“Mr. Taylor's large-scale canvas combines the high-energy impulsiveness -- my, that's a mouthful -- of Pollack plus the analytical painterliness -- he likes big words -- of Johns. But what makes his talent unique is a quality that hasn't been seen in a long time -- sex appeal. New York is waiting to be conquered."

*****

December 2016

“Can you believe it’s been nine years already?” Justin asked as he ran his finger along the edge of the frame that held a photo of Brian and Justin with their entire “chosen” family. It had been taken at their wedding reception in Pittsburgh, nine years before.

“Do you really want me to answer that, Sunshine?” Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek and gave Justin a wry grin.

Justin shoved Brian’s shoulder playfully, and turned his attention back to the photo. The most striking part of it was how happy everyone was. How genuine their smiles were. Everyone was there -- even Mel and Linds had extended their holiday trip to the Pitts so they could celebrate with them. Gus was sitting in Brian’s lap, wearing the biggest, cheesiest grin Justin had ever seen. It really had been a great day. The framed photo had been sitting on an end table in their living room ever since -- a visual reminder of the love and support they’d been surrounded with as they embarked on their lives together as married men.

They’d partied, had champagne, shoved cake in each other’s faces, and even danced together. As they’d shared their first dance as husbands, Justin couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret that he still couldn’t remember the first time he and Brian had slow danced together. The moment Brian referred to as “ridiculously romantic,” but otherwise wouldn’t talk much about. Justin would sometimes have brief flashes of the dance come back to him, but the majority of the memory seemed to be lost forever. It was the one thing Justin really wished he could remember, because he knew Brian had kissed him, right there in the middle of the dance floor, and Daphne had told him how clear it was to her in that moment that Brian really loved Justin.

If someone could go back in time to tell 18-year-old Justin Taylor that he would one day be married to Brian Kinney, he probably wouldn’t have believed them. He would have been happy about it, sure, but he wouldn’t have believed them.

But here they were, nine years later. Happily married. Monogamous, even.

Sure, they weren’t the same people they had been so many years before, but who was, really? Time changes people. Age, experience, trauma...all of those things shape who people are and who they become. Justin was grateful for the way that time -- and yes, even trauma -- had shaped each of their lives and brought them even closer than they had been before.

Brian had survived his 30s, and had even managed to make it to midway through his 40s without queening out too badly over the gray that was starting to speckle the hair at his temples, and that would pop up in the stubble on his chin if he didn’t shave for a few days. And any time he tried to, Justin would be right there to remind him that they only added to his handsomeness, giving him distinction and showing that he was wise from experience -- even if he could tell that Brian didn’t quite buy all of that. As far as Justin was concerned, Brian Kinney was still every bit as sexy as he had been the night they’d met under the streetlamp on Liberty Avenue.

Brian was still rather preoccupied with his appearance -- that was one thing that his disability and the process of accepting it hadn’t changed about him. He still took up the majority of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom with his vast collection of creams and potions, and he still kept his designer wardrobe up-to-date. Brian’s side of the walk-in closet in their apartment had long ago encroached onto Justin’s side, but the younger man didn’t really care. He had always been more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, and that didn’t take up much space. He could count the number of suits he owned on one hand, although Brian was always trying to buy him more. Justin would insist that he didn’t need them, though -- the only time he really wore a suit was when he attended a show opening at a gallery. He certainly didn’t need a dozen or more to choose from. Brian would sigh and roll his eyes, but in the end, Justin would win.

There were a lot of things about Brian that had changed in the last ten years, though. Justin remembered what a struggle the last half of Brian’s first year as a paraplegic had been, and he couldn’t really imagine what the first half -- the part he hadn’t been there for -- must have been like. Brian had told him a little bit about it, but not much, and Justin didn’t blame him for not wanting to revisit what must have been a very dark time for him. Brian had been moving through the stages of grief, as a result of the trauma and loss he had experienced. It took him a long time to get to the “acceptance” stage, and even once he arrived there, certain situations would trigger him to backslide a little -- when frustration, anger, or embarrassment would take over. Justin knew exactly how that was -- he’d been there, after Chris Hobbs had taken out his homophobic fears with a baseball bat to Justin’s head.

But now, things were a lot different than they had been a decade ago. That didn’t mean difficult situations still didn’t pop up, but it took a lot to throw Brian for a loop now. He was confident in himself, more at ease with what made him different from other people as well as his past self, and most of the time, it seemed like he just did not give a flying fuck what other people thought about something he did or said or needed. And if that wasn’t the old Brian Kinney, then Justin Taylor didn’t know what was.

At the beginning of his journey, Brian’s frustrations had been internalized -- he would get upset with himself because something didn’t work the way it did before. But now, when Brian got frustrated, it was usually because of something he perceived as an injustice -- some way that people with disabilities were treated differently or slighted or judged. Like when a business wasn’t accessible and didn’t seem to care that they weren’t. Or when cab drivers would pass him by because they assumed he couldn’t get in the car. Now, he would channel that frustration into trying to find a way to make things better for himself and everyone else who shared his situation and his frustrations. He’d found his passion and purpose in helping advocate for the rights of people with disabilities -- and particularly those with spinal cord injuries -- to live independently in their communities, and to have access to the resources to make that possible.

Brian had told Justin that the reason he was so passionate about those things was because he knew he was lucky. He was a low-level paraplegic who was healthy and strong. He didn’t require a lot of adaptations, and he could manage to get his wheelchair into places that many others would not be able to. He had good health insurance, and enough money to be able to get the things he needed without having to struggle or do without. When he wanted or needed something, he could get it, no problem. He didn’t have to try to make do with a wheelchair that really needed replacing, simply because he couldn’t afford a new one. He had the means to live comfortably, when so many others did not. Not everyone in his situation had the things he had, and part of what Brian said he wanted to do with his life now was make sure as many people as possible were able to get the things they needed and live the best lives they could.

He refused to be pushed aside or made to feel invisible because he couldn’t stand or walk on his own. And that was a huge shift from the person Brian had been ten years ago -- when he’d actually told Justin that he wanted to be invisible. At the time, hearing that had made Justin’s heart hurt, to know that Brian, who used to revel in being the center of attention, felt too ashamed or embarrassed to be seen. Now, Brian was as “out and proud” as a disabled man as he was as a gay man.

That summer, they’d gone to Washington, D.C. with a large group of other people from all over the country who lived with spinal cord injuries, and spent a few days meeting with legislators and others in positions of power, discussing issues such as public accessibility and access to proper medical care. They were both already looking forward to next year’s event. Justin absolutely loved watching Brian turn on the Kinney charm and use it to open people’s eyes to issues they might not have ever considered before. He loved watching Brian challenge people’s pre-judgments about him and his abilities. Even though Brian had changed from the person he was before his accident, there was still so much of the old Brian there, and Justin loved that too. The person Justin had fallen in love with was still there, made even better now by the things that made him different.

Brian’s competitive streak -- and his drive to be the best at everything -- was definitely something that had not changed about him at all. Lately, he and Justin had been embroiled in a kitchen competition of sorts, where they’d go to the grocery store together and purchase a bunch of strange-yet-interesting ingredients, then challenge each other to see who could come up with the best dish. That was certainly a far cry from the Brian Kinney of yesteryear who had eaten takeout almost every night. Justin was fairly sure that he was the only person who had ever actually cooked a full meal in the kitchen of Brian’s loft back in Pittsburgh. But it was fun for them both to see what they could come up with, as they spent an hour together in the kitchen, playfully fighting over skillets and pots and space on the stove and the countertop.

It was in moments like the ones that they would share in the kitchen, cooking together, that Justin could truly see how Brian’s wheelchair -- the thing that had once been the bane of his existence -- had become something that was merely an extension of his body. It allowed him to move, and that was it. It didn’t have anything else to say about Brian, and it really didn’t even stand out anymore, the way it once had. Brian didn’t even really seem to notice it anymore. The way he moved now was totally natural. Like it had always been that way. He still had the option of using his braces and crutches to move around upright, but he only did that around the apartment, and really only with the focus of stretching his muscles and bones to their full height for a while. His primary way of moving was his chair, and that was fine. It was no longer something to fight with or be reviled. Together, Brian’s body and his chair worked in concert to move him through the world. And it had been a pretty amazing transformation for Justin to bear witness to over the years.

That night, they’d cooked their meal together, with all of the usual ribbing and good-natured teasing, and had settled in together on the sofa, watching a movie and sharing a bottle of wine. It was exactly the sort of domestic bliss that Justin had dreamed of sharing with Brian many years ago -- when he’d ended up leaving Brian for Ethan. And now, it was theirs. As was nearly nine years of marriage. And honestly, Justin was pretty sure that if someone went back in time to tell 30-year-old Brian Kinney that this was what he’d be doing in a decade and a half, he probably would have told them they were out of their goddamned mind.

But time changes people. Circumstances change, too.

The movie had just ended, and Brian and Justin were making out and groping one another on the couch as the credits rolled, when Justin’s cell phone rang. It was Lindsay.

“Why the heck is she calling you?” Brian said, sighing at the interruption. “I thought she got that whole issue with Gus and his teacher sorted out.”

“I’m going to guess she probably isn’t calling me about that. If it was that, I’m sure she’d be calling you.” Justin rolled his eyes as he slid his finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”

It turned out that the gallery Lindsay used to work at when she lived in Pittsburgh was interested in putting together a show of Justin’s paintings. It would be the first time his work would be displayed in the Sidney Bloom gallery since he the show he’d participated in when he was 22, just before he left for New York. The timing was perfect, since it would be over Christmas, when he and Brian would already be in town for the holiday. Lindsay anticipated that someone from the gallery would be calling in the next few days, and she’d wanted to give Justin a heads up. He’d only have a couple of weeks to prepare, but he had quite a bit of finished work in his studio already, now that he was able to devote all of his time to painting.

He’d left his position with Kinnetik a few years before so he could truly focus on his art. Brian had been disappointed that he was losing his best graphic designer, but he was also thrilled for Justin that he had arrived at a point in his career where he was selling enough of his work that he felt he could afford to paint full time. Of course, Brian had never been worried about the money in the first place -- it had always been Justin who was concerned about making sure that he was contributing to their household in some way. Even though most of the time, Brian wouldn’t let him. He’d ended up reinvesting most of what he made at Kinnetik into renting his studio space and purchasing art supplies, and the rest, along with what he made from his art, went into a savings account that he still didn’t know what he was going to do with.

At this stage in the game, he figured it would probably end up becoming his retirement nest egg in a few decades. If he could even get Brian to let him pay for anything when that time came. Justin still wasn’t sure he liked feeling like a “kept man,” but there was no convincing Brian to do anything else. Back when they still got paper bills in the mail, occasionally Justin could steal one or two and pay them before Brian got his hands on them, but now that most everything was online, Justin never even saw it because it all went straight to Brian.

When Justin hung up the phone with Lindsay, Brian was looking at him expectantly, his eyebrows raised, holding his glass of wine.

“Well? It sounded like good news,” Brian said.

“Yeah, she said someone from the Bloom Gallery should be calling me in the next few days to set up a show. I guess they’re wanting to feature some Pittsburgh natives, and Linds recommended me.”

“Of course she did. Who else would she recommend? You’re probably the best artist to come out of Pittsburgh.”

“I think you’re forgetting about Warhol, at the very least. You’re also a little bit biased.”

“It’s true. I am. But what kind of husband would I be if I wasn’t?” Brian set his glass down on the end table and leaned in to give Justin a kiss. “I think maybe this calls for a celebration.”

“I certainly wouldn’t turn that down,” Justin said as he started unbuttoning Brian’s shirt and kissing his way down his chest.

The two of them were like a well-oiled machine now when it came to their sex life. They each knew what the other liked, and both Justin and Brian were very well-acquainted and comfortable with how Brian’s body had changed ten years before. Brian was much more okay with Justin “crossing the line” on occasion, and doing more where Brian had no sensation, and he seemed to enjoy watching almost as much as he’d once enjoyed the feeling.

Brian put his hand under Justin’s chin and pulled it up so that Justin was kissing his lips instead, then pulled away, laid his index finger over Justin’s lips and said, “Hold that thought and let’s move this celebration to the bedroom.” Less than a second later, he was in his chair and Justin was following him down the short hallway to their bedroom, where Brian quickly moved his body to the bed, in what he’d once declared was a decidedly un-sexy maneuver, but it was what it was -- a means to an end -- and Justin didn’t care how they got there, as long as they did.

Their lips and hands were all over each other as they undressed one another, discarding their clothing to the floor as quickly as possible. As Justin pulled off Brian’s pants, he ran a hand seductively down the older man’s thigh and leg, then once his pants were off, he ran it back up Brian’s leg and across his hips to the line where he could start to feel Justin’s touch. The second Justin’s hand hit that spot, Brian threw his head back and moaned -- it looked like this was going to be one of the nights when that felt really good for Brian. It didn’t always, so Justin had learned to test the waters before he did too much.

Justin moved himself to where he was almost lying over top of Brian, into a position where they could both kiss, lick, and suck on each other’s skin. Justin could feel himself getting hard quickly, his erection pressing into the side of Brian’s hip, in an area where it was questionable if Brian could feel it or not, but judging from the older man’s reaction, Justin was guessing he was on the good side of the line. So he took advantage of that, rubbing himself up and down over Brian’s skin as they kissed. He let his hands trace lightly over Brian’s chest, rubbing his nipples, at first with his palms and then working them with his fingers and his tongue.

Slowly, he let his mouth trail down Brian’s body, over his chest and his stomach, then over his hips and down his thigh, and back up to where he could use his mouth to work Brian’s penis until it was erect as well. Once it was, he moved his body back up to where Brian could reach him with his hands to slowly work him open, preparing him. He hadn’t even noticed Brian grabbing the lube off the nightstand -- not until its coldness made him gasp as Brian’s fingers made their entry.

Before long, their bodies were connected -- Brian inside Justin as the younger man moved his body up and down while his lover watched and drew at least part of his pleasure from the show. Justin had learned how to use his hands as well as his legs on either side of Brian’s hips to bring the rhythmic motion of their bodies against one another into something Brian could feel.

Once he did that, it didn’t take either of them long to reach their climax, leaving both of them breathless, sweaty, and sticky, with Justin’s body still partially draped over Brian’s.

“Shit,” Brian said in between breaths. “That was fucking amazing.”

“You always are,” Justin said as he slid off of Brian and rolled over onto his back, leaving their bodies still touching.

Brian pushed his hand down on the edge of the mattress behind him to push himself up onto his left side, then pulled his right leg over the left, leaving them staggered a bit with his right knee bent slightly, which Justin knew was so he’d be more stable in that position and wouldn’t have to hold himself up. Just one of the many subtle movements Brian would use to keep physics on his side when it came to making his body do what he wanted it to do with minimal effort. Even after nine years of marriage and almost ten of living together in New York, Justin still felt like he was constantly noticing more and more of those little tricks.

“So, congratulations,” Brian said, leaning in to kiss Justin. “I’m sure it’ll be a smashing success.”

“I wonder if anyone there aside from our family even still remembers me?” Justin sighed as he put his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

“Oh, you’re pretty hard to forget, Mr. Taylor.”

“I’m sure I am, since my name was in the news and all, after I got my head bashed in.”

“That’s not why, and you know it.”

“Or maybe it was the scandal we created when we both got fired from VanGard after working against the Stockwell campaign.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it -- the Stockwell posters are definitely what people will remember you for.” Brian paused and and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, that feels like it was such a long time ago.”

“It was,” Justin said softly as he rolled over to face Brian.

“Everything feels like it was such a long time ago now,” Brian sighed. “I mean, Gus is sixteen. When did that happen?”

“A couple of months ago. You were there, remember? We went to Toronto. And besides, you were 29 when--”

“Don’t remind me how old I am, Sunshine,” Brian cut Justin off, shaking his head. “Believe me, I know. I remember every morning when I get out of bed with a new ache or pain.” He reached up and rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand, wincing a little.

“Poor baby,” Justin said sarcastically.

“Shut up, you’re still young. What are you, 33? When I was 33, I was still going out clubbing every night. You should be out clubbing.”

“What makes you think I’d want to go out clubbing when I have you at home? Brian, I’m not you, and I never have been,” Justin laughed. This whole conversation had taken such a ridiculous turn that he had to wonder where Brian was going with it.

“Maybe you should see what your other options are.”

“I’m not interested in other options. I have everything I could possibly want, right here.” Justin reached out and took Brian’s hand in his, then brought it to his lips and kissed it.

And Justin did have everything he’d ever wanted in life, even at the age of 33. He had Brian, and he had a career doing what he loved. Years ago, he’d been forced to choose between his career and Brian -- and Brian had pushed him into choosing his career. But in the end, he hadn’t needed to choose between the two of them at all -- he could have the best of both worlds. And he had that now. Justin felt like the luckiest man alive.

Two days later, as predicted, Justin got a call from the Sidney Bloom Gallery. And a day after that, he and Brian were in his studio, going through canvases and trying to choose what to take to Pittsburgh.

Justin’s studio was a bit more modern than most he’d seen, because he’d insisted on finding space in a building with an elevator, since he’d blatantly refused to have a workspace that his husband couldn’t get to. There were large, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows along two sides, providing plenty of natural light, and he even had his own, private bathroom. All he needed was a bed or a couch, and he’d be able to spend the night -- not that he’d ever want to. He would much rather spend his nights with Brian.

Brian was on the opposite side of the room from Justin, creating his own impromptu display by leaning some of his favorite pieces against an empty wall. Justin took a piece he’d just finished a few days before and added it to Brian’s selections.

“You know, you’re not bad at this,” Justin said. “You’ve got a good eye.”

“I’m married to an artist, and I work with a shit ton of them.” Brian shrugged. “I know what I like.”

Eventually, they’d chosen ten paintings, after shuffling several in and out because it was so damn hard to decide.

“So, what do we need to do to get these to Pittsburgh?” Brian asked, idly rolling himself back and forth just a few inches in the fidgety way he often did. “I mean, we could pack them up and then check them on our flight, but I don’t think I trust those fuckers to not lose them or damage them. You should see what they did to my suitcase the last time I flew to Chicago for a business meeting. I’m surprised that they haven’t fucked up my chair yet, knock on wood.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I trust them either. I’d rather not have them leave my sight, to be honest. I’ve shipped paintings before, but never this many. And then there’s still the possibility they could get lost. I was kind of thinking about this earlier, actually...and you’re probably going to hate this idea…”

“What?”

“I was thinking maybe we could drive to Pittsburgh. You know, take a road trip? It could be fun.”

Brian looked up at Justin and raised an eyebrow.

“See? I know you’d hate it,” Justin said.

“Did I say I hated it?”

“No, but--”

“Okay, then. Let’s do it,” Brian said as he moved closer to Justin and wrapped an arm around Justin’s waist. “If you want to do it, we’ll do it. What else do I still have a car for, right?”

Justin had hassled Brian about his wanting to keep his car when he’d first moved to New York. At that time, he’d truly had no idea what in the world you could possibly need a car for when you lived in a city with such an extensive public transportation system. And if you needed to go outside the city, there were always trains and buses, and of course airplanes. But it hadn’t taken him too long to realize how different that public transportation system looked when you depended on subway stations having an elevator -- and most of them didn’t -- or that the elevator would actually be working when you needed it. All of the city buses were wheelchair accessible now, but you had to depend on the driver actually knowing how to operate the equipment, and again, that it was in full, working order.

So, after awhile, Justin better understood why Brian had wanted to keep his car -- he didn’t want to be at anyone else’s mercy. And they would use it occasionally to take short weekend trips, but they hadn’t driven the distance between New York and Pittsburgh since Brian had moved to the city ten years before. Most of the time, the car stayed parked in a garage, and Brian paid monthly rent to keep it there.

With that decided, Brian and Justin started to solidify their plans for the holidays. Brian had been asked to visit a spinal cord injury rehab center upstate and share his story and experiences with people who had been newly injured, so he’d be doing that for a couple of days during the week before Christmas, and once he came home, they’d head out to Pittsburgh to spend the holidays with their family.

But the Sidney Bloom Gallery fucked up their plans when they called Justin in mid-December to ask if he could deliver the paintings a few days earlier than originally intended -- when Brian would be in Rochester.

“It’s no big deal,” Justin said as they sat together in a cafe in Little Italy, enjoying some pasta, bread, and wine. “I’ll just go alone, and you can fly out later, and then we can road trip back together.”

“I can try to reschedule my thing,” Brian said. “Or I can just tell them I can’t make it. I don’t want you to have to go by yourself.”

“Brian, I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”

“They probably won’t want to listen to me anyway,” Brian said as he pushed some of his pasta around on his plate with his fork. “Damn, I can’t imagine being in one of those places around the holidays. It was bad enough in the summer. But to be missing out on all sorts of shit while you fucking learn how to get dressed again? That would suck.”

“I’m sure they’ll listen to you. You know exactly where they’re coming from.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I don’t think they’ll want to listen. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t have.”

“You seem to have some things you were told in rehab that you didn’t want to hear at the time, that you still remember. You’ve told me you do. So even if they don’t think they want to hear it right then, I’m sure you’ll ultimately have an impact. And I bet there are some people there who could really use hearing from someone who went through what they’re going through, and made it out on the other side.”

“I’m not sure I feel like there really is an ‘other side,’ though. Or that I’ve made it out. There isn’t an endpoint or a destination. It’s a journey, sure, but it doesn’t end. I haven’t ‘arrived.’” Brian made quote marks with his fingers on the last word. “Fuck, I’m not even sure why I said yes to this.”

“Brian, you’re going, you’ll be great, and they’ll listen.” Justin set his fork down on the table a little bit more forcefully than he intended and gave Brian a look that said he wasn’t taking “no” for an answer. “End of discussion.”

“I like it when you get bossy, Sunshine.” Brian grinned and raised his eyebrow as he took a sip of his wine, then reached his other hand under the table. Justin felt Brian grab his leg and start working his way up his thigh.

“Hey, not in a restaurant,” Justin hissed, trying to sound offended as he pushed Brian’s hand away. His smile, however, belied his tone.

“You’re no fun.” Brian crossed his arms and pretended to pout. “I want a divorce.”

“Oh you do, huh?”

“Yeah, on the grounds that my husband won’t let me grope him in public.”

“Well, good luck finding someone else as wonderful as I am…” Justin sipped his own glass of wine, leaning back in his chair and sticking his pinky finger up in the air pretentiously.

“Is that a challenge?” Brian quirked his eyebrow upward again.

“If you want it to be.”

The couple at the next table were starting to cast them surreptitious glances, so Justin figured they’d better behave themselves.

“Anyway, I want you to go to Rochester,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

A week later, Brian headed off to Rochester. The next day, Justin packed up his paintings into Brian’s car and started toward Pittsburgh. Justin tried to still make it fun by designing a playlist on his phone full of his favorite music, cranking up the radio, and buying a bunch of candy and snacks that Brian would have relentlessly made fun of him for. He played around with Brian’s hand controls a bit, going back and forth between using them and using the pedals. But he missed Brian. The road was lonely, and he wished he had Brian with him, but he really hadn’t wanted Brian to pass up this opportunity.

Justin was looking forward to hearing how Brian’s day had gone. Actually, he wished he could have been there. He knew Brian still didn’t feel like he had anything of value to share, but Justin really thought he did. Brian had come a long way since he and Justin had reunited ten Christmases before, but sometimes it still didn’t seem like Brian really saw that for what it was. He didn’t seem to recognize how much he’d overcome. Justin was confident that Brian’s story could help other people facing a devastating, permanent injury see that their lives weren’t over. They might have to make some adjustments and change some things, but they could still lead full, happy lives.

Justin had never been much of a morning person, and he was even less motivated to get out of the house when he was by himself, so he’d ended up hitting the road after lunch. He sent Brian a couple of text messages when he stopped to use the bathroom and buy a drink just a couple of hours into the trip, but he didn’t get a response.

About midway through Pennsylvania -- which Justin had decided was officially the longest state ever -- large, wet snowflakes started to fall. They were accumulating on the grass along the sides of the road, but the road conditions seemed good, so Justin wasn’t too worried. He loved to watch it snow, and seeing it while driving through the countryside made it even better.

Later in the afternoon, Justin was getting back on the road after putting gas in the car and acquiring some more substantial food, and also really wishing he could hear Brian’s voice when, as if on cue, his phone started to ring and Brian’s picture illuminated the display. He answered it quickly and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” Justin said. “I was just thinking about you.”

“God, don’t tell me we’re turning into one of those couples,” Brian laughed. “Some psychic connection and shit. Anyway, I just got back to my hotel, so I figured I’d call.”

“I miss you.” Justin tried not to sound too desperate, but it was the truth.

“I miss you too. How’s your trip been so far?”

“It’s snowing out here, but the roads are okay. Is it snowing up there?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s always fucking snowing up here. Can't get any traction on the goddamn sidewalk half the time. Remind me never to come up here in the winter again.”

“So, aside from the snow, how’d it go?”

“I don’t know. Okay, I guess. It kind of made me realize all over again how lucky I am. How lucky I was, even back then. I had a support system, even though I fought them and acted like I didn’t really want them around. And you, hell, I didn’t even let you try. There are people who don’t have that support. They’re just on their own. This is some tough shit to fight through on your own.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s tough no matter what. But it helps to have other people in your corner.” Justin knew just how instrumental Brian’s support had been in his own recovery, in addition to the support he got from his mother and Daphne.

“I don’t even know how I would have made it if everyone had really left me alone, like I thought I wanted,” Brian said. His voice was slowly getting quieter, and Justin could tell he was starting to disappear inside his head. “Everything was just so...mixed up, I guess. I didn’t know what I wanted, really. Seeing that place today… Talking to people… It kind of took me back there again.”

Brian exhaled loudly, and silence overtook the line for several seconds.

“You okay?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It just made me appreciate things a lot more. People who were there for me when I wasn’t much of a friend or a partner.”

“You were going through something really hard, Brian. I understood that. Everyone understood that. It takes time to get over that and move on and start to be yourself again. God, I get it, I really do.”

“I know,” Brian breathed, still sounding a little depressed. Disconnected.

Justin really wasn’t liking the route this conversation was taking, since there was no point in Brian beating himself up now over things that happened a decade ago, and it sounded like that was exactly what was about to happen. It took a lot to throw Brian now, but this was a subject that could definitely do it. Justin knew Brian had a lot of regrets about the way he’d reacted initially to his injury, and no amount of reassurance from Justin had been able to make him believe that the way he’d reacted was perfectly natural. The only thing that really mattered in the end was that he’d gotten through it -- he’d managed to accept what had happened to him and move on with his life. Right then, Justin wanted so badly to give Brian a hug, but he couldn’t.

“So when’s your flight home?” Justin asked, changing the subject in hopes that he could shift Brian’s morose and reflective mood with a lighter topic.

“Way too early...6:30. Then I’ll be flying out the next morning for the Pitts.”

They made plans for Justin to pick Brian up at the airport when he arrived in Pittsburgh, and talked about getting together with Michael and Ben later that evening. Wednesday was their anniversary, so they’d planned to spend that entire day together with no distractions. Friday, they were supposed to meet up with Mel, Linds, and Gus. Then, on Sunday, they’d have their traditional Christmas Eve dinner at Deb’s. Justin was really looking forward to seeing everyone, and he knew Brian was too, even if he tried to play it off like he didn’t really care.

“Well, I’d better let you go so you can drive,” Brian said after a few more minutes of conversation. “I think I’m going to go grab some dinner. I’ll probably go to bed early, since I have to get up at fucking 3 a.m. so I can make it to the airport on time, since it takes me so damn long to get ready.”

“Okay,” Justin said, although he really would have much rather talked to Brian for the entire rest of his trip. “Call me before you go to bed, okay? Just to say goodnight.”

They hadn’t spent the night apart in quite some time at this point, and, frankly, Justin wasn’t looking forward to it. Spending two nights alone in a cold, empty bed in the hotel room he and Brian were supposed to be sharing. He just had to keep looking forward to Tuesday, when he’d once again have Brian’s warm body next to him.

“Christ, you’re such a lesbian,” Brian groaned.

“You know you love me anyway. So will you call?”

“Sure, what the hell. And if you make sure you’re alone, I might even see if I can come up with something else fun we can do…” Brian said suggestively, letting his voice trail off and leaving Justin’s imagination to take off with the rest.

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Kinney…” Justin adopted the same salacious tone. “I’ll be looking forward to your call.” Already, Justin couldn’t wait for that phone call. It would certainly make his lonely night a lot less boring. Of course, he’d rather have the real thing, but since he couldn’t, talking dirty and having some phone sex with his lover would have to suffice.

Daylight turned to dusk soon after he and Brian hung up, and by then the snowflakes were descending furiously from the sky, illuminated by the beams of his headlights. He was about a half an hour outside of Pittsburgh, and wishing that he could somehow make the rest of this trip go faster, when suddenly everything seemed to shift into slow motion.

A car cut over in front of the tractor-trailer that was directly ahead of him, causing the truck to have to brake quickly. Justin watched in horror as the truck started into a skid, its trailer now sideways at an odd angle. The cab of the truck slammed into the wall, and the sideways trailer was now completely blocking the road. Justin had nowhere to go except into the wall or into the truck or the trailer.

He had no time to make a decision, and no mental capacity to do so.

He slammed on the brakes, but there was no time to stop.

Justin felt like his body and brain were moving through molasses as the car sped toward impact.

His last conscious thought as the car slammed into the wall was that he hoped Brian knew how much he loved him.

And that if he didn’t make it, Brian would be okay.