Epilogue.

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Justin's POV

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"Go, Gus!" Debbie screeches into my ear then sticks her fingers in her mouth and whistles so loudly that I'm pretty sure I'm going to have significant, permanent hearing loss on that side. "Go, Panthers!"

Gus' high school soccer team is playing for the state championship in it's division. It's a small private school, but the prestige of making it to the state championships is just as huge, if not moreso, than for the big schools. And, we parents and families are just as overwhelmingly proud of our boys.

That probably goes double for our little family cheering squad, since Gus is the youngest player out there. He's the only freshman to start for either team. But, with Brian being his dad, it was only to be expected that he'd be amazingly talented, athletically gifted and gorgeous to boot. And I wasn't just thinking that out of a sense of pride - other parents tell me how talented he is all the time, so it must be true. 

All of Gus' family is in complete agreement with my opinion, though, which is likely the reason that we had to buy tickets for almost a whole section of the bleachers just for our group. Everyone is here tonight to support Gus. Our little family isn't so little anymore, either. As I look around at our group, I'm overcome by waves of affection for our rag tag, but close-knit alternative family. 

Sitting next to me on the right, next to my now deaf ear, is Debbie, of course. She's well into her sixties now, but amazingly she doesn't look all that different. She's still motherly and robust and she still wears those same bright red-headed wigs so you wouldn't have any idea what her real age was, if she didn't occasionally tell you just to make the point of how much additional respect you should be giving her. 

Deb's husband, Carl, is sitting next to her, smiling indulgently at his boisterous and larger-than-life wife. The calm and stoic Carl makes a great foil for Debbie's more explosive personality, and I've gotten almost as close to him over the years as I am to Debbie. Carl's the closest thing I'll ever have to a real father. I smile around Debbie's bulk at Carl just to let him know I empathize with his attempts to rein in his wife's enthusiasm as he tries to stop her from jumping up and down in place and shaking the entire bleachers in the process.

The person who should be in the next seat, Uncle Vic, isn't there. He died from complications related to AIDS about a year after I met Brian. He was a remarkable man. I know Brian felt about Vic the way I feel about Carl - we both needed surrogate fathers and we each luckily found the perfect candidates thanks to Debbie. And, even though Vic isn't here tonight, he's still part of this family and still here in spirit at least. 

Instead, next to Carl is my mother, Jennifer. Now Jennifer Rollins - her 'new' husband Tucker is sitting next to her holding my little half-sister, Molly. Okay, I guess it's time for me to stop thinking of Tucker as mom's 'new' husband since they've been married almost eight years by now. I really still haven't quite resolved all my issues with my mother, even after all this time, and that's made it even tougher to warm up to Tucker, which is probably why I still think of him as 'new'. 

But, it's time to let go of that little crutch, according to my therapist. Yes, I'm still in therapy, even after all these years. And no, my therapy  isn't still done sitting naked in Brian's arms on our bed. I will probably never really recover completely from the twenty years of abuse I suffered at the hands of Craig Taylor, but I keep fighting all the time. And having a professional to talk to about it isn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Even if it did take Brian and Ben almost a full year to get me to go see a psychologist, I'm glad I finally did it. Ben was a great help that first year I was with Brian - he did research for us, helped with finding me resources to contact to help with some of my scarier PTSD symptoms, and was ultimately responsible for connecting me with the therapist I'm still seeing today. Next to Brian, and of course Daphne, Ben is probably the best friend I have.

Ben and Michael and Daphne and her husband, Morgan, are all actually here today, too. They got dragged here by Debbie, of course, along with Ted and Emmett. The proud grandmother wasn't going to let any of her clan off the hook today. Supporting Gus, and by extention Gus' soccer team, wasn't optional. Everyone showed up on time as directed by our dear matriarch - although, I'm pretty sure that they would have all come regardless. I've never yet seen a biological family that's closer or more devoted to each other than our alternative family. 

Which of course includes Gus' mothers, Lindsey and Mel, who are seated behind me along with their daughter, JR. Gus' little sister is just as proud of the big brother she practically worships - when he's not needling her relentlessly as all big brothers are wont to do - as her mothers. She's rooting and cheering for the team almost as loudly as Debbie. She does have those loud-mouthed Novatny genes, though, so why am I surprised if she can match her father and grandmother in the upper decibel ranges?  I may lose some hearing in my other ear if JR keeps up her whooping cheers.

But the center of the whole family, not to mention the center of my own personal universe, is clearly the devilishly handsome man sitting on my left - Brian Kinney. He looks unbelievably chic today in his tight black Armani jeans, a deep wine-red cashmere turtleneck and his black Hugo Boss leather jacket. Compared to the other breeder parents sitting around us, clad in faded, torn cotton tees and fleece jackets, he looks like a god. In fact, I'm reasonably sure it's illegal to look that fucking sexy after you're forty, especially when all you're doing is sitting on a bench watching your kid play soccer. But, that's Brian for you.

I'm so distracted by watching Brian that I forget for a few moments to watch the game. Which is why I'm startled when Brian jumps to his feet beside me. He's clapping wildly and whooping along with all the rest of the Panthers' fans.

"Goalllllll!" yells the announcer over the PA system. "That puts the game on the board, finally, folks. One-zero, to the Panthers. The first goal being scored by forward Scott Zacchert, with a perfectly executed assist from the team's youngest forward, Gus Kinney."

"Did you see that?" Brian is gushing over Gus' feat of skill. "That was the perfect set up. God, the kid is amazing. He's got skills I didn't master till I was in college. By the time he's a senior, he'll be unstoppable."

I'm more impressed with Brian's unbridled enthusiasm right now than I am with his son's soccer skills. Brian pulls me into a tight hug as he speaks and kisses me with all the excitement he's feeling. And, even after all this time, that simple gesture is enough to set my blood on fire for him. 

This beautiful, caring man is all I'll ever need because he still gives me everything I look for in a man. He's good looking - well, that's a gross understatement, but it's essentially true. He's also the kindest, most caring parent I've ever seen. Brian would do anything for Gus. He's there for the boy to talk to, he supports him financially and emotionally and he still manages to somehow instill all those great moral values in his son - discipline, respect, honor, fairness - that other parents seem to struggle with. On top of everything, he's also the most devoted and passionate partner anyone could ask for in a lover. 

Even after more than ten years, he's still the only man I have room for in my heart.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

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Gus' team comes screaming off the field, both Gus and his friend Scott being held aloft on their teammates shoulders in triumph. The Panthers have just won the state Division IV Boys Soccer Championship! With the winning goal, scored in the last two minutes of the game, by none other than MY son, Gus Kinney.

I'm not sure who's more excited by this win, though - the team on the field, or the team of parents and families in the stands. Especially Gus' own clan, who are all jumping around, hugging each other and even, in the case of Debbie and Emmett, crying. I might even admit to a certain amount of jumping, hooting and clapping myself. I'm just so proud of the kid. He's worked incredibly hard this year and it's all paid off beautifully for him. I couldn't be happier for him.

"Dad! Dad, did you see my goal? Did you see?" a sweaty, dirt smeared and elated Gus comes barreling into my arms.

"You were perfect, Sonny Boy. I'm so proud! Congratulations." I manage to say before we're swamped with throngs of other well-wishers.

Since I know I'll get more time with Gus later, I back off and let him get his kudos from all the others who want his attention right now. Besides, I enjoy watching him being adored by others. But, all those cheerleaders? Them, I'm not sure about. 

"Hey, Dad. What do you think about your kid, now?" Lindz asks as she sidles up to stand next to me. 

"I think exactly what I've always thought from the first moment I saw him. He's perfect!"

"How'd we manage that?" Lindsey voices my own doubts as if she's reading my mind.

"I have no fucking idea, Mom," I admit. "But, we obviously did something right."

"Take that, all you hetero doubters!" Mel adds as she joins our conversation. "Proof positive that gay parents aren't just as good as straight parents - we're better. Our kid is practically perfect!"

"Just so long as you don't turn him into Mary Poppins," Carl, the former homophobe, joins in with his own wry little joke.

"From the way he's ogling those cheerleaders, I don't think so," Ben comments as he helps Michael down out of the stands. 

"I don't know, Sweetie. I saw Gussy swat that dreamy teammate of his, Scott, on the ass earlier. So, there's still hope, right?" Emmett puts in his two cents, accompanyied by the wishful nods of Ted and Michael.

"Stop! All of you," Lindsey admonishes us. "Gus has plenty of time to decide all that later. Don't all of you go pushing him into something he's not ready for."

That's when I decide to end the argument before it gets more heated. 

"Hey everybody. You're all invited back to Britin for a celebratory barbeque. You guys can go ahead and get started on the party, and Justin and I will wait here and round up Gus."

That distracts them all, and the group starts to disburse with murmurs of "Thanks, Bri", the pressing issue of my son's sexuality forgotten for the moment. A light tap on my forearm draws my attention away from my departing friends and focuses it back on my hovering blond companion. Justin is looking at me and shaking his head, clearly unsure about how my spontaneity is going to go over with our housekeeper. 

"Dont worry, Sunshine. I'll call ahead and give Butterfingers a heads up," I tell him, referring to our housekeeper, who just happens to be the same clutzy nutrition staff worker who we first met when we were in the hospital together all those years ago - she coincidentally applied for the job and we'd hired her on the spot when we all recognized each other and had a good laugh at the memory. "She can get them started on some drinks and salads or whatever while we're waiting to get Gus. And if she needs anything, she can call the market and have it delivered. It'll be fine."

"You know that Matilda doesn't like surprises, Brian," Justin tells me, subtly reminding me at the same time that she hates when I call her Butterfingers. 

"I eventually trained you not to mind surprises, didn't I Sunshine? I'll get Butterfingers acclimated to them as well. Just give it time."

"I don't think that she'll be quite as understanding, Brian. You can't just fuck her when she gets annoyed at you, the way you 'trained' me," Justin smiles up at me, giving me one of those reprimanding looks at my reference to trying to 'train' him, but laughing at the same time.

"Yes, dear," I respond obediently, earning myself a swat on my ass from the unamused blond just as Gus approaches with one arm around his friend, Scott, and the other around a tall brunette girl who I don't recognize. 

"Don't mind my dads," Gus advises his companions. "They do sometimes have issues with maintaining appropriate behavior in public, but they'll behave if I tell them to."

"Smartass!" is my only reply, but I wrap my arms around Justin at the same time, not about to back off just because my son's friends may not approve of my lifestyle. "So, how long till you're ready to go, Sonny Boy? I invited the family back to the house for a party in your honor. So you better get a move on it."

"I was going to grab a quick shower before I leave, I stink. But, Dad, is it okay if Scott and Tabitha come to the party, too? We were all going to go out, but I'm sure they'll manage to enjoy themselves at Britin once they discover the pool, the hot tub and the free steaks. Right, guys?"

"Hell, yes! You had me at free food," Scott pipes up right away. 

"Sounds great," the brunette, Tabitha, agrees.

"Right. You two go get showered, then, and I'll call Butter . . . I mean Mathilda, and let her know we're all on the way," I tell Gus' already retreating back, as I pull out my cell phone. 

Thirty minutes later, we're all piled into Justin's SUV, with the boys' gear in the back, somehow wedged between a stack of new canvasses and several boxes of art supplies he always seems to be carrying around. I'm not sure exactly why Justin needs to tote all that stuff around all the time - he has his own studio at home as well as the one at Kinnetik - but he tells me it's just 'in case', so I don't argue. I only know that a paint splattered Justin is a happy Justin, so I gladly let him carry the necessary painting supplies around wherever he wants as long as he's happy. 

I sneak a glance over at him sitting in the passenger's seat while I drive. He has that special sunshine grin on, so I know he's thinking about something good. He looks up at me an instant later, somehow managing to increase the brilliance of his smile. Fuck, I really can't get over how beautiful he is, even all these years later. How does he manage that? Its got to be the smile that blinds you to all his other flaws, right? That's assuming he has flaws, I'm always too distracted by that smile, or by his still smoking hot ass, to ever notice. 

Justin reaches out and grabs my free hand while I drive. Now we're both smiling like infatuated teenagers, much to the amusement of the actual teens in the back seat, a couple of whom apparently noticed the hand-holding adults in the front. Might as well give 'em a show, I figure, so I pull Justin's hand to my lips and leave a tiny kiss on the back, waggling my eyebrows at him suggestively at the same time. That gets me a titter of delight from our audience in the rear, followed by an adamant shushing.

My antics are interrupted though by my cell phone ringing right then. I toss it to Justin to answer while I continue to drive. 

"That was Ted," Justin informs me as he hangs up. "Apparently we're dangerously low on scotch and vodka. The market won't deliver liquor, so we'll have to stop on the way home. Sorry. The party sounds like its going well, though. I could barely hear Ted over the music."

"Just so long as someone's having a good time. Even if it isn't me," I say, pulling into the exit lane on the highway just in time. 

"Sorry for the delay, guys," I tell the teen contingent as I pull up to the closest liquor store and park. "I'll be as quick as I can. Do you guys want me to get you some sodas while I'm in there? There's plenty back at the house, but I can get you all something for the ride."

I grab their drink orders and dash into the store. I've loaded up a shopping basket with a good selection of what I think we'll need and I'm already in the checkout line when the door opens and Gus darts inside. I know from his expression that something's not good, so I drop it all and run to meet him without waiting to be told what's wrong.

"What is it, Gus?"

"It's Justin. He . . . Just come see for yourself, dad," Gus is tugging at my sleeve, leading me away from where the car's parked and around the corner of the building.

Gus' friends are standing in the alleyway, looking down towards something on the ground, which is partially hidden by a dumpster. Shit. I already know what this is, but it's worse because I wasn't expecting it. It's been years since Justin's had a panic attack like this. I thought we were over this. Apparently not, though.

"Justin? It's okay. I'm here," I say as I kneel down in front of where he's huddling next to the dumpster. "What happened, Sunshine?"

"We were all just waiting in the car, you know," Gus starts to explain as I try to get closer to Justin without scaring him further. "Then this creepy old guy comes up and knocks on Justin's window. I thought he was just gonna beg for some money, but he sort of pointed at Justin and then signed to follow him. I don't know why, but Justin got out of the car and followed him around here. When he didn't come right back, we came and found him like this."

"Where's the guy?" I immediately ask, wanting to know where the threat was so I could face it head on.

"I don't know. He was gone when we got here."

"Justin? Come on, Sunshine. It's okay. He's gone. I'm here," I say, as I finally succeed in getting him up off the ground and into my arms. 

"It's not okay, Brian," I hear him whisper in a small, scared voice. "It was him. It was Craig. He found me, again, Brian."

"Fuck!" That fact makes me even more frightened for Justin than I was before. "Don't worry, Sunshine. He's gone. He can't hurt you. I'm here."

"But he took it all, Brian," Justin's sobbing now, which is, believe it or not, a good thing, since he's talking and crying instead of just sitting there catatonic. 

"What did he take, Justin? Whatever it is, it's no big deal. Really. As long as he's gone and you're okay."

"He took my wallet, Brian. I was going to give him money, you know. He looked old and bad and I was going to just give him some money, but then he shoved me against the wall and took the whole wallet."

"It's okay. It's just money."

"No. It's not. He took it all. He took my ID. He took my . . ." I'm not sure Justin's going to finish, he's sobbing so hard at this point, but he swallows and clears his throat and then tries again. "He took my ID and my ICE card, Brian. I'm sorry. It just . . . it threw me."

"Fucker!" I'm irate now. It's bad enough that Justin had to deal with Craig like this, alone and completely unprepared, but this was too much. For Craig to take those things - it was unthinkable that I'd let him get away with that. He had almost quashed Justin's identity once and had used his position as a parent to cause Justin serious pain. He wasn't going to do it again, even symbolically. 

I get Justin back to the car and into the passenger's seat. Gus and his friends are trailing along, unsure, behind. I'm hoping that Gus is going to be okay with all this because I don't have time to deal with him too. 

"Which way did he go, Sunshine?" I ask and then nod as he points down the alley and then south. "Gus, you guys stay here. Make sure Justin's okay. Don't go anywhere till I get back, unless Craig comes back. If he does, I want you to all run inside the store and tell someone to call the police. Do you understand?"

Gus squares his shoulders, stands up straighter and nods. If I had time, that little gesture would have made me smile. But instead I just quickly kiss Justin and then start to run down the alley. 

"Brian, be careful," Justin calls out as I turn the corner at the end of the alley.

Luckily, the asswipe didn't get far. I'm not more than two or three blocks away before I see a movement out of the corner of my eye and turn to see an old man in a dirty grey jacket slinking around the corner of a nearby building. I storm after him and see him pull a piece of cardboard across the opening of a makeshift shelter at the end of the alley.

The cretin seems shocked when I kick aside his cardboard door and let myself in. He's still got Justin's wallet in his grubby hands. He's looking up at me with utter terror on his countenace. He's aged a lot since the last time I saw him - and he hasn't aged well, either. His skin is sallow and dry looking. His hair, which was once almost as bright blond as Justin's, is grey and long and dingy. He's missing a lot of teeth and he's got a large open sore on the side of his neck. I know I should probably feel some sympathy or guilt looking at the heap of shit that this man has become, but honestly, all I feel is contempt. 

I start to grab for the wallet but Craig finally comes to life and half-heartedly bats away my hand. That, unfortunately for him, was the wrong response. Craig's little swipe at me brings to mind another time he hit me. Only, this time I'm not in a hospital recovering from a car collision and I'm not suffering from a concussion. And he's not going to take me by surprise either. I'm ready this time and I'm going to show him just how much a sucker punch like the one he gave me all those years ago hurts. 

I haul off and land a good solid jab directly to Craig's left eye. My hand hurts like hell when I'm done, which tells me his face must hurt equally, if not more so. It also accomplishes my purpose, since he instantly drops the wallet and cowers as far away from me as he can get in the tight little space. I snatch up the wallet and start to leave, but I just have to get in the last word, so I stop and turn to give Craig Taylor my final ultimatum.

"Don't you dare come anywhere near Justin ever again, you fucking loser," I threaten.

"Or what," he laughs at me - not the response I was expecting. "What'll you do to me, huh? You've already taken everything I ever had. I lost my house, my business, my family, my freedom, everything. I spent eight years in two different prisons because of you, Kinney. Not only did you corrupt my first wife and my son, but my second wife divorced me too while I was in jail. There's nothing left you can do to me short of killing me. So, if that's what you want to do, go right ahead. It would be a lot better than living in this hell you've driven me to."

I look around, then, and realize he's right. There's nothing more that anyone can do to him that's worse than what he's already living through. Theres only one point he's wrong about.

"I didn't do this to you, Craig," I tell him as I pull the cash out of my wallet and add it to what was already in Justin's, tossing it all at my feet. "You did all this to yourself. You are the lowest of the low and you always have been. Anyone who could do the horrible things you did to your son and your wife deserves this. You just finally sank to where you belonged all along. If I helped in any way to put you here, I consider that a community service. Goodbye, Craig."

My last glimpse of Craig Taylor is of the man scrambling on his hands and knees to catch all the bills I threw at him before they blow away.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I've pretty much managed to pull myself back together by the time Brian returns. I'm embarrassed that I had an episode like that in front of Gus and his friends. It's been years since that's happened to me. I think it was the surprise of seeing Craig that did me in. I had started to deal with him just fine until the wallet thing. But I guess what my therapist tells me is true - PTSD is not really something you're ever 'cured' of. You get better at dealing with the triggers, but you never get over some things completely. 

Brian isn’t gone very long, thankfully. I had my doubts about letting him go after Craig, but he had that look and I knew I couldn't have stopped him. But that doesn't mean I was comfortable with his choice to go haring off after the creep. We'd talk about it later though.

"Better?" is all he asks when he does return, dropping my wallet on the floorboard of the car as he gathers me into his strong arms. 

"Yes. I'm better. I'm sorry, Brian. I just wasn't prepared to see him and when he . . ." I start to explain, but Brian predictably stops me before I get far in my apology.

"Sorry is bullshit, Sunshine. Besides, you don't need to apologize or explain anything. That bastard should have known better. As long as you're okay. We'll get home and kick everyone out and then . . ." 

"No! I'll be fine, Brian. I don't want to ruin the party for everyone. Especially for Gus and his friends," I demand, trying to assuage the concern I still see in his eyes. "Really, Brian. Just get the liquor and let's get out of here. I'm fine."

And, really, I am fine as soon as I pick up my wallet and see that my ID and my ICE card are still there. I know it's overly sentimental drivel, but those two little pieces of plastic mean so much to me that losing them would be a real blow. One of them proves to me that I'm a real person, someone who matters in the world and who has a place. The other proves to me how much I mean to the most important person in my world. 

I've had a lot of different wallets over the years, and I've even got the ID replaced a couple times. But that little laminated ICE card is still the same one I've had since the first night Brian gave it to me. That one little item means more to me than everything else I own in the world. I don't care that the phone numbers and address on the card are out of date. That's not really the point to the card anymore - in fact, it never was.

When we finally make it back to the house, we're greeted as if we've been gone months, not a mere hour or so. Everyone has to congratulate Gus and Scott again and then the party restarts full tilt.  Brian deposits me in a chair by the pool and then proceeds to play host to the happy masses. 

I must not be hiding my tension from meeting Craig very well, or maybe Brian's incessant hovering around me gives away that I'm upset, because as soon as they've all taken time to speak to Gus, it seems like everyone wants to come spend time with me. Brian knows me, though, and he's well aware that after one of my episodes, I don't really do crowds well, so he's playing gatekeeper and pretty effectively keeping my visitors down to one or two at a time.

The rules don't apply to Daphne, though. My best friend pushes her way through Brian's attempted defenses, giving him a scathing look as if to say, 'don't even try it, Brian'. He just shrugs and cedes his role as guardian to the unstoppable little brunette, who plops down in the seat next to me.

"A crate of medical supplies, a tool box full of tools and a Satellite phone," Daphne says with a grin. "Beat that!"

"Since when does a 'crate full' of anything count as one item?" I ask. "Plus, sat phones didn't exist back when Gilligan's Island was on television. I mean, what fun would the show have been if they could have just called up for help as soon as the boat landed. That's just cheating."

"Fine. I'll rethink it," she gives in too easily, which is a sure sign that she knows something's up. "So, what gives? You were in a much better mood earlier. Plus, Brian's acting like a big old mother hen, not to mention he's got his hand all wrapped up in a dish towell full of ice. What happened, Jus?"

"We saw Craig at the liquor store on the way home," I tell her right out, giving her the condenced version. "He tried to steal my wallet and Brian got it back. I don't know about the hand, but I suspect he hit something."

"Shit. More like Brian hit someone. How dare that asshole show his face? Are you okay, Jus?" Daphne's all concern and worry.

Am I okay? As I look around me at all the people here in my home, my friends and my family, I'm pretty sure that I AM okay. In fact, I'm way better than okay. 

It finally strikes me that Craig can't really hurt me anymore. I have everything that anybody could ever want. I have a beautiful home - not just a house, but a home - that I share with my partner who's been with me for more than ten years and who I know cares for me because he's willing to fight all my demons, even my father, for me. 

We have a beautiful, talented and intelligent son, Gus, who's joking with Brian right now as the older man works the grill. I have all the rest of these kind, caring people, my family and friends, who all mean so much to me. I know from experience that they would all support me and protect me, almost as fiercely as Brian. 

I have my career, based in part on the Arts degree I got using the money we recovered from the sale of Craig's business, and partly on the generosity of Brian, who was willing to give an untried street kid with a little raw talent a job all those years ago. I still work at Kinnetik as Brian's Art Director, even though I spend more of my time delegating work to the other artists than doing my own work these days. But, more and more, my painting career is taking off and we've even discussed my retiring if my next show goes well.

We have financial security. Brian's business sense has always been phenomenal and between Kinnetik and our investments, even without my income from my art, we're set for the rest of our lives. Not bad for a former street hustler who often had no idea whether he'd have enough cash to buy dinner.

So, what can Craig do to me, now? Nothing. That lonely, malnourished and ill boy that passed out on Liberty Avenue and was taken in by a group of kindly misfits, is long gone. The man I am now is so far beyond that boy’s imagination, he couldn’t even conceive that he’d end up where I am now.  

So, let Craig make whatever threats he wants. I’m really, really okay.