A Fool and His Manny

by Amy Lane

  Quinlan shrugged, trying to keep his smile small and modest. “’Cause you’d be insufferable,” he said primly.

  Dustin’s low chuckle told him he wasn’t wrong about that. “Yup. That’s my boyfriend. Writes me songs. I’m going to brag to the guys next Monday. You have no idea. Tell my dad—he’ll be so impressed.”

  Jacob would be too. Jacob and Nica had made their way to Dodgy’s—as had Channing and Tino over the years, and Cooper too. Seeing Sammy play—and, yes, Quinlan too—had become a family thing. It had driven the owner crazy—Dodgy’s wasn’t exactly a premium spot of sophistication, and Sammy told them guilelessly that he’d had to hire extra bouncers for the nights Sammy played.

  But something about the place—maybe it was Sammy himself—had become magic. Over the last seven years, it had risen from the kind of place where you expected knife fights in the parking lot to an eclectic center for music and dancing. Same neighborhood—even the same customers. It was just everybody brought their best behavior on the nights Sammy and his guys played.

  Quinlan had to admit, he was proud to be a part—even a supporting part—of all that.

  Dustin bumped Quinlan with his hip when the silence between them stretched too long. “What’re you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Dustin grunted. “Hey—I’m sorry. I’m the one who was doing what I shouldn’t be.”

  “Yeah—but I’m the one who’s been a basket case the last three weeks. You… you’ve been so good about it. I’m sorry I made you crazy enough to backslide.”

  “Mm….” Dustin pulled him closer, and a weight seemed to slip off his broad shoulders. “You want to maybe tell me about it?” he asked gently. “You’re going to be giving up your name and a shit-ton of money. What’s that mean to you?”

  “Not the name itself—you know that, right? Just the rights to it.”

  Dustin grunted. Quinlan didn’t have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. “And you know what I mean. Tell me.”

  “You know what’s weird?” Quinlan asked, going about the question sideways.

  “Belinda’s boobs? I mean, seriously. Once she told my parents she was pregnant, they almost got big enough to surf on.”

  Quinlan stared at him, amused and horrified. “You’re going to hell for that.”

  Dustin grinned unrepentantly. “Nope. ’Cause you love me. Nobody you love can be bad enough to go to hell. Now tell me what you think is weird.”

  Quinlan was still laughing when he spoke, which meant Dustin must be magic just like Sammy, because he didn’t think he’d ever laugh about it. “I… I don’t remember much about being a kid. That’s what’s weird. And it took me a while to figure out why. I mean, my friends all had kid stories—Sammy had a zillion of them. About things they said or things they did or things they thought. But all I remember is school. A sort of haze of playing at the park. Going to birthday parties for kids I didn’t know. Being in the back of a town car or the nanny’s minivan. But no… Quinlan stories about being a kid.”

  Dustin’s arm tightened around his shoulders. “What’d you figure? About why?”

  “Because nobody talked to me. I mean… talked to me. I took a college class in language and brain function—and memory is anchored to things. Bright pictures, smells, words. emotions. Nobody talked to me. All I remembered was music—classical—on the car stereo or in the house. It was the only language I had.”

  “Oh, baby….”

  Quinlan shook his head, not wanting sympathy. Like Dustin said that amazing, embarrassing day at Channing and Tino’s—not the time to fall apart.

  “So before I hauled you out of the bathroom at Brandon and Taylor’s wedding, I heard you and Belinda talking. And you were… I don’t know. Strategizing how to take care of the kids. And threatening each other with bodily harm. But you were communicating. And then I hauled you out of the bathroom—”

  “Why’d you do that?” Dustin asked softly. “I… I’ve seen you get hard-core since then, but I could never figure out what triggered you then.”

  Quinlan shrugged. “Sammy’s family. I… I don’t know if you know this, but Sammy collapsed in my arms—unconscious, bleeding—before he came home sick from that tour. And… and he was my friend. We’d shared a room. I’d heard him talk to his family, to his boyfriend—even to you guys a couple of times, although I couldn’t have placed names and faces. It… it was like you were mine too. Sammy was my friend, and I got to protect him—even just for a little bit, and you were his family, and… it just made sense.”

  Dustin’s breath feathered across his cheek. “Only because you’re you.”

  “But anyway, I dragged you to your parents, and I expected your mom to yell and your father to blow it off and… and your mother got upset, yes—but she was more disappointed than anything. And your father….” He bit his lip. This still touched him. “Your father’s punishment—wasn’t humiliating. Wasn’t cruel. Just made you think about what your priorities should be. And I just… I didn’t know anything about kids.”

  “We could tell,” Dustin said softly.

  “Yeah—didn’t hide it. But I wanted… I wanted someone to talk to me like that. I wanted to hear grown-ups talk to their children like that. It… I didn’t count on it lasting for seven years. I just… I’d crushed on Sammy so hard, but by the end, most of it was… just listening to the family. I wanted to be closer to it. Because in my house I was… a function. Not even a pet—I mean, our cats get way more attention. Mom stopped by because it was a special occasion. Dad was at dinner once a week, and he usually asked me why I wasn’t in sports or why the B on the report card. I got dragged to political functions and sent to the nursery to play with strangers’ children. But… your family talked to me more in a day than I remember being talked to in a year—”

  “But baby, Belinda and I were awful to you!”

  “You were kids,” Quinlan said, remembering. “You were kids, and I was taking the place of someone you loved, and it wasn’t fair. But you… you listened when we talked that one day—and then… then you asked me to stay for dinner….”

  His voice broke. He wasn’t proud of that. His voice broke.

  Dustin turned to him and held him, just held him, wrapping his arms securely around Quinlan’s shoulders, pushing his face against his neck. Quinlan shivered there in his embrace until he could find his voice again.

  “I never expected to see them again,” he whispered. “I… I didn’t want to. Why would I want to? But now I’m going to see my mother again, and I just want to ask her, why? Why wasn’t I good enough to talk to? She couldn’t even… talk to me.”

  “Because they were stupid,” Dustin whispered back. “They were stupid. She was stupid—and as God is my witness, I’ll never call my sister stupid again after this. Stupid is having a kid and not treating him like a gift. As many kinds of birth control didn’t work for my mom and dad, every one of us was treated like we were the best, most awesome surprise ever. That’s the only reason you should have a kid. Not ’cause you’re supposed to. Not ’cause someone tells you it’s right. But because you know that, no matter how rotten that kid can be, no matter how inconvenient the timing, that kid is still going to be one of the best things that ever happened to you.”

  “You were one of the best things to happen to me,” Quinlan told him. “And I’m afraid that if I walk in that room and see a little… mini-Quin sitting on my mother’s lap, that I’ll… my whole world will go back to… to silence.”

  He could almost hear it whooshing in his ears, like the ocean, even while Dusty was consuming him in an embrace and humming “No… no no no… not gonna happen…” into the hollow of his neck.

  “Just….” Quinlan shuddered again, held tighter. “Just promise me this won’t go away.”

  Dustin took his mouth then, kissed him feverishly, walked him into the once-solitary citadel that was now their home.

  He closed the door with his foot, keeping their kittens safe and
inside. After that, every move, every step, every frenzied touch of flesh to flesh was Dustin, mauling Quinlan into feeling safe again.

  They didn’t come together sweetly—Dustin took him, possessed him, made absolutely sure he was begging to be taken.

  The climax of their lovemaking swept them both hard, simultaneously, and when it was over, they were both left, like storm wreckage, cast ashore in what had once been the barren stretch of Quinlan’s bed.

  Barren no more.

  They were lying there, panting, when Dustin proved he would never let Quinlan’s world be silent again.

  “Hey, Q.”

  “Again?” Quinlan whimpered. He was highly satisfied—and the teensiest bit sore.

  “No. Was just wondering—do you like teaching college now that you’ve done it for a bit?”

  Perhaps, if hadn’t just been so emotionally naked, he would have put a layer of nicety over his answer. “It’s okay. I still like little kids better. They’re fun. And they’re not always trying to get laid.”

  Dustin’s chortle—that sound would never get old. “That’s my job, Q. I hear you. No. I was wondering—do you have plans for all that money you’re going to get?”

  Quinlan shrugged. “I don’t know—live simply—”

  “Want for nothing. Yeah. It’s very wise and all, but Q?”

  “Yeah?”

  Dustin rolled over and covered Quinlan’s shoulder with his chest, with the express purpose of nuzzling his cheek. “Dream bigger.”

  “Like what?”

  “Killing me. I know what you want. I know what would make you happy. I know exactly what degree Quinlan Alexander Gregory should get so he could have the job that would feed his soul. I just need you to figure it out.”

  Quinlan buried his face in the sheets and groaned. “I don’t even know what my last name is going to be if I ditch this one!”

  “I know that too,” Dustin said, and he was getting surly. “But now you’re just pissing me off. Go to bed, baby. Get some sleep. You still have kids to get up in the morning and kids to pick up early from school. I still have a half day to work before I come home and clean up. By the way—have you noticed this is my home? I’ve noticed this is my home. It’s my home because you live here. Have you ever thought about living somewhere else not directly above my parents’ house? So I could live there too and it could be our home?”

  Quinlan turned his head and took Dustin’s mouth this time, because he was pretty sure he knew the answer to the last-name question, and if maybe it wasn’t way late and they hadn’t both stressed each other out, Dustin would find a better way to ask him.

  “Yeah,” he whispered when they both backed away from the kiss before it got urgent. “I think I’d love to find someplace to live that’s not above your parents’ house. Maybe we could have a playroom, so I could watch your sister’s baby, and some extra bedrooms in case we adopt, and….”

  Just dreaming about it made him sleepy.

  “God, you’re dumb,” Dustin grumbled, sleepy too. With a yawn and a stretch, he bent down and pulled the sheets and blankets over their shoulders. “I love you. You’re cute. But—”

  “Sh…,” Quinlan told him. “I’ll still be dumb in the morning.”

  “Maybe you’ll learn by then.”

  Quinlan kissed him again and closed his eyes and thought that no, it was only Dusty who got older and wiser overnight. Quinlan seemed designed to need a little more time than that.

  ON a whim, Dustin decided to park as far away from Mr. Wainscott’s office as possible. That was the only reason Quinlan could possibly conceive of for the eight-block trek across the Capitol Mall from the parking structure on L Street.

  “Seriously?” Quinlan panted, struggling to keep up. “There wasn’t anything closer?”

  Dustin slowed down and held out his hand. They were crossing 22nd and in the rainbow district—Quinlan clasped it without pause and caught up to him. “There was,” he said mildly, not even out of breath. God. There was no justice. “I just wanted to walk through the rose garden on the way back.”

  “Wait, are they still in bloom?” Quinlan couldn’t remember—roses often stayed in bloom late in Sacramento because the cold didn’t usually crash down until December.

  “We’ll see on the way back, right?”

  “I still don’t see why your mom wanted to come,” Quinlan muttered. Jacob and Nica had both showed up to deal with kids, shooing Quinlan up to his apartment to change as they’d rushed in. Dustin had been in the shower already, the kittens yowling at the shower curtain, angry at the terrible water monster for hiding their favorite hoomin.

  They’d changed places with a quick kiss in the middle, and by the time Quinlan emerged, Dustin had dressed and laid Quinlan’s suit out on the bed.

  Or a suit that was supposed to be Quinlan’s out on the bed.

  “Where in the hell—”

  “Channing sent them over,” Dustin said, looking very spiffy in a light gray wool number with a dark blue tie. Quinlan’s was navy pinstripe, burgundy tie. “Said something about how the shit we wore to Elena’s wedding might not fit anymore.”

  “But… but that was only three years ago! That suit was perfectly—”

  “Not made by Channing’s tailor,” Dustin breathed, giving an appreciative shimmy. “This shit’s like being felt up by God, Q. You gotta put that thing on.”

  Quinlan eyed him darkly, thinking about anybody feeling Dusty up besides Quinlan. “We got new clothes why? And wait—where did he get our measurements?”

  “I may or may not have sent Channing your favorite pair of jeans with marks where they were too loose. And a picture of you asleep with a ruler across your shoulders.”

  Quinlan’s mouth flailed, along with his hands, his brain, his tongue—pretty much all of him. While he was trying to find words or a course of action, or even an emotion to pin down, Dustin helped him into his boxers and then into the rest of the suit.

  By the time Quinlan decided he was indignant—yes, indignant—at being photographed without his knowledge, Dusty was fixing his tie.

  “Now go comb your hair again—don’t forget product,” he said judiciously, and Quinlan gaped at him.

  “You just left yours to dry!” It looked artfully tousled.

  “Because that’s my look. This is not your look! Now go! I drugged the kittens with catnip—they spent your shower tear-assing around the house, so they should be sleeping it off right now. This could be our only window to get out of the house unhairy.”

  Quinlan should have wondered where they were.

  That was the point where he just stopped second-guessing and started letting Dustin do all the decision-making. If he couldn’t even remember that there were hairy things with claws and teeth waiting to destroy his suit, he should just peace out of the game for a bit and concentrate on trying not to freak out.

  So now, as he scrambled to catch up with Dustin as he went striding toward the law offices on P Street, he had to concede he not only had no idea where they were going—but he had no idea why anybody else would want to meet him there.

  Dusty started to laugh softly.

  “What?” Quinlan asked, hot and sweaty but not letting go of his hand.

  “You think it’s just my mom and dad? Seriously?”

  “Well, Channing and Tino—Mr. Wainscott is their lawyer.”

  More low laughter. “Sure, baby. Six of us. I don’t know why they’d need more.”

  That was when Quinlan got a little tingle in his stomach—but it wasn’t until they reached the fourth floor of the blocky building on the corner that he realized a little tingle was just not going to cut it.

  “Oh Jesus,” Quinlan breathed as he caught sight of the entire family milling about in the once-spacious lobby of Wainscott and Associates, Partners in Family and Probate Law. “I thought they were kidding.”

  “You were in the same room with us when we planned it,” Dustin reminded him, amused.

  “But that wa
s kidding,” Quinlan told him, his voice pitching hysterically. “Quinlan—look at all those people in there!”

  Dustin took a deep, long-suffering breath—almost like he was expecting this. “Now wait a second. Turn around and look at me.”

  Quinlan did, reassured by Dustin’s level, hazel-eyed gaze as he had been by nothing else in his life.

  “We’re not going to make a scene—”

  “Dustin, there’s thirty people in there!”

  “Yes, well, okay. Fine. We’re going to make a scene. And afterward, I think Channing has a steak house reserved for us to all go eat. Elena and her husband came up from the Bay Area, and they brought baby Trina, and Taylor and Brandon both took off work. I mean, we got kids early out of school for this, right? So it’s a big deal.”

  Quinlan tried not to hyperventilate. “I know it’s a big deal. Oh my God, Dusty, why?”

  Dustin straightened his lapels with determination. “Because you’re a big deal, Quinlan Alexander.”

  “Gregory,” Quinlan muttered. “They really don’t make you give up your last name.”

  “But you’re going to anyway,” Dustin told him, anger snapping in his eyes. “Because there’s thirty or so people in there who want to share their last name with you—who want to call you family. Who love you.”

  “I’m the manny,” Quinlan moaned faintly, leaning his forehead on Dustin’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, you are. And you spent the last seven years standing on the outside of the picture, afraid that if you put yourself in the middle, you were going to disappear. Well, guess what? You’re in the middle anyway, and we’re not letting you go anywhere. So suck it up. Go in there like it’s Tino and Channing’s pool patio or my mother’s dinner table. Shake hands with my grandfather and let my grandmother kiss your cheek, and hold Elena’s baby because I know you’re fuckin’ dying to. And when those other people come in to tell you you’re… you’re nothing”—his voice cracked—“there’s going to be my entire goddamned family to tell them you’re everything, and they’re bullshit. And when you walk away from this, Quinlan Alexander Robbins-Lowell-Robbins-Grayson, you aren’t going to be the guy on the edge of the picture ever fucking again.”