All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at:
pjalexander1753@gmail.com
PJ
D'n'M Part 7
From Chapter 4:
Neither of them had any idea how long they remained in that position, kneeling on the grass, wrapped in each other's arms, as time passed and the sun began to sink into the western sky. They were both locked in their own turbulent thoughts. Later Nico would have no memory of what had gone through his mind -- probably not much worth remembering, he decided - but Gerry knew that he'd come to a very important decision. It was clear to him that Nico had been fed a completely skewed version of the events leading up to his mum leaving the country and that he needed to know the real truth about his history. And not his, Gerry's, version of the truth. He needed to have it explained to him by his mum, which meant that he needed to be told about Kate's letter.
Chapter 5:
It took a lot more than coffee and eggs before Helen could convince Milo that he should go back with her to her house, just as it took more than one re-telling of the Buenos Aires hotel story to convince her that Dan had pretty much totally misinterpreted what Milo had told him before running out of the apartment. She was also profoundly relieved to be convinced that Milo definitely had not tried to have sex with Nico. If she was honest, there had been a few wobbly moments when she'd begun to wonder whether it might, in some small way at least, have been true, but the idea had been too horrible to dwell on and so it had been shoved firmly to the back of her mind. Now, she felt, it could be even more firmly dumped completely.
Just as Dan had experienced earlier that day, Milo felt the full force of Helen's interrogation-like questioning as he explained to her three, maybe four, times how Nico had stripped naked and come on to him, and how the sight of the beautiful boy had awakened memories of the fourteen-year-old D and of his, Milo's, hormone-driven, teenage fantasies. He lost count of the number of times he was unable to carry on; of the tears that he shed; of the time that passed. As he repeatedly retold the story to Helen, he couldn't escape the memory of D's appalled reaction and that last vision of him silently gathering up his clothes and storming out of the apartment without looking back.
But, like water dripping on a stone, Milo's resistance to going back with Helen was eventually worn away by her relentless insistence that sitting down together and talking things through was the only way to repair the damage done to his and Dan's relationship. Milo's arguments against that idea went round and round in an exhausting circle: that too much harm had been done; that D would need more time; that he wouldn't be ready to listen. Helen countered with her belief that Dan was desperate to get things back to normal; that he had simply misunderstood about what had happened in Buenos Aires; that they had too much to lose by choosing not to face each other.
The truth, however, was that Helen wasn't convinced by any of her own arguments. She hadn't detected any sense that D was ready to get things back to normal and he definitely seemed sure that Milo had been more than willing to have sex with Nico, even if the act itself hadn't actually taken place. As for facing each other, well, she had no choice but to admit to herself that such a meeting could prove to be the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. It was a gamble where everyone could lose.
But what, she asked herself, was the alternative? Letting things fester? Sweeping the events in the hotel, whatever they were, under the rug? Pretending that it was all just a minor bump in the road? Surely not. Every one of those alternatives was a way of delaying the inevitable melt-down and from that, Helen was convinced, there would definitely be no coming back.
In the end Milo gave in and allowed himself to be `persuaded' as, of course, they'd both known he would be. Arriving home, and before getting out of the car, Helen took a few moments to send a text message. Seconds later her phone pinged.
Coast clear -- D's gone for a walk to clear head. Prob back in 20 mins, give or take.
Well, that was a relief. At least they wouldn't be walking straight into the lion's den, and when Dan got home he'd see the car on the driveway and know that Helen was back. Whether he'd put two and two together and come up with the answer that Milo was in the house too, now that was a completely nother question.
There was no sign of Roger in the sitting room but Helen had a pretty good idea of where he'd be. She knew that he'd have retreated to his haven, his ultimate place of safety -- his home office. She also knew that he'd have taken refuge in the one thing he knew that could always be relied on; something that would never let him down or answer back. She put her head around the door.
"The monthly expenses spread-sheet?"
"Yep. Got it in one."
"Dan been gone long?"
"Half an hour or thereabouts."
"How'd he seem?"
"So, so."
"Still angry?"
"Confused, more like."
"I've brought Milo back with me."
"Guessed you would."
"He wasn't keen."
"No surprise there."
"They've got to sort out this whole mess."
"Hope you know what you're doing."
"Me too."
"I'll back you up, 100%."
"I know."
Helen closed the door and returned to the kitchen. What met her there was completely unexpected, and stopped her dead in the doorway. It looked like the final, confrontational shoot-out climax of a thriller movie and the atmosphere in the room was equally tense and the outcome just as unpredictable. Standing just inside the door which led into the kitchen from the utility room and the outside was Dan. Helen thought the only word to describe the expression on his face was disbelief. Just a few feet across the room, half turned away and with one hand holding a glass of water, stood Milo. He looked terrified. They were like two statues. Neither so much as twitched although, as Helen quickly realised, their eyes were fully locked onto each other like tractor beams. If ever there was a pin-drop' or knife-through-butter' moment, this was it. The silence in the room was almost solid, the atmosphere heavy, like the moments immediately before an almighty storm. No-one spoke, no-one moved, no-one, in truth, knew what to do.
Suddenly the silence was shattered, literally, as the glass in Milo's hand dropped onto the hard, tiled floor, disintegrating into a thousand fragments and spraying water in a wide arc across the room. A few more seconds of stunned silence were followed by a flurry of activity as all three -- Helen, Milo and Dan -- moved towards the mess. Milo grabbed a cloth from the kitchen counter and began dabbing at the water as Helen went past him to reach the mop and bucket from the utility room. Dan knelt and started to collect the shards of glass. Still no-one spoke but now, with the eye contact between them broken, Dan and Milo were making sure not to look at each other.
Within a minute, maybe two, the silence was broken.
"Dan! Stop! You've been cut." It was Helen.
She was right. Inches from where Dan was kneeling, the pool of water nearest to his left hand was beginning to turn a pale shade of pink. Once again they all froze. Helen was first to move. Abandoning the mop and bucket she swooped on Dan and took hold of his hand, turning the palm up and revealing an uneven wound, several centimetres long, which was welling blood. She immediately went into mum-in-a-crisis management mode.
"Dan, keep still. Especially don't try to move this hand. Milo, the First Aid box is in the top drawer in the utility, immediately to the left of the sink."
Milo didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the blood which continued to flow across D's hand.
"Milo! The First Aid box. Go get it!"
Shocked by Helen's tone into sudden awareness and action, Milo dragged his gaze away from D's hand and took the few steps needed to do as she had ordered, returning quickly with the box. It didn't take long for Dan's hand to be efficiently cleaned, dressed and bandaged and for everyone's breathing to be back to normal. The same could not be said for the atmosphere in the room which definitely wasn't normal. The air of tension that surrounded the three of them was, once again, like a heavy blanket.
Helen's voice cut through the silence. "Right. The wound isn't deep enough to need stitching but, Dan, you need to rest up. Go into the sitting room and stay still. Hold your hand against your chest, keeping the wound raised above the level of your heart. Milo, you go with him and make sure he does what I just told him, while I get this mess cleared up."
Both men started to protest, but Helen would have none of it.
"For fu ..., for heaven's sake, you two. Just shut up and grow up! All I'm asking you to do is be together in the same room for a few minutes. I didn't say anything about kissing and making up." She looked directly at them each in turn. "Though that would be a welcome bonus." She turned away towards the door. "I'll get Roger to come and keep an eye on you and make sure things stay civil." She paused. "Unless, of course, you can be trusted to be alone?" She waited. Stony-faced. Both Dan and Milo gave a sheepish nod of the head and headed off out of the kitchen, looking and feeling like a couple of naughty little boys.
As they left Helen returned to mopping the floor but her thoughts drifted off to the sitting room with Dan and Milo. Was that wise, she asked herself, sending them off together with no-one else there to keep the peace? What if they went for each other? Not physically. No, she didn't think that was at all possible. But any words they might say to each other could be just as damaging.
"What the hell," she muttered to herself. "They're supposed to be adults, the both of them. We can't hold their hands forever. They've got to learn to stand on their own two feet and not rely on us to sort things out for them."
"Good advice," came a voice from behind, startling her and almost making her drop the mop. "Any chance of you following it and leaving them to sort out the mess they've got themselves into?"
Roger came and put his hands on Helen's shoulders, bending his head slightly to kiss her on the forehead.
"What if they can't?" she asked, plaintively.
"Then we'll be here to pick up the pieces, just like always." He looked around and pointed to the broken glass which still littered the floor. "Just like I'm here to help pick up these pieces."
"Thanks. I appreciate it. But be careful. We don't need any more injuries."
The blanket atmosphere had followed Dan and Milo from the kitchen into the sitting room. Dan obeyed his mum's instructions to the letter, propping himself up on the sofa, hand pulled tight against his body and held higher than his heart. It throbbed. Milo hadn't been told what he should do so he stood with his back to the room, seemingly looking out of the window. Except he wasn't looking out over the front porch, the garden and the driveway. No, he was staring at the reflection of Dan that he could see out of the corner of his eye. Even with dark circles around his eyes, his hair unbrushed and with his injured and bandaged hand, Milo still saw the beautiful boy he'd fallen in love with half a lifetime ago. His head pounded, his heart ached, his thoughts tumbled round as if they were in a drier.
`What a mess,' those thoughts were saying, over and over and over. "What a stupid, fucked-up mess."
"That's one way of describing it." Dan's voice came as a complete surprise. Milo had no idea that he'd spoken the last few words out loud. "And what happened to the rule about not using the F-word? Or is that something else you've been lying to me about for years?"
Milo swung round. The aggressive edge to D's voice was matched by the look in his half-hooded eyes. Milo fought to stop himself from responding because he knew that anything he said now would be angry and aggressive and completely self-defeating. He needed to keep control. He drew in a breath. And a second. The two halves of his mind suddenly started up a debate which, at that moment, he definitely didn't need. Should he step forward asked one half? Fall on his knees and beg, questioned the other? Maybe it would be best if he just left the room and waited for another time to have this conversation. But Helen had said that D was ready to be convinced, ready to believe that nothing had happened in that hotel room. Did he believe her? Did he dare? Well, now was the time to find out.
"I've never lied to you, D. Never."
"Really?" Dan's reply was coated in disbelief.
"Actually, no, that's not true. There was that time in Mr. Miles' English class when he accused me of cheating and I swore blind that I hadn't copied your homework. Remember?"
"Remember? Of course I remember. I was the one who got a detention for copying yours!" Despite himself a smile appeared on Dan's face. "You fucker!"
"It was all in a good cause. I had swimming practice that day ahead of a big competition so I couldn't stay behind for a stupid detention. I was always surprised that he believed me over you. You were so much better in that class than I was." Milo paused then decided to risk taking a small step forward towards Dan. "But I swear, D, that is the only lie I have ever told you. I know you probably think you've got a very good reason not to believe me now and, who knows, if it was the other way around, well, I can't be sure that I'd believe me either."
He started to take another step but Dan held up his good hand, making it clear that he didn't want Milo to come any closer. The smile had completely disappeared from his face.
"But you said Nico was beautiful."
"He is -- just like you were at fourteen."
"You said you jerked off thinking about him -- twice!" Once again his eyes were locked on Milo's.
"Yeah, that's true, it's true that I did have his body in my mind, ... but it was your face I could see. Your eyes, your smile. They're what made me cum like a horse."
"But even thinking about him in that way, it's, it's ... sick!" Dan's voice was getting louder.
"You're right. Completely right. Of course you are. But it wasn't him I was thinking about. It was you. It's always you." As Dan's voice got louder, Milo's went in the opposite direction. "You've got to believe me." It wasn't much more than a whisper.
"And he's your nephew for fuck's sake. Your fourteen-year-old nephew." It was as if Dan hadn't heard, or chose not to hear, and Milo knew that he wasn't getting through. Knew that D's mind was locked up like a bank vault and that he had no idea of the combination that would unlock it. He fell to his knees, his eyes now fixed on the floor in front of him.
"And with his mum -- your own sister - barely cold in the ground."
"Please, D. Please," Milo pleaded. He didn't need to be reminded about Kate. He looked up, hoping to re-establish eye contact once more. Something told him that this was really important.
But Dan had turned his head away and was staring across the room, away from where Milo was kneeling, still just a couple of steps away from the window. It was almost as if he was trying to wish himself out of the room altogether.
Milo tried again. It seemed to him that this was probably going to be his one, last, desperate throw of the dice. If he couldn't get D to believe him about Buenos Aires, then that would be it. The end. He knew that there would be no trust and no way of saving their marriage; that he'd have lost D completely; that his own life would stretch ahead of him, forever empty and pointless.
"Please, D. On my life. I swear to you." Milo was desperate, and sounded it. "You are everything to me." He could barely get the words out of his mouth. "You are the reason I breathe." He swallowed hard. "Every day you make me want to be the best person I can be. I know that sounds cheesy and worse than a bad RomCom, but it's true. I would rather hurt myself than ever do anything to hurt you. Please, you've got to believe me." Milo sobbed.
"Well, I don't!" Dan's voice was as unforgiving and as rigid as his back. "I don't believe that you didn't have sex with your own kid nephew in a flashy hotel room, thousands of miles away."
Milo slumped. He knew that was it. That it was over. That he and D were done. "I didn't." He paused to draw one more breath into his lungs. "I didn't." And again. "I didn't."
"He's right, he didn't!" The new voice came from the open door.
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