Handyman (12 page)

Because of what they’d shared. Surely it had been different from the casual play to which Will had referred. Or so Jack had foolishly thought.

He’d been so shocked at the sight of the two lovers, kissing in broad daylight at Will’s doorstep, that he’d driven right on by. He had no idea if Will had seen him or not. He only knew he couldn’t have faced him right then. He couldn’t have borne whatever lies Will came up with, or didn’t come up with, to excuse or explain what he’d just witnessed.

Some words Will had said came into his head now, and he understood them on a deeply personal, painful level.
If you don’t fall in love, you can’t fall out of it.
If only he could fall out of it. That would be much easier than this sickening feeling of humiliation. Jack was just another notch on Will’s belt—that much was clear now. He’d been gone a day and already Will was playing the field, lining up the men to keep him safe from any real emotional connection. Whatever Jack had wished, the fact was Will was too immature to connect to anyone, least of all him. He’d been deluding himself, desire clouding a normally rational, realistic outlook.

Go home, back to South Side where you belong, Jack Crawford. Learn from this. At least you’ve recovered the capacity to feel, even if it hurts.

He turned at the corner and began to drive back the way he had come.

It could definitely be Jack’s truck, Will thought. No one who lived on this street drove such a vehicle, instead favoring their SUVs and sports cars.

Will was no exception. He raced into the house and grabbed his keys and wallet, sprinting out the door to his Lexus IS 250. If that had been Jack, he must have seen Paul, he must have seen the kiss. Damn that Paul. Damn Jack for not calling first. Damn the rotten timing of the whole thing.

He pulled out of his driveway and drove as quickly as he dared down the residential street in the direction the truck had gone. At the stop sign he turned left, as the truck had done. He saw it up ahead, disappearing around a corner as he made a turn. He pressed the gas, eager to catch up. He would just explain what had happened, if that’s what Jack had witnessed to cause him to drive away.

As he closed in on the truck, he slowed, suddenly wondering what he thought he was doing. Instead of following Jack, he should just call him. He reached for his cell phone and realized he’d left it at home in his study.

They approached the Bronx River Parkway and Jack eased onto the entrance ramp. Not knowing what else to do, Will followed, though still at a distance. They exited after a mile or two, wending their way along various suburban roads until they came to a comfortable middleclass neighborhood, many of the lawns filled with children’s toys and bicycles, the houses well-tended if a bit shabby.

The truck turned into the driveway beside the last house on the block, a white stone two-story house with red brick trim. The lawn was tidy and recently mowed, a large oak tree shading the front of the house, its trunk surrounded by bright yellow daffodils.

Will pulled up in front of the house and sat, wondering what to do next. He watched Jack climb out of the truck. Jack turned, catching sight of Will’s car. He stood very still for a moment and then turned abruptly away, heading toward his front door.

Will jumped from the car. “Jack, wait.”

Jack kept walking, but when he got to his front door, he turned again. He waited as Will raced up to him, out of breath, feeling very foolish.

“Were you following me?” Jack said, his voice cold.

“I was, yes. I forgot my damn phone. Why did you drive away? Why did you come to my house and then just drive away?”

Jack peered at him with those deep-set eyes until Will looked away, his face burning. Determined, he looked back. “Listen, it’s not what you think. Whatever you think you saw—”

“You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“Yes, I do. Of course I do. Come on, Jack. Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Please.”

Jack paused and Will could see him struggling. Hoping to push past his defenses, perhaps lowered for a moment, Will touched his arm. “Please, Jack. That was just Paul. He means nothing to me. He had just stopped by. When he left, he kissed me. That’s all you saw.” Jack didn’t respond. Will hurried on. “I was waiting for
you
. Not him. Please. You have to believe me. Don’t shut us down. Don’t use Paul as an excuse to end us before we’ve begun.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Come inside if you want.” His voice was still guarded, his bearing stiff, but at least he hadn’t sent Will away. Will followed him into the house. A front hall opened onto a warm, comfortable room filled with wooden furniture with clean, curving lines, upholstered in bright yellow fabric. Jack gestured toward a sofa and two matching chairs. The chairs were large and comfortable, the frames made from polished cherry wood.

“Did you make these pieces?”

“I did.” Jack gave a modest smile. “I made just about everything in this house, over the years.”

Forgetting for a moment their misunderstanding, Will breathed, “You are
kidding
me. This stuff is museum quality. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“No, no.” Jack shook his head. “It’s just functional. I use high quality wood and I get it upholstered professionally. It’s just a hobby, though. I could never make a living at it. I spend way too much on the raw materials.”

“Well, I beg to differ. I’m not saying you should make a living at it. I mean, it must be very labor intensive. But I know people who would think nothing of dropping ten thousand dollars for a chair they admire. If you got into the right market, you could definitely sell this stuff for a substantial profit.”

“It’s not always about how much you can make off something, Will. Not everything is about gain and the bottom line.”

Will was stung by this remark, wondering if there was underlying meaning in the rebuke. He said nothing.

His voice more gentle, Jack said, “Can I offer you a drink? A beer or some soda or something?”

“A beer would be good.”

Jack’s kitchen was considerably smaller than his own, with white cabinets, a black and white checkered floor and bright yellow walls hung with framed cross-stitch truisms including, “Housework never killed anyone, but I’m not taking any chances,” and “God blesses this house, but He doesn’t clean it”.

Jack, following his gaze, laughed apologetically. “Those are Emma’s. She hated housework. She loved to cross-stitch though. It relaxed her, same as building furniture relaxes me, I guess. Her stuff is all over the house. She must have made over a hundred pillows.”

“You miss her, huh.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Jack took a can of seltzer for himself and a can of beer for Will from the refrigerator. He handed the can to Will. “Not fancy imported stuff like you have, sorry.”

“Oh stop. This is perfect.”

They went back into the living room and settled on the comfortable, elegant chairs. Will stroked the shiny, curving wood of the chair’s arm as he tried to formulate what he should say. He decided on the plain, bald truth.

“Jack, that guy you saw, his name is Paul. We work out together. He’s also my, uh, play partner from time to time. You know, we have sex. Or we did. Before you and me, that is. I told you, I’ve never lied to you about it. My sex life has been just that, until you came along. A
sex
life. Not a love life. Paul was a part of that life. He stopped by unannounced. I told him I was waiting for a phone call. As he was leaving, he grabbed me and kissed me.”

“You haven’t told him about me,” Jack interjected. It wasn’t a question.

Will felt his face warm as excuses bubbled in his mind. Again he decided on the truth. “No. I haven’t. I haven’t told anyone.” As Jack started to bristle, Will hurried on. “Not because I’m embarrassed or anything like that. No, the opposite is true. What we have, whatever it is that’s developing between us, I don’t want to share it. Not yet. It’s so new, so fragile. What happened between us today is proof of that, I suppose. And what happened yesterday morning. I mean, the way you practically ran out of my house, after such an amazing night.”

It was Jack’s turn to color. Will waited a beat for him to offer his excuse, but he kept quiet, so Will continued. “I think you left because you’re scared, same as me. We both want what’s happening, but it matters almost too much. Neither of us knows quite what to do with it. You because you’re still struggling with your sexual identity. Me because I’ve never fallen for someone so hard.”

Jack looked up at him, his expression naked and vulnerable for the first time since he’d practically run away the morning before. “Are you saying…you’re falling for
me
?”

“Yes,” Will whispered. “Yes, I think I am.”

“So this is where the master creates,” Will said, turning slowly. The room was large and airy, with big windows on two sides through which the sunlight streamed. In one corner of the room piles of wood were neatly stacked by size and type. Sawhorses, various electric saws, lathes and other equipment Will didn’t have a name for filled the room. There were shelves filled with bottles of glue and lacquer, cans of paint, trays of nails and screws, sanders and various tools of the trade, all neatly arranged. One corner of the room had been set up as a kind of sitting area, with a low, comfortable couch and an overloaded desk that held a computer and stacks of papers and magazines. Will recognized the onion paper Jack used for blueprints, a blue pen and a pencil resting atop it.

The floor was hardwood, curlicues of sawdust lying here and there. The place smelled of varnish and wood shavings. It was a comfortable, even inviting smell. Will realized it was part of the scent on Jack’s shirt when he’d held it to his face—a part of his essence.

“This is my workshop,” Jack said, the pride evident in his voice. “I added this room on to the house about ten years ago. Before that I worked in the basement. This is much better. I can actually see what I’m doing. It even has its own door out to the driveway so I can bring in wood and equipment without having to traipse through the house.” He pointed toward the door beside one of the windows. A framed cross-stitch with the words, “Jack’s Workshop” hung over it.

Jack smiled as he watched Will take in his surroundings. Jack’s whole demeanor was more relaxed now that he was on his own turf. Will walked toward the desk and touched the blueprint spread over the papers. “What’re you working on now?”

“I just finished a rocking chair that I’m going to give to my sister for her birthday. It’s out back so the varnish can dry. I’m going to start on a desk next, actually. To replace this one. I’ve never made a desk before, so it’ll be something of a challenge.”

Jack had followed him to the sitting area. Will could feel his presence, hear his voice rumbling close behind him. He turned around and Jack stepped back a little. Will felt vulnerable and needy—feelings alien to him until he’d met this unusual, deeply sensual man.

Silently he willed Jack not to reject his overture. He almost sighed with relief as Jack stepped into his embrace. They held each other a moment, then, of one accord, they leaned in for a kiss.

Will had meant to take his time, to ease his way back into Jack’s good graces, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Since Saturday morning when they’d parted, his body had ached for Jack. He’d considered calling Paul or another of his casual play partners for a little meaningless sex, just to take the edge off his need.

Though it was completely out of character, at least for the man he used to be before Jack had entered his world, he’d decided not to. He would wait for Jack. He hadn’t even masturbated, clinging to a quaint and rather ridiculous idea of saving himself for his new lover.

Now his lust spilled over. He maneuvered Jack toward the couch, pulling him down as they continued to kiss. Jack, like himself, was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Will pressed his hands against Jack’s strong chest and slipped them beneath the shirt, pushing upward. Jesus, he wanted this man, more than he’d ever wanted another person.

“I have to have you,” he whispered urgently. It wasn’t enough to fondle and grope—he wanted Jack in the most intimate of ways. He wanted to fuck him and be fucked by him. He didn’t just want it—he was desperate for it.

He fumbled at Jack’s shirt, lifting it so he could lean down and bite his nipples. Jack looked down at him with an intense expression. His eyes were dark—they looked nearly black, the pupils dilated and fixated on Will’s face, his lips parted and wet.

Will fell on him, ravenous, licking and kissing his nipples as his hands slid down Jack’s chest, seeking the buckle at his belt. At the same time, Jack grabbed Will’s T-shirt and pulled, ripping the flimsy cotton easily with his strong hands. Thrilled by the unexpected and dominant act, Will dropped to his knees on the floor before Jack, his hands still on Jack’s belt buckle, which he managed to open. Feverishly he pulled at Jack’s fly, licking his lips as he stared at the bulging package in Jack’s shorts.

Desperately Will pulled at the boxers, dragging them down so Jack’s erect cock and balls appeared, engorged with blood and hard as steel. Will leaned down, one hand gripping the base of Jack’s shaft as he lowered his mouth hungrily to lick and suckle his cock.

Jack leaned back against the sofa, murmuring, “Yes. Jesus God, yes, yes, yes…” His fingers twisted in Will’s hair, his thighs gripping him on either side as Will worshipped him with his tongue.

It didn’t take long. Within a few minutes Jack was panting, his groin thrusting upward as he plunged himself deep into Will’s mouth and throat. “Oh, God. I’m going to come. Will, oh, Will.” Jack’s body trembled, punctuated by spasms and gasps of pleasure as he released his slippery seed, arching in ecstasy. Will held on, milking him until he sagged back against the sofa, his head thrown back, his fingers still entwined in Will’s hair, though his grip was now limp.

Gently disengaging himself, Will pulled up beside Jack on the sofa, his cock throbbing. He stared down at his ripped T-shirt and then looked at Jack. Jack had lifted his head and was staring back at Will, lust painted over his face, suffusing his features, making his eyes shine.

“Stand up,” Jack said softly, though with a commanding tone Will hadn’t yet heard. Intrigued and turned on, Will obeyed. He stood in front of Jack, who reached out and pulled at his fly, popping the snap and dragging the zipper down.

“Take them off,” Jack said, his voice low and sure. Was it because he was on his home turf? Or just finally accepting and embracing who and what he really was? Whatever it was, Will’s cock hardened even more, if that were possible. He obeyed, dragging his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. With a shrug he let his tattered T-shirt fall to the ground.

Jack knelt before him, licking his lips, the gesture slow and sensual. He pulled Will forward, his strong, large hands on Will’s hips as he parted his lips and closed his mouth over the head of Will’s cock.

Will sighed his approval, gripping Jack’s shoulders for balance. After several lovely moments of licking and sucking the sensitive crown, Jack leaned forward, trying to take more. He reared back, gagging. Will could feel his frustration. “Use your hand,” he offered. “You don’t have to take the whole thing in your mouth.”

“Sit down,” Jack answered. “It might be easier for me.” He pulled Will forward, guiding him toward the sofa. Still on his knees, he turned toward Will.

Will leaned back, spreading his thighs as Jack maneuvered between them. Jack took the shaft into his hand, closing his lips over the head. As he lowered his mouth, he lifted his hand to meet it. Will scooted forward to the edge of the sofa to give Jack better access. To his surprise, Jack slipped a finger between his ass cheeks, probing at the cleft.

Will gripped the cushions on the sofa and pushed down against the digit, wishing it were Jack’s cock. Jack pulled his hand away, but only to lick his finger and return it to Will’s nether hole. He pressed his thick finger inside to the first knuckle and Will couldn’t contain his moan of approval.

Jack began to suck faster, his hand flying up to meet his mouth, the delicious friction rapidly bringing Will to the edge. Dimly he was aware of a ringing sound, but he didn’t pay much attention, too focused on the roiling pleasure that nearly consumed him. When Jack slipped a second finger into his ass, Will shuddered and began to buck out of control.

Jack pulled his hot mouth away, but his hand continued to fly over Will’s cock as Will moaned with pleasure. “Jack!” he cried as he came. “Jack!”

After a moment Will managed to open his eyes, drinking in the sexy sight of his lover, his dark hair falling over into his eyes, his face and throat ribboned with pearly ejaculate.

“Oh. My. God.”

Will startled at the sound of a stranger’s voice. He glanced rapidly toward the doorway of the workshop, instinctively crossing his legs over his bare sex. His jeans were out of reach, caught beneath Jack’s knees. The young man who stood in the door was perhaps twenty-two or -three. Though his hair was lighter and his eyes a different color, there was no doubting this was Jack’s son.

Before Will could even wipe his sperm from Jack’s face, Jack’s head swiveled toward the sound of his son’s voice. The young man’s face was a frozen mask of horror.

“Eric.” Jack’s voice was faint. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Obviously,” Eric hissed, his face mottled with splotches of dark red as he looked from his father to Will and back again.

“Wait for me in the kitchen.”

His eyes narrowed with disgust, Eric raked his gaze over Will and his father before turning on his heel. He slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame. Will could hear the little ass clomping dramatically away.

Jack pulled himself up onto the sofa beside Will. He was pale, a film of perspiration on his forehead and upper lip. He looked like he was going to pass out.

Dragging his hand over his forehead, Jack said unnecessarily, “That was my son. My younger son, Eric.”

“I gathered,” Will said, trying but failing to smile. Jack sat still as a stone for at least half a minute. Will meanwhile retrieved his underwear and jeans, the endorphins from his recent orgasm nullified by the shock of the situation.

“You okay?” Will reached out to wipe a gob of semen from Jack’s cheek. Abruptly Jack pushed his hand away. He put his own hand to the spot and then looked at his fingers.

“Jesus.” He sounded dazed. “I’ve got to go talk to him.”

He stood awkwardly and began to walk, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, as if his nervous system and muscles had gone on strike. He didn’t look back at Will. He didn’t ask him to wait, or for that matter, to go.

At the door he did finally turn back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Then he was gone.

Will sank back against the sofa. Was he just supposed to leave? Was this it? Had Jack been caught out and so now it was all over?

Will recalled now the ringing sound he had heard, realizing it must have been the doorbell. He thought of his own parents’ house. He too, would have rung the doorbell to be polite, but then let himself in, though he would have called out his arrival. Maybe Eric had called out too, but they hadn’t heard, so intent on each other as they had been.

Jesus, what a mess. What a stupid, ridiculous mess. Will didn’t like messes. He liked things neat and orderly. He most especially didn’t like to be judged, not by some snot-nosed little punk who
disapproved
of his father’s choice in a partner. Disapproval, or more accurately, outright horror and disgust had been painted on his face as clear as day.

What a shock to discover your father was a faggot, Will thought bitterly. Of course Jack hadn’t broken the news to his family. Things were far too new for that. How would Jack respond to being caught? Would he deny what Eric had seen with his own eyes? Would he deny it not only to Eric, but to himself as well?

He wanted to run after them, to beg Jack not to betray what they had by lying or trying to make excuses for what had occurred in the privacy of his own home between two grown men. He wanted to scream it was none of Eric’s business, or anyone else’s for that matter.

Tears pricked Will’s eyes. A sexy, wonderful moment had been ruined, destroyed perhaps beyond repair.
If you don’t fall in love, you can’t fall out of it. More importantly, you can’t get hurt.
Will hurt now, and bad. He leaned over, dropping his head into his hands.

He wanted to follow them into that bright little kitchen. He wanted to defend Jack and himself, to tell that kid he had some nerve just walking in on them. But he knew in his bones Jack wouldn’t welcome him coming to the rescue. No, Will was expected to wait, abandoned and alone, while Jack dealt with his demons on his own terms. If that meant shutting Will out and cutting him loose, Will would have to deal with it. What choice did he have? He would have to trust Jack had the courage and honesty to be true not only to his son, but to himself.

They moved automatically toward the kitchen table, the spot where all serious family issues had been hashed out over the years and, ultimately, resolved. Of all the days for Eric just to show up, unannounced. Eric lived in New Jersey, where he worked in the human resource department of a large electronics firm. He usually called before he made the trip up to New Rochelle. The last several times, since he’d become engaged, he always brought his fiancé, Lisa, with him.

Jesus, was she here too? Panic assailed Jack afresh. Why did he feel like an errant child in all this, coming to the table to hear his punishment decreed? He was in his own house, after all. He was a grown man. It wasn’t like he was cheating on Emma—he was free to do as he liked.

But not like this—not to be caught with a naked
man
, that man’s semen dripping off his face. Jack flushed, deeply embarrassed at what his son had witnessed.

Eric was waiting for him at the table, his face baleful with reproach. “I’m just in shock, Dad. What would Mom say? I can’t
believe
I saw what I saw.”

Jack lowered himself into a chair, suddenly feeling very old. “Is Lisa here?” he asked, as much to put off this inevitable confrontation as anything.