CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

And the dreams that you're having, They won't let you down

If you just follow on cos you know where you're bound,

The well will be filling, the words will come fast

When the one who is coming arrives here at last.

When the red sun sets on the railroad town

And the bars begin to laugh with the happy sound,

I'll still be here right by your side

There'll not be anyone

In my heart but you.

- Red Sun – Neil Young

BRIAN

I strip him slowly, carefully. I examine the new pattern of bruises on his back and ass, matching the ones on his ribs: if this goes on his whole body will be the same fucking colour as his hair. While I was buying safety mats for the bathroom at the drugstore, I'd spotted a bottle of witch hazel and remembered that it was Debbie's sovereign remedy for bruises: now I soak a pad of cotton wool with the clear, slightly oily liquid and gently apply it to the contusions. Justin makes small appreciative noises. When I've treated his back I help him to turn over so that I can take care of his ribs, and he looks up at me with dreamy blue eyes.

"I want you inside me," he whispers.

And fuck, I need that more than I need to breath, right now. But still, it might not be a good idea. "Maybe we should leave it a little longer, Sunshine; you're not exactly flexible, are you? After all, it's not like I don't have other ways of taking care of you."

He shakes his head. "I need this, Brian. We both do. We can work something out."

So we do, as always. I position him carefully on his left side, making sure there's no pressure on any of his injuries. Then I spoon against his back, the way I did after his bashing, and I love him with all the tenderness and care that I can summon.

Fucking Justin is one of life's great pleasures: if I'm honest, the greatest. I'm sure any gay man who's experienced the privilege (although, modesty aside, I don't believe there have been many) would agree with me. Even in the beginning, when he was a naïve inexperienced kid, we always had a connection that was both physical and emotional, and that empathy has only deepened over the years. In fact, my top ten fucks of all time are with him and my top twenty are almost as exclusive - not that I'd ever admit it to him. But there have been a handful of other occasions that are burned on my memory, not because of the physical fireworks involved but because of the emotional intensity.

The first, and in many ways still the benchmark, was the first time we had sex after he'd been bashed. My performance wasn't stellar, because I was too afraid of hurting or freaking him; he seemed so fragile and vulnerable that I'd concentrated instead on touching and caressing him, trying with every kiss to reassure him and to convey the love I couldn't verbally express. It was only afterwards, holding him safe and warm against my chest as he slept, it occurred to me that I finally understood the difference between making love and fucking. It was a revelation that changed my perceptions forever, I guess.

The second time was at Britin, after he'd accepted me. We'd made love slowly, languorously, revelling in each other: for the first time ever, he belonged to me and I to him, and the joy of having him lit a warmth in me then that had nothing to do with the fire we lay before. The future had stretched out before us, simple and uncomplicated: I had told him I loved him, I knew he loved me, and that was enough for both of us. That was the first time I experienced what truly being happy meant: and it was fuck all to do with landing a new account or nailing a new trick or even the Armani Spring Collection.

And then there was the exact opposite, the time we made love before he left for New York. For the last time, as far as I was concerned, and I'd tried to savour every taste, every scent, every feature, burning them into my memory, knowing that I'd never enjoy them again. And fuck, I'd wished then that I'd stuck to my principles and never admitted to myself or to anyone else that I might just have had a heart after all. Because getting it broken hurt every bit as much as I ever suspected it would.

This time, however … this is forever.

Justin said that everything was about what I wanted, but that's not true. I never wanted to lose him, not even back in the early days when I used to gripe and bitch about his presence. I'd never have taken him back as eagerly as I always did if that were the case.

But he's still right in a way; because I think he was really referring to what he'd said earlier: that once I make up my mind about what I'm going to do then I do it, and nothing and nobody will sway me. And that's what I've done; I've finally made up my mind. I want this; I want him, and unless the day ever comes when he manages to convince me that he doesn't love me any more, I'll keep him. And God help anyone who comes between us: he is my flood tide, and I intend to ride him to the end wherever the fuck he takes me.

There's no hurry, because he'll be here tomorrow. There's no sorrow, no doubt. I tell him I love him, over and over with body and voice. I'll never withhold that truth from him again.

He was right. This is what we both need.

After we've come down and our heartbeats have returned to normal, I lie stroking his hair. "I need to know," I say softly. "How much trouble are we in with the drugs, Justin? You don't have to worry about telling me the truth. I'm not going to freak out, I promise."

"I don't know," he answers. His voice is sleepy. "I've been using more than I should, but that might have just been because I was so unhappy and Dylan always had them around. I really don't know, Brian."

"Why did you take such a risk to find my stash? Was it because you needed to?"

He turns his head and blinks at me. "No. No, I'm pretty sure it wasn't. I was just pissed at you … I thought you were lying, and I wanted to show you I wasn't as helpless as you thought I was. Don't get me wrong, if there'd have been anything worth taking I'd have taken it … but I wasn't aware of any craving of any kind."

"Okay." I kiss his forehead, relieved because I don't think he's lying to me. "We'll see how it goes. But please, Sunshine, don't try and hide anything. I won't judge you, and I'll do anything I can to help. Because there's just you and me now, kid … and if we can't trust each other, then we can't trust anyone."

The next morning I'm answering e-mails, listening to the rise and fall of Justin's voice as he talks to Molly. I try not to eavesdrop on the conversation, giving him space until the call's finished. Then I get up and go over to sit on the couch with him, which is kind of difficult because he's sitting with his back to the armrest and his broken leg stretched out along the seat. I make a mental note to buy some kind of padded stool or foot rest so that he can prop his cast on it instead.

"How's she doing?"

He shrugs, his eyes sad and moist. "It's hard for her, of course. She feels kind of isolated, I guess; it's not like she's met Dad's new wife more than a few times. But it sounds like he's trying … she's got her own room, and he's letting her choose her own colours and everything. I guess she'll settle."

I reach out to clasp the back of his neck. "Well, at least her big brother's back in Pittsburgh. She must be happy to know she can see you whenever she wants."

He smiles a little. "Yeah, you could say that. Although I guess that depends on whether Dad wants us to associate still."

"Don't you worry, Sunshine. I'm sure he'll see the sense in it." The fucker had better. I lean in to give Justin a reassuring kiss when I suddenly hear the Loft door sliding open, and I realise that in all the confusion of coming home yesterday to find Justin prostrate on the floor, I'd totally forgotten to lock it. I jump to my feet expecting to see Mikey or Deb, but instead it's Lindsay, laden with shopping bags and with Gus in tow. She looks majorly pissed.

"You said you were going to miss last weekend, Brian, not this one as well," she complains, coming towards me. "What's going on? You don't show up yesterday, you don't call, you're not picking up your phone and your cell's switched off. Gus was really upset."

Fuck. I'd totally forgotten that today was Saturday.

"Shit, I'm sorry Linds. It's just …"

She reaches me and then sees Justin sitting on the couch. Her mouth falls open. "Oh my God. Justin?"

His face is expressionless. "Hi Linds."

"Oh my God," she repeats. She drops her bags and takes a half step forward. "Look at you, Justin. What happened?"

"He had an accident," I explain unnecessarily. "And he dyed his hair."

Gus appears round the side of the couch, peering uncertainly. "Juss?"

Justin smiles. "Hey, little man!"

My son's face breaks into a grin of pure joy. "Juss!" He hurls himself forward and I grab him before he hits Justin amidships. "Whoa, Sonny Boy. You have to be careful; Justin's hurt. His leg's broken."

"Broken?" He wriggles out my grasp and approaches the couch slowly. "Are you broken, Juss?"

"Only a little bit. Now come here so I can give you a hug; just be gentle."

Gus puts his little arms round Justin's shoulders and hugs him carefully, while Justin returns the embrace with his left arm. "My toys get broke sometimes, and Mommie makes me throw them away. I won't let anyone throw you away, Juss."

"Me neither," I say.

Gus clambers up on the coach beside Justin and reaches up to touch the bruise on his face. "You've got a boo-boo," he says sadly. And your hair's funny!"

"Don't you like it, Gus?" Justin asks.

Gus shakes his head vehemently. "No. I like it yellow."

"I think I might like it better that way, too," Justin replies.

I guess that makes it unanimous.

"I'm hurt, too. Look, I've lost my tooth!" he displays the gap proudly. "Momma says I'll grow a new one, though."

"Yes, you will," Justin agrees. "You'll grow lots of new teeth, Gus. You're a big boy now, aren't you? I can't believe how much you've grown!"

Gus wriggles happily, then waves the book he's carrying. "It's the Very Hungry Caterpillar, Juss! My grandma gave it me. Will you read it?"

"Oh sweetie, don't worry Justin," Linds interrupts. "I'm sure he doesn't want to be bothered right now."

"No, it's fine." Justin's tone is cool, to say the least. "I've missed him. I'd love to read his book."

I lean down to Justin's ear. "Don't forget, the caterpillar's name is Ian," I grin, and he glares at me.

Lindsay keeps shooting nervous little glances in his direction as she picks up her shopping. "I bought you some groceries," she says brightly. "Come and help me put them away."

I follow her to the kitchen and she pulls open the refrigerator and starts shoving stuff inside. "What's going on, Brian?" she asks in a low voice.

I lean against the counter with my back to the couch. "In what way?"

She shoots me a look. "Why is he here?"

"Where the fuck else would he be? Or have you forgotten Jennifer's dead? I distinctly remember calling and telling you."

She has the grace to flush. "No. No, of course I haven't forgotten. But surely he has friends in New York who could look after him?"

I just stare at her. "Well, you know, it's his home now," she carries on, a little flustered. "I would think he'd need stability now … and what about his work?"

"His fucking work?" I try to keep my voice down. "How the fuck could he work at anything, like that?"

She finishes stuffing the fridge and turns to the cupboards and starts stowing dry goods. "It's just after all this time it seems silly to come back to Pittsburgh. I mean, how is he going to keep his job? And what about his rooms?"

"None of that will matter, Linds, because he isn't going back."

She freezes. "What do you mean, not going back? What about his art, his future …"

"He can paint here as well as in New York, Linds," I tell her calmly. "And his future is here. With me."

She shuts the cupboard door with more force than necessary and spins round to face me. "Oh Brian, you can't be serious! You're not going to drag him back to all this, not now he's finally broken away, not now that everything's opened up for him …"

I take hold of her forearms. "Lindsay, listen to me. Justin and I have talked. There's nothing for him in New York. He doesn't want to be there; he never did. And fuck knows I don't want him there. So we're doing what we should have done six months ago; we're going to sort our shit out, and we're going to do it here in Pittsburgh. Together."

"Oh," she says, with a shaky little laugh. "Well, if you've both made your minds up, I suppose that's the end of it. Although I still think he's wrong: he'll never have an opportunity like this again. If he would just stick it out a little longer …"

"No," I interrupt her firmly. "This is Justin's decision, the way it should always have been. And if you're his friend you'll respect it, the way you've always respected the decisions I've made, even if you haven't agreed with them."

She looks away. "Well, I guess I should congratulate you both. I suppose you'll want Gus and me to find somewhere else now?"

I shake my head. "No, you're fine. It's not like Justin could get around at Britin yet, anyway: and even if he could, there wouldn't be any reason for you to leave. Take as long as you need, Linds."

"You know she's in love with you, right?"

He's been silent since Linds and Gus left; now he's sitting staring thoughtfully into his coffee.

"Of course she does. I'm fabulous!"

He looks up at me and huffs. "Brian, I'm being serious. I know Lindsay's your friend … you've known her nearly as long as you've known Michael. And I also know that the longer you've known someone, the more you trust them."

"Not quite true," I grin at him. "I trust you, and you've been around less time than anybody."

"Only because I'm the most mature person you know," he reminds me. "But we're talking about Lindsay here."

I put my mug down on the coffee table and lean my elbows on my knees. "Justin, she's been under a lot of pressure lately; she was just surprised to see you here."

He snorts laughter. "Surprised? Yeah, you could say that. She looked like she'd swallowed a wasp. Actually, I was going to say, 'swallowed a cock', but I get the feeling that wouldn't be such a nasty shock to her nowadays."

"Fuck, Justin!" I snap, more harshly than I mean to. "That's a shitty thing say to say about someone who's always been a good friend to you!"

He leans forward and manages to touch my hand. "I know she has," he says softly, "and I'm grateful for everything she's done for me. She … and Mel. Do you think I've forgotten all the times I slept on their couch … the way Lindsay encouraged me to be an artist, and to go on being one when I thought I'd never hold a pencil again?"

"She supported you in more ways than that! Christ, she was always bitching at me about the way I treated you … she gave me hell for blaming you when the Loft was burgled, and about the Birthday Hustler … and she was the only one who told me that I should try to get you back after you fucked off with Ian. She always knew you meant a damn sight more to me than I let on."

"I know," he replies quietly. "I think in the beginning she really did want us to get together. Maybe she thought that if you were in a relationship you wouldn't trick so much. Maybe you'd have more time for her and Gus. But something happened … I got the feeling that she'd started to resent me, only I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like I kept you away from Gus or anything. She started changing towards me … ever since she split up with Mel over Sam Auerbach. And I've been thinking ever since I went to New York … that she wanted me gone, and she knew exactly how to do it."

"Justin…" I turn round to face him. "It wasn't Linds who forced you into leaving. That was all down to me. She just showed me that review because she was proud of you and she wanted to share it with me."

He's silent for a moment. Then he says slowly, "Did she tell you that she'd already spoken to me about it?"

"No. But I assumed she had."

He nods. "And I made it perfectly clear to her that I wasn't interested. I said that I'd already been offered the best opportunity I was ever going to have … you. Did she tell you that?"

"No," I reply, a little shaken. Lindsay hadn't exactly said so, but I'd had the distinct impression that Justin had been eager and excited about the article, but he hadn't wanted to disappoint me. Which was why Lindsay had brought the subject up … wasn't it?

"Brian, you always think you're in control. You see yourself as the Great Manipulator, and about most things you're right. But when it comes to the people you trust … to Lindsay and Michael … they know you as well as you know them, and they understand that the trick to handling you is to sit back and let you do all the work. All they have to do is to plant a suggestion in your mind and then make sure you think the whole thing was your idea in the first place."

"The fuck they do!"

He gives me a pitying glance. "Please, Brian. I'm an expert, remember? I've been doing the same thing to you for years."

I glare at him. "Don't think just because you've got that cast on your leg you're getting away with that. I'll save your punishment up until it they take it off!"

"Promises, promises," he smiles, but his eyes are serious. "And don't try to distract me. Brian, think about it; what woman decides she wants a baby and then insists on having the man her partner hates more than anyone in the world to be its father? And no matter how much she claimed never to support you against Mel, how many times did Mel actually win?"

"Once, at least. When I signed my parental rights over to her."

"That was because Lindsay was going to marry that Guy asshole! You did it to stop her, not for Mel!"

"Only because I couldn't stand the thought of Gus growing up French," I point out.

"Well, Lindsay may not have seen it that way." He hands his me his now-cold coffee and I put it on the table beside mine.

"Please, Brian, I know you don't want to think about this. But you said we had to trust each other … so please, just listen. I've been thinking that Lindsay was only ever on my side so long as it suited her: when she didn't want you to move to New York or when she wanted you to be a good father to Gus. But in the end I was a threat to her … she was going to move to Canada with Mel and we were getting married. She'd lost you, Brian … and I don't think she could live with finally giving up on her fantasy. The timing of that review just fell right in her lap … she knew all she had to do was show it to you, and how you would react. I knew how you would react, which was why I never mentioned it! And then the wedding's off, and you're back to being single and lonely again, and then suddenly Lindsay's left Mel and needs somewhere to live, and you've moved her in to Britin and she's playing Lady of the fucking Manor! And while we're at it, don't you think it a little coincidental that Mel turned into an abusive parent? Like that wasn't the one situation you'd never be able to tolerate?"

I want to tell him he's talking bullshit, that he's just feeling neurotic and suspicious and angry because he's been hurt again. Or because his mother's dead. Because of any fucking reason. But suddenly I find little scenes replaying in my head: Lindsay dressed in that hideous wedding dress, saying wistfully, Once or twice I used to dream of being a bride, it's true. Lindsay hanging on to my arm at all those school interviews being the perfect little wife, the ersatz Mrs. Kinney: In fact, there was a time when we first met, I thought this could have been the reality. Did you ever think that, Brian?

Lindsay's parents, acting as though I was their fucking new son-in-law.

Lindsay, her bathrobe slipping from her shoulder, trying to seduce me into having another child with her.

"Brian, you've taken everything Lindsay's told you at face value, because it never occurred to you that she'd lie to you. I know you've never really liked Mel, but that's beside the point. You've always been a fair man … that's one of the many things I love and admire about you: so you must see you owe it to Mel to at least hear her side of the story. And as a fair man, and a good father, you have to find out the truth about this; because if Lindsay has put not only us but Gus too, through all this shit just because she's got some fucked up fantasy about you, then you need to know it. Please, please speak to Mel."

TBC