by Anne Tenino
Met one of his expectations though, didn’t I? He threw his keys onto the spindly table in the entry, hard enough that it marred the surface. It didn’t make him feel any fucking better—the scratch he’d put in the wood seemed uncomfortably familiar too. His heart had wounds like that all over, and then some.
Should have listened better. He should have realized that when Nate made comments about starting a blog or carpentry work, what it really meant was that the guy had a yardstick for acceptable partners and was measuring Seth against it. If he’d listened, he’d have realized someone who’d learned to be happy with what he had wouldn’t be good enough for a guy like that. He didn’t approach life seriously enough, and didn’t have the kind of motivation that counted.
“Ugh.” Yanking down the zipper of his jacket, he let it fall off of his arms and onto the floor, then flung himself onto the settee like a wounded teenager. It screeched a foot or two across the floor when he landed.
And fuck, the outing. He’d told Nate about high school because he trusted him, emotionally, not so Nate could use it to prove some point in the middle of an argument. Jesus, wasn’t it enough that he’d had to tell him about “fixing” that fucking graffiti?
What had the guy even been trying to say?
Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Seth tried to remember. Something about protecting him. Nate had even told him like it was some kind of favor he’d done—as if it wasn’t an issue at all. As if Seth’s whole past wasn’t an issue.
Maybe because for him, it’s not.
“Fuck.” He let his head flop back on the couch, staring at the ceiling for answers. Is it only my issue?
That couldn’t be right, otherwise why had Nate needed to mention the graffiti at all? Did he think Seth wanted to know there was shit like that out there? No, Nate had done it because he wanted to prove something.
Again with the proving shit. Proving he’d protect Seth to the best of his abilities.
Okay, that can’t be right either, because it doesn’t sound that bad.
Kind of paternalistic, but . . . sweet. If he’s sweet, why does this hurt so much?
He tried to hunt down the causes for his pain again. He caught a flash of it, of the hurt, but it was like he was chasing a ghost down a long, interminable hallway. Hard to make out and impossible to catch. So instead he turned to the other new feature in his emotional self: the spot in his heart that belonged to Nate.
It was bruised, yes, but not destroyed. There was still life in it. Fuck, letting it die was going to be painful. Because what he’d said was true—he couldn’t be happy unless Nate believed he was good enough as he was. He needed someone who could look at him and not find him lacking.
He’d believed he had. Damn, he’d really fooled himself, hadn’t he?
His eyes prickled painfully. Taking the teenager theme further, he covered them with his hands, digging the heels into his sockets hard, trying to make everything go black. Stop the ache from spreading. But again, he was fooling himself, because the throbbing hollowness had started in his chest and migrated out from there. All he was accomplishing was to keep it from spilling out of him.
Trapping it inside might kill him, though. Fuck this.
Shoving himself upright—which the settee protested by creaking angrily—he stood and started undressing. If he was going to cry, he was going to go do it in the shower like a real man. An adult one.
“Hellooo,” Morgan called as she walked in the door. “I knocked, but you—” She stopped, probably wondering what the hell Nate was doing sitting on the floor next to Tarkus’s bed. “Nate? Did you forget you were supposed to help me load tonight’s pieces into my truck?”
He blinked at the westering sunlight splashed across the living room floor and struggled to his feet. “Shit. What time is it?”
“Nearly five. Our call isn’t until ten, but I thought we could get this out of the way in case you had dinner plans with Cute Bartender.” She grinned and fluttered her eyelashes.
“I don’t.”
Morgan’s smile faded as she scrutinized his face. God knew what he looked like. He certainly felt like eighty miles of rough road. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She opened her arms as if to hug him, but he stepped back, warding off her touch, palms out.
“Stop. Please.”
“Jesus, what happened? Is Seth okay?”
Nate choked on a laugh. “How would I know? He walked out.” His breath got lost somewhere south of his heart. “He . . . walked. Out.” He whirled and slammed his fist into the sofa cushions, causing Tarkus to cower in his bed, ears flattened. Christ, now he was terrorizing his dog too. His shoulders began to shake with the effort to hold himself together. “He fucking walked out, Morgan.”
Her keys clattered to the floor, then she was there, gripping his shoulders with her strong, capable hands. She gave him a little shake. “Step back from the ledge, baby, come on. Seth is not Jorge. He’s not seeing someone on the side.”
“I know he’s not like Jorge, but what if he’s like me? I walked out too—on my mother. For fourteen years. This is probably karma—I’ll be paying for it for another twelve lifetimes.” Or twelve relationships.
She gave him a shake. “Maybe instead of having yourself a big-ass pity party, you should ask yourself why he walked.”
“I don’t have to ask. He told me. Apparently he’d rather be exploited by his family for the rest of his life, stuck in a subsistence job in Backwater Bay than accept any help from me.”
She pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow. “If that’s how you tried to sell him on you and your relationship, no wonder he kicked your ass to the curb.”
“Christ, Morgan, I didn’t say that. Exactly. But that’s what he heard anyway.”
“Maybe you weren’t listening with both ears either.” She led him away from the sofa, arm around his waist. “Not everyone wants a career with a capital C, you know. Bartending isn’t exactly minimum-wage servitude, and just because you think it would be a nightmare, doesn’t mean it’s not a legit path for Seth. Don’t project, baby. People are different.” She gave his shoulder one last pat. “Which is a good thing. Can you imagine if everyone on the planet had Ginsberg’s jones for action? You wouldn’t be able to go shopping without worrying whether the cashier would leap over the counter and take you out in a hail of M&Ms and Snickers bars.”
Nate scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not really in the mood for this right now.”
“Too bad. You need to get your shit together because these effects tonight are no joke and you need to be present. Do you love him?”
He glared at her. “You think I’d be this wrecked if I didn’t?”
“Did you tell him so? Or did you move right on into ‘Get it done’ mode and start making plans?”
“I—” Had he? In so many words? “Maybe not. But he had to know, didn’t he? He knows I’d never— Not with someone I didn’t feel strongly for.”
“‘Feel strongly’ isn’t the same as ‘love.’ Words matter, baby.”
Nate winced. “I think some of my words were a little toxic. But he gave some back too.” “Heir to a Hollywood dynasty”? Really?
“Shee-yit. If anybody ever needed emotional hearing aids, it’s the two of you.” She smacked him on one shoulder. “Go see him. Talk to him. And what’s more important, listen to him. But don’t melt down. You’re scaring my god-dog, and though I love you like a brother, I won’t stand for that.” She bent down to scratch Tarkus’s belly. “And this time, baby? Don’t just get it done. Get it right.”
After showering, Seth spent a couple of hours in bed, trying—unsuccessfully—not to think. Lying there, he kept reliving his last few moments at Nate’s this morning, as he’d walked out.
Seth had been able to see the pain flickering in Nate’s eyes from across the room. He’d read it as easily as he’d always been able to see mischief or excitement in them. When Nate had made that comment as Seth left, about good-time guys never sticking a
round . . . Maybe he didn’t really mean it. Maybe Seth had hurt him so much he’d lashed out.
By the time Seth had reached the door, he’d definitely said things he regretted now.
Shoving himself up, he bothered to put on some clothes before pacing a circuit around his apartment, turning the argument over and over in his mind, like he could dismantle it if he could just figure out its structure. The more he dwelled on it, the more convinced he became that the good-time guy issue was all him, and he’d overreacted. He’d freaked out because he’d been desperate not to have his first real argument with his first real—and only, he’d hoped—partner.
Jesus, I really overreacted. Did I fuck everything up?
The only way to find out is to talk to him. He’d have to reach out. Apprehension tightened his chest, then spread to his gut. Oh, wait, that might be hunger. Glancing at his alarm clock, he realized it was already evening, and he hadn’t eaten anything since last night.
There was no food here, in his apartment. If he was careful, he could nip in and out of Grandma’s fridge without seeing her. Then he’d work up the courage to call Nate.
Approaching the house in stealth mode, he peeked in the window before determining the coast was clear.
He’d forgotten to factor in the infernal Law of Murphy, which had been plaguing him lately, so as he let himself into the kitchen, he found his mother entering it from the dining room.
“Well it’s about time,” she announced, planting her fists on her hips.
Seth lurched to a halt as the door swung shut behind him. No escape. “What are you doing here?” Not more of her crap, not now.
She gaped at him a second, then recovered enough to snap, “Waiting for you, what do you think? I left you three messages to come up to the house in the last hour.”
“I didn’t get them.” Truth was he hadn’t been paying attention to anything that wasn’t Nate.
Her nostrils flared, then she pivoted on one foot with the efficiency of an angry drill sergeant. “Come along.” She led the way out of the room. At least, she would have led the way if Seth had been following, but he didn’t see why he’d do that. He doubted she was here alone, and he wasn’t dumb enough to walk into that ambush, whatever it was about.
The article. Absorbed in the uncertainty of his relationship with Nate, he’d forgotten all about it.
Eh. Who cares?
Exactly who cared became clear as, after piling ham and cheese and veggies in his arms, he nudged the fridge shut with his foot to reveal his parents, Uncle Kirk, and Grandma standing on the other side of it.
Mom and Kirk were glaring at him, Dad was looking everywhere but him, and Grandma had her stare fixed on the breakfast nook. The brilliant red of her cheeks clashed with the white of the rest of her face.
“Where have you been?” demanded Kirk. Most of his anger bounced off Seth’s shield of depression. He shrugged and set his armload of sandwich fixings on the island.
“Answer me,” thundered his uncle.
“Don’t you speak to Seth that way,” snapped Grandma, eyeing him angrily enough to set him on fire with her laser vision. “You have no right.”
Kirk rounded on her, towering over her. “After what he’s done to ruin our reputation in this town?”
“He didn’t do it alone.” Debra turned her ire on Grandma also.
“I have every right,” Kirk continued, leaning toward Grandma. “After I’ve let him live here, he owes me an explanation for that article—”
“I owe you nothing.” Seth put himself between them, shielding Grandma, inches from Kirk’s face. “I’ve worked for everything I have. None of it was simply handed to me.”
Uncle Kirk retreated, a calculating set to his mouth. Probably surprised at Seth’s calm, but he’d have prepared for this. He’d have a half dozen offensives cued up to fling at Seth. Not to mention whatever he’d already said or planned to say to Grandma.
This is just about control, now, isn’t it?
Well, fuck that.
“Grandma.” Seth kept his attention unwaveringly on Kirk as he spoke. “I think you should pack a few things. It might be best if you and I went to a hotel.” It would be ironic if they ended up at the Burnt Toast, wouldn’t it? “For the foreseeable future.”
Pulsing veins popped out on Kirk’s forehead, which was all the warning Seth got before his uncle lost all cool and was yelling in his face. “You aren’t leaving here!”
“There’s no need for you to leave,” Dad said at the same time. Somehow, in spite of the volume of Kirk’s voice, Dad’s was the one that dominated the room. “Not until you’re ready.”
What did that mean? As Seth whipped his head around to look at his father, he could feel Grandma doing the same behind him.
Kirk whirled on him too. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Mother selling the house. Or rather, us selling the house and dissolving the trust.”
So, Dad was on their side? Thank God. Seth relaxed his stance, stepping away so he was close to Grandma but no longer crowding her. Next to her, though, so he could protect her again if needed.
Okay, he could see how wanting to protect the people you loved could make you do things.
“If Mom wants to move so badly, I think standing in her way is only going to cause us more problems.” Dad dipped his chin toward Grandma. “I can’t imagine how she’s planning to escalate the situation if haunting the place was the next logical step.”
Not the most encouraging way to put it, but still supportive . . . wasn’t it?
Scowling, Kirk took a step toward his brother. “Even if we sold the house—which we aren’t doing—the money would go directly into the trust account. But giving in to these—these antics is exactly the wrong thing to do. She’ll use the same tactics the next time she wants something unreasonable, and God knows what she’ll ask for.”
“A pony?” Dad offered.
Kirk choked, face growing redder and mouth flapping.
Whatever. Before Kirk could recover, Seth took advantage of the moment to appeal to their logic. “Do you even understand why it is Grandma wants to move?”
Dad shrugged, and for a brief moment, Kirk’s face went slack with surprise, then he tossed his head like a cow shaking off flies. “She wants to take it easy. She doesn’t want the upkeep of this place, which is why we need you—”
“No. As you’ve pointed out, I do all of that for her, that’s not the problem. There’s one thing I can’t do for her, though. I can’t be her friend Eleanor. I can’t be her whole social life.” And God knew her sons weren’t trying to fill in that gap.
“That’s ridiculous! All she needs is this family.” Once again, Kirk was advancing on Grandma. “Your socializing years ended when Father died.”
What a dick.
Grandma snapped, going up on tiptoes and shouting in his face. “My damned husband may have given you control over my life, but he certainly didn’t intend for you to make me miserable.” She rounded on Seth’s father. “Either of you!” Her voice cracked then, and Seth gathered her into his arms. Holding her safe, he glared over her head at those fucking assholes who’d upset her, daring them to try anything else.
She wasn’t exactly wracked by sobs, but the silence in the kitchen—in the whole house—was so thick it seemed like she was crying into a megaphone.
Dad stepped toward them, and instinctively, Seth turned away, protecting her with the bulk of his body.
Halting, his father held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Mom . . .” Was that quaver in his voice real? “I’m sorry about this. All of it.” As he slowly approached again, Seth let him, although still wary. Not letting his father do more than pat Grandma’s shaking back.
“Kirk.” Dad kept this attention on Grandma as he spoke to his brother. “I’m not going to stand by and let you bully Mom—or my son—anymore.” His gaze flickered up to meet Seth’s for a moment. “I’ve let you do it far too long already.”
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br /> “What are you going to do?” The nastiness in his mother’s voice was tactile, and the sneer she aimed at her husband made her look like a stranger. Someone he’d never known. “Kirk has to consent—”
“Shut up, Debra.” Shoulders slumping, Dad cut her off as quietly yet effectively as he had Kirk earlier. He turned to face his wife, positioning himself so he was clearly on Seth and Grandma’s side. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Neither of us can make any unilateral decisions, not unless the other allows it. That’s what I’ve been doing, letting Kirk make the decisions—what you’ve wanted me to do—but I’m done.”
Seth’s mother gaped. She sputtered. She whipped out an accusatory index finger. “Philip. I never— This is inexcusable, how could you—in front of your son!”
“He’s your son too.”
Apparently that was so offensive to her she lost the power of speech. Instead she screeched, nostrils at full sail, and stamped her foot. With a last glare she marched out of the kitchen, her footsteps echoing through the house, then growing louder again. Seth just caught a glimpse of her orange coat as she stomped through the entryway. The front door bouncing off the wall as she flung it open made Grandma wince, and they all jumped when it crashed shut behind her.
“Well.” Dad cleared his throat. “Mom, as long as you’re staying tonight, can I sleep in my old bedroom?”
Grandma sputtered with either laughter or some sort of hyena-esque crying. When she pulled out of Seth’s arms, he caught a glimpse of her smiling face, although her eyes were as reddened as his had been earlier.
Reaching for her younger son, she patted his face, then held it between her palms. “Of course. You can have your old room back.”
Dad swallowed. “I’m sorry for letting Kirk ruin your life and for everything I did that contributed. Can y-you forgive me?”
“You always were a mama’s boy.” Kirk seemed to have recovered enough to start slinging insults.
Dad had some of his own, though. “Better than being Daddy’s little shit.”
