The Rebuilding Year

by Kaje Harper

  “I can’t have shit, apparently.”

  “You can go back to California with your mom, and stepdad and sister, and the baby that’s coming. Your mom loves you. If you tell her you need to change things, find a different school, hopefully she’d listen.”

  “No way,” Mark contradicted. “She listens to him. And he’s stuck on Loyola Prep. He thinks it’s the greatest, and it’s all my fault I don’t fit in.”

  “He wouldn’t let you try somewhere else?”

  “He says that’s quitting. And quitters never win, and winners never quit. He has a quote for everything, so he never has to listen to me.”

  “How about this quote?” Ryan suggested. “‘The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results.’” He surprised a laugh out of Mark. “You’ve already tried that school for what, a year and a half?” Mark nodded. “Okay, so if it’s not getting better yet, maybe it’s not going to. Time to try something different.”

  “Tell him that. He likes talking about my kids at Loyola. Hah. Like it takes anything except money to get in there.” Mark looked up, his eyes shiny. “He likes it more than he likes me. We’re not really his kids, of course, me and Torey. So it’s no surprise we can’t meet his standards. Now the new baby, it’ll have those good Carlisle genes.”

  “He said that?”

  “He thinks it.” Mark’s expression was bleak.

  “Or you could stay here.”

  Mark just looked at him.

  “You’re John’s son. You’re always welcome. We’d work like hell to persuade your mother. I’m thirty, and in love with a man. John’s kids are the closest I’ll probably ever come to having kids of my own.” For a moment Ryan paused, blindsided by yet another truth. That one had hovered in the background, where he didn’t have to look at it, in a mist of there’s always time later. Except if he was committed to John, later would be… different.

  Mark was still watching him with shuttered eyes. Where was I? Oh, yeah, convincing him he can stay. “We’d really like to have you. You could try out the school here, like you planned. If that doesn’t work, we can maybe consider home-school or online classes or something.”

  Mark looked skeptical. “But…?”

  Ryan leaned forward. “But if you stay here, you’ll be living with your gay dad and his boyfriend. No apologies. I won’t give up your dad for you, and I sure as hell hope he wouldn’t give me up either.” He kept his tone confident, despite the inner voice saying, John moved three times, and gave up a job for his kids. What if he has to choose? “At least, he won’t walk away from me just because you don’t like the gay.”

  The expression on Mark’s face became flatter, harder to read.

  Was that too strong? He already has a step-dad he hates, taking his place with his mom. “You know your dad loves you, no matter what. That’ll never change. But he loves me too. You don’t have to like me. You certainly don’t have to let me be a second father to you. But you’d have to be civil, you’d have to accept that I may hug your dad or even kiss him in front of you.”

  Mark was gnawing at the corner of his lip. Holding back more slurs? Just overwhelmed? What else needs to be said? “Unfortunately, it sucks but I can’t promise, if we come out down the road, that there won’t be insults, and intolerance of us as a couple. And of you, as John’s kid, from narrow-minded people out there. You might hear some of it. It probably comes with the deal.”

  “People will think I’m some kind of faggot too.”

  Ryan let the language slide. He had the feeling it was deliberate provocation. “They may. There’s no end to the ignorance. Most won’t, but they might still give you a hard time for the supposed sins of your father. It won’t always be easy.”

  “They’ll think you and Dad do, like… pervert stuff. He says gays are all pedos. That’s what people think.”

  “I hope not.” Ryan paused, trying to decipher Mark’s expression. “You’re not worried, are you?”

  “Of course not.” But Mark wasn’t looking at him.

  “Mark, Jesus, your father’s the same guy he always was. When you thought he was straight, you weren’t worried he would molest girls, were you?”

  “No.”

  “Then he’s no more likely to molest boys just because he’s bi.” Lighten it up. “As for me, well, I’m sorry, Mark. You’re a cute kid and all, but, um, look at yourself and then look at your father. You need about ten years and a hell of a lot of gym time to come close to matching him. I’m not into kids.”

  “I know that! That’s what he’ll say, though. This is so fucked,” Mark kicked the leg of his bed. “Why couldn’t Dad fall for a girl, like a normal guy?”

  Ryan managed a laugh. “I’m not getting a sex change, even for you.”

  Mark snorted, and when he looked up his expression was warmer. “You’d really be okay with me living here?”

  “Sure. I like you. I enjoy listening to you play guitar. I can’t wait to see what you’re going to make of your life. And if you’re here, and happier, then your dad’s happier too. That means a whole lot to me.”

  “Yeah?” Mark tipped his head, hair falling into his eyes.

  “Yeah. Enough to share the leftover pizza, and maybe even live with your dirty socks on the floor.”

  “I don’t know.” At least Mark’s tone was more pensive, less bleak.

  Ryan eased down off the dresser. Mark was a thinker. Now that he’d quit freaking out, it might be best to give him space to do that. “You can’t decide now, anyway. Call your mom and talk to her. Maybe your stepdad is more flexible than you thought. Give it some time. You can change your mind later, but this’ll determine your course for at least the next few months. No need to rush into things.”

  Mark nodded slowly. When he looked up, his voice was shy. “You really like my music?”

  Ryan popped him lightly on the arm as he went past, putting as much conviction as possible in his tone. “Come on, Marcus. You don’t need me to tell you you’re damned good. Now you just need to decide what to do about it.”

  Mark shut the door firmly behind him, but there was no sound of the lock clicking over. The music of an acoustic guitar resumed. Ryan recognized Mark’s own touch this time, with the occasional error as he picked out a new piece. His playing sounded more pensive than angry.

  Ryan made his way down to his own room and pulled out his phone. God, John only left twenty minutes ago. It felt like hours. He waited, pacing, until he was positive John would have arrived. Until he was certain the man wasn’t still out driving on the ice. Then he speed-dialed.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, babe,” Ryan said softly. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “You sitting down?”

  “Okay, why do I get the feeling I won’t like what’s coming?”

  “Remember a little while ago, when you kissed me goodbye on your way to work?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well that was a CD playing in Mark’s room. He was standing on the steps watching us.”

  “Oh hell.” There was a brief silence. “What did he say? Do you want me to come home? I should probably come home.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Ryan told him. “I talked to him, calmed him down. I think it may be good for him to be alone for a bit, to get used to the idea.”

  “You think? Shouldn’t I come back and face him?”

  “I get the feeling he needs to wrap his mind around it before he’s ready for that. But later, you will need to have a real conversation.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Ryan swallowed. You said it to the boy, now say it to the man. Why was this harder? “I told him that we were lovers, but only since January. I told him that this was something real, not just sex.” He took one more breath. “I told him I love you.”

  There was a long pause. “Really?”

  “John, I love you.”

  “God, I wish I was standing there when
you said that.” John’s voice was rough. “Did you tell him I love you too?”

  Ryan’s heart felt tight. “I might’ve mentioned it.” The moment echoed across the space between them. Why is something so perfect also so fucking complicated? “You’ll have to talk to him about Cynthia. I told him a person can be bi, can love a woman and then a man, and not be lying either time. But he’s upset about that part. So it would be good if you can figure out what you’re going to say.”

  “It’d be even better if I had time to figure out the whole truth myself, about Cynthia. I did love her. Not like you, though.”

  Ryan hid the rush of his emotions with a dry drawl. “Well, if there ever was a moment for introspection, this is it. If you come home when you planned, you have about six hours to think. Use them wisely.”

  “Ryan.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. I’m so sorry you’re the one that had to deal with this first, and thank you for talking to him.”

  “No, I think it was good it happened that way.” Ryan thought about John catching the brunt of Mark’s immediate anger, and winced. “He would have been a lot more emotional with you. And hey, on the bright side, now I can kiss you when you get home.”

  “I’ll be thinking about that.”

  “Don’t rupture anything.”

  John laughed. Ryan heard the rasp of something that wasn’t humor.

  “Listen,” he said. “Call me when you’re leaving work, okay?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Be careful out there. Watch out for the ice.”

  “I love you.” John hung up before he could answer.

  Ryan sat listening to the dead air over his phone. So, that was that. Bridges burned. I’m gay, I’m in love, and I’ve said it out loud. And his kid knows the truth. Surely it would all be downhill from here.

  Smooth and easy. Like fitting an angry teenager and a gay sex life in the same household. Like deciding what to do in a couple of years, after medical school was over and he had to find an internship. Like telling your own father about John. Okay, Ryan decided, there was still a lot of uphill in that downhill.

  ****

  That evening, John let himself into Ryan’s room. Ryan was stretched out on the bed, leaning on a pillow, making notes from a fat textbook. His black hair fell in his eyes. One muscular forearm supported the weighty volume on his knees. John stopped and just looked at him.

  Ryan glanced up from the bed, and set aside his notebook. “How’s he doing?”

  John sighed and dropped onto the foot of the bed. “Okay, I think. He doesn’t seem to be too homophobic, thank God. But he’s confused at how I could change like this. He’s still worried that I lied and tricked his mother somehow. And although he won’t admit it, he’s worried I care about you more than him. I could just feel him hovering on the edge of making me choose between you. He didn’t say it, but maybe only because he was scared that I’d choose you.”

  “Like his mother seems to have chosen Carlisle.”

  “Yeah. God… no wonder he’s so scared and pissed off.”

  Ryan scooted over to swing his legs off the edge of the bed, and slid an arm around him. The press of his hip and thigh were solid alongside John’s. “And how are you, John?”

  John leaned into him gratefully. “I’m okay. Scared. I don’t want him going back to a house he hated enough to run away from. But I still don’t know if he’ll be willing to accept us and stay here.”

  “I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. He just needs time.”

  “I hope so.” John closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of Ryan’s skin. “It’s maybe a good thing I had to work so there wasn’t time for guitar shopping today. We’ll go out tomorrow, get that guitar. It’ll give us something positive to talk about that’s not… us.”

  Ryan’s mouth brushed his hair. “Good thought.”

  “Jesus,” John said, fighting not to turn and make that a real kiss. “I want you. I thought it would be easier, now that he knows, but I can just imagine him in there, waiting and listening, wondering what we’re doing.”

  Ryan paused. “Shower?”

  “Huh?”

  “You always take a shower after work. A long shower. With lots of fan and falling-water type noises.”

  “And?”

  “We could maybe take the edge off now.” Ryan’s mouth was warm across his temple. “Then tonight we can sleep in separate bedrooms again. So the kid can relax a bit.”

  John pictured it. Heat and water and naked Ryan. “Think you can sneak into my bathroom?”

  “I think it could be arranged.”

  “Five minutes.” John hauled himself up off the bed. He paused in the hall to knock on Mark’s door.

  “What?”

  “Need anything? Because if not, I’m going to take my shower.”

  The return to loud chords could be taken as a no. John headed down to his room to undress. The bottom of his jeans were soaked to the knees. He hung them on the edge of the hamper, stripped off the rest, thought about what to pick out to wear afterward…

  He looked down at himself. Yeah, you’re thinking about clothes, right. He was stone hard and ready. Five minutes to get ready. He went into the bathroom and turned on the fan, leaving the door unlocked.

  It was closer to ten minutes before the door handle turned. Typical. Ryan was all about anticipation. At least the times when he didn’t just slam John down on the bed. Oh yeah.

  Ryan came in, dressed but with his feet bare, and locked the door behind him. “Now I like this.” His eyes swept over John’s naked body. His voice was the hot sex-growl that John had missed.

  John plastered himself against Ryan, pulling him close, rubbing his naked dick against rough denim. Ryan took his mouth roughly. Ryan’s hands found his ass, digging in.

  “God, God, God,” John moaned against Ry’s lips, around the probing tongue. It came out as wordless groans. He fought to keep it soft.

  “Water,” Ryan whispered, pulling back. “Turn it on.”

  John reached into the shower and started it, fumbling with the taps while watching Ryan undress. It was worth banging his knuckles, to see that body slowly revealed. Broad, hard chest, lightly furred with dark hair, fat brown nipples tightening in the cool air, round biceps, muscular forearms, flat stomach, and then, Jesus, yes, Ryan was going commando. Black jeans dropped to the floor, leaving him revealed. John swayed toward him.

  Ryan’s hand on John’s chest held him at bay. “Get in the water.”

  John stepped in, letting the spray flow over his head and down his chest. He blinked water out of his eyes. Ryan eased carefully in facing him. “Kiss me.”

  This was what he needed, John thought, taking that one small step that brought them together. This man, and this moment. Ryan’s mouth, his hands, his touch, even the commands that meant John didn’t have to think, just feel. The kiss started slowly, as if they were rediscovering each other. But his lips knew where to go, his hands brushed beloved flesh. It didn’t take long for them to be wound together, so tightly not even the water could get between them. Ryan kissed him, and kissed him.

  Finally Ry slid a finger down his crack, rubbing between his cheeks, and broke the kiss. “Turn around. Brace yourself.”

  John turned willingly, and put a hand on the wall, and the other on the safety rail he’d installed, thinking maybe, one day. They’d never done this standing up before. He’d been unsure about how it’d work, and he thought Ryan didn’t trust his leg enough to try. But John was more than willing now.

  Ryan’s soapy hands stroked all over him, rubbing, kneading, lathering him. Streams of white foam ran down his chest, around his erect dick and down the fronts of his thighs. Ryan pressed hard against his back, chest on his shoulders, but not touching his ass. John moaned. Ryan gripped the rail too, his arm brushing John’s. Between them, his other hand stroked inward over John’s ass cheek, probed against him, and then stopped. “No condoms.”

  “Do
we need one?” John asked.

  For a long moment Ryan was silent. He kissed John’s ear, his tongue sliding over John’s neck, his shoulder. Then he said, “No, I guess not. I’ve been tested recently. You’ve been… tested, then celibate. If you’re sure.”

  “I want to feel it all,” John whispered. His eyes were closed, and Ryan’s chest and hand and thigh on his skin weren’t enough. He craved more. “I want just you.” It was Ryan’s turn to groan.

  Slowly, carefully, Ryan began stretching him, damp fingers dragging over his tight rim. John bent, and spread his legs, to ease the angle.

  Ryan took his hand away, reached toward the corner, and came back with a handful of something slick. “This better? It’s one of the creams for my scars.” He eased what felt like two fingers inside, tentatively. “Is this okay? Maybe I should go get the lube.”

  It didn’t sting. John arched as those slippery fingers found his prostate, rubbed over it, moved in and out, deeper, wider. “No… fine… great. G’ choice.” He couldn’t work his tongue around proper words, but the last thing he wanted was to slow down now. There was a little pain, but it got lost in the deep building sensations. Ry’s touch inside him shoved him higher, panting and breathless, and he pushed back, wanting more. He whined as those fingers pulled away, and glanced over his shoulder to see Ryan reach for the cream again and take another fingerful. Then the tube dropped unheeded at their feet as Ryan moved in close.

  “Goddamn.” John felt the hard-in-soft pressure of Ryan’s cock head pressed against him. No latex. Skin on skin. “That’s amazing.” He pushed back and tried to relax, waiting.

  Ryan lined up and pushed in with a whimper. There was no other word for that sound. Then he stopped, barely inside John, his hand brushing the stretch where they were joined. “So hot, babe, the way you take me bare. You should see how we look.”

  John tried to shove his ass back. “Less talk, more action.”

  Ryan reached for the rail, and his free hand clamped John’s hip, holding him still. A slide deeper, a pull. Again. Again. Ryan was going really slow. It wasn’t all that different bare, John thought, at least from his side. Warmer, less slippery, although that might be the cream in place of lube. But it felt more intimate. The heat built nicely, prickly resistance giving way to aching, growing, needy fullness. And then Ryan pulled all the way out roughly, and cursed.