The Rebuilding Year

by Kaje Harper

  Ryan laughed. “I have two older brothers. They need to be kept in their place.”

  “Exactly.” Torey eyed him with more approval. “So, are you really living here?”

  “Upstairs. Spare room. Check it out.”

  “Like, I could go in there? You wouldn’t care?”

  “If you want.” Ryan shrugged. “Pretty boring though. Mostly books, books and more books. A couple of free weights. Actually, the princess comforter might improve it.”

  “Why are you living here?”

  “I needed a room. Your dad needed money to support you and your brother in the manner to which you have become accustomed. And he hates to do dishes. So it’s a win all around.”

  “You pay rent?”

  “He wouldn’t take green stamps.”

  “Huh?” Torey said.

  Ryan smiled at John. “Never mind. Old-people joke.”

  John returned the smile, feeling warmth flooding through him. This was going to work out.

  ****

  Ryan struggled to shut the zipper on his suitcase, sitting overstuffed on top of the bed. He didn’t want to repack, but he was getting frustrated. Which had been pretty much his standard state for the last five days. Frustrated, and also horny, and yet content underneath it.

  The kids turned out to be mostly human, once the effects of their long flight wore off. They’d picked out a big Christmas tree together, and spent a nice Sunday afternoon decorating it. The kids had argued about which ornaments went where, of course, but it’d sounded more like habit than serious fighting.

  Torey was a cute kid, bright and fun, trying so hard to grow up fast. Ryan was amused to see how often John had to bite his tongue, wanting to keep her a child. It probably wasn’t as funny from a father’s point of view, but there was no real harm in her pining for the clothes and styles of her peers. Ryan secretly agreed that Cynthia’s refusal to let Torey get her ears pierced until she was sixteen was overprotective. Although out loud, he and John had backed his ex-wife up, for solidarity.

  The way to Mark’s heart was his music. Ryan had been pleased to find that all his own skills hadn’t rusted away, in the year since he’d picked up a guitar. He couldn’t match the kid’s fast rock licks, but Ryan still could pick a mean classical line. He’d even been able to show the boy a couple of chord progressions.

  Mark was quieter, more subdued and introspective than his sister. Ryan worried that the kid might even have some depression issues. More than once, he’d caught the boy staring blankly out a window, and his responses seemed flat and disengaged. Fifteen was a hard age, especially if you were small and not athletic and plagued by acne. Unlike Torey, Mark hadn’t talked about calling his friends back home, or even mentioned having any. But he came alive in his music, so at least he had that. And hopefully he’d open up to John, who so obviously cared about him.

  The zipper on Ryan’s suitcase snagged in bulging fabric again. Ryan cursed, trying to tuck it in, then bit off the end of the phrase, remembering there were children in the house. Which was a good thing, as Torey said from the doorway, “Want me to sit on it?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  She came over and balanced herself on top of the bag, sitting cross-legged. Ryan wrestled the zipper the rest of the way around. “That helped. Thanks.”

  She hopped off nimbly, and eyed the bag. “You pack like I do.”

  “I guess. Although a lot of this is presents. I have two nephews.”

  “Will they be there for Christmas?” Torey asked diffidently.

  “Yes, at least for a few days. We’ll all go to my Dad’s in Oregon—me, my two brothers, Drew’s wife and the kids.”

  Torey went to the window, looking out. “The whole family together.”

  “This year. Some years we’ve had to miss out.” Last year, he’d still been in rehab, unable to travel.

  “I miss having everyone together,” Torey said.

  “I bet.” What to say? “But your Mom and Dad don’t get along well right now, so it’s better to have two separate holidays.”

  “Mom’s having another baby,” Torey told the windowpane. “That’s why she sent us away.”

  “Oh, honey.” Ryan went up to her and touched her back. “She didn’t send you away. She’d promised to let you visit your dad, and earlier just worked out better than later. You’ll go home in a couple of days.”

  “She was sick and grumpy with the new baby,” Torey muttered, still looking out. “She said if we were going to be loud and unruly, we might as well go bother John for a bit.”

  That sounded like a quote. Ryan sighed silently. “Well, do you think you can be loud and unruly again, like in January? Because your dad and I would love to have you back soon.”

  That got him the ghost of a smile. “Really?”

  “Of course. Although there might be a better way to do it than making your Mom angry.”

  From below, John called up. “Hey, Ryan. Get your butt down here. The shuttle’s waiting.”

  Ryan gave Torey a quick squeeze around the shoulders. “I have to go. I’m sorry you won’t still be here when I get back. You visit again soon, okay?”

  To his surprise, she turned and hugged him back. “Have a good Christmas.”

  “Yeah. You too. Listen, can I tell your dad? About the baby?”

  “You really won’t tell him if I say no?”

  “It’s not my business, exactly,” Ryan said cautiously. “But I think it might make things easier for him to understand, if he knows.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s good. Thank you. You have a nice holiday too.” Ryan headed down the stairs carefully, lugging his full suitcase. All he had to do was make it out the door without tripping over his bags, say goodbye to John with his children watching, and tell the man that his ex-wife was pregnant. Piece of cake.

  ****

  Bars in airports were all basically the same, Ryan decided. Too bright, too quiet, and filled with people sitting alone trying to get sloshed before their flight. Although he was getting sloshed after his flight.

  He should’ve been on the shuttle by now, on his way back to the bosom of his so-called loving family. No, that wasn’t fair. They were a loving family. Which was part of the problem.

  For a year now, Dad had had this strained cheer whenever he talked to him. That fake voice when someone is trying to cover up a disaster. Like, Dad couldn’t admit he was worried, so he had to pretend everything was going to be perfect, because he also couldn’t admit things were never going to be okay.

  Which was bullshit, both ways. The leg would never be perfect. But Ryan was okay. He’d figured out what he wanted to do next, and gone for it. He was back on track. He didn’t need to be treated as fragile.

  He took a long swallow of his drink. The scotch rolled smooth and smoky over his tongue and down his throat, and he had a moment’s flash of John, sitting at a table in the Stein, drink in hand. He slapped his glass back down roughly. The dregs were low enough not to spill.

  He slid off his stool, adjusted his cane and grabbed the handle of his damned bag. He was tempted to just leave it, but if someone walked off with the kids’ gifts it would put a damper on Christmas. In the bathroom, he leaned the bag in a corner, finished up, and then stared at his reflection in the mirror. Dark hair, green eyes, nothing he hadn’t seen a thousand times. He’d stood like this often enough, combing his hair and wondering whether the girl du jour liked what she saw enough to say yes. Shouldn’t he somehow look different now? When he had a guy liking what he saw?

  The farther he got from John, the more unreal that moment in the kitchen seemed. The person who’d stood there passionately kissing another man was someone Ryan didn’t recognize. He leaned closer, looking himself in the eyes. His return stare was blurred by fatigue and alcohol, but not… gay?

  He suddenly missed his mother with a sharp pang. Someone to talk to who would just plain be on his side. Someone without hang-ups and agendas, who’d let him talk this th
ing out. He left the bathroom, but paused in the dim hallway. His phone was in his pocket. He leaned his shoulders against the wall, angled his cane against his leg and pulled it out. And then hesitated with his fingers on the screen.

  He could call John. But if the kids were around, it would mean hushed voices and cryptic euphemisms. And anyway, talking to John wouldn’t help him figure out where he stood in his own mind.

  His friends from school were still casual acquaintances, the relationships built on study sessions and sharing class notes and agonizing over cryptic exams. He couldn’t think of one of them he’d even say the word “gay” to. His buddies from the firehouse had been closer than kin, but the distance between them had widened. And they were not the type to talk about feelings with. Except…

  He found the right contact. The phone rang twice and then a woman’s sleepy voice said, “This better be important.”

  “Um, Andrea?”

  There was a second of dead air. “Ryan? No, can’t be. Ry Ward lost my phone number. He never calls. I get little say-nothing e-mails about the weather from him.”

  “I’ve never e-mailed about the weather.”

  “Last one you sent, and I quote, ‘We’re having an ice storm.’ End quote.”

  “That’s not weather. That’s like a natural disaster.”

  “Only if you break a bone or wreck your car.” Andrea’s voice warmed. “It is you. How are you doing, Ry? It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Likewise.” His throat tightened for a moment. Andrea had been the lone woman in the firehouse. As such, she’d worked hard and played even harder, holding her own among the guys. She was a hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle and attitude, and they’d been pretty close back when. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t moved a thousand freaking miles away, you wouldn’t have had to. Or if you’d picked up the phone now and then. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten I exist.”

  “If I crawl on my hands and knees and beg your pardon, will you talk to me?”

  “I’d think about it.”

  Ryan tilted his head back against the wall. Andrea’s familiar voice wrapped around him. “Tell me about yourself, about all the guys. Catch me up to date.”

  “What? You have an hour? I’d need that just to go through Harry’s harem.”

  “Hit the high points.”

  Her chuckle was still the same. “You mean the low points?” But she willingly rattled off a string of news. A couple of babies, a wedding, a messy divorce, a winning basketball team, a half dozen new regulations that made no fucking sense, a batch of chili so hot even Miguel wouldn’t eat it. He let it all seep in.

  Eventually she paused. “What about you, Ry? I’m doing all the talking here.”

  “I’m good. I’m fine. Classes are going well.”

  “You seeing anyone?”

  Not at this precise moment in this damned airport. “Not really.” He took a breath. “One odd thing happened. Um, Andrea, do you think I look gay?”

  “You? Jesus, no. Why, did some guy hit on you?”

  “Something like that.”

  Andrea snorted. “Well he’s either a fool or a complete optimist. Relax, Ry, you don’t look gay. We all know how much you appreciate the ladies.”

  “I’ve never had a long-term girlfriend, though.”

  “Have you ever wanted one? I thought you were the king of the hit-and-run.”

  “Something more settled might be nice.”

  “Well, halleluiah! I wondered if I’d ever see the day. Did you have someone particular in mind?”

  “No,” he said hastily. “Just thinking.”

  “Well, you go on trying to do that. Maybe you’ll get the hang of it someday.”

  “Bitch. I’m spilling my guts here and you’re making fun of me.”

  “I somehow missed the spilling-guts part. Unless you do have a girlfriend.”

  “No.” He went for a half-truth. “Closest I’ve come lately is the guy who hit on me.”

  “You should ask him if he has a sister.” Andrea’s voice sobered. “Seriously, Ry. You’re a nice guy. Some girl will take a look and realize you’re worth wading through all the bullshit you put out there.”

  He grunted noncommittally.

  “Ryan, you appreciate women, you talk to them like you care about more than the double-D bust line. You went from girl to girl and took what was offered, sure, but I always figured you’d find a nice woman someday and settle down. You’re that type.”

  “Maybe.” He sighed. “It’s a pity you’re in a different state, hot stuff.”

  She laughed. “We make great friends, but we’d be lousy lovers. Together I mean, because when you’re not around, I’m awesome.”

  “And if I don’t agree with that, you’d hit me.”

  “If you were within reach, you bastard. Listen, I have to go. But call me soon. E-mail is just not the same thing. And hang in there. The girl who finally lands you will be a lucky woman. Shit, there’s my alarm. I have to go on shift.”

  Ryan closed his eyes. He could almost see her, getting ready in the evening dusk. And the other guys, straggling into the firehouse, joking with each other, topping each other’s tales of who did what during their down-time. “Say hi to the guys for me.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  He stood there another minute, listening to the silence on the phone. So it wasn’t some gay-bi vibe he’d always had. Not that Andrea was necessarily the most perceptive person in the world, but she’d known him better than most. And she’d never seen… He needed to finish that drink.

  His half-empty glass was still on the bar. Andrea would’ve scolded him for leaving it unattended, but he’d never had to worry like she did. He drank, rolled the last sip around in his mouth, and wondered if he needed another.

  He would go home soon, back to the family who had no fucking clue. Not about what worried him, what hurt or scared him, nothing but the very surface of what he’d been doing for the last year, or the last week. He needed some kind of cushion, some way to squeeze himself back into being the Ryan they expected to see. Because he wasn’t ready to show them anything else. He might never be ready.

  The bartender was busy at a table. Ryan tipped the shot glass, watching the last drop roll around in the bottom. He wasn’t drunk yet, far from it. He needed one more. Or maybe two. Or… he looked around the bar. At the tables, several couples sat together, laughing, leaning in. They seemed at ease and comfortable.

  Or maybe what he needed was… to get laid. It’d been way too long. All those pent up hormones were probably screwing with his brain. He liked John. Of course he did. Liked him a whole lot, but still, Ryan wasn’t gay. He never had been. He’d always appreciated big tits and a tight ass. He liked a woman’s lips, her hair, her soft voice, her scent, the way women moved and looked. Like that blonde over at the end of the bar.

  Maybe he’d been going too fast. Maybe he owed it to himself and to John to think this thing through. He caught the blonde’s eye, gave her a small smile. Wheel of chance. If she blew him off, he’d go home. If she came over… Her return smile was bright. With an eye on him, she picked up her glass and slid down the bar.

  “So, coming in or leaving town?” she asked.

  “Just got in. You?”

  “I work for United. I’m unwinding, end of the day.”

  “You look good, unwound,” Ryan told her, with his best boyish grin. Aren’t you too old to be going for boyish, the voice in his head asked. So his best material was a little rusty. So sue him. He tried to make the smile more real.

  “Well, thank you,” she said, showing a dimple.

  Ryan held out a hand. “I’m Ryan.”

  “Melissa.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  She raised the glass in her hand. “Got one. And that’s my limit. But they do a mean quesadilla. I should probably eat something, to soak up the drink.”

  Ryan looked around, nodded left. “There’s a
table over there.”

  Half an hour later, Ryan was thoroughly sick of himself. He sat back somewhere in the deeper recesses of his brain and watched Ryan Ward operate on auto-pilot. And operate was the key word. Med student, firefighter, fucking hero, he had all the lines.

  Melissa was definitely interested. Her calf pressed against his under the table. Her eyes were fixed on him. All the usual female comebacks— rapt attention, smiles in the right places, little tidbits about herself and then she’d turn the conversation right back to him. Guys like to talk about themselves. He wondered what magazine she’d read that in.

  He could have her, he thought. If he worked it right, she would take him home to that apartment she shared with her flight-attendant friend, who was conveniently out of town. The brightness of her eyes, the way she played with her hair, told him she was interested. Even his cane, that had made her flinch at first, was excused for an injury in the line of duty. In that context, it was some kind of freaking badge of honor. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

  He could probably lay her on a bed, put her on her knees, and get what he needed, what he liked. Or let her take over and do him. Except… he didn’t want that. He thought about her naked, and his body responded. But it was a tepid interest, like muscle memory. It was a reflex that bypassed his brain. Whereas remembering just one kiss with John… fuck! Voice, smell, touch, taste. He was instantly hard enough to drive nails.

  He shifted in his chair, and tried to get his attention back on Melissa. But he just didn’t care. His mind was home in Wisconsin. He wondered what John was doing now. Were the kids getting ready for bed? Was Mark holed up with his guitar, pulling comfort from those strings? Was Torey angling for one more bag of microwave popcorn? Or texting her friend back home for the two-hundredth time that day?

  And John. Was John thinking about him? Was he sitting somewhere in that big warm house, eyes closed, remembering, anticipating. Was he in the shower, water streaming down those long, hard muscles until the last drop of heat was wrung from the water tank?

  Ryan looked over at Melissa. She hesitated in her narrative, catching his expression.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re very pretty, and fun to talk to. But I might have someone back at home. And as screwed up as it is, I’m going back there in a week, and I’m going to give it a try.”