Incendiary

Chapter 9 - Ashes

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BRIAN

I watch him walk out and I know I should say something, but my head is still reeling with his words. Does he honestly believe that I wouldn't care if he was gone? That it wouldn't make a difference in my life?

Of course he does.

Because I've gone out of my way to make sure of it.

Fuck!

I kick a pile of debris out of my way in frustration. What the Hell am I doing? I tricked every night when he was gone because I … I missed him. As hard as I try to deny it, even to myself. I did. More than I thought I would. More than I ever wanted to.

Then, he comes back and I'm still tricking every night. Just to show, of course, that I really didn't miss him. I can't let anyone know how glad I am that he's home. That would mean admitting that I was fucking unhappy as Hell when he was gone. That's not me. That's not Brian Fucking Kinney.

Or maybe it is.

Deep down, in the places I don't like to acknowledge let alone talk about, I know it's true. I did miss him. I am glad he's home. But that doesn't mean I want anyone to know. That I want him to know.

But if anyone deserves that knowledge, it's Justin. He was the only one who never bought into the whole Kinney bullshit package. From that first night, he saw things in me that I didn't even know were there. Maybe they weren't. Maybe he just believed long enough and hard enough that he was somehow able to make them real.

And now that they are, I don't have the first fucking clue how to deal with them.

Suddenly, the burned out wreckage of what was once my home seems to be mocking the fucking disaster I'm making of my life and I have to get out. I briefly contemplate going to Debbie's but I'm not sure if he'll even be there. Neither am I sure that I'm ready to answer his question.

What's different when he's not here?

I know the answer. It's me. I'm different.

I just can't tell him that.

I don't know how.

But I know I need to try. It might not be enough. He might still walk away, but I'll be damned if he'll leave thinking I don't give a shit.

It's nearly two hours later when I finally show up at Deb's after a brief stop at Kinnetik and a run downtown to secure a hotel room for the immediate future. The sofa in my office is fine for the occasional night, but not as a temporary home. It could have waited, of course, but I needed the time to sort out what I want to tell him. Determine how much I can tell him.

I let myself in the front door as I always do and glance up the stairway before heading to the kitchen. I find Emmett there and he turns to level an icy look in my direction.

"Where's Justin?"

"Upstairs. Why?"

"None of your business." I turn toward the stairs only to see Justin standing at the bottom.

"You're not going to yell at him again, are you?" Emmett asks, hands on hips.

I turn to him with a smirk. "Probably. Do you have a problem with that?"

When I look back at Justin, I see the faintest trace of a smile before he carefully tucks it away. "It's OK, Em," he says.

Emmett looks from me to Justin and back again. "Well, then," he says uncertainly. "I guess now that someone's here to watch over our patient, I could go run some errands."

Justin's rolling his eyes. "I don't need babysitting, Em. Go and do whatever you need to do. I'll be fine."

He nods and kisses Justin's cheek before turning to me. "And you. Nothing too rough. His hands are going to take a while to heal."

"If I'm going to get rough, I'll make sure his hands are safely shackled out of harm's way like always, I promise."

Em's eyes twinkle mischievously. "Do tell."

"Some other time," I say with a smirk. "Out."

Once he's gone, Justin moves into the living room, but remains standing. "What is it, Brian?"

"You had your say. Now, it's my turn."

I don't like the flicker of apprehension I see in his eyes, nor the way he crosses his arms over his chest. To some, it might look like a sign of defiance, but I know better. It's a shield, an attempt to ward off the hurtful words he's expecting, to protect himself from whatever might threaten his already bruised heart. To protect himself from me.

Jesus

"You were right."

His brow furrows slightly in that way it does when he's not sure what he's heard or when a certain brush stroke isn't exactly right. "About what?"

His voice is heavy with trepidation but he asks anyway. He always was the braver of the two of us.

"I've been doing exactly the same things since you've been home that I did when you were gone."

At first, there's no response, then he nods once and looks away, his arms tightening over his chest.

"But the reasons are different."

He looks back at me warily. "How so?"

I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. "Before, I … I didn't think you were coming back."

He's nodding slowly. "So you said."

"And I didn't like the way that made me feel. I was glad that things were going well for you, but … "

"But you missed me?" he offers, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

My first instinct is to deny it, to brush it off with a callous, though cleverly worded, barb. But that's what brought us to this and, as foreign a concept as it may be, I find myself unwilling to revisit those mistakes. "Yeah," I say, my voice barely audible. "Maybe."

He has to try a little harder not to smile at that, but he manages to pull it off. For the most part. "Yeah, well, maybe I missed you, too."

I can't keep a small smirk from escaping.

"But that doesn't explain why you're still acting like I'm not here."

He's right. It doesn't. But it does.

"Because I'm not sure you really are."

"Huh?"

I blow out a breath and look away. This is harder than I thought, harder than it has any right to be.

But he needs to hear this. Maybe we both do.

I force myself to meet his gaze once again. "That first night, when you got back, it was…"

He smiles softly and I know he's remembering, too. "Great?"

"Yeah." I match his smile and repeat the words he playfully forced out of me that night. "It was great."

And it was. At that moment, everything was great. Justin was back, the empty drawer would be filled, and I was happier and more carefree than I'd felt in a long, long time.

But then he'd admitted to me how much he'd enjoyed his time in California.

"Afterward, you told me how much fun it really was out there. How you'd miss the excitement and the glamour. You sounded so wistful and that's when I realized…"

I shake my head slightly and look away again. I was wrong. I can't do this. Feelings are for lesbians and dickless fags, just like I always thought.

"Realized what, Brian?"

I shake my head again. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. It might matter more than anything right now. Tell me."

I hate this feeling of vulnerability and I hate him for forcing it upon me. But he called me on my feelings and now it's my turn to make him face the truth about his own. "That this," I say, waving my hand to encompass not only the two of us but our supposed life together, "was nothing but a fucking consolation prize."

"What? Brian, no…" He looks alarmed.

"You loved it out there; you admitted as much to me, so you can't deny it now. And if things had gone differently with Rage, you might still be there. You didn't choose to come back, you came back because you had no choice."

I see something register in his expression but I'm not sure what it means.

"And your fucking pride won't allow for you to admit to missing me when you don't believe I missed you enough to come back for."

Even if he's right, and I'm not saying he is, I'd cut off my other fucking ball before I admit it.

"But your logic is flawed because I did have a choice," he insists, reaching out to touch me, his bandaged hand clumsy on my arm. His expression is serious, intense. "I did, Brian. The movie got cancelled but it's not like they kicked me out of the fucking state. I could have found an apartment, another job. I can be an artist as easily there as I can here. Hell, there isn't anything I can do here that I couldn't do there except…"

I can only look at him, knowing how much I need him to finish that statement. Knowing I can't ask him to.

"Except be with you. Hollywood was fun and exciting and I thought it was my opportunity of a lifetime, but I was wrong. You are, Brian. You always have been."

As pleased as I want to be to hear the words, a scornful scoff escapes me. "You obviously need to set your sights higher, Sunshine."

I hear the mocking tone in my voice and know he does, too. But there's only so much truth and emotion I can handle and I passed my acceptable limit about five miles back.

"Don't," he says firmly. "Don't try to brush this off like my feelings don't mean shit. I know what I want, what's important to me. And like it or not, you're it."

I want to believe it. I do. I don't want to want it, but I do.

I guess he can see my internal struggle because he shakes his head slightly. "Listen to me, Brian. Are you listening? I want to be with you. It's what I've wanted since the first night I met you and it's what I still want. What I'll always want."

"And the next time something better comes along? Another opportunity? A chance at another life?"

"I don't want another life. I wouldn't be here if I did. And nothing that might come along could ever possibly be better. I'm through with listening to people telling me that I have to choose between love and a career. Life's too fucking short to put one on hold for the other. If nothing else, what happened last night drove that point home. The bottom line is, whatever plans I make, personal or professional, I want you to be a part of them. Always."

The last word echoes in my head and I can practically feel it kindling a small flicker of hope.

He touches my arm again. "And I want to be a part of yours."

I stare into those damnable blue eyes and I know, without a doubt, that he means every word. Of course he could have stayed in California and made a go of it, even without Rage. I swear, he can do anything he sets that fucking tenacious mind of his to. And he's set it on being with me. Christ, he set it years ago and I'm the one just now catching on to how futile it is to resist.

The fucking Borg have nothing on Justin Taylor.

Maybe it's time I stopped trying to fight it. Stopped pretending that he doesn't mean as much to me as he does. I release a breath that I feel I've been holding for months and kiss him gently. "I want that, too."

Shit. He looks like he actually may cry. To his credit, he manages to keep the tears in check and covers impressively with a teasing smile. "Careful, Brian. That sounded dangerously close to a declaration."

I pull him into a tight embrace and just hold him for a moment, both of us savouring a closeness that transcends the physical. He's right, life is too fucking short. I turn my head slightly and allow my breath to dance across his ear. "If it's a declaration you're looking for... I love you."

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