Destiny - a novel - 12. Chapter 12: Letting Go

Chapter 12: Letting Go

It was a rotten thing that Jack had to see the vid of 'Sheriff McClusterfucker' leading his media circus only a few days before my boy's birthday – which is today, in fact – but brave soldier that he is, he's worn a happy-go-lucky smile on his beautiful lips throughout the proceedings; one for every well-wisher who streamed past his bedside.

The room is semi-dark now, but bright enough for me to see that his whole counter is forested with cards. They stand open and have cover images of glittering balloons in red and pink, teddy bears with open arms inviting hugs – all of them, and mine included, came from his friends, family and the hospital staff who interact with him on a daily basis.

I'm coming back now from closing his door. Jack and I don’t have much time, but, as I stop to step out of my shoes, I'm determined to make the most of it. We're alone because everyone's gotten into the habit of clearing out and letting us have the last 20 to 30 minutes of visiting hours to ourselves. Somehow the staff seems to know to leave us alone too – Mrs. Shaw perhaps putting in a kind word for us..?

Jack scootches over to his right, the side with the IV, and lets me slide into bed with him from the left. My arm instantly forms a pillow for my boy as he rolls blissfully into my embrace. "I've got something for you," I say as I brush the tip of his nose with my lips.

"No more presents, please."

"Jack, come on. You trust me, right?"

"Phew… What a question! Of course I do."

"Then shut your cute little eyes…" I kiss them both in turn when he closes them. "And do not open till I say. Swear?"

He purses his lips to show sincerity. "I swear."

Gently extracting my arm, and making sure those peepers are tightly locked, I roll over and pick up something I had stashed under the bed last time he went for a piss. On the small paper plate is a lighter, and I warn him "No peeping, now," while I pull the tray table over. I light the candle, saying at last, "Open up, baby."

Jack blinks like a kid on Xmas morning. He sees a hefty cupcake with a mound of white frosting speckled with flat dots of candy-colored 'confetti.' His eyes glow in the light of the single flame burning bright before him.

"Happy Sweet Sixteen, kid. And many, many more! Think your wish, Jack – and I'll try to make it come true."

After a serious pause, he opens up and blows. Poof! The light becomes a wafting column of broken smoke, and his arms wrap around me for a hug. He kisses the side of my neck, raising goose bumps there as he whispers: "I love you, Lincoln Oliver."

"I know, baby. Now, let's see how this tastes."

He settles back while I pull the cupcake to me. Down goes the candle, off comes the corrugated paper liner from the sides and bottom, and off falls a cakey chunk with a good glob of frosting. "Get ready," I tease him. "Here comes the choo-choo train." His silky lips lightly and momentarily enclosing my fingers makes me force down a gulp, and makes me realize my body down below the belt has also reacted involuntarily.

He chews with a smile, reaching for the plate himself.

In another moment, I taste Jack's fingers holding the cake and just let my unavoidable erection have its moment in hidden silence. I hold his left hand with my right and our gold hearts clink together. I hold tight and use my right hand to pull them on top of my wrist and join Jack's half-a-heart to mine. One full one rewards my efforts – that and Jack's sweet, contented smile.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I don’t want to leave you again tonight, babe."

"I know it's not your choice, Lincoln."

"Sometimes I feel bad that I get a little pang of jealousy."

"Why's that?"

"I envy that your mom gets to spend all night with you, that's why."

"Ha-ha, but I miss sleeping in the same bed with you too. Only good that comes from our separation at night is that it makes me more determined to get well and 'fix' the situation."

I grow pensive; I can't help it. "Once we resume sleeping the night together, Jack, that will be it, right? We'll never have to sleep without the other ever again?"

"Yes, Linc. Never again will we have to part." He gets a mischievous look in his eyes, as he asks, "Want another bite of my cake?"

"Uh-huh," I affirm, feeling my smile slip back into place.

He takes a chunk of cupcake, places it in my mouth and draws his digits across my lips until I suck tenderly on them. My dick flares, and threatens to 'go rogue' and make a mess of my drawers. So, I moan and close my eyes. Jack replaces his fingers with his lips, allowing me to open up and take his sugar-sweet mouth to my full. His hand falls to my bulge and strokes it. "Jack…" I warn, but he moans deep into my mouth and rubs. "I'm gonna cum – "

"Please let me make you cum, Lincoln. Please."

In another few strokes, he does just that – creaming me in my jeans, and making me shoot a hot series of gasps down his throat. "Fuck," I finally mumble. "No one's done that to me before."

"Baby, I love you," he says through his puckish twinkle. "So often through the day I wanna make you cum for me. I want to feel your love for me under my touch and feel it pulsate with release."

"Oh, Jack. You're so special – you really are, and you're mine. All mine."

"Yes, Linc – I don’t know about special, but I'm all yours."

He chuckles after a long kiss. "Do you have to go clean up?"

"Baby, I don’t want to leave your side. I'll walk around in crusty boxers for a few mins. It's like a badge that only you and me will know about." I caress the tip of his nose with my lips again.

Picking up the cupcake, I tell him hurriedly, "Come on, we have to eat this 'evidence' before the staff finds out I snuck it in here."

He snickers while I break off half, deciding it's safer for us to feed ourselves via own hands. Jack's good humor is evident as he indulges in some private thought. At last, he shares it. "I love our little party, Lincoln. The last time I had a birthday party – the only time, really – was when I was six. We had cake and balloons and a pony for rides in a rented gymnasium." His eyes sparkle. "My dad personally lifted every kid onto 'Trigger's' back because he wanted to make sure everyone was safe and secure before the pony started trotting. That included me, and he walked by my side with his hand on my back, telling me how this was my special day, and how he loved me."

My boyfriend pauses, the light goes out from his eyes. "Um, that was the last, because a few weeks later, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and a few days before my 7^th birthday, he died."

"Jack – "

"No, it's all right. After that, my mom never threw a birthday party for me or my siblings again. I guess… I guess she just couldn't."

I squeeze his hand, and glance at our conjoined charms. His brass ring against my chest seems to tingle with warmth.

"Jack, your dad sounds wonderful."

"From what I can remember, he was."

"I don’t know what that kind of dad would look like," I tell him plainly. "Sad. No, it's pitiful…" I realize Jack's face is growing a bit blurry; I blink and feel a burning line of wetness fall down my cheek. My voice, however, sounds unaffected. "Pitiful that I would not be able to recognize a father's love."

"Linc – "

"No, Jack. Like you said, it's okay, because it's true, and we should never be frightened to face facts about family. And please don’t say I just misunderstand my dad. It's more than that. I could be president of the world someday, and I know that if I glanced at his face, there would only be disappointment looking back at me."

Out of the corner of my vision, I see Jack raise a feeble arm trailing an IV line towards me. Partially turning into his embrace, I wipe my useless tears with a clenched fist, and allow him to hug me. He rocks me and says softly, "Just let it go now, Linc. Feel it, but let loose so it does not hurt you anymore."

A sob catches in my throat. He's right – it's me hurting myself at this point, and it's me who's the only one able to end it. I hug my boyfriend back, and give silent thanks Jack Shaw was allowed to come into my life.

Thinking about 'family' causes me to comprehend just how closely Jack and I are already. I do want to spend every night of the rest of my life sleeping next to him, and it makes it doubly bitter that in a few short minutes the public address system will announce that I, as just any other 'visitor,' must head for the exit. It has to change, or I will go mad; there's only so much I can bear, and being forced from Jack's side for a technicality is fate's cruelest blow yet.

A soft rap on the door lets us know they're back.

As I sense Dawn, Jackson, and Mrs. Shaw come in and gather in the center of the room, Jack and I slowly, reluctantly, pull apart.

"It's almost time," Mrs. S. murmurs.

I hold his face, confessing so they're all my witness, "Jack, I love you so much, sometimes it frightens me."

My boyfriend's adorable face scrunches up in puzzlement.

"I mean," I continue in a brighter tone. "Sometimes I 'wake up' a little bit and face the reality that I might…have to… See, Jack – frightened. I love you so much, Birthday Boy, that I can't even imagine a 'me' going without you."

Jack speaks like he's determined I understand him. "Linc, whatever happens – I won't quit your side. Count on it, ok?"

I have to smile and nod, reaching down to rejoin our heart bracelets; too much reality always spoils the moment in which what's important is to reach out for connection. Because all we really need to focus on is the present touch from the loved one. And I do love my boy with all my heart.

˚˚˚˚˚

"It's been a hard day," Jackson tells me over the sound of the TV. "You really ok with those shit sibs of Jack's stirring bullshit trouble for you with the law?"

I shift my attention from the carpet beneath the little two-seater table near the window I'm sitting at onto him. He's sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at me; the TV remote is suspended in mid-air within his hand while he lowers the volume.

Our room at The Hermione Motor Lodge is pretty plain: two queen-size beds, a desk-slash-counter, a bathroom with closet area, and this table with two chairs. As oatmeal beige as the walls are, and as dull as the vanilla portraits of colorless flowers are on the walls, it's more visually stimulating than Jack's all-white hospital room. These seem to be the only two spaces I see these days.

"I'll be all right, Jackson." I cross my leg – bringing my right ankle to bob over my left knee – and fold my arms across my chest as I lean back.

He doesn't believe me. My younger brother casts his glance down a moment and then palms the remote while he considers an approach. Silently, he changes the channel away from programming and onto music-streaming. After a few minutes of testing out this and that, he settles on one playing a steady beat of slow hip hop.

Jackson sets the remote down, then my brother comes and sits with wide legs right in front of me on the edge of my bed. He props elbows on his knees, smiling. A sly look comes up to me too from that telling grin; the bottom whites of his eyes make a roguish complement to his pearly whites. "I guess the fact that Pops is a money grubbing, high-priced corporate lawyer shows in me and you."

"What..?" I puzzle, knowing I'm making a huge scowl.

"Yeah. Although the rents like others to think they named their kids after dead presidents, we know the truth. They named us after cold, hard cash." He laughs outright at my 'you got me' lopsided grin.

"Yeah, that sucks. Look, here I am the first-born, but you get valued four times higher than me, Mr. Twenty-Dollar-Bill!"

He shakes his head with fake seriousness. "Nah, bro – come on. Everybody loves the Lincoln note – seems you can't buy anything for under five bucks these days anyway."

"True."

"Remember how much Pops would spot us as 'an allowance?'"

"Two-fifty a week." I chuckle to think of it. "Two-fiddy to go down to the corner market after lunch on Saturdays."

"I know, just barely enough for an ice cream sandwich and a bag of chips."

"Dude!" I suddenly can't contain my excitement. "While I'm up here, I have to get an It's-It. Fuck, I haven’t seen or had one in years… Don't have 'em in L.A…. I could fucking murder one right now."[1] I feel myself getting temporarily lost in the flavor memory of San Francisco's favorite old time treat – an ice cream sandwich made of two oatmeal cookies and dipped in chocolate… Ummm.

"Ok, bro," Jackson says, kicking his hands back on the bed for support. He relaxes and crosses his legs out in front of him, heel over ankle. "I remember how Mom would always sigh and make a big deal out of giving us our school lunch money every Monday."

"Yeah, why did she always act like it was a greedy surprise we were springing on her each time?"

"Who knows. Maybe she thought as grade-schoolers we'd pool our dosh and make a weekend run for Tijuana."

We both pause – letting that image sink in – and then laugh our asses off. I eventually have to wipe a tear from my eye.

"Yeah," Jackson sputters. "First day of school was always the worst."

I stop laughing; my brother's meaning is clear as a bell to me. "Pops never let me forget what he wanted from us – especially not on that day."

My head flooded with a memory. Maybe it was the first day of school when I was seven, maybe eight. Our dad rolled up in front of our school wearing his suit and tie for the office, and had me and Jackson in the back seat. He turned around and said in the harshest tone possible, "Lincoln, here's your chance to make me proud, for once. Don’t let the 4^th grade be as disappointing as the 3^rd grade had been to your mother and me." And then he shouted, "And stop crying!" I lifted my head and turned; Jackson was sobbing in fear. So, I grabbed our bags, my brother's hand and got us out of that car. As I walked my little brother towards the school's front door, with my arm around his shoulder, I thought, 'I got nothing but straight A's all last year. What more could he want?!"

"Lincoln..?"

Jackson's soft-speaking tone snaps me out of my recollection.

"Yes?"

"Sorry, bro. I didn't mean to – "

"Hey. Why you sorry? We didn't do anything to him."

My mind stops cold. I guess the truth pushes forward to remind me I did do something to our dad, and I regret it.

My school career can be summed up in three words: pressure; pressure; pressure. Academically, I was in the top percentile of national students my freshman and sophomore years of high school. In terms of athletics, I tried out for Berkeley High's varsity football team at the start of 10^th grade, and was accepted – the youngest member of that team, ever. But, good grades and being a star jock was not enough for my old man. I had a bit of a breakdown due to that relentless pressure, and also due to a personal let down by somebody I cared about. It was more than a bit of a breakdown, as I realized the suddenly unbearable amount of stress all this striving to please Pops – and others – was putting on me. But that man was never pleased with my accomplishments; he was only ever focused on the next set of goals.

After my 'personal letdown,' I spiraled into a deep depression. I began to question everything, my grades faltered, my sports performances grew lackluster, and my father's ire became relentless. Sometimes I wished Pops would just haul off and hit me – a punch to the gut, a slap to the face – for that kind of pain I could defend myself against. But the constant 'you're not good enough' was simply crippling.

Jackson was in the 8^th grade at the time, and he was the only one who seemed to notice my misery, and reached out to me.

The night before I ran away, we were alone in his room, and I came out to him. Jackson's reaction was "Don’t let Pops get you down. After high school, we'll be away from him for good."

"I don’t know if I'll live that long, bro."

"Suicide, Lincoln? Please – it's not 1952. Hell, half of your football players took their boyfriends to prom last year! Being out is not a big deal, unless a person has a good reason concerning safety not to broadcast it, and with us, we do. Our dad…well…"

My brother seemed to think better of what he wanted to say. "Anyway," he started again in a brighter tone. "Don’t let love do you in. I guess you're down because some idiot broke your heart, but your Mr. Right is out there, and fate will bring you together; I just know it."

I chuckled at him, admitting to myself that he'd made me feel a bit better. But, I couldn't let him know that. "You read too many mushy manga, bro."

"Well, maybe." He shrugged. "But it wouldn't hurt you to do something you like for a change either."

The next morning, after our dad dropped us off for Saturday practice, I was trudging towards the field and Pops kept deriding me in a loud voice as "worthless."

I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned, my eyes momentarily alighting on my brother's, then I let my gear and bag slip off my shoulders and started whaling on my father.

Jackson tried to pull my punching arm away, but couldn't. My father fell to the grass with his arm raised up defensively to shield his head and face, but I simply went along with him, pinning him down with my knees on his chest, and punching away on him; I was sobbing the whole time.

Eventually, my brother locked his arms around my chest as hard as he could, and used his own body weight to fall backwards and take me with him.

Once I was in the grass myself, I seemed to snap out of it. Pops moaned with hands still at his bloodied face, and rolled away from me and Jackson. A crowd of players, coaches and cheerleaders began to close in on us. I stumbled to my feet, and started running. Jackson called after me to "Wait!," but I just kept running.

Later that evening, after half-a-dozen texts, Jackson had packed a few of my things and gathered as much cash as he could – about $250 – and met me at the City Center BART station in Oakland.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked.

"Get outta here, that's what. Take Amtrak down south, check out L.A., and then…"

"And then, what?"

I shrugged. "I guess I'll do what I have to do."

Jackson looked to be on the verge of tears; he hugged me. "Use your head, Lincoln, and you'll be all right."

I glance at my brother sitting all relaxed on my bed, and tell him suddenly, "I have regrets. I regret the fistfight with Hamish."

"But why?" He sits up straight. "From what you and Dawn say, he deserved it. And – he started it!"

"Yeah, I'll defend myself every day of the week, and twice on Sunday if need be, but I was wrong to do it that day."

"Lincoln, what do you mean..?"

"I mean I should have thought about Jack first – put him ahead of my actions. I don’t want to be like Pops, I really don’t."

"It's ok, Linc. I know what you mean now, and don’t worry, you'll never be like him – not in a million years. And neither will I."

"Thanks, bro."

"Everything is gonna be all right with Jack too; I feel it in my bones."

Mention of Jack's name makes me completely honest with him. "I'm really worried, Jackson, that I'm not strong enough for the grief and distress that I may face."

His hand comes out to rest on my knee. "I understand why it's got you down, but you know as well as I do that the 'child molesting' charge is pure bullshit."

I lean back and cross my legs again. "I know it is, but I want to be brave for both Jack, and for all the other Gay kids who face this same sort of crap everyday in this country."

Jackson becomes slightly amused. "Oh yeah? And how do you propose doing that?"

"How? By letting myself be victimized."

"What are you suggesting..?"

"Just wait and see – if they do play their card, then and only then will I play mine. But, I will need your help."

"Anything; you know you only need to ask."

"That's a big relief. Ok, so I will get an e-mail together with instructions on what you'll need to get and do for me if they act the fool and don’t do their homework."

"Ok. Sounds like a plan!"

"I worry about the extra stress on Jack, but I'll make sure not to leave him in the dark on my idea."

Jackson slips into his own brand of fifteen-year-old-boy seriousness – it's what I'm sure Dawn or Mrs. Shaw would consider 'adorable.'

"You're a lucky guy, Lincoln. You and Jack make a great couple. Everyone can see right away how much you guys are in love. Tell me though, how did you know he's the one?"

"I don’t know what to tell you, Jackson. Attraction is only part of it – it like…does the introduction, but the rest is just about feeling whole and happy when you're with the other person: about, love that can't be denied, and that doesn't have to be examined. That's when you know you've found the one."

He blinks sadly, like he's debating telling me something.

"Come on, Jackson. What's on your mind?"

He sighs a bit. "I've never met a girl like her before – like Dawn." His violet eyes come and hold mine, and I recognize he's just taken a big step with this confession. He reminds me of Mrs. Shaw's words that Hamish just needs a good girl in his life to calm him down. So, I guess that means straight boys are easy to tame, and that includes my brother.

I tell him, "From what I know of Dawn, either from Jack, or seeing it for myself, she's a very practical, no-nonsense type of girl."

Jackson grows dreamy. "I know. It was so nice to spend the day with her: shopping; hanging." He bats his eyelids and gets excited like he's just now emerging from a nap. "I've seen how you get romantic with Jack – how you brought him the sparkling cider for New Years, how you hid the cupcake for his birthday till the last minute – you're awesome at it. So tell me, what can I do to bowl Dawn over? Something so she knows I'm serious!"

"Well, first of all, tell her! You never know, she might be feeling the same way about you."

He's deflated. "Tell her..? That's not very romantic, brother. What if she laughs in my face? I mean, come on Dr. Romance, diagnose me a scenario where she'll be weak in the knees, and then I can lay a move on her."

I cock my eyebrows. "Lay a move on her? Seriously, Jackson?"

"You know what I mean: wine her, dine her, and then if I get a lovey-dovey vibe, I'll tell her how I feel."

I laugh, giving me time to wind up a softball question, and follow it up with a piece of friendly advice. "You wanna know what I'd do?"

Jackson swings for the fences, smiling desperately. "Yes, very much!"

"Take her on a picnic. Get her out of that hospital for a few hours."

"But, she won't want to go far."

"Then don’t take her far. You can still find a private spot."

"…Right…"

Jackson is obviously considering where to 'wine and dine' her, and I laugh again in spite of myself.

"Right!" I reassure him. "I'll help you plan it. But you gotta swear something to me, Jackson."

"Anything! What do you want?"

"I want you to swear here and now that you won't chicken out."

The deflated posture he assumes as he slumps several inches into my mattress tells me I've stunned him.

"What I mean, Jackson, is this. It seems to me that boys and girls play a lot of bullshit games when it comes to saying who they like. With boys, we just mostly say what we feel with each other. And this time I want you to think of Dawn as one of the boys. That's the kind of honesty I know she'll respect."

Jackson begins raising a wicked leer at me.

"What?" I ask.

"You want me to make 'Gay love' to Dawn?"

"Hell yeah! Nine outta ten dudes who do are bound to get their girl. They're just too dumb and stuck in High School Mentality Land to know it."

I watch his grin disappear.

"What now?" I ask warily.

His voice is emotional. "You're an awesome brother, Lincoln. Just the fucking best."

"So, you'll do it; you won't back out on your word? If the vibe is right, tell her how you feel. Do you swear it?"

"Yes, Lincoln. I promise I'll do just that, and gladly too, because I trust you. And…"

"And, what?"

"And I'm glad you're back in my life again."

I crack a big-brother grin. "Hug it out, then?"

"Yep."

We stand and give each other a muscle-dude embrace; several vertebrae pop, and we separate so our palms can slap backs warmly.

I tell him, "I'm glad we're back together too, despite our rents being who they are. I'm also relieved to have you here to support me and Jack. I don’t think you know how much that means to me."

"It's ok, brother. I'll always be there for you, you know that."

I sigh, letting out a lot of tension, as I come to the one thing I really want him to know. "I have my regrets about one more thing too."

We pull apart completely. My brother stands in the half-light of the motel room looking concerned.

"I…" I falter; I can barely say it. "I regret leaving you all alone with Pops. I should have thought about you first – "

My brother slams into me with another embrace. He catches me off guard, so both my gaze and arms are lowered. He croons, "It's not your fault. So there's nothing to be sorry about. Forgiven; absolved; don’t worry about it any more – "

I grab on, squeeze him so he knows I'm fucking proud of him, and push him back to hold my eyes, even though my sight is a bit blurry with moisture. "Thanks, Jackson. I fuckin' love you, bro."

"Ditto, Lincoln. Ditto, my bro."

As my arm comes up to wipe my eyes and we regroup with a little distance between us, that wicked leer of his crawls back up his face.

"What – "

He cuts me off. "If you love me so much, maybe you'll let me borrow cash for my date with Dawn?"

"Sure," I chuckle. "You've got it – I'll spot you some dosh for it. And I wish you luck with her. She's great."

Jackson is serious again. "I know, right? She is great." In another instant, he flies to the back of the room and plays with the hangers. He comes back tossing my coat so that I catch it.

"What's up, Jackson?"

"I think it's time for a walk."

"Oh yeah. Where to?"

"There's that Walgreen's down the block, and I think I saw something you need last time I was there."

I laugh. "I've got enough underpants, bro."

"Nah. What I saw will put an even bigger smile on your face than tighty-whities, so let's go. I think I've got two-fiddy to spare, and the store definitely has an It's-It for my long-lost brother. It will be my treat, and my honor, to buy it for you."

As I thread an arm through my jacket sleeve, '…best brother in the world…' is all I can silently think.