They drove off, and Brandon steeled himself with a deep breath.
Here goes everything or nothing.
Tash opened the door before Brandon needed to set the bags down on the stoop to knock. His expression remained the same as when Brandon had left the center earlier—guarded and withdrawn.
“Come on in.” He held the door open, and Brandon entered the carriage house. The two cats appeared immediately to twine themselves around his ankles.
After setting the bags down, he knelt to pet them. From his crouched position he gazed upward at Tash. “I’ll start dinner in a little while, but I figured you’d like to talk first, right?”
At Tash’s nod, Brandon stood and brushed off his pants. “Let’s sit down, okay?” His heart pounded as he walked into the living room. When he sat on the sofa, Cleo jumped in his lap, circled twice, and lay down, purring like a lawn mower. To control the trembling of his fingers, he kept them on the cat’s body, stroking her neck and giving little scratches to her chin.
“You know I never meant to drag you into my life. In fact I ran away from you, if you recall. You pushed me to face my fear and made me open myself up to so much more than I ever thought possible.”
Tash said nothing, the light glinting off his eyeglasses.
“But unlike every other person I’ve met before, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and wondering what it would be like to be with you. Now…” Brandon’s nerves choked him. “The truth is I haven’t been honest or fair with you. You need to know everything to decide whether or not you still want to be with me.”
“Don’t worry about my reaction. Whatever it is, it’s eating you up alive. The worst part is the anticipation of what you think my reaction will be.”
Not the worst part by far. Incarceration would be the worst; to be separated from his family and Tash now that he’d found them was inconceivable. But then again so was looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, loving Tash and attempting to create a life with him only to worry every second of the day whether it would all be torn away in an instant.
“I’d only graduated high school the week before. The night before I ran away, my foster father was drunk and in one of his usual ugly moods. He often stopped off after work at the bar near the local sheriff’s office where he worked and had a few beers before coming home.” Brandon stroked Cleo under the chin for a few moments, smoothing her plush, velvety coat. She rubbed her head against his hand and switched her tail back and forth.
“My foster mother hadn’t been feeling well, and dinner wasn’t ready. That’s all he needed to begin the nightly abuse.”
“Where were you when all this was happening?” Tash pushed his glasses up on his head and rubbed his eyes, a grim expression etched in hard lines on his face.
“In my room. But when I heard the yelling, I crept down the stairs to see what was happening. Then I watched him hit her and knock her down.” It played before his eyes. “He stood over her and laughed. I must’ve made a sound, because he turned around and found me standing on the stairs. I ran out of the house, but he caught up to me at the shed in the back and pinned me against the door.”
“What you gonna do, sonny boy?” The stale, beer-laced breath of his foster father blasted over his face, gagging Brandon until he wanted to retch. “No one’s gonna believe you, and she ain’t gonna say nuthin’ if she knows what’s good for her.”
The thought of this animal hitting his foster mother again enraged Brandon. “Leave her alone. You’re a big fucking bully. You could kill her.”
Munson sneered in his face. “Who’d care? Stay out of it unless you want the same.” He hitched his pants up and spat on the ground. “She best have gotten herself up off that floor or she won’t be able to get up again.” He spat again, then went to hit Brandon across the face.
“It was as if something snapped inside me,” whispered Brandon, the horror of that night tangible, as if he could reach out and touch Munson or feel his humid, stale breath against his face. “I picked up a loose brick sitting on the windowsill of the shed and hit him over the head with it.”
Tash slid next to him, evicting an outraged Cleo from Brandon’s lap, and draped his arm around Brandon’s shoulders. “Talk it out. Let it go.”
“So much blood. There was so much blood, and he fell to the ground.” Brandon gulped, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to kill him.” He started sobbing, whether from relief at finally telling his story or fear over what would happen next. “I just wanted him to never hit her again. Or me.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Tash gathered Brandon to his chest and soothed him. “So he died and you ran away?”
After gulping down some air, Brandon continued. “I left him lying on the ground. I sneaked back in the house and gathered some clothes. My foster mother was crying in the kitchen as she made dinner.” Tash smoothed his hair as Brandon’s head lay on his chest. “I was so scared, Tash. I ran out the back door and never went back.”
They sat for a few minutes. The only sound to be heard was the hush of the occasional car passing by outside. Then Tash sighed and spoke, but there was no condemnation or censure in his voice. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
Brandon nodded against the sturdy wall of Tash’s chest. Within the circle of Tash’s arms he’d found safety and comfort, but most of all a place. He’d never had someone take him in their arms and hold him until the hurt and pain disappeared.
“Yeah. After I ran, I checked the newspapers a few days later and there was a small article about Paul Munson found dead.” He pulled away from Tash’s arms. “I’ve spent the last seven and a half years in limbo, looking over my shoulder, waiting for the police to find me and arrest me. I did whatever I could to hide myself.”
“By calling yourself Randy? And not contacting Ash because you thought he wouldn’t want you?” Tash’s gentle fingers combed through his hair in a languid slide. “But now you know how much Ash loves you. He’ll take your case and defend you to the death.” With a gentle kiss to Brandon’s brow, Tash smiled down at him. “You weren’t even eighteen, sweetheart. It was an accident, self-defense. I’m sure he can get you off.”
Brandon had never thought of asking Ash to be his lawyer. His only thought was to hide what he’d done, and live outside the concrete lines of society. “Will you come with me when I talk to him?” He added in haste. “I mean, you don’t have to; I can do it myself.” He struggled to sit up and away from Tash. It would be a challenge for him, but he was strong enough.
Instead, Tash held him firm, his muscled arms remaining tight around Brandon’s body. “Do you think after everything, I’d walk away from you? Make you handle this on your own?”
“Ash will help me,” Brandon replied weakly, trying hard to maintain a semblance of strength. “You’re right. I know he will.”
