Chapter 44 Happy Ending
Matt let himself into Nicholas’s and Bradley’s house. The place seemed eerily quiet, so much so that he could hear the soft ticking of the grandfather clock.
Outside, a squirrel chattered, probably warning its buddies about a prowling cat.
Matt had splurged on a bouquet of roses. He carried them to the dining room, set the vase on the table, and fussed with the arrangement.
He retrieved his travel bag from his car, intending to carry it upstairs, but then noticed a splash of color on the living room mantle.
He stepped closer. The wood floor creaked under his weight.
There were two bright, greeting-card sized envelopes propped on the mantle. One bore his name. The other Adam’s.
Matt opened his, unfolded a handwritten note from Bradley. A $20 bill fluttered to the floor.
Matt:
Nicholas and I won’t be back until early Sunday evening, so make yourselves at home. I’ve prepped some meals for you. They’re in the ‘fridge. Instructions are on the countertop by the toaster.
Give Adam my best. I hope to meet him soon.
I feel like he and I are kindred spirits. Many years ago, when I was about his age, I went through a dark patch. Death seemed like the least-worst option. Long story short: I tried to kill myself.
There was a time, afterwards, for at least a year, when I was so conflicted. Part of me wanted to race ahead with life, to catch up with everyone else, you know, the people whose lives hadn’t been put on hold while they “recovered.”
Another part of me was afraid I was going too fast and would get in over my head and end up in that dark place again.
It was like driving down the road with one foot on the gas, one on the brake.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that Adam might feel the same way.
If so, your job is to remember that he’s the one behind the wheel. You’re just the passenger for this journey.
Buckle up. Expect some whiplash. No one likes a backseat driver.
Love him through this!
P.S.: I’m enclosing some money for pizza delivery, in case you want a break from my cooking.
Matt returned the note and cash to its envelope. Smiled at the thought of Bradley’s planning a trip to Eureka Springs just so a couple of lovesick college kids could enjoy a romantic weekend in his home.
Matt went to the kitchen to see what was on the menu for dinner, wondering, if by chance it included those panko and pecorino stuffed mushrooms Bradley had served at Robert’s birthday party, worried whether Bradley had remembered that Adam was a vegetarian.
He shouldn’t have—worried, that is.
That night’s dinner included a salad with baby spinach, carrots, walnuts, and a balsamic vinaigrette dressing; 3-cheese lasagna with roasted red peppers and mushrooms; ciabatta with garlic-infused butter; and, for dessert, raspberry tarts.
All Matt had to do was set the table, assemble the salad, and bake the lasagna.
Bradley had even paired a wine for the meal (Chianti Classico) and a coffee for the dessert (a salted caramel dark roast).
The only thing missing was Adam, who was holed up with Garland and MCU’s lawyers, reviewing the settlement agreement.
By 5:26 p.m. and still no Adam, Matt fretted whether his underarms were funky. He’d showered that morning, but that had been almost 12 hours earlier.
He went to the upstairs guest bathroom, removed his shirt and scrubbed his pits with a soapy handcloth. Decided maybe his balls could use a do-over as well. Stripped off his jeans and scoured his scrotum, which confused his poor dick into thinking it was playtime.
Down, boy. Down, he pleaded.
He checked his hairline, snipped a couple of strays. Trimmed his eyebrows. Brushed his teeth and flossed.
By 6:15 p.m., he grew concerned. Where was Adam?
The lasagna would need reheating.
By 6:45p.m., he was imagining all sorts of tragedies that might have befallen Adam.
And then the door opened.
Adam shuffled in, lugging a suitcase and a small shoulder bag.
Matt sensed something had gone wrong. “Did MCU’s lawyers try to screw you over?”
Adam shook his head. Plopped his luggage on the floor. “Everything was going fine until my dad showed up.”
“Your dad! What happened?”
“He was his usual asshole self, that’s what happened,” Adam said. “He threatened to derail the whole deal. I’m meeting with Garland tomorrow to see what we can salvage.”
Matt pulled him into a hug, enveloped him with his arms. Buried his nose in Adam’s thick hair. Breathed him in.
Matt felt himself hardening. Knew the timing was wrong. Eased his groin away from Adam’s.
Adam’s eyes met Matt’s. Their copper flecks sparkled.
“I felt that, you know,” he said.
Matt blushed. “Sorry. My dick’s happy to see you.”
“Mine, too,” Adam said. He pressed himself into Matt. “But—”
Matt leaned in for a kiss. He did not want to hear the rest of that sentence.
Adam dodged the kiss. “—I need a little time to clear my thoughts. Let me change and freshen up. Maybe eat something first? Is that okay? Then I’m all yours—or you’re all mine.”
Matt remembered Bradley’s advice, that Adam was in the driver’s seat. “Of course! Take your time. Our room is the first left at the top of the stairs. I’ll plate the salads and warm the entree.”
Adam carried his luggage upstairs.
Matt watched his retreating ass, the ripple of his glutes as his hips pivoted with the climb.
When there was nothing left to see, Matt busied himself with final preparations for dinner, trying to focus on the evening ahead, but finding his thoughts clouded with worry. Had Adam’s dad fucked up everything? The cash settlement? Adam’s return to MCU?
A few minutes later, Matt was in the dining room filling their wine glasses, when Adam appeared, still in the same jeans and shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Matt had not heard him coming down the stairs.
“Roses! For me?”
Matt beamed.
“Thank you!” Adam bent to sniff them.
Bent at the waist, stiffly, which, Matt thought, was an odd posture.
Adam’s shirt rode up his back a bit.
Outside, the sun was setting. Its golden tendrils dappled the room’s Edwardian blown-glass windows. The soft light backlit the beautiful boy, the bouquet of roses.
Matt stood, transfixed by the sight.
The room’s oak floors and moldings enhanced the earth-tone palette, framing the pale-skinned, freckled boy. The roses—perfect in any other setting—were pallid in comparison to Adam.
Eventually, Adam straightened. “I’m famished!”
Matt couldn’t help himself. “I thought you were going to change clothes,” he said.
“I did,” Adam grinned.
Matt frowned. “You didn’t. I know, because I stared at your ass—in those same jeans—as you headed upstairs.”
“Let’s try this again,” Adam said. He bent to sniff the roses. Arched his ass exaggeratedly.
Reached back and tugged at the waistband of his jeans, revealing a stripe of green elastic. Bare skin below that. Well—bare skin and brown fuzz.
Matt’s mouth went dry.
“I changed underwear,” Adam said, stretching, pulling his jeans back up. “I got to town early and went to that sex shop in the Habana Inn. Jungle Red. Isn’t that the name?”
Matt nodded dizzily. Thought he nodded, at least. All the blood had drained from his upper extremities and rushed to his cock, engorging it, short-circuiting everything else beyond heartbeat and breathing.
Was he drooling? Probably, given what he’d just seen. But he couldn’t say for sure—drool or no drool—because he couldn’t feel his face.
“Remember when we visited Jungle Red on New Year’s Eve?” Adam asked. “We laughed self-consciously at the dildos, leather harnesses, and other gear? I had to pull you away from the assless underwear. You were fingering them.”
And now Adam was wearing some—assless underwear. Matt remembered that clearly: the stripe of green elastic, the hint of pale asscrack, the fuzzy briar patch.
Matt found his voice. Croaked. “Show me again. Please? Just a peek?”
Adam demurred. “Nah. They feel kinda kinky, like someone painted a target on my ass.”
Matt’s chest was so tight, it was hard to breathe. “That’s the point. To keep me focused on the bullseye. It’s working, by the way.”
Adam took a seat at the table. “How about focusing on feeding me instead? You can play darts later.”
They worked their way through the salad course.
Adam savored each bite, commenting on the rich flavors, chattering, his mood lightening.
Matt ate robotically. Fork to plate. Fork to mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. The greens on his plate only reminded him of the green elastic band snuggling Adam’s hips. The rumpled walnuts reminded him of the rosebud between Adam’s furry cheeks, the only thing upon which he wanted to feast.
Soon enough, the salad was gone.
Matt gathered their dishes, went to the kitchen to plate the lasagna. He was gone a few minutes.
When he returned, he noticed that Adam wasn’t at the table. He stood by the row of windows, reading something.
He had shed his jeans.
He stood there in his t-shirt, green-and-white assless underwear, crew socks, and sneakers.
Matt paused in the doorway, plates in hand, mesmerized.
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to stare?” Adam teased.
“She did. She also taught me to appreciate natural beauty. Admittedly, we were standing in a field of wildflowers when she said it. Still, all things considered, it would be rude not to stare.”
Adam turned to face Matt.
“I saw this on the mantle,” he said, holding up one of the colored envelopes. “It had my name on it, so I went ahead and opened it.”
“Bradley’s such a sweetheart,” Matt said. He set the plates on the table. “Have a seat. I’ll grab the bread and refill our wine glasses.”
A minute later, Matt was seated, ready to start eating.
Adam hadn’t even picked up his fork. He was frowning over Bradley’s note.
“What does it say?” Matt asked.
Adam looked up. “The good news is you’re not a serial killer.”
Matt chuckled.
“The bad news is that you’re hiding a dark secret.”
Matt felt gut punched. “WHAT?”
Adam handed him the letter.
Adam:
May I ask a favor?