Taking You Home

by Cooper Davis

  Chapter Ten

  When I wake the next morning, it’s to find Max snuggled up close against me. His eyes are still lined with dark green and one of the sequined combs is tangled in his hair. Guess it’s pretty evident that we didn’t bother with a damn thing once we finished making love, just kind of collapsed into bed, a heap of loving exhaustion.

  As I lie there watching him, I can’t resist stroking the soft curls that still frame his face. I swear it absolutely staggers me what a gorgeous woman he made last night.

  A year ago, it would have terrified me, him looking that way. Hell, probably even a few months ago. Maybe it should shake me up now, but it just doesn’t. Because the thing about my Maxine, that lovely little kitten who pounced on me last night?

  Well, she’s still my Maxwell, just a slightly different angle on my baby, that’s all.

  So I lie beside him now and run my fingertips down his backbone, drawing the sheet back so I can really see his sinewy shoulders and rippled arms. God, he’s one hell of a handsome man too. No wonder he drove me fucking mad in that cocktail dress.

  Ah, the dress. Sequins and shimmering blackness, clinging to the curvy figure of the one I love. Well, I know one thing about that damned dress, and the person who wore it last night.

  I will never forget the first time Maxine and I made love. Never. Not if I live another hundred years, not if I die tomorrow. Last night is just burned into my memory with all the power of forever.

  The way we danced for so long in the darkened living room after we got home, with only the moonlight whispering between us. How I lost myself in those feline eyes as we swayed together to the music. Not too close, a little apart, enough so that certain mysteries stayed clear between us. We both made sure of that.

  Lovers’ music she chose, a little androgynous. Dakota Staton. The kind of music you put on when you want to seduce someone against a very slow groove. I never realized Max knew about Dakota, but guess I was wrong on that count.

  And then how forbidden it all was, especially once I slipped my hand beneath the hem of her dress, lifting it gently upward, easing it higher until I caressed her smooth, nylon-clad thighs. Then discovered those lacy little garters, so damned unexpected—it was enough to bring this farm boy to his knees.

  I snapped those clasps open with loving care, one at a time, just holding my breath. And only then did I find Maxine’s sweetest secret of all, the silken panties right beneath.

  I spun her around then, so I held her in front of me, and she became a little faceless to me, even more like the woman I felt her to be, as I dipped my fingers low along the edge of that lace. For endless minutes I just stroked the curly patch of hair there, nothing more. I refused to explore too much, because nothing could break the spell she’d cast over me.

  Honestly? For a few moments I don’t think I ever wanted that illusion to end.

  We worked our way to the sofa, and she kept whispering girlish secrets in my ear, until she curled right up on my lap like some gorgeous Geisha girl. She was so delicate as I stroked her hips, the length of those smooth arms and legs; I thought I’d never breathe again.

  Then, almost like the sun inevitably fills the nighttime sky, things shifted back between us, became recognizable.

  But it definitely took a while. Not until all the layers kind of peeled away—the cocktail dress, the garters and panties—until finally I held Maxwell in my arms again. His whisper smooth legs and arms muscled tight around me as we made love, his voice still kind of breathy and soft in my ear.

  He was Max again, but…not quite.

  So now I lie here, blown away as I watch him sleep, a little amused by the pink painted fingernails poking out from beneath the pillow. And a lot aroused just remembering the night before. For a moment, I stroke his soft curls again, taking care to untangle the fragile sequined comb that’s still twisted there. God, when did I manage to fall even deeper in love with him?

  That’s when the phone rings on the nightstand, jarring me from my dreamy reverie. A quick glance at the clock tells me that it’s well past ten a.m. Undoubtedly Louisa is calling to see how Maxine’s big debut went. So I fumble for the receiver with a sleepy hello, only to be met with silence.

  Crackling, electric silence.

  Then Phillip Daniels’s hard voice finally says, “Hunter, may I speak to Max, please.” No greeting or pleasantry, just down to business. Hell, I guess I’m lucky he even remembers my name at all.

  “Yes, sir,” I answer with forced brightness. “Just one moment.” I begin nudging Maxwell, but he just kind of rolls away, so I cover the receiver with my palm.

  “Baby, wake up.” I poke him in the ribs, hard. Finally his drowsy eyes open, still lined in that lovely green and he just blinks at me in sleepy confusion.

  “Your father,” I whisper hoarsely, indicating the phone. For a moment he stares, then sits right up in bed, rubbing at his shadowed eyes as he takes the receiver.

  Shit, if Phillip could see his son right now, all curls and makeup and discarded silky underwear, he’d probably come after me with that shotgun after all.

  “Dad,” he says, and the voice has dropped right back down in timbre. “How are you?” No more Marilyn Monroe, which is a bummer for me, but probably good for his dad.

  I settle back between the sheets and roll onto my side to listen to their conversation. Max’s whole body tenses as he listens to whatever his father is saying on the other end.

  Seems Phillip is asking about our Christmas travel plans, because Max says, “Well, we’re coming in on the twenty-third. I told Mom when I ordered the tickets.”

  Long pause, dark eyebrows rising as he listens. Then, “But Hunter is coming with me. I told Mom that when we talked about the holidays.” Max’s mother had been quite welcoming, actually, encouraging him to bring me along.

  Another long silence follows on Max’s end. I watch as his eyes dart wildly, and then his hand begins to shake where it’s cradling the receiver against his ear. “I won’t come without him. You have to know that.”

  What the hell? I can’t believe what I’m hearing, what it seems my future father-in-law is trying to do, but then Max’s voice becomes eerily quiet as he says, “If Hunter’s not welcome in your house, then neither am I, Dad. That’s what you’re really saying. That you’re not going to let me set foot in there again.”

  And then his eyes suddenly well with tears. “No, whether you know it or not, that is what you’re saying…”

  Seems his father tries to cut in, but Max shuts him down, barely saying goodbye. He hangs up the phone, kind of staring at it for a long moment, as I touch him lightly on the back.

  “So what did he say?” I finally ask after a long silent moment.

  He shocks the hell out of me when he takes the phone and hurls it hard against the far wall of the bedroom with a pained little cry, something terrible like a wounded animal might make. I shake at the sound of it.

  I reach toward him, trying to hold him, but he’s out of the bed before I can even make physical contact. “Max, stop,” I urge, but he falls to the floor, just kind of collapsing in quiet tears there, grabbing at the broken pieces of the phone.

  “Fucking asshole,” he hisses through the tears.

  I’ve never seen him like this, not once in the four years that I’ve known him. He just kneels there on the floor, completely naked, trying to put the smashed receiver back together, his shoulders quaking with quiet sobs.

  I drop to the ground beside him, gingerly touching his arm. “Baby, what happened?”

  He looks at me, his face twisted into a horrible expression of agonized pain. And that image just rips at my heart—Max naked there on the floor, crying, the makeup running down his face.

  Especially when he says, “My father won’t have me in his house if you’re with me, that’s what he said. He’s disowning me, for being gay.”


  I try and shush him, touching him with incredible gentleness on the shoulder. “No, baby. You misunderstood. No, no.”

  “He said that if I bring you, I’m not welcome there.” Then he buries his face in his hands. “My father just disowned me…God, I can’t even believe it.”

  “He didn’t, Max. He didn’t…he just, just…”

  Just what? Won’t have his own son home if he brings his lover along for the trip? Yeah, well, that probably is pretty much being disowned, seeing as how I’m a permanent part of Maxwell’s life now.

  I’m all intent on reprisals, and for a moment I even think of flying out alone to Winchester for a big showdown with his father. But then there’s the shrill sound of the phone ringing again, and Max’s eyebrows lift with a hopefulness that nearly kills me, as he wipes at the dark streaks that line his cheeks. “Maybe it’s him,” he says, trying to make the smashed phone work so he can answer it. “Maybe it’s my dad calling back because he’s sorry.”

  But the receiver is beyond repair, so I sprint to the kitchen, and I see right away who it is on caller ID, as I snap up the receiver.

  “Is he okay?” Leah asks, breathless and upset, before I even say a word.

  “No, he’s not.”

  “I can’t believe my dad really did it. Mom just called me in tears. Please let me talk to him,” she begs, sounding as desperate as she should. “Please put him on.”

  “Not now, Leah,” I say, feeling incredibly protective.

  “Hunter, I’m on your side, you know that.”

  I lower my voice and whisper into the phone, “He’s too upset, Leah. Okay? Just give him a while.”

  “Please tell him that we’re here for him. Tell him it’s going to be okay.”

  I hang up the phone and move back to our bedroom. Max is just kind of kneeling there still, hugging himself, and when he stares up at me, his face is a total mess. The makeup has run terribly, and his eyes are swollen with tears.

  “I never thought he’d really turn his back on me,” he says, sounding remote. “Just didn’t.”

  I kneel beside him, as naked as he is, but not nearly so vulnerable. “Yeah, well, guess families are full of surprises.”

  “Not yours.”

  “No, because I don’t have one, baby.” I shrug. “If I did, they’d be fucked up too.”

  “Your aunt’s not fucked up,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “She loves me.”

  “Well, she’s just one. You have an army there, Maxwell,” I say, trying to get him to laugh, but he only stares into the space over my shoulder.

  “When I was seventeen, my dad found a Playgirl in my room. Under the bed. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Of course I didn’t, because he’s never told me, but he’s talking a little out of his mind, and I get that.

  “Know what he said when he found it?” he asks, and I just shake my head, feeling something strange choke at my throat. “He told me that it would kill him if I turned out to be one of those people. That’s what he said. Those people.”

  Now what can I even say to this? I have no clue, and good thing he just keeps talking. “I’m one of those people he prayed I’d never be, Hunter. Don’t you see what a disappointment I must be? I’m still the guy with the Playgirl…only it’s you. The living, breathing truth.”

  I try to pull him close within my arms, but he shoves at me, wrestling free. Apparently, he needs to move, to pace, and he’s on his feet again, roving the length of our bedroom in agitation.

  Until he reaches the pile of Maxine’s clothes in the chair, and he lifts one of the garters, clenching it within the palm of his hand.

  For a long moment, he stands like that, not saying anything, and it kind of scares me. I’m not even sure why, but the look on his face, the raw anger is unsettling.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to look into his eyes, as I rise to my feet.

  He shakes his head, but a dark expression shadows his face. “Hunter, I love you,” he says quietly. “You have no idea how much. Honestly, you don’t.”

  “Yeah, I do. Because I love you like that.”

  “Your acceptance means the world to me,” he whispers, gazing at me with tears shining in his eyes. “It makes me feel so loved.”

  I nod, wondering what’s really going on in that complex mind of his. Sometimes he just leaves me a few paces behind, and this is one of those times.

  “You know, Hunter, this problem with my father, him finding that Playgirl,” he says, dropping the garter onto the chair. “That wasn’t the only thing that happened when I was seventeen.”

  Oh, no. I think I know exactly what’s coming next, and my heart just clenches hard within my chest. “No?” I ask, encouraging him. “What else?”

  “My dad came home early from work one afternoon. When I thought I was alone in the house,” he explains, gazing up at me meaningfully. “He found me in one of Leah’s dresses, decked all the way out.”

  “Holy shit, baby.”

  His lip begins trembling, and I get that he’s not even with me. He’s back ten years earlier, staring down the barrel of his father’s steely scrutiny. “He told me that if he ever caught me cross dressing again, he’d kick me out of the house. And I don’t know,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I guess I said something stupid because I was so angry, so hurt, but then he shoved me. Hard. And I remember just kind of sprawling on the bed, and him looking at me with such…disgust. He was revolted by me.”

  “Oh, Maxwell,” I whisper, stepping close to him. “I’m sorry. Sorry he reacted that way.”

  “I ripped Leah’s dress when I fell, and I didn’t know what to do, so I threw it away,” he continues, gazing backward into his past. “For months, she kept mentioning it, looking for it, and every time she did it was like it opened up everything between my dad and me all over again.”

  “Sure, of course it did.” I don’t know exactly what he needs from me, maybe just to listen, so I keep encouraging him.

  “I graduated that May and started UCLA the very next month. I couldn’t get out of his house fast enough.”

  “What about your mom?” I’m not sure why, but something makes me ask about her.

  “After the big blow up with my dad, I went to Louisa’s. I slept on her parents’ sofa for almost a week, until finally my mom came to get me.”

  “So she knew?” I’m thinking of Louisa, but he assumes I mean his mother.

  “Yeah, she knew. Didn’t say a word when she showed up at the Carters’, just that my dad’s heart was breaking because I wouldn’t come home,” he explains quietly, glancing up at me. “Then in the car, she said she loved me, no matter what choices I made. That it was harder for my dad, but that he loved me, too.”

  “She was right.”

  “Maybe so, but it never felt like it. Felt like I lost him that day, because of being different.”

  It’s literally like a light goes off for me then, almost like I can see it flashing right over Maxwell’s head. And I get what this has all been about between us, ever since Winchester when he admitted he’d wanted men for such a long time—even the cross dressing last night and the clingy white T-shirt the week before. I get the whole damned thing.

  “Baby,” I breathe, stepping behind him. I place my palms on his bare shoulders and kiss the top of his head. “It was a test, last night. Wasn’t it?” I whisper fiercely, catching his reflection in the mirror across from us.

  At that precise moment, his gaze locks with mine, and I know I’m dead on right. “You had to know that I wouldn’t run. Wouldn’t turn away from you like your dad did.”

  He bows his head and his strong shoulders slump forward, but I won’t let him hide from me on this. I tug at his elbow, forcing him to turn within my arms, until he stands facing me. Then with incredible gentleness, I cup his face within my hands and tilt it upward, unt
il he’s looking me right in the eye.

  “I will never leave you, Maxwell,” I vow, my voice intent and thick. “I accept all the parts of you, even the crazy little pieces, okay?”

  “Maxine turned you on,” he admits, and he doesn’t sound too happy about that fact. “I saw what she did for you. Maybe you’re not even into me, maybe deep down, you’re still straight. Maybe you wish I were a woman,” he blurts, the words tumbling out in a painful rush of emotion. “Hunter, you went wild for Maxine.” He sounds jealous as hell, and I ignore the fact that he’s worked up about another version of himself. I know the feeling that’s haunting him; I remember how it felt from just last night.

  I stare at him, hard, because he’s got to get this, and say, “Because of how goddamned much I love you. Not because I need a woman, or need you to…to change. She made me hot because she’s a part of you!”

  I’m starting to feel vaguely angry, and I’m not sure why. But then I realize it’s because Phillip’s betrayal all those years ago nearly drove a wedge between the two of us right now.

  “But…but my father loved me, Hunter,” he stammers quietly. “He loved me, and he-he couldn’t, couldn’t stand that I’m this way. Seeing me in that dress.” His voice breaks, a piercing little sound, as he buries his head against my shoulder.

  “Yeah, and I thought you were beautiful last night, okay?” I murmur against the top of his head. “You turned me fucking on, all the way.”

  For a long time, we hold one another, with me petting his hair, stroking his back. And over and over, I say one thing. “Baby, I love you. All of you, and I’m never leaving.”

  That’s what I say, because right then, it seems like the only damn thing that matters.

  Hours later, he’s showered and carefully removed all the remnants of the makeup. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and he’s transformed back to his totally masculine self. His father’s timing just kills me, because I can’t help but think if he’d chosen any other morning, then his dad wouldn’t have gotten this over on him.

  But that’s not what happened. His father called him when he was still halfway in drag, still feeling a little delicate and vulnerable.