The Rebuilding Year

by Kaje Harper

  Ryan looked up at him. “They just don’t know you, or they wouldn’t even consider it. They’ll find someone else soon.”

  John stared out the windshield. After a moment he said, “I assume you need a ride home. Get in already.”

  Ryan circled the truck and hauled himself inside. He pulled his door shut and clicked the seat belt. “Did you know her?” he asked gently.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see who… it was just her hand sticking out when I found her. I don’t know who it is… was. And can we not talk about this?”

  “Sure.”

  After driving for several minutes in silence, John said more quietly, “Not that I’m not grateful to you for coming down. I mean, if I had been arrested, I’d have been glad of the support.”

  Ryan relaxed in his seat. “Hey, I figured I’d tell them that a man who makes coffee like you do can’t possibly be a killer.”

  “Yeah, that would settle it.”

  They didn’t talk on the rest of the drive home. Because if he wasn’t supposed to talk about that, then Ryan’s mind was blank. Small talk seemed disrespectful, somehow, and their personal shit was not the right topic. John’s tense grip on the wheel wasn’t encouraging.

  Ryan had left the porch light on when he headed out, and it glowed warmly as they pulled up. “So,” John said, clearly reaching for their normal routine. “Exams next week. I assume you’ll be hip-deep in the books for a while.”

  “Something like that. Maybe neck deep.” Ryan slid out. “We should still think about getting a Christmas tree this weekend, for when the kids get here. They’re not coming until after the holiday, so you won’t have a chance to do tree shopping with them. We can set it up, get it decorated, before I leave. Make the house festive.”

  “Yeah, sure. That’d be good.” From John’s tone, Ryan figured he might have proposed a wild newt round-up and gotten the same response.

  They went in, kicked off their shoes, and hung jackets. John whirled and made a beeline for the kitchen. He was moving so fast, he didn’t turn back to pick up his jacket when it slipped to the floor. Which was totally unlike the man. Ryan paused, put John’s parka back on its hanger, and then followed him more slowly.

  John stood washing his hands at the kitchen sink. The water was running hot. Ryan could see the steam rising. He paused to turn up the thermostat on the wall and then went to lean on the counter beside John.

  John soaped his hands, his motions fast and choppy. Then again, with more soap, and a third time, reaching for the nail brush. He brushed his fingertips, and under his nails. When he began scrubbing at his knuckles with the stiff bristles, Ryan reached over and took the brush out of his hands.

  “I need to get clean,” John said roughly.

  Ryan took one big, wet hand in both of his and turned it over, inspecting the short nails and callused palm. “Looks clean to me.”

  “I didn’t touch her. I don’t think I touched her.”

  “Either way,” Ryan said, “you’re clean now.” He let go. The feel of John’s hot skin seemed to linger in his hands. He turned to the fridge. “Can I get you something? A soda, coffee? We could go out for a beer.” They still didn’t keep beer in the house, even though John drank in moderation outside it. Surely if any occasion called for a drink this was it.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “Okay.” Ryan went back and stood in front of him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” John’s eyes were dark, the hazel faded to gray. “Don’t want to talk about it, think about it.” He looked up at the ceiling, brows knitted angrily. “Who would do a thing like that?”

  “The cops will find out.” Ryan reached out and put a hand on John’s arm, suddenly aware that he hadn’t touched the man in… what, a month? Not since… and maybe there was a good reason for that. John’s eyes met his suddenly, gold heat rising in them. Then John looked down. But he didn’t step away.

  Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Ryan was only aware of having swayed toward John when a big palm landed on his chest, hot and hard, keeping them apart.

  “Don’t,” John said.

  Ryan whispered. “Don’t what?” This was crazy. This was so wrong. And yet, for the last month he had woken more times than he could count with the imagined taste of John’s mouth on his own, and his body humming in remembrance.

  He’d sworn it wasn’t happening again. He’d even borrowed the truck and gone on a date with Rhonda. Who turned out to be as bored with him as he was with her, and just as glad to be dropped off at her front door with the briefest of kisses. John wasn’t boring. And despite that let’s-be-friends speech, Ryan had felt John’s interest, banked but not gone, all this time.

  “Don’t start anything,” John said, his voice just as soft. “Don’t do anything because you’re sorry for me, or want to play on the queer side for a minute.”

  “I’m not playing,” Ryan said recklessly. “And sorry is the last thing I feel for you.”

  “Then what?” John’s arm was like iron between them.

  “I don’t know,” Ryan admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is… I’ve been thinking about you. All the time. I’ll be doing something else and there you are in my head. I know what you sound like, what you smell like. You walk in the front door and I come on alert like a bird dog pointing a pheasant. And maybe I’m just tired of fighting that.”

  “It’ll change things.” But John’s hand was sliding downward, letting them move closer. “We’re friends now, best friend I ever had. I don’t want to mess that up.”

  This was so backward. When Ryan had thought about this, which he had done too many fucking times, he’d imagined being seduced. He’d figured John would decide enough was enough and make some move. And then he… just wouldn’t fight it.

  But instead, it was him moving in, sliding his hands up John’s arms. It was his eyes that sought and held those golden-hazel ones, looking for some kind of sign. It was his mouth that leaned forward, upward, seeking John’s wide, mobile lips.

  And then there was just heat. Different from what he remembered from that first kiss. Better, because there was less surprise, less holding back.

  Kissing a man wasn’t the same as kissing a woman, but it wasn’t that different either. He tilted his head, changed the angle to make it hotter, deeper. And now finally, finally, John’s arms came around him and he was held in an unbreakable grip. He drove his tongue into John’s mouth, tasting, demanding, and John opened sweetly for him. And God, he needed to breathe, but he didn’t want to stop.

  He eased back and looked up. John’s eyes were bright. He was breathing hard too, his lips a little reddened from Ryan’s mouth. So kissable. Ryan brushed his fingers up the arch of John’s neck, cupped the back of his head, and pulled him down again. And for a long time, there was nothing else but the taste of John.

  “Holy shit,” John whispered, minutes later. “When you decide to go for something, you don’t hold back.”

  Ryan leaned away, enjoying the secure arms around him. “You get all the benefit of my years of experience.”

  “With girls.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “So now what?” John’s eyes were quizzical, but his hips pressed into Ryan’s, his interest made pretty blatant. Except Ryan was more shaken than he’d thought, because he wasn’t sure what he wanted now.

  He dropped his hands to the small of John’s back, holding them close together, but barely managed a laugh. “I don’t know. I want more but… I don’t have a plan here.”

  “We can go very slow,” John offered.

  “Oh really?” Ryan ground himself against John, feeling the hardness of their erections rubbing against each other. His body wasn’t saying slow.

  John’s laugh was a groan. “Didn’t say it would be easy.”

  Ryan opened his mouth to say what the hell, how about less clothes, more bed, but he was cut off by the ring of John’s cell phone in his pocket.

&nb
sp; “Don’t worry,” John said. “That’s no particular ring tone. Let it go.”

  Still they froze as the phone pinged a voice mail.

  John leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over Ryan’s. “So, where were we?”

  The phone rang again, a different tone. “Damn,” John muttered. “That’s Marcus.” He pulled out the phone and flipped it open, stepping well away from Ryan as he did so.

  Ryan tried not to feel abandoned. Obviously, it would be odd to talk to your son while holding your male… what? Lover? He swallowed, listening with half an ear to John’s conversation.

  That became both ears, when John snapped, “You’re where?” in tones of disbelief. “No. No, I didn’t… She didn’t call… Yes, I’m sure. No that’s okay. Of course I’ll be there. As soon as I can. Yeah, see you soon.” He flipped the phone shut.

  “What?” Ryan asked, his stomach dropping.

  “The kids are at the airport.”

  “They’re where?”

  “That’s what I said. It seems Cynthia had a change of plans, and decided to send them for the week before Christmas, instead of the week after.”

  “Without asking you? Without telling you?”

  “Mark said she sent me an e-mail.”

  “Which you didn’t see because you haven’t been on the computer in two days,” Ryan realized. “Christ, doesn’t she know you well enough to know that’s not a good choice? She should have called.”

  John sighed. “The me she knew in my corporate days checked my e-mail multiple times a day. I would never have missed seeing it. I guess she thought… I don’t know what she thought. Maybe because this way I couldn’t ream her out or tell her no?”

  “You have to go get them, now.”

  “Yeah.” John’s face looked stricken. “Ryan, God, I don’t want to leave it like this.”

  “No.” Ryan dug his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for John. “Maybe this is good. Like you said, it would be hard to go slow. This way we’ll have to.”

  John whispered, “I’m scared you’ll change your mind.”

  Ryan was afraid he might, too. Would his nerve hold, if he didn’t go through with this now? He stepped to John and tilted his face up. “Promissory note.”

  John kissed him simply, keeping it soft.

  “I swear,” Ryan told him. Told himself. “When the kids are gone… except, fuck, they’re here for a week?”

  “That’s what Marcus said.”

  “I head home in five days.”

  They stared at each other.

  “You could share my bathroom, instead of theirs,” John suggested. “We could find a way.”

  “No. Not now. Not yet. So, okay, when the kids are gone and I get back from Christmas, I promise we’ll take up where we left off.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” John’s eyes were hot.

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter Eight

  “It looks different,” Torey said suspiciously, as they pulled up the drive in front of the house. John put the truck in park and turned off the engine.

  “It’s too dark to see anything, moron,” her brother growled.

  “I guess I see better than you do, stupid.”

  “Jeez Louise,” John said. “Give it a rest, guys.” Several hours on their best behavior for the flight must’ve burned out all their self-control, because they’d been bickering non-stop for the whole hour-long drive.

  “You cut down the swing!” Torey said. “I knew something was missing.”

  “The swing?” He thought back. “That was two years ago, honey. Remember? The branch died and it wasn’t safe.”

  “Told you.” Mark jumped out of the truck and headed for the back.

  “Wait up,” John called. “Let me get that.” He cleared the cover off, and lifted down their suitcases. “Oof. Feels like you brought enough stuff.”

  “Most of that’s Torey’s,” Mark said disdainfully. “She brought, like, everything in her closet.”

  “Because my old stuff that I left here won’t fit. Because I’m growing. Unlike some people.”

  John could visibly see that shot hit. Mark was still barely over five feet tall and sensitive about it.

  “Wait till your brother hits his growth spurt,” he put in. “You might want to be nice to him now.”

  Torey huffed. “Anyway, you brought your guitar, stupid.”

  “I want to practice.”

  “You want to show off.”

  “Kids!” John let his voice sharpen. “You want to stand here in the cold squabbling or get inside where it’s warm?” He picked up two bags and led the way up the steps.

  Ryan was sitting in the kitchen. He stood up and came into the hallway as they hung up coats and sorted out bags. “Need any help bringing things in?”

  John shook his head. “We got it.” He tried not to look at Ryan, not to pay attention to…ah, shit. He gave the guy a warm smile. “So, Torey, Marcus, this is my roommate that I was telling you about. He’s renting the spare room. Ryan, these are my kids, Mark and Torey.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ryan said easily.

  “Dad doesn’t talk about you much,” Marcus returned. “What do you do again? Are you a gardener too?”

  John opened his mouth for a reprimand, startled by his son’s rudeness, but Ryan gave him a quick headshake. “I’m a medical student,” he said calmly. “In three years, you can call me Dr. Ward, but for now it’s okay if you call me Ryan.”

  “What happened to your leg?” Torey chimed in.

  “I was a firefighter before I was a med student. Something fell during a fire and it damaged my knee. It didn’t heal right.”

  “That sucks,” Torey said. “So is it ever going to, like, heal?”

  “That was over a year ago. So I think this is all the better it’s ever going to get.” After a moment’s silence, he added, “But hey, that’s okay. I mean, I want to be a doctor. So I’ll need good hands, eyes, ears, a good brain. But knees? Not so important.”

  “I guess. Being a firefighter is cooler.”

  John cleared his throat. “Why don’t you kids take some of this stuff on up to your rooms. I’ll bring the rest. We can end up in the kitchen and have a hot drink or something.” When they hesitated, he made a shooing motion toward the stairs. “Go on.”

  Under the cover of their footsteps clattering upstairs, he turned to Ryan. “I’m sorry, man. They’re not usually that rude. I don’t know what got into them.”

  “I’m in their space,” Ryan said. “They got sent off here by their mom on short notice, you weren’t expecting them, and there’s an intruder squatting in their house and taking some of their dad’s attention.”

  “Not as much as I’d like,” John said softly.

  “Stop that.” But Ryan smiled. “It figures that they might be a bit hostile. It’s probably good I’m just your roommate right now.”

  “I guess so.” He wished otherwise, but Ry was probably right. “I just hope a little rest and food puts them in a better frame of mind, or it’s going to be a very long week.” He scooped up the two biggest bags and headed upstairs.

  Ryan was standing over the kettle, waiting for it to boil, when John got back down to the kitchen. John allowed himself a two-second fantasy of walking over and kissing the back of his neck. Stop. Don’t go there. He needed to get his mind back into Ry-as-roommate mode or the kids were going to notice. He really needed to get his body back into roommate mode.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “And hot chocolate. What do you think the kids would like?”

  “We have hot chocolate?”

  “I made a quick grocery run while you were at the airport. We were pretty low on everything.”

  Torey clattered down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Dad, do I have to use that old princess comforter? Don’t you have anything less dorky?”

  “You picked that one out,” John told her.

  “Well, yeah, when I w
as, like, ten. Dad, I’m not ten anymore. It’s so juvenile.”

  “I’ll trade with you,” Ryan suggested. “I’ve got plain green, if you like that better.”

  Torey gave him a look. “Like you’d use the princesses.”

  “Hey,” Ryan said, spreading his hands. “I’m secure in my masculinity.” John coughed and drew a glare from those green eyes.

  “I have an old red plaid in the closet,” he told Torey. “We can get it later. And then maybe next week we can buy you something better.”

  “Well, okay.” She sniffed the air. “What smells good?”

  Ryan raised his cup. “Hot chocolate.” He pointed at John’s mug. “And coffee. Want something?”

  “Coffee?” John could see that Torey was pleased at being asked.

  Ryan shrugged. “Either one.”

  “I might try some coffee,” she said consideringly.

  Ryan nodded. “Your dad makes it pretty strong. It’s better with some milk and sugar in it, for those of us who still have a stomach lining.” He gave John a mock sneer. “Or you could put half coffee into some hot chocolate. Like a mocha.”

  “Mocha, I guess,” Torey said.

  “Coming right up.” Ryan took down another mug and began concocting.

  Upstairs, the sound of a guitar started up. Ryan glanced up as he handed Torey her drink. “That your brother?”

  “Yeah. He plays that stupid thing all the time.” She took a cautious sip. “Hey. This isn’t bad.”

  Ryan gave her his best smile. “Thank you, my lady.” He looked at John, with a nod to the stairs. “The boy’s pretty good on that thing.”

  John tried to remember the last time he’d heard Mark play. It hadn’t sounded like this. “I didn’t realize.”

  “He wants to be in a real band,” Torey said. “I tell him not in a million years.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan said. “He’s better than some I’ve heard playing for money.”

  “Yeah.” Torey smiled wickedly, showing a dimple. “But I’m not going to tell him that.”