As my father…no, Roger paced my studio, he stopped in front of the sole picture I had of myself and Dylan. He picked up the frame and came rushing back at me. “Where’s my son? Where’s Dylan?”
I flinched involuntarily, and felt Adam squeezing my hand. Adam had been quiet during the exchange which, had I been given the chance to consider it, was extremely uncharacteristic of him. “I don’t know, Roger. I haven’t seen him in fifteen years.”
I chanced a glance at Adam. He was staring at the gun in Roger’s hand, and I could swear he was almost calculating something.
Roger turned and threw the picture against the wall, bellowing at the top of his lungs in frustration. Then he wheeled back to me and waved the gun in Adam’s direction.
“You took everything from me when you lied on the stand.”
“I never lied about you. Everything I said was the truth.” Where I was getting my bravado, I’ll never know. Maybe it was the thought that Adam’s life was in danger, maybe it was anger at Roger’s inability to take responsibility for what he had done and laying all of the blame squarely at my feet. Anger and rage coiled in my gut. The physical connection I had with Adam in our joined hands was the only thing keeping me grounded. “You wouldn’t have gone to prison if you hadn’t been an abusive alcoholic. What’d feel like, huh? Beating on a kid not even half your size. Did it make you feel strong? Powerful? You got what you deserved”
Roger turned to me, his face an eerie calm mask. “You know, when I came here tonight, I had one thing in mind, and that was to take from you what you took from me,” he said, glancing down at our joined hands. “But you have something more valuable that I think I’d rather take. Him.”
And he pointed the gun at Adam.
Everything happened at once.
Adam let out an almost feral scream, launching himself at Roger. At the same moment, the gun muzzle flashed twice and two mini-explosions sounded in the studio. My ears rang from the sound and all I could hear was my blood whooshing through my body. My adrenaline kicked into high gear, and I tried to narrow my focus on Adam.
Adam landed on top of Roger, forcing the other man onto his back with a grunt. They rolled around, each vying for dominance. Roger ended up on his back with Adam covering his body, legs splayed on either side, effectively pinning him to the floor. I couldn’t see the gun from my vantage point. Adam wrapped a hand around Roger’s throat and squeezed, gripping it so tight, I could see the veins protruding on the back of his hand from the exertion.
Roger’s face began turning a sick shade of red from lack of oxygen and contorted into a look of excruciating misery. I heard the muffled pop of the gun, then both men stopped moving.
Both lay still for a moment. I could see Roger struggling for breath, but Adam wasn’t moving. Panic mixed with the adrenaline. Why wasn’t he moving?
Roger pushed Adam off as he gasped for air, and I heard a soft grunt come from Adam as he rolled onto his back. I dove off the couch and landed hard on my knees next to him. Blood appeared on his left shoulder, seeping into his shirt and spreading like a drop of red paint on a canvas.
Nonononononononononononononononononono!
Every instinct in me told me to run and get help, but I couldn’t leave him there, not while he was bleeding, and certainly not with Roger. Anger turned to rage, and it seeped into my bones.
Roger coughed, and I turned in the direction of the sound. The gun lay on his chest and his head lolled back and forth, disorientated. I lunged for the gun, and Roger raised an arm to deflect me. But he was too weak, still gasping for air.
My hand closed around the cold metal of the weapon at the same moment that his hand closed around my wrist. A violent tug of war ensued, and he glanced between the gun and me. Then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face, and he raised his other hand and pointed at me.
“Two for one,” he whispered.
He had to be delirious.
Then I felt the sticky wetness on my arm, dripping slowly down. Raising my hand up, I watched as blood pooled in the palm of my hand. For a moment, I thought it was Adam’s, until the pool grew larger.
Roger chuckled hoarsely then coughed. I used that opportunity to put what little strength I had left into ripping my arm from his hand. He gave little resistance, dropping his hand to the floor.
“You won’t shoot me. You don’t have the balls.”
“Try me. You destroyed my life. You tried taking the man I love away from me. So try me, I dare ya.”
He lunged for me. My brain clouded and my vision turned red. I don’t remember pulling the trigger, only the sound of the gun firing and feeling the recoil as it jolted up my arm.
Roger slumped back to the floor.
I sat frozen, arm outstretched and shaking, ice flooding through my veins.
I had just shot a man.
A man who, up until a short time ago, had been my father. A man who had taken great pleasure in my torture and belittlement. A man who was responsible for destroying my childhood, and possibly my future with Adam.
Adam.
His name echoed through my mind. I felt a hand gently brush against the small of my back, and stay there, breaking me from my fog and re-centering me.
I wheeled around on one knee. Adam’s eyes were open, but he looked tired and weak. I tossed the gun aside, and took the hand that had just been on my back. My heart jackhammered against my chest, and I fought the very real temptation to vomit.
“Adam.”
He groaned as if to answer. “Arm.” He curled his hand into a limp fist and pointed.
I glanced down at my left arm, and saw the blood soaking thorough my shirt at my bicep. Curiously, I didn’t feel any pain.
“Okay?”
I had to smile. Even in this fucked-up situation, his first thought was for my well-being instead of his own. “I’m fine, but we need to get you help.”
I gently placed the hand I had been holding onto his chest. I knew which pocket he kept his cell phone in, so I reached in and pulled it free. Taking a chance that it wasn’t locked, I swiped the screen, only to have it ask for a code. “Adam, I need the code.”
His eyes were getting noticeably heavier, and I felt a ball of panic take shape in my gut. “Adam, code!” I shouted, hoping that if not my words, then the tone of my voice would bring him back to me.
“Birthday.”
I entered his birthday, but nothing happened. I tried Ryan’s and Lucas’s, and still nothing. On a chance, I tried mine. The screen lit up. His wallpaper was us, from the costume shop, each in costume but with my mask off, his arm around my waist and my head against his shoulder. I remembered the picture being taken but had no idea he’d made it his wallpaper.
I jumped up and raced into the bathroom to grab towels as I dialed 9-1-1. The call was answered on the third ring. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
I tried to keep the panic out of my voice as I spoke, but I don’t know how successful I was. “There’s been a shooting.”
“At what location?”
I gave her my address, and was told help was on the way. I disconnected the call, grabbed the towels, and ran back to Adam.
“Ambulance is on the way. I’m calling Ryan. Stay with me, Adam. Just stay with me.”
His bloody hand reached out and touched my cheek, and he whispered, “Love you.”
I took his hand in mine and tears that I didn’t even know were there ran down my face. Joy and fear and panic warred with each other for dominance. He couldn’t mean it, not after all of this. Not after everything he knew about me. Not after finally meeting the horror of a father I grew up with. He had to be delirious.
Then I looked into his eyes, and I saw it. Despite the pain he was in, there was so much joy in them when he looked at me. Joy, hope, happiness…and love.
I leaned into him, careful not to move him, and brushed my lips to his. “I love you too.”
I scooted closer to him and stretched my legs, lifting his head and laying
it back onto my lap as a pillow. Then I called Ryan, and waited for the ambulance.
“HEY, I’VE GOT TO RUN in to work for a little bit,” Adam called from the bathroom. He had started working for the local veteran’s administration office as a housing liaison, searching for affordable housing for veterans. It was a stressful job for him, hearing all of their stories of hunger and homelessness. But it was also very rewarding. I always knew when he’d successfully helped one of his clients settle into their new home. The happiness would run off of him in waves.
I was in the bedroom unpacking another—in what seemed like a never-ending stack—moving box. We had only been in our new apartment two weeks, and with the schedules he and I maintained, unpacking was taking far longer than we had originally anticipated. “Are we still going to Ryan’s for dinner?”
“Yeah, seven o’clock.” Then I heard the shower turn on and I let my mind wander.
Renting our own apartment had been Adam’s idea. We had been living in Ryan’s condo since my father’s attack. He proposed the idea at Christmas. I was against it originally. I still had my studio apartment, even though I was rarely there. I still had issues of trust and stability that I was working through, and Adam, being the ever-understanding man that he was, had supported my need for a safe space. But, in our new home together, I was finding that wherever he was, was my safe space.
As long as he was by my side, I was home.
There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he loved me. He never gave me any indication that what we had wasn’t forever, and I wanted to trust him with everything I had. My own history battled that desire to go all in. Oddly, it was a conversation with Greg that turned it all around for me, and now there we were, new renters.
My relationship with Greg had changed dramatically since the attack. A bond had developed after our shared confessions, and for the first time in my life, I felt as if I truly had a friend. He accepted my insecurities in the same way that Adam did, without ridicule or attempting to change me. Instead, he allowed his actions to speak in ways he knew I would understand. Where Adam was quickly becoming the foundation for the new life I was building for myself, Greg was becoming the support.
The apartment itself was only a two-bedroom affair, much smaller than the condo that Adam shared with his brother and nephew. I was sure he would feel cramped, given its size, but he continuously reassured me that was not the case. To me, the apartment was massive, but I guess that stood to reason given my previous living conditions.
I had also finally decided to change my therapist. Dealing with my anxiety had been an ongoing process for years, but I never felt as if I was making any real progress. After talking it over with Adam, the decision was made and I began searching. Dr. Keebler was someone Adam knew through the Veteran’s Administration, who specialized in PTSD related issues. We met once a week to discuss whatever issues I desired. Much in the same way I had with Greg, I found that talking to a virtual stranger, albeit one that was being paid, far more helpful than attempting to talk to someone I knew. I was typically physically and emotionally exhausted for hours after each session, simply from dredging up all of the garbage of my past. But I was also feeling better about my life overall, which in itself was a major feat.
I had a home.
I had friends.
I had Adam.
As far as I was concerned, I didn’t need anything else.
A knock at the door broke me from my musings. In the weeks since we moved in, the only visitors we had were Greg, Ryan, and Lucas. I knew Greg was at work, but we hadn’t heard from the other two yet, so I assumed it was them. I was pulling precious decorative glass from the box, the kind that I was afraid would break if someone so much as sneezed on it.
“Adam, can you get that?” I called.
“Still in my towel, babe. Be out in a sec.”
Sighing heavily, I carefully set the glass pieces on the dresser and strode to the front door.
The man standing on the other side of the door was someone I didn’t recognize. I panicked for a brief moment, a side effect of Roger’s breakin. I was still coping with strangers. I gave him a quick once-over; my height, brown hair, thin, non-descript, really. Just…plain. “Can I help you?”
“Are you David?”
“Who might you be?”
“Is David here? I really need to speak to him.”
There was something eerily familiar about him. I recognized the way he spoke, the inflections on certain syllables, and the way he said my name. I looked closer, trying to figure out where I might know him from. It was right there, tantalizingly close, like a memory clouded in fog.
I scanned his features closer, taking him in from head to toe. When I got to his eyes, my breath caught in my throat and my heart skipped a beat.
I hadn’t seen eyes like his in years, blue with hints of green.
He had the same color eyes as my mother.
Time seemed to freeze. The last time I saw those eyes, they belonged to a scared little boy. A man stood in front of me, and I found it hard to reconcile the two.
“Dylan?” I whispered, fearing I was wrong.
His eyes softened, recognition blooming, and when he smiled, his entire being opened up to me. “Davie?”
I hadn’t heard that name in so very long. It couldn’t be real. Dylan couldn’t be standing in front of me. It had to be someone’s idea of a sick, twisted joke.
But the more I looked at him, the more I recognized.
The scar on his chin from when I had been chasing him through the house and he tripped and fell, smashing his face into the coffee table.
The small, almost elfin ears, another gift from my mother.
And, of course, the eyes.
I felt a pair of hands gently slide over my shoulders from behind and cross over my chest. Adam pulled me backward into his chest and wrapped himself around me, cocooning me in his warmth. “David, meet Dylan.”
My eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill. My entire body vibrated within Adam’s embrace. I was finding it virtually impossible to speak, the shock of it still entirely too new. I tilted my head to Adam. “You knew?”
I felt him nod against me.
“How?”
Adam favored me with a sly grin. “I still have…contacts from the Marines. They helped.” He left it at that, and so did I.
“Davie, he’s the one that contacted me. I don’t know how he did it, but he found me.”
Adam leaned into me and kissed me on the cheek. “Aren’t you going to invite your brother in?”
My…brother.
Adam released me, and I found myself moving, without any thought, toward Dylan. I said his name, still not believing it was real. At any moment, he could disappear, or I would wake up realizing it was all a dream.
I reached for him, and he met me halfway. The tears did come that time. Choking sobs racked my body as I pulled my brother into our first embrace in fifteen years. I buried my face into his neck and cradled him by the back of his head. He clutched me around the waist, and we swayed back and forth, crying for all of the time and memories lost. I could feel Adam behind me, his hand on the small of my back, adding his support both physical and emotional.
Dylan pulled away, but only slightly, keeping his arms wrapped around me. His eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks tearstained, but his smile beamed through. I used my thumbs to wipe away the tears, and he smiled even brighter.
“I don’t understand how any of this is happening,” I said.
He grinned at me then nodded in Adam’s direction.
Adam leaned in and kissed the back of my head and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
I leaned into him. “All I got you was a card,” I quipped.
Adam stepped around Dylan and me. “I’m taking off and letting you two get reacquainted. Dylan, you’re still joining David and me at my brother’s tonight, right?”
Surprised wasn’t even the right word. “How long has this been planned?�
�
“Adam showed up at my door last week, and explained who he was. He wanted to give me time to get used to the idea that I might be back in your life, but I didn’t need it. I called him at his office later that day, and we arranged this.”
Adam leaned in and kissed my lips, lingering long enough to whisper, “I love you,” and then he was gone.
“Your boyfriend’s pretty amazing, you know that, right?”
Panic set in. He’d used the word “boyfriend.” He knew about me and Adam. He had seen Adam kiss me. Was I going to lose him just as quickly as I got him back?
As if he sensed the question, Dylan took me by the shoulders and pulled me into another embrace. “It’s okay. I’m not Dad.”
I clung to him. Part of me was still afraid that none of it was real. This wasn’t my life. Nothing good ever came to me. But then I remembered Adam, and everything he had given to me. He had helped me rebuild by life, one step at a time, giving me all of the support and love that he possibly could. He had given me everything.
Including my brother.
I finally let him go and wiped my eyes. Dylan sniffled.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
I raced into the bathroom, grabbed a box of tissues because I knew we were going to need them, and went back to the living room. Dylan sat on one end of the couch, and I took a seat on the other end, setting the tissue box on the coffee table.
We sat quietly for a moment, each probably trying to find something to say to each other. How do you reconnect with someone after fifteen years?
Finally, I said, “I’m sorry for what happened to Roger.”
Anger colored his features. “He’s back in prison where he belongs again. Prison’s honestly too good for him after what he put us through. But I’m glad he’s out of our lives for good. I’m just sorry that he came after you. He almost killed you.”
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