Vann swept his hand across the page, sketching out the darker lines in his drawing. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he added a little shadow, taking advantage of the textured paper in the sketchbook Drayton had given him. He hated accepting gifts, but he couldn’t resist the itch to draw again or deny the excitement in Drayton’s face when he actually accepted the present.

He glanced at the random pencils he had gathered from Matt and Julian on the coffee table, searching for a harder lead tip that gave him the fine point he needed for the detail he wanted to add. He’d never had real art pencils to work with, but standard pencils of different brands and types always seemed to work just fine for his sketches. He snatched another pencil in his opposite hand and brought the sketchbook higher on his knees, switching from one pencil to the other until he had the right balance of shadow and detail he wanted. He straightened his arms, holding out the drawing in front of him to inspect the details.

He held back a smile.

Fucking perfect.

He grabbed a different pencil from the table and added a few more accents. He glanced up at the wall clock. His pulse quickened, realizing Drayton was due to arrive in about ten minutes. He finally let the smile slip, thankful he always seemed to lose track of time when sketching. He made a mental note to draw something to help pass the time every night before Drayton arrived. It sure beat wearing out the floor in the house with his pacing while waiting for his arrival.

“Shaw, someone’s here to see you,” Ryan called out from the front entrance.

Vann closed the sketchbook and set it on the table. Maybe Drayton had his driver bring him to the house today instead of driving himself and parking in the back lot? He jumped off the couch and headed to the front door, chuckling, wondering if Drayton’s early arrival meant he was just as anxious for their time together. It was as if they’d gone back in time, getting to know each other and uncovering which old quirks were still in place and discovering new ones. And he wouldn’t deny he had fallen in love with Drayton all over again.

The smile melted off his face and his heart punched against his chest. Eyes that mirrored his shape and color stared back at him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice harsh and his tone a little gruff from holding back the storm of memories flooding his mind.

Every hit.

Every yell.

Every disgusting name and word spewed at him.

“Is that any way to speak to your father?”

The years of alcohol had obviously taken their toll. His coloring carried a slight yellow hue that hadn’t been there before, and his teeth had somehow grayed over the years, darkening his sneer. The wrinkles in his face had deepened and strands of silver now colored his hair, but he still carried his height and strong frame with intensity. It hadn’t been a childhood nightmare. His father was, in fact, the tall, strong monster he had remembered and had hoped to forget.

“What do you want?” Vann asked, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“I heard you were out. I wanted to see my son.”

“Shocker. I remember you kicking me out on my eighteenth birthday. Why the sudden interest?”

The older man cackled and the scent of alcohol on his breath flowed across to Vann, roiling his stomach with disgust. The man took a step forward, crossing the threshold of Halfway House. “Because I’m not an idiot, boy.”

Vann stared, frozen in place. He clenched his fists tighter, and his teeth hurt from biting down so hard.

His father took another step forward. “I heard your…boyfriend is doing well,” he said, unable to hide his distaste.

Vann refused to respond.

“Aren’t children supposed to take care of their parents when they get older?”

“Aren’t parents supposed to love and protect their children?” He rocked back on his feet, needing to distance himself from the monster attempting to provoke him.

“I let you live under my roof. I did my part. Now you need to do yours.”

Always looking to get something for nothing. “I don’t need to do shit for you.”

“Then I’ll go to him. I’ll threaten to tell the world about you…your history. A man like him can’t have that…stain…on his shiny shoes.”

The drumming of his heart thumped in his ears and vibrated in his skull. His fingers numbed from the tight fisting of his hands. He didn’t want this asshole in his life anymore. His or Drayton’s. He didn’t even want him anywhere in the neighboring dozen zip codes. Each deep, measured inhaled came out as a shaky exhale.

“Stay the fuck away from him.” He wanted to swing his fist into that smiling face. He wanted to pummel him until the rage lessened.

Even though his father was still tall and strong, Vann was bigger than he used to be as a kid and had more physical strength than he had ever had during the beatings he’d taken as a child. His size gave him the power to intimidate with the best of them. It was why he had worked so damn hard in the yard every day. He needed the facade of physical strength while inside—not to actually fight with the inmates but to keep them at bay and avoid any physical altercations. He had fought a man inside who used to eat the fingers of his victims and won. It landed him in the infirmary for two days. But dammit, he’d won and had gained the fear of his fellow inmates. And he’d kept all his fingers to prove his victory.

Things were different now. Without question, he could fight his father back and not get knocked on his ass anymore. And he had learned early on the importance of having a strategy. Being a bratty street kid fighting a few bullies was easy for him. He had simply channeled his anger toward his father onto the guys who’d threatened Dray. And bullies traveled in packs like wolves, but alone or in pairs, their strength weakened, and that was when he’d attack.

Rumors had spread quickly to avoid the twitchy street kid with the always present black eye. They’d thought the bruises were from his many fights. They’d been right. But they’d had no clue those battles had happened at home, with this same son of a bitch standing in front of him now. The one remaining asshole on the face of the earth who shared his blood and should have had a predisposition to give a shit about him. But all he’d ever cared to do was remind him how humanity would be better off without him, how much he hated him, and how much he’d prefer his son would crawl into a hole and disappear.

He’d fought back as he always had in life when someone threatened to beat him down. But he had never had the strength to physically fight off his father for any length of time other than the first few shoves or punches his way. But he could do it now. He was stronger. And he had a hell of a lot more endurance to last several rounds in a fight without batting an eyelash.

The need to unleash the years of hate raced through his veins. He could easily nip the silent exchange between them and wipe that fucking smirk off his father’s face. He could do it. He didn’t question it. The power and strength coursing through his body let him know one punch would pop the cap off a lifetime of resentment and release a downpour of hits that would finally end this.

It would be easy.

It would only take seconds.

But he…couldn’t.

He knew better than to reduce himself to the asshole’s level and fall for this trap. One punch to this son of a bitch would land his ass right back into the hell he had managed to escape. And this son of a bitch wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth a second of sacrifice in that hell.

“Go ahead. You know you want to,” his father taunted with a sneer.

Vann wouldn’t cower. He wouldn’t back down. Even if his mind yelled at him to back away, his body vibrated with the need to stand his ground. To defend his honor, however minor it seemed to be. It was his honor, and he had worked damn hard to guard the humanity he knew ran in his veins. He wasn’t like this son of a bitch. He’d fought with every ounce of strength in his soul to never be a reflection of this sad excuse for a man. Like father like son…my ass.

He couldn’t surrender.

He wouldn’t surrender.

But even he had limits, and he was at the brink of losing all semblance of control. He needed a barrier. Something that would shield him from the molten rage threatening to unleash a lifetime of hate onto this monster. Vann did the only thing he could do in that moment.

“Julian!” he yelled, never letting his gaze shift from the same almond-shaped eyes staring back at him. He refused to back away, controlling each slow inhale and exhale of breath as it pushed through his lungs.

Quick, strong steps pounded down the stairs. Julian stood at his side, watching them both as if trying to decipher the exchange.

“This is…my…father,” Vann said through clenched teeth, fighting the bile churning in his stomach.

In an instant, Julian signaled something over Vann’s shoulder then turned to face the older man. He pressed a single finger to the center of the asshole’s chest, forcing him to take a step back. “Out. Now. Willingly or with force. Your choice.”

His father flinched, shifting his focus from Vann to Julian. “You can’t—”

Julian leaned forward, steady as always although probably suffocating from the stink of alcohol and tobacco emanating from the asshole’s body. “Our house. Our rules. The moment you passed that threshold, the rules shifted in our favor. The police will be here any second.”

His father chuckled. “You think you scare me? You look like you need a good ass whooping to put you in your place. Are you afraid? Is that why you need the police here? For protection?”

“The call is to save you. You’re in my house. And I have every right to protect my home. You’re the one trespassing.” Julian straightened to his full height and crossed his arms, widening his already broad stance. “You hit me or Shaw, your sorry ass goes to prison. And that’s a promise. I’ve got a roster of attorneys and detectives who will make that happen in a heartbeat. So I’m begging you,” he said slowly, barely above a whisper, in a steady, level tone. “Hit me. Hell, just touch me.”

Vann’s father scrutinized Julian, probably trying to assess the sincerity of his words. He looked away from Julian, returning his focus to Vann.

“You’re a stupid, worthless shit. You’re a murderer, and just because you’re out, doesn’t mean that will ever go away.”

“Get. Out,” Julian said, voicing the short words with each exhale.

Vann clenched his fist and bit back the words threatening to spill, locking his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. He wasn’t going to let this monster bait him. But he wouldn’t deny the words stung.

“You killed your lover’s father like a fucking savage,” he hissed.

Vann refused to move or respond. If his father sensed the sting of his words, he’d go in for a second helping.

“This is your last warning. Get the hell out,” Julian said through a clenched jaw.

A smile slowly pulled on the older man’s weathered cheeks, his focus pegged on Vann as he spoke. “You killed that man.” He quieted for a moment or maybe it was the pounding of Vann’s heart thumping in his ears that muffled the sounds around him. “And you killed your mother.”

Julian grabbed the older man by the shirt collar and pushed him out the door, dragging his feet along the path to the fence.

The older man fought the hold as he continued to yell over his shoulder. “She gave you life and you thanked her by killing her when you came into this world. You killed her and you killed that man. You’re a murderer and you won’t be anything more. Ever!”

Vann stood still, trying not to let the words reach his soul, even though they had already pierced his armor and seeped into his limbs, weakening his spirit. He stared out into the front yard. His father thrashed in Julian’s hold, fighting to break free. A police car pulled up and abruptly stopped, flashing its lights, reflecting a glow of red and blue across the taller buildings. The uniformed officer cuffed his father and pushed his head down and into the back of the police car.

A sudden exhaustion seeped into every pore of Vann’s body. He turned around. He didn’t want to see the flashing lights, he didn’t want to see his father banging his head against the side window of the squad car, and he didn’t care about the second police car that drove up.

He ducked his head and slumped his shoulders as the poison of the words infected his soul and multiplied the mass of his muscles, weighing him down. He walked down the hallway and up the stairs, the heaviness of each step adding an ache to his legs as his stride slowed. He entered his bedroom and screwed his eyes shut, trying to control the raging war in his mind. He hated this.

Doubt. Hate. Weakness. All things he despised, gushed inside him.

He walked to the corner of the room and leaned his back against the wall, sliding down until his ass hit the floor. His chest rose and fell with each forced breath through the heaviness pressing his sternum as he replayed the words.

Over and over again.

He hated this shit. He hated the pain, the sting, and the weight of the words that had hit their mark too many times in his life.

He wished he could ignore their toxicity.

He wished he could focus on the positive.

He fought the swell of pain in his chest and the ache squeezing his heart. The blindsiding strength and power of a few vowels and consonants strung together always seemed far more potent than any physical blow he had sustained over the years. All the time spent in the yard, building his strength and size, hadn’t helped him fight the power of those words, and the blows and hardship he’d endured in his life hadn’t built up his tolerance to the fresh sting.

He was tired. Tired of the pain, of the disappointment, tired of always fighting and never gaining enough traction to move forward.

His eyes burned as the words replayed in his mind.

You’re a murderer. You’re stupid. You’re worthless. You won’t be anything more.

He screwed his eyes shut and made a wish, just as he had a million times before.

I wish I were someone else…someone who matters.

 

 

∞ ♥ ∞

 

 

Drayton pulled into the rear parking area of Halfway House faster than usual and launched from the car, beelining toward Julian standing by the back door entrance with a furrowed brow and crossed arms. He’d seen the police cars drive away when he pulled up around the corner and hadn’t been able to take a breath in the few seconds it took to drive around to the back and park. After everything that had happened and the numerous obstacles that always stood between them, he couldn’t fight the worry that tried to burrow its way into his heart that something had happened to Vann.

“Julian?”

“Shaw’s upstairs. His father decided to stop by for a visit.”

Drayton stilled and slowly squared his shoulders. That son of a bitch always managed to land his strike, leaving a bruise that ran deeper than the purple stamps he would leave on Vann’s body. “How is he?”

“He’s not talking.”

Vann’s shutting down. He lowered his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You said he was upstairs.”

“Yes.”

“I know I’m supposed to stay in the common areas, but I need to see him.”

Vann often used angry brush strokes in some drawing to unleash the lingering rage after a physical fight with his father. But there were other fights that left a deeper scar on Vann’s soul, and he’d withdraw, shut down, and distance himself from everyone, sometimes not uttering a word for days at a time.

Drayton couldn’t let that happen.

Julian handed him the signed approval for their weekend furlough. “I’m guessing that’s weighing on him. This was a house incident so the work program rules don’t apply here. We handle house issues differently. Make sure he knows his father coming here didn’t screw up your weekend together. That kid can’t catch a fucking break, and I’m worried he’s going to give up.” Julian crossed his arms again and resumed his position. “His room is the third one on the right. Just get through to him please. Aidan should be here in a few minutes, and I’ll have his ear for a while to see what we can do about Shaw’s old man. That bastard’s going to pay for coming into our house and trying to cancel out that kid’s progress.”

Drayton strode past the worried faces in the living room to the stairwell, taking two steps at a time until he reached Vann’s room. He steeled himself and slowly pushed open the door, stilling at the sight of Vann, huddled in the corner on the floor, folded into himself, like the younger version of the man after another fight with his father—beaten down, not by fists but by the lethal blows of toxic words.

“Vann?” Drayton stepped forward when met with silence, taking a seat at his side on the floor. Vann had different degrees of quiet as he processed his thoughts. But too much thought after any interaction with his father never boded well and often let the poison spread through his system.

There was a steady strength about Vann. A steady energy that radiated from him, enough to power a small village. But there was something fragile he kept buried deep inside and guarded from others. Something that always forced Drayton to hold him closer, kiss him with more desire or tenderness, and envelop him with more love than he could possibly handle.

He snaked his arm around Vann’s shoulders and pulled him close. He pressed his lips to Vann’s forehead when Vann finally turned toward him and rested his head on Drayton’s shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him. You know he’s an asshole and deliberately sets out to hurt you.”

Vann gripped the front of Drayton’s shirt in his fist and tugged him closer, pushing his nose into the crook of Drayton’s neck.

“You matter,” Drayton whispered, brushing his fingers against Vann’s arm.

Vann inched back and lowered his brow, but still remained silent.

“I remember being out by the lake one day. I wasn’t in our usual spot under the tree, so you didn’t see me. I was sitting on one of the rocks by the water’s edge, off to the side. I heard you coming, stomping in, mad at the world, cursing up a storm with your sketchbook in your hand. You sat down by the tree and yanked open your book and started chanting, ‘I do fucking matter.’ You just kept saying that, over and over again.”

He pulled Vann close and held him tight in his arms, sighing when Vann eased into the embrace. “You matter, Vann. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now, freaking out, trying to sound as if I’ve got it all together when I’m really dying inside seeing you hurting like this. And Julian’s so pissed off downstairs he’s going to talk to Aidan about your father. Ryan is pacing the living room, and on the corner of the couch, a serious Matt is comforting Ben who’s holding some really fucked-up stuffed animal. If you didn’t matter, would everyone worry about you?”

“What he said…it wasn’t a lie,” Vann finally said, the pain obvious in the crack in his voice.

“He might have said one thing with a shadow of truth, but I’m certain he twisted it and threw in lies and hate hoping they’d stick.”

“He said I was a murderer. He said I killed my mom. I…always wondered if that’s why he hated me so much.”

Drayton ran his fingertips up and down Vann’s muscled arm, wishing he could erase the pain in his voice. “You never told me that before.”

“I’m a thief too. I stole her name. Maybe I don’t deserve to have it.”

“You’re not a thief.”

“I stole that bread.”

“You were going to put it back.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s on paper that I stole it, and that’s what people will always know. That’s what they’ll always see. A fucking killer and a thief.” Vann untangled himself from the embrace and crossed his arms, a deep frown leaving a crease in his forehead. He quieted again, the frown fading then reappearing and his eyebrows twitched as if a battle raged in his mind. Drayton knew him well enough to grant him the space he needed to work out the different scenarios in his head, but he also knew it was a slippery slope when thoughts of Vann’s father were involved.

Drayton’s breath hitched when Vann finally made eye contact, his eyes haunted and full of so much pain. He didn’t know what to do other than wrap his arms tightly around Vann, hoping to offer some of his own strength and resilience. “We’re a day away from having our weekend. Just you and me. And we’re going to have a long talk about a few things.”

“I’m starting to lose hope we’re ever going to get our weekend.” Vann blew out a heavy breath and pressed closer to Drayton. “I’m going to die a horny man.”

A smiled tugged at the corner of Drayton’s lips. His Vann was making an appearance. “I’ve got the signed form in my pocket. So if they cancel now, they’re going to have to fight off both of our pissed off, horny asses.”

“This nice long talk you want to have. What did I do?”

“Nothing. Just a few things we should have talked about when you got out, but I didn’t want you to have to deal with too much while trying to adjust.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are…we okay?”

“Yes.”

“Is this the part where you tell me you gave birth to our love child and have been keeping that a secret?”

Drayton chuckled. “No.”

Silence surrounded them as they held each other. He hated the insecurity and pain Vann’s father always brought into their world. He brushed his fingers along Vann’s arm and up his back. He closed his eyes as he pushed his nose into Vann’s hair, pressing his lips against him as he inhaled. Not so much to kiss him, but craving the contact, the closeness, hoping to telegraph the love vibrating in his body for the man in his arms.

Vann sighed. “He hates me, Dray.” He tilted his head toward Drayton, but avoided eye contact. “He hates you too.”

Drayton slid his hand into Vann’s, his pulse spiking when Vann clasped their hands tighter. He hated Vann’s father—hated the hurt and lingering pain he always left in his wake and the sting of his words that always left their mark on Vann’s soul. It was as if that monster took pleasure in jabbing the knife and turning it until he was certain he’d left his mark. He hated feeling powerless. He hated the agony vibrating off Vann and not being able to heal his pain. “Do you care what he thinks?”

“Aren’t we supposed to care what our parents think?”

“Only if our parents aren’t deliberately trying to break us.”

Vann quieted again in his usual introspective way.

“Even if you don’t believe you matter to anyone else, you know you matter to me.”

Vann stroked his thumb along Drayton’s finger. “We’ve got a weekend coming up and you’re horny. So you’re dishing out extra special words.”

“Are they going to get me laid this weekend?” Drayton chuckled when Vann pivoted his head toward him and arched an eyebrow. There’s my Vann.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would kill this hard-on I’ve had for you. It’s over ten years strong. That’s some potent shit right there. I don’t think you’ll be able to walk when I’m done with you.”

“I do love a challenge.” Drayton knew the younger version of Vann always coped by deflecting when the pain was almost too much to bear. He’d play along if that was what was needed to get through to him.

Vann grew silent again, rubbing his thumb along Drayton’s hand. “I’m tired of life kicking my ass all the time.”

“Then maybe it’s time you kicked back.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of shit that would land me back in that hell.” He patted their clasped hands with his free one. “You’re supposed to be the smart one in this relationship.”

Drayton chuckled, thankful the teasing side of Vann was still present. “What I mean is…don’t let this shit hit its mark. You’re not this tough guy everyone thinks you are.”

“You’re supposed to tell me how badass I am and how you’ve been fantasizing about me every night.”

Drayton threw his head back and laughed.

“I missed hearing your laugh all those years,” Vann whispered.

He sighed as he tilted his head toward Vann. “I need you to listen to me. Okay?”

Vann nodded, staring at their clasped hands.

“You’ve got a good heart, and I’ve learned that’s both a strength and a weakness. It’s the reason you are the most caring man I know, but also the reason you feel this pain so much.”

“You’re getting better at this whole reading people thing.” Vann tilted his face toward him, his eyes pleading as if making an effort to absorb his message. “I’m not the same guy I used to be.”

“You’re still my Vann.” Drayton reached out, placing his palm against Vann’s chest. “In here.”

“I feel as if I take one step forward then get kicked ten steps backward.” Vann softly thumped the back of his head against the wall, another tic that seemed to linger after all these years.

“You’re a fighter.”

“That’s what Four Finger Fred said.”

“Who?”

“Never mind,” Vann mumbled.

“You’re not a quitter, so don’t you dare start now. You always find a way to make things work.” Drayton quieted, hoping to convey every ounce of love he felt for the man staring back at him. “That relentless fighter, he’s the guy I fell in love with when I was a kid and he’s the guy who had the strength to pull through the last ten years. And he’s the guy staring back at me right now. Who I love. Back then, now, and always.”

“You’re a romantic fucker,” he said with a weak chuckle. Vann ghosted his fingers along Drayton’s jaw, his focus following his fingers as they traveled down his neck. Drayton’s chest tightened when Vann looked up and gave him a lopsided grin—one that bore a hint of youthful innocence Drayton hadn’t seen in so long. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, standing guard while you change the world. Now…I just feel so fucking lost.”

Drayton leaned in and pressed a kiss to Vann’s lips. “You and me, we’re a team. Don’t ever forget that. I’ll stand guard for you until you find your footing again.”

Vann wrapped his arms around Drayton’s shoulders and held him close. “Thank you.”

He slid his arms around Vann and sighed. He stroked the back of Vann’s hair and hoped his message had been received, and that his words had enough power to cast out the evil demons trying to imprison Vann’s spirit.