by R. Cooper
Or perhaps, Alex’s traitorous, hungry mind had whispered, Everett had been counting too.
Just as he had then, Everett raised his head with no warning, finally looking over to Alex while swinging around a delighted toddler, and when he grinned, Alex pushed away the whiskey so he could stand up.
He was as young as those children for a moment, impatient and irritable, and then George forced his daughter to move, and he was free. Everett left his bags on the floor to come over to meet him, and the raw panic that took over Alex’s body was something no amount of salts or liquors could ever deaden, though for a moment he nearly wished they could. He exhaled shakily into the collar of Everett’s thick coat and could barely remember to keep the touch light, his mind was so full of thoughts of Everett, the burning chill of the skin of his face, the scent of aftershave by his mouth, the held breath that Everett only released as Alex came closer. His arms locked tight around Alex, holding him up when his knees almost failed him.
Alex’s lips moved, but no sound emerged. He tried to pat Everett on the back, aware that others could be watching, but Everett didn’t bother with any pretense that he wasn’t happy to see him again. He wrapped his arms around Alex and crushed their bodies together, then sent Alex’s pulse racing with one gentle, chiding whisper into his ear before he let go.
“Hey, stranger, how’ve you been?” The question echoed among Alex’s swirling, delirious thoughts while Everett turned away to kiss his sister’s cheek and embrace his father and meet Ty. Alex had the suspicion that he’d been set up by the very public question; Everett only played a saint on weekdays, and he was annoyingly mischievous when he chose to be. When Everett turned back to him, Alex had recovered enough to control his expression, though not enough to stop his gaze from sweeping over Everett’s face. “We live in the same city, but I never see you.”
Everett, the clever angel, spoke just loud enough for his mother to hear.
“What do you mean?” Ally was frowning now, concerned, and Everett turned back to him. He had one eyebrow up, but on him the expression was more concerned than arch. Alex looked him over again, noticing how carefully he was being studied in return and trying not to react externally, though his heart he could do nothing about. Everett was probably searching for signs of trouble, and Alex was very proud of the fact that he wouldn’t find any. He couldn’t expect Everett to take care of him forever. Everett deserved a life of his own.
But Ally didn’t know about his deal with himself, the strangled proposition he’d put to Everett last Christmas, standing in dirty city snow outside Everett’s apartment and trying to be a man and let Everett go.
“It’s okay. He can’t help being successful and busy.” After a moment, Everett’s lips curved sideways, the smile uncertain but forgiving. There was still tightness at the corners of his eyes that spoke of hurt, and Alex leaned in again automatically to keep the knitted pattern of Everett’s sweater on his palms. He held on to it fiercely, feeling Everett’s heartbeat and the heat radiating from him without actually touching him.
“Everett.” He recovered his voice, if not the sarcastic tone that amused his students and irritated interviewers. His face felt hot, his movements clumsy. He realized he was still holding on to Everett and pulled his hands back, then wasn’t certain what to do with them. Racing thoughts had never allowed this much doubt, and he had admitted years ago while in therapy that that might have been one of the reasons he had welcomed them so strongly at first. If it wasn’t for the agony that came later, he might still have called them friend.
“I’ve been….” He struggled to explain and then gave up when Everett’s smile didn’t change. “Fuck,” he swore quietly, but Rachel yelled again.
“Working hard, I know.” Everett pulled his scarf off and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He offered another grin to his mother to calm her down as though he wasn’t the one who had riled her up. “It’s the only reason I know not to worry. He’s been sending me bits of his new work.” Bits and pieces sent without comment, because Alex had had a vow to keep, but wouldn’t worry Everett for the world. Everett turned back to Alex. “Your writing has always been your salvation.”
“That’s not completely true.” Alex’s tongue came unglued from the roof of his mouth at last and let him drawl the words. “I also have a strict regimen of medications.” And a family kind to him despite the trouble he’d brought them, and Everett himself, there to beat down doors when he had to and hold his hand when that wasn’t necessary.
The startled revelation on Ty’s face wasn’t something Alex wanted to deal with at the moment, so he ignored it. Everett chuckled.
“Anyway I thought you had too much going on to miss me. Coaxing donations for the center from the rich and well-meaning,” Alex explained to those others watching.
Everett helped run a non-profit center for homeless and troubled teenage boys in the city that had become something of a destination for troubled gay teens especially. He was, as he had always been, determined and capable and smart and trusted by children who hadn’t known how to trust until they met him. He was all those things and more, but charming rich adults out of their money was not his forte.
He had tricks up his knitted purple sleeves, but with matters close to his heart Everett was far too direct for politicking and ass-kissing. Alex could go mysterious and choose to ignore certain questions. Everett would mouth off, stupidly defiant even when outnumbered by homophobic jocks or ignorant fundraisers, and with no one around to defend him tended to end up either bloody and beaten or broke.
Everett immediately looked rueful and scratched the back of his neck. His skin was still flushed, his cheeks and ears red from the cold outside.
“They keep cutting our funding, and the money has to come from somewhere,” he muttered miserably.
“Maybe you need a celebrity to do it for you?” George suggested, and Everett shot his father a fierce look before glancing at Alex, who stopped in mid-protest at the word “celebrity” when Everett wet his lower lip with just the tip of his tongue.
“Everett, you know you just need to ask me.” Alex didn’t think anyone noticed that he wasn’t moving away. Everett certainly didn’t seem to, and Everett had been watching him closely for years. “I don’t know how much of a help I’d be, but old-money society loves a charming rogue, doesn’t it?” It was a surprise that Everett hadn’t already asked. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for the center. Everett rubbed at his neck again.
“I know you’ve been… focused on something else. I wouldn’t want to bother you,” he announced slowly, as though measuring his words, and even realizing that Everett didn’t want Alex to play that role anymore if he didn’t want to, it still stung.
“What kind of thing is that for you to say to me?” Alex demanded softly, his chin coming up. “Of course I’d help you. What wouldn’t I do for you, Everett?”
He hadn’t realized Everett had been uncertain about that until Everett’s shoulders dropped. There was silence, too much of it, and then Everett’s hazel eyes met his again. Alex let himself momentarily forget everything else.
“Then I’ll hold you to that,” Everett agreed, nodding firmly, and immediately, foolishly, Alex took a step back as old doubts reared up. He was, he reminded himself, too old for childish fears, but knowing that did not make them any less real.
He wasn’t backing out, but Everett might change his mind. As Ty had needlessly reminded him, Alex had a considerable reputation problem, and more than that, Everett had little reason to want him. “That is, if you really want me around your center again.”
“You know the boys loved your last visit.” Everett’s expression was as warm as the hand still on his arm.
Alex shrugged, and whatever was in his face made Everett’s smile grow so wide it nearly split his face. Alex gave up the struggle he hadn’t wanted to win and smiled back at him. There were shadows under Everett’s eyes, shadows that Alex had not put there, but if he dared, he might banish them.
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“I thought you’d be angry about that.” He’d gone there at Everett’s request, but on a day when Everett would be gone, and done a reading from his first book, and then one poem. He’d answered questions afterward. Everett had told him to be honest, so he had been. The supervisor there at the time had been none too pleased, but Alex had found their questions far more original than the stuff of gossipy websites and literary journals.
“Are you kidding?” Everett gave a snort that was positively gleeful, though he must have gotten an earful from that offended supervisor too. “They loved you. You didn’t try to bullshit them the way most people do.”
“I’m serious, Everett.” Rachel’s voice cut between them and made Everett look away though his obvious good humor stayed in place even through his apology. His gaze came back to Alex almost immediately.
“It was exactly what I expected from you. You told them that life will be difficult and even with hard work nothing is promised, so you have to find what works for you and at least be happy with that.”
“Did I?” Alex asked blankly, though he’d been focused for a few years now, and he remembered very well what he’d said. Everett made a “tut” sound.
“They told me all about it, and I was incredibly proud of you. They were impressed to know I was close friends with a published writer. So was I, but when haven’t we all been in awe of you, just a little bit?”
Someone let out a startled noise. It was louder than Everett’s quiet sincerity, and Alex twitched and looked around, surprised to notice that conversations were again flowing around them. No one else seemed to be paying any attention to them and their whispered, intense words except Ty, who was watching with unabashed curiosity.
Alex narrowed his eyes, but couldn’t summon the kind of anger that had used to mean bruised knuckles and black eyes. Even if he’d felt it, that rage had no place in this house, especially not now. It was Christmas, and Everett Faraday was sharing a smile with him.
His throat tightened. Those people invested in his reputation for dark wit could go fuck themselves. With one compliment Everett had him speechless.
Everett squeezed his shoulder and then leaned in again, for a hug or so Alex thought, until there was the faintest brush of lips against his cheek and then his ear. It could have been an accident, Everett misjudging the amount of space between them because he was speaking. Accident or not, Alex could no longer focus on anything else but the place where Everett’s lips had been and Everett’s voice, rumbling through him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Everett murmured, squeezing him again to give the words a new weight, as though anything short of commitment papers could have kept Alex from this house. It was Christmas at the Faradays, and Alex had waited a year for this. More, but he couldn’t count those now with his skin wet and Everett’s hopes so near. He could not even open his mouth to give his answer. He only shivered and did not move. After another pause, Everett released him and slowly stepped back to go get his things. Alex raised a hand.
“Everett.” Alex had held the words back so long they refused to come out as they should. It was Everett’s mother who turned.
“Forget those, Everett. I am going to need some things from the store. You and Alex can go together.” A juggernaut of surprises and her son’s sneaky tricks. “Take our car.” Alex was twisting to face her before he could think better of it.
“Ally, it’s freezing outside.” He hated the cold. He’d hated it his whole life, and he was only more sensitive to it now.
“Mom, I just got here,” Everett complained at the same time. Ally did not seem impressed with either excuse. Minutes later they were both bundled up again and out the door with a list in hand. Everett gave him a chagrined look that said it all.
Christmas. It meant many things, the least of which was being under the Faraday roof and Ally’s unquestioned jurisdiction. The other things, tradition, closeness, an impatient longing for presents, though they each already knew or could guess what was waiting for them under the tree, were bigger.
Three days, Alex’s mind reminded him, as though his body was not poised to leap, and his heart was not in his mouth as he considered this Christmas, and the wanting and not having that was love, and desire, and despair.
But Everett’s smile was excited as they headed out, and the fresh air put a youthful shine in his cheeks. Alex had a feeling there was a similar expression on his face, even with the cold.
He’d left his gloves in the house, but kept his hands over the central heating vent in the car and shivered as the car warmed up. Everett didn’t turn on the radio because there was no messing with George’s preprogrammed buttons set to terrifyingly conser-vative talk radio stations, but he cranked up the heater. For a few moments before they left the driveway, the loud whirr was all Alex could hear. Then Everett carefully reversed down the driveway past all the other cars parked on the lawn and the street. He lowered the temperature as he did, until the escaping hot air was just a whisper.
He didn’t glance over as they reached the corner, but Alex did. He’d already seen his old house when he’d driven up, but being a passenger meant more time to study the changes the new owners had made. The yard was neat, the thin layer of snow on the sidewalk had been cleared, and there was an electric menorah in the front window, though a closed curtain prevented him from seeing the family inside.
Everett’s hand left the steering wheel and came to rest over his. Alex had never met people more inclined to touch than the Faradays, and it wasn’t as if his father had been an unemotional man. Everett in particular was fond of these gestures and others like them, soft, brief reminders that Alex was not alone, at least that was how he liked to think of them. Sometimes he wasn’t certain that was Everett’s intent at all, but uncertainty was a dangerous thing, and he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on it much for a very long time.
“How are you really doing?” The question was inevitable, but this time Everett had been kind and not asked it around his family. Alex had done nothing to feel guilty about, and yet the slightest hint of worry in Ally’s eyes was enough to have him begging for forgiveness, which Everett damn well knew.
He could put that same fear in Everett’s eyes, and probably had by limiting their contact for all these months. Whatever his therapist—and his editor for that matter—said, he couldn’t keep pushing himself on Everett forever. A year was what he’d given himself, and year, more or less, minus birthdays, was what he had done.
“So far my experiment has been successful. I think I might be cured, doc.” Sarcasm was only effective with other people. Everett curled his fingers between his, and Alex was a shameful hypocrite because he didn’t protest. A sound only emerged in the next moment, when Everett pulled his hand away to steer.
“That’s good.” Everett looked away though the streets were nearly deserted, and kept his attention there, so Alex looked out the window as they went by their high school, empty for the holidays but otherwise exactly the same. “That’s good,” Everett said again, and that he’d need to repeat himself at all made Alex turn to study him. For far too long, Everett wouldn’t look at him, and then he bent his head to acknowledge something he wasn’t saying, and smiled.
Everett was terrible at lying for someone who should have had a lifetime of experience in masking his emotions, but maybe he had always been terrible, and Alex had never let himself see it. He’d wanted to fall for the honest little dares, to paint Everett’s fences for him and drift off on adventures together, and would have used any excuse to follow Everett’s lead.
“I still missed you, though,” Everett admitted. “In fact, a few times I almost dropped everything to come find you.”
“Really?” Alex had done the same nine or ten times and had settled for texts and short phone calls instead. “Why, Everett, I didn’t know you cared.” He glanced over, but his sad lie became more of a soft laugh when Everett rolled his eyes.
“Luckily, I think you were out of the country at the tim
e, and I came to my senses. But one of your poems ended up on some strange website, and I wanted to tell you.”
“Out of the country? Ah, I had a reading in Canada. Not too far away.” He couldn’t quite manage a straight face for that. Distances had a way of seeming greater than they actually were, as he’d learned at eighteen. Everett had gone to a state school, but Alex had gotten a scholarship to a school out of state, light years away from Everett and his family with the holidays and summers spread so far apart.
It was no wonder that with that and a new school with new pressures and his jobs and his escalating illness that he’d broken. He wasn’t to blame, and certainly Everett had never blamed him. Not even during the roller-coaster years of bad meds and wrong meds and good meds that he’d refused to take.
Letters had kept him sane at first. Until one letter to Everett a week had become seven, then eight, then too many to count or mail. Then he’d stop sending them, stop moving, until suddenly Everett or his parents would show up wherever he was to get him back on track, get him working again.
He’d been afraid taking the meds would make him unable to write, but his cycles had taken care of that on their own. Depression was not at all what so many thought it was, and certainly not what he’d imagined as a boy when he’d seen his father in bed, unshaven, unwashed, urging Alex to get away and go be with someone better. It meant no writing, no talking, no feelings except the horrifying knowledge that he was taking more and more from Everett, killing him with his exhausting misery, and then the recurring thought that taking care of Alex was a burden that Everett couldn’t need or want.
The attempt to end all of that had shown him how wrong he’d been. Everett had not been pleased with him. Neither had Ally or George, or Rachel, or Molly, or Robert. But Everett…. Waking up to Everett afterward had been enough to convince him he couldn’t let himself go down that deeply again, even if he never wrote another word or became someone else under the fog of the drugs.
