Love Can't Conquer

by Kim Fielding

  There was only one listing for Cox: Frank and Shirley, on Arapaho Drive. He didn’t know exactly where that was, but he remembered the section of town with the streets named for Indian tribes, and he figured he could find it. “Thanks,” he said after scribbling the address on a napkin. Soon he’d have a whole collection of napkin contacts.

  He didn’t go there right away. First he went to his old house, and when he saw what condition it was in, a mixture of emotions churned in his belly. He was surprised to discover that grief was among them.

  He drove to the cemetery next. It was not far from the center of town, a large flat space surrounded by a low fence that did nothing to keep teenagers out or spirits in. The last time he’d visited had been during the press of full summer, when cicadas buzzed in the elm trees and sprinklers ticked and whirred in the distance. He’d gone home afterward and eaten a silent dinner with his parents. That night he’d snuck out of the house and jumped from the bridge. But today the trees were leafless, the grass dry and brown beneath a light dusting of snow. Shivering in the bitter cold, his hands deep in his pockets and his chin tucked into his coat collar, he crossed to his brother’s grave.

  It looked exactly as he remembered. A modest headstone of polished granite read KEVIN P. MOORE, 1968-1982. But the stone next to it, that was new to him. It was larger and showier, and it bore two inscriptions. On the left, BARRETT LIONEL MOORE, and next to him, PATRICIA NICKERSON MOORE. They’d both died in 1998, but several months apart.

  Qay howled like a banshee. When that didn’t assuage his fury and anguish, he kicked the double headstone again and again until his recently injured foot screamed in pain, and then he collapsed to the frozen ground. He sat there until his ass felt like ice and the rest of him was so cold that he couldn’t stop shivering. But he didn’t cry.

  He was calm as he limped to the rental car.

  He drove around for ten minutes or so before finding the address on Arapaho Drive. The entire neighborhood looked drab and worn, although it might be a bit cheerier at night, when the Christmas decorations were lit. He parked in front of the Cox house, took several calming breaths, and walked to the door. Silently hoping the gods hadn’t abandoned him yet, he rang the bell.

  The lady who answered was tall, even though age had stooped her back somewhat, and her eyes—red-rimmed and puffy—had irises the same clear gray as Jeremy’s. She held a cigarette in one hand. “Mrs. Cox?” he asked.

  She worked her jaw as she stared at him. And then he thought something in her expression softened just a little bit. “You’re Keith Moore.”

  Not any Moore, he almost said, but she wouldn’t have gotten the joke. “Yes, ma’am. Is Jeremy here?”

  “No,” she said shortly.

  Fuck. “But he was?”

  She gave him a tight, grudging nod.

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve come a very long way, and I really need to see him. Please.”

  She flicked her ashes onto the porch. “I said I don’t know where he is.”

  “If he comes back, will you tell him I’m here, I’m looking for him?”

  “He won’t be coming back,” she said. A flash of regret might have showed, but he wasn’t sure.

  Oh, damn. Poor Jeremy. What had these people put him through this time? Qay couldn’t quite hold his tongue. “Jeremy Cox is easily the best man I have ever met. He knows everything about plants and animals and parks. He’s so strong. He’s understanding and forgiving. And he would give everything he owned if it would help someone—even a stranger. It’s important that you know that about your son.”

  He turned toward the street, but she grabbed his coat sleeve. “Wait.”

  Qay stopped and looked back at her. “Yeah?”

  “Tell Jeremy….” Her lip wobbled until she took a drag from her cigarette. “Tell him we love him, and it’s not just words. Tell him we hope he finds happiness.”

  “I will,” he answered quietly, and she let him go.

  As he got in the car, he knew exactly where he would find Jeremy.

  LAST TIME he’d walked to the bridge; now he had to think for a few moments about how to get there by car. When he turned the corner, the first thing he saw was a white sedan that, like the one he was driving, screamed rental. The next thing he saw was a big man in a navy blue parka, leaning against the railing in the center of the bridge with his face buried in his arms. A scarf covered his ears and the wind whistled under the bridge, masking the sound of Qay’s approaching footsteps.

  Qay stopped a few yards away. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself too close to the edge.

  “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Oregon anymore,” he said.

  Jeremy whirled around as soon as Qay started speaking, and then he just stood there, gaping. Well, Qay assumed he was gaping. All he could really see of Jeremy’s face was a pair of swollen red eyes.

  “Q-Qay?”

  Qay heaved a small sigh of relief. At the beginning of the stutter, he’d been sure Jeremy was going to call him Keith.

  “Yeah.”

  Jeremy surged forward like a force of nature and enveloped Qay in his big arms, immediately insulating Qay from the worst of the cold. “I was looking for you,” Jeremy said.

  “I’m not in that river.”

  “Not what I meant. God, Qay, how…?”

  “Can we maybe have this discussion somewhere else? Somewhere warmer?” And without the painful memories.

  “Of course.”

  They drove back to the highway, each in his own rental car. Jeremy followed Qay as if to make sure he’d be able to give chase if Qay suddenly took off. But Qay had no intention of doing that. They pulled into the motel lot and parked side by side.

  Only when they were in Jeremy’s dingy little room did Qay notice the big, fluffy sock on Jeremy’s left hand. It was green with red trim, and the sight of it made Qay laugh until he began to sob. Jeremy held him until he could talk again.

  “I wonder which of us looks more like hell ran us over with a dump truck,” Jeremy said as they unpeeled their outerwear.

  “Me. Greyhounds. Ten straight hours of driving. Finding out my parents are dead. Bawling my eyes out.”

  Jeremy reached over to chuck his chin. “Me. Frantic about you. Center seat in the airplane. Continued rejection by my parents. Bawling my eyes out.”

  “You look damn good to me,” Qay said honestly.

  So Jeremy kissed him. And holy Lord, it was a good kiss, sweet and salty and passionate. Enough to make Qay’s cock hard and his knees weak.

  They pulled apart eventually and, panting, looked at each other. “How are you feeling about your parents?” Jeremy asked.

  “Mixed. I kicked the fuck out of their gravestone. I’m going to need time to process. But not now. It’s not what’s most important.” He moved forward a bit, and Jeremy bent his head so they could lean their brows together. “How about you?”

  “Also mixed. Mostly fuck ’em with a side of angst.”

  “I went to their house looking for you. Your mom had a message for you.”

  Jeremy snorted. “I bet.”

  “Not like that. She said they love you—not just words—and they hope you’re happy.”

  “Huh,” Jeremy said, considering that. “I need processing time too. I think my dad’s dying. But you’re right—that’s for later. You’re here now.”

  “I’m here for a good long time—well, not in Bailey Springs for a long time. I mean with you. If you want me.”

  Jeremy made a tiny choked sound and squeezed his eyes shut. “More than anything in the world.”

  The second kiss was longer and deeper. Qay grabbed Jeremy’s ass and held on for dear life, and Jeremy threaded the fingers of his good hand through Qay’s hair, tugging just enough to feel like an anchor.

  “Wh-what made you decide to come to me?” Jeremy asked after the kiss ended. His lips were delectable—chapped from the cold, slightly swollen, and as delicious
as candy.

  “Epiphanies and good advice from a stranger. The thing is, I don’t want Captain Caffeine. I need to be my own savior.”

  Jeremy sighed against him. “No plucking you from the hands of the evil arch villain?”

  “You’re the one who got himself kidnapped, not me,” Qay replied, turning his head to nuzzle Jeremy’s jawline.

  “Ryan Davis was hardly an arch villain. He was just a moron without a conscience.”

  “Okay. But here’s where I do need you.” Qay shifted a bit to look seriously into Jeremy’s eyes. “When I tie myself to the railroad tracks, help me pick those knots free.”

  “Railroad. Tracks. I see what you’ve done there.” Jeremy rubbed the inside of Qay’s left elbow, where his long-sleeved shirt hid the old scars. “And I can do that. You need to know that I love you exactly as you are. Even if you fuck up. Because damn, we all do that.”

  Qay pulled him close again and rested his head on Jeremy’s shoulder. “So we’re going to lay Captain Caffeine to rest for good, right?”

  “Sure. He’s ready for a nice retirement.”

  “But that little kid, the one everyone picked on? He can come out anytime. He has a good friend now.”

  The third kiss was the charm. It magically got them out of their clothes and into the bed, and although Qay would have sworn he had no energy left at all, that kiss jump-started him— jump-started everything—and he and Jeremy spent the rest of the day making love. And when they fell asleep in each other’s arms, it didn’t matter whether they were in a Marriott by the river or in a shabby motel with views of the sheep ranch across the highway. It didn’t matter if they were in Portland, Oregon, or Bailey Springs, Kansas. They were home.

  Epilogue

  QAY STOOD fidgeting in the middle of the living room, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Despite the late summer heat, he wore a long-sleeved shirt in a shade of green that brought out the color of his eyes. His new jeans were more formfitting than he usually wore. They showed off his long, lean legs.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” Jeremy asked. “I’m heading downtown anyway. Meeting with the prosecutor.” The DA was considering a plea deal for Davis’s minions and, out of courtesy, wanted to discuss it with Jeremy first.

  “No, thanks. The bus ride will take longer. I need the time to get my courage up.”

  “You look great.” Jeremy threw in a leer for good measure.

  “I feel like a kindergartner on the first day of school. Do you think we’ll get cookies at snack time?”

  “Sure. The frosted animal ones with sprinkles.” Jeremy set his coffee mug on the counter and moved closer to Qay. Although Qay shifted from foot to foot, his color was good and his breathing even. This was simple nervousness, which was understandable when starting at a university. Still, a little boost wouldn’t hurt. “Do you want a stabilization hug?”

  Qay’s smile was a beautiful thing, bringing light to his eyes and making him look years younger. “I’ll take a hug from you anytime.”

  Jeremy embraced him around the backpack, inhaling the scent that had become his own addiction these past nine months: coffee, sugar, the almond soap and woodsy shampoo they both liked, and Qay himself. Intoxicating. Then Jeremy nuzzled Qay’s ear. “You blew them away with your scores on all those tests they made you take. You’re going to do fine.”

  When they returned from Kansas in December, Qay had e-mailed Professor Reynolds to apologize for skipping out on class. He hadn’t expected Reynolds to do anything about it, but he’d enjoyed the course and wanted the prof to know that. Reynolds had ended up offering to let Qay make up the work he’d missed. And then not only did he tell Qay he’d earned an A, but he also followed through with his pals at Portland State. Qay got a scholarship and a waiver for several classes, which meant with full-time enrollment and summer courses, he could earn his BA within two more years.

  Qay melted slightly against Jeremy. “What if I just stay home and have sex with you instead?”

  “Tempting, but I have a meeting, remember? We can wait until tonight and make it first-day-of-school celebratory sex.”

  Jeremy felt Qay’s sigh. “All right. I guess I can be a grown-up about this.”

  “How about if I promise you a blowjob so spectacular you forget your own name? Will that give you incentive to get your ass to school?”

  “No. That’ll make me miserably hard in these damn jeans. Thanks, Jer.” Qay leaned into the embrace a moment longer before pulling away. “Okay. Give me a hike.”

  This had been Qay’s psychiatrist’s idea. On mornings that threatened to be stressful, Jeremy reminded him of one of their excursions. Whenever Qay felt panic creeping up on him, he took a few calming breaths and thought about that memory. The exercise didn’t dispel all his anxiety, but it helped a lot.

  “Hmm,” Jeremy said. “How about Cascade Head? Remember that view from the top?”

  Qay grinned. “And the rain that started falling when we were only halfway back?”

  “It was the Oregon coast in May. What do you expect?”

  “That’s a good one. Thanks.” But he didn’t move from his spot in the center of the room, and he had resumed fidgeting.

  Jeremy gave him time to get the words out. While he waited, Jeremy looked at the many photos on the walls. Magazine pictures, yes, but also snapshots Qay had taken when he visited Jeremy’s parks, or while they were on hikes, or sometimes just when they were sitting at P-Town. Jeremy liked them all, but his favorites were the selfies of the two of them together. Qay said someday when he had an income too, he’d buy some real art to hang in their condo, but Jeremy rather hoped he’d change his mind. The friendly, bright chaos of Qay’s collection was better. Jeremy also liked the oversized shelves he’d installed and that Qay immediately began to fill with books and tchotchkes. All the clutter made their place truly feel like home.

  Qay shifted his backpack slightly. “Will you still be downtown at lunch?”

  “I can be,” Jeremy replied happily. “Perry’s? And then you’ll hit the gym with me tonight?”

  “I’m never going to be buff like you.”

  “Good. Two of me wouldn’t fit on the bed.”

  “Good point.”

  Qay reached out and yanked Jeremy close by a belt loop. “I have to cross a bridge to get to school today, you know?”

  “Either that or swim.”

  “So I’m crossing that bridge when I come to it. And… that time I jumped, I thought that was the only freedom I’d ever have.” He looked down for a moment, then back up, a hint of a smile curving his lips. “I was so wrong.”

  Jeremy nodded. He’d always thought he could only be strong if he ran around rescuing others. He’d been wrong about that. “Love and learn,” he said.

  Qay’s laughter was even better than his smile. Then he cradled Jeremy’s cheeks in his hands. “You can’t conquer everything with love. But it sure makes a hell of an ally.” He pressed his lips to Jeremy’s, softly at first, then with more urgency, and Jeremy moaned as Qay’s tongue swept his mouth. For good measure, Qay moved a hand to Jeremy’s crotch and squeezed gently. “Good,” Qay said with a chuckle when he broke the kiss. “Now you can be uncomfortable all day too.”

  He walked to the door confidently, not looking back. And Jeremy smiled as he watched him go.

  More from Kim Fielding

  Carter Evans is founder and editor-in-chief of Astounding!—a formerly popular spec fiction magazine currently in its death throes. Not only can he do nothing to save it, but stuck in a rathole apartment with few interpersonal connections, he can’t seem to do much to rescue his future either. And certainly all the booze isn’t helping. He snaps when he receives yet another terrible story submission from the mysterious writer J. Harper—and in a drunken haze, Carter sends Harper a rejection letter he soon regrets.

  J. Harper turns out to be John Harper, a sweet man who resembles a ’50s movie star and claims to be an extraterrestrial. Despite John’s
delusions, Carter’s apology quickly turns into something more as the two lonely men find a powerful connection. Inexplicably drawn to John, Carter invites him along on a road trip. But as they travel, Carter is in for some big surprises, some major heartbreak… and just maybe the promise of a good future after all.

  A drifter since his teens, Jimmy Dorsett has no home and no hope. What he does have is a duffel bag, a lot of stories, and a junker car. Then one cold desert night he picks up a hitchhiker and ends up with something more: a letter from a dying man to the son he hasn’t seen in years.

  On a quest to deliver the letter, Jimmy travels to Rattlesnake, a small town nestled in the foothills of the California Sierras. The centerpiece of the town is the Rattlesnake Inn, where the bartender is handsome former cowboy Shane Little. Sparks fly, and when Jimmy’s car gives up the ghost, Shane gets him a job as handyman at the inn.

  Both within the community of Rattlesnake and in Shane’s arms, Jimmy finds an unaccustomed peace. But it can’t be a lasting thing. The open road continues to call, and surely Shane—a strong, proud man with a painful past and a difficult present—deserves better than a lying vagabond who can’t stay put for long.

  In the mid-1950s, Jack Dayton flees his working-class prospects in Omaha and heads to Hollywood, convinced he’ll be the next James Dean. But sleazy casting couches don’t earn him stardom, and despair leads to a series of poor decisions that ultimately find him at a cheap motel off Route 66, lifeless at the bottom of the pool.

  Sixty years later, Tag Manning, feeling hopeless and empty, flees his most recent relationship mistake and takes to the open road. On a roundabout route to Las Vegas, he pulls over to rest at an isolated spot on Route 66. There’s no longer a motel or pool, but when Tag resumes his journey to Vegas, he finds he’s transporting a hitchhiking ghost. Jack and Tag come to find much-needed friends in each other, but one man is a phantom and the other is strangely cursed. Time is running out for each of them, and they must face the fact that a future together may not only be a gamble... it may not be in the cards.