Bonfires

by Amy Lane

Larx laughed some more, and his head hurt. “Yoshi, as much fun as this is—”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks for getting shot for me, asshole. Next time you get my job back, make sure you’re here to suffer with me.”

  “That’s a promise.”

  Yoshi hung up, and Larx closed his eyes against the headache and the floating. He’d get better—he knew he would. But nobody could argue that his world hadn’t changed in a big way. He just needed to wake up at some point and recognize that he’d changed with it.

  TWO MILDLY uncomfortable days later, Larx had kicked the fever and was back to trying to cook for everybody when they got home.

  Kirby called his dad in the kitchen and begged him to bring home takeout because Larx was going to poison them with vegetables, wine, and parmesan cheese. Aaron told his son to suck it up, Larx loved them all, and they should trust him.

  Larx chuckled evilly and added more cheap wine to the sauce. “Vegetables, young man, they make the digestive tract run.”

  “So does hamburger,” Kirby replied sourly.

  Christi cackled in the background. Kellan just kept putting plates on the table, his demeanor subdued. Larx hadn’t had a moment to talk to him, but something had happened that day that had pulled the boy into a dark gray funk.

  “Here,” Kirby said, handing Larx the phone. “Stop trying to get minors drunk and talk to my dad.”

  “The alcohol cooks off!” Larx said, offended, before talking into the phone. “Hello, are you afraid I’m poisoning us with vegetables too?”

  “Since your daughters both lived this long, I’m going to say no. You shouldn’t be out of bed. I told you I’d bring takeout.”

  Larx blew a raspberry. “I was bored. Delilah kept patting my cheek to make sure I wasn’t dead.”

  “Whose opinion matters more? Mine or the cat’s?”

  “I’ve known her longer. Without her, the field mice would have taken over years ago.”

  “Then what are those other deadbeats for? Are you raising them to eat?”

  Larx laughed, but Aaron sounded strained. “Christi, could you take over?” he called and wandered into the living room. Truth was, he’d been on his feet cleaning the house and cooking, and yes, he’d run a fever for two days, and he wasn’t a kid anymore. Kids could just pop up like nothing had happened. Grown-ups usually needed a day of sleep to recover from being sick. Fucking kids—they had no idea.

  With a grunt, he settled down into the recliner.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow what?”

  “Caroline used to do that too. It’s uncanny.”

  Larx figured he’d get used to the comparisons with the late Caroline—she was Aaron’s only other long-term relationship. But right now it felt a little like a slap in the nads.

  “Ouch. Is there something I should know, Deputy? I was making plans for fresh eggs. Do I need to change that?”

  Aaron’s sigh gusted over the earpiece. “No. But you’d better make plans to pour hot water into their feed, or no eggs for us.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Whitney’s lawyer cut a deal. Manslaughter and assault, down from murder in the first and attempted murder. She’ll get ten years, probably parole in five. She’s already got her attorney looking for a book deal, and her kid’s going to live with the grandparents in another country. It’s just….”

  Larx thought of Isaiah, who would be in physical therapy for another year. “Not fair,” he said with feeling. “And in five years, you and me need to remember our Kevlar union suits.”

  “I understand they’re real crotch-biters, by the way.”

  Larx’s laugh sounded bitter, even to his own ears. “Okay. Well, that’s five years. If you keep bringing home pizza and hamburgers, we might not even last that long.”

  “I’d better learn to live with veggies—at least Whitney will kill us quick.”

  Larx took a big breath, and then another one. “I don’t feel forty-seven,” he said apologetically. “When I look in the mirror, I’m surprised you like me, because I remember being so much hotter than this.”

  Aaron’s throaty laughter was aloe and lidocaine on a sunburn. “It’s a good thing I didn’t see you when you were younger and hotter, then,” he said sincerely. “Because I love my kids. This was a good path. Not easy, but good.”

  Larx closed his eyes, the quiet of the living room soothing. He was right, of course. Any path that led to them, right here, this moment, was the only path they could have followed.

  “I have to go talk at an assembly tomorrow,” he said, because it had been bothering him all day.

  “You do that all the time,” Aaron said, but his voice was gentle, and Larx figured he probably knew where this was going.

  “The kids said enough students saw you and me together that they’re getting asked questions.”

  “Well, baby, I think you need to answer them.”

  He sounded okay with it.

  Larx closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

  He didn’t remember turning the phone off, but he must have. He didn’t wake up until Aaron came in with a plate of food for him and one for himself.

  The veggie Alfredo turned out great, and their quiet dinner, away from the kids, was even better.

  That night, though, as Larx was toddling to bed—early, but feeling like tomorrow he’d be up to full strength—he stopped in Kellan’s room last.

  The boy was crying.

  Larx sat down on the side of his bed and stroked his hair back from his face, the same gentle way he’d do with Christi.

  And just like with Christi, Kellan broke.

  “My folks haven’t called,” he said, voice congested.

  “I figured.”

  “I didn’t expect them to—I mean….” He grimaced. “They didn’t even protest. I thought… I thought they’d fight for me, just a little. But….”

  Larx had met his father once, at freshman orientation. A small, mean, flat-eyed man, he’d spat tobacco juice on the sidewalk, looked around, and told Kellan he was on his goddamned own.

  “Parents are sort of hit or miss,” he said, trying for truthful. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not a good kid.”

  “I just….” Kellan wiped his face on his shoulder. “Isaiah, he’s going to Sacramento on Saturday. He’s going to be there for months. And he told me….” Oh no. Larx knew what was coming, because it was something he would have done himself. “He told me that we were still friends, but that… that….”

  “It would be better if you broke up?” Larx asked, because he could tell—it hurt too much to say.

  Kellan nodded, face buried in his pillow, and Larx rubbed circles on his back.

  “He doesn’t want me either,” he choked.

  “No… no.” Larx repeated it over and over again until the boy could talk.

  “How do you know?” he finally asked, congested and bitter.

  “Because he’s an honorable man,” Larx said, knowing that sort of bitterness. “He wants you to be free while he’s busy healing. He doesn’t want you to be tied down to him. He wants you to heal too.”

  “I’m not the one who got stabbed!” Kellan snarled, pounding his pillow.

  Larx wrapped his good arm around the boy’s shoulders and rested his chin in his hair. Such a good boy—still so much in need of parenting. “No,” he said. “But you still got hurt.”

  “So he hurts me some more?”

  Another storm of weeping shook him, and Larx waited for this one to pass too.

  “Kellan?” he asked when it was over.

  “Yeah?”

  “He said you were friends, right?”

  “Forever.”

  “You know what friends do?” Larx couldn’t have, not at this age. But Kellan was smarter, stronger, more faithful than Larx had been.

  Less angry.

  “What?”

  “They write letters. Real letters. Not email, but letters. And they don’t care if they get respo
nses or not. They just keep writing.”

  “But….” Kellan turned a tearstained face to him. “Even if he doesn’t answer?”

  “Do you think Isaiah could read your letters to him and not treasure them?” Larx asked quietly.

  Kellan’s mouth parted. “No,” he said after a moment.

  “And if you change your mind and you realize you need your freedom too—”

  “I’ve been a friend.” He nodded. “I… I can know in my heart that I loved my friend with all I had.”

  Larx smiled. “You’re such a good boy,” he said sincerely. “So good. I’m so proud of you.”

  Kellan hid his face, and Larx figured he’d had enough. “Night, Kellan.”

  “Night, Larx. You ready for tomorrow?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  It would have to be enough.

  LARX WAS yawning nonstop by the time he crawled next to Aaron. Aaron groaned and turned sideways, pulling Larx’s back against his front, being the big spoon because he was the big spoon.

  “Not that this isn’t nice,” Larx grumbled, “but we had sex. We actually had sex. In this bed. I was getting used to that.”

  Aaron nuzzled the back of his neck. “Me too. But you’re dead on your feet. What are we, kids?”

  “It’s not fair,” Larx whined. “When I was twenty, I got into a motorcycle accident, ripped the hell out of my back, broke my arm, got a third-degree burn on my ankle, and I was getting laid two days later because why the fuck not?”

  “Larx?”

  “What?”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “I haven’t ridden since the girls were born.”

  “You are missing the goddamned point.” Aaron pulled him closer.

  “What’s the point?” Larx grumbled, the passion that had driven his little speech draining out of him like sand.

  Aaron slid his hand down Larx’s tummy and under his shorts, fondling his privates, which were as sleepy as he was. “The point is I’m holding you. I want to hold you forever. That’s the point.”

  “Don’t you have to call your daughters?”

  Aaron groaned. “I told Maureen—she was thrilled for us.”

  “What about Tiffany?”

  Aaron’s muscles went soft, defeated. “She was… skeptical. I texted and said I wanted to call her, and she said not to bother because I called Maureen first. And she said she didn’t want to hear anything about it when she came for Christmas.”

  Larx would have turned in his arms, but that would have put him on his bad arm. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I assume I’ll drive her to the old house for Christmas, and then Kirby and I will come home,” he said shortly. “She doesn’t have to hear a thing about it if the two of us aren’t there.”

  Larx couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You, sir, are a master at dealing with tantrums. I am most impressed.”

  “She’s being a brat,” Aaron grumbled. “She’s not even here—why does she get to boss me around?”

  He laughed some more. “Which is, I’m sure, what she’s saying to all of her friends right now. This is precious.”

  “Whatever.”

  Larx turned his head as far as it would go. “Kiss me, at the very least. It’s necessary.”

  Aaron pushed up and captured his mouth in a sweet, all-consuming kiss. “Like breathing,” he whispered. “Go to sleep, Lyman—”

  Oh God. “You heard?”

  “Oh my God, yes. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

  “Can you be there?” Larx felt pathetic about asking.

  And apparently Aaron felt sad about saying no. “Sorry, baby. If you come out about me, Eamon is going to be fielding a lot of calls about his pick for next sheriff. I should probably be there.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Well, he’d been alone and strong for a lot of years. At least now he’d have someone to tell.

  “If I can be there, I will,” Aaron promised. “Now go to sleep, Ly—”

  “Only if you call me Larx. Forever. Forget you heard that name. Ever. Promise.”

  Aaron’s deep chuckle assured him of no such thing. “Night, Larx. Sweet dreams.”

  “Night, Deputy. Dreams are sweeter after sex.”

  “Don’t pout. Love you.”

  And that was what it came down to, wasn’t it? “Love you too. Night.”

  LARX WENT in to teach the next morning and was greeted by a standing ovation from his students—and flowers and letters of thank-you from their parents. Larx took a moment to read some of the letters. Many of them mentioned Aaron.

  We understand you and Deputy George are dating. As long as he keeps our kid’s favorite teacher safe, that’s okay.

  We’re so glad you found someone. Please don’t feel the need to hide from us.

  Even if you’re gay, you’re the best principal this school has ever had.

  “Even?” Larx muttered to himself. “Even if? Really?”

  “What are you whining about?” Yoshi asked, coming into his office. “And who died?”

  Larx had asked Kellan and Kirby for help moving the flowers in. “I did. Almost. Apparently it was enough to make up for being gay.”

  “Not to me. You still owe me for being shot, you bastard.”

  Larx laughed and drank in the sight of Yoshi looking tired but composed in a bold blue sweater and a red tie. “Isn’t your boyfriend an artist? Shouldn’t you dress better than that?”

  “Like he’d tell me what to wear.” Yoshi sank down into his seat across from Larx’s. “Oh my God, I’d forgotten how comfortable this seat is. You’re welcome to that one, it sucks.”

  Larx’s seat was, in fact, one of the few posh things he’d ever owned or asked for. It had been sort of a bribe from the DO, and he settled into it like a cat into its favorite cushion.

  “So what’s imperative that I sign, call about, or fight for?” Larx asked reluctantly. Ugh—there was so much bureaucracy with this damned job!

  Yoshi pushed the clipboard in his hands across the desk. “Red is urgent, blue can wait until Monday. Hassbender is eating lunch with us—don’t plan on doing any work while he’s there. Nancy and I have hall monitoring and lunch duty, and I am under strict instructions to get your fat ass out of your chair and home by five thirty.”

  Larx regarded him with deep suspicion. “I’m dying, aren’t I? You all lied. There was secret poison on that bullet and I am dying. My day is never this light.”

  Yoshi rolled his eyes. “No. You are not dying. It took me, Nancy, and Edna three days to get your schedule this light, so don’t make fun of us.”

  “Why? Why would you do this?” He was deeply touched—tearful, even. He couldn’t seem to get a handle on what it meant to him that he not return to be inundated with paperwork and phone calls and a deep submersion into all the parts of his job he hated most.

  “Oh, get a hold of yourself. We just….” Yoshi looked away, his attempt at disgust not matching the vulnerable curve of his chin. “You just did something really awesome. Lots of awesome things, actually. You worked your ass off this last week—if you hadn’t gotten shot, you would have gotten sick anyway. Wasn’t just the three of us—everybody pitched in to make this place go. I mean, for a guy who’s so reluctant to be the grown-up, Larx, you hauled this district—this town even—into the twenty-first century by the frickin’ ear. Don’t make me say that again, by the way. I am way too uncomfortable with that much emotion.”

  “So noted,” Larx said, blushing probably all the way to his toes. “Thank you, Yosh. This was really nice.”

  “Don’t get shot again, asshole. That needs to be a rule.”

  “It was just a graze,” Larx said. “Wanna see?” They had actually changed the bandage on it that morning—and it had hurt like hell—but Larx was enough of a fifteen-year-old boy to want to gross people out with his war wounds.

  Yoshi had apparently never been that boy. “Don’t make me regret the last three days,�
� he said with a flat stare.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll try to be done with all my shit before whatsisface—”

  “Hassbender.”

  “Hassbender gets here.”

  “He’s bringing lunch because I told him you never do.”

  Larx actually grinned. “Aaron packed me a lunch this morning. It’s got”—he shuddered—“bologna in it. Having someone bring me lunch is the best thing I’ve ever heard.” Aaron’s idea of a simple healthy lunch was way, way different than Larx’s. Just one of the many small happy wrinkles of coupledom.

  “He’s going to the teriyaki place in town.”

  Larx arched his eyebrows. “It’s a good thing I like that too.”

  “I consider it a fortunate accident. Now get to work. I’m going to go wander the halls and make them safe for people over eighteen.”

  Larx nodded, content. “Thanks, Yoshi.”

  “Yeah, well. We were worried. We miss you. Don’t fucking do it again.”

  “That’s a deal.”

  HARVEY HASSBENDER looked like the bad-guy administrator in every high school movie ever made. He was round, with cheery red cheeks and the thinnest comb-over Larx had ever seen. He also had a deep, resonant voice and an infectious laugh, and by the time lunch was over, Larx wondered if this was what having a favorite uncle felt like.

  It was disconcerting, because Larx usually resented any and all authority, but the old superintendent had left after Duke Nobili, and apparently Harvey had been a trade up.

  “I’m so glad we had a chance to do this,” Harvey said as Larx cleaned up the lunch detritus. “I had planned to have a long meeting with each of my principals after I was hired, but first there was paperwork, then there was that whole facility issue in the grammar school out near Mustang—”

  “I heard about that,” Larx told him, because it had dominated the local news. The school had been built ten years earlier, and the contractor had built nothing to code. The facility had been falling down, and the old super had ditched the problem right in Hassbender’s lap. “That was a mess.”

  Harvey rolled his eyes. “Still is a mess,” he corrected. “But see? I was hired at the end of August, right after school had started, and we haven’t even had a meeting. I’m surprised you could even remember my name!”