“Oh, we know,” Brian said, his eyebrows raised, obviously amused that Scott had misunderstood. “But since you’re the godparent, we figured you’d want to pay for everything.”
Scott’s laughter gained momentum as he looked at his brother’s handsome and serious face. He leaned against his brother, feeling better than he had since Hank had rediscovered his family. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Scott wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders and put a wet, sloppy kiss on one cheek, Brian’s whiskers rough and smelling of Old Spice. “I love you, Brian,” he said and turned, heading back to Kari. “And thank you, sis.” Scott sighed and kissed her cheek, her hand coming out to squeeze his. “I’ll come along if you want, and it would be my pleasure to buy my nephew, and godson, anything he needs.”
“He better be kidding,” Kari scolded as she looked at her husband. “At least until Matthew is in university. That, you can pay for!”
“Deal,” Scott said, letting go of Kari’s hand and making his way to the door. “Thank you,” he said one final time and made his way outside.
Once outside, Scott felt a strange mixture of relief and melancholy. In another three weeks, it would be Thanksgiving, and by Christmas, he would have a nephew. Although Scott would never openly admit it, he secretly hoped that ultrasound technician would be proved wrong; Scott still hoped for a niece. He didn’t know why, really, other than the strange thought that he wouldn’t have much in common with his nephew.
As he drove back to the townhouse he shared with Hank, Scott knew that no baby would ever be loved like Matthew would be, especially by his Uncle Scotty. He thought about the first trip to French Beach he’d made with Hank and how he’d admitted to Hank that he’d always wanted his brother to have children. And now it was happening.
It was ironic, Scott decided, that he was about to be an uncle, about to see his brother even happier than he’d ever seen him, and it would most likely be happening at the same time that Scott would have to learn how to live without Hank. He hadn’t been able to tell his brother and sister-in-law about how distant Hank had been lately, both in bed and out. It had been almost a week since Hank had touched him, had initiated anything at all. He didn’t even seem interested in letting Scott please him, pulling away instead and pretending to fall asleep.
Scott knew the rhythms of Hank’s breathing. It was like a musical score to Scott. He knew the tempo and color of an aroused Hank, the cadence and clarity of a happy Hank, even the slow, lilting vibrato of a vulnerable Hank.
Hank had definitely been pretending to sleep, Scott assumed, to avoid any discussion or lovemaking. And to please his man, the man he loved more than his own life, Scott did what he thought was best and didn’t push, didn’t ask too many questions, and made sure that he was always there should Hank need to talk or if Hank needed Scott again. Even if Hank only needed him for a quick release, Scott would be sure that he was there.
It would break his heart to feel used like that, to feel as if he was nothing more than some sort of sex toy that Hank only needed for release, but Scott would make sure that he was there until the moment Hank returned to him or set him free.
He turned onto their street, tears in his eyes as he tried not to think of that moment. He was trying to fill his head with other thoughts, happier thoughts about his nephew and meeting Justis and spending Thanksgiving with his family, when he noticed Hank’s truck in their driveway. And then he saw Hank loading boxes into the back of it and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Scott had not anticipated that the moment would come so soon. He wasn’t ready. But then, he supposed he would never be ready to let go of Hank.
Chapter 9
SCOTT steered his car into the garage, suddenly feeling exhausted, pulled the emergency brake, and turned to look for Hank before opening the door. As he did so, he heard the clang and rattle of the garage door closing, panicked for a moment that Hank was leaving without even saying goodbye.
He walked quickly to the door that joined the garage with the laundry room, finding it unlocked, and pushed his way inside, wanting to call out. He bit his tongue and deposited his keys on the counter beside the washer, toed off his shoes, and made his way to the living room, finding Hank sitting on the sofa, head in his hands. Scott scolded himself against any more tears and started toward the sofa.
“I’m sorry.”
Scott stopped short, afraid to take another step. Was Hank apologizing for what he was about to do? Was Hank saying sorry for turning out to be a coward, unable to live without his father’s approval after all? Hank had still not looked up, and Scott steered himself in the opposite direction.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Scott said as he walked toward the kitchen. “I thought you’d be in later.”
Hank said nothing.
“Can I get you something? Beer? Sandwich?”
Still nothing.
Scott stood, his legs feeling weak and useless, leaning against the doorjamb leading to the kitchen.
He stood there for what seemed like hours. And then Hank looked up and Scott could tell he’d been crying. Perhaps not as recently as Scott, but he’d been crying. Scott wanted to go to him, wrap his arms around Hank and tell him, reassure him, that everything would be okay. I’ll wait until you figure out what it is you need. The momentary flush of disappointment Scott felt for himself was quickly replaced by the realization that Hank had not said anything further. He’d not yet said that he was leaving, that it was all just a phase, that he’d discovered he couldn’t live without a wife and kids after all.
Hank sighed. “I can’t do it anymore.”
Scott collapsed into a chair, hating how Dynasty it all seemed. But he would not cry. He would not. He would kiss Hank goodbye, wish him well, and call the Realtor tomorrow to put the house on the market and be sure that Hank got his half, or maybe more than half. He would need the money to help settle himself back in Vancouver… to be closer to his family. Scott opened his mouth to ask if Hank had found someone else, wondering if he’d finally relented and chosen one of the women that his father and sister had approved. Scott had no way of knowing if this was actually happening, but it kept his mind off the unbearable knowledge that he would never get to share Kari and Brian’s news about wanting to name their son after Hank, to have Hank as one of the godparents.
“I told him I wouldn’t be leaving you out of it anymore.”
Scott closed his eyes, the tears coming anyway. I told him… leaving you. “I’ll call the Realtor tomorrow and—” Scott stopped talking when he finally realized what Hank had said. “Told who? Your father? You told him….”
Hank’s hands scrubbed at his tired eyes. “I asked him tonight why he never invites you, never has enough tickets… always chooses activities that you don’t like.”
Scott said nothing, feeling as if even the slightest breath would knock him off the small ledge of hope he suddenly found himself on.
“I guess he figured it was just a phase, that I was just lonely…. I don’t know.” Hank leaned forward, his hands covering his face once again. “Anyway,” he said after a moment, his fingers raking back through the chestnut waves that Scott hadn’t touched in what seemed like two lifetimes. “I told him I’d still be coming to see Sandra and Mom, but that I would be bringing you with me. Each and every time.” Hank let his hands drop between his knees, obviously exhausted and drained.
Scott looked down at the surface of the table, blinking rapidly. He chose me. He stood up to his father… because of what he feels for me.
Scott heard a small laugh and opened his eyes to see Hank shaking his head. “He told me to call first so he could be sure to be out of the house.” Hank’s voice caught, and the laugh became jagged and sad.
Scott was beside him in mere seconds, his arms wrapped around the slumped shoulders, Hank’s disappointment radiating off of him like waves of summer air heated by the sun. “I’m so sorry, Hank.” Scott brushed the hair off of his lover’s forehead, letting hi
s hands soothe and comfort. God, how I’ve missed touching you. “What can I do? What do you need?”
“Forgiveness,” Hank said, his voice weak and pale.
“For what?” Scott’s hand continued to stroke and console. He knew what for, but he would not add to Hank’s torment.
“Can’t imagine what you’ve thought of me lately.” Hank finally looked up and met Scott’s eyes, his hands coming quickly to wipe away the tears that Scott hadn’t realized were there.
“I didn’t know what to think.” Scott lifted himself so that he could sit on the coffee table directly in front of Hank. “I thought it was over, to tell you the truth.”
“Over? Us?”
Scott nodded, hating the look of confusion and pain his words had put on the handsome face. “You weren’t saying much to me, weren’t touching me, getting up without… leaving for work without kissing….” Scott shrugged, determined to get all of this out in the open, easier in his skin that they were finally talking again.
“I couldn’t even look at you,” Hank said, his hands pulling Scott closer. “I was so ashamed that I’d fallen right back into letting my father take charge.” Hank petted the younger man’s arms and legs. “I kept thinking that maybe he’d changed and he’d invite you or even want to know about you, but… every time I mentioned your name or told him about being an uncle to Brian and Kari’s baby… every time I mentioned bringing you along the next time…. Nothing I said, did, made him proud.” Hank’s eyes narrowed, his chin quivered. He shook his head and looked down. “Can you forgive me?”
Something in Scott burst wide open and he began to cry, whether from relief or from sheer exhaustion he wouldn’t have been able to say. His hands went to cup Hank’s tear-streaked face. He forced himself to smile as Hank looked into his eyes. Scott’s breath caught at how much pain he saw in those beautiful green eyes. “You don’t even have to ask that, Hank.” Scott felt Hank’s hands on top of his own. “I love you, Hank.”
Hank’s face scrunched in on itself and he hiccupped, his head finding its way to Scott’s lap. “He doesn’t want me.”
Scott heard the enormous anguish in that voice, his own heart at once inconsolable because Hank was and enraged that he hadn’t said anything about his suspicions sooner. He stroked the soft hair, tears streaming down his own face, his brain unable to do anything other than rejoice that Hank still loved him, still wanted him, even though it had cost him his father.
“Hank?” Scott lifted Hank’s head and kissed the tear-streaked cheeks, using his thumbs to dry away some of the wetness. “Let me get you to bed. I’ll bring you some Nytol, and you can get some rest. And tomorrow?” Scott smiled, his thoughts running away with him. “We can go do something… just you and me… just the two of us.” Hank nodded. “I want you, forever. I know it’s not the same thing, and I can’t imagine how disappointed you are that things with your father didn’t work out, but I want you.”
There was nothing sexual in their undressing that night. Hank stood, almost motionless, under the hot spray from the shower as Scott soaped his body, washed his hair, and then dried him from head to toe. He pulled back the covers of the bed and pulled them up to Hank’s chest, promising to come right back with the pills and a big glass of water.
Scott was naked, running back up the stairs, when the phone rang. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then, realizing it could be Brian or Kari, he relented and moved to the console table near the stairs.
“Hello?” Scott was trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t disturb Hank.
“Hi, Scott, it’s Sandra, is Hank there?”
“I’m sorry, Sandra, but now’s not a good time.” Scott walked a little further down the hall, not wanting Hank to know that it was his sister on the phone. Scott was being selfish. Hank was his, and only his, for the rest of the night.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think Hank will have to tell you that when he’s feeling better.” Scott was willing to bet money that Sandra knew precisely what was going on.
“Is everything okay? Between you two, I mean.”
Scott resisted the urge to laugh into the phone. Yes! No thanks to you and your father. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll tell Hank you called, but he probably won’t call you back until tomorrow.”
Scott didn’t wait for a reply or any more questions. He hung up the phone, walked the receiver back to its cradle in the living room, disconnected the phone line, and reminded himself to do the same with the phone upstairs. Hank was lying on his side by the time Scott returned. Scott knelt on the floor in front of him and held out the pills and the water glass, Hank sitting up slightly to take both.
“I know what will make you feel better,” Scott said with a huge grin. He walked into the bathroom and returned with a wooden hairbrush, the kind with widely spaced bristles. He climbed on the bed and propped his bare ass against the headboard, with one leg on either side of Hank. “Lean against me,” Scott said, as if he’d needed to explain this particular ritual. They’d done this at least two or three times a week since Scott had moved in.
Scott began slowly, loving how the silky strands of hair caressed his hands, how Hank’s warmth radiated out and warmed his cooling skin. He felt Hank’s head fall back slightly and looked down to see the big logger had closed his eyes. He pushed Hank’s head forward a little and brushed in the opposite direction, noticing how quickly his lover was relaxing. It never failed to relax Hank; he loved any kind of massage. Head, body, feet, forearms, it didn’t seem to matter with Hank. As long as Scott was touching him, Hank relaxed and his breathing slowed.
Scott asked Hank to tilt his head back and heard no response. This, Scott realized, was the sign he’d been hoping for. He pulled himself off the headboard, putting himself beside the muscular frame, murmuring soft words to his lover. Hank lay down on his back, and Scott scooted up a little further, feeling Hank nestle against him almost immediately. He heard Hank’s breathing slow even more, and then the hands that had been on his waist went completely limp.
It was sometime just before midnight—three hours after Scott had come back to what he saw as the home he’d shared with Hank—when Scott’s eyes grew too heavy. He closed them, inhaling deeply the scent of the man in his arms, the small smile still on his lips. “I love you, Hank,” Scott whispered against the silky strands of hair, kissed the top of his head, and thought briefly of actually going out and buying some bricks and mortar. Then sleep claimed him.
HANK awoke to brilliant sunshine streaming through the shuttered windows of the bedroom, the light bouncing off the millions of little particles floating and dancing in the air. He looked over at the alarm clock. It was almost ten in the morning. And it was a Wednesday. He should be at work by now.
Panicked, he threw the duvet aside and sat up, his head swimming and his eyes losing focus. He flopped backward on the bed, waiting until the feeling passed, his mind already reliving the evening with his father and the depth of love Scott had shown him the night before. He wondered again what he’d ever done to deserve someone like his little Scrappy.
“Hey, you, how are you feeling?”
Hank sat up slowly and saw Scott standing there with a tray overflowing with pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausage, coffee, and juice. “Late for work,” Hank said, his mouth feeling dry and his voice feeling like sandpaper in his throat.
“No, you’re not.” Scott came to set the tray on the bed. “I called Brian and told him—” Scott held up a finger when he saw Hank open his mouth. “I told him only that you weren’t feeling well. I would never tell him about what happened last night.”
Hank reached for Scott and pulled him into his lap. “I know that,” Hank said, closing his eyes as Scott combed his fingers through Hank’s hair. “I was going to say that you shouldn’t have called Brian. I can go in to work today.”
“Maybe,” Scott said with a shrug. “But I made a decision. You scared the shit out of me last night.” Scott moved his hands to Hank’s
shoulders and began to knead the tense muscles. “I’ve never seen you so sad.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Hank said, kissing Scott’s neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I was so….”
“Yeah,” Scott whispered. “Me too.” Scott backed himself away from his lover, nodding to the tray. “Eat up. When you’re done, I have some news for you.”
“Good, I hope,” Hank said as he pushed himself back on the bed so he was leaning against the headboard, sheet covering his lower half. Scott moved the tray so that Hank could eat comfortably, and stayed seated beside him, his hand resting on Hank’s thigh.
“Very good, I think you’ll agree.”
“You’re seriously going to make me wait?”
“Eat first. Good news second.”
“You third.”
Scott blushed at the comment but let a small chuckle escape his lips. Hank wouldn’t hold out much hope for anything but some kissing and holding. But anything else, anything like they were used to, would probably take a few more days. Days, Hank hoped, that would be filled with lots and lots of healing.
Hank began to devour the breakfast, swatting playfully at Scott’s hand as it tried to steal a piece of bacon. He’d returned home early from being with his father, berating himself for thinking that he could never have really changed. And while he sat in bed, eating the pancakes drenched in syrup, just the way Scott knew he liked them, he made a promise to himself that he would make all of this up to his Scrappy. If he had to, he would spend the rest of his life making sure Scott knew how important he was, how much he did love Scott. He looked up to see the warm and concerned smile on Scott’s face. He finished swallowing and took a sip of juice. “Scott,” he said softly. “I’m sorry about—”
“That’s all settled, Hank,” Scott said. “I wish it hadn’t happened. Wish that he could have changed for you, been proud of you.” He felt Scott’s hand on his leg, the touch reassuring. “I’ll always love you, Hank. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
When Memory Fails Page 9
