by Lynda Aicher
Rock came around and sat on the edge of the bed. “Rach and I are leaving this afternoon.” They both had to be back to work tomorrow. The Den would’ve given him more time off, but six days with his family was exceeding his tolerance limit. His dad was going to be fine and would be happier if everyone left him alone. Rock could do that.
His dad shivered, but Rock didn’t move to grab a blanket. Instead he stared at his hands and tried to frame what he was going to say. He’d thought on it since he’d arrived, and the words still eluded him.
“You still doing contract work for the army?”
“Yeah.” Rock nodded and straightened his shoulders.
His dad scowled. “You could do more enlisting again.”
They’ve had the same argument since Rock had left the service. He held his response and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his cargo pants. “I need to show you something.”
“What? You finally got yourself a girl?”
Of course that was what his dad would ask. All the better then. He was anticipating the shock factor more than he should. Maybe it was twenty years of buried resentment coming out in a passive aggressive way, but it was his to distribute. He’d more than earned it.
He scrolled through the pictures, passing the ones of Carter in the warehouse and the few of the two of them with their backs to the camera, the city outlined around them, until he found the picture he wanted and handed the phone to his dad. A calm settled over him that was opposite of what he’d anticipated. There were no nerves tightening his stomach or an increase in his heart rate. Only a cool confidence that this was exactly what he needed to do.
His dad stared at the picture. He brought it closer, brows furrowed before pulling it back then forward again. His head snapped up. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the meaning of this?” His scowl deepened until his eyes were mere slits.
“I submitted the photo to the Army Family Magazine’s photo contest.”
“Why in the hell would you do that?”
So I would do this. “Because it’s true.”
His dad looked at the picture again, his head shaking in a detached way. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“It has nothing to do with you. This is about me.” Rock took a breath. “About what I’ve been denying my entire life. But I’m done with that. I’m gay.”
His dad flung the phone, his nostrils flaring. Rock jumped up and snatched his phone out of the air before it could collide with anything. He’d anticipated that response.
“You can’t do this to me,” his dad sputtered.
Rock sat back down. He looked at the picture. It was the one Carter had choreographed with Rock’s chest to the wall, his face in profile showing his scar, his arms spread, connecting the words on the wall to the flag in the background. I’m Gay was front and center, prominent on his arm. Just reading it made him proud.
“You can’t beat it out of me. I’m not going to change.” He spread his arms wide. “This is who I am. I’m the same as I’ve always been. Only I finally accept that I’ll never want to be with a woman. I like men and I’m done lying about it.”
His dad glared at him, his hands curled into tight fists in his lap. His chest rose and fell too fast. Damn. If Rock gave his father another heart attack, he’d never forgive himself. His timing sucked, but he couldn’t keep this in any longer.
They stared at each other, neither of them backing down or looking away. It was at least a minute, maybe more, before his father seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his gaze to the floor.
Rock was already standing, worried something was wrong, when his dad spoke. “Just go, Rock.”
He froze. “What?”
It was the first sergeant who looked up, his face flat. “I said go. We’re done here.”
Those words—ones his father had said many times in the past when he was done with a conversation—hit Rock too hard. He wanted to stumble back and crumble with the realized pain.
He’d said that to Carter. In his anger and hurt, he’d said those words as he’d left. Hearing his dad say them to him was too much like karma circling back to slap him. Had Carter taken them as they were done? That Rock was done with him, not the conversation?
Oh, God. His mouth had fucked it up again.
Sheer determination kept him standing, his reaction hidden. “Yes, First Sergeant.” He turned and headed to the door. His dad had nothing further to say. He was halfway out the door, so he almost missed the quiet words when they came.
“You’re stronger than I ever was.”
Rock spun around, his hand braced on the door frame. “What?”
His dad didn’t acknowledge him. He stared out the window, even though very little was visible through the blinds, his face stoic and drawn. The frailty was back, his shoulders slumping in a way that had him looking his age for the first time Rock could remember.
Had he heard him right? Did that mean…. No. It couldn’t. Could it?
He left the room, his thoughts swirling around the impossibility. He must’ve misunderstood what his dad had meant. There’s no way his dad could’ve been implying that he was gay. That was too crazy to comprehend. Yet it would explain so much.
“You okay, Rockford?” His mother sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of sweet tea. “You look lost.”
“I’m fine.” He sat down across from her, and she got up to pour him a glass of tea without asking if he wanted any.
“Is your dad sleeping again?” She straightened her blouse, dusting some imagined lint off the front before sitting back down.
“No,” he answered, distracted. “He was sitting in the rocking chair when I left.”
“Oh.”
She started to stand, and Rock reached out to grab her wrist. “Can we talk for a second?”
“Let me check on your father first.” She tugged on her wrist, and he let her go.
“Of course. Sure.”
She hurried down the hall, her capris swishing as her legs brushed together. His mother had always carried the extra pounds from having three kids, but he’d never considered her overweight. Actually, she would’ve smacked him upside the head if he’d ever dared to say that thought out loud.
“Where’s Mom?” Rachel came into the room, closing the back door behind her.
He motioned down the hall. “Checking on Dad.”
“He okay?”
“Yeah.” He hoped. “I was just in there with him.”
Their mother came back then. She tucked the short strands of her bob behind her ears as she smiled at Rachel. “Do you want some tea?”
“No, thanks.” She glanced down the hallway. “Is Dad sleeping?”
“No,” his mom answered, a small frown forming. “He’s just resting in bed.”
“Dad?” Rachel’s brows shot up. “Are you sure he’s okay?” They all chucked at that. “I’m going to go say goodbye. We need to hit the road soon if you want to make your plane, Rock.”
“Do you guys want to eat first?” His mother started toward the fridge before they both declined her offer.
“We’re fine, Mom.” He motioned to the chair she’d left as Rachel headed down the hall to the bedroom. “Can we talk for a moment?”
“I really need to make some soup for your dad and I could make some sandwiches for you guys to eat on the road and—”
“Mom,” Rock cut in. She stopped by the counter, her back to him. “Sit down. Please.”
“Why?” She didn’t turn around, and that told him everything.
“Did he just say something?”
“Who?” She swiveled enough to peer at him. “Your dad? What would he say?” She lowered her brow just a bit as she waited for him to answer. There was almost a dare to her voice, bait for him to confess his secrets. It was the same voice she’d employed when they were kids and had foolishly thought they’d gotten away with something.
He sighed and d
ug his phone out again. He unlocked the screen then held it out to her. The picture was still up, his declaration made silently. Her fingers were cold when they brushed over his as she took the phone from his hand.
She looked at the picture, handing the phone back to him a moment later. Without a word, she opened the fridge and started pulling vegetables out of the drawer.
“Mom?”
“I hope you have a safe flight back.” She set the vegetables on the counter before grabbing a cutting board. “Make sure you let me know when you get home.”
He put his phone away, pushing the disappointment aside. “You’re not going to say anything?”
“About what?” She glanced at him, eyes wide as she snatched a knife from the block on the counter. “It’s a picture of you. I’m assuming you showed your dad. No wonder he’s resting. I would’ve expected you to pick a better time than now.”
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “There is no better time.”
“Maybe.” She sliced the ends off the celery and tossed them into the sink.
He went to her side, carefully grabbing her hand and removing the knife from her grip to set it aside. “What do you think of the fact that I’m gay?”
Her lips thinned, but she didn’t pull away from his touch. “You’re my son. I love you. That’s all you need to know.” She jerked her wrist from his hold and held out her hand. “Now give me my knife back.” Her eyes were a steely cold blue that dared him to disobey. He didn’t.
He handed her the knife and took a step back. He didn’t know what he’d expected from her, but it should’ve been this. It was no different from twenty years ago. Not disgust, but not acceptance either. A neutral sentiment, and it was now a done topic as far as she was concerned, just like his dad. Her brown hair swayed with the movement of her chopping, her actions controlled and precise.
“He said something as I was leaving. Do you—”
She whipped around, the pointed end of the knife aimed at him. “Drop it, Rock. It’s time you left.” A hard core of determination flashed in her eyes before she returned to her cutting, the celery attacked with the same control as before. “I’ll tell him you said goodbye. Thanks for coming down. It was good to see you again.”
Some things never changed.
He watched his mother with a detached emptiness that grazed over the old pain he’d buried for so long. Her reaction was better than some guys got, like Carter. Yet it still dug in to pick at the childish longing for more.
But this was it. They may never flat-out reject him, but it was clear he wasn’t to talk about it again. And he wouldn’t push it. There was no point. They had different lives and as long as they didn’t intersect, his picture would remain on their wall.
“You ready?” Rachel asked as she passed him to wrap her arms around their mother from behind. “Take care, Mom. Call if you need anything. I can be down here in two hours.”
“We’ll be fine.” She patted Rachel’s arm. “Thanks for coming.”
He stepped up when Rachel moved away and pulled his mother into a hug. “I love you, Mom.”
She nodded stiffly and pulled away. “Take care of yourself.” She wiped at her cheek and turned back to her vegetables.
He grabbed his and Rachel’s bags off the floor by the door and stepped outside into the blazing heat of the sun. He was almost certain that only another emergency or death would call him to return. Each step was one away from the past that’d held him trapped for far too long.
He needed to get back. To his life, his friends. To Carter.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carter jerked up, the rapid knocking at his front door startling him out of his zone. Being hunched over a computer screen for hours, touching up the pictures he had to get to the gallery, was killer on his back and neck. He swiveled his head to get the knots out, but it didn’t help. His palm throbbed now that he’d stopped, the small movements from using the mouse inflicting more pain on his cut than he thought it should.
He stood, stretched and slowly made his way downstairs. Maybe Tony was back to tell him Hank had changed his mind on letting his last two weeks slide. That’d be just about right for his life. He ran a hand through his hair and over his mouth before he peered through the glass side window.
Rock.
His stomach clenched and he almost stepped back. Maybe Rock hadn’t seen him. But he was staring right at him, his face grim. Carter couldn’t sneak away and hide. Hell, he’d barely managed to shower. He was pretty certain he looked like shit.
He took a steadying breath and opened the door.
“Hey.”
Rock’s deep voice ran over him, the resonance ticking over his memories and guilt. He went to shove his hands in his pocket, but they slipped over the silky material of his track pants. The pants had no pockets. “Hey,” he remembered to say as he floundered for a pose, finally ending with his arms crossed over his chest.
Rock looked him over, frowning. “Can I come in?”
Carter squinted into the bright sunlight, uncertain if that was a good idea but knowing they needed to talk. He hung his head and stepped back to let the man enter.
Rock moved past him, his scent drifting by Carter in a tempting wave of longing and more regrets. He ached to reach out and touch him, just a brush of fingers over his arm, but he kept his hands firmly tucked under his arms.
He nudged the door shut with his shoulder and followed Rock to the living room. He didn’t miss that, for the first time, Rock hadn’t stopped to remove his shoes and coat. Maybe it was the dry weather that came with early May, but it was more likely he didn’t plan on staying that long.
The room was dark, the blinds and curtains closed tight against the sun that insisted on shining. Carter shuffled his feet over the soft carpet. The apology he owed Rock stuck in his dry throat. God, he was such a shit.
Rock turned around, scanning the room in a slow appraisal that took in the pile of dirty dishes on the coffee table, the stack of unopened mail spread across the kitchen counter, the damaged wall and remains of his cell phone that still lay by the stairs. He clasped his hands behind his back and settled into what Carter thought of as his rest position before he finally looked to him.
They stared at each other for a moment. Maybe it was a minute, an hour, Carter didn’t know. He took in everything that he could, afraid this was the last time he’d get the chance. So handsome, that’s what he thought, even in a black windbreaker and cargo pants. Strong but gentle beneath. Like the first time they met, Rock stood proud, shoulders back, chin raised, his expression guarded.
“We’re not done. You and I.”
Rock’s level words shot over the silence. Carter closed his eyes and hugged himself tighter. He couldn’t trust those words and what they might mean.
“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing his eyes open.
Rock hadn’t moved, not even his facial muscles. “For what?”
Carter wet his lips and scrambled through the list of regrets that filled him. “For being a shit. For treating you like I did.” He shook his head, the guilt choking his throat. “You should hate me.”
The pain rose up from his chest, the burn rising with it. He sniffed, blinked and turned his head away. Damn it. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve and blew out a breath. He wouldn’t break. Couldn’t.
But it didn’t matter what he wanted because a few tears slipped out anyway. He quickly wiped them away under the cover of scrubbing a hand over his face.
Rock took a step closer, just one then stopped. “I forced it. You told me to go. I refused.” He glanced up and blew out a breath. “I wanted to help and ended up hurting us both.”
“No.” Carter shook his head. “God, no. I did it. I fucking took you when…” His throat closed up again and he swallowed, twice. “How could you ever forgive me for that?” He couldn’t forgive himself.
“You took what I offered. I basically gave you no choice.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” He couldn’t
hug himself tight enough to ward off the chill that raised goose bumps on his arms. “There’s always a choice.”
“We both did wrong.” Rock took another step, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t respect your space—”
“I didn’t respect you,” Carter shouted. “How can you forgive that?”
Rock fisted his hands. His jaw tightened, the line of his scar twitching. “Can you tell me what happened?” His voice was level and quiet after Carter’s outburst.
Carter looked around—searching for what, he didn’t know. His stomach heaved, but he refused to give in to the sickness that rose at the thought of that night. He dug his toes into the carpet, the small movement giving him something to focus on.
“It was a bad job,” he said mechanically. “Two guys tag-teamed, wouldn’t let me get off then tossed me out when they were done. I felt like shit and took it out on you.”
“And the erection from hell?”
He scoffed a laugh. “I started needing the drug to get through the jobs these last months.”
“Only the last few months?”
He nodded, letting Rock come to his own conclusions. The silence stretched for a moment, but Carter couldn’t make himself look up. He wiggled his toes deeper into the carpet, the bristly fiber prickling the groves between his toes.
“Is the agency screwing with you because your contract is almost done?”
He shook his head and sighed. He might as tell Rock all of it. “It was because I dumped a regular. The guy I came to The Den with. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done.”
Rock stepped closer, his boots coming into view. “Why’d you dump the regular?”
Carter gave a weak laugh around an exhale. He looked up. “Like I could go back there and fuck a guy, knowing you were watching. How much of an ass would that have made me?”
“So you did it for me?” Rock narrowed his eyes.
“You. Me. Us. A lot of good it did me. I still fucked it all up.”
Rock was arm-distance away now. Close enough to touch but too far to hold. Would he ever feel those arms around him again? Did he deserve to?
“When are you going to trust me?” Rock asked. “I’m here. I came back. When will you trust that I want to be with you?”
