The Rebuilding Year

by Kaje Harper

  “No sweat.” Ryan licked a smear of butter off his thumb and set down the knife. “I grew up sharing a bathroom with three brothers, I can handle just two.”

  John blinked. “Three brothers? I thought you had two brothers.” At the look on Ryan’s face, he quickly added, “None of my business. I just…”

  Ryan was shaking his head slowly. “I had three. Andrew, who’s in San Diego with his family. Brent, who’s now in Boston. Then me. And David was the baby, a year younger than me. He died ten years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t talk about him much.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  Ryan looked up at him. “No, you know. It’s kind of fucked up that I don’t talk about him. Like, he’s dead, so it’s like he never existed. I tell people I have two brothers. Like he’s not important.”

  “Maybe he’s too important,” John suggested softly.

  “Maybe I just don’t want to have to explain.” Ryan leaned back against the counter, green eyes gazing at nothing. He had that little crease between his eyebrows. His fingers pleated the dish towel hanging beside him into tight folds.

  “You don’t need to explain to me.” John wanted to bring back that sunny smile Ryan had given him when he walked in. “You should eat your bagel before it gets cold.”

  Ryan didn’t look at him. “David always wanted to be a firefighter. From when we were little, you know? I wanted to be a doctor, or maybe a paramedic, and he wanted to fight fires. When I went off to college, I went into pre-med. David skipped college and took the firefighters’ service exam in New York. He passed, he did the training, and joined a crew.”

  Ten years ago in New York? “Oh God,” John breathed. “9-11?”

  Ryan gave him a twisted smile. “Nope. He would’ve been there. Lots of guys he knew were. But six months earlier, his fiancé got an offer to do a bit part in a sitcom in LA. He followed her out there, went to work for the LAFD. When 9-11 hit, that was the only scrap of good news in all the bad, that David wasn’t there, inside those towers coming down.” He blew out a breath. “The flags were still all at half-mast when we got the call.”

  Ryan turned to look out the picture window, at the dim expanse of lawn and trees. His fingers were white on the edge of the counter. “It was a stupid little house fire, some idiot smoking in bed. The house had a basement. I mean, this was LA. How many houses out in California have basements? But this one did, and the teenage daughter had her room down there. The fire started in the night. She was supposed to be home in bed. No one knew she’d sneaked out to be with her boyfriend.”

  “Ryan.” John stepped closer, wanting to offer something.

  “Davey and another guy went down after her. But of course they couldn’t find her. The place was shit built. The floor caved in. David was under it.”

  Ryan was leaning on his arms, his back bent. John reached out a tentative hand and rubbed Ryan’s back, just the barest touch.

  “I was in college, starting senior year. I had these med-school application forms spread out on my desk, waiting to be filled out. But I felt like… I don’t know… like other people were out there, working and dying to keep us safe, and I was looking at five more years hiding away in school. The LAFD didn’t have any openings, but San Diego did. I ripped up those applications, dropped out and flew to the west coast for the funeral. And stayed there.”

  John rubbed a little harder, slow circles over muscle tight as iron, and just listened.

  “I liked being a firefighter. It was hard; it was important. The guys in my crew were like brothers, like a new family. Because my real family was shot to hell. Mom died just three months earlier. Which was maybe a blessing in disguise, because David was her baby, her favorite. Losing him would have devastated her. But Dad was a wreck. Andrew’s wife had had a miscarriage, and he was all wound up with her. Brent left the country, went to work in South America for a while. He said every 9-11 tribute made him think of David, who was just as dead and no one cared. He couldn’t take it.”

  Ryan pulled in a long shaky sigh. “So I fought fires. And I was good at it. But something was always missing, and when… when I couldn’t do that anymore, I thought I’d give being a doctor one more shot. I’d finished the biology degree on the side, just to be done with it. I had the grades. But I was still lucky to get in anywhere. So now I’m a student again. And I never talk about David. Because it fucking hurts. Still. After ten years.” Ryan’s voice was getting rougher. “You’re older than me, John. Explain that to me. They say everything gets better with time. So why does it still hurt so bad to talk about him?”

  “I’m not sure,” John said slowly. “I think, maybe, it’s partly because it does get better. You go along just fine, and you never think of them. You’re happy, life’s okay, and then when you do get reminded, it’s worse. Because you feel like you betrayed them. Like, how could you forget, how could you be okay, when they’re gone?”

  Ryan froze under his hand, and then turned. Their eyes met. “Who did you lose, that makes you feel like that?”

  John could have passed it off. A lot of people had died in his life. But only one who mattered that much. “My son,” he said quietly. “I lost my son.”

  “But…”

  “My first boy. Cynthia was pregnant when we got married. We were a little drunk on prom night, maybe a lot drunk. It was my first time. I think it was hers too. We screwed up. But it was okay because I was in love with her. And my dad still had money then, to help us out. Then the baby came early. He was over four pounds, he had a chance. But he got a couple of infections and…” John’s throat closed. “He lived three weeks in the NICU. He never made it to his due date. The only time I got to hold him out of the incubator was after…” He tried again. “It’s not like your brother. I don’t even know what color his hair would have been but…”

  “Shh.” Somehow Ryan’s hands were on John’s arms now. “He was your son and you loved him and he died. We don’t need to compare. Did you name him?”

  “Daniel.” John took a deep breath. He could do this. “He would be eighteen this year. And sometimes, when I look at Mark, when I hear that fucking Elton John song, it still hurts.”

  And there they were, staring at each other. Ryan’s green eyes were bright, the dark lashes clumped from unshed tears. They were both breathing hard.

  Ryan gave a short laugh. “God, we’re pathetic. What do we do now to work off all that? What are the traditional remedies? Cry, run, fight, fuck?”

  “I don’t want to fight you,” John said. His vision had tunneled in to those shining eyes. Like nothing else in the world existed. Ryan was simply looking back at him, not moving. Slowly, John leaned forward and kissed him.

  It was meant to be just a touch of lips on lips. Hell, it wasn’t meant to be at all. He didn’t think. But his mouth found Ryan’s, and it was like fire rushing through him. They swayed together, arms around each other, lips and tongues and warm, living breath. And then Ryan broke free and was across the room.

  They stared at each other. Ryan’s chest heaved as if he couldn’t catch his breath. John couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking downward and yes, Ryan’s body had been just as interested as his own in what they’d just done. Both of which scared the shit out of him.

  “What the fuck was that?” Ryan demanded.

  “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t even know why it happened. I swear, I’m not gay. I’ve never…”

  “Me either.” Ryan sat heavily in his chair.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” God, he needed to fix this somehow. He was suddenly terrified that Ryan would leave. They’d been so good, so close, and he’d screwed it up. “I won’t touch you again. I promise. I’m so sorry. That was wrong.”

  Ryan shook his head. “John. Stop.” He rubbed his forehead. “I can’t think about this right now. But it wasn’t all your fault. Maybe I’ve been… too close. I don’t know.” He looked up. “For a
moment there, when you… I liked it.”

  John took all his courage in hand, and said two words. “Me too.”

  Ryan stood abruptly. “I need a shower. I have to get to class. I can’t… Later. We need to talk later.”

  “You’re not… leaving?” John asked. He had to know. “Can I still give you a ride to campus?”

  Ryan gave him a smile that was the ghost of his usual grin. “Door-to-door limo service, or two crowded city buses. Let me think. Yeah, I still want a ride.” He looked a little uncertain. “A silent ride?”

  “I can do that,” John promised.

  It was only after Ryan walked out, and the water came on, that he remembered the wet hair. Ryan had already had his shower this morning. John pressed his fingertips to his skull, to not think about Ryan up there under the water. To somehow exorcise the confusing stranger who had taken up residence in his head.

  ****

  Ryan never got much out of embryology lectures, even on a good day. For one thing, the class was right after lunch. The professor turned off the house lights and showed an interminable series of slides. Each differed from the one before it by a tiny amount. The man’s voice droned on.

  For another, he just couldn’t get into the subject. Sure, knowing how a baby developed might help explain certain birth defects. But locating the exact formation of the branchial arches in an embryonic chicken? Not so much. His classmates obviously shared his opinion, since sometimes the only thing keeping him awake was how loud the guy in the next seat over was snoring.

  Usually he could lean back, get enough to soak in to pass the class, and let his mind drift. But today his mind was like a fucking arrow. Every time he let loose of it, it aimed straight back at that morning, and John.

  What the hell happened?

  He was going to have to sit down with John later and say… something. So maybe he should figure out what. Because he really didn’t want to move out. He liked John, liked living in the house. It was almost like being back in the fire station. You had someone around to talk to, share a meal with, but you didn’t have to cater to them if you weren’t in the mood. No one got huffy if you spent the meal with your nose in a book. But they were there to share the funny parts with, to share the chores with, to appreciate it if you made the coffee or took out the trash.

  Actually it was better than the fire station. That place was usually high on testosterone and adrenaline, and low on social graces. When you were working, the guys were closer than brothers. When you weren’t, well, they were still like brothers. Brothers who might prank you by putting your cell number on an Internet dating service, or borrow your last clean shirt. You could never quite let down your guard.

  John wasn’t like that. Ryan felt like an equal, just two grown-ups living in a house together. Even though John was bigger, and older, and owned the place, he never gave orders or threw his weight around. If something needed to be done, he’d ask Ryan if he’d mind catching it. Or more likely do it himself. John really did more than his share.

  And he was quiet, restful to be around. Considering the amount of coffee and Mountain Dew the guy put away, he should have been a raging maniac. But somehow despite all the caffeine in his bloodstream, John managed to be solid and dependable. Paradoxical drug reaction, maybe? It was like you could lean on him and never fall. And wasn’t that just the thing that got you babbling about David, which got you into this mess.

  So Ryan needed to figure out what to say, to get them back on solid footing. Because he sure wasn’t gay, and he didn’t think John was either. Every time they were out, if one of them noticed a hot body, it had been a girl. A woman— John didn’t seriously look at anyone under thirty. But he had looked at some of the older ones. And he could’ve had any of them. The guy might not be a twenty-something underwear model, but he had the kind of face that would keep getting more handsome as he got older. Those light smile lines just accented his craggy features. He’d be drawing women like flies when he was sixty. John was in great shape too. All those muscles, everything a woman would go for.

  So why would he be interested in me?

  He wondered if he somehow gave off some kind of gay vibe. He didn’t think so. Sure, men had come on to him a few times when he was younger. But not in a serious way. That happened to all men if they weren’t ugly, right? And he’d never thought twice about another guy, when there were pretty girls around.

  He’d had his pick of the firehouse groupies, the women who hung out and drank with them, in the hopes of picking up a man in uniform. He’d learned early to tell the difference between the ones just looking for hot sex or another badge to hang on their wall, and the ones who wanted to become Mrs. Firefighter. The latter he left strictly alone. The former, well, if both people understood it was only sex from the start, where was the harm in scratching an itch?

  He liked sex. With women. He didn’t obsess over it, like some of the guys, but he liked it fine. And the women seemed to have no complaints. He’d refined his skills over the years, from the shy, solitary nerd he’d been in high school, jerking off to faceless images of tits and butts. He paid attention to what his partner wanted. He didn’t think he’d ever left a woman unsatisfied.

  Although really, how could you be sure? A woman could fake it. A little shaking and moaning and who would ever know? Now a man was different. If you were having sex with a man, using your mouth on him or whatever, there’d be no hiding whether he really liked it enough to come. It would all be right there. Shit!

  Ryan bit his tongue, hard. John had him all messed up. He was so not thinking about that. Conversation. You were plotting your conversation.

  Right. So he would sit down with the man and he’d say, John. And then he’d say…um. Yeah, he probably would sit there with his mouth open saying um, if he didn’t figure this out. Start again.

  He’d say, John, I really like you as a friend. Because he did. Already more than any other guy he’d hung with since Corey moved away in fifth grade. John, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I like living with you. No. I like living in your house, and I hope we can go back to how things were. I want to stay friends. I’m just not interested in anything else, okay?

  No, drop the okay. Because he had to be firm, cut this off, wherever it was coming from. We got kind of emotional, and it’s no one’s fault, and I want to stay friends. There, that would do it. And then John would agree that yeah, they got carried away with some weird vibe and let’s order pizza, and they’d be good. Ryan hoped.

  Embryology droned on. His classmate snored. Ryan’s brain ran round in circles, imagining scenarios, wondering what John would do, would say. Sometimes in his imagination, John tried to kiss him again. Ryan shied violently away from the picture that made, back to the beginning again. Go in the door, say, John, I’m really glad we’re friends but…

  By the time he walked in the actual front door, he’d reworked his speech a dozen times. Two dozen. He wanted to do this right. He didn’t want to hurt John’s feelings or make him feel bad. But he had to put on the brakes, unmistakably.

  John was in the kitchen, playing with a plate of microwave prepackaged glop. He looked up as Ryan came in. “Hi.”

  “Hey, John.” Ryan slid into the other seat and stretched his aching leg out. Just say it.

  Before he could get the first word out, John said, “I wanted to talk to you about this morning. Because it was weird. I don’t know what happened. I mean, I’m not gay, and you’re not either. I guess we just… When you talk about tough stuff like that, you want someone to hold on to, to make it feel better. And there we were, and no one else was available. So… that happened. And it was my fault. But I want to go back to being friends, okay?”

  Ryan blinked. He cribbed my speech. “Yeah. I mean, I want that too.”

  “I really hope I didn’t make you think about moving out. I hate living alone. I mean, if the alternative is living with you. I like having you living here and I’d hate to see you leave. I won’t do anythi
ng like that again. I hope I didn’t freak you out too much.”

  “No,” Ryan said slowly. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Good,” John said firmly. “I mean, are we good now?”

  “Sure. We’re fine.”

  John stood up abruptly, dumped his plate into the sink, and then stuck it in the dishwasher. “Great. I have some work to do, so I’m going to go and… work.”

  Ryan was left staring at his retreating back. He wasn’t sure why he felt slightly let down. Clearly they were on the same page. Things were back to normal. So why was he disappointed that his wonderful speech letting John down gently hadn’t had to be uttered?

  Chapter Seven

  Ryan found himself looking at everyone on campus differently. Two guys would come into class together, hair ruffled by the wind, and he would wonder if there was anything there except friendship. He found himself looking at the women, trailing his gaze over butts and boobs, checking his level of interest like some weird sex-o-meter. Feeling relieved every time a woman’s body caused his hormones to rise. And yet, it was all hypothetical, like yeah, big tits still turn me on. He had no interest in taking it beyond a glance. He didn’t want to flirt with those women. He certainly didn’t want to get mixed up with dating one.

  Dating was a hassle anyway, the small talk, the adaptations you had to make to fit someone else into your routines. Women expected conversation, and flowers and proper attention. You couldn’t grunt at them that you were busy and expect to get by without a hurt look and a pout. They were soft and they smelled good, but they were work.

  He found himself looking at men too. He’d never done that before, that he could remember. He’d never bothered to check out whether a guy had big arms or a tight butt. He was only doing it now to confirm that he really had no interest in such things. And he didn’t. His body didn’t react to any of the cute young guys around him. So he wasn’t gay.