by Amy Lane
“Good, now go to sleep.”
“Night, Henry. Love you.”
He fell asleep before he realized what he said.
Apprentice to the Master
HENRY LOOKED out over what was going to be another ball-burner of a day and fought a sense of letdown.
This was over. He wasn’t under suspicion of murder anymore, and that was great, but now that Martin Sampson had been put to rest in a small vase of ashes currently being buried in a very small plot, he felt… adrift.
Purposeless.
He swallowed and tried to remember some of the thrill that had come from running around finding Martin Sampson’s killer, and with that tickle in the belly, the excitement about jumping back into the fray, there also came the knowledge that Henry was entitled to ask questions.
And he was standing next to his brother, who could answer maybe the most pertinent question of all.
“So what made you fall in love with him?” Henry asked his brother as they lingered in the shade of a dusty pine tree at the cemetery. The question had been burning in his stomach probably since Lance had told him that “Scott” was Davy’s ex.
Davy’s smile was thoughtful, and for the first time, Henry realized his brother was over thirty, in a birthday that not even their mother had celebrated.
Henry knew the date—September 26th. This year, when Davy turned thirty-one, Henry would give him a card, maybe plan a birthday surprise with Kane. Kane might hate it, but it would be worth it to know Henry’s brother had more than just his husband and their niece bringing him cake and a present.
“I was… floundering,” Davy said. “And he told me it was okay—happy endings were for suckers. Only it turned out, I really wanted one and he… he really didn’t think they were possible.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Henry said, recognizing the adult censorship in Davy’s voice. His own wobbled. “Please, Davy? I showed up on your doorstep full of lose. I just… just need to hear there’s some hope that’s not all I am.”
David grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. The little group that had gathered for Martin Sampson—aka Scott’s—funeral had mostly dispersed, including a sad and scarred ex-boyfriend. Jackson and Ellery had been the first to go because Jackson had a doctor’s appointment, and while he was still looking exhausted, his lips weren’t blue, and that was an improvement.
“Want some ice cream?” Davy said. “I don’t have to be at the shop for another hour. Let’s get some fro-yo or something.”
It was so close to something their mother would have said—and so close to what Henry had said to Lance the night after he’d gotten back from that double shift—that Henry had to laugh. “Sure.”
They’d driven together—Davy was going to drop Henry off at the apartment on his way back to the shop—so in short order, they found themselves at one of those yoghurt by the pound places. Henry got the biggest size with all the chocolate, because he was in that kind of mood.
Davy got a tiny cup of sorbet with two gummy bears, because apparently once you were a model and the entire world saw your body up close and personal, that shit never faded.
“So you want to hear?” Davy asked as they settled in. “’Cause it’s not pretty.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “Jesus God, David. You’ve got porn models lined up the block who consider you, personally, as their wet dream. My entire household is like, ‘Yeah, that guy, I’d hit that!’ right down to my own—” He swallowed. “—boyfriend. Just… just can I see you not be perfect? Can I know… you know. There’s recovery from being human?”
Davy gave him a sad smile. “Oh, Henry. I am so far from perfect. You have no idea the horrible things I’ve done. I hope you never learn about half the shit I let happen when I was trying to figure things out. But… but Scott. How about the breakup story? Let’s do the breakup story, okay?”
“Sure.”
“I broke up with him, and he… he sort of stalked me.”
Henry swallowed. “Like how?”
“Well, I told him we were broken up, but he’d show up at my house and sort of… talk his way through the front door and into my bed. And I’d feel like shit, you know? Didn’t I have any fucking spine?”
“But you see them,” Henry said. “And you remember when they were your world. And suddenly, it’s easier. It’s easier to let them in.”
“Yeah,” David said, meeting Henry’s eyes. “It was. But it wasn’t good for me. And… and I was watching two guys, one of whom is still my best friend, self-destruct over… everything. Over modeling. Over each other. Over being in the closet. And I… I couldn’t do it. If someone was going to be in my life, it had to be real. My friends were real. Scott was never going to be real. So….” He looked away. “This is so embarrassing. John did blow back then. And he’d just always have the mirror in the back bathroom. And maybe once a week when we were both up too late trying to edit shit and get it all uploaded and we were wiped out, he’d go back to the bathroom and come back sniffling and going ‘And now I’m a fucking god!’ And Scott was texting me, and I needed courage. So for my first and only time, I went back and took a snort too, then walked home.”
“David!” Henry was flabbergasted. This was more unbelievable than the porn.
“You wanted ugly,” Davy said, his blue eyes big and wounded. “You asked for this!”
“I’m sorry,” Henry told him, and suddenly the weight of talking to his brother, human being to human being, sat on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now. It was only the once? You swear?”
“Yeah.” Davy shoveled a big mouthful of sorbet into his mouth, staring at his half-empty cup.
Feeling like shit, Henry dumped a bunch of his chocolate chips on top of his brother’s tiny sorbet. “I’m sorry,” he said again, humbly. “I… I guess it’s scarier when you’re not perfect. I thought it would be easier, but I’m dumb.”
Davy looked up and winked, which must have been hard because his eyes were bright and shiny. “I’ve never been perfect, Henry. But I was sort of at my worst that night. Anyway, I got home, and Scott was waiting on my porch. John was right about that first time, by the way. I really did feel like a god, so I went inside, slammed the door in his face, and then came back with all his CDs, which I proceeded to throw at his head.”
Henry couldn’t help it. He giggled. “Bad to the bone, huh?”
“A hardened criminal,” David said dryly. He gave Henry a shy look and took a couple of chocolate chips on his spoon, then closed his eyes as he chewed. “God. You and Carlos—you’re gonna make me fat. Anyway, whipping the CDs at him felt damned good. But they might not have done it.”
“What did do it?”
A fond smile passed over David’s features—one that made him truly look like an angel, and not simply a really attractive young parent. “Carlos. He saw the whole thing. Scott was gearing up to get rough, and suddenly he had a broken nose. Next thing I know, Kane had moved himself into my house, along with all the scaly things. The original idea was that he’d sleep on the guest bed, but with all the terrariums, there wasn’t any room. He just crawled in next to me.” David shrugged, looking as sublimely happy as one person could be. “Stayed.”
“That’s… that’s really sweet,” Henry said, biting his lip. “That’s…. God. That’s….” He closed his eyes, his throat swelling. “I wish… I wish Mom and Dad could hear that story and know that it’s… it’s beautiful.”
David blinked rapidly and shook his head. Then he took a bigger spoonful of the chocolate chips. “That is not ever going to happen,” he said thickly. “I wish it was. I…. Trav emails me about once a month. You want me to forward that? You can write him back. He wants to know you’re okay.”
Henry’s own throat felt swollen. “Yeah. What have you told him so far? Did you tell him about the investigation?”
David shook his head. “No. I figured if things went south, there’d be plenty of time, and if you got cleared, it wasn’t something any
one back there needed to know.”
Henry managed a smile. “Having my back like always. Thanks, Davy.”
He smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, now that you’ve joined the gay side, I sort of want to keep you in my evil lair, you know?” His mouth went crooked. “It’s good having family.”
“Yeah.” Oh Lord. He really was going to say this. “If you have the right kind. Thanks, Davy. For being here for me.”
“What else was I going to do?” And he shrugged again, like it was no big deal, but Henry knew it was the world.
And because his brother was such a good guy, Henry needed to pose the hard question, because he needed help with this.
“I… I’ve been thinking, and it’s not a great thing.”
David looked at him, suddenly all alert. He straightened from what had become a slouch over his sorbet and cocked his head in a classic listening pose, and Henry wondered if this was the Dex that all the guys at Johnnies seemed to need so badly.
“What? What’s going on?”
Henry let out a breath. “I…. Malachi. He… the further away I get from him, the more I realize the things he did… they weren’t good things.”
“Was there more?” this new David asked soberly. “Besides when you left—because that’s bad enough.”
Henry became suddenly invested in the chocolate cream in the bottom of his fro-yo cup. After that moment with Lance, telling him about the sliced shirt, the scar on the back of his neck, he’d had odd flashes of the last eleven years. Mal splitting his lip with a casual backhand after Henry had said, in all innocence, “Too bad we can’t do this after you’re married.” Waking up in the middle of sex in their barracks. Henry had drawn a line about that, but Mal wanted him to know lines weren’t for the two of them. The times Henry had just given in because the fight wouldn’t be worth the implicit threat in Mal’s smile.
“It wasn’t every day or even every month,” he said softly. “And I’m not saying I shouldn’t have put an end to it long before. But it was always there. If I left, Mal would find a way to make me sorry.” Deep breath. “In the end, I was sorry enough to leave anyway.”
David’s hand over his on the table helped still the shaking. “It’s hard,” he said. “To walk away from something like that. Especially when you’re so convinced any relationship at all is wrong.”
“You are really fucking generous,” Henry said after a moment. “But believe it or not, this isn’t about me—not really. It’s that… that Scott went off the rails after you broke up with him, right?”
“Yeah?” David saw this was leading somewhere.
Henry hoped he was ready for where Henry saw it going. “And if Scott went off the rails after you ended a relationship like that, I’m wondering….” He swallowed. This was hard. “Davy, is our sister safe?”
He watched as the color drained from his brother’s face. “Oh hell. Jesus. I… I wish I’d thought of that.”
“It’s not your fault,” Henry said. God, his throat felt shredded, because every word was like glass. “I… I didn’t exactly scream ‘My brother-in-law is an abusive rapist!’ when I got out of the Army.” He stopped, sucking in a breath that tasted like blood.
“What?” David asked softly.
“It’s the first time I said that word.” He closed his eyes hard. He wanted to take it back.
“Which one?”
But Henry shook his head. “I can’t. Not and function.” And for the first time, he got why Jackson Rivers would risk heart failure and having his boyfriend break up with him over stitches in his shoulder so he could keep on keeping on.
God, sometimes you had to swallow the pain so you didn’t fall apart.
“Henry, you’re going to have to say it sometime. You know that, right?”
Henry nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “But today, you and me have to talk to our brother so we can make sure our sister is okay.” Debbie might never talk to them again—particularly if she found out about Malachi and Henry, but even if she didn’t, they were gay. Her parents had written them off, and they were both aware of the fact that she had too. But she was still their little sister, whether she recognized them or not. They had to warn her if they could. Because they had to. It was only right. “I…,” Henry said, trying to direct the conversation toward helping Debbie. “I… you know. My fuckups are my own.”
“You were coerced,” David said, brows drawing inward. “And yeah, there was a lot of gray there. But Malachi is a spineless weasel, and I knew that when you were in the eighth grade. But I left, and I didn’t get a say in who Debbie married. And you and Mal….” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know how to talk to you about that.”
“I wouldn’t have listened,” Henry said honestly. “I would have made fun of you for being a….” He couldn’t even say the word now. “But in a million years, I never would have admitted I was one too.” He shook his head. “Nobody could have helped me there but me. And I did finally, but… but I didn’t know how bad it had gotten until suddenly it wasn’t there anymore.”
“No,” David said, searching his face. “You don’t.” He grimaced and pulled out his phone. “C’mon. I’m going to shoot Travis an email right now, and you can help me word it so I don’t give away anything you don’t want me to. You ready?”
Henry nodded. Better now than when it was too late, right?
He could only hope.
DAVY DROPPED him off just as the heat was getting way too intense for the jeans and sport coat he’d worn to the service. He pounded up the stairs, hoping to have a cool shower and change his clothes before Lance got home from his workout.
What greeted him on the landing was a cross between a horror movie and a teen comedy.
“Uh….”
“Don’t say anything,” Randy said miserably.
“I’ve got to say something!” Henry protested, gaping at him. “What in the hell!”
“This wasn’t my idea,” Curtis told him matter-of-factly, but Henry looked at Curtis’s hands and saw the black goopy seaweedy evidence all over them.
“You’re still complicit,” Henry snapped. “Zeppelin, Fisher, you too!”
“I tried to talk him out of it!” Fisher complained, holding up his pristine hands.
Zeppelin guffawed and tried to pick the stuff, which was apparently some sort of body—face?—mask off his hands. “Oh, ouch! Randy, this shit rips out your hair, did you know that?”
“Oh God.” Randy’s horror was absolute—as it should have been. His entire body, from his ankles to his face, was covered with whatever had been in the five or six big tubes of grooming goop swinging from the plastic bag on the doorknob. “God. Is it going to take out my hair?”
“I don’t know! Does it wash off?”
Billy opened the door, sending the trash bag swinging. “Here,” he said, holding out a soapy washcloth. “Hi, Henry. How was your funeral?”
“Uneventful,” Henry said, still horrified. “Unlike my home life. Give me that.” He snatched the washcloth from Billy and started to scrub the back of Randy’s covered hand, only to find the stuff had dried with the consistency of polyurethane.
“Oh dear God.” The horror wasn’t going away. “Randy, can you even breathe?”
“Yeah, Henry,” Randy said, sounding disconsolate. “It’s supposed to be a face mask. I guess it’s a hair remover too.”
“What’s it doing covering everything from your toes to your balls, man?” Henry gave up on the washcloth, noting that as the stuff dried it was peeling up in places, like it was supposed to. Great. Ripping it off would be easy for all of them, but hell on Randy.
“I was breaking out from the heat,” Randy said tearfully. “I thought if maybe I put this all over myself, I could stop getting zits on my ass!”
“Oh, honey.” Henry felt for the kid, he really did. Randy’s complexion was that delicate ginger-and-cream kind that reacted badly to sun, soap, and a stiff wind. The thickest skin on his body seemed to be on his cock, and even th
at was exquisitely sensitive. “Did you think maybe you should test it on your face first? So you’d know if your ass and your abs could take it?”
“Whoa!” Zeppelin looked at him like he had solved climate change in one easy step. “Dude, that’s brilliant! Where were you?”
“At a funeral!”
“You don’t need to yell!” Now Fisher was almost in tears, so Henry held up his hands placatingly.
“Look,” he said, racking his brains. “We need to give him at least four ibuprofen before we start to peel this shit off, because this is gonna smart, okay?”
“I’ll be right back,” Billy said. “And for the record, he was halfway covered when I got home from working out. This isn’t my fault.”
Henry just looked at him, and Billy held up his hands and backed out gracefully. Then he looked at Fisher, who was the most obviously distraught. “You run down to the drugstore. There’s this stuff down there with lidocaine and aloe. We’re going to rub it on his skin after we rip this shit off. We need it stat, so don’t dawdle, okay?”
“Got it, Henry!” Fisher took off, his flip-flops sounding loudly on the stairs, the keys to his car jangling in his pocket as he went. That kid still did not pay rent. Henry didn’t even know where he was supposed to live.
Without his shadow, Zeppelin was left standing helplessly with his goop-covered mitts in front of him.
“You,” Henry ordered sternly, “go wash that shit off. And try to listen to your boyfriend now and then. He’s obviously the brains of your particular operation.”
Zep stared at him. “My boyfriend?” he said blankly.
Henry stared back. “You didn’t know?”
“We’re only fooling around!” Zep laughed, but not very convincingly. “You know, guys fooling around?”
Henry tried to wash the red out of his gaze. Zep was not Malachi, and no amount of Henry’s past damage could make him that way. But still. “It’s not fooling around when he’s here six nights a week, Zep. It’s not fooling around when 90 percent of the time, it’s just the two of you. I don’t even know where that kid lives anymore. Do you? Hell, I don’t even know what clothes are his and which ones are yours!”
