Nick couldn’t help but laugh and retort, “You’re not supposed to say shit like that to a patient.”
“And the fact that you know that allows me, hell, compels me, to do otherwise.”
After a second of thought, Nick answered, “No use showing another magician how to pull a rabbit out of a hat.”
“Pre—cisely.” Eric nodded before leaning forward and asking earnestly, “And how’s your mom doing?”
That question, Nick had been prepared for. As evenly as possible, he answered, “Not good. She had a stroke. Well, a mini-stroke.”
“Jesus,” Eric exclaimed. “When did that happen?”
“Probably a few weeks ago, though it just got diagnosed this week. One of her doctors thinks she’s been having these mini-strokes for a while. This just happened to be the worst episode.”
Eric’s face got even graver as he asked, “Did this doctor tell you that having multiple TIAs can be a precursor for a major stroke?”
Nick ran the unfamiliar acronym over in his head a few times before asking, “TIA?”
“Transient Ischemic Attack. It’s the medical term for a mini-stroke,” Eric clarified.
“Yeah, they told me.” Nick swallowed to moisten his dry throat before continuing. “I know she’s in a downward spiral. We’re making arrangements to transfer her to the permanent ‘pavilion’.” He snorted humorlessly. “Pavilion! What a fucking stupid name. They make it sound like I’m sending my mom off to a grand ball, not trying to find someplace where she can die out of everyone’s way.”
Eric shook his head sadly. “I know how rough this is on you—”
“Damn it,” Nick interjected. “I wish everyone would stop saying that!”
“All right, good point,” Eric answered. “We may not know exactly how you’re feel—”
Interrupting again, Nick shot back bitterly, “Good thing you don’t.”
Eric regarded him closely for a second before asking, “Why? Why is it a good thing?”
Nick bit his lip—hard—and raked his hand through his hair. “Because… because if you only knew.” There was no immediate reply forthcoming, and Nick recognized that Eric was using silence as a prod. An old, albeit effective, maneuver since Nick finally continued, “I’m sorry about my mom getting sicker, sure. And I’m miserable knowing she’s coming to the end. But also….” Nick refused to meet Eric’s eyes as he forced out, “Relieved. Yeah, I’m a little bit relieved that she won’t be moving back in with me.”
When Nick did look up, he found Eric shaking his head. “Tsk, tsk. You’re relieved? That all of the years you’ve spent as her primary caregiver are coming to an end? Do you know what that makes you?”
“What?” Nick sat up straight, bracing himself for some of Eric’s now familiar bluntness.
“Human. It makes you a human being—with all attendant frailties. I know how much you hate the very idea—”
In some ways, Eric’s attempt at validation hit Nick harder than condemnation would have. “Aw, Eric, cut the crap.”
“The only crap is your denial. You’ve spent the last twenty years trying to be goddamn near perfect. As if perfection would protect you from any more pain, or somehow atone for something you know wasn’t even your fault.”
“No, not entirely—”
“Not at all!” Eric insisted loudly. “If a client came to you with a similar story of having provoked abuse by ruining one of her husband’s tools, you wouldn’t stand for that bullshit for one second.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Nick sighed. “You’re right. I’m not responsible in any measure.” Even to Nick’s ears, that sentence came out sounding rather wooden.
“Every time we talk about this, you say that, but I can tell you don’t mean it. What’s it going to take, Nick? What’s it going to take to convince you?”
Nick slumped in the chair, feeling exhausted by the subject but recognizing Eric’s frustration was valid. Still, he had no good answer for him. “I don’t know.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding sardonically, “If I did, I probably wouldn’t need you.”
Rather than being offended, Eric’s smile seemed to indicate nothing more than gentle amusement. He sipped from the ubiquitous mug of coffee on his desk before saying calmly, “Take a second and divorce yourself from the emotions of this situation. Pretend that a client came to you with a similar story and was being as stubborn as you are. What would you say to her—or him? Yes, him, let’s make it a male client.”
“Eric, I don’t think—”
“Indulge me. Just close your eyes for a second and put yourself behind this desk. Envision this client, a young man about your age. You’re three months in, and there’s no movement on the subject of his culpability in the abuse he’s suffered at the hands of a rather brutal boyfriend. What would your diagnosis be?”
Grudgingly, Nick played along. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, envisioning the scenario exactly as his therapist had suggested. After a minute or so of mental roleplay, Nick was surprised how clear the issue had suddenly become. He looked up at Eric with a start.
“Yes?”
“I’d suggest that he’s clinging to the guilt because it at least gives him some power in the relationship. If he admits he had no blame, then he also has to admit he was pretty much powerless… helpless.”
“Wow.” Eric sounded duly impressed. “You are a damn good therapist.”
Nick couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping as he jibed, “Not therapist, counselor. I’ve only got a Master’s degree.”
“I find those conventions idiotic.” Eric’s dismissive tone sobered. “But getting back to the subject at hand, you’ve just diagnosed yourself beautifully for me, I think. Let’s go with that. Why is admitting that lack of power so frightening for you?”
Nick offered his therapist a noncommittal shrug while he searched for something to re-direct his attention away from the current line of questioning. When Nick’s eyes lit upon the nameplate on the heavy maple desk, he said, “It must’ve been rough growing up with a name like Kochmann, huh?”
“So you want to talk about my father’s legacy rather than your own? As much as I’d love to, you’re paying me. Or rather, your insurance company is.”
“We weren’t talking about my father.”
“Don’t I know it. That’s all we never talk about.”
The scowl Nick shot Eric was fully echoed in his irate answer. “We’ve talked about him plenty—in excruciating detail.”
“Yep, all of the details, but none of the feelings. When you come right down to it, your therapy has revolved around a big black hole called Sam Zales.”
“I’ve told you, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s as good as dead to me.”
“Is that right?”
Nick ground out, with barely contained fury, “For fuck’s sake. You better not start nagging me to go see him like everybody else does.”
Eric leaned back in his chair as he assured Nick. “I had no intention of doing so.” He tilted his head in slight bewilderment. “Who is nagging you to go see your father?”
“Well,” Nick drawled, momentarily stumped. “My Aunt Hetty did, when it all first happened. And my mom does—you know, when she thinks she’s back in that time.”
“Uh huh,” Eric answered skeptically. “Who else?”
“Sister Ciera….”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Nick paused while he re-ran that conversation through his head. “Sort of. She suggested it—in a roundabout way—when she told me she knew him.”
“And she won’t drop it?”
“No. She only said it the once, but—”
“Man, if you consider that nagging, then it’s a good thing you’re not married,” Eric quipped. “I hope Logan knows how sensitive you are about taking the mildest of suggestions.”
Nick laughed. “I’m sure he’d tell you it doesn’t matter since I’m as stubborn as a mule.”
“Then I tend to agree with him. So w
hat’s your problem with the good sister’s proposal? It seems like she suggested it, you said no, and that was the end of it, right?”
“It’s hard to put into words.” Nick shook his head in frustration. “It’s not just what she said. It’s that… I know she thinks I should—go see the old man, I mean. Everybody thinks that, even if they don’t say it.”
“Fascinating.”
Nick found Eric’s secretive smile infuriating. “What’s so damned fascinating, Mr. Spock?”
“Well, I know you’re smart enough to figure it out, but we’re almost out of time. So I’m going to come right out and tell you. It sounds to me like most of that nagging may be internal.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning, do you want to see your father, Nick?”
“Hell no!” Nick’s visceral, knee-jerk reply was more habitual anger than anything else. When Eric’s only answer was an appraising stare, Nick heard his conscience whispering the truth to him, softly, but still too loudly to ignore. “Aww, shit,” he groaned, putting his head into his hands.
“What?”
A heavy sigh escaped as Nick looked up at Eric, admitting desolately, “I don’t want to want to go see him.”
“But you do?”
“Yes,” Nick spit out through gritted teeth. “Why? Why do I want to? Why the fuck should he have—”
“That power over you?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not fair, is it? It would be nice if you could just wipe him out, erase the influence he’s had on you. But you can’t.”
“No, I can’t. Hell, my job, my life, even… even Logan—it all goes back to him in some way.”
“But your job, your life, Logan—those are all good things, aren’t they? In your own stubborn way, you’ve been able to wrestle that dark angel to the ground and get your blessing from him.”
“How biblical. I didn’t think you were a religious man.”
“I’m not, but I did have a very Lutheran upbringing.” With deliberate emphasis, Eric added, “You never really escape it.”
“No, I guess you don’t—can’t,” Nick confirmed, fully appreciating that his therapist wasn’t speaking solely of his own past.
“So what’re you going to do about this epiphany of yours?”
Nick looked at the clock before answering. “I don’t know, but I’ve got a week to think about it.”
“What you should be thinking about is whether meeting your father face-to-face might actually release the grasp he has on your imagination.”
“I don’t see how letting him—”
“You’re not letting him do anything. If you do this, it won’t be for him. It will be for you. I know you’re afraid that by going to see him, you’ll be giving him power he doesn’t deserve. But Nick, the truth is—as you’ve just admitted—he already has that power. Maybe this is your chance to take it back.”
LOGAN PULLED up in the driveway of Nick’s house later that same night, feeling exhausted but satisfied. He’d just spent the last three hours finishing the replacement of a coworker’s fuel injection system—the end of a week-long task. He wasn’t really bothered by the fact that the moonlighting had made for some long days. Not only was the extra money welcome, but he’d thoroughly enjoyed the work—unlike the labor he had suffered through at his day job.
Though it was a few weeks into the New Year, the after-Christmas bargain hunters were still scouring the garden center, and Logan had recently spent the greater part of his days restocking shelves and fixing displays that looked like they’d been under siege from an enraged battalion.
As content as his exertions at Acken’s shop had left him, Logan ambled to the front door nagged by concern over the discussion he’d had with Dave when he’d gotten to the shop. He shook his head as if trying to physically dislodge the dilemma, resolving that he’d figure out later what to do about Dave’s announcement. Logan couldn’t help but notice he still had a tendency to shelve problems rather than confront them immediately. A prime example being that, for weeks, he’d been studiously ignoring the fact that he had a key to Nick’s house, spent five or six nights out of every week there, and was, for all intents and purposes, living with Nick.
Though his days of therapy had come to an end, the habit of self-examination remained strong enough for Logan to admit that he and Nick should have a talk about their living arrangements. Unfortunately, his six months with Trudy hadn’t given him the mettle to really force the issue. And it did seem like it might be Logan’s job to do so, since other than handing over the key and accepting Logan’s regular offers to pay for groceries and help with chores, Nick hadn’t broached the subject either.
Logan laughed to himself, thinking that if he had hooked up with a woman this same way, they would have had a serious talk a long time ago. Oh, yeah, you could bet on that. He did suddenly wonder how anything significant got settled between two guys. Would they be sharing this house for the next couple years, both pretending that a casual encounter had somehow stretched into a two-year-long date?
Whatever the answer to that question was, Logan had no intention of resolving the matter that night. Between hectic work schedules for both men and a weekend with his girls, Logan hadn’t spent any quality time with Nick in almost a week. And that was too goddamn long. His libido had been simmering the entire ride home, and the sight that greeted him in the front room turned the heat up even more.
Nick was stretched out on the couch, perusing a dusty-looking textbook. As soon as he caught sight of Logan, he dropped his book on the coffee table and smiled broadly. “Hey! You’re earlier than I expected.”
“Yeah, managed to finish up tonight,” Logan answered, crossing the room in three quick strides. He bent down and kissed Nick, catching him as he was sitting up. Logan slid in next to the welcoming warmth and, without further preamble, attacked Nick’s neck, alternating hot, wet kisses with teasing bites.
“I was gonna ask if you were hungry,” Nick gasped. “But—”
“Hungry for a piece of you,” Logan rumbled, his nimble fingers busily undoing buttons and exposing more skin to his assault. “Ain’t seen you in way too long.”
“You saw me this morning.”
Logan pushed his lover down on the couch while wrenching his mouth away long enough to complain. “All I saw was you running out the door.”
Nick’s answering chuckle was positively pornographic. “Why don’t you just say we ain’t fucked in days and you’re horny?”
Though he was now almost fully occupied with unzipping his jeans with one hand while the other stroked Nick’s rapidly stiffening cock, Logan managed to breathe in his ear, “I’d rather show you.”
“Good thing I closed those curtains,” was all the permission Logan needed from Nick to start full-scale removal of clothing.
Moments later the sensation of complete skin-on-skin contact was so heady that Logan almost forgot his plans for the evening, but after a few seconds of rutting against Nick, he found the willpower to come to a full stop. Logan took a second to drink in the sight of Nick in the dim light—pale skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat despite the freezing temperatures outside and eyes gone black with urgent desire—before swiftly moving into position and sinking down until they were fully joined.
Nick’s look of surprise was everything Logan could have hoped for. “What…? When did you—”
“Slicked myself up at the garage before I headed home. Almost came just thinking of what I was gonna do to you.”
“Don’t tell me you used motor oil—”
“Vaseline, asshole.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
Logan reached down and grasped the base of Nick’s throbbing prick. “Keep it up and I ain’t gonna let you come.”
“But if I don’t keep it up—”
There was one sure way of shutting his man up, and Logan knew it. He swiftly pistoned up and down while moving his hand to the entrance of Nick’s body, satisfied when he s
aw those dark eyes roll into the back of his head. Logan’s last rational thought before he gave himself over to the tide of pleasure was an inchoate yearning to somehow take more of Nick inside him—and keep him there forever.
NICK STROKED his hand up and down Logan’s flank, enjoying the peace of the moment and the feel of the strong body on top of his every bit as much as the release of orgasm. “Wish it could just stay like this.”
“I think your legs would ’ventually go to sleep,” Logan quipped, though his sarcastic reply was belied by the soft light in his eyes as he looked up at Nick.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. When it’s just you and me, there ain’t no questions or problems buzzing round. Everything’s easy.”
There was more urgency in Logan’s tone than Nick would have expected had he simply been voicing agreement with Nick’s statement. “Sounds like you got something on your mind. What’s up?”
Indecision flitted across Logan’s face, as if he was struggling with giving a fully honest answer. “Give me a minute,” he mumbled before untangling his legs from Nick’s and standing up to slip into his jeans. “I could use a beer, how ’bout you?”
“Sounds good.”
Shortly, they were seated on the couch, bare-chested, drinking beer in silence so thick that Nick had begun to worry that something truly serious was in the offing.
Finally Logan said, “Had a talk with Dave today.”
“Dave Acken?” When Logan nodded confirmation, Nick continued, “About what?”
“He’s putting his shop on the market, and he wants me to buy it.”
Elation, composed of half relief, half excitement, coursed through Nick. “That’s a great idea. You had me worried. Thought it was something bad.”
“It is bad!” Logan jumped up and started pacing the room, pausing only to scowl at Nick. “Great, huh? Are you crazy? I ain’t got that kind of money. And what do you think—the guy who does buy it, is he gonna give me the run of the place like Dave does? Hell no, he ain’t, so now I’m not gonna have any place to work on cars. I’ll be back to what I can get done in driveways and—”
Dreamspinner Press Year Four Greatest Hits Page 128
