Brian didn’t believe in the metaphysical or the supernatural. He thought psychics were a load of crap and while he found himself amused, on occasion, with Mysterious Marilyn’s exploitation of the weaker minds on Liberty Avenue, he never took any stock in what she had to say – not even after her warnings back when Brian, Michael, Emmett and Ted all road-tripped to New York City to get Justin, all those years ago.

In that same vein, he also refused to believe that dreams were a way to see into the subconscious. He didn’t like the idea that his dreams might be even remotely telling of his weaknesses, or what he considered his weaknesses; the part of him that he kept behind the walls; the part of him that felt every slight, every insult, every judgment against him; the part of him that no one thought existed because he refused to let it show. He didn’t want to know that his dreams were playing on those things and that was probably why he rarely remembered his dreams – another defense mechanism.

Lately, though, he had been remembering his dreams and he didn’t particularly like the images they conjured. He didn’t like to think that his subconscious was as fucked up as his dreams would seem to indicate.

When he woke up the morning after his painful conversation with Justin, there was one image seared into his brain – an image that had taken him years to stop seeing every time he closed his eyes; years to stop dreaming about. Yet that image was reasserting itself, haunting Brian’s dreams once again. He didn’t want to explore the reasons why suddenly he was dreaming of that night all those years ago. That night when he had held Justin’s bleeding and broken body to him, painfully aware of the excruciating passage of time, waiting for the EMTs and Police to arrive on the scene while willing the kid to hang on, to keep breathing; to keep living.

In his dreams time stretched on, far longer than it had in reality. In his dreams blood from the wound on Justin’s head coated Brian’s hands as he tried to stem the flow, as he cradled the limp, unresponsive body and willed it to remain breathing. In his dreams the only sounds were his ragged breaths and choked cries as he yelled over and over for help. In his dreams Chris Hobbs stood over him sneering and laughing, holding the wood bat he’d used to assault Justin. In his dreams it gleamed bright red and dripped Justin’s blood.

His dreams were better off forgotten. But they weren’t to be forgotten – not this time. So Brian tried to shake the mood of the dream, wishing he could lock the residual feelings he had about that night back up in his head and forget about them forever. Wishing he could bleach the images from his memory, make them disappear forever. He didn’t need to ever see them again.

The clock next to him flashed its digital display, 05:34 AM.

Knowing that he would not be able to return to sleep, Brian turned off his alarm and crawled out of bed. Donning his sweats he ventured down to the kitchen and started the coffee.

Still – he couldn’t shake the image of Justin lifeless and covered in slick, red blood. He couldn’t shake the waves of nausea that were washing over him, the memory of the fear he’d felt night – still palpable even four years later – threatening to level him with its potency.

The dreams hadn’t had such an effect on him for years, not since the weeks immediately following the bashing when he’d been unable to sleep at night because of them. And really they weren’t just dreams, they were nightmares.

It hadn’t been so brutally graphic, the real event, at least as far as Brian could recall. That is, when he allowed himself to remember that night; or the days…weeks…months after. There had been blood, of course, but it hadn’t flowed from Justin’s broken head as if a faucet had been turned on. And Chris Hobbs…Brian felt rage within him when he thought of that bastard. When he allowed himself to think about it, he found himself wishing he’d hit him somewhere other than his groin that night; he wished he’d bashed his head in instead…

Brian didn’t assume responsibility for much but what had happened to Justin after the prom, and what was happening now with this damn HIV crap, both of those things were entirely Brian’s fault. He was certain it was the latter than had prompted the recurring nightmare to once again rear its ugly head after nearly two years.

Fucking guilt.

With a heavy sigh, Brian poured a cup of coffee and stared out the window into the cold, spring morning. As the sun rose and its rays began to warm the day, Brian felt the residual anxiety and fear slowly disappear with the cold, morning dew.  

Gus wandered downstairs a little over an hour later and per their usual routine, Brian cooked up breakfast – this morning it was scrambled eggs and bacon. Brian wasn’t hungry so he just drank coffee and watched his son devour the entire platter of bacon and eggs.

Later – after Ronnie, the middle-aged, slightly overweight woman that Brian had hired to watch Gus in the mornings, showed up – Brian retreated to his makeshift office. It had taken him three attempts with the nanny agency to find someone that could handle him as well as his son. Ronnie reminded him a lot of Debbie, which was probably why Gus took to her almost immediately. The first few days had been trying. Gus had reverted back to his previous behavior, crying hysterically when Brian left his sight, even when he knew he was just in the other room. It seemed Gus didn’t want to be left alone with a stranger and Brian couldn’t blame him, but he also needed to get his work done. Kinnetik had bared the brunt of Brian’s distraction for almost two weeks and for a fledgling company barely out of the nest that was not wise. When Ronnie had come on the scene things had immediately been easier and Brian wondered if the woman would consider relocating to Pittsburgh and continue to watch Gus. He’d have to ask her…

Brian, with a long list of items he needed to take care of and Gus safe with Ronnie, dedicated his morning to accomplishing the things he’d been putting off for too long. Things that he could do that would distract him from thinking too much about everything else he was dealing with; Lindsay and her injury, Gus and his struggles, Justin and the damn HIV test…

The first call he placed was to Jennifer Taylor. He was unnecessarily nervous when dialing, even though he doubted Justin would have shared the potential health crisis with her. Brian knew Jennifer, accepting and understanding of Justin and his sexuality though she was, would not be so kind and understanding when faced with something like HIV. No one would.

It was incredibly unlikely Justin would have said anything - it was far too soon to tell people. Both Brian and Justin had six months before they’d know the verdict. Though there would be some comfort to be had in getting negative tests leading up to that time. Still – Justin wouldn’t put that kind of fear into the heart of his mother, at least Brian didn’t think he would…

Regardless, Brian wanted to get that particular conversation over with as soon as he could.

At first he was worried she wasn’t going to answer; glancing at the clock he saw it was after 8am. She did answer, then, likely just seconds before her phone would have gone to voicemail. Her tone was professional, and while not quite unfriendly, it wasn’t quite friendly either.

Brian smiled to himself – he knew Jennifer had been especially heartbroken when he and Justin had called off the wedding. He was pretty sure she blamed him, and that was fine. He was used to that reaction and it was, at least partially, his fault.

“Hello Mother Taylor,” Brian crooned, using the nickname that typically elicited a tiny smile from the woman.

“Brian,” she responded coolly and Brian was pretty sure she wasn’t smiling this time.

“How are things in the Pitts?” Brian asked as sweetly as he could without sounding condescending.

“Same as ever,” she replied, her tone slightly less caustic.

“How is Lindsay doing?” Jennifer asked after a pause, her voice soft and laced with concern.

“She’s doing okay,” Brian replied, “that’s actually why I’m calling. I need you to take the house off the market.”

The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. No doubt Jennifer would have made a killing on her commission from the sale of the estate, but Brian didn’t really think that was the reason she was hesitating to respond.

“Sure,” she finally replied. Her professional tone in place but something else, something bitter, tinged the words just beneath it.

Brian heard it and paused, considering whether he wanted, or if he should, open this particular door with her…but finally he decided he had too.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, knowing that she would understand the meaning behind his question. She would understand that everything really only meant one thing – Justin.

He heard her sigh heavily and his heart sank. She knew something was up, and while he was pretty sure he knew what it was he also knew there was no way he could alleviate her worry.

“I don’t know. What happened between you two? Justin called me at six thirty this morning; he sounded so strange but he wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m worried. He’s been having a hard time adjusting to life in that city and it seems worse since he came back from Toronto. What happened?”

Her tone wasn’t quite accusatory, but Brian knew she thought the only reason Justin could be in such a state as she envisioned was because Brian had done something. She was partially right - but obviously he couldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t tell her and he wouldn’t tell anyone. Not unless, or until, there was something to actually tell.

“I’m not sure,” he said vaguely.

It was true…in a way. He couldn’t be sure what Justin was thinking or feeling. But something else Jennifer had said gave Brian pause and he began to feel slightly ashamed he’d pushed Justin out the door so fast. He had heard the younger man when he’d told Brian he wasn’t sure he was made for life in New York, but Brian had figured that was just something he was saying so that Brian wouldn’t feel bad that he was staying in Toronto. But hearing Jennifer say the same thing, that Justin had been struggling for awhile, now he wasn’t so sure that Justin hadn’t been telling him the truth…

“Don’t bullshit me,” she snapped at him, channeling a little bit of Deb and Brian suppressed a laugh.

“I’m sorry Jennifer, I really don’t know,” Brian raked his hand through his hair. The lie, small though it was, felt heavy as it fell from his mouth.

“Yeah. Fine,” she sounded resigned, but Brian could tell she still didn’t believe him.

“Consider the house off the market. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Know any good, reliable contractors?” Brian asked.

Brian spent the next hour on the phone, calling the various contractors Jennifer had recommended, requesting bids for a remodel and to build an addition to the ground level of the house. Brian wanted to put in a small addition for Lindsay - a retreat she could call her own, away from the main house. He instructed the various companies that the specs should include allowances for a wheelchair – just in case.

Lindsay still didn’t have any sensation in her lower extremities, and with the passing of each day the chances of her recovering any use of her legs grew slimmer. There was still reason to hope, but Brian preferred to be prepared for what looked to be the more likely outcome, which was Lindsay confined to a wheelchair, the use of her legs gone to her.

Arrangements made for the contractors to send him their bids, he turned his attentions to securing Lindsay a room at the Alleghany General Physical Therapy and Rehabilitation* wing. Brian didn’t exactly relish the thought of visiting Lindsay within the same walls that he’d watched Justin from, especially since the bashing and the weeks after it were suddenly fresh in his mind (and his dreams) again – but it was the best facility in all of Western Pennsylvania, and Gus needed to be near his mother.

Finally, Brian turned to Kinnetik business. There was one email in his inbox that had caught his attention and interest and so Brian called the office. With Cynthia and Ted on the phone they discussed the new, potential client that wanted Kinnetik to take over their marketing campaigns.

The Sutton Brewery had been in the business of brewing beer for nearly 50 years. They were one of the top breweries in Canada and while they were well known and respected north of the border, they had yet to make a splash in the US market. They had tried, once, in the 1980s to branch out but that venture had failed dismally. The owner, Grant Sutton III, took the failure as a personal slight, and never attempted to breach the saturated market in the US after that. His son, Brown Sutton, still harbored dreams of inserting himself down south of the border and so when his father died in January of 2005 his first order of business, after assuming the reigns of the company, was to begin exploring the possibilities of expanding into the United States. Part of the previous failure, in Brown’s eyes, was that his father hadn’t targeted the right cities for initial expansion. Instead, the agency they’d been working with, a Canada firm that was also well known and respected, had insisted it would be better for the Brewery to try a widespread distribution model instead of starting out small and spreading slowly, using word of mouth as much as advertising to garner interest in the new brew offered both on tap, and bottled.

Brown, long disillusioned with the way the Canadian ad firm had been handling their advertising, had spent the last year and half of his father’s life looking into different agencies in the United States to give them a new, fresh perspective. He was a firm believer that it was good to force change when the status quo no longer worked. In his research he came across Vanguard and an article in a trade magazine about the coup that one man, Brian Kinney, had pulled to steal Brown Athletics out from under one of the most powerful ad firms in Chicago. When he called Vanguard to speak to Brian he was disappointed to learn that he no longer worked for the firm. It was some months later that Brown read another article in the same trade magazine that boasted of a new ad agency making waves in Pittsburgh, offering stiff competition for the established agencies there as well as Philly, New York, Cleveland, and Baltimore.

That was how Brown Sutton found Kinnetik. As Brian listened to Ted and Cynthia relay the story, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of proud accomplishment. He was validated. He had arrived. Kinnetik may be only a year or so old but it was his baby, and it was starting to get noticed internationally.

The Sutton Brewery headquarters were in Toronto, and with Brian there currently it seemed fortuitous that the company was interested in working with Kinnetik. Brian, who also didn’t believe in fate or destiny, couldn’t help but agree that the coincidence was lucky – even though travel to Toronto would not have been difficult had he not been there already – but he kept that opinion to himself.

Brian instructed Cynthia set up a meeting, and then asked her to send him the portfolio she’d put together on the company.

Later that day there was a messenger knocking on the door of the muncher’s house, there to deliver the Sutton Brewery materials to Brian, along with one of his dark blue Armani suits. The delivery had been extremely costly, but cheaper than buying a new suit as the Sutton Brewery Board wanted to meet with Brian first thing the following day, anxious to talk with him right away about “Americanizing” their image.

Brian, after taking Gus to the park and to visit Lindsay, returned to the house for dinner instead of going to Rosie’s diner. Gus had been disappointed and had treated Brian to angry silence – until Brian had Gus’s favorite pizza delivered. They settled in front of the television to eat, Gus watching Finding Nemo for what felt like the 20th time while Brian looked over the materials in preparation for his meeting in the morning.

Being able to focus intently on the company, examining its current campaigns and ad budget and identity as it had been branded over the last 50 years left him no time to think about anything else – only a fleeting thought that he’d get his results in four more days.

The Sutton Brewery was located on the fringes of Northern Toronto, near the shores of Lake Ontario. When it was built in the mid-70s it was far from the edge of the city but since then, urban sprawl had led the development nearly to the property line. As such, driving from the muncher’s house to the brewery, if never felt to Brian like he’d ever really left the city. He could recognize the suburban feel of the neighborhoods as he made his way north, and there was a definite shift in the look and feel of the urban landscape. It reminded him, unfortunately, of the type of neighborhood he had grown up in, and the type of neighborhood Justin had grown up in, based on the few times he’d actually gone to the Taylor’s suburban home.

The property was gated, and as Brian checked in and drove up the long, tree-lined drive he was impressed with the natural setting that surrounding the facility. Glances out the windows of the muncher’s second car afforded him views of green lawn checkered with large deciduous and evergreen trees as far as he could see. Brian had never really liked the “country”, as he’d tell anyone who would listen, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the beauty that natural settings afforded. Granted, the green lawns were a bit too green and a bit too manicured to be “natural”, but it was a much prettier sight than endless concrete parking lots.

Upon arrival at the main building, Brian was directed to the business entrance rather than the public entrance where tours started every hour, on the hour. He was sure he’d be getting a tour of the brewery. Certainly not the slick, touristy tour he’d seen advertised on the billboards that lined the highway through Toronto, but a tour nonetheless.

Upon entering Brian found himself in a very conservatively decorated lobby. It was nice enough to evoke the success of the brand, but muted enough not to be flashy. Brian approved, even if the color scheme (earthy greens and blues) left much to be desired, at least by his estimation. Checking in at the desk, Brian waited, examining the historical photos that lined the walls – photos that showed founder Grant Sutton II and his son Grant III at the old brewery site just after opening, along with photos of various stages of construction of the new (and current) brewery. It wasn’t long before a young brunette woman came to fetch him, flashing him a dazzling smile that was, unfortunately for her, wasted on him.

“Mr. Kinney. Welcome. I’m Mr. Sutton’s assistant, Darcy Lang,” she held out her hand. Brian watched her eyes take him in and he flashed his most brilliant smile in response.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied.

“If you’ll follow me, they’re ready for you,” she led him through a maze of hallways lined with electronically locked doors interspersed with more historical photos of employees doing various brewery-related tasks, most of which Brian had no idea about, but they seemed to mimic what he could see through the small windows inlaid in some of the doors.

Darcy Lang stopped finally in front of a door made of heavy oak and ornately carved. With another brilliant smile she pushed it open and motioned him inside. He heard her follow behind him then close the door. Brian smiled warmly and let his eyes travel briefly over the faces of the men and women gathered around the large conference table. It was a larger group than he was used to meeting with, but from what Brian understood when he’d read up on the company, though Brown Sutton was now in charge, the company was structured such that he required approval from the Board to make changes in company policy or function and apparently, changing advertising agencies counted as a change in company policy. Brian was just thankful this wasn’t a pitch meeting. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to get twelve people to all agree on a single ad campaign.

The faces of those gathered around the table were all smiling and openly friendly and he took them in one at a time. Most of them were older, gray or silver-haired men, but there were two younger, middle-aged women. As his eyes traveled over the last faces of those gathered, Brian felt his own smile falter ever so slightly because there at the end of the table, staring back at him with an expression that Brian couldn’t quite read, was Sam Fairfield.

Brian didn’t have time to react though, as Brown Sutton was suddenly there in front of him, grasping his hand and thanking him for meeting with them with such short notice. He went on about his admiration for Brian’s handling of Brown Athletics, and also boasted his admiration for the way he had remarketed and rebranded Poolside into Pool Boy Coolers, back when he was with Ryder. In fact, Brown Sutton seemed to know an awful lot about all of Brian’s campaign’s, which helped ease Brian’s jangled nerves. He couldn’t help but glance back down at the far end of the table to the man who had been responsible for, or rather the catalyst of, the most recent crisis in Brian’s life.

There was no time to dwell on it, though, as Brian was introduced to all the Board members. Sam Fairfield, as it turned out, was not part of the Board but the CFO for Sutton Brewery Inc., and so he would be, along with Brown Sutton and Darcy Lang, working closely with Brian and Kinnetik should the two forces decide to work together.

The meeting was informative and fairly short – really more of a “get to know you” in which Brian did his best to charm the room. The Sutton Brewery stood to make Kinnetik a lot of money, and vice versa, and Brian was eager to make an impression that would leave them with no doubt that they should work with him.

Apparently, it worked. The Board voted unanimously, there on the spot, to severe their working relationship it the Canadian firm and work with Kinnetik.

When the meeting broke up, Brown Sutton invited Brian to take a brief tour of the brewery. He handed Brian the pamphlet that the public received when they came for tours, as well as a copy of the initial promotional materials for the new Pale Ale they were hoping to launch later that summer.

White Water Pale Ale, their new brew, was the first beer they wanted Kinnetik to focus on. They wanted to release it in Canada and the US simultaneously, and in three months time. Brian balked a bit – three months wasn’t much lead time to effectively create two campaigns, but he kept his reservations to himself, telling Brown Sutton there would be no problems at all getting something ready for them. He instructed Darcy Lang to correspond with Cynthia and they’d get the appropriate contracts worked out and signed by the following day. Brown was thrilled, and as he led Brian on the tour, chattering away about the history of the brewery and his family, Brian was suddenly very aware of Sam’s presence as he followed along behind them.

The tour didn’t offer any significant enlightenment beyond what little he already knew about the brewing of beer. In his younger days Brian had taken his fair share of brewery tours – mostly to take advantage of the free samples always offered at the end. What he gained in knowledge from the tour was that everyone who worked for Sutton was so nice, and while he could appreciate nice – nice didn’t sell beer. If they wanted to be successful in the United States they would have to “sex up” their brand and Brian was more than willing to explore the options.

He kept these thoughts to himself as well, intending to conference with Cynthia and Greg, the head of his art department, to hammer out some places to start. At the end of the mini-tour Brown Sutton bid Brian farewell before retreating back into the big conference room. Darcy, and Sam, walked with Brian to the front office and Darcy bid him good day. When Sam paused though, lingering, Brian noticed Darcy eye them curiously before she disappeared back into the innards of the building.

Brian didn’t speak at first, simply offering Sam a sort of smirking smile as he waited to hear what the man could possibly have to say to him.

“When I saw the picture of Brian Kinney on the website for Kinnetik, I thought it might be you,” Sam smiled warmly and Brian couldn’t help but appreciate the view; whatever else he was, Sam Fairfield was also a very attractive man.

“It’s me,” Brian smiled back.

“How are you?” Sam’s question was obviously loaded and Brian clenched his jaw reflexively.

“Great,” he replied, the tension in his shoulders increasing with the implication of the question, and the great unknown he was still waiting to hear back about.

Sam nodded, a tiny smile on his face. Brian stared back at him, unsure of what the other man expected from him. All Brian knew was if he was expecting some kind of heart to heart conversation, he would be sorely disappointed.

“Was there anything else?” Brian asked stiffly. He tried to maintain a professional demeanor but the fact that Sam had broached the topic with him in the lobby of his business had rubbed Brian the wrong way. Additionally, if he wasn’t willing to discuss this with his closest friends, he certainly wasn’t going to discuss it with perfect stranger.

Sam laughed softly and shook his head.

“Right,” Brian offered his most sardonic grin, “then you have a great day.”

The remainder of the day Brian spent with Gus, and Lindsay, per usual. He made an extra effort to entertain Gus in the hopes of effectively distracting himself. It worked, again, and it wasn’t until he laid down that night to sleep that he finally acknowledged the elephant in the room…

Three more days.

Nine days post-surgery and Lindsay still had not regained any significant feeling or movement in her legs. However, she had started noticing a tingling sensation in her thighs and knees and according to Doctor Patch that was a very good sign. When Brian and Gus arrived at the hospital she was in a great mood, and Brian got from her a sense of hopefulness that didn’t feel like it was based on desperation; it didn’t feel forced.

After Gus regaled Lindsay with the latest news and events, or at least the latest news and events as seen in the eyes of four-and-a-half year old, he resumed his usual spot under the windows and opened his coloring book. Brian noticed that he was nearly halfway through the book and so he made a mental note to purchase another one for him.

“Are you alright?” Lindsay, her brow furrowed in obvious concern, asked him after a long silence.

“Yeah, I’m great,” Brian replied slowly, in his mind replaying his visits over the last few days to see if he had given away any hints that he wasn’t functioning on all cylinders, or that anything was bothering him.

“You miss him, don’t you,” Lindsay said in response, leveling her eyes at Brian as if daring him to deny it.

He couldn’t deny it and she knew it. He did miss Justin, though that wasn’t entirely what had him feeling out of sorts. Still, it was a good enough cover and so he shrugged noncommittally.

“There’s a simple solution to that, you know,” Lindsay smirked and Brian just rolled his eyes.

“Sure,” he looked over at Gus before he turned his eyes back to his friend.

“So I’ve got you set up with a private room at the Alleghany PT Center. Doctor Patch seems to think you’ll be ready to travel in a couple weeks. So,” Brian paused, “we need to talk about what you want to do with the house here.”

Brian watched as Lindsay’s face clouded. She hadn’t spoken to him about Melanie since she’d admitted to feeling guilty and responsible for the accident. Of course it was ridiculous, but Brian also understood her compulsion to feel that guilt. He was carrying the guilt of many things himself, and hypocritical or not, he knew what had happened to Melanie was in no way Lindsay’s fault while he did not believe the same held true for him and the plethora of things he was guilty for, and of.

“I guess we need to sell the house,” Lindsay sighed, “I don’t want to be here without Mel. Shit. I don’t want to be anywhere without Mel. I sure as hell don’t want to come back her without her.”

Lindsay closed her eyes and Brian sat silently beside her, his eyes moving between her and their son. Gus, still coloring, kept his eyes down but Brian thought he saw something in his young son’s expression that wasn’t quite right. The niggling worry that kept eating at him, that Gus was not as okay as he seemed, reared its head once more.

“Brian,” Lindsay was looking at him now, her big, brown eyes shiny with unshed tears, “call him.”

He wanted to call him. But he was ashamed, and until he got his test back and could tell Justin it was negative (God, he hoped it was negative!) he wasn’t going to call.

“Take it from someone who knows,” Lindsay continued, oblivious to Brian’s silence, “you don’t want to waste any time. Anything could happen.”

Brian wanted to laugh at that; how right she was.

“I’ll call him,” he said finally, if only to calm her down. “But first let’s get your house sold, okay?”

He stroked her hair as his voice softened. He wondered if any of his friends would recognize him…the Brian Kinney he’d been before the fateful phone call that had brought him here was slowly fading from view – transforming into a new variation…and Brian wasn’t as scared of that prospect as he thought he might be. In fact, he kind of liked it.

Lindsay gave Brian the name of the Realtor who had sold them the house, and Brian planned to call the office the following day so they could relist the house. He also assured Lindsay that they could pack up the house and move everything to a storage facility in Pittsburgh until she knew what her permanent living situation would be.

Arriving back at the house after another dinner with Gus at Rosie’s, Brian checked his email to find electronic copies of signed contracts with The Sutton Brewery. Everything was in place. Brian shot off a quick email to Cynthia asking her to set up a conference call with the art department for the morning; he told her they needed to back burner everything else for tomorrow and focus on this new account.

Perusing the other emails that littered his inbox, most of them spam, Brian felt the sudden urge to reach out to Justin and he silently cursed Lindsay for putting the idea into his head. The two men had never exchanged an email in all the years they’d known each other and Brian had to think for a moment before he could even remember if Justin still used his email account.

Brian sat in front of his computer for nearly ten minutes, his fingers resting on the keys but unable to type. He had so much he wanted to say, so much he felt like he needed to say, so much that Justin deserved to hear…but he couldn’t do it.

Closing the lid of his laptop, Brian retreated to his bedroom where he checked his phone, finding a new voicemail from Sam Fairfield. He wanted to meet with Brian the following day to discuss the campaign, “and other things”.

Brian had a feeling he knew what those “other things” were, and when he called Sam back and got his voicemail, he affirmed their meeting time and place.

Laying down that night, sleep didn’t come as quickly as it had the last several nights. Instead, Brian found himself thinking about too many things, but mostly about one thing.

He had to wait two more days.

The conference call with Cynthia and Greg went well, and the art department was given a deadline of 5pm to send Brian images of their mock-ups. Brian, threatening his entire office with unemployment should the deadline not be met, hung up feeling invigorated, and a little horny. His work, when he was in it and creating, had that affect on him.

It was a little early for lunch, but after asking Ronnie to stay with for a few extra hours in the afternoon, and promising Gus that he could have a milkshake that night at dinner, Brian left the house to meet Sam downtown at a swanky sushi restaurant.

Sam was already seated and sipping a bottle of Classic Sutton Stout, the first beer brewed and sold by the Grant Sutton II and the Sutton Brewery. Brian raised an eyebrow questioningly as he took the seat opposite Sam.

“Drinking on the job?” he asked, ordering a bottle of the same from the waitress.

“Perks of the job, I can drink during the work day so long as it’s a Sutton brew,” Sam nodded towards the approaching waitress.

“And you?”

“I’m the boss,” Brian shrugged, thanking the waitress as she set the bottle in front of him. Brian wasn’t a big fan of stout beers, but he was surprised to find he rather liked the taste of Sutton’s. He wouldn’t be drinking more than one in a sitting, but he wouldn’t find it hard to finish either.

“So?” Sam waited expectantly.

“Not bad,” Brian set the bottle down and leveled his eyes at Sam.

“So what do we need to discuss that we couldn’t include Brown and Darcy?”

Sam smirked and tipped his beer once more, his eyes remaining locked with Brian’s.

“I thought we should clear the air between us,” he said finally, “after what happened, and then what I told you at Rosie’s…”

Brian nodded, keeping his expression impassive. He was dying to ask, while also intent on keeping up the façade that he loved to play for the public. In the end, Sam willingly offered the information and so Brian didn’t have to ask.

“My first test came back negative,” his smile was gone now, “so did Jake’s. That’s my ex.”

“Ah yes, the asshole who thought it was okay to fuck without a condom” Brian groused, while feeling a slight sense of relief for himself.

“You?”

Brian opened his mouth to answer when the waitress approached to take their order. Without looking at the menu Brian ordered a simple smoked salmon dish.

“I’m still waiting,” Brian said finally, once the waitress had retreated with their orders.

Sam nodded, his expression betraying something Brian couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was it sadness?

“I’m sorry,” he said finally and Brian shrugged.

“Like I said before, sorry is bullshit.”

“I don’t get you,” Sam replied and Brian bit his cheek to stop a grin from forming.

“I know,” he tipped his beer back and took a long drink, “I like it that way.”

The conversation turned then to work, and Brian was surprised to hear Sam had some very good ideas that were similar to the ones Brian was kicking around in his own head. By the time the lunch had ended Brian was feeling really good about the new working relationship, and feeling quite confident in the success Kinnetik would bring to Sutton.

When Brian and Gus arrived at the hospital later that day, he was stopped in the hall by Doctor Patch who informed him that they had a definite release date set for Lindsay. In just under three weeks she would be ready to travel the distance to Pittsburgh.

Lindsay was excited and anxious when they finally came into the room, and for the first time Brian saw some color in her complexion as she talked to Gus excitedly about moving back to Pittsburgh and living with daddy at his big house. Brian had told Lindsay about the estate, and she had been thrilled that Brian wouldn’t be trying to take care of Gus from his loft – she didn’t bother to hide her distaste for that place, at least as a home for her son anyway. Brian, now that he had a date, made a note to call the contractors about getting the work done in time for their arrival.

After a busy, but productive day Brian found sleep came easy and he just barely had time realize, before he fell asleep, that it was only one more day he had to wait.

It was 9:43am when Brian got the call. He had considered not answering as his attention was focused on the preliminary images the Kinnetik art department had sent him for the Sutton account. However, something moved him to answer and so he did – and that was when he was finally able to breathe again – at least for the moment.

His HIV test came back negative.

The woman on the other end of the line was quick to remind Brian that many first tests were a false negative, and that depending on how recent the exposure was the antibodies might not have had time to appear yet. Brian knew all this, of course, but he said nothing. Getting back a negative was always a relief – and every six months when he went through this process it garnered the same reaction out of him…immense relief and a release of tension he hadn’t known had been building. The woman asked Brian if he’d like to schedule another test and he declined. By the time he’d need another test he’d be back in Pittsburgh. It could wait until then.

Hanging up the phone, Brian breathed a long sigh of relief before laughing softly. He knew each time he was with some strange guy that there was this risk – that was one reason he never let anyone fuck him…why he always topped. It was of course still dangerous, but slightly less so. Brian only hoped that Justin was as careful with the guys he was with.

Justin…Brian hadn’t spoken to him since that awful phone call. Brian felt pretty dickish for having called to share the news on Justin’s birthday, but it was too late to change that now. Still, Justin had promised to let Brian know his results, so all he could do was wait. He hoped Justin had already submitted for a test because he wouldn’t feel completely at ease until he knew Justin’s test was also negative.

Distracted beyond the point of continuing to work, Brian decided to stretch his legs and see what Gus and Ronnie were up too, and to check in on the packing company he’d hired to come in and pack up the muncher’s house. He’d had them start in Mel and Lindsay’s room, since neither woman would be there to use anything. He had already taken Lindsay some of her personal things, like her favorite lounge pants, her favorite PIFA sweatshirt, and her toiletries. But everything else was to be packed up and put into storage for someone…sometime…to go through. One upside to the packing was that the lesbians hadn’t completely unpacked yet – the garage full of boxes they’d yet to go through. So at least they wouldn’t have to pack an entire house up – just most of a house.

Poking his head into the bedroom he saw the two women packing the closet of clothes. They were intent on their task so Brian left them to it, heading downstairs where he found Gus and Ronnie at the table doing some kind of macaroni art craft. Brian barely contained an eye roll as he ruffled Gus’s hair, going to the fridge for a bottle of water.

Turning his back to the fridge, Brian, for the first time since he’d come to Toronto, let his eyes wander the house. He could just see into the living room from the kitchen. There were knick-knacks and photographs and…the painting.

Justin’s painting, his parting gift to the muncher’s when they’d left Pittsburgh, hung over the television and Brian was amazed he hadn’t noticed it sooner. Walking into the living room he stood in front of the painting, taking it in. The scene was dark but hopeful, the composition, in Brian’s mind, exquisite. It really was a great piece and Brian felt a moment of sadness as he wondered if Justin had yet picked up a paint brush. He knew better than most what art meant to Justin, especially when he was in pain, or hurt, or dealing with any kind of trauma. The damn kid seemed to do his best work when dealing with his emotions.

Brian returned to his office then and without giving himself time to think about it, he dialed Justin’s number and held his breath as the phone rang…and rang…and rang. No answer but the voicemail.

Closing his eyes, Brian spoke into the phone – wishing he could say more but saying all he could, for the moment.

“Hey. I got my results back. They were negative. I hope you are okay.”

Brian bit his lips then, taking a few moments to muster the strength.

“I miss you.”

Gus was laughing, trying to retell Brian a same funny story that Ronnie had told him earlier in the day and while Brian had no idea what the story was about, he found himself laughing along anyway. Gus’s smile was so genuine, his giggle so infectious that Brian couldn’t help it.

The same pink-haired server that always seemed to be at Rosie’s when Brian and Gus came for dinner came over then, grinning too as he refilled their water glasses. He gave Brian a wink before he took off to take care of another table.

“Isn’t that a funny story?” Gus’s face was bright pink from his laughter, and Brian felt the urge to just pull Gus to him and hold him close forever. Brian didn’t know it, but this would only be the first of many moments he’d feel like this – the first of many, many times that he’d feel so overwhelmed by the love he had for his son that he thought he would die from the pain it caused.

Pink-hair brought their food then, and for a several minutes they were silent, each digging in to their meal. Brian paused before biting into his chicken sandwich to watch as Gus attempted to fit the entire burger he’d ordered into his mouth – spilling lettuce and dripping ketchup down his shirt.

Brian turned with a soft smile to try and wave down Pink-hair for more napkins when he saw Sam, sitting across the diner and watching Brian.

“Stay here Sonny-boy,” Brian slid from the booth and looked to his young son, “I’m going to get some more napkins.”

Gus looked up at Brian, his face covered in ketchup and burger grease, nodding as he chewed. Brian let out a light chuckle before turning back to face Sam. The two men met each other halfway and Brian raised his eyebrow at the other man.

“I’m beginning to think you’re stalking me,” he said.

“Hey, I can’t help it if Rosie’s chocolate cake is the best in the city,” Sam retorted. Brian saw his eyes flick between him and Gus.

“That’s what his mother says,” Brain titled his head towards where Gus sat, making an even bigger mess as he continued to try and eat his hamburger.

“I thought you’d want to know,” Brian added, “my first test came back negative.”

Sam’s face, pleasant and smiling, cycled through what seemed to Brian to be about four additional emotions before settling with what appeared to be relief. It was strange, and if Brian had cared enough to examine what it meant he might wonder why his negative test had had such an impact.

“That’s great,” Sam’s grin was genuine and Brian felt his own mouth twitch slightly in response.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I gotta get back.”

“Sure,” Sam was still smiling when Brian turned back around to head back to the booth where Gus was now wearing more burger and toppings than he had gotten into his mouth. Brian chastised himself for letting Gus order a hamburger – he would make sure Gus ordered off the kid’s menu next time – he wasn’t ready for the big burgers yet.

Grabbing a handful of napkins from the counter as he passed, Brian sat in the booth next to Gus and proceeded to try and clean him up, much to the irritation of his kid – who squirmed away and groused loudly at the attention. Brian laughed to himself – at least he wasn’t spitting on the napkins first.

It was after midnight when the text came. Brian wasn’t sure why he was awake or what had compelled him to check his phone but he was glad he did. There, on the screen was the one word he didn’t know he’d been holding his breath to see.

It was from Justin and it was one simple word that meant everything, at least until the next test.

Negative.

Brian considered calling him…but then decided it against it. There would be time to call later – maybe tomorrow. For now, Brian would revel in the relief he felt for both he and Justin.

The buzz of the phone against the wood top of the nightstand brought Brian from the brink of sleep. With a scowl he looked at the alarm clock and saw it was after 3am. Eyes bleary, he pressed the talk button on the phone without looking to see who was calling.

“What?” he barked, closing his eyes as blissful sleep beckoned him back into its embrace.

“Did you fuck someone without a condom?”

Brian’s eyes flew open, sleep forgotten as the strained yet slurred voice of Justin spoke softly over the phone.

“Justin,” Brian whispered his name. He sounded…hurt. Afraid. But mostly he sounded drunk.

“Where are you?” Brian asked, feeling concern bubble up in his gut. Justin could handle himself, he was always able to but somehow, the fact that he was in New York while Brian was in Toronto, made not knowing where he was and what was going on incredibly tortuous.

“Answer my question,” Justin replied.

“No,” Brian stated plainly, “I told you, it was the ex of another guy that I fucked…”

Justin laughed then and Brian heard the tinkling of glass and then the unmistakable sound of liquid being drank.

“Where are you?” Brian asked again, a bit more forcefully.

“You told me once; you said, ‘never let anyone fuck you without a condom’,” Justin paused then and Brian held his breath, “you said, ‘I want you safe. I want you around for a long time.’”

Silence again. Brian didn’t know what he was supposed to say or do.

“Do you remember that?” Justin asked, and his voice suddenly thick with emotion, to Brian it sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

Brian did remember. He remembered because that was the first time Justin had asked Brian to fuck him raw. God help him, Brian had wanted to, too. But there was no way on God’s green earth he would. No way would he allow himself to imagine it, and no way would he allow Justin to think that it was ever okay to do. It might be okay for some guys, but not for Justin. It would never be okay for Justin because Brian had spoken the truth that night. He did want Justin safe. And he did want Justin around for a long time. He always had – he always would.

“No,” Brian lied. It was surprisingly easy though he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to lie.

There was silence on the phone and somehow Brian knew Justin knew he was lying.

“Where are you?” Brian asked a third time, gentler.

“I’m at home,” Justin slurred and Brian heard the sound of ice in a glass, “or rather the piece of shit apartment I’m living in at the moment. I’m working my way through a bottle of Beam. Do you know why?”

Brian knew why. But he didn’t answer.

“It reminds me of you,” Justin’s voice was a whisper now, and Brian felt an ache blossom and spread from the center of his chest.

“Don’t ever let anyone fuck you without a condom,” Justin repeated, distracted, like he was lost in a memory.  “I think you loved me then,” he laughed, “but you wouldn’t admit it. You still won’t. Not really.”

“Justin,” Brian urged the younger man to come back to him, “Justin!”

“What,” he sounded flat now, back in the present and hurting.

Brian didn’t know “what”. He wasn’t prepared for this. He could usually handle Justin’s outbursts, his queen-outs, but not like this. He was hundreds of miles away and the guy was suffering and needing reassurance. Brian didn’t know how to offer it, or what it needed to be and it was pissing him off.  

“Go to bed,” Brian cooed, hopeful his soothing voice could convince Justin to abandon his goal of drinking himself into oblivion.

“I miss you,” Justin’s voice was barely a whisper, and if Brian hadn’t been straining to hear him he might not have caught the words – or detected the pain beneath them.

“I know,” Brian closed his eyes as he pressed his head into the pillow, allowing himself to feel it too, and repeating the words he’d said in his voicemail, “I miss you.”

“Brian, I want-,” Justin started but Brian cut him off. It hurt – and he didn’t want to hear it, not now.

“Please,” Brian felt his chest tighten and his eyes moisten as he whispered, “go to bed. We can talk tomorrow.”

A heavy sigh was his only response.

“Justin?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered, strangely he suddenly sounded convincingly sober. Then the phone was silent and he was gone.

Brian lay awake until his alarm went off at 6:30am, and even as he went downstairs to start the coffee he couldn’t get the sound of Justin’s voice out of his head. He’d sounded positively devastated, and Brian knew, again, it was all his fault and he couldn’t help but wonder when, or if, he’d ever stop hurting one of the few people he never wanted to hurt.