L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (25 page)

W
HEN
we got to Brandon’s place, neither of us was in the mood for anything, so we just lay on his bed for a while, my arm around him as we talked. He rested his head on my shoulder and our fingers laced together on my chest.

As we talked, I rubbed the side of his hand with my thumb, but he didn’t return the gesture like he usually did. His touch seemed different. He wasn’t as receptive to me, responding half-heartedly to my affection. No, not half-heartedly. Hesitantly.

I raised his chin so I could see his face. “What’s wrong?” He swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re thinking something.”
He laughed, but it was forced. “You’re learning to read minds.” “I’m serious.” I stroked his hair gently. “What’s wrong?”

He avoided my eyes. “Something you said tonight, to your ex….” He trailed off.
My heart pounded. “What did I say?”

“When you told her….” He seemed to search my eyes for something. “That I was everything she wasn’t….” He swallowed. “Is that why you’re with me?”

My breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are we together because you want to be with me?” He wetted his lips nervously. “Or because I’m not her?”
“No, of course not,” I said, my mouth going dry. “You’re everything she isn’t, but—”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” He sat up, still looking at me. “Look, I’ve been the rebound for a lot of people, and I know how these things end—”

I sat up and touched his arm gently. “Brandon, it’s not like that.” “Are you sure?”

I swallowed. I wanted to tell him I was sure, that this relationship was about him and me, not him versus Stephanie, but hadn’t I had those very same doubts in the beginning?

“Look, Dustin.” He put his hand over mine. “I know it’s a lot to come to terms with. You had a lot invested in your marriage, she did you
heinously
wrong, and on top of that, you’re coming to terms with being attracted to a man for the first time. None of this is easy.”

I exhaled, looking anywhere but at him.
He squeezed my hand. “Dustin, I’m not asking you to pretend that you’re completely over her. I know that what she did hurt you. If this is a rebound thing, fine. And I’m not asking you to instantly come to terms with being involved with a man.” He chewed his lower lip, then said, “But I need you to level with me. Just, give me something.”
I gritted my teeth, completely lost for words.
“If this is going somewhere, I’ll be patient. I’ll wait. I won’t push you.” He squeezed my hand again. “But if you know this is just something you’re getting out of your system—”

“No,” I said quickly. “Jesus, no.” I looked at him, and he raised his eyebrows. I swore he was looking right through me, that he saw the truth just like he had all the times I’d told him I wasn’t nervous when we both knew full well that I was. But this time, I really didn’t know the answer.
Was
I just getting something out of my system?

“Dustin….”

 

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want to know,” he said, his voice low, “if I’m letting myself get too attached to someone who isn’t ready to get that attached to me.”
I met his eyes then and couldn’t speak. I didn’t have an answer for him.

“Dustin?” He squeezed my hand.
“I….” I paused. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
He looked away, pursing his lips.

I rubbed the back of his hand. “Brandon, I’m not in this to jerk you around, I swear to God. I just don’t know….” Guilt burned in my gut. Was I just jerking him around? Before I met Brandon, I hadn’t had any illusions that I was ready for a serious relationship. What on Earth made me think I was now? The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him, but I was suddenly afraid that that was exactly what I was setting myself up to do.

“Fuck,” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “What?”
I shook my head. “I’m just… confused, I guess.”
“That makes two of us.”

“Look, I’m not going to lie,” I said. “I don’t know what I want out of this. I know I want to be with you right now. I want… fuck, I’m not sure what I think, what I feel, what I want. But….” I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“But?”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look him in the eye. “I don’t
know
if I’m here because I this is what I want, or if I’m here because this is everything my marriage wasn’t.”

He flinched.
“Brandon, I’m sorry, I—”
Gesturing for me to stop, he touched my arm gently. “Dustin, I

understand. I really do.”

 

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Look, I don’t envy you. You’re in a tough position, dealing with your divorce from her and your relationship with me, whether they’re related or not.” He squeezed my arm. “All I’m asking is for you to be honest with me.” He shrugged. “And now you’re being honest with me.”

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “And you’re okay with this?”
“I don’t see what choice I have,” he said. “I can’t change the way you feel, and I can’t make you instantly understand how you feel.” He dropped his eyes for a moment. “And I just hope that when you do figure it out, one way or the other, that you’ll tell me.”

“I will. I absolutely will.”
“That’s all I can ask for, then.” He put his arms around me and pulled me into a gentle kiss. He broke the kiss and rested his head on my shoulder, and for a long time, we just held each other. There was nothing sexual about this embrace, no hints or promises or overtones,

nothing but an odd sense of relief that we were still
there
, that the connection between us was still there, even if some uncomfortable questions had come up that evening.

And in the back of my mind, something very emphatically told me:
Whatever you do, Dustin, do not fuck this up.
“S
O LET
’
S
see how bad the damage is to my cell phone.” I dug it out

of my jacket pocket the next morning and flipped it open, but couldn’t bring myself to look at it. It had been on silent mode all night, and I was afraid to see just how many missed calls and messages I had.

Brandon looked up from pouring coffee. “How bad?” “I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.”

Sliding a coffee cup towards me on the counter, he sipped his own. “Come on, just look.”

 

“I don’t want to know.”

“Here, I’ll look.” He extended his hand, and I didn’t even hesitate to give him the phone. “Christ, Dustin, it’s just a phone. You’re like a woman with a pregnancy test. It can’t be
that
bad, anyway, I mean—” He looked at the LCD screen and stopped, eyebrows jumping.

My chest tightened. “What?”

 

He blinked, then stared at the phone, his eyes wide with surprise—alarm?—and his lips parted.

“Brandon….”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Well, the test is positive….” I rolled my eyes. “Come on, tell me. How bad?”

He tightened his lips, obviously trying not to laugh. “Are you sure—”

“Just tell me. Come on.”
“Seventeen missed calls.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. Seventeen.”
“Seventeen?”

“Seventeen.” He casually sipped his coffee and pushed a couple of buttons. “Let’s see… Mom, Mom, Mom, Rick—” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Older brother.”

“Okay, so Rick, Mom again, Mom….” He scrolled through it, murmuring “Mom” a few more times. “Dan, Tristan, Kari, and a couple of unrecognized numbers.”

“Jesus,” I said.
“How many people do you think she sent that picture to?”

“My mom. That’s more than enough to ensure that anyone with any means of communication knows about it. The Pope probably has it by now.” I ran my hand through my hair and shook my head. “Fuck.”

“Oh look, messages.”
I groaned. “I’m sure there are plenty of those.”

“Six voice messages, and—” He snorted with laughter. “Oh my God.” He put a hand over his mouth, trying to compose himself. “What? What is it?”

 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he said. “But….” He chuckled again.

 

“
What
?”

 

He cleared his throat. “Does your cell phone company charge you for individual text messages?”

“No, I have unlimited.” My blood ran cold. “Why?”
His eyes dropped to the cell phone, then met mine again. “Brandon….”
He turned the phone towards me. I stared at the LCD screen in

disbelief. Certain I was hallucinating, I blinked a few times, but the number on the screen didn’t change.

Forty-three new text messages.
I braced myself against the counter. “No fucking way.”

When I looked at him, his expression was a mix of amusement and sympathy. I wanted to be pissed at him for finding this funny, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how comically absurd the situation was. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Brandon pursed his lips, obviously struggling to keep a straight face.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and laughed. “I can only imagine the conversations last night.”

 

“Can you imagine how many grey hairs we’re responsible for?” He leaned against the counter as he laughed.

 

“Oh God, the look on my mother’s face. I almost wish I could have been there to see it.”

“Looks like you set the grapevine on fire with that scandalous photo.”
I shook my head. “I can almost hear her now….”

Brandon threw up his hands and said in a shrill voice, “Oh my God! The gay!
The gay
! It’s infested our family!”

I doubled over with laughter. “And can you imagine—” “Oh God, no way.” He snatched the phone off of the counter. “What?”
“It’s ringing again.”
“No way!”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Who is it?”
Still snickering, he looked at the screen. “Your mother again.” “No way, are you serious?”

He held up the phone. Sure enough, my mother was calling again. “She doesn’t quit, does she?”

“She needs a hobby.”
“I think she just found one.”

We both collapsed in fits of laughter again. Something in my mind told me that this was most definitely not funny—and I knew, on some level, that it wasn’t going to be pretty when I finally faced the music—but I couldn’t help it. In that moment, I think I understood why people sometimes laughed at funerals: Sometimes it was the only way to stay sane.

And of course, the more I laughed, the more Brandon laughed. The more he did, the more I did, until anyone walking in the room would have thought we were on something.

Brandon laughed so hard he fell. I reached for him to help him up, but I was laughing so hard I lost my balance too. We didn’t bother getting up. Instead, we sat on his kitchen floor, holding our sides, tears streaming down our faces.

When we could both finally breathe again, I leaned against one of the cabinets and rested my forearms on my bent knees.

“They’re not going to come to your place with torches and pitchforks, are they?” he asked, sitting across from me against the other set of cabinets.

“They’re probably already there.” As I thought about it, I wondered just how true that was. If my mother couldn’t reach me, it wasn’t below her to show up at my apartment looking for me. Or, I realized with a feeling of dread in my gut, the gym.

As the magnitude of the situation sank in, my humor faded. Sighing, I rested my head against the cabinet and rubbed my eyes. “Fuck, this is going to get ugly.”

Brandon’s voice was low and serious now. “I know. It’s never easy, and the way they found out isn’t going to help.”
I closed my eyes. “Shit.” I sensed him moving, and a moment later, he was beside me, his hand on my arm.

“Dustin, it’ll probably get ugly for a while,” he said quietly. “But it will blow over. Eventually, one way or another.”

“You don’t know my family.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “But you’re not the first to go through this when their family finds out.” His eyes darted up to the counter above us, and he smiled a little. “Though I’m pretty sure you now have the standing record for the most concerned calls and messages in twelve

hours.” He tightened his lips, raising his eyebrows and looking at me as if waiting for me to confirm that it was okay to laugh.

I allowed myself a smile, and when he laughed, I couldn’t help but follow suit. I put my hand over his and squeezed gently. “So you won’t be offended if I don’t take you home to meet my mom today?”

“Not in the least.” He turned his hand over beneath mine, and his smile faded as our fingers laced together. “Look, I’ve watched people go through this before, and….” He trailed off for a moment. “I’m not going to lie, Dustin. This is one of those times when you’re going to find out who a lot of your friends are. And aren’t.”