Everybodys Wounded

Everybody's Wounded II

How the Light Gets In

Chapter Four

Nine o'clock.

Luc paced his bedroom, clutching his cell phone. The distance between Montreal and Nova Scotia seemed to grow with every passing second.

Nine oh one. Nine oh two. Nine oh three.

He was pacing a Bermuda triangle -- bed to desk, desk to chair, chair to bed -- and it threatened to swallow his dreams.

Nine oh four. Nine oh five.

He counted out the minutes. Waiting. Hoping.

By nine fifteen his hope was running out.

And then, when it finally did ring, he dropped the damned thing, and jarred his wrist grabbing for it.

"Oui, hello?" he said breathlessly.

"Hey. Luc. How are you doing?" And then, for a few seconds, a very few seconds, Scott's deep, quiet voice made the miles disappear.

"Well," Luc said softly, "I am well."

"Good. That's good. And the hand? You said they were doing another MRI today?"

"Oui," he said, pressing his now throbbing left hand against his chest. "The tests have all been good. They are removing this splint next week. The rehab will start then. I would rather not have it removed here, though. Rehab must start as soon as they remove it, and if they remove it here, and start rehab here, I'm afraid..."

God, please, he thought. There, in Nova Scotia. It had to be there.

"I know," Scott said reassuringly. "And you can. I've found you a room mate."

Luc didn't really register the words; what he heard was the tone of Scott's response. The firmness of Scott's voice in his ear sounded so sure, so certain, and he felt himself relax. Everything was going to be all right. Scott was going to move in with him and everything would be fine. The relief he felt was so palpable it was like he'd been in some kind of body cast that had just been ripped away and now he could breathe in deep, whole breaths.

"Thank you," he whispered. Then, more strongly, "They did not give you trouble moving out of residence? You don't have to worry about rent, of course. I should have told you that. There are two extra bedrooms."

"Luc--"

Scott's voice held a warning, but Luc didn't register it. He just kept talking, the words tumbling out beyond his control.

"You can pick the room you want," he said. "I've got the master bedroom with the ensuite, my parents made me take that one since I'd be here alone, but you can use the one my parents use now. That would be the best. I used to share it with Pierre when I was a kid. You will like it, Scott. It looks out over the ocean. The other room, the twins' room, is a little bigger, but it looks up the shoreline. And--"

"Luc," came Scot's voice, more firmly this time. "Listen to me."

But Luc couldn't listen. He was too excited, too hopeful. For the first time in God alone knew how long, he was too open. He was going back to Nova Scotia. He was going to have another chance to start again. Scott was going to be with him, and he would be strong, and finally, finally, he would be able to let go of Daniel, and everything would be all right.

"You can take the main bathroom," he said in a rush. "I never use that one. And we have a cleaning service, my parents pay for that, and--"

"Luc, stop. Luc. Listen to me. It won't be me. Luc. It can't be me. I can't move in with you."

Luc stopped. "But--" He stopped again, and the next breath came out in a sob he could not control. "But you said--"

"Luc, I said you could come back here, and start your rehab here. I said that I've found you a roommate."

"But--" Merde. He was sobbing. He couldn't stop it. Scott would know. Scott would hear--

"Luc, listen to me. His name is Matt, and he's Bran's older brother. You know Bran, Laura's boyfriend? Short, blonde. Built like a tank. Captain of the rugby team. His brother dropped out a couple of years ago without finishing his senior year..."

Luc said nothing. It was like he was frozen. He heard the words, but their meaning seemed elusive, sitting on the surface without sinking in.

"He's a good guy, Luc. He's older than us, and he's had a tough time himself. And he's gay, Luc. He's had his own issues. I think maybe you can help him, too."

Luc fought it, but another sob escaped.

"Luc," said Scott, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "You have to understand that I can't move in with you. It wouldn't be good for either of us. Not after what happened between us that night. Luc, please."

Luc could hear the hurt in Scott's voice, register its reality, but somehow he couldn't quite understand it. The words just continued in his ear, pleading, pain soaked. Luc wanted to tell him to stop, but the taste of betrayal was so bitter in his mouth he didn't know how to speak.

"Luc, please. I know we need to talk about what happened that night. Not now, but sometime. But you have to know -- I do know it shouldn't have happened, and it was my fault and I'm so, so sorry. I just--"

And now, Luc felt his heart shatter in slow motion.

"We don't ever need to talk about that," he finally managed to say.

"Yeah, we do," said Scott. "Luc, listen to me. I told you. I care about you. I care about you very, very much. I just -- Josh and I-- I need--. "

Then Scott went silent.

Luc was acutely aware that it was just the two of them, alone and breathing and hurt, in their separate places a thousand miles apart.

And then, despite the pain of it, Luc felt a strange, strong calmness descend on him, like the fog settling on the shore.

"Bran's brother sounds like a good solution," he said, and the sudden calmness and strength of his voice surprised him. "Yes, that will do. Thank you very much. I will email you later tomorrow to make arrangements."

Scott sobbed. "Luc--"

Luc clicked his phone shut.

A thousand miles away, Scott stood alone in Josh's condo. He'd not turned on the lights, and so he stood in the darkness, staring out beyond the glass into the blackness where somewhere, somewhere, the North Atlantic was cold and grey and cruelly strong beyond human measure or imagination.

He knew what he had just done to the broken boy in Montreal. He knew, and he felt helpless before it.

Alone, he wept.

Matt stretched himself out once more on Scott's bed and waited for Brandon, who was next door with Laura. He was in a foul mood. He hadn't intended to spend another night here, not with Josh Templeton's picture looking down at him while he slept, but Stevie had found his own residence room and shown up there with Kieran just before dinner. Fortunately, Bran still had the key to Scott's room.

The important thing, he told himself, was that he get out on his own, away from the party boys, and away from the pretty, wild boys from his past. It wasn't so much that they tempted him -- Stevie or Kieran or the party boys -- he was past that, he was sure he was past that. It was more that their presence was so very painful to him. They were a constant reminder of his past, forcing him to continually confront what he had once allowed himself to be, and worse, what he had been in danger of becoming.

They made it hard for him to move forward.

He decided that he'd rather cope with Josh's picture beside the bed.

"Hey," said Bran, pushing open the door and slumping down into Scott's chair.

"Whatever," said Matt.

"What's the matter with you?"

Matt shrugged.

"Who was that Kieran guy?" Bran asked. "An -- an ex?"

Matt shrugged again. Pretty boy, Kieran. Prettier even than Stevie. Matt had no memory of him at all, which kind of freaked him out a little bit.

"He was kinda acting like--"

"Look, let it go. I don't remember, ok?"

Bran's jaw dropped. "You don't -- remember?"

"Right" said Matt bitterly. "Like you remember every chick who ever went down on you. I've been in locker rooms. I've heard how you jocks talk. It's easy for you. Everything's easy for you. You've got your sweet little blonde girlfriend--"

He saw the look on Bran's face, and he just wanted to die.

He didn't mean it. He regretted it the minute he said it. It wasn't him speaking. It was the asshole he'd created, hidden behind to save himself out west. The asshole Stevie and Kieran and all the things he didn't want to remember had brought back.

"Bran, I'm sorry--"

"You know," said Bran slowly, the hurt obvious in his tone. "If I didn't know how much you hate the stuff you did, I'd think you were just another guy like Stevie. Do you know who I am at all? Do you really think that I could ever be like that?"

"Fuck, no. Bran, I don't know where that came from. I didn't mean it. I--."

"Yeah, well, do you want to know where I just came from? The student counseling centre. You want to know why? Because one of those assholes you're talking about date-raped my girlfriend, and convinced her she was asking for it, ok? Because he took her to her high school prom and didn't understand the word no. My sweet little blonde girlfriend, who still freezes if I do more than kiss her. Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to get us through this together? He forced her -- and then he left her thinking it was her fault, and that's what guys do and she must have-- fuck."

He stood up to go.

Matt grabbed his arm and pushed him back down into the chair at Scott's desk.

"Sit," he said, startling himself with the big brother firmness he seemed to have found from somewhere. "I'm sorry. That was a stupid ass thing to say and you're right. I know you aren't like that, and I'm incredibly sorry about Laura."

"Sorry," said Bran. "I shouldn't have told you that. Things haven't been that easy for us, you know? But we'll get through it."

Matt reached out and touched his brother's arm. "Yes, you will," he said, and he meant it. "If anyone can get her through it, it's you, little brother. Because that's the kind of man you are. I know that. I do know that."

He was relieved to see Brandon relax a little.

"It's just -- I'm totally stressed, ok? This is so much harder than I expected. I like your friend Scott, I do, but -- he looked like he's not sure he really trusts me. What have you told him about me?"

"Not much," said Bran. "Really. I mean, he knows you're gay. But I've told him pretty much nothing about anything that happened out west, if that's what you meant. Just that you'd been there, and that it was rough, and that you're through it. But Josh--"

"What about Josh ?" Matt demanded, and it came out a little more harshly than he intended. "There's nothing Scott needs to know about me and Josh. I told you. That was a long time ago. Almost three years. Long over, long done. Josh is with Scott now. If there's one thing Josh deserves, it's to be happy, and if he's got that with Scott..."

"Scott's a good guy," said Bran softly. "The best. I didn't tell him about you and Josh. Not in any specific way. When they were first getting together I was, well, I guess a little protective of Scott. I mean, Josh fucked you up pretty badly."

"Josh did no such thing," said Matt firmly.

Bran caught his eye and held it. "Right. Like you weren't in love with him."

Internally, Matt winced. "God save me from straight boys," he said, forcing a smile. "Look. It wasn't like that. We had a little thing, a very little thing. Almost nothing. It's not like a boy girl thing, for god's sake."

Bran just watched him, calmly, steadily. In the end, it was Matt who looked away.

"Scott knows whatever there is to know about you and Josh," Bran said finally. "He knows because Josh told him. Scott told me that this afternoon."

"And?" Matt asked swiftly

"And -- what you said, I guess. He said that there was nothing between you, nothing important. I told him--"

"You told him what?"

Bran sighed heavily. "I told him you were in love with Josh," he said. "And I told him that Josh broke your heart, and that Scott should be careful."

"Fuck," said Matt softly.

"What? Are you telling me it's not true?" Matt winced as Bran grabbed his arm fiercely. "Are you telling me that you weren't in love with Josh? Because if you are trying to tell me that, I know you're a liar. I was there, Matt, remember? I was there. I saw what you were like when you left home. I was with Dad when he first found you in Banff. I was there by myself in Whistler. I was fucking there. I dried out your drunken ass, and I listened to you talk about him, how you felt about him. So don't even try to bullshit me, ok? I. Was. Fucking. There. I remember. I know what he did to you--"

Matt closed his eyes and sighed heavily, then reached out and lay his hand over his brother's clenched first. "No Bran, not what Josh did to me. You saw what I did to myself."

"Because of him," said Bran fiercely.

Matt smiled sadly.

"No, little brother. It wasn't quite like that. It was..."

Matt stopped. How could he possibly explain this to his straight kid brother when he didn't really understand it himself?

"Look," he said slowly. "Up to a point, you're right. I had a lot of shit to deal with, and Josh was part of it. But it wasn't his fault. It was nothing he did. He was somehow the catalyst for it. That's what my therapist said."

He looked at Bran thoughtfully. "How well do you know Josh?"

"Hardly at all," Bran admitted. "He and Scott have really only been together since the beginning of December, and most of that time they were back in Toronto over Christmas. I've only met him a couple of times with Scott in the week since we've been back. I've never even really talked to him. But I watched Scott go through all this with him last fall, listened to Scott wrestle with it all."

"Well," said Matt slowly. "When I knew Josh, three years ago, he was very -- hurt, very damaged, I guess you might say. I was kind of a party boy, never even thought about the possibility of a relationship with anyone. But that last year he was here, after that prick of a boyfriend left him..." He sighed heavily.

"Yeah," said Bran. "Scott told me he'd been in a pretty bad relationship."

"Like you wouldn't believe. And for some reason, there was something about him. Here I was, the cool party boy all the guys were hot for--"

Bran started choking with laughter, and Matt blushed.

"Sorry, all the gay boys. Anyway. I just found that I wanted to... to help him, I guess. Be with him. I didn't even understand it. And when he wouldn't let me, well, I guess I just didn't know how to deal with it. I'd never been rejected like that. And the thing is, Bran, something got set off by that. And whatever it was, it would have been set off by someone. It just happened to be Josh. They were my demons, and I had to work through them."

Matt went quiet for awhile. That was the easy part. That was about where he'd gotten with his therapist.

But how was he supposed to get through the rest of it? How, after so much truth, was he supposed to lie to his brother again? He didn't want to, but he would if he had to.

And he had to.

He forced himself to look directly into Bran's eyes, and to hold his brother's steady gaze. "Listen, little brother. Whatever I felt, or thought I felt, for Josh, what I carried around with me all that time, really is behind me now. Ok? I'm well and truly over him. And the last thing I need is Scott worried that I'm gonna move in on his man, because that's not going to happen, ok?"

He laughed. "Besides, there's probably not much point. Josh didn't want me then, and he sure as hell won't want me now."

Bran continued to study him, but said nothing.

"Oh, for fuck sake," said Matt finally. "Just let it go. You can tell Scott that I've got no designs on the beautiful Mr. Templeton, and I'm not nursing a broken heart over him. I'm more worried about this Luc guy. Maybe I can really help him, you know?"

"Actually," said Bran, "I think Scott's more afraid you'll try to move in on Luc."

Josh had spent the evening with a small group of graduate students at the home of his thesis supervisor, with wine and music and friendly, if heated, conversation, and it was almost ten when he got home. He expected to find Scott waiting for him, but as he let himself in, was surprised to find the condo in darkness. When he flicked on the hall light and hung up his coat, however, he saw Scott's coat and boots. He wondered if he'd gone to bed.

He made his way towards the living room, reaching for a lamp, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness that was broken only by the small light that leaked in from the hall, his hand froze. The far wall of his living room was a vast expanse of glass that looked out over the ocean. Now, in the darkness of a moonless night heavy with snow, it was a wall of pitch black with a tall human shadow against it. Josh stood still, peering into the darkness. It was Scott standing there, his back to the room, his forehead pressed to the glass that held back the winter sky and ocean.

Josh left the light off and crossed the room quietly.

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle his lover as he came up behind him and rested his hands lightly on Scott's arms. He grazed Scott's neck with his mouth, just there, behind his ear.

Scott didn't move. Josh wrapped his arms about his hips and rested his chin on Scott's shoulder. For some moments, he, too, stared out into the night.

"What's wrong?" he asked finally.

"I've fucked up big time," said Scott quietly.

Josh pulled him closer, kissed the side of his neck again. "What do you mean?"

"Luc," said Scott simply. "This was my fault, and now I've let him down."

Josh bowed his head, rested his forehead against Scott's shoulder, said nothing. What was there for him to say? That it wasn't Scott's fault? He'd already said that. Said it in every way he knew how.

He held on and waited. Beneath his hands, Scott's body was taut and anxious. The minutes ticked by.

"I want you -- I need you -- to understand what happened between Luc and me," said Scott finally, still staring out into the night.

Josh sighed heavily. "You don't have to tell me this," he said. "It's not a quid pro quo from this morning -- I tell you about Matt so you have to tell me about Luc."

"I know that," said Scott. "That's not why. I need you to help me understand what I have to do, and to do that, I think you need to know what I've done."

"Ok. Tell me."

"That's just it," said Scott sadly. "I don't know if I can. I don't know if I can put it into words--"

Scott's voice caught in a sob, and Josh felt it like a pain in his own heart.

He pressed himself hard against Scott's back and kissed his neck a third time.

"Show me then," he said softly, turning Scott slowly in his arms so they were chest to chest. He tilted his head up so he was looking as best he could in the dim light up into this beloved face. "If you can't tell me, show me."

Josh felt Scott tremble. "I don't know if I can--"

"Shhh." Josh put a finger to Scott's mouth. "It's ok. You can show me. It's all right."

He curved his head into Scott's neck, and for a few moments just held him and waited. It hurt, the waiting. And he knew the knowing would hurt even more. But if Scott needed him to know this, then he would know it. He would wait, and he would hurt, he would understand, and then together they would work it through.

Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, he felt Scott's hands under his jaw, and then he felt his face tilted up. He shivered as Scott began to kiss him softly -- tiny, barely there kisses. He sighed, leaned into them, and then slowly, slowly, opened to them. But when Josh's lips parted, Scott stepped back, kissed his bottom lip, then placed a finger gently over his mouth and shook his head.

"You can't do that," he whispered, and even his whispering trembled. "You're afraid."

Josh reached up, grazed Scott's cheek gently as he tried to make out the beloved face in the light that was barely there.

"Afraid?" he whispered back. "Of you?"

Scott seemed to be staring beyond him. "I don't know,' he said. "I don't think so, but I just don't know. But of something. Hold my wrists. Just -- lightly. Hold them. Please"

Josh did, and Scott raised his hands so that he was holding Josh's face gently. Then he bowed his head again, back to the tiny kisses. There was about a foot between their bodies, but the only touch was Scott's hands on his face, the sweet, soft, closed-mouth kisses, and Josh's hands wrapped around those powerful wrists.

Josh stood still, trying to imagine being afraid of this big, gentle man who could kiss with such small, golden kisses.

They stood there for a long time, and though Josh was achingly hard and wanting desperately to push himself against Scott, he forced himself to stand still beneath the soft, magical touch of Scott's lips. Finally, after what seemed like a long, long time, Scott pulled back, and led him towards the bedroom. He paused along the way to gather some candles and holders from the dining room. While Josh watched, he set them around the bedroom and lit them.

"You lit candles?" he asked softly.

Scott shook his head. "Luc did."

"And this was where?"

"In his bedroom. You--"

"I what?"

"You had been walking the beach," said Scott. "I watched you come back. I was standing in his window, looking down."

Josh closed his eyes. He remembered that day. It was after he and Scott had made love the first time -- yes, made love. He'd tried to convince himself it was just sex, but even then, he'd known. He'd known.

God, it hurt, knowing Scott had turned from his bed to Luc's. He'd knew knowing would hurt, but did it have to be so much?

He watched Scott finish lighting the candles, fighting the urge to leave. Instead, he allowed himself to be swept into those massive arms once again. Now Scott's kisses grew hungrier, and Josh found himself responding. When finally he could not suppress a groan, Scott took his mouth. The taste of him was so powerful Josh thought he might come just from that.

He groaned again, and the kisses continued, hot, hotter. And then their clothes were coming off, and then they were naked, and hard, and hungry for each other as they were always hungry--

And yet -- not.

Somehow, somehow it didn't feel like getting naked with Scott usually felt. This was different. Usually their coming together was so open, so generous. But now he could feel that Scott was holding back in a way he never did. Holding back not just his body but something else, something else--.

"He was afraid," Scott whispered, and Josh could hear tears in his voice. "He must have been afraid. He said he wanted -- everything."

Everything? Josh felt he wanted to weep. He couldn't do this. He couldn't bear it. Yet Scott needed him. Scott needed him to understand.

"Everything. I just thought it was nervousness. I did it anyway. I made him--"

They were standing beside the bed, and Scott pressed Josh back against it, gently, persistently, until he was lying on his back and Scott was beside him.

"Turn towards me," he whispered in the candlelight, and Josh, feeling like his heart was breaking, turned towards him. Then Scott took Josh's right hand and lifted it to his neck, placed it against the muscles there.

"Hold me," he said, and Josh tensed his fingers into the corded strength. "Yes, like that."

And then Josh felt his left hand being taken in Scott's right, and guided down, down.

"Take me in your hand," Scott whispered against his ear. "Wrap it around me, yes, like that. God, yes."

"You're afraid," Scott whispered again.

Josh tried hard to imagine himself afraid, or at least nervous, and kept his hand on Scott's cock motionless. As much as his heart hurt, he couldn't' help but think of the poor fucked up Quebecois boy... He would have wanted this. Wanted it desperately. And probably not known what to do--

Then he felt Scott's large, powerful right hand cover his left, which was wrapped around Scott's hardness. And suddenly, piercing through whatever it was he was supposed to be feeling, all Josh knew was the wonder of Scott against his palm. The softness of his skin. The hardness of his desire. And as the heat of Scott's strong right hand closed over Josh's left, delicately but purposefully guiding his movements, Josh closed his eyes, concentrated on the slick velvet hardness beneath the fingers of his own left hand. Felt it and loved it.

And then the wonder was intensified again as he felt Scott's left hand wrap around his own cock, and he loved that, too, the strength, the slow movement bringing him to the brink.

Scott was murmuring into his neck now, trembling. At first, Josh just let the sounds wash over him, as he often let Scott's sweet soft words caress him as they made love. But there was something wrong with the tone, with the rhythm. There were sobbing catches that were not of pleasure.

Josh forced himself to listen, and realized that the soft, slow murmur was not the loving words to which he'd become accustomed. It was instead a murmur of pain.

Hurt words.

Sorrowful words.

Wounded words.

Josh went still, not knowing what to do.

"He was afraid," Scott whispered. "Afraid, and I made him anyway. Held his hand and guided him, like this, like this."

Scott's hand was over Josh's, guiding it in a sweet, sure motion.

"He was afraid and I didn't listen, I didn't understand what it would do, what it would make him do to his poor, poor hand..."

Josh felt Scott start to soften, and there was a sobbing catch to his voice that bruised Josh's heart.

And suddenly, Josh remembered how he'd found Luc that terrible, terrible night. Scott's desperate phone call had sent him running down the stairwell to the superintendent's apartment, then back up with keys to the Bedard condo. He could still see long, narrow form, sprawled on the floor beside his piano in a stain of vomit and blood.

Josh had actually seen, as Scott had not, the damage that Luc had done to his left hand. The cut on his right wrist had been a single slash, bloody enough, but, even Josh could tell, not especially deep. But the left wrist -- the left wrist had been slashed viciously and repeatedly in a way that spoke of self hate.

And, he realized now, Scott thought this was why. He thought it was this beautiful movement of hand on hand, the giving of pleasure, that brought Luc to that desperate act.

And somehow, somehow, Josh knew that that it wasn't it. It couldn't have been.

"Oh, babe," he whispered. "It's ok, it's ok."

Scott trembled and began to pull away from him, but Josh could not let him. He tightened his right arm around Scott's neck, his left hand around Scott's cock, and held on.

"He was nervous, trembling," Scott whispered, "And I didn't listen... I just held him and I didn't listen. I thought he was just nervous, that he wanted it. But he was afraid. He was afraid."

Beneath his fingers Scott was still soft. Josh moved his mouth to Scott's neck, just below his ear.

"I am not afraid," he said, his voice clear and calm and certain. This was not a time for whispers. "I love you and I am not afraid."

Scott's strong left hand had dropped helplessly to his side; Josh released Scott's cock and reached for it, raised it up, kissed the palm, then lowered it again, shivering as those fingers touched him.

"I am not afraid," he said again, as his hand enclosed his lover once more. He caressed him softly, surely, until he felt Scott begin to harden again.

"I am not afraid," he said, again and again and again.

Slowly, Scott's own hand began to move, echoing the sure movement of Josh's. They both grew harder and harder.

Then they were free.

And as Scott exploded in Josh's hand, he cried out, sobbing. A single word. A name...

Hope you enjoyed four. Do take the time to comment; and if you'd like to be added to the update list, just drop me a note at duncanryder@hotmail.com.