Carter's Shadow - 24. Chapter 24

West was distracted that night; he barely noticed his supper as it came and went, seeming to walk around lost in his own thoughts, his eyes down, staring with fixed determination on nothing at all, his mind trying to process what he had done.

He'd kissed Peter and he couldn't explain why. He had a boyfriend, Tony, who he liked and who liked him. But he had still done it, he'd gone from boy scout to player in no time flat and he hated himself for it. He couldn't explain his actions, he couldn't work it out at all; it just didn't make sense at all to him. Peter was emotional, rude, argumentative and... and Tony wasn't.

He was stuck in a cliché, and he rolled his eyes, playing idly with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. What was he supposed to do now? The hockey handbook didn't cover gay love triangles, and he contemplated writing a complaint letter to the Player's Association to get it added. At least he might be able to get some advice that way.

"Ok, I've been patient," his mother said, setting the cup of tea down on the table in front of him as she took a seat across the table. "What's wrong?" she asked, dipping her own herbal tea bag into tepid water.

West looked up and wondered how the hell he was supposed to tell his mother that barely a week into a relationship... hell, barely four days...and he'd already cheated.

"Is it about that Tony boy?" she pressed, adjusting the flannel robe she was wearing, and West suddenly realized exactly how late it was. He hadn't noticed as the entire night had slipped away with him just sitting there.

He opened his mouth, trying to find a way to explain it, explain how he had screwed up, and he closed it again as words failed him, wrapping his hands around the mug of tea and watching the steam curl off of it.

"Did you two break up?" she asked delicately, worry in her voice.

"No," West said looking up, "No, we're still together... it's just... I don't know for how long." He sighed, "I screwed up, Mom."

Her worry lines eased slightly, relieved that he had finally decided to start talking to her, and she leaned down a bit to look into his eyes, "What happened?"

West sighed again, loudly, "I kissed another boy."

"Oh," his mother said, again the questioning look seeping back into her eyes. "Who?"

"Peter McCormick," West said after a bit.

"Isn't that the boy you hate from school?" his mother asked, slightly surprised.

"No, I don't hate him..." West began.

"Well obviously," his mother said with a smile. "You usually don't explore the tonsils of a boy you don't like."

West looked up. "Mom!" he accused, scandalized by her lighthearted jibe.

"Well, I mean you could kiss a boy you hate I suppose," she remarked, thoughtfully. "But I don't think it's something that happens every day. Does Tony know?"

"No," West shook his head, "not yet."

"Does he have to know?" his mother asked cautiously.

West sighed, thinking about it for a moment. It would be a big lie; it would worm its way deep into the relationship and when it was found out, it would spoil everything. He shook his head, "I have to tell him."

His mother blew lightly on the surface of her tea, cooling the already cold tea, looking at her son thoughtfully, "When I told you to make a few mistakes I didn't expect you to go out and make them so soon."

He sat there awhile, just looking into his mother's eyes, trying to glean some kind of wisdom from them, hoping that she too could see what was going through his mind. Perhaps some understanding could come from it. He didn't need a liberal wise-cracking mother at that moment, he needed someone to offer him the kind of hearth wisdom that would make him feel better about himself. He needed his mother to make sense out of the mess he had felt his life slide into.

"Oh West," she said, as the silence lengthened, reaching out her slender hands to wrap around West's hands which were still cradling the mug. "You kissed a boy, it's not the end of the world. I don't know where you get this... this conservatism from, I think you caught it from your grandparents."

"Who said the C-word?" West's father chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. "Oh, is he talking now?"

West looked up at his father, the kind of salt-of-the-earth man you would expect to be the bastion of conservatism, but then the Hardings had never been a typical family.

"Your son has been kissing boys," West's mother said, patting West's hand.

"If I recall, he gets that from you," West's father said, setting out a cup and returning the water to the stove to reheat it.

"And as I recall, you did your fair share of that as well," his mother said, arching an eyebrow at her husband.

West blinked and turned to glance at his father, who was whistling as he plopped a tea bag into his mug. "What?" he asked, turning. "It was the seventies. So is this about that boy I caught you molesting in the yard the other morning?"

"I wasn't molesting him!" West replied defensively. "And no, I kissed Peter..."

"The crazy kid from school?" Old Mister Harding leaned on the counter and shook his head, "Why is it, the men in our family always have to fall for the ones that make their lives miserable?"

Mrs. Harding gave her husband a withering look. "Twenty-five years of marriage, and you decide to pick now to tell me I make you miserable?" she asked in a haughty tone.

"If I recall," old Mister Harding turned, "you told me that after a week."

"You always were stubborn," Mrs Harding laughed.

"And you just liked the se...."

"Okay!" West said standing up quickly. "There are just some things I don't need to know!" He backed away slowly, hoping to make a speedy retreat back to his room.

"Do you like this Peter?" his father asked.

"No, he's..." West shrugged, "I don't know."

"Then," his mother turned in her chair, "you need to tell Tony you're not ready for a relationship just yet, and figure out which one you want to be with. It's not as hard as you think it is. You don't have to agonize over who, or what you want. Just don't be in such a hurry to have a boyfriend, and take the time to figure it out."

"Wasn't the last piece of advice you gave was for him to hurry up and make some mistakes?" Mister Harding commented as he poured hot water into his cup.

"Shut up, you crusty old..." West's mother snapped at her husband.

"Ahh, twenty-five years of bliss," West's father commented, toasting the ceiling with his mug.

"I want a divorce!" she glared.

"You look pretty," his father commented with a patented charming Harding grin.

His wife frowned suspiciously, her tirade dying in her throat as she was thrown off guard, "I... thank you..."

West rolled his eyes as he managed to slip away and back to his room. He slid the door closed as he sat down on his couch, glancing at the phone sitting in its cradle, Tony's number on a pad beside it. Knowing what it was he was supposed to do.

A cold knot settled in his chest, tightening at the thought. There he was about to hurt yet another person, all because he couldn't keep it together and had stupidly kissed someone he shouldn't have. He liked Tony, he really did, but his mom was right--he couldn't go on stringing Tony along while he tried to work out what was going on inside his own head. Rushing head first into a relationship he wasn't prepared for was the quickest way to disaster.

He got up and steeled his nerves, his fingers flexing as he reached for the phone; all he had to do was pick it up and dial...just pick it up and dial...and he would be able to say...

To say what?

'Hi Tony, I can't date you any more 'cause I kissed Peter in art class today, but don't worry as soon as I figure out which one of you I like we can all get back to normal.'

Now that wouldn't work. He returned to his sofa, and stared at the phone, trying to play out sample conversations in his head. The problem was that no matter how he tried to work through it in his mind, it always ended badly. Whatever happened to that bright-eyed kid with the overactive imagination that could conjure up alien worlds in the back garden and save them from the evil zombie hordes before lunch?

He stood up again and walked back to the phone, knowing the longer he procrastinated over calling, the harder it would be for him to actually call.

* * *

"I told you you'd kiss him," Will observed seated across from Peter in Perkins's, a large appetizer sampler sitting between them. They were sharing a cornucopia of cheese sticks, onion rings and assorted other greasy goodness designed to make a teenager happy.

"I didn't want to!" Peter grumbled, poking his mozzarella stick into the ranch dip disheartedly. "He kissed me."

"Yeah," Will smiled, "you've repeated that a few times already. But I'd like to point out you still didn't stop him from kissing you."

"He took me by surprise," Peter retorted defensively.

"Right," Will smiled as he rested back in the booth and smiled at the waiter who refilled his coffee mug, "but did you return the kiss?"

Peter looked up, his blue eyes blinking a few times and he suddenly blushed and looked back down at his mozza stick standing straight up still in the dip. Choosing not to answer.

Will read the reaction and nodded, "Right, so that's a yes."

"I don't like him!" Peter again repeated lamely, knowing full well that that excuse wasn't cutting it with Will, a man who in many ways knew him better than he did himself sometimes.

"So," Will said leaning forward on his elbows, "a guy you don't like kissed you, and you kissed him back. But you're still not interested in him because you don't like him."

"Yes!" Peter said, knowing that Will would understand him.

The amused smile on Will's face said he understood Peter all too well. And Peter's ears burned again as he looked back again and poked his mozza stick, "He's an asshole."

"So you've said," Will replied, popping an onion ring into his mouth and munching on it contentedly. "Who do you like at your school? Blake?"

"No," Peter shook his head, "I don't like Blake, he's too... annoying."

Will chuckled, "Right... you're not into guys your own age, I forgot."

Peter blushed again. "Stop!" he insisted, "I thought I could talk to you."

"I seem to be the only one doing the talking," Will responded taking another drink of coffee. "You seem quite content to make abstract art sculptures with perfectly good cheese sticks."

"Sorry." Peter ate the cheese stick, and immediately began to repeat the process all over again with a chicken finger.

Will sighed and shook his head loosening his tie as he rubbed his stiff neck. It had been another twelve-hour day, his fifth in a row; he was tired and desperately wanted to go home and sleep, but Peter needed to talk, and he'd agreed without a second thought. Peter had so few people he could open up to, and Will wasn't about to begrudge the kid a way to vent.

"So have you thought about asking West out?" Will suggested.

"Why?" Peter asked petulantly, "I don't want to go out with him."

"Right, but maybe he's different outside of school," Will pointed out.

"He's not." Peter crossed his arms, and Will was immediately reminded of how many of his own mannerisms Peter had picked up, as well as that same stubborn streak that Andrew had come to curse repeatedly.

Will nodded, knowing that no one would shift the kid when he dug his heels in like that--only dogged determination would succeed--and so Will decided to play it safe and drop the suggestion.

"If you don't want him kissing you, then tell him not to."

"I did, but he kissed me anyway," Peter replied, finishing off the last of the sampler.

"Right," Will said, "after you fell into his arms and you bumped noses."

"Yeah..." Peter said, knowing how weak it sounded even to his own ears.

"And even though you said no, you still kissed him back. Despite not being interested," Will drove the point home again. "Well, you are in a pickle."

The waiter returned, picking up the basket and smiling down at the both of them. "Would you gentlemen like dessert?" he asked pleasantly.

Will smirked. "I'd like the brownie and ice-cream," he got a twinkle in his eye. "Lots of cream and a cherry."

Peter gaped across at Will, and giggled. Will nodded; at least he had made Peter smile. Peter for his part ordered a slice of pie and rested on his hand looking at Will. "I don't want to date someone..."

"Else?" Will finished for the young man, smiling tiredly, and reaching out a hand to brush the seventeen-year-old's cheek with his fingers. "You need to date someone, you can't... you can't keep going like you are."

Peter looked down at the table and nodded. "I know," he replied quietly, mousilly.

Will shook his head sadly as he took a sip of his coffee. "I love you, Sprog," he said seriously, "but... you know it's never going to happen..."

Peter bobbed his head, "I know."

"Why not at least try to be happy?" Will asked. "You don't know if you can fall in love with this guy if you don't at least open yourself up to the possibility. You can't just write him off as an asshole just because he happens to like you."

"Here you go, gents." The waiter returned with Peter's pie, and a bowl piled high with cream and saturated in cherries.

Will blinked at the mountain of cream and looked up at the grinning waiter. "Uh, thanks..." he said, startled.

"There's a surprise in there," the waiter winked as he spun his now-empty tray and backed away from the table grinning.

Will stared at the waiter a moment and then over at Peter who was trying not to grin. "Shut up, you," Will said, gesturing with his spoon, knowing that his sprog was loaded with some kind of witty comment. He dug into the ice cream as suddenly it welled up with fudge underneath, and Will's head snapped up again to the grinning waiter who was leaning in the doorway to the kitchen watching him.

"Fudge packer!" Peter giggled.

"Shut up!" Will intoned, blushing now himself.

"He likes you," Peter teased, glad to finally get some of his own shots back in at last.

"Ok, stop!" Will insisted, poking the oozing fudge and laughing despite himself. "We're discussing you and boys."

"This is funnier!" Peter grinned, flashing his bright blue eyes as he met Will's gaze and smiled broadly.

Will sat there and looked at the beautiful young man who brought so much life and light whenever he smiled, and he realized how fond of the sprog he had become over the years of their friendship. "Right, so make me a deal?" Will asked.

"What deal?" Peter asked suspiciously.

"Next pasta night, you bring this boy," Will said firmly. "If you don't I'll get Andrew to invite him."

"But..." Peter began.

"Nope." Will shook his head, dipping his spoon into the fudge and lifting it to salute the handsome waiter grinning at him, "I insist. And while you're a stubborn brat when you want to be, I'm worse and you know it."

Peter set his jaw. "You super suck!" he grumbled, chewing on his pie.

"Yep," Will replied.

* * *

West blew a sigh as he hung up the phone; an hour or so later and it had finally ended. He felt bad, sitting there rubbing his forehead. He felt terrible; Tony hadn't taken it well, wanting to know why. Questions that West didn't have answers to. The only thing he had was the truth, and it was better coming from him now, than to come out in some kind of mess later.

He rubbed his jaw and grabbed a pillow, sinking back onto the couch to stare up at the ceiling holding the pillow in his arms as he just thought about the mess his life was descending into.