Bound and Determined (30 page)

Owen was sure was meant to be his father. “'You do
know
the reputation that

boys who participate in theater have, don't you, Will? I'm sure you wouldn't

want to risk shaming your family that way.'”

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125

Owen laughed, a snicker of pure amusement. “Jake and Gary, the couple

I'm spending Christmas Day with, would confirm every fear he had about

theater people, but Jesus, how narrow-minded is he?”

“The funny thing was, I started playing baseball because he didn't want

me wasting my time with sports. He maybe got over that a little bit when it

turned out I was winning us games and people in town got into the idea of

having a star player, but he thought when I was done with baseball that meant

I'd concentrate on my grades. It never got through to him that I did just fine

grade-wise whether I was paying attention to extracurricular stuff or not.”

Sliding down, Sterling pressed his lips to Owen's chest without really kissing it,

then exhaled. “Now I mostly worry about what he's telling my sister about me,

you know?”

Sterling had mentioned her from time to time, a deep affection clear when

he spoke of her, but Owen, an only child, couldn't really relate to the idea of a

sibling. He stroked Sterling's hair, enjoying the way it always wrapped around

his fingers, fine and silky. “Is she likely to listen to him? Or is she a rebel like

her older brother?”

“Definitely not a rebel,” Sterling said. “But I don't know if she'd listen to

him, either. And I'm pretty sure my mom wouldn't try to counteract whatever

he said, even if he wasn't around. But I guess if he was going to convince

Justine I'm some kind of pervert or whatever, he would have managed it by

now. It's just—I care what she thinks of me.”

What he hadn't said was just as clear—that he didn't care what his father

thought of him—although Owen was sure that wasn't true. “That's normal,

Sterling.”

“I know. Sometimes I just wish I didn't care so much what other people

think. My life would have been a lot easier.” Sterling offered Owen a strained

smile. “Hey, what about you? How are you feeling?”

“A lot better.” Impulsively he pulled Sterling up, craned his neck, and

kissed him, Sterling's lips parting for him with a sweetness that startled him.

“Thanks for taking care of me. I usually skip the medicine, sleep it off, and

wake up feeling like hell.”

“Well, we can't have that,” Sterling said, his smile warmer now, though

there was a faint shadow in his eyes. Stirred-up memories took a while to settle

and clear. “Want that toast now?”

On cue, Owen's stomach growled, reminding him that it was in need of

filling. “How about we change breakfast to brunch? There's a place on Forrest

that does all you can eat buffet on Sunday, and their waffles are sinfully good.”

He sketched out a shape. “I take five and layer them, fresh fruit, whipped

cream, maple syrup…lots of syrup…”

“I don't know, Mr. Sawyer,” Sterling said, with an emphasis on the

“mister.” “Don't you think that sounds suspiciously like a date?” Then he

dashed from the bed before Owen could give him a single but well-deserved

slap to his bare ass. “Sure—brunch sounds good.”

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Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

The restaurant was crowded, which it always was on Sundays. Parents

visiting their children at college seemed to favor brunch as their family meal

out, maybe because it meant they got to see their kids shoveling in a day's

worth of food in one sitting. It was a nice place, though not so nice that it

required dressing up—which Owen did anyway. He was aware that he might

see one, if not more, of his own students, current or former, but decided it was

best not to worry about how a meal with Sterling might be perceived.

They were seated, ordered coffee, and hit the buffet. Owen laughed when

he returned to the table to find Sterling's plate so loaded that the food made a

small mountain. “Can you even eat all that?”

Sterling couldn't answer immediately because he'd just stuffed an

enormous bite of pancake and bacon into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed,

and finally said, “Um, yes? And probably more. Trust me, the quality of my

metabolism isn't in doubt.”

“I've seen you running, so I guess I know how you stay in shape.” Owen,

with great self-restraint, speared a strawberry first. It was dripping with syrup,

so it didn't give him many brownie points for eating healthy, but it made the

next bite, golden brown waffle, crisp on the outside and soft inside, taste that

much better. “This is on me,” he added, wanting to get that out of the way.

“Consider it a tip for all the work you did yesterday.”

“You don't have to,” Sterling said. He was studying his plate a little too

carefully, though, as if trying to keep himself from saying something he

shouldn't.

“No, I don't,” Owen said. “I paid you for the hours you did like we agreed,

and I don't have to do more than that—but I want to.” He stabbed at a stray

segment of grapefruit on Sterling's plate, stealing it before Sterling could do

more than yelp indignantly, and popped it into his mouth. After chewing and

swallowing, he said, “If it makes you feel any better, we can make our second

date a trip to the movies, and you can buy the popcorn. It'll probably cost more

than brunch if you treat me to a soda too.”

Sterling smiled. “So this
is
a date.”

“I never said it wasn't,” Owen pointed out.

“But you didn't really say it was, either.” Sterling sipped some coffee, eyes

shining over the rim of the cup. “And I'm definitely paying for the movies.

Assuming we can agree on what to see.”

“That could be a problem,” Owen agreed. “We could always go to different

movies and meet up in the lobby afterwards.”

“I can't hold your hand if you're in a different theater.”

“Oh, well, if it's
that
kind of date, it doesn't matter what we go to see,”

Owen countered, “because we won't be watching it much.”

Sterling's eyes darted to Owen's left hand, which was resting on the table

beside his plate, but then he sat back deliberately. “I wish I could hold your

hand now. When I'm not a student anymore, could we?”

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127

“I don't imagine the skies would fall if we did,” Owen said. “We might get a

few pointed glares and muttered comments, but I can live with that.” He could

have gone on to point out that as a rule he just didn't do romantic gestures,

but it would have been as pointlessly cruel as telling a child that Santa Claus

didn't exist. Sterling, for all his outward self-assurance and bravado, had areas

of vulnerability.

Deliberately, without looking around to see if there was anyone watching,

Owen put his hand out, and when Sterling took it, he let him keep it for long

enough to take a few more bites of food before sliding it free with an apologetic

grimace. “I can't cut a stack of waffles one-handed.”

“True enough.” Sterling took another ridiculously large bite of sausage and

omelet and chewed, leaning back in his chair. God, he was a handsome young

man, Owen thought, and he had the look of one who'd age really nicely too. “Do

you think—in a few years, or whenever—you'd want to meet them? My mom

and sister, I mean.”

Owen took a sip of coffee, buying time before he had to reply. A few years?

Sterling took big bites of more than his food… “I'd like to meet them sometime,”

he said eventually. “I assume they'll all be in town when you graduate?”

“God, I hadn't thought about that,” Sterling said with a groan. “I don't

know. Maybe I'll get lucky and my father will have some last minute business

meeting or whatever. If you meet him, you won't want anything to do with me

anymore.”

“I already know he's an asshole,” Owen said. “It hasn't changed how I feel

about you, so I can't imagine why seeing him would.” He shrugged. “I don't

really want to, though. Being polite to him would be an effort, and being rude…

Well, the dean would frown on that, I'm afraid.” He kicked Sterling's ankle

gently under the table. “Change the subject before we get indigestion. I'm

feeling well enough to tackle clearing some more junk, but there's something

else I want to do, and it's not really worth starting a job like that and only

spending an hour on it. Do you want a ride back to your room after this?”

Sterling shook his head and pouted slightly. “No, I want to stay with you.

Whatever it is, I can help. Or just hang out.”

“It's not…” Owen hesitated, unused to sharing something that was both

personal and a source of sadness. “It's not something that I need help with,

and I usually go alone, but it won't take long and I guess…” He broke off a

sentence that was becoming impossibly tangled and tried again, forcing the

words out and wondering, not for the first time, how Sterling managed to break

down his resistance with no more than a pout and a look. “It's the anniversary

of my parents' death. I'm not religious, and I'm not sure that I even think that

they're somewhere, though part of me would like to believe that they are, but I

take some flowers to their graves and just…remember them.” Pink roses for his

mother and anything that caught his eye for his father, something bright and

sunny. “I'll understand if you don't want to come; it's not the most cheerful

place to go.”

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Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

He liked it there, though, and usually wandered around for a while. The

older graves dated back centuries, the inscriptions on the stones time-blurred,

the names quaintly old-fashioned, the span of lives sometimes cruelly short.

When he looked up, Sterling had set down his fork and was ignoring the

rest of the food on his plate, not that there was all that much left. “I'd like to go

with you. I'd go anywhere, if you asked me to, but that's not why. I'm—I don't

know, honored, I guess, that you'd let me come.”

A light, jokingly dismissive response would have been easy to make, and

Owen almost went there from force of habit—but pretending that he wasn't

touched by Sterling's words would have been disingenuous at best. He'd never

lied to a sub or a friend, and Sterling was both of those and deserved more

than glibness.

“If they know I'm there, remembering them, if that's at all possible, I think

they'd be glad to see me there with you.” He met Sterling's eyes. “They'd like

seeing me happy.”

Sterling stared back at him, realization of what Owen had just said slowly

dawning in his eyes. “You…you deserve to be happy,” Sterling said finally. “I

want you to be happy. I want—I want…” He inhaled and looked away. “I want

more bacon. Excuse me.” Pushing back his chair, Sterling stood up and walked

toward the buffet tables, leaving Owen to wonder what it was he'd considered

saying.

After that, Sterling stuck stubbornly to more casual topics of conversation,

and since that was easier, Owen let him. They left the restaurant and drove to

a local nursery where Owen had bought flowers for his parents the year

before—it was on the way to the graveyard.

“What about these?” Sterling suggested, and Owen turned to see him

holding some purple flowers that were probably some kind of iris.

They weren't what he would have chosen; he usually went for yellow or

red, something vivid in the colors of fall, but given that he didn't actually think

his father knew what flowers would be laid on the grass above his grave, he

nodded. Including Sterling in this felt more important than following a tradition

that hadn't been in existence long enough to really qualify as one. “They're

beautiful.” He took the sheaf of irises from Sterling and added it to the bunch

of pink, deeply scented roses in his arms. “We're done.”

The drive to the graveyard didn't take long, and the small parking lot

wasn't too crowded, though the straight paths linking the graves in the modern

section were dotted with people. Owen always felt sorriest for the single

mourners, some stooping stiffly to arrange flowers or deal with an errant weed,

some standing in silence, their heads bowed.

He'd been one of them on previous visits—he didn't make a point of going

to the graves on any particular day apart from this one, but when he missed

his parents, or something reminded him of them, he generally stopped by, just

for a few minutes—but not today. Today, like the young woman clinging to her