Autumn: A Crow City Side Story

by Cole McCade

  “Boy, you fuss too much,” she said. “Make too much outta nothing. It happens. Sometimes people ain’t got the capacity to give back at the time, and that’s not their fault, if they need more than they can give. That’s why we build cultures and tribes and nations and cities, ’cause they let us share and share alike for those who ain’t got what they need. Gives us a safety net, because life ain’t even and fair. Life doesn’t deal everyone the same hand, give everyone the same cards to spread around. That’s just how humans work.” She flicked her fingers. “So I slipped a few of my cards into your deck. My choice. I had a choice not to, if it bothered me.” With a snort, she lifted her cup and took a sip of her tea—then coughed and immediately spat it back into the cup, clearing her throat. “…the fuck is this shit?”

  Joseph laughed. “No idea. I just grabbed bags. I don’t live here.”

  “Tastes like rotten funeral flowers. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with that circus boy?”

  “Lot of things, but they’re part of his charm.” He laughed breathlessly—then grimaced when he tried the tea himself and nearly choked on the bitter taste. “Oh God. No. Just…no.”

  He pushed the cup away. Maxi laughed, leaning back in her chair and draping her arm over its back. “So. You seem like you got something else you wanna say to me.”

  “Thank you,” he answered. “That’s really all it is. It’s a thank you. I’ve been a terrible friend, over the years. Only calling you when I needed something. When I needed help with Willow, but I owe you so much. Even now, you had to come to me because I was too wrapped up in…”

  He didn’t know the words. So he spread his hands, as if he could encompass all of this: this wonderfully cluttered kitchen full of sweet home magic, and the traces of Wally engraved into the walls.

  “In falling in love,” Maxi said.

  Stillness flowed through Joseph, amber in his veins and crystallizing him in a single moment—a moment in which he was nothing but that captured emotion, preserved in a breath, frozen inside him until he could do nothing but feel this thing he’d been turning his face away from for days, weeks, bright and terrifying and too enormous to name with such a small, simple word.

  “I…I don’t know if I love him,” he choked out.

  “Figure it out,” Maxi said. “He loves you. And you damn well better not break him. He’s tough, but that bit of himself he’s been guarding for you? It’s fragile.”

  “You knew…?”

  “Everybody knew. Everybody but you, ’cause you didn’t want to see it.”

  “I know. I know.” He found it in him to move, and dropped his face into his hands, breathing in heavily. “But…that’s something I can’t talk about right now. I need to think. Mind if I come by the shop tomorrow?” he asked. “Just to say hi. Maybe poke around the shop, have a look at your back stock. I’m building something.”

  “Building what?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out when it’s done.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Door’s always open. Even for idiots.”

  “Yeah?” he said, and tried a smile. “Good.”

  He knew he was deflecting, changing the subject, running away, but he wasn’t ready for that question right now. Love was…love.

  Love was too much.

  Maxi thinned her lips, drumming her fingertips to the table, and looked away from him, toward the window. “You heard anything?”

  “No.” Joseph shook his head. “She made me promise to let go, so I’m trying to honor that. The police haven’t even called in days, so I’m waiting. Waiting, and hoping.”

  “All we can do. Funny thing happens when you survive the bad shit, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  She fixed him with a knowing look. “You’re still alive.”

  “Yeah. I am that.” Smiling was easier this time, as he looked down at the notepad, flipped it over, ran his thumb under one of the lines. “Maxi?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s probably real shitty of me to ask this again, now, but…I need to call in a few favors. Think I could ask you to make a few phone calls for me? I’ve got somewhere to start, but you might have better resources.”

  She squinted. “What’re you up to, boy?”

  “I don’t know yet. Depends on what we find.” He ducked his head. “I’ll tell you when I come by the shop. You want me to go wake Wally up?”

  “Nah. Boy gives me a headache. I’m good knowing you both all right.” She paused. “You all right…right? For real. Don’t bullshit me.”

  “Yeah. We are. You sure you don’t want to talk about…?”

  “Nah. My shoulders ain’t so narrow that I can’t carry that myself.” Her chair scraped as she stood, heaving herself up with a deep breath and a shifting of her body in parts, a woman made of mountains, grinding one plate at a time. “But I’m gonna take my old ass home and go to sleep. We can talk about what you need tomorrow. So…why ain’t you in bed?”

  He blinked at her, then glanced toward the second-level stairs; the faintest glow of lamplight fell through the door and into the stairwell, golden and calling him like the warmth of a hearthfire on a winter night.

  “You know,” he said, “that’s a really good question.”

  She grinned at him, and he grinned right back. He lingered only long enough to see her out and lock up, before taking the stairs back up and into the apartment. When he slipped back into the bedroom, Wally still sprawled in the sheets—tumbled on his side with the covers twisted around his hips and one slim, graceful leg hooked out in the bare air, his arm draped over a pillow and his face turned into his upraised bicep. The curve of Wally’s shoulder caught him: how it flowed in such a smooth, liquid slope back into the graceful angles of his shoulder blade, the lines of his body leading Joseph’s gaze as though Wally had defined the art of perspective, the careful placement of proportions and balance to draw the eye to how each thing in a portrait complemented the other and blended into a striking, breathtaking whole.

  Joseph slid carefully into the bed, lifting the covers and easing down next to Walford; as Joseph’s weight sank into the mattress, Wally stirred with a sleepy mumble, turning his head, the fall of his hair spilling over his forearm.

  “Joseph…?” he mumbled, one eye starting to open.

  “It’s nothing,” Joseph whispered, and tucked Wally’s hair back, skimming it back behind his ear. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Mm…all right.” Wally yawned, and when Joseph slipped his arm underneath him, Wally moved just enough to tuck into him before going lax again with a drowsy, slurring murmur. “Goodnight, mon tresor, mi amore, mi amado.”

  Joseph smiled; right now this hurt, building inside him until he could hardly breathe and his vision blurred and he didn’t fucking understand it, how smiling could feel so good it was killing him inside. “I have no idea what you just said.”

  “Mm,” was Wally’s only answer, as he nuzzled into Joseph’s chest—already gone. “Mmm.”

  “Weirdo,” Joseph whispered, and curled around Wally as if he could enfold him forever in this moment and never let it fade. “Goodnight.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BY THE TIME WALLY WOKE, the sun was making butter-yellow bars across the pillows, warming the otherwise cool linen. He was alone in the bed, wrinkles left behind where Joseph had been, and his body still sore from the intricacies and contortions of shaping itself to fit someone else through the darkest hours. He yawned, pushing himself up, and scrubbed at his eyes; his hair fell into his face, tangling in his fingers and his lashes, and he pushed it away. He needed a trim. Maybe. Joseph seemed to have quite the fondness for toying with his hair, and he didn’t mind giving him more to play with.

  Speaking of that devil… “Joseph?” he called, craning his head toward the door, but there was no answer. He frowned—then caught a glimpse of pink and white on the pillow. A folded bit of note paper from the refrigerator magnet. Wally frowned and flipped it open. Joseph’s str
eaking handwriting scrawled across the page in blue ink.

  Gone to the pawn shop to see Maxi and pick up some things. Be back at the house after ten or so. Lunch on me this time, if you want to come by.

  -Joseph, never Joe

  Wally laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. That…daft, darling thing. He wondered if Joseph remembered those were the first words he’d ever actually said to Wally, or if all these years later he was still saying Joseph, never Joe because it was simply…part of who he was.

  He glanced at the clock. Bloody well after noon; he couldn’t believe he’d slept so very long, but then he’d not been ready for Joseph to wring him dry and leave him spent last night, either. He felt most deliciously scandalous, as decadent as the heroine in one of those lavishly, wonderfully licentious historical romances, lounging among the lace and linens until indecent hours of the day after being thoroughly ravaged by a rake.

  “Ravaged by a rake,” he repeated out loud, then chuckled and eased out of bed. “Such flights of fancy for an old man.”

  He stretched until his body melted like caramel, then climbed out of bed and into the shower. He made short work of showering off and dressing, and even left his hair damp, in no mood to brush it dry when those minutes lost were minutes he could spend with Joseph. He made the walk to the Nests in record time, whistling and now and then unable to help breaking into a little tap-step; he was practically bristling, as if each of last night’s kisses, touches, had charged him with more energy than he knew what to do with, and his body was too restless to hold still.

  That energy surged to a sizzling peak, electrocuting through him, as he drew near the gate of Joseph’s house and caught sight of him, working in the back yard—even if Wally couldn’t figure out, for the life of him, what Joseph was doing. He’d erected some sort of light wooden scaffolding near the workshop, roughly in the shape of a shed with a peaked roof, but it was little more than framing posts and crossbars draped over with black plastic tarps and looped through with wires. And Joseph had a string of…Christmas lights? looped over one arm, the green plastic wire rattling as Joseph unspooled foot after foot of tiny bulbs.

  From the waist up, Joseph wore nothing but those Christmas lights; he’d stripped down to ragged jeans and bare feet, standing in the grass with green blades peeking between his toes and dirt stains on denim and the thick-set, tight-packed muscle of his chest glistening with sweat. Rivulets ran over his skin, matting the fine pelt of hair against his chest, turning his tanned musculature into glazed drippings of dulce de leche, and Wally didn’t realize he was biting his lip until the pain cut through him and he pressed a hand to his mouth, knuckles against his throbbing lower lip.

  Oh. Oh dear.

  Oh dear indeed.

  He must have made some sort of sound, because Joseph paused, glancing up, a curl of brown hair falling artlessly across his brow and bisecting one eye. He grinned, raising his hand in a wave, and Wally uprooted his frozen feet and pushed the gate open to step inside.

  “Hullo,” he said, as he ventured into earshot, and Joseph’s grin widened as he slung the coil of Christmas lights down from his shoulder and deposited them atop a toolbox left open on the ground.

  “Hey.”

  “Don’t mind me.” Wally laced his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, smirking. “Do carry on.”

  With a laugh, Joseph hooked his arm around Wally’s waist and dragged him close against his body; Wally’s stomach leaped and twisted as he was enveloped in the scent of sweat baking off Joseph’s skin, tart and deep and heady, bare flesh painfully hot to the touch and burning every imprint of his musculature through Wally’s clothing as if Wally wore nothing at all. With a rogue’s sly grin, Joseph leaned in and bumped his nose to Wally’s.

  “Are you being a pervert, weirdo?” he teased huskily.

  “Which one am I? A pervert or a weirdo?”

  “Little bit of both, I think.” A thrumming sound rose in Joseph’s throat as he nipped at Wally’s lower lip, a delicious sharp sting when it was already bruised and sensitive. “I like you that way.”

  Wally slipped his arms around Joseph’s shoulders and let himself be—let himself be giddy, let himself be swept up in this, let himself be utterly seduced by this playful side to Joseph. “I’m allowed to admire my boyfriend,” he murmured, and that thrum turned into a growl.

  “Call me that again and I’ll drag you into the house.”

  “Boyfriend.”

  Joseph arched a brow—then laughed, rich and low, and kissed Wally hard, fierce enough to leave him spinning before pulling away. “You need to stop. I’m not sure if I’m up to it right now, anyway. I’m pushing my luck as it is, and I really don’t want to have to take an oxy tonight just to fuck you. With the way those things work on me I’d pass out in the middle, still inside you.”

  Wally tried to sigh, but his mouth refused to turn downward. “Do try not to reduce our love life to such crass vulgarities.”

  But that only made Joseph’s grin widen, and even as he pulled away he reached around to smack his palm against Wally’s bum, making him jump forward with a yelp.

  “You just call it vulgar because it makes you want it,” Joseph pointed out archly, then turned away to kick his toolbox closed. Breathless, Wally straightened his clothing, smoothing his hand over his shirt and adjusting his buttons.

  “You’re feeling your oats this morning.”

  “Feeling something.” Joseph tossed his head toward the house. “C’mon. I put lunch in before I started working. Should be done by now.”

  “I admit I’m curious what you’ve cooked, but…what about this?” He craned his head back, looking up the structure. It had to be a good eight, maybe ten feet tall to the peak of the roof. “Is it a greenhouse?”

  “Not quite.” Joseph rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s…a thing. Right now it’s barely more than a pop-up tent, but I needed something I could erect easily without fucking myself up, and wreck easily if I did something wrong and had to start over.”

  “What are you making?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Joseph laughed sheepishly. “Well I know, but it’s…it’s not my usual. Electrical wiring and lighting diagrams and…” He spread his hands. “I’ll show you when it’s done, all right? It’s almost done, I just…there are finishing touches, and it’ll make sense then, and…I mean, maybe after dinner tonight. I have some other stuff to show you, if you…um, lunch. Lunch first.”

  Wally wasn’t sure how a man Joseph’s age could look so boyishly embarrassed, but it only roused that familiar warmth that bloomed inside him like the dawn whenever they were near each other. “All right, dearest one,” he said, and linked his arm with Joseph’s, tugging him toward the house. “All right. Let’s have lunch.”

  Lunch, unfortunately, involved Joseph putting a shirt on, even if the thin gray t-shirt clung to him in darkened, damp patches. Lunch also involved rump roast, sliced and rubbed with garlic and paprika and balsamic vinegar with a touch of honey drizzle before baking in its own juices all morning, and when Joseph opened the oven a wave of aroma flushed from within to leave Wally’s mouth watering, his stomach noisily reminding him he’d skipped a late brunch to come here.

  “Whatever happened to the man who was content to live on stale sandwiches?” he teased as he set the table.

  “His boyfriend made him feel like a man-child, cooking for him all the time.” Joseph peeled off succulent slices of beef and laid them on the plates as soon as Wally set them out. “You’re not the only one who likes taking care of people. There’s a salad in Tupperware in the fridge, if you want to snag that and the raspberry vinaigrette.”

  Wally arched both brows. “Raspberry vinaigrette? My, aren’t you posh.”

  “It’s store-bought. Don’t be a brat.”

  “But then how ever would I entertain myself?”

  Joseph only snorted, poured out two glasses of iced tea, and joined Wally at the table. It was funny, Wally thought as he cut a bi
te of the roast, how they never sat across from each other. Always catty-corner, each one half of a right angle, always within reach with their knees meeting under the table.

  He nudged his foot closer to Joseph’s, just to have another point of contact, and settled in to savor every moment—wordless, quiet, nothing but the faint sound of silverware on plates, yet there was nothing missing in the silence, nothing that needed to be said. Right now, they simply…were.

  And that was enough.

  Their plates were clean and Wally nearly bloated on the taste of succulent spiced beef by the time Joseph spoke, pushing his plate away and propping his chin in one hand.

  “So you want to finish that conversation we were having yesterday?”

  Wally picked up his glass of tea. “Which one, darling dear?”

  “Kids. Adopting,” Joseph said too casually, and Wally inhaled so sharply he sucked in an ice cube and lodged it in his throat.

  He choked, coughing, dropping the glass so hard it teetered and sloshed; Joseph patted his back, watching him with a too-mild look, while Wally fought the ice cube down until it was nothing but a frozen lump sliding down his throat uncomfortably, painfully, as though he’d swallowed a metaphor that was just a little too on the bloody nose.

  He stared at Joseph. “I. Oh. I—I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “I’m too old to think in the short term, Walford. And I don’t like to waste my time on flings.” That hand was still on his back, and now it stroked soothingly between his shoulder blades. “We’ve been doing this thing for a couple of weeks, and I haven’t scared you off yet.”

  “How could you ever? As long as I’ve…”

  “Moping over someone for twenty years isn’t the same as being with them. I know I’m frustrating.” Joseph grinned, one-sided and wry. “So are you. But you’re still here, and this thing seems like it’s settling into a fixture. So I’m just…starting to think about what could happen if what if turns into one day.” Those dark brown eyes were so earnest, so serious, tearing into Wally’s soul. “Would you want that, one day? Adopting a kid or two with me. Settling down. Knowing the tomorrows are a certainty, instead of a maybe.”