Clang(7)

Jackson read out his list and Cameron nodded after each item. When he  was done, Jackson raised his eyes to Cameron's. "Is that asking too  much?"

"Nah. It's just gonna take me a little while over the winter to finish  everything. Winter isn't the best construction time. I don't think I can  get much done before surgery  –  at least, I can't bank on it."

"Right, no, of course," Jackson agreed. "I was thinking for after you  recover, too. We can source materials in the meantime. My basement's  almost empty and I can drive up to it from the path out to my workshop,  so we can store materials in there."

"Really? Yeah, that's a good idea." Cameron rubbed his chin. "So each of  us buys our own materials and then we swap labor until we're both happy  with our houses, yeah?"

That sounded fair to Jackson. "Unless you decide you want a fuckin' mansion worth of work. Then you can pay me."

Cameron laughed. "No mansions," he promised. "What about Thomas?"

"He can help us..." Jackson trailed off, wondering what his little  brother felt comfortable doing. He didn't seem to mind tidying up after  them, but he was never one to rush to do the heavy lifting and prove  himself. Then again, with Jackson and Cam competing a little on that  front, he never had to.

"He's good at painting," Cameron continued. "I put him to work when I  was doing my construction job. Back when he was in high school,  remember? He said he needed the cash and he did it all summer."

"Ohhh, yeah, right." Jackson had forgotten about that summer job. "Well,  all three houses do need paint." Then, he paused. "Did we ever find out  what that was for?"

"No. For all we know he has some savings account overseas. He's secretly a millionaire now," Cameron laughed.

Jackson grinned. He wouldn't put it past Thomas.

Still, there were moments that made him worry. Sometimes he felt like he  knew his little brother very well. Other times he realized he didn't  know a lot of things about him.

Thomas steered the conversation away from dating, and he never talked  about his future plans. He just skirted away from certain deeper topics,  despite being a deep person. It was paradoxical and... well,  frustrating.

"He seems happy to be here," Cameron commented, his mind working along the same lines. "He talking to you much?"

"Yeah, now and then he comes to help me in the workshop." Can't tell him  what the last conversation was about. "Still doesn't really talk much."

"Well, we haven't seen a lot of him since he graduated, and even before then. Especially me," Cameron frowned.

"Hey, not your fault," Jackson reminded Cam. He was as firm as always  when his brother felt guilty about his busy past life as a pro hockey  player. "Things are changing now."

"Yeah, they are."

Come to think of it, Thomas had never talked to Jackson once about  dating before now. Maybe things were changing more than Jackson knew.





Chapter 9


Chase


"I don't know, Floyd." Chase leaned on his elbow as he watched his boss  and friend rearrange sketchbooks and photo books. He was trying to keep  his tone casual. "Someone could still recognize my work."

"Okay, man, I know I said I wouldn't ask..."

Chase straightened up, his heart starting to thump with nerves. The  other man was a little heavier-set than him, and had even more tattoos.  He had about five years on him, too. Chase could take him. No, wait,  what the fuck? Where did that come from? The guy wasn't about to leap  over the counter at him just because he didn't have an art portfolio.

"You came here saying you'd worked for years but you couldn't use your  portfolio online. Now you're telling me you can't even show people a  physical copy? I mean, it's not like people can Google image search in  real time."         

     



 

Chase swallowed hard. "No..."

Floyd made eye contact, then pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Chase. "Talk to me, man. We're buddies, right?"

More so than anyone else Chase knew, yeah. "Definitely." Chase was still  reluctant. It was like dragging himself across hot coals to think about  it, let alone spill his guts to someone else. "It's just... pretty  raw."

"Then the shop's closed." Floyd stood up and flipped the sign over. He  approached Chase and reached out to touch his arm, leaning on the other  side of the counter. He smelled like citrus and sweet things. "Man, you  get twitchy when new people walk in. You hate seeing parents bring their  kids. You wrap yourself up in your own head even when we're going out  for drinks..."

All true.

"Who are you running from? We can get you help."

Chase swallowed hard. He'd been dreading this conversation for months.  Everyone always figured out that something was up, and then there'd be  pity. At least he knew it wasn't a pity friendship  –  Floyd had been  straight with him from the beginning.

The easiest way to put it was also the simplest. "My family... didn't take me coming out very well."

Floyd's face fell and then his brows furrowed in anger. "I'm sorry. Are you safe here?"

"I don't... I don't know. I think so."

"You don't feel safe, though, huh?" Floyd had a knowing look, but there  was something else about him. "Little bit of advice... Find something  that makes you feel stronger. Kickboxing or archery or wrestling or...  whatever floats your boat."

Floyd did competitive archery, and for the first time, Chase wondered  why. He lifted his head to watch his friend instead of shying away from  eye contact. Floyd knew a lot more about what his mental state was like  than he was letting on.

"It's just... on top of everything else," Chase sighed. "It's hard  living here. And I don't know what I want in a relationship. And  everything else is rocky at the same time. All of it together, I guess,  is the problem." It was a little painful being forced to talk about  this, but Floyd wasn't letting him get away.

"Yeah. Then finding that one good thing can help stabilize the rest of it."

Maybe Floyd was right. It sounded like it made sense, at least.

When he didn't shoot down the idea, Floyd continued. "You're being a  hermit. You spend all your time working here and making money or fucking  the night away at the club. Not... you know, knowing people. You're not  even on Facebook."

Chase's stomach twisted with anxiety. "People could find me there."

"Exactly. So you gotta get out a little in real life, get some real  social supports. That guy you hung out with the other day, the one with  the artistic family  –  talk to him. Meet up with guys for fun or hanging  out, not just jumping into bed."

Floyd slept around, too, but to be fair... Floyd seemed a lot happier  about it than Chase felt. Or maybe he felt that gnawing pit in his  stomach at the end of a night out, too, and he just didn't admit it.

Chase nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I'll look up some things."

"I'll drive you to your first meeting of whatever it is. University's  back, so check out the clubs there, too. Some of them take  non-students."

"You're determined to see me make friends," Chase laughed. Floyd had  been bugging him for months to get out there, but he'd never followed  through like now. It was... It was nice to have someone care that much  about him, though.

Floyd nodded. "Yeah. We all need 'em." He clapped Chase's back, then leaned in for a brief, manly hug.

Chase clapped Floyd's back, his mind already wandering over the  possibilities. Archery sounded kinda fun. For the only other guy here  apart from Jackson who hadn't yet taken him home, Floyd was pretty cool.



"This is going to be the most awkward part of tonight. Fencing isn't  just about attacking. It's about maintaining your own personal space,  and being aware of it."

Chase grimaced.

"Look at you all. You're not going to die from holding hands a little."

That produced a laugh from the class of a dozen or so fencing newbies  who had shown up to the first session of this course. There were three  lessons a week, an intense pace. Chase had barely squeaked in to take  the last available spot in the course. It had started the day after his  conversation with Floyd.

Pair by pair, they reached out to entwine their fingers with each  other's. There was awkward, nervous chuckling from the pairs of men.  Chase rolled his eyes and ignored it, focusing on his partner's personal  space.

They walked towards each other, bending their arms slowly. They got accustomed to how far away they were when their elbows bent.         

     



 

Already, Chase could see a sword keeping everyone out of his personal  space bubble. That was apparently going to be the the point of the next  lesson.

Although the first lesson was mostly history that he tuned out, however  hard he tried to listen, these few exercises were interesting. They  played soccer with tennis balls, then started to learn footwork. They  tried to keep the tennis balls between their feet in one exercise. In  another, they passed balls back and forth to each other as they stepped  back and forth.