“I know you wouldn’t hit me, but—my dad used to, and I never really got over the conditioned response to get as far fucking away as possible from people when they get angry. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s even worse with people who are passive-aggressive. The whole—silent treatment one second, slamming cupboards the next, it makes me crazy. You ever been around someone like that?”
“Not really—” Tanner said, trying to figure out exactly what Lance was getting at.
“Doesn’t matter—” Lance said with an awkward laugh.
“Tell me,” Tanner pleaded softly. It was usually the other way around, with Lance digging for information like he was mining for gold. But that’s not how things were going to go today. Today Tanner was the one who wanted—needed—to know more, now that his suspicions were confirmed that Lance was no stranger to domestic violence.
“That kind of behavior isn’t rational, I know that, but my dad was a mean drunk, and like most mean drunks, you never really knew what would set him off. He’d seem perfectly fine at first, maybe just a bit grumpy about the weather, or the price of beer, but the next thing you knew, you’d be slammed up against the fridge, getting choked ‘cause you’d shut the fridge door a little too hard. It never made much sense what set him off, but it was always sudden, harsh, and disproportionate. I never really got past that,” he said with disarming honesty. “Even with Julie, I still felt like a stupid kid. She was passive-aggressive, you know. And then by the end, when she realized that I didn’t want to go to New York, she was so furious—” he shook his head, glancing at Tanner for reassurance that he understood.
“Were you afraid she’d blow up and—hit you?”
Lance gave a sharp nod. “Shows how much of a pussy I am, ‘cause she was about 5’3” and 120 pounds,” he added, and although he meant it as a joke, neither one cracked a smile. “But when she got like that—shesoundedexactly like my father.”
“I’m really fucking sorry. For everything—” he said regretfully, as he reached up—very slowly—to wrap his arms around Lance.
That’s right—he was committing to being full-on gay—at least in his mind—and going in for a really comforting, heartwarming goddamned hug.
Lance laughed as he slipped his arms completely around Tanner. His hands were damp from the dishwater, but his body was warm, and solid, and Tanner never wanted this feeling to end.
“What a fine pair of messed up dudes we make, yeah?” Lance joked.
They couldn’t stay locked together. Not for long. Not if Tanner didn’t want Lance to notice his boner from snuggling upso close to all those muscles. He had to step back to save his manly pride and sanity.
“That chicken was fucking amazing, Chef Lance,” Tanner said with a smile.
“Glad you liked it—and for the record, I’ll hold off on serving dinner any damned time I feel like it,” Lance replied, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest.
“Yes, sir!” Tanner laughed and did a mock salute.
And if they stared into each other’s eyes smiling like goddamned idiots for longer than the situation called for, well, that was just between them.
By the time they finished with cleaning up after dinner, it was about 10:00 p.m., but neither one mentioned going to bed. Instead, they migrated to the couch to watch an old action film from the 1970s with lots of Grade B actors and poorly done fight scenes.
“Whywereyou so late?” Lance asked, during a break in the action onscreen.
“Lady called to complain about one of our maintenance guys. Said he’d nearly run over her cat. She was hysterical, wanted to call the cops on him. What a waste of my time. It turns out that it was a total load of bullshit.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “It shouldn’t have gotten me in such a mood but—” he shook his head as he struggled to find the words. “It’s harder than it used to be to shake it off. Shit just—builds up and then I feel like I could explode,” he admitted feeling defeated. “Never used to be like that before—”
“You went through hell, T,” Lance said, with a sad smile. “It’ll take some time for your mind to adjust.”
But what if it never did?Was the cursed question on Tanner’s mind whenever it happened again. What if Tanner never learned to regulate his emotions like a normal fuckingperson. How many times could he lose his shit before he lost any kind of remaining credibility?
“Yeah—hopefully I won’t have to deal with any more Karens and their stupid cats,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“You hate your job, don’t you?” Lance looked at Tanner with no small amount of sympathy.
“It’s a job. You don’t have to love it. It just has to pay the bills.” This was a well-practiced lie. He’d told his mother and sister the same thing a few dozen times.
“Bullshit,” Lance said, shaking his head. He frowned at Tanner as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
Tanner’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Dude, no one flies helicopters into war zones for the paycheck. There are much easier ways to make dough. Clearly, you had to really love it. Can’t be easy going from a dream job to a lame ass one.”
“Times change. I’m older now,” he said, like the guy he’d been three years ago was some long-lost version of himself that he’d outgrown rather than let go of by necessity.
“We age, but we don’t change the fundamentals of who we are,” Lance argued.
“Okay, Shakespeare, chill out,” Tanner joked.
