by Riley Hart
The longer Shane stood there thinking about it, the angrier he became. My father…. Was that supposed to wipe out all the years Maxwell was an asshole to him? He’d said he didn’t want Shane’s pity but how in the fuck did he know that was true? The Maxwell he’d known hadn’t been above using whatever he could use to get whatever he wanted. Had he come out there trying to make Shane feel like his hatred of him was misplaced? Poor little rich boy whose father likely treated Maxwell the same way Maxwell and his friends had treated Shane.
He wasn’t going to do it; wasn’t going to let Maxwell off the hook for the shit he’d done.
His head throbbed. His jaw tensed and he felt the tick there. His whole life, he’d wanted to show Maxwell the shit they’d pulled hadn’t fucked with him. That he’d grown past it, but now that Maxwell was there, his body was a hurricane of different thoughts and needs.
He didn’t want to care.
He didn’t want to give Maxwell the satisfaction.
He also didn’t want to let Maxwell off the hook for the shit he’d pulled, the same way he and his friends had always been let off when they were growing up.
Anger controlled Shane’s movements as he pushed away from a tree and made his way back to where he’d left Maxwell—motherfucker, at his fishing spot.
“You know what? Fuck you,” he said the second he broke through the clearing.
“I was waiting for that.” Maxwell stood beside Shane’s chair. He put the fishing pole through the cup holder, which had a hole in the fabric so it would stay there. Shane could have done that from the beginning.
“So because you’re gay and you didn’t have a perfect life I’m supposed to forget the way you treated me?”
“I never said that,” Maxwell countered. “I—”
“It makes it even worse because you knew what I was going through! In some ways, the perfect Maxwell Sullivan knew what I was going through and instead of calling your fucking dogs off me, you just kept piling it on. You spray-painted fag on my house, when you were gay too. That makes you worse than all the rest of them combined.” Shane had been alone. The only person he’d had in his life was Caleb and Caleb had been taken away from him, yet Max had been gay too and he’d harassed Shane?
“You think I don’t know that?” Maxwell’s voice thundered through the quiet space around them. “You think I haven’t regretted that every goddamn day of my life since then? That I haven’t hated myself for it? That I haven’t thought of a million ways I could try to make it up to you? Because I have, and no, I know that doesn’t make it better. I know what I did, Shane. I live with it every fucking day of my life, the same way I’m sure you do. No matter how much we try to forget our pasts, they’re always fucking there.”
He shook his head, ran a hand through his dark curls. “When I left Last Chance and put myself on a bus to LA, I never wanted to come back. I never planned to see this fucking town, Jonathan, my parents, or any of them again. I wanted to do nothing but forget—the lies, the pain, you.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I wasn’t real fond of memories of you either.” As much as he hated it, he felt some of his anger melting away. He’d needed to get that out, needed to tell Maxwell to fuck off, and he’d done it.
“Thinking of you reminded me of the worst in myself,” Maxwell said, then pushed his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “Thinking of this town, and especially of you, made me remember who I didn’t want to be. I’ve spent the past twelve years trying to make amends for the person I was, and the things I did.”
His words were broken-down, bare-bones honesty. Shane could hear it in the painful rasp to his voice. See it in the pain in his green eyes.
He opened his mouth to say something…he wasn’t even sure what, when his fishing pole jerked. Maxwell must have noticed it too because his eyes darted to the side. It pulled again, slipping out of the makeshift holder in the chair. Both he and Maxwell dove for it at the same time.
Maxwell got his hands on it first. “Oh fuck. Feels like a big one.”
“Reel it the hell in!” Shane told him.
“I’m trying!” Maxwell turned the handle on the reel but pulled it too tight.
“The line’s going to snap. Give it here. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Fuck you. I’m doing fine,” Max replied.
The pole bent. Maxwell pulled it back, just as Shane reached for it.
“Give it to me, Maxwell,” he said as the pole bent sharply again.
“Van,” Maxwell snapped, handing it over. The rod almost slipped out of Shane’s hands.
“Truck,” he said as he gripped his fishing pole tighter. “But I have to admit, I don’t get this game.” Why in the hell had Maxwell shouted “van” at him?
“It’s my name. I don’t go by Max anymore. I haven’t been called that in twelve years. Maxwell is the boy who lived here, the one who lived under my father’s thumb. My name is Van.”
That caught Shane’s attention. He looked at Maxwell—Van—and forgot about the fish on the line for one second, before he heard the line snap, and he said, “Shit. Well, that’s kind of a stupid name, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you. It’s sexy!” Van said, smiling despite himself. “You’re the first man I’ve met who hasn’t thought my name is hot.”
It was weird as hell to hear him say things like that—to talk about men. It was weird as hell to be there with Max—Van at all. “Sounds stupid to me,” Shane replied. “And you made me lose my fish.”
“It came from Sullivan, and you made you lose your fish. I didn’t ask you to stop and call my name dumb.”
“Stupid, I said it’s stupid.”
Van cocked a brow at him. “Is there a difference?”
No…he guessed there wasn’t. Shane sighed, before plopping down in his chair. Now that he’d vented, his anger at Van was all but gone, the only thing left was…curiosity. And he wasn’t sure he liked that. If he was being honest, he’d admit his anger was nearly gone at hearing Van had spent hours with his mom when she needed him.
Guilt bled its way in now. “He was physically abusive?” he asked, because he needed to hear it.
“Yes,” he replied simply, before sitting in the dirt again. “And mentally.”
Flashes of the past pieced themselves together in Shane’s head—black eyes, swollen lips—none of them he’d ever questioned. None that anyone else had ever questioned either. Who would? Not when it was Maxwell Sullivan and Maxwell Sullivan Senior they were talking about. “You broke your wrist in the eighth grade.”
“He broke my wrist in the eighth grade. I believe the story was I fell off a horse, but he was pissed at me because he heard me tell my mom I wanted to stop playing football and asked about art lessons for Christmas. I never did that again. He was upset I’d gotten hurt so badly because it could have fucked up my football career.”
“Jesus.” A heaviness rested on Shane’s chest. He’d never known. No one had…or they hadn’t wanted to know. “It was that bad?”
Van shrugged. “Not all the time.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to do this. That’s not why I came out here. I just…I wanted you to know I’m sorry. And I’m not the same person anymore.”
He made a move to stand, and Shane found himself asking, “You want a drink? I have two beers. I’ll give you one.”
“Isn’t it a little early for beer?” Van asked.
“Not today, it’s not.” Shane leaned over and opened the cooler behind him. He pulled out the only two beers that he’d brought, because he needed to drive, and handed one to Max—Van—that was going to be hard to get used to.
They cracked them open, and both took a few swallows. Van drew in the dirt with his finger and Shane watched him, trying to figure him out. He wondered if things had been different, if he and Van could have been friends.
“I can fix your line for you…ya know, since it was my fault and everything.” Van winked at him. Shane handed his gear over, just for something
to do, watching as Van replaced the line. His fingers looked rough—calloused in a way they hadn’t as kids, but then his hadn’t looked that way back then either.
“I’m trying to figure out what to say to you,” he admitted. “There’s not a chance in hell I ever saw us sitting together like this.”
“Talk to me like you would anyone else,” Van replied. “Or don’t talk to me at all. I’m not real fond of that second option but I understand if that’s what you want.”
He should want to walk away. Maybe part of him did, but Shane didn’t work that way. “You’re here because of your father’s death?” he asked.
Van’s muscles tensed up. “No. I would never come here for him. I’m not sure I should be here at all but my mom asked, so I came. She’s struggling and needed my help with a few things. He was the most important thing in her life.”
He couldn’t imagine a parent putting anyone over their child. Shane’s mom was a lot of things, but he knew she would never let anyone physically hurt him.
“So you came for her?” he confirmed.
“Yes and no. I think I need to try. I’ll always wonder if I don’t. And maybe I just knew I needed to make peace with my past to fully move on. She’s going to sell the house. I figured I can help her pack and clean things out. Then I’m gone.”
The word gone hit Shane in the chest, nearly stealing his breath. Shane would never be gone…. I have a life here. I’m happy. And in a lot of ways, he was. Still, he envied Van—the ability to go when he wanted to. He also realized the two of them might have more in common than they ever thought they did.
Van was there. Despite how his mom had let him suffer, he was there. Unless… Shane’s spine went rigid. “Did he hurt her, too?”
“Fuck no,” Van replied sharply. “I would have never left her alone with him if he had. He saved that for me. I was the disappointment. I was the one he wanted to walk in his footsteps. Make him proud.”
Shane sighed, leaned back in the chair, and took a drink of his beer. A breeze rushed through the trees and he saw Van shudder. If it was from the chill, or his memories, Shane didn’t know. What he did know was that nothing was as it seemed. No, that wasn’t true. Van had still been wrong in what he’d done, but his life wasn’t what Shane had always thought it was. Van’s reasons for his actions weren’t what Shane thought, and that somehow altered how he viewed the past. It still hurt, but in a different way.
“They really have the ability to fuck us up, don’t they?” he asked.
Van looked up at him, honesty in his eyes. He obviously knew exactly what Shane meant… “Yeah…yeah, they do. How is she?”
The hairs on the back of Shane’s neck rose.
Shane’s mom is crazy.
What happened to her?
What’s wrong with her?
He shook his head. The last thing he wanted to talk to Van about was his mom. He must’ve understood because Van nodded and said, “I’m sorry.” He looked out over the water then. His forehead wrinkled when he squinted his eyes. “It really is beautiful out here. I forgot how beautiful Last Chance could be. It didn’t look like this to me anymore…not by the time I left.”
Shane took in the water, the trees, all that fucking green. He couldn’t imagine looking around and not seeing the beauty there. Yes, he had his resentments but he couldn’t look around him and not appreciate this. “Don’t let other people steal your joy. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s not to let other people take what you love. Hold onto that shit.”
Van’s eyes snapped up to him. Just as he opened his mouth to answer, the ring of a phone broke through the quiet.
Van pulled his cell out of his pocket, before silencing the call. It made Shane take a glance at his which sat on the arm of the chair, to make sure he hadn’t somehow missed a call from his mom.
“Shit,” Van said. “I should go. I need to go help my mom.”
His mom. Van was in town helping his mom despite the pain she’d let him endure…the same way Shane did with his own mother.
Van pushed to his feet. He was so damn different from what Shane remembered. His hair wasn’t cut as short as it had been, and had grown out in curls. He had scruff on his face and kindness in his eyes.
“Thank you…for asking me out here. For listening.”
Unable to reply, Shane nodded.
Van took a few steps away, then stopped. “I probably don’t have the right to ask you this but…would you want to have a beer or something while I’m here?”
“You won’t be busy with Jonathan?” Shane found himself asking.
“No. I ran into him yesterday and I have no plan to rekindle any kind of friendship there. We’re just too different. He reminds me of what I don’t want to be.”
Shane didn’t answer. Time stretched between them until Van finally said, “That’s okay. I understand.”
He took another few steps before Shane’s mouth opened and the words, “Round Table,” tumbled out. “I hang out at Round Table. I’ll probably be there around nine tonight.”
There was a short pause and then Van said, “Yeah, I’ll probably be there around nine too.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Where were you?” Van’s mom asked when he stepped back into the house. A heaviness sat on his chest just from being inside.
He still couldn’t believe he’d spent time with Shane that morning. That Shane had been willing to talk to him at all. But he had, and they were going for a beer later. He wasn’t sure what made him ask Shane. Maybe because he liked his company, which he did. Maybe because Shane intrigued him, which he did. And also, maybe because Shane was the only person in the town Van thought he might understand, which oddly, he did.
“Don’t you think I’m a little old for you to be asking me that?” he replied.
She looked away, and wiped her eyes, making Van frown. That wasn’t like his mother at all.
“I thought…I thought you left again.”
It hadn’t seemed to bother her much the first time. Not outside of…what will we tell everyone? Things were different, he noticed. Now, she was alone. Now, he almost sensed…fear? Sadness? At her confession to having thought he left. Anger flashed white hot through him but Van stamped it down. She should have felt those things back then. As long as she had his father, she had been okay. It hadn’t ever mattered to her if Van was, but now she was worried if he was here or not?
“My suitcase is still upstairs. I wouldn’t have left without my stuff.”
“But you would have left without telling me again?” she asked.
He sighed, then replied honestly, “I don’t know. I don’t know how to do this. Not after all these years and not after all I’ve been through.”
She waved him off that easily; he knew the conversation was over. She’d always been good at sweeping things under the rug. “Were you with Jonathan?” she asked.
“No.” Van opened the lid on the coffee machine and began to make a pot.
“He’s a lawyer, you know. He’s done very well for himself. He and his wife have three kids. He met her in college. She’s not from Last Chance, but she fits right in. He’s done a lot for this town. It’s like he’s living out your dream. Remember, the two of you wanted to go into practice together?” She told him everything about Jonathan’s life that Jonathan had already said.
Van scoffed. “That was never my dream. That’s what Dad wanted for me and I knew better than to say I wanted something different.” He looked at her, waiting to see if she would make eye contact. Waiting to see if she would show any kind of remorse, but she didn’t.
“Don’t be silly, Maxwell. Maybe you changed your mind, but you wanted those things. Jonathan comes to see me sometimes. He’s such a good man.”
If she knew more about who he was, would she tell people the same about him? Van had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer to that question. “What about me? Don’t you want to know what I do?” he asked.
“You’re a photographer, right? Pain
ter? Both?”
“Yes, but of what? Do you want to know that?” Maybe he was being an ass and that he shouldn’t be doing this right now, but he couldn’t help it. If they were going to have any kind of relationship, she had to accept him for who he was.
When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Do you want to know if I’m married? If I have anyone special in my life?”
“Do you?” she asked.
“No…but I need you to know, if I did have someone special in my life, he would be a man.”
She gasped.
“And I’m not ashamed of that. I haven’t been in a long time. I’m happy. I’m a gay man and I’m an artist who creates homoerotic art. I put myself through art school. I worked two jobs at a time sometimes. I rented rooms and spent time in shelters, but I made it and I’m proud of that. Are you?”
She shook her head. “Of course, I’m glad you’re okay. You’re trying to pick a fight with me, Max. You’re trying to hurt me.”
“Telling you who I am hurts you?” But the truth was, he feared she might be right.
“Your father—”
“Has no say in my life. Even if he was still here.”
“Are you trying to be difficult?” she asked.
“No.” And he wasn’t. “I’m trying to have a relationship with you and the only way we can do that is if we put all our chips on the table. If you can accept me for who I am. Can you do that?”
She looked down and he closed his eyes while he waited for what would come next. “I don’t know, Max. This is…this is a lot. I just don’t know.”
CHAPTER TEN
Shane hadn’t meant to sleep so long. He stayed at the lake for hours after Van left. It felt easier to think of him as Van. It was almost as though he could then pretend it wasn’t the same person, because he no longer felt like the Maxwell of his dark memories, and he was glad for that. He hadn’t realized how much those old scars lingered and hurt until they dug them up and reburied them again. Yelling at Van had been therapeutic, releasing all of the anger he’d held against the old Max.
