The Rebuilding Year (23 page)

“Hard to kill yourself, and then bury yourself,” John noted dryly.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Could she have been exposed to something in the lab?” Ryan speculated. “A spill or some chemical mix-up?”

“I don’t think so,” Patrick replied. “Like I said, she was pretty anal. And we’re careful. We plate bacteria that are minor pathogens.”

“Speak English, bro,” Gordon said.

Patrick turned irritably. “We grow things that cause diseases, like strep, but not bad disease, like Ebola or something. But we do gown and mask and glove for stuff. Absolutely no eating or drinking in the lab. It’d be hard to expose yourself to anything. And anyway, Dr. Crosby is working on developing an antibiotic. There’s no psychoactive drugs around.” He turned to Gordon. “That’s recreational goodies, to you.”

Gordon punched his shoulder. “Speak for yourself.”

“Detective Carstairs was all over the lab,” Patrick said. “At least as much as she could be without catching strep herself. She didn’t find anything.”

John sighed. “Two girls are dead. I hate not knowing why.”

“Yeah,” Gordon said cheerfully. “It sucks.” Patrick’s next punch was obviously harder, because the short drummer gave an aggravated wince and said, “What?”

“We should get out of here,” Calvin put in. “The next guys will want to get their turn. Did you come here for something else, Mr. Barrett?”

“Just phone numbers, for contact,” John said. Ryan was relieved that John seemed to have relaxed around the boys.

“Let’s go out in the lobby and we’ll get those for you.”

As they filed out, Mark whispered to Ryan, “Will you tell me what that shit was all about? ’Cause I’m betting Dad won’t.”

“Sure,” Ryan said out of the corner of his mouth.
The brief and censored version.
“Catch me later.”

Upstairs in the lobby, they stood around exchanging phone numbers and contacts. Which these days involved passing cell phones back and forth. John looked taken aback but didn’t object when Ryan took his out of his fumbling hands and did the honors. Mark stood empty-handed.

“Don’t you have your guitar?” John asked.

“Mine’s an acoustic,” Mark said. “I don’t bring it much. I borrow that electric from Calvin.”

“Do you need your own electric?” John asked. “Because from what I heard down there, you guys are serious. You should have the tools to do the work.”

Mark’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Seriously? You’d buy me one?”

“Of course. I don’t have money for luxuries, but your music is important. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Maybe you can figure out where we should go shop for a good one.”

“I could do that.” Mark’s tone was an effort at blasé, but his eyes shone. And Ryan had a feeling it wasn’t just the promise of a new guitar.

“Nice work, Dad,” he whispered to John, as they trailed behind Mark toward the parking lot. “Taking him seriously. You made his day.”

“They sounded…good. Am I wrong?” John whispered back.

“Nope.” Ryan gave a mock sigh. “Practice weight lifting. Some of those amps are heavy, and I have a feeling we have a future in equipment transportation.”
 

Chapter Thirteen

Ryan stirred the remnants of the oatmeal in his bowl and decided he was done. It was a cold, icy Saturday morning, after the storm that roared through last night. He’d thought a hot breakfast was warranted, especially for John.

Ryan had woken in the early morning hours, to the wind and sleet, and made his way downstairs. John was down there on the phone to his crew, who lived closer to campus. He was directing them to start salting the walks. John would have to go in once it got light to check up on their work. At least he’d get time-and-a-half pay for the weekend.

They had stood close in the dark kitchen, listening to the wind. Ryan had felt the magnetic pull of that warm body standing beside him. It would have been so good to move together, to lose the chill in the heat of flesh on flesh. He was so close to feeling John’s touch, he’d shuddered when John had turned to him.

“Yeah. Shit.” John’s voice had been soft. “I’m going up to my room behind a locked door now. Shit. I have to leave at eight, but it’s Saturday. You don’t have to get back up.”

A kiss would have taken only one step. “I’ll see you in the morning,” Ryan had made himself say.

So, oatmeal. But he’d maybe overcooked it a bit. Thank goodness for brown sugar.

“I won’t be able to take Mark guitar shopping this morning,” John said, as he rinsed his own bowl in the sink. “Maybe you should just go with him.”

“Nope.” Ryan tasted the bit of brown glop on the end of his spoon. Definitely overcooked. “In the first place, I’m not taking my new car out on the icy roads until the crews have done their thing. In the second place, this is something important to Mark, and you should be there.”

“I should be done by two or so, then. As long as it doesn’t start up with freezing rain again.”

“Be careful out there. I’ll be thinking about you while I sit at home here with hot coffee and a good book.”

“You’ll feed Mark when he comes down? But not this oatmeal.”

“Ungrateful bastard,” Ryan growled.

“Hey, I ate it.” John relented. “It was okay. Just a little sticky. But nice and hot.”

Ryan couldn’t help the smile. He got up to clear his dishes.

The sound of Mark’s guitar upstairs changed to a new piece. The boy had gotten up early, and jumped right into practicing. “He’s really good,” Ryan said. “I’m glad he’s found someone to work with.”

“I’m not sure I like it that they’re so much older. I keep wondering what they want with a fifteen-year-old.”

“That,” Ryan told him, pointing up. “Age is irrelevant. It’s the art that matters. If you can call it art when it’s a rock band. Talent, anyway. Be happy for him.”

“I guess.” John picked up his bag. “You sure you don’t want to come in to campus?” He glanced up the stairs, and then put a hand on Ryan’s arm and lowered his voice. “Since you don’t have classes we could hang out all day. Find a secluded spot. Maybe neck in the truck.”

“In twenty-degree weather,” Ryan said, moving closer. “I don’t think so.”

“I miss being with you,” John whispered softly. “Sometimes I miss it so much I can’t breathe.”

“I know.” Ryan looked into those hazel eyes, dark with desire. “Johnny, I do know. We just need patience. It’s too soon.”

John nodded. “I should be the one saying that. I’m the parent.”

“We both want what’s right for Mark.” Ryan cocked his head, listening to the strings overhead, and then put his arms around John for a moment. “Maybe we’ll send him to a movie some night.”

“Soon,” John breathed. He glanced upward too, and then bent and kissed Ryan. The kiss was short and hard, and then longer, mouths melding, tongues sliding over each other. He nipped at Ryan’s lip and then kissed him again, softly. “See you tonight, Ry.” He grabbed his bag and headed down the hallway. Ryan heard the door close, the truck start and pull out of the drive. He sighed.
Twelve-second romantic interlude over.
Time to crack the histology book. He turned and froze. Mark stood on the stairs, staring at him from the shadows. Above them, the sound of the guitar played on.

For a long moment they just stared at each other. Then the boy whirled and ran up the stairs.
Shit, shit, shit!
Ryan hovered indecisively. By now, John was on his way in, his phone turned off for the wintry drive. Twenty minutes there, maybe thirty with the ice, a painful phone call, thirty minutes back with John worried and sliding around in the truck.
No. You broke it, you try and fix it.
He followed the boy up the stairs.

Mark’s door was locked. No surprise. Ryan knocked firmly. And then a second time, and a third. Finally Mark yelled, “Go away.”

“Let me in,” Ryan insisted. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Look, Mark,” Ryan tried, “I can call your dad home from work to discuss this, but I’d rather talk to you myself.”

“I’d rather you go fuck yourself,” Mark said through the door. “No, wait, I bet my dad’s doing that for you, isn’t he?”

“Let me in.”

“Go to hell.”

Ryan sighed. “I’m just going to sit out here until you open the door. If you don’t come out until your dad comes home tonight, then you can take it up with him. I just think that’s going to be even harder.”

“Fuck harder.”

Ryan almost smiled. “I don’t think you meant to say that.”

After a long moment, the door was yanked open so violently the handle hit the wall. “Okay,” Mark snapped. “Come in and say your piece. You’re going to tell me what? I’m mistaken? I didn’t see what I thought I saw? There’s an explanation for all this?”

Ryan went in, leaving the door ajar, and leaned on the wall. “If you thought you saw me kissing your father, then you’re not mistaken.”

Mark turned to his CD player and cranked the music up. “This is so freaking wrong!”

Ryan held still and let the kid rant.

“He’s gay! My father is fucking gay! He lied to me, he lied to my mother. Hell, his whole life is a lie!”

“Slow down,” Ryan said. “He may be gay but he’s not a liar.”

“No? Then what do you call pretending that you’re renting a room?” He put on a falsetto voice. “Oh, Ryan’s just my roommate.” He dropped the tone. “What do you call marrying my mother and having kids with her, when he likes to…be with men?”

“I
was
renting a room,” Ryan said, trying to speak clearly over the booming guitar. “When you were here at Christmas, we were not yet anything except roommates.”

Mark spun the stereo sound off, and the silence echoed. “And what about now?”

“Now we’re…lovers.” That sounded strange, but he couldn’t think of a better way to say it. “We have been for about a month. Since after New Year’s, but we’ve put it on hold since you got here. We haven’t been lying to you. We just didn’t want you to have to deal with too many changes right away. I think even if I’d been a woman your dad had just started dating, he might have kept it under wraps while you were getting settled in.”

“How am I supposed to deal with this?” Mark demanded. “Am I just supposed to be okay with it? Pretend that I don’t care that my dad is some kind of fag?”

“No. But it would be nice if you could calm down a little and listen to me. Who your father is…dating, it has nothing to do with you.”

“Bullshit. I’m here, and you… And what he did to my mother? That has nothing to do with me either?”

“You have to ask John about your mother,” Ryan said. “But I think he’s bi, not gay. When he talks about those early days with Cynthia, when you kids were small, there’s this happiness in him, you know? I think he truly loved her then. I think he’s one of those people who cares more about what’s inside a person than the shape of the outside. He loved her and now he’s…with me. But he doesn’t lie. He’s with the person he’s with, one hundred percent.”

“What about all the other men he’s been with?” Mark demanded.

“There weren’t any.”

“That he told you about,” Mark sneered.

Ryan firmly quashed the little voice in his head that was wondering if the kid was right. He knew John better than that. “Mark. He didn’t seriously date anyone after your mother, until me. And I dated a lot of women, before him, but no men. This is something new for both of us.”

“So you’re experimenting.”

“No. We’re building a life.”
And God, weren’t the pearls of truth just coming out in this fucked-up conversation.
Because a life was what he was hoping for. However much he pretended this was something superficial, temporary, alien to his true nature, in his heart he wanted it to last.

“And you’re graciously going to let me fit in a corner of that life? If I can stand to be around it?”

“We want you to be part of it. However we can make it work.”

“This year sucks, you know?” Mark paced angrily. “I keep thinking it can’t get worse, and then it does. Now I get to choose between Mr. Brandon you-can-never-quite-measure-up Carlisle, and a pair of fags. I feel like maybe I should just drive off a cliff. Except I can’t even fucking drive yet.”

Ryan nodded. “It’s hard when everything changes.” He paused. “You have to look at it like a rebuilding year. Like when a team loses all its good players, and you have to start from scratch and make something out of it. It does suck.”

Mark snorted. “What the hell would you know about it?”

Ryan stared at him. “Jesus Christ, kid. Get your head out of your ass and look at me.”

Mark turned.

“This has been my rebuilding year. A year ago I had it all. I was a firefighter. I had a job I liked, a dozen good buddies, the latest hot girl going out with me, everything. And then a day later I was in hospital. Leg almost gone, job gone, girl gone because she wanted to date a fireman, not tend a cripple, my buddies all awkward around me because they didn’t like the reminder of how fast it could all cave in. My dad standing there looking like someone kicked him in the gut.”

Mark looked a bit sheepish.