Bowerbirds Read online

  “Who was that?” Bob asked one more time.

  “Um… my boyfriend?”

  Bob looked down at Dylan’s record and swallowed a few times. “Well, seeing as how Dylan’s never been in real trouble, if he’s willing to spend Saturday washing off some graffiti, sit through the standard conflict resolution lecture, and this doesn’t become a habit, then I don’t see why we’d need to make any more of this, really.”

  “Thank you.” James didn’t let the staggering relief show on his face. Instead, he smiled politely. “Dylan will be glad to hear that, and I’ll be sure to talk to him myself.” James stood. “Do call me if there are any other problems.”

  “Absolutely.”

  James nodded and let himself out.

  Dylan jumped up from the bench as soon as he saw James. “Dad?”

  “It’s fine. You’ll need to scrub some graffiti and just don’t make a habit of it.”

  Dylan did let the relief show on his face as he let out a deep breath and pulled James into a quick one-armed hug. “No problem.”

  “How’s your eye?”

  Dylan lowered the ice pack, giving James a second look. It was going to turn solidly black and blue, he could tell already. “I’ve taken worse from a pop fly. Coach Frasier is still going to yell.”

  James inspected the slight abrasions on Dylan’s knuckles. “Are your hands okay?”

  Dylan smiled. “I’m fine, Dad, really.”

  “Your ankle?” James asked. There was always a risk that it could go out from an old injury, which could damage his scholarship almost as badly as getting suspended.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. I swear.”

  Mr. Jessup poked his head out of his office and motioned to Dylan. “Moment of your time as well?”

  “I’ll see you tonight?” James asked. He knew Dylan had no plans for dates or practice that night, but he still needed to hear it.

  “I’ll be there.” Dylan gave James another tight hug. “Thanks,” he whispered.

  James just gave him a hug back before Dylan grabbed his bag, gave Gabe a smile and a nod, then went to talk to the vice principal himself. James turned to Gabe. He was looking at his phone but had a smile on his face. The fear and slight adrenaline dropped out of his system, replaced by anger.

  “I could have handled that.”

  Gabe looked up. “What?”

  “Dylan’s had personality clashes with teachers and some administrators. I’ve talked him out of trouble before.”

  “Sorry, I just thought—”

  “I can take care of my own son.” James could not count how many times he’d said those words to people who thought they were helping or were under the impression that James needed help. “Coach Frasier would have had our back, and if all else failed, I could have called Sanderson.”

  “Who?”

  “Steven Sanderson, our lawyer. He did Dylan’s custody pro bono.”

  “Is he the guy who has those really sleazy commercials on at like two in the morning, with that annoying jingle? ‘If you’re gonna sue, sue with Sanderson’?”

  “Yes, and he’s a very good lawyer.” James was always willing to defend Sanderson despite the sleazy commercials and incredibly irritating jingle. “And he probably wouldn’t have been needed anyway, and—”

  Gabe put his hands up slightly. “Sorry, I just thought I could help expedite things for you.”

  James felt a slight ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth. “Do you really know those kinds of PR people?”

  Gabe barked with laughter. “God, no. I don’t even know if those people exist. I mean, I’m sure they do, but we don’t use them.”

  James relaxed a little. It was nice to know his boyfriend didn’t associate with those kinds of people, but at the same time, he hated to think what might have happened if the vice principal had called Gabe’s bluff.

  Tamyra touched Gabe’s shoulder. “Sorry, but I really need to get you going.”

  “That’s what she said,” Gabe muttered quietly.

  Tamyra rolled her eyes, and they quickly moved down the echoing, tiled halls, James following.

  James looked over Gabe’s suit from the corner of his eye. It was a very nice suit, but still just a suit. “Did you really spend twenty-five hundred euros on that suit?”

  Gabe’s look became a little shifty. “I occasionally indulge in retail therapy. I got dumped via text for a barista slash unpublished poet.”

  The idea of spending what amounted to several months of James’ pay on clothes simply wouldn’t compute. The closest he’d ever come to retail therapy was a Freight and Salvage’s open mic night, and that came to all of eight dollars.

  The rich really did live in a completely different world.

  The macaroni and cheese bubbled as James pulled it out of the oven. It wasn’t exactly the healthiest meal—or the cheapest when made with real cheese—but it was first-class comfort food, and James thought he and Dylan could use a bit.

  The heat had started to bite through the thin hot pads when he heard Dylan come in. “Dylan!” he called out as he quickly placed the mac and cheese on the table, his fingers starting to burn.

  Dylan came in, following his nose. “Oh, that smells nice.”

  “Thought we could both use it.”

  James looked Dylan over. The bruise started at his eye and went all the way down his cheek. He could easily see the outline of a fist, and it was going to be impressive by the next morning. His right hand had swelled slightly, but thankfully he didn’t have a game that weekend.

  James had spent the rest of the day trying to think about what happened from every possible angle. And in between the tangle of emotions, he managed to come to one solid conclusion.

  He put his hands on Dylan’s shoulders. “Dylan, I want you to know that I’m proud of you.”

  “Dad—”

  “No, I’m serious. You put yourself in danger to stop something that you knew was wrong. It says a lot about your character as a young man. And I am proud of you.”

  Dylan dipped his head. “I had a good example.”

  James lowered his head as well. “Okay, enough mushy stuff. Get some plates.”

  Dylan went to the counter and pulled a couple of plates from the drying rack by the sink. “So, I heard from Mrs. Anders, the secretary, that Gabe completely trampled Mr. Jessup, scared the shit right out of him.”

  James cleared his throat a bit. He did not need to get a reputation for hardball tactics or relying on a rich boyfriend to get Dylan out of trouble for something James could have managed on his own.

  “Well, he does make a living negotiating things.”

  “No shit. Hey, I don’t suppose you know anything more about that Russian deal he’s working on?”

  “No.” James tried not to snap, but it still came out a bit hard. “And if I did, I’m sure he wouldn’t want me spreading it around to gossipy teenagers.”

  Dylan raised his hands in quick surrender. “No problem. I will try not to let my serious curiosity get in the way of your good time.”

  “Thank you.”

  James’ phone bleeped. He was pretty sure he had it set to chirp when a text came in, but randomly shifting ringtones was one of the more interesting “features” of his awful phone.

  Hi. Sorry for butting in earlier. Hope Dylan’s OK. Dinner next Friday? Know a good Thai place.

  “Gabe?”

  “Yeah, he’s just checking in.”

  “Attentive boyfriends are good things. As I’ve had several girlfriends tell me.”

  An unpleasant feeling reemerged at Dylan’s words.

  Dylan’s fine. Free next Friday.

  James didn’t look up from his phone. “Just eat your dinner.”

  2

  The air was cool but dry, and a little cleaner from the afternoon fog rolling out. Gabe took a couple of deep breaths as he got out of his car. He’d texted James often over the previous few days, but a weird vibe still floated between them. James’ replies were
friendly but shorter than usual. It also seemed to take him longer to respond, but that could just be his phone. Gabe hoped it was nothing but irrational relationship panic on his end, that he was reading too much into signs that weren’t there and meant nothing. James could be going through a busy stint at work. Or maybe he was still stressed over Dylan’s fight.

  He punched the code on the security gate and climbed the stairs, the elevator still bearing an out-of-order sign. Cracked and yellowed tape held the sign in place. The rough base threads of the carpet on the first step were clearly visible through the wear. He knocked on James’ door, bouncing on his toes with atypical nerves.

  The door opened, and Dylan quickly ushered him in. “Dad’s not home yet. I got a message from him, and he was just leaving work. Apparently it was one of those ‘everybody spends all day being really demanding, then everything breaks at the last minute’ days.”

  “I know all about those.”

  Dylan’s phone began to ring. He checked the number, then moved quickly to the hall. Gabe wondered if it was yet another girlfriend. James often complained about his complete inability to keep track of Dylan’s relationships at any given point.

  Gabe looked around the living room. He had never spent any time alone in it. He’d learned long ago that you could tell a lot about a person by what books they kept. The mix, placed neatly on plywood and brick shelves, was reasonably eclectic. Some popular science books, several heavy coffee-table art books with sun-faded covers, despite the lack of windows, and battered copies of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and The Lord of the Rings. Well-read collections of Steinbeck and Hemingway. A row of cheap-looking paperbacks with titles like El corazón de la rosa and Enamorarse antes del amanecer dominated an upper shelf. Gabe took down a couple. The cover art looked like it belonged to a bad romance novel. The blurbs on the back sounded like telenovelas with tragic love, secret children, and conniving land barons. On the lowest shelf was a stack of thick spiral-bound notebooks. He took one off the top and flipped it open, finding the word “Budget.”

  In James’ tidy handwriting was a monthly budget, and judging by the date it was almost five years old. The top number must have been his monthly pay. It wasn’t much. Gabe made in a few hours what James made in a month. The first expense listed was “Savings.” It took nearly half of the check. He flipped forward a few pages. Savings seemed to claim half or more of every check.

  After that the lists showed utility bills, grocery, gas, laundry, bus pass, phone, then another small input number listed as “rollover.” It seemed to be what little, if anything, remained from the previous month. He flipped through pages, watching the months go by. At some point James got a raise, but all that seemed to mean was that more went into the savings. Though after the raise, there were new items added to the list, like physical therapy. Not cheap.

  Gabe hadn’t gotten to be CFO on just his looks. He’d always had the ability to process large quantities of numbers in his head quite quickly and keep track of multiple sets of them, so within a minute, he had a pretty clear view of James’ finances.

  Dylan had been right. They could afford to live a little better. Maybe get a slightly less terrifying car, but the fact that savings was the first item on the budget list said a lot. Of course, according to Gabe’s calculations, even putting aside as much as they could every month, the savings would still be modest at best. As he flipped through, he noticed a pattern under the “Rollover” number. There were things like Freight-$8, Haircut-$10, Shoes (Dylan)-$30. As he got toward more recent months, the rollover amount started shrinking. The month of their first date had the line Freight (2)-$16. Then Extra Gas-$53, New Shirt-$5. Gabe once had a boyfriend, in a fit of pique, ask him how much a relationship was worth. He could now tell him to damn near the cent. He felt guilty and made a note to come up more often instead of having James come down to him. Especially with gas prices already bad and getting steadily higher.

  He flipped back and forth between months. Something felt wrong about the budgets. The math kept adding up fine until he realized where he’d last seen a budget that looked like the ones in front of him: high school. Everyone had to take a life skills class, where they learned basic home ec, why they shouldn’t do drugs, got a first aid lecture, and at least one assignment was working out a monthly budget. They’d been given numbers and had to work out how to live within their constraints. Gabe had gotten an A, but the fact was that he’d never seen an adult write out a functioning budget like that. It was just an exercise. But in front of him were a lifetime of those exercises. Not adult budgets, but the way you write a budget when a teacher is standing over your shoulder. Careful, precise, and every penny under managed control. But James was managing it somehow, living exactly within his means and still saving everything he could. It was impressive in its way. It spoke to a lifestyle most people couldn’t or wouldn’t manage. It was something to be proud of.

  Gabe heard keys at the door. He put the notebook back on the pile and grabbed up the yearbook Dylan had once shown him. James stumbled in, his posture one of exhaustion, but a smile flicked across his face as soon as he saw Gabe.

  Gabe flipped the yearbook back open to page forty-seven. “They let you bring Dylan to school?”

  James dropped his bag. “Once a quarter for health education. I was told no amount of safe sex talks can compare to the sound of a wailing infant or toddler’s temper tantrum echoing down the halls. Had a bunch of jocks get mad at me because all the girls in school started refusing to put out.”

  Dylan came out of the hall. “Hi, Dad, my ride is here.” He gave his father a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Dad.” And he was out the door.

  James watched his son leave, then took the yearbook from Gabe and looked at the picture. “I can’t remember half of this. It’s basically a three-year blur. I mainly remember being tired.”

  Gabe took the book away and placed it back on the shelf. He wanted to gather James up in his arms and just hold him. “Speaking of tired.”

  “I’m fine.” James quickly smiled, but it was obviously forced. “Really.”

  Gabe gently rubbed his thumb along the back of James’ neck. His head fell forward, and he started moaning. Gabe rubbed a little harder, and James slowly leaned forward until his forehead pressed against Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe felt himself begin to relax as well.

  “Why don’t we skip going out? Let’s stay in, and I’ll give you a backrub.”

  James let out a long breath. “I’d argue and say I’m fine to go out, but I spent half the day squeezing myself under desks and the other half running from one end of campus to the other and back again, mainly doing other people’s jobs on top of my own, and your hand feels really nice doing that.”

  Gabe stopped rubbing James’ neck before tilting James’ head up and giving him a soft kiss. “Why don’t we find some place where you can lay down.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, if you want to go out…?” James waved toward the door.

  Gabe shook his head. His own week had seemed to drag with a never-ending swarm of little prickly problems filling all his time. “It’s fine. Come on. Let’s get you relaxed.”

  James kissed him back, then dragged himself down the hall. Gabe followed. The walls of James’ bedroom were a faded pale yellow and nearly bare except for two framed photos, one of an infant and one of a little blond boy, about four. A chest of drawers was along one wall. A bedside table with a few paperbacks on it and a bed was against another wall. The bed made Gabe want to cry. Obviously meant for one, it even looked a little short to be a full-size adult bed. It would be nearly impossible to get a second person into it. He wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if he found out it was James’ childhood bed, never upgraded because the idea of putting anyone else into it was so far away. James sat on the edge of his bed.

  “You do look tired.”

  James rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry, just been a long week.”

  “Why don’t you get undressed, and we’ll see if
that week can end on a better note.”

  James smiled and began to undress. Gabe saw him wince as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Lay down. Let me see that cute backside of yours.”

  James half chuckled and shook his head, but he did lay down. Gabe was right. Less than a foot remained between James’ feet and the end of the bed. He wondered if he should even risk getting up on it, if it would support both their weight. Of course, if the bed did break, he’d have a valid excuse to get James a new one.

  He stripped off his own clothes, down to his shorts since naked back rubs were always better, then climbed onto the bed, straddling James’ backside. The springs creaked, and the mattress sagged, but the bed held up. Gabe took a few preliminary swipes, wishing he had some oil, then pressed his thumbs into James’ neck right at the base of his skull.

  “Oh my God,” James slurred into his pillow.

  Gabe smiled to himself and kept on going. He’d picked up a trick or two from various partners over the years and had his personal technique down pretty well. He worked his way slowly down James’ neck, enjoying the constant moans of pleasure. Sometimes he would hit a spot and James’ body would jolt under him. He’d work those spots gently until the muscles under them stopped twitching.

  He had only made it to James’ shoulders when he reached full hardness. Straddled over James’ ass, his body desperately wanted to strip off those last few pieces of fabric, to slide into James and make him moan with pleasure. He firmly told his body not to get its hopes up. At least not as far as that night went.

  He went for a softer touch as he got to James’ upper back, avoiding some hard-angled bruises, most likely from the underside of desks. Every muscle was tight, and there were knots upon knots. He decided that James’ birthday present, or whatever legitimate excuse he could think of to get James a present, would be a professional massage. Or better yet, a day-spa trip for the both of them. It would have to be sometime after the madness with the Russians eased up, though. His spine felt like it needed a professional realignment as much as the Lemon Drop Wonder did.