More (19 page)

He mouthed my name and I nodded. He gestured me forward and slid his phone closed. “Sorry. The wife.”

I nodded again and took a seat.

He watched me with intense interest. “You're not married?”

If he didn't know at least that much, then maybe he wasn't the reporter I wanted to talk to. “This isn't an interview,” I said. “I'll tell you what I want you to know. And anything I say is off the record until I give the okay.”

He tucked the cell phone into his bag. “That would sort of make this a huge waste of my time.”

“Join the club. It's off the record for now, or you don't get to hear anything.”

He set his bag on the empty seat beside him and leaned back. “Okay.”

I waited a moment so when I spoke again, we were both clear who was leading the conversation. “I'm gay. And I'm living with two men. And they're not my roommates.”

He stared at me.

I stared back. “Not what you expected?”

“You know, you're father's a hero to a lot of people. He's worked hard to stabilize the economy. To help people find jobs. To— ”

“I've read the stories.” I glanced out the nearby window at the bustle of men and women in business attire rushing by, cell phone in one hand, coffee in the other, and not a single one of them paying attention to any other person in the crowd. Lunch hour in the business district. My words were barely a whisper. I wasn't sure if he heard me. “He's not a hero to everyone.”

Summers didn't talk again until my gaze returned. “His public views on gay rights are the one area where he's been criticized. But hell, even the gay press glosses over that.”

I nodded.

He seemed to be sizing me up as much as I had him via my online searches. “No one's that good,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“That's why I'm here. I figure you've got something on him.”

“I might. You don't expect me to trust you with it, do you?”

“Didn't think so.”

He eyed me for another minute and then spoke again. “Let me ask you this: did your father tell you much about his life before politics?”

“He's been in politics all my life.”

“But before that? Before he was married?”

“He was in college.” My father's college years were the one thing he did talk to me about. He talked about the fraternity, his classes, told me what a great place it was to “try out” different women. That conversation had been one of the reasons I wanted to come out to him. He kept telling me how important it was for me to find the right girl. He said college was the best place to find out what you liked. The irony of that was never lost on me. From the moment I met Tim, I knew he was the man for me.

“Did you know he didn't go to his graduation ceremony?” Summers asked.

I scrutinized him. He was waiting for me to take the bait, maybe seeing if I wanted to follow his threads. “You're pointing me toward something. Why?”

He shrugged. The expression didn't seem natural on him. “Stories get killed all the time. It'd be a shame for this one to get buried.” He grabbed his bag, plopped it on the table, and looked inside as if there was something he wanted to take out and show me. He removed his empty hand and set it on top of the bag. “He's done a good job of keeping you a secret. People know he has a son. There've been a few rumors that you're not on speaking terms, but nothing about your sexual orientation.” He smiled.

“I take it my being gay is going to make it into your story? Or perhaps my current living arrangement will?”

His smile grew. Then he dialed it back and stilled his expression. “There seems to be a lot about your father you don't know.”

I was about to ask what when he spoke again.

“I've got a few details to nail down. It might take some time. You think it over and let me know if I can run with it.”

Run with what?

Summers already assumed I'd go through with it. Which I would. I had no issues telling the world I was gay. I had issues with my father knowing anything about Richard or Matthew. But I'd just opened that door. I'd given a crumb to a reporter who wanted to find the entire gingerbread house.

He grabbed his bag and stood.

“He's that newsworthy?” I asked.

Summers laughed as he walked away.

“Hey, guys. I'm home.” I kicked the door shut with my foot. “Sorry I'm late. I got movies.”

The sound effects of Matthew's favorite game,
Call of Duty
, filtered down the stairs. I dropped off the DVDs and my laptop bag in the foyer and headed up.

Richard and Matthew were sitting on the floor in Matthew's room, both fixated on the TV. Richard was clicking away on a game controller, tilting it from side to side, and Matthew was laughing his ass off. I leaned on the doorframe and watched them.

A loud explosion blasted from the TV's speakers, and Richard threw the controller on the floor. “Damn thing's broken.”

“No,” Matthew said. “You suck.”

Richard rolled over and pressed himself on top of Matthew. “That's right. And you're pretty damn lucky I do.”

That had Matthew laughing again.

Richard stood. “Hey, Luke. Get us a good movie?” He crowded me against the door and kissed me.

Matthew came to us. He ran his hand over my ass. His fingers twined with Richard's. “You guys ready to eat?”

Richard gave me one last smoldering kiss and rocked our bodies together.

While we ate, he talked about his plans for a new development project he had his eye on. I was glad to be around for the aftereffects of the excitement and thrill he got from his work. I cleared my plate faster, the anticipation building with each glance at him. Matthew smiled and squirmed through the meal, animated in a new way. Richard's business success had a positive effect on all of us.

When the food was gone, Matthew retrieved some papers from the kitchen counter. He bounced into his seat and slid a sheet over to Richard. “It came in the mail today.”

Richard unfolded the paper and concentrated for a minute. A smile formed, and he met Matthew's gaze. He passed the paper over to me without breaking the stare.

Matthew's test results. Negative.

Matthew slid a sealed envelope to each of us. Richard opened his, scanned over the results, and smiled again. He handed his paper to me. His results were the same. I passed it to Matthew.

That left me.

I flipped the envelope over and over in my hand. How many times had I been tested? How many times had the results been important to me and no one else? I opened it and slipped the paper out.

A knot formed in my stomach. I unfolded the sheet and read it over.

My heart thudded in my chest, drummed in my ears, filling the quiet. What the hell was I going to say?

I forced myself to look at them. Richard's brow was furrowed. Matthew's mouth hung open.

“I'm not ready.”

Richard grabbed my hand. “But you're okay?”

“Oh... yeah. Results say I'm good.”

He squeezed my hand and sank back in his chair. Matthew lowered his eyelids and released the breath he'd been holding.

Worry. I might not have seen it often, but I knew it on someone's face. Worried about me. “I'm sorry. I'm... I can't yet.”

“That's fair,” Richard said. “It's only been a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “It won't be any good until we're all ready.” He stood and stepped around the table. He straddled my thighs and settled onto my lap. His hands cupped my face, and he kissed me. A sweet, luxurious kiss unlike any he'd ever given me. “You're okay. That's what matters.” He kissed me again. And again. “You're okay.”

Richard knelt behind him. “He's right. Your health is what matters.”

Matthew nipped at my neck. His legs squeezed, and he rocked over my lap. The swell of his dick mashed against my abdomen. I wrapped my arms around him and moved with him.

A moment later, Richard slipped a condom into my hand.

For a brief moment, I wanted to throw it on the floor and give into the ache of knowing what it would feel like when Richard's cock filled me with his spunk and Matthew's mouth swallowed my cum.

The moment passed before I could act on the foolish inspiration. Matthew and Richard were standing and kissing. I nudged them toward the stairs as they held on to each other. Fucking them with condoms was nothing to shy away from.

It was something to relish. Every night.

I wouldn't let myself lose that. Not yet.

“Holy shit. You look like your father.”

Roger Vance stood in the doorway of his home gawking at me. With that one sentence, I already hated the guy. He wasn't going to make my Christmas card list— if I had one of those.

I turned on what charm I could muster where an old friend of my father's was concerned. “Thanks for taking the time to see me.”

He gestured for me to step inside. “No problem.” I slid in past him. He stood holding the door open, staring at me, not moving a muscle. He shook his head and shut the door. “Sorry. It's just such a blast from the past. I could be looking at John.”

“You're not.”

“I hear ya. Come on in. Wanna drink?”

He led me to a kitchen. The room was small, and the counters were overflowing with cereal boxes, cans of Mountain Dew, and appliances like those indoor George Foreman grills sold at Walmart. Not a single inch of bare counter space remained.

He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. “Beer okay?”

“Thanks.”

He sat on a stool at a butcher block island in the center of the room. “Have a seat. Sorry about the mess.” He gestured to a nearby kitchen table. It was covered in a disarray of placemats, stacks of opened mail, a Hannah Montana backpack, and a pair of soccer cleats with mud caked to the soles. “Kids, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Our grandkids have been living here for a couple of years now. Since their mom took off. You got any kids? Is Johnathan Moore a grandfather?”

“No. I'm not married.”

“Oh. He'd like that.”

“What? That I'm single?”

“Nah. I meant grandkids. Only guy I knew in college used to talk about his future in terms of a wife, a house, kids, the whole nine yards.” He swallowed a mouthful of beer. “I remember the night he met Elizabeth. He came into Uptown— that's this bar we used to hang out at— and he just announced it to me and Phil. Said he'd met the woman he was going to marry.” Roger Vance laughed as he stared down at a frying pan with what smelled like bacon grease congealing in the bottom. “He said it just like that. They hadn't even had a date yet. John always did know what he wanted, and things always seemed to work out the way he wanted them to. But marriage? We thought he was crazy.”

I took a swig of the beer in my hand. No way could I keep a straight face through that.

Vance's attention was back on me. “I was at your parents’ wedding. Such a nice gal, Elizabeth. I knew he was right then. I knew they'd end up together for the long haul.” He paused and watched me like I was supposed to say something.

I nodded and tried for another smile.

“So, you're putting together a shindig for them?”

“Yeah. The next one's their thirty-fifth.”

“Thirty-five years. Damn. I gotta tell ya when I got your call I was freaked. I thought maybe something happened to him. And I was getting
the call
, you know.”

“Sorry.”

He waved his hand through the air. “Nah. Don't worry about it. It's not like we kept in touch. I just— well, I didn't wanna get that call. Not about John. I'm glad it's a good thing. A party.”

“It's a ways off but I wanted to start getting stuff together. See if I could locate some old friends, gather some stories. I'd like to put together a DVD. I got stuck when I started with college and when they met. I don't know anyone from then. Yours was the first name I came across. You and my dad were in a picture together in the senior yearbook.”

“Yeah? Your dad and I were close. Not as close as he and Danny or Phil. But we were all good friends. The five of us. Right off the bat our freshman year when we took Intro to Psych.”

“Five?”

“The four of us guys and Maria. Although, she was like one of the guys. Except she talked way too much.” He laughed again and took another drink of his beer, swallowing half of it in one lift of the bottle. “I haven't seen any of them in years. How's your dad doing? Oh, can that. He's great, I bet. I catch him on C-SPAN. I read the papers. I always knew he'd land near the top.”

I wasn't so sure my father had landed yet. “He's doing well.”

“Good. I didn't come from money like a lot of the other guys, but he never treated me like it mattered.” Vance stared at the bacon-grease-filled frying pan again. “Boy, those were some good times. And your dad was— well, I'll avoid the details since you're his son, huh? Let's just say college is the time to live it up, and your dad sure was a good guy to have around.”

I bet.

“You thinking about inviting the old gang?” he asked. “There was the five of us, but your dad had a lot of friends. It'd be a kick to see everyone. And I've got stories. Loads.”

“I was hoping you could give me some names. Round out the invite list.”

He recited a list of names as they came to him, and I jotted them down. My hand cramped, and I'd had two more beers by the time he stopped throwing out names and telling me anecdotes about one party after another.

I pointed to the list of names. “Which of these were the three other close friends you mentioned?”

“Maria Lammon.”

I circled her name and looked up at him when he didn't say anything more.

He sighed. “Phillip Meade and Danny Conner. But they won't be on that list. Danny passed away the night before we graduated.” The sadness started in his eyes and worked its way down his body, overwhelming him like the kid had died just last week.

“I'm sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I couldn't find any photos of my dad's graduation. Is that why he wasn't there?”

He nodded. “None of us went. Your dad never mentioned Danny?”

“No.”

“They were close. Danny was a quiet kid, small. Your dad looked after him. Hell, we all did. Danny was the same age as us, but we all sorta thought of him like a little brother.”