Previously

Chapter 10

Brian and Justin walked to the front to pay the bill.

"Anything you want? Lemon bars?" Kiki asked as she rang them out.

"No, thanks." Brian handed her his money and she gave him his change. He handed a few bills to Justin, nodding to the table. Justin took the tip money and walked toward his friends.

"I thought I was going to die when Justin asked about the contest. I guess Brian didn't go home when he left Woody's," Em commented.

"I thought for sure he told the driver to take him home. Maybe Justin was asleep. I can't believe..."

Justin walked up to the table, placing his money on the table. He noticed the guys were talking quietly, something unusual. I wonder what they're hiding. "See you tomorrow, guys." He went outside and got in the jeep that Brian had pulled up to the curb.

Chapter 11

"It's nice meeting the guys at the diner," Justin remarked as he opened the car door. "I hadn't realized how quiet it's been the last two weeks. While I paint in solitude, I do enjoy being with other people."

Brian laughed. "Justin, the social butterfly of Gay Pittsburgh," he teased.

Justin turned in his seat and smirked at Brian, enjoying the playful banter. "You're just as guilty. Come on, admit it," Justin urged. "The family is a part of your life, just like Kinnetik."

"Whatever." Brian turned the car into the street toward where Mel and Lindsey lived. "I talked to Gus this morning and he said he needs some new soccer cleats. I guess that is where we'll start the little expedition."

"Sounds good. I can't believe he's almost finished with his junior year of high school. I wasn't that much older than him when we met," Justin reminisced.

"I know," Brian agreed. I never thought I'd be a father or have a family, and yet I happily have both. My life is nothing like I thought it'd be, but I'm glad it turned out this way. Shit, I sound like a fucking lesbian.

"It's so cool that Gus still likes to hang out with us. I remember when I was his age, the last thing I wanted to do was be seen with my parents," Justin said, continued his reminiscing.

"I sure as hell didn't want to seen with my parents, but the feelings were mutual. My mother was more interested in praying for the orphans in some Central American country than worrying about her own kids." Brian made a slight grimace. "What's with all the nostalgia?"

Justin looked out the window on his side of the car, staring at the neat little houses on the street. "Just thinking. I've had a lot of time for that lately. I know I almost died after the bashing, but I guess the accident brought to mind all the things I would have missed."

Brian's gut wrenched at Justin's words. "Don't." He reached over the seat, running his hand across Justin's cheek.

Justin leaned into the caress. "I love you," he said softly.

"You too," Brian responded. He pulled the car into the driveway, leaned over and gave Justin a quick kiss on the forehead.

They both walked up to the porch of the home; Brian knocked on the door to announce their arrival.

Gus opened the door immediately. "Justin, Dad didn't tell me you were coming."

"I could have your Dad drive me back home if you don't want me here," he teased.

"Nah. Who would I have to talk about the new Post Modern exhibit that Mom's working on," Gus bantered back.

"The moms will be sorry to have missed you. Mom had some big meeting at the gallery and Mama took J.R. to the dentist. She's getting the molds for braces."

"Poor kid. Lots of my friends had braces and they always complained how much they hurt."

Brian put his hand behind Justin's back, guiding him to the door. "Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

They got in the car and drove toward the mall. The car beeped and Brian looked at the gas gauge.

"Shit. I'm almost out of gas," he announced.

"You okay? You're usually so meticulous about checking that kind of stuff," Justin asked solicitously.

"I'm fine. Just been using the service a lot lately."

Justin frowned. He only uses the service when he's been drinking. Shit! I didn't realize he'd been using it that much.

Brian pulled into the next gas station and got out to pump the gas. Justin turned to open the door.

"What are you doing?" Brian accused.

"I'm going to go pay for the gas."

"The hell you will. It's my car, now get back inside," Brian said forcefully.

Justin shrugged and closed the door.

Gus looked at both men, trying to figure out what just happened, but he was clueless.

After Brian filled the tank, Gus chatted away about the upcoming tournament. Normally his dad would ask a zillion questions; how was the opposing team at defense, at offense, had they ever played them, was anyone on his team injured, basically a full run down training video a.k.a. Brian Kinney style. Not today. His dad asked a few perfunctory questions, verifying when the tournament started and when their team would play. Justin asked him about school, a topic he rarely visited. After 16 plus years, he was used to the occasional fight his dads had so he ignored them, continuing to chat away about his week. He reminded his dad that he needed new cleats before Monday's practice.

"That's why we're headed to the fucking mall. Now can you just be quiet. I've got the beginnings of a headache," Brian informed him.

"Sure dad," Gus readily agreed, trying to get Justin's attention, but failed to do so.

His dad's sour mood continued when they got to the store. They had gone to Soccer Master, but the store was out of his size. They'd gone to three different locations before they found his size and the style he needed.

"Is it too much to ask that a store carry most common sizes in stock?" Brian asked the sale's clerk, agitated and letting off steam.

Gus walked up to the counter, following the sales clerk, and Justin took out his wallet to pay.

Brian glared at him, "Put your wallet away. Gus is my kid and I'll buy his shoes," Brian chided Justin.

Justin returned the glare and handed the clerk his credit card. Brian started to push Justin's hand away from the clerk, mumbling under his breath, and stated with a steely voice, "I'll be in the car."

Gus looked from Justin to his dad as he watched the tall man abruptly leave the store. Justin signed the credit slip and handed Gus his shoes, silently walking out to the car. When Gus entered the car, he knew he'd stepped into a war zone.

Justin got in the car. "What the fuck is wrong with you? We've always shared expenses when it comes to Gus. Just last week, you were telling me that you paid for his basketball tournament fees and his new uniform. We've never kept track of who pays for what!" he yelled as he turned to his right to grab the door with his good hand.

"You haven't been able to paint since the accident and it might be a while until you can paint. You need to watch your money," Brian stated with emphasis.

"What the fuck? Brian it's been two weeks, not two years. Gus is my son too and I should help pay for his expenses. Has all the Beam you've been consuming rotted out all your sane brain cells?" Justin lashed out in anger.

"What I drink has nothing to do with you. You're not my mother, although you may be related as she butts into things that are none of her business," Brian retorted.

"Dads!" Gus yelled loudly from the back seat. I've had enough.

Both opened and closed their mouths before leaning back in their respective seats.

"I don't know what is wrong with you two, but I think you seriously need to talk. Why don't you bring me home? I've got a paper in my Am Lit class I should really be working on. I'll see you tomorrow at Grandma's dinner," Gus suggested in a quieter tone.

Brian started the car, turning it toward Gus's home. No one said a word during the ride, despite the tension in the car.

Gus grabbed his shoes, opened the door and said, "Thanks for the shoes. See you tomorrow." He quietly got out and walked to the door. He really didn't have a paper due, but his father's behavior was disturbing and he figured they needed to sort it out without an audience.

Brian turned toward Justin. "Do you need anything while we're out?"

"No," he tersely replied.

Brian turned toward West Virginia and drove them home. He parked the car in the garage, disarmed the security code, and waited while Justin walked in. Walking upstairs, he placed his keys and wallet on the dresser, and returned downstairs. Justin was sitting in the media room.

"Will the real Brian Kinney please step forward?" Justin announced as Brian hesitantly stood in the foyer.

"This isn't a game show, Justin."

"No, and I'm not your responsibility. I'm not an 18 year old kid who needs to be taken care of. I've paid my way for a long time and last time I checked, we don't keep tabs on bills; it's a partnership. Did I sustain another head injury in the accident? Otherwise, I don't remember any conversation about that changing. Did I forget something or are you just being an asshole?" Justin asked calmly.

Brian paced the room, glad that it was a large one and he could avoid looking at Justin as he formulated his response. Looking out the window, he replied. "It's my fault that you aren't able to paint and..."

Justin listened to Brian, but when he heard the explanation, he sighed loudly.

"And how do you think it is your fault?"

"The night before the accident you asked me to get your milk. I'd had a really shitty day and wanted to get home, thinking I would get the milk later. If I had gotten your milk when you asked, we wouldn't have been in the intersection and the car wouldn't have hit us," Brian explained.

"The power of Brian Kinney," Justin said sarcastically.

"That's what Vic said," Brian mumbled.

"What did you say? Are you dreaming about Vic again?"

"Yeah," Brian admitted sheepishly.

"Jesus, Brian," Justin sighed loudly. "What does he tell you?"

"Never mind, Justin. It's not important."

"Brian, I have paintings in several galleries right now and an exhibit that is supposed to start in a month. Even if I didn't produce any new pieces for two years, I'd be fine. In fact, I'd be fine if I never painted again. Ted has done a wonderful job of investing my earnings. Believe me, it's not an issue," Justin attempted to reassure him.

Brian nodded his head, acknowledging Justin's statement, but didn't move from his spot by the window.

"Is that why you've been drinking lately? Returning to your old pain management techniques?" Justin accused.

Continuing to look out the window, fearful of Justin's prying eyes and superb intuition, he said a soft "Yes."

Justin felt his stomach clench from the acid it dumped in his body. "Shit, Brian. You can't go back to your old ways. I thought you were over using drugs and alcohol to escape your pain."

Brian's heart clenched at the words coming from Justin. He felt a chill run through his body, but felt the sweat drip down his back and under his arms. "Justin, I screwed up," he began.

"No shit. Drinking and drugs do not solve your problems, especially when the problems aren't yours to solve." Justin got up, walked toward Brian, attempting to hug him with one arm.

Brian moved away from Justin, walking toward the couch. Brian looked straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. "The other night, after the... when the para... fuck it," he yelled in frustration. "I was drunk, went to Babylon and got sucked off by some trick." Brian sat on the couch, put his head in his hands and continued to stare at the floor.

Justin grabbed the chair, closest to the desk, attempting to steady himself. After taking a few deep breaths, he moved to sit in the chair.

What the fuck? He got blown by a trick. No wonder he's been drinking and not coming home. But when did this happen? Fuck! He started to say... after the... when the para... Shit! He got himself blown the night the paramedics came. No wonder he's been getting drunk and running hot and cold. Brian got blown by a trick. He got himself a trick. I can't deal with this right now.

They sat there for a long time, neither saying a word, refusing to move the pink elephant in the middle of the room. Justin stood up, walked out of the room and picked up the phone in the foyer.

"Carson, can you come up to the main house? I need some help moving some of my things," Justin stated.

"Of course, Mr. Taylor. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Justin?" Brian said his name in the most tentative manner Justin had ever heard.

"Carson is coming over in a few minutes. He'll help me move into the studio."

Brian nodded his head. "Do you need any help?"

"No. I can't be here right now. I think you should leave me alone."

"Okay." Brian left the media room and retreated to his office. He poured a large glass of JB, but when he brought it to his lips, he couldn't bring himself to drink it. Replacing it on the desk, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and allowed the tears to fall, unfettered.

Throughout the afternoon, he heard Justin directing Carson, his voice devoid of emotion. What have I done? At least he has the studio to go to. Maybe he'll talk to me in a few days. He's always after me to talk. Maybe... You're full of shit, Kinney. You've done the unthinkable. You're the biggest piece of shit.