Work Text
CHOPIN“Claro que si, papi. Yeah. Yeah. Si, papi - I, yeah I know, I love you, too. I said I love you, too. Te amo también. Mhm. Yeah - hey - Dad I gotta go, I’ve got a thing - well, tutoring.”Max dug his toe into the carpet a little bit, rocking back and forth like he was on a board. He’d rather be on his board.When? asked Dad.“Five minutes ago. Nah, nah, you’re good, she’ll understand. Para mi clase de Inglés. Te amo también. Si, papi, más tarde. Alright, bye. Bye.”Max pressed the hang up and exhaled.
Amo a ese hombre.
He smiled to himself and checked the paper again. Goddammit.Which practice room was it?
Was that a 2 or a 5?
It was either 315 or 312.*ping*Max pulled out his phone again, squinted at it for a minute, then hit the button for the screen reader. That was definitely Liz’s number, but he already had a headache from trying to do the reading for English I, and today had been unnecessarily annoying. It was raining, so no skating after class to blow off steam, and PJ was off with Mocha. Bobby had decided to audition for the fall musical for reasons he refused to explain, and that left him scrambling for a study partner, and this was not happening without a study partner.Hey Max,
Sorry for the last minute cancellation, I forgot I
had a project due at midnight.
Mind if we reschedule?He scoffed a bit.
Fantastica - no es que necesito ayuda desesperadamente ni nada.But he texted back -
sure, no probelmYou’re a saint, Goof.
Next week, same time?Next week? Damn, he actually needed help sooner than that. This make up quiz was due at midnight, too, and he hadn’t gotten past the first page of - five? Six? He hadn’t looked ahead and he didn’t want to. It was just gonna make him more stressed.Np 👍That’s all he had energy for.The music school was mostly abandoned since they didn’t have classes on Fridays, so his ears pricked up at the sound of a piano going off somewhere around the next corner of the hallway.What was that - Beethoven? Nope, it was more contemporary than that.
Definitely romantic.
Hold on, he knew this.Chopin.One of the nocturnes.
Key of E-flat - major…Opus 9.And whoever was playing kept adding even more embellishments in the most complicated places. Curiosity was one hundred percent going to get the better of him on this one. He knew most of the piano majors, a few of the professors, and none of them played like that. The majors didn’t have the virtuoso for all those complicated passages even though they’d all had to audition to get into the department, and the professors were so burnt out that their expression was non-existent and they played almost fully technically. Whoever this was knew their way around the keys and was putting their heart into it.He peeked through the little window in the practice room door and felt like he was walking through a weird dream. Light brown hair, sweater pulled over a collared shirt and khakis, his board leaned up against the side of the upright piano, leather messenger bag on the floor. Sweet Jesus, what he was seeing couldn’t be real.Brad?Shit - he was really good. Accurate, soulful, adding flourishes as he saw fit - just as Chopin intended it.Max’s face curled into a mischievous smile. The guys were not going to believe this.Brad - excuse me Bradley Uppercrust the Third - had barely been seen on campus all semester. Max knew he’d been kicked out of the Gamma house, and that the Gamma guys only said his name with a look of disgust on their faces.“Daddy Uppercrust is a lawyer and bailed him out of everything.” Tank had told him at a campus party like six weeks ago.Unsurprising. Even though he’d almost killed three people.When he was spotted, Bradley had kept his head down, skating to class, avoiding eye contact with everyone, answering questions when called upon and that was about it. PJ said he saw him in pre-law classes a lot - following in his dad’s footsteps, no doubt. But other than that he was a ghost. Somebody said they’d seen him in a discussion post for one of the online classes.So what was he doing in the music school, tearing up a Chopin piece like he belonged in Carnegie Hall?Max was a master of opening doors quietly. Sneaking up on one of the other Troop guys and scaring the shit out of them when they were focused on something was a standard house prank, and they all loved to hate it. Max was the master ninja - as evidenced by the dried spray of canned cheese on Bobby’s ceiling from the last time he’d snuck up on him while he was jamming out to some girl-pop singer.This would be satisfying.He slipped behind Brad - noting that the guy was fucking playing with his eyes closed.Actualmente - wait - ¿Qué es esto?He stopped before he was all the way out of Bradley’s periphery. With his eyes closed? Damn. And with an expression on his face that wasn’t arrogance or rage for once. Max felt everything inside him stop, and squirm a little, too, if he was honest.Dios mio, hombre - ¿esta bien?He closed the door just as stealthily behind him and leaned against it, watching his rival’s face paint itself from focused, to sad, to happy, back again, angry - that was familiar - then - sad again? Bradley’s fingers flew like this was their natural habitat - not the skatepark.
As the crescendo built, so did the rocking movement of Bradley’s torso. Like it felt good because of more than just the music, like it was soothing to rock like that. A thing Max recognized and understood better than he usually talked about. Skating usually scratched that particular itch.Max tilted his head. Huh. Interesante.The last few chords were quiet but he knew there were three of them and he waited for the last one to die away and for Bradley’s fingers to lift gently from the keys.“Bravo, dude.” He said, applauding.If Bradley had jumped any harder he'd have fallen off the piano bench. He almost did - several of the lowest keys sang out in protest at being clung to as if they were the edge of a cliff.“Jesus fucking Christ!” he panted. “Freshman?!”Max grinned his favorite faked-innocence grin and held up a gloved hand.“Hola...”“The fuck are you doing in here, Freshman?”He jerked a thumb toward the hallway. “Music minor.”Bradley swallowed hard, catching his breath. Max rocked on his heels awkwardly.“And you know - I had a study session but it got canceled.”“That still doesn't explain why you barged into this practice room.” Bradley’s eyes darted around. “Shit, did you have it signed out?”“Nah, I was just curious.”Bradley bit his lip like he was about to lose it, which was always entertaining. “You snuck in here and scared me shitless cause you were curious?”“Well I was gonna scare you on purpose but I ended up scaring you…accidentally?”The preppy white boy slammed the lid down over the keys and grabbed his bag. “Figures. Show’s over, Goof, you can go yuck it up with those other freaks.”“Hey -” Max put a hand out to poke Brad in the chest in defense of his friends and stopped.This wasn't the typical Bradley bluster. Yeah, he was being an asshole as usual, but he wasn't standing up as straight and he wasn't making eye contact. His hands were even shaking on the strap of his messenger bag and he looked…genuinely shaken.“...Sorry.” he finished, and he meant it.Bradley did look up, eyes ablaze. “You want to rub everything in a little more, Goof, is that what this is?”“Rub what in? The games?”Bradley sneered. “Clearly.”“No, I - I haven't really thought about that since the break. I just - I thought you were really good, I wanted to hear you play.”Bradley raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, unimpressed.“And…I thought scaring the shit out of you would be funny.” he said innocently, which didn't work, and he stepped in a disgusted Bradley’s way a second time. “But hey - I won't do it again, okay? You're really talented, and if I embarrassed you, I'm sorry.”Bradley squinted at him suspiciously.“Apology accepted.”“Great!”“You were leaving?”Max felt his smile fade. There really was no getting anywhere with this guy.Their cellphones both gave off the same horrifying alarm sound. Bradley’s hands went straight to his ears, as did Max's, but Bradley shut his eyes, so Max reached for his pocket to disable the sound on at least his end.SEVERE WEATHER ALERT.He tapped the screen reader.“The National Weather service has issued a tornado warning for the following counties….”Bradley reached and silenced his phone and listened.“...residents are encouraged to shelter in place until…8….30…PM…”It was 7:30.Max felt his stomach rumble. The caf would be closed by the time they were out of here.Well this is some bullshit.He looked up at Bradley who had sat down on the floor with his back against the wall, paler than he'd ever seen him, even after the week he'd been booted from the Gammas.“Guess we better sit tight, Freshman.” he said.“I bet I can make it to the caf, it's only across campus.”“You wanna get sucked up in a tornado? You got a death wish, Freshman?”Max shrugged. “You think I'd get to meet Dorothy?”“That's not how any of that story works, you dumbass.”“I'll be fine.”“Max!” Bradley’s voice cracked.Max stopped digging his jacket out of his backpack.“So you do know my actual name…” That was maybe the third time he hadn't called him Goof or Freshman.Bradley tilted his head reproachfully at him. “Come on, man, at least wait out the worst of it. I've already almost had your blood on my hands once.”“Aww…touching apology, Brad.”“Bradley.”“I've heard it both ways.”“It's Bradley.”A big thunderclap shot down right outside and the power went out.“Fuck!” said Bradley’s voice in the darkness, and then the backup generator kicked in and flicked the lights back on.Max had sat down in the dark, sliding down the wall next to Bradley.“Looks like I'm sitting it out.”“You think?”Silence lapsed and after a couple minutes Max pulled out the assignment. Due in Dr. Talbot’s box by midnight, and he know the Doc would check first thing in the morning and dock thirty points for late turn-in.Bradley just sat with his knees up, one heel drumming into the carpet while he watched the sky outside.Com…pl…e…te… complete. T…h..th..is…this… sen..
Complete this sentence:Wh…en. When in the coorne…coonse…courne… course.Course.When in the course ofHuman. human events…OH.He took the pencil he'd chewed almost to a pulp and started scribbling.“It becomes ness…” Fuck. How do you spell…?Ness. Ess. Ary.But there was a C in there somewhere. Why the fuck would you put a C in the middle of a word that sounded like that?*doo-doot*.“Siri, how do you spell “necessary”?”*doo-doot*.The loading wheel chased itself around eight or nine times.Nothing.*doo-doot*.“Siri, how do you…?”The screen flashed up an ‘unable to connect to network’ notification.Shit.Bradley didn’t look away from the window. “N, E, C…”Max didn’t hesitate. N, E, C. “Yeah?”“E, S, S, A, R, Y.”When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one - “Peeple? People.He knew the rest.
“..people to dissolve the political bands that which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation."Took him fifteen minutes to write it - he didn’t ask for help again until he got to “impel”, and looked up to see Brad staring at him.“Are you still on that one?” the dude asked. “Wasn’t that the quiz two weeks ago?”Max was too focused to be defensive. “Yeah, I flunked it, this is a makeup test.”Bradley’s forehead wrinkled. “How’d you flunk it? You knew all the answers in class.”“Talbot only gives written tests.” He was surprised he’d been paying attention.“And?”Max looked up, one eyebrow cocked. “I’m dyslexic as fuck, dude.”Sin mencionar que el inglés no es mi primera lengua. Y tengo que traducir todo en mi mente que no es muy fácil.“Oh - that’s why you…here, do you need a hand?”Max had never heard Bradley’s voice in any other tone than condescension or rage and it was unnerving. He’d known more than a few people who liked to exploit him for “homework money” in high school, and they always started out acting all nice.“I’m fine.”“You have three hours to turn in a fifty question test and it just took you fifteen minutes to fill out the first question.”“I’ll just have one of the guys help me with it later.” he said, which was a lie, but he didn’t want to admit how much he needed the help to Bradley of all people.“You just need a set of eyes, right?”Max looked at Bradley. Bradley held out his hand, offering to look at the test, then jumped at another crack of thunder that hit too close to the building. There was no pretense - the guy was shaking.¿Qué demonios está pasando?He handed the test over.Bradley fished a pair of glasses out of his messenger bag. Max stared - he’d never seen Bradley wear glasses before, and something in his stomach twinged that made him question a lot of things. Bradley glanced over what he’d written, then dug for a pencil and erased something using his bouncing knee as a desk.“Uh…what are you doing?”“You misspelled ‘entitle’.”“What’d I say?”“I mean, you said ‘in-tight-el’, so you added a ‘gh’ and…it’s, it’s fine, I just fixed it.”Max leaned over and glanced over his shoulder. Bradley’s handwriting was a thousand times neater than his. And it was in cursive which looked nice but was completely unreadable.“I might need to write that myself, Talbot will definitely notice the…calligraphy.”“You want it to look like shit?”“I don’t want to get points docked for having someone else do my work - he’s gonna think some nursing major did it for me, and we can’t have that.”He snatched the paper back, but smiled playfully so as not to hurt his feelings.“Look, if you don’t want my help…” Bradley did look hurt for a second, then registered he was being smiled at and swallowed, eyes drifting down to the carpet.“I’m messing with you, man.”“...I’d get it.”“No, no, I appreciate it.”Zip - CRASH!That one was right outside the window. Bradley ducked involuntarily toward him, then scooted back away as if Max had something contagious.Their phones went off again - Bradley scrambled to silence his. Max tapped the screen reader again.Same message, except the shelter in place had extended another thirty minutes.Bradley pulled out his headphones and made himself busy turning them on and connecting the bluetooth to his phone.Max looked the second question and it swam on the page.Dios me odia.“Dammit.”Bradley ripped the headphones back off and shoved them into his bag.“Sup?”“My headphones died.”Max had had one headphone in and the other in his pocket since he’d hung up with Dad. The one in his pocket he offered to Bradley.“Truce?”“I doubt we have the same music taste, but I appreciate it.”“Suit yourself.”Another fifteen minutes rolled by. Max got through question 2 -2) What is the main idea the writers of the Declaration of Independence were trying to get across when writing the document?He wrote a much less articulate answer than the one he’d given during class discussion and hoped Talbot would count that day’s participation toward his answer on paper. He knew he probably wouldn’t. The old man was a stickler for “showing your work”.Bradley watched absently, trying to distract himself from the storm and several times volunteered spellings when he could tell Max was struggling.Question 3 took him another ten minutes and Bradley snatched the paper back again.“Hey!”“I can’t watch this anymore.” He peered through his reading glasses. “‘Define 'call to action' in the context of persuasive writing and provide an example.’”“Call to action is is a statement designed to urge the audience to take immediate action or respond in a specific way.”Bradley’s giant eyebrows went up. “Not bad, Freshman.”“I usually record the lectures.”“That why you always have your earbuds in?”“Sometimes.”Bradley handed the paper back. “Knock yourself out.”Call to action is a statement…“Designed? D,E,S,I…?”“G, N.”“That’s the fuckery.”Bradley snorted. “The fuckery?”“El inglés es un idioma de locos.” He said, then chuckled at the confused white boy and translated himself. “It’s a nonsense language.”“Spanish is a lot more organized, I’ll give you that.”Max smiled - the one where he knew the gap teeth showed, but that was okay. It was only the worst guy on campus.“Hey - are we gonna be friends, Brad?”“Bradley.” He cocked an eyebrow and spat his name out.“That’s not a no.”And the partially playful look turned fully annoyed. “Focus, Freshman.”.8:00 pm rolled around.8:15.8:20.The storm warning got extended three more times.They fell into a rhythm of passing the paper back and forth - Bradley reading the question, Max saying the answer aloud and then scribbling it out with his spelling coach watching over his shoulder.Eventually, the way Bradley’s knee was shaking got to Max and he offered the earbud again. Bradley took him up on it the second time. Max tried to keep the playlist mellow and instrumental when possible.
Bradley seemed surprised by the picks and didn’t ask for anything to be skipped. Eventually his knee stopped bouncing quite so fast and a few times Max grinned to himself when he caught him bobbing his head to the music.The whole thing felt like a dream. You know those ones where the last person you ever expected to be nice to you shows up in the last place you expect them and offers to help you with your homework because you can’t read for shit?
Like that.It was 11:30 before the storm fully passed and they left the practice room together, Bradley clutching his messenger bag and not saying a word, Max thanking him profusely for the help and the two of them setting their boards on the drenched campus sidewalk.“Hey - you ever want a study buddy again, you know where to find me!” Max said, one foot already up and ready to push off. “I suck at English but I’m not half-bad with numbers.”Bradley blinked at him and something unreadable crossed his face. “Yeah, maybe.”“Later, Bradley.” He winked, just for the hell of it and skated away, doing his damndest to ignore the fact that his stomach had done the thing and that Bradley had blushed - blushed? - and that all that had been when he’d only been joking. He’d only been joking. Right?Sólo estaba bromeando, ¿verdad?“It’s Bradley…uh…yeah.” Bradley’s voice carried from under the light over the music school door. “Later.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
AFTERMATHThe fuck was that the fuck was that the fuck was that??Bradley’s longboard clacked and sloshed over sidewalk squares to the rhythm of his heart and, consequently, his brain.This commute was a pain in the ass. He had to find a spot closer to campus when this sublet was up. Twenty minutes wasn’t that bad when the weather was good, but like this - at midnight with this sky still reddish-black in the aftermath of the tornado warning and the air smelling electric - or in a month or so when it heated up to 90-plus degrees, it was going to be miserable.The fuck was that??Max Goof caught me playing piano.
Max Goof said I was really talented and he like hearing me play.
Max Goof shared his headphones and just sat there studying with me for three and a half hours.
Okay, he didn’t really have a choice on that one, Bradley, so maybe calm the fuck down? You’re looking desperate, babe, and it’s not cute.He rounded a corner too fast and almost went flying when he hit a puddle.Walking. Walking was also fine.
It was only a few more blocks.Did Max Goof fucking wink at me?Max winked at everybody. He was a flirty motherfucker, and no matter how annoying he was he still managed to be charming.
He really had scared the absolute shit out of him in the practice room, but something about the cute little wave and the “Hola…” in that voice that was somehow melodic and gravelly at once and the dumb fucking gap teeth that sometimes stuck out like idiotic little fangs…Shut the fuck up, brain. You’ve already fucked that up royally, there’s a reason you live a 20 minute skate off campus in a shitty sublet in a shitty apartment building.Said shitty apartment building appeared over the hill, shrouded in the shadows of the old trees that grew up around it that he thought way too much about certain limbs whenever it rained. A couple had come down with all the wind, but thankfully only on the street and not on any of the building.He flipped his keys out of his pocket and started the three-floor walkup two steps at a time. Almost home, and then he could shower and grab his extra headphones and dissociate to whatever music came up on shuffle until he fell asleep.The plan was his usual one and he almost followed it, but his stomach protested at having been neglected all day and the fridge was almost empty. Cereal. Good enough. But the milk was expired.I’m getting so messy.Careless, Dad would call it.He glanced around at the sink of dishes, the pile of laundry that just kept getting bigger, the pizza boxes and beer cans and energy drink cans and soda cans. Damn, when was the last time he’d drunk water?You gotta get your fucking life together, bitch. Look at this shit.He slung his messenger bag onto the couch and rolled his sleeves up. It must have been a month since he deep cleaned. The extra headphones went over his ears and he waited for the right track to come on for the music to move him to wherever the most dopamine would hit from. Laundry would make the most sense, but the dishes called his name, then trash, so the laundry didn’t get started til 2 am and he resigned himself to staying up to switch it over when the cycle ended. By then his head was pounding from still not having eaten but the caf opened at seven. What was another five hours?
Might as well clean out his bag while he was at it.He flipped through his notes, smiled that at least those were nice and neat, and felt his stomach do that annoying buzzy thing again.Max couldn’t read. Okay - could read.“I’m dyslexic as fuck, dude.”So that’s why no reply.The letter he’d left on the porch over Christmas break was probably buried somewhere under a pile of pizza boxes or just in the garbage. The whole thing had been cursive. So he hadn’t just ignored it. Which was…comforting?He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.Just like, thirty more minutes, Bradley. Then you can get some sleep.And his brain split into three and started all out arguing.Max. Can’t. Read.Yes. He. Can.Hey - maybe you shut the hell up? There’s a headache building in here.You thought he was being a dick about everything - did you see the way he was smiling at you?Calm the fuck down. He had a girlfriend for like three years, we know this.That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like guys, he flirts with goddamn near everyone.Maybe he’s just friendly? Also, why are we yelling?I’m just saying -What the fuck was that what the fuck was that what the fuck was that?Oh, great, now this guy’s back. Again- headache.Everyone just calm the hell down.Too many thoughts, too many feelings. Too many thoughts, too many feelings.Oh shit, not this again. Heyyy buddy.
Hey man, breathe.Breathe.Can’t breathe.Breathe.Breathe.Can’t breathe!!!What’s that in the bag?Bradley held his breath the way he’d read somewhere might help if you felt like you couldn’t and it didn’t do fucking anything. His fingers shook as he pulled out the mystery paper.Practice room 317 - 7:30 FridaySee you there!
LizOkay?Writing on the back, y’all.Bradley flipped it over. He had to squint at it for a minute before the scrawl computed.(407) 939-5277SUTDY BUDDY ANYTIMEMAXShit.Shit.Well, shit.???!!!!!Breathe.Breathe.Breathe.Can’t breathe!!
AFTERMATH IIIt wasn’t until Max was about to slip the test into Talbot’s box that he recognized the handwriting and froze. Where the fuck had he seen cursive like that before? No need to actually think about it that hard, he knew.That weird mystery letter that had appeared on the porch of the house the last day of fall finals that had his name on it and was three pages long - front and back. He'd done his best to make sense of it.He got:Max..I'm writing to…And then it all had run together and he'd run out to catch Dad to give him the X games cup.The letter had sat on his desk all break, and when he'd come back he'd tried again, but PJ invited him to Bean Scene, and the next time he'd asked Bobby, but Bobby was high out of his gourd that night and just kept giggling without telling him what it said. He’d just said -“Oooooh - troubllleeee….” and then passed out, crossfaded as fuck, and Max had had to babysit him all night.After that the semester had taken off and it had gotten buried under textbooks and takeout menus and whatnot, and he’d honestly forgotten about it.He stared at Bradley’s handwriting in the margin of the test and felt his forehead wrinkle. Brad had written him a three page letter? What the hell could warrant three pages?He fished out his chewed-up pencil and erased the last sign of assistance from the test paper and shoved it in Talbot’s box, resisting the urge to flip off the security camera as if the Doc was watching. The clock in the department office hallway read 11:50, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He was actually pretty confident of a more than just passing grade on this one, and that would save his ass when it came to his current GPA and his scholarships.No tienes idea de cuánto acabas de salvarme el trasero, gringo.And then he raced home, enjoying the smell of the fresh post-rainstorm grass and the crickets and the way the wind felt on his skin, and thinking. They’d listened to several dozen other songs, but that Chopin piece was still stuck in his head as if it had embedded itself in his brain.He hummed it as he kicked his board up under his arm, took all three front steps of the rundown rental house in one jump and made a loud enough entrance into the kitchen to wake the whole house. Not that he had to worry about that. Bobby was sitting up with a handful of theatre majors in the living room - all of them high and ‘so glad to meet him’ - and PJ’s date was evidently going well. His room was still empty, though the smell of the cologne he only broke out for Mocha lingered near his nightstand.He kicked his shoes off just inside his own bedroom door and went straight for the desk.There it was - the envelope wrinkled a bit and torn at one corner, but the letter was still inside. He sat at the desk for once - usually he plunked down on the bed - and wonder of wonders, turned on the old reading lamp Dad had given him when he was cleaning out the garage over winter break.The pages brushed against his gloves as he took them out and he sucked in a breath. This would take all night, probably, but Bradley’s whole demeanor had been so different tonight, and he just had to know.Max -I’m writing to ap- ol - o - gi - apologize. For my ac-ti- - actions.Aww. What a formal dork. Why the hell was it three pages?He grabbed a ruler from the desk drawer to keep himself on the correct line.The first page, once he got through it twenty minutes later, was your bog-standard apology letter - a lot of “I acknowledge” and “I understands”. Surprisingly no attempts to defend his intentions, no excuses.It did get more personal as it went on.“I realize how my actions did and could have affected others - and how much you care about the people I almost hurt.
You are so lucky to have so many people in your life who care about you unconditionally like that. I hate that I very nearly took that away.I have to admit, it’s one of the things I admire most about you - how much you care about people.Max’s breath hitched a bit.
¿Bradley me admira?His head was pounding. This much had taken him an hour, but that wasn’t going to stop him.…how much you care about people.The Chopin piece had been playing on a loop in his head long enough that he looked it up and streamed it through his laptop, also on a loop. Something about it helped him concentrate.…how much you care about people.I don’t know if you’ll ever actually read this, and I don’t blame you if you don’t want me around. I caused a lot of harm, and the awful part is I enjoyed doing it in the moment. So I think I might be
Something here was crossed out.
Max’s head tilted and he squinted to try to decode it.A - okay ‘a’ - The second word started with ‘m’. Max didn’t need to spell it out to guess, and he felt his forehead wrinkle with genuine concern for the guy.¿Bradley piensa que es un….?From there the script got less organized and even with the ruler he was having trouble knowing what line he was on.Knock, knock, knock.“You okay, man?” PJ stood in the door - short-sleeve button-down a little more wrinkled than it had been when he left.Max grinned as he gave him a once-over and cocked an eyebrow. “Have fun?”PJ blushed. “Shut up, man.”“I’m really happy for you.”PJ had been his best friend since they were tiny little snot-nosed kids, and seeing him happy was one of his favorite things in the world.…how much you care about people.The thought of that line must have made his face slip, because the worried look came back.“Whatcha got there, pal?”Max glanced down at the letter. “You remember that weird letter that got left on the porch right before winter break?”“The one we said was from a serial killer?”“I think I figured out who wrote it.”“No shit, man - ¿puedo…?”“Yeah, knock yourself out.” Max surrendered it, but felt a weird protectiveness over it, like it belonged to him.I mean, it did belong to him, it was addressed to him, but he and the guys had cackled so much about Max’s secret serial killer admirer during winter break when it they’d been down at his Dad’s house and the letter left alone up here on the desk that he felt a little twinge of guilt that he’d given Bradley quite so much shit.I think I might be a m…PJ’s eyes scanned the first page, then the second, reading faster and eyes getting wider with every line.“Dios mio…he actually fucking apologized.” PJ said almost to the ether. “Like, actually genuinely apologized.”“I got most of the first page but you know cursive es la pesadilla de mi existencia.”PJ leaned on the door jam and read the whole thing aloud. It went on for long enough for Bobby to come and investigate, then asked for them to start over and the three stood in the hallway outside Max’s room listening to PJ while the theatre majors started a game of ‘Would you rather’ in the living room that quickly got wildly sexual.Bobby took his sunglasses off for the first time in days.PJ was gaining his lawyer voice, and also did a pretty spot-on Bradley impression, but the oration quickly went from in character to PJ just saying the words with a sense of awe and, if they were all honest, a little bit of admiration.Anyways - I hope you can find a way to forgive me, someday. You and all those guys. You all seem like good people, and I hope one day I can be lucky enough to say“He scratched something else out.” said PJ.“Ooh, juicy.” Bobby chimed in.Max leaned further in.…lucky enough to say that I know you all, at least.I’m sorry again for everything.Humbly and sincerely,Bradley Daniel Uppercrust IIIBobby grinned. “Daniellll….”Daniel? Max thought.“Dios.”
“Sabes ¿verdad?”Max took the letter again and looked at the signature on the bottom.Sorry again for everything.I hope one day I can be lucky enough to say that I know you all, at least.I have to admit, it’s one of the things I admire most about you - how much you care about people.“Maxie, baby - you’re in outer space.” Bobby waved a hand in front of Max’s face. “You good? Hellooo, Earth to Maximillion…”Max caught Bobby’s hand and gave him a look.Bobby cowed playfully. “Sorry, sorry - I know better.”PJ looked at it one more time, too, his face solemn and thinking. Max made eye contact with him and knew they were thinking the same thing.“Peej, what are you making tomorrow night?”PJ was next up on the cooking rotation and smiled. “No se - what do sad, repentant rich white boys eat?”Bobby considered this very seriously for more than a minute, holding a hand up for silence before filling in the blank completely seriously with - “Ass.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Pete Jr. walked into Poli-Sci on Monday a little more nervous than usual. His mission - should he choose to accept it - and he had because Max had asked him to - invite Bradley Uppercrust III over to the Troop house for dinner.What a wild turn of events, man.From almost dying at the hands of a deranged rich boy to reading the very sincere and honestly heartbreaking apology letter - it was very clear the last few months hadn't been kind to the only other pre-law student who got around campus on a skateboard.Just be casual about it and maybe he won't yell at you.He still seemed like a pretty angry person but like - depressed angry. Before he'd been cocky, bordering on deranged. Now he was always fifteen minutes early to class with his nose in his textbook, willing himself to be invisible.Where is he?He wasn't in his usual spot. PJ scanned the room.The professor had brought his kid. He hadn't done that before, but her facial features were a copy paste of Dr. Samuel. She was maybe seven, sitting at the front of the lecture hall in a pink tutu and a Little Mermaid t-shirt.PJ registered the cochlear implants right away, waved politely to her and took his seat in the front row. She beamed and waved back, sparkly shoes dangling from the stool she sat on while her dad set up the PowerPoint on the lecture.‘Learn ASL’ went on his mental list of things to do someday.Along with it were currently ‘Surfing’, ‘Run a 5K’, ‘Pass the Bar’, ‘Propose to Mocha’...He blushed at the memory of Friday night.I think she actually really likes me.Several minutes went by. PJ checked his watch - a birthday gift from his Dad. Although Dad would probably get mad if he knew he was actually using it and not keeping it pristine in the box.Class started in three minutes, and Bradley was never late. His usual seat in the back was already taken. Thinking, PJ put his backpack on the empty seat next to him and kept glancing back every couple seconds. Samuel's daughter noticed and quickly got invested.Bradley slunk in at 10:01 looking either exhausted or hung over, and scanned the room looking like a ticking time bomb.PJ hesitated. Samuel's daughter waved at Bradley and signed something to him. He thought he recognized the sign for ‘friend’, and then she pointed to PJ.Bradley looked like he'd seen a ghost.Dr. Samuel stepped up to the lectern.“Alright, let's get started. Mr. Uppercrust, are you planning on standing there for the whole lecture?”Bradley blinked. “Huh? Uh. No, sir.”He looked back at the little girl on the stool, who looked at him and then at PJ. PJ moved his backpack from the chair he'd saved and offered it.Bradley sat, not even registering who he’d sat next to -“Thanks.”- and Samuel started on the lecture, interpreting for himself as he went, and introduced the little girl as Gabriella - Gabby. Her mom was out of town, school was on spring break for the elementary school so she’d be joining them today and Wednesday.She waved excitedly to the class. Twenty-two guys and eight girls waved back.Bradley signed something to her - thank you, PJ was pretty sure, and then something else.Gabby’s whole face lit up. She pointed to Bradley, then held both pointer fingers up and moved them in alternating circles.PJ thought about it and guessed - You sign?Bradley replied, fluently, and PJ saw an emotion cross his features that he'd only seen a few times on anybody.Huh.The two went back and forth rapidly for a minute, and then Gabby scrunched up her face and pointed to her dad, who had the second slide well underway.Bradley blushed and gave her a thumbs up, pulling out his notebook and glasses. His knee bounced the whole class and PJ had trouble concentrating on anything but the roller coaster of emotions happening in the seat beside him.I’ve never seen him look so - gentle.At one point Gabby got bored and walked up next to her dad, hugging his leg.Bradley swallowed harder than PJ knew anyone could.The twinge in his stomach told him this was the in. PJ fished out a stack of post it notes.U OK?Bradley looked up and realized who he was next to. His eyes flashed surprise, suspicion,embarrassment, and then confusion. He didn't take the post it note, but stared at it for a second.Okay, so no.PJ squirmed internally, wondering if he should abort the mission now. Max would get it, right? Were they really sure about this?He looks like he’s about to cry. Damn, seriously, man, are you okay?Fine.He scooped the post-its again and ripped the top one off. On the clean one beneath, he wrote:TROOP HOUSE DINNER TIME8PMI'M MAKING LASAGNA.-slide-.If Bradley had been surprised before he was bewildered now.He scribbled back:???-slide-Scribble.-slide-WE GOT YOUR LETTER.Uppercrust went red.PJ fished it back and added:THX BTW, IT WAS NICE. THINK YOU'RE FORGIVEN.
Bradley fully dissociated. PJ could tell because his pen stopped and he didn't move for fifteen minutes - just stared red-faced at the post-it, or at his own notes. Not even his knee bounced. Once or twice PJ thought he spotted Bradley’s eyes misting over, but he did his best to give the guy a moment and pay attention to the lecture.Samuel moved to the next slide and Gabby vaulted herself back up onto the stool, shoes twinkling.Uppercrust only snapped out of whatever reverie he was lost in when Gabby asked him something. He held up his hand in a fist and rocked it like a head nodding.PJ left the stack of post-its on the long table between them. After a few minutes he slid it back over, scribbled the Troop house address, then slid it back.Bradley didn’t touch it, but absently drew spirals in his otherwise pristine pages of notes, looking like he was having trouble keeping his breathing steady.Class ended and Samuel and his daughter both approached Bradley, Gabby signing at him faster than PJ thought any human could understand, but somehow Bradley was nodding and replying and avoiding Samuel's question of where he'd learned the language.PJ waited around for a minute but when it was clear Gabby wasn't going to let the very awkward looking college guy walk away from her anytime soon - she just kept going, bouncing up and down as she talked - he set the post-it at the end of the table near the aisle where the three of them were standing. He waved again at Gabby, who waved back and added something about “friend” again.Bradley caught whatever it was and reddened again and made embarrassed eye contact with PJ.PJ nodded to the post-its again and headed across campus to the caf.
Max and Bobby had claimed their normal table.“Peter Junior himself!” Bobby flung his arms out to welcome the third member of the forever party.PJ dropped into the booth with his tray and his bag and looked straight at Max.“Mission complete.”“He said yes?”“I gave him a post-it with the details. He was…having a moment.”Bobby’s eyebrow rose behind his habitual sunglasses. “Crusty? Having a moment? Somebody get me my surprised hat.”Max elbowed him. “What do you mean?”“He looked like he hadn’t slept since Friday.” He took a drink and a bite, thinking. “Also, Samuel brought his daughter. I think she's deaf? Crusty was signing, and he looked….I don’t know, something really got to him.”“Maybe he hadn’t slept since Friday. You know? Thinking about all that quality time with Maxie…”“Bobby!”Bobby grinned cheekily and filled his mouth with mashed potatoes.“Signing?”“Yeah, like…” PJ moved his hands around in his best pantomime and immediately felt bad. He hoped nobody walking by thought he was making fun of anybody. “...like, fluently.”“So…” Bobby’s mouth was still full, and he gesticulated with the spoon, flinging a little across the table, narrowly missing Max’s hair. “...dude was having a moment signing with the professor’s kid so you passed him a sticky note?”“Correct.”Bobby pondered this. “Why?”“Why what?”“Why was Crusty having a moment?”“I don’t know, he came in looking hungover, keep up, man.”Bobby nodded, processing. “So he was hung over having a moment…and then he was signing?”“Yes.”“With the professor’s kid?”“Yes.”“Who presumably is deaf?”PJ sighed. “Yes.”“Weird. And then you -”“Passed him a sticky note, yes, Bobby, we’ve already established all of this.” Max cut it, throwing a paper straw wrapper at his forehead.Bobby dodged it uncannily fast like he always did.“Hey, he’s the one going to be a lawyer, I just want to make sure I understand the sequence of events.”He scooped the wrinkled-up wrapper from the formica tabletop and flicked it back, bouncing it right off the vitiligo patch on Max’s nose. Max glared but did nothing more than stick his tongue out. The new piercing flashed in the sunlight coming through the window, and Bobby shuddered again at the thought of the needle going through there.PJ shifted a little uncomfortably. “Anyway…I’m gonna head back at about three. Anyone need a ride?”Bobby raised a hand. Max had a class til five and said he was going to be skating some after.“For like half an hour.”“Don’t forget we told Alice we were practicing at seven.” said Bobby, flashing a guitar pick he’d had in his pocket and scooting past Max on his way to Environmental Science.“Damn - yeah. Alright, I’ll be home in time.” Max caught PJ’s far-off look. “Hey - you good?”PJ glanced around the caf to make sure Uppoercrust wasn’t around somewhere overhearing.“It was just weird, man. I’ve never seen him vulnerable like that. I didn’t think he could be vulnerable, and now he’s sent that letter. He wrote that letter. He’s been almost timid all semester, and now today with that little kid, he was almost crying.”Max’s eyebrows knit. “Crying? Bradley?”“Yeah, man, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t think the guy’s okay.”Max’s gaze drifted off, thinking. “Yeah, he was in a mood Friday, too. And not one of his ‘I’m about to fuck your life up and kill your entire family’ moods.”“Have we been dicks?”“Nah - he was a dick first. I think he’s just actually learning something.”“So then what are we doing?”“I mean, he asked for a second chance, right?” Max’s eyes gleamed the way they always did when he was doing something insanely nice for somebody. PJ loved that about Max, and that thought led back to remembering what Bradley had written.And how soft Bradley’s expression had been when he was talking to Gabby.And one of Mocha’s latest poems.And some of the talks he’d had with Max’s dad about his own.He sucked in a breath, thinking. “Right.”“So, we’re giving him one.” Max beamed, then his face flushed. “Shit - he just walked in. Don’t look - Peej, don’t look.”PJ was already looking, and Bradley had seen. Both Troopers raised a hand in greeting. Bradley stood with his tray in line looking like he was convinced he was going crazy. Then he spotted the Gammas just past him and Max, grabbed a scoop of the nearest hot dish and slunk off to a table as far away from his old fraternity as possible.Max blinked. “What’d you tell him you were making?”Something pinged as he looked at his best friend - a way he was fidgeting with the gloves and how viscerally he’d reacted to him walking in, and the way he was blushing - and a hundred memories from high school with a certain short little redhead came pouring back.Huh.“Lasagna.”
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Thump thump thump thump…The button down was okay. Right? Just a button down. Roll the sleeves up?Bradley tried it, saw the old scar and growled at himself. “Stupid.”And went with the same outfit he wore for everything. Light shirt. Dark sweater. Can't go wrong with that. Boat shoes meant no socks so obviously those. Khakis. Good enough.Thump thump thump thump…The rhythm in his chest reminded him of that dumb cartoon rabbit from that one animated movie that had been his favorite when he was little.
Hey MaxThis is Bradley.Thanks for the invite from you and PJShit, what was the third guy's name? The one who always wore sunglasses. Patrick? Tyler? No, that wasn't right.Backspace.Thanks for the invite.I'll be there at 8.Should I bring anything?Send.Thump thump thump thump…Bitch, relax.It's not that deep. It's just dinner.GUESS YOU'RE FORGIVENForgiven.An intensely vivid memory of Grandma when the ancient lizard was living flashed up. Her gaudy rings and arthritic hands and the candy she kept in her purse for when she wanted to focus on the man in the suit saying words like forgiven, glory, repentance, flesh…It had always made him squirm, being there, and not just because she combed his hair where it tickled his ears, or that her perfume may as well have been mustard gas, or that his sock would always somehow slide down his heel wrong.Wrong wrong wrong…He'd try to tell her and she would smack his hand or look like she was going to and he would endure it like a martyr until the eternal hour was over and he could get away from the golden crosses and the awful feeling that something there didn't want him for a reason he didn't know yet.He combed his hair behind his ears again and sighed in the mirror.Grandma was long gone and he hadn't been forced to go after that. But now he knew why he'd felt that way and the grey rabbit in its chest thumped it's foot even faster.He looks funny, Mama… the rabbit said.Bitch…If you can't say something nice… Bradley thought back, mentally flipping off the cartoon bunny. I'm doing my best here.7:15. It was a 20 minute skate away, but if he left now maybe he'd have time for a small panic attack along the way. You know, the one he could feel building.It was already hot for early March, but honestly he preferred that. He was always cold.Normally music was pumping through his headphones constantly these days, but today he put them on to look unapproachable and rode in soothing silence.The ride only took 15 minutes instead of 20 and he was there before the tightness in his chest had released.I could just bail. He thought for half a second. Nobody actually wants me there. They're just being nice cause I wrote the world's most melodramatic apology letter. I don't need their pity.Max.Okay but why?But Max.But. Why?PJ and the other guy, too.Right, exactly.Bitch, just go inside. You already said you were coming.And if it's some kind of joke?Then you fucking deserve it. Man up, bitch.He's a little wobbly, isn't he, Mama?Bitch, shut the fuck up.If you can't say something nice…
He debated with himself uncomfortably on the sidewalk corner. The letter had poured out of him when he wrote it, and he'd meant every word. He'd carried it around for a week looking for the right moment to give it to Max. He'd thought about giving it to one of the other guys. Or to Miss Mochachino or whatever her name was from the coffee shop. She knew the boys and saw them all the time.The day before the last day of the semester he'd heard someone talk about the Troop house having a party and had managed to get an address from one of the more oblivious freshmen. He'd almost crashed that party, but Tank had been standing in the yard and he'd turned around to avoid another black eye and subsequent speech about what a horrible person he was.All deserved.So he'd stayed up all night, debating, and left it on the porch with one corner of the envelope tucked under the welcome mat and slunk back here to rot on the couch for the entirety of winter break.Dad hadn't even called to check on him.I could just bail.I should.I shouldn't be here.Max never even replied to my…
**ping!**MAX GOOFHiya!Na u good. We goteverything. Just bring u.C u then! 😄😄😄😄
Bradley felt his chest release and his stomach a little bit, too.Okay.Okay, okay.I'm still 30 fucking minutes early.The headphones were suddenly itchy and he ripped them off, resisting the intense urge to throw them as far as he could.Why the fuck do I always want to break everything?I'm a fucking psychopath…He shoved them in his messenger back instead, sucking in a breath.Music filled the late afternoon air. Pop-punk. Thrumming baseline, easy 4/4 timing, B minor chord progression. Easy on the ears and driving tempo.And coming from the garage of the Troop house.Lyrics floated out, very boy-bandy. Raspy and melodic at once.The grey cartoon rabbit appeared in his chest again and Bradley pulled his collar a little further away from his neck. Unbuttoned the top button. That would make him look more casual, right?His feet were moving and he hadn't fully decided on that, and he felt himself start to sweat as he rounded the corner to stand awkwardly in the wide, open garage door.One side of the garage was filled with the rickety VW van they shared, and the other was a full set up - amps, drum kit, inhabited by PJ, bass with…the other kid. Cords snaked under and over each other hazardously on the cracked, oil stained cement floor. A sophomore he recognized was on keyboard - a tiny blonde exchange student named Alice. The English chick.Lead guitar, because of fucking course he was on lead guitar and vocals, was Max. Gloves still on, which was honestly impressive, and wailing into the mic, lost in the music.Tongue piercing?He hadn't noticed that before. And no one had noticed him yet. He leaned against the side of the house and watched, hoping he didn't look too much like an asshole, knowing he probably did.He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling like the social equivalent of that thing where people blow a balloon up and instead of tying it off they hold the neck and make it squeal.Weird. Awkward. That was the word for it. But also something more than that.Social pariah.Deserved.Max, in contrast, was effortless. He smiled at all the right times and let the music move him around to each of his friends. His whole self seemed relaxed and happy to be there and just…Actually cool.Without trying to be.God fucking dammit.The song was fun and catchy and Bradley knew he'd heard it on the radio before, but the cover sounded better.The third verse he let go of the guitar and let it hang by the strap around his shoulder, grabbing the mic like he was on stage at a sold out concert, chains bouncing on his jeans. Arms out to the sides like he was flying, eyes closed to feel every words of the lyrics.Shit, man.Bradley felt his stomach do the thing and swallowed.Max's eyes opened at the end of the verse right before the drums and guitar came back. Bradley expected him to light up like he usually did when he saw literally anyone whose name he knew, but instead Max winked. Ever the performer. Right at him. Eyelids low and holding his gaze in just the right spot that Bradley had no fucking idea what to do.He hadn't noticed before, but one of the light patches on his neck kind of looked like a flower and felt himself blush.Flower.The rabbit perked an ear up, as if this was surprising, then lost his shit laughing.No, no, no no - that's not a flower!Max winked again, almost like he could read his mind.He can call me a flower if he wants to…Bradley, Jesus!Max waved a little, then broke his gaze away and jumped into the final chorus.Last chord rang out and a little feedback squealing yanked him rudely back into reality. He clapped a little, politely.PJ waved from the drum set. “Bradley, hey man! See, Bobby, I told you he'd show. Pay up.”Bobby nodded cordially but didn't say anything.Max scampered up - all five and a half feet of him, which was average but somehow he always seemed smaller.“Hey, Brad!” he held a hand out for one of those hi-five, pull in, hug things that easy-going cool guys do. “You're early.”Bradley let it happen. Albeit extremely awkwardly. “Yeah, it's - Bradley - yeah - sorry it didn't take me as long as I thought it…you guys sounded great.”“Really?” Max's eyes shone and it made him squirm even more.Why the hell do you care what I think?“Yeah absolutely. It's a - yeah. Yeah.”Alice broke the tension with a glance at her watch and a, “Oh bloody hell, I'm late.”“For what?” asked Bobby.“A date. Important one. I promised Jefferson.”Bobby looked gutted. “Didn't he dump you for Chessie?”Alice picked up her bag and phone with the big white bunny ear case and peaced out without replying to Bobby."Late, late, late..." and she was gone.PJ got up and clapped him on the back.“Sorry, pal.”“Not right now.”PJ offered the same greeting as Max and Bradley took it.“Alright, all hands on deck, make sure you wash your hands before helping. Bobby, looking at you.”The two disappeared in through the side door and Max slipped his guitar off, switching off amps. Bradley shoved his hands further into his pockets to avoid making any weird movements.“You know Alice is transferring back across the pond next semester.” Max said offhandedly. “We'll need someone else on keys.”Bradley's eyebrow rose. “Oh, I'm sure the other guys would love that.”“PJ's the one who invited you over. I mean, it was all of our idea.”Bradley bit back a bitchy joke about them all sharing a brain cell, but nothing else came up as a response and the silence felt eternal.Max coiled a sound cable and tossed it to the side, then hit the button to close the garage. Bradley started as the motor kicked in and the door started moving, grabbed his board and took a hasty step in.The little dude chuckled and looked up at him. Was he wearing fucking eyeliner?“You good, hombre?”“Mhmm. Um. Yeah. Thanks, for uh - this is really nice of you guys. After…you know, everything.”“Yeah! Hey, it's dinner, no big deal. And anyway, mijo, you look like you're about to blow over. Mi abuela would never forgive me if I let somebody starve like that. She’d take one look at you and I'd get the chancla.”Bradley’s mouth twisted.Am I really that skinny?Do I look bad?Say something.Should I use the brain cell joke now?The little rabbit wrinkled up his nose at him.If you can't say something nice…Bradley followed Max in through the side door.Yeah, yeah. I know. I know.Don’t say nothin’ at all.
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The empty room had sat there since the three had moved in. They'd talked to maybe eight people about moving into it, but nothing had ever stuck. It was the one at the end of the hall, always hotter than the rest of the house, less natural light. And it was smaller than the rest of them.The subject of Bradley's sublet had come up sometime between dishing up heaping, steaming servings of pasta and the four side dishes PJ had made -“I don't play around, nene.” he said proudly, pulling another casserole dish out.and the end of the movie they'd put on to break the tension.The sublet was up in less than a month and then he didn't know where he was gonna stay after that. Dorm deadlines were long since past. Max was surprised someone so put together had let something like housing slip for this long.Then again, he was way too skinny and he looked like he hadn't slept properly in a week. He picked at the lasagna until a conversation - argument over a dumb old movie reference - kicked up between PJ and Bobby, and then he shoveled it down when he thought no one was looking.Max felt his head tilt but made sure he asked him if he wanted seconds a few minutes later.Y tal vez no hagas más comentarios sobre su peso, Goof.PJ brought up the extra room and that it was month to month. Bradley tried to look impassive and casual about it, but Max saw his foot tap faster and then slower, wheels turning behind his insanely blue eyes the more they talked details.Bobby didn't say much but voted ‘aye’ when Max checked if everyone was good with it.“You don't have to decide tonight. But it's open if you want.” PJ said, clocking the uneasiness.Bradley’s shoulders used to be held so high. Now he looked cornered, or at least stunned, and Max felt something in his stomach drop.¿Esta bien?“Um…yeah. No, I…I doubt I'll be getting many other options unless I rent a place myself. Which I could do I guess, if you guys… um… you know, if you guys aren't sure…”“Dude we just voted, you're in.” said Bobby.Bradley's foot bounced again.“You wanna see it before you commit?” asked Max.Nod.Stand.“C’mon.”--
It was honestly perfect. He'd taken the smallest room in the Gamma house, too. He liked small. Small and warm and kind of away from everything else. Not too bright. He would've preferred his own bathroom but beggars can't be choosers.“This could work.” he said out loud before he thought about it.“Yeah?”Max was grinning in the doorway.He dug his toe into the carpet. “You're sure? I almost killed you guys.”Max shrugged.Shrugged.“We're all pretty broke and splitting the rent another way would save all of our asses. Don't think too much about it. Just let me know by like next week and I'll talk to the old duck.”“The what?”“McDuck - the landlord. He's technically my great uncle by marriage or something, but that doesn't get me any brownie points.”“Oh…okay.”“So yeah, just whenever. Sleep on it if you need.”He turned to go out into the hall.“Max…” Bradley felt his insides turn.Pierced eyebrow went up. “Yah?”Thump thump thump thump thumpSay something you idiot.What the fuck was I gonna say?What the hell did I say in that letter that changed everything so much?“You're sure?”“If you are.”Bradley nodded. “Yeah - um - yes. I think this could be manageable.”Manageable. Very chill, Bradley.“That a yes?”Bradley nodded again, scanning the room again.This is fine.Max grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “Alright then. Welcome to the Goof Troop, Brad.”He sauntered back toward the living room and left Bradley to look around by himself for a minute.What did I just do?Well it solves your housing problem. Dad can stop hounding you about being homeless and it being your fault.But…Max?Here?Yeah babe. Here.Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit…A full minute after he'd left the room he said, too quiet for anyone to hear - “It's Bradley.”
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“Hey, yo - Baby Goof, wait up, sweetheart! -” a huge, booming voice called across the quad between the English Department and the library.The hulking giant, wearing the usual grey muscle shirt, waved him down and swung his bag over his shoulder. He crossed the whole lawn in half the steps it would've taken Max and, without waiting for any response, pulled him into the tree-lined walkway between the Library and the Student Resource center.One or two sophomore girls exchanged looks, gathered their bags and headed off.“Well hi to you, too, Tank.” Max said, brushing off his collar.Tank didn’t so much as blink, but pulled him in closer. “Listen, uh - There's a rumor going around Bradley’s moving into the Troop house with yous guys. That true?”Max adjusted his backpack on his shoulder. “Yeah, what's it to you?”“Yous guys know what you're getting yourself in for?”“Guy needs a place to live. You know, the Gamma house kind of isn't an option.”One unkempt eyebrow went up. “You think Daddy's Money can't afford to get his own place?”“You seen him lately?” Max shot back, not sure where he was getting the courage or the feeling he needed to defend the guy all the sudden. He'd certainly talked enough shit about him - with Tank - over break and the last couple of months.Tank shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Doesn't look like he's doing too well.”“Yeah, you're seeing what I'm seeing.”The big guy adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. “You trust him not to fuck you over again?”Pregunta válida.“I don't know.”Tank crossed his arms, face stormy. “He ask to live with you?”“No.”“He apologize to get you to offer the place?”“What are you suggesting?”“I’m just saying the guy’s got a talent for crocodile tears.”Max shifted. “Pretty sure looking that pale and miserable all the time isn’t faking it.”“You don’t think he’s faking it?”“Nah. He wrote a letter over break, I just uh…”“A letter? What fuckin’ letter?”“Yeah a letter. A damn good apology. ” Max dug his toe into the mulch at the edge of the sidewalk and let a knot of juniors walk past. One waved to Tank, side-eyed Max and kept walking. “...I just took a while to read it.”“A letter.”“Did he not leave one for you guys?”“....No.”The guy went silent for a minute, his face giving away an entire internal conversation, then ran his tongue over his teeth nodding.“Okay. Sure.”“Tank?”“So he writes you a letter and you drop everything like nothing happened.”“Not like nothing happened.”“You’re gonna let that traitor live with you?”“I’m at least gonna give the guy a chance. You don’t think he deserves that, same as anyone?”“Ain’t a question of ‘deserves’, kid - it’s a question of if he sets the house on fire and leaves you to burn in it.”“Come on, Tank -”“Come on fucking what?” It wasn’t confrontational, just honest. “You know he could really do some damage, right? Guy’s a loose canon, that’s all I’m saying.”“He hasn’t been all semester.”“I’m just sayin, Goof - you think you know what a person’s capable of…” His voice lowered, husky.“I know. I know, he really hurt you. He hurt a lot of people.”Tank blinked several times, nearly snorted, pushing back some unwanted emotion.“What the hell was in this fuckin’ letter?”Max blushed. Taking off his backpack, he produced it. He didn’t know why he felt like carrying it around, but it had felt wrong to just leave it on the desk while Bradley moved his stuff in. He handed it to Tank, who squinted.“Jesus H Christ, he writes like my nonna.”Max checked the time anxiously. Class started in three minutes and points got docked for tardiness. Tank read each line at a snail’s pace, and when he was done, he handed it back, stone-faced.“Something, huh?”Tank looked stung, nothing short of it, but Max didn’t push him. “Yeah. Somethin.”
“Hey man - thanks for looking out. But, uh - I gotta get to class.”“Yeah. Yeah.”
“Just - I wanna honor this. It seems genuine to me.”“Yeah. Maybe. Just so’s long as yous guys know what you’re doing.” Tank nodded. “You know, just watch your back, Baby Goof. And maybe - tell him I said hi. You’ll do that?”Max squinted. ¿Este hombre está a punto de llorar?“Yeah, I will.”Max turned to leave. Three steps away -“Maxie Baby!”Shit, man, I’m already late enough.“Yo.” he turned on his heel, hands in his pockets impatiently.Tank looked almost - small.“Make sure he eats, will you, sweetheart? He forgets.”The big guy shifted foot to foot, eyes locked on the mulch for a second before looking up.Another knot of students brushed by while Max stared.“Sure thing, man.”Tank sniffed, nodded gruffly, and walked off without a word.
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“Crusty…!” Bobby greeted the house newcomer in the hall, leaning out from his door frame like it was a flagpole.Bradley stopped in the hallway and squinted like he was trying to remember something.Bitch doesn’t know my name.Bobby pointed to himself, unsurprised. “Robert - quote - Bobby - unquote - Zimmeruski.” He swung all the way out into the hall and bowed, jester-style. “At your service.”“Right. Bobby.” Bradley admitted awkwardly, a nice leather weekender bag in one hand and matching suitcase in the other. “Hey.”“Hey.” Bobby straightened and sauntered toward the rich boy. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”Bradley’s already uncertain face fell.They were alone in the house, right?Right.Bobby pushed his glasses up on his head and leaned on the wall in front of Bradley, savoring the fact that he had a good four inches on him, even if Bradley had the bigger muscles.“Do me a favor, will you, babe?”Bradley looked terrified. Good.“S-sure?”Bobby smiled down at Crusty, then dropped the nice guy entirely.“Don’t you dare hurt Maxie.”Rich boy got paler. “Wh-what do you…?”“You’re getting a second chance here. Those come from Maxie and PJ for free. Not from me, yeah?” He jammed a finger toward the million-thread-count shirt and designer cashmere sweater. Fucking prep. “You fuck it up, you deal with me, you read me?”Bradley nodded. “Mhm.”“Sorry, I’m a little hard of hearing.”Bradley glared daggers at him. “I read you.”“Alright.” Bobby leaned back a little, but stayed in his path. He thought a second, then dropped in close to Bradley again and let his voice drop with him. “These guys are the best guys I know. They’ve gotten me through more than anyone is ever gonna fucking know about. You hurt them, you hurt me.”“I - I get it.”“You get it?”“Yep.”“You sure? I just want to make sure we’re clear on things, cause if you hurt my people - especially if you hurt our Maxie - I will come for you, Uncrustable.”Bradley looked visibly shaken and reacted viscerally to the dumb, awful nickname. Noted. Weird that The Bradley was intimidated by a yellow-belt. There must be dirt he was stepping in that made the prep nervous, whether he actually knew it or not.And I do love the smell of dirt.“W-we’re clear. Crystal clear. You got it.”“Crystal clear?”“Yeah.”“Crystal?”Bradley blinked, almost confused.That’s right. Throw them off their rhythm, Bobby Boy.“Crystal.”Bobby grinned self-satisfactorily.“Excellent.”He kicked back and away, jester-bowing a second time to usher him down the hallway to the empty room.“Welcome to the house.” he stood, arms folded. “Your key’s on the kitchen counter.”Bradley's gaze dropped to the carpet and he seemed to struggle for what to do next.A molecule of Bobby felt sorry for him for a second before he remembered being kicked into the mud, and PJ falling and nearly breaking his collarbone, and the burning X with Tank pinned inside, and the million awful things he’d heard the Gammas saying about PJ at a party not even two weeks ago. Not that Crusty was a Gamma technically anymore, but if he’d been their ringleader last semester god knew what kind of other bullshit he’d said about his friends.“Thank you, Bobby.”Rich boy slunk past, eyes still down, and closed his door as quickly as he could behind him.Bobby threw his arms up, pointing to the door, and declared - “Uncrustable!!!” - to no one, and not expecting a response.Bradley’s door clicked shut, and the lock after it.No one locked their doors in the Troop house, but maybe it was time to change that.Bobby let his arms and shoulders drop, an awful feeling in his gut stirring. Sucking his teeth to bat the feeling away, he padded out to the kitchen. An uncrustable wasn’t a half bad idea. There were still a few in the freezer.
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You should have fucking known. Goddammit Bradley, you’ve got to keep your guard up a little better than that.Not that he blamed… Bobby? Bobby.Bobby. Bobby. Bobby.…for that whole interaction. It was the first one in this house that had made any goddamned sense.Breathe. Breathe, dumbass.He might have known for all Max’s and PJ’s insane, overwhelming niceness, someone in the house would have the sense to keep the monster in his place.A mirror on the closet door gave him a nice, long look at the monster in question. He was too skinny. And there were bags under his eyes. The sweater that had once been snug and fitted hung off him like it was meant for someone else. He hadn’t really done anything with his hair in weeks and it was starting to look shaggy.I look like shit.You deserve it, honestly.Bobby moving around the house, whistling some Powerline song made his stomach twist again. “You’re getting a second chance…”Why did that sentence alone make him want to puke?He slung the bags onto the bed and stood in the middle of the ugly old carpet. Desk in the upper left corner, dresser to his right, power outlet on the far side of the bed below the window, closet on the left wall.Furnished, small. His. This would do.The basics found their places quickly. Skincare lined up on top of the dresser. He would rage against the middle school acne he'd had til the day he died. Hanging clothes hung and organized. He double checked each tag on the inside to make sure he didn’t mix up the reds and greens with the browns since they all looked the same. Shoes in a row, laptop set up on the desk. Broken skateboard and the one small zipping toiletry bag deep in the back of the closet. Longboard against the wall by the lightswitch.Personal items took longer. Rabbit was going to have to live in a drawer or something for a while until he assessed how nosey these guys were. Most of his books, for that matter.His copy of Dante's Inferno slipped off the bed while he was arranging the others on the top shelf of the closet and out slipped the bookmark - another envelope like the one he'd left on the porch three months ago.TANKHe bent down and picked it up. It wasn't good enough. That's why he hadn't ever delivered it. Right? No apology was ever enough for that one.And Tank didn't give second chances.And Tank deserved more than a letter.But Tank either walked right by or, if he made the mistake of making eye contact, shoulder-checked him hard enough that more than once he'd dug for his inhaler.“Traitor.” was the usual line, but yesterday it had been “Coward” and fuck him if he knew what that meant, but he deserved it, and Tank had looked heartbroken.His cheeks burned.Traitor.Coward.Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump“You fuck this up, you deal with me, you read me?”Careless.“Mr. Uppercrust, we are going to have to closely monitor your actions and your academics from this point on. The severity of your actions is nothing short of alarming. You are being moved to a probationary status for the foreseeable future and will be subject to disciplinary action up to and including immediate expulsion should any further concerns be brought to our attention. You will be removed from your Greek life chapter effective immediately, and until such time as the board deems appropriate, you will not be permitted to participate in any intramural sports. We hope you understand we are being very gracious in this decision.”“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”Dad had just stood there and glared at him. Prosecutor, forced to play defense attorney for his own, dumb, reckless, selfish kid.At least Dad had showed up.Bradley shoved the letter back into Inferno - right near the end, where the traitors were encased in ice, tears freezing in their eye sockets.Traitor.The one framed photo was face down in the bottom of the suitcase. He didn't want to look at it, but he forced himself to anyway. The ceiling fan was powerful enough that for half a second he thought he could feel his tears freezing and his vision blurred.Men don't cry. Dad growled, despite inhabiting a fourth of the photo.And the picture frame went into the bottom dresser drawer, face down.There. Unpacked. Only took him an hour. His whole life could be unpacked in an hour. There was something unsettling about that.“You think anyone’s ever gonna want something like you, twink?” some high school bully sneered in a locker room.Traitor.Coward.Alarming.Careless.He made the mistake of making eye contact with himself in the mirror again.Monster.Thump thump thump thump thump thumpHe sucked in a breath. Not deep enough.Dammit.Keep it slow. Keep it even.He leaned forward. Rage pulsed between his ears for a second before tumbling Icarus-style through the safety net of anger into what it really was. The rhythm in his chest picked up to frantic.Dammit.The rasping wheeze came with the breaths that kept getting shallower and faster.God fucking dammit, not now.Not now.Knock, knock, knock.“Hey, Brad!” Max’s voice came brightly through the door.Why the fuck are you being so nice to me?“We're all going to Bean Scene, you in?”Not now, not now, not now….“Yeah, give me a minute.” He panted.God fuck, I hope I don't sound….Like you're scared? Bitch, you are.“Coward.”Shut up.“Careless.”KNOCK IT OFF.shit.Cough. Wheeze.Oh, shit, no. Not this.Where the fuck did we put the inhaler?Shit, fuck.Rasp. Cough. - Jesus. Goddamned stupid, shitty lungs.Front pouch of the messenger bag. Shake, shake, shake.Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.The actuator plunged.One…two…three….Stupid lungs.Stupid brain.Goddamned stupid brain.I hate it.I hate it.I fucking hate myself.I fucking hate myself.I fucking hate myself.Hey- kid - breathe.I know, I know, I know…six….seven….eight…Stupid. Stupid.Breathe.…nine…Breathe.He heard himself let out that terrified, whimpering groan he let out when it was about to get really bad.Max’s voice was out in the living room, laughing at something hilarious Bobby had just said.“You think anyone’s ever gonna want…”KNOCK IT OFF KNOCK IT OFF.He pressed his hands over his ears.No no no no no….Not now. Not now. Not now. Not now.Not now…Not now…Fifteen minutes went by and he stayed huddled, rasping, in the closet. The closet felt safe. Small spaces always had.Knock, knock. “Brad, you good?”Go away, Max.He didn’t answer. Not that he didn’t want to, but saying words felt like swallowing rocks.Knock, knock, knock.“Brad?”It’s Bradley, goddammit.“Come on, man - he probably just needs to organize his cashmere.” Bobby said.The sound of Bobby grunting - an elbow colliding with a stomach.“Okay, whatever…” Bobby said, winded, and drifted away.“You okay?” Max’s voice came through the door again.Sucking a deep inhale through the nose he managed, “Yeah, go without me.”“Okay - if you’re sure.”Bradley didn’t reply.“You want me to bring you anything?”Fucking useless. Food was the most nauseating thought in the world right now.“No thanks.”PJ cut in mercifully - “Come on, man, Mocha’s on in twenty.”A few seconds went by - the front door opened and Bobby’s voice said something and PJ said something back. He couldn’t hear what it was but he assumed it was about him.Max’s shadow hesitated under the door for a few more seconds, then moved away, too.The front door lock snapped shut and Bradley gasped again. No ice up to his neck necessary. He stayed there frozen and shivering for an hour.
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SCENE 9(BEAN SCENE COFFEE)(Lights up.)(A single spotlight on a girl in a beret and theatre blacks - black turtleneck, leggings and flats. She sits spider-like atop a single simple barstool. She speaks into a microphone on a stand.)(In the house - a coffee shop in the basement of an old newspaper building - patrons sip coffee and snap along at intervals.)(Most noticeable are the three college boys, all wearing white gloves, sitting in a booth closest to the stage. One is wearing sunglasses, looking sullen. Another, the shortest of the three with a shock of soft black hair, wearing a brown aviator jacket, has the seat next to him saved and keeps looking between his phone and the door. The third and largest also wears a beret and waves supportively to the girl on the stool.)(She winks lovingly at the third boy and nods to an offstage musician.)(Bongos play.)(She begins)
MOCHA:
Give it timeBabyGive ittimeTime is a healerAnd you haveAllthe time you need.Give it spaceBabyGive itIts ownpaceAnd its ownTime
Baby,Let itLieStealCheatBut I beg you on myHands and kneesDo notRepeatIts patternJustLet it beLet it seeThat you are notWhat it expected youTo beTo beOr not to beThat is the question, isn't it?But you are not an answer key,Baby.The choice can only be theirs:The undiscovered country,Puzzling and silent as a mime,Or the whips and scorns ofMy, my my…LookAtThe time.Just give it some time,Baby.Baby.Give them time.(Blackout).END SCENE
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Music blared from the kitchen as Bradley started awake the next morning. The bed was fine - honestly, it was comfortable. It was better than a pullout couch in a shitty sublet, definitely better for his back.Rattling dishes and voices overlapped pop-punk music turned on full blast.Who the hell is being so loud? It's seven in the morning.Roughly he pulled on the usual ensemble. Khakis, button-down, sweater. Ran a finger through his hair, frowned that the bags under his eyes had gotten bigger, and padded out to the kitchen.PJ was pulling bacon from a package, Bobby was busy shoving frozen waffles into the toaster and Max was over in one corner, cracking open a carton of orange juice and dancing next to the Bluetooth speaker that had been turned all the way up.“Buenos dias and good morning!” Max said sing-songy, hips still moving in time to the music. “Welcome to morning in the Troop house.”“What’s happening?” Bradley groaned, squinting at the early morning sunlight blaring through the window.“Morning to you, too, princess.” Bobby said, voice sliding all over like it tended to - annoying.“Anyone seen the pepper grinder?”“Think fast!” Max swiped it off the counter and tossed it across the kitchen - narrowly missing Bradley’s head.“Jesus, watch it!”Bobby’s eyebrow went up. “Touchyyy….”“Sorry, Brad.” Max gave an apologetic, toothy smile and kept dancing.Why was it aggravating and nice all at once? He ran a hand across his face. The grey cartoon rabbit tapped its foot in the corner of his brain again.Be nice.“It’s fine.” he grumbled and tilted his head as the song switched from pop-punk to ska. Max and PJ groaned.Bobby pointed accusatorily at the two of them. “Uh, uh, uh - you cannot pretend you both didn’t like this song in high school. We did a cover of this for homecoming, you cannot deny that.”“Don’t remind me.” Max stuck his pierced tongue out and poured a glass of orange juice. His gloved hand held it out toward Bradley. “Here - OJ.”He hesitated and took it, sniffed, took a sip. Not bad.PJ caved almost immediately and started singing along. Max poured another glass for himself and leaned against the counter next to Bradley, downing half the glass in one gulp. “You got a music pick?”It is either too early or everyone in this house speaks in riddles. “Huh?”“Music pick - everyone adds a song to the queue on a rotation. Last one was mine, this is Bobby’s…”Bobby was howling the lyrics into a the rubber-ended tongs he was using to plate the waffles. Bradley stifled a snort.“...next up is Peej. Place your bets on what genre Peej is feeling today, he listens to literally everything.”“90s sad mom country,” said Bobby.“I’m saying bluegrass.”PJ stopped dancing for half a second, bacon sizzling and filling the whole kitchen with a smell that for once didn’t turn Bradley’s stomach. Bacon…yeah, he could do bacon.“You’re both wrong.”Max leaned over. “What’s your guess?”Bradley blinked. Brain empty. “Uuuh….Broadway.”PJ’s looked stunned and the track switched over to the opening notes of Corner of the Sky.Pippin. Interesting.Bobby lowered his glasses. “Uncrustable is psychic…”Max held his phone out. “You're up next.”Aw shit. I'm not good at stuff like this.And it was seven in the morning.Max started in belting Pippin and moved away to grab eggs from the fridge. Bradley scrolled through Max's music library, smiling a little at familiar artist after familiar artist. He picked one at random, hit “add to queue” and tried to shake the feeling that this was going to be embarrassing.His temples pounded.“Is there coffee?”PJ pointed to an electric kettle and a French press on the far end of the counter. “If you wanna start it, man, that'd be great.”Me? Said a little part of him that normally was replaced by the grumpy teenager not wanting to be told what to do. It was the little guy who poked his head into the garage when Dad was working on one of his classic restorations or offered to help the staff with something that would be much easier done alone. Just to be around someone, feeling included.Warmth seemed to fill the air a little more as he concentrated on a basic task that suddenly felt bigger than -Grounds, boiling water, stir.Max slid a plate of waffles and bacon across the counter while he waited for the kettle to boil, winking again.Why does he keep doing that?Eat something, kid. You look like death.The headache had begun to subside almost instantly along with the ache in his belly.His track came on and Max’s whole body lit up -“Yyeeeeeesssss!!!” he said, arms going up in the air, chin tilting up to the ceiling in victorious excitement.and watching him grab a slotted spoon and start performing back to back with Bobby sent a jolt of something down into Bradley’s stomach that felt almost like joy, but kept morphing back and forth from that to the fear that was still riding just under the surface from last night.He smiled, chewing carefully and keeping an eye on everything and not saying a word except to ask where the creamer was when he’d let the coffee steep and plunged the filter down, enjoying himself no matter how awkward it felt.Was this every morning? If so, it was going to take some getting used to, but…it was nice. This was nice.How the hell am I here right now?Waffles and bacon were quickly followed up by cheesy scrambled eggs that tasted better than anything he’d eaten in months, and the headache vanished, along with most of the buzz of anxiety. He picked one more song and then declined on the third round, out of ideas, and threw himself into cleaning up behind PJ since Bobby and Max were as good as mid-concert at Madison Square and no part of him wanted them to stop.He stomped his foot on the hands-free lever on the trash can and froze. A paper takeout bag from a fast food place sat at the top.BRAD - was scrawled across it in Max’s handwriting. He looked up.Max stopped dancing and side stepped over, voice confidential and casual. “It sat out all night, so I tossed it. I didn't want you getting food poisoning.”“You got me a burger?”Why?“Yeah.” He shrugged and tossed a couple eggshells in on top and dug the hot sauce out from among a dozen condiments shoved in the refrigerator door. “We were out anyway, and I didn’t think you’d had a chance to grab groceries.”He blinked a few times. Why….?Why are you surprised?But why?Max’s shadow under the door yesterday floated back up, and Max handing him an earbud in the music school, and Max offering a room, and Max sticking his hand out with a smile on his soot-covered face, telling him that stupid bet was off.“...thanks.”“We ride out in ten. Bradley, when’s your last class?” PJ said, tossing a paper towel in the trashcan and heading for his keys.Oh shit. His stomach dropped. Ride?Thump thump thump thump thump.Goddammit.
“Um. I’m good, I’ve got my longboard.”All three stared at him.Oh please don’t make me explain this right now.“My first class isn’t til 10, I’m gonna…um…”“Too good for Big Bertha, Uncrustable?” Bobby squinted.“No, no, no…” And there went his appetite for the rest of the day. “I just…would rather skate. It’s a nice day.”A cicada screamed just outside the window. The forecast said upper eighties and humidity. In March.Fuck my life.PJ’s stare was a little too perceptive and he avoided it. Max didn’t seem to pick up anything other than -“Oh, hell yeah, you mind if I join? I could use a few extra minutes to pull together my presentation for Astro.” And went off on a tangent on event horizons and black holes and how much he hated using PowerPoint.“I’m not half bad with numbers.” Bradley clocked as most of the facts had a gigantic number or mathematical theory to go along with them and balked at the very idea of running calculations like that. Max looked as excited as he did about Powerline and skateboarding.The pool of panic that had started to rise in his stomach ebbed back out and he nodded a quick “Yeah, head out at like 9:30?” and retreated with the cup of coffee to suck in several more deep breaths of relief that he wouldn’t have to be in a back seat today.But what about tomorrow? You can’t come up with an excuse every day.I'll think of something.He sipped and stared out the window while the ignition of the rickety old van turned over and the blaring music faded out the driveway and down the street. Part of him wanted to feel annoyed at the whole morning.But the rest of him admitted, staring at his wobbling reflection in the bottom of the coffee mug, with his belly full and Max singing Corner of the Sky in the next room, that if every day started like this one, he was glad. The monster reflected in the coffee smiled back at him.
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Rain beat against the window and Max tried not to show his disappointment. Skating in with Bradley the past week - even if the guy didn’t say much of anything the whole way and walked off to his classes sometimes without so much as a “see you later” - had been nice, since PJ and Bobby weren’t super into the whole skating thing as much anymore. PJ had Mocha to keep him busy and Bobby was usually off with the theatre kids or…wherever Bobby was most of the time.Probablemente debería ir a ver cómo está ese hombre.Today Bobby was perched on the kitchen counter, knocking back a straight glass of whole milk, a mustache of white painted across his upper lip and sunglasses already on.“Looks like today’s the day, Uncrustable - baby’s first ride in Big Bertha.”“So it would seem.” Brad gritted his teeth and glanced out the window, foot tapping along with the rhythm of the raindrops.Bradley hadn’t eaten a bite. He’d barely seen him take a sip of the coffee, and he usually had a couple of cups before they headed out in the morning.¿De verdad tienes tanto miedo a las tormentas? Ni siquiera hay truenos.Piling in, Max hopped into the backseat. Brad hesitated.¿Qué pasa?“It’s all good, Uncrustable - I cleaned it out last night. No crumbs on the seat or anything.” Bobby reached around from the shotgun seat and patted the vinyl bench.Nota para mí: Decirle a Bobby que deje de intimidar a Bradley.Uppercrust glowered at Bobby and hopped up, grabbing the seatbelt and buckling with a speed that was almost startling. His blue eyes darted to everyone else, making sure everyone else had theirs secured. Max tilted his head. He didn’t usually buckle up for the ten minute ride to the parking deck on the far side of campus, but he did today.He offered one of his earbuds, but Brad shook his head and kept his eyes locked on the road as they pulled off, windshield wipers swishing on the top setting.
Bobby hooked up his phone to the cassette adapter aux cord and started pumping Queen through it. Max got the feeling that Another One Bites The Dust might not be the best selection for today, but he said nothing and wrapped his earbuds around his phone, shoving it in his bag. He liked rain, and Bradley’s knee was going like a jackhammer.Five minutes went by, Bobby drumming on the dash, PJ bobbing his head a little less than usual as the visibility shifted from okay to not-so-great, and traffic picked up.It had been raining all night and the gutters were starting to overflow.They hit a puddle and skidded slightly.Bradley nearly jumped out of his skin and grabbed the door handle.
“Oh hell no…”“You okay?”“No.”Jesus - parece un fantasma.PJ saw the same thing in the rearview mirror and his forehead wrinkled. “Hey man - you getting carsick? You can switch to the front if you…”“Just let me out here.”Bobby stopped drumming on the dash and peered around the shotgun seat again. “Bro, what? It's pouring like cats and dogs out there…”“It's only like three more minutes to campus.” Max offered gently.“No, let me out.”““You sure, man? It’s another ten minute walk to…”“LET ME OUT!”His blue eyes blazed right at him. The chest under the button-down and sweater heaved and Max felt his insides tumble. Bradley hadn't shouted since the first day in Bean Scene, and he'd forgotten how ragged it was.Como si tuviera miedo.PJ put the hazards on and pulled to the side of the road.Max slid over and pulled the lock up. Bradley scrambled past him and out without a word to anyone and started walking three times his usual pace up the sidewalk, rain pouring on him as he went.Bobby sucked his teeth and let out a low whistle.PJ held the van idling with the hazards on for a few moments as they all sat in stunned silence. Bradley disappeared around the corner.“Jesus - what was that about?” Bobby balked.The windshield wipers thumped back and forth as if the van itself was shrugging its shoulders.Max felt something burn between his ears and did his best to shake it off.The hazards clicked off and they merged back into traffic. When they turned the corner Bradley was nowhere to be seen, but Max caught a flash of him in the alleyway, bent over hugging his messenger bag and looking like he was about to be sick.“Didn’t have that one on my bingo card.”Max felt a pulse of heat through his face.“Shut up, Bobby.”
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NINE DAYS
THURSDAYPouring rain again.Bradley walked into English thirty minutes late and soaked to the bone.Max waved him down, but he sat as far away as humanly possible and glowered through the rest of the lecture, and left the moment Talbot dismissed.Max saw him duck into the music school and almost followed, but the part of him that hated being yelled at tugged him back and he turned toward the Physics building.
FRIDAYPJ knocked on Bradley’s door.“Hey man - there’s a plate for you in the fridge.”No reply.Knock knock.“I heard you.” The door stayed closed.“We’re also watching a movie in about thirty.”“No thanks.”Max poked his head into the hallway from the kitchen. PJ shrugged.
SATURDAY“And I'm gonna move thirty feet to be up next to this goblin here…” Max pointed to a square on the map spread across the coffee table. “...and swing…that’s a nineteen for the first attack.”“Hits.” PJ frowned from behind the cardboard screen.“For…” a d10 clattered across the table. “Thirteen - and then adding divine smite…”“Save the spell slot, it’s dead.”Max placed his d8 off to the side, grinning.Todd the druid took a sip of his energy drink. “Hell yeah.”Bradley’s door opened and he padded past in the hallway, grabbing a beer from the fridge.Max raised a hand to wave at him.“That’s the ogre, he’s going to swing for…Bobbert Lightfoot.”“Word.” Bobby held up a peace sign.“Seventeen hits, right?”“Yeeeep.”Bradley cracked the beer can top and walked back around the corner without looking at anyone.PJ rolled a couple of d8s. “Eighteen bludgeoning.”“Uncanny dodge, my man.” the rogue smiled.Bradley’s door closed again with a bit more umph than was necessary. The party glanced at each other.PJ shifted. “Make that nine bludgeoning.”
SUNDAY“Bro, ¿se quedará ahí todo el fin de semana?”“No se, man.”Mocha sipped her tea and leaned back against PJ. “¿Pijo?”“Brad - si.” Max ran a gloved hand through his hair and flopped back on the rug, annoyed that it was raining for the third day in a row.“Mira - no es como si estuviéramos aquí juzgando ni nada. Solo quiero saber qué pasó. ¿Estaba manejando demasiado brusco? ” PJ said, eyes soft.Max shrugged. “No lo pensaba, pero ¿qué sé yo?”"Se veía cagado de miedo."“Estaba.”“Parece que necesita algo de espacio…”“No ha hablado con ninguno de nosotros en cuatro días.”“Maxie…¿qué dije? Paciencia y fe, nene. Give him time.”PJ smiled and kissed her forehead. “Te amo.”“Te amo más.”Max groaned from the floor. “¡Consíganse un cuarto!”
MONDAYBradley still made the coffee and breakfast but didn't speak and left the nanosecond he'd put his plate in the dishwasher.
His hair was greasier than Max had ever seen it.
The sweater was the same one he’d worn yesterday.
TUESDAYhey!
noticed u’ve been keeping
to urself a lot.
u ok?
seen at 9:50AMsry bout the van thing
i’m here if u wnna talk bout it
seen at 11:24 AM
skatepark after class? 🛹
seen at 5:39 PMdinner in 20 - we ordered pizza 🍕🍕🍕
seen at 8:50 PMhey u staying out tonite?
seen at 11:18 PMu ok?
sentBradley’s key didn’t turn in the lock till close to 4 am.
WEDNESDAYMax skated up beside him on the sidewalk. “Hey! You wanna…”Bradley glared. “Stop. Just - stop, Freshman.”He put his headphones over his ears and pushed off faster. Max braked himself and stayed behind, bewildered.¿Que hice?
THURSDAY“Pedialyte.” Max stuck his head in Bradley’s door, surprised to find him sitting up, dressed and reading. He held the squarish bottle out in front of him like an olive branch, but suddenly it felt very stupid.“Heard of knocking?” Bradley looked at him over his glasses, only slightly less prickly than the rest of the week.“You came in at like three again, I figured you’d be hungover.”“Hangovers are for amateurs. Again- Max, have you heard of knocking?”“Mira, I’m just trying to look out for you, man.”Bradley swallowed back something Max guessed was about to be a lot nastier. “I’m fine.”Max scoffed and then froze at the sudden, smoldering rage in Brad’s face.“Come on, man…I get you’ve been a one man show for a while, but we take care of each other around here.”Bradley looked back down at his book and turned the page with a vengeance. “A little co-dependant, don’t you think?”“It’s called having friends.”Bradley hummed. “I’m not five. Look -” He grabbed a bookmark from beside him and snapped the book shut. “ - Max, I appreciate the room and the hospitality, and I’m sure it’s all very well meant. But I don’t travel in packs.”Max crossed his arms, scoffing. “Former Gamma wants to tell me he doesn’t travel in packs?”The blue eyes narrowed. “It’s a fraternity. I was president. It’s part of the deal.”“And this is the Troop House. We at least tell each other if we’re not gonna be home til 4 am.” He hadn’t expected the little waver in his voice, and did his best to cover it with his best impression of causal seriousness. “Also part of the deal.”“Look, I’m sorry, if I broke any house rules…”“It’s not about house rules, Brad.”“It’s Bradley!”“HEY!” Max had forgotten what his own shout sounded like. “What we’re not gonna do is yell at each other. Capisce?”Bradley wheeled his jaw. “What do you want, Max?”“I just wanna know if you’re okay, dude.”“And I’ve said I’m fine so what are we still talking about?”“Habla claro, mano - you’ve been avoiding everyone all week, you fucking bolted the other day from the van…”“I’m not talking about that.”“You don’t have to talk about that but don’t fucking lie to me when I’m trying to..”Bradley’s voice cut through, softer than he expected.
“I thought you said we weren’t gonna yell at each other.”“I’m not yelling!” And then he heard himself.Bradley’s worst smile spread slowly. “I think you should get out of my room now, Freshman.”“Hey - I’m sorry…”The smile glitched - a thin mask over whatever was really bothering him - and faded as the exhaustion filled every line and contour of his face.“Please just leave me alone, Max.”
FRIDAYMarch 21Bradley watched himself write it at the top of his notes and felt his insides burning.Mother fucker.
Tomorrow.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
-----Saturday March 22Bradley came back into the Troop house at something like 11:40PM - PJ and Bobby were out, he was ninety-five-percent sure Max was asleep. Shoes kicked off by the door. He set the thin plastic grocery bag down on the counter and took out two big cupcakes like they were poison. One vanilla caramel, one strawberry, and a pack of cheap birthday candles. Digging around in the drawers for a minute he came up with one of Bobby’s lighters and flicked the flint wheel seven or eight times just to get the feel of it.It’s only once a year. Fuck it.He stuck a candle in the vanilla cupcake and stared at the small flame for a couple of seconds before blowing it out without much emotion. Same wish as always, and not one that would ever be granted - he knew his life better than that. But it never hurt to ask.The strawberry one he set nicely on a small porcelain plate - one of PJ’s. Because of course that kid had the nice dishes and made sure the house had toilet paper and soap and that the vacuuming occasionally got done.He pulled a flower from the potted plant on the kitchen window, picked out what he was pretty sure was a pink birthday candle from the cardboard package and sucked in a deep breath before placing it exactly in the center.It took him a few tries to light it, and he cursed at it. The lighter sputtered once or twice, but gave him just enough for the wick to start glowing.
“You picked me a flower, Buggy?”
Her fingers flew in the familiar pattern of the namesign she’d given him.
“B-bug - Buggy” she’d giggled.
Every year she looked tinier.
“I love it.”Men don’t cry. He sniffed, clearing his throat.“You okay?”Max stood in the doorway. Sleepy, but eyes focused on him in a way that made Bradley squirm as it always did. He stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say.“Sorry, I know you probably don’t want…” Max hung back in the dark hallway.“It’s fine.”Goof hesitated, uncertain.“You can stay, it’s your house, it’s fine.”Max took another step into the kitchen, big eyes a little brighter. He’d hated how he’d extinguished them the other day. The sweet guy’d only been trying to help.“That a birthday candle?”“Uh…yeah.”
“It’s your birthday?”Bradley squirmed again internally and nodded again, shoving his hands into his pockets.“Aw, shit, dude, if I’d’ve known, we would have done something. We would have thrown you a party or…”Bradley threw a hand up. “No! No. It’s fine, I wanted it this way.”Max tilted his head. “Not The Bradley Uppercrust III passing up an opportunity to be the center of attention.”“Max, not this.”He shut his eyes to avoid the death glare he could feel building on his face.“I…I know you don’t mean anything by it, you can make fun of me about other things, I don’t give a shit. Just - not this, please.”The silence was unbearable and he looked up, expecting Goof to look stung. Worse. He looked worried. Why was everyone so goddamned worried all of a sudden?“Sure thing, man.”“Hey - it’s - you didn’t know.”
The glow of the second candle rose a bit behind him.“You get an extra cupcake?” Max rerouted, trying to stay light.Bradley picked up the little porcelain plate protectively.“No - no, it’s…”The sight of the cheap candle already burned halfway brought the same heart-pounding, sickening feeling it brought every year. But he’d promised himself. Every year. She deserved that.“...this one’s not mine. That one’s mine, this one’s Bailey’s.”“Who’s Bailey?”He’d never even brought it up to Tank and the Gammas, and he’d only lived here a couple of weeks. Had it really been so close to his chest that nobody knew? Oddly nice, if he was honest. It was all anyone from back home could ever seem to fucking talk about.The lump in his throat was there whether he wanted it or not, but for once he wasn’t embarrassed.“My sister.”“You have a sister?”“Yeah...”“Same birthday?”“Hmm. Astute, Freshman.”“You're a twin?”“I was, yeah.”Max’s big eyes got bigger."Who's he?"
Bailey's sweet, curious eyes looked up
a bit admiringly at the skater boy with
the tongue piercing and the vitiligo patches
decorating his skin like shadows of tree leaves on a sidewalk.This is…Max. He told her mentally.
Something in his chest physically hurt."I like him.
He looks kind."The candle was burning too quickly. These were the only minutes he still felt close to her, just this once a year. Usually it couldn’t be over fast enough.“Bailey and…Bradley?”“Bailey and Bradley.”“Is that why you hate being called Brad?”He laughed a bit, surprising himself. “Partly. Brad’s my father’s name.”Max smiled - lopsided, with those stupid gap teeth. “I will henceforth only call you Bradley.”Bradley grinned. Dork. “I don’t believe that for a second.”“What…happened? If you don’t mind my asking?”Sharp inhale from Bradley.“You don’t have to tell me, I’m being nosey.”As if you ever aren’t.But his eyes were big and so goddamned kind. Why?His hands started shaking unbidden. They always did.Uh, I was, like…ten? We were in a really bad, um…c-car…”They’d built the biggest sand castle, he’d gotten a sunburn.His mom had smiled so big when he’d run up and put a whole sand dollar in her hand.
Dad was too busy to take the day off, but it could always be just them three.The light as they left had been so pretty - sunset oranges flashing between the trees,
the road winding in just the way that made the music feel like it was in his bloodstream.The other car had drifted all the way over the centerline, unable to see in the sunset glare.The world had spun in a circle - seven,
eight,
maybe nine times.
He lost count.Mom didn’t look like Mom anymore.
Bailey hadn’t been wearing her seatbelt.The backseat was empty when they stopped.
He crawled out the side window and held Bailey on the ground.He told her he loved her a hundred times before the paramedics arrived
six minutes too late.Dad’s first words at the hospital were “What happened, Bradley?”and it sounded a little bit too much like
“Why didn’t you do anything to stop it?”
Fifth grade had been almost unbearable without her, but that was nothing compared to high school,
when everyone else got their licenseand he still white-knuckled the seatbelt on every car ride.
“Hey…”
A gloved hand landed on his arm. Why did he always wear gloves?“You don’t have to tell me, I…I think I get it.”Bradley nodded gratefully.
The plate stayed in his hands between them.He squeezed his eyes shut. Usually he let it burn all the way down until the wax ran all over the frosting, then threw it out the window or into the woods or, last year he’d just put it in the garbage and immediately taken the bag out to the road so Tank and the others wouldn’t see it in there and ask questions.This year he inhaled, not sure why he felt like it was okay. He hadn’t made a wish since the first year.I wish you were here. I just wish I could…ask you about everything. Tell you about everything.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry.Exhale.The smell of smoke drifted up, and when he opened his eyes the only light was the streetlight outside coming in through the window. Max stood there facing him, not saying anything, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring at the pink cupcake in disbelief.Bradley swallowed. “I hate today.” he said hoarsely.“You hate your birthday?”“Ours!” he barked, and he wasn’t sure why, and he looked up apologetically, bringing his anger back down as best he could. “Sorry…”
”
Max smiled quietly and said nothing.Why the fuck is he smiling at me when I just…Cause he’s good.Cause he’s good.Words came like storm waves on a beach - pulling in and out, making his chest tighter with every syllable.“It was…our birthday. It just…I can’t…it always feels wrong for it to be just…me. I don’t want to…”
Shit, it was getting hard to get a deep breath.
“...I don’t like…celebrating without her. It doesn’t seem fair.”“Love you, Buggy.”
“It’s not fair. You know?”She would’ve been here with me.
“Like - why her…?”She was perfect.
She would’ve been so much better than me.
She wouldn't have pulled the fucked up shit I have.
It should have been me…“It’s not like she ever did anything wrong - we were ten. And I…”Max would’ve loved her.
She would’ve loved him.She would’ve understood.
This.
Dad.
So many things.Max’s big eyes were the widest and gentlest and kindest thing in the world, and why the fuck was he being nice to him?“I wish…”The porcelain plate shattered on the tile, barely softened by a cushion of strawberry cake and frosting and wax.“Fuck!”Max had him wrapped in his arms in a second and pulled him off to the side of the room where he wouldn’t cut his feet. Bradley felt his shoulders shake harder than they had in a decade.Men don’t cry, men don’t cry, men don’t…oh fuck it.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Tap, tap, tap, tap - Max’s pencil thunked against the edge of his three-ring binder he was using as a makeshift desk.
His back was against the upright piano in the same practice room they’d haunted a couple of weeks ago, and he was enjoying the buzz of the chords being struck against his spine and the back of his skull as Bradley’s fingers flew over the keys.
He twisted his lip idly with the other hand, scanning the handout.
Weekly Assignment, Due: Monday, March 24Calculating Escape VelocityCalculate the escape velocity for a spacecraft to leave the surface of Earth. Use the following values:
Mass of Earth: (M): 5.972 x 10^24 kg
Radius of Earth: (R): 6.371 x 10^6 m
La velocidad -
v -
=
a la raíz cuadrada de dos veces la constante gravitacional G
por la masa
- M -
dividida por el radio -
R.
Max
laid out the equation, tapping his chewed pencil
as he double, triple checked the values and smiled as he plugged in the gravitational constant.
6.67430×10….
Bradley set one piece aside and pulled another music book from the pile on top of the piano.
He’d hardly spoken since last night.
Max didn’t blame him.
Personally, a release like that always
made him a little bit of a zombie the next day, and he’d signaled the guys at breakfast to be gentle with their fourth roommate.
He’d about strangled Bobby when he loudly asked whose caramel vanilla cupcake was in the fridge.
Uppercrust had poked his head into his room about two hours ago and asked if he had any practice to do for guitar studio.
He didn’t, but the English make-up assignment that Talbot had handed to him, unimpressed, the day after he’d passed that exam was giving him a headache and he liked the assignments Dr. Emrys gave out anyway.
They relaxed him, and this one made him feel a little like he was working at NASA, and a bit of the giddy excitement he’d had when he’d declared his major came back, tickling a little extra at his senses, making all the colors of the world a little brighter.
Calcula el numerador…
They’d spent a good hour in the music library, Bradley thumbing through yellowed sheet music without really saying anything or making eye contact, but relaxed enough about Max being there.
Max just kept his headphones in and looked up each piece he picked up to follow along.
Bradley had checked out an armful and, the moment he had his student ID back in his hand had booked it for the practice room.
Max had plunked on the floor and pulled out his homework.
The melody of the current piece was familiar and he shifted around to watch Bradley’s hands, moving so fast he imagined for a second that he was chasing the sound across the keys instead of the other way around.
His narrow shoulders hunched under his button-down, eyebrows knit in concentration, Max felt a little twinge of - admiration? Something like that - as he peeked around the corner and squinted at the title on the little music stand ledge.
Lie…lieb…
Claro, es una cosa alemana... o húngara... ¿quién era el compositor otra vez?
F. Lisz…
“Fliszt!”
Max blurted out, chuckling at himself.
Bradley’s hands stopped.
“What?”
Max pointed to the composer.
“Fliszt.”
He blinked, bewildered.
“It’s F. Liszt.”
“What?”
“It's…F. Liszt.”
Max’s lips twitched, launching into his best Danish accent, which admittedly wasn’t good.
He narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance.
“F-Liszt, young man, is Fliszt.
You don’t say M. Ozart, do you?”
Él no entiende la referencia.
Esto va a estar brutal.
Uppercrust opened his mouth like he was about to launch into a lecture on the notation of classical composer’s names when Max couldn’t hold the snickers back anymore and let out a full blown “h-yuck” that made him go absolutely red and get Bradley to burst out laughing.
Fuck - él tiene una risa bien chévere.
Bradley heaved between laughs.
“Bitch, what?”
“You ever heard of Victor Borge?”
Bradley wiped at his eye, still howling.
“No, who the fuck’s that?”
Max fished his phone out of his pocket.
“Hold on - okay, so - right - so there’s this comedian.
My dad really likes old comedians, you know like Abbott and Costello?”
“Abbot and…who?”
Max grinned.
“Yeah, he’s on first.”
“What?”
“He’s on second.”
“I…don’t know…”
Bradley squinted like he was trying to decide if he was having a stroke.
Perfecto.
“And he’s on third, see - you get it.”
Max typed
his best approximation of the Danish last name and ‘Page Turner Bit’ rapidly into the search bar, shit-eating grin taking up his entire face as he plunked onto the piano bench next to Bradley, hit the thumbnail that populated in the search engine and set his phone over the sheet music on the music stand.
“I grew up watching them too, obviously.
So, this guy - he’s a comedian but he’s also a classical musician, it’s…well, here.”
Bradley’s sides were splitting by about halfway through the ten minute video.
Max cut it off about a minute before it all ended -
“The joke after this didn’t age super well…” he said, squirming at the 1990s film quality and some of the other jokes he now remembered that were best left in the previous century -
- and giggled a little more over the stage hand trying desperately to do all the ridiculous tasks Victor asked, Bradley saying for the fifth time since he’d hit play that the silly old guy in the tux was “actually a super talented musician”, and they both sat there gasping for a minute as Max put his phone back into his pocket, sighing.
“You laugh like your dad.” Bradley said after a second.
Oh, Dios…
His insides squirmed.
“Yeah, I know…”
“No, hey -” Bradley’s hand instinctively went out and found his knee -
They both froze.
Bradley pulled his hand back.
“ - that’s not a bad thing.
I know we technically recruited him to sabotage you, but all the Gammas really enjoyed having him around.
I did, too.
He’s…actually a really neat guy.”
The warmth that washed through Max couldn’t be overstated.
Dad had been faithful to his word and only called once a week and was getting more patient with waiting for replies to texts.
Just today he’d sent a selfie of himself and Sylvia at the beach, and he looked more relaxed and happier than he’d ever seen him.
“Thanks.
I think so, too.”
“You talk to him lately?”
“Oh yeah.
He’s loving Orlando.”
“Didn’t he get with Miss Marpole?”
“Yeah.”
“You good with that?”
“Yeah, I mean it’s his life, and Sylvia’s cool.”
Bradley nodded, out of things to say and ran the left-hand line of Liebestraum idly for a minute.His knee started pumping again.“You play at all?” he ventured suddenly, like he was embarrassed to have the attention.
“Not really - I know like one song.”
Bradley lit up, watching his hands expectantly.
Max felt the sly grin spread across his lips again.
He set one glove up on the keyboard and bobbed his head to the march tempo.
F, F, F.F, F, F.A F G E F ….
Bradley recognized the old theme song and elbowed him, chuckling.
“Oh my god.”
“Hey, you asked -
I said I knew one song…”
“Get off my piano bench, Freshman.”
Max slid off and looked at the stack of music Bradley still hadn’t gotten to.
“You gonna play through all of this?”
Blue eyes looked a little embarrassed.
“Probably not, but I like to pull a selection.”He stood up, skinny enough to stand between the bench and the piano almost without pushing the bench back, and thumbed through a few options.
“You have a favorite composer?”
“Tchaikovsky.” Max said without hesitating.
Uppercrust stopped.
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah.
I like the Nutcracker.
Swan Lake, it’s…I don’t know, I just
like it.”
“The ballet composer who wrote about a bunch of candy and magical toys, that’s your favorite?”
“I mostly like the dumb little dancing mice, but - yeah.”
Bradley pulled a book of Nutcracker piano arrangements and scanned the index.
“The pas de deux is really nice.”
Max suggested.
Flip, flip, flip.
“Oh damn, this is long, hold on…give me a minute…”
Bradley sat on the bench and entered a whole different brain state for the next thirty minutes, muttering about Italian dynamic markings and chord progressions, glasses sliding down his nose.
Max pretended to be working on the velocity equation for Emrys, but everytime Bradley hummed another bar or whispered something about “okay, and then another A section…” or “damn, that’s a lot of sharps…” he looked up again and felt another piece of himself get curious about the idiot in the sweaters that he’d loved to hate so much last year.
He half-wondered if the little girl Bradley had shown him in the picture frame from the bottom of his dresser last night - the tiny brown-haired copy and paste of him but in female form and their Dad’s brown eyes instead of their Mom’s blue ones - had also leaned against the piano, enjoying the rumble of strings and keys and hammers. Beethoven-style.
She’d seemed like the kind of kid who’d do something like that, just to be supportive.No wonder he missed her so much.
“Okay - this is gonna be…” Bradley started pre-apologizing and caught Max smiling.
He froze for a second, eyes faltering back down to the sheet music.
“...something.”
“Go for it, Maestro.”
Bradley’s lips twitched at the nickname and put his hands on the keys.
The execution was certainly not flawless - the rise and fall of it was often punctuated by an - “aagh ” - “uummmm” - “pfft” - or straight up - “nope, that’s wrong” from Bradley when his finger found a key that was one sharp or one flat, or hit a wrong chord.
Max didn’t care how choppy it was.
The longer it went, the more Bradley got lost in it.
His torso swayed, his eyebrows knit, the glasses slid down the nose, the hair flew along with his insanely nimble fingers, and as the crescendo built, Max could remember a dozen performances of the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier and the insanely athletic partnered lifts he’d seen.
Before Bradley was halfway through, the soul of the piece filled the practice room.He could practically see it.Bradley could feel it.Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky was out there somewhere in the ether smiling.
The final notes died away and Max had to suck in a breath, realizing he’d forgotten to inhale consistently for the last five minutes.
Bradley sat hunched on the bench, going back over the sections he said he’d “botched”, and Max felt something shift.
Nunca he conocido a alguien como él.
Dios…¿qué está pasando?
“It’s weird, not many pas de deux pieces have this many minor chord progressions.” the pianist commented, not looking up.
“It’s almost…sad.”
“Do you, um…” Max heard himself say and cleared his throat to bring his voice back down to the normal octave.
“...do you know the story behind that piece?”
“Hmm?” Bradley was still concentrating.
“Like, the story behind why Tchaikovsky wrote it like that?”
“No - why?”
Max hesitated - Bradley had looked up and he’d just noticed his eyes were a little misted over from the piece itself.
He shook his head.
“Nevermind, I’ll tell you some other time.”
His phone buzzed mercifully in his pocket so he could avoid the confused look on Bradley’s face.
“PJ said dinner’s on in fifteen, you wanna get out of here?”
Bradley’s gaze was perceptive, but Max couldn’t decide what he’d seen and busied himself slipping the incomplete equation back into his astrophysics binder.
God, he hoped he wasn’t as red in the face as he felt.
“Yeah, I’m starving.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He’d stared at the picture frame on his dresser all week, weighing if he could handle what every ounce of his instinct was telling him to do.
If you want me to…
he kept thinking, looking at Bailey, smiling next to a much smaller version of himself.
The sweet-lipped, blue-eyed woman next to his Dad made him squirm more.
What would she have said about the last couple of years?
He shuddered to think the lecture on kindness and self-control he'd have gotten after the games.
He thought he could almost remember what her voice sounded like.
Hey Mama…there’s things I still need to say to you.
Sometime in the middle of lecture on Friday he’d booked the ticket.
Now everything in him regretted it, but he forced himself to focus on the smallest, most mundane part of the process that was right in front of him.
He shoved Rabbit into the top of his messenger bag at the last second, not sure why, and squirmed internally, staring at the worn, pink bug-eyed thing he’d kept since kindergarten.
I need therapy, don’t I?
Dress down for the bus - that one was easy.
He only owned one hoodie, bought from the campus bookstore the day Max had spilled a tray of lattes on him and he hadn't had time to run home and change before class. He pulled the hood over his head as he ducked into the Greyhound station.
Get your ticket printed out, get in line, keep your headphones in and don’t open your eyes again until you know you’re where you’re going.
Bradley’s knee bounced the whole way upstate, with each turn of the road.
More than once the driver took a curve a bit too fast and the rumble strip grunted out in protest.
His stomach lurched and a part of him wanted to pull out his phone and text Max, but he hadn’t said anything to anyone about this particular side-quest, and wanted to keep it that way.
He'd sent a “out of town for the weekend be back Sunday PM” to the group chat and left it at that.
He ordered an Uber from the upstate Greyhound station - he knew the address because he despised it so much.
But it’d be dumb to get a hotel room.
Dad checked his purchases, he’d see the address on the transaction and that would be a whole conversation he never wanted to have.
There were eight guest rooms, and Dad always went on trips with his work friends on the weekends.
It was safe enough to assume the only people around would be the staff.
The horse pasture at the front of the property had been so much empty grass since Mom died.
She’d been the horse person, and Dad didn’t want to look at them anymore.
He still liked to imagine Tempest galloping across trying to race the car.
That was a good horse - he only let Mom and Bradley ride him.
The house looked exactly the same.
He said a brief - and shaky - thank you to the Uber driver, gave him a decent review since he hadn’t had an active panic attack in the process of getting out here, and grabbed his weekender bag from the trunk.
Up the steps, glancing up at the pale blue paint on the ceiling of the porch.
Mom had been from Georgia and had insisted on the color.
He’d liked it as a kid - blue was one of the few colors that actually looked like anything.
Now he felt his mouth screw
up a little at the sight of it.
Feels like this house might be keeping more ghosts in than keeping them out.
Key in the lock, and the foyer opened up.
He grimaced at the sight of the portrait that took up eighty percent of the entry.
A slightly taller, much older and much more severe version of himself stared out of an insanely expensive portrait he hadn’t been asked to sit for, and Bradley bit back the temptation to spit at it.
“Brad?”
The door clicked closed behind him, and the man in the portrait - albeit another eight years older and paunchier, wearing grey sweats, thicker glasses, and the 1987 version of the Gamma Mu rush shirt- came around the corner.
“Bradley, Dad.”
“You know you could say hello before correcting your old man.”
Bradley’s mouth flattened out into an even more severe line. “Hello, Dad.”
“What the hell you doing here?
It’s not a break, is it?”
He blinked.
“It’s the weekend.”
“Never stopped you from staying away before.”
“It was my birthday last week.”
“I sent you a card.”
“Where?”
“The Gamma house.”
“Dad, I don’t live there anymore.”
“I figured the guys would get it to you.”
“The guys that don’t talk to me anymore?”
Brad Jr. grinned self-satisfactorily.
“Unsurprising after the shit you pulled.”
He glowered at his father and pressed his lips into as tight a line as he could.
“Happy Birthday, Bradley.”
“Yeah, yeah, happy birthday, Brad.”
“Bradley.”
The old, bored look came back and Brad Jr. started to wander off,
heading for the living room, ostensibly to pour himself a drink.
Bradley dropped his bags, following out of obligation and hating every step.
Maybe coming was a mistake.
“So what are you actually doing here?
You need anything?”
The dry bar was one of the few additions in the last twelve years.
It replaced the gorgeous Steinway that Dad had ordered moved into the finished basement game room - Mom’s Steinway.
“I’m just here for the night, I’m heading back tomorrow.”
Brad Jr. reached up to the second shelf, pulled a half-empty bottle of Blanton’s and popped the top off.
“You came all this way to stay one night?”
“Can I use one of the guest rooms?”
“You’ve got your own room.”
“Sure.”
“Drink? You're legal now.”
“I’m good.”
He said, and instantly regretted it.
Usually, he’d never face a one on one with his dad sober.
Brad Jr. shrugged and poured himself a double, neat.
“You’re freaking me out, kid.”
“Is Jimmy in?”
“The driver?”
“Is there another Jimmy now?”
“There’s no Jimmy now. He retired. Guess I missed a memo somewhere you'd still need an on-call chauffeur in college. ”
Bradley bit his tongue back.
“I’m surprised you’re not at the office.”
“I do occasionally enjoy spending time in my own home, you know.
Where you running off to so fast?
You just walked in.”
“I don’t have to explain my entire life to you.”
“Hey!”
Dad’s greying eyebrows wrinkled, first in fury, then
- very surprisingly - to confusion.
“What the hell you so worked up for?
You mad I didn’t call and sing you Happy Birthday?”
“I’ll see you later, Dad.”
Brad Jr. set down the highball glass without sipping from it.
“Brad - hey.
Wait a damn minute.”
“My name’s Bradley.”
“The fuck does it matter?”
“Cause it’s my name!”
“Your name is my name.
You’ve got a third after your name, remember?
Why the fuck does it matter what I call you?”
“Because it’s Bradley and Bailey!”
The high ceiling of the living room echoed even with the flush carpet and thirty throw pillows sitting around.
Brad Jr. blanched.
Bradley III felt tears spring in front of the fucked up old man for the first time since high school.
Which granted wasn’t nearly long enough for his ego, but at least it seemed to land now.
“What’d you say?”
Brad Jr. rasped.
“Bailey, Dad.
Bradley and Bailey.
Those are our names.
That’s what Mom named us.
Brad is your name.
I’m Bradley.”
The third of his name let his fingers fly to emphasize his point. Dad had never known ASL very well, but he knew damn well what he meant and that he didn’t use it lightly.
He felt his stomach bottom out as
“B-Bug”
flew out, the motion so rusty yet so familiar that last week's moment in the kitchen came back and with it, the urge to cry like he’d let himself then.
Brad Jr. was frozen on his own living room carpet.
“You…still think about her?”
Fury rose up, unmatched.
“My twin sister who died in my arms?
Yeah, Dad, I still fucking think about her.”
“Hey! Language.”
“Language. Yeah, that’s the important thing here. Fucking semantics, not the fact that I’m standing here talking about…”
He cut himself off with a bitter laugh, glancing up at the ceiling to bite back the more dangerous things he wanted to say.
“The fuck do you care?
It’s not like you ever talk about either of them.”
“I’m asking you a question, son,
you don’t have to cuss me out.”
“You’re asking if I still think about Bailey?”
“Do you?”
This motherfucker.
“Do
you
?”
“Think about my daughter?
Or my own damn wife?
The hell are you suggesting?”
“I’m trying to remember the last time you said her name.”
“Who’s name?”
“Either of them!
When’s the last time you talked about either of them?”
“Or the last time you did.” Brad Jr. spat back, looking more bewildered and blustery by the second, voice rising.
Bradley’s rose with it.
“When’s the last time we even had a full conversation that wasn’t yelling and shit? Why are we always yelling?”
“You're the one who waltzed in here and started cussing me out!”
“DAD!”
“No, punk, you're not gonna walk into my house uninvited after the shit you pulled…”
“Uninvited?”
“...and then accuse me of dishonoring your mother's memory, and your sister’s…”
“Am I not allowed to come back to my own house now? Is that what's happening?”
“Is that what you think of me, that I don't spend every DAY wishing -”
“Wishing what?”
Brad Jr.’s eyes went wide, then narrowed as he hesitated, mouth open.
The world burned between Bradley’s ears.
“Wishing what, Dad?”
“You’re gonna stop.
Right now.”
“Why?
What’s the consequence this time?
You gonna take my car keys away?
I never fucking got any.
What are you gonna do?
Am I cut off now? You never want to see me again? I'm an embarrassment to the family name - irresponsible, ungrateful, waste of space - go ahead, hit me with it. You think I haven't watched you hold yourself back a thousand - ”
“-WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, BRADLEY, GOD FUCK!”
Five seconds.
Ten.
“I thought you said we weren't gonna cuss each other out.”
Twenty seconds.
Bradley sucked his teeth. “I don't know why I bother.”
“Alright, you know what, you’re right.
You’re right.
Just - stop.”
Brad held a hand up. “Just stop.
Sit down.”
“I didn’t come here to talk.”
“Then why the fuck did you come at all?”
“I came to see my sister.
You said Jimmy's gone.
I’ll call an Uber.”
And he turned to go.
He could stand on the porch.
Dad stepped up to meet his path.
“I’ll drive.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I poured a drink, I hadn’t had any yet.
I swear.”
“I’d really rather not…”
“Look, kid, I’m sorry…”
Kid.
His stomach turned.
That one he hadn’t used in a while, and it almost felt good.
And …
Sorry???
“It’s fine, you don’t have to…”
“No, I want to.”
“Look, I'm really not in the mood for whatever weird, last ditch…”
“Bradley…”
“I didn't come here for you. I'll send a list, you can ship my stuff to the Troop house.”
“Bradley!”
Bradley’s forehead wrinkled before he turned.
Never in his life had his father’s voice ever cracked like that.
The man he turned to see was a deflated version of the man he’d always known - deflated and something else.
He’d never seen fear in Brad Jr.’s face.
Not ever.
“Dad?’
And just like that, the old man shook it away.
“Just…meet me in the car.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
His car was a classic blue 1970 Chevelle
just like the first one he’d whisked Rachel away in.
He’d rebuilt the whole engine the first semester Bradley had been gone at State and wished the little guy had been around to hand him a wrench or hold a flashlight.
It hadn’t been as satisfying since he’d gotten so damn mouthy and stopped coming in here every five minutes to see what Dad was up to.
But the car was a beauty and ran like new.
Bradley looked like he was about to puke having to ride in it.
He’d been that way since the accident, and he tried to remember the last time - before just now in the living room - the kid had made eye contact with him.
The motherfucker had signed at him.
He’d retained all that after all these years?
Of fucking course he had.
The transmission turned over and the wheels crunched over the gravel he’d paid too much for.
Out past the horse pasture that was empty now.
Rachel would’ve hated it, but the kid was afraid of getting up on the horse the first year after everything happened and it cost too much to keep the stable crew on hand if the beasts weren’t going to be ridden.
He adjusted the rearview mirror and decided he looked alright - button downs weren’t usually his pick on weekends, but for Rachel and Bailey…
There was probably enough gas in the tank for what he was thinking.
“We’re making a stop on the way.”“Can we not just go?”
Fucking mouthy kid.
“You think I’m going without flowers for my wife, you’re out of your damn mind.”
That shut him up.
And made him stare, which wasn’t what he wanted, but at least he seemed to respect him a little more.
Goddammit, did he really think he didn’t think about them?
Or, you know - care?
His family had died that day, too.
Why the fuck wouldn’t he think about them?
My name is Bradley.
It’s Bradley and Bailey.
“My name is Bradley!”
He’d screamed it a hundred times as a teenager, but he’d never said why.
Why not?
That would have been easy.
He would’ve understood that.
But the kid had just slammed doors and locked himself in the basement with the damned piano and the books and the video games for hours and refused to look at anyone or stand up straight, no matter how many times he was reminded what the damn back brace he’d paid for in middle school had cost.
“So you rode a bus all the way upstate just to go to your sister’s grave?”
Bradley’s knee was bouncing enough that he worried for the suspension.
He didn’t look at him.
Kid had his eyes closed.
Fuck, this was the road.
The spot was miles up, but this was still the road.
God fuck, pay attention, Brad.
Bradley replied thirty seconds later, eyes still shut. “What?”
“Nevermind.”
Brad Jr. white-knuckled the wheel and felt his stomach churn.
Poor kid.
The florist was a nice lady who’d given them the Friends and Family discount for the funeral flowers and knew he’d sent a bouquet to the cemetery to be placed every week for the past eleven years.
She smiled warmly at them as they came in and tried to strike up a conversation with Bradley who sank further into his hoodie, almost didn’t make eye contact and asked for some pitiful little bouquet of zinnias.
At least he said thank you.
The ride to the actual cemetery was more silent than the first leg, if that was possible, and Brad Jr. felt the tension in the car rise to the point that he wanted to yell something, but couldn’t think of anything.
Bradley jumped out the nanosecond the gear shift was in park.
“You coming?” he asked, looking back when Brad Jr. didn’t unbuckle his seatbelt.
“You go first.
You’ve clearly got some business I have no part in.”
Bradley’s face went stony and he stalked off.
Their headstones weren’t that far away, but at least out of earshot.
He looked in the rearview again, frowning at the bags under his eyes, how fast the greys were spreading in his hairline, and how damn tired he looked.
You’re turning into an old fuck, Crusty.
He stared at the gold band he still wore on his left hand - polished every six months as recommended - then flexed his right fingers into the positions he’d worked so hard to learn twenty-one years ago.
A…B…C…
B…
B, A, I….
What the fuck was L?
He’d paid for how many classes?
Talked to his daughter himself how many times?
E.
He remembered E.
Y.
B, R, A, D…
And the sign for ‘Dad’.
That one he’d never forget.
Bradley was over there signing at a headstone like he’d never taken a break.
Why did he feel sick to his stomach?
Why don’t you go and talk to him, Baby?
Her sweet southern twang never stopped making his heart ache and all of him go absolutely crazy.
“I don’t know how to do this, Rach.”
He murmured.
He’d been doing this more and more often and the guys at the office were starting to worry.
And you think he does?
Talk to him.
Talk to him.
Talk to the wall.
To the stone-faced teenager turned college asshole who almost killed three people trying to win some damn skate park contest and almost got himself expelled.
Goddamn good thing the President and the Dean were Gammas and remembered a favor or two they owed him.
White mums were the ones he’d always sent, and he could tell the ones he’d sent last week were already drooping in the heat.
It was barely April.
Could nothing stay nice, dammit?
Bradley had sat down after addressing his mom’s headstone, reading off something he’d pulled out of a wrinkled envelope from his pocket.
The paper was in his lap now, and his shoulders were shaking.
Shit.
He popped open the car door and approached, careful not to scare the kid - he had his back turned.
He had good enough hearing.
But he also didn’t pay attention to anything around him.
The amount of times he’d scared the shit out of him in the basement by walking in mid-piano session almost made him wonder if he shouldn’t have threatened to cut him off if he went for a music degree.
He’d stopped signing - the kid’s hands were shaking too much, zinnias laid in his lap while he sat criss-cross like a kindergartner.
The sobs were audible from a few feet away, and he felt his whole inside squirm.
How had he missed that?
He’d always assumed the kid was just being an asshole.
Was there more to it and he’d been the real asshole?
It would fucking figure.
Brad Jr. stood awkwardly in front of the other grave, mums in hand.
Several minutes went by.
Eventually Bradley noticed him standing there but didn’t look up or say anything.
Say something.
Say anything.
Brad Jr. cleared his throat and stared at the stone in front of him.
RACHEL BAILEY UPPERCRUST
“Hey, baby.”
Bradley’s bloodshot eyes glanced suspiciously up at him.
“Miss you.”
And flickered back down.
Not good enough.
I’m not good at shit like this.
Father and son’s chests both rose and fell rapidly.
Somewhere on the other side of the cemetery some bird or other called out loudly and another on the other side answered back.
Bradley stared straight ahead.
Brad Jr. took out the wilting bouquet from last week, threw it roughly to the side, and replaced them with the fresh ones.
He pulled one out, stepped in front of Bradley and gave one to Bailey.
BAILEY MARIE….
Pointer finger, pinky and thumb all up at the same time.
Cause it’s I…L…fuck, yeah, that’s how you do ‘L’...Y.
I L Y.
“I love you.”
There.
He remembered that much.
And “ daughter”.
B-sweet.
Bailey.
“I love you, too, Daddy.” ‘And that stabbed him in the gut.
Of course it did - did anyone expect anything less from him? Wasn’t he allowed to be human?
He sat.
Closer to Rachel, but next to his son.
His son.
His son was sobbing and trying to hide it.
Men don’t cry.
He knew he’d told him that, but he wasn’t sure he believed it anymore.
Getting older made everything hurt more, and he had to admit in the last few months he’d actually let himself cry a few times.
It hurt like hell but it also felt..alright.
But how to say that?
Rachel would know.
Rachel always knew, when he was stumped and didn’t have words.
You would think someone who spoke in court for a living would know how to fucking talk to his own son.
This isn’t good enough.
Those damn birds wouldn’t shut up.
And the stabbing, nauseous feeling in his stomach hadn’t gone away.
Something hurt that had always hurt and normally he could ignore it but not here and not with Bradley sniffling right next to him. He vaguely remembered from a conversation with the nice florist lady that zinnias meant something…something.
That pink had been Bailey’s favorite color, so maybe zinnias weren’t such a bad choice after all.
And maybe he should’ve bought Rachel sunflowers.
Rach loved sunflowers.
She’d scandalized his entire family by insisting on them as the wedding flowers, and she’d worn them in her hair instead of a veil like a hippie and she’d looked fucking beautiful.She’d given him two beautiful children.
She’d been the first to hold his hand and tell him they’d figure it all out together, no matter how scared he was that he’d fuck up with Bradley or not be able to learn what he needed to learn to be close to Bailey.
She’d held him the first time he’d shouted at them and told him to keep trying.
A lot of good that had done.He was right next to his own kid and he’d never felt further from anyone.
And he’d spent most of his life trying to keep his distance.
And then wondering why he felt this…this pain in his gut.
He sniffed.
Goddammit.
Bradley looked up and caught it.
“...Dad?”
It had been so long since they’d actually looked at each other he’d fucking forgotten how much Bradley’s eyes looked like Rachel’s.
Jesus Christ.
Tears that had been held back so long they physically hurt splashed down his face.
“I…uh…I’m not good at shit like this.
And I think…I think I fucked up pretty good.”
“Dad, you don’t...”
No, dammit kid, don’t interrupt me now, or I may never figure out how to say this.
“I fucked up pretty good, kid.
I don’t know how to do any of this shit.
I never said anything cause I didn’t think you wanted to think about it.”
“You thought…?”
His eyebrows knit.
“And it was easier to just try to move past it, but…maybe it wasn’t.”
The birds started squawking - more of them.
A whole flock of them, if his ears were correct, but all that he could look at was Bradley and the sweat beading on his face.
He really had ridden a bus all the way here just to avoid a phone call.
That was maybe the bravest thing he’d done since graduation.
Bradley broke eye contact and absently pulled a couple petals off of one of the zinnias.
“So you just…ignored me…” Bradley coughed a little, getting choked up, and rasped for breath.
God fuck, he still can’t breathe very well, can he?
“…you just didn’t talk to me cause you thought it would be easier?”
He stared at Bradley’s hands.
“For you.
Yeah.
And also for me.
I don’t fucking know, Bradley.
You were so damn scared of everything, I was so goddamn angry, I didn’t want you to be scared of me, too.”
The birds fell silent.
At least that was honest.
It felt awful, it wasn't a pleasant thing to admit, but it didn't feel like all the stilted, canned things he felt like he was supposed to say.Brad felt a piece of himself release he’d never bargained on releasing, and it hurt worse than admitting he was starting to lose track of things - probably nothing to worry about too much for a few years, but he knew that story’s ending and it wasn’t pretty.
Bradley was silent for a long time before he muttered,“Dad, I’m not scared of you.”
His chest lifted and then emptied too fast.
“You…you’re not?”
“I’ve never been scared of you.”
Bradley’s face was confused, like he’d never even considered it.
Had he really been…better?
“...I just have always thought you didn’t…want…you know, you were always distant or…or busy.
I just thought you didn’t give a shit.”
So not better.
Worse.
So much worse.
Years worth of dumb arguments and nights they’d eaten silently at the dinner table, of avoiding the kid cause he seemed like he needed the space or kicking him out of the study because next week was a trial week all came flooding up like a powerpoint of evidence that he’d been just as shitty of a dad as he’d always been afraid of being.
He thought the hands-off approach was better than beating the kids’ door down, than all the fucked up shit Brad Sr. had pulled in the name of ‘respect’ and ‘manhood’ - but how was he to know how to find the balance between them?
Someone may as well have kicked him in the chest.
“You thought I didn’t want you?”
Fury rose - not toward the kid.
Never toward the kid, he didn’t do anything wrong.
God, he’d never forget the night everything happened and that tiny little boy had looked up at him, covered in the unimaginable, and waited for him to say something.
Anything.
And Rachel was gone and couldn’t tell him the right thing to say.
What had he said to him?
Nothing good, he assumed, and he hated that he couldn’t remember.
Bradley sputtered.
“Not after…after everything…you just…you just kind of shut me out, and I mean…I mean, I shut you out, too, so maybe it was my fault.
I mean, you were…I needed…I…just, I…”
“I don’t know what to do.
Rach, what do I do?”
“What do you want to do, baby?"
“He’s so small…”
“It’s okay, baby, just be gentle.”
“I don’t want to hurt him.”
“You’re not…hey - sweetheart, he’s your baby too.
You know what to do…here, make sure you support his head…”
He grabbed his son and hoped it wasn’t scary.
Bradley grabbed him back and buried his face in his collar.
“Come here.”
“Dad, I’m sorry.” came ragged and sounding about eleven years younger.
His heart ripped.
“Sorry for what, kid?”
“I - I’m sorry.”
“Buddy, it’s not your fault.
It wasn’t ever your fault.
You hear me?
It wasn’t your fault.”
He hadn’t called him Buddy since he was nine, but it felt right, and he’d missed it.
Bradley curled into him, shaking.
He was shaking too.
Damn fuck, he was crying - like, hard crying.
His son’s hair was as soft as it had ever been and his fingers went through it, pulling the kid in closer, went as far as actually kissing his forehead.
He was just a kid.
He was just a kid.
“I’m so sorry...”
The kid trembled in his arms. Same little guy who'd come with his sister several weeks early and scared the shit out of him, lying so small and helpless in the incubator.
Same little buddy who got scared of the horses the first time he saw them and hated thunderstorms.
Loved bugs and music and used to flap his hands around all weird when he was happy.
Did he still like dudes?
Fuck, he really hadn’t known him in years. Probably because he’d yelled at him about it cause that had been before Lance and Arthur come out to the office and he’d actually done some research.
“Hey -
shh, come here.
I'm here, kid.”
“Dad…”
“I’m right here.”
The lawn company that mowed at the cemetery every Saturday took an extra break that day not to interrupt the moment between the family that had showed up in the blue Chevy.
They were there for a couple hours, just sitting there.
The two of them rode back in a different kind of silence and had a drink in the living room, then hung out in the basement and Bradley played a Chopin piece that had always been Rachel’s favorite.
Brad Jr. stood there watching Bradley’s fingers fly over the keys and realized he’d never be able to do something like that, and it really was impressive.
He’d taught himself more than his mom had ever known.
Bradley looked up half-embarrassed at the end.
Brad Jr. smiled.
“Not bad, kid.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The next morning Brad Jr. pulled two fishing rods out of the garden shed. Part of him felt stupid - the kid would probably say no, he had to head back to school anyway. But when he walked out to the dock to set everything up before texting Bradley or seeing if he was awake, the kid was already there, staring out over the lake, skipping rocks.
“You, uh…”
“Fuck -” Bradley jumped, not having noticed him. “ - hey.”
“You need a minute?”
“Nah - you’re good, there’s room.”
Brad Jr. stood awkwardly - the bucket hat, shorts and ratty old t-shirt feeling dumb next to the button-down and sweater Bradley always wore.
The kid looked at him. Damn, he really did have Rachel’s eyes. How had he missed that for almost twelve years?
“You fishing?”
“Uh - yeah. There’s two poles if, uh…if you want.”
Bradley’s eyes flickered down to the bait box. He’d always hated hurting the worms - he’d cried the first time cause it was “mean”.
“I’ll bait it for you.” he offered, biting back something more insulting that he’d said the last time they’d done anything together - what, five years ago? Ten? All those timelines mixed together. That had been right before he’d found out Bradley liked guys. Kid probably hated him for it.
Bradley’s mouth curved up quietly. “Sure.”
The lake was quiet - it was part of the reason he liked it. Work was always stressful, his head was always loud, and this was where all his good memories lived. The sunrise was golden today, and even though it was getting hot too fast, it was the first time in years he’d felt like everything really might not be totally fucked.
They didn’t talk for the first hour or so.
I guess we don’t actually have to.
That was nice. Truth be told, he hated talking. Most of the time it felt like he was trying to translate from a language everyone else understood and he didn’t and it felt stupid.
Law he understood. There was case law to fall back on - precedents and statutes, things that were consistent. He’d been with the same judge and trial partner long enough to have worked out the kinks and idiosyncrasies and know what recommendations would suit just about everyone for just about everything. Which motion to file, what busywork to give the interns and what problems to bring to the deputy chief. Like a well-oiled machine. All the parts fit, he knew what to look for when something didn’t run smoothly.
People were all over the place, and they didn’t always say what they meant and then he’d inevitably stick his foot in his mouth.
Something jumped on the other side of the lake and he inhaled through the nose - the smell of peace and quiet.
He felt his shoulders relax.
Bradley looked like he wanted to say a hundred things, but he just reeled the hook back in and tossed it out again a few times.
Brad Jr. cocked an eyebrow at him after the fourth time. “You alright?”
Bradley cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I just, uh…I just wanted to say yesterday was really nice. And, um, I’m sorry I cussed you out.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“It didn’t make you mad?”
Brad Jr. cast again, wondering vaguely if that big catfish was around today. He’d been after it for a couple of years.
“Not really. I deserved it. You hold back something for that many years it’s gonna come out how it comes out.”
Bradley blinked.
Brad Jr. stared out over the water again. A few minutes went by before he put his words together.
“How’s school going?”
“School’s good. I’m still on honor roll, even with the whole…you know, the whole X-games thing.”
That was more of a relief than he cared to admit. “That’s great.”
“Yeah.”
Does he even want to go to law school? I really should have asked that sooner.
Bradley reeled the line in for the seventh time. He always did that - he’d never had the patience to let the hook stay in one place. But at least he was trying.
“And thanks again for bailing me out of all that, I know it was embarrassing.”
“Why the hell did you pull all that shit?”
Bradley turned bright red and sat - criss cross again.
“It’s stupid.”
“Hey - you brought it up. No judgment here, I’ve done stupid shit.”
“I was trying to impress…” The kid swallowed and left the line in the water for once. “... someone.”
“You still like guys?”
Bradley looked up like he was shocked he remembered.
“Cause - back in middle school, you, uh - you said you liked guys. I’m afraid I didn’t react very well to it.”
Those blue eyes hardened exactly how they had the day he’d called his own son a slur.
“Yeah. I still like guys.”
“Got it, got it.” He swallowed. “Just guys? Or are you - fuck, what are the other ones - bi? Pan? One of those?”
Lance and Arthur had explained it, what it meant, how it all worked. Why hadn’t he apologized then? Must have been a pride thing. Fucking dumb of him.
Bradley tilted his head up and looked at him, squinting. Brad Jr. could feel the conversation moving into dangerous territory and almost backpedaled when Bradley’s face softened a little bit - he had no idea why - and nodded again.
“Just guys.” Bradley smiled a little bit to himself and it went silent for a minute.
Didn’t seem like that was a bad thing, though.
“So -” So, gay. Noted. That's fine. Long as he's with a good guy. “ - so you liked a guy - one of the Gammas?”
Bradley let out a scoff through his nose and then something unreadable crossed his face and Brad Jr. got the awful feeling he’d just touched a nerve.
“Look, you don’t have to - uh - tell me - I’m just making conversation.”
“No, no, no - it’s alright. It’s, uh - it’s nice that you’re asking. I thought you were disgusted by the whole thing.”
Brad Jr. prickled. “I’ve got gay friends at the office.”
And there it was. That a-holian, sassy, cocked-eyebrow look Bradley’d given him a thousand times in high school. “Not “I have gay friends’...”
“I’m trying here.”
Bradley grinned. “I’m giving you shit.”
“Okay, well - I’m learning. I don’t wanna say anything - you know - accidentally homophobic.”
“Oh you’ve said so many things already.” Bradley shook his head, eyes reproachful, serious as a heart attack.
What’d I say?
And then burst out laughing.
Asshole.
He smacked the kid playfully in the back of the head. Bradley hadn’t laughed like that around him in years. He’d never lost the dumb little giggle.
“Hey, watch it, you’re still talking to your old man.” He snatched the old bucket hat off his head and shoved it onto the kid’s.
“Hey! The hair!” Bradley protested, but kept it on and shoved his shoulder into his old man.
“Aah…” Brad Jr. threw the moment away and sat, too, loafers dangling off the side of the dock.
They didn’t catch anything. That didn’t matter.
----
Brad Jr. dropped him off at the bus station a couple hours later and hugged him before the parted ways.
“Call me, if you need anything. Or, you know, if you just want to catch up.”
Bradley hugged him again, tighter. “I will.”
“Sure you don’t want me to just drive you back?”
“Nah, it’s okay. But…thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Brad Jr. hesitated for a second. “I don’t know what kicked all this off, but…I’m glad you came home.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Brad Jr. clapped him on the back one more time. “Oh, uh, and, I’m gonna send you one more thing for your birthday, okay? Text me the new address, will you? Who are you living with now?”
Bradley went red. “The Goof Troop guys. Uh - they were Team 99.”
“The guys that beat you?”
“Yeah, they’ve been…uh…really nice about everything. Max, especially.” He went even redder.
Max - right. The sweet-looking kid with all the piercings.
“Huh.”
“Attention passengers -We are now boarding bus number 1457 south bound with service to…”
“Call you when I get there. Bye, Dad.”
“Yeah. Later, kid.”
And he mussed his hair one last time. Bradley combed his fingers back through it in his reflection of the bus window before boarding and flashed a smile back at him before he disappeared to find his seat.
---
The house was too quiet when he got back. He poured another double of Blanton’s and started sipping it, but the living room felt too empty.
His feet took him down to the basement. He didn’t know shit about music - it never made all that much sense, and the notation for it gave him a headache.
But Rachel had taught him Heart and Soul, and he still sort of remembered it.
He plunked out the notes as the sun started setting in the egress window.
Then he sat for a while, just thinking.
---
“I want the portrait in the foyer switched out.”
“With which piece, sir?”
“The old portrait - it should be in storage.”
“The old…” the housekeeper looked stunned, then her face warmed slightly. “...the old family portrait?”
“That’s the one.” He finished buckling his watch and pulled the envelope from his coat pocket. “And would you get this in the mail for me, please? Thank you, Beatrice.”
---
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Thrum thrum thrum thrum…
The headache was thrumming in circuits around his head to the point that something was about to get thrown.
Or else he was going to bite his arm.
That particular impulse hadn’t reared its head in a while, but here it was, staring him down like a sleep paralysis demon in the corner of the room he had his back to.
Léelo, idiota. Son tres páginas.
Now when the Dawn in robe of sa…saff…saffron…was has…has?...hast.
Hasting
.
Has-ting?
Flip, flip -
The dictionary Dad had given him, not really understanding, was more of a formality.
Just so a part of him could feel like he was actually trying.
Walls of text stared back without offering any help - just more to decode.
He could scratch something right now.
He would really love to scratch something right now.
Or just - yell.
He wiggled his whole torso a few times to shake the thought out.
Type, type -
Tap.
Tap.
“The definition for HASTING is..”
hast•ing
Pronunciation: (hāst'ing)
Verb (used with object) - hast•ed, hast•ing.
To move or act with haste; proceed with speed; hurry.
Noun
The act of hasting; quickening.
Haste.
Hasting.
He squirmed his toes in his socks.
Flipped the tongue piercing around in his mouth.
Ran his teeth over his bottom lip, sniffed.
Pumped his shoulders a few times.
Turned his head so far to one side his neck popped.
Then the other side.
Me tomé las pastillas hoy, ¿verdad?
Quizás / quizás no.
¿Cambié la ropa ya? Bobby dijo que necesitaba la secadora.
¿A qué hora dijo Bradley que volvía a casa?
He opened his text app and immediately closed it, mad at himself.
Enfócate.
Now when the Dawn in robe of saffron was hasting from the streams of Ocean..us….Oceanus…
Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum….
Thetis reached the ships with the arm…armour…armor?
Armor…
Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum….
The growl deep in his throat doubled its intensity.
His hands squeezed in and he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms, even through the gloves.
Oh, mierda, no, not that…
Fuck, fuck…
Enfócate.
Respira.
….fallen about the body of Pat…ro…Patro…cl…Patroclus…
¿Qué?
“Oh goddammit
-”
Me salté una línea.
The three page handout flew across the room and he heard the staple rip out of the corner as it hit the wall.
The thrum was turning into a squeal and he snapped the dictionary shut, too, rubbing his eyes and cursing at himself in two languages.
Maybe three, if you counted the exasperated grunts and growls and gnashing of teeth.
His mouth was dry.
He needed to move.
Just move, anywhere.
But it was well past midnight and there was a Calculus exam in the morning.
He’d already studied for that, it’d be no problem.
But this stupid extra credit assignment for Talbot…
Esto puede ser lo que te haga pasar o colgar.
Fail.
Pass.
Pass.
Fail.
“...maintaining a minimum GPA is crucial for retaining your scholarships. Failing English 2 again will lower your GPA to a level that could jeopardize your financial aid for the next academic year…”
Thrum thrum thrum…
Water.
Movement.
Now.
The kitchen was abandoned, and he stood at the sink for several minutes, filling, chugging and refilling the glass.
Thunk-thunk.
Thunk thunk thunk thunk….
came from the living room and he turned.
He’d moved the decrepit Casio keyboard from the garage into the living room on Saturday on a whim, and the stack of music on top of it had come from the used bookstore he’d gone to with PJ and Mocha this morning.
It wasn’t much of a birthday present and it was a week late, but better than nothing.
And he had a feeling keeping it understated would be best anyway.
Tall, slender back to him, Bradley sat on the bench, a weekender bag off to the side.
He hadn’t heard him come in, but he looked like he’d been here a while from how relaxed his shoulders were.
His stomach pooled with something he recognized as relief and tried not to let it freak him out too much.
Tried.
There was a headphone jack and Max bit back a giggle at the comedic contrast of how serious the expression of whatever he was playing was and the incessant
thunk thunk thunk, thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk
of the electronic keys.
He took the long way around the perimeter of the living room to avoid spooking him.
Blue eyes looked up - happier than he’d ever seen them.
Tingles ran up his spine.
Bradley took out one earbud.
“Hey.”
“Hola.”
“You put this in here?”
Max shrugged.
“Thanks.”
He shrugged again, suddenly not very verbal - that figured - and looked at the music stand as Bradley switched out pieces.
Jop…lin.
His face burned even though he hadn’t said it out loud.
That was an easy one - should have been an easy one.
“I didn’t want to wake everyone up, but…” Bradley said, trying to read him.
He held the spare earbud out.
“...if you…”
“Yeah.”
He sat on the bench even though there was barely room for one of them.
Tingles again.
Weird.
Weird.
Joplin.
Scott Joplin.
Bradley tore into the Maple Leaf Rag.
He kept having to reach past Max to reach the upper octaves, but neither commented on it except to laugh when Max had the pattern figured out and started anticipating it, leaning back a beat before Bradley’s hand flew up to the right.
By the end, they were laughing, and Bradley sighed more contentedly than Max had ever heard him before.
He said something, setting the Joplin piece to the side and holding a hand out expectantly.
Brain froze.
His eyes were sparkling.
He’d never seen Happy Bradley before.
Well, not this kind of happy - peaceful…
Azul…
“Max….?”
“Hmm?”
“You wanna hand me a slower one, maybe, so I don’t accidentally elbow you in the chest?”
“Oh, yeah, what do you want, you want, um….”
Mozart, Vivaldi, Rach…man…in… - Jesus -
one looked like all S’s - Saint…something…
“Ooh! This one.”
Bradley’s hand brushed across his forearm, so close to his wrist -almost the glove-
that Max jumped.
His brain screamed but he was okay.
That was okay.
Blue eyes flickered too much recognition.
“...you good?”
Mierda.
No digas nada.
“Yeah -
yeah.”
Bradley took the thin, yellowed book -
Gym…no…Gymno-
something - eyes curious for a second, then flickered away to the notes.
Respira.
It was easier - the tempo was almost precisely his breathing pattern when everything felt regulated, and the feeling of his knee touching Bradley’s knee, his shoulder touching his…
He’d expected to panic.
Respira.
Absently he turned the first page when Bradley got to the last measure.
A small, quiet smile spread across Uppercrust’s lips and he side-eyed him as he moved his hands to the next chord, one eyebrow up slightly.
Bradley sucked a long breath in through his nose in time with the music, held for a measure, and let it back out slowly between his lips.
The desire to growl and bite and throw things retreated respectfully, and Max felt a little twinge of gratitude, whether he’d ever admit anything about it to anyone or not.
Respira.
He didn’t need to remind himself anymore, though.
Something about being in the same room, the same air…
Bradley’s shoulder pushing and pulling like a wave on a beach made everything a little less…everything.
He let it rock him like a leaf on the tide.
For once he didn’t want to move.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
(BEAN SCENE COFFEE)
(Lights up -
Same set up as before.
MOCHA sits atop her stool, grins at the college boys in the booth as they file in.
PJ, BOBBY, MAX - and an additional tall, skinny boy, sans gloves, who wears a chunky knit crew-neck sweater, jeans and glasses.
He slides in last next to MAX and looks around a bit uneasily.)
(He makes apologetic, unfamiliar eye contact with MOCHA, who gives him a welcoming smile and nod.)
(BRADLEY relaxes and sips his latte, leaning over to ask MAX something.)
(This is interrupted by BONGOS.)
(The spotlight goes up on MOCHA.)
MOCHA:
MEDIA RES.
Hello, sweet minotaur.
Asterion, dearest - I am so sorry to share the news -
your journey is not over.
There are still dead-ends to be run into
and many corners to turn
Odysseus, there are
still winds that will blow you
off course,
sirens that will call,
whirlpools and cannibals
and monsters to rear their ugly heads.
My dear Heracles,
there are lions to fight yet.
But once you capture that golden hind -
surely, once you see the shores of Ithica,
perhaps, then…
oh, sweet starry-eyed one
whose mother is gone
and left you here to wander
perhaps if you follow the golden thread
out into the light -
perhaps then….
…then they will see
you were only ever a creature with a human heart.
Or perhaps the sunlight will not shine kindly
on the horns or
the years of age
-or on blood spilled by your own hands.
But Sisyphus, love, you must get up
and push your rock.
For one day they might be merciful.
You must press on through each circle,
Dante, dear -
It is a spiral, is it not?
Leading ever outward…
One day the pinches come in threes and fours…
and then one day are all but gone.
But you must walk the maze you find yourself alive in, Asterion.
There is good work yet to be done.
(spotlight shifts to BRADLEY)
(all around,
the audience snaps appreciatively).
(Blackout)
END SCENE
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The little brown arachnid appeared on Bobby’s desk halfway through yet another episode of the period drama he'd been binging “in the background” for three days straight.
“Shit shit shit shit shit….” he climbed on the bed and took his shoe off.
“PEEJ!
MAX!”
Bradley’s door opened at the end of the hall. “What do you need?”
“PJ or Max!”
Feet padded down the hall and stopped just outside the door.
“They went to Bean Scene, what’s up?”
“There’s a fucking recluse in here!”
“What?”
“BE GONE, DEMON!’ The door opened just as Bobby threw his shoe at the desk.
“Whoa - hey - hold on a damn second!”
Bradley hit the space bar on the laptop, tilting his head at the show title and biting back a laugh. “What the fuck is happening?”
“Spider! Wall!”
“Okay. Calm down.”
Bobby pointed at the tiny monster skittering up toward the ceiling.
“Kill it!”
“No, I’m not gonna kill it -” Bradley’s face went from alarmed to angry. “- it’s probably just scared.
Where did it go?”
He pointed again, silently, like the thing could hear them and plot their demise.
He wasn’t entirely convinced it couldn’t.
Uncrustable stepped over, grabbed one of eight empty glasses off of the desk and a takeout menu and deftly trapped it.
“What are you doing?”
“Huh. Hey, little guy. Did he throw a shoe at you? I know - I'm sorry.”
Holding it up to the lamp, Bradley inspected it with a look of glee - glee? - he’d never seen in the guy before, except maybe when he was about to do something diabolical.
Great…and now he’s armed…
Bradley took a step toward him and Bobby sprang back to the farthest edge of the bed, his foot nearly slipping between the mattress and the headboard.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?
That thing’s a killer!”
Bradley looked more deeply stung than before and peered through the glass.
“This little guy?”
“Yea-ahh!”
He’d never heard Uncrustable chuckle before, but he started chuckling.
“Bobby, this is a house spider.”
Bobby stood indignantly, hands on his hips.
“And how would you know, Mr. My Dad’s A Lawyer, I’ve Never Had To Do My Own Laundry?”
Big eyebrows furrowed and the big old blue eyes almost looked stung.
“I have an education, you know.”
“I’m sure - big, fancy, private edu - GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!”
“Will you calm the fuck down?
I just wanna show you something.”
“If you put that thing on me, I swear to god…”
“I’m not gonna do anything of the sort.
Will you -? Bobby - Bobby! Put the shoe down. Just come here and look.”
Bobby stepped down onto the floor.
He did not surrender his means of defense.
Uppercrust lowered the whole paper-and-glass trap, his voice entering a cadence that reminded him of a park ranger on a field trip he’d been to in elementary school.
“Brown recluses have a marking on their back - it looks like a little violin.
See? Here - look. I'm not gonna put it on you. They look completely different than most spiders. And recluses have six eyes.
This one has eight.”
He counted them out like a second-grader.
“Not to mention they don't usually even live this far north. They’re also bigger than this little guy - see?”
Bobby leaned in tentatively.
“No markings, eight eyes, little tiny - common house spider.
They’re harmless.”
A tiny, plain brown spider peered back at him with its eight disgusting eyes, front legs moving as if to wave at him - or else flip him off.
“You’re sure?”
Bradley lifted the glass up and looked at the spider, smiling a little bit.
Boyish curiosity crossed his features and Bobby felt something shift and squirm at some of the shit he’d spread lately.“Insects used to be a bit of a specialty of mine - not that you’re an insect, you’re an arachnid.”
“I’m a what….” Bobby blinked.
“Are you talking to that spider?”
Bradley didn’t even respond.
“I’m gonna take you outside, okay ?
Don’t worry, buddy.
You never meant to hurt anybody, you just got a little turned around, didn’t you?
Come on, let’s find you a nice bush or something.”
He walked out, still talking cooing at the little monstrosity.
“You just got a little turned around, didn’t you?”
Bobby felt his stomach turn.
Well fuck.
I’m the asshole, aren’t I?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Tank!”
Panting as his shoes beat against the sidewalk, Bradley was reminded of how short his endurance really was. The hulking figure crossing the bridge over the drain pipe ditch that ran between the English Department buildings and the more STEM-centric classes didn't slow down.
Wheeze.
Come on, man.
“Tank!”
I’m not going to chicken out this time.
I am not going to chicken out this time.
The letter was folded in his pocket as a backup if words refused to rise to the occasion.
Which they would, inevitably, but it wasn't like he had anything to lose. Except maybe the sight in his right eye if the giant punched him as hard as he had the last time.
The broad shoulders tensed and stopped at the sound of his voice.
Just hear me out, please.
The worn-out sneakers Tank had loosely tied once and forever after just jammed on his feet in the morning turned on the sidewalk under a little stand of trees.
Fuck, what am I doing?
I can do this.
What if I can't do this?
“Can I help you?” He said, arms crossed.
He looked good. He'd started letting his beard grow in, and it was as robust as the rest of him. He'd pierced his ears. He'd definitely been working out.Thank god this was the far end of campus and not many people were around. But also, not many people were around.
“I…uh…”
No, no, brain, don't do this. You used to be so articulate, what the fuck happened?
“Hurry it up, Traitor, I ain't got all day.”
“Will you just - give me a minute.” he snapped and instantly hated himself. He sucked in a breath, coughed, and sucked in another.
Running was a bad idea.
Tank’s eyebrow went up but he didn't budge.
“Look I - I came to apologize. Officially. And - I know it's probably too little too late, I just…”
He'd started four different versions of a speech he’d rehearsed a thousand times all at once and he still didn't know what to say next. Whatever momentum he had guttered out and he looked at his own polished shoes, toe to toe with Tank's old sneakers on the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry.”
“You waited six months to say…that?”
Fuck.
“I'm not really good at this kind of thing.”
“Yeah, apparently not. But you can write a fuckin’ novella for the Freshman no problem, isn’t that right?”
FUCK. Max?!
“How'd you know about…?”
“I pressed him to show it to me, don't blame him.
Bobby Boy filled me in on the rest.”
Shit fuck shit fuck…
“The rest of what?”
“Look - I get it. You pick your favorites.”
“Tank, that's not…”
“Hey, you know what? Go to hell, Bradley.”
“I…”
“Maybe next time when somebody who cares about you is trapped in a burning building, maybe don’t skate past cause there’s a prettier toy on the other side of the finish line.”
Thump thump thump thump….
The light, easy feeling that had carried him through the last several days evaporated like so much fog.
The other shoe was always going to drop, wasn’t it?
The reminders he’d fucked up irrevocably.
That he was always going to be the villain he’d chosen to be.
Monster.
Selfish, careless…
Prettier toy?
Goddamn, Tank.
Thump thump thump thump….
“Hey - wait.”
He grabbed the impossibly large bicep and pulled with what puny strength he had comparatively.
His hand plunged into his pocket and he produced the envelope. Four pages, this one. One of them tearstained.
Inferno sat on top of his dresser next to the picture frame back at the house.
Tank looked frozen as his eyes fell on the wrinkled envelope with his name on it.
“You…you did …”
“I've written it about eighteen times, it just never felt…” He gasped out a self-hating laugh. “...like enough.”
Tank's forehead wrinkled and he said nothing.
“I'm not even sure…well I know this one doesn't half cover it. Nothing does. Tank, I…I'm sorry.”
Tank only blinked.
Keep going you asshole.
“I'm not going to sit here and make excuses. I'm not gonna ask you to forgive me. I know you're probably gonna hate me forever and that's fine, I absolutely deserve that.”
Stop saying “I”.
“You…Tank you might be the first person who ever…knew...anything about me, really.” A lump rose. “Well, knew and weren't a complete homophobic dick about it. You stuck with me through some really fucked up shit, and I…
fuck, man, I treated you like trash.”
Tank swallowed and turned his body to face away from the knot of pre-med students that passed, blinking faster, head tilted up toward the sun.
“And you're not trash. You're…you're one of the few people who's ever…”
Stop say “me.”
“You deserve the world, man. You deserve people who will be as loyal as you are, as…” Fuck, tears were burning.
“...God...I'm sorry I left you…”
“...to die...” the gravelly voice prompted.
“To die. Yeah. YES.
I'm sorry I left you to die.”
His gut twisted and out came the rest of the words.
“I'm sorry I ever suggested the whole stupid plan to begin with. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I'm sorry it's taken me six months just to fucking apologize…”
The eyebrows lowered, mouth flattening into a line that made him blanch.
“Yeah. You are.”
The sting was deserved, so he swallowed it.
“Six months. For a damn shitty cabbage-water apology. But you had no issue saying sorry to Baby Goof back at Christmas, right?
Crawled to him on your hands and knees.
Fuckin typical. It’s just -” he bit something back, hard.
“I…I don’t know what to say.”“Then stop talking.”
Tank took a few steps away, stopped and turned back slowly, eyes burning even more than the initial fight right after the games.
Not much of a fight, really…just getting his just deserts.
Bradley swallowed.
Tank’s voice was low, forced-calm, and furious.
“You know the part that really fuckin blows? Is this whole…quest for abs…abs…”
Bradley blinked. “Absolution?”
“Yeah. Absolution.” He grunted back the lump in throat and sniffed.
“...is I did know. I did stick with you no matter how fucking psychopathic you could be. Cause I knew you had this in you the whole fuckin time. And now - after all that shit - after you leave me pinned under a goddamn burning building to impress your Daddy or the Freshman or God or whoever the fuck you were trying to prove something to - now you change. Now all of a sudden you're saying sorry and writing letters and holding doors for people. You'd probably donate a kidney if Maxie asked you to.”
Thump thump thump thump….
“But all that time I told you you didn’t have to make everything a fuckin contest, would yous ever fuckin listen to me? It was always ‘trust me, baby’ and ‘you just don't understand the kind of pressure I’m under’. You think I didn’t overhear those phone calls with your old man? Who the fuck do you think kept you from falling off the roof all those times you blacked out and kept track of the goddamned inhaler? I held your hair back, I kept you fuckin breathing.
I told you you could be better than all that bullshit. I TOLD YOU.” Tank looked like he wanted to pounce, but he didn’t.
He didn’t even push the finger he held out into Bradley’s chest. “So you change now - for the Goof kid - but I guess it wasn’t worth it for me.”
Bradley’s whole insides twisted like a broken arm.
Tank’s always either happy or impassive face twisted, too, and his eyes couldn’t hold back the moisture that had made them bloodshot for most of the conversation.
Bradley’s hand crumpled the envelope in his hand.
“Tony…”
“No, don’t you fucking dare.”
“....I…”
“Save your breath.
I don't want your eleventh hour whatever the fuck this is, Bradley.”
“I - no.
No. Hold on a damn minute - that’s not what I’m trying to do.”
He put a hand out to catch Tank’s arm, expecting the stiffness he felt from the big guy, but something in the guy’s eyes melted as his fingers touched him and that was ten times worse.
“...Tank…”
Tank looked up.
Swallow - hard.
“I - goddammit - I don’t want to make excuses…”
Agonizing silence dragged while he stood there feeling like the world would swallow him up and wishing it would hurry up and do so.
Bradley wondered if it was possible to pass out from shame.
“Talk, rich boy, you got something to say.”
he grumbled.
Rich boy.
Nepo baby.
Never had to serve any consequences.
Nobody feels sorry for you, bitch, why would they?
Coward.
Something awful tightened his chest - the same thing that had been there since… since he didn’t want to think about.
The monster he saw in the mirror, the one who shouldn’t have made it, shouldn’t have been allowed to get off scot-free, shouldn’t have been given a second chance or so much as a look from anyone…
“Speak.” Tank barked.
Bradley flinched, but let it fly.
“I was scared.
You know that.”“Scared of fuckin what?”
“Everything.
Losing everything -
Losing the…
I worked my ass off trying build this whole… I don’t even want to call it a life, it was just me not being a fucking loser, is what I thought.
And then it got…I don’t know, maybe it got bigger than me.
Maybe I was just holding on so hard it all
flipped over into arrogance, and then I just kept pushing it further down and coming up with more idiotic plans to keep it all together until…”
He stopped and gasped for air.
Air.
Just… can I just fucking breathe for once in my goddamn life?!
“....Babe, I couldn’t even hear myself think.
Let alone listen to reason from someone who actually c-cared about me.”
“Yeah, babe, I told you as much a hundred times.”
“You think any part of me was actually able to process any of that shit? Why do you think I cussed you out every time?”
“Cause you was a prick.”
“Cause I was fucking terrified you were right!”
Tank’s face was stony.
“...and cause I was a prick.”
He grunted approvingly.
“So…so what…you know, why now? Why couldn’t you have listened to me just once?”
The bell tower across campus rang out. He'd missed his ride with PJ and would have to walk home. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, probably one of them checking in. The Gamma house would be having a meeting soon. Tank was the new president, he'd need to go soon.
The world kept dipping in and out in time to the thrumming heartbeat in his ears.
“I think…I had to lose. I was never going to stop holding onto that act if everything hadn't fallen apart.”
He'd just figured that out himself yesterday, staring around him in the morning while Bobby jammed freezer waffles into the toaster and PJ and Max sang Powerline songs at the top of their lungs and wondered how in the world he'd ever ended up here.
He took a step in.
“It wasn't about you being worth it or not. You are worth it. I wasn't.”
Tank considered this.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“I hurt you.”
“Yeah you did.”
“I left you.”
Tank sniffed.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
Tank stiffened.
“Tank, I’m sorry.”
Eyes met.
It wouldn’t ever be the same.
He hadn’t expected it to.
But the first person he’d ever trusted with any part of himself - base as it had been at times - was gone.
He’d known that for months.
What he hadn’t known is how soft Tank’s eyes could be.
And while he still wanted Max more, and probably always would, he was going to miss that softness a little bit for the rest of his life.
But some things break beyond the kind of repair that warrants total abs..abs…
Absolution.
Tank itched at his arm where the bandage had been - the one Bradley had stared at, stomach churning. The scar was inches long and looked grafted in several places.
“Fuck.” He'd never seen it up close before. His stomach roiled at what that must have felt like.
Tank looked at it. Grunted. “Yeah.
That’s not the only one.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well - it’s a story, at least.”Bradley swallowed and subconsciously put a hand where his own scar was - stories weren’t always good things.
“Okay.” said Tank.
“I appreciate the apology.”
“Okay?”
“Bitch, don't make me say it twice.”
Bradley nodded.
“Doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
Bradley nodded again.
“Just means I appreciate it.”
“That’s fine.”
“Alright, good.”
Several moments of silence went by before Tank glanced at his phone.
“I gotta go.”
“Yeah.”
“Take care of yourself, King.”
“Yeah, you, too.”
Tank disappeared around the corner into the alley that led between campus buildings out onto Frat Row.
He didn’t look back, though a couple of times he could tell the giant lungs were fighting to keep breaths even.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump….
Fuck, I’m so sorry.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Max had knocked on PJ and Bobby’s doors already
-
“Wanna skate?”
“Baby needs sleep…” said Bobby, pulling his blanket back over his head.
“I’ve got an exam in the morning.
Sorry, man.”
said PJ, looking more stressed than he’d seen him in a while.
He hadn’t seen Bradley touch anything but his longboard since the games, but he knew his other board had moved in with him.
Grinning at the idea he strapped on his knee pads and walked to the end of the hall.
Bradley’s door wasn’t all the way latched when he knocked on it and it swung open.
“Bradley?”
He knew he was home - his keys had been on the hook in the kitchen for a couple hours even though he'd walked home.
A gasping, hollow breath replied and bloodshot eyes looked up, the tall, skinny frame jumping like he'd been caught.
Sitting in the corner with the lights off, knees up and gasping, he looked the picture of defeat.
Gasp- “....Max…?”
Skateboard dropped on the hallway carpet.
“Hey -
¿Qué pasa?
- you okay?”
Bradley pulled the collar of his sweater further from his chest and sucked in through his nose.
His knee was a jackhammer, and tears were brimming.
“Did something happen?”
“Mmm - cough - no, not real…” He shook his head.
Wheeze .
“I don't… - cough- r eally wanna talk a- cough, cough - talk about it. I just…” He winced and sucked in another breath. “...fuck…”
“Panic attack?”
He nodded rapidly.
“Yeah, and I have…”
- and tried to inhale, face scrunching in pain. “...mmm…”Tried to exhale, which was even worse. This time an awful rattle came with it, and the big blue eyes got even wider.
Max’s stomach dropped and he glanced around to the likely places.
Nightstand. Dresser.
¡Coño!, ¿dónde está?
“Inhaler?”
Bradley heaved and pointed toward his bag hanging from a hook on the closer door.
“It's in the -” gasp “ - front pocket.”
Max dug and found the little thing, shook it up, slid back on his knees and stayed there in front of him while Bradley pressed the button and held his breath.
“One…two…” Max counted out loud, stomach twinging. “...eight. Nine. Ten.
Respira. ”
Release.
“Thirty seconds.”
Bradley nodded.
Max counted it out in 4/4, breathing along with each measure.
Four. Slow. Beats. In.
Rest, rest, rest, rest.
Four. Slow. Beats. Out.
Rest, rest, rest, rest.
He tapped it out gently on Bradley’s knee.
The metronome seemed to help.
Bradley’s thin inhales and wheezing exhales fell into the rhythm after the first few measures.
Plunge. Another ten-count. Bradley’s whole face was white as he let the second puff out between tense lips.
“You okay?”
“Mhmm…” Bradley groaned shakily, doing his best which wasn't much better.
“Can you breathe?”
Bradley was still grasping at his chest, but at least the rattle was gone.
His big dark eyebrows knit as he squeezed his eyes shut, hands shaking around the inhaler.
“This happen a lot?”
“No….I don't know.” Bradley refused to make eye contact, foot hammering a dent in the carpet.
“It’s been a lot more - lately…”
“You want me to leave you alone?”
“Mmm! No.
Stay, please.” And Bradley’s hand grabbed his wrist.
“I feel like I’m going crazy.”
A shot of panic blazed like lightning up his arm and through his brain at the sudden contact.
Respira, respira.
Te necesita ahora mismo.
Bradley groaned a bit and squirmed, trying to find an angle where his lungs wouldn’t feel like they were in a vice.
“You’re not.”
Max scooted closer.
“You’re not, shit happens.”
“Shit happens.
Shit happens.” he repeated, lost in the lack of oxygen.
Max pulled the hand that Bradley had a deathgrip on and pushed it on Bradley’s chest.
This one he knew better than anyone.
Pressure. Deep pressure. Deep, even breaths….
Bradley flinched a little at the touch, then squeezed his eyes shut, nodding that it was helping.
He let out a long breath through the mouth and gasped in again.
“Yeah, shit happens.”
“...so fucking stupid…”
“Hey -”
Max willed him to look at him.
“Look at me. Focus on me.”
Bradley’s eyes welled, but he obeyed.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Okay.”
Respira.
“I want you to tell me five things you can see.”
Bradley looked lost.
“Hmm?”
“Name five things you can see.” - more slowly.
Bradley sucked in shakily, his pupils darting all over the place.
“Uh- the - uh - the lamp?”
“The lamp.
Good, that’s one.”
Bradley swallowed.
“The bed.”
“Okay, that’s two, keep going.”
“Your shirt.”
Max nodded.
“Yeah - what color’s my shirt?”
Rattling breath in.
“I’m colorblind.”
“Oh, shit, sorry.”
Bradley shook his head.
“What - um -
Jesus - what color is it?”
“It’s red.”
“Your shirt’s red.” he parroted dully.
Max grinned, forehead wrinkling.
“Yeah, that’s three.
Good - two more.”
“Your teeth.”
Max grinned wider, blushing a little.
Welp.
“And…just - um - can I say your face - or your, um - eyes?”
“Yeah, that’s five.”
Bradley took a slightly deeper breath in through the nose.
“Mkay.
Did I do good?”
Max stifled a giggle.
“Yeah, you want to keep going?”
Bradley nodded and pulled Max’s hand further into his chest.
Max felt his temples pulse.
It's fine it's fine it's fine.
Tranquilo, Maxie.
“Four things you can touch.”
Big blue eyes flickered up uncertainly.
“Okay….”
“Like
- um - the carpet, or something.”
“Well, now you stole that one.” Bradley exhaled and there was a little bit of a laugh to it.
“Nah, it still counts.”
“The carpet.”
“Yep.”
“Your damn gloves you wear all the time.”
Max felt his whole stomach drop.
Respira.
No está siendo malo.
“That’s two.”
“I don’t know.”
“How bout the air from the fan?”
Bradley slowed - he hadn’t thought of that one and was silent for a second, letting the cool air be the center of his focus.
There you go.
Max smiled approvingly.
“Yep.”
“And one more.”
“The - um - four things you can - feel?”
“Close enough.”
“No, what is it?”
Bradley’s chest heaved faster, eyes darting again.
“Four things you can touch.”
Max let his voice drop another register, not quite a whisper.
“Oh.”
“But - no, say what you were going to say.”
“I was gonna say the pressure.”
“This, what I’m doing?” Max looked at their hands together on Bradley’s chest.
“Mhmm.”
“Is that helping?”
A little nod.
“Mhmm.”
“Okay, I’m gonna keep it there til you tell me, okay?”
Bradley took an even deeper inhale and tears sprung again.
He leaned a little forward and instinctively Max did the same.
Their foreheads came to a rest on each other and Max felt his heart bottom out.
“Max…”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.” Bradley whispered, shaky.
“Yeah -”
Bandito….
“ - hey, I get these, too.”
“Really?”
No tienes ni idea.
“You think I’m the kind of guy who wears gloves all the time for no reason?”
Bradley searched his eyes, confused.
Max shrugged, heart thumping, but kept his face casual. “It’s a sensory thing.”
Bradley looked mortified.
“Oh.”
“I don’t really talk about it. Hey, it’s okay.
Hey, mira - respira… ”
he put a gloved hand on Bradley’s face to keep him from spiraling and his insides twinged.
“ - no sabías.
You didn’t know, it’s okay.”
Bradley nodded.
A few moments of silence passed.
Four. Slow. Counts. In…
“You…I…”
Shaky inhale.
Hold.
Shaky exhale.
“...can we keep doing that…game thing?”
“The naming things?”
“Mhmm.”
“Yeah, claro . Um -what were we on?”
“Four things you can feel.”
His blue eyes looked up expectantly.
Max felt himself smiling more warmly than he had in a while.
“Yeah.”
“What’s three?”
“Three things you can - um -” Shit, he was getting distracted.
“ - three things you can hear.”
Bradley closed his eyes again.
“Your voice.”
Max blushed.
“Yeah.
That’s one.”
Bradley had to think for a second.
“The fan, I guess.”
“Two.”
Big breath out.
“My own damn voice.”
“Damn voice?”
“Damn voice.”
Bradley steamed.
“It’s annoying.”
“You find your own voice annoying?”
“Don’t you, sometimes?”
“Your voice or mine?”
“Mine.”
“No - you’ve got a great voice.
Mine, maybe annoying sometimes.”
Bradley shook his head.
“Never.”
And opened his eyes again.
A little stunned, Max sat back a couple inches.
“That’s three things.”
“Does it keep going?”
Bradley was almost back to breathing fully, but still shaking and very much not in his usual headspace.
He did lean
back against the wall again, away from Max’s head and the hand coming off his chest, which shouldn’t have been disappointing.
Max flexed his hand in the glove.
Es lo más largo que he hecho eso en...
“ Dos cosas puedes -”
Max really had to think for this one.
“ - damn - hold on, I know this.”
“You got it, Freshman.”
He said, sounding exhausted.
“It’s see, touch, hear…”
“Smell?”
“Smell.”
“I stink.”
Bradley observed a little dryly.
“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything…”
Bradley playfully batted at him.
“You stink too, Baby Goof.”
“I have a name.”
Big, deep, even breath.
Still a little shaky.
Exhausted.
But deep and even.
“Max.”
“Maximillian Goof, to you.”
“Maximillion?”
Bradley’s eyebrow cocked and he smiled his big, toothy grin.
“But that information’s classified, and if you tell anybody I will kill you.”
Bradley chuckled, adjusted his back and pulled let one leg stretch out in front of him.
“I am sworn to secrecy.”
“Not even Tank.”
Bradley’s eyes darkened again.
“I don’t think Tank and I gonna be going to the skatepark together anytime soon.”
“Oh!” Max sat up on his knees, trying to push past that particular tone of voice that he hated now and would probably hate forever.
“I was actually coming to invite you to go skating!”
Bradley froze again and for a second Max thought he’d set the whole thing off again.
The third’s eyes darkened.
“Also haven’t been there since the games - same reason.”
Max rocked on his heels a little awkwardly.
“You haven’t been skating at all?”
“Probably for the best, don’t you think?”
“But - you love it -”
Bradley hummed darkly.
“- and I haven’t seen any blimps out there lately.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry.”
Bradley pulled his knees up again, defensively.
“But - I mean…” Max said, hoping he wasn’t pushing too hard.
“...it’s dark already.
I doubt anyone will see you.
And I don’t know about you but moving always helps with the nerves.”
Blue eyes looked up.
“You’re not gonna give up, are you?”
“I will if you really don’t want to.”
Bradley hesitated, thinking.
His chest was rising and falling evenly now, but he was still pretty pale and whatever had kicked it off was riding just under the surface.
“You totally don’t have to, I just wanted to invite you.”
“Why?”
There was more than the current topic in the question and Max tilted his head.
“Why - why what?”
Bradley looked at his hand, fiddling with the fold in the knee of his khakis.
“Why the hell are you being so nice to me?
Or - PJ?”“And Bobby?”
“Bobby doesn’t trust me, he’s told me as much - that much makes sense to me.”
What the hell, Bobby?
Not the point, Max.
“You guys should hate me, by all accounts.
You especially.
I used your dad, I tried to sabotage everyone you care about…”
“You apologized.”
“That doesn’t just make everything okay!”
Max frowned,
thinking.
“Maybe not - but it was the best you could do at the time.
And you keep doing the best you can do that day.
Am I wrong?”
Bradley was staring.
“Maybe?”
Max took a breath.
“Would you agree that since the games, at least eighty percent of the time, you’ve woken up and decided to be better than you used to be?”
The pre-law student grinned at the line of questioning and took a breath.
“I’d say closer to sixty percent.”
“But more often than not, would you agree to that?”
“Sure.”
“That a yes?”
“Yes.”
Max sat up taller.
“ Excelente.
And would you agree that you are actively working to follow through on that decision and make choices that are neutral if not for the benefit of other people?”
Bradley squinted.
“Have you considered a law degree?
You sound like my dad in court.”
“Just answer the question, Mr. Uppercrust.”
Bradley’s lips twitched.
“I get your point.”“Okay - so we agree.
You’re doing your best.
Some people will wait longer to see what kind of person you’re going to continue to be.
Bobby doesn’t trust people easily - I know why, eventually you probably will, too.
But for now…”
He shifted a little, having come to a fork in the train tracks of his thoughts.
“ - Mira, you asked me for a second chance.
Everything in that letter tells me you knew me well enough to know I’d give you one.
So why is it surprising that I’m the person I wake up every day and decide to be?
Or PJ?
Or shit, even Mocha?
You know she’s excited to see you doing okay.”
Uppercrust III was speechless.
Max sat back and grinned idiotically.
“I rest my case.”
Bradley stared for a solid minute, welled up, squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled sharply and nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“So I just…I just have to keep trying?
That’s it?”
“You just have to keep trying.”
Max agreed.“Just have to keep trying.” Bradley echoed, eyes shut, hugging his knees.
Max saw his torso move back and forth a little bit and smiled.
He slid around to sit against the wall next to him.
“That’s all anyone expects from anybody.
Just trying.
You fuck up, you own it, you fix what you need to fix with who you hurt, and you keep trying.”
Bradley didn’t hear any more of what Max was saying - Max could see that and put his hand around his shoulders.
Without hesitation, Bradley leaned over and rested his impossibly soft hair on Max’s shoulder.
A few minutes slipped by. Max absently watched the ceiling fan, then stared at his gloves, Bradley’s deep breaths evening his own out.
“What’s the last thing?”
“ ¿Que? ”
“Five things you can see, four you can feel, three you hear, two you smell…”
“One thing you can taste.”
“Oh - shit, I haven’t eaten.”
“You wanna grab something?”
“Maybe.”
Max felt his energy surge again and hopped up.
“And then skatepark?”
Bradley laughed in disbelief and wiped some tears he’d concealed away on the sleeve of his sweater.
“Yeah, I gotta find my regular board first.
Actually, I think…I think the one I used for the games is broken.”
“I’ve got my extra one.”
“Nah, that’s okay.
I don’t wanna impose”
“What am I gonna do with two boards?”
“You're sure?”
You're sure?
That was always the question, wasn't it?
You're sure you want me to live here?
You're sure yous guys know what you're in for?
You're sure its okay I just had a panic attack?
You're sure you want me around?
Max smiled to keep from giving a look of pity he knew Bradley would hate.
“ Si, claro, nene. ”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, just -”
Bradley adjusted his shoulders, winced a little at something to do with his spine, and stood, too.
“Max, thank you.”
Max shrugged.
“Hey, I’m excited.
I’ve wanted to skate with you since day one.”
Bradley's eyes brightened. Happy Bradley was a quiet, almost gentle creature.
Unexpected, and something about that made Max think a lot about magnets and supernovas and warm winter fireplaces.
“Two minutes, yeah?”
“Okay.”
And Max sauntered into the hall toward his closet for the extra board, beaming.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Max dropped in again, inhaling the sweet night air and loving the wind on his face, the rush of adrenaline, the way every muscle felt as it stretched and pulled, flexed and released, and the big, rocking motion of the half-pipe.
Handstand on the far end just for shits, then flipped back in, the same signature move he'd done the first time he'd been on this course.
His lungs released for the rush of oxygen and his brain let the endorphins pour from whatever barrier they were usually dammed up behind, and he could feel every muscle in his face engage in the stupid, toothy grin that he’d tried to hide so much in high school.
Bradley rode the edge, did a handstand himself and dropped in behind him, competitive as always.
“Show off.”
“Just following your lead, Freshman.”
“I’m a sophomore, asshole - I could still call you Junior, though.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Right, you’re “the third” - my bad.”
Max’s board swung in a circle around a stopped Bradley and he resisted the urge to tap his shoulder and disappear to the other side of him.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Bradley was grinning.
Swish.
Scrape.
Flip - land.
Back up the half-pipe, and then back to the other side.
Good shit.
Max hopped off and tucked his board under his arm, reaching for his water bottle, heart pumping.
“Think fast, Towel Boy.” He called to Bradley, tossing the other bottle to him.
Uppercrust missed and the plastic bottle went rolling to the center of the U. Bradley looked half-frustrated, but laughed when Max did.
“Thought you said the bet was off.”
Max went after it and handed it to him as they both sat at the bottom of the curve.
“Ah, I’m just giving you shit,
nene
.”
Bradley was panting.
“You mind if we stop?”
“Nah - I’m pretty much wiped anyway.” Max said, flopping back and sighing as his body finally felt like it had moved enough that his brain wasn’t actively on fire.
“Good shit.”
“Yeah?”
“
¿No?
”
His eyebrow went up.
“Yeah.”
Bradley cracked the top of the water bottle off and took a little sip. “Good shit.”
Crickets filled the silence over the next few minutes and Max let his breath fall into a deep, relaxed pattern.
Only one of the lights near the skatepark was working and the sky was clear.
A few stars popped out despite the light pollution from the rest of campus, and Max grinned at the Big Dipper.
“What's your favorite constellation?” asked Max.
“What?”
Bradley started a little at being addressed, pulled out of some reverie or other.
“You good, man?”
His eyes darted around a little, embarrassed. “Is that what you asked?”
“No, but are you?”
“Yeah -
I was just thinking.”
“Oh.”
“Are
you
good?”
Max laughed a little. “Yeah, I'm fine.
I just wondered what your favorite constellation was.”
“That's what you were asking?”
“Yeah, dude. You sure you're good?”
“I mean I had a panic attack like an hour ago, I'm gonna be a little out of it for a minute, aren't I?”
Max fell silent and nodded.
Crickets.
“That one, I guess.” Bradley pointed at the three bright ones in a row.
“Orion?”
“Is that what that one is?”
Max's nose wrinkled. “You don't know?”
Bradley let his board roll down to where his foot was and idly pushed it back and forth. “I mean I like space shit but I can't usually see that far
without my glasses and I never really…you know, I feel like that's something someone teaches you.”
Another few seconds slipped by.
“Yeah, that's Orion.”
“How can you tell?”
“The three bright ones are his belt.”
“Right.”
“And the couple fainter ones on that side are his sword.”
Bradley squinted but then nodded. “Sure.”
Max pointed out the legs, the shoulders, the top star that served as Orion's head.
“That’s Betelgeuse.”
“Beetlejuice?”
“Or
betel-geez, bettel-juice -
depending on who you ask.” Max wiggled his feet happily.
“So fun fact about that one - it’s a red giant, and there’s a lot of astronomers who are pretty confident we’re gonna see it supernova in the next - like - century. Which would be…so fucking cool…”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, man, that’s one of those things that’s basically on my bucket list - see it from a really cool observatory or…I’m rambling…"
“No you’re not.” Bradley said plainly, and Max smiled.
“So yeah - that’s Orion.”
“Huh.”
Max looked over. Bradley was looking too far east.
“You can't see it, can you?”
“Not even kind of.”
“Yeah?”
“No, like I can see the stars right now, I just….I don’t get how people piece all that together.”
“Oh.”
“No, I - I think it's cool. I just…I don't know.”
Bradley looked tired, and embarrassed, and Max didn't press it.
Bradley did.
“What are the other ones?”
“That one's Taurus…that's my Dad's favorite…the Big Dipper…that's mine…um…”
“Ursa Major, right?”
Max looked over, grinning lopsidedly. “That's the more official name, yeah.”
“Is that not…?”
And grinned even wider. “No, you're absolutely right.”
Bradley slid further down. “You and your old man went stargazing a lot?”
“A lot of camping, yeah.”
“Yeah?”
Max smiled.
“Yah, like…every summer. Most breaks. Sometimes just random weekends. My dad fucking loves camping.”
Bradley nodded, absent. “That tracks.”
“Your dad never took you?”
“Nah. Well actually, yeah…one Fourth of July when I was little.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah he hated it. That was all my mom's planning.”
“Your mom was the outdoorsy type?”
“Yeah.”
Bradley’s smile spread quietly. “She was great.”
“What was her name?”
“Rachel.” And Bradley’s voice went a little husky.
Max laid back and looked up at the stars and tried to piece together what he remembered of his mom's face.
There was about as much detail as the stars gave the constellations - just the basic shape if you squinted hard and knew exactly what you were looking for.
The old ache surfaced and he took the same deep breath he'd practiced since he had realized she was never coming back.
“What's your mom like?”
Dios, nene, ¿puedes leer mi mente?
“
No se
.”
Bradley looked over again. “What?”
Max kept staring at the Big Dipper, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know.
I don't remember her.”
“Your old man doesn't talk about her?”
“Not really.”
“.....That's surprising.”
“Eh. She left right after I was born and kind of never called or explained why she was leaving so it's not really his favorite thing to think about.” Max said too fast, too flat and not patiently enough to hide how much the ache still had a bite to it.
“Or mine.”
Bradley's eyebrows knit beside him, and Max felt his stomach drop at the tension of being perceived.
“I won't bring it up anymore.”
“No, it's…” he took another breath and pulled his knee up to stretch his hamstring. “...it's fine.”
“She still…I mean have you ever heard from her, like since…?”
“We found out what happened to her a couple years later.”
He squirmed his toes inside his shoes to hold back the memory.
“Oh.”
“It’s fine.’
A moment.
“So it was always just…you and…Mr. Goof?”
Max knew the subtext. Anyone who’d ever met his dad and then found out he was the single parent asked the same ignorant questions.
He sucked in, holding back his usual screamed speech - the one where he'd physically fight anyone who contradicted him, that had landed him in the principal's office no less than seven times over the course of middle and high school - and tried to remind himself that they weren't always meaning it maliciously.
“Yeah.”
“What was that like?”
¿Y por qué tanta curiosidad sobre mí?
“It was…”
fine
- is what he'd tell pretty much everybody.
Annoying, smothering
- is what he told his friends.
“...honestly?”
“Well, yeah.”
"¡Yo tengo mi propia vida!"
“¡Lo sé! Solo quería meterme en eso!”
“Now don’t tell me you don’t remember ‘Hi Dad soup’....”
“Uh….D-d-d-d-daaaaad!!!!!”
And a hundred other memories of running to Dad’s room after a nightmare, of the day they'd both started wearing the gloves, of oversized breakfasts and the Christmas he stopped believing in Santa Claus and…
“Puede que ya no sea tu niñito, pero siempre seré tu hijo.”
Damn. Le extraño.
“He's all I had for a really long time. And I'm pretty much all he's ever had. So for most of me growing up it was just…us. Max and Goofy against the world, kind of.”
He felt Bradley’s eyes on him but didn't look over.
“He taught me everything, made sure I was okay, just sort of…sat with me when I wasn’t.
You know.
Put bandaids on my knees and all that shit.
Dad always coming to save little Maxie…”
Max groaned as the memories got cringey as they always did, running a hand through his hair.
“...and then Maxie constantly saving Dad from putting his foot in his mouth, or explaining something to him, or sometimes translating something, or…making sure he didn't hurt himself constantly.” He chuckled, stifling a groan. “That man is the clumsiest man alive.
And he does not understand social cues - like at all.”
A glow was building in his chest as memory after memory played.
He shrugged a little, words pouring out and he wasn’t sure entirely why.
“You know.
It was tough sometimes and embarrassing…pretty much always. But…I mean, you've met him. The guy's got a heart of gold.
At the end of the day you can’t help but be kinda glad he’s around.”
Bradley hummed, but didn’t comment.
His gaze was still locked on Orion’s belt as if he were still trying to see the giant hunter in the scattered layout of Betelguese, Rigel and Bellatrix…
“And he stayed. You know? Even when I tried my hardest to push him away. He'd just hold on tighter. Which was…you know…smothering. But also, this year is kind of the first time ever he's not
right there, all the time,
and now that it really is just me and I really do have my own life for once…”
Max hadn't said any of this out loud to anyone and suddenly had a craving for canned alphabet soup cooked on top of an old car cigarette lighter.
Tengo que contarle esa historia alguna vez – no me va a creer.
Max sighed.
“I don’t know.
I should call him, I haven't in a few days.”
Bradley stayed silent, thinking, for several long moments and Max let the camera reel in his head roll, surprised that a lot of his favorite scenes had, in the moment, been the most embarrassing.
“And I know you're all grown up and doin it yourself now. Pero quiero que no se te olvide… your old Pop’s always a phone call away. You know that, dontcha?”
“Yeah, Dad, I know.”
He smiled a little and kinda wished he could have a hug from the old guy about now.
“Can I ask you something personal?” Bradley’s voice cut the silence.
Max looked over, unsure and one eyebrow up.
Blue eyes cowed a little bit. “Or, I guess something else personal…”
He grinned. “Yeah man, what's up?”
“The glove thing…you said it was a sensory thing? What's that mean?”
Max squirmed a little internally, but nodded.
The question was fair.
“I had a lot of trouble with textures when I was little, I mean I…I still do.
Certain ones, anyway.”
His face felt hot - that wasn’t good.
His sock was riding down his ankle at an angle he didn’t like, and something in the air had been tickling at his sinuses for the last several days.
Not to mention the shampoo he’d bought was giving him dandruff and he could feel it constantly and the last few days of rain had made him start to feel like he was going to explode if he didn’t start moving.
“It just always felt like too much.
And then my hands were the first place where I started noticing patches…”
He ran a glove over one of the pale splotches on his arm, shivering a little.
“..and I didn’t know what it was at first and I thought I was just dirty, and it was all really overwhelming cause I’d just found out what had happened with Mom and… I started just not wanting to touch anything, and then it started feeling like I couldn’t…touch anybody without…”
You’re so weird.
He can’t sit with us - he’ll get us all dirty!
Ew, don’t touch me!
Dirty Goof!
Don't touch me!
Miss Daisy, Max won’t stop moving around.
Stop touching me!
Why are you so close to me - you're in my bubble! Ow!
Ow!
Get away from me!
Stop touching me!
Sorry.
Sorry. Sorry.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry…
Don't touch don't touch don't touch don’t…
Hands to yourself.
Hands to yourself…
Tengo que mantener las manos en su lugar.
Miss Daisy, Max isn’t doing the project.
Don't touch…
Why are you being weird?
It’s just a little bit of dirt…
No toques…
Oooh - Max is dirty!!
Miss Daisy, why’s he acting like that?
Don't…
Don't touch…
Is he crying? Why’s he crying?
Why is he screaming?
What’s wrong with him?
Miss Daisy, I don’t want to sit with Max…
He sniffed and shook his head to escape the black hole those particular memories led back to.
At least Miss Daisy had always been kind.
She'd let him sit in her classroom to eat lunch a lot when the cafeteria was too much.
“...Kids can be assholes.”
It was frustrating - even after all the years of OT, six piercings, all the thrill-seeking in the world and he still felt like the universe would splinter apart if he touched someone with his bare hands.
Hugs were fine - everything else was fine - he’d worked on that til it felt like second nature but he just couldn’t…
“I just…Max I’m so sorry…I just don’t know if I can keep doing this…”
said a beautiful redhead after the eighteenth time he’d panicked when she'd tried to hold his hand. He'd counted - each time had been more awkward.
Then she'd started dating Stacey anyway so it was easier to say that was the reason.
But he knew.
He swallowed, realizing he’d trailed off a while ago.
“What was I saying?”
Bradley had a heartbroken look on his face but didn't seem off-put. At least that was mildly comforting. “That kids can be assholes.”
“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Anyway…”
“So the glove thing was…?”
“My dad’s idea.”
“Oh.”
“Then PJ started wearing them with me cause we started being friends the next year and he didn’t want me to get picked on, and then Bobby moved to town and sort of just…picked up on it.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually told him why.
He just went with it.”
Bradley was sitting up now, adjusting his back, but his face was lost in thought.
He messed idly with his shoelaces.
“You’ve got really good people around you.”
Max blinked and thought about what he’d written in the letter.
“Yeah.
I got lucky, I guess.”
“You’re also just the kind of person people wanna be around.”
His head tilted.
“So are you.”
Bradley let out a bitter, barking laugh.
“No. No, Max, I’m not.”
“What are you talking about?
You had the whole campus wrapped around your finger last year.”
“Cause I had Daddy’s money and I was a loud, manipulative asshole.”
He picked a piece of grass from the sole in his shoes and tossed it away.
“Come on, Max, you of all people know all of that was an act.”
“Okay, what about before that?
In school, didn’t you have friends back then?”
“The weird rich kid with the dead sister?
I don’t drive and I got outed by the quarterback in the middle of ninth grade.” His voice was quiet and angry - like, sad-angry.
“Not exactly the guy everyone wants to be seen with.”
Max’s heart sank.
The puzzle pieces clicked, and the mental image of high school Bradley, dropped off by his chauffeur, thrust into the spotlight without anyone to shield him from the consequences of being the center of attention…
He looked like the loneliest kid in the world.
No wonder… well, no wonder about everything.
“Well…” Max took his knee pads off, tired of the way they were rubbing his leg through his pants.
“...you’ve got friends now.”
Bradley looked up, a little startled, and confused.
“Me and PJ and Bobby.”
“I don’t think Bobby…”
A gloved hand went over to Bradley’s arm and Uppercrust froze.
“He’ll come around, trust me.
He just takes a while to warm up to people.”
Bradley hugged his knees in and stared up at the sky again without saying anything.
Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
BOBBY
Fuck sleep, guess it’s not happening.
Pj’s burned tf out, too, we’re starting a movie in 20.
you or crusty-boi have a preference?
He showed Bradley.
“Nothing scary, please.” said Uppercrust, still hugging his knees, voice tender.
“You got it, man.
See?
Friends.”
And went back to texting.
MAX
Bradley had panic atack earlier
can we keep it PG?
BOBBY
damn he ok?
MAX
yea we’re at the skatepark.
be there in like 15.
BOBBY
how bout that cartoon about the
balloon nurse robot thing? Something -
6?
MAX
mybe not - sib unalive
BOBBY
aw damn you right
monster factory?
MAX
yeah, sounds good.
He sent the message off to Bobby and started drafting a text to Dad when a sniffle made his head swing up again.
“Hey…” Max scooted in.
“...you okay?”
Bradley just nodded.
The conversation from an hour ago must have floated up again, and he felt his eyes soften at the little tremble in Bradley's lower lip.
“Come here, man.”
The hug lasted a solid minute.
Uncle Mickey had taught him a thing about giving hugs - don’t let go until the other person does.
He’d kept up the habit ever since and it usually made him feel better, too.
Each second that passed, Max felt something stirring deeper and deeper in him - something not even Roxanne had brought out this strongly.
Neither said anything on the way back, but they sat next to each other for the movie.
Sometime in the middle of the big blue bear-looking thing playing hide-and-seek with the toddler, Bradley’s head slipped onto his shoulder, asleep.
PJ looked over and caught the redness in Max’s face and tilted his head.
Max had never told anyone and his stomach flipped over.
Bobby had seen it, too.
Both of them smiled supportively.
His stomach flipped back over.
“You've got really good people around you.”
Bradley didn’t move when the movie was over, so neither did Max.
PJ draped a blanket over both of them before heading back to his room.
Bobby stopped for a second in the hallway while the credits rolled like he was about to say something, but just gave Max a thumbs up and disappeared.
Bradley snored on his shoulder.
Max’s heart raced for an hour.
The TV…coffee table…Bobby’s door…the ceiling fan…mis calcetines…
Cinco cosas.
Cuatro cosas…
La manta…mis guantes…Bradley…
Bradley…
Mi corazon late fuerte…
Bradley…
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Warm. It was so warm, and something - someone - was so gentle.
No…don’t wake up yet…please, I don’t want to wake up yet…
Someone.
Eyes peeled open and the confusion of being in the living room - PJ and Bobby gone to bed, TV off - cut off in a jolt of realization through the stomach.
I fell asleep?
There was a blanket.
Someone had put a blanket over him.
Over both of them.
…who…
…Max?
Max was behind him, an almost comical proportion of big-spoon/little-spoon.
Max fell asleep next to me?
No - I fell asleep first.
And Max didn’t wake me up.
And someone put a blanket over us.
Us.
Another jolt through the stomach.
His breath had picked up its pace into little, shallow sips of oxygen and the sense of exhaustion fought the little tidal waves of panic like wolf versus lion.
Max stirred slightly and his arms circled Bradley’s shoulders, pulling him closer, gloved hands instinctively putting extra pressure over his heart, where he'd held it earlier.
The lightning bolts in his stomach morphed into fireflies. How did he just - know?
Breaths came more steadily after a moment, and he tried to memorize everything.
The dull glow from the LED strip under the TV, the exact way the furniture was arranged, the pattern of the blanket, Max’s pant leg and sock sticking out somewhere near his calves, the shadows from the moonlight coming in through the window behind them.
The warmth, the way Max’s shirt was too baggy on him and made the feeling of his arms around him the softest thing in the world.
His gloved hand on his chest, that gentle pressure.
The sound of the ceiling fan, Max’s breathing, his own…
Cinnamon.
Max somehow smelled like cinnamon.
And something else that was so uniquely Max that he didn’t have a name for it.
Don’t let go.
Please don’t let go.
I wish…
Max’s glove had ridden up his hand a little - enough to reveal the lower region of his palm and the larger part of his thumb.
It was much paler than the rest of his patches, but Bradley didn’t take the time to stare at it for long.
Fingers hesitating for a moment, he gently tugged the cuff back over Max’s wrist.
Max tensed - awake.
Bradley looked over his shoulder.
His big, dark eyes were shining and vulnerable.
“Gracias.”
he rasped, still sleepy, whispering.
The few fireflies erupted into a sky of constellations.
Bradley didn’t reply - just nodded.
He’d forgotten the Spanish for “you’re welcome” and nothing else felt right.
He put his own hand on his chest because the pressure really did feel nice.
Max slid his gloved fingers between his.
Bradley squeezed his eyes shut, sighing quietly.
“
¿Estás bien?”
“Mhmm.”
"¿Quieres volverte a dormir?"
“Hmm?”
He thought through the verbs he knew and guessed from context.
“Mmm - yeah.”
A little silence.
“That okay?” Bradley peeled an eye open to see Max smiling at him.
“What?”
“Did you actually understand that?”
He blinked a few times - slow.
“Sort of.”
Max’s little chuckle was more pronounced when he was sleepy.
The snicker he normally had became a tiny little ‘hyuk’.
Head tilted across the couch cushion, Bradley grinned groggily.
Without much thought to it he reached up and stroked Max’s cheek with his thumb.
So warm…
Max looked stunned for half a second before his face melted into that smile that gave Bradley…
Butterflies…
Fireflies…
A skyfull of stars - a whole galaxy.
How many stars were there in a galaxy?
He had to ask him sometime.
Right now it felt like a galaxy was being born in his lungs and stomach and maybe his nostrils too and he couldn’t explain it.
He’s so…
He rotated, arms out to be big spoon and Max's head nestled into his chest, the smell of cinnamon even closer.
“That okay?”
“Mhmm.” Max murmured, still a little tense but getting sleepier again with each inhale…
…exhale…
…inhale….
Is this real…?
….his eyes felt heavy again…
Max nestled further in, sighing…
He's so…
….
…mmm….
…
I can’t think of words…
…he’s so…
…gentle…
….and…
...warm...
….I don’t ever want to move…
…don't move…
…please don't ever let go…
…please just let me stay here a little longer…
Please just let me stay…
…I think I might go back to sleep…
Max…
…please don't let go….
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
FRIDAY - AM
Dr. Sherman had to come in on that Friday for a makeup lesson with one of the sophomore piano majors and had been grumbling about it all morning.
Satchel slung over their shoulder as they rounded the corner for the practice room hallway, a virtuosic rendition of Debussy’s Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum rang out from room 317.
That can’t be one of my students…is that one of Alan’s kids?
and they peered through the narrow window of the door.
The Uppercrust kid?
Isn’t he pre-law?
I didn’t know he played…
Huh.
He’s got a really good sense of the dynamics…
One of the guitar studio guys - the short one who was majoring in astrophysics or something, stood leaned against the upright, eyes locked on the pianist in the kind of awe they’d seen in their partner’s face a hundred times.
Sherman smiled.
Damn…shame he hasn’t auditioned.
We could use a talent like that…
An hour later, as they were heading out, 317 was still full and this time an old movie tune they recognized - the one about the long nonsense word from that one film about the magical nanny - was being plunked out playfully, laughter coming through the door.
“Middle C….other other octave….no that’s A….Max, are you playing by ear?”
“
Siempre…
”
“You know how to read music, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but this way’s more fun…”
“Jesus Christ, Goof, just read it…”
“Make me.”
“What…”
“Sing along if you know it - or you know, just follow the bouncing ball…”
“Max - what -”
“SUPER-CALI-”
A series of nonsense chords underscored the…
“MAX!”
A peal of laughter followed as the Uppercrust kid kicked Goof off the bench and started playing the other song from the movie - the quiet one about the birds.
Sherman smiled and hummed the songs for most of the way home.
FRIDAY - PM
Bradley -
Sorry it’s late.
Not sure if you’re still a jewelry guy, but you used to wear this a lot when you thought your mom wasn’t looking.
Think she’d want you to have it.
Happy (belated) Birthday
- Dad
The little gold coin glimmered on the chain she’d worn around her neck in almost every memory of her.
The tiny matching image of it stared out from around Mom’s neck in the frame photo on his nightstand.
His hands shook as he fiddled with the clasp in the mirror.
There was no scent of peaches or vanilla perfume that came with it, but he could almost imagine there was.
Your Mama loves you…
she’d said every night, whether she knew he was awake or not, and given him that kiss on the forehead that made every monster his imagination could conjure run for the hills.
Your Mama loves you…
he could swear he heard again, staring at his own eyes - her eyes - and watching the dimple he’d inherited from her plunge into his cheek.
Swallowing hard, he kissed it and tucked it safely under his collar.
SATURDAY
The usual rotation of styles pumped through the bluetooth speaker in the kitchen, two suitcases and a leather weekender bag already sitting on the couch in the living room waiting for tomorrow.
“Alright - so you’re heading to…you said Spoonerville?”
Bradley dumped the grounds into the french press, comfortable at his usual breakfast station.
“Yeah, I gotta help the old man put the new deck in - should be alright.” PJ didn’t sound enthused, but flipped a pancake and grinned that it landed nicely in the pan.
“Feels like…kinda shitty you’re having to do manual labor on your spring break.”
Peej shrugged.
“He pays for school.
I help make his stuff nicer on breaks.
It’s not the worst deal in the world.
Just…you know.”
Max let out a dry
pfft
and rolled his eyes a little.
“Spoonerville.
Glad to never go back there.”
PJ shrugged again and tried not to look disappointed.
“You know what’s wild, I’m from Ginger Hill.”
Bradley switched the screaming electric kettle off and poured it into the waiting french press.
Two counties over.
Crazy we never saw each other before…
“I think we were there for a playoff game one time, weren’t we?”
“Football?”
“Baseball.” PJ punched his open hand like it was a glove.
“I was catcher.
Maxie was…”
“In the dugout for most of the season cause I can’t aim for shit and I kept almost hitting the other team’s catcher in the head.”
He tossed an orange toward Bradley and sent it straight into the sink disposal.
“I didn’t need a reenactment.” he poked, blushing at the attention.
Max stuck out his tongue playfully and winked.
PJ handed a plate to Bradley.
“Where are you off to, man?”
“Back to Ginger Hill, spending a few days with my dad again.”
“That’s great, dude.”
Bradley smiled at Max.
“And you’re…”
“Orlando, baby - Dad and Sylvia have a very full week already planned - a couple days in a condo in Daytona - so I’ve been told.”
He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned against the counter, already wearing sunglasses.
“Which could be awesome or - potentially disastrous.”
Bradley tilted his head.
“Oh…?”
“Oh, I can’t wait.”
Bobby stared into the fridge, not commenting.
“You heading home too, man?” Uncrustable ventured.
“Nah, bro - I’m holding down the fort here.”
He fished out the milk jug and cocked an eyebrow at Bradley’s tilted head.
“Nothing for me in Spoonie and I’m not spending money I don’t have to at the moment, you feel?”
“You don’t have family…?”
Max cleared his throat and made a “cut” sign with his hand across his neck.
Bobby grinned darkly. “Bubbe did her best, but we can’t hang on forever and Mom’s - Mom.”
PJ and Max exchanged surprised, knowing glances.
Bradley blinked.
“I’ve been emancipated since I was sixteen.” he took another swig from the jug and shoved it back in the fridge.
“You were…”
Bobby gave his signature pushing-attention-away grin and shrugged.
“Anything’s better than a group home,
chaver.
”
SUNDAY AM
PJ dropped Max off at the airport and routed the GPS to the Greyhound station.
Bradley stared in the rearview for once and PJ grinned to himself.
“Hey man -”
PJ tried to keep his eyes on the road more than he usually did, face a little red.
“Hmm?”
“You know…he’s a good guy.”
Uppercrust looked flustered.
“Yeah…I know.”
“And you’re not so bad yourself.”
“Yeah?”
“I…yeah.”
PJ dropped the subject, embarrassed, but the message came through regardless.
The airport dropped away in the rearview and Bradley felt a little piece of himself snag as the thread pulled further away.
A week suddenly felt like forever.
**ping***
MAX
b safe!
C u next week 🙂
Text me whn you get home?
BRADLEY
Yeah, absolutely 🙂
Bradley beamed all the way upstate.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
SUNDAY -PM
Gravel crunching as the Chevelle made its way up the long drive, Bradley sat bolt upright when he caught sight of the pasture.
“Is that…?”
A much older, much more docile-looking grey-black dappled thoroughbred raised his neck up at the sound of the car approaching.
“Another late birthday gift, I guess.”
Brad Jr. grinned and nodded, a little embarrassed.
“He’s just a pasture horse now, but…yeah, I don’t know.
Felt like I let him go too fast, so I tracked him down.
Guess he got passed around a lot, so he’s a little skittish but - he seems relieved to be back.”
“Holy shit - Dad, are you serious?
Can I…” he reached for the door handle.
“Yeah, sure, it’s your horse.”
and pulled off to the side.
Bradley vaulted the fence and approached slowly, heart racing.
The thoroughbred stood still for a few moments, ears pricking, sniffing from a distance, then approached with a low nicker.
“Goddamn, I never thought I’d see you again…Hey, buddy…” he held a hand out, voice low.
“...you remember me?”
The greyed-speckled nose huffed slightly - his hand, then his hair.
Nicker.
Quiet, intelligent eyes met his for a moment…
“...Tempest…?”
Snort.
Bump.
Tempest’s lips brushed his chest, his shoulder, went for his ear…
Bradley’s sweater would smell like horse breath for the rest of the day.
He’d never been happier.
“Hey ... yeah, it’s me….sorry Mama’s not here...”
He sniffed and stroked the warm neck, the dark mane he’d helped brush so many times.
Holding the long nose between his hands, he pushed it back and forth a little, playfully.
“Look at this white muzzle.
You an old man now? Huh?
Yeah, you’re an old man now, look at you. I know, I got bigger, too, didn’t I?
Hey…!”
Tempest huffed louder, bumped Bradley back a step and let out a little whinny.
Then tossed his head and rested it over Bradley’s shoulder, letting out that purring trill of an exhale.
“Yeah…yeah, I missed you, too, bud…”
MONDAY
The sun was setting when Brad Jr. went out to check on them.
The horse and his boy were still pacing around the pasture like they had for most of the day, Bradley with his sweater off, button-down with the collar open and sleeves rolled up and hair looking as tousled as it had the last time he’d been out there with Tempest. Eleven years must have made for a lot of catching up to do, and he’d always talked to animals more than people.
Brad Jr.
took a long sip and glanced up at the haint blue porch ceiling.
“Little more like you every day, I guess.”
he said to the ether.
A faint hint of vanilla and something else drifted back on the breeze as the world plunged into oranges and reds.
A quick glance down at the row of rose bushes and he took another long sip, grunting back the emotion.
Tempest whinnied and Bradley’s laughter floated out across the open grass.
TUESDAY
Clink.
Dad’s wrench tapped against the side of the engine.
“If it’s cracked or frayed, it means it’s going - which could lead to -
oof
-any number of problems. The main one is… sometimes it’ll make it so the damn thing won’t start…and -
hmph-
it can FUBAR the engine if it breaks. And it keeps the camshaft and crankshaft in sync, so if it fails…you can have some major issues on your hands…”
Brad Jr. wrestled with the timing cover, his explanatory speech had lasted for thirty minutes through the meticulous process of aligning the timing marks. The whole thing was punctuated by the kind of grunts and under-his-breath curses that came with being fifty-something.
Bradley sat on the other rolling toolbox that was the size of a trunk, following about as well as he had when Max had tried to explain string theory to him.
T-shirts were rarely his pick for any occasion, but for Dad and his quiet suggestion at breakfast that it could be ‘like old times’...
“So - you wanna hand me that half-inch wrench? - you wanna make sure you stay on top of it, although it's a pain in the ass to replace, even on an old engine like this. I don't know how the dealership guys handle all the new cars, everything all squished together like that."
“The - which one?”
“Should be to your left.”
Bradley held up a socket wrench.
“Your other left.”
“This?”
“Yep, give it here.”
Dad held out a blackened, grease-stained hand.
The ‘68 Impala was one of many project cars dad had bought, restored and then usually sold.
The convertible - a lighter blue, he was pretty sure,
than the Chevelle - had been sitting in the garage for a number of years as others came and went around it.
He’d wondered if there was a reason this one stayed, but Dad never brought it up.
Bradley gingerly ran a hand along the shiny lip around the open hood, the same old shiver climbing up his spine.
Two bus trips.
Five rides in PJ’s van - one just to go hang out somewhere, not even because he had to.
One Uber trip.
What was it - three times being in the Chevelle in the past…month?
Still.
His knee had been bouncing off and on.
The machines were…well, just machines. Didn't mean they didn't all still trigger the same nausea or the visceral flashes that came with it.
“Alright - now let’s hope I got it all adjusted right.
You wanna crank it for me?
Keys are in the ignition already.”
The shiver turned into a buzz in his stomach but something else…or the thought of how different it might be if…
Bradley slid into the leather seat, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of…
dials? Gauges?
Gauges.
The dash may as well have been a rocket control panel.
What the fuck do you call everything up here?
He knew he knew part of it - that one told you how fast you were going, that one was obviously gas…
But the third one, he knew Dad had explained a hundred times, and then there were like three different levers - one not even mounted up but that he had to reach over for…
…
…gear shift.
Whatever the hell that means.
It didn’t look like the one in Big Bertha - that one looked like a ball on the end of a weird, long stick.
This was more like a horseshoe or the hyperjump control from an old space movie…
Oh shit there were also the ones on the floorboard.
But one less than the ones in the Chevelle.
Why is…where’s the other one?
Is the other one important?
Dad’s bespectacled, sweaty, greying head poked around the hood.
“You alright?”
“What do I do here?”
Twenty-one and I’ve never cranked an engine.
Goddamn.
Dad’s face betrayed a similar thought, but it was discarded and he swung himself around the open driver’s side door and pointed to the floor.
“Put your foot on the brake.”
“Which one’s the…?”
“The one on the left.”
The pedal sank like a piano pedal and the adrenaline kicked in.
Thump thump thump thump thump
I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine…
“Good - you’re in Park, that’s where you wanna be, that’s where you can crank
from.”
What would happen if I wasn't in park?
“Okay.”
“Now just take the key, turn it away from you…”
Chitter.
Rum.
RUM…..
The mechanism turned over and he started as the machine roared to life under him.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit…
“Okay what now.” He shot the words out flatly hoping he wasn't as pale as he felt.
Dad’s hand landed on his shoulder. “You can take your foot off the break. You're in park. You're not going anywhere.”
He nodded rapidly and kept his foot exactly where it was.
Brad Jr. cleared his throat a little. “Engine sounds good, just keep it running for a sec, let me look…”
Dad stepped around the open hood, looked at whatever he needed to look at.
“Rev it a couple times!” Dad’s voice came from the other side of the giant sheet of light blue metal.
Rev…other pedal…
Jesus.
Press.
RUM..!!!
OH GOD.
“One more time!”
Press.
Rum RUM.
“Yep, that's good, let off!”
His foot went back to the brake.
Bradley stared at his hands on the wheel.
Thump thump thump
thump thump.
But not…the worst…
“Alright, that's good!” Dad shouted over the engine. “Switch it back off.”
Uhhhhh… back toward me?
Back toward him.
The little shake stopped with a sputter and he swallowed hard, breath a little shallow.
The old scar was
right there
, staring at him from the forearm that had been cut to ribbons climbing out of the window…
I just did that much, though…
Steering column…temperature gauge.
The lever on the right was for the windshield wipers.
The one that went from 0 to 8 was still a mystery.
Okay.
Breathe.
Okay.
“Bradley…”
“Hmm?”
“You can take your foot off the brake, son.”
“Yep.”
Holy shit.
He sat frozen there for a second, very aware of Dad staring, but…
“You alright?”
His mouth was dry.
“Yeah.”
“You can hop out if you want.”
Bradley sniffed a little and didn't move.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump…
His hands slid across the taut leather of the steering wheel. ‘10 and 2’, he'd heard somewhere.
10, like 10 o'clock…. and 2…
…the curve of the road had felt so good before….everything…
The lever on the left was the turn signal.
Park, reverse, neutral…
His eyes flickered to meet Dad’s, hesitating.
Dad’s eyebrows went up.
“Whatcha thinking, Buddy?”
WEDNESDAY
“Alright, you…let up on the brake, you're alright…”
“Do I….?”
“Try hitting the accelerator…”
“Um…”
“Just gently, it's not gonna take off on you. It's a machine, it does what you tell it to.”
The Impala convertible lurched forward a few feet and then screeched to a halt.
“Shit! Sorry…”
“No, no, no, that's alright, try it again…”
Tempest's tail swished impatiently. He paced alongside the long drive on the other side of the fence, nickered, tossed his head and blew out a bored breath - waited a minute - then walked alongside as the car slowly started moving again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
LUNES
Dad hated the big roller coasters and Sylvia had already ridden three with him today.
The rush of the indoor loop-the-loop through mechanical stars and blasting techno music had almost made the two hour wait without any response from the group chat worth it.
He'd refreshed it every couple minutes, grinning again at Bradley’s big smile in the selfie with the black and grey horse and the wall of explanatory text to go along with it.
---HOUSE CHAT
MAX
Horsey!
PEEJ aka MR. GOTTHEMOVESHell yeah, that’s awesome, man!
MAXwhat horsey name
BOBBY
Never pegged uncrustable as a horse girl 🐴🎀Does it know how to fetch and play dead, too?
MAXWHAT HORSEY NAME
BRADLEY@ Bobby:
🖕🖕🖕😜😜@ Max: Tempest
MAXnot to be dramatic but I would die for tempest
______
Then nothing for almost four hours.
He strode through the ride’s gift shop and out into the mid-century idea of a futuristic cityscape, weaving between families in matching t-shirts and families with screaming three-year-olds and families with bored-looking teenagers aching to break away and ride the bigger rides while they got dragged from character meet to kiddie ride behind their younger siblings.
Max was a fish upstream, but only one, and made it across the park in record time, just in time to see Dad and Sylvia climb into a giant teacup.
“Dad!”
Dad didn’t hear him - locked in some conversation with Sylvia.
“Dad!” he said again, and watched as he took her hand… no gloves, he didn’t wear them all the time anymore, which he’d been fine with since graduation, but…took her and kissed it.
Sylvia blushed and…
The little team in his head threw a glowing memory up on the screen…
Not many photos of Mom existed anymore.
Some had been lost in the multiple moves when he was little.
Some he’d colored on as a stupid little kid, trying to make them “prettier” so Dad would look at them.
Some Dad just kept in the album that stayed in storage.
And Mom had never liked taking photos, according to what he’d been told.
But he had each one memorized, like he’d memorized the constellations and how to get through a day without screaming from touching too many things.
There was one he remembered that he’d stared at for hours with a question burning in the back of his head, over and over again, year after year.
Tia Minnie had taken it when they’d come here together back just before…
He wished he had a camera to capture the moment he’d just seen - it would have matched the photo exactly.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t reach for it.
Something in his stomach dropped, and it shouldn’t.
And the teacups started spinning.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
MARTES
Dad’s room wasn’t just Dad’s room anymore, and for the first time in his life he felt like an intruder walking in without anyone’s knowledge or permission.
He slid the bedside table drawer open, trying not to alert the two of them - laughing over an old Gilligan’s Island episode in the living room.
The picture frame with the three of them - Dad, Mom, the tiny little bundle he still wasn’t entirely convinced had once been him -
was always there.
He’d always kept it there.
Except it wasn’t.
And a tiny velvet box had taken its place.
MIERCOLES
A small family was flying a kite together just down the beach.
The sky was half blue and half puffy white clouds, and the tide was up…
And Max’s stomach was in knots.
Dad had kissed Sylvia’s hand.
Something had snagged internally and started to unravel everything.
Just kissed her hand - nothing more than that.
Nothing he hadn’t seen him do a hundred times already, almost from the moment he’d introduced the two of them in the college library.
Dad was old-school and Sylvia loved it, but…he’d kissed her hand.
Held it.
Held it without the gloves on which was new and kind of unexpected and it shouldn’t hurt that he took them off sometimes now, but…
He’d kissed her hand.
He’d held it without the gloves.
Just like that.
Like it was easy.
Siempre fue fácil para él, idiota. Tú eres el que tiene miedo de tocar a la gente, carajo.
Se deshizo de la foto…
Or at least moved it somewhere less accessible.
Like it was replaceable.
Like…
¿Un anillo?
It shouldn’t hurt like this.
He was being unfair.
After all the times he’d begged Dad to let go of always protecting him and hanging onto him and to get his own life…it shouldn’t be a shock.
It shouldn’t burn.It shouldn’t bring back…
“I’m so sorry, Max…” and Roxanne’s big brown eyes and the way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
Don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch
on a loop for thirteen years and
“What’s wrong with him?”
He’d just…kissed her hand.
He’d just kissed her hand.
And Bradley pulled the glove back over my hand…
Mmm!
Nope.
No puedo pensar en eso ahora mismo. Demasiados cables cruzados.
He’d kissed her hand.
And moved the photo somewhere even further out of sight.
And bought a ring.
Como debería. ¿Qué me pasa?
A seagull came a little too close, tilting his head at the sight of the open cooler.
Max slammed it shut.
“Mine?” it squawked - or so he imagined.
“Fuck off.”
The seagull wandered off a few feet, unfazed and trying to look inconspicuous.
The wires crossed anyway and made his skull buzz.
“Gracias.” he’d said -
Something, something…
Bradley had pulled him in close.
“This okay?”
It had been a week - why was it still playing in a loop?
“This okay?”
not
“Are you sure?”
Now he felt like the one asking -
¿Estás seguro?
¿Y si nunca soy lo suficientemente valiente para...?
He could see the two of them coming back from a long walk they’d started an hour ago.
God knew what they’d been nerding out about, but even from their distant silhouettes he could guess the cadence of the conversation.
Dad would ask a fun, prompting question,
Sylvia would get excited,
Dad would get exci -
Sylvia would interrupt him.
Dad would start to say somethi -
Sylvia would interrupt him again.
Dad would try one more ti-
Sylvia would start to -
- then catch herself.
The two of them would laugh.
And then he would kiss her hand.
Or touch her face.
Run his fingers through her hair.
Apuesto a que el pelo de Bradley es lo más suave que hay en el universo.
The two of them.
His brain splintered.
Stars and the feeling of lying on the U of the half-pipe.
On the couch.
“I mean for most of my life it was just the two of us…Max and Goofy against the world….”
Ojos azules…tan azules…
“...Max and Goofy against the…”
“Get your own life!”
He felt his fingernails digging into his palms and sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to bite his fingers.
Goddammit.
The seagull came around for a second sweep, in a tighter circle this time.
“Mine?”
“Thought I told you to fuck off.” he growled at it.
The bird tilted its head, one dark, beady eye taking him in like it had a list of questions, chiefly what exactly he was hiding in that very shiny, very full-looking cooler.
And also maybe if the person staring back at it with the toothy glower and the mounting rage was actually angry at it, or if something else was wrong.
And what that something else was, or if it was a lot of somethings.
He picked up a seashell and hurled it at the bird.
Felt bad.
Wondered if he should offer it something.
But didn’t some food make birds’ stomachs explode or something awful like that?
He could ask Dad…
Their silhouettes came closer.
“Get your own life!”
He squirmed.
Why did it feel like he was yelling at himself now?
And after all the years of watching other couples at the beach or the park, with Dad either oblivious or actively ignoring them - wishing to be the kid swinging between them, wishing to see Dad happy like that…
Wishing for Mo….
Sylvia broke away from Dad who’d just splashed her with ocean water, running up the beach faster than he knew she could move.
Dad charged after her, almost falling flat on his face every other step and miraculously staying upright anyway.
He caught her, spun her around….
Max caught himself studying the hand placement, carefully, as always.
Where exactly, for how long, guessing what it would feel like…
Laughter pealed out from her, then Dad’s signature h’yucks
echoing close behind.
The inexplicable rage built up like the surf that looked more inviting by the second.
No debería sentirse así.
¿Qué carajo me pasa?
Max ripped the gloves off - wet fabric wasn’t worse than touching but it was close - scooped up the surfboard next to him, and charged into the waves.
Cool salt water…that was a sensation he could fuck with.
The way the scent of it, thick in his nostrils, lit up his entire brain with a shot of dopamine that made the kaleidoscope of memories and questions and self-reprimands at least slow to a pace that didn’t make him feel dizzy.
Anything to get him out of his head for a damn second.
Muscles moving.
Nevermind how dumb and alien his hands looked.
Nevermind that he hadn’t slept last night.
Or well the night before that.
Or really any night since he’d woken up next to Bradley on the couch.
Just paddle.
Let the water rock you until it pulls back enough to give you something…
Something to stand on…
And -
Back foot horizontal, front foot vertical to the beach, look where you’re going…
Mira por dónde vas…
Where he was going…
Where anything was going…
Where Dad and Sylvia…
Where things were going with…
Wipeout.
Again.
Wipeout again.
Paddle.
Paddle.
Wipeout.
Goddammit.
He was exhausted by the time he got out again - he’d probably barely be able to move tomorrow.
Probably for the better.
If he wasn’t going to be of any use in his own head, he probably didn’t need to be doing real people things.
A rot day would be just the thing, and he’d have probable cause to avoid human interaction.
Dad had run up to the room for something and Sylvia was stretched out reading - some brightly colored paperback.
“Hi there.” she said brightly, glasses peering over the top of the book.
“Hiya.”
he dropped the board, too tired to do anything else, and flopped on the towel he’d left stretched out.
Sylvia smiled at him - she did that a lot.
Like she wanted to say something and was afraid whatever it was would scare him away.
Before the other day he’d enjoyed it - it felt like maybe they had the hesitance in common.
Now he was terrified to ask what she was really thinking.
If it was guilt.
Or worse - if it was genuine awkwardness.
The not knowing what to make of him or do with him that he’d read too late in a thousand other faces.
“I didn’t know you were also a surfer” she offered warmly.
He shrugged.
“Same basic mechanics as skateboarding, just waves instead of wheels.
And the foot placement is different.”
¿De qué rayos estás hablando, mano?
Sylvia nodded.
“Oh.”
He let the sun rays dry him off, rotating every minute or so like a rotisserie chicken.
After several rotations, Sylvia cleared her throat a little.
“Your phone has been going off quite a bit while you were out in the water.”
“Yeah?”
He sat up.
Bradley had been radio silent since yesterday.
He held a hand out without realizing.
Wait, no -
The phone dropped on the sand as he yanked it back, Sylvia letting out a little “oh” of surprise.
No, no, no…
“Sorry, I…”
“You aren’t wearing your -”
She was trying so hard not to look hurt.
“Yeah, sorry.”
No, no, no…
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“It’s…um…”
¿Entonces qué carajo se supone que diga?
“No, dear, I'm sorry.
I forgot. I shouldn't have…”
“Really, it's fine.” He said a little too fast and saw the sting in her eyes and wanted to jump in and hug her or…
He felt his eyes get big the way they did in grade school when he went too close to someone and Miss Daisy had to pull him aside - again - and give him the same talk he’d heard a hundred times and thought he’d been following to the letter.
“…I'm sorry.”
The sand was…not interesting, but it was all he could look at.
“It’s alright, dear.” she said softly.
Too softly.
Pity softly.
“Would you hand me my…”
“Your gloves?” Sylvia interrupted.
¿Me dejas terminar?
He snatched them before she could touch them and started to tug them on.
His hands were still raisin-wrinkled from the water.
It felt wrong.
Then his phone.
“My headphones.”
…
No ese silencio.
Anything but the stung, shocked silence.
“Sure.” She said sweetly - his gut twisted -
and set them on the towel next to him.
His heart dropped a little.
Supongo que es...¿mejor? Pero también mucho peor.
Lo hice mucho peor.
His mouth felt too dry but he didn’t feel like moving or asking for anything else.
The seagull eyed him from where it had posted up just at the edge of the slope that the tide was slowly slipping back down.
Dad’s lanky form appeared on the boardwalk.
Max rolled over onto his towel and pretended to be asleep.
----
The sun started dipping lower and Max finally sat up, eyes opening to…Another photo - one Uncle Mickey had taken nineteen years ago in Huntington Beach.
It was a silhouette, just the two of them dancing in the surf, Mom’s belly swollen…
**ping** His phone buzzed again.
**ping** A few seconds later.
The seagull was right up on him, standing atop the cooler with an air of triumph.
"Mine?"
Déjame en paz.
Sylvia laughed, dipping Dad instead of the other way around and
a part of him wanted to smile.
But the rest of him - the part that still hadn’t been able to look at his phone no matter how much he missed the guys…the part of him that felt dangerously close to hurting someone’s feelings, or like he was going to slam too hard into someone accidentally and make them cry -
- that part ached.
And ached.
And ached…
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
JUEVES
The moon was rising over the beach and Max had been sitting on the concrete floor of the balcony of the rented condo, hugging his knees, for the better part of an hour.
Seagulls had congregated on the sun-cracked parking lot below, screaming over trash and scraps and generally not helping with his efforts to clear his head.
Hay algo mal conmigo.
Algo está muy mal conmigo.
Orion - Betelgeuse - Ursa Major… all stared back at him.
How did the sky - no matter how much he learned about it, no matter how full he knew it was -
still feel so damn empty sometimes?
“What's your mom like?”
The waves crashed down on the beach and went back out.
A car with colored lights around the wheel wells growled by on the road, speakers and bass far too loud for anyone's eardrums.
He swallowed.
What the hell is wrong with me?
A flash of the white fabric on his hands brought back the impulse to…he didn't even know. Something.
Do something.
Tug. - index finger. Tug. - fuck you finger. Tug. - ring…
Max swallowed.
Pinky. Thumb.
Pull.
Long, pale fingers and palm, scattered with the last remaining brown speckles stared back like a stranger on an airplane giving him a dirty look for having his headphones in during the pre-flight safety demonstration.
Unimpressed.
Alien.
Flip.
More of the pigment was left on the back of his hand - a sort of wave that dipped down and went back up to his pinky, a spray of freckles reaching up to the rest of his fingers and not quite…reaching…Well, except for that one freckle at the base of his middle finger, but that might be a birthmark.
Flex.
Stupid.
Flip.
Sometime in his senior year of high school he’d gotten drunk enough at a party to let some girl -
Esme…Esmer-something… something like that, she was an exchange student -
read his palm.
She didn’t touch it - he was very specific about that
- but she’d been thorough.
Deep and clear heart line - broken up in bits at the beginning and then getting more solid as it went.
“You’ve been through a lot of heartbreak already…” Esme had said, eyes soft.
Head line long and curving, slightly wavy - “Curious.
Creative.
You’re good at thinking your way around obstacles.”
“Long life line…this one means you’re more bashful than you let on…”
He’d blushed.
“Now, your fate line is interesting…”
Max didn’t really believe in fate.
It would have to be pretty cruel to have dealt the hand it had to…pretty much anyone he cared about.
He hadn’t really paid attention to that part.
“How much you care about people…” Bradley’s looping, illegible letter echoed, and he sniffed back the stench of guilt.
His phone had been blowing up all day and he hadn’t even looked at it.
His palm sunk below prominent Mounts of Venus and Moon… “passionate…empathetic…”
“Max I’m so sorry…”
“You don’t have to apologize, dear…”
“Max, sweetie, I know you know.
You have to keep your hands to yourself.
You’re scaring your friends.”
…Pathetic.
He stared at the heart line again.
The island between fragmenting wrinkles just under his pinky had stared back at him with big brown eyes and red hair for years.
But the rest of the line hadn’t ever had a face to go with it.
Now it looked like a line of music. Or a crack in the sidewalk while his skateboard clacked over it, a longboard not far behind.A sky full of stars and a lesson on constellations…
“That one, I guess…"
Flex.
He looked up at Orion.
“What’s your mom like?”
Flex.
“No se.”
No se…
No se…
Slide.
The sliding glass door opened, Goofy stepped out, looking sneaky and Max hadn’t the slightest clue why.
He tugged his glove back on quick, hoping Dad didn’t catch it.
“Hiya.”
“Hey, Maxie…” he kept his voice low, as if anyone could hear him with the cacophony of seagulls below them in the parking lot, and ducked down to sit next to him, excited.
“Come here, I got somethin to show ya…”
Max didn’t move - outwardly.
Internally a hundred alarms went off.
No.
No no no no no not yet, not today…
“Dad…”
“Alright…” Dad geared up for a big speech, and Max kicked his feet out in front of him, then immediately pulled his knees up again.
“So I gotta ask ya somethin…”Every muscle tensed.
No, no, no — hay cosas que todavía necesito preguntarte. Pensé... pensé que habría más tiempo antes de esto.
Sylvia had announced she wanted to go for another walk, just by herself, and was somewhere out on the strand, nowhere around to see.
Dad had been acting weird all afternoon, especially around her.
Goofy’s hand went for his pocket.
No quiero hacerle daño. De verdad, no quiero hacerle daño. Es su vida. Es su vida…
“So…Sylvia and I have been together for a little while now, and…well…
Now I know…I know it hasn’t been too long.
And I never want to…you know, there’s no replacing your…well… well, I wanted to ask you what you would think if I…”
“DAD.”
Dad froze.
The tone had been the loud, short, angry kind that he usually reserved for things he said when he didn’t want Dad to speak to him for a week.
“Just…stop, hold on a second.”
Max’s gut seized.
No, no, no quise que sonara así...
“Sorry.
Dios, siento.
Dad…I…”
Mierda.
“...before you - sorry, I just -”
Eye contact was out of the question.
He knew the deflated look that was probably slowly dropping each of Dad’s happy features.
“…I think I know what it is.
I um…I went looking for that old picture of…um… us… at the house. I saw it already.”
“Oh.”
Mierda. Dime algo rápido, Maxie.
“And yes.
My answer is yes, of course, I want you to be happy.”
There was that falling-off-a-cliff feeling he hated so much.
It wasn’t enough to just say the right thing.
Not this time.
And that meant hurting someone.
Keep your hands to yourself…
“I just - before you do…I…there are… tengo algunas preguntas sobre... ”
No quería hacer esto hoy.
Or…
…maybe I….
“¿Sobre…?” Dad prompted, sounding just on the edge of defensive but trying to understand.
A thousand questions had sat unasked for too many years, and he’d promised himself if it ever came to this...
Before it ever came to this….
He’d known it was coming, but he didn’t want to ask over the phone or really start the conversation at all.
And then Bradley had brought it all up at the skatepark and it had been riding under the surface like a giant whale under a tiny raft ever since and…
He looked up.
He and Dad had the exact same eyes, he knew that.
Is this what he looked like right now, too?
Scared and maybe a little angry - maybe a lot angry - right under the surface?
Please…
Dad’s eyes softened, the way they always did when he could tell he was scared.
“It’s alright, son, ask me what you wanna ask me.”
Aquí vamos…
His chest felt like it had the whole planet on it.
“...will you tell me about Mom?”
He sounded smaller than he’d been when…
Goofy’s energy shifted from heartbroken to stunned.
“... ¿Tu mamá? ”
“Yeah.”
oh god oh god oh god…
“Max -”
The seagulls all went after one - the littlest one - who had a churro or something that looked like a churro in its beak.“Like - I - I know what happened to her, I’m not talking about that. It’s hard to talk about, I know it’s hard to think about. I know how hard you tried to find her and everything, and… I mean… It’s just… Sé, como… sé casi nada sobre ella. O por qué ustedes dos… like - ¿como si fue solo por mí…? Porque sé que ya estaba embarazada cuando ustedes dos se casaron, entonces, ¿fue únicamente por…? O ¿cómo se conocieron? Did… did you love…?His chest was heaving.
“Maxie…”
His eyes were burning.
“¿La amabas? Or was it just because of me? ”
“ Mijo…” Dad took a cautious scoot in.
He flinched.
Don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch…
No se.
No sé qué estoy pidiendo. Solo necesito...
“…ella era el amor de mi vida. Nosotros…” Dad’s voice shattered.
“…ella era mi mundo.”
All the photos flooded back at once, redeemed from the mental fire he’d been hesitating to throw them all into if he needed to.
He did love her.
He did.
Habían sido una familia.
He wasn’t just a…
“¿Cómo se conocieron?”
“Tu tío nos presentó.”
Of course it was.
“ ¿Dónde?”
“Mayagüez.”
“¿Se conocieron en la universidad?”
Dad chuckled.
“Yep.”
“¿Y…y la amabas?”
“Nos queríamos más que a nada.”
Of course he did.
“¿Y…y después…?”
“Y luego tú estabas en camino, y… I mean, gosh, son … eso no importaba. Era tu mamá. It was you… ”
Dad’s hand reached out and he wanted to let him touch his face.
He did.
He did.
Why was he shaking so hard?
He wanted to rip the gloves off more than anything and the sheer thought of it made him sick to his stomach.
Dad pulled his hand back for a second.
“...but…she…”
“ Ella tenía miedo, hijo.
She was young, she was scared she wouldn’t be a good mom to ya - and, honestly, the main thing was she…she had a lot goin’ on in her head.
Todo el tiempo, ¿sabes? ”
Max nodded profusely.
“Heck, I was scared I wouldn’t be a good pop, but that didn’t mean…”
Face was hot.
His face was so hot.
Dad saw him squirming and took a deep breath.
“She tried, you know.
Ella hizo su mejor esfuerzo , y se quedó todo el tiempo que pudo ..
Now…I believe that.
I really do.
She stayed as long as she could, and I think…I know…because I knew her…she wanted to stay longer.
Simplemente no podía, mijo .”
Max nodded again and the sob he’d tried to hold down came up in a sharp, coughing wince.
Dad jumped past the barrier in the way only Dad could and wrapped him up.
“ Ven aquí... ”
“...okay…”
Okay.
okay okay….
“ ¿Estás bien? ”
Max shook his head ‘no’.
Dad held him tighter,
rocked him back and forth like he’d always done - until the breaths came a little easier and he didn’t feel like a cat trying to wriggle out of the bag of his own skin.
Panting, he sat curled up into Dad on the balcony.
The night sea air was gentle and salty and a little easier to focus on
with the pressure Dad was putting on his chest.
“I'm sorry, Dad.” He felt and sounded about five years old.
“Porque?”
“I feel like I ruined… …this was supposed to be a happy talk.”
Dad let out a pffft and shook his head.
“There’s no such thing as supposed to be, kiddo. Gosh, I didnt even… well. I think I’ve kinda been ignoring you a little this week,without meaning to. I completely missed that you weren’t okay…”
He sniffed.
“You weren't ignoring me. You have your own life now. youre happy. That's what I wanted.
That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
Goofy's forehead wrinkled. “I still don't like it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no Maxie you've got nothing to apologize for.
I know it's a big change.”
Dad ran a hand over his hair like he'd always done and Max let a fat, salty tear slide down his cheek.
He let the silence go for a few moments.
“What else can I do, Maxie?”
Nada.
No - no es nada.
Be honest.
Max sniffed again.
“...Tell me more?”
He did.
Story after story.
The day they met.
Their first date.
How they'd found out he was coming…
Dad had a simple way of talking. Max had always liked that. How he never made anything any more or less than it was. How he used easy words and let himself trail off into thoughts like he didn't mind you being there.
A few times his voice wavered or cracked behind him as he listened.
“And you were…you were so little…”
Max felt like there was a lightning storm happening in his stomach and - ironically - the longer Dad talked, the more clouds gathered and made a light show miles out over the dark, tossing water.
“No sabía…” Dad ventured after a while…
“...well, I didn’t ever know you wondered about her, Maxie.”
Whatever bubbled up Leviathan-style from whatever depths it had been hiding in was too big too call fury, or heartbreak or fear…
All he knew, without trying to pin a name to it as it swallowed him whole like a puppet on a raft, was that it had always been there.
Just under the surface.
Feeding into every brush of skin, every panic, every ounce of frustration and restlessness and…
“Dad, I can’t touch people.”
“I know.”
The shake got stronger again.
“I can’t…”
Fuck.
“...and I want to.
I really fucking want to.
I wanted to…with Roxie, and…and I…and I couldn’t…I can’t…cause I’m so…cause I’m so scared they’re gonna…”
Just fucking say it.
“...they’re gonna get scared of me, like they used to, and…and leave…”
“Maxie…”
“...I know.
I know I know I know I know - it wasn’t me, or my fault, really, or…”
His heart was beating so hard it physically hurt.
“...but what if…if even the smallest part of me can’t…what if I can’t…”
“¿Qué pasa si no puedes qué, mijo?”
“What if I can’t ever touch him?
What if I’m just broken and…”
“You mean Bradley?”
The sob caught in his throat and he nodded.
“Or you…or anyone…”
“....I don’t mind.”
“I…I know.”
“And neither will anyone who actually cares about you.”
Dad’s forehead wrinkled and his eyebrows lowered in the way they did when he had something serious to say and didn’t want to be interrupted.
It wasn’t there often and Max felt his chest lighten a little bit - that look was a buoy in a storm.
“Now listen - I loved your mom.
For all of it, in all of it, through all of it, for as long as she let me.
Because she trusted me, and I trusted her.”
He smiled as Max’s gaze lifted up to meet his.
“ Así es - that’s what it is - that’s…you find someone, and you get that feeling, and you get to trusting one another.
And you do that for as long as you can, as well as you can.
Doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt, or they won’t get hurt by you.
Cause that’s the other part - the courage.
Confianza y coraje.
That’s all it ever is - and part of that is lettin’ people say yes or no to the parts of you that scare ya.
Sometimes they’ll say no.
But I’ve found…well, more often than not they surprise ya.
¿Me entiendes? - You know what I mean?”
Bradley had tugged his glove back over his hand when it slipped off.
And not looked freaked out when he’d told him why, and how it started.
“Is this okay?”
And just the softest, strongest arms - surprisingly strong, he’d never really even thought about how much he’d liked how tightly he held on…
And PJ and Bobby and Mocha had always…
…Sylvia didn’t seem to mind, either…
Sylvia doesn’t mind.
Why did it feel like that little thought shunted him into an alternate dimension?
He swallowed.
“You alright?”
“Mhmm.”
“Te amo, mijo.”
Dad always said that when he could tell there wasn’t anything else to say.
“Love you, too, Dad.”
A tiny silhouette captured Dad’s eye on the beach - a tiny feminine form in a flowy dress that Sylvia had been wearing all day and he could tell drove Dad absolutely crazy.
He glanced down at Dad’s pocket - the little shape of a velvet box protruding out even though it was supposed to be totally hidden.
Sylvia had been trying - it was awkward, but she’d been trying.
And the way she and Dad laughed together…
“MAX!” Bradley had elbowed him hard in the practice room last Friday, aggravated and completely flustered to the point that Max had wanted to k…
….
¿....Qué querías hacer, Max? ……¿Qué querías?
…
He breathed in, quick.
“Yes.”
Goofy’s forehead wrinkled, confused.
“Yes what?”
“Ask her.”
“Sylvia?”
“Yeah, Dad, ask her.
I want you to be happy.
Ask her.”
Dad’s smile spread and he nodded.
“Okay.
I think I
will.”
The lightning show over the water kept going, highlighting the tiny librarian lady who was staring out over the tossing waves.
Max felt the old glow come back - and the new one that had started forming.
“You wanted to show me the ring, didn’t you?”
Goofy turned beet red and fished the box out of his pocket.
The little solitaire ring gleamed up and Max sucked in a breath.
Part of him felt the panic resurge.
But Dad’s eyes were as confidently loving as they’d always been with him.
Maybe that was all that needed to be.
“Whaddya think?”
Max sniffed.
“I think she’s the luckiest lady in the world.”
Goofy beamed.
“I’m gonna go meet her down there, that okay?”
“This okay?”
He nodded.
Dad got up and opened the sliding door.
“Dad?”
“Mhmm?”
“Good luck.”
Dad smiled.
A few minutes later he saw the tall, lanky form join the other one by the surf.
Dad put his arm around Sylvia’s shoulder.
They stood there for several minutes, talking, and Max let a childhood’s worth of tears fall that he’d apparently been saving up for the occasion.
He fished his phone out when he saw the moment start to happen and zoomed the camera as far in as it would go.
The lighting was the furthest thing from ideal, but he snapped a single shot and then watched, resting his chin on his hugged-in knees.
And smiled a little.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
SATURDAY
8:40PM
Incoming FaceTime…
MAX
A green button was never pressed faster.
“Hey!”
Bradley rolled over on his stomach, propping the phone up against the headboard - his bulletin board with the Tony Hawk poster behind him - and grinned.
There he was.
Cute little nose with the patch on it, toothy smile, those big eyes.
God, he’s gorgeous.
---
8:40PM
Max pulled his feet up on the porch swing of Dad’s Orlando house, a little shy but relieved he’d picked up.
“Hey.”
Max laughed a little at the skater in the background.
“Oh damn, is that - I had that exact poster for the longest time.”
Blue eyes looked over his shoulder.
His hair was in a hundred directions and he was wearing the State hoodie he’d only seen him wear a couple of times.
Dios, esta lindo.
“Oh god, I forgot all about that.” and blushed with that little nose wrinkle he did when he was cringing at himself.
Max tilted his head.
“Is that a Powerline poster?”---
8:41PM
Bradley grinned and walked over, holding the camera up to the little Sharpie scribble on the bottom corner.
“Signed by the man himself.”
Max did that little thing he did when he got excited where his shoulders hunched all the way up and wiggled back and forth a little bit.
“That’s so…hold on - I didn’t know you were a fan.”
Welp…
“I went through a phase…”
---
8:41PM
Max leaned forward.
“Are you…embarrassed right now?”
Bradley squinted.
“Should I be?”
“Bro, I’ve been on stage with him - you’re ashamed of Powerline, you’re ashamed of me.”
Bradley’s jaw dropped.
“What. Do. You. Mean?”
“Yeah, in high school.
I got to dance with him on stage.”
“Evidence.
Now.”
“Hold on.” Max cackled, and went digging through his camera roll for the old video.
He hesitated for a second at the blurry, dark silhouette of Dad down on one knee with Sylvia basically airbourne, jumping up and down as she accepted.
The old video was in a folder by itself, something Bobby had shot, zoomed in on the TV at the party with everyone from high school watching.
“Coming your way.’
---8:57PM
Stunned beyond words, he replayed the video for the fourth time, Max’s cackling face minimized up into the top right corner.
“This…how is this not viral?
And how did I not…where was this?”
“The LA show on the Stand Out tour.”
“WHAT. How? Spill.”
“It’s…oh god, this is such a long story.”
Max ran his glove over his face, already writhing with embarrassment at all the mini stories jammed into that one giant road trip.
Bradley cocked an eyebrow. “I have time.”
---
9:24 PM
“So then we were just stranded in the car with this giant hairy thing pacing around outside, and I mean for hours…”
“Oh my god, were you guys okay?
All night?”
“All night.
We had one can of Hi Dad soup and the cigarette lighter…”
“Hi Dad soup?”
Max blushed deeper than he’d ever seen him blush before.
“Um…”
---
10:40PM
“You…?!”
Max almost screamed, sitting bolt upright.
Bradley was trying very hard to make it not a big deal, but the way he drew his socked feet up and wrapped his hands around his ankles, rocking slightly and blushing, Max felt his stomach pool and smiled bigger than he had all week.
“Just to the end of the driveway and back a few times.
Oh my god I’m fucking terrible at it.
I think I may have worn the brake pads out completely.”
An embarrassed smirk tugged at the corner of Bradleys’s upper lip, revealing that one tooth that was definitely an implant now.
Dad had told him to apologize on his behalf for that…
“I’m so fucking proud of you!”
Bradley went quiet, stunned, and looked down at his comforter, smiling.
“Thank you.”
---
11:12 PM
“Oh, um…there’s something else…I’m gonna send it to the group chat.”
“Okay.”
“Hang on.”
**ping**
Bradley had to get his glasses.
He squinted for a second.
“Is…that your dad?”
---
11:14 PM
HOUSE CHATPEEJ aka MR. GOTTHEMOVES ¡No me digas!
Is that what I think it is???!!!!
BOBBY
Oooohhh shiiiiiit get it Mr. Goof 💍💍💍💍💍💍💍
https://open.spotify.com/track/5R9a4t5t5O0IsznsrKPVro?si=nhm0MqarR0aNLdf-IWddAg
PEEJ aka MR.
GOTTHEMOVESCONGRATS!!!!!This makes me so damn happy.
@ Bobby: lol
BOBBY@ Max: This why you been MIA all week???We thought you were dead
☠️
MAXThx guys.
Sylvia’s great
----
11:16pm
Bradley tilted his head a little as Max’s eyes flickered, reading the incoming texts on the other end of the video chat, his lips moving a little as he pieced each message together phonetically.
“You okay?”
Max looked up, caught.
“Huh?
Oh.
Yeah.
There’s…you know, a lot of mixed emotions.”
Bradley laid on his stomach again, propping his chin on the pillow he was hugging, and felt his eyebrows knit.
“Yeah?”
Max forced a smirk. “Yeah, it's okay though.”
“Is it?”
“It’s…”
Deep sigh.
Max flopped back onto the porch swing and Bradley smirked at how small he was to be able to fit on the bench like that, the concrete swishing back and forth underneath him.
“...it's weird. But it's also good. I asked my Dad about… well, I know more about my mom now, so I'm gonna be processing that for a while.”
There was a little hesitation before he looked back up and Bradley wished he could hug him.
“I…um…I mean, I don't know. I know it's gonna be a good thing. And I wanna give Sylvia a fair chance. But like…is it bad that I'm still kind of…”
“No.” Bradley said a little too quickly, but he meant it. “No. I don't think so. I mean - I don't think my Dad will ever remarry. He and my mom were…I mean they were together for like a decade before me and Bailey were born, and I know…well, I can't imagine what all they went through, I just know he's probably never going to want to be with anyone else but, I mean, if he did…”
---------------
11:20 PM
Max watched the bespectacled, exhausted guy on the other end as he thought out loud, running a hand through his hair for the fortieth time, slowly getting sleepier…
Bradley’s eyebrows went up and he shook his head a little.
“...I don't know. I think it'd take me a while to get used to the idea.”
He fiddled with the end of his hoodie string, thought for another second, then said -
“I’d do anything to get my mom back, but…that’s never gonna happen, so if there was someone else, I think eventually I’d appreciate having that kind of energy around.
It’d be nice….”
No, that wasn’t the string of his hoodie.
It was a necklace.
The little round one he’d been wearing the last few times he’d seen him.
“But it would definitely weird me out at first…
So I can imagine it’s gotta be a little jarring, even when it’s a good thing.
I don’t think that makes you the asshole, I think…I mean, I think it just makes you human.”
Bradley pushed his glasses up on this forehead, rubbed his eyes, then looked back up and smiled a little at him.
Max blinked.
He'd seen this side of Bradley more and more the longer they'd lived together. Weighing in on discussions thoughtfully, getting excited about little things, listening intently, being genuinely surprised and touched when someone listened to what he had to say or noticed him.
Max felt his head tilt.
Bradley looked confused. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head, smiling quietly.
Blush.
“Did you um…” Bradley glanced at another part of his screen. “...oh Jesus, it's been like three hours…”
Max grinned. “Yeah.”
“...Did you need something when you called? I didn't even ask. What..um…what were you calling about?”
‐-----------------
11:25 PM
Max had cringed and laughed at himself and blushed a lot over the last couple hours. Nothing compared to how bashful he suddenly looked.
“Nothing, really. I just wanted to talk to you.”
Bradley felt a lightning bolt shoot from his brain to his stomach.
Me?
A little grey rabbit appeared in his chest again, bright eyes getting brighter, foot tapping like crazy.
Max looked up to say something in rapid Spanish to his Dad who'd poked his head out onto the porch. The one patch, the one that looked like a flower, stretched across the delicate contours of his neck.
Pretty.
Pretty flower…
“Sorry.” Max grinned as the screen door slapped closed again offscreen. His face flipped from casual to caught. “What?”
thump thump thump thump thump
He smiled.
“Nothing.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
SUNDAY
Bobby flung open the door as the van's ignition shut off.
“The boys are baaaaaack!!!”
---------
“So…wait, do I add Bless to that?”
PJ looked up from his extensive notes, about to explain the spell and its limitations for the seventh time this session and felt his mouth tug up at the sight of Max’s chin propping itself on Bradley’s shoulder, looking at the character sheet he’d helped him put together two hours ago.
“No…that's for saving throws, this is a skill check - you’re rolling Persuasion, so that’s over here, on your skill list.”
“Right...” Bradley squinted. “So I'm just rolling the…this one?”
“D20, yep.”
Click-clack.
“Thirteen?”
“And then add your modifier.”
“Uhhh….”
“Plus five, so eighteen.”
Bobby let out a low whistle.
PJ’s eyebrows went up.
“Yeah, pass - they put the sword down.
The villager you saved runs off screaming.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bobbert Lightfoot called after them.
The new paladin just smiled.
----
“Then Bradley, I need a Wisdom saving throw from you, please.”
“Yeah….um….”
Bradley hesitated, started for the dice, and paused, raising a hand like they were in a lecture hall.
PJ snorted.
“Yes, Mr. Uppercrust?”
The half-elf paladin rolled his eyes.
“Okay, I’m still kinda fuzzy on…what's the difference between wisdom and intelligence?”
“Ooh - I got this.”
Max picked up a decorative wicker ball from the bowl that sat in the center of the coffee table - a little addition PJ had brought to make the place more “homey” - and held it up.
“Imagine a tomato.”
“Come again?”
“That’s what she said.” Bobby snickered - aside to PJ, who rolled his eyes.
“
Un tomate.
Strength”
-
The other paladin - a dragonborn
-
squeezed the wicker until creaked a little and the DM opened his mouth to protest but didn’t.
- “
is how good you are at crushing a tomato. Dex -”
He lobbed it at Bobby, who caught it and tossed it back, grinning.
“ - is how good you are at dodging a tomato.
Bobby’s a rogue, so he’s got a lot of dexterity.”
“For sneaky shit.” Bobby stuck his tongue out and winked, wiggling his fingers like an old cartoon character.
“So - constitution is…”
“If you can stomach a rotten tomato.”
PJ offered.
Max picked up two more and juggled them…
“Intelligence is knowing a tomato is a fruit.
Wisdom is knowing not to put a tomato in a fruit salad.”
Bradley was partly listening and mostly watching the acrobatics.
PJ grinned as Max tossed all three in the air, caught them all, and held one out to Bradley.
“Charisma is being able to sell a fruit salad that’s mostly tomatoes.”
Bradley pondered this, forehead wrinkled for a few seconds longer than everyone expected, then held eye contact with Max and burst out laughing.
PJ grinned down at his notes, silently lowering the save DC to one less than Bradley had rolled.
His phone buzzed next to his notebook behind the screen.
BOBBY
omfg just kiss already
PJ held back a snort and nearly choked on the sip of soda he’d just swallowed.
-----
“There’s a lot of skittering around in the cave.
As you take that one step further in you hear a loud, low chitter and out of the shadows you see an elven, humanoid face.
But there are too many eyes, and too many legs beneath the torso…”
Bobby blanched a little.
“Oh fuck me.”
“What?” asked the half-elf.
“Drider.” said the dragonborn.
“He shoots out -
he rolled really high on his Stealth, so he’s gonna get a surprise round - and he’s gonna go for the person that’s closest to him.”
Bobby groaned.
“This is gonna be a melee attack, he’s moving just north of you…”
PJ slid a red mancala bead onto the laminated grid map, dry-erase marker marking out the rough idea of a cave system, and reached for his D20.
“He’s going for a bite.”
Bradley’s eyebrows knit, flipping his character sheet over and then cross-referencing the book he had in front of him.
“Then Bobbert, you’re gonna take…Jesus, okay, they crit, so you’re gonna take…”
Two little pyramids and four eight-sided dice clicked across the table.
“Eight piercing and.. That’s a seven…three…six…five…twenty-one poison…”
“Fuck me, I’m down nomatter what…”
“Wait, hold on - can I use a reaction if it’s not my turn?”
Bradley piped up, more concerned than he had sounded in a while.
PJ paused, slightly regretful of starting a new player at seventh level.
But at least he seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Yeah, you haven’t used your reaction yet.”
“Okay, okay…tell me if I’m wrong here…” Bradley’s finger traced along a line in the hand book he’d been clinging to like a lifeline for an hour.
“Can I…what’s it called..I’m within…two squares? So I’m within ten feet of him?”
PJ blinked.
Max grinned, prouder than he’d ever looked in his life.
“Oh shit…”
“Yeah, he’s within ten feet.”
“So he’s in my…aura?”
“Yes…he is.”
“So I can use…Aura of the Guardian, right?
I can take that damage for him?”
Max glanced over at Bradley’s character sheet.
“You’d be down to 2 hit points.
You sure?”
“Well, he just said he’d be down, down.”
Bobby nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“So can I?”
He looked at PJ.
“Yeah.”
PJ made a mental note to tell Mocha this particular story later.
“Yeah, if you use your reaction to take that, you’re taking twenty-one radiant damage.”
“Done.”
And he reached for the pencil Max was holding.
The rogue swallowed and erased the damage he’d already written on his character sheet.
“Thanks, man.”
Max’s phone sounded off its notification sound and he fished it out of his pocket, beaming.
His face fell again when he saw Talbot’s email address at the top of the notification bubble.
“
¿Estás bien, hermano?”
PJ’s eyebrow went up behind the cardboard screen.
“Yeah,
dame un segundo,
I gotta go read this.”
----------------------------------
Subject: Final Notice - Extra Credit Submission Deadline
Dear Mr. Goof,
This is a formal reminder that your extra credit assignment is due by midnight tomorrow. Please be aware that your current academic performance is not meeting expectations, and failing to submit this additional work could jeopardize your ability to pass English 2 for a second time. Such an outcome could have serious implications for your GPA and may lead to academic probation.
I understand from my discussions with other professors and advisors that you are performing well in your major-specific courses and remaining actively engaged with extracurriculars. While I recognize the importance of excelling in those areas, I kindly request that you apply a comparable level of respect and a similar level of effort and dedication to your assignments in my class.
Thank you for your attention to this matter. I look forward to your reflections on the Iliad.
Sincerely,
Dr. Talbot
_____
“
Ay, diablos.”
Laughter echoed from the living room as the stress he’d managed to forget about for a week came clawing like a balrog from the depths of the Underdark.
Max clicked his phone off and flopped backwards onto the bed, letting a long groan of exasperation out into the pillow.
“
Fuck me.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Mother fucking hell.”
This PDF was old as shit and in a font that was nearly impossible to decipher, and even the screen reader was having trouble with it.
Max cursed, rubbed his bleary all-nighter eyes and willed the decrepit, stubborn printer in the corner to connect so he could at least use a ruler.
Fifteen fruitless minutes later and he wanted to throw something.
Old Stuffed Bear would do - the guy had been through worse - but as soon as the little stuffy left the desk and was launched too close to the ceiling fan and landed on the floor instead of the bed, he felt a pit form in the bottom of his stomach.
He’d seen some movie when he was little about toys coming to life and feeling hurt when they were ignored or played with roughly, and even as a full adult he still cried every time he thought about it.
“ Mierda! Bendito.... Disculpa me, amigito. ”
And he picked the little guy up and hugged him before bringing him back to the desk and setting him in his proper place against the reading lamp.
He plunked back in the chair and spun around several times, sighing heavily.
Hours on end of trying unsuccessfully to make himself do the thing he’d been putting off for three and a half weeks had left him feeling like a head-achey, useless husk. The compulsory accompanying self-loathing thoughts had gone from loud to muted into a constant, thrumming background that was taking up residence right behind his eyes.
He groaned, covering his face for a second and then stared at the ceiling fan, squinting as he tried to reset for another attempt at the reading.
The overhead light flicked off, then back on.
Max jumped.
Bradley’s finger was on the lightswitch.
He had a habit of doing that instead of knocking and Max hadn’t ever asked why.
“...you ‘kay?”
A half-asleep Uppercrust III
poked his head in, hair sticking in eighteen directions.
Max glanced at the clock in the bottom corner of his laptop screen.It was 5am. Max stopped himself with his foot and languished deeper into the old spinny chair.
“English is going to kill me.”
“What’s happening? You been up all night?
Why you up so early?”
“Studying.”
“....Five in the morning…?” came out so mumbled Max almost didn’t catch it.“Yeah, and this goddamn extra credit assignment is due at midnight and I haven’t even fucking started.”
Bradley blinked sleepily and came all the way into the room.
“...extra credit?”
Max had never seen the guy wear anything less than a polo - not that Bradley would ever be caught dead in a polo - and he tilted his head at the sight of cut-off sweatpant shorts and the X-games t-shirt from last year.
It was a size too big for him and Max felt his stomach do the thing.
I…okay.
Respira.
He realized he had also never seen Bradley’s arms up close.
The guy always wore long sleeves, usually multiple layers, to the point that Max worried that he was anemic and had started carrying snacks in his bag in case the guy looked like he was about to pass out.
A long scar - several inches long, an old one - ran up his right arm.
When he’d said a couple weeks ago that there was a scar there, he hadn’t expected it to be that large, or jagged.
Like a lightning bolt had splintered his skin and been stitched back together.
Max swallowed, stomach pooling.
Jesus. ¿Qué tan grave fue ese accidente? Tuvo que pasar por la ventana para salir, - Goddamn, eso debió doler un montón! ¿Solo tenía diez?…
Bradley stood there frog-blinking and waiting for a reply.
He caught Max’s line of sight and put a self-conscious hand over the largest part of it.
“Yeah, that’s, um…that’s what it looks like.”He glanced down at the scar, then back up bashfully.
Max smiled, trying to look nonchalant, head tilted.
Es como bonito, de verdad. Desde lejos casi parece un tatuaje.
“So what’s going on?”
“Um…”
He turned his attention back to the laptop.
“The reading for the fucking English extra credit assignment.
I’m about to fail the class again, and Talbot gave me this to try to bring my grade up, but it’s… I might need help, this is ridiculous..”
Bradley nodded resignedly, eyes closing even while he was standing up, yawned, and shuffled back toward the hallway.
“Mhmm.
Imma…get coffee..then help…”
Max made make-believe eye contact with Old Stuffed Bear, grinning, then spun in the desk chair watching the ceiling fan -
Tampoco sabía que estaba tan musculoso…
- until he came back with two mugs.
Max fought back a giggle.
Bradley was placidly sipping black coffee from the possum mug.
Bradley raised an eyebrow.
“Something funny?”
The possum - or Lester, as they’d dubbed him - was from the Lester’s Possum Park gift shop and had been the prank mug since they were teenagers.
Since moving to State, it had only been drunk out of when someone lost a bet.
It was clean now, but Max knew what sort of horrifying things they’d dared each other to drink out of that thing, and he snickered.
A
‘hyuck’ came way too close to escaping and Max shook the whole thing away, still grinning stupidly.
“No, no, no.
Interesting choice in…mug.”
Bradley glanced down, stared at the bug-eyed marsupial whose ceramic tail served as the handle, made a weird face, shrugged, and chugged down three more steaming gulps.
“One of you three brought it, it’s in the cupboard, that’s not on me.”
he said flatly and pulled the only other chair in the room - a rickety old stool - up to the desk.
He donned his glasses and nodded at the computer screen.“Assignment.
Talk to me.”
He smelled good.
Fuck, he smelled good, and his hair was all messy, and that t-shirt actually looked really good on him.
Lindo.
Max flushed a little.
“Uh -” he motioned vaguely at the PDF on the computer screen.
Bradley’s eyes scanned for a second, nose and forehead wrinkled.
“This is unreadable.”
“That’s what I said!” Max sipped the other cup, trying to sound casual and not as fucking embarrassed as he felt.
Bradley’s mouth curved up.
“No like - it’s not just you.
What is this, a carbon copy of a carbon copy?”
Max shrugged.
“Yeah - I don’t get a word of it.”
“They didn’t give you an audiobook or anything?”
“Why would they…?”
“I mean, legally Talbot has to accommodate you if you’ve told student services you’re dyslexic.”
Max froze, confused, and didn’t say anything.
Uppercrust paused and stared at him.
“Student services knows you’re dyslexic, right?”
¿Qué dice?
Max didn’t move.
Big dark eyebrows lowered.
“...Right?”
“Nooo….?”
¿Me perdí de algo?
“PJ hasn’t told you about ADA laws?”
Max shook his head.
“PJ doesn’t usually talk about his classes…”
Bradley looked blustery, started three different sentences, then went with -
“So no one’s talked to you about this?
Your old man?
No one?”
He shook his head again. “What’s my dad got to do with this?”
“You've almost failed English twice and you've never told the school you have an actual learning…?”
His eyes flashed that old, dangerous rage.
“How long have you been struggling with this assignment? Doesn't Talbot usually give us like a month for extra credit?”
“Um…yeaahhh…”
Bradley set Lester down roughly next to Old Stuffed Bear and Max almost imagined the two of them glancing cautiously at each other.
Pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, Uppercrust rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Ay, caramba—estoy en problemas.
“Max - goddammit.
Okay.”
Bradley had never sounded or looked more like a lawyer.
Max did his best to concentrate, really he did.
ADA,...…something something,...…“this is something someone should have done last semester”...…something something……“hold on, give me the keyboard, I’m emailing Talbot, you’re getting an extension on this…”
Bradley clicked over to the open tab of Max’s email - open to last night’s message from Talbot.
His brow wrinkled at the subject line and read it in what felt like a second.
“What the actual…fucking what - respect?
Respect??
Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
He slammed the reply button and the keyboard started clicking under his fingertips, head shaking…
“That’s…no.
Talbot, you ignorant old fuck…”
“I mean, he does kind of have a point, I’ve been procrastinating…”
“No -” Bradley stopped for half a second, a finger out toward his chest.
“ - no, he doesn’t.
You don’t deserve to be fucking reprimanded for things you have no control over.
Procrastinating or not, he should’ve realized you were struggling by now.
You don’t just assume someone’s being disrespectful just because…”
He bit his lip, shaking his head.
“I’m gonna fight him the next time I see him, I swear to god.”
And squinted at the screen again.
¿Pero por qué se ve tan papito cuando está molesto?
Max’s smile curled up, enjoying the way everything in him squirmed and wiggled at the low-grade rage burning from Bradley’s ears and rapidly typing fingers.
“Don’t make him cry.” Max poked as Bradley scrolled through and proofread.
“Let me concentrate.”
“ Si, señor.”
Bradley cocked an eyebrow and glared.
“No.”
“Okay, okay
- siento, mi amor. Lo que tú digas. ”
Bradley went beet red. “What'd you just say?”
“Wouldn't you like to know?”
“Mhmm. Fine. Keep your secrets.”
“Sabes, eres lindo cuando estás enojado. ”
This time Uppercrust fully turned his head, slowly.
Max flashed an innocent smile.
“Do you not want my help?”
“I’ll behave.”
“Mhmm.”
Bradley turned back to the laptop, taking another sip from Lester. “When that day comes I’ll tattoo my entire body.”
“That a bet?”
“No, I hate needles.”
Max flipped his tongue piercing around in his mouth, pondering this.
Bradley clicked over to a new tab, Googled something “university ADA compliance for the state of…”, read through, copied and pasted it into the email, highlighting certain lines in bolds and italics.
Click, click, clack, click-clack…
In all the times he’d watched him on a piano, he’d never seen his fingers move so fast.He slammed a few more keys and hit ‘send’.
“There, that should buy you a couple days.
I’ll send you the links you need for the ADA stuff.
You need a reader, I’m here.”
Max felt the playfulness melt in the realization that something might actually change.
Like - get easier - change.
He opened his mouth once, twice, three times, trying to come up with something witty to say.
Why couldn’t he think of anything witty to say?
Now were the moments when the embarrassment of needing help always led to some of his finest one-liners, but there was something blocking the comedian who lived in his head from making his entrance onto his mental stage.
Instead all he could see was blue.
Azul. Azul.
Azul…
“Uh…thank you.”
“Yeah.”
Azul azul azul…
Both took a long sip.
Max tried not to snort again at the sight of the possum.
“So, uh…whatcha know about the Iliad?” he blurted out, clicking back over to the unreadable PDF.
Bradley blinked, blushing.
“I love the Iliad.”
“Wait, really?”
“What do you know about the Iliad?”
Max swirled the last of his coffee around at the base of the cup.
“That it’s what I’m supposed to read and write about for this thing.”
Bradley deflated a bit.
“Oh.”
“Wait - why?”
“It’s just, um…” Bradley stared into Lester.
“...it’s just one of my favorites.”
“Isn’t it one of those dusty old Greek things?”
“Yeah - I guess.”
Bradley shifted uncomfortably.
“Why’s it your favorite?”
Bradley downed the last dregs and stood, adjusting again.
“Just…some of the characters are…um…important to me.”
¿Importante?
Max felt his eyebrows lift.
“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to yuck your yum or anything.”
The sides of Bradley’s eyes crinkled, but he kept his gaze down.
“Nah, it’s alright.”
He walked toward the hallway, hanging one-handed off of the doorframe a little when he got there.
“I’m gonna head to the library - you coming?
We can probably find a better copy.”
Max felt the eyes of Lester and Old Stuffed Bear on him expectantly.
“Okay - I mean, I don’t want to take over your day…”
Bradley sucked in an exasperated breath and cocked an eyebrow.
“Max, do you need the help?”
“Yes.”
He felt himself cow a little, blushing.
“And did I offer to help you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.
Then say thank you.”
He squinted at him.
“And maybe next time don’t suffer in silence until you’re on the verge of a panic attack.
I’m literally right here.”
The scar stretched as he swung back and forth on the doorframe.
Bradley watched him for a second, face melting from annoyance to something playful and inviting.
“Okay?”
"Okay." Max felt his grin spread as he made his voice sing-songy -
“Thank you, Bradley.”
“You are…”
Bradley chuckled and shook his head.
“...insane.
Ten minutes, Freshman.”
Max gave a thumbs up and a cheesy smile.
The door clicked shut.
He squirmed a little and stood up, downing the last of his coffee and biting his lip, hard.
Old Stuffed Bear slumped a bit against the reading lamp.
“¿A qué estás mirando?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Sisyphus
_________________________________________________________
One Must Imagine…
One must imagine
Sisyphus happy.
The boulder is heavy, yes, but look how light he makes it look!
One must imagine Icuarus reveling in the sun-warm raysAnd not focus too much on the impact of the waves whenthe heat became unbearable.
No, one must just imagine the rush of flying -
-the sickening twist of falling must have been…Exciting, at least.
One must imagine the sheer strength of Herculeswithout the madness that came along with.
One must imagine Atlas satisfied,
looking down at the world he supportedwith nothing but self-sacrificial adorationand love.
Apollo singing til his vocal cords snap,til there are no more battle wounds to sew shut,or eyes to gently close,or hearts breaking in ways only rhyming words can speak.
Dionysus inebriated to forget.
Hephaestus forging yet another iron leg that wouldn’t fit.
Every sun eventually self-combusts.
But who else would give the warmth?
The armor?
The mirth?
Who else would hold the sky above everyone’s heads?
Fly high on self-made wings, conquer lions and hydras and…
Bare souls are no things for the heroes of the stories to own and so…
One must imagine Sisyphus smilingas the rock once again tumbles down the hill
and pay no mind to the sweat on his cheek
that runs too much like tears.
____________________________________________________
Mocha smiled at the scribbled entry sitting in the Moleskine she kept shoved under the espresso machine during shifts.
Smiled with that soft sadness she kept reserved for observing the boys she’d come to think of as her own - observing them while alone with her own thoughts.
She’d never let on how much she actually wanted to scoop them all up in a protective bubble and never let anyone hurt them again.
PJ saw that, and loved it about her.
That was nice.The others had no idea.
And best to keep it that way.
One must imagine Sisyphus happy…
This one she wasn’t sure about.
It was relevant - she’d seen the way Max had looked panicked every time he got a new assignment and PJ had called her last night, saying he’d left the table early - something about that creepy old English professor who kept giving him hell.
It was one of her best, but - well, sometimes just because something is well-written doesn’t mean you should show it to the person you wrote it about.
She took the pen from behind her ear, scratched out the line about Heracles, started to write something else, when the pair of them were suddenly at the register, and she turned to see Max with his phone to his ear sideways like he always did when the screen-reader was on.
“He replied already.” Max was saying, stepping to the side.
Bradley laid one of three black cards on campus on the counter and tipped well.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Subject:
[REPLY]
Dear Mr. Goof,
I was unaware of your dyslexia prior to this communication. In light of this information, I regret any undue hardship my teaching methods may have caused you in my class thus far. It is my sincere intention to adhere to ADA laws and ensure the success of all students under my instruction.
I am granting you a one-week extension on the extra credit assignment to allow you additional time to complete it. Please ensure that you submit the necessary documentation to student services as soon as possible so that your accommodations can be officially recognized and implemented.
To ensure that you have the support you need, please contact student services to discuss any additional accommodations that may be necessary for you to fully access and engage with course materials. If you need assistance with this process or have any questions, please feel free to reach out to me.On a personal note, now that I am aware of your challenges, I must admit that your work and effort in my class without accommodation has been admirable.
I would ask in future, however, that you do not wait until the end of the semester to ask for assistance.
While we love to read about and admire a martyr, no one is asking you to be one for the sake of your scholastic career.
I am here to support your success in this course, and I look forward to working with you to address any further needs or concerns.
Sincerely,Dr. Elias Talbot----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Max's whole body visibly relaxed as the automated voice finished.
Bradley glowered at the line about martyrdom and sipped his double cappuccino, muttering something about -
“That fucking insensitive old creep…”
-
but quickly set his opinion to the side.
Max’s eyes were misting over.
“Whoa- hey - you alright?”
He nodded.
“Yeah.
Yeah, just - wish I’d have known all this sooner.”
Bradley put an arm around his shoulders and hugged.
“Dude, you’re human.
Don’t let him get under your skin.
Let’s just get this done, huh?”
And scooped up the other latte to-go and bag of pastries Max had ordered.
“Thank you, Miss Mocha-chino.” he said, giving her the wink he knew she hated.
“Happy studying, boys.”
she said back flatly.
….and wondered how long it would take them to notice the extra two scones she’d slipped into the bag.
Mocha watched them go, lips curving up with a warmth that was surprising even to her.
A couple of the Gammas were standing around waiting for red-eyes and she heard the unmistakable titter of people being generally shitty.
Both were staring at the pair mounting the stairs to the exit.
“You got something to say, pendejo ?” she hissed at the taller one, who balked and shook his head.
She turned to the short one with the glasses.
“How ‘bout you, Martin?”
“Uh - n-no, ma’am.”
Ma’am.
¿Qué se cree, que soy su mamita? Bueno, me sirve, supongo.
“Alright then.”
She slid their drinks across the counter.
“Pretty sure you two have class soon.
Run along, now.”
The two Gammas exited, she could almost imagine, with their tails between their legs.
Bradley and Max’s laughter drifted down from the street as she heard their boards swish away.
Cariñitos
And pulled her notebook, read through the last entry she’d written….
One must imagine
Sisyphus happy.
…and smiled that it no longer applied to the short little guy she’d written it about.
Which meant back to the drawing board for Wednesday.
She tapped the pen against her lips a few times.
Enkidu and Gilgamesh
She scribbled at the top of the Moleskine page, then scratched it out.
David and Jonathan
No.
She pulled another shot, dumped the puck, slid the steaming espresso across the counter to another customer.
She scanned the shop, eyes falling on a woman trying to act like she wasn’t sobbing over the last few pages of a light-blue paperback with a familiar golden helmet on the cover.
“That insensitive old creep…”
Her lips curled up at the protectiveness, and the way Max had blushed at the arm around him.
Claro que si.
Patroclus and…
“Mocha!” The tall, fire-tempered manager cleared his throat.
“Sorry.”
“Will ya save it for when no one’s in line, at least?”
“Sorry.”
She glanced up at the screen and started pulling the next shot.
“How’s your day going, Haden?”
He rolled his eyes dramatically, rubbing his balding head.
“Oh you know.
Bunch of zombies walking around, me trying to keep everything in order.
Whoever thought a basement was a good place for a coffee shop underestimates the importance of actually seeing the sun.”
Mocha blinked.
Haden rolled his eyes again.
“Another boulder to push up the hill, you know?”
The espresso machine hissed out the last drop of the double-shot.
“Sure.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Why am I nervous? It's the library.
The third floor was deserted.
The library opened at seven, they'd realized on the way, thus the coffee break, and Bradley was grateful for the extra scone to keep him from having nothing but caffeine on his stomach.
I didn’t order that - he thought, and then remembered Mocha sneaking two extra pastries into the bag while keeping a watchful eye on Max’s heaving chest while the automated voice read out Talbot’s email.
A martyr… What a passive aggressive bitch.
Talbot had always been a problematic - but tenured - asshole.
At least he’s prompt so Max wasn’t stressing all day.
Still, even with the extra carbs, the jitters were starting to get bothersome.
A small grey rabbit peeked around the corner sleepily.
Oh for Christ’s sake, fuck off.
The rabbit narrowed its eyes and opened its mouth to say its signature line.
IF YOU CAN’T….
…just - look, I get it.
But do you have to be here now ??
They rounded the corner of the 800 section and already the story he'd read as arguably too young a kid was starting to play in his head.
Aechaeans peered through the gap in the bookshelves, waiting for their entrance.
Somewhere in one of the study rooms he could almost hear the slide-slice-slide-slice of a carpenter’s plane, shaving a great tree trunk into a snout that reminded him of Tempest.
Everywhere there were seagulls and shields and helmets scattered about in the dust, all superimposed onto industrial grey carpet and barebones metal bookshelves.
Bradley pulled the old volume from the shelf, blowing a layer of dust off and running his fingers over the old linen cover.
The print date was 1940-something, the pages yellowed, browning a little at the edges, and smelled just the way he liked old books to smell.
Max glanced around like a tourist in a city he hadn’t particularly wanted to come to.
Bradley’s stomach did the little twinge it always did when anyone got close to anything that got to that deep-down place. The one he'd set aside the first time Dad had called him fruity, the first time he'd been told by a teacher to “man up” and “keep it together”. That little place he retreated to when he still wanted Mama, or the “tired” turned to ‘haven't eaten or showered in a few days’ and he had to admit to himself that being held might actually feel kind of nice.That place was much closer to the surface these days and it felt dangerous.
But not so dangerous that the little bug-loving, muddy kid who refused to go anywhere without his sister hadn't been peering around the corner more and more often, getting excited, or at least hopeful, and asking with the impediment he'd worked so hard to get rid of -
“Ith it thafe now?”
Max gave him that lopsided side-look as he inhaled the smell of the pages.
“Should I…come back later?”
Bradley felt the defensive wall come up. “Is nothing sacred, Goof?”
Gloved hands went up submissively. “ Siento .
Libraries aren’t my favorite.”
Bradley felt something in his chest deflate a little.
“...I know.”
Max seemed to catch the disappointment.
“You…really like them.”
He swallowed.
Like them…?
Some things he didn’t talk about.
The years of hiding between the shelves,
hoping the grumpy, ancient lady behind the desk would ward the loudest of his middle and high school tormentors off.
First it had just been the last ditch effort to drown out the noise, or fill the silence, whichever the case might be at the moment.
But then it was more.
It was - like music.
But there were people here - people who didn’t have the option to get up and leave, or ignore him, or only talk about Bailey and Mom and how tragic it was, and how brave he’d been that day……or his academic performance or what keg to get for the next frat party...
Conversations.
Things that felt more tangible, even, than the comfort of fingers on keys, then rocking with the music until whatever had wrapped and coiled itself to the choking point around his solar plexus had finally worked itself loose.
Something that felt like a promise that maybe, someday, if he held on for long enough, he might find himself in the middle of his own book.
Overrun with problems, of course, but also overrun with people.
People who would talk to him and fight with him and maybe even…
Maybe even touch…
…hold…
A dozen caramel vanilla cupcakes had all been splattered in cheap candle wax for the same reason.
…want…
He just had to hang on long enough.
So he’d told himself.
And in the meantime…there were always more worlds to escape
into - dragons to ride or kill, love stories - even the sappy ones.
Wardrobes to step through and meet fauns in snow-covered woods, houses to be sorted into,
cabins to be claimed for…
He’d lapped them up like water in a desert - every story.
Every character he remotely saw himself in.
Or anyone he was trying to understand.Max reminded him of a few of his favorites.
Samwise and Jim Hawkins and maybe Percy, but he couldn’t decide…
Perseus, maybe…although he more imagined Max blindfolding himself to have a nice conversation with Medusa than he could see him cutting off her head.
And he loved that.
And for some reason, the older and deader the authors got, the more he felt himself get lost in them.
The more they felt like his.
Like he and he alone was walking around in the landscape of Ancient Greece with Homer, listening to the blind old bard on some breezy seaside cliff, and only he was watching from the shadows as Thetis rose up out of the sea to mourn…
The other characters of the mythos had stepped forward one by one like the friends he’d always wanted.
Odysseus, Hercules, Athena, Artemis, Hades and Persephone.
They’d come from all directions -That one series about the camp of demigods that still made him feel a little jealous of the fictional
characters that inhabited it.
The modern retellings that he could easily get his hands on.
The dusty antiquated classics in every abridged and then unabridged format he could find.
He’d not only fallen in love with the stories, but the stories behind the stories.
He’d gone digging further and further into reference materials and scholarly comparisons of ancient accounts until it had become an obsession.
He’d been about eleven when it had all started, now that he thought about it.
It filled the hole after…
It had faded a bit in high school, gone all but dormant since he’d come to State, but now it ignited in his belly like Hephaestus's forge and…
His favorite, battered copy of the Iliad was back at Dad’s, hidden away in the closet of his old bedroom where it would be safe - its worn out, tear-stained pages.
Hello, friends.
He thought, and it almost felt like they greeted him back.
Max was staring.
Bradley flushed.
“Yeah.
I, uh…”
Ith it thafe?
Can we tell him about how the Minotaur was named…
Shh, stay back a minute, kid.
Pfft.
Otay.
“...yeah.”
Max’s head tilted.
“Hey, I’m not trying to make fun - sorry.”
Bradley nodded, swallowing back a tidal wave of information.
“What excerpt is the reading for this thing, again?”
He was already flipping through - all the familiar names welcoming him back for the hundredth time. Hector and Agamemnon, Thetis…
“Books sixteen through…twenty-three.”
“Oh.”
Bradley’s stomach somersaulted.
Them.
“For an extra credit assignment?”
“Uh - yeah?”
“With zero other context?”
“Uh….what’s the context?”
“Hold on.”
Bradley scanned the translation, the scene playing out in his head again, stomach turning at images of borrowed armor and spears and chariots and... “Yeah, that’s wild to have you only read that much.
Not even excerpts from earlier in the story - do you have the assignment with you?”
Max produced a wrinkled rubric.
“Give me that.”
Essay Prompt:
Read the selected passages from The Iliad surrounding the death of Patroclus, Achilles' revenge on Hector, and the funeral rites for Patroclus. Consider how these events shape our understanding of the relationship between Patroclus and Achilles and what they reveal about ancient Greek concepts of friendship, honor, and grief.
Bradley snorted.
“ Friendship.”
“Hmm? ”
YOU SHOULD TELL HIM ABOUT…
“Nothing.” ….Discuss the significance of friendship ( philos ) in ancient Greek culture through the lens of Achilles and Patroclus. How does their bond challenge traditional concepts of heroism and honor in the epic narrative?
“ Philos .”
Bradley spat again and
shoved the paper back at Max.
“That’s fucking stupid.”
“Who’s Philos?”
Bradley wrangled his impulse to laugh - barely.
“No - philos - it’s a Greek word.
There’s several Greek words for ‘love’ but they all pertain to different kinds of love.
Agape - you know the one the Christians always talk about? - unconditional love, charity.
Storge, family love.
Eros, romantic love…”
Fuck, why did his voice have to crack on that one?
“ Philos is more of a brotherly, friendship sort of love.
You know, Philadelphia?
‘City of Brotherly Love’.
Phila - philos, delphia -”
“City?”
“A city - you know, the Oracle of Delphi?”
Max squinted.
“Maaay…be….”
God, he’s so cute.
“It’s all sort of…you know…it’s kinda that…”
Oh god I’m so inarticulate right now.
“God, sorry.”
“No, no, that actually makes a lot of sense - so wait, you’re saying it’s not brotherly love for…Achilles and…Pat…Part…Particle Cluster, whatever the fuck’s his face?”
“Patroclus.”“I’ve heard it both ways.”
He smiled.
I’m gonna kill him.
“Patroclus.
But yes. Patroclus and Achilles were - I mean, they were lovers.
It’s - It’s the most classic “... and they were roommates ” trope in Greek and Roman literature.”
He steamed a bit, then caught himself yelling and brought it down to - “In my opinion.”
Max pondered this.
“...so, eros?”
I do not understand his brain.
I kinda love it, though.
“Yeah.”
“Huh.
What makes you say that?
Like, textually?”
-Tug, tug -
The little guy tugged on his metaphorical shoulder from somewhere deep in the back of his brain.
“ I think it’th thafe now.”
Max looked up expectantly.
I…
Bradley launched in, starting from the beginning.
“So, the opening text, right? -”
he cleared his throat
-
“ "Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first fell out with one another. "
The book flopped down as he gesticulated with it, animated and almost unaware of how raptly Max was staring, grin slowly spreading -
“ - it’s right there in the very opening.
Like, yes, it’s talking about Agamemnon and all of his creepy ass shit, but that’s… It sets it up right there - because the only reason Achilles went after Hector in the first place and caused all the damage he did -
the only reason for his rage - because the word is mēnin - “rage”, like, uncontrollable rage, not just ‘anger’ - which is the whole damn point
-
is because of Patro…”
He stopped, feeling himself yelling again.
Max was grinning the widest he’d ever seen.
“Do you know why Achilles went after Hector in the first place?”
Max shook his head, eyelids low and happy.
“Can’t say I do, please enlighten me.”
“Because of - god, I don’t want to spoil all of this.
How much time do you have today?”
He felt his hair getting mussed, and for once didn’t care. The little, lisping kid who’d been hiding out for so long had taken full control and he felt his skin tingle at the excitement of sharing…
“Uh…” Max thought for a second.
“I mean I don’t have anything today other than English.
My professor in my other class is out sick.”
“Excellent.
Okay - we’re reading this…”
He tucked the book under his arm and scanned the shelf for any complimentary volumes.
If we’re writing a paper, we’re doing it right.
“Wait, the whole thing?”
Bradley froze.“I mean…I can give you the sparknotes if you don’t…want…”
“No, no, that’s not what I…”
Max chuckled.
“No, I was thinking that you…I mean it’s all day, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to be a walking audiobook for me all the time…”
“Are you kidding?”
He said earnestly.
Please don’t say no please don’t say no please don’t say no…
“I don't mind all day if you don't.”
Max tilted his head.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Those gap teeth stuck out and he took a step in, eyes on how urgently Bradley’s finger was holding his place in The Iliad.
“Storytime with Bradley, I love it.”
“Great.
Awesome.” Bradley felt the corners of his mouth tug up and flipped through the pages lovingly.
“Okay so first of all, for context, how much do you know about the Trojan War?”
“I remember something about the wooden horse thing…”
“Trojan Horse, right.
That comes later, but do you know what the war was fought over in the first place?”
Max thought for a second and shook his head.
“Okay, so Helen of Troy…”
he felt his nose wrinkle.
“...hold on, come with me…”
He grabbed Max by the crook of the elbow and took off for the 290s section.
__________
Bradley’s voice was so resonant and confident, and for maybe the first time ever the words of some long-dead Greek guy came to life for Max.
The stilted not-quite-verse flowed into his brain the way music did, forming ships and walls and Aechaeans, and the River Styx…
Bradley got more and more excited the more cross-references he pulled, explaining references, filling in missing backstory…
“... I was not among those who were last to fall at the Calydonian boar hunt.
- that’s, the boar actually belonged to Artemis, it was brought down by Meleagar, Theseus, um, um um…I forget everyone…”
Max wasn’t even sure he was talking to him at this point - just rattling off every tiny piece of information that had been held like a steel trap in that gorgeous head of his for however many years, eyes flickering all over the page, hands flipping from original text to index, footnotes, and back again.He watched him almost breathless, the way he usually watched Olympic athletes or lectures from his favorite astrophysicists…
Y yo pensaba que él era fiebrú con la música. Pero él es...
English was starting in thirty minutes.
What did that matter?
He’d learned more about ancient literature in the past two hours than in three semesters with Talbot.
And this was just…so much more fun…
Y
él es tan hermoso...
“...Hercules was definitely there…although - I forget who got the first hit, I wanna say it was…Atalanta…” Bradley pulled the thick reference book he’d pulled to fact-check himself, glasses sliding down his nose, hair in a hundred directions.
“...yep...which is ironic because she started out as one of Artemis’s huntresses…”
“Huh.
I bet that went over well.” Max snorted, studying Bradley’s blue eyes scanning the index of a giant book, brow furrowed in concentration.
¿Te puede calentar la pura inteligencia?
Bradley looked up, surprised at someone replying, and smiled.
Azul…azul…
Bradley’s eyes had always been captivating, but now…they dilated at the sight of him and…
Dios…tengo mariposas…
“Surprisingly pretty well, actually - here….”
And he stood up, pacing, as he’d done several times. He stopped, showing him something like he could even slightly compute the tiny, old print in the book he was holding, then buried his nose back in it again and kept pacing - biting his bottom lip in concentration.
Max bit his bottom lip for a different reason, and felt his stomach pool with something irresistible.
Oh Dios, quiero….
Something about this sweet, excited boy in front of him made the constant chorus of “hands to yourself, hands to yourself, hands to yourself…” go quiet in a way he’d been waiting his whole life for.
Quiero…
The rush was like the top of the half-pipe.
Or…something bigger…
His stomach bottomed out, fear somersaulting over audacity like…whoever that guy with the wax wings was…
Ahora o nunca…
__________________________
Max appeared at his shoulder and he stopped pacing for half a second, still focused on the paragraph on the boar.
Am I getting too in the weeds here?
I’m getting too in the weeds here.
We haven’t even gotten to the relevant part of the book…
“Bradley…?”
“Hmm?”
A gloved hand encroached over the top edge of the pages, found purchase in the spine and pushed down.
Max’s eyes met his for half a second -
thump thump thump thump
…intense, and shining, and…
thump thump thump thump thump thump thump
…Max…?
- before his lips were on his and his entire world splintered into a supernova of galaxies and nebulas and a hundred other astronomical anomalies that Max had gone on and on about a couple of days ago…
His stomach jolted into a level of joy and confusion he’d never dreamt of.
Wait, really…?
He pushed his lips further into Max’s, then again, then again, forehead wrinkling.
Wait, really?
Pull - Max’s glove tugged at the collar of his sweater to pull himself further up, to reach…
Because of this ?
Wait…
…wait, really…?
No, wait…don’t…don’t go…
His hand wrapped around Max’s forearm, no, shoulder - no - lower back -
He pulled Max in by the belt-loop and relished the rush of their bodies colliding.
You’re so warm.
God…come here…
Come closer.
Come closer.
Max, please…
Glove brushed the back of his neck, his cheekbones…
God - yes
- please….
Edith Hamilton’s work slapped clumsily against the carpet.
That hand went around his neck, right over that flower…
Wait, really?
Max’s whole other arm hooked around his shoulders, beat-up sneakers standing on tiptoe between his feet.
Me?
Don’t pull away - stay.
Stay here.
Please. Come closer.
Max, are you sure you mean - me?
No, don’t - don’t go…
Everything paused and he realized he was shaking like a leaf.Max’s voice whispered so close to his ear that every hair on his neck stood on end.
“Is this okay?”
God, yes…
But his voice was a lot smaller and he could only nod and say,
“Mhmm.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah -” he tried to rally the charisma he’d worked so hard to gather over the years, but this went deeper than that, and his hands were shaking, and he was desperately trying not to tear up.
“I just…I never thought…
Are you…?”
“Hey…”
“Are you…?”
“ Si, claro, mi amor …”
The soft fabric brushed his cheek again, the single tear absorbing into the material, Max’s mouth an inch from his… “...I’m sure.”
“Sorry, I just - I mean, I…um…”
He looked down.
Sweet, gentle, happy, beautiful Max…
It’s like he’s made of sunshine.
How the hell…why…?
He sucked in a shaking breath, words fleeing…
Max’s eyebrow rose, curious.
“Do you want me to kiss you again?”
“Mhmm - yes, please.”
he squeezed his eyes shut.
He did.
Again.
Again.
Please, again.
Please, again…
…wait, come back…”
Max’s lips smiled.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”
“Mmph, so have I…”
Bradley let himself be pushed against the bookshelf, then a moment later, his courage came back.
He bent slightly -
Patroclus scooped up his Achilles -
- Max let out a surprised little yelp but allowed it, started chuckling -- and spun him around.
My turn… as his hand went through Max’s hair and…
“God, you have no idea…”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
BOOK 16
Max was fully crying, but he wasn’t saying anything about it.
The rain had started thirty minutes ago, drumming softly against the window, matching the energy of the room as Bradley read aloud…
He was laid back against his chest, on Bradley’s bed,
his arms around him, the book above his head.
Bradley’s voice was starting to break…
"He spoke, and as he spoke the end of death closed in upon him,....”
“No…”
“...and the soul fluttering free of his limbs went down into Death’s house, mourning its destiny, leaving youth and manhood behind it.”
“
No, no, no…”
“ Now though he was a dead man, glorious Hector spoke to him: 'Patroclus, why is it you prophesy my death for me? Who knows if Achilles, the son of lovely-haired Thetis, may not be struck first by my spear, and his own life be taken?'
“This motherfucker…” Max started to sit up, then nuzzled in closer.
“He spoke, and setting his heel upon him pulled out the bronze spear from the wound, and kicked him over upon his back from the spear….”
“You motherfucker…”
Sniff.
A salty drop landed in his hair.
“Yep.” Bradley rasped, taking a second to wipe his eyes.
BOOK 18
“..So spake he, and a black cloud of grief enwrapped Achilles, and with both his hands he took the dark dust and strewed it over his head and defiled his fair face, and on his fragrant tunic the black ashes fell. And himself in the dust lay outstretched, mighty in his mightiness, and with his own hands he tore and marred his hair…”
Max nodded along, sniffling, having dreaded this part for two chapters, and nestled in even closer until he could hear Bradley’s heart beating.
Bradley craned his head down and pecked his forehead, lips smiling as he inhaled a little.
A tingle went through all of him.
BOOK 19
“ Now Dawn the saffron-robed arose from the streams of Oceanus to bring light to immortals and to mortal men, and Thetis came to the ships bearing gifts from the god. And she found her dear son as he lay, clasping Patroclus, and wailing aloud; and in throngs round about him his comrades were weeping.”
Saffron.
That’s
what that word had been.
Saffron - like the spice - yellow and red. Dawn, saffron-robed.
Yellow-and red-robed dawn - the sun.
The sun rose from the ocean.
And for once, he didn’t think “well, just say that then…”
Maybe because this time he could picture it, and smell the ocean like he was still on spring break.
Maybe because he could hear the sniffles and wails from the Greek camp.
Imagine Achilles clinging to his love…
Maybe because Bradley had noticed him getting antsy and instinctively started rocking back and forth a little to keep him moving and settled at the same time, and that felt like the most peaceful thing in the world.
¿Cómo él simplemente sabía?
He was a little mad at Thetis, though.
Like, thanks for keeping the flies off my dead boyfriend’s body, but can you at least
try
to be comforting?
BOOK 22
“...Then with an angry glance from beneath his brows spake unto him Achilles swift of foot: "Implore me not, dog, by knees or parents. Would that in any wise wrath and fury might bid me carve thy flesh and myself eat it raw, because of what thou hast wrought, as surely as there lives no man that shall ward off the dogs from thy head…”
“Get him. Fucking get him, Achilles.”
Max’s eyes were darker than Bradley had ever seen them and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.
“Give him what he fucking deserves.”
_______________
“Okay…whoa, we can chill now, man…”
________________
“I get it, though, I’d probably do the same thing…”
BOOK 23
“Yes. Correct.”
said Max, trying to be light, nodding sagely. “I, too, would organize a series of sporting events as part of my grieving process…”
Bradley chuckled.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah, I would not want to be in my head.
These guys get it.”
Bradley felt his head tilt internally.
BOOK 24
Max broke down harder at the return of Hector’s body, and Bradley stopped to rub his back for a minute.
“You wanna take a break?”
“No - absolutely not, we’re finishing this now.”
______________________________________
“Wait…wait, no, that can't be it…the w…and…wait, what happens to Achilles, does he just stay like that, in mourning?”
Bradley chuckled through his tears and set the book aside, sliding down to lay next to Max.
“Achilles heel - You've heard that phrase, right?”
“Mhmm.”
“So before the war ends, Paris - you know, the prince of Troy - shoots an arrow into Achilles’ vulnerable spot…”
“His heel…”
“His heel.”
The pierced eyebrows lowered.
“That’s…what, so he…?”
“He dies in the war.”
“That’s…”
Max was furious, and Bradley loved it, pulled him closer and kissed his head - once, twice, three times.
“The Greeks are good at tragedy, I don’t know what to tell you, babe.”
Max groaned happily at
“babe”
and buried his face in Bradley’s chest.
Muffled in his sweater, he further protested.
“That’s some bullshit.
They deserved better.”
Bradley inhaled.
“Yeah, this might be the original example of the “bury the gays” trope.”
“The what?”
“It’s…it’s a literary thing.”
Max flipped over, head on his shoulder, eye contact serious and adoring.
“Thank you.”
Bradley set his glasses over on the nightstand. “Quite literally, anytime.”
“I see why that’s one of your favorites.
That was incredible.”
It took Bradley a second to realize Max wasn’t just talking about the text itself.
“I just read…”
“Just?
Just
, he says, like he didn’t have me sobbing for half of that.”
Blush.
Max sat up, picking the old volume up and staring at it.
“Do you have any idea how hard every teacher I’ve ever had has tried to get me to sit and listen to something like this?”
He flipped through it again.
One brittle page tore a millimeter and he tossed it aside again like it would bite him.
“Shit.”
“Hey, okay, let’s not get fined by the library.”
“Sorry…”
“Hey, hey.
I'm teasing. You’re alright.”
Gently, he set the book to the side as well.
The little panic Max worked so hard to keep subdued was bubbling up, and he patted the comforter next to him.
“Come here.”
He did, though he didn’t curl up as close as he had been.
Kids can be assholes…
he remembered, and every other time Max had jumped and looked terrified when he did anything even slightly clumsy.
God, I have so many questions, but…
The little grey rabbit appeared, for once not making him doubt himself, but reverting to the guide through the woods he’d been in the beginning.
“
Ya just gotta be patient, I think. He might just be scared.”
Not scared of me, I hope.
Dad floated up in his head.
“I didn’t want you to be scared of me, too…
He rolled onto his side and let his gaze trail from the top of his fluffy dark hair, down his face…
“You got a better idea of what you’re writing about now?”
Max snorted.
“I sure hope so.”
“Good.”
A long silence dragged - the first one since…
“I really enjoyed that.”
he said almost inaudibly.
“Me, too.”
“When I say ‘anytime’, I worry you think I mean, like, once in a blue moon, every once in a while. I mean
anytime.
I will literally drop everything, anytime.
I’d love to.”
“Mhmm.”
“Hey.”
He let his fingers play with the very ends of Max’s hair.
“Hey.”
“Can I kiss you again?”
Max looked relieved.
“Yes, please.
”
_________________
Knock-knock. Creak.
“Heyyyyy Bradley, you seen Max?
We’re starting a movie in…”
Max sat bolt upright.
As did Bradley.
Bobby pushed his glasses up on his head.
“Welll, wellll, welllll….”
“Bobby….”
Bradley started to growl protectively.
“Peej owes me so much fucking money.”
“Bobby!”
Max yelped, mortified.
“No, no, no, you two carry on.
We’ll be in the living room if you two - um - need anything.
Mazel tov
.”
Max lobbed a pillow at him. “Get out!”
“As you wish, babes. If you wanna join, it's
The Princess
Bride.
But, uh, looks like you two are already storming the…
“Bobby!”
“Sorry, I'm going. Sorry.
Happy for you both.
Totally in support of this.
Mazel tov,
again.”
He nodded to Max.
“Max.”
He nodded again.
“Uncrustable…”-
and closed the door as suddenly as he’d opened it.
Both of them buried their faces in a pillow - Bradley to let out a mortified groan, Max to stifle a peal of laughter that lasted a good three minutes.
___________________________
Max’s eyes fluttered open a couple hours later when the storm picked up. The light was off and he took a long inhale-exhale. Night. Rain. Next to him…
perfecto.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the window.
He caught Bradley counting under his breath.
“One…two…three…four…fi…”
Rumble.
Bradley jumped and exhaled slowly.
“
Bandito…
you really do hate thunderstorms, don't you?”
“I don't like loud noises.”
Max pulled him in, pulling his hand over his heart like he had that one day, Bradley turned away, his back curled into him…and let their breaths fall into tandem.
“...why?”
Bradley shrugged. “I don't know. I just never have.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t seem to mind them.”
“No, not really. I kind of always…I don't know.
Thunderstorms have always felt really relaxing for me.”
“...Relaxing?”
“I mean, there's the thunder but…I like to think of it like…” He scoffed at himself a little bit. “...this is gonna sound really cheesy.”
He could tell his lips curved up, even with his back turned and face mostly in the pillow.
“Well now you
have
to tell me.”
“I always think of it kind of like an orchestra or something.
Kind of like… you know Rhapsody in Blue?”
Bradley rotated a little, blue eyes meeting his for a second and then drifting up to the ceiling fan.
“Fuck yeah. God, what a dream…”
“What is?”
“Playing that, with a whole orchestra…”
Max had a very clear brain picture of that particular dream in a nanosecond and felt his insides tumble all over again in the best of ways.
Huh.
“Mmm…yeah.”
“But…shit, I interrupted you…”
“No, that's okay. I think you get my point.” He shrugged. “Some people hear an angry god with lightning bolts, some people hear bowling pins. I hear timpanis.”
Bradley didn't look over but closed his eyes a little and hummed. “That might be the most poetic thing you've ever said.”
“Tengo mis momentos.”
“Hmm?”
“I have…”
“No, walk me through it.”
“What?”
“I took Spanish in high school. But…”
Oh.
Max swallowed -
“¿Realmente?
“I mean…” Blue eyes looked timid.
“It’s your first language, isn’t it?”
“Si.”
“So…” Bradley nodded as an end to his sentence.
“What’d you say?”
“
¿Tengo mis momentos?”
“Mhmm.”
“
Tengo….”
“I have.”
“Hey!
Que bueno,
nice.
Mis…
my.
Momentos.”
“Moments.
I have my…OH.
Okay.”
“Muy bien, mi amor.”
“
Mi amor?”
Bradley smiled again.
“My…”
“Yeah, I got that one.”
“Is that…?”
Bradley’s lips answered the question.
_________________________
“So you wanna play with an orchestra?”
Bradley looked a little timid. “Yeah. I mean maybe. Someday. I used to think about it a lot more but…you know, law degree.”
“Do you want a law degree?”
“I mean I'm already three years into my undergrad…”
“But do you want it?”
Uppercrust frowned, and Max could tell he hated this question. “I picked it cause Dad said at the beginning I couldn't do music performance and it seemed like it made the most sense.”
Max had a fairly okay opinion of Uppercrust Junior , but felt the part of him that had wanted to jump into the book next to Achilles with a spear of his own crack his knuckles at the thought of talking some sense into that old prosecutor's head.
Bradley shrugged. “It is what it is. I have a long life to live, probably. I'll get to it eventually.”
Max hummed incredulously but didn't comment.
Another thunderclap rang out, closer. Bradley still jumped but leaned in and looked thoughtful.
“I…maybe hear it.”
“What?”
“The orchestra.”
A few moments slipped by.
Max stared at his glove on Bradley’s chest.
Tal vez... tal vez pronto me atreva…
His stomach buzzed a little and he did his best to hide the little shiver that started, even thinking about it.
“What about you, what's your dream?”
Max grinned. “Work for NASA.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Or some cool observatory. Maybe teach, eventually. College level, but I'd be okay with lower…”
He trailed off. No one ever asked him about this shit. He tried not to think about it too much but it always kind of hurt that no one ever asked him about this shit.
He squirmed a little.
“I just wanna…I don't know, I probably won't discover the next exo-planet, or crack how to unify quantum mechanics and relativity. But I might. You know? Someone's going to, or figure out the thing that makes more sense than either of them. And in the meantime I get to maintain everything we already know, pass it on to whoever does figure out how to do all the shit we thought was impossible…”
Bradley’s fingers lightly trailed over his forehead and he stopped.
“What?”
“You are so fucking smart.”
Max’s eyes got wide and misted over immediately.
Fuck.
“Hey…”
“Mhmm.”
“Baby…”
Don't cry don't cry don't cry…
“Mhmm. Thank you.”
“Yeah, of course…”
“I…”
Nadie me dice eso nunca. Nadie me dice esa mierda nunca.
“You are absolutely brilliant, are you kidding me?”
Max nodded into Bradley’s shoulder.
“Come here…”
Bradley kissed his forehead over and over.
__________________________
“Any other dreams you have?” Max asked after another lull had settled around them.
The thunder rumbled further away, sounding even more like drums in the distance as the rain slowed down to a
drip-drip drop
of an April shower.
Bradley was exhausted but inhaled softly and shook his head.
“I don't really have that many dreams, to be completely honest. I just…well…oh god it's so sappy…”
Max grinned and rolled over to rest his chin on his chest.
“Well now you
have
to tell me.”
Bradley’s fingers ran through his hair again, traced his face, paying special attention to where he knew his patches were.
His stomach pooled and sent the shiver all the way down to his feet.
Blue eyes crinkled at the edges and then softened.
“This was the main one.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dr. Elias Talbot had grown several things.
One was a tomato garden he sent way too many pictures of to his kids and grandkids.
Another was a significant amount of nose and ear hair that he camouflaged by keeping a bushy mustache and combing what little hair he had left as far forward as it would go without looking exactly like the ring around a
monk’s head.
The third, which he hadn’t even realized he had developed until Max Goof’s extra credit assignment landed in his inbox, was a sort of nihilistic, cynical, misanthropic apathy that he kept wrapped around him like a cloak.
Warding others off had always been a special talent of his - their annoying questions, their incessant whining, their excuses, their voices, their dreams, their ideas if they clashed with the ones he’d forced himself to believe were the only ones that were right and true, their humanity itself…
He hadn’t fully realized it.
Then, with a Dickensian jolt to the stomach and the imagination - one that felt a little too much like being visited by ghosts in the night on a ghastly, foggy Christmas Eve in Old London - he felt his icy heart and dismissive mind melt like the start of springtime.
Max had always been an engaging student in class - he didn’t raise his hand often but what he offered was always insightful.
The email someone had sent on his behalf last week had honestly made him sick to his stomach.
The line he’d included at the end of his reply email felt ill-advised now, and he hoped the kid could forgive him for it.
A student that smart, that insightful, struggling on his own for the three semesters he’d had him.
How had he missed that?
His respect for him had multiplied several times over thinking through how hard he’d worked.
How intently he had to have been listening during lectures when he’d thought he had his earbuds in, zoned out…
But this paper…
“And They Were Roommates…”: The Systematic Erasure of
Same-Sex/LGBTQIA+ Eros Love from Stories of Antiquity.”
by Maximilian Goof
He had to pause several times and come back to it.
Erasure.
Roger had asked him a hundred times before the end if he’d forget him.
A hundred times if once.
“Bury your gays” trope
-
And then he had.
There were too many to bury at the time, and he’d just…moved on.
Taken a wife, thanked God he wasn’t positive, made a life for himself hiding behind the mask of the “I don’t care what you think if it isn’t in proper MLA format” tenured professor.
He pushed his glasses up on his forehead after the Conclusion and the little footnote: “As dictated…”
God, Roger would’ve adored this kid.
He didn’t even hesitate when he put the grade in, and he never gave 100s.
“Damn, kid.”
And caught a glimpse of his age-bitten face in the computer monitor’s reflection.
“Humbug” - he could easily imagine that curmudgeony old fuck saying.
“What is the matter?” asked a spirit that looked impossibly young and old at the same time.
They glowed with memories of parades and angry letters from relatives and back-alley clinics…
“Nothing particular.”
“Something, I think?”
He’d prided himself for decades on never crying over old things, never allowing the shame that creeped around him like heavy fog take over or affect his day to day.
Now suddenly there was a much bigger, much darker, much more silent visage in the back of his head, pointing a bony finger at…
He grabbed a tissue to cough into.
“Everything alright, Dr. Talbot?”
His skinny little student assistant poked his head into his office - the one he’d cussed out only this morning for turning the thermostat down too far.
Holy hell, I really did turn into…
“Yeah.
Yeah.
Just, um…thinking about an old friend.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
INCOMING FACETIME FROM….
MOCHA ☕
“Hold up one second.”
Max hit the green button.
“Hey - ¿qué tal?
¿ No estás trabajando ahora?”
“Tengo un problema grave. ¿ Bradley está contigo? No tengo su número."
Bradley’s hands stopped on the keys, scooting across the practice room bench.
“She say my name?”
Max nodded.
“Sí, está aquí, ¿qué pasa?”
“I’m here, what’s up?”
“You know ASL, right?”
Mocha’s usual chill exterior was gone, and Bradley felt his interior alarm bells go off.
“I would hope so.” He felt his nose crinkle.
“Why?
What do you need?”
“A translator.”
Mocha flipped the camera around to a seven year old girl in a Star Wars t-shirt and matching black tutu, sitting by herself in their usual booth, feet swinging.
Her hair was pulled back into little space buns, Leia-style, sitting just above the cochlear implants.
She looked up from the hot chocolate she was sipping and waved happily.
Mocha flipped the camera back around.
“She just wandered in.
She doesn’t really read yet and I don’t know who she belongs to.”
“Jesus - that’s Gabby Samuel.”
“It’s who?”
“Gabby.
Dr. Samuel’s kid.
Here, give her the phone.”
Bradley set Max’s phone up on the music stand of the piano.
The precocious seven year old lit up at the sight of him on the other end, hot chocolate nearly knocked off the table as her hands started flying.
“Buggy!”
He felt his insides drop a little, but he’d given her the namesign.
She was gonna use it.
“Gabby, what are you doing there?
Where’s your Dad?”
G-A-B-B-Y. Point. Doing.
What? Dad - your, where?
Gabby glowed with oblivious pride. “ I walked here by myself.
Daddy’s busy.
I went exploring.”
His stomach dropped at - Walk, Alone, Here.
Jesus, Gabby.
People drive like maniacs on this campus…
“Does he know where you are?”
Her face fell, shoulders hunching.
“Where’s your Mom?”
His thumb tapped his chin, trying not to get distracted by how lovingly Max was staring at him.
Gabby hesitated and he saw her bottom lip tremble.
Oh goddammit.
Don’t cry.
He sat up a little taller on the piano bench.
“It’s okay - it’s okay.
Stay right there.
You know my friend Miss Mocha?”
Gabby pointed the phone at the very stressed-looking barista in the beret, then back.
“Mocha?”
M-O-C-H-A.
M- and then worked her fists in a circle like a coffee grinder.
M-coffee.
He grinned.
That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen somebody get a namesign.
“Good.
You stay with Miss Mocha.
I’ll come walk with you to your Dad.
Stay right there, OK?”
Gabby nodded, sniffling.
“Okay, thank you. Give the phone back to Mocha, please?
I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She smiled and he felt a little parental part of him melt at the sight of three missing teeth.
“Okay.
Bye, Buggy!”
The camera blurred across the tabletop and Mocha’s face appeared again.
“I cannot thank you enough.”
“No problem.”
“What’d she say?”
“She wandered off
- “exploring”.” He said, amusement pulling at his lips. “I guess she’s with her Dad today and got bored.”
Mocha was not yet amused.“You said she's Samuel's kid?
The Poli-Sci building’s on the other side of campus.
There’s like five streets she would’ve had to cross.”“Unless she went behind the buildings, but that would’ve taken her a while.” Max chimed in.
“We’re coming to walk her back.
Just - keep an eye on her, okay?”
“ ¡Ay, Dios mío!
Kids are terrifying.”
She looked over at Gabby and gave a tender smile.
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t wander off again.
Thank you so much.”
“We’ll be there in ten.”
“Lovely.”
She hung up a second later and Bradley already had his bag over his shoulder.
Max’s eyes were shining.
“What?”
“I…just…”
Max bit his lip, biting back something that, if his guess was right, made his stomach turn a few somersaults.
“...Nothing.”
____________
A teary-eyed Gabby ran and hugged him as soon as he and Max came down the steps.
“God, finally - can you get this kid out of here?” the manager steamed, looking intensely uncomfortable, hiding behind the counter like she might be rabid.
Mocha approached, eyes soft at Gabby’s little sniffles.
“I think she realized how dangerous this was after you hung up.”
“Aw - she scared herself?” Max said.
Bradley knelt as she pulled back to look at him.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked, sobbing.
“No, friend.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “No one’s mad at you.”
She sniffled again, eyes
looking up all big and watery to the point that he kind of wanted to fall into a hole.
“You okay?”
Gabby nodded.
“Let’s not do that again, okay?
Explorers still need someone to know where they are.
That’s how they stay safe.”
She nodded again, reverently.
Bradley looked around, one eyebrow up somewhat playfully and winked at her, nodding toward the counter.
“Should we get a cookie for your Dad before we go?”
She smiled, eyes lighting up again, and sniffed as one more tear rolled down her cheek.
He wiped it away gently and offered a hand.
“Hey, Miss Mocha, can we get one of those chocolate chip cookies?”
Max’s eyes couldn’t get more adoring, and he blushed.
___________________
Max stood out in the hallway while Bradley returned the lost space princess to her Dad. He couldn't help chuckling a little to himself
watching her walk in, repentant, a giant cookie clasped in her little hands as penance.
Bradley had spent a few minutes explaining, and then it had gone quiet as he assumed their hands were doing most of the talking.
Debería aprender.
The few words he heard spoken were in a low, aside sort of tone.
“God, I’m so sorry about this, I can’t thank you enough.
Her mom just…”
“...it started as just a business trip, but…”
“...served papers last week…”
“...please don’t say anything to her if she asks.
I don’t have the heart to tell her yet.”Max felt his stomach turn at the familiar sounds of conversations he’d also been too young to overhear, and distracted himself with the architecture.
The Political Science building was by far the oldest on campus.
He’d never been inside before, but looking around he understood why the alumni association was campaigning so hard for a renovation.
It was definitely showing its age.
Glancing around the hallway he frowned at the stack of old banker boxes that had dates from ten, fifteen years ago scrawled across them in Sharpie, half of them water-stained and starting to mildew.
A crack running up the plaster of one of the walls, paint peeling around it. The radiators were ancient, the A/C rattled like a ghost in chains was wandering the hall moaning at itself.
Oh, ¿de qué historia es esa?
¿Con los fantasmas de Navidad?
Bradley lo sabe.
The fire alarms looked like they hadn’t been updated or maintained since the 80s.
He frowned harder at a spiderweb that had taken over the one just above the stairwell.
Eso parece un peligro…
Bradley stepped out, his face a mix of concern and amusement, and stopped at Max’s lopsided grin.
“What?”
“That might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen you do.”
Bradley looked around a little embarrassed.
“I am pretty adorable.”
“And admirable.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Their feet raced each other down the cracking marble steps, voices echoing against the roof of the rotunda that looked like it would crumble any second.
“No?”
Bradley swallowed.
“I mean - I am still technically on probationary status with the school.”
Max’s forehead wrinkled at the memory of the scratched out line in his letter.
I think I might be a m…
And the talk they’d had that one night he’d had a panic attack.
He’d told him about the talk with Tank that had triggered it. How awful he still felt about that whole situation.
And how he still hesitated to go out with them anywhere Gammas might be present.
Two months of knowing him - really knowing him - and he understood a lot of things.
The one he didn’t understand so much was how he didn’t even see how kind he was, how brave he was, how interesting he was…how…
Max scooped his hand in his glove and squeezed. “One day at a time, ¿verdad?
I’d say today’s already been a pretty good day.”
Bradley nodded, squeezing back.
“You want to hit up the skate park later?” Bradley didn't make eye contact, glancing back toward the decrepit building, and the window he guessed was Dr. Samuel’s office.
Max stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the temple. “ Claro que sí , mi amor .”
Bradley’s dimple plunged into his cheek.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Max grumbled.
Another fucking week of rain.
Hurricane season wasn’t for another couple of months, but for some reason the gods that be had decided to send every severe thunderstorm, tornado and borderline monsoon in the direction of the State campus on a weekly basis all semester.
And now, finals week of all weeks - nothing but downpour after downpour.
‘An object at rest tends to stay at rest’ did not ever seem to apply to Max’s brain, and the feeling of eminent spontaneous combustion was reaching critical levels.
Bradley had been studying all day, prepping for pre-law finals, and had kept his door locked, so that was a bust.
Bobby had been MIA for a couple of days - or at least otherwise occupied in his favorite theatre major’s dorm - and PJ was also studying for Dr. Samuel’s exam, or with Mocha.
He’d already studied.
Getting everything in audiobook form meant he could just stick his earbuds in and go off at 3x, 4x speed and get through the material like lightning, and then do it again until it made sense, which was usually only twice.
He'd gone over the life cycles of stars enough times he wondered if it might be nice to fall into one, and then brought himself around with another listen through the recording he'd stealthily made of Bradley reading part of the Iliad.
How could his voice ever be annoying? It was deep and even and practiced.
Practiced? Like, a classically trained singer kind of sound.
And there was something about how Bradley paced everything that just felt…warm…
He didn't do voices for each character, per say, but you could always tell. Achilles was sunny and fun and full of himself in the way that Max knew he came across sometimes. Except of course in the moments of rage, when the gravel of Bradley's voice picked up and the tone deepened until Max wondered if he was secretly a bass.
Patroclus was gentle and thoughtful and a bit…pensive? Was that the right word? A little sad, in the way that he saw Bradley living within himself, hiding just below the arrogant nepo baby everyone saw him as.
He was spinning in the desk chair, listening to the same passage on repeat because he liked how a certain part gave him tingles all the way down his spine when.
The light flicked off and on again.
Bradley waved and the headphones came off.
“You know I can hear if you knock, right?” He said playfully.
Bradley's mouth went open and shut, like he hadn't thought of it, looked at his finger on the light switch, and shrugged.“Force of habit.”
Eyebrow up. “Habit?”
“Yeah, Bailey.”
And his hand went up - pointer finger next to his mouth, then swinging up to his ear. Max didn’t know many signs but he knew that one.
Head tilt. He thought about it for a second. Knocking wouldn’t have… oh.
¿Después de tanto tiempo?
“Oh!
That makes so much more sense.
I thought it was a bit you were doing.”
“No.”
Bradley blinked, a little red. “Anyway - this weather is driving me crazy so I know you’re probably antsy.”
He was wearing sweats. And a tank?
Fuck.
Esa cintura.
Esos bíceps.
“Uh…y-yeah..”
Bradley's lips curled up a little devilishly. “My eyes are up here, babe.”
“Uh huh.”
He walked all the way in, held out a hand. “I had an idea. You down?”
Max flushed. “Uh…”
“We're going somewhere, so wear your jacket. And, uh…”
Bradley’s eyes flickered down to his gym shorts and t-shirt.
“...yeah, that works.”
Crees que eres tan lindo, ¿no?
“Okay?”
Bradley smiled again, very satisfied with himself.
“Meet you on the porch.”
A soaking ride, making dashes between larger cloudbursts, laughing harder the more drenched they got, Bradley led to campus.
Max had been to the Student Health and Fitness Center a handful of times.
The compulsory P.E. class in the core curriculum had been a half-semester of annoyance with an ancient adjunct professor who was weird with the guys and weirder with the girls.
Max had made it a point to keep alert and nearly got his grade lowered by interrupting when he could tell someone was getting uncomfortable with individual instruction. The girls - and a couple of the guys - had all flocked to him.
He’d taken one or two out, but nothing had stuck.
Y me alegra un montón por eso.
Other than that he hadn’t bothered much with the building.
Running felt like a chore, lifting weights was intimidating and he didn’t love being the shortest or shrimpiest guy in a room.
But the intention was nice.
“I’m, um,
not really much of a weightlifter.” He admitted as Bradley led in the general direction of the free weight room.
“Oh, I’m not either.
I literally can’t.”
and he gestured to his back.
“Hmm?”
“Scoliosis, babe.
I wore a brace for like three years.
Had a doctor’s note for P.E. and everything.”
At the last second, Bradley stopped by an elevator Max had never noticed before.
“The lore just keeps going deeper...”
His lips twitched.
“I mean…you don’t get to be this lanky and keep a straight spine, it’s in the rulebook.” Bradley pressed the call button and the doors slid open.
“And I shared a womb, which complicated things to begin with, and then we came like six weeks ahead of schedule, so not everything had a chance to, you know - set properly.
My damn lungs, mostly.”
“You were a premie?”
“Yeah, a lot of twins are.”
Bradley said easily, and hit the third floor button.
“Like, sixty percent or something.”
Max started getting a mental picture of the pair of them - Bailey and Bradley. Tiny and red and struggling, their parents juggling Bradley’s asthma and learning to communicate with Bailey…Bradley shooting up all by himself in middle school…
The habit of flicking lights instead of knocking, even -what, eleven? twelve? -
years after she was gone, brought up the same warm feeling he kept having the longer he got to know him. It made him wonder just how much he'd had to go through alone to end up being the guy he'd met last year.
This Bradley was nothing like him. Thoughtful and funny and…honest.
**ding**
The elevator doors shook him out of his reverie and back to soft hair, graceful neck and arms, shoulders that were slowly filling out with PJ’s cooking and less things to stress about…
“Here, this way.”
A hallway of group fitness studios, all empty but the first one - a spin class - filled the top floor.
Bradley kept walking, though Max stopped for half a second to admire the view at the back of the classroom.
“Max.”
“Yup - sorry, looked fun.”
Bradley blustered for a second, then cocked an eyebrow and held a hand out.
“Come on, you rake.”
“Rake?” Max guffawed.
“What are we, in regency England?”
“No, cause if we were, I wouldn’t be able to do this -” and Bradley pulled him into the last open studio - nothing but a giant old speaker, a marley floor and one wall that was all one big mirror.
His free hand - the one that wasn’t clasped in a fist around Max’s shirt - went around the back of his neck and tilted his lips up.
Lips that he kissed, hard.
Max grabbed his shirt right back and welcomed the little spin around as Bradley pressed him possessively against the wall.
“Mmhfh
Mr……Mr. Uppercrust…” Max gasped dramatically between - Dios - Bradley bit his lip -
“...my…mmfhm…my reputation!”
Bradley’s lips broke into a chuckling smile even as they pressed in again.“You’re such a dork.”
“Mhmm.” and Max plunged his tongue in.
Panting a couple of minutes later, they pulled back, eyes heavy-lidded for the thirteen seconds before the door down the hall and a chorus of sighing, laughing, high-endorphin, post-class voices rang out, headed for the elevator.
Bradley held the gaze the longest.
“There.
No more distractions.”
“Jealous much?”
“I don’t like sharing.”
“Clearly.”
Max licked his lips.
“You know, this puts my honor in a very compromising position…”
“ Honor , he says, like he wasn’t just checking out a dozen asses…”
“I can admire a nice view, can’t I?
“Mmm, no.”
Bradley kissed him again. Dios. His stomach bottomed out, and he was suddenly very aware and happy about the fact that they lived in the same house.
He went for another, but Bradley pulled back, chuckling at the last second.
Coqueto.
“Alright, alright - I didn’t just bring you here to make out.”
Max poked his lower lip out.
“Aww.”
Uppercrust went red.
Bueno.
Dios.
Bradley fiddled with the ancient speaker system. “Oh, thank god, there’s an aux cord.”
Max wandered around the open space, checking himself out in the mirror, turning a quick handstand, happy with the room to move.“So - what’s all this?”
Click - went the aux cord into the headphone jack on Bradley’s phone, and he scrolled through his music app with the seriousness of a lawyer reading over a case file.
Which was fitting, he guessed.
He didn’t look up from scrolling.
“I don’t know if it’s something you’ll be into, but…um…”
A slow song came on and Bradley instantly hit the skip button.
“Bradley….?”
He turned beet red and looked up.
“Yeah.”
Three long, endeared steps forward.
“Are you asking me to dance with you?”
“Uh…”
Dios, es tan lindo cuando todo su cerebro se detiene.
“...Yeah.”
Max grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You signed this whole studio out for us?”
Bradley blushed deeper, if that was possible.
“Maybe.”
“That’s really fucking sweet.”
Bradley went doe-eyed, then stared at the floor.
The song he’d skipped to was more romantic than the first one.
“So - yeah - I just thought -”
“Mhmm.
Absolutely we can...”
Max shoved one hand in his pocket, rubbing the back of his head with the other. “…you're gonna have to lead though. There weren't exactly ballroom classes at Spoonerville High.”
Bradley looked up, eyes changing from embarrassed to that old, devilishly competitive look.
He stepped in, grabbed Max around the waist and pulled him in, humming.
“What do you think I'm here for, Baby Goof?”
Mierda.
__________________________
God, it was fun.
Seeing him fight for the lead on the songs with any kind of tempo that could possibly fit into a ballroom category, seeing him go red when Max inevitably stepped on his feet, then beat back the low-grade rage with -
“No, no, no - it’s fine, it's fine…”
One faster song came on and Max took his hands, pulled back, and started a spinny circle.
Bradley’s face went from happy to concentrated to terrified in the span of about four seconds.
“Max - Max!
Stop.
Stop!”
“Hey - what’s…oh shit, you’re shaking.
You okay?”
“Yeah.
Yeah.
I just…I hate spinning.”
“Oh,
siento…”
“No, no, like…I'm okay with like, controlled spinning, I just…”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Max ran over and paused the noise, came back, caught Bradley’s hands again, and when that didn’t work, Max's hand went on his face.
“Hey.”
And they peeled back open, mortified. “Sorry, I ruined it.”
“Cierra tu maldita boca, nene. You didn't ruin anything. Hey. Mira.
Look at me.”
And he kissed him. Just a peck. “You didn't ruin a damn thing. You're a person. Things are allowed to be out of bounds. You tell me where the boundary is, I respect it. That's how this shit works.”
Bradley's eyes were red. His face was redder.
“Bendito… hey… respira… shhh.” A few deep breaths later - “There. Hey - we can keep dancing if you want. You want to keep dancing? Just slow?”
He nodded.
Max took his hand and led him over to the aux cord and plugged one of his favorites into the search bar. It was from a kid’s movie, but it was a slow song, and it was in Spanish.
The one about the caterpillars turning into butterflies.
Perfecto.
He knew the words. Pulling Bradley out into the middle of the marley floor, he held him close and sang quietly. Bradley's breath hitched and then evened, and he grinned as the tempo picked up a little and Max had to fight the urge to go faster.
“You know how to salsa?” Bradley asked after the first chorus.
Max's eyebrow went up and cracked a toothy grin across his face.
“You're asking a Puerto Rican if he knows how to salsa?”
Blush . “I don't wanna assume anything.”
“Do you ?”
Bradley just grinned - devilishly competitive as always.
____________________
Forty five minutes slipped by like pearls on a string, and they let the playlist go on shuffle.
The slower the songs got, the closer they held on, and soon it was only an all-but-dark hallway outside and the two of them spinning, heads on each other’s shoulders.
Chopin’s Nocturne in E-Flat Minor began and Max grinned at the memory of the practice room - only two months ago.
Wild.
Bradley hummed slightly as well and cleared his throat a little, voice right next to Max’s ear.
“Um…so you know the formal is supposed to double as the opening for the new space science building?” he ventured.
“I think it’s on…um…Saturday?”
“Yeah, of course.
It’s the new space science building,
I’m all over that shit.”
Max started, leaning back a little, and then caught up to the incredibly nervous look on Bradley’s face.
His grin slid into place.
“...Mr. Uppercrust, are you asking what I think you’re asking?”
Bradley swallowed, eyebrow arching.
“You gotta stop the regency bit.”
“Aww, but it’s funny.”
“Max.”
“Mhmm?”
“Will you go to the dance with me?”
“Mr. Uppercrust…!!” He put a hand on his heart, faking a flattered gasp.
“So bold!”
“ Max.”
He giggled.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Blue eyes searched his, still hesitant.
“Yeah, of course, you big sap.”
“Hey.”
Smooch.
“You can’t be mad at me, I’m too cute.”
“That is…unfortunately true.” He dipped him and Max let out a little yelp again, then laughed as Bradley’s lips pressed into his again.
The thunder rumbled outside and Bradley didn’t jump, just pulled him back up and spun him around again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
PJ walked out of his Poli Sci final, the weight of Atlas’s burden sliding off as the May sun greeted him like he hadn’t seen it in six months.
This semester had about burned him out completely, but now that it was done, he let the high of being one of the first to turn his test book in carry him down the steps and around the back of the old building.
His first deep breath in weeks was rudely greeted with the smell of tobacco smoke and a hulking silhouette.
“Hey - big guy - you got a second?”
Tank looked surprised to see him, but didn’t try to hide the lit cigarette even though the campus had been smoke-free since the late 90s.
PJ squirmed at “big guy” and tried to find an escape route.
“I got somewhere to be, man, but -”
Tank stepped into the middle of the sidewalk.
“Well, maybe before you go, you can clear somethin’ up for me.
Mano-a-mano .”
PJ’s eyes narrowed.
“This is a smoke-free campus.”
“You see a security camera on this old thing?” He pointed up to the back of the Political Science Building.
Not a single camera on the roof - just a lot of faded shingles and a concerningly exposed wiring box.
“Who’s gonna tell?”
Mocha was waiting.
Surely the massive hulk could take whatever his beef was today out on someone else?
He straightened up, lowered his voice, tried to remember to make direct eye contact...
“What can I help you with?”
“Your boy.”
He stepped in, voice low enough that it sounded like tires on gravel.
“Come again?”
“Baby Goof.
Maxie.
I heard he and Uppercrust have been getting more than a little chummy.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
“My best friend’s relationship is none of your…”
PJ hissed, and felt his temples pulse like his ears would pin back.
“Hey - hey, I’m trying to help yous guys here.”
“Yeah?
How are you proposing to do that?”
“I’m just giving you a warning.
You know, since Baby Goof is your ace and all.
I’m asking - you ready to catch your boy?
Cause he’s about to get his fucking heart broken.”
PJ squinted, biting back eight different speeches.
“And you’re an expert on this, because?”
Tank stared.
A long, painful, meaningful stare.
“Oh.”
“Uh huh.”
PJ blinked a couple times, logging the information away. Tank let out a breath.
“Look - I’m not saying Bradley doesn’t seem…docile, right now, or whatever.
Something’s definitely different.”
“He’s a good dude, honestly...”
Tank cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms, the burn scar presenting itself as evidence to the contrary.
“...once you get to know him.”
Tank cleared his throat.
“I’m just saying.
Be ready.
You think people are really capable of changing?
I mean, really?
PJ’s forehead wrinkled and he thought about it for a minute.
Tank shifted uncomfortably, taking another drag, evidently not expecting him to actually answer.
“I think…hurting people hurt people.
Maybe they need a chance to not be actively bleeding out before you actually…you know, get to know them.
There can be a lot - you know, under the surface.
Most people keep that kind of shit..”
He swallowed as he looked up to make eye contact, realizing again how much taller than him Tank was.
“...buried pretty deep.”
Another long drag, considering.
“Yeah.
Maybe.
Or maybe some people are selfish dicks who are good at playacting until someone pities them enough to let’em get close.
And then they bite. And he will bite.”
Tank flicked the end of the cigarette, the ashes dropping too close to the edge of the sidewalk for PJ’s comfort, and also too close to his own shoes.
His insides slid down an inch. He planted his feet to keep his legs from wobbling and shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.”
“Guess we will.” Tank scoffed a little.
“But - seriously.
You care about Maxie?”
“Obviously.”
“Watch his six.”
Like I haven’t always.
PJ tugged at his gloves.
Tank took one last drag and stamped it out carelessly on the sidewalk
- but at least well away from the pine straw that served as mulch on the back side of the building.
“Thanks for the advice, man.”
“Yeah - sure.”
And the hulking figure stalked off, muttering under his breath.
PJ bent, picked up the still-smoking cigarette butt and set it carefully in a little patch of sand a few yards away.
Pendejo.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“ Maaaax….”
Cállate. - no.
No. ¡NO!
“Maaaaaxxxx…..”
Max fought it. He knew this damn dream.
It hadn’t bothered him in months - maybe a year or so - kind of since he’d come to college and her big brown eyes and red hair and that one big freckle had moved to California, and he’d left it all behind.
Why again?
Why now?
It was a crudely recycled version of the old one - back when he’d been extra self-conscious about his laugh and his teeth and coming off too much like Dad, because by then he’d figured out they were similar in more ways than just general family resemblance.
The same damn wheat field.
Why was it always the wheat field?
The one behind Dad’s old house.
Although this time there were seagulls flying overhead and horses whinnying far away in the background.
He could almost swear he heard the sounds of swords on… he definitely wasn’t wearing a hoodie, and it hadn’t been Roxanne in a long time…
But she showed up this time. Heartbroken, awkward, saying the same things she’d said two years ago…
“Max, I’m so sorry…”
“Max, I’m so sorry…”
And then the voice changed.
“Max, I’m so sorry…”
Low and practiced and warm and…
Azul…
Azul…
Azul…
No..
No…
And the wheat turned into giant thorns again.
His hands burst out, pale, grabbing.
Pushing.
Clumsy.
And not just the normal amount of clumsy.
Too excited, too…just too much…
There was Miss Daisy, looking sad - disappointed - tired…
Dad, tired…
PJ, tired…
Sylvia.
Sylvia?
Why bother with her?
Mocha and Bobby…Bradley…
“Max, I’m so sorry…I just don’t know if I can keep doing this…”
He pulled away, hands first, then the rest of him.
And then, to add insult to injury, the old, cruel smile from last year spread, eyes darkening.
“You didn’t…you didn’t think I was actually serious - did you, Freshman?”
The feeling of falling felt like his wings had melted.
Like someone had burst into his tent with the worst possible news from the warfront.
Like…
_________________________
Bradley’s ceiling fan went around around around around…whirring just loud enough to remind him that in reality, things happened so much slower, in ways that were so much more annoying…
A light snore came from the other pillow.
Bradley’s mouth was slightly open, and if his chest didn’t feel like it was being stretched across a rack, then twisted and shoved in a vice, he would’ve laughed.
Respira.
Respira.
He pointed his feet, wiggled his toes, scooted a foot or two away and curled up, hugging the pillow, then sat up against the headboard.
Sleep wasn’t coming back anytime soon, and whatever monsters were waiting there, he didn’t want anything to do with them.
Respira.
Solo es un sueño. Solo es…
Bradley stirred a little at all the movement.
Diablos.
He froze.
Bradley moaned incoherently and his breath fell back into an even pattern.
Cinco cosas. Cinco cosas que veo. Cinco…
The only thing he could look at were the gloves.
The goddamned…
And off came the armor.
Off.
At least for a goddamn second, long enough to look the problem in the face.
What was the problem, exactly?
He’d accepted the vitiligo almost immediately when the dermatologist had explained it to him.
He’d found it interesting.
Had started to like it, honestly.
Something distinctive, something his.
He’d had plenty of friends for plenty of years.
Surely those - what eleven, twelve? - kids in elementary school hadn’t gotten to him that much?
Was it Mom?
A little pang to the stomach added more than a question mark to his suspicions, but it still didn’t feel - complete.
Maybe…maybe something was just broken.
He’d thought it a thousand times if he’d thought it once.
Something to do with the drive everyone else seemed to have.
Could it be that?
But he still felt it.
Strongly.
Deeply. Just - maybe not exactly the same as everyone else described it.
Less like fire and more like…stars.
Or like that one really good song that takes you places, especially when you listen to it on repeat.
Just not like - sudden.
So…so he always hesitated.
Always enough that the other person gave up.
And he didn’t want them to give up.Just…be patient, and maybe…maybe take a little more time…ask more questions…
And that really had nothing to do with his hands.
Right?
Maybe.
Maybe it was just…a leap of faith.
Maybe just - like with the first kiss.
That had felt stomach-turning, sickeningly terrifying right before and then…magic.
Warmth.
Closeness.
Rush and touch and YES and…...so why should this be any different?
God, why did it feel like everything was about to explode?
Bradley was awake.
Max sucked in a breath and let it stream out between his lips, as slow as he could.
“Baby?” the groggy boy said, lids heavy but forehead wrinkled and eyes already too perceptive.
“Ssh…sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“What’s happening?”
His usual not-awake-yet line, but this time - deep and rumbling.
And worried.
Max realized he’d picked up Bradley’s nervous habit of letting his foot turn into a jackhammer and did his best to stop it - which only made his chest feel tighter.
“Hey…”
Bradley’s hand reached over for his, and when he inevitably jumped, pulled back immediately.
His eyes widened.
“...you’ve got your…your gloves are off….? You okay?”
¿Qué carajo decir a eso? No. Sí. Quizás. Las señales apuntan a un 'No'. ¿Qué tal si no tengo ni idea y...?
“Just thinking.”
Bradley propped himself up on his elbow.
“About?”
Max didn’t say anything.
His left index finger jumped a little, almost of its own volition - he was shaking.
And talking about it wasn’t going to help.
Flip.
Life line.
Heart line. Mount of Venus.
Flip.
Freckles spraying up from his wrists..that one birthmark on his right middle finger, right at the base…
Flex.
“Max?”
“Hmm.”
“You…baby, are you okay?”
“I’m thinking.” he said again, a little more forcefully this time, and wanted to cry.
“Don’t yell at people, sweetie.
It’s just like your hands, right? Once you hurt someone, even if it’s an accident, you can’t take it back…”
Cállate. ¡Cállate!
The lanky boy next to him sat up, pensive and fully awake now - reached over for the lamp, thought better of it, and sat up against the headboard, too.
He put his hand supportively next to him on the comforter.
Max stared at it.
He’d watched that hand dance across keys and tug his damn glove back on and he’d imagined it was…not cold, but cool. Like seawater, or…he didn’t know.
But that sounded nice…
Puedo hacer esto. Vamos, Maxie, tú puedes…
His chest heaved faster than he’d expected it to and all he managed was… flex - and it was like his left hand refused to move any further.
NO. said his brain, and the rest of his nervous system chimed in in agreement.
¿Pero, porque?
“Max…”
Bradley’s brow was furrowed in a look that almost looked…
¿Está molesto conmigo? Ni siquiera… ¿qué hice?
Bradley shifted, criss-cross applesauce, sideways on the bed, facing him.
“...you know…you know you don’t have to…”
No tienes que… ¿qué?
He made split-second eye contact and chickened out.
“Baby…”
“I just…I just thought…I don’t want you to feel like I’m…”
“...having a boundary?”
“...holding out…”
Bradley looked horrified - and then actually angry.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s…I mean, don’t you think it’s…”
“Perfectly fine and normal to have things that are out of bounds.
Isn’t that what you told me last night?”
Please.. . …deja de parecer tan enojado…
“Mhmm…”
Goddammit, no llores…
“Then - oh - sweetie - hey, no, I’m not angry with you…”
“Then…”
“ Mira.”
Bradley stopped, thought a second.
“… Did I say that right?”
Like a capsized ship turning back over - a dumb, grateful chuckle surfaced, and he nodded.
“Yeah.”
And looked up.
“Okay.
Okay, listen…”
Bradley was hesitating to put his hands on Max’s face, and somehow the three-inches-away pantomime of it made the little bit of levity in his stomach rise another millimeter.
“This - I don’t know where you got the idea that everything you’ve given me isn’t enough - more than enough - but if anyone’s told you anything to make you think you’re somehow “holding out on me” by doing something that makes you feel safe, point me in their direction, you hear me?
I will physically fight them.”
Max nodded, not yet processing, but enjoying the gentle scolding a little more each second.
“Was it me?
Did I do something or say something?
Cause I’ll fight me, too, I’m insanely good at it.”
“No.
No - it wasn’t you.”
A couple of tears shook down his face with the giggles that were spilling up, all mixed in with the panic that was very much still there, and still very much overwhelming.
“Okay, then…”
“I just…”
He sniffed, stomach re-capsizing. “I wanted to.
That’s all.
I just wanted to, and I still don’t…I really don’t even understand why…why I can’t just…”
“And you don’t have to.
Hey, come here - you want pressure?”
“Mmm - yeah.”
“Come here.”
Bradley wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him onto his lap, leaned back, hands right over his heart.
“Come here, shh…”
Back and forth, big rocks at first, then slowly getting smaller, more gentle, as the storm started subsiding…
Bradley leaned his forehead into the back of his neck, shooting his lips out for a little peck every few seconds, gentle as a butterfly…
Max leaned back into it, hands in fists right out of range of being accidentally brushed…
Fuck.
He felt his face burning.
He knew what came next.
The apology.
The weird, awkward attempt at an explanation, the guessing as to which specific trauma had triggered the whole thing or the repeating of the sob story of all of it…
Or worse, the questions.
The “what can I do?” or the “did I do something wrong?” or the…
“You don’t owe me…anything.”
The warm, low voice just behind him whispered, cutting through thorns and trains of thought and pattern after pattern after pattern…
“Okay?”
Max tensed in response.
“Baby.
I need you to hear me right now.
Can you hear me?”
“Mhmm.”
“Max, you don’t owe me anything.
I want you.
That’s it.
That’s all.
I don’t need you to do things that make you feel like this…”
His thumb rubbed over his still-heaving chest,
“...ever.
Ever.
Okay?
If it doesn’t feel good, if your whole…all of you…isn’t saying yes - and I mean hell yes - not just kind of/maybe -
I don’t want it, okay?
I want you.
I want you comfortable, I want you safe.
Don’t ever try to force yourself to do something for me - okay?”
“Okay.”
he said, and then realized what he’d just said ‘okay’ to.
He sucked in a big breath to make a speech back, and all that came out was…
“Huh.”
Bradley huffed behind him.
“The bar is in Hell, I see.
Who the fuck made you feel like you had to…?”
“I did.”
Max cut him off, still not sure he didn’t want…
Nunca me dejan acabar lo que comienzo…
“Hmm?”
“I did.
I wanted to, I just…”
ERG.
“...I’ve never…I mean, other than when I was really little…I don’t know, I don’t get it, I don’t like it, it’s not like it actually makes me feel ‘safe’ or anything, it just keeps me from panicking and from…”
The silence dragged too long.
His little Hercules backpack felt a little too close by.
Instead of being sold ten years ago at a yard sale, suddenly it was on his back again, carrying pencils, a lunch note from Dad, Old Stuffed Bear when he was still just Stuffed Bear. That backpack had always been almost bigger than he was, with the purple hydra and it “It’s A Hero Thing…” scrawled across the front. He'd chosen it ‘cause it was his favorite movie. Mostly because of the market scene - the one right before the big reveal, when the hero didn't understand why he was so…
“...from what?”
Bradley’s eyes were soft and patient, but…
Se oye tan paciente. ¿Por qué está siendo tan paciente?
He leaned back, eyes brimming again.
No. No esto. No quiero hablar de esto.
He shook his head.
“Okay.”
Bradley whispered, softly.
“That’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“What’d I just say, baby?”
“Mhmm.”
Around around around around…went the ceiling fan.
He tried to focus on it for a second, ended up zoning out for longer, resurfacing with Bradley rocking him back and forth again.
The alarm clock said it had been three minutes.
He cleared his throat.
“...I do want to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to…without the gloves?”
“Yeah.”“Okay.”
“I just don’t know…what the block is exactly, or why it’s so hard…”
“And you don’t have to.
You don’t owe me that, either.”
Max hummed a little.
“...but I still want to.”
“Okay.”
Bradley said, a little more thoughtfully this time.
“Then do it your way.”
“Hmm?”
The long torso shifted a little and he hoped he wasn’t doing anything to make his back tighter than he knew it probably already was.
“I feel like…and tell me if I’m wrong here…but I feel like people have kind of told you how this is supposed to go, like for a really long time.
Is that fair?
He thought for a second.“Yeah…?”
“Why the fuck would they know anything about it?
It’s your body, it’s your brain…” He huffed, searching for words.
“...It’s your thing that you deal with.
Why would you try to do things their way when they clearly don’t understand how it works?”
Max blinked a few times.
“Maybe.”
“And honestly, what do I know, either?”
He smirked.
“Okay, well, don’t sell yourself short…”
And craned his neck around to look at him.
Smiled a little.
Bradley smiled back and hugged a little tighter.
“Well…I’m just doing my best here, a day at a time.”
Max felt his toes wiggle happily.
“Hmm.”
He sat up a little more, Bradley adjusting with him, and held his hands out on his lap, palms up.
Flip.
Flex.
Bradley held his right hand right where he’d had it, resting on the side of his hip.
His right arm……with that..long, lightning bolt…
He blinked a few times.
“Bradley?”
“Hmm?”
He hesitated.
Bradley’s left finger traced around his ear, tucking some loose hair behind.
“I think…I want to…um…”
“Yeah?”
“Just…not your hand, per say…but I’m not sure it’s…”
“Where do you wanna touch me, baby?”
“Can I…um…”
His fingers flexed toward Bradley’s right forearm.
Behind him, Bradley took a sharp inhale through the nose - softly, but…
“Can I…your…”
“My scar?”
“Yeah…is that okay?”
Bradley’s voice had never been more tender…surprised, a little nervous…
“Yeah…yeah, that’s okay.”
Brush.
Just his fingertips.
Just the raised, jagged wave that rose and fell at a few painful-looking angles for a good five inches…almost all the way from wrist to elbow, even now…
The chest behind him heaved, too, for a different reason.
______
God, his hands are so pretty…
He never let anyone touch that scar.
No one.
Only for purely medical reasons, only if they absolutely had to.
He didn’t even touch it that often, he hated looking at it.
But Max…
And his hands were so…
…so…
______
“Your hands are so soft.”
he whispered behind him, voice breaking a little.
Max stopped, index finger right at the base of his thumb.
“ Gracias.”
“ De nada.”
His lips pulled up, that little one-off chuckle of disbelief bobbing to the surface again.
Bradley’s breath hitched.
“You want me to stop?”
“Not…not necessarily…”
“That’s not a no.”
Max hummed and took his hand away.
“And, uh…I think…that’s enough for me…for now...”
He reached over for the two little fabric pieces of armor, pulled the fingers back right-side-out and tugged them on, heart pounding but…okay.
Bradley’s lips pressed into his shoulder.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
The nose pressed into his collar bobbed up and down as he nodded.
“That is more than okay.”
“Hmm.”
After a couple minutes, he reached up, grabbed Bradley’s left bicep and pulled his arms back down around him.
Bradley hummed sleepily and slid them both back down from headboard to pillows and showered his head with little kisses, until Max rotated and met his lips.
“Okay.”
“Mmmm…”
Bradley was already getting sleepy again.
He murmured something under his breath, but Max didn’t catch it.
“What?”
“...Nothing.”
Max tilted his head on the pillow, blue eyes trying to stay open to check on him, and stroked his cheek, white material back in its place.
The eyes dilated, the dimple plunged, and then the eyelids were too heavy for…
Azul…
Mi amor…
Azul, mi cielo...
“I want you.”
“ I want you .
I want you comfortable, I want you safe…”
“....Confianza y coraje.
That’s all it ever is…
…and I’ve found…well, more often than not they surprise ya.
¿Me entiendes?...”
Lo hice, Papi...
He sniffed a little, and then let the salty drops run down into the pillow.
He fell asleep again after…not too long…long enough to watch the ceiling fan go around around around around until he zoned out completely, but…then..
He stared at the darkened, raised ridge of scar tissue he’d traced and memorized it.
It
had been…not cold, but cool.
And it had been…
… Dios - estoy agotado…
… nice….
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Morning, princess.”
Whatever dream he’d been in - and he thought maybe it’d been a nice one - was gone.
And Max was two inches from his face, trying his best to keep from laughing.
“What’s happening?”
“He’s alive!”
Max blew a raspberry on his chest and sat up cackling as Bradley swung the pillow around toward him.
“Ooh!
Missed!”
“Goddamn it, Max, can a man get some sleep?”
“ Nene, the sun’s been up for a while.”
“Oh - shit!”
10:30 was technically early for a Saturday, especially the Saturday after finals, but he’d had today meticulously planned for a week.
“PJ wants to go to the skatepark - you in?”
“Um…”
Fuck, and he was tired.
“As nice as that sounds…I have some things I need to get done before tonight.”
“Oh - okay.”
Only slightly deflated, but enough that he mussed his hair to bring back that giggle he loved so much.
“But go - have fun with the boys, I’ll see you tonight, okay, gorgeous?”
Max went red at gorgeous, and planted an energetic kiss on his forehead, then both cheeks…
“Max…”
He laughed, hands going up first to slow him down, then to pull him in…
“...god you are…irresistible…”
“I am pretty cute.”
Max grinned, pecked him one last time and slid backwards off the bed, fully dressed and already grabbing his board.
“We’re back here at…what time?”
“The thing starts at nine?”
“Awesome.
Back by dinner!”
And out.
Bradley let his arm fall out to the side, reaching toward the door as the happy voice retreated, joining the hooting cacophony in the kitchen…the garage… Big Bertha roared and sputtered down the street toward campus.
He let his bare chest rise and fall a couple of times, the cool metal of Mama’s coin necklace sending a little wave of…something…through him.
The picture frame on the dresser drew his gaze.
There was something about knowing she would have been proud of him last night - all the things he’d said to Max and meant with everything in him - and how he’d held him just like she’d used to, when he was really little, the way he’d always wanted to hold someone…
“I don’t know, Mama.
I don’t wanna speak too soon, but…what do you think?”
Whatever answered back - which maybe wasn’t an answer at all, but the echo at the back of his thoughts - smiled knowingly the way she used to, and turned the question back to him.
I don’t know, Bubba, what do you think?
I…I think…
Is he kind?
Yes.
Does he treat you right?
Mmm, yes.
Do you trust him?
More than anything…
And can you see yourself building a life with him?
Mama, southern and old school as always.
But then…
His advisor had been pushing him about decisions on where he was applying for law school.
And he’d already started getting the emails about signing up for cap and gown, even though it was a year away.
The alumni association had already added him to their list, spamming him with fundraiser click bait to fund the renovation for the run-down dump of a Political Science building…
A life…
Three years, at least, away at some law school, then internships and…Max would probably go for a Master’s, maybe a PhD…
I don’t wanna go…
He forced himself out of bed.
The dance was tonight.
First real date, first time together out in public.
Out.
In public.
And his whole focus was what - way out there in the future?
Slow down, babe…
But I don’t want to go…
Bitch, go where? The dance?
Of course I wanna go to the dance.
I just don’t want to leave…
You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.
You still have another year.
Yeah but then what?
Go pick up your suit.
When is that package getting here?
I paid for expedited shipping, it’s gotta get here…hopefully by six or seven.
Will you stop trying to control everything in the known universe?
Wait, did we return all that sheet music?
Shit, no.
Honestly, we could play for a little while.
Might help with the nerves.
Again - nerves about what?
The dance, or whatever the hell weird thing we’re doing here thinking about a year from now…two years…ten years…?
Ten years…
Teeth brushed, hair combed, the same usual uniform and the messenger bag slung over his shoulder, the longboard clacking down the sidewalk, headphones in but silent…
Halfway through the ride he rolled his sleeves up to cope with the heat.
The scar looked blankly up at him like it always did, but this time his stomach pooled at the tingling memory of the softest touch in the world…
Goddamn, I think I…I think I might…
He tried the door on the music library - locked.
For the summer.
Shit.
Maybe he could at least hang out in a practice room for a bit.
Cool off, literally and metaphorically.
His brain, split into thirds for the first time in a good while, hadn't shut up the whole time, and all the old, antsy, unhelpful energy was bubbling up alongside it.But the hallway of practice rooms had been overtaken by carpet cleaners and custodial staff, and as he turned and opted for the stairwell out to the side of the music school he didn’t usually go to, he found himself cursing under his breath.
Waste of a trip.
I don’t fucking want to go to law school.
Yeah?
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.
I’m not even good at it.
I have no fucking clue what I made on that final.
Okay, well, don’t sell yourself short.
Slight tug up of his lips at Max’s voice butting in.
And the industrial carpet and cinder block stairwell gave way to lush red carpet and modern-but-tasteful chandeliers, the most recent installation from the art department, the box office
- also shut down for the summer - another big staircase going up to the mezzanine that wrapped around the concert hall lobby and the doors that led to the balcony and box seats…
He stopped.
Twice in the last three and a half years he’d been here. Once, at orientation, when he’d almost cried at how gorgeous the architecture inside the music hall was.
And the second time he’d similarly come on a Saturday when no one was around, just…because he’d bombed an exam and there was something about reminding himself that this was here.
And maybe not his path, but maybe…maybe one day…
There was a concert grand in there, always.
Up on the stage.
He’d walked into the auditorium on that other day and almost… and then chickened out at the last second.
The door was unlocked.
As far as he could tell no one was around.
What can it actually hurt?
The light was on, but the light was usually on for some unknown reason.
His breath hitched a little as his feet carried him down the sloping, carpeted aisle and up the steps on the side of the stage and then across the waxed boards…
It was open with the longer lid prop - concert ready.
He considered lowering it to the shorter one, but his fingers shook a little just flipping the fallboard up.
The sound of it settling into position, immaculate black and white keys gleaming up at him, sent a little echo all the way up into the rafters.
Best not to accidentally drop the lid and knock the whole thing out of tune or, more likely, make a whole lot of ungodly noise.
There was a black binder one of the vocal majors had probably left sitting up on the music rack, closed - he didn’t touch it.
He sat.
Adjusted where the bench was.
Adjusted it again.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump….
He looks
a little wobbly, Mama…
For once he didn’t make any biting comments at the little grey rabbit in his chest.
He was right.
He was damn right, he was wobbly. Foot went to the pedal, hands went..and back off.
And to the beginning of…no…maybe?...no…what to play?
Beethoven felt a little too stormy for today, Chopin was always great but that didn’t feel right either.
He could play a little Gershwin, but… I think we’re a long way from ready for that.
“Fliszt!”
“What?”
“Fliszt!”
“It’s F.
Liszt.”
“F. Liszt, young man, is Fliszt…”
How did his dumb humor always…?And an old Danish musician-comedian introduced the piece in the back of his head.
”Liebestraum - by Fliszt.
I hope you will enjoy it…”
He started over a couple of times, ran some scales…
I am not warmed up at all…
But even his uncertain, plunky warmups filled the space like air in giant lungs and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Liebestraum started like the first few drops of an April shower and then took off into a rushing river of notes, resonant and warm and pensive…He sucked a long breath in through his nose.
These keys felt bigger than the ones in the practice room.
The lid being open almost felt like being able to yell and scream and shout after being told to use his inside voice all day…all year…longer than that…
Mom’s Steinway was a baby grand, but he always kept the lid down and the finished basement was wall-to-wall and partially-up-the-wall carpet.
This was…
Sweeping.
Soaring.
Oceanic, almost.
And he was out in the middle of the piece - waves of the sea itself, fingers chasing each other over the keys, and chills running up his spine, up into his brain stem, down his arms.He let his eyes close - he knew this piece better than almost any of the others in his repertoire.
One of the first he’d seriously studied, worked on - this, right after Mama’s favorite Chopin piece.
This one was his.
This one felt like…like all those stories that he didn’t tell anyone he read because they’d call them sappy, and him by extension…
Liebestraum…
Liebe..
..Traum…
Love dream…
Once or twice, he looked again, just to watch his hands on these gorgeous keys…just to memorize what it looked like under the lights, with the lid all the way open…
…until that one little section where it slowed down again, like a gently rocking boat out on a lull, looking up at starlight…
The last few chords always reminded him more of Gershwin than anything - just a little more jazzy than the rest of the piece.
He always added a little something in there - had since he’d first been able to get through the whole piece without stopping to check a sharp or a flat, or figure out which finger was carrying the melody…
“Was that from memory?”
The low keys yelled out in protest the same way they had the first day with Max and he sprang to his feet, piano bench sending an awful squeak up into the back balcony seats.
“ Jesus!
Sorry.”
One of the professors stood at the back of the auditorium - friendly, roundish face, a shock of thinning grey hair, glasses…
Dr. Menken.
The one who’d been a concert pianist for how many decades and a composer and traveled the world with symphony after symphony…
His studio was the hardest one to get into, his students usually on full ride and prepping for grad school at Juilliard.
He swallowed.
“I’m so sorry…”
“No, no, no, by all means don’t let me stop you…”
He walked down the aisle, gesturing to the binder on the music rack.
“I just came to grab something I was working on yesterday…”
Bradley stood awkwardly to the side.
“Dr. Menken.”
The professor offered a hand.
He shook it.
“Bradley.”
“Bradley…”
Dr. Menken picked up the binder, flipped through it, nodded - looked at him quizzically.
“You’re not in Sherman’s studio, are you?”
Bradley shook his head.
“Miranda?”
“No, um…I’m not a music student.”
“You’re kidding.
What's your major?’
“Pre-law…I’m pre-law, I just…I used the practice rooms sometimes, but they’re being cleaned so I thought… Sorry, I didn’t mean to…if I’m not supposed to be here, I can go...”
“You’re fine - it honestly doesn’t get enough use.
You pay tuition.”
Bradley nodded, relieved.
“You’re serious, not in any of the piano studios?”
“No, sir.”
“You minoring, at least?”
“No, sir.”
“How long you been playing?”
“Oh, uh…”
He tried to think.
Mama had shown him Middle C when he was…four?
“...a while.
My, um…”
God, why was he so inarticulate when it mattered?
“My mom taught me the basics, a lot of theory, and got me started.
I, um..I haven’t really…taken lessons in a while.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Since…?”
“Since you’ve had a lesson?”
His forearm suddenly felt very exposed.
“Um, about twelve years?”
“Huh.”
Thump thump thump thump thump thump…
Dr. Menken squinted at him a little.
“Huh.”
He said again, and glanced down at the stack of Mendelssohn, Bach, Rachmaninoff, Debussy…all sticking out of his messenger bag.
The professor stepped over to the piano, opened the binder - music composition paper, covered in a piece in dark pencil, scribbled cursive notes in the margins - and waved him over.
“You read music?”
“Yes, sir.”
“See what you make of this.”
Bradley’s mouth fell open.
“I.,.uh…I’m really just an amateur…”
“I don’t typically give Liebestraum as rep until I’ve had a student for at least three years.
The dynamic changes, and the pacing are incredibly difficult, it takes a lot of musical maturity not to mention the technical difficulty...
You just played it from memory.
My eyes aren’t what they used to be but if I’m not mistaken you played half of it with your eyes closed.”
He kicked the leg of the piano bench a little playfully.“Indulge me.”
Bradley swallowed and sat.
The score was in D minor - two flats…
“What’s the time signature?” He asked, forehead wrinkling at the incomplete composition.
Dr. Menken laughed at himself.
“Oh - you’re so right -” pulled a mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket and scribbled a C next to the treble clef.
“Good catch.”
4/4…
… but…the whole thing was rushing, but not like water, like…time passing.
A lot of time.
Spiraling, desperate, holding out for something time…
He read over it probably six times before his hands went up to the keys, still shaking a little that the composer was right behind him, and had said the things he had a minute ago…
Technical difficulty, musical maturity…
Thump thump thump thump thump thump…
Clunky - that’s what the execution was.
Clunky and halting and then…well, he sort of caught on toward the middle.
It was accurate for the most part, but he didn’t hear it yet.
The motif was very obvious - his breath caught the first time he played it in tempo…He felt tempted to go back and start over, but Mama always told him to keep going “like nothing happened…you can always try again.”
Bradley hummed disapprovingly at himself.
“Something like that.”
“Not bad for a first pass.”
the professor said, clearly understating, but Bradley tried not to focus on that.
“Here -” he pointed out a phrase that had given him trouble.
“Try starting there with finger 2, not 4 - you’ll have a little more freedom of movement…”
“Oh - yeah.”
He ran the measure a couple of times - like butter.
“Yeah, that makes so much more sense.”
The professor pointed out a couple other rough points, offering suggestions, commenting on how he’d forgotten to mark dynamics there…
Bradley nodded along, like he was dreaming,
“You feel like you got your feet up under you?”
“Uh..yeah.”
“Try it again.”
Okay. Okay okay okay…
His gaze flickered to just above the first few measures…a little note scribbled in quotation marks.
“Once upon a time…”
Huh…
Once upon a time…
The lights shone down on the concert grand.
A few flashes of memory passed through - they always did, right when he was about to find the path through a piece.
Memory, or dream, or nightmare…Memories of Mama, of the scar while it was healing, of going to the dentist after the games to get that one tooth replaced, and shaking outside the Dean’s office before that meeting.
The day when he’d found A Christmas Carol at the beginning of winter finals, read through it for the first time in years, felt his stomach drop a little lower with each spirit that visited Old Scrooge…and then heard the Troop boys hooting and hollering outside the campus library window, starting a snowball fight and feeling more alone than he had in all the other eleven years combined…
It’s the beginning of a story…
The haunting melody motif was the very top of the music - mostly his right pinky catching the little, glinting notes…his left
hand reaching way down into the bass clef for the underscore of something…monstrous…
He loved it.
He absolutely loved it.
He made several mistakes - a lot like that Nutcracker pas that Max liked so much.
But it sang.
The left hand part rumbled like every time he’d ever pushed anyone away, growled at himself in the mirror, anytime he’d ever lashed out at someone else because it hurt too bad to admit that he wasn’t alright…
Like the letter he’d written in one sitting in December, heart pounding…
It ended rather abruptly, like it was meant to lead into something else…..he looked up a little terrified when he’d reached the end, expecting a bored look or worse, something vague and “encouraging”.
Dr. Menken did have his arms crossed, but his face was unreadable.
He pressed his lips together, forehead wrinkled.
“Huh.”
So he’s a man of few words, I’m gathering…
The professor reached over, took the binder, flipped to somewhere in the middle, scribbled a note and snapped the binder shut.
“Yeah.
I like that better.”
“What?”
“Just…the way you played the B section, I like how warmly you played it.”
“It was in major, so I just assumed…”
“You assumed right.”
Okay…
Dr. Menken sniffed.
“So why pre-law?”
“But do you want it?”
“Um…made the most sense.”
he squirmed.
“My dad’s a lawyer.
It’s stable…”
“Music can be stable.”
“Well, I mean, for someone like you…” Dozens of film scores - a couple of big nominations and awards under his belt.
The kind of prestigious conductors and other musicians he’d played with…
“You think I started at the Met?”
Bradley shrugged.
“Do you want to play - professionally, I mean?”
Thump thump thump thump thump thump…
“I…uh…I mean, there’s plenty of time, right?”
Dr. Menken hummed, considering.
“Maybe.
You’ve got a lot of dreams.
And clearly a lot of work ethic.”
I’m going to shit myself if he keeps saying nice things.
“But do you want it?” Max asked again.
“Time’s never guaranteed, but - it’s the life you want.
Where do you want your time to go?
I mean, I can’t tell you that.”
“Huh.”
Bradley echoed, something floating down to the bottom of his stomach like a flower petal.
Dr. Menken took him in for another couple of seconds and then scribbled something else in the margin of the composition.
“Thoughts?”
Of the piece?
Dr. Menken is asking what I think of…?
“It definitely…evokes a lot of..emotions?
Questions? Is it the prologue to…whatever this is for…?”
“Just a project I’m working on for a friend.”
Dr. Menken said absently, then murmured under his breath. “Prologue…”
He scribbled again.
Then pulled out his card from one of the vinyl pockets.
“Far be it from me to ever tell anybody what to do, but, just for your think-tank…”
He set the card on the music rack.
“Department auditions are in three weeks.
If you have questions, email me.
Yeah?”
Bradley dissociated for a second - like he had when Peej had slid that damn post-it note across the desk in Dr. Samuel’s class.
He still had that sticky note somewhere.
“I’m…um…I’m about to be a senior.
I don’t know if…”
“But do you want it?”
A life…
A life…
“Like I said, I can’t tell you what to do with your time.
But - whatever it’s worth - think about it.
You get one shot at life.
It should be what you want.”
Dr. Menken gave him a cordial slap on the shoulder and left him sitting on the bench.
He sat, staring at the card…staring at his hands on the keys, staring out into the empty music hall that suddenly didn’t feel empty anymore.
There was Max - not front row.
Front row was for amateurs.
He was dead center of the orchestra level of seats, right where the acoustics met like a river delta…
Dad was there.
The other Troop guys.
Mocha…
Nameless faces filled in around them.
Applause echoed out as the conductor - a short, balding little mousey guy with a high, piping voice, who greeted everyone warmly and almost had to scramble up onto the stand.
Absently, he struck the A above Middle C…
An oboe answered.
Then the other woodwinds…
…brass…
…strings..
His stomach was all butterflies and stars and…
Max smiled from the middle of row 20.
The opening notes of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue were for the clarinet, but he played them this time…
God, what a dream…
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
MAXcan’t wait for tonite
He blushed, the orchestra fading around him into the gentle, tossing excitement of today…
BRADLEYme either, baby
😘
___________________
He skated home with his suit over his shoulder, insides vibrating.
And tonight…
Tonight…
Tank’s car stopped at a stop sign next to him and he gave a timid wave.
Tank glared back and took off too fast, sending a cloud of smoke into his face that set him coughing.
Well…good to know some things never change…
A rose bush drooped in the heat.
He plucked one, thinking maybe Max… and frowned as the petals fell off.
Huh.
He all but skipped up the steps of the house, grinned at the small package waiting on the doormat, ripped it open.
They were probably the right size…
I hope it’s not too much…
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
PJ knocked on the door of the bathroom.
“Hey man - you okay in there?
It’s been like forty-five minutes.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Came muffled, with the old, angry bite that they’d all come to know was Bradley’s self-consciousness rearing its head.
“You sure? You need anything?"
Bradley cracked the door open a quarter of an inch and absolutely no further.
“I need…Mocha.”
PJ made eye contact - what eye contact he could make without salivating - with his girl, who’d shown up twenty minutes ago in a shimmering satin green backless halter dress, hair swept up in one of those twisty hairdos that made her look like she’d stepped out of a James Bond movie.
Mocha lowered the mascara wand from where she’d been applying her makeup in the reflective screen of the turned-off TV in the living room.
“Me?”
Another frustrated grunt came from the bathroom.
She slinked down the hallway, surprised, forehead wrinkling.
PJ put his hands up.
“No sé qué rayos está pasando ahí adentro.”
______________
Creo que lo sé.
Knock, knock, knock…
“Fuck..” She heard him say under his breath.
“Hey…” Shyly.
“...you need me?”
Several small - possibly fragile -
things clinked around near where she knew the sink was…
“Yeah, come in.”
Mocha slipped in, heart melting a little at the sight of several used makeup wipes and a small zippered pouch.
Bendito…
He looked up, beet red and exasperated.
“I don’t wanna look dumb and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
She nodded, biting back the big-eyed look she wanted to give him (that would definitely only make it worse), and took a step back toward the door.
“ Claro , cariño .
Give me one second.”
She came back with her own kit.
“What are we going for here?” she said, pulling the basics,
hoping she had some foundation that would match.
“Nothing too much, just…”
He glanced at the gold suit jacket hanging from the shower curtain rod.
“...something that compliments, or…I don’t know…I like the thing you do with the black over your eye…”
“You want winged eyeliner?”
He huffed, mortified.
“Yeah.”
“Sure, we can do that.”
She dug for the eyeshadow kit with the most shimmer in the most neutral colors.
Tengo dorado en alguna parte…
He leaned on the sink counter, face red.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to impose, you don’t even know me that well.”
“I’ve been around.”
Mocha smiled quietly.
“Besides, I owe you one for all the help with Gabby.”
“That? You don't owe me for that, it was nothing.”
“You saved my ass and a little kid in the process. I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
She held up two foundations - one was technically more of a concealer…
“Call it making up for being an asshole for the last three years.”
Mocha pressed her lips together.
He had definitely made her life hell more than a few times before the boys had rolled into town, but she’d always suspected there was more to him.
She hummed.
“You weren't an asshole when you got here. As I recall, you barely spoke to anyone your first semester. Definitely not a huge asshole then. Not like you were last year, anyway.”
He watched her selection as she lined it up on the counter like he was memorizing it.
“...I was a bit of a monster, though.”
“Eh.
Monsters always have a more interesting story.”
He snorted darkly. “Yeah?”
“Well - I always liked them better. They're more human than the big, shiny heroes. Pero, no se - you might be a big, shiny hero yet.””
Bradley blinked a few times.
She squinted at his skin. Almost poreless, other than some old acne scarring.
“Honestly, you don’t need much here, your skin is crazy healthy.”
Bradley’s eyebrows went up.
“Really?”
She eyed the products lined up on the sink, picked up a moisturizer.
“Yours?”
“Yeah.”
“Step one.”
She held it out to him and spun him toward the mirror.
“I don’t think you need coaching on this one.”
And watched him log that away like it was a nuclear code, trying not to look too nervously at himself in the mirror.
Then handed him the concealer - “Step two.”
“Uhhhh…” He held it like it was a vial of poison.
“All over, or is this…don’t I need like the little sponge thing, or is this…like a thing you brush on…?”
“ Ay, cariño - give me that before your head explodes.” She snatched it back gently.
“I forget you boys have probably never even watched someone do this before.”
“Well…” He started to say something and stopped.
She noticed the necklace resting just over the collar of his tank for the first time.
“...it’s been a while.”
“I didn’t take you as the makeup-wearing type.
I mean you always look put together, but…”
she tilted her head.
He shrugged.
“I’m not, usually, but, you know…it’s tonight…”
And glanced at her uncertainly.
“If you think it’s too much, I…”
“I think…” she put her hand on his forearm and blinked when he jumped a little.
Looking down she felt her eyebrows knit at the scar she’d never noticed before.
¿Eso es de…?
“...it’s how you want to look.
If it’s what you want, that’s what we’re gonna do.”
“So you don’t think…?”
“I think you’ve got a good vision, but let’s get it done before mi novio blows a gasket.”
Bradley snorted and nodded shyly. “Okay.”
She took her hand off his arm.
“Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
His left fingers went to it, brushed it gingerly and then gripped around his elbow.
“Hmm.”
Como pensé.
Max had filled her in on several things. She could fill in the rest. A little tickle of emotion threatened at the back of her throat, but she swallowed it back, letting out a little half-cough.
“Alright.
Step two.
Concealer…”___________
“Look up for me - it's alright, I'm not gonna stab your eyeball.
“I would hope not.”
“Quiet, nene, or I just might…”
“Hey…!”
“Ah-ah! Cállate. ” She pushed a finger into his chest and he giggled. “Look up. There, hold still.
Blink.
Again.
And one more time.
Good.
Okay, other eye…”
Bradley looked up, nervous but more trusting than she’d ever seen another human being.
He looked…stunning.
Gold eyeshadow shimmered under the winged liner that he’d specifically requested and insisted she show him how she did it, step-by-step.
She’d added a little shimmer just at the very top of his cheekbones.
He went quiet, then, for a minute.
“¿ Estas bien?”
“Yeah, just…”
and shook his head. “...nah, I don’t want to dump anything on you.”
“No, come on, nene , I love some chisme.
Or whatever’s on your mind.
We’re here, aren’t we?”
And gestured broadly to the sink littered in cosmetics.
He swallowed.“You know I, um…I had a sister?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
He smiled a little sadly, swallowed hard and shook it back.
“Just…sometimes I wonder…if…this would’ve been something…” - sniff - “... goddammit…”
Ay, mi corazon…
“Look up, cariño , so it doesn’t run…”
She tilted his chin, gently.
He blinked a few times and she let go, arms out. He stood, a head taller than her, and took the hug.
She pulled back thirty seconds later
“Jacket.”
“Yep.”
He donned it, shrugged his shoulders a couple of times, pulled his sleeves forward, adjusted his cufflinks…one eyebrow up.
“Yeah?”
She waved him over, adjusting his lapel, gently spinning him to look in the mirror.
“Yeah.
What do you think?”
He stared for a minute, shaky breaths coming quick and then evening out as he made eye contact with her in the reflection and she nodded reassuringly.
He ran a hand through his hair one more time, took a deep breath…
“Thank you, Mocha.”
“Mari.”
“Hmm?”
“Everyone calls me Mocha, but it’s…Mari.
Marisol, Mari.”
He nodded, eyes a little bigger.
“Mari, thank you.”
He said one more time, digging for something in the pocket.
“Really.”
“ Claro, nene.
¿Para qué más sirven las hermanas?”
“ Hermanas…?”
he started to ask, and then made the connection.
He tilted his head back, blinking.
“Oh come on, don’t make me cry again now , we just finished all this…”
She chuckled and hugged him one last time, laughing, and pulled back to see what he was pulling from his pocket.
Not a handkerchief - two, white…
He looked up, caught.
“Um…they’re…”
“… para Maxie?”
“Do you think it’s too much?”
He tugged the white gloves on, eyes soft.
She shook her head.
Tengo a los hermanos más preciados.
“ Están perfectas. ”__________
Soft guitar music floated down the hall as he went to collect Max - acoustic, notes spilling over each other in the kind of strumming pattern that still baffled him when he tried to pick one up.
In.
Out.
I hope it’s not too much. I hope it’s not too much. I hope it’s not too much…
The door wasn’t latched all the way.
He knocked but maybe not loud enough.
He poked his head in.Max was in the music, eyes closed, gloves off…Beautiful hands shifting effortlessly between chords with one hand, the other hand dancing - light, gentle movements like Achilles and his harp…
Goddamn…
Black suit, black shirt
- a silver collar-pin with the chain connecting the two silver moons, black tie, more dangly earrings than he generally wore.
He sucked in a little sigh of relief at the glint of silver eyeshadow.
…okay…at least we’re coordinated…
The lyrics were sweet and unfamiliar, and he leaned in the doorway with his dimple slowly sinking into his cheek, lungs slowly filling and emptying to the tempo of the music.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, still uncertain about that, but…
…I think I really do…
Max went through the opening chords one last time to finish, and one eyebrow went up as he realized he was being watched.
“No flicking lights?”
“I didn’t want to break your concentration.”
Max looked up and went red instantly.
“Y-yeah you definitely would have.
Diablos - Jesus Christ, babe - are you wearing…shit, that looks…you look…”
“...okay?...” He said hopefully.
“Fucking majestic.”
Bradley let out an unexpected laugh and held a hand out.
“Come on, you dork, let’s get out of here.
We’re late.”
Max froze, eyes widening.
Oh, yeah.
“¿Llevas mi armadura…?”
“Hmm?”
“Um…you’re…”
“I’ll take them off if it’s too much…” Bradley said, abashed.
“It’s not.” He shook his head, eyes misting.
“It’s not.
Dios, you…?”
And took the three strides across the room…
Black and gold collided, Max’s hand shooting into Bradley’s hair.
“We gotta go, babe…” Bradley chuckled between kisses.
“Not for another goddamn minute we don’t.” And his voice sounded more like Achilles than it ever had.
________________
The girl in the green dress joined the other two boys in the kitchen, smiling to herself at what little she’d overheard.
“They about ready yet?” PJ said, checking his watch.
“Give them a damn minute, mi amor.” Mari said, smiling, and kissed him.
“It’s a special night.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
SUN
The sun was just setting when Big Bertha rolled out of the Troop House driveway - Bradley up front, the other two in the back.
The light streaming down as they were leaving took his breath away - sunset gold trimming the clouds, painting everything else… he didn’t know, but it all contrasted enough that it felt cinematic, and PJ put on a mix of mellow indie songs that reminded him of that first night in the practice room.
He glanced up into the rearview at Max
- Seatbelt on.
Good. -
- smiled, and let his eyes fall shut, the music running through his brain until it felt like it was in his bloodstream.
MERCURY
Bobby was waiting with a gaggle of theatre majors in the parking lot, remarkably sans sunglasses, the tux something out of an 80s movie but somehow pulled off the way only Bobby could.
“Heyyyy!
Looking schnazzy, Uncrustable.
I like…uh…the whatever it’s called.
Eye stuff.”
“You clean up nice yourself.” he smiled, nerves starting to roil his stomach a little at the sight of the crowd streaming into the new building, a hulking silhouette and several Gammas in among them.
Bobby took a jester-like bow, then elbowed him, gaze going down to the gloves.
“Glad to see you’re embracing the uniform.”
Bradley held his hands up a little self-consciously and then grinned.
“Does this make me officially in the Troop?” he said, as lightly as his thumping chest would allow him.
Bobby tilted his head, arched an eyebrow at the crowd rushing the venue and adjusted his lapel for him.
“You’ve been in the whole time, chaver.
Just some of us take a little longer to warm up to people than others - had to give you a little hell, right?”
And he floated away back to the colorful cast he’d carpooled with.
“See you in there - I’d ask you to save a dance, but I think your card’s already full.”
VENUS
PJ walked around the van and offered a hand for her.
Jesus - ¿cómo rayos tuve tanta suerte? Ella es como una diosa…
She hopped down, swinging herself around, arms wrapping around his neck, a big lip-stick stain populating on his cheek just above where the beard was coming in.
“ ¿Cómo rayos tuve tanta suerte?” She purred.
“Uhhh.” He blinked and grinned. “Well, you chose me, so…”
“Mmm. Best choice I ever made.”
He dipped her, feeling exactly like James Bond.
Marisol, Marisol, Marisol…
He hadn't even bought it yet and the ring was already burning a hole in his pocket.
“Come on, tiger.
We’re gonna be late.”
EARTH
Bradley felt like he was strapped into a rocket ship.
Is was how it felt - astronauts, right before take-off, checking every little minute detail unless anything went wrong?
Probably.
It was nauseating.
And fucking exhilarating, but mostly…mostly he just kept looking at Max.
A curved driveway swept around in front of the new building - towering a bit with the domed roof and adjacent observatory…Max squeezed his hand tight, elated, yapping about all the new shit they were gonna have access to starting in the fall, how he’d already applied to do student work-study hours just to use the new telescope…all a welcome distraction from the amount of stares he could feel boring into his suit and his eyeshadow and his hand holding onto Max’s for dear life.
He stopped for a second on the sidewalk, rabbit tapping its foot faster than ever since his knee was occupied with keeping him standing, chest tightening.
Bitch, you’re already out.
You’re with him.
This is what you wanted.
Why the fuck are you freaking out?
You asked for this.
You want this.
I want this.
I want this so bad…
I…
The beginning rattle of the ignition sequence start, main engines firing…there was no pulling back now.
Not that he wanted to, but the rattle…
“Hey…” the soft voice he loved so much broke through the frustration.
Everything washed away at the soft brush of fabric on his cheek.
“...hey, you nervous?”
“Mmm, yeah.”
“Me, too.”
And he looked at him.
Beautiful, gentle, perfect Max…shaking just a little bit less than he was.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, fuck yeah.” He laughed.
Someone off to the side of them made some off-handed comment to someone else about the two of them standing together and glared in their general direction, then back, slipping his free hand into his.
“You need anything?”
“No, just…just a second.” He sucked a breath, let it out.
Named a few things he could see mentally.
Mari and PJ disappeared through the doors and he counted out three slow measures - first measure in, second held, third to release…
“You look amazing.” Max hummed, eyes shining.
“Hmm.” He chuckled.
“Look who’s talking.”
“Oh, I know.” Gap teeth poked out, and the warmth melted the rest of the anxiety at least down to a steady late-February drip…drip…
“And we are go in T-minus 10, 9…”
He craned his head down for a little peck on the forehead.
“Humble, as always.”
“Oh yeah, one of my greatest qualities.”
“Come on, you dork.”
“…3…2…1…”
He watched his feet take him toward the entrance and the music and the tall figure scanning tickets.
Dr. Emrys lit up at the sight of the star student of the astrophysics department, and all but abandoned his post to come and shake the gloved hand rapidly.
“Ah - Maximillian, my dear boy! How is my best pupil?”
Bradley blinked a few times at the skinny man in the star-patterned 60s-style tux, bespectacled, with the longest white beard he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t help but think of something Arthurian, especially with the British accent and the way he kept looking around as if he knew something and wasn’t saying anything about it.
But then, a lot of science professors sort of gave off that vibe…
“Hey, Doc.”
Max didn’t cringe as much at his full name as usual - he guessed an understanding with the eccentric professor had to be reached on a few scores, including how fast he rattled on…
“Wonderful evening!
And you’re looking rather dashing, aren’t you? Splendid suit, I like this moon…pin thing you have, quite nice…”
And then the wiry old man raised a fluffy, unkempt eyebrow at Bradley.
“Ah, and Mr. Uppercrust.
That’s right, I remember you.
Well - no, that’s not quite it.
No, no - it was…that’s right it was… I remember your father came through one of my core classes - must have been one of my first years here. Sat next to that pretty blue-eyed young lady he liked so much. Ah.
And I see that went quite well, if my guess is right.”
The old man looked up and grinned at the color of his eyes.
Bradley tilted his head, free hand floating to the necklace resting above the unbuttoned top button of his shirt.
“Had I told you any of that before?” The wild storm-colored eyes peered out at him from behind the coke-bottle lenses, and he had the urge to ask about a million questions, but…
“Uh…no, sir, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Haven’t we?
Shame.”
He straightened, surprised, and laughed it off warmly.
“Now, now, now, you two are here together, do I understand that correctly?”
Max nodded, looping his arm around his.
“Ah, well…lovely.
Nothing like a bit of budding romance to make an evening like this all the more exciting. That’s what makes the world go round, isn’t it? Well, actually, no - of course it’s gravity, but, well…”
He laughed a bit and slapped Bradley on the shoulder.
“Nice to see good taste runs in the family. A lid for every pot, ay?”“Thank you, Doc.” Max said kindly, already pulling at Bradley’s sleeve.
“We’re very excited. And congratulations on the new building.”
“Ah, yes!
Of course, um - thank you kindly - and um - help yourself to the refreshments!”
he called after them, Max snickering into Bradley’s sleeve as they walked away.
“He’s an odd bird.” Bradley commented.
“Yeah - sweet old guy, though.
He means well.”
“Someone should get him a pointy hat to go with that beard.”
“Oh he has one.
He wears it on exam days to cut the tension.”
Bradley chuckled and offered his arm one more time.
Liftoff…
MOON
The lobby of the Space Science building was somewhat lower than ground-level, entrance doors leading into the mezzanine, overlooking the engine nozzle of a space shuttle from some mission or other, a corralled-off area with interactive RC rovers that could be driven around the artificial moonscape inside, NASA memorabilia…
Max had been poking his head in here every other day for months watching it all come together, but something about standing at the top of the wide stairs that led down into the gallery, amd looped through his made it all the more magical…
…and then Bradley slid his hand down into his, smiling down with those gorgeous…
… Azul…
…Azul…
A few faces in the crowd looked surprised.
Fewer frowned.
Most didn’t look at all, and most that did tilted their heads and smiled.
None of that mattered.
Let them look.
Let them mutter, if they wanted to.
What did the moon care what the grains of sand on one particular beach thought of it?
Bradley’s breath hitched just a little at being the center of attention and squeezed his hand tighter.
He squeezed back - uno, dos, tres - and winked up at him.Bradley’s chest rose and then fell into an even rhythm, eyes soft and grateful and absolutely adoring…
Standing next to him felt easy.
Effortless. Like the push and pull of the ocean.
Like the way the sky changed color just when you thought it would stay grey forever.
Like the phases of the moon.
Like breathing…He’d never imagined himself floating down the stairs of any royal ball before, but suddenly he wondered if all the people in those fairytales had felt a little something like this.
MARS
“Enjoying your new toy, sweetheart?”
Bradley turned on his heel, plate of standard little snacks in hand, to face the hulking figure who was standing way too close to be sober.
The tie he knew he’d had to ask another Gamma brother to tie for him was already askew, even though the night had barely started.
He still looked fairly put-together - classic white shirt, black tux.
His hair was slicked back Brooklyn-style, but…
“Sorry, what’d you say?”
“I said, are you enjoying your new little toy?”
“That’s what I thought you said.”
He felt the color rise in his cheeks.
“You wanna fill me in on what you mean by that?”
“I think you know.”
Tank’s eyebrows knit.
“You wearing eyeliner?”
“And if I am?”
“Looks nice.”
Bradley swallowed and scanned the room for Max, who’d sent him off for snacks while he mingled with half the student body.
Goddammit, I’m gonna have to tie a balloon to his collar, literally everyone is taller than him…
“Thanks.
Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“You really…”
He hiccuped, and the search went from ‘where’s Max’ to ‘where’s the nearest bathroom’.
“...you really did change for him, didn’t you?”
“Tank, I don’t know what to tell you, man.
I’m me, alright?
I was an asshole for a couple of years, maybe I’ve always been an asshole, maybe I always will be an asshole.
I don't fucking know - I’m just trying to do something better a day at a time, that’s not for anyone but me, cause I feel like I can actually look myself in the eye now.
That’s what you wanted, right?”
Tank stared blankly.
“Right? - oh Christ, forget it.
Look.
Things have shifted a lot, but I told you - it’s not about who was worth it to change for, it’s just how things went.”
“Right.”
“It’s…”
“But you did change for him.”
“He offered me the chance.
No one else did.”
“You didn’t ask anybody else.”
Bradley felt his whole stomach drop and suddenly the strawberries and cheese cubes on the little golden paper plate looked like so much plastic.
Eh, Max would eat it…
Tank swayed a little and Bradley set the plate down to catch him.
“Whoa - shit, man.”
The big amber eyes rolled, embarrassed.
“And look at him now, such a gentleman…”
“Did you pregame?”
“Don't I always, sweetheart?”
“How much?”
Tank shrugged vaguely.
“You gonna remember any of this tomorrow?”“Eh. Jury's still out.”
Jesus, Tank.
“Come on, let’s get something on your stomach…”He reached idly for some little dessert that was… Tank's hand slapped it out of the way and it landed upside down on the carpet a couple of feet away.
A knot of girls yelped and walked away, eying the two of them suspiciously.
“What the…?”
“That's got peanuts.”
Oh shit.
His stomach dropped further, knowing exactly where Tank kept his epipen, and it was never anywhere close to him when he needed it.
He stared at the unfortunate little dessert, cracked plastic cup, then at the regiment of identical ones lined up on the tray, chopped peanuts sitting jauntily on top of all of them.
That could have been disastrous.
He stared at Tank, who grunted a little, wobbled, and waved a dismissive hand at the world in general.“Ah, forget it.”
The big guy headed for the exit.
“You leaving?”
“Ain't’ nothing for me here.”
“Come on, at least dance for a little bit.”
“With who?”
“Literally anyone.”
Tank grunted again, harder this time.
“Nah.”
Please don’t wander off like this…
“I heard there’s some kind of
projection show thing at the beginning.
You don’t want to at least stay for that?”
“I can see the stars fine outside.”
“At least get one of the Gammas to walk you back, man. Or Max and I could…”
“No, no.
No, no. You enjoy your evening.”
He slapped him a little too hard on the back.
“I’m gonna get some air.”
“Tank…”
“Best wishes, Brad.”
He walked away, already pulling a pack of Marlboros out of his coat pocket.
Bradley looked around for a Gamma to flag down and send after him, but…
The ancient Archemides-looking astro professor stepped up in front of the doors to the planetarium and started banging a spoon on the side of his glass.
“ Nice to see good taste runs in the family…”
He smiled.
“Alright - if everyone would like to come in - we will get started…” His wavering, British-accented voice echoed over the crowd, “...but first, we would like to acknowledge all of our generous donors for making this new facility possible, starting with our illustrious alumni association and the board of directors…who as you know are already in the process of raising funds for our next
campus project, the upcoming - and urgent - renovation of our historic Political Science building…”
And he saw Max hopping to get his head above the crowd to spot him.
Jesus Christ, he’s so cute…
…and headed toward him, sans snacks.
JUPITER
The animated planets whooshed by over them in the darkened planetarium, Max still jumping up and down a little that the voiceover was his favorite astrophysicist.
Everyone stood, necks craning, tuxes and evening gowns filling the space he’d watched being built over the last year and a half.
The carpet itself was dotted with phosphorescent stars so you almost felt like you were walking among them, especially now, with the lights off and the domed screen a wash of black and gold.
They’d already been through the first four planets, the underscoring sweeping and symphonic, but now “the big boi” as he called the orange-y gas giant came into view with its giant red storm and its seventy-plus moons…
The score shifted to a melody and Bradley let out an excited little gasp behind him.
“Oh I love this piece…”
And Bradley’s arms went around him from behind, gloves glowing under the blacklights, nose burrowing into his hair to kiss him for a second…
“Hmm?”
“Gustav Holst…” he whispered in his ear, sending tingles all over, “...did a suite of pieces for each of the planets.
This one’s the fan favorite.
Mine, too.”
“Hmm.”
Max smiled as Degrasse-Tyson narrated all the fun facts he already knew and leaned further into Bradley’s chest.
“...we should listen through it some time.”
A little hum rumbled just behind him, and he felt his lips peck his scalp again.
“I would love that.”
OUTER PLANETS
The other Jovian planets went by, Max laughed a little louder than everyone else when the narrator personally apologized about the “honorary mention” of the former ninth planet…and then, with a polite round of applause and a giant, dreamy sigh from his own chest, it faded into the usual constellations, Orion winking down right where he was staring.
Five seconds of awkward silence, and then…
Dr. Emrys, kooky and unpredictable as always, donned a pair of sunglasses and spoke into the little podium mic by the DJ stand.
“This was a request specifically by one of our lovely theatre majors.
Mr. Zimmeruski, if you’d like to get everyone to the dance floor.”
The gaggle of theatre majors ran out to the center of the carpet like it was a stage.
Bobby winked.
“We’re gonna need you, too, superstar.”
The lights changed to multi-colored and the opening notes of the same Powerline song from the LA show blasted through the speakers.
“What?!” Max cackled, and pulled at Bradley.
“Oh, it’s go time…”
“Oh - no, absolutely not.”
“Come on, you know this, nene , I taught it to you.”
“Max…”
“Come on, Uncrustable, I know you want to!” And Bobby jumped into dance captain mode, calling out the “5-6-7-8” louder than he’d ever heard him yell before.
He stood, hands up, shaking his head.
Max shrugged and made it a lip-sync battle with PJ for about half a verse until Uppercrust cackled, too, relented and let Max pull him out into the middle at the top of the chorus.
“Yeaaaaahhh….” Bobby screamed in triumph, and handed his phone camera to Dr. Emrys to record the whole thing.
STARS
And so they spun…two planets, or stars, or whatever exactly they were floating out somewhere in the cosmos…
The songs got slower, as they had in the studio last week, and as they did, the gold and black suits became the center of the dance, everyone else orbiting in and out around them.
Sometime in the middle of it all, after an hour or so had slipped through the hourglass and the rowdier bunch of theatre majors had started retreating to the refreshment tables to regroup before jumping in for another requested group ensemble number, Bradley pulled at Max with a little less oxygen in his lungs than he liked.
“¿Estas bien?” said the moon, and the sun smiled back.
“Yeah - yeah, I’m having so much fun.” and kissed him, sweating and breathless.
“I just need some air.”
“Want me to come?”
“Mmm, if you want to.”
He pulled back, eyelashes batting a little.
“Might be more private.”
“Hmm, I like the sound of that.” Max smiled, eyebrow arching slyly.
“There’s a balcony this way…I don’t think anyone’s found it yet.”
And out.
The night sky and gentle breeze greeted them warmly, but not so warm that they both didn’t heave a sigh of relief that it was cooler than inside.
Bradley pulled Max into another impromptu waltz, nice and slow, humming the last slow song they’d spun to.
His fluffy hair rested against his chest, nose buried right next to his top shirt button.
“Best night ever.”
Went muffled into his shirt, straight to his skipping heart.
“Mmhmm.” And pulled back, hand caressing that gorgeous face, the flower pattern on his neck… “First of many,
I hope.”
“Mmm, me too…”
Thump thump thump thump….
Inhale…
“Max, I…”
Shit.
Exhale.
Thump thump thump thump thump.
Well, you wanna say it, dontcha?
said the little grey rabbit.
More than anything.
God, Max…
…Max, Max, Max…
Those big, dark eyes started shining, curious, eyebrow up flirtatiously, but just on the precipice of…
Thump thump thump thump….
Inhale…
…sniff sniff…
Is…is that…?
Max’s eyebrows knit.
“What’s wrong?”
Sniff sniff sniff…
Oh shit.
A dull red-orange glow caught his eye from the other side of campus.
“Do you smell smoke?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Daddy, are you almost done?”
Chubby little hands and face asked, popping up from the other side of the desk littered with coffee cups and too much work still not done, eyes sleepy and hopeful.
“Not yet, princess, I still have a few more papers to grade…”
“Can I go exploring?”
Dr. Samuel pinched his nose, massaging the spot closest to where the headache was spinning itself into a nasty spiderweb of a migraine.
Goddammit, Gabby, can you stay put for just another twenty minutes?
But she’d been good all day - quietly coloring and entertaining herself while he tried to slog his way through email after email, class after class of final exams - brain in a fog thicker than smoke.
She’d asked about her mom again and he’d avoided the question - again.
You’re gonna have to tell her eventually, Mike.
I just don’t wanna break her heart…
The dance was going on.
He ought to call this here and take her - just for a few minutes, and spin her around a few times, show her the new building, maybe say hi to the friends she’d made.
She would love that.
But these were due first thing Monday, and tomorrow he’d promised to take her to the zoo, and he didn’t want to be stressed about work that whole time while she tugged him from lions to zebras to the giant yak that had become her personal favorite.
“Yes.
But stay in the building and come straight back, okay?”
“Can Kitty come?”
She held up her stuffed monster - the one from the movie she liked so much.
He’d given it to her for her second birthday and she rarely went anywhere without him.
“Yes.”
And forced an encouraging smile.
He watched her bounce away like that kind of energy was as easy as breathing and stared at his empty left hand.
How could you?
He thought to the woman who’d called her “too overwhelming”. And wiped his eyes again for a different reason.
God, I’m so exhausted.
I have to tell her.
I’ll tell her after the zoo tomorrow.
I don’t wanna ruin the zoo…
There was plenty to explore, as long as she didn’t wander too far it would be fine.
It’ll be fine…
It should be fine…
There wasn’t any real moment of realizing his eyes were going shut.
Just fingers typing more and more…
…slowly…
_____________
Tank didn't smoke often anymore.
Well, he hadn’t, for a while - but then the last few months, all this shit had started falling down around him, and the pressure had to let off somehow.
The irony of a smoking nursing major wasn't lost on him, but Nonna had worked the ER at Maimonides for thirty-plus years and chain smoked her way through the whole thing.
“The hell’s it matter as long as the job gets done?”
she’d cackled the one time he’d brought it up when he was little.
And she was still kicking.
He took a drag, eyes burning again, then let it steam out between his lips, throat lumping up in the most humiliating way.
He shook his head like a dog trying to get rid of a collar.
I’m a fucking moron.
He thought for the millionth time tonight, glowering up at the few stars he could make out through the trees and buildings and light pollution.
Part of him wished he’d stayed and watched whatever little movie, maybe even danced a little, but who wanted the big, drunk guy with the broken heart as a dance partner?
Fucking no one.
He took another long drag, head swimming.
Also should’ve eaten something…fuck, I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow…
But at least the lights had come back on - he didn’t fucking remember most of the walk across campus, or the however long he’d been standing here.
He didn’t think it’d been very long.
Fucking idiot…Tony, you’re a fucking…you fucking pathetic little bitch…
And then it crashed down again, and he fought it like a boxer.
Fuck…
One, two. Two one Two, slip, hook…
Head swung at Heart, ropes holding back the rest of him.
It had already been too many rounds, but somehow he was still up.
Three five one…block…one two one, slip, slap…three two five, block, block, roll…, five three two..
I'm not fucking feeling this.
I’m done.
I’m done.
I’m fucking done.
Five, two, three…shit…
Tight, on his toes, ready for anything but the sucker punch to the gut every time he imagined blue eyes…
The cigarette wasn’t enough.
Neither was the alcohol, but it never had been.
He’d always been a sad sap of a drunk anyway.
And he’d looked fucking amazing.
Whatever he’d done with his face only made him more…
fuck, stop.
Max looked…fucking perfect on his arm.
On
his
arm, that's what Bradley'd always wanted… Someone on
his
arm, not the other way around.
Worse than anything, he’d gotten…fucking nice as shit…all sweet and concerned and…patient…offering to walk him home and everything.
Should’ve taken him up on that…
“God fucking dammit.”
He sucked back the tears - tried to, failed, and felt himself start to shake the way that would've gotten the shit beat out of him if he was back home.
But who was gonna see?
He sat on the stone bench, staring at the mashed-together skin that wasn't ever gonna look normal again and let himself simper over it for once.
He just…let me burn…
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And then the internal scream broke into an all-but-whispered,
What's so wrong with
me?
Pathetic.
What the hell had ever possessed him to think he'd been anything more than a placeholder?
This is fucking pathetic.
And he stood. Tossed the cigarette to the side and started walking. To anywhere. Just away.
Away from here.
Away from
him.
Much as he didn't want to.
He swore he put the cigarette out on the sidewalk - not tossed it into mulch that had dried up in the early May heat.
He swore the tip hadn't had any hint of a glow.
He swore to himself…
…but what good would that do when the alcohol had caught back up to him and all he could think about was a gold suit and blue eyes dancing with someone else?
------
Gabby skipped down the marble steps, counting cracks, though she always had to start over…she always missed one she hadn't seen before…and then walked out the center of the big room - the one with the really big ceiling.
“Look, Kitty…”
She pointed the blue monster’s manufactured face up toward the rotunda, then laid down right in middle of the marble, enjoying how cool it was compared to how hot Daddy's office upstairs was.
I like this part of Daddy's work.
She hugged Kitty closer, wondering where Mommy was. Daddy wouldn't tell her, though she could see how sad he was and knew that he sometimes got angry and turned around where she couldn't see his lips when he was on the phone sometimes.
What do you think is wrong, Kitty?
She mentally asked her stuffie.
The monster on her chest didn't move, but as she felt herself getting sleepy he got bigger and warmer, and laid there next to her, suddenly watching shooting stars through where the rotunda had been.
Kitty shrugged, watched the shooting stars with her for a minute, then tapped her on the shoulder.
“Do you think we should go back now?”
Gabby shook her head and made a wish on each streak of light across the sky.
“Not yet. I want to stay here a little longer.”
She curled up next to Kitty, pigtails spread across the marble…
The one functioning fire alarm started screaming twelve minutes later, but the blinking lights on it had burned out a year ago.
And Kitty couldn’t wake her up.
_________________
The university President hadn't told anyone the actual state of the Political Science building for fear of getting the whole thing shut down midway through the year, but the building was one big hazard, parts of it on the precipice of being condemned.
The Facilities Manager had been at his throat about it, the previous President he'd replaced a school year ago had opted for the Space Science center instead of a renovation and left the relationships with the alumni association in shambles. He'd ordered a few band aid fixes, “just til we can get the funds together” to “do it right”.
“Do it right” had become his self-declared new motto for the school, but…
They still hadn't updated the fire alarm system. The walls were still the original lath and plaster in a lot of places. The wiring was outdated and they still hadn’t replaced the pine straw or stabilized the rotunda or digitized the boxes of old records that were collecting dust and mildew in the faculty hallway and blocking the back fire exit.
It needed to get done, but it hadn't been done yet, so it wasn't any surprise to the Fire Marshall that when the thing went up, it went up quick.
-----
The whole crowd, tuxedos and gowns, came running up together, Bradley wheezing and in the lead.
The building was already halfway engulfed, black smoke belching out of the back of it and blotting out the stars…
“Holy shit…” PJ looked nauseous.
“TANK!”
His throat was already burning from the sulfuric air.
A hulking figure appeared somewhere on the edge of the crowd, stumbling up from another direction, gaze even more unsteady than before, un-singed, disoriented, staring up at the blaze like it was the wrath of God. His amber eyes made brief, horrified eye contact and he retched onto the sidewalk.
Several Gammas floated toward him.
“Is anyone inside?” Someone asked.
The front door burst open, a figure emerging coughing his lungs up, screaming. Max’s eyes went wide next to him.
“Jesus, that’s Dr. Samuel…”
Mari gasped.
“¿Dónde está…?”
The pre-law professor staggered toward the crowd, voice hoarse but clear enough…
“Gabby?! Is Gabby out here? Has anyone seen a little girl?”
Everyone looked around - Bobby shook his head.
Mari went white.
Bradley felt every muscle spring.
No.
His feet started moving before he even bade them to.
Max caught his hand, pulling harder than he'd ever pulled anything.
“Bradley, don't - ”
“Gabby’s in there.”
“The fire truck is on its way already.
Baby - ”
Bradley's heart split.
Sirens sounded from a mile away…a mile? Further?
He hadn't been able to tell before, either…
He'd taken his jacket off half an hour ago and rolled his sleeves up.
One glance down and something inside snapped.
“Buggy…?”
Her tiny face, eyes terrified and almost confused, his arm cut so deep he wanted to scream, but she needed him…
“Bailey, please…Bailey, please…please…”
…that polished, flower-covered box lowering into the ground, his other half in it…
“Max, I can't…not again…”
“
Mi, amor,
please…”
“No…Max…”
“Baby,
no…”
A whooshing rip hit their eardrums as the blaze leapt higher.
“Max, they won't get here in time…” His voice was calm.
Steady.
“
Bradley
!”
He held that gorgeous face, Max’s armor on his hands, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
It was. But it also wasn't.
“I love you.”
He kissed those lips as hard and as passionately as he could in three seconds, and ran up the steps…
Max’s voice screamed behind him.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…
….sucked in one last gulp of clean air and bolted inside.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
SCENE FORTY-FIVE
One spotlight up, center stage, on MARISOL, dressed in a shimmering green backless halter evening gown, hair up in a french twist.
The stage is empty except for her and the microphone.
She stands behind the mic, hesitating.
Adjusts the stand.
Starts to take the mic off the stand, stops, takes a breath, and looks up.
MARISOL: (to the audience)
He moved through smoke and flamesin what felt like slow motion,
careful to keep his gaze patient and sweeping,blurred and near-sighted as it was.
Cloven hooves
and horns the size of the largest cattleabove a torso scarred and heaving…
The smallest of monstershad the most complex of cages built for him…so young…
And now so proud and tall…
…so it shouldn’t be so hard to find his way throughcracking marble and falling ashes,where ceiling had stopped himfrom learning the constellations
for so long.
Sweet Asterion,
The cruelest part of the whole designwas putting a roof over your head.
You should have at least had the starsto keep you company.
Cough, cough
Wheeze…
Save your breath, cariño
-
She is here somewhere.
She won't hear anyone calling for her,
so you will have to be vigilant…
And he was…
And she was so little, she might have fainted already.Little enough not to knowhe’d left the last who’d wandered in here
to burn with the rest of them…
Not to know she looked just like the innocence he’d buried.
Not to know the danger of smoke,and walls,and monsters with horns…
Hard to breathe in…
Harder to breathe out…
Wheeze…
…Cough….
Save your breath, Asterion…
Breathe…
Breathe…
Coming too early has consequences.
As, sometimes, does dancingand running,and kissing so hard your lips hurt,but life must be lived, mustn't it?One’s life cannot only be books and music…
And so when Alexandria burned,
the scrolls were left behind for the things that weremore truly precious.
She saw me as human
before I did…
He thought, and felt that human chesttighten.
Throat,tighten.
World,tighten…
Cough…
Wheeze…
Head filling with clouded thoughts.Rapidly darkening dreams,Burning beams and…
THERE.
There, in the very center,where the ceiling had the furthest to fall,
sleeping so innocent -
another, smaller minotaur wrapped softly in her arms.
And the eyes that matched his mother’s softened.That most human part of him…
And the great bull’s nose snorted out,something of relief,something of humor,something of fear…
What are you doing here, little explorer?
Don’t you know the Labyrinth is burning?
And the barrier to the stars began to groan.
Scarred arms scooped small limbs and head,supported like an infant…
…the smallest friend dropping into the ashes…
Should he be rescued, too?
He hesitated just long enough
to see its fur begin to singe…
We have to go now…
But where?
Every wall looked the same…Every turn leading to a new dead endas the puzzle changedand changed again….
Jump…
Out of the way as groaning gave way to falling…Marble and wood collapsing onto once-cool marble…
…And there were the stars…
And he remembered which way Orion was…
Toward…
…toward the other face that had seen the manand not the monster…
The feet he’d danced with,the lips he’d kissed…
A closing opening…
More smoke than anything…
Desperate for…
…air…
Cough…
Wheeze…
And the world was getting dark again.Was it the smoke?Or tunnel vision closing?
Unclear…but he stumbled forward.
It hadn’t ever really been about him.Only the once, and he’d hated himself for it since.
It had only ever been about…
…every other kind face…
…Mercury and Venus…
…Venus and her love…
…the Moon, his silver lover…
And the little explorer in his arms…
…the eyes he’d inherited…
…the arms that had held him first…
…and the other little frame he’d held onto so tightly…
…and the stars themselves…
So when the Labyrinth began to burn,
of course it would be her…
Of course Patroclus would forgeteverything but bloody dice and exile…
…and his face…
…and her tiny smile…
Oh, Asterion……of course it would be this…
The first tiny creaturewho saw the horns,the callouses from trying to claw your wayfree of your own mind,
…and did not try to vault over youor run…
Of course you would abandon your maps and
pickaxes and tunnelsand go back to rescue her from under the largest of the ceilings
Carry her through the maze of marble and flame as your lungs filled with smoke,
knees buckling just before the golden thread she’d leftled you back out into the light…
Breathe…
Breathe…
Por favor, mi hermano, respira…
Por favor, sigue respirando…
Respira…
(Red flashing lights overtake the fading spotlight as the sound of sirens and first responders shouting get louder and louder.)
Respira…
(MARISOL stays center stage, words catching in her throat, repeating the last word over and over, quieter and quieter, as the spotlight fades out completely, leaving us in the dark with the sirens and flashing lights.)
(NOTE: Please make sure to mention Flashing Lights in the curtain speech and program for those with sensitivities/epilepsy)
FADE INTO NEXT SCENE
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The first responders pulled the two forms from the front entry within minutes - the long, lanky one clinging to the little girl like Fate itself would rip them apart - both unconscious.
“Alive…” was the word that got passed around the crowd the fastest and Max felt his knees start to buckle.
PJ caught his arm.
“Oh my god, Gabby…” Dr Samuel pushed his way to the front.
Max tried, but the ambulance doors were already swung open, the gurney already loaded and wheels up before he managed to elbow through the crowd that had swarmed since Bradley had kissed him and he’d stood frozen…
The bright light of the interior of the ambulance was like…hope itself.
He was right there.
He was right…
One foot went up in…A paramedic’s hand pushed back,
“Sorry, you’re gonna have to meet us there.”He motioned to Dr. Samuel climbing into the other ambulance. “But he…”
“Immediate family only.”
“But…”
“I’m sorry, you’re just gonna have to follow us to the hospital.”“Where..?”
“Nearest hospital.
Saint Francis.”
“Okay.
Okay okay - is he gonna be okay?”
Max choked out.
The paramedic reached around for the door handle.
“Wait!
He’s asthmatic, he…”
“Got it. Thanks.”
And the ambulance door slammed shut.
“Fuck…” Bobby cursed and tossed the keys to Big Bertha to PJ.
“Let’s go.”
They start to turn and race for the van.
Max was clinging onto something Bradley had dropped when he ran in, and Bobby couldn’t see what it was.
He started to guide him by the shoulders when Max jumped away, quick and bordering on going for offense.
“Hey, whoa - It’s gonna be okay, man.”
“You don’t fucking know that.” Max barked back.
__________________
“How the hell did it even start? Everyone was on the other side of campus.”
said someone, and it cut through the ringing in his ears.
And then Max locked eyes with Tank.
Tank.
This motherfucker…
Se fue temprano.
Lo suficientemente temprano como para caminar por el campus... encender un cigarrillo... y alejarse…
Tank, who hadn’t ever liked that he was giving Bradley a second chance.Tank, whose face was white as a sheet and guilty as sin.Tank, who he'd seen glaring at them as they came down the stairs, something dangerous in his eyes…And suddenly the idea of lacing someone's heels together, dragging them behind a chariot…all sounded quite appropriate for the moment.
Y
ou motherfucker…
“What'd you do?” He called across the quad. Tank backed up a step.
Max charged.
“What'd you do?! I saw you leave early. I saw you!
WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”
“MAX!” PJ sprung and held him back.
“Motherfucker, did you start this shit? After what happened to you?! I fucking pulled you out of that shit! Bitch, I'll fucking kill you!”
Max fought blindly - hard enough that Bobby jumped in, too.
Tank backed up, ghost-white and eyes burning, taking off into the shadows of the back side of campus.
His hand itched for something to throw after him…a spear…
Bobby grabbed his face and forced him to make eye contact.“Max. MAX. Fucking look at me, man. Stop. STOP.
HEY! Let him go. It's not gonna fix anything. We're going to the hospital. Come on. Walk away, man.”
“WALK AWAY?!”
“Max, I’m warning you, man…” Bobby’s eyes darkened.
“HE FUCKING…”
“YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, MAX.
Alright?!”
Bobby cut him off.
“You don’t know.
You don’t fucking know, no one knows yet.
And if you don’t stop this shit right fucking now I’m gonna knock you out for your own good, you understand me?”
______
“What did you do?!” Max’s voice was hoarse from the smoke and from screaming Bradley’s name for the last ten minutes.
He strained one more time against Bobby, PJ still holding on from the other side, boxing him in.
The more he struggled, the more his voice broke, and PJ got ready to catch him, something unreadable crossing his features as his knees bent to spot his best friend since…forever…
Bobby grabbed his neck and pulled him in, forehead to forehead. “Listen to me.
Listen to me. This won’t fix anything.
We’re leaving.
We’re going to the hospital.
You’re gonna hold his hand the whole time, I’m gonna hold your hand, and we’re gonna figure this out.”
He pointed to an officer who was strolling after the retreating Gamma president.
“You leave this shit to them.
Let the right people sort it out. That is not your job. This isn’t fucking Troy or wherever.
No one’s going for vengeance here, I don’t care how right it feels. We’re leaving it, we’re going to the hospital.
You hear me?”
Max’s face was nothing but a silhouette in the retreating red flashing lights of the ambulance.
He shook him.
“Maxie?”
Max wasn’t there anymore.
“¿Qué hiciste...?” his voice trailed off.
And Bobby saw the inhaler clutched in his fist.
“Jesus.
Peej, help me get him to the car.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Now more on our developing story,
An evening of celebration has transitioned into a night of terror and near tragedy at the State University campus. While the University celebrated the grand opening of the newly constructed Space Science Center and the student body’s spring formal, a fire broke out in the campus’s Political Science building. While the fire has now been successfully extinguished and all individuals inside safely rescued, the historic building, which had been recently scheduled for renovation, has been completely destroyed in what is being described as a catastrophe.
The fire reportedly began around 10:00 PM and quickly consumed the entire structure.
Two individuals, including a minor, were inside the building when the blaze began, with a third later entering the building in an effort to rescue the child who was trapped inside before first responders arrived.
Witnesses say the central part of the building collapsed just as first responders arrived on the scene, and are calling the individual’s actions of rescuing the child “nothing short of heroic”.
Authorities have not yet provided details regarding the cause of the fire; however, a suspect is in custody and is currently being questioned. The State Police and local Fire Department who responded have not released additional statements at this time.
All those involved have been transported to Saint Francis Hospital, where we are informed that two of them remain in critical condition….”
PJ glared at the TV from where he was crouched in front of Max. “Bobby, can you turn that off?”
Bobby shook himself out of a daze and hit a button on the monitor, changing it to some late-night talk show that was somehow even more grating.
“Yeah.
Sorry - not like we don’t already know.”
He held the water bottle up again.
“Here, man…v
amos, tómate un sorbo de agua…
”
“No.”
Max didn’t look at him.
“Tienes que hacer algo para cuidarte,
man
.
You're scaring me.
”
“Is he gonna be okay?” he asked for the millionth time.
“I have all the same information you do.”
“How long has it been?”
He’d been zoning in and out like a camera lens.
Jesus, Max…
“Como tres horas.”
He shifted his weight, squatting down in front of his friend, glad he’d taken that elective dance class this semester.
He’d been in
grand plié
here for at least ten minutes.
“Do you want to go home and get some sleep?
We can come back when they know more…”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.
No me muevo de aquí.
If you want to leave, you can leave. I'm staying.
"
"No voy a ningún lado contigo así."
Max’s eyes were red and hollow, face smudged with eyeliner that looked more like he’d rubbed ashes all over.
Mari had offered him a makeup wipe, which he’d also refused.
He hadn’t moved since they’d sat him down there, and he was only getting darker.
The waiting room was mostly empty.
Mari and Bobby had done their best to scrounge up a vending machine snack-dinner and coffee, but Max hadn’t touched that and honestly neither had anyone else.
Dr. Samuel had been taken back, evaluated, and then asked to sit in the waiting room.
Mari kept offering him water as well, but the professor wasn’t much better off than Max, and every time his phone rang he left the room, screaming back and forth…
“What was I supposed to do - leave her alone at the house?
….
I can’t afford to get a sitter every time. …No, I can’t… …Because I’m paying for a
fucking retainer,
Celia!…
….And who's fault is that?...
No. No, you know what, save it for the custody hearing. You want to come up here and fucking do something helpful for once, be my guest - surprise the hell out of me.”
PJ had done his best to tune it out.
The hoarseness of his voice made the whole thing worse, and his favorite, gentle professor sounding a little too much like Dad after he and Mami had split wasn’t helping anything.
Focus.
Focus on the spiraling husk in a black suit sitting in front of him, knee going like a jackhammer - a habit he’d never noticed until Bradley had moved into the house.
And he was clawing one hand into the other, fingernails almost through the fabric…
Oh no, come on, man…
Gently, he put his own glove over his.
“Max, you’re hurting yourself…”
“Leave me the fuck alone, will you?” Max snarled, and nearly knocked him over, jerking his hands away.
“Uh-uh.
Not a chance.
Not until you look me in the eye and tell me you’re gonna at least take a deep breath.”
“Peej, I’m serious.”
“You think I’m fucking not?”
Max’s eyes flashed something awful and then…exhaustion.
Not exactly what he wanted, but a step.
PJ reached into his pocket.
The nurse had handed the inhaler back to him after getting the prescription.
“They’ll be giving him something stronger…maybe he can hold onto it…”
she’d said, glancing at the then even more dissociated Max.
He placed it in the much smaller glove and Max whimpered.
“Hey.”
“God fucking dammit. Peej…?”
“Yo se. Estoy aquí.”
And he caught him,
grand plié
morphing into just being on his knees in front of the vinyl-upholstered chair, Max’s head falling onto his shoulder, all of him still shaking.
“That’s it, man.
Respira conmigo…”
And they started to -
- three good, solid rotations, almost to where Peej felt his own chest start to loosen the tiniest bit -
- when the door that led out into the parking deck swung open with a vengeance.
The man that rushed through could easily have been Bradley’s doppelganger, albeit about 35 years older, with an 80s mustache and greying hair, brown eyes instead of blue…
He took three strides toward the desk and PJ suddenly understood where the old Bradley rage came from.
Dios mio.
The figure in dad jeans, beat-up aviator jacket and an old State t-shirt may as well have been a god wielding lightning bolts.
“Where the hell is my son?”
“Sir…”
The nurse pulled him firmly to the side, got his information, scolded him for the outburst and filled him in on, PJ guessed, most of the basics before floating away to check something in a restricted area behind the desk.
“...now if you’ll have a seat for me, please…”
The old man stood in the middle of the floor, anchorless and seething.
Mari’s eyes softened at him and seamlessly took Max’s hands from him, nodding PJ toward the newest floundering member of the waiting party.
“Are..um, sir, are you Bradley’s dad?”
The wide brown eyes turned to him, and PJ felt his stomach plunge.
He’d never seen a grown man so terrified.
“And you are…?”
“Pete Jr., sir.”
“Brad Jr.”
The broad, calloused hand reached out and took the lifeline.
“Everyone calls me PJ, sir.”
“You’re his housemate.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were there?”
“Yes, sir.”
The brown eyes flashed lightning again and took a step in.
“What the hell was my son doing in a burning building?”
_____________________
“Who the hell’s Gabby?”
“Professor’s kid.
Dr. Samuel - he’s one of the law professors - Gabby’s his kid.”
said the lanky red-haired one.
He jerked a thumb in the direction of the other middle-aged man pacing on the phone in the hallway, the one he hadn’t noticed.
“She’s seven.”
said the girl, putting a hand on the big guy’s back.
“Five.”
said a hoarse voice, coming back in, phone grasped in his hand like he wanted to strangle it, and he saw himself twelve years ago - a skinny, overworked professor-type…
“She’s five.”
The girl went paler than she already was.
“Bradley said she was…?”
“She’s tall for her age.
Her birthday’s next month.
She’s five.”
God fuck, is she okay?
Brad Jr felt his stomach drop, staring daggers at this…professor what’s his name….
“How the hell’d she get trapped in there?
You weren’t with her?”
Father vs. father, the two locked eyes and the exhaustion in the other ones told him all he needed to know.
He swallowed back the speech he was about to make.
A bit more gently,
“Why didn’t she run when she heard the fire alarm?”
The big guy cleared his throat.
“She’s, um…”
“Dr. Samuel?”
The ICU doors swung open and a figure in scrubs stuck her head out, waving the professor over.
“I can come back now?”
She nodded a bit awkwardly.
“Yes, um, can you translate for your daughter?
Our ASL
interpreter is out today.”
The younger dad locked eyes with him one more time as if to challenge him - “
I dare you to question me again” -
and disappeared
through the double doors behind the doctor.
PJ nodded at the recognition that was draining the blood from Brad Jr.’s
face.
“She didn’t hear the fire alarm…”
“Because it’s Bradley and Bailey!”
Oh Jesus, God fuck, Bradley…
He sat, head in his hands, rubbing his eyes behind the glasses he’d nearly broken in his rush to get down to the car, hop in, race down the driveway, that damn old horse staring at him while the gravel sprayed in every direction…
The girl sat next to him.
“She, um……the officer was here a little while ago.
They said she wouldn’t have made it out if he hadn’t gone in after her when he did.”
“They…they were too late, Dad.
I tried…I held her…they were…they didn’t…”
“Goddammit, Bradley.”
That much smoke…
His lungs…
“Have the doctors said anything?”
The big guy shook his head.
…PJ?
PJ.
The big guy’s name was PJ.
Nice kid.
“No, we’re still waiting…they said they were probably going to have to intubate him…”
“Jesus fucking Christ…”
And felt the lightning storm he’d kept quelled for as many years as he could stir up in his chest.
“Um, by the way, this is Mari…” he nodded at the girl.
“Bobby…” the lanky one waved a hand uncertainly.
“And, um…” PJ hesitated before glancing a few seats over.
“...that’s…”
“I know who that is.”
The stormclouds rumbled through and thunder rolled like…like something musical, Bradley would know…
…but something about the kid in the black suit slowed everything at least down to a dull roar…
He’d seen exactly one photo, but that was definitely him, clutching Bradley’s inhaler like a lifeline.
His gaze was hollow, and haunted…numb.
“He okay?”
The kid’s knee was bouncing like Bradley’s did, staring off into space…
PJ swallowed.
All three college kids shook their heads in unison.
Brad Jr. felt something bottom out.
“Dad?”
He’d stood there, staring at him.
“...Daddy?...”
He’d just stood there, and then asked him something about “...what happened, Bradley…?”
That’s what he’d fucking said?
“
What happened, Bradley?”
Not “are you okay”?
Not - “your Dad’s here…Daddy’s got you…”?
Just…
And those eyes had looked up at him, the rest of him covered in the unimaginable…
Big blue eyes, just like his Mama’s…
Brad felt his feet move before he’d decided on it, more angry with himself than he’d ever been, which was saying something.
Met the big brown eyes that flickered confusion, then recognition, then terror…
Big brown eyes, ones he’d seen smiling next to Bradley like he had the sun itself in his chest…
The ones Bradley’d gone on and on about on the phone last week…
“You’re Max?”
Max blinked, swallowed, tried to sit up straighter but he could see him shaking.
“Yes, sir.”
“You know who I am?”
The kid nodded uncertainly - terrified.
“Yes, sir.”
Oh, hell, kid…I’m not that scary, am I?
“Stand up.”
“Sir?”
“Stand up.”
“Yes…sir…?”
Brad pulled him in and wrapped his arms around the kid.
Max yelped a little, but then immediately, surprisingly strong arms wrapped back.
__________________
“Family of Bradley Uppercrust…?”
Brad Jr. stood up alone.
The storm had subsided, sitting next to the kids - none of them saying anything, no one okay, but something calming about having them all around.
Now it redoubled and suddenly the few steps it would take to get to that figure in scrubs felt like walking the plank.
“Max.”
“Hmm?”
he resurfaced from wherever he kept floating off to.
“Come with me, will you?”
An awkward cough came from the doctor.
“It’s…family only, sir.”
“He comes with me.”
Brad Jr. let his court voice out - the one he saved for closings on the nasty “seven deadly” cases.
Mari’s eyebrows went up, and Max stood, eyes big and grateful.
“Alright, sir.
Understood.
Apologies, and…” she nodded at Max, something registering gently in how quickly he stood up.
“...yes, follow me.”
_____
Max tried to pay attention, really he did.
“
Intubated and sedated, at least overnight…”
something, something
“...smoke inhalation can be very dangerous for someone with asthma…”
something something
“...will be keeping him in the ICU until we can at least remove the tube and put him on less invasive supplemental oxygen, probably a couple of days…’
Mr. Uppercrust asked all the questions.
He got why Bradley sometimes balked at the idea of telling him everything, the guy was terrifying.
But also nice.
And also…he was glad he was there.
PJ had called Dad, and he thought he remembered something about him being on his way, too…but at the moment he just kept trying to process through all the beeping and the eyes behind the PPE and the paper mask and the not knowing which room he was in…
Which room was he in?
“...we normally don’t make exceptions about immediate family coming back at a time like this, it can be distressing to see a loved one in this state, but…”
“I can see him?” he heard his voice rasp out for the first time in about an hour.
The doctor’s dark brown eyes softened above the mask.
“For about five minutes.
We’re going to have to limit visitation until he’s a little more stabilized, but we’ll let you know…”
“Can I see him now?”
Mr. Uppercrust put a hand on his shoulder.
“Hold on a second, son, let her finish.”
She smiled gratefully at Bradley’s dad.
“That’s pretty much all of it.
I can give you more detailed information after you’ve seen him.”
“Thank you, Dr…?”
“Fa.”
“Thank you, Dr. Fa.”
“Your son’s very lucky, Mr. Uppercrust.”
Max’s eyebrow went up at how deeply Bradley’s dad cleared his throat.
“Always has been.”
_________________
He’d been thirty-five and goddamned terrified.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Rach…”
“Baby, it’s okay, it’s just a tube…”
“And a box…”
“He’s gotta breathe, baby…”
“What if…”
“Hey.
Stay with me.
Focus on right now, alright, sugar?”
Her soft hand went up on his cheek.
He looked at her, terrified.
Those beautiful blue eyes sparkled a little, just the hint of tears behind them.
“They’re here, aren’t they?
After all those years of…?”
“Mhmm.”
“Baby..? Baby, look at me.
It’s gonna be okay.
They’re both gonna be okay.
They just…need a little time.
And a little help breathing, for now.
Especially Bradley.”
His eyes had watered up at the sound of the name he’d had picked out for most of a decade.
“Bradley…”
She nodded, kissing his nose.
“Your baby boy’s here, baby.
You wanna go see him?”
______________
Tennis shoes squeaked across the tile, Max right behind him, pale as a ghost…
Brad Jr’s hand slipped in the one that’d been the size of his thumb back then.
His other hand went up to the pale face half-covered in medical equipment, eyes burning but somehow more relieved than he’d felt all night.
“Jesus, Buddy…you can’t keep scaring me like this.”
______________
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The ride from the airport felt like it took forever.
It should have felt sort of nice - nostalgic - seeing the old college town again.
The outskirts looked exactly the same, downtown looked exactly the same…
Part of her had felt an ache at leaving this tree-lined place behind for Florida, but he was more than worth it.She felt her stomach capsize a little bit when they passed the exit to the University, smoke still rising from the back side of campus, the general glow of flashing police car lights sending a distress signal up into the last pre-dawn hour.
“Oh, heavens…”
her stomach sank lower, forehead creasing.
“Yeah.” said the Uber driver.
“Some fraternity kid torched the Political Science building.
Fuckin’ mess.”
“Indeed.” And wondered which of the boys would do such a thing.
“I heard there was a kid inside.”
“Yes.”
“You’re headed to the hospital - you know someone?”
“I do, as a matter of fact.”
She shot toward the bored, pale blue eyes ogling her in the rearview mirror.
“Several someones.”
“Sorry I asked.”
She’d known the Samuels well for years.
Mike had been one of the first to welcome her aboard when she’d started at the library.
Celia had been in her sorority - they’d rushed together.
How she ever could have abandoned sweet little Gabriella to run off with whoever she'd met on that business trip was so far beyond her…
…and sweet Bradley.
She remembered his first day on campus.
Sweater and glasses, still a little bit of acne and voice not quite as deep and even yet.
Shy as anything, asking about how many books could be checked out at a time, eyes shining when she told him there technically wasn’t a limit.
The disappointment at who he’d started turning into his sophomore and junior years could not be overstated.
But something must have changed.
Max hadn’t been able to stop talking about him during vacation - and everything he said sounded more and more like the freshman who’d answered every question with “Yes, ma’am” and made a point to say hello to her if he saw her around campus.
She hadn’t known he’d had asthma.
Running in after Gabby…
Please be alright, dear…
She turned the mood ring on her right hand around, around, around, around…the changing-color stone a stormy mix of grey and black.
She wasn’t here for the Samuels.
Or for Bradley, for that matter.
And that made her all the more nervous.
Max, please don’t be upset that it’s me.
He didn’t like her very much to begin with, and after that moment she’d tried to hold his hand at the beach…
Well, he’d congratulated them both, at least, but…
A streetlight glinted off the small diamond on her left hand… She smiled a bit.
It’s all going to be okay.
He’s right behind me.
He’d had to stay a little longer to wrap something up at work, but his flight was scheduled next to leave.
“Give him a big old hug for me and tell him I’ll be right there.”
he’d said as she’d hopped in the cab to Orlando International.
The Uber stopped in the U-shaped drive in front of the hospital.
“If you’re heading for the ER, go down to the right.
They won’t let me drop passengers there unless they’re bleeding out.”
The nerve of some people.
“Thank you.
Have a wonderful day.”
She closed the door politely and left him a one-star review.
_________
“Miss Marpole?”
Bobby stood up the second she came through the door, shocked to see her.
“Hi dear.” She pulled him into a hug instinctively and felt him tense, then melt.
Sweet soul.
He doesn’t have anyone, does he?
“Where’s Max?”
He swallowed a little, pulled away beet red, and pointed vaguely up.
“Um…he said he needed some air.”
“He’s on the roof?”
He put a hand up at the sudden sharp panic in her voice.“Not like that.
He just needed some air, he gets antsy if he stays inside for too long.
Peej was out there with him for a while.
He’s alright, he’s just…yeah, I’m really glad you’re here.”
Bobby had been one of those students - like Bradley - she’d latched onto early and kept careful track of, just out of a gut feeling that someone needed to.
Part of the group - part of several - but always sort of way out in orbit between everyone else, and therefore on his own more often than not. He was jovial, and confident, and she’d had to shush him a million times…Except when he wasn’t.
And then she’d find him sitting in a corner, studying like his life depended on it, sketching out a new set design, working on a directing book or a prop tracking list, tearing his way through every script they had in the main library, three different colored highlighters in his mouth.Except when he didn’t, and he’d stare off into space with his headphones in like he was trying desperately to remember something.
Those were the days he’d have several coffee cups on the table with him - all his - and she stopped scolding him for it when she noticed those were the days he hung around the desk for a few extra minutes to talk to her, eyes so tired…
It was one of those days and then some.
He kept massaging his thumbs, glancing around like everything in the hospital might poison him, and like he’d been doing a very good job of hiding it for long enough that it was getting difficult.
“You alright, dear?”
He opened his mouth, caught the words about to come out, shrugged and laughed a little, which sounded more like he was choking.
“Yeah.
Sure.
Of course.
I got it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.
Yeah.
Thanks, Miss Marpole.”
“You don’t have to be formal, dear.
Call me Sylvia.”
Pale green eyes blinked a couple of times.
“Okay.”
She glanced around.
PJ and that nice girl from the coffee shop were off in the corner, asleep on each other’s shoulders. Everyone was still in evening wear.
“Have any of you eaten?”
“Not really.
Vending machines are a little dry.”
“I’m gonna order some breakfast here in a bit.
Do you have any allergies?
“Nah.
Just -”
He hesitated like it would be a problem. “...um…kosher when I can be.”
“Understood.”
she smiled.
“PJ should have my number.
Text me what you’d like.”
“Thanks, Miss…uh…Sylvia.”
She squeezed his shoulder and felt her instincts twinge again when he looked genuinely shocked at the attention.
“Of course, dear.”
She found a small little corner to slide her rolling bag into - Bobby nodded that he’d keep an eye on it
- and headed for the stairwell.
_____________
He was sitting alone, back to her, suit jacket slung over the metal box he’d picked as a bench.
Sylvia adjusted her glasses on her nose.
His shoulders shook…
Oh, I just want to…
He's not going to let you, Sylvia.
He doesn't know you that well.
Just talk to him.
Just…
…and what if he doesn’t want to talk?
“Max?”
She’d expected him to jump - whirl around to face her…
He didn’t move.
Oh, honey…
“Max, it’s…”
I don’t need to introduce myself.
She walked around him.
No wonder he hadn’t heard her - his headphones were in, from this distance she could tell all the way up - and his eyes were closed.
___________________
“ Now Dawn the saffron-robed arose from the streams of Oceanus to bring light to immortals and to mortal men, and Thetis…
Rewind.Rewind…
“ Now Dawn the saffron-robed arose from the streams of Oceanus to bring light to immortals and to mortal men, and Thetis came to the ships bearing gifts from the god. And she found her dear son as he lay, clasping Patroclus, and wailing aloud; and in throngs round about him his comrades were weeping.”
His voice was so warm.
So warm.
So confident and gentle…
And it was getting quieter…
That wasn’t part of the recording….
A tiny, slender pair of hands held his phone just in front of him, thumb on the volume button, having turned it down just enough to get his attention.
One hand wearing a diamond.
The other hand, wearing a mood ring…The headphones came off.
“Sylvia?”
__________________
“Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you…”
Max stood, notably on the opposite side of the metal box.
Her face burned.
She held the phone back out to him.
He didn’t move.
She set it on the box where he’d been sitting.
I didn’t do that right either, I suppose.
That’s alright….right?
“Max?”
He was nearly frozen, shoulders hunched, head hung…
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry…”
“What are you doing here?”
…like he was five years old again….
How would you know?
You weren’t there.
“PJ called. Your Dad had to wrap some things up at work, but he’s right behind me.”
Max’s chest was still heaving, and his head tilted.
“You…came alone?”
“I…well, I … as I said, he’s right…”
The stone in the mood ring went slate grey - a little blue as well.
“...I can go, if you wanted a moment…”
Her feet didn't move. His didn't either, but his chest did, and his eyes looked everywhere but at her.
“No, I -” He put a hand out.
“I mean - you - you flew all this way?
You…you didn’t wait for Dad, you came by yourself?”
“...yes…?”
“Just….just to check on me?”
…like the idea would have never occurred to him…
Why would it, Sylvia?
“Well…of course.”
There were moments that he looked exactly like his father.
When he was being silly, when he was angry, especially when he laughed.
This wasn’t one of them.
This was something entirely his own.
Or maybe it was his mother’s.
Confusion.
Or…something like that…or…
Or something she also knew…
“Why?”
The air up here still smelled a little like smoke. There hadn't been much wind, she gathered, and the campus was only a few minutes away. His face was smudged with the makeup he must have worn to the dance, shirt still buttoned, tie still tied… He'd lost an earring somewhere. And his gloves were covered in something black, something smudged, they almost looked wet…
Even in the dim light she could see how red his eyes were.
He was so excited…
“Why?
Why, because…” she started to say what he expected.
That she was his father’s fiancee, that they were “family now”, but that didn’t seem true quite yet.
She wanted it to be.
Oh, she wanted it to be so badly, but what to say for the moment?
…because…
…I wanted you to know that…
She thought for a long time.
Long enough that by the time she decided what to say, she’d sat and patted the metal box beside her.
Long enough that he’d hesitated a good twenty seconds before accepting, and they had both stared out at where the stars were fading, overtaken by the first round of street lights blinking off.
“You have your friends, of course. And I suppose the practical thing would have been for us to wait and come together. But I don't know…I didn't like the thought of you waiting by yourself for that long.”
Max tilted his head again, still not looking at her.
“...Why?”
The old ache had been there since
the first time Goofy had gone on and on about Max - which hadn't taken long - she'd started to feel it come back with an intensity that she'd thought had faded at thirty.The pictures he'd shown her of the littlest version of Max, smiling, sans the front teeth that would later grow in with a gap between them, the big, excited eyes under a backwards baseball cap and a Hercules backpack…no gloves… “First Day of 1st Grade…”
She'd wanted to scoop him up right then and fight the world to keep him that innocent.
That fearless.
It had been there picking him up from the airport for spring break…the same sick feeling of test after test after…
Ring left on nightstand…
But no need to burden anyone with that…
Nothing had felt worse than scaring him that day at the beach.
She hadn’t hesitated when the phone had rung, and she’d sucked down the ache the entire flight, turning the mood ring around, around, around, around to keep herself from biting her nails…
It had certainly reared its head
the moment she'd come in and seen everyone still waiting ten hours later.
Where were their mothers?
Now it quadrupled and caught the words in her throat, and she found that the little quake in her voice, no matter how softly she spoke, was not optional.
“I…I don’t know if this is the right thing to say.
Or -
if I’m oversharing at the wrong time, please stop me…”
she began, and not easily.
He stared off into the horizon.
“There…was a certain someone…that I always wanted to meet. Maybe several certain someones. I never really cared how many I just knew…that's what I wanted.”
The mood ring turned yellow.
“That was all I wanted, for a very long time.
And I did what I thought I needed to to meet them…for a very long time.
But…sometimes things just…aren’t in the cards for…certain someones.”
Max hummed absently, a bit confused.
You haven’t answered the question, Sylvia.
“...And when you want more than anything to meet…or love a certain someone…or to have that certain someone love you ... .and then you can’t…or they don’t anymore…well, all that love you had for them doesn’t just go away, does it?
Do you know what I mean?”
His eyebrows furrowed, eyes softening just enough she thought...
“Maybe.”She sighed out, frustrated.
“You have to do something with all of that.
Because if you don’t, it only aches.
It aches until sometimes you break something, or you hurt someone or you push something much too far, and…scare them….”
His shoe shuffled in an absent circle through the little pile of loose dirt and pigeon feathers at their feet.
“…then it aches again.
I’ve tried doing it all alone…but I still missed that certain someone.”
The sky was shifting yellowish-blue…just the lightest flush of pink in its underbelly…
“So I decided… ‘You know what, I’ll…I’ll give little pieces of that love away.
I’ll find little caches and nooks and crannies to tuck it away in.
My friends.
The people I interact with.
Students and my little niece and nephew…’
And it worked, mostly, you know?
It soaked up most of what I’d been trying to keep saved.
Working at the library, that’s where I put most of it, until you…”She chuckled a little.“Until you insisted a certain someone needed his library card.”
Max gave a lightly amused huff at the memory of pulling his Dad toward her - struggling to read the nameplate on her desk but still enthusiastic and polite as ever.
She felt her face fall again, but he hadn’t stopped her yet.
“...Max, I…sweetie, I don’t know you very well, if we’re being honest.
And you don’t know me.
Maybe you don’t want to, I’d understand.
But I think…there’s a certain someone you never really got the chance to love, either, and I can imagine that ache is something…no one could ever really understand.”
The diamond glinted as she placed it between them, the AC unit humming quietly underneath them like it was invested in the conversation, too.
Max tensed, still listening.
“I know I’m not her…I’m not asking to be.
I’m not ever asking to be, that would be…I don’t know.
But if you ever need somewhere to put a piece of that ache…or…
…if you’d let me… …I…
…I came because I…I still have so much that I don’t have any place for…and maybe this isn’t the right time, or the right way to say any of this… I know there’s probably too much going on in your head right now as it is, but…”
Her glasses fogged up and she closed her eyes tight.
“You asked me why I came, and it’s…because I thought…maybe you could use some of it…”
She trailed off, feeling more foolish than she’d ever felt in her life and trying not to show that she was shaking a little.
Now you’ve done it, Sylvia.
Max hadn’t stopped staring at the sky, slowly but surely turning from black to blue to purple, to pink…
…as the mood ring changed from yellow to amber to black…
Several long minutes went by like that.
They didn’t look at each other.They didn’t say anything.
She hadn’t felt her heart thud to the breaking point like this since she was thirty and the doctor had told her she had to stop trying.
It would shatter any second, she was sure, and it would be her own fault.
And then she’d find somewhere new to put it all…like some treasure chest sinking to the bottom of the ocean again, jewels winking in the last of the sunlight before plunging further…
She wasn’t surprised when she heard him shifting around on the improvised bench.
He was probably gathering his phone.
Putting his headphones back on to listen to whatever “Bradley - Iliad” was again.
Or he’d just grab his jacket and go back down to the waiting room until Goofy…
Brush.
“...Sweetheart?””
… his fingertips were the softest thing she’d ever felt.
He was still looking doggedly at the sunrise, face still frozen in that twisted, confused look, but…
Softer.
And much, much more frightened.
Slowly, he let his gaze fall down to the hand with the diamond ring on it, playing with it for a moment, totally focused on…whatever it was he was thinking…
The mood ring turned a purplish-pink…
… the sky flushed saffron…
The bare hand pulled away for a second, flexing…tried it again…
The ache was right there - on his face.
In his eyes.
In the tiny little whimper he let out when she squeezed even the slightest bit.
And when his eyes met hers, she saw his head nodding, just ever so slightly, and he wasn’t stopping…His chest heaved and so did hers.
Just the tiniest nod…and… “Please…” …and one more question she knew all too well.
“Oh, Max, sweetie…I’m not going anywhere…”
He kept nodding, face twisting…
“Would you…can I….sweetie, do you need a hug?”
He nodded again, bigger, and before she could even get her arms all the way around him, his forehead dropped on her shoulder.
_________________
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mama looked like Mama.
Dark brown hair, curly and frizzy from the sea salt in the air, leaned back in the chair she’d brought, sunglasses on over the eyes that matched his.
She smiled as he scampered up.
“Whatcha got there, Bubba?”
“A sand dollar.
Bailey found a whole sand dollar!”
He placed it in her hand, she smiled…
She checked her watch. “Alright, Bubba, go get your sister, we've gotta go home now…”
“Aww - can't we stay five more minutes?” he poked his bottom lip out, trying the puppy dog eyes that only very occasionally worked on her.
Her eyebrow went up the way only a southern Mama’s could.
“No, Bubba. If you stay out in the sun any longer, you're gonna turn into a lobster.”
And she winked.
He let out a peal of boyish giggles. “A
lobster?!”
He was in the basement, thirteen, angrier than he’d ever been, back growing crooked and acutely uncomfortable in the brace…He’d banged on the piano keys for a few minutes until he thought Dad would probably come downstairs from the study and tell him to go to his room, and he didn’t want to go to his room.
He wanted…
The Chopin piece Mama liked was still on the music rack.
It had been for three years and he’d never moved it.
Dad hadn’t moved it either, even though he’d had the baby grand moved down here.
Or maybe Beatrice had left it here as a little tribute.
Mama had shown him enough music theory….
He plunked out the first few notes of the treble clef…
…felt something bloom in his chest.
Remembered how she’d smiled when he handed her that sand dollar…
Battle shouts and horse whinnies and shield on blade, blade on shield, blade into… more screams and arrows whizzing and spears being thrown and
“HECTOR!”
called a ragged voice - rage-filled kind of ragged - that sounded a little too much like Max…
Max.
Max…
And then the blind old bard was there with him on a seaside cliff, chuckling at the question he’d just asked.
“How many stories can I have?” he asked again, and the old Greek shook his head, laughing harder.
“Technically, there isn’t a limit…” Miss Marpole said the first day at State, and he’d felt like something just might change.
Like, maybe he’d start building a life for himself, change…
Then there were wheels under him, and he was on the sidewalk, purposefully shoulder-checking PJ as he went by.
Max had called an angry “Hey!” after him, and he’d stopped to gloat about the qualifying rounds.
Then there were all the stupid contraptions he’d paid an engineering major to make…
Snap, snap, snap, snap
went the fingers of everyone in the coffee shop, and
…why was he the one up on stage?
He didn't have anything to say.
Then it was Tank’s wrath after the games, right before the big guy’d looked down at his arm, nearly puked, and driven himself to the hospital…
That December day up in the library…
…then he
was
Scrooge, and there was Past, smiling kindly at everyone but the version of him at the games…although she still regarded him with
a sort of wry smile…
…Present, somehow having learned the Powerline stage choreography…
…a third presence didn’t show their…lack of face…just lingered behind him like an icy breath on the back of his neck…
…in…
…out…
…in…
…out…
“Buggy - no!”
Her little hands pushed harder than anything…
“Alright, stay with us, kid…”
said a female voice he didn't know, and Max’s voice…
“Wait!....”
Max.
Baby?
Why do you sound so scared?
“Wait!...”
…reverberated off of stone walls, one long marble hallway impossibly twisted in on itself…
He wandered there for what felt like days…
And that presence stayed just behind him, breathing…
….in…
…out….
….in….
…out…
And then he had horns and hooves and the world was burning and Bailey was somewhere in the middle…
….no, Gabby was somewhere in the middle…
…no, Dad….
…no, Max…
“What is the matter?”
Past asked.
“Let's all take a trip down the road of forgiveness and compassion…”
“Oooh, passion…”
said Present, mocking.
And then morphed into a hulking figure.
“You didn’t ask anyone else…”
The stars surrounded him…the big planet with the theme he liked the most trumpeted by…
Then more constellations…
“Jesus, Buddy…you can’t keep scaring me like this.”
Dad?
Stars.
“What do you think, Bubba?”
“Time’s never guaranteed, but - it’s the life you want.
Where do you want your time to go?
I mean, I can’t tell you that.”
The A above middle C rang out into the galaxy and every star answered back…
…woodwinds…
…strings….
…brass…
Lightning flashed, accompanied by timpanis…
“Alright, we’re going to start weaning him off of the midazolam…”
said the strange female voice again.
Orion.
Orion was his favorite.
Because he remembered a story about Orion and Scorpio…how the gods had placed them in the heavens so that they would never inhabit the sky at the same time.
Max was a Scorpio.
He’d looked it up.
Aries and Scorpio were sort-of compatible.
The website had called it “an intense and passionate pairing”...
But that didn't mean they couldn't share the sky. They already had. And he loved…
He loved…
“The kid’s sweet.”
“His boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“How are his vitals looking?”
“Pretty solid.
Let's not extubate him quite yet, though, his lungs already had a lot of scarring…”
Max.
Max.
Max, Max, Max….
There were stars everywhere.
Above the labyrinth.
And his hooves were…just his feet.
The big, meaty arms were just his, scar and all.
And so…so many stars…
A little sputnik-style satellite beeped by…
And then the beep kept getting louder…
What was that glaring light?
The exit?
The marble hallways un-twisted…just one long sprint out to…
His hands, gloved, cupped around Max’s gorgeous face.
His lips kissed him - hard.
He’d said something.
What did I say?
His feet ran up the last marble steps. Why were there so many of them?
Wheeze…
“Hey, Buddy…Dad’s here.
Daddy’s got you.”
Dad?
“Now, he may try and pull out the tube…”
What’s in my throat?
“Bradley?”
“Respira, cariño….”
said Marisol.
“Go, Buggy…”
“Respira…”
said Max.
“I want you to tell me five things you can see.”
“Bradley…?”
A little lobster-faced version of him took a little bow. “And God bless us, every one…”
“Bradley?”
A pair of dark brown eyes peered at him from above a paper mask and behind a PPE face shield.
What's happening?
Hi - who are - what am…?
The fuck can’t I…?
Dad’s worried face appeared over the doctor’s shoulder.
That glaring light was the fluorescent light of a hospital…
…hospital…?
Oh shit…
___________________
“Hey, buddy.”
“Hi Dad,”
his hand said, the little salute and thumb bumping his forehead…
Fuck. I'm so weak, what's happening?
Dad’s usual composure - not that there was much of it left, broke.
Jesus, Dad - how long was I out?
“Hi, Buddy.
You remember anything?”
“No.”
Not really.
We were at the dance…
I was about to tell Max…
And then I smelled…
Oh shit.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit…
The heart rate monitor beeped faster.
“G-A-B-….”
Dad’s hand covered his, calluses brushing across where the IV and the - what, two? - other wires and tubes weren't attached.
“She’s okay.
Inhaled a lot of smoke, she’s pretty scared, but she’s been awake since yesterday.”
Yesterday?
How fucking long was I out?
Max…
Max?!
God, he wanted to scream.
But the doctor had made sure he knew not to, and not to tug on what felt like a fucking thorn vine jammed halfway down his throat.
Dad saw his hand jerk a little and pulled his hand back, attentive.
“She’s okay?”
Dad nodded, mouth twitching a little,
eyes soft.
“Yeah, she's okay. Cute kid - she said to tell you she hopes you feel better soon.”
She’s okay…
“I, uh…I talked to the fire marshall…” He looked about five years older than he had on spring break.
“He said, um…he said you saved that little girl.”
Yeah, obviously.
Someone had to.
They weren’t gonna…
I want this goddamn thing out of my throat.
“Hey. Hey. Not yet, Buddy, I know it's uncomfortable…”
Uncomfortable? My lungs are just…moving.
Fuck, that’s so weird…
There's a fucking tube down my throat. How long do I have to…?
“How long?”
Dad shifted. “You were out for a couple of days, bud. They had to keep you sedated…”
Not what I asked.
A couple of…. Fucking shit - Max…
Oh, Baby…
…oh god I probably scared the shit out of…
“Hey - kiddo - look at me.”
He hadn’t realized how agitated he was until Dad stood up, hand on his shoulder, no, face...
“Look at me.”
I’m looking.
I’m looking…
Oh, fuck, Dad, I scared the shit out of you, too…
“You’re gonna be okay.
This is only for a couple more hours, and then they’re gonna take it out, then hopefully by the end of the day they move you to a regular room.”
Is this not…oh, shit, this is the ICU, isn’t it?
“Bradley…”
All of it was coming back in pieces.
Gabby…
“…yeah, she's okay. Cute kid…”
She’d run up and hugged him, terrified, after just wandering off for a little while. What would all this have done to her?
The heart-rate monitor was going like crazy.
No wonder.
The little grey rabbit was working overtime, whimpering a little at how tight it was in his chest, and even though he was way too sore to really move all that much, his foot was definitely pumping under the blanket…
Dad’s eyes were like an anchor in a suddenly very wide, tossing ocean of…
“Hey…” Dad kissed his forehead.
“...it’s okay.
I’ve got you.
I’ve got you…”
___________
Dad held his hand when the tube came out.
And through the next few hours while he coughed and hacked like he’d been smoking for fifty years and got used to having the little plastic nubs of the cannula in his nose.
Through the new rounds of meds and carousel of doctors and nurses smiling at him and pushing buttons and asking a million questions he was still too groggy to really have an answer for, and oscillating between - “Good, looking good, you’re doing great” -
whatever the hell that means, I’m just laying here -
and - “alright, let’s get…” something something “...for…” something something…
The first thing he managed to croak out was a “Sorry…” and Dad would hear none of it.
“Don’t you dare apologize, kiddo.
I have never been more proud of you.”
Dammit, don’t make me cry, Dad, it literally hurts to breathe…
And then…god, all he wanted to do was sleep.
Sleep, and…
“...is Max here?”
_________
That might have been the longest day of his life, just waiting…and breathing...and trying not to panic at how awful it sounded, or how much it fucking hurt.
“What can I do?”
Dad kept asking, and he didn’t know.
Sitting up made him feel like he was on top of a carnival ride - just around, around, around, around, the lights getting fuzzy and….
Food wasn’t completely out of the question, but his throat was so fucking sore, swallowing felt like…well, swallowing rocks.
And the waiting…
Max…
Max…
He’d been let back for a few minutes when he was out, Dad said.
Why couldn’t he come back now?
“He waited up all night, buddy.
His stepmom took him to get some sleep, he’ll be here soon.”
Miss Marpole’s here?
She’s a nice lady.
I’m sleepy.
Max…
All night…?
…Baby…
And the fog.
Just…so much fog.
His head felt like it was made of marble, and just as dense when he tried to string a sentence together, or…really, anything…
“What can I do?”
Make this go faster.
“Nothing, I’m okay…” he rasped out, and smiled - as little like the invalid Victorian child he currently felt like that he could manage.
It probably looked exactly as Dickensian as it felt.
The weirdest part was being wheeled down the hallway.
How did it feel like being a baby and an old man at the same time?
It shouldn’t be embarrassing - every nurse and doctor saying nice things about how Gabby was doing, how brave he was…
Please don’t.
Please don’t say that.
And Dad kept saying how proud he was, and how well he was doing at…breathing…
God fuck, how much smoke did I breathe in?
Did I die?
“And one…two…three…”
And the carnival ride spun again…
“Alright, let’s get another round of…” something something…
Jesus, I’m so tired…
__________
His eyes peeled open a couple hours later.
Breathing was easier.
The little nubs still tickled, and the fog was still swimming around the edges of his barely-awake brain, and his throat still felt like it had been scraped out and…
Someone was there.
He frog-blinked a couple of times, willing the fog back as far as it would go.
The very edges of his lips tugged up.
Gorgeous…pretty flower…
“Hey baby…”
“Hola.”
The gloved hand waved awkwardly, cute as he’d ever been.
He was hesitating in the doorframe.
Bradley’s stomach pooled with a wash of almost-relief and…
…Baby…
“Hey…come here…”
God, he wished the IV didn’t look so scary, or the cannula tickling in his nostrils wasn’t so…there….or that he didn’t feel so weak and tired, and that his voice wasn’t so hoarse…
I sound like a ghost.
Probably look like one, too.
“Max…?”
Max’s feet crossed the room in two seconds and he was up on the bed.
“Hey…easy, easy…hey…I’m okay…”
He was careful to be on the side with the fewest wires and tubes and shit…gloves and arms wrapped around his torso like his life depended on it, careful to be gentle, but…he dared anyone in their right mind to try and pry him off of him.
“Hey…”
“Hey…”
…Baby…
He’s so warm…
It didn’t matter how sore he was, his arms went around him.
Or how tight his chest was, Max’s head went right there and nowhere else.
Or how he still had to sip breaths in through his mouth - his lips went to his forehead, his nose, his lips…
“Baby…”
He ran his fingers through that fluffy hair, still a little wet and curly from the shower he’d probably jumped out of to rush here…
Max curled into him like he was never letting go.
That was fine.
He didn’t want him to.
The deepest inhale he could manage caught the scent of cinnamon and…god, he was so warm.
“I’m gonna be okay…”
His head nodded, nose rubbing against his chest, making the little rabbit
thump thump thump
all over again…
The monitor beeped and Max sat up, panicked, like he’d done something…
“It’s okay - it’s okay. I’m just happy to see you.”
he said gently, tracing his cheek.
God, those eyes…those eyes looked so…
He felt his stomach drop.
“You mad at me?”
Max’s eyes were soft and completely unreadable.
“No…”
“Max?”
And the eyebrow went up, eyes shining a little bit…mouth curving up in that completely aggravating, adorable little grin.
“
Solo porque no me dejaste decir…”
He huffed a little, re-calibrating languages.
I always forget how fucking smart you are…
He traced his forehead, just with the very tips of his fingers.
Those big brown eyes looked up, shining, crinkling at the very edges…
“Only because you ran off before I got to say it back.”
“Say…?”
Oh goddammit, these fucking meds…
“I’m sorry, baby, I’m still a little fuzzy…”
What’d I…?
“I love you, too.”
…
…
The world froze.
His hand, his brain, every worry and doubt and fear he’d ever had, every time he’d ever frowned at himself in the mirror, that one high school asshole’s words ringing in his ears…
Well, not quite everything froze.
Not his eyes, which darted around to every contour of Max’s face, every almost imperceptible line in those dark, dark irises.
…Wait, really?
…certainly not the vitals monitor that quickly told a much different story than it had been and almost brought a nurse running…
…certainly not the little grey rabbit who gasped and hugged his heart…
…not his hands, that started fluttering like they used to when he was little…
His eyes burned, and Max’s did, too.
…
Wait, really?
“I love you.” Max said again - voice deeper - God, he loved that voice - gravelly and melodic all at once.
He couldn’t help the little whimper of happy disbelief that came from somewhere deeper than all the stories he’d waited through…
He felt his knees draw up, unable to keep himself from wrapping in closer around him.
Hands straight to Max’s face, the little clip-on oximeter on his index finger decidedly in the way.
Max…
“I love you, too…”
Their foreheads pressed against each other, and suddenly the wave hit both of them…
“I love you so much…”
“
Te amo también, mi amor…”
Oh god - oh god, he saw everything…
Oh, baby, you’re shaking…
“I’m so sorry I scared you, baby…”
“No, no, it’s okay…”
“I love you…”
“Mmm…”
Terrified, and relieved, and…
“Come here, come closer..”
“Mmm…”
Peck…
in his hair.
Peck, peck, peck…
on his forehead.
Three glorious, terrified, perfect minutes of just…holding on…and breathing…and holding him closer…feet rubbing together because he couldn’t keep still…how could anyone ever keep still?…and feeling his eyes well up again when Max felt his hands fluttering and smiled at him instead of raising an eyebrow like it was strange, because to him it wasn’t strange, and lips on his, and…
The heart rate monitor evening out again as it all settled into a beautiful afterglow of his head on his chest, damp curls brushing the very bottom of his chin…
“I’m so fucking glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too, baby.”
Max pulled back a little, roguish sparkle in his eyes as his brows lowered.
“And if you ever scare me like that again, I will kill you myself.”
“Hmmm -fair enough.”
He laughed, which of course turned into a nasty cough and he winced.
“
...mi amor?”
“I’m okay.”
Came out a little more breathless than he wanted.
Nuzzle.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, baby, I’m gonna be okay.”
“Okay.”
Inhale…
God, it still feels like hell…
And his fingers traced over the soft material of Max’s…
“Is this my hoodie?”
Big eyes looked up a little bashful.
“It smelled like you…is that okay?”
Oh, sweet baby…
“Yeah.”
“I’ll give it back…”
He shook his head and kissed him again. “Keep it.”
“Yeah?”
“I bought it the day we met, it only makes sense.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah, when you dumped a tray of lattes on me…”
He felt the dimple plunge into his cheek.
Max laughed…God, he loved that laugh..
…Bradley pulled him even closer and…
“What do you think, Bubba?”
…felt everything in him flutter, and…
Mine.
…inhaled…
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
RABBIT
“Pendejo- cuando dije ‘tal vez sí seas un héroe brillante’ no lo decía literalmente. — ¿cómo se te ocurre meterte en un edificio en llamas con los pulmones que tienes? ¿Qué demonios estabas pensando?? Te debería dar una pela con la chancla, nos asustaste a todos…”
“Mari - Mari! Slow down, I have no idea what you’re saying…”
He chuckled and ducked down, arms up, only slightly terrified as she waved an imaginary flip flop two inches from his face.
“ No vuelvas a asustarme así nunca más, ¿me oyes?”
The whole rapid speech ended in one of the tightest hugs he’d ever felt and he laughed even harder.
“Ow…”
“ Ay, Dios, lo siento, cariño…”
and she fussed over him like an injured puppy until PJ gently put his hands on her shoulders, pecking her forehead.
“No, no, I’m fine…”
“You’re not, I barely touched you and you flinched, mentirosillo… ”
“Not ‘I barely touched you’”.
He coughed a little, and after a slightly terrified pause, she slapped him on the arm.
“¡Callate! Soy tu hermana, puedo hacer lo que quiero.”
“Good to see you, too.”
The leather messenger bag plopped on the blanket, and PJ hugged him, too.
“We didn’t know what you’d want, so we just grabbed your bag.”
“And this little conejito…”
Rabbit was in her hands, pulled from the front pocket.
“Aww - did you have to bring that old thing?”
“She was so lonely, though…” Mari’s eyes got big, poking her lip out and holding the worn-out, bug-eyed thing protectively next to her face, voice pitching up an octave as she moved his little head like a puppet.
“ ¿Dónde está Bradley?
Me dejó tirado en el suelo con sus calcetines.”
“Will you - ? Give him here.”
She held him out at arms’ length, making imaginary eye contact with him.
“ ¿Es un chico?”
“Boys can like pink.”
PJ poked.
The little guy was deposited into his hand and he thought he saw her melt a little when he gave it the smallest, quickest peck on the head
- Plop - and the little thing went up against the plastic guardrail where general passersby wouldn’t notice him.
“Thank you, I guess.”
“Can we get you anything else, cariño?”
He held out his arm again, to both of them.
“No, I’m just glad to see you both.”
“We’re glad to see you, too, man.”
“Don’t ever fucking scare us like that again.”
Mari repeated, and held up the invisible chancla again.
“Hey - hey!
Stop hitting the invalid!”
“Invalid, my ass.”
“Well, I’m stuck here for at least another couple of days, so I don’t know what else you’d call it.”
And she started fussing over his hair, handing him his glasses…
Bradley was already pulling the music books from the bag, the corners of his eyes crinkling up at the sight of the familiar old friends…
Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, Bach…
He watched his hand brush over them - IV still taped to his hand, and itched more than anything for the concert grand back at school.
Maybe there was an old upright in some waiting room or other.
He’d walked around a little bit already.
His head was still a little swimmy, but maybe…
A business card peeked up from inside the front pocket.
He didn’t pull it out - yet.
“I heard the pre-law final is an automatic pass for everyone.” PJ cut through his thoughts, and a part of it felt alien.
Pre-law?
Oh yeah…
Why did it suddenly feel so hollow?
“That makes sense, considering.”
He said a little absently, and looked up, realizing how tired he sounded.
“You doing okay, man?”
PJ’s eyes were soft.
“Eh - I miss your cooking.”
The dimple plunged.
“Hospital food is ass.”
“Oooh - we could smuggle something in for you.
¿Qué quieres?”
Mari’s eyes flashed a little wildly and Bradley felt his head tilt.
“How much coffee have you had today?”
PJ smiled a little.
“Too much.”
“Burger?”
“Uh…yeah, actually, that sounds heavenly.”“Fries? Milkshake?”
“Maybe not the shake, but…”
“Sprite?”
He squinted a little and smiled.
“Sure.”
“There’s a place across the street.
I’ll be back.”
Pointing a strict finger at Bradley.
"No te muevas ni un centímetro."
She left the room as quickly as she came in, and Bradley’s eyebrow went up.
“Is she okay?”
PJ smiled quietly after her.
“She gets like this when she’s worried.”
_______
Dr. Menken.
Dr. Menken….
He glanced up from the little card at the lanky pale frame in the doorway.
“Hey, man…the door’s not booby-trapped.”
Bobby squinted.
“See, now that you say that I’m suspicious.
Where’s the trip wire - is there a jar of spiders up there?
“Oh, absolutely. Recluses - like fifty of them.”
He shivered and took a step back into the hallway.
“Okay, but I actually do have a phobia…”
Damn, he’s pale…
“I’m kidding.
Sorry, man.”
“Ahhh…I’m just glad you’re okay.”
He stuck a heel out, jester-like, over the threshold and retracted it, hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, man, me, too.”
Cough.
Ugh.
I’m so ready to be done with this.
The guy looked up at the awful hacking and froze.
A solid thirty seconds went by.
Bobby didn’t move.
“Bobby?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not contagious.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You wanna come in?”
“Yep.”
The tiniest step over the threshold. Then another, like the IV would jump out and bite him like a snake.
Pat, pat.
Bobby accepted the silent little invitation and sat.
Bradley’s head tilted.
“You good?”
“Nope.”
“What's up?”
“No, actually, you know, I’m good, I…”
Bradley’s eyebrow went up.
“...I fucking hate hospitals.”
“Yeah, I don't particularly like them, either.”
His gaze stayed forward at the boring, faded print of a wilting sunflower on the wall.
“That’s a terrible painting.”
“Try staring at it for two days.”
“Eh, if you have to stay much longer you can always cover it with an afghan or something.
That’s what Bubbe always did.”
“Your…”
“Bubbe - grandma- you know.”
Bradley felt his forehead crease.
“Yeah.”
“She probably would’ve liked this one, though.
She liked sunflowers.”
Silence lingered for another minute, heart monitor a metronome, counting out the moments beat by beat…
Bobby didn’t get quiet often.
When he did, he was usually studying or he’d just lock his bedroom door and work through it.
Only a couple of times, he’d walked by and seen him staring off into space, and…
Oh shit, dude…
His eyes were red.
He took a breath, something almost angry in his voice, but…not quite angry…
“You almost got yourself killed, man.”
“I know.”
“Don't fucking do that again.”
“I don't plan to.”
Bobby sniffed and choked it back like the tears would strangle him.
“Bobby?”
“You know, I’ve just…I've lost enough people.”
Bloodshot, misty eyes finally made contact, and Bradley held it steady, for several seconds.
“Yeah, me, too.”“Hmm.” Bobby glanced down at Bradley’s arm - jagged ridge of dark scar tissue running along it -
and back, then pumped his hand - open, shut, open, shut -
a few times, absently, like he was trying to shake something out.
Or maybe catch something that wasn’t there anymore.
“...I’ve been emancipated since I was sixteen…”
Goddamn…
Bradley’s forehead wrinkled, watching his fingers shake.
“You need a hug, man?”
“Yeah, probably.”
____________________
Rustle, rustle.
Something was moving just past the foot of the bed on the floor.
What the…?
The fuzzy ears of a brand-new bear peeked over the end of the bed first.
Bradley lowered the Beethoven piece he was studying, adjusted his glasses and smiled, waiting.
The button eyes came next, accompanied by the little giggle that was so much louder than she would have imagined.
Mustard yellow fur, ketchup red t-shirt… And a pair of little space buns on top of her head to match the new stuffie.
Then up came the rest of her,
eyes and nose barely above the footboard and he could tell she was on her tiptoes.
“Surprise!”
And Gabby - one cheek covered in the kind of bandage he’d seen Tank wear over his arm for a while -
vaulted herself up, arms flinging around him.
The music book flopped onto the blanket and he wrapped her up, too.
He hadn’t expected the flood of relief in seeing her finally, but some scale or other tipped and he had to swallow hard to keep a few tears back.She pulled back a few seconds later, asking fifteen questions in succession - why did he have a hose on his face?
Did he get a fire boo-boo, too?
(He showed her his shoulder - nothing too bad, but it would definitely scar.)
Why had he been asleep for so long?
Was he gonna get a medal for being a big hero?
Usually, he could keep up, but the fog was still there and her little hands were flying so fast…
“Hey - slow down, friend, one thing at a time…”
Dr. Samuel waved from the doorway.
“She’s technically been released, but she wanted to come see you.”
“What are you reading?”
He held one hand palm up and swished the other back and forth above it like a conductor - “Music.”
“You like music?”
“Yeah.”
“Same!”
He smiled.
Bailey had always leaned back against the old Pearl River Mama had had before Dad got her the baby grand, the rumble from the hammers on the strings one of her favorite things in the world.
Gabby plopped down next to him, looked at the notes, curious, pointing to the different letters she knew, squinting at the “dots” and following with her finger, head bobbing.
Dr. Samuel watched a little teary-eyed from the doorway.
“I, uh…” he ventured as she got more and more absorbed, turning pages back and forth, upside down, and back again, showing the silly old bear as she thought she started understanding it…
“I hadn’t had a chance to thank you yet…”“Oh -” Bradley started to protest.
“No, kid, you - you saved my little girl.
I’m going to say thank you, and it’s not gonna be enough.
Ever.
I owe you the world.”He squirmed and caught the moment Gabby found Rabbit out of the corner of his eye.
She held him up, adoring.
“Name?”
“Rabbit.”
She scrunched her nose, unimpressed.
“That’s all?”
“Hey - I didn’t name him.”
Dr. Samuel cleared his throat, awkward.
“You don’t owe me anything.
It’s just…”
Gabby was playing with the tag still sticking out from under Rabbit’s tail.“...I’ve lost enough people.”Gabby held up the tag.
“Is this how you spell your name?”
“No, that spells…”
“I keep meaning to ask you how you know ASL.” Dr. Samuel tried to change the subject, coming up and petting her head affectionately, seeing the mistiness starting to set into Bradley’s eyes.
“B-A-I…L…”
She was little, but she knew what shaking fingers meant and the big hazel eyes got even bigger.
“You sad?”
He nodded, trying to keep smiling.
She was too innocent for..
“Who is Bailey?”
He drew his thumb down his jaw, then two forefingers together, side by side.
Then “my”.Dr. Samuel made the connection about three seconds before Gabby did.“Oh, hell, kid…”Then her eyes got the very biggest and wateriest he’d ever seen them and the bottom lip trembled, head tilted in that all-too-perceptive little kid way…
“Don’t cry, Buggy…”
And her little arms went around his neck.
Bradley held on for a good two minutes. Gabby wasn’t the type to let go first, and he was glad.
Dr. Samuel just kept staring, at a loss for words until Bradley choked out,“When I say you don’t owe me anything…”The professor just nodded, wiping his empty left hand across eyes that looked more exhausted than he’d ever seen them.She pulled back, excited - “You wanna color?”
- and reached for the giant tote bag of activities her dad had slung over his shoulder.Dr. Samuel hesitated.“If you wanna go get coffee, I’ve got her for a while.” Bradley offered softly, and hoped it wasn’t too much to ask.Mike Samuel just nodded.Gabby was already pulling a selection of princesses drawn in thick black lines on cheap greyish-white paper. He tried not to think too hard about it, reading each crayon label three times before committing any of the colors that looked mostly the same to the sea-faring island princess and her two little animal companions.Gabby sat criss-cross applesauce next to him, plunking Rabbit and the yellow bear across from them in a little circle, and smiled up at him._________________
Dr.
Samuel came back an hour later and they were both asleep, Bradley still wheezing a little with every inhale, Gabby curled up next to him, yellow bear tucked under one arm, bug-eyed pink rabbit under the other.Mr. Uppercrust rounded the corner half a minute later, hanging up from an angry phone argument with some “dumbass defense attorney” he was grumbling to himself about, and stopped frozen in the door.
“Oh, Buddy…”
Father and father locked eyes, the old ache in the other one’s told him all he needed to know.
He nodded, no words necessary, clapped the older dad on the shoulder, and walked with him out to the waiting room to leave the pair of them alone.
___________
“How’d it even start?”
Brad Jr. huffed a little, moved a pawn forward.
“Some kid who got drunk.
Tony something.”
Bradley’s hand froze over the rook he’d been about to move.
The memory of the hulking figure, eyes bleary, looking horrified and retching onto the sidewalk came back a little too viscerally, and the devastated look he’d given him just before he stumbled out.
I was going to send a Gamma after him.
Why the fuck didn’t I…
“Tank?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah, he was my VP.”
“The big Gamma kid?
The New Yorker?”
“Fucking shit, I saw him leave the dance, he was fucking pissed about…”
Oh shit, oh shit…
“...he saw Max and I together, and I guess it set him off…and then…goddammit, Tony…”
“You two have a history?”
Bradley felt his cheeks burn.
“You could say that.”
Brad Jr. hesitated, didn’t make a move even though the timer on his phone had gone off.
“Huh.”
“Goddammit, Tank…” He breathed out again, face getting redder.
“…is he okay?”
“He’s in custody, last I heard.”
“Jesus- are they gonna indict him?”
“Most likely.
Arson’s a seven deadly.”
“First degree arson is.”
Bradley knit his brows, three years of school and twenty-one years of overheard arguments floating to the surface.
“There are definitely mitigating circumstances, he wouldn’t torch anything on purpose, especially after the games, it’s second degree at most, really third…”
“You don’t think he set it on purpose?”
“God, no.”
“Because?”
“Half the school smokes behind the Poli-Sci building, there’s not a security camera back there.”
Dad hummed, pushed another piece forward.
“Reckless endangerment, bud, there was a minor in the building.”
“Well, yeah, obviously, but…”
He swallowed the games coming back in awful flashes.
“Jesus, how the hell didn’t I get charged with anything?”
“Cause I happen to know a few defense attorneys who have more than two neurons in their heads.”
Slide.
Slide.
“Check.”
“Damn - glad to see the meds are wearing off.”
“Yeah, that was fucking awful.’
“Language.”
“Mhmmm.” Bradley cocked an eyebrow at the hypocrisy.
Slide.
Slide.
“You don’t think he’ll serve time?”“Oh, I think he definitely will at this point.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, kiddo.”
“What do you usually recommend for something like that?
I mean, no priors…?”
The seasoned prosecutor's eyes hardened a little behind his glasses, then let out a slow huff.
“If he’s smart, he’ll probably take a plea deal.
He’ll probably get ten-serve-something.”
“Jesus…”
“But it’s not up to me.”
“But…”
“And it’s not up to you, either, Bud.”
He grimaced at the moves he’d missed Bradley setting up, and glanced up, head tilting.
“You’ve been paying attention.”
Bradley grinned.
“Not really…”
“No, I mean in your classes.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk law before.”
“I mean, I’m your son.
You kind of pick up on things after…you know, twenty-one years of overhearing you screaming obscenities at public defenders.”
The blue eyes didn’t look at him, zeroing in on the last few pieces, that little a-holian glint coming back.
Brad Jr. chuckled.
“I wasn’t so good at the “separating work from home” thing, was I?”“Nah.”
Slide.
“Checkmate.”
Brad Jr. huffed, defeated, and watched the cheap travel-sized board get cleared away, fingers deft and quick even after days hooked up to IVs.
The leather bag was on the end of the bed.
He’d clocked it days ago, stuffed with sheet music.
Mozart… he knew that one.
And Chopin.
There were a bunch he knew he’d seen before but hadn’t the first idea how to pronounce.The little business card had been sitting on the little tray for a day and a half, Bradley occasionally staring at it when he thought he wasn’t looking.
“You don’t want to go to law school, do you?” came out more accusatorily than he wanted it to.
His son froze, blue eyes caught and terrified.
“Bradley…”“Dad…I…”“It’s okay.
I’m just asking a question.
Do you want it?”The heart rate monitor sped up, and all of a sudden Bradley was seventeen again, begging, frustrated to tears, some tyrannical past version of himself insisting he pick something “stable”.He was thirteen, banging on the keys in the basement, until he wasn’t just banging on them and he hadn’t been able to help stopping and listening from the top of the stairs.He was four, watching his Mama so intently that eventually Rachel invited him up onto the bench.
“This is middle C…”
“Middle thee…?”
Bradley shook his head, eyes bigger than he’d seen them in years.
“I figured.”
“Is that okay?”
Bradley sucked in, struggling to do so for the first time in a few hours, pupils dilated, and the words poured out like he was eight again.
“You’ve already paid for three years of school, I don’t want to seem ungrateful.
It’s…I…you…you would be okay with that?”
“Buddy, you’re breathing. I wouldn’t care if you wanted to join the circus.
As long as you called home once in a while.”
Bradley swallowed.
“I can…?”“You wanna do music?”
“Auditions are in…like a week and a half.
I don’t know if I have anything…”
“That professor gave you his card?”“How’d you…?”
“Max told me you were thinking about it.
Made his opinion on the subject pretty clear.”
Goddammit, Max.
But he smiled and nodded rapidly.
“Okay.”“You gonna email him?”
_____________
Dad’s eyes looked warm - the kind of warm they’d been when he’d fired up the Impala and not immediately jumped back out.
The kind of warm he’d seen when he’d walked in yesterday and Max had been asleep on his shoulder, not even tilting his head at it, just…smiling.
The A above middle C rang out in the back of his head…
…an oboe answered…
….woodwinds…
…brass…
Thump thump thump thump thump…
“You’re sure?”
Dad wrapped a calloused hand around his neck and pulled him in, kissed his forehead.
“Sorry I was an ass about it before.
You shouldn’t have had to ask so much.”
Thump thump thump thump….
“Okay.”
“Just don’t ever scare me like that again, alright?”
“I don’t plan to.”
“That was insane, what you did.”
“I know.”
“And brave.”
Bradley froze, stunned.
“And selfless.
That little girl’s gonna be fine….”
Brad grunted back a hunk of emotion.
“...And I’ve never been more fucking proud of you.”
Stunned melted to that a-holian smirk.
“Language.”
Brad Jr. tousled his hair.
“Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
A few moments of silence slipped by.
“Oh, and um…your, um…Max…”
“Yeah?”
“I like him.”
Bradley’s eyes softened again.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.
Good choice, kiddo.”
______
Thump thump thump thump thump.
Bradley’s fingers trembled over the keys.
He looks a little wobbly, Mama.
said the little grey rabbit.
Bitch -
IF YOU CAN’T -
Just let me concentrate for a damn minute.
It’s already written.
Just hit the button.
Okay.
Okay okay okay.
A pair of lips pressed onto his forehead.
“You got this, mi amor.”
“God, I’m fucking terrified.”
“Come on, it’s not like it’s a three page apology letter.”
Max’s lips twitched roguishly.
Bradley’s eyebrow went up, and the dimple plunged.
“Hey.”
“I’m too cute, you can’t be mad at me.”
Peck.
Peck.
“Goddammit -”
he let out a terrified laugh.
“
- fuck it.”
Send.
Thump thump thump thump.
“Oh my god -”
“That’s my man.”
And the pierced tongue traced his bottom lip, gloves tugging his chin away from the desk.
____________________
Dr. Menken opened his email for the first time in a couple days, already settled into the summer lull, bracing for a hundred high school juniors doing their best with whatever their hometown piano teachers had helped them with.
Scroll.
Scroll.
_____________________________________________
[email
protected]
SUBJECT: Questions about Auditions
_____________________________________________
Smile.
“Good for you, kid.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
___________________
Twelve Years Later
___________________
“Sí. Sí, Papi.
Yeah, of course we’re gonna be there.
You know the girls never miss a chance to go to the beach.
We can do next week? Miércoles.
Porque Bradley tiene que trabajar hasta el martes. El martes por la noche.
Si, tiene el lunes, pero - sí, lo sé. Sí - hi, Sylvia - love you, too.
We’re excited, too.
Okay - creo que está distraído. ¿A qué hora llegas aquí? Nos reuniremos en el vestíbulo a las siete. Porque es cuando abre la casa. Sí, para ti y Sylvia - quien más viene? Sí, tengo todas las entradas, no necesitas... sí, Papi, son de cortesía... los tuyos están aquí conmigo... no, Papi..."
Bradley was trying not to listen in, really he was.
“He’s distracted”something something“house opens…”something something.
He narrowed his eyes and pulled a stack of music from the moving box, stepping over toward the baby grand.
He had just hung the family photo from last Christmas up between his MFA and Max’s PhD and was about to lean over to the phone with a
- “Sabes que ahora también hablo español, ¿verdad?” - when…
The light of the study flicked off and back on and a fifteen-year-old boy who looked nothing like either of them poked his head in, looking frustrated, hands flying before he was all the way in the room.
“ Dad, they're not listening to me.
I told them you left me in charge but they aren’t even looking at me.”
And he shrugged, “ what do I do?”
Two shrieking six year old twin girls - one with blue eyes, one dark brown - came bounding into the study, pushing past their brother who huffed, arms out, exasperated, face red.
“See?”
Bradley stood up, grabbing both girls under his arms like a big, friendly monster - roaring to keep them laughing and depositing them both on the sofa.
“What’s this I hear you’re not listening to Donny?” he growled, hands underscoring, keeping the fuming teenager in his periphery.
The giggles ebbed to guilty puppy dog eyes - at least, one pair of them.
“We’re sorry, Daddy.” Rachel's lip trembled, ever the peacekeeper, blue eyes watery in a nanosecond.
“Not to me.” he said, eyebrow arched, and pointed at her brother.
“Sorry, Donny…” Rachel’s fist went in a circle on her chest, and she meant it.
Bai had no such sentiments, protesting at the top of her lungs - “But Papi said to run and play so we wouldn’t tell you about the surpri ….!!”
Rachel’s hand clapped over Bai’s mouth.
Both of them gasped, horrified.
Max went beet red.
“ Lo siento, Papi, tengo que irme…”
Beep.
Donny rolled his eyes.
“And this is why you should have been listening to me.”
“The what now?”
His eyebrow went up, gaze sliding across the room to the gorgeous man in the old State hoodie he’d told him to keep almost twelve years ago.
Max fake glared at the pair of six year olds currently melting into the floor in embarrassment.“I have no idea what they're talking about.”
That sent both girls giggling again. Bai wanted to tell more, and the two kept shushing each other until they were nearly hysterical.
Max flashed an innocent smile and held up Bradley's beat up old copy of the Iliad.
“Where do you want this, mi amor?”
Bradley took it, ran his fingers lovingly over the old linen cover for a moment and placed it back in the outstretched white glove.
“Greek mythology, by Homer…” and pointed to the marble bust they'd bought in Greece.
Max slipped it in next to the Odyssey. “Sylvia's gonna have a conniption when she finds out we're not doing this with the Dewey decimal system.”
“Much as I love Sylvia…” He pecked him on the forehead. “...it's not her library.”
The girls giggled at the affection and ran out again, Bai tugging Rachel into some new mischief or other.
Donny waited behind for a second, digging his toe into the rug. He was the newest addition and even after a year of fostering and the eventual adoption was still a little unsure what to do with himself.
Bradley pulled him in for a hug, careful not to squeeze too tight.
The kid tensed and then melted, let go after about three seconds, still unsure what to do.
“Why don't you go do something for yourself? You don't have to babysit them all the time.”
Donny huffed gratefully.
“Can I go draw?”
“Sure - it’s your house.” Max smiled.
The teenager nodded with a bashful little smile, ran his fingers through his dense blonde curls, as was his habit, and took off toward his room.
Max smiled, kissed Bradley’s cheek and hummed a little.
He’d been the one to bring up the prospect of fostering after a lot of long talks with Bobby on the subject, and every day of it had made Max love him a little more.
Bradley’s arms slipped around Max’s waist from behind. “Surprise, huh?”
“ Dios, estos niños …”
The big eyes rolled playfully.
“I may have bought a bigger block of tickets for tonight than I said.”
“Oh?”
“And they might be coming back here tonight afterwards for a little, um, cake and champagne.”
“Baby, you know I don’t like to make a big deal of my…”
“It’s more than just that.
Call it a housewarming party.
Or ‘happy new job’ to the both of us.
Or “our friends are very excited for us and miss us already”.”
Lo que tú quieras .”
He pulled down on the sweater and pushed a little bit of hair out of his face.
“Hmmm - seems like a very thin cover for a birthday party.”
He let an eyebrow arch.
“Then call it what it is and deal with it.” Max pressed his lips into his.
“Sometimes you’re just gonna have to get celebrated.”
Bradley smiled and pulled him in like he always did, just the first few steps of a dance and then a little dip that the girls shrieked over whenever they caught them at it.
He hummed, lips just next to Max’s ear, pulling him into a closer, slower spin.
“Telling Bai probably wasn’t the best idea if you wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Rachel was the one sworn to secrecy, that’s not my fault.”
“Oh, no, see, that was your mistake.
There are no secrets with twins.”
“Mmmm. You’d have thought I’d have learned that by now.”
“So we need to have all this unpacked before I leave?”
“I was gonna have the girls help…”“Or just leave it and dance with me for a few minutes…I don’t think anyone’s gonna mind…”
Max hummed happily and they spun, Bradley’s phone playing out that old 40s song that everybody liked to shove into every movie…mostly because it fit.
“What time’s your call time?”
“Five thirty.”
“Oh, damn - do you need to get going?”
“It’s only twenty minutes.”
“Rush hour.
And Floridian drivers.”
Max grimaced.
“Mmm - touché .”
Bradley pecked him one more time on the lips.
“I’m gonna freshen up and head out, then.
You’re bringing Dad, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve got him.”
Sharp little inhale. “Okay.”
“Hey - he’s settling in really well.”
“Yeah.”
The ground-floor apartment had been set up specifically for him, and although he was constantly grumbling about how he was “fine” and “didn’t need all this fussing over an old man”, Dad still looked up at him disoriented and grateful a little too often, and Bradley had put his foot down on letting him go anywhere other than with them.
“Buddy, you don’t have to…You’ve got kids. I don’t want it to get overwhelming…”
“Hey.
Look at me.
I’ve got you.”
“Yeah, but…”
“No. Dad - I've got you. Okay?
I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
Brad Jr. had just nodded, misty-eyed.
Now the girls made a constant game and sacred duty of visiting Papa throughout the day, and Donny liked talking with him, too. Yesterday he’d walked in on the two of them poring over a book of classic cars and had quietly left them to it.
Donny didn’t come out of his shell often, and Dad…
Max’s eyes got soft seeing him drift into the little fearful reveries he slipped into when the subject came up now, and stroked his cheek.
“Hey.
Today’s a good day.”
“Yeah.”
And he smiled again, kissing him, hard.
“I’ll see you there?”“Row 20.”
Max winked.
“My gorgeous man.”
He smiled, and…no, another ‘one last kiss’…
“God, I love you so much.”
“ Te amo muchísimo también, mi amor. ”
______________________
The ‘68 Impala had been his only car, and that was more than fine with him.
Everything about it was familiar, everything about it had had Dad’s hands on it at some point, gruff voice explaining the importance, maintenance and manufacturing process of each part.
It was still a beauty, and even though he wasn’t anywhere near as good with cars, it still ran like new.
The engine roared beneath him and the edges of his mouth tugged up as Bai’s brown eyes peeked out through the garage door to wave at him, and then saw her shift into mission mode, running off into the house yelling something or other, probably to her Papi, who he saw coming down the stairs looking mischievous.
A bigger block of tickets, you say?
Jesus, Max, how many people did you invite?
The new house looked pristine in the mid-afternoon.
Sun-baked and story-bookish and exactly the right size for the six of them.
Six.
The number still took him by surprise every time he thought about it.
The fullest house he’d ever lived in, and it wasn’t too much.
Just lively and chaotic in the warmest, best of ways.They'd pulled in two weeks ago, and already he automatically missed it a little every time he backed out of the driveway, and felt the little grey rabbit skip happily each time he turned onto their street coming home.
His tux in its hanging bag slung over the back seat, he wove down the palm tree lined highway through the early rush-hour traffic, speakers gently pumping the Tchaikovsky Nutcracker pas de deux, since today was the day and Max had told him the story of the piece that first summer after everything had started.
Each bend of the road, he felt his breaths come and go a little more smoothly, mind adrift, just thinking.
He’d get to the end of the piece and start it again, soaking in every moment of the day, for her.
Twenty-three years was a long time.
But not so long that he’d…
… oh shit…
…he’d forgotten to get the two…
But the GPS was barely going to get him there in time.
Maybe he’d just use an app, have them delivered to the house while he was out.
Donny could hide them from the girls for that long.
The parking deck pumped jazz music twenty-four seven and he whistled along to it as he scanned in, smiling at the illuminated poster by the gate.
An Evening of American Classics
March 22nd
The chandeliered lobby was empty except for a few house managers.
He stopped to speak with one or two of them, still learning names, paced toward the green room, scribbled his initials on the sheet on the call board, and headed for a practice room to warm up.
_______________
Flutter.
Flutter.
Flex.
Deep breaths.
Automatically, his hand went to his coat pocket.
Shit, did I forget my -
Max must have slipped the inhaler in before he left.
I am the luckiest man in the world.
Deep breaths.
The little murmur of the audience hadn’t made him nervous in a while.
Nothing would ever match the first studio recital and how he’d almost run out the back door rather than actually play in front of all those people, but Max had been there, giving a big grin and thumbs up when he caught him peeking from the wings.
He’d sat in the front row that time - he’d forgotten to tell him the front row was for amateurs.
Now, a dozen years and three orchestras later, it had all become routine.Mostly.Tonight was…well…
“God what a dream…” He’d said their first night together.
Now the score was in his hands, and soon would be flying out from under his fingers…
He’d realized flipping through the pages one last time during the last piece - he wasn’t needed for either of the Copland selections.
The timpanis in the Fanfare sounded a little too much like thunder for his comfort still, even though he’d sat through enough rehearsals to know the counts and the measures.
He’d distracted himself with the score, smiling a little at the brass harmonies happening on stage…
I hadn’t even thought about it til now…
Time is strange like that.
The old Troop house felt a hundred years and a lifetime away - that creaky bed, the ceiling fan he’d stared up at hundreds of times, the bathroom where Mari had taught him the difference between regular mascara and brow mascara, the coffee table that had definitely been pulled out of a dumpster and patched up with shoe polish and sharpies.
The dumb, impulsive, swooning kids they’d been…
God, when’s the last time I was on a board?
The final notes of the Fanfare faded into applause.
He took one last sip of water, one last good shake, shake, shake of everything before walking out…
Jesus, I never get nervous anymore.
Must be the “surprise”.
He looks a little wobbly, Mama.
The older, wiser grey rabbit in his chest cocked an eyebrow.He smirked.
Bitch.
And walked out.___________________
The A above Middle C sung out under his index finger.An oboe answered.Then the other woodwinds……brass……strings..
His stomach was all butterflies and stars and…
Max smiled from the middle of row 20.Donny was flipping through the program, and from what he’d seen from the wings, had kept his eyes locked on the animations playing on the screen the whole night.Bai and Rachel bounced up and down in their seats, whispering excitedly to each other.
Bai waved like she was at a baseball game and Max caught her hand, eyebrow arching.Mari and PJ sat on either side of the oldest of their “ diablillos” as Mari called them when she wasn't chasing them down and pecking their foreheads like a mother hen.A couple of their friends from New York.
Mr. Goof and Sylvia, still as excited to be together as they'd ever been.Dad, looking nice, and a little older every time he saw him.
He smiled the warmest.Bobby and his partner…He froze for a second at the largest silhouette, hulking head and shoulders above everyone else, even seated, hair slicked back, Brooklyn-style.
There had been a steady stream of letters between the big guy and the two of them over the years, and he remembered with a happy pang in the stomach that he’d promised to come and see him play “the second I can cross state lines again”.
And it had been that long.
Has it really been that long?
Tank nodded at him, mouthing something about “Good to see you.”
He nodded back, dimple plunging.Mick finished flipping pages, barely tall enough to see everyone over the conductor stand even on the apple box the stage manager had put there for him.
He nodded to Bradley.
He nodded to each section.
“Alright, gang…” he said, piping voice excited under his breath.
Up went the baton…
Donny’s eyes flickered up from the program and smiled.
And the clarinet started low, quiet and then…slid all the way up the scale…
Up on the screen behind the orchestra, a single line drew a skyline etch-a-sketch style across a backdrop of blue….
___________________
The path through the forty pages of score he’d had memorized since his third year with Dr. Menken had shifted and changed more often than he really knew, but the past two weeks with the Philharmonic it had been exactly the same, playing more and more like a movie in his head each time through - vignettes and home video reels of the last twelve years warming every inch of him, sending the kind of tingles up his spine that made him have to swallow hard to keep the keys in focus.
Waiting for measure nineteen was like waiting for that first reply to the email he’d sent Dr. Menken the day he was released from the hospital.
That had been a terrified kid, freshly minted as the campus hero - not that he'd wanted the title - just hoping for a single, shining chance…
Measures nineteen and twenty went back to winter break the year prior, shaking like a leaf every time he thought about what he’d done, what he’d written, leaving the letter on the Troop house porch and suddenly seeing Christmas lights as more than just an annoying reminder that another year had gone by…
The Ritornello theme was still - and always would be - the happy disbelief of having ended up here, with him , with the kids…
That he’d actually auditioned - that Liebestraum had sung better than it ever had for him that day and he’d caught Dr. Miranda dabbing his eyes as he left.
That this was routine now.
Now it actually felt like work sometimes, but…what a privilege…
The Stride theme was Max, and Max, and nothing but Max - his laugh, his eyes, his deep-down bashfulness and unending support and beauty and appetite for life and movement…
The Train theme was the years in New York, juggling Juilliard, Max’s dissertation, a tiny apartment in Brooklyn and Sundays with Tony’s Nonna - promises kept - Thanksgivings spent freezing their asses off on the side of the parade route cause Max got so damn excited, then rushing to LaGuardia to wait through the densest crowds of the year to make it to Orlando or Ginger Hill by dinner.
And then back again for Max’s work or school on Monday - and his classes, or whatever private lessons he was teaching at the moment to keep them ahead on the rapidly climbing rent…It didn’t matter how busy those days got - how hot it got on the subway, how fucking freezing it was in the winter, how frustrated they both got with the crowds and the pressure of the city and the constant, constant noise.
There was always time at night for a quick drink on the fire escape, a coffee at the diner if it was that kind of a night, a few chapters of whatever book they were reading together at the moment, or at the very least, one last dance by the light of the neon sign across the street.
“Shuffle -” Mick mouthed to him, like he didn’t already know, but Mick loved the Shuffle theme and did it every time it came up.
The dimple plunged.
And it was back to undergrad - the wild, tender, growing pain years in that house, the guys graduating one by one until it was just him and Max, oscillating between exhausted, twitterpated, frustrated, and back again.
Always passionate, always looking for each other, always falling into step just when they were about to jump at each other’s throats and then holding each other with every ounce of tenderness they’d had in the hospital…
Damn crazy kids.
He took his fingers off the keys for a moment…. s trings and french horns danced around each other
- ice skaters up on the screen. The October after undergrad, hands fluttering at his sides, adjusting everything one more time in the mirror, because it felt a thousand times more like a rocket launch than the first spring formal…“ Jesus, it’s really happening…” Mari took the comb from his hand.
“Your hair looks fine, cariño.” And out to the backyard of Ginger Hill, decked out in sunflowers…
“I, Bradley Daniel….”
“I, Maximilian…”
PJ had been Max’s best man.
Bobby had been his.
Gabby had beamed like the sun itself tossing petals onto the aisle runner, still energetic and excitable as ever, hopping up and down the entire ceremony.Tempest whinnying at the exact moment of “...by the power vested in me, I now declare you…” and all the guests laughing.
God, I miss that horse…
He allowed himself two measures to breathe in and out, watching the bows slide up, down, up down - the hornists’ brows furrowing in concentration,
Then out - he knew which seat to find him in.
Big eyes shone from twenty rows away, thinking of all the same moments he was.
That March, walking along the beach on spring break, that long talk with Mr. Goof…
The double proposal that everyone but the two of them had been in on.Puerto Rico, Greece…
New Year’s Eve dancing around their Brooklyn apartment, laughing at all the suckers in Times Square and enjoying their champagne in the closest thing to quiet they ever got in the city…
“What do you want from this year?” they asked each other every year.
“You.” he’d said, and Max had caught the little something else that he bit back.
“And…?”
“Do you think we’d make good dads?”
He’d almost whispered.
Max’s eyes had gleamed.
The day they’d gotten the call that it was twins…how hard they’d laughed.
Him juggling the girls and rehearsals while Max prepped his dissertation - and the apartment had grown decidedly too small for the four of them.
The couple of blissful years back in the old college town, just trying to catch their breath, him traveling for work more often, Gabby coming to babysit, a bundle of coloring sheets under her arm and a bag of stuffies under the other.PJ and Mari had a small army by then, and were all too happy to let the uncles pitch in, the team of them taking the whole crew on playdates, coordinating camping trips and zoo adventures and birthday parties and…Donny’s first few days with them, refusing to make eye contact or come out of his room.
And then the first time he’d accepted a hug.Max getting the call from Kennedy Space Center and his utter inability to comprehend anything for a solid two days afterwards.
Packing up the house at Ginger Hill…that long, terrifying talk with Dad…
By now, he was well into the next section, flying through measures faster than the years had flown, and that was okay…
…some moments could just be moments…
And then it was all play - the big piano glissando, his hair flying, the biggest smile he’d felt spread across his face in a while - and the full orchestra bringing the Stride and then the Ritornello back for one last triumphant coda…
Applause erupted the moment the baton lowered, thunderous as timpanis.
His eyes went straight to Max.
Gorgeous…
God, what a dream…
_________________________
The Troop and the rest of the gang had all taken off for hotels or airports.
The girls had fallen asleep in the middle of the festivities and had to be carried up to bed.
Their Tia Mari had fussed over them - and Donny - all night, going on and on about how much they’d grown, even though it had been less than a month.
PJ had just stared at her adoringly.
He’d spent a good hour of the night out here on the dock with Bobby, catching up, shooting the shit
about stage managers and contracts and asking when he was moving down.
And another hour catching up with Tank, much quieter than he’d been a decade ago, and excited about the job he’d landed and starting over again.
“Don’t know if there’s really such thing as absolution, but…”
“One day at a time, man.”
“Yeah.”
Smiled.
And took another long drag from his vape.
Now it was just him and the subtropical night music - crickets and frogs and the slosh of water under the boards, the distant highway…
“Shit.”
He’d forgotten.
Twenty-three years in a row and this was the year he’d forgotten.
The sudden pang in his stomach was unexpected and made the whole situation with Dad come rocketing to the surface…
“Shit what, mi amor? ” came the gentle voice he loved so much, a few steps behind him.
Max smiled, black button-down open at the collar, head tilted, a thin plastic grocery bag in his hand.
“You didn’t think I’d let you forget, did you?”
“God - just, with the move, and tonight, and everything…”
He covered the three steps across the dock and kissed him, hard.
“ Lo se, baby - but you’ve got a backup generator for that big, beautiful brain of yours.”
“Hmm.”
he hummed happily and leaned into the gloved hand on his cheek, eyes closing softly.
“Thank you.”
“ Claro.”
Another peck, and - “Now, we missed midnight by a couple hours, but I’m saying it still counts.”
“Jesus, is it that late?”
Max chuckled and set a caramel vanilla cupcake up on the worn wood railing.
“Hers first this year, I think.”
Max looked up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, just…I don’t know, an instinct.”
“Okay, baby…”
And out came the strawberry one.
Bradley’s dimple plunged, the little ritual feeling a little easier to get through each year, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that yet.
He placed the cheap little candle in the middle, cursed at the lighter when the flint wheel jammed a couple of times, and let the small glow of wick twinkle like a firefly for a few moments before he inhaled deeply.
“Sweet of you to still do this, Buggy.
You know I always love to see how you’re doing.”
She looked a little older and wiser every year.
“You look different…”
“So do you.”
“Something’s happening, isn’t it?”
“I think you already know.”
“Bai…”
“You think this is an ending?”
and shook her head, the old glint in her eye.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Buggy.” she said warmly, and winked.The ocean-scented breeze off the water blew the little flame out before he could.
Max waited a moment, watching him, and rubbed his back gently.
“Huh.”
“Guess she made her own wish this year.”
“Guess so.”
He stared at it for a few seconds and pitched it as far out into the water as it would go.
Max blinked a couple of times and handed him the other one.
This one he set up carefully, taking his time to place the candle exactly in the center, lit the wick…thought…
“You gonna make a wish, mi amor?”
Max…
Max…
He’d looked perfect every day of his life, but he’d never looked more perfect than right there, the glow of flame tracing out the edges of his face putting a spotlight on each of those gorgeous features… His eyelashes.
His mouth.
The flowery patch on his neck that he couldn’t help reaching out to trace, just with the very tips of his fingers.
And then his other hand went up through that fluffy, curly hair…
And his lips went on his…
The cheap candle guttered out and the wax ran all over the frosting as Bradley’s lips smiled,
brushing Max’s forehead…No, nose…No, neck…No, lips…
He shook his head.
“I don’t need to.”
Max hummed, deep and content, then felt himself being scooped up, and laughed.
𝄌
fin