Jake
“Just don’t tell your brother,” I beg as Tim, seated in front of me, reacquaints himself with the bike’s controls. Yes, I’m gonna let him drive it again—on the road this time, where anyone might see us. And, obviously, I’m well aware that Tony will take it badly if he ever finds out. Which is why he’s not going to.
Maybe this is a bad idea—okay no, scratch that. I’m not that delusional. I know it’s a bad idea. One that will likely come back to bite me in the ass at some point. But I’ve always had a soft spot where my former—no, fuck that too—where my brother-in-law, full stop, is concerned. And if this is the last time we ever get to hang out together? Then I’m da— I mean, determined to make our time together memorable. For his sake, sure. But also for my own.
I didn’t make enough good memories during the course of my life. I didn’t take the time to. Always putting off ’til tomorrow what wouldn’t turn a profit today. Always assuming that, if I put in the hard work now, the future would take care of itself.
Now, of course, I think I got that wrong. I think if you waste your present on meaningless tasks, you’ll end up with nothing much to look back on and a future that’s even emptier than the past.
I’m still wrecked by the realization of how much I missed out on. All those years, watching Tim grow up—and Hailey, and Oliver. And I can’t help thinking that I’d have done a much better job than Tony has of sanding off some of those sharp edges Tim’s seemingly acquired.
What’s happened to them, I wonder—not for the first time. They might not ever have been the closest of brothers; there’s probably too much of an age gap for that. But now, apparently, they can’t even manage to say good morning to one another without turning it into an argument.
I knew from what Connie had told me, and from the expressions on her and Pops’ faces that this isn’t a new problem. I could see how much pain it’s causing them, how helpless it makes them feel.
And I can’t help wondering if maybe that’s something I can help with. Maybe that’s where I can make a change for the better. Maybe this is how I’ll earn my wings?
“Oh, hell no,” Tim says, and his heartfelt response to the plea I’d almost forgotten having made scatters my thoughts. Probably due, in large part, to his use of the H word.
“What’d you say?” I ask, still trying to shake off my discomfort.
“Of course I’m not going to tell Tony about this,” Tim promises. “I’ve made it a firm policy not to tell him anything about anything. Not unless A, he specifically asks about it; or B, he catches me by surprise and I’m too startled to come up with a believable lie.”
I wince a little at this troubling statement, and re-think my belief in my own abilities. Truth is a fucking luxury. And this is well above my pay-grade. I haven’t always been most truthful person, myself, and a part of me wonders how much that might have contributed to my current, crappy situation.
There’s one thing I know for certain, however, and that’s that I don’t ever want Timo to end up like me.
“Yeah but, you know, Tim, lying’s probably not the best way to handle something like that. You ought to just level with him. Tell him how you feel. I bet he’d be a lot more open to listening than you’re giving him credit for.” I’m not altogether certain that’s true, but it sounds good, and I really want it to be.
“Maybe. I dunno. But he’s not my father,” Tim protests, and I get the feeling it’s a popular refrain. “So, I don’t know why I’d even need him to listen in the first place. He’s the one who should change. He needs to mind his own business and stay out of mine.”
“He’s your brother, and he cares about you.” I’m comfortable stating that as fact because Tony has always cared about everyone. That can’t have changed. Look at the way he came to my aid this morning, pretending to like my beard just to get his father off my back. “And I’m sure he’s just looking out for you the best he can. Besides, he’s not entirely wrong, you know. Bikes can be dangerous; especially a big one like this, and especially if you don’t know what you’re doing—which you don’t yet.”
“Don’t you start too!”
“I’m not. I just…”
“It’s not just the bike,” Tim insists. “He’s like that about everything. Not that you’d know.”
Ouch? “Okay, fine. You’re right. I’m sorry I haven’t been around more, Tim. I should’ve…”
Should have what? I ask myself irritably, because, really, what does he think I could have done differently? Should I have come here after Tony made it clear I wasn’t wanted? Should I have hung around, making a pest of myself, just because my feelings were bruised?
I listened to what Connie said, and I know she has a point. But I also learned, at a very young age, just how useless it is to beg for someone’s love or attention. Useless, and uncomfortable, and embarrassing for everyone concerned.
Tony had made it clear that he was no longer interested in being in a relationship with me, and I was not going to insult us both by chasing after him. There’s are words to describe those exes who’ve never learned how to bow out gracefully, who don’t know when it’s time to let go and peace out. And no, the words I have in mind aren’t ‘pathetic losers’ although that’s also pretty apt; the words I’m thinking of are ‘abusive’ ‘obsessed’ and ‘stalker’.”
“Yeah, you should’ve,” Timo replies—exactly as if I’d actually finished the sentence.
What does he think I was going to say? I wonder, gazing curiously at him as he continues. What does he think I should have done?
“Maybe if you’d been around, like you were supposed to, and if he were getting laid once in a while, he wouldn’t have turned into such a dick.”
“That’s getting a little personal, don’t you think?” I choke on my response. Truth be told, there’s a small, malicious part of me that’s pleased to hear that Tony hasn’t been burning up the local sheets. “Sounds like maybe Tony’s not the only one who needs to stay out of his brother’s business.”
Tim twists around in the seat so that he can look at me over his shoulder, so he can fix me with the same stubborn, fiery glare I’m used to seeing on his brother’s face. Was used to seeing. Was.
“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Tim scoffs at me. “We all heard you the other day, you know. Talking about your new boyfriend, while Tony’s just standing there. And we all see you with your new look, and your new fit. It’s obvious what you’ve been getting up to in the city.”
“What have I been getting up to?” I ask weakly, even though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“Having a life, I suppose; doing your own thing; moving on? Meanwhile, Tony’s been stuck here with only his hand for company, taking his frustrations out on the rest of us. It’s not right.”
“I’m sure that’s not all he’s been doing,” I say, a little desperately. Images of Tony jerking himself off are lighting up my brain like a pinball machine. But having this discussion with his brother? Naw, dawg; this is just weird as fuck. I wonder if Tim even realizes that he’s coming to his brother’s defense?
“Of course that’s not all he’s doing—he’s probably not doing it enough, for that matter. He’s like that mechanical bunny in the old battery commercials. He never stops working—not fucking ever. I mean, have you taken a look around? Do you see this place now?”
“Sure. I—”
“He’s got us selling flowers in the spring. Did you know that? And boxed lunches, too, so that people can go and sit in the fields and have picnics and shit. ’Cause the fields that aren’t planted with bulbs, are seeded with wildflowers. We’ve got people driving in from all over just so they can take pictures of themselves surrounded by bluebells.
“We sell veggies in the summer, and pumpkins in the fall. Did he tell you that he commandeered an entire field for a peach orchard? Because he did. I thought Pops was gonna have a cow over that one. And I’d never seen my mom so mad. But he was smart to do it! Those peaches were a hit. People love ’em. Then there are the cabins, which you know about. And the weddings, which you probably don’t.”
“Yeah, tell me more about those.”
“Mostly people just rent out the barn for their receptions. Almost every weekend, spring through fall. But you’d be surprised how many couples want to get married here, too.”
“Wow. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, well, now you do.” Tim shoots me a swift glance then adds, oh-so-casually, “You know, I’m really looking forward to going away to school in the fall, but I’ve been worried, too. About whether I even should, you know?”
“What? No! Of course, you should. Why is that even a question?”
“Obviously because it would mean leaving everybody here short-handed.”
I feel my lips curve into a smirk. Because by “everybody here” I’m sure what he actually means is “Tony”. But then…
“But now that you’re back, I guess I don’t have to worry anymore, do I?”
And the smirk is wiped from my face. Because what the fuck do I have to smile about?
Of course, I’m not back—not like he means it, like he’s hoping, like I wish were the case. And I can’t even tell him why. “Hey, it’s getting late. Don’t you have to get to school?” I ask, responding to my brain’s most urgent command to deflect, deflect, deflect.
“Yeah, I guess.” Tim takes a quick, steadying breath then says, “All right. So, how do we do this again?”
I’ve already given him a crash course in the basics; now I run quickly through the process once again and we’re off.
I gotta admit it, the kid’s pretty good. Although of course, I use my weight to keep us balanced when he wobbles, and to steady us when he banks too hard on a curve. I use my hands to guide him through the turns, and to navigate around obstacles in the road. But he’s doing great for a beginner. And I just wish there was a way for Tony to see us, without his losing his mind in the process.
Tim whoops in delight as he pours on the speed and the bike leaps forward, eating up the road. His joy is infectious. Soon we’re both hollering exuberantly. Just like flying, I find myself thinking, again and again. Just. Like. Flying.
Before I know it we’re slowing to a smooth stop (mostly my doing) in front of his school.
“Dude! That was awwwesommme!” Tim enthuses as he hops off the bike and removes his helmet. “When can we do it again?”
“I dunno, Tim. We’ll have to see. But soon,” I assure him, ignoring all the reasons why I should be saying never again.
“Thanks, man,” he says as he hands me the helmet. “This is a great bike.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I’m gonna hafta get myself one. Seriously. It’s just what I’ll need to get around campus, or if I want to come home for the weekend.”
Yeah, that’ll happen, I think sarcastically. I’m careful to keep my snark to myself because I’m not that much of a dick, but seriously? I hope the bike he’s thinking about is a scooter.
A bike like this is out of his league. It’s too big, too fast, and far too expensive for a beginner. On the other hand, I can’t take it with me, can I? “I tell you what, Timo. If you promise to work hard at school and cut your brother some slack, then, when I go, I’ll leave this one here for you. That way, when you’re ready for a bike like this—after you’ve practiced on something smaller for awhile, gained a little experience, passed your driving test, maybe put on a little weight, etc—you’ll be all set. I’ll make sure that it’s in your name, and I’ll get Tony’s promise that he’ll keep the paperwork up-to-date. That way, all you’ll have to worry about is the insurance.”
But Tim’s expression has gone slack. “When you go where?” he demands. “What the fuck are you talking about? Where would you be going?”
“Oh. I, uh…” Well, shit. “You know, I don’t know exactly. But…well, we all gotta go sometime, right? So…”
“I don’t fucking believe this,” he growls—once again sounding just. Like. His brother. Damn it. “You’re leaving him? Again? What is this, some kind of game to you?”
“Tim… Geez, don’t look at me like that. It’s complicated. Okay?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs as he turns and stomps away. “Real complicated, I’m sure. I guess maybe Tony wasn’t the one who screwed things up between you two. Maybe he was right about you all along.”
What? “Hey! What’d he say about me? No, don’t just walk away. Tim! Come back here. Tim!”
But he ignores my efforts to call him back, and then disappears from view, slipping inside the school where I can’t follow.
Well. Okay, obviously, I could follow him if I really wanted to. I’m an angel, after all. I go where I want.
But materializing in front of a room full of high school students just to make a point? No, thank you. I’m gonna have to take a hard pass on that one. Cursing beneath my breath, I vanish the helmet with a wave of my hand, sending it back into storage. Then I kick the bike into gear and head home. Things used to be so much less complicated around here. A l lot less complicated, and a lot more fun…
“Race you to the lamppost,” Seven-year-old Timmy says, challenging us to a race.
I glance at the kid in surprise, and then at Tony who rolls his eyes at his younger brother and sighs, “Tim. Get real. You know you can’t beat us, right?”
I mean, that much is obvious, right? Tony and I are both nineteen and on the university’s field and track team. But the crestfallen, disappointed look on the kid’s face makes my chest tighten up in a weird, uncomfortable way.
“Oh, I dunno about that,” I say, giving Tony’s shoulder a shove. “He looks pretty fast to me. And weren’t you just complaining about shin splints the other day?”
“Wasn’t I what?” Tony frowned at me. “Shin splints? No. Why would I—”
“Yeah, you were. And, you know, I just pulled my hamstring this morning, so…”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“Yup. Sure did,” I lie unrepentantly. “Anyway, I think we’ve got ourselves some competition here. I think he’s got a real shot at this.”
“Yes!” Tim pumps his fist in the air then shouts, “One-two-three go!” And we’re off. At least…well, one of us is off. Tim takes an early lead—in part because I’ve grabbed a fistful of his brother’s jacket to slow him down.
“Would you stop that?” Tony demands. “I’m not gonna let him win, damn it!” But he’s laughing as he attempts to bat my hands away. We lurch along like that for several feet before I give up subtlety and tackle him—landing us both in a snow drift. “Omigod, you’re ridiculous,” Tony groans as he lies pinned beneath me.
We’re so close I can feel the soft puff of his breath on my skin. His scent is intoxicating. The urge to kiss him is almost overwhelming. Given the way his eyes have darkened, I’m pretty sure he feels it, too.
Our gazes catch and for a long, breathless moment we stare at each other. Neither of us speaking, because what the fuck is there to talk about—other than fucking, perhaps. And based on the fact that we’re both suddenly sporting massive erections, that option is apparently on the table now.
Merry Christmas to me.
Or not. Because an instant later, Tony bucks up from beneath me. “Move, asshole,” he says, giving me a shove that rolls me off into the snow. And then he’s up and sprinting down the road after his brother with me limping behind because, by now, I really have pulled a hamstring.
By the time I make it to the lamppost Tim is bouncing around doing a victory dance. And Tony is staring at me with the strangest look in his eyes, almost like he’s never seen me before. Not in a bad way, you understand. In fact, it’s pretty damn hot. Hot enough to make visions of candy cane-striped condoms and gingerbread-flavored lubricant dance around like sugar plums up in my dome.
As we start back toward the house, Tony and I are silent, both of us breathing just a little too hard; almost as though we’d actually exerted ourselves, which we hadn’t. Not that Tim notices, thank God, what with his cheerfully incessant babbling—all about what presents he’s hoping to get and what treats he’d most liked to find in his stocking.
“What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?” he asks me.
“Candy canes,” I say, smiling at Tony over his brother’s head. “There’s just something about those big sticks of candy. Mm-mm. My mouth’s watering right now, just thinking about it. I could suck on those things all day.”
“Yeah well, I’ve always been a big fan of ginger men, myself,” Tony replies shooting a look at my head.
“You mean, gingerbread men,” Tim says, quickly correcting his brother’s ‘mistake’.
Tony smiles serenely. “S’what I said.”
“No. You said—”
“Anyway, you both know what I mean,” Tony insists, gazing at me with a hint of challenge in his gaze. “Don’t you?”
“I…”
“Personally,” he continues, smiling slyly. “I like to start at their feet. Nibble their toes for a bit, then move up and nibble along the edges of their ears.”
I swallow hard, thankful that I’m wearing a beanie, because I can feel my ears heating up and turning red just from his words. Damn. Someone shoulda warned me: Country boys don’t play!
Timmy, however, is shaking his head and frowning. “No, no, no. What are you talking about? Gingerbread men don’t have ears. Or toes.”
“Are you sure?” Tony chuckles in response. “Maybe you’ve never noticed because I’ve always gotten to them before you.”
“Ewww. Gross. I don’t want your mouth on my cookies!” he says, glaring at us in disgust when we both start to laugh. But then his eyes narrow and, “Race you back,” he says, not even waiting for us to agree, already running.
I grab Tony by the arm, stopping him before he can take off after his brother. He looks at me in surprise. “Shouldn’t we…?”
“No,” I say, waiting another beat, long enough for Tim to disappear around the bend in the road, then I push Tony off the track and into the trees.
Then my mouth is on his and his hands are fisted in my hair and the scent of pine is sharp from the branches we’ve snapped in our clumsy rush and the only sounds are the rasp of our breaths and the shuffling of our feet as we both fight the urge to climb each other like trees.
“I’m really glad you talked me into coming home with you for Christmas,” I murmur when we’ve finally broke away from each other. “But right now…I wish to God we were spending the next few weeks anywhere other than at your parents’ house.”
“Same,” Tony agrees, gulping for air, lips twisting in a wry smile. “Same.”
Connie’s waiting for me at the farmhouse door when I get back home. And yes, I know I probably shouldn’t be calling it that, or thinking of it that way anymore but old habits are hard to shake.
“Jake, honey. Good, there you are,” she says as I cross the porch. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Of course, Connie. Anything. What do you need?”
Connie’s a big part of the reason I’m here, after all. I’m pretty sure that’s the case, despite Angel Dude’s doubts on the subject. So really, when you think about it, anything I do for her is actually a favor for myself…but who am I kidding? I don’t think I’ve ever said no to her about anything in the ten years I’ve known her. I’m not sure my mouth could actually form the words. I’m not sure my brain would even let it.
Now she holds up a folded paper bag—the kind you put lunches in for little kids to take to school with them—and a thermos, and asks, “Could you take these out to Tony for me? He didn’t eat any breakfast this morning and I’m sure he’s starving by now.”
I’d bet the same. He’s a bear when he misses breakfast—not in the quietly hibernating kind of way. “Sure thing. Where would I find him?”
“He’s in that new building they put up last year,” Tony Sr. calls from inside the house. “The monstrosity. Ya can’t miss it.”
Connie rolls her eyes. “It’s the new red unit, just across the parking lot from here.”
Right. The building Maggie took me to yesterday. I shoulda guessed. I wink at Connie, then poke my head in the door to ask, “How’re we doin’ Pops; everything okay with you this morning?”
“S’all right,” he says, expression softening into a wry smile. “Can’t complain. I may have overdone it a little yesterday, but otherwise...”
“Yeah, you want to take it easy, especially at first. Don’t push too hard.”
“Well, I can’t afford not to! I can’t just sit around doing nothing. Tim’s off to college in the fall, did he tell you? Once he leaves, we’re gonna be shorthanded around here if I’m not back on my feet by then.”
“Oh now, you stop it with that nonsense,” Connie scolds him. “You’ll go back to work when you’re ready—not a moment before. Besides, what are you even talking about? You know Tony has things well in hand. Give the boy some credit.”
Clearly, Connie doesn’t have access to the same playbook that both Pops and Tim are following. But she’s given me my cue and I’m damn sure gonna take it.
“Speaking of Tony, I better go and feed the bear his breakfast before he starts chewing people’s heads off.”
Connie’s face is beaming when she turns back to thank me. She’s looking so delighted that alarms are ringing in my head and I automatically start replaying our conversation trying to figure out what I said to put that look on her face. It doesn’t take long.
I better feed the bear his breakfast…
Smooth, Hennessy, I silently reprimand myself; real smooth. I’m obviously not planning on “feeding” Tony’s breakfast to him, and I don’t doubt he’d have a few harsh things to say if I were to try.
If Connie’s Christmas Wish is for us to get back together, which I sincerely hope it’s not, then I should be doing everything I can to reconcile her to the fact that it won’t happen. It would probably also help if I could reconcile myself to it first. Because it isn’t gonna happen; it can’t. And if I don’t start remembering that, I stand a good chance of failing this mission.
“We’re ex-husbands now,” I silently remind myself as I cross the parking lot. “Ex.”