Chapter 17 - Specters. 

It was loud enough at Woody’s that I had to lean all the way over the table to catch what Daphne was trying to say to me. Unfortunately, that meant that I accidentally leaned into the small puddle of beer that she’d spilled when she’d knocked into the wobbly table about half a pitcher back. I sat up quickly but it was too late to avoid the yeasty wet spot on my shirt and I briefly contemplated just going shirtless for half a second. 

“Here’s a napkin,” Daphne offered, holding out a dry one towards the mess on my shirt. 

I decided not to tempt Daph with my hot, naked torso - not to mention the fact that any bare skin would just encourage the kind of guys who’d consider a display like that to be an open invitation to hit on me - and accepted the fairly useless wad of paper instead.

“Thanks,” I hollered across the table at my friend. 

“I thought you said you’d convinced Brian to come out with us tonight?” she questioned, looking around the bar inquisitively while I was busy attempting to clean myself up. 

“He’s supposed to be meeting us,” I explained and tossed the used napkins into the remains of the beer puddle so they’d hopefully sop up the rest of the wetness.

“Well, he must be doing better if he’s willing to come out to Woody’s again, right? Especially on a busy Friday night.”

I shrugged and tilted my head from side to side in a manner meant to express my uncertainty. “I guess. Maybe a little better.” 

Daphne stared me down for a couple of minutes but when she didn’t get more of an explanation she scooted her chair around so she was sitting closer to me, thus allowing us to converse without shouting our business to the rest of the noisy bar. “Come on, Jus. Dish. You and Brian have been practically MIA for the past three weeks; I think, as your personal Nancy Drew and Adventure Partner, I’m entitled to an update on the status of our putative client.”

“Will you stop with the private eye shit, Daph,” I ordered with a huff of laughter. “Brian’s doing . . . Okay.” When I didn’t elaborate, though, she shoulder checked me, causing more beer to slosh out of my glass onto the table. So, in an effort to prevent more drink spillage, I spilled my guts out about Brian instead. “He’s at least functional now. I mean, he’s not huddled under the covers in bed all day or anything. Not most days, at least.” She looked sympathetic, and I really needed someone to talk to about all the shit that I was trying to deal with, so I continued. “He’s even been going into work, although Cynthia says he’s not exactly a paragon of productivity . . .”

“The fact he’s getting out of the house at all is a good sign,” Daphne asserted.

I nodded. “Yeah. A couple times he’s even put on his game face long enough to make an appearance at the Diner or here at Woody’s.” I gestured around at the packed bar teeming with hot and willing guys. “But he’s still not really himself. He turns down every single trick that approaches him without even looking at them and last weekend he refused outright to come with me to Babylon. Which, let’s face it, is NOT like Brian.”

Daphne had on her sympathetic face again and it made me cringe because I already knew what she was going to ask next. “What about at home? Are things still a ‘no go’ there as well?”

“Unfortunately.” I quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was close enough to listen in before expounding further. The only person looking our way was the hunky muscle queen leaning against the bar who’d been flirting with me pretty much constantly since I arrived; but he was far enough away I didn’t think he could overhear our conversation. “Hell, Daph, some days I think I’m about to scream. It’s just . . . Fuck it. Our bedroom has been deader than the Dead Sea lately.” I chugged the rest of my beer and poured myself another from the pitcher. “I get it, you know. I totally understand why he’s . . . Reluctant . . . I mean, I’m there for the nightmares every fucking night, so it’s not like I blame him, or anything, but . . .”

“But?” Daphne pressed.

“It’s just . . . It’s the way he flinches every time I even fucking touch him,” I admitted, the words gushing out bitterly. “It’s like he can’t stand me even being near him sometimes. Like he doesn’t trust me not to jump him or . . . I don’t know . . . He’s not himself and I don’t know when or even if he’ll ever be . . . The way he was before. The way WE were before. You know?”

“Give him time, Jus,” Daphne offered, leaning her head against my shoulder in consolation. “It’ll get better eventually. You know it will. Right now he’s still reliving it - especially after repressing the memories for so long, it probably feels like he’s experiencing it for the first time all over again - and it’s got to be just horrible . . .”

“I know that,” I responded, a little more snippily than I’d meant to. “I know that.” I lowered my voice again and sighed. “It’s just that I want to help him and . . . And I don’t have a clue how.” 

“You just stay with him and wait and give him time to heal,” Daphne opined. Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit, she added, “or, better yet, figure out a way to get the pig-headed oaf to go see a fucking therapist already before his damn head explodes.” 

We both laughed at that impossibility for a minute or two and sipped at our beers while I continued my covert flirting with Hottie McMuscles over at the bar. “Yeah, well, if something doesn’t change soon, I’m the one who’s head is going to explode,” I added, shifting on my chair and reaching down to readjust the bulge in my pants, ”and I DON’T mean the one on my shoulders.”

Daphne cackled with glee. “Aww! Poor horny Justin.”

I lifted my beer towards my friend and we clinked our glasses together in a humorous toast to my unsatisfied state. 

“But at least Brian’s making more effort lately,” Daphne continued the conversation once we’d drunk to my involuntary celibacy. “That’s definitely a good sign, right?”

“True,” I acceded. “Although, I’m not sure how long this ‘getting better’ thing is going to take; at this rate it seems like it could be a while. Not that I’m going anywhere in the meantime,” I asserted, setting my beer down and squaring my shoulders. “I’m determined to out-stubborn him. I’m not letting him push me off any fucking cliffs. And I’m not going to let him do the ‘wounded animal’ thing or retreat into hiding either.” I reached into my shirt and fished out the wedding ring I’d taken to wearing on a chain around my neck. “No matter how hurt he is right now - no matter how much he flinches when I touch him - I know Brian doesn’t really want me to go anywhere. He said that this time he wants to ‘make it permanent’ and I’m fucking holding him to that. Not even the ghost of Coach Wade Fucking Langley is going to drive me away this time.” 

“I’ll drink to that!” my bestie agreed wholeheartedly. 

So we did just that, finishing off not only the glasses we’d had in hand but the rest of the pitcher as well, before the subject of our conversation finally made his appearance. 

“Hey,” the man of the hour said as he slid into the seat next to mine and stole what was left of my beer, scowling with displeasure when he realized we were drinking the cheap stuff. 

“Hey, yourself,” I replied, smiling slightly at my finicky partner. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind and weren’t coming.”

“Yeah, I got a . . . Call . . . Right as I was leaving the office,” he related. 

The hesitant manner in which he’d said the word ‘call’, however, immediately set off alarm bells. The way he was studiously avoiding all eye contact was further evidence that something was wrong. I quickly pulled out my wallet, dug a twenty out, handed the money to Daphne, and asked if she’d go get us another round.

“Beam for me,” Brian added, gratefully abandoning the stale beer he hadn’t been able to swallow. 

As soon as Daph had left on her errand of alcoholic mercy, I leaned over and, in a low voice just barely audible over the background noise of the bar, asked, “what kind of call?”

“The kind of call that comes directly from Detective Horvath’s office,” Brian admitted, still not looking up from the mound of soggy napkins on the tabletop. 

“Carl? What did he have to say?” I tried to make my question sound casual but inside my guts were roiling; probably as much as Brian’s were I’d imagine.

“Not much,” Brian tried to play down whatever was bothering him but I wasn’t about to let him get away with that so I just sat there staring until he explained further. “Apparently, there’s some kind of hearing tomorrow in the case. A scheduling conference, Carl called it.” I knew that wasn’t the full story or Brian wouldn’t have been so squicked, so I continued with my silent staring thing a minute longer. Brian eventually caved, like I knew he would, and added, “he wanted to give me a head’s up that the prosecutor would be handing over the list of witnesses’ names and shit.”

“Oh . . . Fuck . . .”

“Precisely.”

Before I could press for more details, though, Daphne returned with her hands full of libations. She thrust the highball glass filled with two-fingers of Beam at Brian first. Then, when her load was less precarious, she handed off a bottle of craft beer to me before setting the refilled pitcher on the table along with two fresh glasses. 

“I didn’t order this,” I protested, although it was one of my favorite hoppy IPAs.

“That’s from loverboy over at the bar,” Daph informed, grinning as she tilted her head towards McMuscles. My muscle-bound admirer, in turn, gave me the smarmiest wink imaginable, raising his own beer in acknowledgment of my glance. “He cornered me as soon as I got to the bar and wouldn’t let me leave until I told him what beer you preferred,” Daph giggled. “And he said to tell you that it was compliments of ‘Anders’.”

“Don’t bother, Sunshine,” Brian snorted and took a sip of his bourbon. “I’ve already had him and he’s the biggest nelly bottom you’ve ever met. Tiny little pecker; too many years of steroids, I suspect. But he’s not bad in the blow job department if that’s all you’re looking for. No gag reflex and nice tongue work to boot.”

“Brian!” Daphne gasped, giggling like a maniac. “There’s no way you remember all that, even if you did already have the guy. You’re making it up!”

Brian’s only response to that allegation was a snarky grin and a roguish tilt of his head. 

For the next twenty minutes or so I laughed along as Daphne quizzed Brian about all the other guys he’d had. Even I could tell Brian was making shit up by the time he started explaining how he’d fucked the little hispanic guy in the corner - who admittedly did look rather bendy and athletic - while the trick was upside down, doing a handstand, and getting sucked off by the big blond bear who was currently hitting up a twink at the other end of the bar. Daphne was almost apoplectic with laughter by that point. In fact, we were all laughing, even Brian, which was a relief considering how tense he’d been when he came in. Anything that got our minds off the looming court case was a welcome relief. 

Brian was right in the middle of making up some new tall tale about the hunky blond adonis over by the pool tables, to Daphne’s vocal amusement, when he abruptly stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, his complexion turning a sickly pale grey in the span of only a heartbeat. The next thing I knew, the whiskey he’d been holding in his hand dropped to the floor in a puff of exploding glass.

“Brian? You okay?” When he didn’t respond I looked around but didn’t see any recognizable threat. “What’s wrong?”

Brian’s only answer was a small whimper that was barely audible over the background noise from the bar. He was breathing heavily, almost panting, and looked like he was ready to bolt. If it weren’t for the way his hands were clamped onto the edge of the table, his grip so tight his knuckles were white, I think he might have actually done a runner. When I reached out to lay a hand on his forearm, thinking to comfort him, he practically jumped out of his chair. 

By that point Daphne was standing right next to me, leaning over the table and peering down at Brian too. “Brian? Brian, can you tell us what’s wrong?” she asked, sounding just as concerned as I felt. 

Brian still said nothing. He just sat there, as if paralyzed, gasping for breath. Except for his heaving shoulders, a bead of sweat dripping down from his temple was the only thing moving. Even his eyes were still, laser focused on something over my right shoulder. I turned to look, trying to ascertain what it was he was so transfixed by, but there was nothing of importance that I could see; just the door of the bar and a random assortment of guys wandering in and out. But the way he was staring, not even blinking, made me wonder what I was missing. What had Brian seen to so terrorize him?

Daphne reached out and laid the back of her hand against Brian’s cheek. “His skin is cold and clammy.” She picked up one wrist, holding on despite the way Brian flinched, unblinkingly, at her touch. “Pulse is rapid and thready.” Then she turned Brian’s hand over and added, “There’s a bluish tint under his fingernails, probably caused by hyperventilation.” Looking up at me, she concluded. “I think he’s going into shock. We need to get him to drink some water and, if we can, get him out of here.”

It’s always good to have an aspiring doctor for a best friend.

While I ran to the bar and brought back several bottles of water, Daphne draped my jacket over Brian’s shoulders and rubbed at his arms in an attempt to warm him via friction. It took more than five minutes, with both of us fussing over him, before Brian started to respond. By then, a sizable crowd of concerned onlookers had gathered around the table. After I’d managed to get him to drink two of the bottles of water, though, he began to blink and eventually took notice of the commotion going on around us. I watched sympathetically as my partner cringed, shying away from all the attention he was getting. 

Quickly scanning the huddled masses, I was grateful to notice at least two friendly faces. “Em. Drew,” I called out to my friends. “Can you help shoo these guys away, please?”

“Of course, Baby.” Em jumped to action adding a brusque, “Nothing to see here folks. Move it along now.”

Drew’s much more imposing bulk, glaring at the crowd from over Emmett’s shoulder, helped get the masses moving and in no time we were once again mostly alone.

“Drink more water,” Daphne ordered her patient, holding up a third bottle of water for Brian. 

“Brian?” I tentatively questioned, fearful of causing another meltdown but curious about what had brought on this attack, seemingly out of the blue. “What happened? What were you looking at over there? Did you see something or . . .” I peered around the bar again, trying to suss out what might have caused Brian’s panic but still found nothing out of the ordinary. 

Inhaling shakily, Brian finally answered. “I saw him. I-I-I s-s-saw . . .” He stuttered to a stop, swallowed heavily, and paused to wipe the perspiration off his lip before continuing in a rasping whisper. “He was here. Coach. I saw h-h-him.” Brian’s chin jutted out towards the doorway he’d been staring at before, so I looked in that direction too, but still didn’t see the spector Brian claimed to have glimpsed. “H-h-he warned him. Said he’d NEVER let Buddy go. B-b-buddy belonged to him. F-f-forever . . .” I watched the man’s face crumple and could feel the shuddering rock through the body next to me. Then, in a tiny voice, he moaned, “he won’t ever let Buddy go. Ever. Buddy will never, NEVER, get away . . .”

I felt so useless right then. So hopeless. Almost as defeated as Brian sounded. It seemed like this specter from Brian’s past was going to haunt us forever. Like it was never going to end. And there wasn’t anything I could do to protect Brian from the monsters inside, let alone the real live ones he’d soon have to face.

“I want to go home.” 

The voice saying the now-familiar words was just as haunted. It was the tiny, frightened voice of a child, not my bold and brash partner. It was Buddy’s voice. 

“Okay, Brian. We’re going home. Hold on a sec and I’ll figure out a way to get us out of here,” I promised.

“I just want to go home,” Buddy reiterated. 

Luckily, Drew and Em returned right then and, with Emmett clearing a way to the door and Drew helping me to steady our charge, we hefted an almost unresponsive Brian to his feet and guided him out of the bar. I whispered to Daphne, who was following with all our jackets, to keep an eye out for Langley, but neither of us saw the soccer coach amongst the assembly of queers gawking at us as we hustled Brian out to the waiting car. Granted, I was a little distracted by trying to keep my unsteady partner from stumbling, so I didn’t get a good look, but I was desperately hoping it had all just been a figment of Brian’s imagination. 

To be honest, I really did NOT want to see Langley in person ever again. As panic-inducing and harrowing as Brian’s memories of the Coach were, I’d rather face those imaginary monsters than confront the real life fiend. The nightmares alone had almost disabilitated him and I feared that any person-to-person confrontation might completely break Brian. I dreaded having to pick up the pieces after Brian finally faced his abuser in real life. 

Unfortunately, it was looking more and more likely that we were headed in that direction and I just didn’t know if Brian - or Buddy - was strong enough to handle that eventuality.