by May Archer
“Clearly your musical education has been sorely lacking.”
“You gonna educate me?”
So fucking saucy. “I could pull over and educate you right now,” Damon threatened, and Cain smiled wickedly.
Fuck. He was sorely tempted. Partly to distract himself from giving in to temptation, and partly from a desire to know more about Cain, he said, “Tell me about your tattoo.” The lines of tiny swirling text interspersed with colorless tongues of flame and skulls that seemed to dance down his arm were as beautiful and mysterious as the man himself.
Cain stuck his arm out, and looked down with a furrow between his brows, like he was somehow surprised to see the ink still on his skin, or maybe just surprised that Damon had asked him. “Oh. Uh. It’s from a poem by T.S. Eliot,” he said simply, then he closed his eyes and quoted:
“What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from….
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea’s throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.”
He cleared this throat when he was done, looking slightly embarrassed. “It…it’s only part of that stanza, but it was important. A reminder.”
Damon blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but likely something more along the lines of song lyrics. Some ephemeral life motto. He wasn’t sure why he kept wanting to believe that Cain was somehow younger than he was, less mature than he was. Like the tattoo, Cain was complex - half-shaded and with pieces left unfinished, but that did nothing to detract from his beauty.
Or from how much Damon wanted him.
While Damon was lost in his thoughts, Cain had resumed his soft singing, his eyes drinking in the lavish mountain views, now stained with the golden fire of turning trees, and Damon found himself appreciating them, too. One last blaze of glory at the end of a growing season, one last punch of gorgeousness before the blanket of cold fell over this corner of the world. But they held so much promise, too. A reminder that even when stark winter came, it too would fade away into lush green. A cycle.
An end that was also a beginning, just like Cain’s tattoo.
The strains of the alt-rock song on the radio faded into silence and Cain stopped singing.
“Hey!” he grumbled, trying to pick another station. “That was an awesome song.”
Damon hadn’t recognized the track and hadn’t understood a single lyric. If anything, he’d been focused on Cain’s voice, which had sounded happy and peaceful…and not at all like an injured cat, as Cain had claimed. Although maybe Damon was biased. He was beginning to realize he was pretty pitifully gone on Cain.
“I don’t think you’re gonna find any of the stations come in, baby. It’s satellite radio, and we’re out of range,” Damon reminded him, and Cain leaned back.
“Oh, hey! Then will you stop at the next rest area so I can get a charger for my phone? We can listen to my music.”
“Oh joy.”
“Shush.” Cain whacked him playfully on the arm. “And there’s all that other bullshit I need to deal with, like the fucking ski trip that left yesterday, which apparently I’m not making.” He sighed gustily. “Probably a good idea for me to check in with my parents, too. I forget where they were heading to campaign this week, but I’m pretty sure they’re headed to DC for the holiday. I should make sure they’re not going to be anywhere near the cabin. Do you mind?”
Damon set his jaw. Yeah, he very much minded the idea that Cain was going to check in with his parents, but he kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t keep the man from his family, no matter how shitty that family might be. When they came upon a sign for a welcome center a few silent miles later, Damon pulled in so Cain could make his purchase.
He came back to the car with the cable, along with a bunch of food and a red baseball hat that he plopped onto Damon’s head.
“What the hell is this?” Damon demanded, taking the hat off his head while Cain messed with the charger, plugging in his phone.
“A souvenir,” Cain said, not meeting his eyes. “They were having a fundraiser to create some new hiking trail, and lots of businesses had tables set up. One of them was this barbecue place.” He cracked open one of the white Styrofoam containers he carried, and the tangy, smoky scent of barbecue filled the car. “They were practically giving the hats away.”
“And you had to get one, why?”
“Because it reminded me of you. It was fate.”
Damon ran his finger over the embroidered design on the front of the cap. Big Daddy’s BBQ. He raised his eyebrow in Cain’s direction, but Cain smiled innocently.
Damon stuck the hat back on his head and reached for a fork. It turned out to be damn good BBQ.
A few minutes later, Cain had tossed the containers into a trash barrel and they were back on the road. Cain played with his phone for a few minutes, and Kings of Leon’s Waste a Moment came over the speakers.
“Who says you get to pick the music?”
“Uh, you did. Remember yesterday? Navigator picks the tunes,” Cain sing-songed, punching buttons on his phone. “I’m just obeying your silly rule.”
Damon grabbed the phone from his back pocket and handed it to Cain. “Connect my phone instead.”
In his peripheral vision, he saw Cain cock his head mulishly, like he wanted to argue. Damon pointed to the hat. “Don’t piss Big Daddy off, Cain.”
Cain snorted and tossed Damon’s phone in the center console. “Don’t take the hat literally, dude.”
Damon laughed.
“Fuck,” Cain said softly, looking at his screen. “Guess we just drove back into a patch of cell service. Twelve missed calls from my mother, three from my father, two from Drew. A text from Mrs. Fassbender, who’s looking forward to seeing me Monday, which was actually two days ago. And an email from Gary North.” He sighed, and Damon could practically see the tension charging his frame from one moment to the next. “Guess it was too much to hope the whole world would lose my number, huh?”
But Damon’s attention was caught on one of the names Cain had mentioned. “Gary North?” Damon asked. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He’s a reporter.” Cain tapped the phone against his leg. “The one I told you about, who wrote the piece on SILA. My dad wants me to do an interview with him. Some human-interest piece for the fucking campaign.”
Damon’s eyebrows shot up. “The guy who reported on SILA wants to do a piece on your dad.”
“Yeah. And my dad instructed me to agree. Weird, eh?”
It was more than weird, it was downright bizarre, and possibly suspicious. But Damon wasn’t sure whether he should tell Cain his suspicions or not. “When is the interview?” he asked instead.
“At my convenience, or so Gary says. He wants me to set up a time that he can meet with me, either in Boston or wherever we are on the campaign trail. Time and place of my choosing.”
“Sounds eager.”
“Yeah.” Cain thunked his head back against the headrest. “I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to do this interview without giving something away. This may be my father’s stupidest idea yet.”
“You could always say no,” Damon reminded him.
“Yeah, right.” Cain turned his head without lifting it from the seat. “If it were just the guy wanting the interview, I’d have said no when he first talked to me at the fundraiser. But according to my mom, this is all part of my dad’s strategy. Or something.” He sighed. “Maybe we can do it by phone.”
“Hmmm.”
“What’s that mean, hmm?”
“It means you have no problem arguing with me.”
Cain frowned at him in surprise. “Should I?”
“Nope. Though, you know, I am apparently the Big Daddy. But I’m wondering why yo
u have a hard time saying no to your parents.”
Cain froze. “It’s different.”
“Well, yeah. Clearly. But you’re one of the bravest men I know. Christ, Cain, you threw yourself in front of a bullet for me. Why can’t you stand up for yourself when it comes to your parents?”
Cain said nothing, so Damon pushed on. “I’m not saying you want to come out, either privately or publicly. If you’re not ready for that, you’re not, and I would never push you to do something you’re not ready to do. But why not tell your dad to fuck himself when he tries to run your life? No more campaign rallies. No skiing with the Fassbergers.”
“Fassbenders,” Cain corrected. “And it’s just… not that easy.” He rubbed a hand over his head.
“So explain it to me, then,” Damon said, trying to mask his frustration. “I want to understand. I really want to know how you can be so strong sometimes, and then so…”
He bit his tongue before he finished the sentence, but not quickly enough. Cain laughed, but it was a bitter sound that didn’t mask his hurt. “So what, Damon? So weak? Say it.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Damon lied. “I just don’t get it.”
Cain looked at the ceiling, his arms folded across his chest and his lips pursed. For a second, Damon was afraid Cain was going to cry, and he cast around for something to say, some way to distract him.
But when Cain began speaking a moment later, his voice wasn’t sad, but absolutely livid.
“Back when I was in high school, I was mostly out. I told you that.”
Damon smiled. “Emo gay boy. My Chemical Romance. Yeah, you told me.”
Cain nodded once. “Well, emo gay boy had a boyfriend. Another gay boy like me, but a jock. Big, built blond guy with a perfect GPA and a soccer scholarship. His name was — or is, I should say, since he’s still alive, even if I haven’t seen him in years — Jesse Porter.”
That Jesse person, Damon remembered Cain’s mother saying during that truly horrifying phone call. Someone she’d always known was a troublemaker.
Cain’s hand clutched at the handle above the passenger window, and he stared resolutely at the mountain road that rose and fell in front of them.
“I had a crush on him for the longest time. My second-ever real-life crush, after Cam Seaver.”
Damon’s eyebrows went up, and he saw a smile play at the corner of Cain’s lips. “Surprised you, huh? We dated a couple of times, too. But I wasn’t his type. For one thing, I wasn’t out, and Cam pretty much always was.”
Cain cleared his throat, and Damon said nothing, understanding that Cain needed to get this out, however long it took. “Jesse, though… he knew I was never going to want him to bring me home to his parents, and he sure as fuck knew I was never going to bring him home to mine. He had a reputation to uphold, you know. Super jock scholarship kid from a middle-income family. He needed a full ride to school, and he definitely did not want to be the token gay athlete. So, things started slowly. We flirted at a party, hooked up on a spring-break ski trip.” He darted a glance at Damon. “Proof that not all ski trips are bad.”
“Right.”
“And before I knew it, we were spending all our time together. He flunked an English test on Transcendentalism - I swear he did it on purpose - and the teacher asked me to tutor him. So the two of us had every excuse to spend our afternoons up in my bedroom with Emerson’s Essays open on our laps. Not that we read them,” he added.
Damon smirked. “Uh huh. I was that age once,” he reminded Cain. “I get it.”
“He was my first at almost everything. I was pretty sure I was in love with him. And then that summer… I kissed him outside.”
Damon blinked and tore his eyes from the road to glance at Cain. “Outside?”
“Yup. In a semi-public place.”
“Oh,” Damon said, as facts began to click into place.
“We were at a pool party at my parents’ house.” Cain’s voice was a miserable whisper. “I made him kiss me behind the pool house. Just kinda grabbed him, and—. My father saw us.”
“Oh, damn, Cain. I’m so sorry.”
Cain shook his head, looking lost. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Believe me, I don’t deserve one second of your sympathy.”
“What happened?” Damon demanded.
“What do you think? My father threatened to out Jesse - to take away his scholarship, to get him kicked out of school.”
“Fuck.” It was no worse than Damon had been expecting, the tip of the iceberg in terms of the senator’s sins, and yet the bleakness in Cain’s voice made him wish the senator was standing right in front of their car right now.
He stepped on the gas harder.
“I told Jesse…” Cain licked his lips. “I told him it didn’t matter. You know? I have a trust fund! We can get jobs! We can be together!”
Damon winced and Cain caught it. He chuckled darkly.
“Yep. Yeah, you know what happened after that. And I mean, I can’t blame him. We barely knew each other, and it was way too early for that Romeo and Romeo shit. Besides, it was my fault we got caught in the first place. I accepted all that. What killed though, was that he couldn’t distance himself from me fast enough. Told me I needed to get over this stupid shit, use my head. This was just a phase he was going through, and I’d taken advantage of his inexperience. The whole nine.”
“Taken advantage of his inexperience?” Damon sputtered. “Are you fucking kidding? When you were no more experienced than he was? This guy sounds like an asshole, Cain.”
Cain shrugged. “Maybe. But we weren’t even eighteen yet, you know? He was young, and so was I, and he was scared because my father had threatened him.”
“None of that was your fault. Your father threatened you every bit as much.”
“Maybe,” Cain agreed. “But it was still my fault. My father, right?”
He gave Damon a pointed look, and Damon sighed. Yeah, he’d fallen into similar guilt-by-association thinking where Cain and his father were concerned.
“And I was the one who’d wanted to mess around, to take a chance.” He sighed. “I haven’t talked to Jesse since then. We haven’t kept in touch, not even on Facebook.”
“Well, yeah! Why would you?” Damon demanded, still annoyed. Big blond asshole jock could line up in the middle of the road along with Cain’s father so Damon could mow them both down.
“Apparently, I’m the only one who didn’t keep tabs on him. My father’s known exactly where he’s been. Penn State undergrad, just like he planned, and then on for his MBA. And Jesse managed to land a coveted entry-level job at one of the biggest advertising agencies in Manhattan. He’s engaged now.”
Damon frowned. “And that bothers you?”
Cain laughed shortly. “That he’s graduated and gotten engaged? Fuck no. I’m glad for him, and whoever the woman is.”
“A woman.”
“Yep. Turns out it was a phase.” He waved a hand negligently in the air. “Or whatever. No, what bothers me is that my father knows all this because he’s been monitoring Jesse this whole time. Know how Jesse managed to land that prestigious job? One phone call from my dad to an old friend of his.” He turned to look at Damon. “And with one phone call, he could take it all away.”
“Right. Well, sucks to be Jesse, and I mean that sincerely. But what does that have to do with you now?”
“What?”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with why you won’t stand up to your dad now.”
“He could destroy Jesse’s life. Hurt him. Kill him,” he whispered.
“He could likely get Jesse fired,” Damon allowed. “From a position that Jesse may or may not have earned in the first place.”
“But…”
“No, wait. Cain, seriously? Is this the way he’s been controlling you this whole past year?”
One look at Cain’s ravaged face confirmed it was.
Damon put on his blinker and pulled into a scenic overlook b
y the side of the road. The view of the valley beside them was gorgeous, but he barely noticed it. He twisted in his seat and grabbed both of Cain’s hands in his own.
“Seriously, is this what you’ve been torturing yourself with?”
“Yes! God, Damon. Imagine my father ruining things for Jesse, hurting him just because one time, like, six years ago the guy kissed me! I can’t let that happen.”
“Cain. Cain, that’s crazy.” He grabbed Cain’s shoulders and shook him lightly. “You’re not a high-school kid anymore, baby. You can change things.”
Cain shook his head, clearly locked into his own inner story. So freakin’ stubborn.
Damon slammed a hand on the center console, and Cain’s eyes flew to his.
“This is fucking ridiculous, Cain. Call Sebastian Seaver right this second. Find out if he needs some new marketing expert on his team. I will fucking guarantee you that he will say yes in a heartbeat. In less than a heartbeat. Christ, he made up a whole new division so he could give Cort a job. He’ll do whatever it takes to get you to come forward about your father. And then he’ll get Jesse round-the-clock protection, or relocate him to Timbuktu.”
“Damon, you still don’t get it. I can’t ask Bas to do that.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because it’s my fault! It’s on me! I am the one who needs to fix it.”
“That’s stupid, Cain.”
“Damon…”
“You’re telling me it’s more important for you to handle this than for me to get my life back?” he demanded. “Because I don’t think you really believe that. Not anymore.”
Cain’s eyes widened and filled with tears. “I know. I know. I have already thought of that so many times. Your freedom or his, your life or his. You have every reason to hate me. I don’t blame you.”
“I don’t hate you! Christ Almighty, Cain. I don’t hate you, I fucking… I care about you,” he said, mentally backing away from the word he had been on verge of blurting out. It was way too early for the L-word to make an appearance, especially when so many things were unresolved. “I care about you, and I don’t want you torturing yourself when it would be so easy to let people help.”