“Look, if I thought it’d be any of your business—which it ain’t,” he quickly added, “I’d tell ya that we’ve become… friends.” Theywerefriends, but still, the word tasted wrong on his tongue. Insufficient somehow.
“Friends?”Colton raised a dark eyebrow at him, disbelief coloring his deep voice.
“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “Now, why are we talkin’ about this again?”
“I just…” Suddenly, Colton’s face transformed in front of him, no trace of the teasing glimmer in his eyes, his voice devoid of any kind of banter too. “I’d just hate to see ya get hurt. You know, when he leaves again. Because heisleaving, right Hank?”
“Of course, he’s leavin’. And whatcha meanget hurt?Why would I get hurt?” Brushing a hand across his face, a dull pain building behind his eyes, Hank moved across the room to the meticulously organized shelves. Every can of oil or paint, every box of nails, and every package of supplies were now lined up in neat rows, the labels facing forward. The shop had always been messy, Hank never one for tidying up, too busy running the place on his own. Eugene would often nag him about it, then breeze through once every three or four months and clean up the worst. But nothing like this. Nothing like the force of nature named Finn who would sweep the floor daily, unpack deliveries the minute they arrived, organize Hank’s papers and forms in neat rows on the office desk, filing away what needed to be kept, throwing away what didn’t.
“C’mon, Hank,” Colton moved up next to him, resting his large hand heavily on his shoulder. “You know what I mean. Even a blind man can see that the two of ya have gotten…close.”
“So? What’s it to you?” He turned, facing Colton. There was a bite to Hank’s voice that even he was surprised about. Colton scrunched his brows, his hazel eyes a mirror image of his own. It occurred to Hank that in a different life, he could’ve had his own son staring back at him right now. Perhaps his eyes wouldn’t have been hazel, but instead the bluest of blue. For a split-second, he regretted that he and Eugene had never had kids, but it had been a different time, the idea of a gay couple in rural America having a kid pushing it just a tad too far. Still…
“Look, I care about ya, Hank. You know that. I’d hate to see ya get hurt, that’s all.” Colton’s eyes didn’t leave his, and for a while,they engaged in this strange staring contest until Hank dropped his gaze to the floor.
“I might,” he murmured.
“What?”
“I might,” he repeated. “Get hurt. But I’ll take that when it comes.”When.Notif. When.With a frightening certainty, he realized he would get hurt. It was clear by now. It was the first time he admitted it to himself, and sharing this acknowledgment with Colton, who, too, had been knocked about by life, seemed somehow appropriate. “But I’ll take that any day of the week over the numbness of the past seven years.”
“Hank…” Colton squeezed his shoulder, and he looked back up, their gazes connecting once again.
“So, I like him, okay? I might even do a little more than like him. Some would perhaps say that I’ve grown fond of him.” As he spoke, the words settled inside his chest, the truth of them echoing through his body. Hehadgrown fond of Finn. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it had happened, but somehow the lines had become blurry, friendship gradually morphing into something more. Organically, as if it was always supposed to end up that way. And it wasn’t just about the sex, either. There was this strange companionship that brought forward glimpses of what it had felt like back then. Withhim. With Eugene.
“Have you told him?” Colton’s voice was all mellow now, a wistful edge to it.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Hank chuckled bitterly. “Why not, he asks…”
“Yeah, why not?” Colton tilted his head, a curious frown between his brows.
“Because he’s leavin’. And he’s young. He has places to go and people to see. He has his family to get back to. Things to makeright.” Hank inhaled deeply, his lungs screaming at him—or was it his heart? He couldn’t tell.
“And? He can still do that and then come back. If he cares about you like you care about him, it shouldn’t be that difficult to come back again. You know, once he’s done what needs to be done.” Colton shrugged, Hank understanding what his nephew meant, but his mind struggling to accept the words.Come back. Care about you.
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Hank rubbed at his forehead. “What’s with all the damn questions, professor?”
“What’s with the avoidance, Uncle?” Colton threw back, that smirk back at the corner of his mouth, the dimple popping like he was a small kid again. What the hell? What had he told Finn not so many days ago?You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.Right.
“I can’t…” his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the words sticking to the roof of his mouth, reluctant to get out. “I can’t go through that again. Caring about someone and then havin’ them leave all over again. I can’t, son.”
“But Eugene died, Hank. He didn’t leave ya. Hell, from what I’ve heard from Til and Henry, that man fought tooth and nail to stay with ya. But in the end, he just couldn’t. But he didn’t leave ya willingly.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s still gone.” Hank shrugged, feeling exhausted. Suddenly, he was feeling his age. All the years, every single one, all fifty-nine of them.
“But you don’t regrethim, do ya? Loving him for all that time.”
“Of course, I don’t regret him!” He countered, anger building inside. What the hell was up with Colton today? They didn’t usually talk about things like this. That wasn’t who they were. They talked about hockey or beer brands. About the weather or the latest car they’d gotten in. About next week’s deliveries orFriday dinner plans. Hell, if they got real deep, they would talk about Amy, sometimes Walter. But this? This wasn’t who they were, was it? Or perhaps it was.
Suddenly, they were no longer in the shop. They were back in his cabin, Colton slumped over the small kitchen table, looking so small. Broken.‘I’m broken, Hank. I’ll always be broken. There’s no fixing this.’That giant of a man speaking the perhaps hardest words of his life. Tohim. To Hank. He’d shared that painful piece of himself with Hank in his kitchen four years ago.Hisgrief.Hisloss.Hisguilt.Shit. He still remembered it like it was only just yesterday. What he’d told Colton. What he couldn’t admit to himself but had had no trouble telling his nephew.‘Who’s to say that any one of us is whole on our own? Maybe we all need someone to make us feel that way.’How come those words applied to Colton, but not to him? It was bullshit, that’s what it was.
