and long as a girl’s, but his hand knotted in Miller’s shirt.
“You’re a work in progress, just like me,” Miller added. “You can do this.”
Church nodded, swaying on his feet, and Miller was tempted to—he didn’t know. He tugged and Church sort of slumped against him. It wasn’t quite a hug, though Church braced himself with his hands on Miller’s hips, and his forehead fell against Miller’s throat. It was support, that’s all.
He squeezed Church’s neck tighter, concentrating on the quick thud of Church’s pulse against the base of his thumb.
“You know you’re the old guy from The Karate Kid, right?” Church murmured. “You’re so old these days.”
“There he is,” Miller said, and that horrible heavy pressure in his chest finally started to unfurl. He rubbed his thumb over the edge of Church’s cheek. He was just being comforting. He wanted to reward Church for being brave enough to talk about all this stuff. “I won’t be weird anymore if you walk around with your shirt off. If you walk around with your cock out, though—”
He stopped, suddenly unsure how to end that sentence, but Church was already snorting, taking it as a joke. He was heavy and solid against Miller, so strong and broad that once again Miller was reminded of how different Church had become. Seeing him shirtless had brought that home more than anything. He didn’t have the body of a child anymore. Church was a man now. Miller exhaled, and Church shivered when the breath hit his temple.
“It’s going to be okay,” Miller murmured, pulling away enough to make eye contact, needing Church to believe it. “You’ve got this.”
Church’s jaw clenched under his fingers, and the long seconds expanded between them. They were just standing there, looking at each other from inches away. Miller’s breath sped up, though he couldn’t imagine why except that Church’s eyes were riveted on his and sort of—if there was a word for that look, Miller didn’t know it. He didn’t recognize it, anyway, not coming from Church, and maybe he’d misread the situation and this actually was a hug. That didn’t have to be bad, because he wanted to hug Church. That’d put a cap on this whole crappy fight, and it felt right to have Church up against him for real. A foreign sensation rose within him, though, along with the rightness, a sensation that was equally strong, but also different, a sort of heat that—And the roaring started in his brain so he couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and he was so muddled, so... None of the things inside him made sense.
Church’s eyebrows drew together like he was confused, a tentative question forming there. He licked his lips, and Miller’s eyes went there against his will and lingered, but he wasn’t sure why, or at least he couldn’t think about—Miller’s belly had gone liquid and warm and that wasn’t right either, that—And they were still standing there. With a burst of adrenaline, Miller managed to
yank himself away.
The roaring began to fade, and relief washed through him. Better. That was better. The roaring made all the normal rules shut down, and Miller needed those rules, so no matter how it might’ve felt to—it was good that it’d gone. He’d obviously made a big deal out of nothing, so he walked to the kitchen, shaking his head at himself. “You hungry?”
There was a tiny hesitation, like Church was adjusting to the change in subject. “Yeah. I could eat.”
It was awkward still, because that’d been the sloppy kind of emotional crap that neither one of them was good at. Church’s gaze was shaken, but Miller chalked that up to the strain of the argument. No one liked to argue.
“Pasta,” he decided.
* * *
Church spent the rest of his first week at Moe’s getting the hang of baking and the register. Matvey was a patient trainer, prone to asking random questions about food safety to see if Church was ready for his test.
“What’s the minimum safe cooking temperature for turkey?” Matvey shot out.
“One hundred sixty-five degrees,” Church replied.
“You’re so good!” Matvey crowed, and rubbed his hand over Church’s buzz cut with furious enthusiasm, like Church was a dog that had fetched his slippers.
In fact, Church would sort of like the job if it weren’t for Vasily Krayev, who stopped by every couple of days to lurk.
“He used to have a business of his own,” Matvey explained as they scrubbed one of the display cases. “Before he got in trouble. I think he misses it. Likes to be here.”
Church doubted Vasily gave two shits about baked goods. He didn’t like how Vasily’s eyes raked over the cabinets and freezers like he was cataloging how much everything cost. He wasn’t longing; he was greedy. Not the same thing at all.
Soon Matvey was letting Church run everything, although he hung out in the office in case Church ran into trouble. It went well though, despite Church’s need to interrupt Matvey a couple dozen times every shift with questions.
On the Wednesday morning of his second week of freedom, right when Church was getting flustered by the line of customers and thinking he should’ve baked more bread, the little bell over the door rang and Vasily came in.
With him were two men, both Krayev siblings judging from their similar coloring. One was huge with a stupid expression while the other was movie-star handsome and more shrewd-faced. They talked in muted voices as they bypassed the counter and went into the back. As they went, Vasily looked at Church as if he were a complicated math problem. Like it was only a matter of time before he scratched Church out in frustration and tossed him aside.
When the morning rush ended, Church went into the back to get another round of loaves baking. Matvey and his brothers were there, arguing in hushed voices, and they all stopped talking as soon as Church came in. They stood there, watching and waiting silently, as he transferred pans and set the timers.
Matvey’s features were pinched.
* * *
When Miller realized Church was losing almost ninety minutes a day riding the bus to and from the bakery, he fiddled with his schedule, thinking maybe he could drive Church to work in the mornings. It wasn’t exactly on the way, but it only added about ten minutes to his commute. Plus, if Church bussed from the bakery to the store in the evenings (a much shorter distance than from the bakery to Miller’s town house), he could hang out with Em or sweep aisles until he and Miller drove home together.
When Miller offered, Church seemed annoyed until he explained that Church could take over cooking dinner on the weekends to make it a fair trade, and then Church broke into a victory dance that looked a lot like a drunken version of the Macarena.
“I hate the damn bus,” Church admitted afterward. “The 15 smells like pee.”
“That explains some things,” Miller said, prompting Church to elbow him in the gut.
“I smell fucking awesome. All the time.”
Miller leaned in and sniffed doubtfully, pretending to test the theory, and all he got was clean, masculine skin and a hint of Miller’s own soap. He’d been about to tease Church some more, but his belly lurched, and he asked about Church’s day instead.
So Miller started his mornings with Church in the passenger seat. The stop-and-go traffic didn’t bother him as much with Church mouthing off next to him. It was a big improvement having him in the store in the late afternoons, too, when the number of customers turned to a trickle and there wasn’t as much to do. They’d wrap up business and count down the last of the day bullshitting and helping Em with her homework.
If it weren’t for Grover compiling a list of possible properties to house the second store, Miller might’ve enjoyed being at work for once.
Except for the odd night when Church hung out with Tobias or Ghost—whom Miller had heard about but not met—they spent their evenings together, as well. They cooked and ate side by side sprawled out in front of the TV watching hockey, Church with his long legs akimbo, taking up more than his fair share of the space while he kept up a running commentary about whatever was happening on-screen.
On nights without games, Miller read while Church borrowed his laptop to study for his Food Handler’s card or tool around on the internet. Church didn’t like reading at all, and while he’d never made fun of Miller’s love of biographies and art books, he did get cranky if he didn’t get attention on a regular basis. So sometimes the punk would sit at the desk and throw balled-up papers and pencils or the occasional bit of trash at Miller until he had no choice but to get up and flick Church’s ear really hard.
While he was cleaning out his closet, Miller found the old remote-control cars that Shelby had gotten them both for Christmas back in the day, and they took them outside and raced up and down the block like idiot children for an hour. Church talked shit. Miller glared at him. Church talked more shit.
All right, the stuff at work about the second store was a constant pressure in the back of his head. But things at home and with Church?
It couldn’t be any better.
* * *
It couldn’t be any worse.
Oh, on the surface everything was fine, and Miller was so happy he was practically a kid at Christmas, but that was all Miller’s stupid perspective, because from Church’s perspective, October had been horrible.
Horrible.
The stress of seeing Vasily at Moe’s so often would’ve been bad enough, but things didn’t get better when he left the bakery.
For one thing, Shelby hated him. Whenever Church took the bus to the store to catch a ride home with Miller after work, she pretended to dust while she shot daggers at him with her eyes. It didn’t matter that Miller had forgiven him. Church could save Miller from a flock of birds trying to set him on fire, and she’d still hate him. Em liked him, but Shelby was doing everything she could to keep them from being able to exchange more than two words anyway, so Church couldn’t find out what Em thought about the Nine Inch Nails album that came out while Church was in lockdown.
Miller was, of course, oblivious to all of this.
And speaking of the devil, all this time hanging out with Miller was messing with his head. Because Miller was relaxing, and he was talking to Church like he used to, and he was always looking at Church and making this face, this new face that was half frown and half grin, like Church’s presence was this bizarre, awesome accident that he couldn’t make sense of, and he was always. Right. There. In. Church’s. Space.
The town house wasn’t tiny, but it sure as hell felt that way these days. As a teenager he’d never stayed more than one or two nights in a row, and he’d always taken off when Miller left for work, so this was his first real experience of seeing all the little things that made up Miller’s daily life, and it was way more intimate than he’d expected it to be.
Church didn�
�t think he counted as a romantic or anything. He didn’t believe you had to be in love before you fucked someone, and he figured there was no such thing as a relationship that was hearts and flowers 24/7. People bickered and farted and snored and laughed too loudly at their own jokes. People were imperfect and messy, and you either had to learn to love the whole wide sprawl of someone, or give up on the concept entirely. If you didn’t love your partner when their hair was standing up and they had eye crusties and morning breath, you didn’t love them at all, in his opinion.
Which was how Church knew he was done for where Miller was concerned.
Miller often forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste. He got cranky about people wearing shoes in the house because he didn’t like the carpets to get dirty, but he had no problem with letting the tiled entryway stay muddy for weeks on end. He’d do laundry but let the clothes sit in the dryer for days until they were so wrinkled he’d have to wash them again to make them wearable. He was too polite to hang up on solicitors, and he complained for way too long about having to listen to their spiels afterward.
He drank instant coffee, for fuck’s sake.
And still Church caught himself watching the sunlight on Miller’s forearms like he might witness the birth of a new freckle. He found himself losing track of Miller’s words because he was too busy listening to the sound of his voice. He didn’t mind hearing about Miller’s bitching about the ugly tile that’d been delivered late because Miller’s complaints were interesting in ways that other people’s weren’t.
Maybe it made him ridiculous, but Church couldn’t get enough. He wanted to know everything, to own all the weird habits and flaws and thoughts that added up to Miller. Church was like one of those stupid, greedy birds that stole a bunch of useless crap to put in its nest because it thought bottle caps and string were treasure.
Worst of all, Miller kept touching him.