Clang (8 page)

“Oh, my God,” Chase mumbled to himself for about the dozenth time that day. All through his work shift, he'd been consumed by thoughts of the upcoming date on Monday. Floyd had eyed him when he came in to take the evening shift but he let Chase go without asking him why he was beaming.

Chase couldn't believe he'd pushed through his anxiety. He'd actually come back to Jackson and asked for a date.

Still, his anxiety was there.
I haven't been on a date in ages. What the hell am I doing?

When he silenced that part of himself, the answer was clear: he was following his instincts. Jackson was worth a date. If only just to see how it went.

Once Chase got back to his apartment building, he let himself into the lobby. He fumbled around to find his key and check the mailbox. Probably just bills and junk, but he had to pay them sometime.

He closed his fingers around a small stack of envelopes and glossy fliers and pulled them out. He rifled through them before he even shut his mailbox again. Fucking post office guy kept bringing grocery flyers he didn't want.

Chase went stock-still when he flipped past the flyer to a plain white envelope. There was familiar handwriting:
C. MacLeod.

“Oh, shit, no.”

They found me.

His hand shook as he closed and locked his mailbox. He yanked the lobby door open and jogged up the stairs to his apartment just one floor up.

When did I last check it? Wednesday? Thursday?

Is this a warning?

Fuck, I should have been checking my mail daily, just in case. This was bound to happen...

Chase headed straight for his dining room table, tossed the rest of his mail aside, and opened the letter.

It was a single sheet, not even a full page, handwritten, and a newspaper clipping was enclosed.

Dear Charlie:

We've been thinking of you much lately and missing you. In a few months it will be the holidays. We hoped you'd have come around by then, but instead you have moved further away?? What is in New Brunswick for you? Your family is all here.

The congregation would welcome you back too. Fr Williams has kindly agreed to help you find a better path. As you know, we are worried for your spiritual salvation. We have nothing against gay people, we just don't want our son to be one. We hate the sin but love the sinner. Your uncle has told you before how we feel but it bears repeating. Many people are doing good work in this field, see enclosed. You have the fortitude to become one of the lucky few to escape that path.

Luke misses you too. His grades include As in Math, Art, and Bible Studies. You know he would love to hear from you again. He drew you a Thanksgiving card at Sunday school and we were going to enclose it but he wants to give it to you in person. Buddy is getting older but still plays with tennis balls like always. Sometimes he lies on your bed and won't come eat until we pray with him. Your aunt and uncle moved to Colorado, and Grandma asked about you the other day. Your uncle said he wishes he could get through to you again. He misses his nephew. Sad that we didn't have news to share.

Please stop running and come to God. We're waiting to welcome you with open arms.

Your loving family,

Mom, Dad, Luke, & Buddy

Chase wiped his eyes, throwing the letter on the table and drawing a deep breath as tears stung. This was the very fucking stereotype of what happened when a kid came out. Hilariously, hellishly, he was living it. Some people thought it was over these days, but obviously not.

He wished he could say he hated his parents for writing the letter, or for using his little brother and dog against him. For tracking him down when he'd moved to
another fucking province
and changed his name and left
everything
to escape their phone calls, visits, emails, prayers...

But he didn't.

He just hated what they'd become.

Chase swallowed back his bitter words, stomping over to the coffee table to grab a pen. He leaned over the dining room table and, in huge letters, scrawled over the letter.

I am a fag.

His lip curled, he repeated the phrase over and over in smaller text. He wrote sideways across the letter to blot out everything they'd written.

I am a fag. I am a fag. I am a fag...

By the time he got to the bottom edge of the paper, his hand was cramping from holding the pen so tightly. The angry tears stinging at his eyes had given way to pure fury ripping through his bones.

How
dare
they try to guilt him? How dare they use his little brother, ten years old and already being indoctrinated by those bastards, against him? How dare they throw those words at him and now pretend to care about him?

First, they could answer for what they'd done. Then,
maybe
in another few years, he'd consider talking to them.

Chase's hands shook as he shoved the paper back into the envelope along with the clipping about some reparative therapy bullshit. He taped it shut, crossed out the address, and wrote his old home address on it. He had to search his junk drawer for a good minute before he found stamps. He slapped one on and strode down to the post box at the end of the street to drop it in. When the handle slammed shut, his letter swallowed by the system, he didn't regret it for a second.

For the first time since he'd read the letter, he took a long, deep breath. He let it out, pushing away from the post box again.

It was a warm summer evening. Maybe he'd eat out on his balcony.

***

As he pushed his empty bowl back across the flimsy plastic table, Chase licked the last few Sidekicks away from the insides of his cheeks. They were great for creamy, flat noodles, but they had an annoying feeling in his mouth.

He leaned back in his lawn chair, looking out over the lights of the apartment building across from them. He could see a small park and the parking lot. It wasn't the best view. Most people here didn't use their balconies except to store bikes.

Chase didn't care how bad the view was; he'd never had a balcony in an apartment before. Being able to step outside into fresh air, especially over the warm summer, was nice. Nothing like what Jackson and his brothers had going on, though... He was a little jealous.

He raised his thumb to his mouth to nibble at his nail absently, then jerked his hand away. He didn't want to get into that habit again. But of all the coping habits, at least nail-biting wouldn't kill him.

Instead, he grabbed his phone and opened his string of texts with Jackson. The glow almost blinded him now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He carefully typed out a new one.

Still on for Monday?

It was a hint as much as a question. Chase couldn't stand the thought of dragging Jackson into his shit. The thought of what could happen... And he didn't want anyone else looking at him with pity. Pity was one step away from disgust. Worse yet, one step away from 'what's wrong with you that they threw you out?' and the thoughts that crept into his mind after midnight.

It wasn't that late yet, and the answer was almost immediate.

I'm on. Monday at 6pm? :)

Chase worked his jaw around. His stomach churned with anxiety as he brought his bowl and fork back inside and locked his balcony door. Then, he sent a simple response.

Sure :)

At least Jackson seemed like a decent guy, and honest. He wasn't out to use Chase. Maybe Chase could find some way to make a relationship work. They could even just be friends-with-benefits, if Jackson wanted something stable.

Chase could do just sex. He knew he was good at
that
, and he would happily fall into bed with Jackson every fuckin' day of the week.

But sex aside, what did Jackson think Chase could give him? And was he right? Last week, Chase would have said he didn't want – couldn't do – romance. Now... he wasn't so sure.

Thomas paused and squinted down the road, his hand on the little red flag on his mailbox.

That was a police car pulling away from the curb, and a flicker of movement on Cameron's porch caught his eye. Cam and Noah were standing outside, talking between themselves.

Thomas flicked down the red flag. He bundled the newspaper under his arm, then crossed through the bushes to his brother's driveway. “Hey – what happened? Was that here?”

“Yeah,” Cameron frowned. “At Jackson's. Someone complained about the smoke from his forge.”

Thomas's eyes narrowed. “No.
Wood
smoke?”

“Apparently. The cop didn't take it too seriously,” Noah murmured. Thomas liked him – he was grounded, sweet, and smart. A touch feminine, but they shared a certain appreciation for life outside the strict little box of masculinity. They had always got along well.

For once, Noah was in old, faded jeans and a t-shirt. That was rare.

“But who reported him?”

“A neighbor, apparently. I got to the cop before he got to Jackson, but Jackson's gonna be
pissed
.”

Thomas's eyes were drawn back to his own house, then the house on the other side. “I bet I know who it was.”

Cathy and Don, the couple on the other side, were standoffish. Several other neighbors had come to greet them, all amused or admiring their living situation, but they hadn't. They hadn't even waved when Thomas saw them on Friday morning before work. How rude.

“You think?”

“It's my best guess. Everyone else has been great. Occam's Razor.”

Noah chuckled, but Cam rolled his eyes. “Don't talk smart people to me. All right, d'you think we should talk to them?”

“It might look a bit intimidating,” Thomas frowned.

Noah stifled his laugh and Thomas glanced at him. “Sorry. Just... the two of us a little less than him...”

Cameron folded his arms, his biceps flexing. He hadn't been able to train since he'd been diagnosed with CPVT. The doctors had promptly changed their order of “don't exercise hard” to “don't exercise at all until after surgery.” Even so, Cam still had more muscles than Thomas. Just like Jackson, his two brothers were built big and strong, and he'd been the runt since birth.

Thomas laughed. “Yeah, true.”

“How about a barbecue?” Noah suggested.

“A... what? We've been having them all summer,” Cam frowned.

Noah gestured around. “No, a community one. Hold one for the neighborhood. Once we finish pulling down all the fence, we'll have enough room. Make it an end-of-summer event, you know?”

“I like that idea.” Thomas could already see the potential – bribing their neighbors with food and handmade items. They could get to know Cathy and Don a little. Assuming they weren't homophobic assholes, they could cut off the problem at its root.

Nobody else had had a problem with the wood stove all summer. In a few months' time, everyone would be burning wood, too, as the days grew chillier. They just needed to make peace for now.

A smirk spread over Cam's face. “On that note, I could use a hand...”

Thomas eyed him. “With what?”

“Oh, god, you had to ask,” Noah laughed. “Go get work jeans on.”

Thomas blew out a sigh. He trotted down the steps and over to his house. As much as he didn't enjoy physical labor, he, Jackson, and Noah had all picked up some slack for Cam. Cam's heart condition was worse than the doctors had first suspected. None of them were letting him overwork himself, as frustrated as he was about it.

He joined the other two in the backyard a few minutes later, this time in old jeans and a t-shirt like Noah.

Cameron was hovering around near Noah, his hands raising. He looked like he wanted to help Noah lever the crowbar between the board and the fence.

“Go sit down,” Thomas ordered.

“Fine,” Cameron laughed. He sank into the lawn chair nearby and crossed his ankle over his knee, but still knelt forward to watch Noah work.

It was killing Cam not to be active. A shiver ran down Thomas's spine at the thought and he sharply reprimanded himself. That was hyperbole, but it might actually kill Cam
to
be active.

“What's going on? Work party? This early on a Sunday?” Jackson was already in work clothes as he stepped through the fence separating Thomas's house from his own. He walked through Thomas's yard towards the fence between Cam's and Thomas's places.

“Yep, come join us,” Thomas told him. “They put me to work, you can put those burly arms to use for once.”

Jackson laughed and smacked his shoulder, then took the prybar out of his hand. “Let me do that part, stringbean. And
I
did most of the sneaky railing installation.”

“I still can't believe you guys blindsided me with that,” Cameron marveled. “I walked in and nearly passed out.” At least he was joking about his condition now.

They all laughed, and Jackson pointed Thomas a few feet away. “You hammer out the nails. We're saving that wood.”

Thomas glanced over at Cameron and raised his eyebrows.
Should we tell him?

Cam shook his head.

Jackson didn't even notice the exchange. He was buoyant, humming cheerily as he started prying boards out of the fence. One at a time, he handed them over to have the nails hammered out and be stacked up neatly. He ripped boards out easily when he had to. Thomas was privately glad he was taking over that bit.

“Someone had a good night,” Thomas observed with a smirk. He'd last seen Jackson going into his house with Chase, but Chase had left not long afterwards. Was that what this was about? The way Jackson's eyes flickered to Cam and Noah before him told him he was exactly right.

“What, a man's not allowed to have good cheer in his own yard? Especially at a work party?” Jackson handed over a board and winked.

Thomas couldn't help a laugh. “Fine, be optimistic before noon. But don't expect me to be.”

“It's eleven-thirty. You're running out of time,” Noah observed.

Thomas groaned. “Smart-ass.”

Noah smirked at Cameron, sharing some inside joke at that response.

They worked well together to pry out the rest of the boards along that side of the fence. They only snapped a few and saved a good chunk of them. When Jackson started carrying the lumber to his yard to store, Thomas pitched in. He wanted to help out just to get a chance to talk to him.

“You talked to Chase, huh?”

Jackson gave a rueful grin. “That obvious?”

Thomas coughed. “Uh, you're kind of beaming like the sun...”

“I'm never subtle,” Jackson lamented. “I got a date with Chase.”

Thomas's eyebrows shot up. He
hadn't
been imagining the chemistry between them at the barbecue, then! He pumped his fist. “I knew it.”

Jackson punched his shoulder lightly. “Fuck off. A gay guy can have male friends, you know...”

“Yeah, you have plenty. You don't sidle your way up to them like a teenage girl fluttering her eyelashes...” Thomas widened his eyes like Jackson's had been whenever he listened to Chase talk.

Jackson was bright red now, but he laughed. “You asshole. I thought you'd mock me less than Cam and Noah...”

“I'll be good,” Thomas promised, laughing. He raised his hands once he set down the load of lumber. “I promise. Keep me updated.”

“I will.” Despite his embarrassment, Jackson still glowed. He walked in a pleased, rolling stride, still humming under his breath.

It was good to see him like this. Thomas couldn't remember when Jackson had last been in love or even crushing hard. It was just like Cam had been around Noah in the spring. That left him as the only single brother.

Not everything between us has to be a competition.
Thomas shook his head and followed Jackson back to his yard.