Rough Canvas (38 page)

Various questions were churning inside of Thomas, but seeing Marcus about to

walk away brought one of them up immediately. “When?”

The word was out before Thomas could think to stop it, or completely mask the

urgent need for an answer.

197

Joey W. Hill

Marcus turned at the door. There was such a powerful emotion in his eyes that

Thomas almost moved forward, his lover’s fuck-off routine be damned. He saw

something in Marcus’ eyes that told him he’d needed to hear that tone of want in Thomas’ voice, in front of his family. Marcus had needed it so desperately that it looked in danger of shattering something within him completely. The last word Thomas had ever thought to describe Marcus was lonely, but it was in his face now.

“Whenever you ask me to come, pet,” he said softly. “Just not today. No matter

what happens, I can tell you this. I will always love you. No matter what you feel you need to be, where you need to go, I’ll always know you’re mine. I understand that now.

So you can at least be easy on that, all right? It’s okay. I love you.”

His attention shifted back to Elaine and something altered in his expression, became much colder. She raised her gaze under the compelling power of his stare.

“If you ever touch anything he creates again, you won’t have this place, your house.

You’ll be lucky to get a bed in a state nursing home when I’m done with you.”

“Marcus—”

“No, Thomas.” His mother surprised him by speaking. “Let him say what he’s

going to say.

“This is your dream, your husband’s. Even Rory’s. Not his. He loves you. That’s why he’s here and part of what makes me love him, frustrating though it is to love a fucking noble idiot. But don’t give me the slightest opportunity to take it away from you, the way you’re trying to take it away from him, because I will. His art is his soul.

You attack his soul again like that and I don’t care who the fuck you are to him. Clear?”

She stared back at him, making no acknowledgement, though her shoulders

quivered with the effort of holding the pose under that intimidating glare. It was the most cowed Thomas had ever seen her.

Marcus nodded as if he’d gotten the answer he expected, turned on his heel and left the store.

Thomas ignored his brother’s demand for an explanation, his sister’s murmured

reassurance to their mother and went after him, spell broken. When Thomas caught up with Marcus at the car, he grabbed his arm, bringing him to a halt.

“What the hell was that? What is wrong with you?”

Thomas was angry at him, but he was more furious with his inability to figure out what the tumultuous current of murky waters under the surface of the whole scene was about. He wanted answers.

Marcus ran a hand over his face, the back of his neck. When he raised his head to meet Thomas’ gaze, it was as if the act took great effort.

“I thought…if you couldn’t leave, I could bring it here, give you a way…” He shook his head, moved away from Thomas’ touch and got into the car. The window was

down, but what was swirling around Marcus, the fact he’d removed himself from

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Thomas’ touch twice now, didn’t encourage Thomas to take immediate advantage of the opportunity the open window provided.

Fitting the key into the ignition, Marcus held it there. Thomas felt a spear of apprehension as a shudder seemed to run through his arm. Marcus stiffened, his

expression shutting down again as he turned over the ignition.

“You may be right. An artist needs light. And I bring my own darkness. Maybe we don’t belong together, Thomas. I don’t know. I really don’t know anything right now.”

Reaching out the window, he put a key that was sitting on the dashboard in Thomas’

hand. “The house is in both of our names. Move in if you’d like. Maybe I was just…maybe I’m just fucking crazy.”

“Marcus.” Changing his mind, Thomas put his hand on the window ledge and

leaned in, not caring who might be watching. Touching Marcus’ face, he ran his

knuckles along the slope of his rigid jaw. “Stop,” he said softly. “Just stop, and slow down. Trust me. Will you ever trust me?”

Marcus closed his eyes, his lips pressing together, so Thomas moved his touch

there, fingers tracing them. Something was terribly wrong, and none of the rest of it mattered.

“No,” Marcus said at last, opening his eyes and looking directly at Thomas. “I can’t trust anyone. It’s just not in me. Not now. Not ever. I’ve got to go.”

He hit the window control then and Thomas had to pull back his hand or have it

trapped. “Marcus, dammit…”

But Marcus had already put the car in reverse in almost the same movement and

backed it. Normally, he was a smooth, confident driver, but now he pushed down on the gas like a teenager learning how to work a clutch. Thomas had to move back fast to spare the toes of his fortunately chosen steel-toed work shoes.

He didn’t want to go back into the store. Everything in him was saying he needed to jump in the store’s truck, run Marcus’ ass down and figure out what the hell was going on. Marcus had never been like this. So dead, so final. An hour ago, he’d been threatening to set up house just down the road. Despite Thomas’ doubts, he’d gotten him hoping, considering. Wondering if it was as impossible as it sounded.

Now Marcus acted like…he didn’t know where they were now. Thomas tried to

ignore the feeling that Marcus had just started the beginning of the end between them.

Over a fricking phone call.

He went back into the store, steeling himself. Something in his face must have

warned them, for even Rory said nothing, back to making a quiet clinking sound on the nail aisle. Or perhaps they were both waiting for their mother to detonate. To break down. Instead, she was looking at Thomas’ face. “Are you okay, son?” she asked softly.

He swallowed. “Yeah. But I don’t think he’s okay at all. And he won’t tell me why.”

She pressed her lips together then jumped as the ledger book she’d opened on the counter began to twitch and make a buzzing sound. “What on earth—”

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Joey W. Hill

Les flipped up the ledger book to find a cell phone there. On the third vibration, the ring tone kicked in and Rory’s brow creased. “Is that…”

“
Highway to Hell
. Marcus is a closet AC/DC fan.” Thomas said absently, then shook his head at Rory as he snickered. “No cracks about closets.” Moving to the counter, he picked up the cell. It was an extension of Marcus’ arm. For him to be upset enough to forget it made Thomas question the wisdom of allowing him to get behind the wheel of a car.

“Mom, what’s the area code for Uncle Ren in Des Moines?”

“515.”

Thomas stared at the phone. Iowa. Marcus was getting a phone call from Iowa, and a quick press on the call listing button told him it was the same number his last call had come from.

“Thomas,” his mother said. “What are you doing?”

“Getting some answers.” He flipped it open. “Hello?”

The line was crackling with static, so he had to repeat it.

“Marcus…is John. Have a crappy connection out here. You there?”

“Yeah.”

Thomas waited, straining his ears to hear through the crackling. When Les started to speak to their mother, he shook his head, made a sharp hand gesture for quiet and hoped no customers came in.

“This…” there was a pause on the other end. “This isn’t Marcus, is it?”

“No. This is his partner.” Thomas managed not to hitch over it, though in his mind there was a significant pause in thought, trying to decide the best word to use. It left it open to meaning business, or more than that. Apparently, either one seemed to ease John’s concerns enough, though he added the question. “So you know what’s going on?”

“Yes. Marcus left for a few minutes. Is there something else you need?”

“Is he…okay?”

On that, Thomas was on solid ground, and was able to give the key sense of

intimate knowledge that apparently would win John’s trust and assumption that he
did
in fact know what the hell was going on.

“No. He’s definitely not okay.”

“Jesus.” John blew out a sigh. “Then maybe you can think of a way to say this to him. I talked to Mom. She says she’s going to respect Dad’s last wishes. She

doesn’t…hell, no good way to say it. She doesn’t want him at the funeral. I mean, she does, but Dad didn’t and she’s just…

“We’re going to need another transfer on the burial expenses. His last days were pretty rough, so I tapped out the account for the hospital. He’s got to understand, it tore 200

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her apart these last days. All she can think about is how much she loved him and misses him, so of course she’s going to support his wishes right now.

“Marcus will want to transfer another six thousand in there Friday. That’s when I’ll need to pay the funeral home. She’s worried to death about the farm, but I told her Sue and I can cover everything. Didn’t think it was time to lay on her that Marcus has been paying their way out of every tight corner for the past ten years.

“Maybe…after this all dies down, he could come home for a visit. I think she really wants to see him. Hell, we all do. He’s probably told you how she is, all the Bible stuff about Dad being the head of the household and obeying him. Hell, if I tried to get Suzie to go that way, she’d hit me in the head with a two-by-four. It’s just the way they are.

“He was a mean old bastard. Stubborn, but Marcus is like that too. Stubborn, mean when crossed. They never saw how alike they were, even as different as we know

Marcus is. I…I didn’t mean that in an offensive way, okay? I mean…I don’t know if you’re his partner…or his
partner
. Or both. Ah, hell. Don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It just…it’s been a hell of a day. Will you just tell Marcus we love him and when this crap is past, he should come home? He really should. I know he won’t, but…will you tell him?”

“I will.”

When Thomas heard John hang up, he closed the phone and started to slide it in the front pocket of his jeans.

Iowa. Marcus had a family in Iowa. A farm. A father who’d just died.

But he was also Dodger, somehow connected to Toby. On a hunch, he scrolled

through the call history, the phone list, and found Owen’s name.

One part of him knew this was wrong, but the larger part didn’t care. Pieces were missing, but the pieces that were coming together were goading him into the territory Marcus had always declared off limits. Well, to hell with that.

As Thomas cued up the number, finger poised to start the call, he glanced at Les.

“I’m going to New York for a few days. I need you to make sure the courier gets those pieces. Okay?”

She nodded, her eyes full of questions even as she glanced toward Elaine.

“Marcus’ father died,” Thomas added.

“Oh.” Les made a little sound as her mother crossed herself, then folded her hands on the counter.

“Maybe he left the phone here deliberately, Thomas, knowing…”

“Mom, enough.” Thomas said coldly, stopping his mother mid-sentence. “This isn’t a debate. While I’m gone, ask the Brewster kid to come in. He could use the money anyhow.”

He turned to Rory, who’d rolled up close to the side of the counter near his mother, attempting to make a wall of their disapproval. Thomas cocked his brow at him. “While I’m gone, you’re in charge of the store.”

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Joey W. Hill

A surprised expression fluttered across his mother’s face. “Thomas, Rory can’t—”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. More than that, you
will
.” Thomas stabbed a finger at him, his brows drawing down. “You chickenshit out and let Mom take over, as she’ll try to do to baby you and your wallowing self-pity, I will yank you out of that chair and put a foot up your ass. Your legs don’t work, but your brain does, your arms and upper body does, and you can use Les and Brewster’s kid when you need a pair of legs. I need a good manager to handle things this week. You’re that guy.”

He gave his brother an even, take-no-shit look. “You can hold more figures in your head than a rocket scientist. So stop focusing on what you don’t have and use what you got. Or I’ll tell Amanda Brewster you’re really a paraplegic and your dick doesn’t work.”

“She already knows it does,” Rory snapped and then colored to his roots. His

mother and sister turned, a look of consternation on one face, barely suppressed laughter on the other.

“Well, if you’ve got the brains to use it, you can do other things.” Despite the circumstances, Thomas felt a gut-loosening grin cross his face.

Then his mother’s expression shifted back to him. As he met her gaze head-on, he felt a calmness that was new to him. “When I get back, we’ll talk. I may be gone several days. You know how to get hold of me.”

For once, without further comment, she nodded. He wasn’t unaware of how she

had her hands folded together, her short nails biting into her skin, but he would deal with that.

He’d been dealing with things for eighteen months, but hadn’t felt in control of anything. For the first time since his father died, that feeling was gone. He was going to New York. To Marcus.

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He’d kept the entry key to Marcus’ place. It had been in his wallet all this time, working its way toward the back, behind the more frequently used assortment of other cards. Credit cards, his driver’s license, hell, the video store card that protected Marcus’

picture.

It was shortly after two a.m. and he’d seen a light on in Marcus’ place from the glass elevator. Top floor. A spectacular view of Manhattan and the water. Because Thomas had to pass through three checkpoints using that access card, as well as a security guard, who recognized him with a friendly smile, he wasn’t too concerned about letting himself into a New Yorker’s apartment in the middle of the night. He could have called ahead, but chose not to, not wanting to give Marcus the ability to shut him out.