I had always had a protective streak. That streak had reared its head in middle school when playground bullies would pick on Ryan. It had solidified in high school when those same bullies would accuse him of being gay just because he was kind of nerdy and dorkish. I found the irony hysterical, the nerdy dorkish guy’s the straight one and his big, burly, Marine brother is the homo. But then, all I knew was that someone was picking on the person I felt closest to, and I wasn’t going to stand for it.
That same protective streak had now unfurled itself and encompassed David. But it had become so much more. I didn’t just want to protect him, I wanted to take care of him. I wanted to chase away the ghosts of his past, of which I suspected there were many. I wanted to show him that he didn’t have to be trapped in whatever had happened to him before. I wanted to be the one that showed him there was still goodness out there, despite all of the darkness.
I hadn’t planned what had happened on his couch, but I sure wasn’t sorry for it either. Watching him let go was the most exhilarating experience of my life. It was like he had opened up and I could see the light inside. The trust he had placed in me was heady, and I found I wanted more. I cherished it because at some instinctual level, I knew he didn’t trust easily. I suspected trust had cost him dearly before, and the last thing I wanted to do was violate that trust.
And then there were the scars. We had never discussed it. I knew them for what they were. I had seen similar ones on guys’ arms when they thought they had nothing else left. Men who had been strong and fierce before going overseas, and returned nothing more than a shell of what they had been. I continued to allow him to believe I still hadn’t seen it. Until he was ready to talk about it, until that level of trust had been instilled in him, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t bring it up. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him, and I suspected that whatever had driven him to that point still had its claws in him. I caught a glimpse of it again while we were on his couch, and it hit like a gut-punch. No one should feel that the only way to ease the pain is to end it all. I knew from experience that scars on arms were simply physical manifestations of ones carried deeper on the soul. I had seen those scars in his eyes before, the looks of skepticism and shades of fear.
The look of bewilderment and embarrassment he had when he answered the door spoke volumes about what he thought of his situation. I immediately felt the need to erase that. He never needed to feel embarrassed around me, and he needed to know that.
That was part of why I’d kissed him. The other part was that I really wanted to. Yes, we had gone out a few times over the past month, but I had been so busy dealing with Ryan and Lucas that I didn’t think I had been able to give him the attention he deserved. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he questioned what was going on between us. Hell, sometimes I did. The timing always seemed…off. So, I had resolved that that night would just be about us, him and me, no interruptions. Pizza, beer, and pop. Just us. Sex wasn’t planned, but it was most definitely the cherry on top.
After, as we sat there on his couch with our joined hands in my lap, I couldn’t help but to think that I could stay like that forever. It was an odd thought to have, really. It should have scared me, but it didn’t. I had felt drawn to him from the beginning, and that simply solidified it for me. I lied when I said I had him. The truth was, he had me.
I lifted his hand to my lips, kissed it, and asked, “Washcloth?”
I had a dual purpose in asking. Sure, I wanted to get us cleaned up. But I could also see that his shirt was a mess. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t change it in front of me, not without revealing the scars. I wanted to give him the chance to change without revealing too much to me.
“Bathroom. Shelf over the toilet.”
I padded pantsless into the bathroom and pulled a towel and washcloth from the shelf. Turning the faucet to hot, I ran the cloth under the water and counted. He’d need time, and I would give it to him. Hell, I needed time. Sex had been unexpected for me, I could only imagine what was running through his head. Most guys would get off and leave, and I had to wonder if he thought that’s what I was about to do. Maybe with others, but not with him.
I wrung the washcloth out and draped the towel over my arm, and went back into the main room. Sure enough, David had changed. He now wore a navy-blue long-sleeved T-shirt and was just pulling a pair of sweats from his dresser drawer.
“Wait. Sit.”
He did without hesitation, still holding the sweats. I knelt beside him on the couch and used the wet cloth to gently clean his cock and balls. He swelled a bit from my ministrations, but I didn’t want to press my luck. Once done, I dried him with the clean towel. Standing, I did the same to myself. He stood beside me and pulled on his sweats as I knelt and picked my underwear and jeans up from the floor.
As I pulled them on, I glanced at him. He wouldn’t look at me, probably thinking I was about to bolt.
Not a chance.
Zipping my jeans but leaving them unbuttoned, I leaned in and kissed him, soft and gentle. I tried to reassure him with that simple act, and I think it worked. I could see him visibly relax by degrees.
“Hungry? I think we worked up an appetite.”
He gave an embarrassed smile before answering. “If I wasn’t before, I am now.”
“Pizza’s probably cold by now. Mind if I use your stove to reheat it?”
I could tell he was confused. “Wouldn’t a microwave be faster?”
“It would be. But then the pizza ends up tasting like rubber. Got a baking pan?”
He came and stooped next to me, opened a cupboard, and pulled out a small cookie sheet. “Will this do?”
“Yep. Watch and learn from the Pizza Master.”
He chuckled as he handed me the pan. I set the stove at three hundred twenty-five and slapped four slices on the pan.
“The secret,” I explained, “is to not overcook it so it tastes like cardboard. Preheat the stove, then throw it in for about five minutes, and, voila, good to go.”
He looked suitably impressed by my culinary talents, such as they were.
I popped open the fridge and pulled out a beer for myself and popped the cap off. “Beer? Pop?”
He chewed on his bottom lip, debating his course. I found the act endearing. Before he could answer, I pulled a second beer out, twisted off the cap and handed it to him, leaning in to give him a kiss.
I could seriously get used to the taste of his lips.
I leaned against the counter and watched him take a tentative first sip from his bottle. Shyly, he said, “Thank you for coming over.”
I grinned despite myself. “I really did miss you.”
Shy David was an adorable David. “You’ve been busy. I get it. And, anyway, it’s not like we haven’t talked or gone out.”
“No, it’s not, but it also hasn’t been…right.”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
I thought a moment, thinking through what I wanted to say. “Everything’s just been so…rushed since Lucas’s diagnosis. I haven’t had time to concentrate on things the way I want to. And I don’t think I’ve been fair to you.”
He seemed surprised by this admission. He took a long pull from his beer, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. “You haven’t been unfair to me.”
“I feel that I have. You deserve to feel like you’re not being put on the back burner.”
“I don’t. Adam, your nephew’s going through chemo. Your number one priority should be your family.”
“I know. And they are. But…” And I trailed off, words that I wanted to say lodged in my throat. I swore earlier that I wasn’t going to force him into anything he wasn’t ready for, and that went for sexually or the relationship. I still wasn’t sure what he’d be comfortable with, and the last thing I wanted to do was scare him.
“But what?”
It was my turn to feel embarrassed. If there’s one thing that the military drills out of you, it’s how to
express your feelings. It’s seen as being unmanly. But I wanted to show a different side to David. He deserved to see my vulnerable side. “But I want you to be a priority too.”
I heard his sharp intake of air just before he raised the bottle to his lips. I watched him drink. Finally, he said, “I don’t have to be.”
With that sentence, I knew what I was dealing with. No one had made him a priority. He didn’t feel as if he should be a priority. If I ever met the people who put him through the meat grinder, I swore I’d break their neck. No one should feel unimportant.
I set my bottle on the counter and approached him slowly. Gently taking his bottle from him, I set it on the counter next to mine and turned back to him. He tried to look away, but I put a finger on his chin and turned his head so he had no choice but to look at me. Placing both hands on each of his arms, I said, “I want you to be.”
He turned from me, pulling himself from my hold. “I don’t understand why. Why is this so important to you?”
“Because you are important to me. David, if someone had told me a month ago that I’d walk into a comic shop, I’d have laughed my ass off. If they had told me I’d meet you there, I’d have called them a liar. You are important to me. I know it scares you. You have every right, and I’m not asking you to change how you feel. All I’m asking is that you believe me.”
“You don’t know how I feel.”
“No, you’re right. I don’t. But I think I have a pretty damn good idea. Be honest with me, you thought I was going to leave after what happened on the couch.”
His body went rigid and his head dipped. He didn’t have to say a word. His body language told me everything I needed to know. I approached him from behind and rested my hands on his shoulders. I allowed them to glide down his chest, and gently pulled him to me, his back to my front. “I’m not,” I whispered into his ear.
I felt his chest expand and he drew in a deep breath. He was trying to keep himself composed when that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted those walls to come down, to see me for who I was, and us for what we could be.
“You can’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not. People leave.”
”Yes, Some do, I said. “But I’m not one them. I know myself, and I know that when something is as important to me as you are, I don’t walk away. It’s not in me. I know it’s a lot to ask. I really do. But I also know that we could have something fantastic here.”
“Just the sex, right?” The sense of dejection in his voice sent a crack into my heart. I turned him to face me, and I saw the tears sliding down his cheeks. I didn’t know he’d been crying and the fact that he was shattered my heart further. I pulled him to me wrapping my arms around him and held him close.
“No, not just sex. Us. I think we could be…are fantastic together.”
He rested his forehead on my shoulder and sobbed. I could only venture a guess as to why because he wasn’t very forthcoming. Instead, I combed my fingers through his hair and gently kissed his neck and shoulder, all the while holding him tightly against me. If he had a difficult time in believing, I could believe for the both of us, and I hoped that by sheer force of will, that sense of belief would seep into his body from mine.
The oven alarm finally sounded and he pulled away. As he wiped his eyes, he said, “Sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I said, and kissed his lips. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The oven beeped again.
“Oven mitts?”
He pointed. “That drawer.”
I slid the drawer open, and pulled the mitt out as he pulled out plates. Holding the cookie dish over the plates, I carefully slid two pieces onto each plate. “Take the plates, I’ll grab us fresh beer.”
He did as I asked and I pulled two bottles from the refrigerator.
He was already seated on the couch and I had to grin. That couch had probably seen more action that night than it had ever seen before. And that wouldn’t be the last of it either, if I had anything to say about it.
I sat on the couch and noticed that he scooted toward the other end, presumably to give me room. Setting my plate on the arm of the couch, I patted my lap. “You’re too far away.”
He took the hint and slid over to me. I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him to me. He slid down until his head was resting comfortably on my lap, turned so he could eat his pizza. I draped my arm over him, not wanting to lose that connection while we did something as simple as eat. “TV?”
“Um hm.” He reached for the remote on the floor, pressed a button, and the television came to life.
As I ate, the picture on the bookcase caught my attention. It was the only personal item that I had seen in David’s tiny space. The picture was of two boys, arms slung across each other’s shoulders. One was probably ten the other maybe a little older. I could tell from the condition of the picture that it was a few years old.
With a mouth full of food, I asked, “Who’s the picture of?”
“My brother and me.”
Brother?
He had never mentioned a brother. Why had he never talked about him? Was his brother the one that had left him? Was he still even alive? I sat and stared at the picture, feeling like I’d been given some secret piece of information. All of those questions and more swam through my head. But I knew, from the tone in David’s voice, that the questions I had would have to wait. I didn’t want to ruin what we had just started. When he was ready, I had no doubt he would tell me.
I COULD GET USED TO waking up next to Adam. That thought alone frightened me. I had never slept next to another person, although I was sure that my parents must have laid my brother and me down for naps together on occasion.
That was different, however.
After eating my fill of pizza, the food, beer, and exhaustion quickly overtook me, and I fell asleep in Adam’s lap. I don’t know how long I was asleep, only that at some point, Adam roused me long enough to slide out from under me and go into the kitchen to put the leftover pizza in the refrigerator. I was still half asleep when he gently shook my shoulder and said, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Groggy with sleep, I remember shuffling over to the bed, I almost literally fell into it and slid to the edge closest to the wall.
“I can go if you w—”
I rolled to him. “No. Stay.”
I surprised even myself by saying that. No thought had gone into it, it was just a gut reaction. Adam gave a happy little grin and peeled his jeans off. Sliding into bed, he pulled the covers over us and spooned me from behind, draping one arm over me and sliding the other under my pillow and head. His leg was casually slung over me, and I was effectively held in place. I was actually surprised I wasn’t uncomfortable, trapped. Instead, I felt protected for the first time in a very long time. His words echoed in my head—fantastic together—as I sank into his protective wall. I could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against my back as he breathed, and I found it soothing.
I don’t know how long I slept like that. I can only assume through the night. When I woke up, I felt more…alive than I had in a long time. Somehow, I had made it through the night without any nightmares, and I quickly attributed it to Adam’s presence.
My eyes opened slightly and I rolled onto my back, and found him raised on one elbow, head perched on his hand. He reached across and brushed a stray hair from my face before leaning into me and kissing my forehead. “Morning.”
I croaked out, “Morning.”
He gave a little chuckle.
“Sleep okay?” I asked.
“Like a rock.”
His response filled me with a certain amount of pride, and I wasn’t sure why. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. I snuggled into his chest, feeling his soft chest hair rub across my shoulder. He rolled onto his back, and I lay my head on his chest. His heartbeat soothed me even more than his embrace. He wrapped his arm aroun
d me, bringing his hand up to rest on the top of my head, and casually drawing over my ear with his finger.
We lay like that for a while. Periodically, he’d stop and lean down to kiss the top of my head, and every time he did, my heart gave a little flutter.
“Are you okay with what we did last night?” There was a certain amount of trepidation in his voice when he asked, like he was scared of how I would answer. After my meltdown the previous night, I couldn’t blame him. If I were in his position, I would have been concerned too.
I shifted, snuggling in closer, as if that were possible, and kissed his chest. “I’m fine with it. Better than fine, in fact.”
I heard and felt him give a contented sigh, like my answer had allowed at least some of that hesitancy to dissipate.
“You’re off today, right?”
“I am.”
“Do you have any plans?” The hesitancy was back, but not as strong.
“Just grocery shopping.”
“Taking the bus?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me take you.”
I leaned up, resting my chin on his chest. “You don’t have to. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. Like see Lucas.”
“You could come with me.”
“To see Lucas?” It wasn’t like I hadn’t met his nephew before, I had when we decorated the kid’s hospital room. But I was hesitant. Would Lucas, or Ryan for that matter, question what I was doing visiting with Adam? How awkward would that be? “I’m not sure that’s a very good idea.”
He seemed crestfallen at that. “Why not?”
“He needs to spend time with you. I’d be in the way.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” He took a deep breath, then added, “I want you to get to know them.”
Surprised is an understatement. He had said that he wasn’t going anywhere, and there was a large part of me that wanted to believe him, but words and actions were two separate things. He could say it all he wanted, but that didn’t make it true. Getting to know the family seemed like a big step, at least to me. Especially given my familial history.
Looking In Page 11
