Lost in the Echo

by Jack L. Pyke

  But after a moment, Elliot pushed his mug away. “I can’t stay here, Will. I don’t want to be here.”

  Will frowned. Elliot still stared at the radiator. He wasn’t only hiding from Will, but also from seeing James’s fading marks.

  “Let me go, please.” Elliot wiped a hand over his face. “I’m tired. So fucking tire…”

  Will turned his ear as the familiar crunch of tyre on gravel pulled up on the drive. After stumbling to his feet and leaving Elliot cutting his own words and frowning at where he was going, Will headed back into the living room. So naturally drawn in many ways to the familiar sound, to the shoves and pushes that would usually come through the door, to the shy blushes he’d missed back then as James came home with Ryan in tow. And it was there on the tip of his tongue, that normal shout of “Hey, how’s your day been, lads?”.

  Only, as he stopped by the window, there was no shy smile, no nudge of the elbow and a rush of “hushes” that usually followed it.

  Ryan stood outside, as frozen as his father had been a few minutes ago when it came to looking at the step and how safe and organised the milk bottles now stood in their cage.

  Will’s world seemed to collapse and clear in the same instant. “Fuck,” he breathed. He made it outside and took hold of Ryan’s hand. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, coaxing him forward. “C’mon, please. It’ll be all right.”

  Like with Elliot, that pull to get away came, but it held none of the anger, more of the hurt, then less of a tug to get away and maybe more of a need to step across and taste the echo of those nudges into ribs, see the rise of first-time blushes, remember those tentative touches on the couch.

  “Ryan.” Will slipped an arm around his neck. “It’s okay. C’mon.”

  A look at him, Ryan gave a small nod. Only the barest fraction, and the step across the threshold seemed to take a lifetime, or at least all of Ryan’s breath, because the moment his foot touched down on the other side, the rush to breathe in life came.

  Ryan offered a faint trace of a smile, more natural, like he was home. “I can still smell his CK One.” But as they made it into the lounge, Ryan stilled, his look and inability to move now focused on how Elliot leant against the kitchen doorframe. Elliot came with a cologne all of his own, and Ryan wiped at his nose, no doubt catching faint traces of that now.

  “Ry—”

  “No.” Ryan cut up Elliot’s turmoil at being caught out, too, and Ryan looked from Will to Elliot, then Elliot back to Will. “Not now. I won’t do this now. I’m not leaving James behind.”

  He turned to leave, but Will moved in front of him and shut the lounge door. In the next breath, he sat Ryan down in the armchair, and Will unconsciously found a seat on the coffee table in front of it.

  “Your dad’s leaving today.”

  Ryan didn’t flinch. “His choice, not mine.”

  “Your dad’s leaving today, and I want him to leave knowing that you’re going to go with him and help him move.”

  Cursing under his breath, Ryan went to stand, but Will asked him to stay. It hurt seeing how Ryan listened to that but still refused to acknowledge who stood just a few feet away. “I need you to listen,” he added gently, “and I want you to listen now to what I have to say.”

  Tensing his jaw, Ryan looked at his hands. At the phone he held there. “Will, I love everything you’ve done for me. That you do for me.” He looked up. “The past few days have been so hard, and you… you’ve pulled me back from doing some really stupid things that could have landed me next to James this weekend.”

  Will frowned and looked down at Ryan’s phone. He reached over and gently took it from his hands. Today’s inbox showed his last text, asking Ryan to come over, but scrolling back through that…

  “Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath. His name was tagged to several other messages, and his style of language was mimicked perfectly, but the control of a son’s grief, the need to be there for a son’s grief on reading how he’d gotten drunk, that he’d stood outside of the cottage wanting to smash the motorbike up, smash every bottle going until the shards cut his own skin so he could wash away James’s blood with his own…

  Will rubbed at his eyes, half choking a laugh, half a sob.

  That came from the father who’d needed to be there for his son.

  “Ryan, I love your dad, so… so bloody much,” he said quietly. He looked up, shrugging. “I think I’ve loved him since he first stole my dinner money, and he shadowed my life after that moment to push me into acknowledging that.”

  Ryan frowned. “I don’t…” He started to stand, failed, sat down, then found his feet again. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. You love him?”

  Will followed him up. “A few days before James died, I saw the look you two shared.” Will frowned a smile through a tear. “So bloody beautiful, yet terrifying at the same time.”

  “You…” Ryan looked at Elliot, back at Will. “Dad knew about us that night. But you… When you saw us. If you knew, why shout at James, at me… why didn’t you… him… me? Why didn’t you say anything about—”

  “Your dad?” Will shrugged. “I thought… hoped what you had would burn itself out. That I wouldn’t have to say anything to anyone and that I wouldn’t lose James. I wouldn’t lose you. But…” Will felt his heart slip. “I wouldn’t mostly lose your dad.”

  “You?” Ryan screwed his face. Again he went from Will, to Elliot, back to Will. “You slept with him? You touched my dad? But you, him… he’s straight.”

  “I came home that night, and what you have in your eyes now,” said Will, “that disgust. I didn’t want it to tear my family apart. James was seventeen, still under Social Services’ radar with being in full-time education, and… and they’d take him away from me if they knew the mess we’d gotten into.”

  “Mess?” Ryan looked sickened. “What mess?” His eyes widened a touch. “That you’d think they’d take him because I loved him, because you were lovers too? That we somehow… corrupted him and made him gay?” Ryan took a step back, away. “What we had wasn’t sick. What you had wasn’t sick, just different, natural. And we’re not living in the dark ages, Will, we’re—”

  It was the same hurt Elliot had given him, but they hadn’t been through the adoption process, how difficult every… fucking… step is for a straight couple to adopt, let alone gay. So Will eased off, letting Ryan’s phone rest on the table. “I was supposed to tell you after we got back from the bike show. I wanted you two to know that me and your dad, we were finished, that it was okay for you two to keep seeing each other. Your dad… He didn’t want the lies, the deceit either, but he wanted me to tell you two and let you decide where things went with all of us. He didn’t want to hide anymore either.”

  Will sniffed and looked at Ryan, hating then just how much he looked like Elliot in stance, mannerism, just hard hold of eye. “But I kept quiet. I kept quiet, hoping I could save the best of both worlds by not speaking, and—” He shrugged. “—I lost everything because of it.”

  Ryan looked away.

  “Your dad, Ry, he wanted the best for both you and James that day, for me and him. For me to be honest with you and James, with myself and not worry, nothing more. That wasn’t the bully talking, just the longing of one lover to be acknowledged by another. What happened to James, everything after that, was down to me.”

  “Will.” That harshness to his name came from Elliot, but Will shook his head as Ryan snorted, throwing his hands out.

  “Well, that’s all right, then.” Ryan’s hands slapped down by his sides. “Glad we cleared that up and we’re all back on par.” He thumbed behind him, towards the stairs. “I’ll just go up and get James and we’ll, what? Go play happy… fucking… families.” The shout towards the end had Will reaching for Ryan, but Ryan flinched away. “Because it’s not going to change a fucking thing, is it?” An angered tear fell. “I’m still going to be alone. James is still going to be dead— and I’m still going t
o miss someone I only got to hold once, whilst you two piss over everything we had, wasting time arguing and—”

  A snarl came from Elliot; then he shoved Will out of the way and headed towards the front door.

  “No.” That shouted hurt came from Will, but the terror itself came from Ryan as he shifted and slammed a hand against the door, keeping it shut. He pushed Elliot back.

  “People walk out in anger and they don’t come back,” he shouted at Elliot. “They die and all we’re left to hold is the hurt and the mistakes we’ve made.” He punched Elliot’s shoulder. “I hate what you’ve done, that you didn’t tell me you loved Will when I sat back at home telling you how much I loved James, the night before he died.” He focused everything on Will. “That goes for you, too, because you damn well could have told me. How could you not fucking tell me that you loved my dad— he’s my fucking dad… And James… How could you not trust him?” A sob raked his body as he looked at Elliot. “But I let James walk when he was hurting and—” He shoved Elliot back— once, twice, three times. “And I’ll damn well learn from my fuck-ups even if you two can’t. So you stay. You hold onto Will because at least you’re both still breathing and able to take that one last chance.”

  The lounge fell quiet, only Ryan’s heavy breathing and slight tinge of sweat from the morning sun filled the room.

  Elliot frowned, went to say something, then looking hurt, angry, he pulled Ryan in with an arm around his neck. At first Ryan tried to push away, then his hands shifted up, sneaking around his dad and holding on tight.

  “I wish…” Elliot buried a kiss, a tear in Ryan’s hair as he kissed his head. “I just wish I could get it all back for you, kid. I wish I could get him back.”

  Ryan pushed away, wiping a sleeve across his cheek as he sniffed. “He’s not coming back, Dad. But Will… Will’s all I’ve got left of him and…” Ryan half glanced at Will. “Unlike you two, me and James, we talked.” He snorted a hard smile. “Christ, we’d talk into the darkness where he hated being alone the most, and the one thing that scared him more than anything was thinking Will would be left alone in the dark, like James had been left alone as a kid. So you want to do something for me? You damn well make sure James’s fears aren’t realised, and you look after Will.”

  Elliot looked over, thrown back into a world where it hurt too much to talk, and all Will had left anymore was a shrug. So little, yet it took everything in the world to offer. Ryan ran a shaking hand through his hair and Elliot shifted closer, looking ready to try and soak it all away with how badly Ryan shook.

  But Ryan distanced himself, stepped away, no hurt intended with how he seemed to keep pure focus on Elliot. “Dad, I’ve missed you like hell, and I don’t want to miss you anymore, but right now… I need to feel James. So I’m gonna go take James’s bike out for a ride, celebrate his birthday how he wanted us to, by riding that monster together out there. I’ll give him that for as long as I can keep fixing the bike and making it work, and he’ll always have a part of me because of it.” He looked at Will. “I want his bike. I’m keeping his bike. You give me that, because it was meant to be ridden, not sit like some mausoleum piece on a driveway.”

  It didn’t even need any thought. Will nodded, and Ryan headed for the door and tugged it open. He paused before leaving, not looking back now. “I’ll be back to help you move, Dad, if that’s what you want.” He glanced back at Will then. “But you, you make damn well sure he doesn’t walk out of this door and I lose him too. You do that, and we’re good. Me… I want him here making me a coffee when I get back.”

  Keys were taken from the table by the door, and a moment later the sound of a motorbike cut across the morning, with a few revs to warm it up and the skill of the dad was reflected there in the son, as he slipped on a helmet and pulled away.

  Will was left looking at Elliot, Elliot at Will.

  Head down, Will went over and took Elliot’s hand. Saying nothing more, he backed his way to the stairs. Elliot followed, quiet, subdued, as Will led him upstairs. They reached Will’s bedroom and Will slipped Elliot’s phone from his jean pocket.

  Someone picked up the other end, but he didn’t give them any chance to talk. “Elliot’s staying with me. Unpack his things.”

  Quiet. “I need to hear Elliot say that.”

  “No, you don’t.” Will flicked the phone shut and slipped it onto the nightstand. Elliot stayed by the bed as Will went and closed the blinds. A moment later he was back by Elliot, laying him down, then pulling the covers over them both.

  The fighting was done. In the grand scheme of young lovers losing each other and not being able to hide like this away from the world, it said all the arguing and fighting was more than done now.

  Beneath the covers, Elliot started to shake. Grief, worry, release— they changed with each shiver like the changing of colours in a constantly rotating kaleidoscope, now all exposed at their fullest.

  “You left out the kidnapping.”

  It came so quietly, and Will nodded. Elliot’s grief racked Will’s body. “I left you out. Weigh that up and tell me who caused the most damage.”

  He slipped a hold around Elliot, not wanting to talk anymore. It would come, probably still carrying all the anger, the hurt, and yeah, they’d still probably tear each other apart, but for now, the tick, tick-tick from the hall clock kept them holding on with how lucky they were to have a second chance at holding on like lovers.

  It was there in the quiet, how they’d stay side by side no matter the rough; maybe even ride all that rough to see Ryan hold someone like this again.

  He slept for a few hours, only the sound of a motorbike pulling back onto the driveway tugging Will from the darkest of dreams. Then cupboards were being rummaged through, the smell of coffee, and a radio came on downstairs.

  The bed was cold beside him, and Will eased up onto an elbow and craned his neck to listen to where the sounds of the living came from.

  Someone started to hum distractedly to the radio. Ryan. It didn’t quite carry the same ease found in “hushes” and “shushes” that used to come on the back of humming and singing from James’s bedroom, but… good. It sounded good, less troubled as the sound of cup against cup was heard from the kitchen.

  Will threw the covers back, and keeping his footfalls light, he headed on downstairs.

  In the kitchen, their backs to him, Elliot spooned sugar into two mugs as Ryan took some toast from the toaster. They spoke quietly, about how Elliot had thrown stones at the neighbour’s kid when he was young, and how he’d chased a kiss at 1725 off that same kid years later. Will rested against the doorframe as he listened. Ryan didn’t speak much, but there’d be an offer of a smile, especially when talk came around to James. Elliot knew him in ways Ryan hadn’t seen before now, and it opened up new dimensions, fresh perspectives on old lovers, and it looked good to be remembered and discovered.

  And during all their talk, Elliot kept to his promise of being there to make coffee for Ryan.

  Eventually Will turned away, needing to give them their time, but from behind him, hands eased around his waist, holding him still.

  “Here, with us.” Elliot’s breath caught Will’s neck, stirring a shiver. “With me.”

  The sun chased shadows around his living room walls and the fading echo of James’s cologne that always seemed to linger, on top of Ryan’s humming from behind, offered the perfect crossover between two worlds.

  Will closed his eyes, leaning back into Elliot, his hold. It offered a safe walkway between the two, one he wished he’d seen so much sooner.” Still think we’re gonna tear each other apart?” he mumbled quietly.

  Elliot nodded. “Maybe. But if it helps, I promise there’s no more stones in my pockets.”

  Will choked a smile, then eased around to face Elliot. “Just your heart on your sleeve and you letting me see it is all I need.”

  Elliot sighed and rested his head against Will’s. “Then keep these eyes open. But only ever for me, clear?”<
br />
  “That a threat?”

  A kiss brushed Will’s lips. “Bet your soul, it is, Chambers.”

  “Because I took yours.”

  “Because you owned mine long ago.”

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  Author’s Notes

  With this extended edition being a rewrite of a previous version. In the early version, I knew I’d left Ryan pretty much out on a limb and on his own. He had a glimmer of hope that everything would be okay for him as far his relationship with Elliot (his dad) went, but it was always obscure, when it was a core relationship that needed more closure.

  Elliot takes pretty extreme measures, but grief can affect people in many ways. He has the loss of James, his own son, and Will to try and order in his mind, and I love how extreme and intense he gets. But that’s Elliot in general. He loves aggressively, perhaps destructively, but doesn’t back down from expressing that amount of emotion when communication breaks down.

  Will flowed so easily on paper. He carries a natural love of language: linguistics, but also has that stumbling block over how what he knows never quite transfers to his speech. He almost happy to ghost through life, listening… looking.

  Neither Will nor Elliot are based on any people I know; they both just eased their way into the story in their own right. I sometimes get asked if there are images I use to help portray characters, but as with first writing Don’t… when I write the first draft, I pretty much love to see where writing takes the imagery without the use of any aids.

  As usual, I have one hell of a team who backs me up with everything I write, and they each bring something special to the table. Thanks as ever to Rylan Hunter, my editor at ForbiddenFiction. Even new editions of previous work offer their challenges! Thanks also to ForbiddenFiction in general and continuing to have faith in what I write. Also, as ever, to Vicki Howard, who is a tireless line editor, dark content consultant, and general good friend who always pushes me forward when I feel like stepping back. And to the scarily knowledgeable: HP Strangelove (M/M author). My lord… you’ve been amazing as always, HP!!! There’s also a new member to the team: Baba, a top-class and brutally honest reviewer on Goodreads. It’s those brutal skills I hunt out because smooth seas never did make a skillful sailor. Thank you!! I’m going to say a huge thanks also to Joseph Lance Tonlet, not only for his author and reading skills, but also because he’s a damn fine gentleman, and I love getting the opportunity to talk with him. You’re all outstanding to work with.