by L. A. Witt
Matt turned onto his side, the sheet sliding partway off his naked torso. “How do you figure?”
Jon sighed as he absently ran a fingertip along one of the many ink lines on Matt’s arm. “Nate was distant today. And when I asked him about Caleb, he got defensive. Actually he got pissed at me for insinuating there was a problem.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah. We cleared the air before we left work, and he apologized for biting my head off and all, but I mean . . . that’s just not like him. He’s too laid back for that, you know?”
“Which means you probably hit a nerve.”
“I think so.” Jon rubbed his eyes, then rested his hand on Matt’s waist. “I think Caleb’s cheating, and I think whether Nate will admit it or not, he knows something is up.” Jon stared up at the ceiling. “And this is exactly why I hate relationships. On the outside, Nate and Caleb look like they’ve got the perfect marriage. I always told myself if I ever did settle down with someone, I’d want something like that.” He sighed heavily, chest clenching. “And Nate is so fucking happy. God, it’s gonna kill him if Caleb’s really fucking around.”
Matt blew out a breath. “Yeah. That’s gonna hurt.”
“If ever I thought someone could make it work, it was those two. Apparently not.”
“It’s always the ones you least expect, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I just don’t get it. I mean . . . why? Nate’s a great guy. Caleb seems like he adores Nate.” Jon squeezed his eyes shut. “Why anyone would cheat on him . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “If it comes out that he really is cheating, I will break that bastard’s neck.” He opened his eyes, and with a dry laugh, added, “Assuming there’s anything left after Nate gets his hands on him.”
“I don’t think there’s a jury in the land that would convict him.”
“Right?” Jon released a long breath, running his hand up and down Matt’s side. “Guess there’s not much to do except wait for the fallout.”
Matt nodded.
“Like I said,” Jon grumbled, “shit like this is exactly why I don’t do relationships.”
“So you don’t get cheated on?”
Jon shrugged. “So I don’t subject myself to any of it. I mean, look at us.” He trailed the backs of his fingers across the tattoos on Matt’s pec. “It’s easy. It’s relaxed. We have sex. We hang out sometimes. I couldn’t care less if you want to go screw someone else.”
Matt laughed quietly. “As if I have anything left after you get done with me.”
“Fair point. But you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” Matt nodded as he slid his palm along Jon’s forearm. “No commitment. No drama. I can see the appeal.” They fell silent for a long time, just lying there, touching each other for the sake of touching without trying to turn the other on. Then Matt met Jon’s gaze. “Listen, uh, along the same lines . . . I mean . . .” He hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about. And if it’s a no, especially because of what we just talked about—being casual and all—then cool. No hard feelings.”
Jon lifted his eyebrows. “Okay?”
Matt held his gaze, some nervousness in his expression. “Do you have Thanksgiving plans?”
Jon shrugged, pretending he didn’t suddenly have a knot of apprehension swelling in his gut. “I usually just spend it with the single guys on my squadron.” Trying not to visibly cringe, he asked, “Why?”
“Because I’m going to my mom’s place in Richmond.” Matt chewed his lip, and Jon felt the invitation even though Matt hadn’t said it out loud: “Would you be interested in coming with me?”
Jon’s throat tightened. Fuck. Hadn’t they established the boundaries? Hadn’t he just been crystal clear about why?
Matt touched Jon’s arm. “Listen, I’m not asking you to come home so you can meet my family and we can take this to the next level.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I . . . want to come out to them. As bi.”
Jon arched an eyebrow. “As bi and having a boyfriend?”
“Well, no. I mean . . . you and I know what we’re . . .” He blew out a breath. “The thing is, I could just come out to them, but I kind of think if I’m introducing them to someone I’m ‘dating’, it’ll make it more real. Like, show them there’s actual people involved. I’m not just suddenly attracted to men, I’m attracted to you. Because I don’t know how they’ll react. Honestly. No clue. And I’d kind of rather do this now while I’m with someone I’m not serious with, so if things do get ugly and nasty, it doesn’t make things weird with us. And so if there is an actual boyfriend somewhere down the line, I know what to expect.”
“So I’m kind of the sacrificial lamb?”
Matt’s cheeks darkened. “I guess. Kind of? Ugh, none of it makes sense now that I’m saying it out loud.”
“No, it . . . it actually kind of does.” Jon watched him for a moment, and laced their fingers together between their chests. “You’re really nervous about this, aren’t you?”
Matt pushed out a ragged breath. “Just a bit, yeah.”
“Wow.” Jon squeezed his hand. “Are you sure you want to tell them, then?”
“Yeah. I just want to get it out there and be done with it. And they don’t need to know that me and you are just casual. But . . . having someone else there might also make it, I don’t know, less abstract?”
Jon gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I guess I can understand that.”
Matt sighed. “I might be making something out of nothing. I hope I am. It’s not like they’ve ever said anything homophobic. I mean, aside from my dad.” He paused like he was going to elaborate on that, but then shook his head and continued. “They’re all pretty conservative about most things, though. They really don’t like my job. They definitely don’t like my ink. So I have no idea how they’ll feel about me dating men.” He rubbed the back of his neck like it was suddenly getting stiff. “So I guess I just want to put it out there and let them deal with it now. And let me know if there’s any point in bothering to introduce any future boyfriends.”
“Huh. I really hadn’t thought about any of that.” It wasn’t that he was completely ignorant of how homophobic families could be. To a certain extent, though, being rejected by family was an alien concept to him. Not something he’d experienced firsthand, anyway. When he’d come out, his family had never made a big deal out of it. They’d cautioned him against being openly gay in the military because it might hurt his career, but that was about it. Hell, his parents both had I Love My Gay Son sweatshirts, and sometimes his mom lamented that he still hadn’t brought any boyfriends home for them to meet.
Matt watched him, brow creased. “I know it’s a bit weird, considering how we’re doing things, but—”
“No, I understand.” Jon cupped his face and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “I’ll come with you.”
Matt sighed, melting against him. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Happy to help.” Jon kissed him again. “Do I need to bring anything? I can cook.”
“Nah. My mom and my oldest brother always insist on doing all the cooking.” He brought Jon’s fingers up to his lips. “And to be honest, even if it was a potluck, just you being there is enough.”
Jon smiled. “Well, my fingers are crossed that you’re worried about nothing, and everything goes better than you expected.”
Matt smiled too, but his uneasiness was etched all over his face. “Yeah. Me too.”
Chapter 20
The drive to Richmond was always long and tedious—each direction of I-64 was pretty much nothing but two tree-lined lanes of people driving way too slow. Given that it was Thanksgiving, everyone was out on the road and had completely forgotten how to drive. Twenty miles in, and Matt was ready pull onto the shoulder and blow past all of them.
On the bright side, Tyler had done an awesome job fixing Matt’s car, so it wasn’t making any unsettling sounds. Even the most miserable drive was always improved by the absence of
noises that were equal parts annoying and unnerving.
As they drove past the Williamsburg exits, traffic thinned a little bit, but Matt still kept a death grip on the wheel. He wasn’t nervous this time that his car would fall apart. No, he had plenty of other things to keep his blood pressure elevated for the foreseeable future.
“Hey.” Jon touched his leg. “You doing okay?”
Matt nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the road. “Nervous.”
“Not surprising. Are you sure about this? There’s nothing that says you have to throw open the closet doors. It’s only been, what, like two months since you realized you were into men?”
“I know, but I’d rather get it over with.” Matt chewed his lip, then glanced at Jon. “Thanks for coming along. I can’t promise it’ll be pleasant, but—”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s easy to say now.”
“You make it sound like I’ve never been there when someone came out.”
Matt glanced at him again. “Have you?”
“Oh yeah. I was with Nate when he came out.”
“How’d that go?”
Jon didn’t answer right away. “You sure you want to talk about coming out horror stories right now?”
Matt gulped, his mouth suddenly parched. “Kinda, yeah.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So at least then if my family goes crazy, I know I’m not alone.”
“Oh. Okay. Fair enough.”
“So, Nate.” Matt drummed his thumbs on the wheel, his hands a little achy from holding on so tight. “How did it go?”
“Not great.” Jon kept his hand on Matt’s leg and stared out the window. “He had himself all worked up about his parents getting angry, but didn’t think his mom would break down crying. I think he would’ve been okay with them throwing him out or reading him the riot act, but just seeing his mom quietly start crying almost did him in.”
Matt pictured his mom doing that, and shuddered. “Wow. Do they get along now?”
“They came around eventually, yeah. Especially after Nate met Caleb, and his family realized it was a long term thing.” Jon paused. “Which I guess kind of makes me see why you wanted me along for this.”
Matt nodded, but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. So, have you ever been there when someone’s parents did take it well?”
“Sure. A friend in flight school asked me and Nate to come with him for support. His parents were surprised, but that was about it.”
“Man, I hope that’s how it goes with mine.”
“Do you think it will?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.” He gripped the wheel tighter. “My dad would’ve been the problem. But he’s . . . gone. He died a few years ago.”
“Oh. I’d say I’m sorry for your loss, but it sounds like . . .” Jon trailed off as if he wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.
“It was tough, losing him.” Matt exhaled. “But I’ll be honest—there’s no way in hell I’d be coming out if he were still alive. I sure as shit wouldn’t be bringing anyone along for a ride.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.” Matt started rapidly tapping his thumb on the wheel. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved my dad, but he had some pretty strict opinions about how men should behave. He hated the fact that I was an artist, but kind of grudgingly accepted that tattooing was manly.”
“Wait, I thought your whole family didn’t like you being a tattooist.”
“They don’t.” Matt rolled his eyes. “My dad, though—he would’ve preferred I worked on bikes, but tattooing bikers was kind of a step up. As far as he was concerned, it was okay because women dig tattoo artists, so it gave me a leg up for scoring pussy.”
Jon’s lips parted. “Your dad said that?”
“Yep. And hey, at least I wasn’t painting water lilies or knitting or something sissy like that.”
“Wow.” Jon shook his head. “Sounds like your dad was a poster child for toxic masculinity.”
Matt glanced at Jon, eyes wide. “A poster child for what now?”
“Toxic masculinity. You haven’t heard of it?”
“Uh, no?”
Jon absently played with the shoulder strap of his seatbelt. “Basically, it’s the idea that guys should behave like Neanderthals. Treat women like garbage. Always be the Alpha. Masculine, masculine, masculine. Ideally you shouldn’t feel any emotions, but if you do, you damn well better not show them. I’m guessing from what you’ve said, your dad fit the bill?”
“Yeah. Yeah, he did.” Matt’s mouth went dry. “How have I never heard of this?”
“Don’t know, but it sounds like you lived it.”
Gaze fixed on the road, Matt nodded slowly. It wasn’t an earth-shattering concept—it certainly made sense—but to hear someone casually apply it to his upbringing? That jarred him. He’d had so many people brush off his father as old-fashioned, or say that was just how men of his generation were. There’d never been a term for what he was that explained him without excusing him.
“Hey.” Jon touched his knee. “You all right? You spaced out a bit.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Matt shook himself and adjusted his grip on the wheel. “You’re right, though. I’ve never thought about it before, but that explains my dad to a T.” He glanced at Jon. “Remember when I told you about the little boy I kissed in first grade? How everyone went crazy?”
“Yeah.”
“The part I left out was that my dad caught wind of it.”
Jon was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to guess it didn’t go over well.”
Matt shook his head. “He lit into me for . . . hell, it felt like days. At least a couple of hours.” Adopting a mock gruff voice, he said, “That’s not how men behave. Kissing on the playground is for girls.” He groaned. “And when my brother showed everyone that picture of me playing with Barbies? Fuck, I don’t think anyone in the house was immune from that tirade. He was pissed at my brother for letting anyone think his son was a sissy. He was pissed at me for playing with dolls when I was five. He was even pissed at my mom for letting it happen.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jon put a hand on Matt’s thigh and squeezed gently. “I, uh, I can see why you were so firmly in the closet for so long if that’s how you were brought up.”
Matt nodded. “Yeah. And it’s weird. He never said anything about actually being gay. Like, about sleeping with other men or even dating them. There was never any mention of who I should be attracted too. He was way too obsessed with me not being a limp-wristed sissy, as he put it.” Matt rolled his eyes. “If he ever knew I was queer, his biggest concern would probably be that I was the pitcher instead of the catcher.”
“Oh God. That . . . is not a conversation I’d want to have with my dad.”
“Yeah, no kidding. But he wanted his son to be a man. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if he’d have been okay with me being a leather daddy with half a dozen guys on leashes. At least that would be manly.”
Jon snorted. “I’m sorry. That’s not really funny, but . . .”
“Nah, it kind of is.” Matt chuckled, though it didn’t last. “So I think if he were alive now, he’d be less freaked out that I’m queer, and more worried that I’m not out fucking every woman I can get my hands on.”
Beside him, Jon fidgeted, and Matt glanced over in time to catch a disgusted look. “So he thought men should act like cavemen, and women were . . .”
“As far as he was concerned, women are an inconvenient speed bump between a man and pussy.”
Jon shuddered. “Nice guy.”
“Right? So, yeah. I don’t think I’d have come out while he was alive even if I had figured myself out.” He slipped his hand over the top of Jon’s, which was still parked on his leg. “And I think it’s why I needed to have someone with me to face everyone else.”
“I totally understand.” Jon turned his hand over and gave Matt’s a little squeeze. “I’m happy to help.”
Matt stole another glance, and
smiled. “Thanks.”
He continued down the interstate toward Richmond, and the conversation wandered in other directions. Part of his brain stayed hung up on the topic of his father and . . . what had Jon called it? Toxic masculinity.
It made sense. And it was a huge relief, knowing there was some concept out there that meant maybe—just maybe—his father’s method of parenting had been wrong. That Matt had a right to be bitter and angry over it.
He also had to wonder if that theory had something to do with why he’d asked Jon to come with him. It wasn’t just because he wanted to have a man there so he could say “I’m queer. See? I’m dating a man.” It was because Jon was the perfect man to bring home. And he actually felt a little guilty for that. Opportunistic. Except it wasn’t why he’d hooked up with Jon. They’d been attracted, they’d clicked, and the holidays had been just around the corner. It wasn’t like he’d gone out, grabbed Jon off the street, and asked him to play boyfriend for Thanksgiving.
But the fact was, if ever there was a man he could almost feel comfortable bringing home, it was Jon. If his father were still alive, he might not have been thrilled about Matt being queer, but he probably could’ve stomached him dating someone like Jon. When Matt’s dad had prayed like hell that his sons grew up to be men, Matt had a feeling the man hadn’t been picturing Jon as the “not this, please” image. If Matt had brought home a boyfriend with even a hint of what his father saw as feminine—flawlessly groomed hair, a walk that didn’t resemble a caveman’s lumbering gait, a degree in fine arts—it would not have gone over well.
Coming home with a fighter pilot who’d served a couple of combat tours and was enough of a football fan to literally bet his ass on his team? Yeah. Dad would’ve liked him.
Probably, Matt admitted with a sinking feeling, a lot better than he ever liked me.
* * *
Matt turned from the county road and started down his mother’s driveway. The crunch of his tires on gravel made his pulse race. Then the dogs started barking, and his throat tightened. No turning back now.
His siblings’ cars were already there—Quinn’s bright red Tercel, Alex’s dirty Explorer. Someone had written WASH ME on the back window of the Explorer, but even those letters had a fine layer of dust over them. Just beyond, Mom’s three golden retrievers were bouncing up and down, tails wagging furiously as they barked and tried to leap over the backyard fence.
