asking a simple question,”
he said in a deceptively mild tone. “Which suggests a problem with trust. So I repeat, why do you think I’m asking?”
“You want to know what leverage you have,” Thomas said bluntly. “When you
want something to happen a certain way, you break down defenses. Then you gather 54
Rough Canvas
pieces of information, assemble them into a plan and execute it when someone is off balance. Like ‘Item One, his brother might get better, so I can use that to—’”
Marcus rose so abruptly his knee hit the table, jarring the glassware. Fortunately, nothing toppled, but the clink of glass and silver was enough to stop Thomas mid-sentence.
Marcus had fixed a hard, cold gaze upon him. When he said nothing for several
moments, Thomas felt like squirming. If Marcus was silent now, it was because his temper had been simmering and suddenly had gone to open boil. The passive-aggressive energy that had been moving between them—the elephant in the room—
was about to stampede. But goddammit, he wasn’t wrong. He knew Marcus. He’d seen him do it before. Not in personal shit so much, but somehow Thomas figured there was a line they’d crossed where all was fair in love and war. Or had he imagined it?
“You walked out on a gallery showing we spent months planning and promoting,”
Marcus said at last, in a flat, deadly tone. “You called me from an airport hundreds of miles away to tell me that your father’d had a heart attack and died before you could even make the connecting flight. You told me you didn’t need me—”
“I didn’t—”
“Shut. Up.”
Thomas clenched his teeth, but he shut up.
“You didn’t want me to come, even though I could hear your voice breaking over
the phone. I told you I would do whatever you needed, be whatever, wherever you needed me to be, when all I wanted to do was go to you, stand by you, while you faced one of the hardest moments of your life. You came back, thinking you could pick up some of the pieces, but I should have known then it hadn’t been resolved. Your brother got hurt and you left again. In the middle of the night, because you couldn’t handle saying goodbye.”
Marcus leaned down, bracing his knuckles on the table and stared hard into
Thomas’ eyes. “I wanted to know how your brother was because he’s your brother.
Because I haven’t been able to find out from you how you’re doing or how your family is doing. It matters to me, because they matter to you .
“How many times have you told me stories about you and Rory as kids? How he
tagged along after you, wore overalls without a shirt? How you fished him out of a creek when he was eight so he wouldn’t drown? The way you watched over him when your dad and mom had to keep a farm and a business running while you all were
growing up?
“I asked,” he continued in that low tone that was striping Thomas’ insides,
“Because I love you so fucking much, and I wish I could change everything that’s happened to you. But because I can’t, I can at least ask how things are going, so maybe I can figure out a way you’ll let me help you.”
55
Joey W. Hill
Thomas started shaking his head. Marcus had never said he loved him. He was
using it now like a weapon of mass destruction, trying to wipe away all his defenses, use it to…
“Fuck you,” Marcus snarled abruptly, upending the table, sending it crashing
against the railing. Crockery spun and shattered, juice and eggs splattering them both.
“For your information, you selfish prick, I can read everything in your face. I’ve never lied to you about anything. Ever. The only one lying to himself here is you. You tell me
‘one week’. That’s it, that’s all you’ll give us. Well, since I’m on a roll, let me continue to be perfectly honest with you.”
Marcus leaned forward again, his face hard. “That has nothing to do with your
family. You’ve accepted a man can want to fuck another man, but you
he said in a deceptively mild tone. “Which suggests a problem with trust. So I repeat, why do you think I’m asking?”
“You want to know what leverage you have,” Thomas said bluntly. “When you
want something to happen a certain way, you break down defenses. Then you gather 54
Rough Canvas
pieces of information, assemble them into a plan and execute it when someone is off balance. Like ‘Item One, his brother might get better, so I can use that to—’”
Marcus rose so abruptly his knee hit the table, jarring the glassware. Fortunately, nothing toppled, but the clink of glass and silver was enough to stop Thomas mid-sentence.
Marcus had fixed a hard, cold gaze upon him. When he said nothing for several
moments, Thomas felt like squirming. If Marcus was silent now, it was because his temper had been simmering and suddenly had gone to open boil. The passive-aggressive energy that had been moving between them—the elephant in the room—
was about to stampede. But goddammit, he wasn’t wrong. He knew Marcus. He’d seen him do it before. Not in personal shit so much, but somehow Thomas figured there was a line they’d crossed where all was fair in love and war. Or had he imagined it?
“You walked out on a gallery showing we spent months planning and promoting,”
Marcus said at last, in a flat, deadly tone. “You called me from an airport hundreds of miles away to tell me that your father’d had a heart attack and died before you could even make the connecting flight. You told me you didn’t need me—”
“I didn’t—”
“Shut. Up.”
Thomas clenched his teeth, but he shut up.
“You didn’t want me to come, even though I could hear your voice breaking over
the phone. I told you I would do whatever you needed, be whatever, wherever you needed me to be, when all I wanted to do was go to you, stand by you, while you faced one of the hardest moments of your life. You came back, thinking you could pick up some of the pieces, but I should have known then it hadn’t been resolved. Your brother got hurt and you left again. In the middle of the night, because you couldn’t handle saying goodbye.”
Marcus leaned down, bracing his knuckles on the table and stared hard into
Thomas’ eyes. “I wanted to know how your brother was because he’s your brother.
Because I haven’t been able to find out from you how you’re doing or how your family is doing. It matters to me, because they matter to you .
“How many times have you told me stories about you and Rory as kids? How he
tagged along after you, wore overalls without a shirt? How you fished him out of a creek when he was eight so he wouldn’t drown? The way you watched over him when your dad and mom had to keep a farm and a business running while you all were
growing up?
“I asked,” he continued in that low tone that was striping Thomas’ insides,
“Because I love you so fucking much, and I wish I could change everything that’s happened to you. But because I can’t, I can at least ask how things are going, so maybe I can figure out a way you’ll let me help you.”
55
Joey W. Hill
Thomas started shaking his head. Marcus had never said he loved him. He was
using it now like a weapon of mass destruction, trying to wipe away all his defenses, use it to…
“Fuck you,” Marcus snarled abruptly, upending the table, sending it crashing
against the railing. Crockery spun and shattered, juice and eggs splattering them both.
“For your information, you selfish prick, I can read everything in your face. I’ve never lied to you about anything. Ever. The only one lying to himself here is you. You tell me
‘one week’. That’s it, that’s all you’ll give us. Well, since I’m on a roll, let me continue to be perfectly honest with you.”
Marcus leaned forward again, his face hard. “That has nothing to do with your
family. You’ve accepted a man can want to fuck another man, but you
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