Michael, Reinvented

by Diana Copland

  “Killjoy. Will you at least sleep with me? I know I can’t do anything for a while. The doctor told me, between my leg and my head, we can’t have sex. We can, however, just hold each other. We can do that, Michael. Can’t we?”

  Michael was embarrassed at how easily he caved. “We can do that. I’ll go change in the other room and then come back.”

  While he was in the guest room, he called David and told him he was staying. Then he threw on sweats and a T-shirt and went to join Gil.

  By the time he got there, Pixie, who had made himself scarce for most of the evening while the noisy crowd was there, was stretched out next to Gil, who was idly petting his head.

  Michael put his hands on his hips and looked down at the giant cat, who looked right back at him. “You’re in my spot,” he told him mildly.

  Gil opened his eyes. “Down,” he ordered firmly, and Pixie gave him a dirty look, then jumped to the floor.

  “Great, now he’s going to want to eat me.” Michael slipped in beside Gil, reaching over his head to turn off the light.

  “Naw. You’re too stringy.”

  “Gee thanks, pal.”

  Gil made a soft, sleepy sound as Michael laid his head carefully on his shoulder.

  “But I like you stringy. All those long, lean lines are sexy.” Gil caught his hand, pulling it onto his chest and then linking their fingers.

  “Okay, I’ll allow you to live.” Michael was fighting a smile as he snuggled closer. Within moments he was asleep.

  THEIR DAYS followed a pretty regular pattern. Michael got up first and made breakfast; Gil was big on scrambled eggs and bacon, and Michael made killer scrambled eggs and bacon, so that worked out well. If Gil had physical therapy, Michael helped him pull on bike shorts and a T-shirt. While Gil was with his therapist, Michael checked work notes and pictures David sent him of the progress on the mansion. It was moving along nicely, and Richard and Lyle had decided on the linens they wanted for the wedding venue. Michael ordered them with a few clicks of the keyboard, then sent an e-mail off to David. By then Gil was done.

  The morning Gil went to the neurologist to have the staples removed, he wanted Michael to go in with him.

  “I’m having some headaches,” Gil confessed to the doctor. “And occasionally my balance is still off.”

  “Be patient, Gilbert. Your test results look good. It’s all resolving faster than even I would have expected.” He gave Gil a hand mirror. Gil held it up to look at the scars, and he grimaced.

  “I look like I had a zipper in my head.”

  “Well, for all practical purposes, you did. This too shall fade, my friend. Keep telling yourself ‘patience is a virtue.’ It won’t be long before they’re just thin white scars.”

  Gil turned to Michael. “What do you think?”

  Michael came over and looked at the two spots, then impulsively leaned forward and kissed each of them. “It looks to me like it saved your life.”

  “Okay.” Gil gave Dr. Pillai a slight smile. “That’s the seal of approval.”

  After they left, Michael drove south past the children’s hospital, and he recalled something he’d meant to share with Gil long before.

  “I’ve seen your murals, you know. The ones in the children’s oncology unit. After Richard talked about them, I needed to see for myself.” He glanced over at Gil, who was looking at him, an enigmatic expression on his face. “They’re stunning. So is the peacock. And the portraits at your house. You’re so good, Gil. Have you ever considered doing a show?”

  Gil looked away, his ears pink. “When I was a kid, I thought about it. Then I found out you can’t make any money at it.”

  “So, do it for the pleasure. Don’t you enjoy it?”

  “I love it. It’s just finding the time.”

  “Baby.” He waited for Gil to look at him again. “Right now? You have the time.”

  Gil turned to look thoughtfully out through the window.

  DAVID CALLED Michael one morning and asked him to stop by the mansion. Gil happened to have an appointment with the neurologist at the same time, so he took him to Sacred Heart, and since Gil was doing so well on the crutches, Michael stood back and watched him make his way into the elevator. Gil grinned and winked at him as the doors slid shut. Michael went back to his car to drive up the hill to the O’Banyon house. He pulled in the driveway and stared at the old place in wonder.

  It looked so clean, so elegant. He got out of his car, trying to take in all of the changes. The river rock foundation and the same stones that created the porch arches were beautiful. He didn’t know if the previous old faded paint had hidden their glory, but the pearlized gray, dark gray, and black on the house brought out every color in the granite. It made the hundred-year-old house look like a wonderful combination of timeless charm and modern lines. Michael thought it looked amazing.

  He knew the guys were there—all their vehicles were parked on or around the property—but he didn’t see any of them. He climbed up to the front door and rang the bell.

  It took a few minutes, but Richard answered. When he saw Michael, he opened his arms and pulled him into a hug.

  “Oh, Michael.” He eased back to look at him. “We haven’t seen you since Gil was hurt. I understand he’s doing well?”

  “He’s at the neurologist right now. And he’s doing really well. But he’s got another three months in the cast, then more than that in PT. It’s driving him nuts, but I’m not sure how soon he’ll be back to work.”

  Richard waved that away. “I just want him to be all right. And anything his insurance won’t cover, our homeowners’ will. I don’t want him having to worry about money right now.”

  “Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

  “And what about you?” Richard’s gaze was ardent but cautious, as if he didn’t want to overstep, and Michael felt him searching his face. “I know you left your last job. Are you doing all right financially?”

  “I’m fine,” Michael assured him. “But thank you for asking. I really do appreciate it.”

  “All right. I believe David and Jackson are waiting for you out back.”

  “Thank you.” He turned and went through the massive ballroom. Vern and his guys were in the process of repairing the plaster on the walls, and he stopped long enough to say hi before continuing through to one of the glass doors that led outside. David was seated at a patio table with design books open around him, and Jackson appeared to be repairing the gazebo that sat on the back corner of the property.

  “Hey.” Michael walked to David, who looked up, his face breaking into a smile.

  “Michael!” He stood and pulled him into a tight embrace, then called over his shoulder. “Jackson! Michael’s here.”

  Jackson turned, then set down the new cornice piece he’d been working on and headed toward them across the lawn. “How are you?” Jackson hugged him too.

  “I’m okay. Gil’s at the doctor down at Sacred Heart, so I don’t have long.”

  “Understood. Take a seat.”

  Michael pulled out the chair next to David, briefly studying the sample books of wallpaper and drapery swatches. “Ballroom?”

  David nodded. “Hopefully you’ll be back before we start hanging the new silk wall covering.”

  “Oh joy.” Michael grimaced. David grinned.

  “Listen, there’s a reason we asked you to come by.” Jackson pulled out another chair, and David’s grin faded.

  “Okay.” Michael looked between them, suddenly nervous. “Is it bad?”

  “Not at all. We just wanted you to have a heads-up.” He looked to David, who sat back down in his chair with a short sigh.

  “We heard from Detective Mitchell last night,” David said. “The man they caught, the one you identified in the lineup, his name is Brent Wiley.”

  “Yeah, Mitchell told me.”

  “The DA has decided they have enough for an indictment. He’s being charged with the damage to the house and with sabotaging the scaffo
lding too. He’s also being held because he can’t make bail.”

  “Good.” Michael felt a moment of fierce satisfaction.

  “Yeah,” Jackson agreed. He paused, his expression serious. “We want you to know because you’re probably going to have to testify at his trial.”

  “Oh.” Michael let that sink in, frowning slightly.

  David touched his hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Michael sighed. “I mean, I think I always knew that I would have to testify, because I was there. It only makes sense. I’m just so glad they caught him.”

  “So are we.” Jackson’s voice was calm and measured. “And they feel certain the case against him for what he did at David’s place is solid. Their problem is making the case involving the scaffolding.”

  “Wait. They found the hacksaw in his fucking car.” Michael looked between them, flabbergasted.

  “His lawyer is saying it was a coincidence.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sakes.”

  Jackson shook his head. “I know, man. But the case is still circumstantial, and Mitchell thinks we should make sure the stronger case involving the vandalism puts him away.”

  “Isn’t attempted murder the one they should try to prosecute?” Michael was so angry. The son of a bitch had tried to kill Gil; how could he get away with that?

  “They’ve got attempted murder, Michael.” Jackson studied him as if watching for his reaction.

  The truth finally dawned on Michael, and he felt like he’d been doused in ice water. By coming after him with the shovel, Brent Wiley had tried to kill him. Michael’s hands were cold and trembling. “Oh, right. Well. Okay, then.”

  “The DA is going to want to sit with you and discuss your testimony,” David said. “It’ll probably be late summer before that happens. Wiley has been charged, and his bail was set at two hundred and fifty thousand. There’s no way for him to come up with twenty-five grand.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Michael’s voice sounded faint even to his own ears. “Is Mitchell sure he’s the only one involved?”

  A line formed between Jackson’s dark brows. “Why? Do you have a reason to think there’s more than one?”

  Michael wished he hadn’t said anything about what nagged at him when he couldn’t sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

  “Michael?” Jackson pressed.

  Michael shook his head and slipped his cold hands into his armpits. “No. I don’t.”

  “Michael?” David persisted. His green eyes looked stormy behind the lenses of his glasses.

  “I don’t. Not really. It’s just… a feeling. Probably stupid.”

  “Sweetheart, you had a really scary experience.” David leaned closer, putting his hand on Michael’s arm. “I freaked out, and all he did was break my car window.”

  “And all those months, when you thought someone was watching the house? Do you think it was just Wiley doing it? Didn’t the guy have a job?”

  “He delivered pizza—for the Domino’s on Sixteenth.” Which was less than a mile from David’s house.

  “Oh. That would give him the opportunity, wouldn’t it? But—why? I mean, clearly he hates the gay, but why us specifically?”

  David gently rubbed Michael’s arm. “They think he delivered the pizza the day we moved Gil’s furniture into my house.”

  That was back before Thanksgiving. And almost every vehicle in the driveway and parked out front had some sort of rainbow sticker on it. It was startling that the suspect might’ve been the same guy who delivered pizza to a house with six gay men in it.

  “Oh God. It fits, doesn’t it?”

  Jackson nodded.

  “Do they know why he hates gay people so much?” Michael leaned forward intently.

  David sighed. “Honey, why does anyone?”

  It was a question without an answer, but one Michael knew would haunt him, maybe always. He pushed back his chair and stood. “I need to go get Gil.”

  Jackson stood too. “You okay to drive?”

  “I’m fine.”

  David didn’t look convinced.

  Michael bent and kissed him on the cheek. “I am. Don’t worry, Mama Bear. I’m tough.”

  David’s smile was weak, and his eyes looked suspiciously bright. Michael needed to get out of there before they all ended up having a big group cry.

  Of course, when he picked Gil up, it took him all of five seconds to know something was wrong. He’d looked so jubilant when he came out too.

  “It’s nothing,” Michael said. “Give me your news instead.”

  Gil stared at his profile for so long Michael wondered if he was memorizing his features.

  “Let’s try this. You tell me what’s going on, or I’m calling Jackson.”

  “What makes you think Jackson knows?”

  “Jackson knows everything.”

  Michael hated how true that was. He sighed but told Gil what he’d learned. About how they were making a case for all of the incidents, from Jackson’s truck clear through to the scaffolding.

  “But that’s good, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Michael agreed. “I’ll just have to testify against him, because I’m the only one who’s seen him.”

  “Okay.” Gil didn’t seem to understand why it was a problem.

  “He’s fucking scary, okay? I mean, I think he’s nuts, and what if… what if he gets off and I was the one who tried to put him away?”

  “Baby. You’re hyperventilating. Take a deep breath. Here”—he gestured to a fast-food restaurant—“pull into Sonic and park.”

  Michael did, pulling into the drive-in and immediately taking the car out of gear. He shoved his trembling hands under his arms, his brow furrowed. “I wasn’t hyperventilating.” Although he was very afraid.

  “It doesn’t matter. Now, look at me.”

  Michael took a deep breath, just to prove he could, then turned to him.

  “Babe, come here.” Gil held out his arms.

  Michael looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Come there, how?”

  “Unfasten your damned seat belt, lift across the console, and sit on my lap.”

  Michael was horrified. “I am not going to sit on your lap!”

  “Can I have your order, please?”

  Michael glared at the speaker on the order menu, aghast someone had been listening.

  “Give us a few seconds, okay?” Gil reached over Michael and unfastened his seat belt, then pulled on his arm.

  “Order whenever you’re ready.”

  “Gilbert.” Michael resisted him, but not in any significant way, and Gil was much stronger than he was. He lifted him, then sat him sidesaddle against the passenger door. Michael held himself stiffly, afraid of hurting Gil’s leg. Gil was undeterred and put his arms around him.

  “Okay, first of all, everything you’ve told me is a good thing. They’ve got the guy, Michael. He’s in police custody. You were able to identify him. He can’t hurt any of us anymore.”

  Michael, still stiff with his legs stretched into the driver’s seat, gave him a dark look. “What if he gets out, Gil? What if somehow he gets off? It happens.”

  “If it happens, we’ll deal with it when the time comes. But you have to remember something, babe.” He ran his hands up Michael’s back, pulling him in until he had no choice but to lean against the big chest. Defeated, he laid his head on the broad shoulder. “You aren’t alone this time. You won’t be alone.”

  Michael sighed. “Gilbert, you can’t be with me every minute of every day.”

  Gil’s embrace tightened. “Care to take a bet?”

  “Gil.”

  “Michael.”

  Michael closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the man, allowing himself to luxuriate in being held again in the strong arms. “I’m not worried about me,” he admitted finally.

  “So, Jackson is with David all the time, Vern and Manny are together, at least temporarily, although if Manny doesn’t kill him it will be a goddamned miracle. And I�
�ve got you. We’re good.”

  Michael turned his face into Gil’s neck. “I’m still scared,” he whispered.

  “Of what, sweetheart?”

  Michael closed his eyes. “How would I take care of you, if someone tried to get at you again? I don’t think I could take it, Gil. The day you fell—” A shudder moved over his body from his head to his toes. “—I don’t think I could live through something like that again.”

  “Ah, babe.”

  “Have you decided on your order?” the tinny voice asked.

  “Seriously?” Gil growled. “We’ll let you fucking know.”

  There was a static-laced click as the speaker shut off.

  “Well, that must’ve entertained the kitchen.”

  Michael couldn’t help it; he giggled. And as he giggled, Gil began to laugh, and within moments they were laughing together for the first time in… well, it felt like months. Michael finally relaxed fully against the wall of Gil’s chest.

  “I won’t be able to help being worried, Gil.” He ran his hands up Gil’s sides, then kissed his neck.

  “That’s okay, as long as you don’t let it take over. Take a deep breath and just be proud of the fact that you got him.”

  “I didn’t get him,” Michael scoffed. “He was on the other side of a two-way mirror, and I about shit my pants.”

  “And yet you still identified him, right?” Gil persisted.

  Michael exhaled loudly. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Okay, then. Be proud of that. He’s where he can’t hurt anyone else. That’s a good thing. And when you have to testify against him, I will be right there in the front row. Now, lean back and look at me.”

  Michael met Gil’s steady gaze.

  “Michael, I love you.”

  A slow, sweet warmth stole through Michael’s chest. “I love you too.”

  “And it’s taken us a damned long time to get here.”

  “Yeah, it has. Also my fault.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re here. And personally, I’m just really glad we’ve arrived. Can we just enjoy it now? Please?”

  Michael stared into the large hazel eyes with the long lashes he loved, and slowly, he nodded.