A red tainted Silence (23 page)

Marisa looked a little uncomfortable, and I was fine with that.

“So, Tucson,” I said, looking at my bandmates, at Nicholas. Damn, it felt good to be with them again.

“To Tucson,” Nicholas said, raising his Coke. Then he took a swallow and set it down before turning to me, his blue eyes boring into mine. “To us.” And then he kissed me, pretty much killing any lingering doubts the others might’ve had regarding our feelings for each other.

And I was fine with that, too.

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“What the hell is going on here?” my dad said, his voice tight with anger. He filled my doorway, his shoulders rigid with disgust.

My whole body ignited with shame as I stared at him in horror. Nicholas pressed against me, his heart pounding against my back. His arm coiled tight against mine; our legs were entwined. Bright sunshine poured through the open blinds and heated the room. We were both warm and sticky. The sheet covered us, but there was no mistaking what we’d been up to sometime or other during the night.

The room reeked of sex.

“Dad, I --”

“Enough, Brandon.” My dad looked from me to Nicholas, his face a frozen mask.

Except for his eyes -- they glinted with fury. I felt like dying. “Get your clothes on. Now.

And you, too,” he said to Nicholas.

He slammed the door behind him as he left.

Nicholas fell away from me and groaned. “Oh, shit. Fuck,” he said, making me eye him.

I’d hardly heard him cuss, but guessed this occasion warranted it.

I swung my legs to the side of the bed. The movement made my head pound. I was afraid I was going to be sick any second, though whether it was because of what I’d seen in my dad’s eyes or the relentless pulsing in my head, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t really matter. I cradled my forehead in my hands and waited for the pounding to ease.

“Yeah, ‘oh shit fuck’ is right,” I muttered.

“What time is it?”

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Carolyn Gray

I looked up at my clock. “Guess my dad came home for lunch. It’s almost noon.”

“You’re kidding. Shoot. So much for school today.” He sighed. “Brandon, do you want me to go?”

“No. I don’t.”

I stood and looked down at him, feeling a stirring deep inside me. I couldn’t believe it, especially right then -- I guess my dick couldn’t care less that the rest of me was in deep shit.

Nicholas looked so beautiful, stretched back naked on my bed, his hips swathed with the sheet. His hair was sleep-mussed, his skin pale and sprinkled with dark brown hair, flawless except for the remnants of heat on his cheeks.

And the shadows of bruises still ghosting his ribs.

I picked up my jeans and hurriedly slipped them on, foregoing boxers.

He sighed. “I should’ve gone to the guest room. It’s all my fault --”

“No,” I said, cutting him off. “No, Nicholas, no regrets. How can I regret you?” I asked, for once finding the right words.

He smiled, then threw back the sheets, and I saw him wholly naked for the first time.

He stretched like a cat in the sunbeams, throwing his arms overhead and rolling onto his stomach. He cradled his cheek on his folded arms and kicked his feet up. He looked at me and sucked on the inside of his mouth, running his tongue along his bottom lip before smiling at me in saucy invitation.

Dizziness threatened to overtake me. All I could do was devour his naked body with my eyes. I clenched my hands, digging my nails into my palms to keep from reaching out to touch him, stroke his back, rub his backside. If I did, I’d be handing my dad even more fuel for his anger.

Blood rushed to my groin, and I shifted my stance. My head pounded. At Nick’s knowing expression, I closed my eyes, reaching for my bedside table to steady myself. He chuckled. I heard the mattress creak, and then his mouth brushed against mine. I opened my eyes, shocked to see those incredible soft blue eyes of his watching me. He knelt on the bed, our bare chests so close I could feel his heat. He rested his hands on my shoulders. Any shyness he’d had about his body appeared gone.

Mine was, too.

But now wasn’t the time for this. I tried to pull back, but he didn’t let me, catching the back of my neck with one hand. His tongue brushed playfully across my lips, and then he kissed my nose, making me smile despite my lingering mortification over being found out by my dad.

“Think we have time for a quickie?”

My hands found his waist, but I held him back, shaking my head. “You’re crazy, Nicholas. No, I’d better go talk to him.”

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He sighed. “Didn’t think so. I guess we’ll go meet doom together then, huh?” he said, leaning his forehead against mine.

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be all right, Brandon,” he whispered, his warm breath brushing against my face. I didn’t think so, but I nodded anyway. He let me go and sat back on the bed. I took a deep breath, trying to psych myself like I did before I played tennis with Jonathan.

“There’s my boy,” he said with a grin as he watched me bounce up and down on my toes.

I scooped up his shirt and threw it at him. “Not a boy anymore, thanks to you. Get dressed.”

He laughed at that. “Not done with you yet, you know.” He pulled on his t-shirt, then yanked on his boxers and jeans, before I could think of anything to say to that. He winked at me knowingly. “Come on, time for untying your tongue later.” I nodded and grabbed my shirt, putting it on. I walked barefoot down the hallway toward the kitchen, Nicholas on my heels. I knew the kitchen was where my dad would go -

- whenever he was pissed or upset about something, he cooked. Better than throwing things, I guess, though sometimes he came up with some really strange combinations my brothers and I had no choice but to eat. We didn’t dare not.

He looked up as we came in, and pointed to the table. “Sit, Brandon. You, too, Nicholas.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicholas said, seating himself and glancing at me.

I sat across from him, my embarrassment resurfacing as my dad took his time weighing what he wanted to say. He clenched the back of one of the chairs with both hands -- his knuckles were white. He finally spoke; anger edged his words. “You boys have put me into a very difficult position. You do realize that.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicholas said. I could only nod.

“I’m out of my league with you two,” he said. “If you were ... female, Nicholas, I’d be forced to call your parents. Tell them what happened. You’re underage as it is --” He raised one hand, stopping my dad. I winced. Please, Nicholas, no -- “Actually, I’m almost twenty. Sir.” He flicked his gaze at me. “I look like sixteen, I know, but I’ll be twenty next month.”

“Dad --”

“Hush, Brandon.”

I fell back into embarrassed silence, took a deep breath, tried to quell my nerves. I wished then I had the backbone that Adam did, the could-give-a-shit attitude Jonathan had.

I wanted to tell my dad to leave us alone. I wanted to grab Nicholas by the hand and run away. But I knew I wouldn’t. Dad knew it, too -- I was, after all, his spineless youngest son.

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Carolyn Gray

Mamma’s boy. I’d heard him call me that once, talking over too many beers to a friend of his when he didn’t think I was around.

Guess alcohol brought out his true feelings.

Any halting explanation I could try to make now, stuttering under his impatient glare, would only make it worse for me and Nicholas. I told myself it’d be easier to suffer in silence, get it over with.

But it was hard having Nicholas witness my humiliation.

Later, when I was older, I would understand how it was my dad made me feel this way.

Later, I would realize my nervousness around him had roots in my own very real sense of failure borne on my dad’s disappointment in me, starting with my decision to drop out of school when I was sixteen. Me being sick a lot, and unable to hold a job because of that, added to my dad’s less than rosy view of me -- and now this.

I’d “turned gay” on him and, if that wasn’t enough, brought my lover into his house, into my bed.

Not exactly a son to be proud of, I guess.

Even now, sitting here in this hospital room -- a millionaire many times over, having found success in several different venues -- I’ve never felt like I’ve really made him proud.

Not after I came out, anyway.

It still hurts.

Then, though, the loathing in his eyes devastated me, silenced the words I longed to let spill.

“Dammit, Brandon.” He made a sound of disgust. “You deliberately disobeyed me. I caught you in bed with another ... another boy, dammit. I really am out of my league.” He pinched his nose. “I told you not to do this. I told both of you. But you went ahead and did what you wanted anyway, not respecting my wishes. My orders still stand -- I won’t have ...

I won’t have it in my house.”

“I understand,” I said quietly.

“So, what are your plans? What do you two plan to do? Or have you even thought past the end of your cock?” I winced at that. Nick’s eyes widened. “You haven’t got a job. You didn’t even finish high school. How do you expect to live? You’re only nineteen, so weird all your friends are long gone. What makes you think people would want to listen to you? This music dream of yours is going nowhere. You’re never going to amount to anything at the rate you’re going, Brandon.”

My face flushed hot in embarrassment. He might as well have said I was a fucking failure and shot me, put me out of my misery right then.

Was he that ashamed of me?

I couldn’t look at Nicholas. My humiliation was complete. What he had to be thinking of me ... Tears stung my eyes, and that embarrassed me even more. I dug my fingers into my A Red-Tainted Silence

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thighs, welcoming the pain. I wanted to crawl under the table. My dad had ruined everything, but like he knew I would, I just sat there and took it.

Nicholas cleared his throat. “Uh, Mr. Ashwood, I think you’re wrong. Sir.”

“Excuse me?”

I looked up, panic racing through me. But Nicholas barreled on, his gaze softening at the fear in my eyes. “Brandon has to be one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever known.

I’ve never heard anyone play piano like he does.” I couldn’t have looked away even if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t. I could have drowned in his eyes and died happy.

He smiled at me. “With your musical abilities and my singing, there’ll be no stopping us. We’re going to be famous one day; we’re going to be rich, you and me. I know you believed it yesterday. Don’t stop believing in us now.” I looked away from his raw assuredness. How I wished I could believe like he did.

Right then I believed in nothing.

My dad shattered the silence. “Pretty damn naïve, don’t you think, Nicholas? You two have nothing. You practically live on the streets; he can’t even get a job, and I’m damn well not going to pay for a roof over his head. There’s hundreds of kids out there right now, saying the exact same thing as you, some of them with more talent than you’d ever dream of having. ‘We’re gonna be famous. We’re gonna be rich.’ You’re no better than they are. What makes you think you have what it takes? I certainly don’t see it in Brandon.” He looked at me, pointedly ignoring Nick’s shock at his words. My chest had tightened at his cruelty. I blinked wonderingly -- did he think he was doing us a favor? Did he really believe he was right?

I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from crying, but he saw it -- saw it in my eyes. If anything, my weakness made him angrier.

“I will no longer support you, Brandon. If you’re old enough to have a lover, you’re damn well old enough to take care of yourself. I’ll give you a week to find a job and a place to live. Adam sure as hell won’t want you at his place. But Nicholas will have to leave today. I don’t want to see him here again.”

Then my dad left the house.

I dropped my head to my arms and buried my face. “Now what am I going to do?” I whispered, my face hot with shame. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was losing everything, just when I’d believed I’d found the gold of my dreams.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the embarrassment of tears. I heard Nicholas get up from his chair. I stiffened, waited for his footsteps to take him out of the kitchen and out of my life. But when his arms wrapped around me, I was so shocked, I tried to push him away.

He wouldn’t let me. He was stronger than he looked. His arms slid around my chest and locked tight. He hugged me from me behind and kissed my neck.

“You okay?”

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Carolyn Gray

I could only shake my head. A sob escaped me, but I swallowed it. I would not cry. I refused to cry.

“Oh, Brandon, he’s wrong. He’s so wrong about you; he’s wrong about me. I know you felt it yesterday, didn’t you? At the piano? We’re good. Better than good, you and me.” I sniffed. “Why does he hate me so much?” I whispered, barely able to get the words out through the tightness in my throat.

“I don’t think he hates you, Brandon. He just doesn’t understand you. Know what?” He paused, waiting for me. Finally I said, “What?”

“I really believe we’re going to make it. I believe we’re going to be okay. I believe someday, you’ll look back at this moment and realize your dad really was wrong. And he will, too. He’s going to regret hurting you.”

I hid my face in my hands. “It does hurt, Nicholas. It hurts so much.”

“I know, babe. I know.”

He ran his hands over my shoulders, squeezing them in reassurance. I sat up, leaning back against his warm chest, turning my head to the side and wiping my tears on his shirt.

He chuckled softly, using his sleeve to wipe my other cheek.

“I’ve got friends who’ll put us up for a little while, until we can find our feet, so to speak. We’ll be okay, as long as we’re together.” He paused, adding quietly, “If that’s what you want.” Then, his voice raw and vulnerable, “Do you still want me, Brandon?” He pulled away from me, but I stopped him by holding on to his hands, knowing which direction his mind was going. “Yes. Yes, I do. I want you, Nicholas. It’s what I want, too. I’m sorry, Nicholas. My dad is --”