Duty and Devotion (3 page)

Evan took his dinner, silverware, and a beer into the living room, following the sounds of voices. But what he presumed was the television was actually Matt chatting away on his cell phone.

Pausing, Evan waited to catch enough of the conversation to guess who it was. It didn't take long or much skill; their East Coast friends would all be asleep by now. The only person Matt talked to regularly who'd be awake right now was Jim Shea.

Evan swallowed a scowl.

He'd never been the jealous type, more because he married the first person he loved than because of any superior character trait. And yes, he understood he and Matt were technically broken up when Matt and some cop from Seattle named Jim hooked up for one night. He understood their (albeit strange) subsequent friendship.

Okay, he tried to understand their subsequent friendship. He felt entirely out of sync with the idea of “ex-lovers,” being as he didn't have one. He had a dead wife and Matt—nothing else to compare his current situation to. Nothing else to incorporate into this annoyed feeling of having someone else intimately know Matt. Sometimes the “intimate” part bothered the most; he had way too many questions about what they'd done and what it was like and how it felt—and not from an erotic “let's talk dirty” point of view either. He wanted to know that Jim was lousy in bed and Matt never wished he was sleeping with someone far more experienced. Far more—free.

Matt was sprawled on the couch in his sweats and a tight T-shirt. Staying home meant he was busy, but there was also plenty of time for running and the gym while the kids were in school. Evan was pretty sure he'd never looked better. And he was laughing, relaxed, and clearly amused by whatever Jim was saying from the other side of the country. Evan thought he looked good and happy, and it wasn't him making that happen and that felt shitty.

He was now officially the jealous type.

“So seriously—Hawaii until you're bored of it? Color me envious,” Matt was saying. He must've realized that Evan was standing there staring at him, because he turned his head and grinned.

“Hey,” he mouthed, moving his feet so Evan could sit down.

“So listen, Evan's finally home.” Matt made a face as Evan settled onto the sofa and laid his dinner on the coffee table. “Thanks for keepin' me company. I'll talk to you in a few days—keep me updated okay? All right, man, later.”

And with that the call was over. Evan flipped the top off his beer and drank so he could avoid his need to be in a conversation a little bit longer.

“Hey,” Matt said again, tossing his cell phone onto the coffee table. He leaned over for a kiss, his hand sliding over Evan's neck. Evan could feel a wave of heat from Matt's body, feel the purposeful press of his palm.

It aroused him. And it made him connect his lover's reaction to the phone call and that—that stupid jealousy clamped down on the moment.

“Hey.” Evan returned the kiss quickly, keeping his body forward and not turning toward Matt for more. “Thanks for waiting up—and dinner.”

“Katie picked.” Matt's voice was neutral as he leaned back on the couch. “How'd it go?”

“Big fat nothing. Which makes for interesting report writing, let me tell you.” Evan got his fork, picked up the plate and started eating—more avoidance than actual hunger at this point.

“Uh-huh. Ask me about my exciting day as househusband,” Matt deadpanned even as Evan winced inside. “On a less lighthearted note… Danny had some issues tonight.”

“Again?” Evan put the plate back down with a heavy sigh.

Matt shrugged. “He's going through puberty. He's the only male child in the house. His dad's boyfriend is the go-to guy on a daily basis, and yeah, I'm the coolest human on earth, but still. He needs to spend a little one-on-one with you.”

Evan knew that Matt wasn't saying any of this to make him feel guilty. He wasn't giving him shit for being gone so many nights lately, but it didn't matter. A defensive wave rose up with the guilt.

“He has to understand…”

“He's nine. He doesn't understand anything except sports trivia, video games, and how to open the refrigerator.” Matt got up and headed for the kitchen. “Why don't you hang with him on Saturday. I'll take the girls into the city to harass Miranda.”

Evan rubbed his socks against the carpet until sparks pricked his soles. Picking a ridiculous fight because he felt guilty was asinine. He missed Matt like crazy—he should be making up and making out instead of making an ass of himself.

Deep in self-recrimination, he didn't hear Matt come back—until the bottle of cold water whacked him in the head.

“No more beer for you. You have to get up in six hours,” Matt said, settling back down.

“Yes, dear.” Evan drank the water, studied the bottle in his hands. “Saturday—sounds like a good idea. We'll go play ball or something, meet you guys later, and have dinner.”

“Deal.” Matt picked up the remote and switched on the television; his night-owl ways didn't change, even with an “early-rising” family now.

“Staying up?”

Matt shrugged. “I guess.” He gave Evan a glance. “Unless you want to do something else.”

“That's a line? Seriously?”

“I have to use lines now? We share a mortgage, dude. Get upstairs, take a shower, and come to bed naked. Jesus.”

For the first time since he got home, Evan smiled.

Chapter Three

The weekend activities got things back onto an even keel; Evan hung out with Danny at the park and the batting cages, Matt took the girls into the city to drop off foodstuffs at Miranda's dorm and go shopping (aka, Matt handing out small amounts of cash and standing on the street out front reading sports news on his phone). They met at the end of the day for a rousing meal in Little Italy, where the gnomelike waiters fussed over the children and murmured behind Evan and Matt's backs.

Matt didn't care. He mentioned the NYPD a few times in conversation while they were refilling water glasses and supported that with a glare as he laid his arm on the back of his boyfriend's chair.

They gave them free desserts. Matt was pleased. Pleased until they reached the street and he realized Evan didn't find the whole thing amusing.

So Matt got annoyed with Evan's annoyance. Who cared if the waiters knew they were a couple?

Then they went home, settled the kids, and swapped blowjobs.

The usual process these days.

* * *

Matt had a fairly consistent romantic history with women; the ones that lasted past a pick-up and one night followed the same path—get together hot and heavy, have a lot of sex, don't talk, fight, break up. For a good thirty-plus years, that worked well. He could pinpoint the moments in the relationship with things were going well (i.e., fucking like bunnies) and then bad (i.e., screaming fights in front of a restaurant, in a cab, in his apartment, in her apartment). Things with Evan were different, and not because he was a man. Not just because he was a man.

Evan didn't scream or throw things at Matt's head. He didn't do passive-aggressive, which Matt might be qualified as a professional reader of, thanks to his mother. Evan wore a mantle of guilt, a cloak of stress, and a few faces of love and want, switching around and depending on the day of the week and the mood of his children.

So Matt learned the signs, knew from Evan's tone or the set of his shoulders what today would bring. Sometimes it was easy—he could placate him with space or food or sex. When Matt's needs lined up with those, it was perfect.

Sometimes it was perplexing. Frustrating. Matt found it easier to manage puberty and teendom and the drop-off line at the middle school than Evan's moods. Sometimes he felt like—Jesus, things were pretty good and why not just appreciate it? Why not just eat some dinner, hang with the kids, watch a game, fuck around, and go to sleep? Why wasn't that enough of a life?

Then Matt felt guilty and shit for minimizing Evan's problems and worried it would lead to the same feelings that had broken them up before. That led to being fearful, to watching every step, every move Evan made to see if the hammer was going to slam down once again.

That made him guilty and angry.

Which made Evan jumpy.

The cycle was never-ending.

* * *

“So I'm going to take the kids for the long weekend if that's okay,” Ellie said as she hung out, elbows down on the kitchen counter. “You guys didn't have anything planned did you?”

Matt and Evan were double-teaming dinner—Matt going in and out to the grill on the back deck and Evan roasting potatoes and onions on the stovetop. Matt paused in mid-walk and checked the almighty center-of-everything calendar on the side of the fridge.

“Nothing on the calendar. Evan?”

Evan turned around, and Matt saw the weird expression crossing his face. He shuttered an inner sigh and went out to commune with the steaks.

When he came back in, Evan was in the fridge, and his late wife's sister was smiling.

“So I take it you got the kids for the long weekend?” Matt said, putting the empty platter in the sink.

“Yes.” The petite woman clapped her hands together. Evan's former sister-in-law had been a big supporter of theirs, particularly helpful since Sherri and Ellie's parents were not—as might be expected—thrilled that their grandchildren were now living in a home with their father and his boyfriend. There were occasional threats during angry phone calls, but Ellie could be counted on to calm her parents down—mostly by suggesting they had no money for a lawyer and no chance of getting the children so unless they wanted to never see their grandchildren again, shut up.

Then she moved in with her boyfriend, who was African American, and completed the living hell that was her parents' lives.

Matt occasionally considered feeling bad for them.

“Walt is taking us to Woodstock. His family has a cabin up there, so I thought we could do some hiking and maybe attend a concert.”

“Niiiice.” Matt gave Evan a sideways look; his boyfriend still wasn't fully involved in the conversation. “Is there room for me in the van?”

Ellie laughed it off and sipped her iced tea.

A few minutes later, Matt was back on the deck with the long fork, poking steaks and drinking a Heineken. A nice late summer night, sun setting over the rows of brick houses, occasional trees blotting the orange glow. Suburbia at its best. He heard the sliding door open and didn't turn around; one of the kids would have loudly announced their presence. The silence meant it was Evan.

“You got a problem with the kids going away? I mean, Ellie and Walt are as trustworthy as you get.”

Evan leaned against the fence and signed.

“Of course I trust Ellie and Walt. The kids'll have a great time. Elizabeth might already be packing.”

“Then what's the big deal?”

“I don't know!”

Matt heard the frustration and counted to twenty. Slowly.

“Sure you do. You're pissed because someone else thought to take your kids somewhere cool.”

“That's not true.”

“Of course it is. You get pissed because I'm home and taking care of shit. You get pissed because Ellie knew it was Labor Day weekend and you didn't.” Matt swore he wasn't picking a fight—at least in his mind—but shit, if he hadn't suddenly arrived at a wall with no side route of avoidance.

Evan sputtered for a second, but he didn't storm off and he didn't immediately deny anything Matt had said.

Matt poked the steak. It sizzled at him.

“How did I not know there was a long weekend coming up?”

Matt considered this. There were several answers. He felt the best one was, “You didn't have to.” It wasn't posed as a question.

“What?”

“You didn't have to. If Ellie didn't come up with something, I would have. Do you have off? Did you ask?” Matt chuckled despite the lack of levity under the setting sun.

“I've been busy.”

Matt finally turned to face his boyfriend, catching the tight, chiseled features and military haircut, the neat-as-a-pin clothes even as they were “relaxing.”

“Babe, you're always busy. You're always working, and that's cool—I get that. I used to be you.” He laughed again, moving the finished steaks to the platter. “But you can't do that and expect shit to get done and then be pissed about it.”

“I should be able to do more…” Evan's voice was soft. He moved off the fence and into Matt's personal space, and that melted whatever pissiness might be working up in his soul.

“You're fine and all, but you're not Superman.”

“You gave up school…”

“I went to school to find out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Turns out I want to chase filthy-minded boys away from Katie and feed this battalion of humans you created.”

Evan made a frustrated sound, his hands balled into fists. Matt punctuated his next words with the long fork, feeling ballsy as all get-out. “And you know? I get that that freaks you out, that I'm doing what Sherri did.” Saying her name aloud felt bold. “But hey, here's an idea—appreciate it, get over it or change some shit if you don't like it. But give me some credit, okay? This isn't all about you.”

He got the platter and his beer and very purposefully walked into the kitchen.

Goddamn, that went well. Okay, maybe Evan was thinking about punching him or changing the locks. But for Matt, the screaming avoider, that was epic. He almost wanted to call his friend Liz the headshrinker and point out how awesomely mature that just went.

“Hey, dinner's ready,” he called, waiting for the stampede of feet. Ellie was setting the table with Elizabeth's help.

“Where's Daddy?”

“Shutting off the grill. He'll be right in,” Matt said smoothly, throwing his empty into the recycling and grabbing another. “Ellie, you want something more grown-up than lemonade or Diet Coke?”

“Can you open the bottle of wine I brought?” she called.

“Ohhh, classy. What, did you think we only had beer or something?”

“Do you only have beer?”

“Yes.”

Matt opened the cabinet door.

“Uhh…”

“A juice glass is fine. At least tell me there's a corkscrew,” Ellie said.

“Yeah, it came with the bottle opener.”