Uncharted Terrain

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Lance really enjoyed his job, but by Friday morning, it felt like the week had been moving at a snail’s pace. He’d pushed snooze on his alarm and was dropping off to sleep again when his phone rang.

“Did I wake you?” his mother asked, as soon as he’d grunted something comparable to hello.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I needed to get up. Good morning, Mom. Everything alright?”

“Everything’s great, sweetheart. I was just looking at the summer schedule and was wondering if you could make it up for a visit over the long holiday weekend on July 4. We’re going to host some friends for a cookout. Most of the neighbours are coming too.” It was late May, but his mother was already scheduling events for July. Definitely a retiree thing.

“Sure, I don’t have anything planned yet for July 4 since it’s a couple of months away.”

“Well, I know, but I figured I should tell you in advance, just in case you were still in your dark and gloomy phase,” she chided. Lance could hear someone speaking in the background. “Jeff says I shouldn’t call it that—”

“Dark and gloomy phase? I don’t have—”

“Oh, you know. When you avoid my calls and find excuses not to come to Sunday dinner. I mean—everyone deals with breakups differently. Parker craves mac and cheese. You avoid me at all costs—” There was no point in arguing with her once she got on a roll. She was many things, but wrong wasn’t one of them.

“I’m just making sure you were done avoiding me. I mean—you should take however much time you need. But Julie did leave almost three weeks ago. About time to get back into doing things with your family, don’t you think?”

“Mom, are you calling about July 4? Or are you asking if I’ll come to dinner on Sunday?” She hadn’t fooled him one bit.

“You’ll come? Oh, that’s fantastic! Just great! I’ll make your favourite! And you know, I think Martha might come over too. You remember Martha. Two doors down, with the God-awful Shih Tzu that used to try to bite you? Well, her daughter’s in town. They might come down for dinner on Sunday. You’ll love Sandra. Absolutely lovely.”

Not even 7:00 a.m., and his brain was already in overload. What he thought had been a simple ploy had turned out to be far more complex. And a real pain in his ass. No wonder she’d chosen to call him so damned early in the day. Blindsided and dull-witted at 6:45 a.m., she knew he’d not be in the best shape to fend her off. What did he do to deserve this? And before he’d had his first cup of coffee, too!

“Mom,” he said, trying to interrupt her before she could start up again. “I’ll try, okay? But I can’t promise anything. I might have plans—”

“Plans?” his mother asked, the ring of interest unmistakeable. “With a woman?”

“Mom, please! Is there anything else? I have to get ready for work,” he said, trying to speed things along.

“No, no, that’s it for now, I suppose. Hope to see you on Sunday! Wear something nice!”

“Love you, Mom!” he replied hastily and hung up. Flopping back onto the bed, he briefly considered going back to sleep, but his brain was buzzing now. Sighing, he dragged his ass out of bed and staggered downstairs to turn on the coffee maker.

Skimming his missed texts, he saw one from his brother time stamped 2:00 a.m., warning him of their mother’s plans for July 4. He sent one back to let him know about this morning’s way too damned early call. He started to put his phone down when a new text came in. He glanced at it quickly, expecting it to be his mother with a reminder of what she considered to be “nice” clothing. Instead, Tanner’s name appeared.

Tanner Casey

Help a guy out. I haven’t lived around here for years.

Where would I find the best caffeine at the lowest price?

I ran out of coffee and all I can find listed is Starbucks.

Lance Kingsley

Rough night?

Tanner Casey

… Let’s just say zombies look more alive than I do.

Lance Kingsley

Yikes.

What time do you have to be at work?

Moon Pie’s is good and cheap.

And I’m a sucker for their blueberry pancakes.

Tanner Casey

Off work today.

Moon Pie? Never heard of it.

What street is it on?

Lance Kingsley

Colliver. At the corner of Main.

Tanner Casey

You got time for a stack?

If I pick you up, and I pay?

Lance Kingsley

You drive, I pay, and you have yourself a deal.

Tanner Casey

Be there in 10.

*****

Tanner hadn’t slept much. Maybe a few minutes here and there. Tuesday’s doctor appointments had royally fucked with his head. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Dr. Williston’s recommendations for future treatments. And his damned shrink wasn’t nearly as much of a help as she seemed to think. Overall, his Tuesday had sucked swamp water. And unfortunately, it had dictated the rest of his week. He’d been a mess all through Wednesday and Thursday. Unable to do anything besides stare at a wall and force himself to breathe. He’d vowed to make his Friday a little less shitty. Starting by getting dressed and out of the house. Now that he'd made plans—it was looking up. Having breakfast with Lance seemed like a great way to kickstart his day. And boy oh boy did he need one of those to get his head on straight again.

He tapped out a steady rhythm on his steering wheel waiting for Lance. He’d texted him a minute ago to let him know he’d arrived, but his severe jitters had less to do with impatience and more to do with nervous exhaustion.

“Hey,” Lance said, as he jumped into the truck. His smile was blinding, but it fell as soon as he took in Tanner’s appearance.

How Lance managed to look so well put together at this ungodly hour was a complete mystery. Perfectly decked out in a nice burgundy knit shirt and a new pair of jeans, along with a nice dress watch. Hell—the fucker had even styled his hair. In contrast, Tanner looked like he just fell out of a dumpster.

“Hi,” Tanner replied as he dropped the truck into gear. He tried to think of a way to play off his fatigue, but his mind had gone blank. He couldn’t come up with anything, as if he’d never made fucking small talk before. Both pissed off by his inability to converse like a normal person and his intense fatigue, he retreated into silence. Lance must have sensed his dark mood because he spoke only when he had to provide directions to the diner.

“Just turn right here,” Lance said, as they approached the parking lot next to the retro sign of the Moon Pie Diner. The blueberry pie logo was in the shape of a half-crescent moon, with a purple cow jumping over it.

It was quite clever, if Tanner was honest.

He cleared his throat as he parked his truck, desperate to find something to say. After all, he’d dragged Lance out of his house before 8:00. The least he could do was make an effort to hold a decent conversation.

“Thanks for coming out,” he said, which was pretty lame, but better than nothing.

Lance smiled warmly. “Of course! Call me anytime. I’m always down for breakfast, especially at this place. Their food is ridiculously good and super cheap.”

“Lance Kingsley, where’ve you been lately?” A pretty brunette rushed towards them as soon as they walked in. She gave Lance a big hug and ruffled his hair. He laughed and turned her towards Tanner.

“Kathya, I’d like you to meet my buddy, Tanner. Tanner, this is Kathya, the owner of this fabulous place. She took me on as her accountant when I first went into business for myself.”

“I’m terrible with numbers—thank God that Mr. Numbers Man came in and gave me his business card! He pretty much saved this place from going under.”

Lance laughed and nodded. “To be fair, I was mostly trying to sweet talk her into going out with me, but her wife already had first dibs.”

“Damn right!” she said, laughing as she picked up two menus from the host stand and winked at Lance. “Just follow me, hot stuff! You’ll get the best table in the house!” she promised them with a flirty wink, leading them to the big booth by the front window.

After taking their drink orders, she headed for the coffee machine while they scanned the menus.

“She’s colourful,” Tanner said, dismayed at how lackluster he sounded. He blamed it on his exhaustion and leftover frustrations from the days before. Scanning the menu from top to bottom, he just couldn’t focus properly. He wasn’t hungry at all, so nothing there appealed to him. He just wanted a caffeine injection. Over the top of the menu, he met Lance’s gaze. Lance was looking at him, head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed in contemplation. He was still smiling, but it was more of a distracted smile, not as warm and open as it had been earlier.

“Like I was saying, the pancakes are amazing. Blueberry is the bomb! Sometimes they have ones with rainbow sprinkles, but I think those are only served during Pride month, so they’re probably not available right now—” he stopped, looking at Tanner expectantly, hell, almost daringly. Tanner shrugged lightly, barely comprehending any of Lance’s comments. “Blueberry sounds great,” he replied while staring blankly at the menu.

“Steak and egg platters are pretty good too. We can always get a few different things and split them between us if you want to. I don’t mind sharing. It’s up to you.”

Tanner looked up then, startled to find Lance’s blue eyes focused entirely on him. Tanner fought the instinctive urge to look away, afraid Lance might detect something in his eyes other than lack of sleep.

“Sure. We can share. Why don’t you pick out your favorites. I trust you,” he answered, sending a determinedly cheerful smile in Lance’s direction. Lance smiled back and then waved Kathya over to their table. He placed an order for several different platters while she organized their place settings, setting down a carafe of fresh coffee with two purple cow mugs.

Tanner eased back in his seat and closed his eyes, needing a few minutes of relaxation. The light chatter of the morning rush and the smell of coffee dulled his edginess and soothed him.

“Tanner?”

Startled awake by Lance’s voice, Tanner realized he’d dozed off while Kathya was setting up the table with creamers and condiments.

“Dude, when’s the last time you got any real sleep? You look—”

“Like shit?” Tanner joked, shifting around in his seat, embarrassed to be caught sleeping.

“Exhausted.” Lance finished his sentence with a worried frown as he studied Tanner’s features.

Tanner leaned his forehead on his right hand as he stared down at the tabletop. Suddenly, his eyes stung with tears, extreme exhaustion and Lance’s concern overwhelming him. He fought for control. How fucking pathetic. He was sitting in a quaint little diner that smelled of fried bread, maple syrup, and coffee, sharing a table with a stellar friend, and he wanted to bawl his eyes out like a fucking baby.

“Tanner,” Lance repeated, gently placing his hand on his forearm. The physical contact was unexpectedly comforting and grounding at the same time.

Emotion welled up in the back of his throat. He swallowed against it, struggling to keep it in.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Keeping his focus on the tabletop, he knew if he looked up that Lance would see his tears and probably get the wrong idea. He’d think Tanner was weak or—wait, wasn’t he? Weak? Here he was, trying his best not to cry because he was a little sleep deprived. That’s all it was, surely.

“I’m sorry,” Tanner said around a lump in his throat.

“Fuck the apology. When’s the last time you slept?”

He thought about bullshitting his way through this, but he didn’t think he’d be very convincing. Besides, Lance had shown him nothing but kindness and unwavering support. He owed him the truth.

“I never really sleep that well, but I haven’t had any decent sleep since—Monday, I think.”

“What the hell? How come?”

“Kinda complicated—” he tried to downplay it.

“I have time,” Lance assured him, gaze steady and intense.

“Lots of little stupid things, I guess. I just can’t seem to—relax.” He gave a quick shrug and grimaced. “I tried earplugs, but I can’t—it makes me feel too vulnerable, so—” he shrugged again. He didn’t want to get into it. Didn’t want to talk about the fiery explosions and endless nightmares of being locked up in a dark cell. He would just end up losing his shit again and that was the very last thing either one of them wanted.

“Alright—” Lance said, tentatively extending a hand towards him in reassurance and gently patting him on the arm. “Alright. That’s—that’s rough, by anyone’s standards.” He nodded sympathetically. “Okay, how about making a deal with me?”

Tanner shook his head and rolled his eyes. He tried to summon the strength to protest whatever Lance might say next. He didn’t want Lance to feel like he needed to take care of him. Tanner could take care of himself. If he wanted a caretaker, he’d have called Cam. He didn’t want to be a burden to Lance. Never to Lance—

“You promised to help me with the house, right? So, let’s get real. You can’t do that if you’re falling asleep standing up. So—how about this for now? You ease back in your seat again, close your eyes until the food gets here, then you scarf down a few thousand calories, so I won’t be worried you’re wasting away. When we’re done here, we drive back to my place so you can get some peace and quiet on my couch for a few hours.”

Tanner shook his head. It was too much. It wasn’t Lance’s fucking job to scrape up pieces of him off the floor and put him back together. And yet—

“Why not? Come on, I’m doing it for me, really. I need your help, and you’re totally, abso-fucking-lutely useless to me when you’re dead tired,” Tanner wasn’t sure how Lance managed to be so upbeat and charming all the time, but he found it incredibly difficult to resist him. He wanted to argue with him. He really did. But the fight drained out of him as he took in Lance’s expression and considered his reasoning. “Okay,” he relented, with a quick nod. “Thank you,” he added, his voice cracking a little at the end.

Lance looked quite proud of himself as he brought the purple cow mug to his lips and winked at him again.

It really was unfair, Tanner thought. How was anybody supposed to resist that tractor beam gaze and gorgeous smile? He sure as hell couldn’t. So, he might as well toss in the towel and just accept this gift with good grace.

“Right, then. I’ll wake you when the food gets here,” Lance promised somberly.

No longer able to fight the need for a power nap, Tanner put his head back and closed his eyes. Much to his surprise, he woke up about 15 minutes later to the smell of fresh pancakes, bacon, and more coffee being delivered to their table. He didn’t miss Lance’s smug smile. Actually, he just—he kind of loved seeing it. And if Tanner noticed a funny little pang of something near his heart, he didn’t dwell on it. Not even a little.

Filled with blueberry pancakes and a carafe of coffee, he finally started to feel human again. He grabbed the bill from Kathya before Lance could reach for it.

“Hey, that wasn’t the deal!” Lance protested with righteous indignation reminding Tanner of Cameron.

“Deals change. You need to be more flexible about these things,” he said with a smirk, handing his credit card to Kathya who smiled at him and winked at Lance.

“I’m an accountant—flexible is not in my vocabulary,” Lance muttered grumpily.

Tanner rolled his eyes and ignored him as he chatted with Kathya.

“Do you want two coffees to go?” she asked him.

“If you weren’t already married, I’d propose,” Tanner replied with a wink.

“And if I wasn’t so gay, I’d accept,” she responded sassily as she winked back at him.

“So, two coffees coming up. Two milks for you, right?” she asked, looking down at the pile of empty creamers littering his plate.

“Your wife is damned lucky.”

“And I never let her forget it,” she responded as she headed for the coffee machine, making Tanner burst out laughing.

He turned back to Lance who looked quizzical.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Lance claimed with a quick smile. “Just worried you might launch yourself into outer space if you ingest any more caffeine.”

Tanner didn’t believe him but didn’t pursue it.

*****

Lance wrapped up another client conference call. Kicking back in his chair, he glanced at his watch. By 2:00 p.m., his office was flooded with sunlight, and he realized it was way past lunchtime. He hadn’t heard a peep all day out of his sofa surfer. After returning home from the diner, he’d gotten Tanner to lie down, shutting all the blinds despite Tanner’s protests that it was a wasted effort because he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Of course, Lance had just scoffed at this while tossing a blanket and bed pillow at his head and then left the room.

Even though there were still a few more calls to make and reports to do, he decided to take a quick break to stretch his back and legs. He tiptoed his way down the hall and peeked around the corner into the living room to see whether his plan had worked.

Tanner was fast asleep, mouth hanging open, right arm flung off the side of the couch. He looked—exhausted. Even as he slept, it was obvious that he needed a lot more. Mulling this over, Lance abandoned his plan to go to the kitchen for a glass of lemonade and backtracked silently to his office. He didn’t want to risk waking his sleeping beauty.

Lance had so many unanswered questions. Things he’d desperately wanted to ask Tanner at the diner, but the timing had been all wrong. A part of him wondered when, or if, the timing would ever be right. The list was growing by the hour. Why couldn’t he sleep at night? What had happened to him after the crash? Had he really been held captive for three years? What had triggered a major episode this week? What exactly was wrong with his left leg? He was feverish with the need for answers, but he recalled the obvious distress on Tanner’s face as he’d tried—and failed—to explain why he couldn’t sleep. He’d looked—ravaged. Since Lance had no prior experience with PTSD or trauma victims, he didn’t know how best to help. On top of all that, an even bigger question had emerged, especially surprising since they barely knew one another. Why did he feel so deeply—involved?

His protective streak must be the answer. Had to be. The same reason for making sure he was always around to drive his brothers to all their sports practices and games. To sit at the dinner table and help them with their homework every night. Apparently, Tanner brought out that same powerful instinct. Tanner, who accepted help about as well as a wolverine accepted cuddles. But Lance thought he might have made some inroads into his standoffishness. Hey, he'd convinced Tanner to eat all of his breakfast and pass out on his damned couch, hadn’t he? If success truly is a series of small victories, then today was a winner!

By 4:00 p.m., Lance decided to shut down his laptop and officially begin his weekend. Lots more reports to do, but his eyes were crossed, and his brain had slowly but surely turned to mush. It was better to knock off work early than to make mistakes he’d end up having to fix on Monday morning. Quietly making his way to the kitchen, he was pleased to see Tanner was still passed out, snuggled under a blanket. He breathed a sigh of relief that he’d been right all along in persuading Tanner to come to his house to get some quality sleep. Plus, there was something also incredibly satisfying about having Tanner there, even if they weren’t talking or doing anything together.

While removing the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and pouring a glass, he pondered the ramifications of that. Maybe he just needed to be needed. He liked being the one who friends and family always relied on. But there was also a deeper, more complex side to his budding friendship with Tanner that he couldn’t explain and wasn’t sure he was ready to delve into. So, pushing that aside for now, he focused on the best way to wake up Tanner. When the glass pitcher clunked loudly against his granite countertop, he winced. A few seconds later he heard a sharp intake of breath from the couch and a deep cough. Well, he supposed that was one way to wake sleeping beauty.

“Shit,” Tanner said as he rolled to his feet and struggled to stand. He took a few careful steps but ended up collapsing backwards onto the couch as his left leg buckled. He looked up to find Lance watching him.

Lance could have pretended he didn’t notice Tanner’s struggles to get up but decided not to. Instead, he raised the glass pitcher and asked, “Lemonade?”

Tanner frowned for a moment then nodded, as he slowly got off the couch and made his way to the kitchen. Lance kept him in his peripheral vision as he poured another glass, fighting a smile as Tanner rubbed sleep from his eyes and then tried to smooth down his hair which stuck out in every direction.

“What time is it?” Tanner asked.

“Quarter to five.”

“What?” Tanner exclaimed in disbelief. “That’s impossible! That means I slept for—” he paused, as he did the math, “eight hours!” Tanner said in the same tone of shocked amazement as one might say “ I rode a unicorn to Ibiza?”

“Sure looks that way to me. I checked on you around 2:00. You were completely knocked out,” Lance responded with a laugh.

“You checked on me? You mean I didn’t hear you?” He suddenly looked panicked as he stepped back, like he was going to turn and run, but his left leg gave out. Crumbling like a Jenga tower, he managed to catch himself on the edge of the counter. Quickly reacting, Lance caught him around the waist and guided him to one of the barstools. Lance couldn’t help but notice the impressively muscled body under his hands as he steadied Tanner, so unlike the supple and curvy figure of Julie.

“When’s the last time you slept that long?”

“I don’t remember. Without pills? Maybe—four years? It was before the crash anyway. Holy shit, I feel fucking amazing!”

Lance snorted in amusement as he placed a glass of lemonade in front of him.

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re really glad I won the couch debate.”

“Honestly, I really can’t believe it—eight whole hours of dead to the world, real sleep!” Tanner still looked amazed.

“You’re welcome to crash on my couch anytime you want to. I’m not kidding. I really mean it. You need to take better care of yourself, and I need a healthy minion—I mean helper—so I can finish perfecting my palace.” Lance gave him an exaggerated wink. Tanner took on that stubborn look again, so Lance kept rolling with his impromptu game plan.

“Now that you’re rested and hydrated, how about jumping on a few projects for an hour or two. We can do beer and pizza later if you’re up for it.”

Maybe it was the offer of beer and pizza that perked him up because he laughed and said, “Hell yeah, dude! Where should we start?”

They started by patching the holes left behind when Julie removed her framed art. Tanner sat on a bar stool nearby and walked Lance through each step, but Lance proceeded to fuck up everything he touched. After the third messed up patch job, Tanner howled with laughter.

“Dude! How in the hell can you be so good when you’re handling a football, and so damned awful when you’re handling a caulk gun?”

“Hey, now! I was never any good at this kind of artsy craftsy shit, so give me a break!” he exclaimed in mock outrage. Somehow, he finally managed to apply the right amount of caulk and smoothed it out.

“Perfect. Now we wait for it to dry, use sandpaper to make the spot flush with the wall around it, and then re-paint the spot.”

“Right,” Lance said haltingly, noticeably lacking conviction. “Sure—just—all that.”

Tanner snickered, clapping him on the shoulder companionably. “Don’t worry, the finishing up part of this is way easier than it sounds. I promise!”

When Lance turned to look at Tanner, he felt a sudden rush of warmth and affection at the sight of that humor-filled expression. Tanner looked like a new man compared to the stressed-out basket case he’d been at the diner earlier that day. Lance noted other things about his general appearance as he pondered this miraculous change. Tanner’s hair was still on the long side, and he kept raking his fingers through it to push it out of the way. He’d never noticed until now, but there were several little scars on the upper right corner of Tanner’s face, one of them running along his eyebrow. He wondered briefly if it was a result of the crash or if it had occurred during his captivity.

“What’s next?” Tanner asked, clapping his hands together to get Lance’s attention. Lance forced himself to focus on the rest of his task list. Next. Project. Right. Yup—

Ironically enough, with all that abandoned shit currently piled in a spare bedroom, Julie had taken the one piece that Lance actually liked and wanted to keep: the Anthropologie Judarn Bar Cabinet he’d picked up at an estate sale. It was stylish and practical, functioning like a piece of art as well as holding all his favorite booze and cocktail supplies. He’d mourned its loss, forced to get a new one from IKEA. It was about the same size as the old one, but the damned thing had to be assembled. By the time he’d finished reading the first of 30 pages of instructions, he’d wanted to scream and set the damned box on fire. To save his sanity and his house from burning down, he’d walked away. Thankfully, now that Tanner was there to suffer the tortures of the damned with him, his attitude had done a 180 on getting it set up.

They both got situated with all the parts spread out on the floor. Tanner had his legs extended out in front of him, reading the instructions and carefully guiding Lance through the process of construction. Lance didn’t feel quite so inadequate to the task this time. They made a good team, and he was incredibly grateful for Tanner’s patience in helping him conquer the beastly thing.

“So, are you saying that she leaves all her shit behind, but then turns right back around and steals your bar? That’s just all kinds of messed up, right?” Tanner remarked, as he waited for Lance to attach the gazillion screws connecting the F and G sections.

“I know! I tried fighting her for it, but she was dead set on it and said the value of the other stuff she left more than compensated me for her taking it. She was a real bitch about the whole goddamned thing, and I got sick of fighting her for it. Maybe I’ll find another one like it one day,” he shrugged, and with grim determination, tackled the final connecting screws with the tiny Allen wrench that was provided in the shitty, cheap-assed tool kit.

“How long were you guys together? I mean—must have been awhile to have so many pieces of furniture in the house.”

“Three glorious years of non-wedded bliss!”

“What happened? I mean—feel free to tell me to fuck off,” Tanner asked, then tacked on hastily, “but I do kinda want to know—so—”

Lance sighed, pausing for a moment to think about why they split up.

“Nothing really. Nothing specific anyway. I think it was probably a gradual build up of differences. It’s like we woke up three years later and realized that we didn’t want the same things at all. We were headed in two entirely different directions and there was no going back from that. Our life plans were too divergent and, as it turns out, our personalities were as different as chalk and cheese.”

“So—you just woke up one morning and realised it was over?” Tanner sounded mystified.

“No,” he shook his head. “Guess it all came to a head when Julie got a job offer in New York. She wants to be a big shot lawyer. Jetset all over the world, traveling from city to city, live in hotel rooms, and own a condo on the beach. She doesn’t want kids and isn’t planning on ever settling down. We met when she was finishing her law degree, and I was just starting my own firm. We were so busy we just sort of—got together, had a good time, but really didn’t worry about the after part of a committed relationship, if that makes any sense. Anyway—she got a job offer at a big firm in New York, and she came home, super excited, talking a hundred miles an hour about moving, and how we should start looking for a condo in Brooklyn and maybe one in the Hamptons for weekend getaways.” Lance shook his head over the memory. It had felt so surreal. Watching her talk so animatedly but sounding more and more like a stranger with each passing second. She’d danced around the house, squealing excitedly, and all Lance had been able to think about was how far away she seemed already, even though she was right there in front of him.

“And you didn’t want that? New York condos and being a jetsetter?” Tanner asked, with his head tilted to the side like a curious puppy.

“Nope, not at all,” Lance replied, with absolute certainty. “I’m a homebody at heart and always have been. I’d rather be at home watching a movie with a beer than going out every night clubbing.”

“I mean—you did choose going into accounting over going with the NFL. There’s our first clue right there,” Tanner observed with an eyeroll.

“Exactly,” Lance replied, pointing at him with the Allen wrench for emphasis.

“I take it she wasn’t pleased when you didn’t respond with equal enthusiasm.”

Lance snorted. Not pleased was an understatement.

“I told her that I didn’t think we wanted the same things anymore, and that I was staying here to build my business and to be with my family. She got really pissed off and began screaming like a banshee.” In retrospect, he should have worked harder on communication, but hindsight was always 20/20, wasn’t it?

“I mean—I kind of understood her anger. It wasn’t like she’d never talked about her dream of pursuing a position with a big corporate law firm. I should have clued her in sooner that I had no intentions of moving to the big city. I owed it to her and to myself to make it clear from the start that I wasn’t the right guy to live that life.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t intentional. I just—I got swept up in the fun aspects of my first committed relationship and it kind of felt like tomorrow would never come,” he admitted with a shrug. Tanner was still looking at him like he didn’t quite understand though, so Lance carried on. “I was pretty good at just living in the moment when we got together. She liked my dependability and stability. I liked that she was independent and fierce. It worked, mostly. But we were so—separate from each other, that I guess when we started growing in different directions, we never really noticed,” he explained, and Tanner nodded in understanding.

He finished attaching the last screw with a faint smile.

“Still—I’m sorry it ended that way. Couldn’t have been easy. You think you’ve got your entire life figured out—and suddenly—” Tanner drifted off, and Lance thought maybe some of their issues might have something in common.

While Lance wanted to wave the sentiment away and play it off, he couldn’t quite manage it. No one else had acknowledged that particular aspect of his life before. Strange that he was only realizing that now. When he’d told Parker about the breakup, Parker just said he was sorry to hear it, slapped him on the back, and went back to playing on his X-box. His mother had told him he’d find someone better and then re-directed the conversation to discuss her social calendar. He hadn’t talked to Jeremy about it yet but figured he’d mostly likely be fairly blasé about it too. No one in his family had cared all that much. It was just a break-up. No big deal.

Thrown off track by Tanner’s insights, Lance simply nodded in shared understanding.

“What’s next?”

Much of the evening passed that way with Tanner helping Lance put the bar together, going step-by-step, as they shared tidbits about their lives. Tanner told Lance about his twin sister Cameron and about how overprotective she was now that he was home again. He clearly didn’t tell him everything, but it was enough to convince Lance to share a few things about his own siblings. He talked about Parker and Jeremy. About what it was like growing up with two much younger brothers and always looking out for them. How hard his mother worked to pay the bills, and how he’d tried to help her manage the situation they’d been in. Tanner was a good listener and never pressed for more information than Lance was willing to share. Before long Lance felt far more comfortable talking with Tanner than he ever had with—well, anyone.

“What’s the youngest brother doing these days?” Tanner asked, just as Lance connected the last two sections.

“Jeremy is finishing high school. He’s a little shit, but he’s pretty harmless,” he replied with a quick shrug.

“And your dad?” Tanner asked casually, but clearly curious.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Lance stated coldly. “Last I heard he was in New Mexico, living in a trailer with his latest girlfriend.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Five years ago. He showed up at my last game, got black out drunk in the stadium, and instead of celebrating our championship win, I got to clean vomit from the bleachers and drive his passed-out ass back to his shitty apartment.” A wealth of deep-seated anger and resentment emerged as he recalled what happened that day. His dad had ruined one of the best days of Lance’s life, but that was par for the course with his worthless piece of shit father. He’d ruined most good moments in Lance’s life right up to the time he’d kicked him out of his life for good.

“You know, that championship game was the last game I saw before I got deployed. Actually, it’s the last football game I’ve watched, period,” Tanner confessed, snorting at the irony of it all.

“You’re kidding me!”

Tanner shook his head. “Three days after that game and your last touchdown, I hopped on a cargo plane to the Middle East.”

“Shit—” Lance said, sitting back in shock. “And you haven’t watched a game since you got back?”

Tanner shook his head. “It’s weird. I never know what might be a trigger, so I’ve been avoiding watching TV at my sister’s house, because I don’t want to have any episodes in front of my nieces. I don’t even own a television now.”

“The Badgers are playing the Ohio Buckeyes tonight. My brother’s warming the bench, but it should still be a good game. How about I order pizza, we crack open a few beers, and just relax with the game and see if Parker gets a chance to strut his stuff on the field.”

“I don’t want to—” Tanner began, but Lance cut him off quickly.

“You’re not imposing at all. If something about the game bothers you, just head for my brand-new, fancy-assed bar that we laboured over, grab a bottle of whatever you fancy and a straw. Better yet, make it two straws!” Lance knew how well Tanner responded to humour, and it might not have been totally legit, but decided to weaponize it for his own agenda.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Tanner nodded.

“Okay, thanks,” he conceded. “Guess it’s past time for me to watch a better quarterback throw the ball down the field, anyway,” he added, just to get a rise out of Lance.

Lance grunted and punched his good shoulder in retaliation.

The game was well underway by the time they got settled on the couch. The cleanup phase of their completed projects took awhile. After the pizza was delivered, they grabbed their beers and collapsed in front of the TV. At the end of the first quarter, the Badgers were ahead by 3, and much to Lance’s surprise, his little brother made it onto the field. It wasn’t unheard of for incoming freshmen to get called out to play, but Parker had done little more than ride the bench so far that season.

The snap was made. The Badgers’ quarterback did a rollout and sent a beautiful pass flying over the defensive line of the Buckeyes that landed squarely in Parker’s waiting hands. Parker took off like he had wings, carrying the ball right into the end zone.

“Damn—I knew there had to be a better Kingsley out there!” Tanner exclaimed and laughed boisterously.

“Do me a solid and choke on that pizza!” Lance snarked and elbowed him.

He’d watched most of his brother’s games but since Parker had played so little that season, he’d gradually lost interest. But not tonight. His brother was playing exceptionally well, and he was duly impressed.

“Parker is a damned good player. Might get called up to first string after this game,” Tanner remarked.

“Fast, too,” Lance said admiringly, watching his little brother dodge between the behemoth linebackers trying to block his advancing to the 10-yard line. “Everything alright? Game’s not triggering you or anything?” He kept his voice low as he broached this sensitive topic.

“So far, so good,” Tanner replied and smiled over at Lance. He was leaning forward a bit, body twisted so that his free hand—the right—could massage the muscles in his left thigh.

“Your leg okay?” Lance tried not to sound overly concerned.

“No worries. It’s just muscle spasms,” he said, shrugging, as he continued to massage his leg. Lance worried his bottom lip thoughtfully. On the one hand, he knew all too well what those felt like, having spent hours during his football career getting his thighs and calves worked on by physical therapists hired by the team. He’d learned a lot about massaging cramps. On the other hand, he was worried that Tanner would think it was weird if he offered to help. He didn’t want to freak him out and mess up their friendship.

“Feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I’m actually pretty good at dealing with muscle cramps. Want me to give it a go?” Lance offered while gazing at the TV. He sensed Tanner was looking at him and weighing the merits of his offer.

“You offer to massage a lot of guys on your couch?” Tanner asked with a smirk.

“Jackass—” Lance muttered good-naturedly. He shook his head and frowned at him. “Yes, or no?”

With a wry laugh, Tanner scooted farther back on the couch and sighed.

“I already ate your food, drank your beer, and slept on your couch. Guess the least I can do is put out,” he said, cheekily. Lance muttered that everyone wanted to be a goddamned comedian these days, before moving Tanner’s leg so it laid across his lap while they watched the game.

Tanner was wearing a pair of jeans, but the denim was worn thin enough that Lance could still work the muscles. He started off slowly, applying pressure to different sections and paid close attention to how Tanner responded. When he found a particularly tight muscle, he began working it in small circles, gradually relieving the tension. He noticed conflicting expressions of pain and relief cross Tanner’s face as he watched the game.

“Did you teach him how to play?” Tanner asked, seeing how well Parker kept catching the ball.

“Nah—” Lance replied. “Kid was always self-motivated. I taught him how to catch a baseball, and how to count his paces when running from point to point, but I had nothing to do with this .” He was truly awed by Parker’s performance.

*****

Watching Lance stare at his brother like Parker might be the next-big-thing was a little surreal. Only a week ago, Tanner had done the same thing when Lance appeared on his doorstep. Lance’s football hero days were a thing of the past, but Tanner remembered them like they were yesterday. It wasn’t surprising that Lance was so humble because he was such a decent person. But humble enough to find his brother’s prowess so impressive? It said a lot about the type of man he was. Tanner was toying with the idea of telling Lance that, but then Lance’s massaging suddenly pinched something in his lower leg that had Tanner howling in pain before he could stifle it. Lance jerked his hands back quickly and looked at him guiltily.

“Sorry,” Tanner said, before Lance could say it first. He leaned forward and, biting his bottom lip against the pain, moved his leg slowly, until something shifted back into the proper position with a slight click. Once the pain abated, he looked up to see Lance frowning.

“What was that noise? What just happened?”

“One of the screws is a bit loose, and sometimes, when I twist the wrong way, the bone fragments slip a little. Kind of have to—click it back into place.”

“The bone fragments?” Lance repeated questioningly, a slight quiver in his voice.

Tanner nodded and desperately wanted to get back to the game. He could see it wasn’t going to be easy. Even though Lance had been careful up to now not to press Tanner for specific medical information, Tanner knew that wouldn’t last. Something about the set of Lance’s shoulders and tense expression told Tanner confession time might be at hand.

“You mentioned seeing a specialist recently,” Lance said, initiating the conversation carefully.

“Dr. Williston is a kinesiologist.” The pain subsided, so he put his leg back where it had been on the ottoman. “It was a recommendation of the surgeon, and my sister decided to stick her nose into it and took me to see Dr. Williston this week.”

“I’ve never heard of a kinesiologist,” Lance remarked, which was surprising considering how many medical personnel work with college football players.

“Yeah—they often work with amputees and others who are severely injured.”

Lance didn’t speak, waiting and hoping he’d keep going.

“When I— got out —I stole a helo and headed towards the nearest US military base. Except the helo was really old, with no working comms system, and definitely not American made. As soon as I flew into US-controlled air space, they mistook me for the enemy and shot down the helo. The bird went down sideways, and my left arm and shoulder, along with my left leg, took the brunt of the impact. The arm and shoulder were not too hard to put back together, but my leg is another story. It was basically crushed. I’m lucky to have it still attached.”

Lance winced sympathetically while remaining focused on the game. The Badgers were now up by 10 points.

“What do you mean crushed?” Lance asked calmly, turning to look at him.

“Three bones in my foot were broken, two in my ankle, my tibia was broken in five places, my kneecap was busted, and my femur was snapped in two.” Reciting the list that he’d memorized right after the crash was oddly comforting. Something tangible he could repeat with an almost clinical detachment now. “Crushed my arm too. Broke my shoulder blade, dislocated the shoulder, and snapped the elbow.”

“Holy fuck!” Lance breathed out, looking stunned. “How did they even fix your leg? Wouldn’t it have been easier to—” he stopped, not saying the words Tanner didn’t need to hear. He shook his head.

“That’s what they wanted to do, but I refused,” he stated calmly, turning to look at Lance challengingly. He’d already told him far more than he’d ever expected to.

Lance, reading him loud and clear, simply nodded. “That’s—” he shook his head like he couldn’t take it all in. “I can’t quite believe you survived that—and the pain? Dude—” he shook his head.

It was odd to see well-spoken Lance at a loss for words. Tanner merely shrugged in response.

“I dislocated my shoulder once when I got tackled and I whined about it for days. I was a total cry baby!” Lance confessed with a snort. He took a healthy swig of his beer while staring blankly at the TV.

“Yeah, but did you almost burst into tears like a little girl at a breakfast diner because you were tired?” Tanner asked, poking fun at himself. Lance barked a quick laugh and shook his head.

“I think saying you were tired is a serious understatement. The thing I don’t understand is how come your leg is healed enough for you to walk on, but you still can’t use your arm?”

Tanner was impressed that Lance was so observant.

“My left leg was so fucked up they had to operate multiple times. Usually, they’d have gone in and done the arm at the same time, but I was in such bad shape that it was too risky. So, they had to spread out the operations. I had one operation every two weeks over a four-month period.” It was odd how the clinical aspects of his recovery were so easy for him to discuss. They were facts. The objective part of this. Everything else was hard to cope with. The subjective part of this kicked his ass. Remembering. Understanding. Feeling .

“Jesus,” Lance said, turning sideways to face Tanner, brushing his knee against Tanner’s upper thigh. Tanner wasn’t quite sure why he noticed the touch, so he just chalked it up to the lack of physical touch by anyone other than doctors and his family for such a long time. He certainly didn’t mind Lance sitting so close. He did his best to wave the thought away.

“Yeah, come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I saw him a couple of times when I was high as fuck on some of the good shit my doctor gave me,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah? How was he?” Lance asked playfully.

“Hot.”

Which made Lance choke on his beer and just about cough up a lung.

Tanner smiled and leaned back, humming with contentment as the soft leather all but swallowed him up and the beer kicked in.

“You’re such a dick, T,” Lance said accusingly once he got his breath back, even while he was unable to hide his smile.

Tanner had to admit that sometimes maybe he was a dick, but God did he like the new nickname, “T.”

“Don’t be jealous just ‘cause I got a private visit from the lamb of God—or what the fuck ever!” He turned back to the game in time to see Parker catch another great pass, making it look easy. “Damn, is that kid good or what?”

Lance smiled with pride. “He might just go all the way.”

Sure, Parker played well, but truthfully Tanner didn’t think he’d ever be quite as spectacular on the field as Lance Kingsley had been. He kept that to himself.

*****

The game ended a little after 8:30. They picked out a movie, cracked open a few more beers, and shot the shit as they watched dumb teenagers get picked off one-by-one by the psycho killer. Lance had worried about how Tanner might react, but he’d waved off his concerns.

“War is nothing like this shit. Trust me,” he said with a hearty laugh.

Sometime before the final scene when the only survivor murdered the masked killer, Tanner had fallen asleep, head bent sideways, both feet propped up on the ottoman. He looked so peaceful. Like he felt safe and protected.

Tanner jerked awake just as the closing credits started rolling.

“Shit, I’m sorry I fell asleep on you in the middle of the movie,” he said, wincing as he sat up, shifted his left leg and placed his foot on the floor.

“Yeah, how dare you fall asleep on my couch like that! Why, the very idea—” Lance tsked mockingly, adding an eyeroll for effect.

“Not sure how I can still be tired. I slept for eight hours straight today,” he said, as if those eight hours could possibly make up for years of sleep deprivation.

It must have been several beers that loosened Lance’s tongue, because the question just slipped out.

“Why don’t you ever sleep?”

Tanner had started to stand, bracing his right arm against the couch for balance. He went still for a moment. Lance could tell he was debating whether to answer. Finally, with a sigh, he sat down again before speaking.

“There are several reasons. Nightmares, for one, and then—it’s hard for me to relax anyway. Even though I’m by myself in the condo and it’s quiet, the apartment complex is pretty busy and noisy. I always feel as if someone’s about to get the drop on me—” he shook his head. “It doesn’t make much sense. My therapist says it’s just—” he stopped, and looked away, as if ashamed to admit he was seeing a therapist. “It’s all just a load of horseshit. I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Maybe that’s why you slept so well today on my magical, huge-assed couch. My only neighbours are hundreds of yards away and you know there’s someone else in the house. Someone you can trust.”

“Probably,” Tanner agreed with a quick laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I tried sleeping at my sister’s house for a few weeks after getting discharged from the hospital. It wasn’t bad, but then I’d panic, or have a nightmare that would wake my nieces. That wasn’t what any of us needed or wanted. I decided to rent a condo temporarily. I’m waiting on my official discharge letter along with a big fat check. There should be enough money in back pay to get me out of my condo and into a nice-sized house. I should sleep much better then.” He huffed a laugh and turned to look at Lance with a twisted smile. “Oddly enough, paychecks from Uncle Sam stop when you’re MIA.”

Tanner ducked his head, uncomfortable talking about his lack of funds. Lance knew most people didn’t like discussing money, but if anyone could understand the situation, surely it would be an accountant, right? Lance almost said as much but didn’t think Tanner would appreciate it. Instead, he quickly devised a way to take care of Tanner and keep him close.

“Well, alright then,” Lance said, clapping his hands together. “Seems like we got a plan! Until your big fat check comes in, and we get you a new place to stay, the magical sleepy-time couch—with a deluxe pillow and fuzzy blanket—is all yours,” he stated with a pleased, confident smile. He stood up, knowing Tanner would likely disagree, but hoping he could move quickly enough to thwart any opposition. “Let me just grab the stuff for the couch so you can settle in for a nice, comfy snooze.” He grabbed their empty beer bottles and plates, heading for the kitchen as Tanner sat there looking stunned for a minute.

“What?” Tanner screeched after thinking all this through. “Hold up! That’s not—I didn’t—” he struggled to form a cogent argument. Lance was already halfway to the kitchen by the time Tanner caught up with him.

“I didn’t say anything remotely close to that! Like at all! I never even—”

Lance turned back towards him so quickly that Tanner jerked to a sudden halt. Taking advantage of the break in Tanner’s rant, Lance resumed his persuasive argument.

“Listen, dude. I know it’s a little—unconventional to offer your couch to a guy you met a few days ago on the Internet, but the truth is, this house is too fucking big for me. I like the company, and you already love my awesomely comfortable couch. Don’t you agree that my idea is stellar and that it kills two birds with one stone?”

“No, no, no!” Tanner protested vigorously, shaking his head. “Listen. Thanks, for everything, but it’s too much. I can’t—” he shook his head again, hair flying every which way. He took a few steps back, bumping hard against the counter behind him and wincing at the pain in his lower back. “Thanks, really,” he added quickly, not wanting to offend or sound ungrateful. “But I can’t accept your offer. I should go. I’ve been—I mean, I’ve intruded long enough.” Looking panicked, Tanner headed towards the front door. He grabbed his keys off the entryway table and opened the door before Lance could think of a way to stop him.

“Thanks for everything!” Tanner called out right as the door closed behind him, leaving Lance staring after him, confused and—fuck—sad? No, disappointed. And feeling somewhat empty inside, like he’d just lost something he needed.

He should have known better. Really. What the fuck had he been thinking, pressuring Tanner into staying at his house? Of course, the guy was going to cut and run. They’d only met a few days ago. That wasn’t a whole lot of time in which to build a foundation of trust, at least on Tanner’s part, to make this cockamamie plan work. Tanner was a fucking military veteran who had more issues than Newsweek . How could Lance have been so foolish as to think for even one moment that he could get Tanner to let down his guard so soon. He dropped heavily onto his couch, feeling—fuck—he couldn’t find the right words to express what he was feeling. But just as Lance concluded that he was the world’s biggest fucking idiot, his front door swung open. Tanner limped back inside, slammed the door shut, and leaned back against it. Silently, he stared down at his well-worn sneakers. When he looked up, he looked much younger—years younger—but also impossibly frayed. Like an old, threadbare piece of fabric.

“I’m so fucking tired of being tired.” His admission was painfully raw. It took everything Lance had to remain still and not rush to Tanner’s side.

Unspeaking, they stared at each other while Lance’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. Tanner looked desperate, exhausted, and close to tears.

“I’ll get the sheets,” Lance said with a nod and a warm smile.

Tanner bit down on his bottom lip as he watched Lance get to his feet. “Thanks for this.” His voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion. “It’s—,” he shook his head like he couldn’t quite find the right words. “Thanks.”

“You know—” Lance turned to face Tanner and said softly, “After everything you’ve gone through—I think you’re owed a little comfort.”

If Lance had drop kicked Tanner, right there in the middle of his living room, Tanner couldn’t have been more surprised.

It was too much. They both knew it, but it was also the God’s honest fucking truth. While Tanner stared at him wonderingly, Lance forced himself to keep moving. He made up the couch and ran upstairs to grab a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt for Tanner to sleep in. When he returned, he handed them over with a nod towards the bathroom. Tanner still looked dazed but nonetheless followed Lance’s silent directive.

*****

When Tanner limped back into the living room, he found the couch had been made up like a bed. Raiding the hall closet, Lance found a new toothbrush and a bath towel for him, making him feel like he was a kid again visiting his grandparents.

“Sorry for making you sleep on the couch. I wish I could have offered you the guest bedroom, but it’s still stuffed with furniture,” Lance said apologetically.

“Dude, I’m the one commandeering your couch,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“It’s not a problem. I want you to accept my offer to stay here at any time, because I genuinely meant it,” Lance said while glancing at his watch, thinking it was way past his normal bedtime. “I’ll see you in the morning.” After giving Tanner a quick shoulder bump, he headed for the stairs.

Tanner watched him climb the steps, shocked to realize he’d unconsciously reached for the spot where Lance’s shoulder had nudged him. He felt tingly, like Lance’s touch had been electric. It was an unusual sensation. But it was also too real—too important—for him to ignore.

Tanner assumed he’d go through the usual nightly ritual of trying to sleep only to end up staring at the ceiling, awaiting sunrise, just like at home. He told himself that if hanging out on Lance’s couch had the same results, then he’d just sneak out and go home so he didn’t impose any longer on Lance. Still, just for the hell of it, he shut his eyes and focused exclusively on the sounds of Lance getting ready for bed, floorboards creaking, and water running. While certainly not a part of his regular nightly ritual, he somehow found the normalcy of the sounds to be quite soothing. Within a few minutes, he fell into a deep sleep. Amazingly enough, he didn’t have any dreams that night. He slept straight through until around 7:00. Feeling far more rested than he had for at least a year, he quietly stripped the couch and got dressed.

He went to the kitchen and searched for pen and paper to leave a note for Lance.

Thanks for letting me borrow your magic couch.

Slept like a baby.

Later,

Tanner