Broken Toys

Chapter 60

It was an omen of bad things to come.

Oversleeping, only to be woken by the sound of Billy's father leaning on the truck horn. Stealing hurried showers alone while clearing away evidence of their campout in the attic. Hurrying to help Mr. Tepper unload his truck while downing a breakfast of donuts and cola.

Not the best way to start any day. But especially not this one, scheduled full of departing friends and family reunions. The events of the previous day still lingered in the air, adding tension to the growing unease.

Snuffy's awkward phone call just after 9:00 a.m. did nothing to calm the atmosphere. He was apologetic but brief - explaining that his father had been called back to work to handle an emergency and there wasn't time for a final visit. He promised to email and disconnected, leaving Zeke with an earful of dial tone and the task of passing along the news.

Hank and his father arrived early to return the rental chairs and tables, bustling around and adding chaos to the proceedings until Zeke had to slip away or risk hitting something. He waved his goodbye from the upstairs window while thanking Ric for calling. Yogurt was already gone.

Having settled the phone back in its cradle, Zeke sat on the bed and studied the floor. He could hear Billy and his father talking, and the sounds of Casey cleaning up the kitchen. The living room was to be cleared of furniture and drop cloths placed before the work of removing the wallpaper began. They could have waited until it was time to paint, but Casey preferred it this way.

Not even 10:00 a.m. and it was already hot and stuffy, with the promise of a storm later in the day. Billy's dad was certain they'd finish stripping the wallpaper and spackling the walls before the storm hit.

With a sigh, Zeke pushed to his feet and strode downstairs, trying to settle his expression. He was good at playing the uninterested outsider, but he just couldn't seem to pull it together. Instead, he felt awkward and vulnerable - like he was broadcasting every thought in his head.

He managed a pale smile for Casey and a nod for Billy and his dad as he passed through the room, gathering up a chair and carrying it into the study where it joined a displaced end table and two lamps.

He helped Casey shift more furniture, making room for the sofa and the rocking chair, the last two pieces of furniture to be moved. Being the tallest of the group, he removed the curtains while Casey ran the ancient vacuum over the worn carpet.

The room echoed faintly when Billy set the armload of scrapers, paint trays and rollers down on the newly-laid drop cloths. Mr. Tepper talked them through the process of stripping wallpaper and watched as they each took a wall and started to work.

There wasn't much conversation as they worked so Casey slipped out to the kitchen and turned on the radio. The generic pop music was a welcome break from the silence so no one complained about the occasional Celine Dion or Backstreet Boys tune.

The walls were three-quarters stripped when the sound of a car engine interrupted yet another catchy tune about breaking up with a lover. Casey dropped his scraper and stammered an apology before bending over to retrieve it.

"Looks like your parents are right on time," Mr Tepper said cheerfully. "Let's go help them bring in the pizza."

Billy led the way into the yard with his father at his side. Casey trailed, most of his attention on Zeke and a worried frown on his face. He stopped and turned, holding his hand out to Zeke, but Zeke brushed past, barely touching the hand, eyes focused on the rental car that was now parked in the driveway.

Zeke's father emerged first, unfolding his long legs from the mid-sized sedan and stretching a bit as he stood. Mrs. Tyler moved slower, looking at everyone for a moment before opening the car door and climbing out.

"Looks like you're been working hard this morning," Mr. Tyler said cheerfully, stepping back to open the rear door. There was a stack of four large pizza boxes and cartons of canned soda. A grocery bag contained an assortment of cookies and two bags of salad.

"Let us help with that," Mr. Tepper offered, opening the rear door on the opposite side of the car and handing boxes and bags out to the boys. When everything was out of the car, Billy led the parade up to the house and into the kitchen.

Casey had laid out paper plates and plastic utensils along with napkins, oregano and salt. He set his burden down and reached into the cupboard for bowls for the salad, then took the only bottle of salad dressing out of the fridge.

"We've only got Ranch dressing," he told Mrs. Tyler with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. "We don't eat much salad."

"That's fine, Casey. I prefer it without dressing."

"So do I." Zeke grinned lazily and pushed off from the doorframe where he had been leaning, unnoticed. He crossed the room to stand behind Casey, draping his arms around the smaller man's neck and pressing against his back. He lifted one hand and slid it under the hem of Casey's shirt, lifting it enough to expose a small patch of flesh.

"Zeke." Casey shifted uncomfortably and reached out to set the dressing on the table, only to feel Zeke pressing hard against his back. Zeke's breath was hot on his neck.

Blushing, Casey glanced at Zeke's mother, watching as she opened her mouth, then closed it again, jaw set. She was clearly trying to keep herself calm as she reached down to open pizza boxes. She fussed with the plates and napkins, ignoring Zeke's possessive hold on Casey and the way his hands slipped under clothing while his mouth pressed, wet and open, against Casey's neck.

"Zeke," Casey hissed, trying to push his lover away. He was furious and embarrassed at being put on display this way.

"What's wrong?" Zeke replied, giving Casey a smirk even while his eyes threw a challenge at his mother.

"Stop it!" Casey pulled away hard, slamming into a counter before turning and racing from the room. He dodged Billy and Zeke's father before reaching the steps and pounding his way up to the third floor.

"What's happening?" Billy demanded, noticing how Zeke's mother didn't seem able to meet Zeke's eyes. "Zeke?"

"Nothing." Zeke leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. He frowned at Billy's expression of disbelief. Zeke's father glanced at his wife and she gave a small shake of her head in return.

"Zeke?" Billy asked again, taking a step forward. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to look at Mr. Tyler.

"Let it go," Zeke's father urged, giving his son a look. Deliberately he picked up a plate and selected a piece of pizza, his back turned towards Zeke.

"Yeah. Let it go," Zeke echoed. "Ignore the brat. Pretend he's not here. You're good at that."

"Zeke," Mrs. Tyler protested, looking at her husband with the air of someone fighting a hopeless battle.

"We didn't come here to fight with you, Zeke," Mr. Tyler said calmly, placing salad in a bowl.

"Of course not. You just wanted to remind yourself how right you'd been to take off all those years ago. Get away from me when I was too young to follow." Zeke pushed off the counter and took a step forward but Billy blocked his path.

"You're not proving anything like this. Why don't you eat some pizza, go out for a walk. Whatever it takes to stop being such a dick."

Zeke glared down at his lover. He felt the fury building, the blind need to lash out. Shoving his clenched fists into his pockets, he stepped back and forced a smile. "Right."

Without a glance at his parents, Zeke brushed past Billy's dad, who'd been watching everything from the doorway. He slammed out the front door and stalked across the yard towards his workshop.

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to scream or run. Or look back at Casey, who he could feel watching from the upstairs window.

*****

It always turned out like this.

Zeke surveyed the wreckage and idly noted that he didn't feel even the smallest bit better. He never did after one of these little events. Casey witnessed one right after the alien fiasco and asked if Zeke was redecorating. That smartass tone made Zeke want to claim Casey right there in the middle of the ruins - instead Zeke made Casey help clear away the debris. God, he was an idiot.

Still was, he reminded himself, reaching down to straighten the overturned stool. It listed a bit to one side, but it was still usable. The small table wasn't as lucky - it lay at an awkward angle, one of its legs in pieces.

Shards from an old jar glittered along the far wall, reflecting the afternoon sun onto the walls in bright patches. Casey would like that, Zeke decided while he reached for the broom.

The patches were gone along with the glass when footsteps sounded on the wooden steps. Slow, deliberate tread meant Casey. Billy would have moved faster and louder.

"Don't bother," Zeke said by way of greeting. "I'm not about to go back there and play nice."

"Of course not." Casey's tone was weary. "Why should you make any effort? Or even pretend to be civil to your parents when they're trying so hard. So what? Fuck'em." Casey prowled the edges of the large room - the space Zeke had chosen for his workshop. There wasn't much in it - just some odds and ends that had been left there or had been claimed from other buildings.

"Exactly," Zeke agreed vehemently. "You know what they're like, Case. There's no way I'm playing their game by pretending to buy their bullshit."

"No." Casey shook his head, then turned and looked out the window. "Because punishing them is more important than making any effort to reconcile."

"Reconcile!" Zeke slammed his fist down onto a nearby shelf, rattling the old cans of nails and bolts. "How can you." He strode over to Casey and grabbed his shoulders, forcibly turning the smaller man. "How can you even suggest that, Case? I thought you of all people would understand."

"Well, I don't. You don't have the exclusive on parental abandonment, Zeke. And yours are here now. They're trying. And you're doing everything you can to ruin what might be your only chance to make things better with them." Casey looked away, eyes bright. "You can't do that Zeke. You can't."

"I don't understand," Zeke growled, hands clenched into fists, aching to lash out, but afraid of what he'd break if he did.

"That's why you have to talk to them. So they can make you understand. And if they can't, or if they won't, then you'll have at least tried. You won't have to wonder for the rest of your life if there was something that you could have done."

"Why should I have to do anything?" Zeke demanded. He didn't understand this. How could Casey stand there so calmly and ask this of him?

"Because sometimes people fuck up. Even parents. Sometimes they're afraid, or confused or just plain stupid. And sometimes they get over it." Casey reached out and laid his hands over Zeke's fists. "I know what I'm asking. I know it's hard. You can tell me to leave you alone and I will. Or you can come back to the house and ask every one of those questions you've wanted to ask of your parents." Casey dropped his hands and took a step back. "It's your choice."

Zeke stared hard at Casey, searching his face, his eyes, for anything that might help him make sense of it all. He didn't find it. Instead he found Casey's familiar almost-smile and a sense of calm assurance that soothed him. Zeke leaned closer, hesitating before pressing his mouth to Casey's. He wrapped his long arms around that thin frame and pulled Casey hard against him. A long moment of silence and Zeke eased out of the contact, straightening his back and lifting his head. He offered Casey a single nod before leading the way down the steps, across the yard and into the house.

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