Chapter 21

Tommy climbed out of his truck at seven thirty. His face was unshaven, and his body ached from a restless night’s sleep. The sky was overcast and gray, with bloated clouds hovering low, casting the world in shadow. It fit his mood perfectly. As he reached in the bed of his truck for his bag of tools, he grumbled at the dampness. He pulled the bag up and over the side of the truck and turned to walk up to the porch. The house was dark, and no signs of movement could be seen.

He knocked hard on the door, hoping at least, not to have made a wasted trip out here. His agreement with Hayden was to work quickly to finish the bedrooms for his guests who would be coming in this evening. He promised to throw in a little extra for Tommy’s trouble, money that Tommy really didn’t need, but he really wanted a chance to work on this old house. He had plenty of money, but he wasn’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, however, he lived modestly and put money away in the event something happened that kept him from working. Besides, that buzzing in his head had plagued him most of the evening prior, a buzzing accompanied by the face of the man who owned this house.

He had given that some thought, after failed attempts to quash it down. His inability to do so made him especially grouchy. He paced the floors of his house last night, looking at the telephone. It hadn’t been late, and he was thinking of offering to make dinner for the both of them.

No one came to answer the door. So, he raised his hand and pounded on the glass pane harder this time. His car was here. Finally, he heard stumbling around. Heard Hayden bang into something and curse. Tommy snickered. The door flung open and there stood a disheveled and unshaven Hayden. His eyes were wide, and his hair stood up on end.

“S-s-sorry. Come on in,” he stammered, blinking back the light.

Tommy grinned a bit. The buzzing in his head turned into a full-out hum; he was happy to see Hayden.

Hayden was surprised he had slept through his alarm, and he was a bit horrified at the thought of the way he looked. He stood back and let Tommy walk in. The large man entered the house and immediately headed for the kitchen. Hayden followed.

“I’m sorry. I had a rough night. Can I make you some coffee?” He was stunned again by the sheer size of the man before him and found his eyes wandering down to his butt. He had a great pair of buns in the jeans that he wore. He got an even better view as Tommy leaned down to set his bag on the floor next to the countertop. He turned to answer Hayden’s questions, and Hayden’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

“I woke you up. How about you sit down there at the table and I make it?” Tommy suggested. He grabbed the coffee pot and walked over to the sink, filling it up with water.

Hayden obediently sat down at the table. His thoughts were sleep filled and he still felt a bit disoriented. He looked out into the gray morning and sighed, feeling like the weather fit his mood perfectly. He turned his head when he heard water pouring into the coffeemaker. He watched Tommy empty the old coffee grounds into the trash can on the wall and walk back over to the counter where he heaped large spoonfuls—six by Hayden’s count—into the coffeemaker and then clicked it closed and turned the pot on. Hayden smiled a little; it was a long time since someone had made him coffee.

Tommy looked up from what he was doing. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just…daydreaming,” Hayden said, a little embarrassed from having been caught staring.

Tommy frowned as the black liquid began pouring into the coffee pot and the aroma filled the air. “You said you had a rough night?” he asked as he grabbed two coffee cups from the shelves and looked at Hayden, whose hair was standing straight up in places on his head. Tommy fought the urge to walk over and pat it down.

“Yeah, I ended up sleeping on the couch.” Tommy handed him a steaming cup of the black liquid. He took it and thanked him, taking a sip. Sweet Jesus, this is jet fuel. If I don’t water this down with something, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. He stood up and went to the fridge, pulling out some hazelnut creamer.

When he grabbed a spoon and sat, adding creamer to his coffee, he watched Tommy’s eyes drift down to the can he was holding and saw him arch a brow.

“What?” It was Hayden’s turn.

“Oh, nothing. I just thought you liked it black,” he said. He knew he made a strong cup of coffee and kind of kicked himself for adding that last scoop in.

“Actually, I hate it black. The other night was a fluke,” Hayden said, stirring. He put the spoon down beside the mug and lifted it to his lips. Much better. He was still going to be bouncing off the walls with the amount of caffeine he’d have in his system from the diesel fuel he was drinking, but at least he would enjoy it. He didn’t care if Tommy thought he was a nelly fag either and was prepared with a litany of comebacks should they be needed. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised by the softening look in Tommy’s eyes.

“Sorry, it’s pretty strong, I guess,” he apologized.

“No, no, it’s fine. You better watch out, though. I may be able to paint, repair, and refurnish the entire house by the end of the evening all by myself.” He laughed.

“Right?” Tommy asked, chuckling with him. He liked it when Hayden smiled. He was smaller than Tommy, slighter, and here in his pajamas, and… He stopped himself from staring at him.

With the power of a sledgehammer, Hayden felt the caffeine kick his brain into gear.

“So, about the rough night?” Tommy inquired again.

Hayden stared at him for a second and rolled his eyes. “I thought I saw something. A…ghost,” he said, cautiously.

Instead of laughing at him, Tommy arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I know it sounds dumb, but…I was walking up the stairs last night and almost got to my bedroom when I looked over at the corner…and…this man was standing there.”

Tommy sat forward, listening to Hayden tell his story. He seemed pretty sincere. “Go on.”

“He was awful looking. Pale. Scraggly. His hair was matted down to his head. He was tall, like you, but thin. It took a second or two, but I swear, the sight of him is burnt into my memory.” Hayden sat back. The hairs on his arm stood up as he recalled what he’d seen, and a chill cascaded down his back. He rubbed his arms absentmindedly.

“What happened then?” Tommy asked.

Hayden smirked. “I grabbed my blanket and crashed on the couch. I wasn’t staying up there by myself.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t an intruder? You know, criminals prey on people who live alone or…” He stopped when Hayden emphatically shook his head.

“No. He would have had to run past me. When I spotted him, I fell backward, almost down the stairs. I blinked, and the next second, he was gone. He had nowhere to go. No, I’ve dealt with criminals, trust me.” He took another drink of his coffee, which had begun to cool enough to gulp.

“Fair enough. That’s some pretty scary stuff, man. Maybe we can chase them away with some rock ’n’ roll and some painting, what do you say?” Tommy smiled.

“You’re on. Let me get changed into some work clothes. Come on, I’ll take you to the room,” Hayden said as they got up. They left their coffee cups where they were, walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Tommy broke away from him and went into the second bedroom as Hayden went into his room to change.

Tommy saw the cans of paint ready to be shaken and poured into the pan. The room was a sandalwood color, but it was his guess that it used to be considered off-white. He kneeled down, picked up one of the paint cans and started shaking it.

“What did that paint ever do to you?”

Tommy spun around, startled a little, and saw Hayden standing there in a pair of cutoff shorts and a tank top. His muscles were well maintained on his thin frame. His legs were strong and muscular as well. Tommy swallowed hard. Hayden was holding an iPod player and base, which he plugged into the wall. He placed the device on the floor and pressed play. Van Halen’s greatest hits started to play, and Tommy grinned.

“There ya go.” He laughed and pried open the paint can. Hayden yelled over the music and instructed him on what he intended to do with the color scheme, and Tommy nodded. It was basic, plain, and simple and he was glad for it.

They set to work, and as the hours passed felt comfortable enough around each other to belt out parts of the song. Hayden headbanged and tapped his feet as he painted, and Tommy caught himself watching him. The hum in his brain turned into a dull roar as he looked at Hayden’s body as he stretched, reached, and worked the paint into the walls using a roller.

Tommy returned to what he was doing—cutting in the crown molding with a brush. Song after song played, and they traded places, laughing and cutting up, the plastic on the floor shifting under their feet as they worked.

After the first coat was finished, they took a break and decided to go outside. Hayden ran and grabbed a hoodie from his room, and off they went. They strolled down the lakeside, walking and talking about the town and the people who lived there. Before too long, they were talking about their personal lives, where they grew up, political affiliations, and religious beliefs. Hayden threw his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, flipping the top up to cover his ears.

“You cold?” Tommy asked.

“My ears are. It’s chilly and funky today. Wouldn’t be so bad if the sun were out.” Hayden bent over and grabbed a long tree branch, snapping off the twigs and using it as a walking stick.

“Yeah, winter will be upon us before we know it. You should get chains on your tires if you plan on doing any driving. In the other cities, they plow regularly, but not this far north.”

Hayden nodded and made a mental note to do that, since this was the second person to tell him.

They walked on for a few minutes in silence. The crisp air was still, and Hayden appreciated it. Had the wind been blowing, he would have had to run back into the house to keep from freezing. The pace they were walking was enough to keep him warm, as was the company. He couldn’t help himself; he was really enjoying Tommy’s company. Little did he know, Tommy was thinking the same thing.

“So, big shot lawyer in Boston huh? What happened with that?”

There it is, Hayden thought. The Question, the elephant in the room that he had been practicing answering after he left the office but had not had a chance to discuss with anyone who didn’t know about the situation.

Tommy saw the change in Hayden as he stiffened slightly. Aw, damn it, I pushed too hard. He immediately apologized for it.

“No, stop doing that,” Hayden said.

“Stop doing what?”

“Stop apologizing. It’s fine, it’s just…a mess, really.” Hayden exhaled the last part as he stepped over another fallen branch. He looked over at Tommy, who was watching him inquisitively, and decided to run with it.

“I was an assistant district attorney for the city of Boston. I had a pretty fast-moving career and dealt with a long line of creeps and criminals. As much as I had been exposed to the horrible things human beings could do to each other, I was not prepared for what happened to me. My husband—my late husband, rather—was murdered in a revenge killing.”

Tommy whispered, “Wow.”

“Yeah. I put someone away who had connections to some really bad people and they wanted revenge. They got it.” Hayden felt his chest tighten a little; the past year had been explained in just a few short sentences and it made him feel as if he had swallowed a bowling ball. His chest felt full and uncomfortable.

“Did they catch the ones responsible?” Tommy asked, completely blown away by this information. He kept looking at Hayden as if he was going to turn around and tell him that the story was bullshit. He didn’t, and it made Tommy want to …want to what? He didn’t know, but he was getting all kinds of pissed off.

Hayden nodded. “It was the last time I set foot in the courtroom. I had to testify about the shooting. Malcolm—my late husband—and I used to jog together every morning before work. We did this Monday through Saturday to start our morning and then went home and had breakfast. He was an architect, and a damn fine one at that. He was the one who taught me all I know about houses. Anyway, after the first court case concerning the Cassone family, we had stepped out to go running when we got caught in a drive-by. I was hit in the arm and upper chest, and Malcolm was shot in the h…hea…heart. He died in my arms.”

“Oh my god,” was all Tommy could say. He could feel the tension rolling off Hayden, and instead of trying to find something to say, he lifted his shirt and showed him his stomach where he had taken a knife to the gut. “Angry Taliban fighter,” he explained.

Hayden looked at it wide-eyed, the flat stomach was covered in a swath of dark body hair, and right there, on the left side of his abdomen, was a nasty-looking gash. He also noticed Tommy’s moneymakers were deep and defined.

He raised his eyes to Tommy’s, and Tommy dropped his shirt. And with that, Hayden raised his own shirt, pulled his arm from his sleeve and pointed to the bullet wounds. “Angry Italian Family.”

The both stared at each other and then burst into laughter. Hayden pulled his shirt and hoodie back on and they continued walking. Without thinking, Tommy reached out and pulled Hayden to him in a short, one-armed bear hug. Instinctively, Hayden wrapped his arms around Tommy’s chest and buried his head for a second, smiling. He let go, as not to make Tommy feel weird.

“Is that when you moved here?” Tommy asked.

“No. I stayed in Boston for a bit. Became a recluse—I had a hard time getting out of the house. My shrink said it was PTSD, I agreed, and we went from there. After months of trying to force myself out of the house, I realized I didn’t like the hustle of Boston anymore and moved for quieter and calmer.”

They were walking a little closer now. Battle scars had a way of making people bond. Still that slip of skin set Hayden’s pulse racing and caused his throat to go dry.

“So, what about you, big army man. What’s your story?”

They had made their way quite far down the lakeside. He had no idea where he was going and silently counted on Tommy’s sense of navigation to keep them from getting lost.

“I did a lot of clandestine work over several years. Grew a beard, went and hung out in dry and dusty places to collect intelligence. After September 11, we were constantly deploying, constantly being sent into arid regions to settle squabbles amongst tribal leaders. There was a helicopter that landed too hard near Saudi Arabia that fucked up my knee and twisted my back a little. I had been shot at, stabbed, beaten, almost blown up, but there was something about that goddamn Chinook that really put the icing on the cake for me. I called my CO and told him I wasn’t coming back.”

“Holy shit. I can see why. I read the Wall Street Journal every morning and the Washington Post and I shake my head. You guys really have a hard time over there, huh?”

“More like over here. Politics is politics no matter where you go or what people you talk to. After a while, you just become accustomed to it. This one wants this, that one wants that. We throw too many people in and out of office here to keep a steady reign on foreign affairs. It’s one of our biggest issues. I lost a lot of friends,” Tommy said as they trudged up the side of the lake. He wondered if that were true, if he really knew how Hayden felt. He had never been that close to anyone—male or female.

Birds called to each other over the water as the wind softly blew against his sweaty brow. He thought a bit about how Hayden referred to his husband so easily, so fluidly, and felt a tug of…what? He couldn’t place the feeling. As they walked, Tommy realized that he had never been on this side of Lake Veronica before and hoped that Hayden knew his way back. Either way, his watch had a compass and he would be able to figure it out if they got lost.

“You know,” Hayden said, “there is an ancient Chinese curse that says, ‘May you live in interesting times.’” Hayden looked over at Tommy. This guy had been through a great deal too. I guess battle scars aren’t always physical.

Tommy snorted at that. “Yeah. That ain’t no bullshit.”

They eventually decided to turn around and walk back the way they had come. It was only a little after eleven, but it was getting colder and they had plenty more work to do. They walked pretty much in silence, a bit closer, their arms occasionally brushing each other’s. As they reached the house and went inside, they climbed the stairs back to the bedroom they had been working on. Instead of wall-knocking music, Hayden put on something more soothing and appropriate, and they returned to their work, both lost in their own thoughts.