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Author's Chapter Notes:

Ever heard about the calm before the storm... Enjoy! TAG



Chapter 19 - Molding Minds And Bodies.



“You’re sure you don’t want us to stick around a little longer?” Lindsey asked for about the thirtieth time as we lingered over a lazy Sunday morning breakfast.


“We’ll be fine, Lindz,” I reassured her again. “Gus has settled into his soccer camp just fine. There’s no reason for you girls to put off your vacation just to sit around Britin all day while everyone else is off being busy. Besides, from the way you’ve been raving about this resort you’re going to, I thought you were looking forward to spending two uninterrupted weeks ‘immersed in the beauty of the Oregon Coast’?” I teased, spouting her own words back at her. 


“Well, yeah, I have been looking forward to this trip. I’ve wanted to see Seaside, Oregon ever since Michael showed us his pictures from that one summer he lived in Portland with Dr. Dave. The beaches there look just gorgeous. But . . .”


Lindsey looked sideways at her partner with an uneasy hesitation. 


“Lindz, babe, I’m sure Gus will be just fine,” Mel said, backing me up. “You know Brian checked out this camp pretty fucking thoroughly.”


“You can say that again,” I confirmed. “He not only ran a criminal background check on both the owners and every single employee, but he even had a private investigator check the place out on the sly for a week. Just to make doubly certain that everything was on the up and up. Megan and Marissa both passed with shining reports. Plus, both of them were on the US Women’s National team when they were younger and they have mad soccer skills. Gus and Anthony couldn’t be in better hands.”


Lindsey shrugged and nodded but still looked unconvinced. “It’s not only Gus that I’m worried about,” she conceded, before admitting the real basis for her trepidation. “Brian really doesn’t seem like himself. He’s so . . . Just not Brian, you know? And from what Michael and Ted were saying, he’s been acting kind of erratic for weeks now. I’m worried that this thing with the coach at that other camp has thrown him and . . . I can’t help but wonder if he’s up to taking care of a rambunctious seven year old on top of whatever else he’s dealing with at the moment?”


I wanted to growl at her for bringing up the subject just when I’d finally started to feel like we might be getting past the worst of our Langley issues, but I restrained myself. We didn’t want the girls thinking that BOTH Brian and I were unhinged. At least not at the same time. Instead, I took a deep breath, counted to ten in my head, and then tried to reason with the overly-nosy woman.


“I don’t know what Michael and Ted have been telling you, but Brian’s fine,” I asserted. “I mean, yeah, he’s been struggling a bit since all this shit about Langley came out, but you’ve seen him this past week while Gus has been here and he’s not foaming at the mouth or anything, right?”


Apparently, the girls didn’t appreciate my sense of humor. “Justin, we never said anything like that,” Lindsey elaborated. “It’s just that the guys said he’s been missing a lot of work and that, a couple of times, he’s sorta broken down in public. I just want to be sure that he’s up to taking care of Gus on his own for two weeks while we’re on the other side of the country, is all.” 


Mel, of course, had to add in her two cents. “Honey, we’re just concerned about Gus. You understand that, right?” The hand she laid on my shoulder, which was probably meant to be comforting, felt slightly condescending and only annoyed me further. “It’s pretty clear that you haven’t told us the full story about what’s going on, Justin, and that doesn’t help reassure us. I mean, there’s no way that Brian Kinney is going to be this upset over a blow job he gave in high school, even if his coach somehow manipulated the situation. I mean, he’s bragged on that shit for decades. And when you told Lindz about how this Langley guy was being investigated by the police for other instances of child abuse, well, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together and figure out there’s a lot more going on behind the scenes. So, while it’s understandable that Brian’s having trouble dealing with the fallout from all this, we just don’t want it impacting Gus in any way. I’m sure you don’t want that either.”


I wasn’t about to connect all the dots for them, even if they apparently had pretty much pieced together the story on their own. This wasn’t my story to tell. Besides, if I did spill the whole sordid tale, I knew Lindsey wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself. She’d be pressing Brian about it, trying her special brand of do-it-yourself psychology, and just making things worse. Plus, it was a given that anything I told the girls was pretty much assured to make it back to the rest of the gang within mere hours. Nope. Not going there. Not when things had been going so well for the past week.


“Guys, I can assure you, Brian is fine,” I proclaimed, hoping I was right. “Yes, he’s had some bad days since all this crap started to come out but, as you pointed out, that’s understandable. And, as you’ve obviously surmised on your own, there’s more to it than just that one shower blow job. All things said and done, though, I think Brian’s handling things better than I would in the same circumstances. Besides, you’ve seen for yourselves how he is over the past week, especially when he’s with Gus, so I don’t see why you’d be concerned. Brian and Gus are great together.”


Lindz and Mel shared the kind of intimate look that couples who’ve been together a long time use to communicate telepathically and, after a minute or two, Lindsey’s shoulders relaxed and she gave me a renewed smile. “Well, if you’re sure it’ll be okay?’


“I’m sure,” I rushed to confirm. “Besides, I’ll be here too, so if Brian does need a break, I can take over on Gus duty.”


“Aren’t you going to be at work most days?” Lindsey asked. “You were telling us just last night about that new show the gallery is setting up for . . .” And I thankfully let her lead me off into a discussion of the gallery and all things art, which was a much more pleasant topic than Brian’s impending mental crisis.


In the end, the girls did indeed leave as planned for their Oregon holiday later that afternoon. Brian and Gus drove them to the airport. Meanwhile, I gratefully stayed home and spent some quality time, alone, in my Britin Studio. 


What with all the Langley nonsense, working full time at the gallery, and then having visitors for the past week, I hadn’t had the luxury of time for my art in a long while. I was desperately in need of some time to vent all my pent up feelings onto a canvas. It was no surprise I went at it like a bat outta hell once I was alone for a few hours. When I was eventually brought back to the here and now by a tentative knocking on the studio door, I was startled to see how angry and emotional the painting I’d created appeared. It was a wash of crimson and black with slashes of searing white that stabbed into the heart of the canvas, all overlaid atop the suggestion of a tortured face with haunted eyes.  



Okay, so maybe Brian wasn’t the only one in need of some therapy. Maybe after the trial we should both get some help. I made a mental note to google therapists later that night after Gus was in bed. 


But, until then, I was happy to enjoy the pizza and ice cream Gus had talked his indulgent father into buying for dinner that night, listen to the kid raving about all the exciting things planned for that week at soccer camp, and savor the moments spent with a more relaxed Brian.



Everything went great for the next couple of weeks. 


Gus had a blast at his soccer camp every day. He had been a little disappointed at first over the fact that it wasn’t a ‘sleep away’ camp, but the prospect of staying at Britin quickly made him forget all his objections. That first week we’d let him have his buddy Anthony sleep over a couple times so the boys could play in the pool after a long, sweaty day at camp, and so Gus could show off his new, super-cool bedroom. Anthony’s parents were decent folks and I got to indulge my country club leanings by acting as host when we invited them over for a BBQ the night after the girls left. And when Brian found out that Anthony and his mom had been staying at an AirB&B while their son was at camp, with Curtis flying in to join them a couple days a week, my generous partner insisted that Darlene and the boy come stay with us for the duration of the camp. After that, Gus forgot about sleep away camp altogether. 


In addition to our soccer guests, we also invited the entire Pittsburgh family to join us a couple of evenings. Gus was thrilled to show off the house and pool to his little sister, along with the rest of the gang, acting like a tour guide for any newcomers. J.R., of course, loved her room, so we were talked into letting her stay over several nights. Michael actually seemed a little miffed at how much more his daughter seemed to like her room at Britin than her room at his house, but he was way too indulgent a father to deny his ‘Pumpkin’ when she begged to be allowed to stay at Gus’ house. Luckily, Michael swallowed his jealousy this once and didn’t cause any further trouble. The rest of the family, who’d never seen Britin before, raved about the house as well. I got almost as big a thrill out of showing off my studio as Gus got from showing off his room. And, when Brian brushed off all compliments by stating that he’d HAD to buy a palace to convince his prince to stay in Pittsburgh, I almost literally glowed with happiness. Have I mentioned how much I love this man?


During the day, however, we were all busy and active. I was, of course, working full time, so I was off in Pittsburgh most days while Gus went to camp. The two women who managed the camp turned out to be excellent coaches and the kids seemed to be learning a lot. Brian frequently took afternoons off to go watch the practices and had nothing but praise for the way the camp was run. When Megan discovered, at the end of week two - after Brian got permission to go without the wrist brace that he’d been wearing as a result of his NYC injury - that Brian had played soccer in college, she was more than happy to have him join in running some of the drills. Gus was so proud of this fact that he spent half of dinner bragging about his dad and how good Brian was at whatever specific skill they’d been working on that day. Anthony seemed to be so awed by Brian that he rarely spoke in the legend’s presence, merely grinning up adoringly at Brian all through the meal. I suspected a bit of a crush developing there, but didn’t mention it for fear of embarrassing both Brian and Anthony. For the rest of the camp, Brian was a pretty regular feature at the afternoon drills.


Adding even more to the pleasure of our time at Britin, it seemed like Langley had backed off a little on his intimidation campaign. Cynthia called me with a heads up about a couple more suspicious deliveries at the office, but luckily she’d managed to intercept them before they got to Brian, so it was all good. We hadn’t been back to the loft in a couple weeks so we didn’t know or care what Langley had tried to have delivered there. And, as long as we were at Britin, it appeared we were safe from the man’s hatred. 


So, the bottom line was that everyone was having a good summer up to that point, which was more than I had hoped for. Still, I constantly felt like I was holding my breath; like I was just waiting for the next bad thing to happen. I hoped I was wrong, but I didn’t think a man like Wade Langley would have given up that easily. 


I guess we probably shouldn’t have been so surprised when our calm, carefree summer was interrupted by yet more trouble so soon thereafter.



The girls returned from their sojourn on the West Coast a few days before the end of the four week camp. They had nothing but rave reviews about their hiking and beachcombing and subjected us to more than an hour of looking at photos of the beautiful vistas they’d fallen in love with. Mel said her favorite experience had been hiking the sand dune trail near Florence. Lindsey’s best memory had been tide pooling around all the offshore rocks at Bandon Beach. Brian indulged them in the picture viewing but warned that he didn’t want to hear about them talking about moving the family all the way to the West Coast. 



​​



“Don’t worry, Daddy,” Gus immediately piped up. “If the moms want to move to Oregon, JR and I can stay here with you and Justin.”


Which caused me to laugh, Brian to look a little shocked, and the girls to immediately jump in with reassurances they didn’t have any plans to move. 


It was a relief for everyone when Gus impatiently changed the subject back to the upcoming end of camp party that was planned for that Saturday. He’d been selected as one of the team captains for his age group; he was so proud of that fact that he rarely spoke of anything else in the days leading up to the final game. He, Anthony, and Brian spent hours discussing strategy; who knew seven and eight year olds even had attention spans that long? It got so bad that the girls and I had to finally protest and the boys were forbidden to discuss soccer at all during meals. But, at least they were enjoying themselves, right? 


On the day of the big celebration, the entire family trekked down to the big soccer field complex where the event was being held. There were games scheduled all day, beginning at 9:00 am for the older kids, with the younger age groups playing later in the day. While the kids were playing their games - showing off for their parents all the mad skillz they’d picked up at camp that year - the rest of the rowdy bunch was entertained with games, music and a big potluck lunch supplied by the parents. Brian was drafted to be in charge of the fathers manning the grills as they all turned out pounds and pounds of burgers and hotdogs for the spectators. It was barely controlled chaos, but the kids were having a great time so we adults didn’t complain too much.


When it was time for Gus’ team to play their game, Brian handed off his grill to another dad and joined the rest of us in the stands set up next to the main field. Lindz, Mel, JR, Michael and Ben took up the bleacher below Brian, myself, Deb and Carl. And, while most of us knew nothing about soccer, we all did our best to keep up and shout out encouragement to the little boys racing madly around the field after the blue and white game ball. Even my inexperienced eyes could tell that Gus was having a pretty good game; he was zooming around like a boss and even made a goal right before half time. Brian was beaming with pride and kept saying stuff like, ‘I showed Gus that juke just last week and he’s already mastered it. He’s a fucking natural.’ Way to go, Gus!


Gus’ team, The Eagles, were ahead 2-1 as the end of the second half wound down. We all watched with bated breath while Anthony dribbled the ball down the field, two defenders from the ‘Bears’ team hot on his heels. Gus was waiting near the sidelines, ready to receive the pass and set up a goal with the other forward, a kid by the name of Chase, who was in position at center field right in front of the goal. Unfortunately, right as Anthony was getting ready to boot the ball downfield to Gus, one of the defenders knocked him sideways and Anthony’s kick went wild. The ball sailed off into the bushes that lined the edge of the field down by the Bears’ goal. 


“I’ll get it!” Gus hollered and took off after the ball. 


The spectators were glad for the momentary break in play and were chatting with each other, not paying any attention, until we heard one of the coaches calling to Gus to get his butt back already. That’s when we all realized Gus has been gone longer than strictly necessary just to chase after an errant ball. Concerned, Brian and Lindsey both got up at the same time and trotted down the bleachers to go see what was up. Happily, Gus came running out of the bushes right then, kicking the missing ball onto the field ahead of him. 


As he ran by the bleachers he stopped long enough to hand something off to his mother. “Can you hold this for me until the game is over, Mommy?”


The eager boy didn’t wait long enough to get a reply and was already jogging back onto the field, ready to resume play, before the confused parents had a chance to look at the item their son had apparently found in the bushes. 


“Hmm. Where did Gus find this, I wonder?” Lindsey commented and she held up Gus’ treasure so that Brian could see it as well. “It looks like some kid must have lost their medal.”



Lindsey held the item up with her finger looped through the fabric ribbon and the soccer-themed medal dangled below, swaying slightly back and forth. I was sitting close enough that I could see what appeared to be a fairly common sports participation medal, like the kind they give all the kids at the end of every season, with an imitation gold medallion strung on a dark blue ribbon that could be draped around the kid’s neck. From a distance, it didn’t look like anything special. It wasn’t until I noticed that Brian was now swaying on his feet, in time with the motion of the swinging medal, and had gone so pale he looked like he was about to faint, that I realized there was something wrong. 


I vaulted off the bleacher and was down by Brian’s side in only seconds, my arm around his back to help steady him. “What is it, Brian?” I asked in a quiet voice that I hoped wouldn’t be overheard by anyone. “What’s wrong?”


Brian reached out and grabbed the medal, stopping it’s pendulation. Then he slowly turned the medal over in his palm so we could all see the back. There, engraved for all time, was the name, ‘Brian Kinney’. Below the name were the additional words, ‘PYSA Fall Tournament’, followed by the year that Brian had turned eight. 


Lindsey looked up and met my eyes. I could see a glint of fear in them that probably matched my own. 


Brian turned the medal over again and used the fingers of his free hand to trace over the raised images there: an engraved soccer cleat, a goal cage, and a soccer ball. 


“I . . . I remember this . . .” he whispered. “Buddy’s team won the championship that fall. He was so proud of this medal. He thought . . . He wanted to show it to his dad. He thought his dad would finally be proud of him too. But then . . .” Brian dropped the medal and it began to swing again on the end of the ribbon Lindsey still held. “Coach took it away because Buddy was being a bad boy. He disobeyed one of Coach’s friends. Coach said Buddy didn’t deserve a medal and he . . . He took it away . . .”


Brian didn’t get a chance to say anything more. 


Right then Coach Megan, who was reffing the game, blew her whistle and yelled, “Time! Eagles win, 3-1. Great game everyone!” 


We all looked up to see Gus’ teammates running jubilantly towards the center of the field. They were whooping and cheering at each other, obviously happy with the outcome of the game. After all the boys had a chance to hug and dance around a little to celebrate their win, and then did the customary high five line to thank the other team, the kids all flocked off the field to greet their proud parents. 


“Did you see, Dad?” Gus crowed, jumping into Brian’s unready arms. Luckily I was there to hold him up and I didn’t think Gus noticed. “We won! We won! And I got two whole goals. Two! Isn’t that great!”


Brian somehow managed to pull himself together long enough to congratulate his son. “You did amazing, Sonny Boy. You made me proud.”


“Oh good, you still have my medal,” Gus commented, grabbing the item out of his mother’s hands and immediately draping the ribbon around his neck. “This man gave it to me when I went to find the ball. He said he was a coach too and he thought I was such a beautiful player that I deserved a medal. He said he would love to coach someone like me; that he got a thrill out of molding young boys’ minds and bodies. That’s kind of a weird thing to say, don’t you think?” 


Brian, who hadn’t uttered a sound, looked even paler than before and I was half worried that he would puke right there in front of Gus. 


“Gus, honey, can you point out the man who gave this to you?” Lindsey asked, looking around herself at the milling crowd of parents and friends. 


Gus looked too, but only briefly, before he added, “when I heard Coach Megan yelling, I told the man I had to go and he just said, ‘Tell your father I said hello’, and then he walked back towards where the cars are parked.” Gus pointed over his shoulder to the parking area beyond the bushes lining the edge of the playing field. 


Lindsey might have questioned him further but that was when the rest of the Gus Cheering Squad arrived and they all wanted to talk to, hug, and congratulate the boy, who happily allowed his admirers to gush over him. 


I was just grateful that everyone was too distracted to notice just how wigged out Brian was. 


Well, almost everyone. Lindsey appeared to be almost as worried, looking critically at the way Brian was leaning heavily against me, barely able to stay on his own feet. “Brian . . . ?”


“Not NOW, Lindsey,” I growled. “Not HERE!”


“But, this man . . .” She just had to press. 


“I just want to go home,” Buddy moaned with that scary, little boy lilt. “Please. Can I go home now?”


“We’re going, Brian. Just hold on,” I assured him. Then, turning to Lindsey I ordered, “Get Gus. We need to get out of here. NOW.”


Something in my voice, or maybe just the way I’d thrown out orders - something I’d never done with Lindsey before - must have been enough to motivate the worried mother. Without any further questions she rounded up her son, made apologies to everyone for leaving early saying she wasn’t feeling good, and then fell into step with Gus and Mel, following as I ushered Brian back to where we’d left the car. I don’t think I even breathed until I had all of them safe inside my CRV and the doors locked. 


So much for our brief, Langley-free interlude, I thought to myself as I started the car and sped out of there like my hair was on fire.



 

Chapter End Notes:

1/23/22 - Okay, I really think Langley has gone too far now. He threatened Gus! That’s just wrong! The question is, what will Brian do about it? Will this be the thing that drives him around the bend for good? Or, maybe, will it be the impetus for Brian to finally fight back? You’ll have to keep reading to find out... Dun, dun, dun! *Evil Author Laugh* TAG

 

PS. Credit for the Angry painting goes to Alsath on DeviantArt. No affiliation, just a really great, emotional painting that I think Justin would approve of. 

 

PPS. We’re down to the last 2-3 chapters, folks, in case you were planning ahead for what you’re going to read next. Anyone up for restarting my group writing project, ‘Backdoor Adventures’? Who wants to write with me?

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