by Vivien Dean
The house was as silent as it looked from the outside. Everything was in its place. He didn’t waste time calling out for Ronnie. He already knew exactly where he’d find him.
After the summer sunshine, he had to blink a few times to adjust to the murkier light in the basement, but he saw Ronnie right away, hunched over with his head in his hands as he sat on the edge of the cot. When he didn’t look up as Jim approached, Jim hesitated, suddenly nervous about what kind of reaction he was going to get.
“I’m one of them,” Ronnie said, his voice muffled.
He sounded so lost, Jim closed the rest of the distance and sat down next to him. “One of who?”
“Those bullies who used to give me such hell before I met you. Everybody who ever tried to hurt me. I’m no better than any of them.”
Jim’s heart broke. Reaching out, he put his arm around Ronnie’s shoulders and pulled him in. The fact that Ronnie let him without putting up a fight made him hurt even more.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he said quietly. “No arguments.”
“Even though you’re better off without me?”
Jim snorted. “If you really think that, your old man must’ve hit you too hard in the head this time.” He noticed too late the graze over Ronnie’s ear and immediately felt like an asshole for the comment, but he barreled on. “My life was pretty much in the toilet that first day I came to see you, and you know it. You’re the only reason I’ve found something to feel good about lately.”
Ronnie’s shoulders hitched. Jim tightened his hold.
“I’ll help you pack a bag, and we’ll write a note for your mom. If we miss anything, I’ll come tomorrow or next week to get it.”
“I don’t think we need to write her a note. She told me she called you before they left. If I’m not here when they get back, she’ll figure it out.”
“We’ll write a note anyway. It’s the right thing to do.”
When he started to rise, Ronnie resisted. “Do you mind getting me some of my pain meds and a glass of water? I’m gonna throw up on your shoes otherwise.”
“No worse than the pigs have done to them,” Jim joked, but he moved quickly, taking the stairs two at a time to get the drugs from the bathroom. Ronnie was in the same position when he came back. “Here.” He crouched down to make it easier and held out the pills and water. “You stay there. I’ll do the packing.”
There wasn’t much. What little clothing Ronnie had was shoved into a footlocker in the corner. Rather than empty it out into bags, Jim used the locker to put everything else in—the books scattered throughout the room, the toiletries neatly ordered on a shelf. He found a lockbox tucked under the bed, but when he went to pull it out, Ronnie rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Leave it.”
“It’s got your name on it.”
“I don’t want it.” Ronnie rubbed at his eyes. A slight tremor had set into his fingers. “It’s the gun I bought when I came back stateside.”
The answer to why he didn’t want it was simple, but Jim didn’t like the idea of leaving it in the house, either. “I’ll sell it for you.”
“You’re not afraid I’m going to use it?”
Jim gave him a crooked grin. “If you couldn’t even use it on your old man, I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say you won’t use it on me.” He left mention of Ronnie using it on himself unsaid. Neither one of them needed to make that possibility any more real than it already was.
Getting the footlocker upstairs on his own took longer than he anticipated. It wasn’t the weight that bothered him but the bulk. On his own, he had to take the stairs sideways, then lean it against the top riser when he reached the door so he could open it. He was sweating after stowing it in the backseat of the Fairlane, but this exertion was a hell of a lot more welcome than wrangling with the pigs. This was for Ronnie and for everything he should’ve done from the moment Ronnie came home.
He wouldn’t let fear hold him back from what they both wanted any longer.
Chapter 5
Though Jim wanted Ronnie to get his head looked at, Ronnie convinced him to go straight to the farm. What if they ran into someone who started asking questions? Or worse, what if they ran into his parents? He wasn’t willing to risk that. He would’ve preferred getting the hell out of Nebraska, but he settled for the McCutcheon farm as second best.
The ringing in his ears was still bad when they arrived, and he missed what Jim said as they parked. Rather than ask him to repeat it, Ronnie got out and pretended he hadn’t seen Jim talking. He had to stop, though, when Jim touched his arm.
“Go lay down,” Jim said.
Because Jim sounded like he was talking through a wind tunnel, Ronnie nodded. Fighting to hear every word would only make his headache worse.
Grandpa Mac greeted him at the door. “I put fresh towels in the room next to Jimmy’s. If there’s anything else you need, just say the word.”
In his emotional state, such a simple gesture hit him hard. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he choked out. “I promise it won’t be for long.”
Grandpa waved him off. “You’re family, so this is your home, too. You’ll always be welcome here.”
Ronnie fled up the stairs before he lost it. He was walking the knife edge of his emotions right now.
He closed the curtains, casting a veil of shadows over the otherwise bright room, but sagged against the wall instead of walking back to the bed. Was this really his life? Hiding in the dark until the world made him angry enough to come exploding out of his hole and tear it to pieces? The only way Father would ever allow him to move back was if he ate serious crow, but Ronnie didn’t know if he could promise not to attack the man again if he went after Mom.
At least he didn’t have to worry about the police getting involved. Father would never press charges. That would expose the family too much, and he was already self-conscious enough about their status in the community without adding more scrutiny.
Ronnie still leaned against the wall when a knock came at the door. He waited for Jim or Grandpa to walk in, but when there was another knock, he realized they really were going to respect his privacy.
“Come in!” he called out, then winced at the stab behind his eyes.
Jim appeared on the threshold, hovering there with his hand on the doorknob. “Grandpa’s going into town to get some groceries. Anything you want him to pick up for you?”
“Some self-respect?”
Jim’s lips thinned into a hard line. “I’ll tell him no. Hang on.” He disappeared for only seconds. Ronnie couldn’t hear if he was talking to Grandpa or not. When he came back, he ventured a step inside. “Have the drugs kicked in yet?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s supposed to hurt and what’s supposed to be fixable.”
“Well, I can clean you up at least. That’s fixable. Come on.”
Ronnie lacked the energy to argue. He followed Jim out to the bathroom down the hall, every step sluggish. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he cringed and looked away.
“Sit.” Jim was in his doing business mode, all orders and expectations they’d be followed. As Ronnie settled on the toilet, he almost smiled at the thought that Jim would’ve made an excellent officer. “Did you get hurt anywhere but your head?”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Better take your shirt off so I can check.”
He hadn’t bothered putting on a real shirt after Mom told him Jim was on his way, something he regretted now. Something with buttons would be easier to slip off than pulling his ragged T-shirt over his head.
Jim saw his troubles and turned off the water he was running into the sink to step in front of him. “Here. Let me.”
His cheeks flamed in embarrassment as Jim grabbed the hem and stretched the shirt even more to get it off without pulling too hard. “Just like old times,” he muttered.
Jim backed off, the shirt dangling from his hands. “When was the last time you
stood up to your father? I’ll tell you when. Never. Which means this isn’t anything like old times, and I’m going to remind you of that every time you say shit like this.”
He had a point there. Ronnie braved looking up at him, knowing he was too tired and achy to pretend anymore. “You’re still trying to fix me.”
Pain passed behind Jim’s eyes. Tossing aside the shirt, he surprised Ronnie by kneeling in front of him and grasping the back of Ronnie’s neck with both hands to keep him from moving. Ronnie reached up and grabbed Jim’s wrist, but as soon as his fingers curled around the hard muscle, he knew it wasn’t an attempt to push him away. It was a desperate bid to hold onto something solid for a change.
“I’m trying to take care of you.” His eyes had darkened, the amber flecks in the hazel seeming to spread, as consumed by the rough sentiment in Jim’s voice as Ronnie was. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. It kills me to see you hurting.”
In spite of the roar inside his skull, Ronnie heard every word. “That’s all I do anymore,” he whispered. “The only times it hasn’t hurt was when I went after Father this morning and when you make me forget.”
He saw the sheen of tears in Jim’s eyes the moment before Jim squeezed them shut. Gently, he pulled Ronnie down until their foreheads rested against each other.
He anticipated more from Jim, maybe admonitions about being so hard on himself, or promises about what was to come, or even a joke about other ways Jim could stop the hurting. None of it came. They stayed like that, wrapped up in one of the snug silences that had filled their hours in the days they’d spent together, breathing in the other’s scent, taking quiet relief from the other’s presence.
Beat by beat, he felt his muscles relax, like he was draining the strength away from Jim through the touch of their skin. Jim remained strong, though, not softening in his grip, not bending beneath his weight. Perfect Jim, just like he’d always been. Whether Jim believed that or not.
“I want to kiss you.” Jim’s whisper added to the spell rather than broke it. “But I have no idea if it’s the right or wrong thing to do right now. Or ever.”
His head felt clearer. He credited Jim more than the drugs. He had no qualms admitting, “I’ve missed you.”
He thought he felt Jim’s fingers tremble. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“If we kiss, I don’t think I could stop.”
“We have the house to ourselves.”
Ronnie smiled. A genuine smile. It felt good. “Is that why you sent Grandpa to town? To have your wicked way with me?”
He’d meant it to tease, but Jim stiffened and sat back, searching Ronnie’s face in concern though he didn’t let him go. “Is that what you think?”
“Not really.”
Jim began to massage Ronnie’s nape, small circles into the muscles that almost made Ronnie moan in rapture. “What do you want?”
“I can’t think straight when you do that.”
“Want me to stop?”
“God, no.”
“So tell me what you want. Because I don’t know. I wasn’t even sure you’d want anything more from than friendship. Like it was before we…”
Jim faltered. Ronnie knew the words were hard for him. Discovering they were attracted to each other as teenagers had been difficult to understand at the best of times, especially for someone like Jim. He’d been near the top of their class academically, but he was a part of the jock culture as well—one of the side effects of a small community when you were marginally athletic and came from a good family—and he’d never been as comfortable talking about what went on between them. Sure, he’d been the first to say “I love you,” but Ronnie always felt he’d forced his hand on that because of the trick he’d pulled out at the river. Jim had been frantic with worry, his emotions high, and Ronnie hadn’t considered he was even remotely interested in the same things Ronnie was.
Turned out he was. He’d even been the one to initiate their first kiss.
The thing of it was, Jim got off on the sneaking around, and God knew he was an absolutely fabulous kisser and even better at handjobs, but they never discussed it again or what it might mean. Jim still dated girls, too, because that was what was expected. Ronnie had hated every single one of them. Even the sweet ones who had no clue. He loved Jim, Jim loved him, and the world sucked for telling them they were sick and couldn’t show their true feelings.
In some ways, it was a little endearing that Jim could still only bring it up when his emotions ran high. He projected that calm confidence people responded to, which had been why everyone was so sure he’d end up at NASA, but inside, he was just as scared as Ronnie could get.
“I want my life back,” Ronnie said. “I want to wake up and be excited about the day without getting tripped up in all the shitty memories of what happened in ‘Nam. I want to know why I’m so angry half the time and why I can barely get out of bed the other half. I want to be able to see you without having to wonder how I’m going to get to you, or if I’m even going to be able to hear you through all the noise in my head.” He sensed Jim pulling away, his honesty about the other aspects of his life not quite what he anticipated, so he touched Jim’s face, feeling the stubble under his fingertips like the rasp of a good scratch that left a tingle, tracing the full lower lip he could never resist nipping at when they’d kissed. “Most of all, I want the peace I get when I’m with you to happen all the time. Sure, we were friends. You were the best friend a guy could ever have. But what we became once we admitted how we felt about each other was always better. That’s what I want again. If you think it’s possible.”
Getting it all out lifted a weight from his chest that made it easy to breathe again. His touches stuttered when Jim turned his head and brushed his lips across Ronnie’s fingertips in the gentlest of caresses.
“Then it doesn’t matter when I get my wicked way with you,” Jim said, tossing out Ronnie’s phrase with a newfound twinkle in his eye. “Because as long as we both want the same thing, we’ve got all the time in the world to make that happen.”
Ronnie nodded. Silently, he sat back when Jim finally let him go, patience leashing his fidgeting as Jim returned to gathering what he needed. Jim might say they had all the time in the world, but Ronnie knew the truth. Neither of them would be able to wait very long. Once the specter of the morning faded from memory, with their mutual understanding back in place, it’d be impossible to keep their hands off each other.
How they’d keep it under wraps with Grandpa around, he had no idea. They’d figure something out.
They always did.
* * * *
Once Ronnie was cleaned and bandaged, he ended up sleeping most of the day away. Though he tried to coax Jim into curling up in bed with him, the sound of Grandpa pulling up outside put a kibosh on that before he really had a chance. Considering he winked out within moments of Jim shutting the door behind him, it was probably for the better.
When he woke up, the room was dusky, his body a mass of bone-deep aches. He had bruises on his shoulders from where he’d collided with the dining room chairs, and Jim had found a gash on his back Ronnie hadn’t even known was there, but nothing more was broken, and his leg didn’t feel the worse for the fight. He could live with that.
The clock read four forty. Not as late as he’d thought, but his room was on the east side of the house. With the curtains drawn and the sun on its downward descent, the room would be cool and dark for most of the day. As a living situation, it was better than his parents’ basement. Here, he could look out the window and know he was still a part of the world, without having to worry about blinding headaches. Here, he had Jim to rely on if things went wrong, and Jim to bring him back from the brink when his moods went sour.
Here was just about perfect.
After brushing his teeth and making sure he didn’t look a wreck, he headed for the stairs, stopping when voices filtered from the living room.
“…always welcome here,” Grandpa said. “You know that.�
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“I know.”
Ronnie stiffened. Mom was here. Had she come to take him home? But he just got settled in, and besides, he wasn’t a kid anymore that she could make do anything he didn’t want to. He held his breath, hugging the wall out of sight, so he could listen without being noticed.
“Did he tell you what happened this morning?” Mom asked.
“Haven’t really talked to him.”
“But…did Jim say anything?”
“I know he got in a tussle with Bert. That what you mean?”
“He walked in on the middle of an argument,” Mom said. “And Bert, well, Bert can say some pretty mean things when he’s angry. Ronnie tried standing up to him.”
“Nothing wrong with a boy defending his mama.”
“But he’s never gone after Bert like that before. He’s always been respectful, let Bert cool down before things got out of hand. I’ve never seen Ronnie like he was this morning.”
“Well, no offense, Evelyn, but Ronnie’s been off growing up on you the past few years. Fighting in a war will do that.”
He wanted to cheer Grandpa Mac for explaining it to Mom. He didn’t know if she’d believe him, but having someone who wasn’t a doctor tell her the way it was meant more than Ronnie could’ve guessed.
“But he’s not a physical boy—”
“What is it you think he’s been doing in the army? And I’ve watched him swing a pickaxe around the farm the past few weeks. Your son’s grown into a strong young man who can take care of himself. Isn’t that what every parent wants?”
“But that’s just it,” Mom argued. “He can’t take care of himself. He’s got his doctor appointments, and the possibility of another surgery. He can’t even drive himself around.”
“I can take him anywhere he needs to go.” At the sound of Jim’s voice, Ronnie straightened. He hadn’t realized Jim was in the room, too. “But, Mrs. Mayer, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s back behind the wheel sooner than you think. He’s tougher than any of us ever gave him credit for, and he hates that brace on his leg. He’ll do whatever it takes to get it off, and when he does…” He whistled, like the sound of a rocket going off. Ronnie wished he could see his face.
