Irons and Works: The Complete Series

by E M Lindsey

  “I know,” Rowan said quietly. “I just don’t think it would have been a choice. Not for me.”

  James sighed, then finally leaned against him. The contact was almost too much, but Rowan didn’t let himself pull away. “Is there no way forward for us?”

  Rowan wanted to tell him no, because goddamn it, he had a plan for the rest of his future. Or at the very least, an outline. It didn’t leave room for a relationship, no matter how much he wanted it. But it didn’t take him long to remind himself that when he’d made those decisions about himself, he had never felt like this before. He didn’t think it was possible.

  “Can we be friends?” he asked.

  James ducked his head and laughed. “Friends is alright, if that’s all you got for me.”

  “I can’t make promises,” Rowan told him, balling his hands into fists. “Trust me, if I had any way to promise that we could be happy, I’d give it to you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  James sniffed, then he nodded and looked up. His eyes seemed a little red under the bright moonlight, but he wasn’t crying. “I uh…I been starting to consider dating. At first, I wasn’t so sure why I was hesitating. I didn’t think you’d ever be back here. Now I think I was waitin’ for this moment.”

  Rowan blinked at him. “Closure?”

  James shook his head. “I don’t think we closed anything, darlin’. But you’re not ready, and I am.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck. “Mat showed me this group—gay folk who are also part of the church— they do get togethers. Meet ups. He thinks it might be good for me.”

  Rowan nodded, even though it killed him a little inside to do it. “I agree.”

  A little pain flashed in James’ eyes, but he smiled it away. “Yeah?”

  “Even if we could,” Rowan said, his breath a little shaky, “you deserve to see if there’s anyone out there who can make you feel…the way you deserve to feel. Amazing, wanted, beautiful.”

  “You mean the way you did?” James asked.

  Rowan squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don’t.”

  “I ain’t sorry for it. Not when it’s the truth,” James told him frankly. He waited until Rowan looked at him again. “I can’t give up hope that you’ll find room for me some day. But Mat’s right—it’s time to stop waiting.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” Rowan said helplessly.

  “That’s all on you,” James reminded him. “My number still works, you got fingers that text. I wasn’t the one who needed to disappear.”

  It hurt how right James was, and how honestly stupid he’d been about the whole thing. “I want you to be happy. I don’t know what’s going to happen in a few months when my mom dies, but I don’t want silence anymore. I’ll text you. Hell, I’ll call. Every day.”

  James let out a small laugh, then let his hand fall down between them. After a beat, Rowan felt a tentative touch, then fingers curl around his. He twisted his hand so they were palm to palm, tangled up in each other in that small way. “I’ll hold you to it,” James warned.

  Rowan squeezed the other man’s hand. “Please do. Because I know I need it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  James: Okay this is so weird. It’s like being at Sunday School but with a better fashion sense.

  * * *

  Rowan: Isn’t that stereo-typing?

  * * *

  James: I feel like I should get a pass on account of being a flaming homo.

  * * *

  Rowan: Oh my god.

  * * *

  James: The food is terrible. It’s catered Mexican but I think whoever cooked this ain’t never met a Mexican abuela in their life. There’s ketchup on the table, Rowan. Ketchup.

  * * *

  Rowan: Run. Save yourself.

  * * *

  James: Too late.

  Rowan laughed at the sight of the selfie of James with his mouth full of burrito. He looked happy, which was everything Rowan had wanted, even if it hurt. His mom made a noise beside him, and he glanced up to see her watching him with a curious expression. “Sorry,” he said, trying to tuck his phone away. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She raised a weak hand and waved off his apology. “What’s got you smiling?”

  Rowan sighed, then thumbed the screen on again and showed her the photo. “He’s at this Christian LGBT+ gathering. He’s been trying to meet people who understand him, I guess.”

  “That’s a tough role to play in the world,” she said, then dissolved into a coughing fit. Rowan winced, grabbing the wet cloth to mop her up when she was done, and he eyed her next breathing treatment which wasn’t due for an hour, but he might make an exception. It hadn’t been a great day. Her levels were dropping with a frightening consistency and he knew she had weeks left, if that.

  When she was settled, Rowan leaned back in the chair near the head of her bed, kicking one foot onto the mattress next to her leg, and he laid his phone face down on his thigh. “He’s stronger than I am. He was in the closet for years. His dad was a preacher or a pastor or something like that.” Rowan shook his head. “Grew up believing he was being sent straight to hell for the way he was.”

  “Shame,” she wheezed. “I did a lot wrong with you, but I hope you can look forward, even beyond life, and know there’s nothing but good waiting for you.”

  Rowan turned and took her hand in his, pressing her papery-thin palm to his own. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You saved a kid from a shitty situation and you did the best you could. Whatever happened after that—it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Could have listened to my doctors about those two packs a day,” she told him softly.

  He closed his eyes a long moment and breathed out. “Yes. But you still did the best you could. I don’t know where the hell I’d be if it wasn’t for you, okay?”

  She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles and her eyes drifted, though he knew she wasn’t asleep. There were too damn many steroids pumping through her to let it be that easy. “I know you were bitter for a long time. I’m sure you still are, but you were the light of my life and I never gave up waiting for you to come home.”

  Rowan felt his eyes go hot. “I’m sorry I didn’t stick around longer.”

  “No, baby,” she said. Her hand detached from his, touching his cheek until he opened his eyes to look at her. “You were out there making a difference, and that means everything. I just…I hate seeing you so alone.”

  “I’m not,” he started to defend, but he went quiet when she made an impatient noise.

  “You’ve put yourself second most of your life, and don’t try to tell me different. You never could lie to me. Not even when you were a toddler with those little curls and chubby cheeks.”

  Rowan groaned. “Mom…”

  She tightened her grip on him. “Baby, what’s stopping you now?”

  Licking his lips, he moved her hand from his cheek and held it tight, aware of every inch of her fragile skin, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Fear, mostly. I’ve been on this crusade for most of my life, and now I don’t know what to do with myself. Especially when the perfect man came along.”

  “This cute boy from the picture?” she asked.

  Rowan groaned. “He’s not a boy. Christ, way to make me feel like a dirty old man.” He grinned, though, when she managed a chuckle without coughing. “He’s not too much younger than I am. And yes, it’s him. His name is James, and he’s…he’s a tattoo artist and a mechanic. He’s brilliant in ways I can’t even describe.”

  “Did you two have sex?” she asked.

  “Jesus, Mom,” he groaned.

  “I’m a dying old woman, baby. You can’t let yourself be embarrassed by me now, after all these years.” She squeezed his hand gently and smiled.

  With a sigh, he shrugged and picked at the hem of his t-shirt. “Yeah, we had sex. He uh…he hadn’t, before me. And we had a couple of weeks together that were…perfect, I guess, in the way that they weren
’t. I wanted him to have something good to remember.”

  “For when you left?” she asked.

  Rowan flushed a bit. “Maybe. Also, I think about my first time which was just awful and awkward, and I didn’t want that for him. He’d been punishing himself with fear and denial for years, and he deserved something good.”

  “Did he get it?” she pressed.

  Rowan closed his eyes and willed himself not to remember exactly how good it had been. “I think so. I went back to help Sam with his case—you know the man with the little girl he was adopting?”

  “Mm,” she said, her eyes closing again.

  “I knew I’d see him, but I expected him to hate me.

  Instead, he took me for a ride on his motorcycle and we agreed that we’d be friends, and that he’d start dating other people.”

  “Why?” she asked. Her voice was far now, and he could tell she was drifting off.

  “Because he deserves someone more sure than I am right now. I’m…I’m trying to be what he needs, but I don’t know how to give these pieces of myself to him when I’ve been holding on for so damn long. I love him, and I’m lost. Mostly, I just want him to be happy.”

  He got no response for that. Her breathing evened, even as it rattled in her chest. Her oxygen machine hissed gently, and her monitors beeped quietly. He didn’t even really notice them now, not when he wasn’t trying to. Rowan sat up and eased her hand back to the bed, then stood up to head out.

  As he walked through the door, his phone buzzed in his hand, and he flicked the screen on.

  James: I have a date.

  * * *

  James: Wait, no. I got asked on a date. He asked me. And I said I’d call him, but I didn’t say yes, and I’m having a panic attack.

  * * *

  James: Not an actual panic attack. What do I do?

  * * *

  Rowan: Say yes. Is he cute?

  Rowan was rewarded for his stupid curiosity with a photo of a man who was cute. He was a bit older than James if the grey streaks in his dark hair were anything to go by. But his features were nice—soft and round, a little lined under his blue eyes. His hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, clipped neatly at the tops of his ears, and his smile showed teeth that were just a tiny bit crooked.

  He looked nice. He looked actually nice.

  Rowan: Go for it. What have you got to lose?

  * * *

  James: Aside from the obvious?

  * * *

  Rowan: You won’t lose me. You couldn’t. I’m not going anywhere and I think this might be good. What if he’s the love of your life?

  He hated himself for saying it, but he couldn’t stop himself either. He watched speech bubbles appear and disappear for a long while before James’ answer finally came through.

  James: He used to be a priest, I guess. A Greek Orthodox priest which he says is kind of the same thing as Catholic but without all the pedophilia. Which I think is a bold claim. But he seems nice, and he’s cute. He’s…nice to talk to. I don’t know what to do.

  * * *

  Rowan: Yes, you do. You say yes, Father, please take me on a date.

  * * *

  James: Holy shit, Rowan I…fuck.

  * * *

  Rowan: Haha. Look, tell him you’d love to go out. And then do it. Have a good time. Get to know him. That was the whole point of this, right?

  * * *

  James: How is your momma doing?

  * * *

  Rowan: I see you deflecting, but I’m allowing it on the condition that you’re going to at least go on one date.

  * * *

  James: … FINE.

  * * *

  Rowan: She’s good. It probably won’t be long now. I’ve had her estate attorney over here a few times and we’re starting the process of contacting family. It’s weird because they’ve never been there for her, but I think they’ll show up to see if they’re going to get anything out of it.

  * * *

  James: I’m sorry. Do you want me to come out there to be with you?

  Yes. Fuck. Yes, that’s the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world, but he couldn’t tell James that. James had a life to get on with, and things to discover about himself, and Rowan would not stand in the way of it.

  Rowan: I’m good, but I promise to tell you if I need you. Will that do?

  * * *

  James: No, but I guess that’s all I’m getting.

  * * *

  Rowan: Let me know how the date goes. I gotta get lunch going. Talk soon?

  * * *

  James: You know it, darlin.

  Rowan put his phone alerts on silent, then set the thing on the counter and willed himself not to look again. He wanted the date to go well. He wanted the date to be an absolute nightmare so James would resign himself to waiting for Rowan—mostly because he couldn’t deny that part of himself was a greedy, selfish monster. He’d probably be ready for James one day, he just didn’t know when.

  * * *

  “You know, most people relax after they find out I’m an expriest,” Harry said, his soft voice carrying over the empty movie theater.

  They’d deliberately picked the one which had the least amount of seats sold, because James wasn’t really feeling a big crowd that night. Harry was a good sport about it—hell, he’d been a good sport about everything since James agreed to go out with him. But James couldn’t find it in him to relax, even when there was no reason to be tense. He had a strange feeling in his gut that felt a lot like guilt, and he wasn’t sure if it was a God thing, or a Rowan thing, but either one was enough to drive him to distraction.

  “Sorry,” he said, forcing himself to sit back. He relinquished his death-grip on his drink cup and folded his hands in his lap.

  “Are you uncomfortable?” Harry asked. James didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered down to his legs, and he felt a little surge of irritation. He hated being his legs first, and the person second, but he’d give Harry credit. He hadn’t been like that most of the night.

  “I’m just not great at this whole dating thing,” James confessed. He’d studiously avoided talking much about his past, but he was the kind of guy who wore his heart on his sleeve. His methods of defense often came across as cruel, and he was trying to be better about that. “This is kind of a first for me.”

  Harry blinked at him. “As in first date ever?”

  James huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. Depends on what you’d call a date. I was…I was seein’ someone a few months ago, but it was mostly physical.”

  Harry pulled a face. “Oh.”

  James felt hot shame rush through him, and anger quickly followed. “It wasn’t dirty, nothin’ either one of us didn’t want to do…”

  “No,” Harry said in a rush. He reached out like he was going to put his hand on James’ arm, but pulled back at the last second. “Sorry, no. That isn’t what I meant. I’m definitely of the belief that people in love have every right to explore each other however they feel comfortable.”

  James gave him a wary look. “Tell you the truth, I’ve had about as much as I can stand of lectures regarding sin and sex.”

  “That isn’t,” Harry said, then sighed. “If it’s not obvious by now, I’m pretty bad at this too. I didn’t come out until I was thirty-eight, and in one fell swoop I lost my job, my parish, my friends, and a good portion of my family.”

  “Bad bet,” James said.

  He shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it. I’d say they were sacrifices I knew I was willing to make, and I had to remind myself that I didn’t want people like that—people who didn’t understand unconditional love and acceptance— in my life.”

  James looked at him a long while, and felt a little knot of tension in his chest start to ease. “I don’t know that I believe in unconditional love. I mean, I can think of a dozen ways I’d stop lovin’ someone. That sort of thing, that’s for God—ain’t for me.”

  “You still belie
ve?” Harry asked. They’d avoided talking about that elephant in the room too, but he figured with Harry being an ex-priest, it was bound to come up at some point.

  “I don’t know,” James confessed. “Some nights I think I couldn’t go on without that last bit of faith I got left. I think a lot of my bitterness begins and ends with my father. My dad was a pastor,” he clarified. “Good ole Southern Baptist minister who had a lot to say about who I was as a person.”

  Harry grimaced. “Ah. I know the type.”

  James shrugged. “He is who he is—what God made him, or so he’d say. Though he didn’t much like that excuse when I used it on myself. I think he’d die at least twice over if he saw me now.” James gestured at the side of his head and neck where his ink was most prominent above his shirt.

  “Is he dead?” Harry asked.

  James shook his head. “Far as I know, still alive and kickin’. I figure one of the cousins’ll find me on Facebook when the time comes. Doubt I’ll have a front row seat to the funeral.”

  “Do you want one?” Harry asked.

  James raised an eyebrow at him. “Confession time is it, Father?”

  Harry flushed, glancing away. “Sorry. It’s hard to kill twenty years of habit in eight months of living as yourself.”

  “Only been that long?” James asked, startled. Just then the house lights went down, and James realized this was the last place in the world he wanted to be. An ad for theater concession food came on, and James leaned in, raising his voice.