by J. P. Oliver
Travis could feel the odd twinge in his chest that had started up at the café start to fade away. “You’re real good at this, you know that?”
“At what? Telling you what you should already have figured out?” Lance’s tone was, as always, warm and fond, despite the teasing.
This was how it should be, Travis thought. Lance at his side, helping him out with silly emotional things that most people could handle on their own, but that Travis was helpless at. They fit so well together, always had. Who else in this town was going to complement Lance so well?
They turned another corner, and Travis could see his childhood home at the end of the street. Lance poked him in the side. “C’mon. What’s the worst he’s going to do, cry on you?”
“Yes, that would actually be the worst thing,” Travis replied. He hadn’t seen his dad cry in… ever, actually. The idea of having to push through a conversation with his dad crying made Travis want to run for the hills, because he was the worst at giving comfort.
Well, except to Lance, but that was because whenever he said something stupid like, “Hey, forget that jerk, you can play football with us on the weekends again,” he understood that what Travis was trying to say was, “That idiot might not have seen how awesome you are, but we all do, and you’ll always have us.”
It just… came out weird.
“I think it’s time you faced this, that’s all,” Lance said, his voice lower than usual. “I know it’s not my business, in a way, but you’re my best friend and I want you to stop feeling like you have to tiptoe around him.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“I make it sound simple, you mean. Simple doesn’t mean easy.” Lance gave him a small, fond smile. “Don’t worry. It’ll be good for both of you, I think.”
Travis sighed. “You’re annoying as shit, you know that? What with the always being right and all that?”
Lance laughed. “Only because I know you so well.”
Dad was sitting on the front porch, a favorite pastime of his. Lord knew why though, there wasn’t anything to see except the houses across the street. There was the field at the end of the street, the one that had once been farmland and had kind of grown wild. Travis remembered following his brothers as they played in it as kids.
“Travis! Lance!” Dad stood up, still spry despite his years. Rick, the brother closest to Travis in age, was a good five years older. Travis’s father was older than any of his friends’ parents. “About time you stopped by. You know Duchess here was worrying herself sick.”
Duchess was the old basset hound at Dad’s feet. She didn’t move as they ascended the porch, but she looked up and thumped her tail against the floorboards, happy to see them.
“Oh, Duchess was?” Lance replied. How Lance could so easily tease Travis’s dad like that, Travis had no idea. Travis was sure that his dad would bite his head off if he tried something like that, especially if it was something like suggesting that Dad was worried or otherwise feeling some ‘ridiculous emotion.’
Sometimes it felt like feeling anything counted as a ridiculous emotion to Dad.
“Oh yeah, who else would spoil her?” Dad said, as Travis hauled Duchess up so she could lick his face.
“I figured just a text was fine, but Lance insisted I show you in person that I’m hale and hearty,” Travis said, scratching Duchess’s ears as he held her in his arms. “So. Here we are.”
“Here you are. Why don’t you come in and have a drink? It’s a slow Saturday, you ain’t got nowhere to go, right?”
“Unless you count showing up at Joe’s at some point,” Travis said, but he followed his Dad inside. Even his dad was taller and broader than Travis was, age refusing to diminish him.
There was the sound of barking, and then Lance was bowled over—literally knocked off his feet—by two German Shepherds. They licked all over his face, barking happily.
“Growler! Bailey! Get off!” Dad ordered.
The two dogs backed off but still panted happily at Lance, bodies taut as they waited for his next move.
“It’s fine,” Lance said, grinning. “They just need to throw the ball around, don’t you? C’mon.”
He led the two dogs out back, grabbing one of the tennis balls resting on the back porch rail.
“They’re beautiful dogs,” Travis acknowledged.
“I got ‘em from the police station; they failed their police dog exams and needed a new home.”
“I didn’t know you had two other dogs,” Travis admitted.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you don’t stop by often.”
And there it was. Travis tried to keep the grimace off of his face. “Sorry, been busy, you know how it is.”
“Mmmm. So tell me, how did this fire start? It was the oven, or so I heard. You know, if you get a grease fire—”
Travis held in his sigh. “It wasn’t a grease fire. I had a guy over, and he tried to get all… anyway, he turned the oven on and I didn’t know it so it was on all day while I was at work and then at the bar. A dish towel or something fell in and caught fire and the rest is history.”
“Well, at least next time you know to double check if someone’s been in your kitchen.” Dad snorted, as though recalling a memory. “Can’t let people go snooping around, y’know?”
Travis nodded, knowing it would be easier than starting a fight. “Right.”
“What did you have a guy over for anyway?” Dad asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sure, Dad had never been with a woman since Mom died, but he’d never judged his kids for sowing their wild oats. Hell, Earl, Travis’s oldest brother, had broken as many hearts as Luke in high school—although he’d been breaking women’s hearts, not men’s.
“Look out the back window, that’s what I mean,” Dad replied, jutting his chin to indicate Lance, who was running around the backyard with the two dogs.
Travis frowned. “Lance? Dad, not you too. We’re just friends.”
“You sure about that?” Dad said, going to the fridge and grabbing the beers like he’d promised. “He’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had.”
“Dad, come on, please, could we not do this?” Travis asked, the words bursting out of him before he could stop himself.
“Do what?” Dad looked genuinely confused.
Travis shrugged. “This whole… needling me thing. I get I’m not exactly measuring up, but…”
“What do you mean?”
Travis looked out the window at Lance, psychically willing him to know what was happening and to come inside and serve as a shield.
Lance, however, was happily playing tug-of-war with a stick with one of the dogs, and not paying any attention to Travis inside. Actually, Travis realized, that might have been on purpose, to get Travis to talk to his dad alone.
He was definitely going to confront the little shit about this later.
“Travis, seriously.” Dad frowned. “Now, I know you might’ve felt… I don’t know…” He sighed. “I ain’t good at this. This is what your mom was for.”
“I just don’t need you to always remind me of all the things I’m doing wrong, that’s all,” Travis said, taking a long pull of his beer. “I get it, I screw up. I’m the only one who’s not ambitious, I know.” All three of his brothers now lived and worked in the city, and their finances meant that Dad could keep living in his home and retire without worrying about anything.
“I never said that,” Dad said.
“Yeah, you just said that I don’t visit enough, and that I’m stupid to let someone into my kitchen, and that I need to know how to put out a grease fire,” Travis said. “I know you aren’t the lecturing type but man, I get it, okay? I get that I’m not measuring up.”
Dad frowned, looking torn between being upset and genuinely confused. “You’re measuring up just fine. I just… you know…” He shrugged. “Your mom was the one who always was really hands-on. I was better for things like school projects. Homework. I was
n’t so good with the ‘how to live your life’ bit. But since she died when you were so little… I was just trying to fill her shoes.”
“Oh.” Travis’d had no idea. “I didn’t… sorry, then. I was wrong. I appreciate it.”
“Of course. What else was I supposed to do, y’know? I’m your father.” Dad looked out the back window and then said, to Travis’s shock, “Thank God for Lance, eh?”
“What?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Well, I know I ain’t the best with this whole advice thing. Knew that even before this conversation, but anyway, you always had Lance even when I knew I wasn’t doing the best at being what you needed with the whole…” He waved his hand. “Emotions. Thing.”
“Lance is just my best friend. It’s what he does.”
“You sure about that?” Dad replied. “Because last I checked, he propped you up the same way Delilah props up Rick...and you two sure as hell get along better than David and Martha.”
“I’m not—” Travis paused. He wasn’t…
“I’m not telling you how to live your life,” Dad said, holding up a hand, “despite what you seem to have thought all this time. But I just want you to know, you seem happiest when you’re with him, and it ain’t like you’re bringing any other boys around the house for me to meet.”
“Good talk?” Lance said.
Travis jumped. He hadn’t heard Lance come in. How much had Lance overheard?
“You,” he said, settling for their usual teasing, “left me in here alone deliberately.”
“Guilty as charged,” Lance said. “What, like you two were going to actually do any of the heavy lifting if I was in the room. You’d make me do all of it.”
“We would not,” Travis and Dad protested at the same moment.
Lance just arched an eyebrow. “I’m remembering at least three Thanksgivings where I had to play mediator.”
Three Thanksgivings. It felt like a gut punch. He had, in fact, brought Lance as his plus one to the last, oh, five or so Thanksgiving dinners. Lance’s parents weren’t… well. In high school, Lance had spent most of his nights sleeping over at Travis’s house, and it wasn’t just because he and Travis were good friends. It was partially because he didn’t want to go home.
After Lance had gone to college, he had stopped living with his parents altogether, and as far as Travis knew, Lance hadn’t seen them since high school graduation. Good riddance, anyway. It only made sense to invite Lance over for Thanksgiving. Where else would he go? It’s not like Travis or anyone else wanted Lance to be alone.
When Lance said it like that however, well… and after all that Dad had just said…
Travis downed the rest of his beer. He was not equipped to deal with this. No way, no how.
“I think we’d better get going,” he said. “Nice talk, Dad.”
“Yeah, great.” Dad looked over at Lance. “He’s got the insurance and stuff all handled, right?”
“Don’t worry, it’s taken care of.” Lance grinned, and now Travis was getting that same feeling he’d had back staring at the sign in the café, only it was different—a little more like a whooshing feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He decided to ignore it until they were out of the house and he could get Lance home. He needed to be by himself to think through why it felt like his brain was spinning in circles all of a sudden, circling the drain of something.
They said goodbye and walked back through the neighborhood. “It’s still pretty early,” Lance pointed out. “We could have stayed.”
“I needed some fresh air after that talk.”
“Oh? Was sharing emotions that allergic for you?”
“Hey, we managed something without biting each other’s heads off.”
“Y’know, I could see you two through the window. That looked like the most stilted conversation I’ve ever seen.”
“All just a smokescreen; we were pouring our hearts out.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
Lance’s smile was bright and fond. It made Travis’s chest go tight.
He didn’t know what was going on, exactly, but he knew that it scared him. Maybe he’d just been spending too much time around Lance—an idea that made him feel awful, because he’d previously been of the opinion that there was no such thing, and besides, he didn’t want to hurt Lance’s feelings.
Maybe he needed to get out. Get on his own for a while, find someone, and get laid. That would help put him in a good mood and take his mind off of things.
“Hey,” he said, careful not to glance over at Lance, so that his face didn’t betray him, “I’m going to head over to Joe’s tonight, play some pool.”
“I was thinking of staying in,” Lance replied. “After that sign in the café, I don’t really want to risk anyone coming up to me.”
“Probably a smart choice. Do you mind if I go out?”
“Nah, you’re good, say hi to the others for me.”
“Sure thing.” He let himself look at Lance, and smiled reassuringly. Lance smiled back, like there was no other option but to match Travis’s contentment with his own. It gave him that same circling-the-drain feeling.
Yeah, a few drinks and an attractive stranger. That’d get his mind off of whatever this was.
9
Travis headed out to Joe’s almost as soon as they got back, although it was still early in the day. Luke was hiring some new bartenders soon, or so he kept saying, but Travis was used to stopping by and helping do things like restock shelves and wipe down tables.
It was a holdover from back when Luke’s parents had first died and they’d all been pitching in to help however they could. They all loved the Markums, but Lance had felt as though he was especially in Lyla Markum’s debt.
She’d been the one to first notice that Lance was desperately unhappy at home. She’d pulled him aside one day when he was playing with Luke, and had told him that her parents were awful, and so she didn’t speak to them anymore. “Family’s what you make of it,” she’d told him. “Just because they’re you’re blood doesn’t mean you owe them anything.”
It was the first time that anybody had said they were going through the same things that he was, and the first time that Lance hadn’t felt alone. After that, it was like Lyla had given him permission to acknowledge—at least to himself—that his parents were wrong to say the things they did, and treat him the way that they did. He had permission now to stay over at Travis’s all the time...Travis with a protective streak a mile wide, and with three older brothers and a dad who could’ve knocked Lance’s dad flat if he’d tried to take Lance away.
Lyla had given him that. It had been awful to hear she’d died.
Most of their efforts to help Luke out had since faded, no longer needed. Matthew didn’t have to come over to cook meals for Seth. Lance didn’t need to help Seth with his homework. Jake didn’t have to do borderline-illegal things to make sure that Luke’s electricity stayed on, and none of them had to pitch in to help with groceries. Not that they’d minded, but it was good that Luke was on his feet again and could stand without help.
Travis, however, still liked to go in early. He and Luke were similar in a lot of ways, and had bonded early thanks to their habit of hitting up men together, and Lance had a feeling that Travis liked having an hour or two of Luke to himself before Luke’s attention was split ten different ways helping customers with orders and dispensing advice.
Once Travis left, though, Lance realized that tomorrow was Sunday. Sunday was Travis’s poker night. Saturday afternoons were usually football games, although they’d canceled that Saturday because Jake was in Chicago for an auto show thing and Davis took advantage of it to get a lunch date.
Travis’s house wasn’t available, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t still have poker night. Lance didn’t like to play, but hey, he could watch, right? He wasn’t going to expect Luke to host it after working the bar and essentially hosting them all every night, and God knew Matthew didn’t need to cook y
et another meal.
It would be fine. They didn’t have a proper poker table like Travis, but who cared really? Lance could pop down to the store now and get some groceries, then text everyone, and then they’d all surprise Travis tomorrow night.
Lance took his car to the store, so he wouldn’t have to worry about lugging everything back, but once he was there, he realized—he had no idea what everyone liked for snacks.
He was standing in the chip aisle, caught in what felt like a life or death decision between sour cream and onion or barbeque. He could just text Travis, of course, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise.
Maybe he should just get both?
Someone behind him coughed.
Lance turned around to see the fire chief from the other night standing there. Lance had to admit, the guy was good looking. Not really Lance’s type—but then, Lance’s type had been, for years, Travis. This guy was a strawberry blond, with hazel eyes that had a bit more green in them than brown. Built, definitely, had to be if he was a firefighter.
Ah, crap, what was his name?
“Hey,” the guy said, smiling. “Sorry, you probably don’t recognize me out of the uniform. I’m Tom, the new fire chief.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Lance held out his hand for Tom to shake. “I’m not sure I ever gave you my name. I’m—”
“Lance, yeah, I saw that sign in the café.” Tom’s grin got a little flirtatious. Lance tried to ignore the part of him that wanted to instinctively cut and run, to grab a bag of chips and babble some excuse and get out of there. “Town’s most eligible bachelor, huh? I’m almost offended I wasn’t chosen.”
“It’s a stupid joke that my friend did. He’s the head chef at the café,” Lance explained. “Don’t tell him you like the idea, though, or he’ll put you up next week. Actually,” Lance paused, realizing, “Unless you want that? I could ask him.”
