Chapter 50 Will
Will
My dick is still twitching in my pants, tender and wildly oversensitive from the fuck of a lifetime.
Regrets?
Not even one.
Mat and I planned that little interlude for quite a while. There was a lot riding on it. It was important to Trouble, and we wanted it to be perfect for him. Judging by the vacant, dazed look on his face, we more than delivered.
We’re in the living room, chilling, when Luke and Jessie call. Trouble seems to have some difficulty sliding his finger across the screen, so Mat takes the phone from him and answers the call. Luke’s exuberant voice fills the room, tempered now and again by deep sighs from Jessie.
“Have you guys heard from Gouldie?” asks Luke. “We invited him over for dinner tonight, but he hasn’t replied.”
I’m hit by a sudden pang of concern. We invited him to meet us for drinks on Friday, and he didn’t get back to us either. It’s very, very unlike him. Mat and Trouble waste no time explaining the situation to Luke, and I can tell right away that he’s seriously worried. So’s Jessie.
“Shit,” he says, “this isn’t like Gould at all. Can’t think of a time he’s flaked before. Usually, it’s almost impossible to get rid of him.”
“Imma try to call him right now,” says Mat, picking up his phone and making a call. We all wait anxiously, listening to the steady bleep of the ringtone, and then nothing. No answer.
“Shit,” I say, doubly uneasy when I think of how Gould was the last time I saw him.
Drawn. Almost quiet. He hardly even tried to hog Mat’s attention the whole night.
When I asked him about it, he said he thought he was coming down with something, but now I’m not so sure.
There was something about him I hadn’t seen before, a slight tension around his jaw that usually isn't there.
While everyone else talks over each other, trying to piece together when they saw Gould last and what his mood was like at the time, I call Wyn. He answers right away.
“Hey, guys,” he chirps when I tell him who’s listening and that he’s on speaker.
“D’you know what’s up with Gould?” I ask. “He’s been scarce, and we’re all getting worried.”
“Umm…” Wyn seems to waver. “I, uh, I’m not really supposed to say.”
“Wyn!” booms Luke in a voice that in no way resembles his usual happy-go-lucky tone. “If there’s something up with Gould, I need to know now.”
“So, uh, the thing with Gould is…he’s kind of been spinning out for a while. He’s kind of, like, lost his grip on life or adulting, or whatever.” He’s quiet for several seconds. “He didn’t pay rent last month.”
A wave of shock ripples through the room.
“But, but isn’t he making great money? I thought he said the offer he got for his new job was really generous,” says Jessie.
“It is. It’s not that.” Wyn trails off. “He’s just been making some questionable choices.
You know what Gould’s like. I mean, he took Maddie to the Caribbean when they’d only been dating for three weeks.
And when they broke up, he went to Vegas with some guys from work and had an absolute bender.
Plus, he hired that Audi for months, and he bought the new phone and the laptop, and since he started working, his mom stopped bankrolling him, so I think it all caught up with him.
I put his rent on my credit card last month, but when it happened again this month, I couldn’t cover it.
I didn’t have a choice. I had to call his parents.
I tried to get hold of his mom, but she was in back-to-back meetings.
It took me a while, but I managed to get hold of his dad. ”
“His dad?” Luke sounds incredulous. Gould’s dad isn’t known to play an active part in his life. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Yeah, look, I was desperate, okay? Gould made me swear not to tell you guys.”
“Where the hell is Gould now?” Jessie is annoyed, and he’s making no effort to hide it. “I can’t believe he’d go through something like this without letting us help him.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing…Gould’s packing. He’s moving out.”
The room fills with a chorus of people saying, “What?”
“Is he moving back to Carmel?” Luke’s concern has turned to distress. On the screen, Jessie wraps a protective arm around his shoulder and pulls him close.
“No, no. It’s nothing like that. He’s staying here in LA. He’s just…well, he’s moving in with this old guy until he gets back on his feet. I think it’s his dad’s best friend or something.”
After dealing with the outrage and disbelief, we make plans to ensure we all take turns calling Gould until he answers, then we hang up.
“Poor Gould,” says Mat. Trouble makes sorry sounds to show he commiserates. “What a shit one, having to move in with some old dude. God.”
“Hmm,” says Trouble thoughtfully, eyes sparking with mischief. “I mean, I guess it might not be that bad. Gould could definitely use some straightening out. A little guidance wouldn’t go amiss and some reining in probably wouldn’t hurt either.”
“Yeah, I ‘spose you’re right,” says Mat. “Maybe Gould needs that.”
“What Gould needs is a Daddy with a very firm hand,” I say, suppressing a grin.
Trouble and Mat both give me the eye roll and subtle smile I’d been aiming for, then they curl up on the sofa and start flicking through channels, unsurprisingly landing on an episode of True Blood.
I move to the kitchen and begin sautéing garlic and onions to the jarring soundtrack of vampires and werewolves coming to blows, interspersed now and again with the soothing sound of the long-suffering Sookie trying to placate them.
It’s loud, and it should be annoying or distracting, but it isn’t.
It’s comforting, almost. It’s a gentle reminder that Trouble is here.
That he’s here for good. That he’s home.
That our home never feels empty anymore.
And it isn’t because of the area rug in the living room or the enormous cloud-like sofa dominating the space.
It’s because for Mattie and me, there was a piece missing and neither of us even knew it.
Looking back, I can see there was something between us that we didn’t recognize.
I don’t know how long it’s been there exactly, but I think it might have been for a long time.
Maybe forever. We didn’t understand it, so we accepted it without question.
Others saw it. I know that now. I see it in people’s eyes when Mat and I tell them we’re together.
Most of the time, the reaction is a slow smile and a little up-nod, both of which give me the impression they’re not all that surprised.
For those who are surprised, like Mat’s dad or my sister, all it takes is a quick introduction to Trouble and surprise is quickly converted to total understanding.
The sight of him is always met with a sharp widening of eyes, a slight drop of the bottom jaw, and then an audible “Ahh” as things fall into place.
I wrestle with the bottle opener, twisting it hard and yanking it up with a soft pop as I uncork a nice bottle of red.
I set it aside on the counter to breathe and take the lamb shanks out of the oven to check on them.
They’re coming along nicely. Not quite at the fall-apart stage, but close.
I baste them in a little more of the soy-and-lemon sauce I made and pop them back in the oven.
Strictly speaking, it probably didn’t need any more basting, but this dish is Mat’s favorite, and I like to make sure he sees me fussing with it a lot.
He thinks it’s super impressive I can cook it, and I’d like to keep it that way.
It’s easy as fuck to make, but he doesn’t need to know that.
It’s the first time I’m making it for Trouble.
Mat’s been telling him about it for ages.
I hope he hasn’t oversold it, but something tells me that after the afternoon he had, Trouble’s going to have worked up an appetite.
I roughly chop a handful of fresh mint and set it aside to sprinkle over the dish when I serve it. I look back at Trouble and Mat, hoping to see them gazing at me adoringly, agog at my prowess in the kitchen, but instead, I find something quite different.
Trouble and Mat are curled up on the sofa, folded up in each other, both fast asleep as the TV blares in the corner. Trouble has his head on Mat’s chest and Mat’s arms are wrapped tightly around him. Their legs are tangled together, and I can hear the soft sound of Mat’s sleepy breathing from here.
The dry crackle of fall leaves has given way to a cold blast. The seasons are changing.
Fall into winter. Today is the first day I’ve been tempted to turn on the heating.
I go to the closet and take out the crocheted blanket Trouble’s grandma made for him when he was thirteen.
It’s violet and red and yellow and blue and green.
All the colors of the rainbow. Loud and proud, like him.
It doesn’t go with any of our decor, and it’s the last thing you’d expect to see in our place, but I love it all the more for those very reasons.
I carry it over to where they lie sleeping and drape it over them gently, taking care to make sure their feet are covered and tucked in.
Trouble is drowning in Mat’s clothes and mine.
He looks fucking adorable. His hair is a little disheveled, still damp from the shower and standing up on one side because Mat and I didn’t think to brush it for him, and he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do things for himself.
He looks like an angel when he sleeps. When his eyes are closed, his magic lies dormant, softening his features and making it hard to believe he could ever cause the carnage he does when he rises.
Mat looks beautiful too. So beautiful that I can’t imagine how a time ever existed when I didn’t see it.
He has his lips pressed against the crown of Trouble’s head.
His lashes are long, casting shadows down his cheeks.
He looks peaceful. Serene. Like a man who has everything he ever wanted.
I feel the same.
As I look at them lying there, tangled together, spent and worn out, I feel happier than I could ever have imagined.
I have everything I’ve ever wanted, and not only that, I have more.
More than I wanted. More than I dreamed of.
Much more. I reach out with both hands and stroke their hair gently.
My fingers trail through stubborn curls and a mane of silky black hair.
As they do, I’m hit by a distinct feeling.
A feeling that’s both familiar and unlike any I’ve ever known.
My chest expands rapidly, so sharply it feels like a tiny balloon has been inflated in each of my lungs.
I’m overcome by a smug sense of satisfaction.
A deep sense of contentment. A quick rush that brings a smile to my lips and a tear to my eyes.
I know the feeling. I feel it whenever I’m near them.
When we’re alone together, just the three of us, or whether we’re out and about, drawing curious glances from people we pass by.
It’s always the same. It’s always like this.
A quick swelling. A warm sensation in my chest that makes me feel like I’m bursting.
A full complement of pride and something else.
Pride, and they’re mine.