1
Yes, I threw him out. And, yes, it was the right thing to do. No, don’t tell me otherwise because I fucking do not want to hear any sentimental bullshit about how much Justin loved me or how he’d stood by me even when he knew I was sick. Fuck all of that. It doesn’t matter that he knew. What matters is that he pretended like he didn’t. He mocked me every single fuckin’ moment we were together. He lied and he would’ve left me anyway, so what the hell difference does it make? It was weeks before I was well enough to miss him. Fuck, they kept frying me with their death-ray machine and when I wasn’t putting up with that I had to listen to Mikey whining about how terrible I was or Ted telling me to go home so he could fuck another one of my clients. Fools, all of them, fuckin’ fools without a rational thought in their heads. Thank the gods or whoever that they were the only people who knew, other than Justin, because I would’ve slit my wrists if I’d had to put up with Debbie or Lindsay fussing over me, fluffing my pillows and bringing me hot meals. It doesn’t take a genius to know I didn’t want that shit. I think I made that perfectly clear. But, yeah, finally I started to feel a little better. Not great. Still rocky and prone to puking, but after the last radiation treatment the nurses sent me on my way and told me to come back in a month for a follow up visit. I had my life back and with that came some of my appetite and a bit of curiosity. That’s when the thought that’d been at the back of my mind that whole time came to the fore: Justin never came back. The little shit. Where I was concerned, he always had this persistent streak. He was like a boomerang. You’d throw him out, put up your hand, and there he’d be, right back at you. This time, though … nothing. I’d told him to get out of my life. More than two weeks later, he’d taken me at my word and done just that. I ignored it. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do? He’d done what I wanted, right? So, why should I be angry, upset, or the least bit concerned? I ought to be jubilant, dancing in the street, happy, happy, happy. I’d been trying for years to get the kid off me and, now, it seemed, he’d gotten the message. Hurrah. I needed to go out and celebrate except for one small problem: it took too much effort. So, I kept doing the things I had to do and not thinking about Justin or that little huffing sound he made in his sleep or how good his body felt in the morning under the duvet or any of that shit, which was irrelevant and meant nothing. I’d done the right thing and now, it seemed, so had he. Good. He finally grew up. Another week passed, and I became irritated. Okay, I told him to get out. I told him it was over. But, shit, we’d been partners, right? That’s a word even I’d seen fit to use. I’d lauded him when Kinnetik opened. I’d acknowledged the relationship to friends and family alike. And I’d had testicular cancer, so where the fuck was he? No, I didn’t want him sitting at my bedside stroking my brow, but he could’ve at least checked in with Michael just to make sure I’d survive. I’d do that for him, although I seem to remember telling him one time that I’m sure I’d hear if he’d died, so maybe he was operating on that assumption? Still, it began to bother me and the more it bothered me, the more I needed to do something about it. After another week of a frustration so profound it kept me awake at night, I finally gave in and decided I’d take a more direct approach. I’d dropped hints, I’d asked casual questions, I’d gotten nowhere. He wasn’t working at the diner and Debbie was steamed that he’d just up and quit. Nor had he checked in with Mikey on the latest issue of Rage; the kid had even told his co-creator, by e-mail, that he wasn’t interested in Hollywood, the so-called gay superhero movie, any of it. Justin was good about following through on his responsibilities so maybe I had reason to be concerned, although, fuck, “concerned” wasn’t the right word. Curious. I was curious in an almost clinical way, that’s all. I just … I needed to make sure he was all right. So, I went to see Daphne. It was 6:30 that evening when I arrived at her tiny cramped apartment in the dilapidated building where she lived. Knowing what a ballistic missile Daphne could be when she was protecting her friend, I was not eager to paint a bulls-eye on my chest and hesitated outside her door, wondering why I’d come. Finally, though, I knocked. If Justin was inside, I had no idea what I’d say. Probably tell him to fuck off again. But Daphne came to the door, petite and terrifying in her fuzzy pink sweater and black pants. She stood there staring at me, her face expressionless. “How are you, Brian?” She spoke without preamble, her words honey-coated. “Better.” “Good.” She held open the door so I went inside, looking around the small living room for any sign of her roommate. She followed. “If you’re looking for Justin, he’s not here.” “I … wondered what happened to him,” I managed to say because, fuck, what the hell was I doing there? I kicked the kid out and now I was coming after him? Shit, I didn't do that, right? Never. “I might have been a little overzealous when I—” “You’re sure you’re feeling okay, Brian?” she asked me again in that sweet voice of hers. What the fuck was I saying? I hadn’t been overzealous. I had a perfect right to do what I did. And she was starting to piss me off. “I wouldn’t say I’m fine if I wasn’t, Daphne, now what in the fuck are you—?” “Then, let me tell you something, you piece of shit.” She jabbed her pointy little finger into my chest hard enough to hurt, her voice taking on a sudden savage tone. “‘A little overzealous.’ Is that what you’re calling it? You toss him out of your loft because he tried to help you? Because he knew what you were going through and wanted to honor your wishes? Because he showed care and compassion toward you, the kind of care and compassion one human being shows to another? Well, fuck you, Brian, just fuck you!” I took a step back, which was weird given how easily I could’ve fended her off. “I knew you wouldn’t understand—” “There is nothing to understand!” Her voice had risen dramatically. “You’re an asshole, a major asshole without one iota of consideration for anyone other than yourself. He loved you, Brian, from the very first time he saw you, and he’s been true to that love. Yeah, he went off with that jerk, Ethan, but, fuck, he knew that was wrong the moment he did—I could see it in his eyes.” One of the last things I wanted to do, there or anywhere else in the whole entire fuckin’ world was talk about Ian. “I don’t care what—” “I know you don’t! All you care about is yourself.” She rose up on her toes and stabbed me higher, right between the pecs. “Do you understand how much you hurt him? Do you even have a clue?” I stared at her, tight-lipped. “Not that it’ll make one fucking bit of difference to you, but just let me tell you what happened.” She drew in a lungful of air. “He came back here as white as I’ve ever seen him. Oh, he sat with me and I made some tea and we talked for hours. He was very rational. But I could tell all along that our conversation wasn’t doing any good, that he was behaving like someone who’d been hit one too many times and just didn’t have the good sense to go down.” She poked me again. “You son of a bitch! He went into his bedroom and since mine’s next to his I listened to him crying in there, crying for you, you freakin’ creep! I wanted to run in there and tell him you weren’t worth it, that he needed to forget you, to pitch you out of his life just like you’d pitched him! But I couldn’t. I’m a human being. I know when I’m hurting someone!” Her speech left me with a feeling in the pit of my stomach like I’d had after the radiation treatments, only for some reason, worse. I stared at my shoes because the blazing hatred in her eyes … well, it made my stomach roll. “So … what happened? Where did he go?” I managed, finding it strange that I had little to say in my own defense. What the fuck? It’d all been clear to me right up to the instant I walked into her apartment. She went around me then and flung open the door. “He left the next day. Some of his clothes were gone as well as his art supplies. I don’t know where he went because he didn’t tell me. There was a note on the kitchen table saying not to worry, that he’d be all right.” Daphne made a gesture. “Now get out. If you stay here any longer, I’m going to do something awful.” “Would you let me know—” “I won’t let you know anything!” she screamed, waving her arms like she might start punching at any minute. “Now get the fuck out!” So, I left.
2
Another two weeks passed. My physical health went up and down, but generally up ... although that was all that was rising. Even with a little hand action, I couldn’t get it up. Mikey tried once or twice to get me to go to Babylon, but I put him off with some lame-ass excuse. I sure as hell wasn’t about to tell him or anyone else that I was having that particular difficulty. Shit, the doctor said it might happen, but when the reality hit? Very fucked up. So, I gritted my teeth and hoped it would go away like every other fuckin’ thing that’d gone wrong. The impotence, though, made me think of Justin. The kid had always been so talented sexually and there had never been one moment in our relationship when he failed to turn me on. I missed that, especially given my circumstances. I found myself thinking about certain sexual encounters we’d had, like the time he’d pounced on me one evening, pinning me down on the bed to tell me he was my master and I had to do as he said. It’d been a novel idea and I’d been in the right frame of mind, which I’m sure he’d known. Justin could always read me, sometimes a little too well. We’d had some mind-blowing sex that night that included a few sex toys he’d bought just for the occasion. Shit, what fun we’d had. I could still remember every detail. However, I also tried hard not to think about Justin and me, our life, the whole thing—what we’d been to one another, how we’d battled both together and apart, every fuckin’ part of it. It was a waste of energy. I’d said what I had to say, grabbed him by the arm, and pushed him out the door. Done. Finished. No regrets, right? That was my motto and now I needed to stand by it. I’d told him we were no longer partners. We weren’t. That I wanted him gone. So, he was. End. Of. Discussion. In this new post-cancer life, however, things didn’t seem quite so clear-cut. Despite my best intentions, my mind kept slipping back to Daphne’s words; every time they did, the things she’d said sank in a little deeper and weighed a little heavier on my soul. Images that had nothing to do with our good times in the sack started surfacing. Justin after the bashing, walking with me down Liberty, his grip nearly breaking my arm. Justin the night Stockwell was defeated—that smile on his face when he told me I hadn’t lost everything. Justin sitting across from me at VanGard, whispering, “I promise.” Justin lying askew on the cold cement, blood running from his head. I drank a lot. Eventually, when I couldn’t stand it anymore, and the alcohol wasn’t working, I looked for answers. I even e-mailed Daphne a few times, but all I got back were the words FUCK YOU. Thanks to a hacker friend, I discovered that Justin had IM’ed someone named Charlie Hawkins, who turned out to be another student at PIFA. I went to see him at his dorm, but he didn’t want to talk to me. At first, because I’m such a paranoid bastard, I figured Justin had fucked him—the kid was halfway decent looking so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities. I did more research on him, and, yeah, by now, I was obsessed, although I didn’t have a clue why. I just had to find Justin, and no, it had nothing to do with our so-called relationship or even what happened. It just seemed strange that he’d disappeared like that. I was surprised Jennifer hadn’t called out the National Guard. Hawkins was straight. I tried to talk to him a second time after some kids told me they saw him with Justin the day after our little incident at the loft. He said he’d call campus security if I didn’t leave him alone. So, I phoned Reyes Donovan, a P.I. who did background checks for Kinnetik. He snooped around and discovered that Hawkins had a blue 1999 Ford Taurus he’d inherited from his mother. It’d gone missing right around the time this whole thing began. So, the kid gave Justin his car? Where the fuck would Justin go? That’s what I didn’t understand. His family was in Pittsburgh, his school, all his friends. Would he just take off for parts unknown? Was it another big drama queen moment like years ago when he’d run away to New York? Or was I just fooling myself by blaming Justin’s reaction on hysteria? I’d hurt him, hadn’t I? I needed to face that. If I’d used a rusty knife to slowly cut out his heart, it probably could not have been worse. Yeah, I was starting to feel something. The anesthesia they gave me when they operated must’ve finally worn off and the pain in my own heart had returned, sharp and repellent. I drank more, but it wasn’t nearly enough nor was I sleeping well. I started working—even later than normal—because, fuck, if I wasn’t sleeping, hated coming home to a big, empty loft, and couldn’t lose myself in a couple of hot guys, I might as well stick around Kinnetik and get something done. So, there I was on a Friday night, hungry, tired and lifeless, unlocking the door and rolling it back, my thoughts as dark as the loft’s interior. I threw my keys down on the counter and turned on the kitchen light, wondering if there was anything in the fridge to eat, although I knew there wasn’t. Mulling my choice in take-out, something caught my attention: a spooky afterimage in my peripheral vision. Startled, I whirled around, blinking a few times, unsure what I was seeing. A ghostly image I couldn’t quite make out. In the living room. I stood there, breathing a little hard, knowing how foolish I was being, but there was something in the loft that hadn’t been there before. Then, with a little hesitation, I turned on another light. A painting. There was a painting propped up against the back of the couch. A canvas had been expertly stretched on a wooden frame, a long rectangular one, a canvas that had been divided into six distinct sections when the artist had done his work. And each of those sections had the same identical subjects … each one was about us, Justin and me. I walked closer, switching on lights as I did, my gaze never straying from the painting. A message. Finally. Justin had sent a message. Now all I had to figure out was what the fuck he was saying. I stood in front of the painting and studied it. In each section, Justin and I were nude, but we’d been posed in such a manner that almost anyone could view the picture without discomfort or embarrassment. In the first panel, we were on our knees, sitting back on our legs as we faced one another. I was in the background and looked threatening, a sexy sneer on my face as I stared at Justin. Justin, in the foreground, had his back to the viewer, his shoulders hunched, his arms close to his body, the frightened virgin, although the tilt of his head expressed his courage. In the second panel, my posture hadn’t changed much. Justin, though, was straddling me this time, one hand curved around my neck, his movement more confident, even aggressive as he pulled me close for a kiss. His head was tilted to one side, his other hand laced in my hair. I looked delighted, pleased I suppose with the progress my “pupil” had made. My right hand encircled his slender waist, and my left covered his ass in a pose both suggestive and possessive. It was the most erotic panel and made my dick twitch. I drew in a deep breath as my gaze fell on the third panel. In it, I sat alone on the floor, my back to the viewer. One knee was drawn up, my arm wrapped around it; the other leg, resting on the floor, was bent at a ninety-degree angle. My head was down, my shoulders slumped. A copy of Rage lay close by just beyond the reach of my outstretched hand. My throat tightened. How had he known? By the fourth panel, we were back together and I was smiling. Upright, we were on our knees with Justin’s back to the viewer, his beautiful ass on display once again. My gaze was fixed on him, an openness in my face that made me flinch, my hands around his waist as I bent him back to kiss him. Somehow, we were more equals in this picture. There was strength in Justin’s response, in the way he threw back his head as if to tease me, yet remained so playfully near. We looked happy … even I could see that. I blinked a few times when my gaze fell on the fifth panel. In it, I sat cross-legged on the floor, sideways to the viewer, bent nearly double, my left hand clutching my stomach, There was no doubt I was in pain. My right hand was thrust out, ramrod straight, and I was pushing Justin away—only part of him was in the frame. Justin’s hand was out as he tried to reach me, the pain, and panic vivid in his eyes. Looking at it made the bile rise in my throat. And then, finally, the sixth panel … the blank one on the far right side. Though I knew little about painting, I could tell that the canvas at that end has been prepped, that it was ready for the artist’s brushstrokes, that all it needed was … what? Why hadn’t he finished it? Because we weren’t finished? Because he was waiting for something? Or was its unfinished nature the message? We were no more, so the sixth panel was nothing but a blank canvas on which nothing was written? That thought made me wince. I don’t know how long I stood there, but at some point, I slid to the floor, not even conscious of what I was doing. Staring, I went through the panels one by one again, taking in every brushstroke, every detail. I noticed Justin’s hair, how it was short in the first two panels, long in panel four, and short in panel five. I noticed the detail he’d put into drawing the musculature of my arms and back. How the hell was he able to do that? Did he have nude photos of me? But I knew he didn’t. I noticed the hardwood floor we were sitting on in each picture and, yeah, it was the loft’s floor—I could tell by the color, the grain of the wood. Besides, even though each panel was a separate picture, the floor lined up in a continuous straight line from one to the next all the way across to the— I leaned forward when I had that last thought because I realized something, something pretty fuckin’ important. The sixth panel wasn’t blank. I’d been so focused on reading the other five panels, I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that the hardwood floor made it into the sixth panel. It was there all right, a bit lighter in tone like perhaps the sun was shining on it, but there nonetheless, and, with a suddenness that surprised me, I saw something else, something I don’t think I wanted to see, something that shook me to my core. This wasn’t a blank panel ready for completion. The six panel was complete. Abruptly, I stood up and moved, crouching down to look at the painting closer. I brushed my fingers over the slick surface. The hardwood floor, the blank background, the fact that neither Justin nor I were in the picture. My blood ran cold. That was the fucking message and it’d been staring me in the face all night. That was the message and it was as clear and plain as anything could be. Goodbye. The message was goodbye.
3
It wasn’t until the next morning, after a long night of soul searching, that I stormed the offices of Gloria Mattson Realty in search of answers and the one person who could supply them. Fashionably dressed in a teal blue suit and silky white blouse, Jennifer Taylor was at a colleague’s desk explaining something on the computer when I came through the door. Her radar must’ve been pinging because she raised her eyes right away and spotted me. With a frown, she excused herself and came to the waiting area at the front of the office. “Brian.” “Jennifer.” I nodded, and looked, I hoped, sufficiently grim. “We need to talk. Now.” She nodded, grabbed her coat, and followed me outside. Without speaking, we walked down the street, Jennifer with her arms crossed over her chest, heels clacking on the sidewalk, until we were well away from her office. Only then did I stop and turn to face her. “I need to know where he is.” Her level gaze did not alter. “Not a chance.” I decided to try another angle. “What’s he planning on doing?” She blinked a few times, scuffed her foot on the cement underfoot, and took a deep breath. “He’s leaving.” “Pittsburgh?” She nodded. “For where?” “I don’t think even he knows that.” “In that kid’s car? He’s taking off for some unknown destination in an old rattletrap of a car and you’re not the least bit concerned?” “Brian …” Jennifer, it seemed, knew me too well to be affected by my drama. “You fucked up and you hurt him, deeply. As far as he’s concerned, you did it for the last time. I know you were under a lot of stress because of the cancer so I’ve tried to cut you some slack, but—” I waved an impatient hand. “No, don’t excuse me. Fuck it, Jennifer, you of all people ought to know better than that. Just tell it like it is.” She shrugged. “I’ve only seen him once, and that’s when he came to tell me his plans. He says he has to leave because it’s the only way he can … make sure he’s over you. He’ll go somewhere, start a new life, and when he feels like he’s capable of doing so, he’ll come back.” She twisted one hand within the other and told me without using the words how little she liked the plan. “What could I say, Brian, especially after what you did?” I jammed my hands in my pants pockets, fingers curling in frustration. “Give me his address.” “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.” We went back and forth on that point and I’m not ashamed to say I tried to wear her down. I had a sneaking suspicion she wanted to be, not because she’s fond of me, but because she hated the idea of losing her son. I played on that, reminding her how lonely she’d be on his birthday, on hers, how much she’d miss his smiling face, the shopping trips, the visits to the museum, the time Justin spent with Molly. I talked about Justin’s impulsiveness, his emotional reactions, how he sometimes went too far. And you’d better believe I blamed myself. I might be the biggest asshole in Pittsburgh, but I wasn’t about to lay this screw-up on one of the few people who’d stood by me. The truth was, each minute that went by Justin was that much closer to walking out of my life. And I couldn’t let that happen. Finally, thanks to my determination, and, yeah, desperation, I came to the heart of the matter, waxing poetic, which surprised me as much as it did her: “You know damn well Justin has been in love with me since the moment we met,” I said as I planted myself in front of her, looking right into blue eyes so like Justin’s, “and nothing is going to alter that, certainly not a change of scenery. We belong to each other. You’ve acknowledged that, and … okay, maybe I have too. Tell me where he is so I can make this right.” I inhaled deeply. “Please.” Five minutes later, I was on my way.
4
By the time I found the Hawkins family cabin in Keystone State Park, nearly thirty-five miles outside Pittsburgh, it was mid-afternoon. I was tired, thirsty, and had absolutely no way of knowing if Justin would be there. Jennifer had attempted to contact him, but he wasn’t answering his cell phone so for all we knew, he’d left hours ago. As I drove, I tried hard not to think about what I was doing because it made little sense to me. I’d been the one who’d tossed him out of the loft, right? And, at the time, I had good reasons for what I did. So, now I was doing … what? Looking for him to tell him we “belonged to each other”? What kind of romantic bullshit was that? I wouldn’t blame him if he found it a little hard to swallow. I know I did. And, yet, somehow, the words were true even though they were still a little out of focus. When I finally turned down the one-lane road that went by the quaint name “2-AB” and had maneuvered the Corvette over its bumpy surface, I saw him. Dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, he was coming out of a small cabin up ahead, carrying a box, which he took to the open trunk of that rattletrap car I’d railed against. In more than six weeks, his hair had grown some and looked more blond, from the sun or from a bottle I didn’t know. When he heard the ‘Vette’s motor, he turned his head. Even from far away, I saw him stiffen. I parked a ways off and got out of the car, walking toward him with slow deliberation as I tried to get my chaotic thoughts in order. He stood by the car, watching my approach, his fists clenched, his face set, straight and still. “You might as well get back in your car and leave,” he said as soon as I was within shouting distance. “I don’t have a fucking thing to say to you.” I stopped in front of him and arched an eyebrow. “You let the painting do all your talking?” The pink color in his cheeks ripened to an angry red. “It did a great job, didn’t it? You obviously understood.” “You utilized all that time and talent to say goodbye?” I gave my head a shake. “I don’t think so, Sunshine. There’s more to it than that.” “Fuck off! You don’t have the right to interpret anything in my life—not anymore, Brian! You and I are done, for good. Let me make it clear to you: we’re over. Finished.” He made a ninety-degree turn and marched back into the cabin. I followed. I’d never had any illusions it’d be easy and I’d come prepared to fight. “So, where’re you going?” I asked as I checked out the little cabin’s interior. Fuck, there was a stuffed … something on the wall, a lot of green-on-brown rustic shit everywhere, a couple of fading quilts. No wonder he’d thrown himself into painting; at least, he had something beautiful to look at while he worked. “I hear New Haven is nice this time of year.” He whirled around and the blue fire in his eyes almost made me step back. “I don’t find this at all funny, Brian. I’m glad you do. I guess that means you’ve recovered from your illness and you’ve moved on. Good. Me too. Now, why don’t you do us both a favor and get out?” “You haven’t moved on.” I spoke in a mild voice. Fuck, I hadn’t either, had I? Otherwise, why the fuck was I standing there? Throwing a number of paintbrushes into a box, he added some tubes of paint. “Go away.” He spoke in a voice that had a slight hesitation to it, an emotional hesitation. Shit. I’d fucked up big time, hadn’t I? So, I’d sought him out to make jokes that’d caused further pain? I was only guessing, but somehow I didn’t think that would work. “Listen … about what happened—” “Oh, I already know all about that! Michael gave me the entire analysis. You pushed me away because you thought I’d leave you. Really brilliant, Brian. For such a smart man, you’re amazingly dumb.” Mikey liked to stick his nose into my business a little too much. I had to have a talk with him about that, soon. However, at that moment, I knew I needed to be genuine and contrite like I’d been that time at the loft after I’d pissed all over Justin and Mikey’s work … literally. “Uh, listen,” I wet my lips as I fixed my gaze on him, “I screwed up. I realize that. I could give you some song-and-dance about being sick, not in my right mind, all that shit, but the truth is—” “—you threw out the one person who loved you and wanted to care for you.” Justin tossed more things into the box, like he could care less, but I heard the ragged tone in his voice. “Well, good for you, Brian. Now that you’ll have me out of your life, you’ll be free from all that ‘love’ talk you hate. You can go to Babylon and fuck the night away without some annoying person wanting your time and attention.” “I’d rather fuck my brains out with that annoying person.” He leaned up until he was only inches from my face. “Not a chance,” he said, his voice deep, and laced with fury. Then he picked up the box and walked away from me. “Hey!” I bounded around until I was in front of him, walking backwards as I removed the box from his hands. “We’re not finished. I want to know what you were really doing when you painted that picture and left it at the loft. That’s hours and hours of work, Justin. It meant more than good-bye.” “No, it didn’t!” “Tell me what you wanted to say to me.” I spoke in a voice meant to piss him off. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I knew he needed to unload and I seemed the most likely target. “Other than goodbye.” “That’s it! Don’t flatter yourself!” He glared at me and looked like he was having trouble breathing, but I saw the emotions swimming in his eyes. “Okay … what I wanted to say is here’s our life—do you see it in all its good and its bad? Do you realize what you did by tossing it away?” I stuck my hands in my pockets and looked at the floor. “It took me awhile, but I did realize it.” “That great, just great. Good for you.” “I understand that you’re mad—” “No, you don’t! You don’t understand anything you big piece of shit! You don’t have a fucking clue what you did that day and you probably never will. And why’d you do it? Because you thought you were no longer perfect?” His voice rose. “Do you really think that’s why I’ve been with you all this time? There are many beautiful men out there, Brian, and more than one of them has approached me. For all the fucking grief I’ve had to put up with, I could’ve saved myself a lot of trouble and just walked out on you a long time ago.” “Then why didn’t you?” “I thought we had something, I thought there was lo—a commitment between us, a partnership that meant something not just to me, but to you too.” He gave his head a fierce shake. “But, no! That was wrong, wasn’t it? Because you decided you’d go through that shit all by yourself, that you didn’t need to share any of it with me, that I wasn’t an important enough part of your life to warrant it.” Somehow, I managed to keep my gaze locked on his. “I was wrong, Justin.” “Well, it’s too late for that, just fucking too late!” I bit my lower lip. “I don’t think so.” “I’m leaving Pittsburgh, or isn’t that clear to you?” “I want you to stay.” He thrust both hands at me. “Why? Why do you give a fuck about me?” “Because I want to make this right.” “So you can do it again sometime in the future?” “I won’t.” “You will. You always do.” Justin bit his lower lip, his face awash with sadness. “It’s part of who you are … a part I should’ve remembered when you pulled that shit.” “Don’t fuckin’ blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault,” I told him, my voice going up, although I was working hard at keeping my temper in check. “But it’s true. I should’ve known you’d react that way, and I should’ve fought back. I don’t know why I didn’t especially after Michael gave me that stupid pep talk, but I just … I was tired, discouraged I guess. I’d had enough.” “You didn’t do anything,” I said with conviction. “It’s all on me.” “It’s never all on one person in a relationship, Brian. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. I bear some responsibility. Maybe not as much as you, but some, and I completely ignored that after you tossed me into the hall.” “It wasn’t your fucking fault!” Yeah, my voice had definitely risen. “Did you take a good look at your painting? I’m the bad guy there, not you.” “Why do you care who’s bad and who isn’t? It’s over, Brian.” Justin bit off a sob, but not before I heard it. “Don’t you get it? It’s over!” “No, it’s not. The sixth panel is still blank. As long as that’s true, it’s not over, there’s a picture that could be painted there, one that’d make it all work, that turn the thing—” “That’ll never happen! Don’t you see? I’ve finally reached a point where I understand your thinking on this whole thing. I finally see the truth. And you know what that is? It’s that we’re never meant to work as a couple, that it’s all been a stupid, adolescent dream of mine, one that was never, ever meant to—” “That’s a load of shit,” I growled at him. “No, it isn’t!” “Yes, it is!” “No, it’s not!” Glaring, I fixed him with a look. “I’m telling you, you don’t know what you’re talking about, it—” “Why do you keep insisting on this shit, Brian, when you know it isn’t—” “I keep insisting because I fucking love you, you little twat!” I flung out a hand in utter disgust. “Don’t you get it? I came all the way out here because I care about you! What the hell else do you want me to say? Do I have to get down on my knees and beg you to stop being such a fuckin’ idiot about this? I’m sorry! Do you hear that? I’m sorry! And I fuckin’ love you!” Then I blinked. Shit. The anger left Justin’s face. “When did …” He stopped to swallow visibly, “you discover that?” Finally, I had some traction. “Five minutes after I threw you out!” I turned, walked away from him, then came back. “Now would you please take all the rest of your shit, throw it into that poor excuse of a car, and bring it back to the loft?” “The … loft?” Justin asked, his voice no more than a squeak. “Yes! I want you to live there, okay? Is that clear enough? I want you next to me in the morning, I want you discussing your day with me over dinner, I want you bringing home fuckin’ movies to watch and not getting tossed out on your ass.” I faltered, my throat clogged like it was about to close up. “I want … you.” “Brian.” Justin stepped forward and put his arms around my neck so rapidly he almost broke it. “Do you really mean what you’re saying?” I clutched him, closing my eyes as tears threatened, feeling like I’d just been hit in the solar plexus with a soccer ball. Pressing my face into the fresh scent of his hair, I breathed in, realizing with sudden clarity how frightened I’d been of losing him. “I mean it,” I whispered. “And I’m … sorry about the Neanderthal behavior.” “You meant … even the part about the loft?” “Yes, if you … if that’s what you want.” “Are you kidding? Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to ask me?” I pulled back so I could look at his face, and, yeah, a few tears had escaped and were running down his cheeks. I rubbed them with a thumb. “I’ve been thinking and the painting made me, well … I want to clear out the entertainment area, and set up your art stuff there.” I watched as his eyes widened. “That area gets the best light.” “I-I … Brian, I don’t know what to say.” I shook my head. “Don’t say anything except, yes. Come back and paint the sixth panel for me, okay?” He nodded, then reached up to run fingers under my eye, wiping away the wetness he found there. “This whole experience with the cancer … it had a big impact, didn’t it?” “Yeah.” He had no fuckin’ idea how true that was. “It made me realize my, uh, priorities.” “Like Gus?” “Yeah. And you.” “Then it was worth it.” “No, it wasn’t. Not for you.” Bending down, I brushed my lips over his. “The fifth panel told me that.” “That’s okay.” He kissed my cheeks, my nose, then came back to my mouth, his lips on mine sweet like he’d been sucking Life Savers. “Let’s make sure there’s never a seventh panel.” I shrugged. “There can’t be.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Why?” “No more canvas.” I picked up the box I’d taken from him earlier. “Come on, let’s get the car packed. We have important things to do and a ways to go before we can do them.” He grabbed a few more items and followed me out to the car. “Important things like what? Painting the sixth panel?” My lips curved into a knowing smile. “Yeah, that too.” Justin laughed, throwing stuff into the car’s trunk as he did. “Now, I know you’re feeling better.” And I was, in all ways.