Chapter 8
Chapter 8
The following Monday found Tanner returning to work, looking—and feeling—human for the first time in weeks. Or maybe even longer than that, because Mark whistled admiringly when he walked in.
“Don’t you dare catcall me! Last time I checked, you were spoken for,” Tanner joked as he stopped by his desk to chat.
“And the last time I checked on you, you’d just spent half your weekend chasing after my two little hellions at the amusement park. Aren’t you supposed to be knackered? How in the hell aren’t you knackered? You got a secret to surviving them, Tanner? I’m your favorite brother-in-law. Don’t you dare hold out on me!”
“You’re my only brother-in-law.”
“So what? That doesn’t change a damned thing. You still need to ‘fess up!”
Tanner rolled his eyes and sipped from his travel mug, filled to the brim with piping hot coffee with a splash of milk—just the way he liked it—courtesy of Lance. He just smiled and drank more of his delicious coffee, as he waited him out.
“Okay, fine! Keep your stupid secrets,” Mark said, waving his hands in a shooing motion. “Thanks though, seriously. A day at the spa really did wonders for your sister,” Mark added, and though Tanner was fairly certain he hadn’t meant anything salacious by it, he couldn’t resist the chance to get in a good dig.
“Oh—dude! Just no! That’s my sister!” he said with a frown of disgust.
Mark’s eyes widened as his mouth fell open. Tanner laughed and walked away.
“That is so not—!” Mark began to yell at him, but Tanner just kept going, laughing all the way to his office.
Tanner spent about half of his time on the road, and the other half doing paperwork and updating client files. Most Mondays started with straightening out the messes he’d dumped on his desk at the end of the day on Friday. Consequently, most of his morning was spent navigating that first circle of hell. By the time he’d organized everything, dealt with dozens of emails, and sketched out a plan for the week, he finally had the chance to check his phone for messages. He had never been one to stay glued to his phone, and nothing detoxed you from social media and screen addiction quite as well as being stuck in a hole for three years. Most days he had to remind himself that he even had a phone. As a result, he was late answering three texts that had come in since Friday evening. The first was from his mother, who wanted to know if he planned to ever visit her again, or if she needed to call out the National Guard. The second was from his sister, thanking him again for babysitting on Saturday. The third was from Lance, date stamped earlier that morning. He flushed from head-to-toe as he opened it. Every time he thought of Lance, he was reminded of his newly discovered taste for hot quarterbacks with huge biceps and generous hearts. He had yet to fully wrap his head around this new sexual preference, but he couldn’t deny it any more than he could deny the tent he pitched thinking about it.
Lance Kingsley
I hate my job. You were right.
I should have gone with the NFL.
Tanner Casey
Obviously.
Why the sudden change of heart?
Bad paper cut?
Lance Kingsley
It’s 10 am, I’ve answered 15 emails, and I still have 20 left.
Shoot me. Now.
If I have to type “Best Regards” one more time,
my balls will fall off.
Tanner Casey
I feel you.
In the office right now, doing the same.
Only reason I’m not jumping out the window
is cuz I’m on the ground floor.
Lance Kingsley
Hahaha! Exactly.
Accountants shouldn’t have to deal with people.
We need laws against that.
Tanner Casey
That’s right.
People aren’t your thing. Numbers are.
Real big numbers guy,
Crazy that you can even figure out how to text!
Lance Kingsley
That’s right.
Numbers guy. That’s what all my exes call me.
What’s your thing, then.
Tanner stared at Lance’s question. A sharp pain hit him squarely in the chest as he thought about his former life as a helicopter pilot. Flying. Rescuing. Those had been his thing. Everything that mattered. Or used to, anyway. But now? He answered emails and talked to people about lawn care.
Tanner Casey
Dunno,
Trying to figure it out, tbh.
Lance Kingsley
Oh! Sounds like a challenge,
I’m down with that.
I’ll make you a spreadsheet.
And just like that, the pain in his chest was gone. In his mind’s eye, Tanner could see Lance bent over his desk, glasses low on his nose—he wasn’t sure if Lance wore glasses, but it upped the intelligence quotient of the image—pen clenched between his teeth as he worked furiously to complete a huge spreadsheet of all the possible career options for Tanner.
Tanner Casey
You’re a closet nerd,
The jocks you played ball with
would wedgie you if they knew.
Lance Kingsley
Wedgie? What is this, 2002?...
Nothing closeted about it. They knew.
How do you think all those jokers
passed their math classes? Duh!
Tanner chuckled and shook his head, then he glanced at the time. Yikes, he’d just killed 40 minutes texting. He was set to meet with a client in 30 minutes and needed to get moving or he was going to be late.
Tanner Casey
Gotta go sell a premium lawn care contract…
I’ll try not to die from all the excitement
Lance Kingsley
Lol.
Have fun!
Chicken okay for dinner?
Tanner Casey
Sounds great,
But isn’t it my turn to cook?
Lance Kingsley
Blah, blah, blah!
Premium lawn care contract!
Focus Tanner!
Tanner chuckled and dropped the phone on the desk, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling as he attempted to reduce the wattage of his smile. If he walked out of his office smiling like a maniac, everyone would suspect something major was up, and he certainly wasn’t ready to have a conversation with anybody about his apparent gay awakening. Yet—it was much harder than it should have been to stop smiling as he stood up, preparing for yet another boring, soul-sucking sales pitch.
It was 7:30 p.m. by the time Tanner finally got to Lance’s place. His early morning smile and good mood vanished hours ago.
“Yo! So much for booking out of there at 5:30!” Lance ribbed him good-naturedly as he entered the living room. Lance was sprawled on the couch, feet up on the ottoman, watching a football game.
“Sorry about being so late for dinner,” Tanner apologized, feeling bad about his tardy arrival.
“No worries. Chicken might be a little dry, but it should still be edible,” Lance replied, getting up to head to the kitchen. He grimaced as he noticed the way Tanner was walking.
“Shit, are you okay? You look miserable,” Lance remarked as he walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the oven. Tanner wasn’t sure why, but he felt an immediate spike of anger at Lance’s question.
“Fine,” he snapped, causing Lance to glance up in surprise at his tone. Tanner wanted to apologize, but he was in such a shit mood that he was afraid he would just make things worse. Best to keep his mouth shut and just eat his dinner.
“Right,” Lance said flatly as he slipped on some oven mitts and pulled a loaded baking dish of chicken and vegetables from the oven. It smelled heavenly and it hadn’t been touched.
“You didn’t eat?” Tanner frowned in disapproval. Lance usually had dinner at 6:00. It was now going on 8:00. Why the hell hadn’t he eaten yet?
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why the hell not? It’s almost 8:00!”
“I figured I’d wait for you,” Lance replied, avoiding Tanner’s gaze as he reached for a serving spoon on top of the stove.
Tanner didn’t always understand what triggered his anger. He’d lost any semblance of control over it during his three years in hell, and now, apparently, something about being served a home-cooked meal was a trigger. He didn’t understand why—but his anger was all too real.
“Jesus, man. I’m not your fucking wife, you don’t have to wait for me! I was like two hours late! What the hell? I’m not like—your responsibility, or some shit. Just—” Tanner felt all tangled up inside from the emotional stress of a shit day at work and being blindsided by the strength of his feelings for Lance that were beyond anything he’d ever felt for a man. All of that boiled over inside until Tanner wasn’t sure what he was saying. He wasn’t even sure why he felt so out of control. He just knew he was angry, frustrated, and downright pissed. Whatever the fuck was wrong with him leached from every pore. He didn’t know exactly what his feelings for Lance were, or why the guy bothered with him—but what he did know was that he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be catered to like this.
“Well, I just—I figured—I wasn’t really all that hungry so I just—” Lance stammered, stunned by Tanner’s explosive anger. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“What the fuck are you sorry for? You should be pissed at me!” Tanner fought to contain his temper, fully aware that Lance didn’t deserve to be cussed out for being too nice!
Forcing himself to back off and calm down, Tanner reached around Lance, picked up the serving spoon, and filled their plates. Lance stood very still, watching him cautiously, as if Tanner might blow up again any second if he spoke or moved.
“It looks delicious. I’m sorry I was so late getting home.” Tanner apologized, ashamed of his behavior, knowing he needed to make things right. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it.
Lance accepted his loaded plate with a stiff nod and swallowed hard.
They ate without speaking, with Tanner’s fork occasionally scraping loudly across his plate. Lance barely made a sound as he slowly, and carefully ate his dinner. Every move, every bite, every look they exchanged felt strained, and while Tanner certainly hadn’t intended to make it awkward between them, he also didn’t know how to fix it. Tanner had broken something. He wasn’t sure what it was or how to explain it. He just knew it was broken. He just—he fucking hoped it could be fixed. He took a few more bites, hating the way Lance seemed to flinch every time his fork hit his plate, or he reached for his glass of water. He gave it a few more minutes, hoping Lance might speak first, but when the silence continued, he resolved himself to trying—something. Anything had to be an improvement.
He looked up quickly, raising his right hand, intending to make a formal apology for being an ungrateful little shit. However, before he could speak, Lance jumped up and his chair fell backwards, hitting the floor with a loud bang.
“Shit! I’m sorry!” Lance practically yelled. He looked—terrified. Tanner sat back, stunned by the sudden outburst and Lance’s fearful expression.
“Wait a fucking second—did you think I was about to hit you?” This was so confusing. Admittedly, he’d been a bit loud and riled up, but—violent? With Lance? Tanner could never be violent with him. But Lance’s body language didn’t lie. He’d reacted like someone who expected to get his ass kicked. Holy shit. Lance was scared of him. Tanner was responsible for frightening the nicest guy he’d ever met. He sat there in shock trying to figure out how things had gotten so out of control, so incredibly fast.
“I’m sorry,” Lance repeated, eyes downcast. He grabbed their plates, took them to the kitchen sink, and began washing them.
“Lance, I would never—” he stopped speaking, unsure of the right words to fix what just happened. How had Tanner fucked everything up so quickly? Lance had been perfectly happy before his arrival. His dinner was in the oven, a football game on TV. He hadn’t been pissed off at Tanner’s late arrival, so why in the hell had he gone and lost his shit?
“I’m such an asshole,” Tanner said, terrified he’d scared Lance off for good.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just—” Lance broke off to stare fixedly at the dish he was washing.
“Didn’t do anything wrong? I was such a dickhead that you thought I might hit you,” he replied in disbelief.
“You did nothing wrong,” Lance repeated. He said it so calmly, so readily—no hesitation whatsoever—like he’d said it countless times before. Like this was normal for him.
“Lance?” Tanner spoke gently and carefully. “Can we—can we talk about what just happened before I go off the deep end?” And as much as he’d like to pretend he needed to clear the air for Lance’s sake—it was mostly for his own. He could feel his sanity slipping.
Lance nodded swiftly but didn’t look up. “Sure.”
“Lance?” Tanner repeated, even softer this time. “Can you look at me? Please?”
And when he did, Tanner resisted the urge to reach out and pull him close to comfort him.
“Listen. I’m sorry—” He broke off with a heavy sigh, wanting so much to get this right. “I had a shit day, I walked in the door in a shit mood, and I took it out on you. And that’s not right. I’m not even sure why I was so angry. I just—” he shook his head again and hated himself for his inability to speak as eloquently as he would have wished. “You slaved over a hot stove all day and waited for my dumb ass to get home to eat, and I had a fucking fit about it like a real jackass, and I’m really sorry.”
Lance gave a choked laugh and said, “I don’t know about slaving all day—I bought the meal kit at Costco—”
“Don’t be humble—I saw the polka dot apron,” Tanner joked, relying on his goofy brand of humour to get them back on solid ground.
Lance rolled his eyes at that.
“I really am sorry, though.”
“It’s fine,” Lance said, waving the apology away.
“It really isn’t—not when you still look like I’m about to hit you.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Lance said, shaking his head.
“You flinched—and then you fucking jumped out of the way.”
“And I’m sorry about that—”
“You’re not allowed to apologize for getting scared. It makes no fucking sense—” Tanner protested, as Lance finally cracked a smile. “I promise I would never hurt you. Not even on my worst day,” he vowed, feeling his chest tighten as he fought the urge to hug Lance.
“I know,” Lance said with a nod and a sad little smile. “Really, I know.”
“Then why did you flinch?”
And it must have been the right question—or maybe even the wrong one—because Lance avoided Tanner’s gaze and resumed washing dishes. Tanner tried waiting him out. It didn’t work.
“Lance—” Tanner said, aware that he was pushing the limit of what was considered normal for bros to discuss but not caring all that much as he leaned forward, placing a hand on Lance’s forearm and squeezing gently. Lance’s movements stilled, but he didn’t pull away.
“I know you wouldn’t hit me, but—my dad used to, and I never really got over the conditioned response to get as far fucking away as possible from people when they get angry. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s even worse with people who are passive-aggressive. The whole—silent treatment one second, slamming cupboards the next, it makes me crazy. You ever been around someone like that?”
“Not really—” Tanner said, trying to figure out exactly what Lance was getting at.
“Doesn’t matter—” Lance said with an awkward laugh.
“Tell me,” Tanner pleaded softly. It was usually the other way around, with Lance digging for information like he was mining for gold. But that’s not how things were going to go today. Today Tanner was the one who wanted—needed—to know more, now that his suspicions were confirmed that Lance was no stranger to domestic violence.
“That kind of behavior isn’t rational, I know that, but my dad was a mean drunk, and like most mean drunks, you never really knew what would set him off. He’d seem perfectly fine at first, maybe just a bit grumpy about the weather, or the price of beer, but the next thing you knew, you’d be slammed up against the fridge, getting choked ‘cause you’d shut the fridge door a little too hard. It never made much sense what set him off, but it was always sudden, harsh, and disproportionate. I never really got past that,” he said with disarming honesty. “Even with Julie, I still felt like a stupid kid. She was passive-aggressive, you know. And then by the end, when she realized that I didn’t want to go to New York, she was so furious—” he shook his head, glancing at Tanner for reassurance that he understood.
“Were you afraid she’d blow up and—hit you?”
Lance gave a sharp nod. “Shows how much of a pussy I am, ‘cause she was about 5’3” and 120 pounds,” he added, and although he meant it as a joke, neither one cracked a smile. “But when she got like that—she sounded exactly like my father.”
“I’m really fucking sorry. For everything—” he said regretfully, as he reached up—very slowly—to wrap his arms around Lance.
That’s right—he was committing to being full-on gay—at least in his mind—and going in for a really comforting, heartwarming goddamned hug.
Lance laughed as he slipped his arms completely around Tanner. His hands were damp from the dishwater, but his body was warm, and solid, and Tanner never wanted this feeling to end.
“What a fine pair of messed up dudes we make, yeah?” Lance joked.
They couldn’t stay locked together. Not for long. Not if Tanner didn’t want Lance to notice his boner from snuggling up so close to all those muscles. He had to step back to save his manly pride and sanity.
“That chicken was fucking amazing, Chef Lance,” Tanner said with a smile.
“Glad you liked it—and for the record, I’ll hold off on serving dinner any damned time I feel like it,” Lance replied, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest.
“Yes, sir!” Tanner laughed and did a mock salute.
And if they stared into each other’s eyes smiling like goddamned idiots for longer than the situation called for, well, that was just between them.
By the time they finished with cleaning up after dinner, it was about 10:00 p.m., but neither one mentioned going to bed. Instead, they migrated to the couch to watch an old action film from the 1970s with lots of Grade B actors and poorly done fight scenes.
“Why were you so late?” Lance asked, during a break in the action onscreen.
“Lady called to complain about one of our maintenance guys. Said he’d nearly run over her cat. She was hysterical, wanted to call the cops on him. What a waste of my time. It turns out that it was a total load of bullshit.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “It shouldn’t have gotten me in such a mood but—” he shook his head as he struggled to find the words. “It’s harder than it used to be to shake it off. Shit just—builds up and then I feel like I could explode,” he admitted feeling defeated. “Never used to be like that before—”
“You went through hell, T,” Lance said, with a sad smile. “It’ll take some time for your mind to adjust.”
But what if it never did? Was the cursed question on Tanner’s mind whenever it happened again. What if Tanner never learned to regulate his emotions like a normal fucking person. How many times could he lose his shit before he lost any kind of remaining credibility?
“Yeah—hopefully I won’t have to deal with any more Karens and their stupid cats,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“You hate your job, don’t you?” Lance looked at Tanner with no small amount of sympathy.
“It’s a job. You don’t have to love it. It just has to pay the bills.” This was a well-practiced lie. He’d told his mother and sister the same thing a few dozen times.
“Bullshit,” Lance said, shaking his head. He frowned at Tanner as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
Tanner’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Dude, no one flies helicopters into war zones for the paycheck. There are much easier ways to make dough. Clearly, you had to really love it. Can’t be easy going from a dream job to a lame ass one.”
“Times change. I’m older now,” he said, like the guy he’d been three years ago was some long-lost version of himself that he’d outgrown rather than let go of by necessity.
“We age, but we don’t change the fundamentals of who we are,” Lance argued.
“Okay, Shakespeare, chill out,” Tanner joked.
Lance merely shrugged, declaring, “I’m right, and you’re out of rebuttals.”
Tanner scoffed and shook his head. “Rebuttals? Seriously?”
Lance snorted and carried on with his argument that Tanner really needed to look into better job prospects.
“There’s gotta be something you want? A job, a life? Something that might make you happy?”
And suddenly, Tanner mentally pictured the list he’d started on that his shrink had mandated.
Hopes and Fucking Dreams
Except it wasn’t just a title now.
After he’d gotten his rocks off staring at Lance’s picture and fantasizing about that incredible body he’d seen at the water park, he’d gone home and found the list on his desk. Hurriedly, he’d scribbled down his new dream, and then he’d slammed the notebook shut, emotionally unprepared to deal with it right then. But he knew what he’d written beneath that title. He couldn’t fool himself.
Hopes and Fucking Dreams
Lance Kingsley
“I’m working on it,” he said, swallowing against the emotion tightening his throat.
Lance nodded his approval and went back to watching the movie.
*****
It was way past their normal bedtime. Hell, Lance didn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed this late. He was too old for late nights and early mornings, but he just wasn’t quite ready to give up the contentment he felt sitting there next to Tanner.
“That was terrible,” Tanner said, as the credits rolled, turning to Lance with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
“Right?” Lance replied, though he hadn’t actually watched more than two minutes of the entire film. His attention was focused inwardly on what he and Tanner had been talking about after dinner.
“Should probably let you hit the hay.” Tanner sighed and yawned.
“Right,” he replied, reluctantly getting to his feet. He watched Tanner start to make up the couch and felt like he needed to give him some sort of reassurance that everything between them really was okay again.
“Will you tell me, you know, next time things aren’t going well?”
Tanner turned to him with an amused, slightly confused look.
“I know you’re more the strong and silent type, but I don’t do well with uncertainty. If you’re in a shit mood, and I can’t figure out why, I’m probably gonna panic for no good reason, and that shouldn’t be your problem to deal with but—”
“Lance—” Tanner interrupted and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.
Lance took a deep breath and decided to ask for what he needed.
“Next time you’ve had a shit day, and need a little space—can you tell me?”
“I promise.” Tanner gave him a look that was heated and suggestive. Lance was confident that he’d seen that look many times over the years from lots of girls, but he couldn’t recall ever being on the receiving end of that look when it came from another guy. His gut automatically tightened in response. “And just to be clear, I would never raise a hand to you.”
“I know. That’s why I offered you my couch,” Lance teased with a wink.
“Ah, and here I was thinking it was for my good looks and charming personality,” Tanner replied, winking back.
“Well—that too, of course! Goodnight, Tanner.”
He didn’t slow down long enough to hear Tanner’s reply as he headed up the stairs because the temptation to return to the living room and ask for a goodnight hug was too powerful. Instead, he stumbled into his bedroom, his head filled with confusing thoughts, trying to convince himself it was neither lust nor want he’d seen in Tanner’s expression only a few minutes ago. He was unable to entirely rid himself of the urge to go back downstairs to hug Tanner, but he didn’t leave his bedroom either.