Chapter 8

BRIAN:

Sitting in my office, buried under a pile of work, I'm having a for-shit day. I've been down to the art department twice already; so much for thinking I'd have a better caliber of artists to work with in New York. And speaking of artists, Justin pops into my thoughts again. I can't help but wonder what happened to the kid. I've been in New York now for nine months. Nine months in which I haven't seen or spoken to any of my so-called Pittsburgh family.

I was so blindingly angry when I left. With Christmas around the corner, I've given it some thought if I should go back for the holidays. Not that I really believe in the holidays, but I miss Gus something awful. Ever since I moved to New York, I've religiously deposited $2,500 a month in an account I set up for Gus' care. I spoke with Melanie once after arriving in New York, telling her of the account for Gus, and that it was set up for her to oversee. She told me there was no need for an account, stating they were more than capable of taking care of Gus financially, but with the argument that it was just in case any problems arose, I finally convinced her to accept it. I then apologized for taking off and explained how I had to do this for myself. Surprisingly - or maybe not - she gave me no grief, telling me she understood.

I scowl when a beeping from my intercom brings me out of my musings. When my secretary informs me I have a phone call, I tell her to take a message, but she surprises me when she comes back on the line, saying it's the Pittsburgh PD and is very important.

Fearing the worst, I pick up the phone, only to be shocked by what I'm told. Before hanging up, I make plans to visit soon, and meet with the detective. The fear I momentarily felt, turns into a blinding rage as soon as I set down the receiver.

Considering my options, I again pick up my phone and dial one of the few Pittsburgh numbers I still remember.

It's time to bring my wayward blond home.

~ ¤ ~

As my plane is descending into Los Angeles, I realize just how very nervous I am. It took some finagling and lots of explaining to Jennifer before she'd disclose Justin's whereabouts. She didn't want to tell me where he was, but she finally gave me his address. I can't believe he's in California... has been here since he left Pittsburgh. Other than telling me he came out here to stay with Jen's sister and finish high school, I have no idea what else has been going on in his life. Jen wasn't very forthcoming, although that might have had something to do with that rat bastard Craig being within hearing distance as he was the one who answered the phone when I called.

Sitting in the back of the cab, I have to wonder what kind of reception I will receive. Even if he won't talk to me, I at least need to apologize for my harsh treatment of him, and that of my so-called friends. I blamed an innocent kid for something that was not in any way his fault, and even worse, I didn't believe him or give him a chance to explain.

My nerves ramp up as we pull into the driveway of a very fancy-looking house; it helps, though, to know that he's safe and living in a good home. I remember when Daphne told me Justin had left Pittsburgh, I was worried about where he might be living and what he might have been doing to survive. Hoping he had maybe only gone as far as New York, I hired a private investigator once I was settled. After a month, when he turned nothing up regarding Justin, I could only hope the kid was back home.

Grabbing my carry-on, I make my way up to the front door.

~ ¤ ~

JUSTIN:

I have just set McKenna in her highchair when the doorbell rings. Hating to leave her alone, but figuring she'll be okay for a few minutes, I race to the front door. Yanking it open, I receive the shock of my life. Leaning casually against the door frame, smirk firmly in place, is Brian Kinney.

"Hey, Sunshine. You have male."

~ ¤ ~

BRIAN:

It's Sunday, and knowing the family will all be at Deb's, I open the door and casually stroll into the house. There's momentarily a stunned silence as they all gape at me, before the loud boisterous group all start talking at once, with shouts of "Brian!" and Brian?" The way they say my name ranges from outraged exclamations to questions.

Michael is the first to react, jumping up from his chair and knocking it over in his haste to get to me. Lit up like a five-year-old at Christmas, he exclaims, "Christ, Brian, I've missed you! Why haven't you called? You left without saying goodbye or telling me where you were! God, it's so good to have you home. Come here!"

Before he can hug me, I grab his wrists, holding him in place, glaring at him, growling, "I did tell you I was leaving town, as I had accepted another job, so let's not start this visit out with lies."

"Hey, asshole, that's no way to talk to your best friend!" predictably comes from Deb.

Mentally rolling my eyes, I ignore Deb, snarking, "Don't you have room for one more? After all, I came all this way just to celebrate the holidays with the family, and we all have so very much to talk about."

"Brian," Lindsay stands up, demurely protesting my behavior. "Come over and sit by me... and Gus. He's missed you so much. He's talking now. I've taught him how to say ‘Dada', haven't I, Lambskin?"

I glance at Melanie, who is staring at her partner, mouth agape.

I can't resist an opening like that. "What the hell, Lindsay? Seriously Mel, you allow your 'wife' to call my son a condom? I had higher hopes of you than that."

Indignation flushes Lindsay's cheeks as she stammers, "Excuse me? I didn't call him any such thing!"

"Sure you did. Or weren't you aware that high-quality condoms were once made from lamb's skin? Tsk, tsk," I chide her. "I thought you were better educated than that, Lindsay; regardless, I'd appreciate it if you'd cut out the cutesy names and call him Gus–or Augustus." I glance momentarily at Mel, taking in her small smirk.

"What crawled up your ass, Kinney? We haven't seen you for close to a year, and then you come barging into my home and treat your best friends like this! I won't tolerate it!" an outraged Deb puts in, her right hand twitching. She's itching to slap me upside the head, but I'm too far away from her.

"Sis, calm down." Vic greets me with a beaming smile. "Brian, it's good to see you. Boys, let's move over so Brian has a place to sit."

"Thanks, Vic. It's good to see you, too."

After everyone moves closer together, I grab an extra chair and settle at the table between Vic and Emmett.

"So, why the sudden trip to the Pitts, Brian? Given the lack of chatter," Vic jokes, "I think everyone here is still half in shock."

I shrug nonchalantly. "A lot has happened, so I figured it was time to come home to see everyone and get some much-needed answers. I've actually been in town a couple of days now."

"Really?" Michael pipes up, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why is this the first time I'm seeing you then? And why are you acting like this? Why haven't you called me? I've been worried about you!"

“I’m a big boy, Mikey, and I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, besides, busy, busy.” I brush off the inane questions, thinking that my one-time best friend certainly hasn’t gotten any brighter. “As I said, I can take care of myself. There’s no need for you to concern yourself about me. Besides, have you forgotten our last conversation? The one where I specifically told you I was leaving? Granted, I didn’t say where, but I did tell you I had a new job.”

Michael has the good grace to flush, as an indignant Deb questions, "Michael, sweetie, you told us you hadn't talked to Brian and had no idea where he was. What's going on?" She then, as usual, turns it around so that it's my fault. "Brian, I don't appreciate you lying. Michael wouldn't lie to me, so you must be."

"Mikey, Mikey, Mikey," I drawl, "are you lying to your mom again? How many times did you do that in high school, placing the blame on me, when it was you doing something that I had to clean up? How many times did you tell Deb that I started fights in school, or that my dad had hit me, when I was actually protecting you after you ran your mouth? I stepped in countless times to keep you from getting the shit beat out of you and ended up with the bruises to prove it."

"I don't appreciate what you are implying here, Brian. Michael wouldn't have done something like that. Michael wouldn't lie to me, ever. Tell him, honey," Deb begs, with an imploring look at Michael.

Michael averts his gaze and looks at his plate, mumbling, "Thanks a lot, Brian."

"Well, since we've started the confessions, I say we go for a few more. But first, I have some exciting news to share," I inform them, doing my best to hide my glee, at least for the moment. "I got a call from a detective here in Pittsburgh. They caught the people who robbed my loft."

Everyone starts to talk at once, but I don't miss the quick look exchanged between Lindsay and Michael, which prompts me to say, "I saw that, you two. Do you have anything to add?"

Everyone quits talking and turns to me, wondering who I'm talking to. Deb recovers first, demanding, "Now what are you going on about? And why are you looking at Michael and Lindsay like they should know something? I don't know what has happened to you, Brian, but I don't like the way you're acting - in my home, no less. Maybe you should just leave. Go back to your fancy job and the new life you've made for yourself."

I lift an eyebrow at her. "Sounds like a good plan, but we need to get some truths out first."

With that, the front door opens, and Justin comes in, stamping the snow from his feet, beaming at everyone, and saying, "Happy Holidays!"

Debbie exclaims, "Sunshine? Sunshine! Oh, my God! Come here!" while trying unsuccessfully to get out of her chair.

"Hey, Debbie, it's nice to see you again," Justin politely responds like the good little WASP he is.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Michael blurts out. "Hey, you little shit," he spits at Justin, "you're not wanted here. Shouldn't you be in jail? It's because of you that Brian's loft got robbed. Get out of here! Maybe I should call the police and tell them you're here." He starts to rise, but Emmett clamps a hand on his arm, restraining him.

"Yes, Michael," I suggest in a dry tone, "maybe we should call the police. I'm sure they would love to talk with you... and Lindsay."

"All right, Kinney. That's enough! Get out!" Deb screams. "Get out of my home. Take your accusations and leave."

With that said, there's a knock on the front door, and Justin announces, "That must be our guests," and goes to open the door. When he steps back, Detectives Horvath and Stewart walk in, along with two people who are key to the case.

TBC