Crossing Borders (13 page)

“Soon,” echoed Tristan, whose eyes followed him all the way to the house. He returned his gaze to the view, breathing deeply. Once he regained mastery over his body, he studied the beautiful backyard more closely, walking along the lighted flagstone pathways and enjoying the earthy smells he found there.

Tristan was headed out to the small gazebo when a shadow moved away from the wall, and he discovered he and Michael had probably been observed by what he now saw was a boy, about fifteen years old, wearing all black, including fingernail polish, and drinking a beer.

“Oh, hey! I didn't see you there, you scared me,” he said, taking in the sullen expression on the boy's face. Lily would have loved him instantly and written epic poetry to his eyebrows. “What's up?”

“Kenshin,” the boy said, acknowledging his costume. “I didn't know Kenshin got off with men,” he added.

“Well, it's not strictly in the canon, no,” said Tristan hiding his embarrassment with a smile. “Sorry, we thought we were alone.” He wanted to add that people should make their presence known, but didn't.

“It's okay, my dad's gay. I see worse than that all the time,” said the boy. “And he's got the worst taste in men. I'd pay good money to see you and Officer Friendly there in bed.” He grinned, intending, Tristan thought, to shock.

“Save your money for college,” said Tristan. “Jeff's your dad?”

“Yeah, he, you know, ensured the dynasty before he went over to the dark side. I live here half the year and the other half with mom in Denver,” he said.

“That must be odd; did your mom remarry?” asked Tristan.

“Why do you want to know?” said the boy.

“I don't know. Your dad's got my date—I'm just making conversation.” He sighed.

“Business parties suck,” said the boy, and Tristan had to concur. “My name's Edward, by the way. My dad calls me Ned. Please call me Edward.” He rolled his eyes. “Ned, man, it's like some English mystery on A&E. Hello, Ned. Morning, Ned. What's up, Neddie,” he practically spat. He started to take a sip of his beer, but Tristan intercepted it.

“Here,” he said, taking it away and pouring it out into the planter next to him. “I'm listening, so vent, don't drink.”

“You shit! I'll just go get another one,” he said petulantly.

“Fine, but talk to me first. I'm bored. Amaze me, Edward. My name's Tristan.”

Edward barked out a laugh. “Your name means, like, of the sorrows, or something, doesn't it?”

“Actually, according to one Web site I saw, it comes from the Celtic or Gaelic word
drest
, the word for riot or tumult. I'm sure my parents would have sheared off if they'd known that. It fits, though, according to those who know me.” He grinned and watched the boy digest this.

“I heard my dad jerking you around,” said Edward quietly. “I hate these parties; he's like some petty noble plotting to enlarge his holdings. He won't be satisfied with what he has, ever. It takes up a lot of time to be that acquisitive.”

Tristan bit his lip. His dad had been so different, perhaps less financially successful, but nevertheless, now irrevocably gone as well. “Well,” he said carefully, “it's not like you need him to watch your Little League games anymore, right?”

Edward let out a breath. “I guess.” He chucked the pod of some kind of plant over the fence down to the hillside below. “The cop's your guy, right? You're together?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Tristan, liking the way it sounded. “The cop is
my guy
.”

“My dad used to make fun of him,” he said, then laughed. “But it turns out he's some kind of financial genius, and now my dad wants him in on everything. I think he barely puts up with my dad. Sometimes I can see it in his eyes that he's losing his patience, like tonight.”

“Michael isn't likely to let someone put down his friends.” He didn't know how he knew it was true, he just did. “He's very…protective.” He thought about the helmet and sighed.

“How long have you been—” began Edward, but they turned when they heard footsteps behind them. Tristan's heart skipped a beat when he saw Michael meandering along the lit pathway with Jeff, Edward's father, at his shoulder.

“Oh, shit, here he comes,” said Edward, standing quickly.

“Neddie!” snapped Jeff. “I thought I told you to finish your homework while the guests were here.”

“I was just taking a break, Dad,” Edward said, hanging his head. “Sorry.”

Tristan looked up at Michael with a bright smile, only to have it falter at the look on his face. “What?” he asked, as Michael came over to pick up the beer bottle, saying nothing. He walked the distance back to the house alone, throwing the bottle into the trash. Jeff, Edward, and Tristan stood uncertainly till he returned, still saying nothing.

“Michael,” said Jeff, breaking the silence. “I'd prefer it if you took your friend home now, and in the future, will you let your friends know that to be a guest in my home requires that they be role models for my son?” He turned on his heel. “I thought you, of all people, wouldn't condone underage drinking. Come, Ned, your break is over.”

Tristan remained grimly silent in the face of the pleading look thrown at him by Edward. He clearly would be in far more trouble if his dad knew his little Neddie was drinking the beer. Tristan kept his mouth shut, walking in silence behind them, next to Edward, two penitent children being chastened by adults, and he burned with shame and injustice, wanting to take Michael's head off at the root. He reached over carefully when the two grown-ups, as he now was beginning to think of them, were distracted, to squeeze Edward's hand sympathetically. The boy looked so pitifully grateful; he wondered if it would be possible for him to introduce Edward to his little brothers, who were basically good kids and might have liked to befriend him. He kept all his thoughts from Michael. Rage flowed through him, and the evening, for him anyway, seemed to be completely ruined.

“Thank you so much for inviting us,” Michael was saying, holding the investment proposal in his hand. “I'll read this over and give it a lot of thought, okay?” He reached the door and only then did he look behind to see if Tristan had followed him. “Well, 'bye,” he said to Jeff as he stepped out onto the porch.

“Thank you for everything,” Tristan told their host stupidly, hating himself for observing the niceties with this so-not-nice man. “Good night.”

Michael was still silent as he walked to his car, the sound of his footsteps reverberating on the quiet street. Tristan found himself thinking that in this, Michael was all cop and didn't really hold it against him. He'd seen the beer sitting there empty by Tristan and had no earthly reason to think it wasn't his. It wasn't his job to listen to excuses, he just had to act, every day, on what he saw and let the lawyers argue later. Tristan understood this in the abstract, but still would have liked the benefit of the doubt. Plus, it was just one lousy beer, wasn't it? He'd had more than that with his dad when he'd been alive, and Tristan had been much younger then.

“Say what you have to say, Michael,” said Tristan, “My car is across the street. It's been a long night.”

“So you thought you'd liven it up with a little beer?” he asked.

“It may interest you to know that not everyone is ready to throw the death penalty at someone who drinks a beer before their twenty-first birthday,” said Tristan.

“I know that. They don't need to. Who do you think I help dig out of cars and take to the morgue every Friday and Saturday night? Have you forgotten you're driving, Sparky?”

“No, I haven't forgotten; I'm just adjusting my destination,” he said tiredly. “I'm going home. I'll see you around, Officer.”

“Is that your answer for everything? Just leave if someone doesn't like what you've done? Don't you feel anything is worth changing your behavior or your ideas for? Is having a beer so important that you'd just move on?”

Tristan was enraged. “You didn't even talk to me in there; you just treated me like I pissed on the rug and then marched out, towing me in your wake like a bad dog. Jeff sneered at me the minute I arrived, kept talking smack, but
nothing
shamed me the way you treated me in front of them in the end did.” He got out his keys, glad his dad's old BMW had heated seats. The evening had grown cold, and his blood colder, as he walked away from Michael.

“Look, I was embarrassed, I admit it,” said Michael. “Jeff's boy has some problems and has had some trouble with the law, and I saw you drinking with him and thought,
Oh, shit
. He doesn't get that this kid will look up to him and see someone to admire and emulate. Jeff had to practically surgically remove him from a bad crowd when he put him in private school. I know you're a good guy, but it's so important to show kids like him that alcohol isn't a panacea, you know?”

“I know. Thank you for everything, okay? I really just want to…”

Michael suddenly shifted, and without warning, caught Tristan in his arms, their lips meeting, their tongues sliding together like a dance.

“I just…” said Tristan between invasions, his body reacting instantly to his lover's nearness.

“Sparky, I don't want you to go, please,” he said, his hands on either side of Tristan's face. “Come home with me.” He looked at Tristan then, nudging Tristan's mouth with his lips, teasing, licking, his body starting a slow grind and burn that Tristan felt to his toes. He tasted Tristan's lips, and then, his eyes questioning, he sighed deeply. “I'm so stupid.” He rested his forehead on Tristan's, his hands sliding down his arms and catching Tristan's hands in his own.

“What?” asked Tristan quietly. He didn't understand what was happening, his head still spinning from the assault on his lips.

“It wasn't your beer, was it?” Michael's voice was so low it came out more like a moan.

“Nope,” said Tristan. His throat closed. He was silent, not trusting himself to speak.

“Why didn't you say something?” said Michael.

“Edward's dad is so charming, I couldn't help but be in awe,” he said dryly.

“Follow me home?” asked Michael. “Please?”

“I told Edward that you were
my guy
, and then you treated me like warmed-over vomit. Is that going to happen every time you think I've made a mistake?” he asked, needing to know. “'Cause I'm going to tell you right now, I will
not
stay with someone who thinks they have the right to treat me like that. I had a dad. He was a great man, and you're not him. He never made me feel the way you did tonight, even when the house caught fire…just so you know.”

“That's probably what made you such a good person, huh?” Something in Michael's tone of voice caught and held Tristan on the edge of the moment. “Sometimes I get so busy protecting the world from its own stupidity that I forget that it's okay to be kind. My mom tells me that a lot.”