In the Fishbowl - 31. Chapter 31

A/N: Thanks to Jim for editing!

Travis came awake to the sound of Allan cussing.

“I’m sorry!” Travis said immediately as he realized what the problem was. Still half asleep, he scrambled out of bed to watch as his brother quickly started peeling wet sheets off the mattress.

“You shoulda gone before bed!” Allan complained, but his expression didn’t match his hard tone as he looked over his shoulder at the way his brother was soaked. “You’ve gotta get cleaned up. Come on, grab something of mine out of the dresser.”

Slow and embarrassed, Travis went to open a drawer full of too-big shorts and grabbed a pair out. He headed to the bedroom door, but there he stopped, frozen as he stared at the doorknob, his small body shaking because he was cold, and maybe for another reason, too.

“Hurry up,” Allan insisted as he continued to strip the bed and noticed his brother wasn’t moving. But after realizing that Travis wasn’t going to move, he let out a breath and headed to the door, one hand going to Travis’s shoulder and the other to open the door. “I’ll go with you,” he said, guiding them down the hall to the small, tidy bathroom. He flicked on the light, causing Travis to squint against it. “Maybe jump in the shower or somethin’ first, okay?”

Awkwardly, Travis stared up at his brother until Allan’s expression softened again. “I’ll wait right here for you, swear it.”

“Keep the door cracked,” Travis insisted, not liking the separation as he finally moved into the bathroom to clean himself up. He was finished fast. Maybe too fast, because Allan gave him a sniff. He must have approved, because he didn’t shove Travis right back into the bathroom.

“Another nightmare?” Allan asked.

Travis shrugged, not wanting to comment. He hated when this happened.

Allan sighed. “It’s okay, alright? Sara and Bill probably won’t even come back home tonight.” It was one of the blissful nights when the adults were out of the house, and the boys were unattended. “Think you can get back to sleep?”

Travis shook his head slowly, knowing better. Allan smiled at him and said, “That’s okay. We’ll go downstairs and watch a movie, come on.”

Allan started ahead without him, and when he wasn’t followed he stopped and looked back at Travis’s pale face. “Scared?”
“No,” Travis said, indignant, but his quivering chin likely gave him away.

Allan walked back to him, took his hand. “They’re not coming back tonight. There’s nothing to be afraid of, okay?” and then Allan looked determined as he flicked at the newest bruise across Travis’s cheek. “I’ll never let him hurt you again, Travis. Swear it.”
..................

Sometimes it hurt to think about Allan. All the time, was more like it. All of his promises that he couldn’t keep. Travis had never expected him to, and had never once held it against him. Travis knew he’d idolized his brother. Allan had been his only hero. It was hard to remember he’d been just as much of a child as Travis was, and it just hadn’t been possible for him to take on all of Bill’s blows. Not being able to protect Travis had made Allan feel helpless. Travis hadn’t had a word for it back then, but even when he felt like he couldn’t remember Allan at all, he could still remember those desperate looks on his brother’s face. Now, Travis wished he could go back and tell him he knew that he’d done his best, that he was thankful for all of it. Because now, Travis was convinced that if it were Allan standing in his place, he’d be doing a much better job of things.

Travis understood what it felt like to be that helpless, but until now he hadn’t known what it meant to be helpless to protect someone else. That kind of responsibility had completely escaped him, made him appreciate his brother all the more, and quite frankly, scared the hell out of him.

The terror in his gut outweighing the pain in his wrist, Travis looked up at Lyle Gordon. The man was red in the face... bloodshot eyes. He stumbled when he moved forward. “It’s okay, Michael,” Travis said calmly, his eyes on the way Lyle’s finger twitched in response.

“Shut up,” Lyle snapped.

Trying to ignore him, Travis pulled himself into a sitting position and looked over his shoulder at Michael, whose face was wet with tears, his horrified eyes on the man with a gun. “Michael,” Travis said more firmly. “Do you remember how to get back to the group?” Travis wasn’t looking at him to see if he’d even given any response, his eyes not willing to leave Lyle. “I want you to walk back there without me.”

Lyle’s face suddenly broke out into a stupid smile and he snorted. “Are you stupid?”

“Now, Michael!” Travis snapped, the sound of footsteps behind him a relief to his ears.

“Hey! Get back here!” Lyle argued, obviously not pleased at all, but the gun was still pointed at Travis, and that was all Travis could ask for, because the second it was aimed at the kid he wasn’t going to be so passive anymore.

But, not wanting to put Michael in that kind of danger, or any more than he’d already caused the boy to be in, Travis attempted to get Lyle’s attention. “Don’t stop Michael! You should let him go. Guarantee someone’s already called the police. He’ll just get in the way if you’ve got to move us somewhere else.”

Lyle blinked, his unfocused gaze falling on Travis as if he hadn’t bothered to think of any of that. Travis went with it.

“You are going to move us, right?” Travis wanted to put as much distance between Lyle and Michael as possible, and somehow, Michael listening to him and running away didn’t quite seem like enough. “Come on, Lyle, you’re about to be in a world of shit. This isn’t where you want to do this.”

“Shut up!” Lyle demanded, the gun suddenly looking a whole lot steadier as it pointed at Travis’s head than the man holding it was. “Get the fuck up, you stupid faggot.”
..................

Dennis turned into the community center parking lot, glad to see the bus that had brought in the kids was still there. If Michael was around, then Travis would be too, and he’d hoped to catch him in time to give him a ride. Dennis wanted to talk to someone, and Travis happened to be the first one who came to mind.

He’d had a strange morning. He’d been on his way to a job when they’d called and canceled on him, and as he made a U-turn to head home a card his father had given him had fallen from the dashboard onto his lap.

And Dennis had taken a drive.

He still had mixed feelings about it. The original idea had come from his father after all, and that was always dangerous enough, but it had been good to see Frank again. The more Dennis had walked around the camp, which seemed a whole lot smaller now, the more he missed it. At least, he missed the peace he’d found there as a boy, happily away from everyone and everything, except for on the weekends when he’d exchange letters with Leo Sader and go home on Sundays to see his parents. The more Dennis remembered, the more he found himself wanting to work there. He’d made up his mind about it before Frank had even offered him a position.

The job would end when summer did, but then, it wasn’t as if anything else Dennis had going on was very permanent, either. At least this way, he was doing something he might enjoy. At least, he thought he’d enjoy it. The part about working with kids was still up in the air for him, but he supposed he’d figure that out in one week when he started.

He got out of his car, deciding to go in despite the fact that Ben Summers was inside. The way Dennis saw it, if Ben had the guts to come to his door, then he should have the guts to go to Ben’s. He hadn’t seen the guy since their talk, and Dennis doubted things could be any more awkward now. Answering Ben’s questions had been difficult, but then, doing it had been a relief of sorts. After Ben’s attack the truth behind it had become such a secret that he was only now realizing that he wasn’t obligated to protect Lyle. He wasn’t even obligated to protect himself... or maybe he just didn’t want to anymore. If Ben or anyone else found fault with him after knowing the facts, then maybe he deserved whatever was coming. Maybe now he was ready to pay the cost for being loyal to his brother when he should have had the guts to know better.

And, Dennis supposed, the fact that Ben hadn’t seemed judgmental, and hadn’t called him the more colorful words that his better half might have used if he’d been there, was a comfort in itself. Dennis hadn’t been aware of just how many gaps Ben had in his memory of that day. He remembered Dennis inviting him over, he remembered showing up, but not much else. And when Dennis told him he’d had no idea what his brother had planned, Ben believed him, even though when Dennis worked up the courage to tell him he was sorry it had happened at all, Ben had nodded off the apology, seemingly uncomfortable, and asked how he’d ended up at the school where they’d found him after the attack. But then, Dennis hadn’t deluded himself into thinking that Ben was there to make nice. If Dennis had wanted that, he knew he probably should have taken Ben and his offers of friendship a long time ago. Now Ben only wanted answers, and Dennis happened to be the only one he knew who might provide them.

And maybe since they’d talked, they could all move on now. He knew he was ready to.

He reached the door, but before he could open it movement caught his eye and he found his gaze drifting to the boy running across the parking lot. His run was clumsy, his pants too big, and Dennis found his eyes narrowing when the kid’s run became slower, his small hands clenching at his stomach as he hunched over, and his eyes wet with tears when he looked at Dennis helplessly.

“Michael?”

He went to the boy, but didn’t reach him before uncontrollable sobs were racking his body. Alarmed, Dennis knelt in front of him and placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dennis demanded. “Michael? Where’s Travis? You wanna talk to me?”

There was too much sobbing for Dennis to even tell if the boy was trying to talk. He didn’t have much practice with inconsolable people, let alone children, but this one in particular was giving him reason for concern as he looked over the lot, waiting for signs of someone who might be with him. Someone who was supposed to be with him.

“Where’s Travis?” Dennis asked again, but didn’t bother waiting between sobs as he suddenly lifted the boy up and carried him through the doors of the community center. “Travis?!” Dennis called to the empty hall. He could hear more kids in the back despite Michael’s wailing in his ear. “Travis!”

“What’s going on?”

Dennis turned to face a confused Ben Summers, who was already snatching Michael away from him and placing him on the ground where he moved his arms around him. Hugging, Dennis mused. Maybe next time he’d think of that, not that it was working.
“What happened?” Ben demanded.

“I didn’t do it,” Dennis snapped when he heard accusation in the tone. “I found him outside and he won’t stop crying. Where’s Travis?”

Ben frowned. “He was outside with Michael.”

Suddenly too worried to care if Ben was in the way or not, Dennis dropped himself to Michael’s level and turned the boy to face him. Wet-faced, Michael stared up when Dennis snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.

“Where’s Travis?” Dennis asked him. “Can you please talk to me?”

“Take it easy,” Ben hissed, but then Michael was shaking his head.

“We were playing baseball,” he explained, his hand lifting to rub at his running nose.

Ben cut a glance to Dennis. “There’s an empty lot just east of here. That’s where Travis usually takes him.”

“A man came,” Michael said, the panic in his voice suggesting he worried that they were no longer listening to him. “He had a gun.”

“What man?” Ben snapped, his concern finally reaching Dennis’s level.

But Dennis didn’t care to wait for the answer as his stomach seemed to drop out from underneath him and he stepped away from Ben and Michael. “Did he hurt Travis?” Dennis asked, his voice sounding like nothing more than an echo to his own ears.

Michael nodded, and Dennis turned, already jogging for his car.

“Wait!” Ben called, already after him. “Dennis...”

“Will you call the police?” Dennis asked over his shoulder. “Please.”

He wasn’t going to wait. Was afraid he couldn’t. He was surprised there wasn’t a police officer in sight to follow him there, the way he ran a busy stop sign before he pulled up in front of an empty lot that was just that... empty. The only thing in sight was the thick wooden bat in the middle of it.

Dennis gripped his steering wheel while his eyes went in circles over the surrounding houses, an open garage and a back alley on the other side of the street, hoping for even a small sign of Travis. He got out, called his name on his way to pick up the bat, inspecting it as if he expected a crime scene to be written all over it. But there was nothing. Worse, there was no Travis. Still, Dennis felt an odd sense of urgency as he made his way back to his car and picked up his phone, half wishing that he would have seen a missed call when he flipped it open. Nothing. He sat down in his seat, slammed his door, and dialed Travis’s number. Straight to voice mail. Cursing, he started dialing again, this time a number that wasn’t easy for him to call at all, and when a man’s voice came through the speakers, Dennis let out a breath of relief. “Dad... I need your help.”
............................

Dennis felt blind as he waited in a grocery store parking lot. It was like seeing everything in front of him even though none of it made sense. Sun was too bright. Too much traffic. Too many smiling people. They all need to go home. Get lost. He opened his phone again to make sure he hadn’t missed a call and then checked to make sure the volume for his ringer was turned up yet again.

He wasn’t good with waiting. Not sitting there, doing nothing. He’d tried calling the community center, but all the phone had done was ring when 4-1-1 had finally patched him through. Trying to calm his spiking nerves seemed pointless. If Travis had shown up there he would have called. He better have. But then, Dennis wouldn’t have minded being wrong this time. He wouldn’t have minded at all if Travis was safe and simply being inconsiderate. Problem was, deep down, he knew better.

The logo for his father’s dealership appeared on a truck entering the parking lot, and Dennis was out of his car before it even reached him while the driver’s side window of the truck moved down and his father regarded him pointedly. “Get in.”

Dennis didn’t bother to hesitate, and he was reaching for his seat belt as his father started to drive. “What are we even doing here?” Dennis demanded. “I thought you said you knew where Lyle’d be.”

“I do, but if I’d said where, you’d already be there stirring shit.”

Dennis didn’t argue with that, but he couldn’t see why it might have been a problem.

“Where are we going?” Dennis demanded. “Won’t Lyle answer your calls? Try calling him.”

“You need to relax, boy. And no, he’s not answering his phone. According to your mother--”

“You called Mom?” Dennis demanded, not sure why the notion bothered him. Maybe it was because currently, he was dealing with way too much of his family for comfort.

“Hell no. She called me this morning, and like I was saying--he took off on her when she told him we were putting him back in rehab.”

Dennis closed his eyes, a silent prayer breaching his mind. I didn’t even know I still prayed. But now he was desperate enough to wish he had more often. Lyle didn’t mix well with drugs. His brother never did things on a small scale when he was abusing stuff. Dennis was quickly concerned with what he was using now, because with Lyle, it could make all the difference. “How bad is it?” he whispered.

John was silent for a minute, and thankfully, didn’t taunt Dennis with the fact that he suddenly cared to know what was happening in his own family. “Bad enough. She’s been ignoring all the pot turning up at the house because that dumbass boyfriend of hers told her it might help level out some of the other crap he’s taking. I voted for rehab when she said she heard him talking to himself.”

Dennis shifted his eyes, where they blankly took in passing traffic. “We have to find him. If he does anything to Travis...”

“Hush,” John cut him off, his tone not altogether gruff. “We both know that friend of yours is smarter than he looks, and Lyle has problems, but he’s not exactly unpredictable.”

“You’re sure you know where he’ll be?” Dennis demanded, suddenly worried over wasting valuable time.

“When you were young you were predictable. Always found you hiding out behind the garage when you thought there was no such thing as fair. Lyle had his places, too.”
...............

Dennis jogged ahead of his dad, who wasn’t exactly in his prime anymore as they hiked a biking trail through the park, towards campsites that had been shut down years ago.

“Hold up!” John complained. “I don’t need for you to be stupid about this.”

“Travis!” Dennis called, his frustration growing when his father dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Will you shut the hell up? There’s this thing called subtle...”

Dennis shook him off, made his way over a couple bushes and came to an old clearing where he froze, his fingers tingling at his sides as his circulation, and possibly his heart, came to an abrupt halt. Just ahead was his brother, looking just as big and intimidating as he’d always been, gun in hand, just as Michael had described. And then there was Travis, passive and waiting, his brows knit together in what seemed a little too much like pain for Dennis’s liking... and then Travis looked up, right at him to shake his head in protest the moment Dennis took a step forward. That wasn’t enough to stop Dennis, but the way his father was there to jerk him back was.

“Like I said,” John snapped as he assessed the situation over his youngest son’s shoulder. “I don’t need you getting stupid. Now stay here.”

“What?” Dennis demanded as his dad passed him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I figure your brother’s less likely to shoot me than you.” He paused suddenly, a tight frown moving over his mouth as he eyed his youngest. “Didn’t mention before, but he said something about seeing you and Travis together. Seemed pretty pissed off about it to me. Do yourself a favor. Keep your ass right here.”

Not caring so much about what his father had just insinuated, and more about when Lyle would have had the chance to see him and Travis together, Dennis felt sick. Sick because he hadn’t noticed it. Hadn’t prevented it. For all he knew, his brother could have followed him and Travis right to his own front door, and Dennis had let his guard down long enough not to notice. He hated himself for that. More so, he hated that he’d just left Travis Beltnick’s life in the hands of the two men he trusted least in the world. His brother. His father. At the moment, Dennis didn’t know how the hell he was ever supposed to forgive himself for this, and as he lifted his phone to phone the police and his eyes to meet Travis’s again while his father proceeded ahead, all he could think was that if Travis had any sense, he wouldn’t be in a hurry to forgive him for it, either.
..................

Travis felt dizzy. His fingers had gone numb and the worry over that was probably going straight to his head as he gently cradled his broken wrist in his better hand. Closing his eyes helped, but Travis wasn’t exactly in the habit of closing his eyes against a threat, whatever that might be.

In this case, it came in the form of his boyfriend’s loaded older brother who happened to be holding a gun that was... okay, it scared the hell out of him. Travis couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted towards it every so often, stuck there as if he were hoping to develop telekinesis so he could make it fly away. He knew what one of those could do. Didn’t want it doing it to him. And the man holding it was no better. Sitting next to him, Lyle reeked of smoke and vomit, and maybe underarms that could have used a tad more deodorant. He bounced his foot in a way that was slowly driving Travis insane, and every so often became jumpy enough to point the barrel of his weapon right between Travis’s eyes, which was becoming more sobering each and every time.

But worst of all, Travis thought, the asshole wasn’t saying a damn thing. How fucking... annoying. If you’re going to take someone hostage, at least chat your victim up about something. At the very least, have a list of demands, or maybe be in a bank, like... I dunno, robbing it. And as Travis looked over their surroundings, an old swing set, a sand box overgrown with weeds and a rusting jungle gym, he mentally shook his head. Stupid. Too easy for a jogger or biker to stumble upon. But he refrained from mentioning his thoughts to Lyle, since he’d been hoping for that jogger or biker since they’d arrived.

Travis made another attempt to move his swelling wrist, and winced for it. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to pain, but he sure as hell wished he had some ice right about now, and he definitely wasn’t one of those people who could look at an injury with even a small amount of fascination. Not while it was on his body, anyway. He didn’t like when things felt wrong. Looked wrong. Especially, things like bones.

The pain was only making it worse. He swore he could feel it up to his elbow now, but decided he should end his line of thinking as soon as he started to wonder what he’d look like if his whole arm fell off. I’m such a fucking pussy.

No. He was simply... in trouble. Okay. Maybe not simply. His relief had been short-lived even after Michael had disappeared from the picture. Because while Travis realized that he no longer had to worry about protecting Michael, his thoughts quickly turned to protecting himself. He didn’t like surprises, or being taken off guard. So far, he really didn’t like being taken hostage, either.

And despite willingly getting in Lyle’s car with him, it wasn’t as if he’d been a completely willing victim. He thought to attack a few times, when Lyle was driving. Only, they were going at insane speeds and Lyle’s state of mind had left him swerving through traffic with that stupid gun... and who knew what, or who it might hit if it happened to go off. Dennis was always on Travis to be more reasonable about things. Travis figured the situation he’d found himself in might be a good place to start. When Lyle wasn’t paying attention Travis had attempted to wave down other cars, and he even flipped off a cop in hopes of causing a scene. Only no one seemed to be paying attention, and it was the one time Travis needed them to be the most.

Travis lifted his eyes to Dennis now, the scent of marijuana assaulting his nostrils as Lyle lit the end of a blunt with his spare hand. Travis studied the guy’s round face as he took a deep hit and let it out through his nostrils slowly, his posture sluggish, but somehow no less threatening.

Travis found himself leaning back, away from Lyle when the guy extended the rolled-up drugs, actually offering him some. It came towards his face until Travis finally took it with his good hand, frowning at the way the dark paper was sticky, and the smoke seemed to stick to the end of his fingers. And yet, he lifted it, and for the first time in his life, tried the same damn stuff Sara had been so fond of when he was growing up. But fuck her, anyway. His wrist was killing him, and if everything Ryan had said was true, he figured getting shot might not seem so bad if he were high at the time. Only, it smelled like a mixture of skunk and dog shit, and the moment it hit Travis’s lungs he hunched over, coughs tearing their way out of his throat as Lyle laughed over it.

Travis tried to hand it back, but Lyle was too bust with a thin-looking pipe to notice, so Travis put the blunt down between them, where they sat on a railroad tie that framed out the abandoned playground.

Dennis frowned at the smoke Lyle sent drifting in his direction this time. It was like a mixture of nauseating sweetness and burning chemicals, and being so close to it had Travis wanting to hack up his lunch. “That stuff will kill you, you know,” he remarked.

Lyle waved the gun, pointing out that Travis probably had more to worry about than he did at the moment, and smoked some more. Travis shook his head, his eyelids feeling heavy. He felt like a cloud was growing around his brain. A happy cloud that made him want to laugh out loud despite the fact that he kept reminding himself of how bad this situation really was. “I don’t like drugs,” he heard himself say, and suddenly wondered why he’d bothered to try them. His eyes drifted down, narrowing on his swollen wrist. Right. That’s why. And it still fucking hurt. He frowned openly at Lyle, wondering if he could reasonably ask how long this whole ordeal was supposed to take.

“Maybe I wouldn’t need this shit if it weren’t for people like you,” Lyle suddenly snapped, sounding offended and bitter.

Travis looked up, surprised. His good hand flew to his mouth to catch an escaping giggle, and he found his eyes widening on Lyle’s narrow gaze. This isn’t funny. And what had he said to offend Lyle again? Travis wasn’t sure, and found himself pushing the abandoned blunt towards the eldest Gordon brother, worried that the smoke was still going to his head. “People like me?” Travis registered.

A tic developed in Lyle’s jaw, and Travis made a mental note not to ask any more questions.

“I know what you’ve been doing with my brother,” Lyle said, and then eyed Travis with no lack of disgust. “You’re a nasty motherfucker, you know that? He is, too. Always been. He has me to thank for my parents never knowing one way or another--and know what’s fucked up about that? He’s the goddamned golden child.”

Travis frowned at the mention of Dennis. Until now, he hadn’t realized how grateful he was that Dennis was as far away from this as possible. “Dennis hasn’t done anything to you, Lyle. All he wants is for all of you to leave him alone. You need to leave him alone.”

Travis found himself proud of the edge in his voice over that last bit. He wasn’t used to feeling so helpless.

But Lyle didn’t look so impressed. “You have no fucking idea. You wouldn’t. My parents worship the ground he walks on.” Lyle released a bitter laugh. “I tell them what he’s been up to... with you,” Lyle added as he gave Travis another once over. “And they still think I’m the one with the problem?” he laughed again.

Travis took this news in stride, careful not to react despite the way all his defenses had just jumped into overdrive. Not because Lyle knew--Travis didn’t give a damn. But Dennis would. And that was everything. “How did you find out?” he asked carefully. Please don’t let it be because of me. Please, please don’t let it be me.

Lyle narrowed his eyes defensively. “You think he could fucking move without me knowing?” He snorted. “He’d have to do better than that... he moved right the fuck in with you. The pair of you make me fucking sick.”

They weren’t living together, was the only defense that came to mind for Travis. Only, he didn’t need a defense. He needed one for Dennis. But nothing was going to be right. Nothing he could say. And it didn’t even matter. Not for him, not for Dennis. It suddenly didn’t matter what Lyle knew, it mattered what Lyle had just said.

“You’ve been stalking Dennis?” Travis felt heartsick. All that time he’d put into telling Dennis... being annoyed over the fear Dennis had for his brother. Maybe Travis had known it was real. Maybe he understood it on some level. But he’d asked Dennis to let it go. Over and over again. And now Lyle was proving to be every bit of a threat as Dennis had thought he was. Travis suddenly had no idea how he was ever going to convince Dennis otherwise. Fuck the gun, that scared the hell out of him.

“He gets everything he wants,” Lyle said, as if he hadn’t heard Travis at all. “I know about the way he’s playing my parents. Spoiled little fuck. Someone’s got to keep an eye on him. And you...”

Travis didn’t want to know about me. He’d heard enough, his eyes narrowing on Lyle... the gun... Lyle again. He didn’t care for people with a warped sense of reality. Lyle was dangerous. Hearing it from Dennis and experiencing it first hand were two different things. Only Travis wasn’t so worried about himself. His concern was reserved for a guy with sandy blond hair, and it doubled the moment he looked up towards the trees just past the trail that had led him there and saw Dennis Gordon coming towards them.

For a moment, Travis found himself squinting, his mind convincing him that he wasn’t hallucinating only after Dennis’s expression dropped into a worried frown as he met Travis’s eyes. Dennis took a step forward, and Travis gave a firm shake of his head, protesting that action. Stay away. Stay away from here. But Dennis wasn’t going to listen. Hell, Travis wouldn’t have either, which is the only reason he wasn’t going to hold it against him.

Travis, of all people, knew what fear was. But it had been a long time since he’d felt it this bad. He looked at Lyle, worrying over the moment he’d spot his brother, but he was still talking. Complaining. Whatever, he was occupied. “... hate all you fucking people. And there’s too fucking many of you. My parents are nothing but blind fucking morons, and my mom’s so-called fiancé? Douchebag.”

So go take one of them hostage. Christ.

Travis’s eyes slipped back to Dennis. He knew he shouldn’t have looked; Lyle was suddenly paying too much attention to him. But he rubbed at his wrist, frowning, subtle... and who the hell knew that John Gordon, of all people, would end up being his angel?

Travis wanted to grin outright but prevented himself from doing so. Still, he felt relieved to find that while his ex-employer, was indeed coming in their direction, Dennis was staying right where he was, and Travis figured that was far enough away that Lyle, as fucked up as he was, would miss if he tried to take a shot at Dennis. This was just a guess, of course, but Travis figured if the gun ever wasn’t aimed at him... well, he’d make Lyle miss. Shit, his arm hurt.

Travis closed his eyes in frustration when he realized that he’d been looking at Dennis a little too long, because suddenly Travis had the barrel of a gun poking at his neck when Lyle noticed his father.

“What the fuck?” Lyle demanded, his eyes darting between John and Dennis.

“Oh, calm down,” John said. This seemed like the last place he’d be with his suit and tie, despite the sloppy way he was wearing them. “Your dumb ass is lucky it’s just us. Now put that damn thing down, and while you’re at it, take your damn head out of your ass.”

Travis managed to roll his eyes. Great. Provoke him. His neck was what felt just how much John had angered his oldest child, and Travis found himself craning it away from the cold metal.

“Stop!” Lyle ordered, not liking the way his father was venturing closer.

At least John Gordon had some sense. He put up his hands and seated himself slowly down on a swing with rusty chains. “Alright. Alright. I’ll hear you out, son. What is it you want to say?”

Lyle gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing in Dennis’s direction. “Why don’t you get over here too, pussy?” he shouted.

Travis eyes widened, and not caring about the threat Lyle was happily providing him, reached his feet. “No!” He glared at Lyle, who was now standing, making sure that Travis stayed directly where he was aiming the weapon. “If you’re not going to leave him out of this you’d better shoot me now, ‘cause he isn’t coming over here.”

“Leave your brother be, Lyle,” John added. “This isn’t about him.”

Lyle looked perturbed, while Dennis looked clearly alarmed, and ready to walk right into the middle of this if necessary. Travis firmly shook his head at him, hoping Dennis could see the threat in his eyes. He was completely willing to do something stupid right about now, if need be. Just like Allan had been. Travis understood now. Allan did what he did to protect Travis. To protect them. He fought so hard to keep his brother’s memory, fought for a family he never had. He’d protected Sara as much as he could, but compared to Dennis, she was hardly worth it. She wouldn’t do the same for him, didn’t do the same for him. Travis could look at Dennis and know that wouldn’t be true of him, too.

Lyle suddenly sneered and gave Travis a shove. Bad arm. He nearly doubled over. Thought puking might help for a second. “Sit your ass down.”

Okay. But only because he was dizzy, and Lyle was sitting, too.

Travis let out a breath. Unable to stand the worry he saw in Dennis any more, he cut a glance to John Gordon, who was observing his oldest son in a calculating way that worried Travis. But then, it wasn’t as if he’d come up with a plan, and while the guy was questionable ninety-nine percent of the time, Travis knew that he wasn’t exactly stupid. He’d kept his business afloat in a crappy economy, he’d survived his ex-wife and he didn’t ever change his lack of morals for anyone. If John Gordon knew what to do in this situation, he wasn’t the type to sit on it. Maybe Travis was the only one there who knew and understood that about the man, but it was enough for him.

Then Lyle looked at John with the same amount of disgust he’d looked at Travis with.

Travis frowned when Lyle’s gun-hand waved at Dennis, but was back on him before he could do anything about it, his eyes solely for his father. “Don’t look at me like that,” Lyle told John. “You think he’s so perfect?” He looked at Travis, as if amused. “Tell him. Tell him all about the golden child.”

Travis bit his tongue and narrowed his eyes on Lyle. No wonder people were so afraid to be themselves. Maybe Kyle had been offensive, but this guy was a downright asshole. And glancing at Dennis, Travis already knew that no matter what, he wasn’t going to betray him, despite the way he knew Dennis might have sung like a canary if he were in better earshot. But then, turned out neither of them had to.

“Now,” John said, his tone as high-and-mighty as it possibly could have been, “Why the hell would you think about what your brother’s doing in his bedroom? You’re sick, boy. Now, you still want to talk about Dennis, let’s talk about Dennis.”

Travis looked at John, torn between surprise and amusement. Hell, he knew he liked the guy for a reason. His only wish was that Dennis was able to hear this.

Obviously discouraged, there was no small amount of scorn on Lyle’s features as he glared at his father. “I’m sick?” he hissed. “You’re a piece of shit! You don’t know anything!”

“I know your brother’s trying to make something of himself,” John replied. “I may not agree with him on how he’s doing it, but it’s still more than I can say for you. So go ahead, Lyle. Tell me I’m wrong. I want to hear all about it.”

Well, Travis didn’t want to hear all about it, but wisely, he kept his mouth shut. Turned out Lyle had more grudges than he had years out of the womb, and Travis half listened to every one of them, and while he respected John Gordon’s inability to admit wrongdoing no matter what the situation, he also wondered if the old man ever gave in, because with all the snide remarks he had to add over Lyle’s words, Travis was surprised that Lyle hadn’t shot the both of them and walked away by now.

But, that could have been because the police had finally graced the gathering of Gordons with their presence. More guns. Oh joy. Now Travis had even more to worry about, because Lyle had cautiously moved behind him, the cops were pointing their guns what seemed like all over the place, and any way Travis looked at it... he was still the one who got shot first.

Travis didn’t like feeling like he was in a circus, but that’s exactly what all of this seemed like to him. The only thing missing were the news cameras... no, wait. Okay, he would so sue if they didn’t bother to make his face all blurry when they broadcasted this. He wasn’t at his best. He felt weak, tired... it hurt. And by the time people started showing up, even familiar faces such as Ben and Leo, his stomach was cramping in such impossible ways that he found himself leaning over, feeling defensive against it. It was like being stuck in the most obnoxious loop--ever. Lyle vents. John Gordon insults him. Lyle gets mad and it starts all over again. And Travis was feeling sick, and every time he dared to allow his eyes move in Dennis’s direction, he became even sicker.

Life wasn’t fair. No one could tell Travis Beltnick otherwise, but it seemed unfortunate how true that seemed now, especially when he regarded Dennis Gordon. Travis had met plenty of people in his quest to become the most outgoing, obnoxious person on this side of the planet, all because he didn’t want to appear bothered by anything. Because he wanted to beat his past. And then came Dennis. Dennis had never gone to such great lengths. He’d simply shut out his past, and more recently, had made every effort he could to move forward from it. Now it wanted to bite him in the ass?

And Travis knew Dennis was scared and he hated that. He hated that Lyle Gordon was proving him wrong, and Dennis was living out the fears that had turned him into the most paranoid person Travis knew. And it hurt to finally realize that Dennis had never been afraid for himself. His warnings, and anger.,.. It was all because he couldn’t stand to think of what he’d do if someone else became victim to the Gordons. That’s how Dennis was looking at Travis. Like a victim... like Dennis had something to feel guilty for over it. And that’s when Travis had enough, and stood up.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lyle demanded, but the guy had been so cracked out and talking so much that it took Travis a moment to realize he was the one being addressed.

“This is ridiculous.”

Travis looked at Lyle, the gun, then John, in that exact order. His eyes fell closed, opened again. He felt so tired. He could sleep for days, and that was saying a lot, so feeling that way, he couldn’t quite understand why everyone was looking at him so expectantly. I’ve had enough. He blinked a few times. Right... that’s what he’d been saying.

“You both are...” he continued, glancing between the two men in hearing range. The more tired he got, the more that stupid gun seemed like less of a threat. He found himself narrowing his eyes on Lyle. “You need some fucking help, man. Trust me--I thought I knew bad, but you’re definitely worse. You’re so... angry.” Travis shook his head, his own disgust matching, and possibly surpassing, all that Lyle had flung at him. “You don’t have a right to be angry. You’re whining about all this shit... it’s fucking life. And you’re making everyone else’s miserable. You didn’t have a brother fucking up people who cared about you just because he didn’t like who they were and who they were being, who they were with... you had a brother who worshiped the ground you walked on, and look what you gave him back. Your brother’s not dead. Your parents are assholes...” Travis paused, feeling compelled to send a sheepish glance in John Gordon’s direction. “…but they didn’t beat you so hard you couldn’t tell one fucking bruise from another. They didn’t make you feel like you weren’t even a person anymore. You were never just a thing. You, are pathetic, because if any of that had happened to you, you would have been done by now... you’re weak. Weak people don’t live with their problems. They come up with sob stories and try to make other people pay for being happier than they are. You got grounded a few times, and this is the result. Well, fuck off. You’re the last person who can hurt me.”

Lyle’s eyes were bloodshot, probably because of both his anger and the drugs. He had an unattractive vein becoming more prominent by the second on his forehead. His finger seemed unstable over the trigger that was fully in his control. Travis figured this was just as good a time as any to walk away as any. His eyes found Dennis’s again. He thinks I’m an idiot. If Travis could make it to where Dennis was standing, he figured Dennis calling him an idiot was completely worth it.
....................

You stupid, stupid idiot. Dennis thought of the first time he’d met Travis, how hard up the guy was to get a reaction--get knocked the fuck out, more like it. And now of all times, Dennis found a reason to do exactly that. More so, he would have liked to beat Travis senseless. Because Travis couldn’t hear the cops as they scrambled--all because of his actions. Travis couldn’t see the way Lyle’s hand shook in a furious display of anger as he pointed a gun at the back of Travis’s head.

Dennis could only take so much. He wanted to be there. Lyle had taken enough. He couldn’t stand for him to take Travis, too. And Dennis would never forgive Lyle, or himself for it. Dennis couldn’t help a glance to Ben Summers, whose presence had been apparent for a while now. He wished he could go back. If he’d made another choice that day... when Lyle had done Ben so dirty that even Dennis had a hard time getting over it... well, maybe Dennis would have had something to hurt over, too. Maybe he’d feel like even more of a coward than he did now; an unacceptable fate for a Gordon. But maybe then, Travis Beltnick wouldn’t be where he was. Maybe Lyle never would have had the opportunity to put Travis where he was.

This was the moment where Dennis realized he didn’t regret Travis. He didn’t regret anything. If the guy had managed to out his interest in male company weeks ago, Dennis wouldn’t have regretted it. For all Travis frustrated the hell out of him, Dennis didn’t regret a damn thing, except the way everything that had made him who he was, was now affecting one of the only people in the world he cared about anymore. And he regretted not letting Travis know that. How petty it seemed to Dennis, that he’d spent so much time worrying about what people thought. He’d put too much energy in trying to tell Travis that there was a reason to be worried about it, and for what?

Who the fuck cared? Except Lyle... and Dennis didn’t even care what his brother knew or thought he knew anymore. He just wanted him to go away, because blood had never felt thinner in his life. Lyle--two paces behind Travis, who kept moving. Walking away. Travis absolutely sucked at following directions. Lyle was finally figuring that out. Dennis would have laughed at that, if he wasn’t so terrified of it. And then there was the crack. Boom. The echo. And all at the same time... it was like everyone, everywhere, was screaming. Except Travis. His face pale, his eyes wary, he looked back at Dennis, as lost as any boy, large or small, could ever be.

Dennis felt his gut twist, everything feeling dark, splintering his senses. Panic was in the air, and his eyes on his father as all he could think of was sitting in his dad’s truck, pulling up at the park.

“I can’t let anything happen to him,” Dennis had said, his eyes drifting in is father’s direction, hoping for understanding he’d never felt from the man before. “Lyle hurts Travis, and he’s not my brother anymore... he’s already not my brother. Do you even get that?”

John had regarded Dennis with a bored glance, and while Dennis was reaching for his door handle, John was shoving Dennis’s knees aside, reaching under the passenger seat. Dennis moved aside, his eyes widening on a long barreled gun that wasn’t quite a rifle as his father’s hand wrapped around it, retracting it from its location. It looked like something ridiculously out of a historical movie.

“What the fuck?” Dennis demanded.

The look on John Gordon’s face was everything, including childish. “You said Lyle had one.”

Dennis blanched. “Travis is out there!”

“And? So is your brother.”

“And... which one of them do you plan to shoot?”

John looked at the piece in his hands, then at Dennis with a strange amount of disappointment. “I like my gun.”

“You’re a crazy old man. You’re just... fucking crazy.”

And Dennis had watched as Travis walked away, oblivious. As Lyle aimed for his head. As his father and pulled that stupid, long barreled thing out of his pants--and Dennis didn’t even want to think how he’d managed to hide it there--and aimed it at his brother. And amongst cries from the police and pedestrians alike, John Gordon, had fired.
.....................

Blinking slowly, the image Travis had of the world appeared distorted. The pop, the big one, still rang in his ears, blocking out the pain that crept up his broken wrist and leaving him cold. His eyes took in the foul substance splattered on his jeans, leaving him tainted and wanting to step away from it, yet effectively trapped. He had a question. One he remembered having long ago when he was just a boy learning how ugly the world could be. Who cleaned the blood off the ground? Who was going to clean the blood off his jeans? He liked his jeans. Faded and worn in all the right places. Destroyed.

He felt the coolness of sweat break out over his skin, which oddly began to feel hot. Too hot. He shed his sweater, not giving the pain it caused his arm more than a fleeting thought. He instantly felt better. Lighter. Imagine his frustration when the weight was immediately replaced by soft, warm fleece, one hand covering the shoulder of his uninjured arm, pulling at him to move away from the mess of blood inches from his feet.

“Travis?”

He felt his head turning, his eyes meeting the serious green of Dennis Gordon.

“Travis. Don’t pass out or I will kick your ass. Hear me?”

Travis parted his lips, a dry laugh that sounded more like a cough leaving him before it faded away and he realized he found nothing funny. And Dennis wasn’t just serious. He was looking at Travis... pretty fucking scared out of his mind.

Travis opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. His voice came out a whisper, a mere breath of air as the popping in his ears prevented him from hearing himself speak. “Am I still breathing?”

Dennis frowned, moved in front of him and pulled his own jacket--the one he’d thrown over Travis’s shoulders, more firmly around him. “I think you’re in shock.”

“I don’t get shocked,” Travis insisted, attempting to lift his right arm, which he realized was useless and switched to his left, meaning to pull the jacket off. “And it’s really hot.”

“Leave it on,” Dennis insisted. “Please... come sit down with me, okay?”

Travis nodded slowly. He supposed if that would make Dennis happy... Fucking Gordons got so temperamental when they weren’t happy...

Allowing himself to be led to the same railroad ties where Lyle had held him hostage, Travis sat slowly under Dennis’s guidance. And then he experienced the biggest head rush of his life. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him as the pain in his arm hit, as did the gut-churning sensation of realization. The gun. The gun. He hated guns, but perhaps he’d forgotten some time ago just how much he feared them. He felt Dennis holding him up and leaned into him at the same time he attempted to remain conscious.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Travis mumbled. But the statement showed no result as he stared straight ahead, not seeing much of anything.

Dennis’s hand was on his back, between his shoulder blades. “That’s okay.”

And for some reason, now, Travis found something funny.

“It is?” he asked, bringing himself to meet Dennis’s eyes.

“It is,” Dennis insisted, and there was obvious relief in his expression when Travis suddenly smiled, even just a small smile. “See. There you are.”

“Here I am,” Travis agreed. And then, “you’re not leaving me?”

Dennis frowned. “Leaving you?”

Travis swallowed. “You didn’t hear? Your brother just dragged you out of the closet. I’m the only evidence.”

Dennis smirked. “If you weren’t such an asshole, I’d be worried about you.”

Travis sobered. “Aren’t you worried about Lyle? I’ll worry about you if you are. I like it better when I’m the one worrying about you.”

Dennis shook his head. “It was just his leg. My dad took him to the hospital. You’re going next. We just have to wait a few more minutes until another ambulance gets here.”

Travis scowled. “They let him go first?”

“Only because you told them to fuck off.”

Travis frowned. “Oh.” he found himself looking around, not liking the flash of distant cameras. Distant, because the police still seemed to be fending off reporters. A good enough reason not to complain about being right back where he started, Travis mused as he shifted where he sat, uncomfortable despite the way it wasn’t Lyle sitting next to him anymore. Dennis observed him, worry increasing between his eyes.

“Come here,” Dennis said quietly, taking Travis by his good arm, leading him up and bringing him further away, closer to the jungle gym where he helped Travis lean against the bars.

“I’d really feel better if you were the one who needed all the comforting,” Travis complained when Dennis didn’t cease worrying.

“You’ll feel better when they give you pain killers. Can’t wait to hear the things that come out of your mouth when they do.” Dennis assured him, and Travis couldn’t help cracking a smile at the Gordon’s tone.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Dennis leaned forward. “You’ve never actually told me otherwise.”

“Travis?”
Travis looked up, Dennis even more so alert before their eyes fell on Ben, Leo walking in the blond’s wake like a bear ready to protect her cub.

Travis stared at him, and slowly a frown developed and deepened. “Michael?” Travis asked.

Ben’s features softened and he released a sigh. “His mom picked him up. He’s okay, I just got off the phone with them, promise. Actually, they want to know if they can meet you at the hospital.”

Travis frowned. “I’m not going to the hospital. Just let him know I’ll stop by over there...ouch!” Travis stopped to glare at his wrist, and then at Dennis, who’d made a point to flick it. “Fine,” Travis said to Ben. “Just tell Michael... monsters are a bitch, but I handled things. And I’ll see him there.”
......................................

Travis glanced towards the clock on the office of John Gordon’s wall. It was so late it definitely counted as horribly early morning. But looking over the cards in his hands, he definitely wasn’t in the mood to give up now.

“You’re bluffing,” Mr. Gordon remarked as he took another drag off his cigar and held his own hand close, his eyes suspicious on the chips Travis had slid to the middle of the desk.

“Not really, but risk it if you want to,” Travis replied.

John considered that for a moment, and then grudgingly folded. He outright cursed when Travis put down a pair of twos. But, he still reached into his drawer and slid a check across the desk. “You earned your damn bonus,” he said. “But not because of the damn game. I expect you to work twice as hard next month.”

Travis pocketed the check. “You say that every month. Next time we play for paid vacation.”

John looked indignant. “Vacation? There’s no vacation in sales, boy.”

Travis laughed as he stood, stretched, and subconsciously rubbed at the cast holding his wrist. “Only when you’re around. I’m out of here.”

John stood from his desk, and Travis was aware of it when he followed him right out the doors of the dealership. “Walking?” John called after him.

“Keeps me sexy,” Travis remarked.

“Don’t be sick... and how come my boy isn’t picking you up?”

Travis smirked over his shoulder. “Don’t expect me to keep you updated. Ask him.”

But John Gordon never did. He hadn’t spoken to Dennis since the day he’d stopped in to announce Lyle had been arrested while Travis was getting x-rays. No surprise there. What might have surprised all of them was the way Dennis gave up all of his brother’s misdeeds, past and present, when the police had shown up to take statements. John had seemed rather annoyed by that, further sealing the rift between himself and his youngest son.

But a few weeks later and he’d resumed calling Travis, until Dennis had pointedly looked at him and ordered him to go see what his father wanted. Travis wouldn’t have gone, but after a brief enough argument, Dennis had told him to take the damn job.

Travis had been elated.

Okay, so maybe he should have learned his lesson when it came to Gordons by now. But Dennis was a Gordon, and that was working out. And when it came to the dealership... as long as John Gordon was respecting boundaries, Travis didn’t mind the job. Actually, he liked the job. If he could do anything, it was sell. He hadn’t attempted customer service at Chris’s club since, but had made himself readily available when it came to advertising, which meant he kept pretty busy.

Busy was good, since four out of seven nights a week Dennis wasn’t around. Four out of seven. That summer camp he was working at got the better part of the deal, Travis thought, and wondered if they’d let him sign up at his age, and disabled, no less. He hated his cast. Except for the parts where Michael had drawn pictures all over it. He’d end up keeping it for that very reason. But he was tired of wearing it, and most of the time he was tired of missing Dennis. He was actually surprised he’d allowed his game with John Gordon go on for so long, given that he still had two more nights to go before Dennis was bunking in a cabin with a bunch of people who weren’t Travis.

But sometimes Mr. Gordon needed company, too. At least, from what Travis could see, and on nights like this, the old man made pretty good company himself. His divorce had gone through a week ago, and he’d been in a good mood--at least, a good mood by John Gordon standards. And that was with one of his sons in jail and the other not yet ready to speak to him. But as far as Travis could tell, John hadn’t exactly made any more attempts to reach out to Dennis, and that meant that Travis wasn’t very keen on being their go-between. Dennis wouldn’t have wanted him to, anyway, and the younger Gordon trumped the older one, as far as the lower half of Travis’s body was concerned. And his head. And his heart. But maybe one day... maybe Dennis would be okay with facing his father again. Maybe he’d find the closure that Travis never would.

It was only days after Lyle’s attack that Travis had hopped on a bus and ended up where Joe’s trailer used to be. He wasn’t really sure why he was there. Maybe to apologize to the guy, he’d thought grudgingly. So, Joe hadn’t exactly been honest with him, but that didn’t make him any less right about Sara. Sara, who’d been Travis’s crutch and his curse for so long that he didn’t know how to let either one go. Now he could see that Joe taking the choice to do either of those things wasn’t exactly something to fault someone for, but it wasn’t as if Travis could tell him now. Joe was gone, and so was the trailer. As gone as Sara. Travis had sat there for a long time, thinking over times when he’d be gone, too. Disappear when everything else he knew did. But for the first time since losing Allan he had no desire to go. No desire to run. And he had the grace to hope that all the people in his life who did would find the same kind of peace he had. That’s what Allan would have wanted. Travis remembered the way his brother had reached for him, how he’d tried to drag him away. That was all Allan had ever wanted for Travis. And Travis hoped that if there was a higher power he was listening when he prayed the same thing for Allan.

Travis caught the last bus of the night and got off at the terminal, walking across the street to Dennis’s apartment as he muffled a yawn against the back of his hand. At the door he didn’t bother knocking, he pulled out of his backpack the shining new key Dennis had made him and twisted it in the lock. The door hadn’t opened halfway before he knelt down and scooped Valentine into his arms, deciding her wet tongue on his face was better than her shrill barking as he entered the dark apartment, locked the door behind him and then deposited her and his backpack on the sofa.

He made his way to the kitchen, turning on the light above the oven because it seemed the least obtrusive and looked around. The proof that Dennis had eaten his dinner out of a can again was on the counter, and Travis quietly cleaned it up and then turned his attention towards the mess in the sink. At his own home, Ryan was constantly on his ass about pitching in on chores, so when Travis thought of the look on his roommate’s face if he were ever to find out what kind of things he was willing to do for Dennis Gordon it brought a smile to his face.

But then, the way Travis saw it, Dennis needed the helping hand. He spent over half the week at the camp, pitching in for overnights just like everyone else working there, and on the nights he got to come home it was after a fourteen-hour day. But then, Dennis was happy. Travis noticed it, and decidedly liked his boyfriend when he had something that kept him motivated.

Just the last week Dennis had mentioned an interest in coaching baseball at the high school next winter. First Travis had asked if Dennis even knew anything about baseball. Then he’d asked Dennis if he was going to wear those tight pants. Dennis hadn’t been amused by either question. Travis had settled on being happy if Dennis wore no pants at all and then fulfilled the fantasy when they went to bed. And that night Dennis had been happy, and Travis had been a lot happy.

He ran the dishwasher, despite it only being half full, because Dennis only had enough dishes to fill half of it, before he turned off the light and headed down the hall. A few weeks ago he’d seen a dog bed and picked it up for Valentine, and since she was on his heels he snapped his fingers over it, just inside the bedroom door. Travis smiled approvingly when she laid down there, panting happily and tilting her head when he reached down to pet it, and there she stayed as he shed his clothes on the way to the bed.

He looked down at the figure beneath the sheets; Dennis had kicked the blanket off the bed long before Travis had arrived because his air conditioner sucked, and like always, he was at the very edge of the bed, leaving Travis the wall.

Travis stepped over him, unceremoniously dropping himself on the mattress, making it bounce. He pushed aside the flashlight Dennis kept putting beneath his pillow and reached over, his hand landing on Dennis’s collar bone but not stopping until it had slid down Dennis’s chest, stopping at his hip while the ends of his fingers slid between Dennis’s boxers and his skin. Travis leaned over until his head was against Dennis’s shoulder, and he moved his lips to Dennis’s ear.

“Faker,” Travis whispered.

No reaction.

Travis’s lips curled upwards. “You’re not really sleeping. I know because you faked it the first time we slept together... or, didn’t sleep, I guess. And then you did it again when you called this our room... seriously, you should open your eyes unless it’s some kind of fantasy for me to molest you in your sleep. I’m good with that, you know? Dennis?... okay... I get it. It’s because of this morning, isn’t it? I swear I walked Valentine. Not my fault. She got mad because I wouldn’t let her sniff that stupid German Shepherd’s ass, and she took it out on your kitchen floor. Could be worse, you know. Tile’s easy clean up.... Dennis? Seriously?” Travis let his lips graze Dennis’s neck, grinning when he felt an unmistakable tremor move through Mr. Unresponsive. “Not that, huh?” he whispered. “So it’s gotta be about when I came back from walking Valentine. Whatever. I’m not taking it back, asshole. I do love you. You don’t get to be all awkward....”

Dennis’s eyes snapped open, his brow knitting in frustration in a way that contradicted the amusement curving his mouth. He turned, his hand sliding over Travis’s, urging it lower as he said, “You make me stupid. Everything about you.”