Through Thick and Thin

by J. P. Oliver

  “It means that you always do what’s best for Travis. Adam told me you talked to the fire chief for him—”

  “He was in shock!”

  “—and asked Adam about helping ‘us’ with insurance—”

  “Okay, so it was a slip of the tongue, whatever—”

  “Lance, bud, I’m just saying, you take care of him. It’s what you do, I get it, you’re the kind of guy who takes care of other people. Who was always scraping Jake up off the bar floor when he had too much, and I was swamped with customers? Who’s always the one taking Davis out to breakfast when he’s gotten his heart broken yet again? It’s who you are, and we love you for it. But you have to look after yourself as well, and I don’t know if letting Travis stay with you is doing that.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Lance said firmly. His voice was firmer than he felt, actually.

  He honestly hadn’t considered the possibilities that Luke was bringing up. He’d been so concerned with helping Travis out and then with the idea of getting to spend more time with Travis that he hadn’t thought about the flip side.

  As if to punctuate this, Travis emerged from the bathroom.

  Lance nearly dropped the phone.

  Travis had stepped into the shower. Lance had been so caught up in his conversation with Luke that he hadn’t even noticed—but now Travis was standing there wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, with some stray water droplets working their way down his tanned shoulders. Travis was built big, his entire family was, but his clothes mostly concealed that.

  There was absolutely no concealing any of it now. Travis’s dark beard and short dark hair were even darker than usual with the water, and Lance could see some of his old football scars displayed on his chest. Coupled with his slightly hooked nose—broken in a fight in high school—and the beard and all, it made Travis look just a little rugged and dangerous, but in the best way. In fact, he looked kind of like a cowboy from the cover of a bodice-ripping romance novel.

  Lance just about swallowed his tongue.

  “Yo, Lance?” Luke said. “You keep cutting out, is your connection bad or something?”

  “Is that Luke?” Travis asked at the same time. “Can you ask him if he has any clothes I can borrow? I realized it’s all… in my house, and you’re way too small, no offense.”

  “None taken,” Lance replied because Travis was right. There was no way any of Lance’s clothes would fit him, especially with all those, um, muscles, and—yeah. “Hey, Luke? Can you bring over some old clothes for Travis? Just until we can get his stuff from the second floor.”

  “Oh, yeah, Adam mentioned something about the second floor being okay. Yeah, no sense in buying new clothes if his will be okay.”

  “Well, they’ll be okay after about a week in the washing machine,” Lance replied, thinking of the smoky smell that was undoubtedly clinging to the clothes, making them stink. “I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll drive on over, be there in ten. And Lance?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll offer for Travis to stay with us again when I get there. Think about what I said, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Lance hung up the phone, feeling a flash of hot and cold at the same time as he stared, and then tried not to stare, at Travis.

  This was far from the first time he’d seen Travis without clothes on, but the last time that had happened had been freshmen year of college when he’d had to pick up a completely trashed Travis from a frat party. In the years since then, Travis had gotten even more toned, more filled out, and really grown into the rugged, bad-boy mountain man look he had going on.

  Lance swallowed, his throat dry and clicking. Fuck.

  “Do you want anything?” He asked, trying to think of something, anything to talk about to distract himself. “Luke’s going to grab some clothes and head over, by the way. He said he’s sorry he didn’t think of it before.”

  “Nah, I didn’t think of it either until I stepped out. You don’t mind that I borrowed your towel, do you? It was hanging right there.”

  “What?” Lance all but yelped, not realizing until Travis said it that it was, in fact, Lance’s favorite fluffy light blue towel with the dolphins on it that Travis had around his waist. “Um, yes, I mean—no, as in, no, I don’t mind.”

  “What’s got you all flustered?” Travis asked, grinning. Then he stopped, growing serious. “Luke wasn’t giving you a hard time about anything, was he?”

  “No, no, it’s all good.” Lance shook his head and smiled, hoping he looked relaxed instead of deranged. “I’m just, with the fire and all. I’m feeling a little jumpy. You could have been in there.”

  “But I wasn’t,” Travis replied. He sounded perfectly soothing and patient, as if it had been Lance’s house that had burned down and not his.

  Lance wanted to argue that Travis himself had been in a bit of shock when he’d first seen the blaze, but if there was one thing he could count on, it was that Travis had a protective streak a mile wide. Any lingering fear was probably being doused by Travis’s need to reassure Lance.

  And see, it was stupid shit like that, being protective and caring, that had tricked Lance into developing feelings for his best friend in the first place. If Travis hadn’t been so… so attentive, and so determined to protect Lance—especially when another guy had screwed Lance over—then Lance could have just kept thinking of Travis as a best friend and nothing more and it all would have been fine.

  Ugh, this was insane.

  Travis sat down at the barstool by the kitchen counter, one of four that Lance had stolen when Luke had remodeled Joe’s. Maybe ‘steal’ wasn’t the right word, seeing as Luke had offered them up to anyone who wanted them and Lance had asked permission first. They made up for the fact that Lance didn’t really have a kitchen table, and so the few times he had people over they sat on the stools at the counter or on the couch.

  Usually, he loved those barstools. They were fun and kitschy, if you asked Lance, and they were pieces of a place he considered his second home.

  Then again, Travis usually wasn’t sitting on one in nothing but a goddamn towel with one foot braced on a rung so that Lance could almost—

  Right. Lance was getting himself a glass of water.

  “You sure you don’t want anything?” Lance asked, grabbing a glass. “I’ve got beer in the fridge, too.” It was Travis’s favorite, but Lance wasn’t going to think about that because if he did, he’d also have to think about how goddamn pathetic he was.

  “It’s late, I’m not sure more alcohol is a good idea,” Travis replied, grinning in a way that Lance liked to think was fond.

  There was a knock at the door. Lance tried not to make his sigh of relief too obvious. “That’d be Luke.”

  Sure enough, Luke was at the door, a duffel bag in hand. “I just grabbed some stuff I thought would work for your job, and some sweats for around the house.”

  “Thanks, man, you’re the best.” Travis accepted the duffel bag and took it into the bathroom. “I’ll just try these on, make sure they fit.”

  The moment the door closed behind him, Luke rounded on Lance. “This is a terrible idea,” he whispered.

  “This is fine.”

  “Then why do you look like you’re a deer in headlights.”

  “I do not look like that!”

  “You sort of do.”

  Lance glared at Luke, but didn’t have time to say anything else in response, because Travis emerged from the bathroom, now wearing a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. “Thanks, man, these fit okay. A little tight in places, but y’know.”

  Luke grinned. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in that you’re bigger, I get it.”

  “We should be able to get a hold of Travis’s stuff in the next few days,” Lance said, his mind automatically switching gears to handle things. “I’ll have to put his clothes through the wash, but we should be able to get your clothes back to you in about a week.”

  “No rush, really,”
Luke said, waving it off. “I’ve got too many anyway, Adam’s been hinting I need to purge my wardrobe.”

  “Thanks, though, really. I appreciate it,” Travis repeated.

  “Don’t mention it. And hey,” Luke added, sparing Lance a quick, significant glance, “are you sure you don’t want to stay with us? There’s more room.”

  “I’m fine here,” Travis said. “Unless, of course,” he looked over at Lance, “Lance has a problem with it.”

  “Not at all,” Lance replied.

  Luke gave Lance a look behind Travis’s back that clearly said you are an idiot.

  “All right then,” Luke said. He smiled. “You guys have a good night, and keep me posted!”

  Lance walked Luke to the door and waved down at him as Luke got into his truck, the one that they often teased him about (“are you trying to be a Midwestern cliché?”). Then he closed the door and turned back, the reality of his situation sinking in.

  He was going to be spending the next however many weeks with Travis, in close quarters, pretty much 24/7.

  And he’d brought it all on himself.

  6

  The pullout couch was pretty comfortable, Travis had to admit. Sure, it was still a pullout, but it was enough to help him get a good night’s sleep.

  He had no idea how he was going to tell his dad and brothers. Well, he’d have to tell them, in fact they probably already knew. Gossip traveled fast in their community, especially when it was something like this. He just hoped they would be understanding and not see it as an opportunity to tell him what he could ‘do better next time.’’

  Travis got up the next morning at his usual time and began banging around in the kitchen, finding something to eat. Lance was the kind of person who actually kept his shelves stocked and didn’t wait until his fridge had nothing in it but a container of Cool Whip to go shopping, so Travis could whip up a pretty sweet omelet for breakfast.

  About halfway through breakfast, Lance shuffled in. His hair was just long enough that after a night of sleep it was sticking up every which-way adorably, and his eyes were barely cracked open. “What’re you doing?” He asked, his voice raspy from sleep.

  “Breakfast,” Travis replied. “Do you want some?”

  “What time is it?” Lance asked, his nose scrunching up, and oh—he was cranky. Lance’s nose only scrunched up like that when he was annoyed.

  “Um…” Travis checked the clock on the stove. “Eight thirty?”

  “Fuck me,” Lance muttered. “Could you just… be a little quieter next time? I usually sleep in until about ten.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” Travis replied, wincing inwardly. “I’ll do that next time, sorry.” He had to be at work by nine, so he was up early every morning.

  “Great.” Lance turned and squinted, seeing the sink. “Did you—”

  Travis finished his omelet, put the dishes in the sink, and went over to grab his bag. “I’ll be back around five thirty-ish, okay? And I remembered that my car’s still back at my place, so I’ll just use your car for now, and then tonight we can pick up mine, okay? Hope your day goes well.”

  Lance looked like he was going to say something more, but Travis was running a couple minutes late for work, so he just waved and headed out the door.

  It didn’t even occur to him that any of this might be seen as, well, selfish, until he got back to Lance’s after work and his playful, “Honey, I’m home!” was greeted with silence.

  Travis set his bag by the door and entered further into the apartment. It wasn’t all that hard, it was a small apartment. Lance was in the bedroom-slash-office, sitting at his desk and staring very pointedly at his computer.

  “Lance?”

  Lance didn’t respond, just kept staring at his computer and moving the mouse idly back and forth. Like that was actually going to fool anybody.

  Travis leaned against the doorway. “C’mon, you think I don’t know you well enough to know when you’re working and when you’re just pretending.”

  “I really am working.”

  “Maybe you were a few minutes ago, but you sure as hell ain’t now.”

  Lance sighed and turned to look at Travis, his nose scrunched up. “What’s up?”

  “Ah, said in such a loving tone, really makes me want to open myself up to you.” Travis grinned.

  To his surprise, Lance didn’t really lighten up. This was serious.

  “Okay,” Travis said, quickly switching gears. He’d fucked up, somehow. There was the slight possibility that it was someone Lance worked for, one of his contractors, that had pissed him off, but usually when that happened Lance was more than happy to rant and rave to Travis.

  For given value of ‘rant and rave,’ anyway. Lance’s version of that was quietly discussing the issue over a cup of coffee. Travis tended to slam doors when he was ranting.

  So, it had to be that Lance was angry with him.

  “What’s up? What did I do?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Sure it isn’t. Lance, c’mon, I’m your guest—”

  “Yeah, so—”

  “Just. I’m going to be annoying until you tell me, you know I am.” Travis grinned at him, and to his delight, Lance couldn’t quite fight off his answering smile. If he could still get Lance to smile, then he wasn’t completely in the doghouse.

  Lance coughed, trying to get himself to look serious. “Okay, it’s just—you live in a big house all by yourself, so it’s probably different, but Travis, you can’t just leave your shit everywhere.”

  “What are you talking about?” Travis turned to look back at the living room.

  Okay, so maybe Lance had a bit of a point. The pullout was still open, and there was the duffel bag that Luke brought out with clothes falling out of it by the side of the couch.

  “You left the dishes all piled up in the sink, too, but I took care of those,” Lance added. “Look, I get it, it’s natural for you in a bigger house, but things really pile up here in a one bedroom. So, could you please just clean up after yourself? And maybe not bang around early in the morning?”

  Travis toyed with the hem of his shirt. Fuck. He really hadn’t had to share a space with someone in so long. Even when he’d been growing up with his brothers, he’d had a room all to himself… and it wasn’t like Dad had really been all that keen on cleaning things up. That had been one of the things that had fallen quickly to the wayside when Mom had died.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You don’t have to sound like it’s pulling teeth,” Lance replied. He turned and shut down his computer, then stood up. “I was about to make something to eat, if you want.”

  “Yeah, I’m starving, but hey—” Travis caught Lance’s arm as he tried to walk by.

  It was little moments like this that made him just want to do something stupid like crush Lance to him and snarl at the rest of the world. With his hand around Lance’s arm, he could see how big and rough his hand was, compared to Lance’s paler, thinner arms. His greater height meant he all but loomed over Lance, and the way that Lance was avoiding his eyes right now—another habit of his when he was upset, since Lance hated confrontation—just made this hot wave of something rise up in Travis’s chest and he felt like he’d do anything to make Lance smile again.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” Travis knew he should be saying something else right now, but dammit, he didn’t know what, or how. “What can I do?”

  Lance looked at him for a moment, and then Travis saw him slowly begin to relax. “It’s fine,” he said, and he sounded like he actually meant it. “If you really want, it’s Saturday tomorrow, we can go to the café and you can buy me breakfast.”

  Travis grinned. He was a sucker for the massive special that the Bluebird Café did on the weekends. Matthew’s eyes had all but bulged out of his skull when he’d first seen Travis manage to eat the entire thing. “You’re on.”

  After that little almost-argument, the rest of the night felt… normal. Mostly. It wasn’t of
ten that Travis wasn’t completely in sync with Lance, though, and it threw him off that he’d made such a misstep. He knew, in an intellectual kind of way, that Lance worked at home and so was in his apartment all day. It was part of why Lance always agreed to going to the bar at night, and usually liked to walk despite the longer distance. It gave him a chance to get out of the apartment.

  Knowing that in his head as a kind of random fact and actually remembering it and feeling it for the first time were too very different things however. Lance was a neat person. He liked things in order, always had. He must have been driving himself crazy in the apartment all day trying to work with Travis’s mess out in the living room—and he wouldn’t ever clean up that particular mess. That would require picking up Travis’s things for him, and Lance probably saw that as some kind of violation of privacy or invading Travis’s space or something.

  Travis was just going to have to actually pay attention for once and clean up, that was all. He could do that. Probably.

  And was it just his imagination, or was Lance… jumpy? No, not jumpy, just… off.

  He’d known Lance since they were about ten or so, and there wasn’t really a mood that he hadn’t seen Lance in. He’d seen him devastated, brokenhearted, awkward, elated, and sleep deprived. Not to mention everything in between. He couldn’t quite name what was happening with Lance right now however.

  Take dinner, for example. They were sitting next to one another for the first part of it, knees bumping, and Travis was totally justified in stealing some food from Lance’s plate if Lance wasn’t going to eat all of it. Lance wasn’t just not eating all of it though. He was picking at his meal like he wasn’t hungry, and he kept shifting in his seat, like he was uncomfortable.

  “You okay?” Travis asked.

  “What? Yeah, no, I’m fine.” Lance shrugged, going back to his food.

  “Uh-huh. Sure you are.” Travis winced as he shifted in his seat and remembered that Luke was a bit shorter and smaller than he was. “For once, I’m not glad I’m bigger than Luke.”

  Lance choked on his food.

  “Whoa.” Travis eyed him as Lance coughed and got some water. “Are you sure you’re okay?”