by Amy Lane
And loved.
“Yeah,” Jacob said, standing back so Taylor could get up and taking Taylor’s plate before Taylor could object. “I think you need butterscotch tonight.”
Taylor swallowed. It wasn’t an olive branch. It was a life raft made out of olive branches, with a mattress and a blanket and a minifridge full of butterscotch gelato.
“Yeah,” Taylor said, pushing himself to his feet and surreptitiously stretching out his game leg. “I think so too.”
Monocular Vision
BRANDON had never been so mortified at his own behavior.
Taylor stalked past him and out of the kitchen, and he struggled with six ways to say “I’m sorry, I was an ass,” and not a thing came out of his mouth.
They all heard Tino’s mom talking to Taylor in the dining room, and Brandon muttered, “Fuuuuu-ck” and thunked his head back against the doorframe, fully expecting to get called out by Nica’s family.
Of course Tino, being Tino, ignored the emotion and worked on the practical. “Channing, could you take the ice chest out?”
“Sure.” Channing pecked Tino on the cheek and hefted the bottle-stuffed ice chest like it was a shoebox. Brandon made way to let him out and took a deep, bitter breath before he followed.
Tino stopped him. “You remind me so much of him, you know.”
Brandon’s mouth swung open in shock. It was the only response he had.
“Both so confident,” Tino mused. “Arrogant too.” He smiled, the expression whole and unfettered, a contrast to the cynical grimace that had twisted Taylor’s lips, and made sure Brandon was looking at him. “Wounded.”
Brandon swallowed. Tino would know. Nica surely had told him how Brandon had come to live with them. There were worse stories, sure, but Brandon’s parents would never be comfortable with him.
“Nobody beat me,” he said, hating to feel pitied.
“Taylor can’t say the same.”
Brandon swallowed and wondered if shame could actually open a fissure in the earth to eat him in one gulp. “Awesome.” Self-loathing added power to the word.
“We didn’t know at first, but later, when he came out to Nica, came out to his family, we put some things together. He had this….” Tino laughed a little. “He had this power to him. Still does. But now it’s like he knows his flaws, and he’s comfortable with them. Doesn’t have anything to prove, you know?”
“I noticed,” Brandon said reluctantly. It had been one of the things that had rubbed him the rawest, actually—that self-possession. Like Taylor knew the score, would be totally capable in any situation. Yeah, sure, some of that was military, but some of it?
Some of it was just blatant chutzpah, and Brandon knew it.
“He just….” Oh, this sounded stupid. A child’s last refuge when they’d done something wrong. “He just doesn’t seem like he’ll fit in very well at Nica and Jakey’s, you know?”
“’Cause of the scars?” Tino asked, looking disappointed. “Brandon, that’s beneath you.”
“No!” He rubbed the back of his neck where he knew his flush would show the brightest. “You’re right, you know, the eye patch is dead sexy. But he’s…. I mean, if we were defending our home from zombie hordes, I’d want him on my side in a heartbeat. But finding Conroy’s woobie and making sure Melly ties her shoes?”
“Nica uses Velcro for a reason,” Tino said, completely serious.
Brandon had to laugh. “Yeah, I know. So, yeah, that’s asking the impossible. But you know what I mean.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t look particularly domestic yourself?”
Brandon cocked his head, not sure where that came from. “Uh, no?”
To his surprise, Tino burst into cackles of glee. “Oh my God. Oh… oh hell. Oh my great giddy aunt!” Still laughing, Tino strolled out the door, not pausing to explain or anything. “Oh damn! Wait until I tell Jacob—wait until I tell Channing. Oh, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. Jeeeeeebus.”
Brandon followed him out, genuinely puzzled, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any answers at the moment, and dammit, he was hungry.
HE missed what Dustin did to get banished to the living room, but it must have been pretty heinous, because Nica was usually a stickler for the kids eating as a family. He got to the patio just in time to see Jakey and Taylor disappear around the house, probably heading for the garage.
He didn’t see them again until it was time to leave. Tino and Channing were convincing Taylor to sleep in one of their guest rooms as they left, and Jakey was definitely a little the worse for wear.
“Really?” Nica said as she slid behind the wheel. “The first thing you do when I can’t have a beer is go and have six?”
Jacob belched. “Your friend, Taylor?” he said, eyes at half-mast as they pulled away. “The one we’re trusting with our children?”
“I know him, Jake,” Nica said dryly, belting in and starting the car.
“He’s a good kid. I’d forgotten that, you know? He came out and hurt your feelings, and I hated him. And you guys made up, and I was jealous. But we’re okay now.”
“You’re okay now?”
The three littler kids were almost asleep in the back of the minivan, and Brandon was sitting in the middle row with Dustin. Dustin, still taciturn and pouty after whatever he’d done, stared out the window, emanating a black cloud of nine-year-old mood-funk—but something told Brandon he was listening as hard as Brandon was.
“Better’n okay,” Jacob said, leaning his head back. “He’s a good guy. I mean, he was an obnoxious little shit, but he was a good friend to you at the same time. And he’s gonna help you and he’s grown up and it’s okay.”
“That’s wise, honey.” She patted his knee. “I’m glad the truth was in the bottom of a twelve-pack.”
“Six-pack,” Jacob informed her. “I’m a lightweight. And don’t forget the gelato.”
“Oh God. Butterscotch?”
Jacob belched again. “Yup.”
“Jacob Alexander Grayson, you had better tell me when it’s time for you to puke. I need some warning before I pull the car over.” With that she turned right onto Hazel, probably planning to cut through Sierra Gardens to get them back to Rocklin. Brandon recognized it as the route most conducive to screeching to a halt on the side of the road.
“‘When’?” Brandon asked, pitching his voice to carry.
“Butterscotch makes him puke every time.”
“Then why’d you eat it?” Because, hell, the last thing they needed was another human being at the mercy of bladder, bowel, or gag reflex. Four kids and a pregnant woman weren’t enough?
“’Cause I’m gonna have five babies.” Only a drunk could sound that smug. “And my wife’s gonna have her BFF back. And Brandon’s gonna build us an extension on the house. And we’re gonna get a dog!”
Suddenly all the kids were awake.
“A dog?”
“Daddy said we’ll get a dog!”
“Dad, really, can we get a dog?”
“I want a dog!”
“Doggy doggy doggy!”
“Enough!” Nica barked. “All of you, pretend to be asleep again! Jacob, I hope you have a plan—”
Jacob’s next belch had some heat in it. “Yup,” he said, sounding not so boozy anymore. “You’re going to pull over after this stoplight, and I’m going to throw up in the bushes. Brandon, get me some water.”
Nica swerved the minivan to the right almost before he stopped speaking. Brandon hopped out the side door just as Jacob made it to the pavement and got violently ill.
Brandon ran around to open the back end and came back with a towel and two bottles of water, then waited patiently until Jacob was done. He reached weakly for a bottle of water, and Brandon handed it over.
“You know, Jakey, as plans go, this one sort of sucks.”
“It’ll be better with a dog.” Jacob rinsed and spat. “I promise.”
“I hope so. T
hrowing up in the gutter is sort of a sucky start.”
“It comes with the butterscotch,” Jacob told him with dignity. “Not the beer.”
He rinsed off some more, and Brandon gave him a hand up. “You really okay with Taylor?” he asked, the question burning in his gut almost as badly as Jacob’s butterscotch.
The perceptive gaze that met Brandon’s was stone-cold sober. “With my wife and family. And you might want to think about cutting the guy some slack.”
Oh great. Well, they’d gotten drunk together, after all. “I need to apologize,” Brandon admitted.
“He doesn’t need it.” With a grunt and a sigh, Jacob opened the car door. “Just a little help if things get hairy.”
With four kids? “I’ll be there with a beard trimmer,” Brandon told him brightly.
Jacob chuckled, and they got in the car and went home.
THE next day was business as usual.
Brandon got up in the morning while Nica was managing the pre-school-bus chaos. He helped with shoes and lost backpacks and Jacob’s bleary-eyed hunt for Advil, and left after Jacob did. He had to leave after Jacob—his truck was trapped behind Jacob’s car. Jacob pulled out of the driveway. They had to repeat the car dance when Brandon got home from school.
Late.
He had night classes—and while night classes meant Jacob had to park on a side street until Brandon got home so they could make all their cars fit, it also meant he could maybe get done with college with a minimum of student debt while working for Sowers Construction.
His boss, Wally Sowers, was a perpetually sunburned fiftyish man who spoke maybe five words a day. Wally’s foreman, Garland MacFarland—and boy, did he catch shit for that name—did most of Wally’s talking for him.
Garland—married, fit, average as a pair of brown shoes, size nine—was probably one of the nicest men Brandon had ever met. He had two kids who had been in middle school when Brandon started working for Sowers four years ago, and Garland spent most of his time worrying about how to get them through college. Brandon’d had Tino look over his accounts to see if he could wring some money out of a stone, and Tino had given him some suggestions for investments. Garland’s kids were in high school now, looking at colleges, and he’d probably let Brandon leave at twelve every day, he was so grateful for Brandon’s help.
Brandon had asked Garland if they could bump the spare room up on the roster so it would be done by the end of summer vacation, and Garland had been happy to do it.
Today, in the on-site trailer on Sunrise Boulevard in Citrus Heights, they looked at plans—basic ones—so they could begin the work next week.
“Two stories, you think?” Garland asked, and Brandon grunted.
“They have to stay within the bid, Gar—this is their fifth kid.”
“God help us, yes. If the dimensions are what you said, we could probably add a room over the porch and one over the living room—so a whole upstairs level, to match your garage apartment. It’ll work. Let me run the plans by my architect and do the calculations—”
“It’s got to be solid, Gar. We can’t have kids crashing through the ceiling or anything.”
“They wouldn’t crash through the ceiling, Brandon. They’d fall through the floor.”
Brandon glared at Gar, and Gar looked back mildly. Brandon broke first, smirking, and conceded gracefully. “Yes, you know what you’re doing, and I basically swing the hammer,” he said, telling nothing but the truth.
“That’s ’cause you’re studying to make the big bucks later,” Garland assured him. “And you’re taking a team to do this.”
Brandon nodded. It was, in essence, a small job for Sowers Construction, and they were doing it at cost. Garland got the real jobs—Brandon could follow the plans and give the guys orders on smaller jobs, just like he’d followed orders when he’d started.
“I’m ready,” he said with a slight smile.
Garland frowned in return. “Brandon, I didn’t want to bring this up, but have you spoken to your parents lately?”
Brandon looked at him guardedly. “Whenever they call me.” He made his shrug overcasual. “You know.”
Garland did know. He and Brandon’s dad had been friends since college. Garland had, in fact, reached out to Brandon after Brandon had moved away from home. Garland’s father had complained bitterly about Brandon’s “decision” to be gay, but Garland hadn’t cared—and had been happy to act as Brandon’s boss and mentor as he worked for the company through school.
But they didn’t talk about Brandon’s parents. They hadn’t for two years.
Now Garland nodded. “I do know,” he said softly. “And you handled yourself well. But your dad’s… well, you know.”
“Stubborn? Closed-minded? Bigoted?”
“Old.”
That stopped Brandon’s rant right quick. “Is he doing okay?”
“Mm….” Garland’s shrug was way too neutral. “I don’t know. He’s put on a little weight in the last few years.”
“I’d noticed in the Christmas letters,” Brandon conceded. His mom blew off the once-a-month phone call, but Jacob got the Christmas letters—usually about Brandon’s brothers and their families and places his mom and dad had visited in the year.
Not a thing about Brandon—not in two years.
“Well, I went to visit, and he was… he got flushed getting up and walking around the house, Brandon. And your mom is worried sick, and he won’t go to the doctor.”
“And he’ll listen to me?” Brandon rubbed his stomach. “Doubtful. It’s doubtful he’ll listen to me.”
Garland sighed. “Yeah, but at this point you’re the only family member who hasn’t tried.”
“Really? I really have to—?” Brandon made vague gestures in the air.
“Be the bigger man and take the first step and tell your parents you love them?”
“They don’t want to hear it,” Brandon said, scowling. “They want to hear I’m engaged to a nice girl and we’re going to have babies.”
“Well, it would help if you were dating anybody,” Garland told him, shaking his head in frustration. “I mean, I get dedicating yourself to school, Brandon, but I was sort of hoping you’d be… you know, more out with your out. It would shake these guys up to watch you make out with your über-hot boyfriend, you know?”
Unbidden, the image of Taylor Cochran floated in front of Brandon’s eyes. Tough as nails, battered and grim, with raw sexual energy emanating from his body like heat waves off pavement.
“I’ll keep looking for a guy to make that work for you,” Brandon said, winking. “So far nobody here is interested in grabbing my ass.”
Garland just looked at him, in loco parentis at its finest.
“I have high standards,” Brandon conceded after an uncomfortable, fidgety moment. “I watch, you know, Nica and Jakey, Tino and Channing, Mr. and Mrs. Robbins—it has to look like that, you know?”
“Not your own parents?” Garland asked quietly.
Well, Garland knew them. “I’m sure their friends think they’re perfectly nice people,” Brandon said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“A lot of us weren’t all that happy that they asked you to leave.” Garland bowed his head. Neither of them stated the obvious—Brandon had been living at Jacob and Nica’s for exactly two days when Garland had called to offer him a job.
“But they always have each other.” Brandon didn’t say love, because their relationship really wasn’t about that. But together? Yes. They were together.
“That they have. I’m not saying you have to fix the world, kid—just maybe call and say you were worried. If nothing else, they may actually remember that they raised you to be a good kid.”
Brandon posed. “They did. I am a good kid.”
“You’re a good kid getting paid for sitting on his ass. Go clean up and pick out your crew. You and five guys—two weeks. Maybe three. If you can keep the kids from being underfoot, that would be spectacular.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll do my best, but they’ve got this new… manny. Nica’s going to be working at the shop in the mornings instead of her home office. Jacob has a couch where she can rest. They’re leaving a friend of the family in charge of the kids. Drop-off, pickup, breakfast and lunch—”
“Not dinner?”
Brandon stared at him. “And Nica doesn’t cook? Are you kidding me?”
Garland held up his hands, obviously aware now of the terrible wrong he’d just perpetrated. “Of course. Silly me. So she’s getting help? Good. Thank God, in fact. She’s needed it.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Ugh. “It’s just this… this guy. I mean, they’ve got family history and shit, and everybody seems to think he deserves a chance. I mean, he’s a veteran, you know? And he seems to love Nica, and Jakey trusts him, and everybody loves him, but….” Brandon remembered the look Taylor Cochran had leveled at him the day before, the searing presence of the man, his acerbic tongue and unapologetic presence, and his rant stopped with his breath.
Garland was looking at him, waiting for him to finish the sentence. “But?”
“But….” Eye patch. Sardonic smile. Quick tongue. How quick would his tongue be? Would his tongue be quick along Brandon’s throat? Down his collarbone? Along his ribs? Would that quick tongue be extra quick beneath the waistband of Brandon’s jeans?
Brandon shivered. “Uh….”
Garland’s eyes-wide-open expression told Brandon everything he’d tried not to say had just been said, loud and clear. “So it’s like that, is it?”
Brandon hid his face in his hands. “He has an eye patch,” he mumbled. “And a really clear blue eye. With dark lashes. And blond hair. And… these stringy muscles and….” Oh God. “Oh hell!”
Garland’s laughter was even more mortifying than Brandon’s inadvertent confession. “And to think I was worried! Well, is he single? Could he be interested?”
“Yes, he’s single, yes, he’s gay, and no, he’s not interested because I was a complete and total asshole to him. Jacob felt compelled to go get drunk with him after dinner—and he ate butterscotch, which means he really wants the guy to fit in.”
