Eternal thanks to my beta, Zevgirl, and all of you who take the time to read, follow, and review. Enjoy!
It was nearly noon when Gus finally appeared the next morning. He had his own bathroom attached to his bedroom, and Justin heard the shower start from his studio across the hall. By the time Gus slouched into the kitchen, Justin had whipped up a batch of pancakes.
"Morning, Gus." Justin offered a smile, but was met with a blank stare. "Want some pancakes?"
"I don't eat food this early. You got coffee?"
Justin lifted an eyebrow, glancing at the clock. Okay. "Sure. Sugar or creamer?"
"Black." Gus sat in stool at the bar, fiddling with his iPhone.
Justin poured him a mug and set it on the bar. With a sigh, he placed the pancakes on a plate and wrapped them in foil, storing them in the fridge. When he turned around, Gus was texting rapidly, coffee ignored.
"Want to swim today?"
Gus did not even look up. "Where's my dad?"
"He ran to the office to do a few things, but he'll be back soon." Justin placed his elbows on the bar and leaned forward. "I'm sorry you didn't know about the loft. It was kind of a recent decision."
"Yours or his?"
"His." Justin bit his lower lip, wishing he could get some eye contact at least. "He wanted you to have your own bedroom."
"So you two can fuck?"
Well. Justin flattened his palms on the stainless steel counter, smoothing it as if the surface were as ruffled as he felt. "So you could have your privacy."
"So you could have your privacy."
Damn, but he missed the wide-eyed, grinning, little boy who had called him, "Jussin" and begged him to help color pictures. This was a different Gus, and Justin did not know how to handle him. Well, maybe it was time to be blunt.
"Do you have a problem with me being here?"
Gus put down the phone. "Why are you here?"
Because your father reminded me exactly how much I need him. Bad answer.
"We decided to give it another try."
"We or you?"
What was this . . . an interrogation? Justin opened his mouth with a retort, but the sound of the front door closing interrupted him.
"Hey," said Brian, breezing in with a grin. He set several bags on the counter. "Got some Thai for lunch."
"Cool," said Gus, reaching for a bag. "I'm starved."
Justin said nothing as father and son gathered the food, some bottles of water, and headed out to the deck to eat.
Well, aren't we off to great start?
Sighing, he grabbed his own box of food and followed them outside.
The cool air from the fridge ghosted over Gus's skin as he retrieved a can of Coke. The bottles of beer tempted him severely, but he knew better than to drink in front of his father, not that Dad was strict, but he made a token effort to follow the moms' rules. Maybe another day when Dad and Justin were not around . . . .
The can released a satisfying pop, and he guzzled it while staring out the window at the pool. He had to admit the pool was nice, and it would be cool to hang out there during the summer. If only he did not have to spend half the time in Michael's stuffy comic store, and if only Justin were absent, the visit would have been perfect. He wondered bitterly if working during the summer was Justin's idea.
He watched as Brian pushed himself out of the water and approached Justin, sitting in a lounge chair in the shade. He yelled something, and Justin grinned as Brian sat on the chair facing the blond. Brian reached forward, grabbing Justin's thighs and pulling him close while Justin made a hopeless attempt to escape. Smirking, Brian wrapped his palm around Justin's neck, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss.
Gus froze, almost choking on the soda left in his throat. Of course, he had always known his father was gay, as were his moms. Kisses were so frequent in his household, they were a non-issue. In all his visits with his dad, however, he had never once seen him kiss anyone other than Michael. Gus knew his father slept around, but he had never brought home one of his tricks. This was the first time he had caught his father in a romantic gesture of any kind.
Even more shocking was the amount of heat between Dad and Justin. Kisses between his moms were perfunctory and casual, at least in front of their kids. This kiss going on in front of him was as passionate as kisses were in movies. This was a side of Dad he had never seen, a glimpse of the Brian Kinney he did not know, not to mention Justin, whom he did not wish to know at all.
Annoyed, he started for the patio door, pausing when he heard the doorbell, followed immediately by a barrage of insistent knocks. Another glance outside showed the men still liplocked, so Gus trudged to the front door, glad for the interruption.
He was not prepared for the sniffling, overweight, distraught woman standing on the porch. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair mussed, and her clothes consisted of a ragged t-shirt over too-tight leggings. He might have felt sorry for her if she had not been glaring at him as if he had committed an offense.
"Who are you? Isn't this Brian Kinney's house?"
"Uh, yeah." He deliberately took his time scrutinizing her. "I'm his son. Who are you?"
"His what?" The woman's mouth dropped open. "That bastard has a son?"
"You didn't answer my question." Maybe he needed to slam the door shut and get Dad.
"Well, I guess if you're his son, I'm your aunt. That bastard's my brother."
He had an aunt? Dad had never mentioned a sister. Never. He knew he had a grandmother, but his dad had never allowed him to meet her.
"Look, I've never heard of you, so . . . ."
"Yeah, I just bet you haven't."
She shoved him aside with the back of her plump hand and brushed past.
"Hey wait! You can't just barge in here."
"Where is he? Where is that sick son of a bitch?"
The woman walked fast considering her weight, and Gus had to scurry to keep up.
"Brian! Where the hell are you?"
"He's on the patio, but he didn't say you could come in here."
He might as well have stopped a speeding truck. Before Gus had a chance to grab her arm, they were on the patio. She stopped so fast, he nearly ran into her. Irritated, he looked up to see why she had come to such an abrupt halt. To his surprise, Dad was still kissing Justin, and this was what the woman was now staring at, her entire face turning an alarming shade of red.
"You pervert! I should have known!"
Justin pulled back, his eyes widening. Brian turned around, very slowly, his face transforming into a smile that was more a grimace of pain.
"Why, Claire. Whatever brings you here?" He stood, scrutinizing her figure with an exaggerated nod. "Please tell me you're not asking for money to fund a liposuction."
"You bastard." Claire's face flamed, tears threatening to spill. "You think I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to? You were never worth the time Mother spent praying for you."
"Oh, I totally agree," said Brian. "She should have been praying for your thieving children."
"At least my children aren't fags!"
Justin was on his feet, lips white with anger.
"Get out of our home."
"Your home?" Her hysterical laugh set Gus's teeth on edge. "What, are you his latest plaything?"
"If you have a reason for being here, Claire, speak it now. I won't allow you to speak rudely to Justin or my son."
"You never told Mom about your son, did you?"
"Does it matter? She would have filled Gus's head with bigotry."
"Well, you certainly won't have to worry about that now." Fat tears spilled over her cheeks. "She died last night!"
Silence. Bewildered, Gus could only stare at his father, whose blank expression was carved from rock. Justin bit his lip, raising his hand to Brian's shoulder.
"Brian . . . ."
Brian moved away from him, shrugging off the contact. "So you're here asking for help, like with Dad."
"I can't do it all myself, Brian." Claire covered her face, choking back the sobs. "Trust me, I don't want you there, but I need your help. And you are her son!"
Brian barked a laugh, his mouth twisting with bitterness. "Her travesty of a son." He bent and grabbed his towel from the ground. "I'll meet you at her house after I shower. Go."
She turned and left without a glance at Gus. Obviously, she was not interested in a newfound nephew. Brian followed, also without a word to his son, his face set. Justin, at least, seemed to remember him. He walked over to Gus, looking worried.
"I take it you never met Brian's family?"
"You have?"
"Briefly. And regrettably." Justin rubbed the back of his neck, frowning at the doorway where Brian had disappeared. "I'm sorry about this, but I better go talk to Brian. It'll be okay."
He walked away before Gus could protest. Why couldn't he go check on his father? His dad had confided in him before, and he was not a little kid anymore. Irritated, he trailed after Justin, wrapping his towel around his wet trunks and leaving a damp trail up the stairs.
Their bedroom door was closed, but he could hear the soft murmur of their voices. Leaning against the door, he pressed his ear to the cool wood.
"I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not. You're staying here with Gus."
"Brian. . . ."
"No, Justin. This doesn't involve you, and you don't want to be involved, trust me."
"Excuse me? I'm your husband!"
His husband?
A harsh sigh was followed by gentler words. "I never said you weren't, but my mother isn't your problem. I'm just going to head over and get things settled, since Claire will be too waterlogged with tears to do anything. I'll come home after."
A long silence.
"Just promise me you'll come home."
"I said I would, didn't I?"
Gus scooted away, slipping quietly down the stairs and into his bedroom. Who was this mysterious grandmother, and why did his father seem to hate her? He listened to the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and the front door opened and closed. It didn't look like his dad was going to explain things. He dressed and headed out to the kitchen.
Justin had changed to a t-shirt and shorts and was putting together a salad, slicing the vegetables with more force than necessary. Gus dropped quietly into a chair, watching him unnoticed. It wasn't until Justin turned toward the sink to wash the lettuce that he noticed Gus.
"Hey. Want a salad?" He offered a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Okay." He had a feeling his dad would not be home for dinner.
"Italian dressing all right?" The way Justin kept worrying his lip, Gus was surprised it wasn't bleeding.
"Okay." He wondered if he should offer to help, but did not feel up to being friendly with this man his dad had called his husband.
"Dad never mentioned any wedding."
Justin paused, lifting his gaze to meet Gus's. He put down the knife, dried his hands on the dish towel, and leaned forward on the counter.
"We didn't have one."
"Dad said you were his husband. If you didn't have a wedding, what did that mean?"
"Your dad and I have always agreed we don't need a piece of paper to be married or to love."
"You can't just call yourselves married without doing anything. Otherwise, anyone could." Gus leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"In our hearts and minds, we are married. That's all we need."
Justin turned back to the salad, shredding the lettuce while Gus glared at his back.
"I take it that you're not happy I'm here, and I'm sorry for that." Justin sounded wistful. "We used to have fun coloring when you were little, but I know you probably don't remember."
"You're right. I don't."
He ignored the obvious disappointment on Justin's face as he headed down the hall to his room, slamming the door behind him.
Later, when Justin called him for dinner, he didn't go.
It was nearly midnight when Brian entered the office, tossing some forms from the funeral home on the desk. He went straight to the liquor cart and poured a scotch, emptying the glass in one gulp. The familiar burn shot down his throat and warmed his stomach, filling the cold pit that had formed there when Claire appeared at his home.
His mother had been prepared, leaving a note outlining exactly how she wanted her funeral. The note was addressed to Brian, surprisingly, specifying the casket, songs to be played, and clothes he should provide for her to wear in the casket. He had almost laughed when he saw the final cost and compared it to the amount of money she had left in the bank.
One last way to screw me, Mother? You knew I could afford it, and you weren't afraid to demand it. I wasn't good enough for you when you were alive, but now I can pay for your golden path to heaven.
He poured another drink and raised it in salute.
To you, Mother. May you finally be happy with Jesus. You certainly never were with me.
He downed two more shots before the room took on a comfortable blur, the anger souring to a vitriolic cesspool in his chest. He was reaching for the whiskey when the door rattled beneath a barrage of knocks.
"Brian!"
Mikey. Of course. He stumbled to the door and flung it open.
"Door's not locked. Come in and join the celebration of Joan Kinney, God's newest saint!"
He turned away, grabbed the bottle of Jack, and sprawled on the sofa. Michael sighed, closing the door behind him.
"Justin call you?" Brian waved him over.
"He thought you might need a little support."
Brian smiled wide enough to make Michael's teeth ache. "Got my support right here!" He held up the bottle and the same box he had been storing weed in for years. Michael sighed, removing his coat. It was going to be a long night.
An hour, two drinks, and several puffs of weed later, he did not even care. He sat on the end of the sofa with Brian's head in his lap, both of them drunk and higher than Mt. Everest.
"You remember Peter Voss?" Michael grinned, nostalgia clouding his unfocused eyes.
Brian snorted, holding the still-burning roach away from the sofa. "Voss the Hoss? From the high school football team?"
"Yeah, him! Remember that day when he called me a fag, and you just hauled off and punched him in the nose?"
"Yeah, I remember." Brian took another drag, watching the smoke spiral away, out of control. "His parents came over to my house that evening and told my parents what I did. I can hear his mother screeching about how I damaged her little boy."
"They did? You never told me that."
"After they left, the old man grabbed my elbow and dragged me upstairs to my room. Took off his belt and walloped me until blood ran."
"Jesus Christ, Brian!"
"Relax, Mikey. It wasn't anything new." Brain closed his eyes, and Michael wondered if he still saw blood. "Later, my dear mother came upstairs and opened my bedroom door. She just stood there, staring at me while I lay on the bed on my stomach. I thought, maybe . . . finally . . . but no, of course not. Foolish of me, huh?"
"She didn't do anything?"
"She never did anything, Michael. You know what she said that night before walking away? 'Maybe now you'll behave.' Then she shut the door and left."
"Fuck." Michael bit his lip, wishing for the thousandth time he'd done something back then. If only Brian had let him tell someone.
Brian reached out, snuffing the remains of the joint in an ashtray on the coffee table. "Thing is, I still don't know why I even cared."
"She was your mom, Brian."
"She was no one." Brian rolled off Michael and pulled himself into a slouch. "Go home, Mikey. Go sleep with the Professor."
"Brian, don't stay here alone. Justin wants you to come home."
"He can wait. I need some space." Brian dragged Michael to his feet and gently ushered him to the door. Opening it, he tried to push Michael out, but his friend blocked the doorway.
"Promise me you won't do anything stupid."
Brian sighed, wiping the weariness from his face with an impatient hand. "I promise. And Michael? Tell Justin I'm fine, and I'll be home tomorrow."
With Michael gone, the room went cold and dark, and Brian stumbled drunkenly to the sofa, not even bothering to undress. The alcohol and weed had dulled the mess in his head, but he knew more awaited him in the morning. As the pleasant fog dragged him into dreams, the last thing he envisioned was blond hair threading between his fingers, the one scrap of reality to which he could still cling.