Will & Patrick Fight Their Feelings (#4) (13 page)

While Will showers, Patrick feeds Dylan on his lap and entertains him. There’s ‘airplane,’ and singing the ABCs, and making silly faces to keep him opening his mouth for spoonfuls of baby food. It’s easy enough for a while, but eventually Dylan lifts his hands up and shakes his head. No more food. He wants down.

After wiping off the worst of the mess, Patrick puts him back on the floor and Dylan zooms away, crawling to the coffee table where the remote control goes right back into his mouth again. Patrick lets him chew on it while he opens the door for the room service, delivered by none other than the rat-faced Perry.

“Oh,” Perry says, looking over at the baby with wide eyes. “Is he…? Are you…?”

Patrick smirks. “Adopting. Thought we’d try him out for a day or two to see if he’s worth keeping.”

Perry’s eyes go wider.

“We’re going to start with him. If we like him, we might get two more.”

“Are you—I mean—”

“Get out,” Patrick says, pressing money into Perry’s hand. He fully expects to see his lie all over
The Hurting Times
forums within a few hours. It’ll cause a popcorn-worthy stir. He can’t wait to read about what irresponsible parents he and Will are sure to be.

Perry scurries off just as Will comes out of the bathroom dressed in sweat pants and a T-shirt, ready to settle in for the night. Patrick helps him re-plate the food because he’s hungry after all.

“You can have the rolls and half of the steamed spinach,” Will says as he tests, calculates, and sticks himself.

They sit down and eat while Dylan plays on the floor beside the coffee table, rolling a ball around like a puppy and chewing determinably on the remote control. “I think he plans to eat it,” Will says.

They talk about their day and Patrick tells Will about Jenny’s surgery and how he checked on her in recovery. He leaves out where he confessed that his heart melts like chocolate Valentine’s Day candy whenever Will smiles or burps or farts or does anything remotely Will-like, which is everything. He sticks instead to the gossip, mentioning that Jax was waiting at the hospital with Jenny’s mother.

“Why was Jax there?”

“You don’t know?” Patrick waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, now this is good.”

For the next few minutes, while Dylan babbles to a stuffed dog and shoves the ball at the dog’s mouth, Patrick fills in Will.

“Really? Jenny and Jax? I just can’t see it.”

“Then you haven’t been looking closely enough. You need to download
The Hurting Times
app. It’s shameful the things you don’t know about your fellow Helling citizens.”

Dylan babbles a contribution to the conversation and chomps on the remote again. Will glances over at the baby and then focuses on Patrick again. “I’ll leave the gossip site to you. Besides
Healing
citizens are human beings who deserve some privacy and respect.”

“Whatever. As I was saying, casual one-time-only screws don’t wait around to see how you’re doing after surgery.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I hope he’s not in deeper than Jenny,” Will says. “That’d be sad.”

Patrick twitches. “Why?”

“I like Jax, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not ready to be Dylan’s father figure. Or a husband to Jenny. I don’t know how old he is, but I know he’s younger than me, and
I’m
not ready for a serious commitment either. Not now, anyway.”

“A few months ago you thought you were.”
With the douche-canoe, Ryan.

“I was wrong. I’ve grown up a lot since then.” Will sniffs and lifts his chin. “I realize now how immature and stunted all of those fantasies I had when I was with Ryan really were.”

Patrick pokes at his steamed spinach. It’s not like he didn’t know this already, but he had still let himself hope. He’s an idiot. Just like every other idiot on the planet.
Damn bags of chemicals.

“What?” Will looks up from his plate, curiosity stamped on his face.

“Nothing.”

Will puts his fork down. “Wow. You’ve never ‘nothinged’ me before.”

Patrick’s sure that’s not true, but he just shrugs. “Jenny doesn’t suck. So, therefore, I want Jenny to be happy.”

“She should be happy! I want that too! But she deserves someone who can be the man she needs.” He glances toward Dylan, who is still obsessing over the remote control. He cocks his head at Patrick. “What makes you think Jax would be a good choice for them?”

When did he and Will flip roles? He’s supposed to be the hard-ass with no sympathy to spare, but he can’t help wanting to defend Jax’s value as a partner, if only because he can’t defend his own.
“He makes her come”
is obviously a terrible answer.
“He makes her smile”
is only slightly better. He can only go with the most obvious response. “He’s a good guy.”

Will’s eyes twinkle with laughter. “Since when do you care if someone is a ‘good guy’?” He narrows his gaze jokingly. “Is this because he’s hot? Are you living vicariously? Do you wish you could get that?”

“No.” He taps his fingers against his leg.

Jenny’s smile when she sees Jax is exactly the way Patrick
feels
when he looks at Will. It’s bright and happy, and cracked open in joyful crepuscular rays. Her smile, his heart. These are comparisons he can’t make without ruining everything. Or vomiting on the floor.

“Give me one good reason Jax is right for Jenny,” Will presses.

Life’s taught him many lessons and the most useful one of all is that being a dick is an excellent distraction. “The sex is great. She comes her brains out. That’s plenty to build a relationship on.”

“Bullcrap.” Will jabs his fork at him. “We’re living proof that’s not true at all.”

Boot to heart. So that’s what that feels like.

He tries to breathe normally. He stares at the steamed spinach. If he focuses on the dark green against the stark white plate, if he doesn’t look at Will, everything will be okay.

“What?” Will asks. “You seem upset.”

Patrick shrugs. This isn’t like him. None of this is anything like him. He’s Patrick McCloud. Genius. Giant of the medical world. He says what he wants, when he wants, and he always says what he means. He opens his mouth. He makes words come out.

“I want Jenny to be happy.” It’s not a lie.

“I know you do. That’s why you’re such a good guy.”

Patrick frowns at the steamed spinach. He wishes someone would put him out of his misery.

“C’mon. Where’s my cocky jerk of a husband?” Will leans forward and grins. “You’re a superhero, remember? Brain surgeon extraordinaire. Smartest man this side of the Mississippi. Best lay in the world.”

Patrick smiles at that, but Will’s expression grows even more concerned.

“Patrick? What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head.

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

He rubs the bridge of his nose and keeps his eyes averted. “I just want a divorce.”

“Da-ba-no!” Dylan exclaims and shoves the remote back into his mouth, upside down this time.

Will reaches out and takes hold of his hand. “Me too. We have to be patient. I’m sorry.” He squeezes and Patrick tugs his hand away. “What’s that got to do with Jenny and Jax, though?”

“I don’t know.” His chest feels tight. “It’s hot in here. Are you hot?” He tugs at his collar, and Will gets up to adjust the temperature before returning to the table and putting his hand on Patrick’s cheek.

“You all right?” he asks gently.

Patrick’s got to get a handle on this.
Chemicals. Chemicals. Chemicals.
A mantra for his madness. “Fine.”

Will brushes his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “I knew we should have ordered food for you. Something with protein.”

Shivering under the touch, he grabs Will’s hand and pushes it away, saying firmly, “I’m fine. Eat your dinner before you go low.”

Will frowns slightly but does just that. As a few more quiet minutes pass with Dylan gumming the remote control and Will eating and silently eyeing Patrick, he focuses all the power of his mind on shaking off his panic.

Eventually, Dylan crawls over, using Will’s pant leg to pull up to standing. “Da-ba-doo,” he says seriously.

“He’s a genius.” Patrick snatches another roll and jams it into his mouth. Food always keeps his feelings in check. “He speaks Flintstone.”

“What’s Flintstone?”

Patrick sighs. He’s a man of science. This is all the proof he needs. No matter what the chemicals make him feel, he and Will are in totally different places in life. He’s a thirty-five-year-old Aspie brain surgeon with a terror of emotional intimacy. And Will’s fresh from a terrible breakup from an abusive piece of crap. They aren’t meant to be, no matter how his chest aches when Will’s eyes light up.

They’re not in love. They’re screwing. And Will deserves to roll around like a pig in mud, experiencing whatever life has to offer. Patrick’s lucky he gets to
be
Will’s mud for a little while. It’s pointless to want more.

“C’mon, talk to me. What’s Flintstone? Some geek thing?”

Patrick shakes off the urge to fall at Will’s feet and beg him to please love him back. “Yeah. Geek stuff.” Patrick winks at him and hopes it comes across as playful and not grim. “Not that you’d know anything about that, Señor Pocket Protector.”

“Touché.”

“Da-ba-da-ba-dooooo!” Dylan crows, plops onto his little butt, and crawls off toward the sofa.

Patrick follows him, abandoning the table and the awkwardness there. Sitting on the sofa with his back to Will, it’s easy to hold Dylan and dawdle him on his knee. He plays horsie and makes faces while Dylan laughs and coos. The tension in Patrick’s muscles unwinds. He hears Will clear off the table but keeps his back to him. After a while, he hears the sound of Will’s fingers tapping on laptop keys.

He plays with Dylan and lets Will work.

Eventually, from the corner of his eye, he sees Will stretch, shut the laptop down, and rise from the table.

“You’re so good with him,” Will says, plopping down on the carpet next to him. “Did you have a lot of little ones living with you when you were with Dinah?”

Patrick plays a rudimentary game of rolling/catch with Dylan, and answers Will’s questions about life in Dinah’s care. When Dylan grows tired of the ball and starts to crawl away, Will asks, “What do we do with him now?”

“You’ve got three younger siblings. You don’t have baby experience?”

“The girls were a lot older when I sat for them.”

“What about Connor?”

Will shrugs. “I was a senior in high school when he came. I missed most of his babyhood.”

Patrick grabs Dylan up and zooms him through the air to make him laugh. “It’s not hard. We play until his bedtime.”

Will wriggles his brows. “When’s his bedtime?”

Patrick puts Dylan down and glances at his watch. “Technically, in half an hour. But he doesn’t seem very tired.”

“No. He doesn’t.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not hard. I’m a genius. You’re a do-gooder. We’ve got this.”

“I take it back,” Patrick groans, flopping his hand over his eyes.

“What?”

“We didn’t have it.”

“Not even a little.”

It’s fourteen hours later and Will looks like he’s been in a battle. He’s stretched out on the mattress, his shirt is covered in sweet-smelling formula, his hair is sticking up everywhere, and he’s staring at the ceiling above the bed with a pale face and dark eyes. Patrick suspects he looks much the same.

“He’s not a slobber monster,” Patrick mutters. “He’s a screamy monster. With extra scream.”

“Babies cry,” Will says for the fiftieth time since Patrick had said it first sometime around midnight.

“And they poop.”

“Don’t talk about it,” Will whispers. “What came out of that kid was demonic. If you speak its name, it might rise up from the trash and start the apocalypse.”

“Poop demons.”

“I think we’re delirious.”

“Diagnosably delirious.”

Dylan has been handed off to Andy and his wife. As they’d toted him away in his carrier, after Andy’d ribbed them both about looking like they’d survived a war-zone, Dylan had been pink-cheeked and finally sleeping. The little bastard.

Patrick sighs, turning on his side to face Will. Golden lashes fan against Will’s cheek. His beautiful mouth is pale. Patrick wants to kiss him, or push his fingers against Will’s lips to feel their softness.

“I can’t believe how hard that was,” Will murmurs.

“Dinah always made it look easy.” He reaches out, lets his hand rest on Will’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. “If this marriage were real, last night would cement why we’d have no business making a family.”

Will closes his hand over Patrick’s holding it in place. He turns on his side too. They’re face-to-face, and Patrick wants to snuggle in closer, bury his nose in Will’s neck, and just breathe. “You really think so?”

“Scientifically speaking, it was an unmitigated disaster. I’m surprised the other guests didn’t call the police.”

“Yeah, but…” Will lifts one shoulder in a shrug, his heart beating steadily under Patrick’s fingertips. “I still think you’d make a good father.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Patrick’s stomach hurts and he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk about it. They’ve been up all night. If they talk about this now, he’s going to say too much, and it’ll be the wrong thing. If he says the wrong thing, Will won’t hold his hand against his heart anymore. Maybe ever. But he also knows there’s no way Will’s going to leave it alone now.

“You’re great with Dylan. I know he cried a lot last night, but he was in a strange place with people who aren’t his mom. Like you said, he had no boobies to cuddle. Of course he cried.”

“It’s not about that.” Will’s eyes do the asking and Patrick’s exhausted mouth does the talking. “My father wasn’t a good person. I can’t risk being like him.” 

“That’s a load of crap.” Will’s fingers tighten on Patrick’s hand, but he doesn’t move it away. “I mean, not that your dad wasn’t a jerk. But I bet my dad has your dad beat in the murders-under-his-belt department, and let’s get real, my mom and uncle are pretty screwed up too.”

“Truth. Maybe you shouldn’t be a father either.”

Will releases Patrick’s hand and pushes it away. “No. I’ll be a good dad. Because I’m not like them.”

Patrick misses the soothing thud-thud-thud against his palm. He wonders if he can press his hand back over Will’s heart again or if that’s too weird, too needy, too married.

“Or maybe I am in some ways, but I’d still be a better parent than they were. Well, are.”

Patrick shrugs and tries to sneak his hand across the space between them. Will doesn’t stop him and the peace that falls on him once he’s got his fingers over Will’s heart again almost brings tears to his eyes. He wants this so much and he hates it and wants to scream.

“Don’t you see? We can be better than our parents.”

He doesn’t want to let Will down. “I know.”

“And you’re not like your dad. You’re nothing like him.”

“You never met Gerry. You don’t know what he was like.”

Will sputters and presses Patrick’s palm harder against his chest, like he wants Patrick to understand something that’s held deep in Will’s heart. “I know you wouldn’t do the things he did to you. You wouldn’t hurt anyone like that, much less someone you loved.”

“Love is—”

“Love is
real
. And you’d love your kid.”

Patrick can say whatever he wants, but Will’s got his number. The jig is up.

“Admit it, you want to be a dad.”

“I work long hours. I have a stressful career. I’m on the autism spectrum and I’m crap at social skills.”

“You’re—” Will stares at him. “Wait, hold up. You’re autistic?”

“No, I’m on the spectrum. There’s a difference.” Patrick counts out five beats of Will’s heart. “You don’t see me screaming and banging my head on tables because the spaghetti noodles aren’t done, do you?”

Eyes lighting up, Will places his hand over Patrick’s again. “No, but I’ve seen you bitch out the downstairs kitchen because they put thyme in your meatballs and no one should ever put thyme in meatballs.”

“Who puts thyme in meatballs? It’s disgusting. It should be a crime. Punishable by ten years minimum.”

Will grins. “Wow. This makes so much sense. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did tell you. Loudly. You said thyme is—”

“No, about the autism thing.”

“On the spectrum. And why would I? I can’t change it.”

“No, but it changes
things
.”

“How? I’m still me.”

Will laughs. “You are. But you make a lot more sense now.”

Patrick counts out fifteen thuds of Will’s heartbeat.

Will strokes his fingers over the back of Patrick’s hand. “Okay, back to the topic: you as a dad. Exhibit A: Dinah’s foster kids love you.”

“I send them money and toys. They’re bought.”

“No, but you said it yourself when we first met: kids like you. Exhibit B: Connor and Olivia eat out of your palm.”

“Yeah, well, they’re easy. Caitlin’s not a big fan.”

Will rolls his eyes. “She’s a teenager. She’s not a big fan of anyone.”

“She likes that British boy band a lot. Has posters on her bedroom wall and everything. Not that I blame her. They’re pretty bangable.” Patrick’s surprised he’s actually sulky about this. He hadn’t known he cared.

Will sighs. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Why won’t you just admit this? Can’t you just let yourself want a family one day?”

“Why should I? What chance do I even have at one?” Patrick pulls his hand back. He misses the contact immediately. “Get real. I’m an asshole. Who’d want to make a family with me? I’d be a shitty father. My kid would be emotional hamburger after I’d raised him.”

“That’s not true. You’re honest and tough, but you’re not cruel. And believe me, I know cruel. I dated it for years.”

“Will…”

“Just please say you’ll consider fatherhood. So many kids need a good home. You’d be an awesome dad.”

“Why do you care?”

Will’s eyes go soft as he gazes at Patrick. “Because I care about you. I want you to be happy.”

The lasso around Patrick’s heart squeezes until he feels like he might die.

Will goes on. Dog with a bone as usual. “What does Dinah say about it?”

Patrick rolls onto his back, staring up at the flat, white ceiling. “What makes you think Dinah’s weighed in on this topic?”

“She’s your foster mom and she loves you. Asking after potential pseudo-grandkids is a mom thing to do.”

Patrick’s eyes slide shut. Dinah’s small hand on his arm and her earnest gray eyes come to mind. “Dinah agrees with you.”

“See?”

“But she doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know the truth.”

A long, silent minute passes and Patrick starts to sweat.

Let it go, Will.

No, don’t. Make me tell you.

Let it go.

His heart slams against his chest.

Will’s fingers brush against Patrick’s forehead, moving aside the curls there. “Patrick? No matter what happened, I want to be here for you. Just let me. Tell me what happened to you.” 

Patrick shakes his head.

Will is silent for a moment and Patrick thinks—
fears
—Will’s going to let him keep his secrets. “Did he hurt you? I mean did your father…” Will’s breath shudders. “Did he
hurt
you?”

Patrick’s chest tightens, a lead x-ray cape blanketing his emotions. His fingers go to his thigh, tapping. He sounds surprisingly steady when he speaks, though. “He hit me sometimes, but no, he didn’t molest me. But there was a man who lived next door…” Patrick lets the sentence drift.

“Oh God,” Will scoots closer to Patrick, touching his arm, squeezing. “Did your father know?”

Beneath the heavy numbness, his heart races and he breaks out in a cold sweat. “Yeah. He knew.” Patrick clears his throat, sits up. His skin is too tight, and he’s hot, but cold, and he wants to run out into the South Dakota snow and bury himself in it.

“He didn’t stop it?”

Patrick shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Tell me. What happened?” Will sits up too, keeping a steady hand on Patrick’s knee.

Patrick grabs his pillow, holding it to his stomach like a shield, and sits cross-legged. He stares at the bathroom door. The way the shadow falls on the tile floor within makes perfect sense given the angle of the light. It’s soothing.

Will waits.

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Take your time. It’s okay. You’re safe here with me.”

Patrick grips the pillow tighter, wondering if he’s really going to tell someone about this after all these years.

“Does this neighbor have to do with the piano? And why you stopped playing?”

“Shh,” Patrick says, shaking his head. “Let me get there.”

Will nods and hesitantly rubs between Patrick’s shoulder blades softly. It’s irritating more than comforting and Patrick shrugs it off.  “I told you about the night I knew we’d be evicted if we didn’t make rent.”

“Yeah. You said the next day you went to the authorities over the way your dad was treating you.”

Patrick shakes his head. “That’s not what happened.”

Will silently waits, head tilted as he listens with dark, concerned eyes.

“There was a man living next to us. I knew him as Mr. Roland. I’ve blocked out his first name or I never knew it.”

Will’s hand grips his knee again and Patrick doesn’t shove it away.

“Andy Sicko reminds me of him, actually. Same hair. Same build.”

Will makes a soft, encouraging, but somehow sad sound.

“That’s why Sicky bugs me. Anyway, this guy, Mr. Roland, had a thing for boys, or at least, he had a thing for me. He waited for me every day after school in the hallway. He knew my dad wasn’t around much, or if he was around, he was passed out drunk.”

Will seems to know where this is going and the pain is all over his face.

“Mr. Roland would try to lure me into his apartment. He’d promise me cookies or a present, but I’d ignore him. I didn’t give a crap about that stuff and he disgusted me. Eventually, he stopped being sneaky about it. He’d outright ask if he could suck me off. ‘I know you’re queer. I know you want it.’ He’d grip himself through his pants and stare at me while I put my key in the lock. I was confused. And scared.” Patrick’s voice cracks. “I was fifteen.”

“It’s not your fault,” Will murmurs.

Patrick pulls the lead x-ray cape tighter over his emotions, blunting them as much as he can. “I’m not innocent. I made choices.”

“Don’t say that. You’re not to blame.”

“The night I knew we’d be evicted if we didn’t have rent, I told him I’d let him do it, I’d let him suck me, if he paid me for the privilege. I asked for more than enough.” Patrick’s head spins. “He agreed.” Vomit creeps into his throat and he swallows it down. “He sucked me off and I gave the money to my dad that night.”

“Oh, baby.” Will puts his arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault. You were innocent. You
were
.”

Baby?
But Patrick can’t process that right now.

Words are pulled out of him like a tube from a patient’s throat. “I made the choice. I did what I thought I needed to do. When I gave the money to my dad, I told him what I’d done. I thought it might sober him up; thought it’d at least make him angry.” His laugh is sick and broken. “Bet you can’t guess what happened.”

“Did he beat you?”

“No.” Patrick’s stomach clenches. He doesn’t want to say this. But it’s coming out anyway. “He was happy. He said, ‘Make him pay more next month. He can afford it.’”

“Baby, baby…” Will sounds helpless and Patrick’s too exposed—this is too raw to be shared. He should have kept it to himself. Will wraps him in his arms like he wants to protect him from his past and from how much he’s shaking twenty years later remembering it.