Something Like Winter (20 page)

Instead, Travis knocked
over empty beer bottles on his way out of bed, scurrying with a
panicked expression to stop them from rolling too far along the
floor. As if the noise would give away what he and Tim had
done—what they always did, but only when drunk.

That wasn’t quite true.
Sometimes Tim was sober, like the first time Travis had stumbled
into their room and climbed into Tim’s bed by complete
accident.

Right.

“
I’m hitting the shower,”
Travis said, one hand on the doorknob, the other full of clean
clothes. He stared at Tim like he was missing the
obvious.

“
So?” Tim
prompted.

“
So you’re in my
bed!”

No one would come in their
room at this hour, and even if they did, Tim doubted they would
remember which bed belonged to whom. But he knew Travis would stand
there like an idiot until he did something, so Tim got out of bed
and leisurely scratched himself, giving Travis a good look at his
morning wood. Face flushed and jaw clenching, Travis turned his
head, refusing to look at him.

Tim had meant to be funny,
but now he was pissed. “Stupid hick,” he huffed, stomping over to
his bed and ripping back the sheets so he could get in. He even
smashed a pillow over his head until he heard the bedroom door
shut. Then he tossed the pillow aside and groaned.

The thing was, he liked
Travis. They had first met as University of Texas freshmen and
pledges to the fraternity, the noble Alpha Theta Sigma, the very
same fraternity his father had belonged to. What he couldn’t
picture was his father going through initiation. Most of the hazing
was harmless and dumb, like having to answer trivia questions
correctly or do pushups. Or race to eat an entire large pizza
alone, chugging a beer between each slice. Sometimes they faced
sleep deprivation or had to exercise until they dropped. But the
worst had been when they were teamed up, handed shaving cream and
razors, and told to shave each other completely from the neck
down.

Tim had been teamed with
Travis, the experience anything but erotic. For him, at least.
Travis nicked him so many times, Tim worried he would lose his junk
completely, so self-control hadn’t been an issue. Travis wasn’t so
lucky. Maybe Tim was a little too careful with the razor, because
when he got to his pubes, Travis started getting hard. Fraternity
brothers were walking around like drill sergeants, screaming at
each team to be the first, but Tim also couldn’t help wondering if
they were weeding out the gay guys.

So Tim had started talking
about his grandma and her foot fungus that spread up her whole leg,
smelling terrible as it ate her flesh. All fiction, of course, but
Tim’s descriptions were repulsive enough that Travis got himself
under control. They weren’t the first team done, but they weren’t
the last. They made the fraternity. Tim didn’t interact with Travis
much after that until his second year when they were assigned as
roommates.

Tim never thought they
would end up sleeping together, or that he would like Travis as
anything more than a frat brother. Not that Tim’s interest hadn’t
been piqued. Travis spoke with a country drawl, the sort of accent
everyone assumed Texans had. In the Houston area, everyone sounded
normal, aside from saying “y’all” instead of “you guys.” Austin
wasn’t so different, but in some places, like Dallas, the accents
could get just as exaggerated as those on TV. That’s how Travis
sounded, and that, combined with his freckles, gave him country-boy
charm.

Travis often spoke of his
family back home in Kentucky, especially his little sisters. He
seemed like the kind of guy who would be a good dad, a family man.
Or a good boyfriend, if he could accept himself. Only when drunk
did the real Travis emerge. He even told Tim once, slurring
heavily, that he loved him.

But he didn’t. Tim knew
what it was like to be loved, and this wasn’t it.

Travis didn’t return to the
room after showering. He would avoid Tim for the day, maybe longer.
Then he would get over it, acting like nothing happened until the
next time he decided to get drunk. Being in the closet was one
thing; being in denial was a completely different game. Fate had
found someone even more messed up than Tim to give him a taste of
his own medicine. If only Benjamin could see him now.

Tim rolled over and sighed.
Thinking about Ben would only make a bad morning miserable, so he
closed his eyes and tried to get some shut-eye. He had just managed
to doze off when the longhorn jolted him awake.

The longhorn was a
compressed air horn, like the kind used at sporting events, that
was taped to a megaphone. The result was excruciatingly loud. And
annoying. When a fraternity meeting was called, some poor sap would
be sent walking down the hallways, blaring the longhorn to get
everyone’s attention. They had five minutes to reach the main
common room unless they wanted to get demerits, and those meant
cleaning up puke after a party or other horrible jobs they couldn’t
even get maids in to do. Being part of a fraternity was about as
much fun as being in the military, especially the way Quentin ran
the house.

And of course it was
Quentin who had called this meeting. He stood at the speaker’s
podium they normally dragged out for rituals, waiting for all the
brothers to file in the room. Quentin was the consummate frat boy:
white as the suburbs—despite the fake tan—and decked out in a polo
shirt tight against his muscles. When he smiled, his teeth were
just as bright as the gold chain around his neck. The All-American
Boy look was shared by most of Tim’s other fraternity brothers,
enough that they could have been clones. Lately, when Tim looked in
the mirror, he felt disturbed rather than proud.

That’s one reason he liked
Travis. That Huck Finn vibe really stood out. Travis was already in
the common room, the only person other than Quentin who was
showered and alert. Everyone else was still recovering from the
excess of drinking and drugs the night before.

“
Fund raising,” Quentin
said, his booming voice answered by a number of groans, Tim’s among
them. “Stop your bitching! The roof isn’t up to code, one of the
air conditioners stopped working, and the floor is completely
fucked. If you pussies want to keep living here, you’ll get out
there and bring in some money. No fraternity house, no
fraternity.”

Tim kept looking over at
Travis, hoping to catch his eye. He was sure, from the way he moved
his head slightly, that Travis saw him. Naturally, Travis then
turned away, which Tim supposed was all the answer he
needed.

“
We’ve got a number of
schemes this year,” Quentin continued. “Some of you will be hitting
the streets, selling scratch tickets. People can’t win money, but
some of them have invitations to our best parties and events, so
don’t forget to remind them how much booze and pussy we get here.
Charm the hell out of girls to make sales, but for fuck’s sake,
don’t give away any tickets. I know how many there are, and it’ll
come out of your wallet if any go missing.”

Tim let Quentin drone on.
He knew the drill. Quentin always made up excuses as to why they
needed money. It was always the roof, curiously enough, but no one
here seemed to remember him saying that the year before or didn’t
call him on it. The truth was, most of the money went to the
parties, but whatever. One week of work for all the benefits they
received wasn’t bad.

And Tim knew he wouldn’t
get one of the crappy jobs like selling tickets or working the car
wash. Quentin came from a long line of Alpha Theta Sigma brothers
and took it seriously. Most guys here just wanted status, but
Quentin upheld a tradition started by his great-grandfather. That
Tim’s father was also a brother earned him major points.

“
Each of you will be paired
with your roommate. Only one of you report for your assignment.
Figure out who’s talking to me. Don’t both come up here or it’ll
piss me off.”

Tim looked over at Travis,
who grudgingly made eye contact. Tim pointed at himself, and Travis
nodded. Now Travis would have to interact with him today if they
were going to be hitting the alumni for money. That was by far the
easiest fund-raising job. All they had to do was talk to some old
geezers and listen to their fondest memories or whatever before a
fat check was cut.

Tim waited behind a few
other guys, and sure enough, when he talked to Quentin, this was
the assignment he was given.

“
Get out there today,”
Quentin said. “A lot of these guys still work, so the weekend is
your best chance. You should be able to get them all by the end of
tomorrow.” He handed Tim a list, glancing at it first and smirking.
“Eric Conroy is on there. Start with him. He’s loaded and always
happy to dish out cash.”

“
No problem.”

Tim scanned the list of
names and addresses, glad that all were in Austin. Last year he had
to drive an hour out of town for a lousy hundred dollar check. He
looked up when he reached Travis and grinned.

“
Good news. We’re spending
the weekend together!”

* * * * *

The interior of the 3000GT
felt like it was stuffed full of cotton balls, only the muffled
sounds of traffic outside invading the silence. Every movement felt
deliberate and awkward. Tim had tried everything to make Travis
unwind. Music didn’t help, since Travis wouldn’t speak over it. Any
conversation he attempted was met with grunts or
silence.

Travis wasn’t in a slump.
At the last house they visited, he’d been as animated and charming
as ever. The alumnus there was from Kentucky as well, giving them
plenty to talk about, along with a five hundred dollar check. But
as soon as they were back in the car, Travis clammed up
again.

“
What do you think the
trade-in value on this car would be?” Tim asked. “I mean, I wonder
if selling it would get more cash.”

He wasn’t really planning
on getting rid of his car. He had taken the best possible care of
it. Not that he wouldn’t mind trading up, but he doubted his
parents would fork over the cash to get something new. Travis was a
car enthusiast, jabbering nonstop the first time he rode in Tim’s
car, talking about tweaks he could do on the engine or cars he had
driven back home.

“
What do you
think?”

“
You always get more
selling,” Travis said, looking out the passenger window. “If you do
it right.”

Okay. That was a start. “It
just sounds more convenient going to a dealership and driving away
with something. What sort of car do you think I should
get?”

No answer. Tim waited,
hoping Travis was mulling it over, but nothing. They were only
minutes from the house Quentin suggested they visit first. They’d
hit a few others on the way, since Tim didn’t want to waste time
driving back and forth through the city. Plus, Tim didn’t want to
ruin a good prospect with Travis acting moody. Now the idea of him
returning to his usual chipper self at the next house was
irritating.

“
Look, I don’t get why you
can’t be yourself around me, of all people.” When there wasn’t a
response, Tim pulled over to the side of the road. They were in the
West Lake Hills area, where homes had multi-million dollar price
tags. The house ahead was a sprawling one-story ranch with so much
land there were no neighbors in sight. “Travis! Would you fucking
look at me?”

Travis did, his eyes angry
and accusatory. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“
Because if I do, the same
shit will keep happening. You’ll ignore me for a while before you
loosen up again. Then we’ll be friends until the next time you
decide to get trashed, and you know damn well what happens
next.”

“
It won’t. Not
again.”

“
Why not?” Tim said. “We
both have the same secret! I won’t betray you to anyone. Ever. You
don’t have to be drunk to hook up with me. You don’t need an
excuse.”

“
I don’t want to be with
you!” Travis snarled, ripping at the door handle. “I want a
family!”

And then he was out of the
car, tromping down the road. Tim let him go, figuring he needed to
blow off steam. Travis was almost over the next hill when he
stopped and leaned against a brick pillar of the cast iron fence.
Still Tim waited, giving him time. Then he put the car in park, got
out, and went to Travis, hearing the sniffs and seeing the tears
before grabbing and hugging him. To Tim’s relief, Travis hugged him
back.

“
Until you find the right
girl,” Tim whispered. “The one who can give you that family. Just
be with me until then.”

Travis tried to say
something, his voice coming out a squeak, but he nodded against his
shoulder. Tim hurt inside as much as he felt happy. This was
progress, right? Once Travis had pulled himself together, they got
back in the car and kept driving. This time Tim stayed quiet, not
wanting to push his luck.

“
A Plymouth Road Runner,”
Travis said eventually. “That’s what you should get.”

Tim fought down a smile.
“Do they even make those anymore?”

“
Nope. They’re classic.
Especially if you can get one from ’68 or ’69 before they updated
the body. If we shop around, get a fixer-upper, you might end up
with left-over cash.”