Chapter Six
“What’s that smell?” Deacon asked.
“Dunno.” James didn’t look up from his textbook.
“Seriously. It smells like shit in this house.”
“Matt probably took a dump. Vegetarian shits are the worst.”
“But it’s been here since last night.” Deacon moved around the common room, trying to pinpoint where the smell was the strongest.
“Maybe you stepped in Anabelle poo. Did you check your shoes?”
“It’s not my shoes.” Deacon stopped next to the AC vent. “It’s coming from here. Fuck. It’s the fucking Alpha Delts. Gotta be.”
“They shit in our AC?”
“I’ll go check the outside unit.”
Sure enough, when Deacon got outside, there was dog shit smeared on the unit. Anabelle had wandered out after him and now stood, panting and staring at the back lawn, tail waving. He looked at her. “Did you leave an Anabelle pie somewhere the Alpha Delts could find it?”
She ignored him.
He sighed. The shit was inside the unit too. And he was supposed to drive home this afternoon. Well, maybe he could get a start on cleaning it, and the other guys could finish it. He felt it was at least partly his responsibility, since he’d been the one to crash the Alpha Delt party.
And I fucked Mark in their goddamn Kissin’ Shack.
Which would have been the most epic fuck-you ever against the Alpha Delts and all their homophobic bullshit, except Deacon would never tell anyone about it. Mark was probably having a hard enough time pledging as it was with his abrasive attitude, without being outed. Why the hell he was bothering, Deacon didn’t know. He’d said it was a family tradition, but Mark didn’t seem like the sort of guy who cared about stuff like that.
Deacon headed inside to the kitchen and dug around under the sinks for cleaning supplies. Unlike most fraternities on campus, Phi Sig didn’t have a house mom. They used a laundry service and had a cleaner come in once a week, but most of the household chores were divided up and taped to the roster on the fridge. Cleaning dog shit out of the AC wasn’t on the list, but someone had to do it.
Deacon looked around as a guy wandered into the kitchen.
Kevin. That was his name. One of the pledges.
“Deacon, right?” Kevin asked him.
Deacon nodded.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
Kevin shoved his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “It’s about the fee structure for the fraternity. I mean, what happens if you can’t pay it?”
Deacon shoved rubber gloves and a bottle of cleaning fluid into a bucket and stood. “If you fall more than three months behind, you’re out. But James talked to you about the loans, right? The interest is really low. I’ve got one. I pay what I can now, but if you need to talk about delaying it until after graduation because of special circumstances, that’s fine.”
“Okay,” Kevin said. “It’s just…I think I might have special circumstances.”
Deacon leaned back against the sinks.
“My dad’s in chemo,” Kevin blurted out. “And he doesn’t have insurance, so…you know. Does that count?”
“I’m sure it does,” Deacon said.
Kevin scrunched up his nose. “I don’t want to be a problem or anything.”
“It’s not going to be a problem,” Deacon assured him. “Look, obviously you’re a good student, we like you, and we want you here. We wouldn’t have asked you to pledge if we didn’t. If you’re having financial problems, we’ll help you out with that. James is the guy to talk to about all that stuff. And if you’re having any other problems, you can talk to any of us.”
“Thanks, Deacon.” Kevin smiled hesitantly and looked at the bucket of cleaning supplies. “Do you, um, do you need help with something?”
Deacon smiled despite himself. “I am currently on my way to clean dog shit out of the AC, courtesy of the Alpha Delts. If you want to help, feel free.”
Kevin made a face. “Um, sure. This isn’t some kind of hazing thing like in other fraternities, is it? Like cover the pledges in shit or something?”
Deacon laughed. “No, it isn’t. Tell you what, I’ll do the cleaning, and you hold the bucket. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Halfway through the cleaning process, Matt stormed out of the house and over to where Deacon and Kevin were working. “Did they seriously put shit in the AC?” Matt demanded.
Deacon looked up. “They seriously did.” He went back to work with the toothbrush and the dish scrubber. “We turned the AC off, so at least the smell shouldn’t spread anymore.”
“No. This is fucking too much.”
Deacon glanced up again. Matt’s face was red, and he looked more than ready to punch someone. He was definitely the most temperamental of the Phi Sig brothers.
“We gotta get them back,” Matt said.
Deacon dipped the sponge in the bucket. “I don’t think we gotta.”
“We can’t let them keep getting away with shit like this! No pun fucking intended.”
“James says if they do anything worse, we’ll take it up with the school.”
“No.” Matt shook his head. “Back when my dad was here, you didn’t go tattling when fights like this started. You handled it among yourselves. You won.”
All right, so some Phi Sigs hated the Alpha Delts as much as the Alphas hated the Phi Sigs. The last thing Deacon wanted was to get involved in an actual war with the Alpha Delts. But he knew Matt and a couple of the other guys were probably willing to go there. “Well, this is a different time,” Deacon said. “And the school’s gonna hold us liable for any property damage caused by dumbass pranks. So I say we don’t escalate this.”
“So we’re just supposed to turn the other cheek?” Matt muttered. “Great. This is why they hate us, you know? This is why they walk all over us—because we don’t fight back. This is a house full of nerds afraid to stand up to the jocks.”
“So basically this fraternity thing is gonna be like high school all over again?” Kevin asked tentatively.
Deacon chuckled. “Basically. But you get better food.”
Matt watched Deacon scrape the last of the shit off the slats of the unit. “I don’t get what you crashed their party for.”
“To see a friend,” Deacon replied calmly. He tossed the sponge in the bucket and took the bucket from Kevin.
Inside the house, he picked up his phone and saw he had a text from Mark. You working tonight?
He sighed. He would have loved to see Mark again tonight. But it wasn’t gonna happen. Driving home for the weekend.
He hit Send, hesitated, then typed, You have until Sunday night to find us a place to fuck.
Too forward? He had a feeling Mark would like it. He hit Send.
A few seconds later, he got back: Got about 5 ideas right now. When do u have to leave?
Deacon stared at the phone. It was too tempting to put off the drive and find out what Mark had in mind. He’d already spent way too much time today thinking about Mark’s body, hard and hot on top of his. About the costume, and how Mark had still looked like Mark, frills and tiny apron and all. Like he could put on anything—a snowsuit, a candy striper uniform, a Green Bay Packers Cheesehead—and still be completely himself.
Now, he typed. Sorry, Jules. I really want to see you.
Mark didn’t respond right away, and Deacon tried not to worry that he was angry or offended or just didn’t give a shit that Deacon wanted to see him. But as he went upstairs to pack, his phone buzzed. Guess we’ll just have to have phone sex.
Deacon grinned. Never had phone sex in my life.
Me either. Let’s try it.
Okay.
Deacon hadn’t known he liked guys in garter belts. How did he know he wouldn’t like phone sex?
When? Mark texted.
Call me in half an hour.
Deacon hurried the rest of the way upstairs and began throwing stuff in his backpack.
* * * *
“Jackson’s not a bad big,” Brandon said.
He and Mark had gone for a pizza at a place near campus. Mark wasn’t sure how what they were eating could be called pizza by any stretch of the imagination, but it beat dining hall food. He actually liked the meals at the Alpha Delt house—the chef was good. But he’d been invited to partake in few enough of those. It always depended on whether or not Bengal felt like letting the pledges eat.
Denying pledges dinner seemed kind of pointless, since Bengal had to know they all went and stuffed themselves with fast food as soon as they left the house each night. But there were nights when Bengal ordered them not to eat at all, not even when they went home. And the next day, Bengal usually pulled aside one or two pledges and took them to the “confessional” down in the basement to find out whether or not they’d obeyed. Mark had never been to the confessional, and the pledges who had refused to talk about it. All Mark knew was that any pledge who had defied an order not to eat didn’t do it again after a trip to the Alpha Delt basement.
“He’s kinda uptight,” Brandon went on. “But he’s not, like, a dick.”
Mark begged to differ.
“The shit they’re doing to us?” Brandon continued. “You can tell some of them like it—Bengal, and Logan. But Jackson seems like he’s just doing his job.”
His job is fucked-up. Mark was trying to pay attention to his conversation with Brandon, except he kept checking his phone. They needed to get out of here in fifteen minutes if Mark was gonna be on time calling Deacon. “Yeah, Blake’s not a bad guy either,” he said. “Except I saw him get stuck in a Portaloo, and now I can’t take him seriously.”
“A Portaloo?”
“Yeah. You know, one of those disgusting toilet stalls you can set up anywhere.”
“You mean a Porta-Potty?”
“No,” Mark said. “I mean a Portaloo. Why the hell does nobody here speak English?”
Brandon grinned. “You cannot be serious.”
“Mate, I am deadly serious,” Mark said but couldn’t stop smiling. “You should have seen me the first time I heard someone use the term ‘fanny pack.’”
“Because that means…?”
“Vagina,” Mark said, loudly enough for the woman at the next booth to stare.
“Oh!” For a second it looked like Brandon didn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified. Then he snorted. “Why’d you have to say it so loud? You’re such a jerk-off sometimes.”
“Wanker,” Mark corrected him with a grin. “I’m such a wanker sometimes.”
Brandon laughed louder.
Mark liked to make Brandon laugh. It felt like a challenge but the good sort. Not the sort where you pledged to Alpha Delta just to see if you could out-bastard them. Mark got the impression that Brandon didn’t really have any friends at Prescott. Not that Mark did either, but he didn’t give a shit. The difference was that Brandon deserved friends, because he was nice and smart and cute enough that the girl from their geology class had been giving him the eye for weeks, and shy enough that he hadn’t noticed. Brandon was pledging because he thought being an Alpha Delt would make him like them—loud, brash, and inexplicably popular—without realizing he was already pretty bloody awesome on his own.
“You want to study tonight?” Brandon asked.
“Sorry, I can’t,” Mark said, letting him take the last piece of pizza. “I’m kind of hooking up with someone.”
Brandon raised his eyebrows. “Kind of?”
“We’re going to try it by phone,” Mark said.
“Oh.” Brandon wrinkled his nose. “A girl from home?”
“No,” Mark said. God, he hated this. Here was the perfect time for him to correct Brandon on both counts—not a girl, and not from home—but he wasn’t going to do it. And not because he thought Brandon might freak out, but because Mark was too selfish to risk losing the closest thing he had to a real friend at Prescott. Actually, on the entire continent. No, wait, the entire hemisphere. Fuck, he was pathetic. “Not from home.”
“Okay,” Brandon said. “But you really ought to study, you know, while you get the chance.”
The chance? The chance was Buckley’s and none. Mark was sure the Alpha Delts had put a tracking device in his head or something, because it seemed like as soon as he veered anywhere toward the library, they called him to invoke their rights as arseholes. Sorry, brothers. Drive me here. Fetch me that. Do something incredibly demeaning and/or repetitive, just so we can all point at you and laugh.
“I know I should,” Mark sighed, pulling some bills out of his wallet. “Jesus, all your money is the same color, and I never know what to tip.”
“Fifteen percent usually covers it,” Brandon said.
Mark rolled his eyes. “Bran. I just ate half a pizza and a whole garlic bread. The only thing stopping me from curling up and falling asleep like a happy fat puppy is the fact that I have to have smoking-hot phone sex in a minute.” He smiled at the lady in the next booth. “I cannot be expected to do maths at a time like this.”
“Nobody’s expecting you to do maths. Math, maybe.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Why would you add an s to math?”
“Because that’s how you say it.”
Brandon picked up one of the bills and passed it back to him. “You are the weirdest person I know.”
“I get that a lot,” Mark agreed.
He liked it when Brandon laughed.
* * * *
Deacon was an hour from Chambersburg when Mark finally called. He’d figured Mark had forgotten, or got a case of nerves or something, but when he hit the speaker on his phone, Mark sounded as cocky as ever.
“So, Romeo, wanna tell me what you’re wearing?”
Deacon smiled. This was fantasy territory, right? No need to tell Mark about his track pants with a rip in the knee. “Just jeans and a tee. What about you?”
“Hang on.” A rustling noise. “Nothing, now.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Mark’s voice lifted with a smile. “My roommate has gone to some Occupy Someshit—they’re still doing that, right? He’s protesting something, anyway, so I’ve wedged the door, and I’m lying on my bed. Naked.”
“Shit. Wish I could see that.” Deacon fixed his eyes on the road and wondered exactly how distracting this was going to be.
“What sort of car do you have?” Mark asked.
“What? That’s not sexy.”
“It would be if you had a Ferrari or something,” Mark said. “But it’s an automatic, right?”
“Yeah,” Deacon said.
“Awesome.” Mark breathed heavily into his phone. “Because you are going to need a hand free for this, Romeo.”
For someone who claimed never to have had phone sex, Mark seemed very confident in the power of the spoken word. Although, to be fair, he was sex on legs. A fucking firecracker, with way fewer inhibitions at eighteen than Deacon had now. “Okay,” he said but kept both hands on the wheel. “So how do we do this?”
“Dunno.” Mark was silent for a moment, then: “Maybe I should tell you I’ve got my hand on my cock.”
“Wow. Straight for that, hmmm?” Deacon asked him, a jolt of surprise traveling through him. They were really doing this.
“You think I should do something else first?”
“Maybe.” Deacon braked to allow a truck the space to change lanes, and racked his brain for something. “What about your nipples? What does it feel like when you pinch them?”
Mark didn’t say anything for a while.
Shit. It was the word “nipples.” Maybe he should have called them tits. Although that might be worse. Deacon would have preferred to be with Mark, licking his nipples and pinching them and not calling them anything at all.
“I like it,” came Mark’s breathy reply at last, and Deacon relaxed. “What else should I do?”
Deacon’s cock hardened.
For a moment he thought about turning the car around and heading straight back to Prescott. But his mom, who was probably watching the clock with a growing sense of dread, certain that every minute he didn’t arrive meant he was dead in a crash on the highway, wouldn’t cope with that. It was bad enough with Ben and their dad away. Somebody needed to be there, to make sure she took her antianxiety meds and try and get her on a more even keel by Sunday night so she could manage a new week on her own.
Mark was like every fantasy Deacon hadn’t known he had. Mark was reckless, he was uninhibited, and he did whatever the hell he wanted. He was fun and full of life, and if Deacon hadn’t seen the look on his face that first day in the bar, he would have thought Mark was completely carefree.
But everyone had something, right?
“Put your fingers in your mouth,” Deacon said, dropping one hand to his cock and feeling it swell. “Suck them.”
“Mmm.”
“They’re my fingers,” Deacon told him, wondering if he was finally getting the hang of this. “Gonna touch you with them. Gonna put them in your ass.”
There was a long pause. “Arse.”
“What?”
“I have an arse,” Mark said. “Not an ass. Say it right.”
“Wow. Way to kill the mood,” Deacon said but laughed. “Whatever it is, it’s asking for a spanking.”
“Huh,” Mark said. “I’ve never done that either.”
There was a thickness in Mark’s tone, and Deacon swallowed. “Wanna try it?”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “Yeah, I do. You ever done it?”
“No.” But somehow the idea of spanking Mark’s ass was appealing on a lot of different levels.
“Do I get to spank you?” Mark asked. “Or does it only go one way?”
“Uhhh…” Deacon shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his groin. This was definitely new territory.
“Maybe I shouldn’t ask,” Mark continued. “Maybe I should bend you over someday when you’re so hard you’d blow if I breathed on your dick. And just give it to you.”
“I…” Deacon had a feeling phone sex ought to involve less stammering. “I might be better at spanking than being spanked,” he admitted. Was he supposed to be giving honest answers? This was fantasy. He should just go with it. But maybe these actually were negotiations for future encounters. In which case Deacon really wasn’t sure about being spanked. Probably unfair of him to expect Mark to take it, then.
But Mark didn’t seem to mind. “That’s all right. We want to play to your strengths. Now tell me, are you touching your cock?”
Deacon made a decision. He was on a straight road with little traffic. He unzipped his pants and stuck his hand down the front of them, cupping the warm bulge in his underwear. “Yes.” He stroked lightly, trying to ignore the voice that told him if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up in a scene from one of his mother’s prophesies—his car in a ditch, on fire, and his body bloody and broken in the front seat, his fly down…
“Are you hard?”
Deacon banished the image from his mind. “So fucking hard.” He pushed his hips forward and bit his lip.
“You wanna listen to me finger my arse while you wank yourself?”
Deacon breathed out. “Yeah.” He fumbled for his cock through the slit in his underwear, keeping his eyes on the road.
“How should I do it?”
Deacon felt amazing, powerful, as though Mark really was spread out in front of him, waiting for Deacon to tell him what to do. “Suck on your fingers again.”
“Okay,” Mark said softly.
Deacon could hear the wet sounds of Mark working his fingers in and out of his mouth. Occasionally Mark gave a quiet moan, and Deacon answered by huffing out a breath as he awkwardly stroked his half-exposed cock.
A car was passing Deacon on the left. Shit. No way they could see what he was doing, right? As long as he faced forward and didn’t pump too obviously…
“Take them out of your mouth,” Deacon said. The sucking noises stopped. “What position are you in?”
“What position do you want me in?”
Deacon ran a thumb around the head of his cock. “On your back. Legs up. Put your fingers at your…arsehole?”
“Arsehole,” Mark confirmed. “Okay.”
“Now slide them in.”
“All of them?”
“Two,” Deacon said. Fuck, he was close. He took his hand off his cock for a few seconds. “Can you handle two at the same time?”
“Can handle anything you give me.”
Deacon’s cock flooded with heat at Mark’s barely stifled groan as he pushed his fingers in. Deacon wondered if Mark was really doing it. “Are you fucking yourself?”
“Yeah.” Mark’s voice was tight. “Listen.”
Deacon didn’t hear anything at first. Then, very faintly, a slick, rhythmic noise. Deacon stroked himself again, then moved his fingers down to touch his balls. “Faster,” Deacon said hoarsely. Then he realized Mark probably couldn’t hear him.
“Faster?” Mark’s voice sounded farther away, but the rhythm picked up.
“Are you touching your dick?”
“Now I am. What are you doing?”
“I’m…” How had Mark phrased it? “…wanking myself.”
Mark chuckled. “How’s it feel?”
“Good. I’m close.” He was too. “Harder. Fuck yourself as hard as you can. Use three fingers.”
Mark grunted, and the slick noises were coming faster, louder. Deacon wondered where Mark’s phone was if Mark could hear and be heard, but Deacon could also hear Mark working his ass with his fingers. Deacon hoped to God he wasn’t on speakerphone.
“Gonna come, Deke,” Mark murmured. “Unless you stop me.”
Deacon could have come too, just from the way Mark said it. His voice was still low, a little breathless, a little strained. And that accent was so fucking hot, and Mark had called him Deke, which filled Deacon with a whole new kind of warmth. Deacon gave his cock two hard pulls and arched out of his seat. The car veered slightly, and Deacon corrected. “It’s all right,” he said between gasps. “I want you to come. I want you to fucking come all over yourself.”
From the other end of the phone there was a harsh mix of grunting, sharp breaths, and a short whimper that ended in a sigh. Deacon jerked on his cock until it was raw, holding his breath and then letting it go as he came over his hand. Mark’s panting fueled his orgasm, and by the time he was done, he could barely speak. “You still there?” he asked finally, shaking his sticky hand onto the floor mat. He found a fast-food napkin wedged between the seat and the door, and he used that to wipe off.
“Yeah.” Mark’s voice was gravelly, like they were having a late-night conversation and he was about to drift off. “I’m still here.”
Deacon wasn’t sure what to say now. Was it good for you?
Mark groaned. “Christ, Romeo. I’m a mess.”
“Wish I was there to…” Lick it up? Clean you off? “See. I wish I could see what you look like.”
“Look me up when you’re back in town. I may have a repeat performance in me.” Mark paused. “Did you get off?”
“Uh, yeah. Gonna have to air the car out when I get home.
“Why? Bet it smells good.”
Deacon laughed. “Gross.” He passed a sign for Chambersburg. Twenty-five miles.
Mark was quiet. “You know, that really wasn’t bad. Never knew I’d be so into phone sex.”
Deacon zipped his fly. “I agree.”
“We ought to try more stuff we’re not sure about. Like that spanking.”
Deacon grinned. “I definitely agree.”
“All right. It’s a date. When you get back.”
“When I get back,” Deacon echoed. He felt strange, sort of buoyed and relaxed, like he wasn’t driving but drifting. Like his brain was moving slower than his body. “I like you pretty well, Juliet,” he said before he could stop himself.
“Was just thinking the same about you, Romeo.”
Deacon floated a little higher. “So I’ll see you Sunday. And tell those brothers of yours no more dog shit in our AC unit.”
“What?” Mark sounded fully alert now. Deacon immediately wished he hadn’t mentioned it.
“We’ve started a war, you know. You’ve got the arse that launched a thousand ships, or something.”
“That’s mixing your classics a bit, yeah?”
“Maybe so,” Deacon said.
“They really put dog shit in your AC?”
“Yep. Had to hold Matt back when he found out.” Deacon passed a billboard advertising an adult video store. No, thanks. I’m good. “So,” he said, only half teasing. “You willing to risk your pledgeship to fool around with a Phi Sig?”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m not risking anything. They can take me no matter whose cock is up my arse, or not at all.”
Deacon grinned again. “Well, then. It’s gonna be my cock up your arse Sunday. Right after that arse has been spanked.”
“I like the way you say ‘arse.’”
“Arse,” Deacon repeated.
“You could stand to put a bit more oomph behind it. But it’s cute.”
“See how cute you think I am Sunday, pledge.”
He could hear Mark’s grin. “Can’t wait.”
* * * *
Phone sex was the shit.
Phone sex with Deacon, anyway. But everything with Deacon was pretty much the shit. Mark couldn’t wait until Deacon got back. Spanking, fuck. Would Deacon really be up for that? And would Mark really like it? Maybe it was one of those things that sounded awesome in theory, and people raved about it, but in reality turned out to be kind of meh, and you couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.
Like s’mores.
But you had to try everything once, right?
Even s’mores.
Not even the fact that Deacon wouldn’t be back until Sunday night was taking the shine off that phone call. On Friday night when Mark should have known better than to think he’d get any studying done, and maybe finally figure out who Nathaniel Hawthorne was, he found himself summoned to Alpha Delta House to serve as their beer bitch for the night. At least this time he didn’t have to dress up for them.
“Hey, little dude,” Blake greeted him at the door. “You’re looking happy tonight. You get laid or something?”
Sometimes Blake was shockingly perceptive. And other times he got himself locked in Portaloos.
“Uh…” Mark hesitated, stepping inside. “Yeah, actually.”
“Up top, bro!” Blake held out his hand, and Mark slapped it. “She hot?”
It was once again on the tip of Mark’s tongue to make the correction. He. I like cock. Whenever you guys talk about a girl’s tits, I picture a giant, fat, throbbing, leaking cock. I think about sucking it, I think about it hitting the back of my throat, and I think about swallowing cum. What had he told Deacon? “They can take me no matter whose cock is up my arse, or not at all.” And yet all he could make himself say was, “Oh yeah.”
“Score!” Blake gave him a noogie. “So are American chicks as hot as Australian chicks?”
Mark wrenched away. He hadn’t paid a lot of attention to American chicks. Or Australian chicks. “’Bout the same, really.”
Blake followed him into the common room. “Where was she from?”
“Uh, Chambersburg.”
“No, c’mon, little dude. What sorority was she from?”
“She wasn’t from a sorority.”
Blake nodded. “That’s all right. Sometimes it’s hard for pledges to get with sorostitutes right away, you know what I’m sayin’? I think it’s the polos. But hey, when you do start makin’ it with the Greek girls, you make sure you know where they’re from, okay?”
“Sure,” Mark said uncertainly.
“I’m serious. Alpha Delts don’t date Phi Moos, Jamma Vibratas, or Chi Hos. Easy DZs are fine, though. Just check with me if you got your eye on someone, all right?”
I have no idea what you’re saying to me right now. “You bet.”
Blake shook his head. “Bro, I was checkin’ out this hottie Wednesday night—banging bod, okay? This ass like…whew! So I’m thinkin’, okay, I gotta go for it. I go up to her and say hey. She turns around—total butterface.”
“Uh-oh?” Mark tried.
“I’m talking my mama could’ve made an apple pie out of that face. It was bad, bro.”
“Well, better luck next time.”
“Yeah.” Blake gazed into the distance for a moment. Then he turned back to Mark. “Hey, lemme show you what you’re doin’ tonight, all right?”
They headed to the kitchen, where Mark was disappointed to see Bengal leaning against the counter, eating chips and picante dip. Oh well. Not even Bengal could ruin his mood. Mark nodded at the pledge trainer, who stared at him. “Pledge bitch. Where you been?”
“My little brother’s been out getting laid!” Blake announced, heading for the fridge.
“Oh yeah?” Bengal said. “What’s her name?”
Mark didn’t answer right away. He was furious with himself for pretending there was some hot chick he was banging, yet the last thing he wanted was to be forced into an impromptu coming-out and then have to listen to Bengal’s opinion of faggots. Mark wasn’t afraid to fight, if it came to that. He’d just rather it didn’t come to that.
“Did she have a name?” Bengal prompted. “Or did you make her up?”
“That’s not really your business, mate,” Mark said.
Bengal’s eyebrows went up. “It’s not?” He straightened, rolling the bag of chips shut. “Everything you do is my business, pledge bitch.”
“Aw, Bengal, you’re just jealous because you haven’t gotten any in, like, a year,” Blake said, pulling a case of beer out of the fridge and setting it on the counter.
Bengal didn’t look away from Mark. “Come on, bitch. What’s her name?”
“Maybe I don’t remember,” Mark said evenly.
“Maybe you’re a liar.”
“Maybe I’m not in the habit of sharing details of my sex life with arseholes who’d put dog shit in someone else’s AC unit because of some pointless rivalry that—”
“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bengal said. “First of all, what we do to the Phi Sigs is none of your business. This is between brothers. Second, who the fuck do you think you are, talking back to me?” Bengal raised his voice and gave Mark a light shove. “Huh? Who do you think you are?”
“Bengal,” Blake said.
“Who told you about the dog shit, huh? You friends with the Phi Sigs? Maybe with that asshole who crashed the party?” Bengal was trying to back Mark against the counter, but Mark refused to move. As a result, Bengal’s face was now inches from his. “You two looked pretty cozy when you were helping Greg. And Chris saw you talking in the driveway afterward.”
“Are you trying to make out with me or threaten me?” Mark asked.
Bengal stepped back. He turned and picked up the bag of chips and picante sauce. “Come on down to the basement, pledge bitch. I wanna show you something.”
“Going somewhere more private for the make-out session?” Mark couldn’t stop himself. “I have to warn you, mate, you’re really not my type.”
Bengal grabbed his arm. “Get down here, you little freak.” He threw open the basement door and pulled Mark down the stairs.
* * * *
Ben’s room was straight ahead at the top of the stairs. Deacon always poked his head in. It looked just like it always did—tidier than Ben had ever kept it, thanks to their mother. Nothing on the walls except a framed poster of some football player Ben had had since he was fourteen, and a bulletin board above his desk where he’d pinned family photos, a couple of to-do lists, and an army-recruitment flyer. The air was a little stale; it reminded Deacon of a dead person’s room. Which maybe made sense, since their mother didn’t believe Ben would make it home alive, no matter how many e-mails Ben sent saying he was fine, that he was in good hands, that where he was, the biggest danger was the chow hall’s chicken stew.
The to-do lists were telling, Deacon thought. Ben had never been terribly organized or motivated. But he had tried. When they were younger, if Ben ever had a problem on his mind or a tricky decision to make, he’d sit down and write out a pros-and-cons list. If he had an appointment, he scrawled it on a calendar—even though he never remembered to check the calendar. If he turned eighteen and had no idea what to do with his life, he didn’t bum around waiting for his destiny to be revealed. He signed up for the army.
It was Ben’s uncertainty, the superficiality of his planning ability, that had perhaps motivated Deacon to be so sure about his own future. This college, this major, this fraternity, this career path… Deacon had it all figured out. Deacon’s mother didn’t have to fear losing him. He would always be home for the holidays, and he would always be close by if he was needed. He would have steady work and a good salary. He wasn’t going to die when some land mine exploded under his feet just because he hadn’t had the GPA to get into a decent school.
So why did he suddenly feel he wasn’t any more sure of what he was “supposed” to do than Ben had been? Yes, he would leave Prescott with a solid educational base to build on. He’d go on to grad school, and then he’d be qualified for the jobs he wanted to be qualified for. And then what? He’d get one of those jobs and do it for the next forty years? Was that it?
He tried not to let himself think like this. Tried to focus on all the cool shit that was happening in his life. Phi Sig had an awesome new pledge class. They were probably going to be able to score the Jameson Historical Home for their semiformal. After this semester, he’d never have to take a statistics course again. And he had Mark.
Was it stupid to consider Mark part of his life already?
Deacon shut the door to Ben’s room and moved down the hall to his own room. He set his backpack by his bed and was about to head to the bathroom for a shower when he heard his mother downstairs.
“Goddamn it! This piece of shit.”
He smiled. She’d been getting her cross-stitching out when he’d left her to come up here. He hung his towel back on the door, then returned downstairs. He entered the living room to a hiss and a, “Fuck. I give up.”
“Mom, sailors everywhere are cringing. What’s wrong?”
She sighed and waved her sampler at him. “I don’t know why I took this up. I really don’t. I just needed something to do that wasn’t work or watching the true-crime network, and I picked this because the girls who knit over in that courtyard at the cultural center always look so cute. But this is not knitting. And it’s not cute. And I’m too old to do something so old personish.”
“So maybe you should give it up.” He sat next to her on the couch. “Try something else.”
“I already promised the Farmers I’d do a little ornament thing for the new baby.”
The Farmers were the next-door neighbors. They had Mayla and Brody, the kids who came over to use the swing set, and they were expecting a baby in the spring.
“Well, maybe it’ll get easier, once you get the hang of it.”
His mother set the sampler aside. “I don’t want to think about it while you’re here. I just want to enjoy your visit.” She leaned back. “Tell me what’s new at the house.”
“Uh…hmm. James is planning a meeting to discuss some community-service thing. We’re gonna try to provide some materials to kids at local schools who want to enter the regional science fair. And, um…” I crashed a party at a rival house, fucked one of their pledges on the front lawn, and now we’re in an all-out war. “Tony’s being an idiot about the fall semiformal. He broke up with his girlfriend over the summer, and now he’s obsessed with finding a date.”
“Do you have a date?”
Deacon tried to glare at her but ended up grinning. “You know I don’t care about having a date.”
She shrugged. “There’s free food. I’m sure plenty of boys would be willing to go with you just for that.”
“Maybe what I ought to do is say I’m bringing a date on the form, then pretend my date canceled at the last minute and see if I can get two dinners out of this.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“All right. That’s what I’m doing.”
“How was the bar this week?” she asked.
“Same old. Made crazy tips the night of the grad-school symposium. I think eighty percent of the grad students skipped it and went out drinking instead. Or at least pregamed.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Deacon’s mother flexing her fingers as though the attempt to cross-stitch had done irreparable damage to them. She was tall and thin, her short hair darker than Deacon’s—almost black. Sometimes she seemed to take up hardly any room, like her spirit and her sense of humor had all been condensed in an effort to avoid being noticed. Like she was trying to make herself a smaller target for her illness. Other times, when her anxiety wasn’t so bad, she seemed strong and sure, and Deacon wanted permission to be a kid again, to ask her for advice, let her drive when they went somewhere, and let her pay when they ate out.
Deacon sometimes wondered if that feeling of disjointedness in his family was what had led him to seek a fraternity like Phi Sig. He liked the idea of a found brotherhood. A big family with no blood ties, no real obligations to one another, just a shared sense of purpose. He liked the forced proximity to his brothers too. He never had to worry about the Phi Sig house feeling as lonely as this one.
“Your brother’s coming home,” his mother said eventually.
Deacon looked at her.
“For good,” she added.
“I thought…” Deacon didn’t know what he’d thought. Ben had never said anything about coming home.
His mother flexed her fingers again. “Just before Christmas. I was hoping sooner, but doesn’t sound like that will happen.”
“When did you find out?” Why didn’t you tell me?
No, why didn’t he tell me?
“A couple of days ago. Ben didn’t want to say anything until he knew the date. But he should find that out by the end of next week. It’s great, isn’t it?”
“You don’t sound like you think it’s great,” he said.
She blinked. “I know. I just… Now that we know he’s coming home, wouldn’t it just figure if…?”
“Mom,” Deacon said. No matter how many times he found himself in this position, he still didn’t know what to say. Nothing bad will happen to Ben. He didn’t know that. And she knew there was no way he could know that. “It’s really unlikely anything will happen to him.”
“In Afghanistan? He could die any second.”
“He could die any second here too.” Maybe not the best response.
She nodded. “But here I feel closer to him. Here, if something happened, I could help.”
Deacon was silent a moment. “Whatever’s gonna happen will happen. And he’ll probably make it back fine. So just try to be happy he’s coming home, all right?” Deacon was trying to get used to the idea of having Ben home. Would Ben stay here, in Chambersburg?
She patted her thighs. “You want coffee? I’m going to make coffee.”
“Nah. I’m gonna go shower. Make it an early night.”
“You’re good to come visit,” she said. She said it every week. “I’m sure there are things you’d rather be doing.”
Deacon thought of Mark. Thought of lying around watching TV with James and Matt while Anabelle sniffed around the couch for chip crumbs.
He shook his head. “Glad to be here.”
This was his real family. His college life came second to this.
Deacon lingered on the couch and listened to his mother in the kitchen.
All the family’s last best hope wanted to do right now was fuck Mark Cooper and forget anything else existed except Mark’s gorgeous ass.
Arse.
But he could hardly tell his mother that.
So he went upstairs to shower.