“Does the whole town know?”
“Nope. Not yet. But I’m going to marry him if he’ll have me, so they’ll have to find out.”
I was in Bill and Ted’s phone booth, and it hadn’t stopped flying yet.
He looked up. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that you’re gay?”
“No. Sorry I’ve been so crappy to you. When your mom left, it was like she tore down my whole pretend life. I was so fucking mad at having to look at myself. I was left with only one thing—you. You weren’t much good at school back then, but you were so fucking good at cars. I had this picture about how you were going to come into the business with me, and maybe we’d even open satellite garages.” His inhale shuddered a little. “When you said you were going to college, it was like somebody stuck a pin into the whole bubble of my life. And I didn’t have any more bubbles. I’d told too many people about my plans, so the only way I could excuse it not happening was to say you wanted to keep playing football. People got that. They believed it, and after a while, I half believed it too.” He glanced up. “I really am sorry.”
I just nodded. Forgiving how craptastic he’d been to me would take a while. I'd already figured out my dad's opinion didn't rule me. But it sure helped to understand him a little. Maybe it never was about me. “I’m sorry about the garage.”
He shrugged. “What’s your guy’s name?”
I had to smile when I said it. “Sean. He’s a genius. Like you said, I barely believe he loves me back. Without him, helping me and cheering me on, I’d never be trying for this physical therapy degree.”
“About that.”
I glanced up.
He shifted and got a little red in the face. “Want me to help pay for your school? Maybe I can make up a little bit for everything I haven’t done up until now.”
I started to say he didn’t have to. But I heard Sean’s voice in my head. I was worth my father’s support. I was smart and capable, and letting him help me wasn’t taking advantage. It was letting him be a part of my success. “Thank you. That’d be great, Dad.”
He smiled. “I can’t wait to tell everybody my son’s gonna be a doctor.”
I started to correct him but just laughed. Hell, at least I didn’t have to play for Green Bay to get somebody around here to be proud of me.
“So, Andy’s out of town at some art show, but maybe when he gets back, we can get together with him and your guy, Sean.”
“Wow. That’ll be Hartsboro’s own private Pride Parade.”
“You’d be surprised how much gay there is in this town, Bub.” He tossed the dregs of his coffee on the brown lawn. “I know one sit-down doesn’t make up for years of not talking about my feelings and giving you crap. And you know how far from warm and fuzzy I am, but I’m hoping knowing Andy will make up for that a little. You’ll like him.” He stood and I did the same, although if there hadn’t been any ground under my feet, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Whoever this shrink was my dad had been seeing, I seriously owed that dude or dudette a drink.
We walked back toward the garage. He said, “By the way, I hired another decent mechanic, got rid of Mikey, and promoted Armando to manager. I figured you and Andy needed somebody decent taking care of your interests.” He barked a laugh.
Back at the garage, I said hi to Armando and congratulated him on his new position. When my dad gave me a hug, admittedly a guy hug, I thought Armando would drop his teeth.
I walked to my car, feeling like I was surrounded by some whirling cloud that was going to drop me on top of a witch in striped stockings.
I slid into the car, backed out, glanced at the sign that said Merkofsky’s Auto Repair, and hit send on my phone.
As I started toward the highway, the phone rang, and Sean’s voice said, “Hi! How’d it go? I hope it wasn’t too awful.”
“Sean”—I laughed—“you won’t believe what just happened.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sean
“Crap. It feels great to lose the coat.” Bubba groaned with pleasure, tilting his face up to the sun.
We were sitting on the grass in the park near the student union, enjoying a lazy Sunday. It was seventy degrees outside on this April day with nary a cloud in the sky. The waters of Lake Mendota were calm and blue. It felt incredible after a long Wisconsin winter—not to mention my overnight stay in the hospital the previous weekend. It felt fantastic to be alive, and warm, and back where I belonged. The oddest couple at UW Madison had returned triumphant—if a person can be considered triumphant while wearing a neck brace.
The sunshine did wonders for the view as well. Bubba was wearing a white football jersey with cut-off sleeves and shorts made of navy sweatpants material. His biceps, as he leaned back on the grass, legs outstretched, were monumental. And those quads. I got breathless at the mere sight. Interesting Pavlovian response.
I cleared my throat. “I’m beginning to understand why Greek gods wore those short one-shoulder togas. The less fabric that covers your physique, the better you look. Whereas some of us are most appealing swathed head-to-foot.” I was thinking of my pink sweater. The neck brace was not so sexy, no matter how much skin it covered.
Bubba turned his head and raked his gaze over me. My legs were outstretched, too, and you’d think I was seven foot tall instead of five ten based on the amount of time he took to gaze-crawl down my body. The invisible touch gave me goosebumps. Under my tangerine-colored T-shirt, my nipples peaked. Oh erectile tissue, you are so easily provoked!
“I know you’re kidding me right now,” Bubba said. “Cause you’d never insult my skills as a personal trainer by disparaging your body.”
“Heaven forfend.”
“You are one buff-ass lightweight. All those sweet little muscles. You’re 100 percent perfect, Sean McKinney.”
I laughed. “Perfect? Highly dubious, sir. You’ll be working to get me bigger as soon as I’m cleared to go back to the gym.”
He considered this, looking me over carefully again. More goosebumps rushed in where angels feared to tread.
I had to admit, the body I now sported was much improved, at least according to the mirror. Sometimes, I forgot I was no longer Mr. Wet Noodle. Thanks to Bubba, I’d toned up everywhere and developed calves, quads, biceps, triceps, abs, pecs, and shoulders. They were modest hills compared to Bubba’s Mount Vesuvius of a body, but they were there, nonetheless, visible to the naked eye and everything. Formations of firm tissue existed where previously they had not.
“Maybe a little bigger,” he finally conceded. “But not too much. I love your body. Wouldn’t want you to look like me. See, a guy like me, mass is the only thing I’ve got.”
I gave him a sharp look and was ready to repudiate that statement when he did it himself.
“Nah, that’s not true. I’ve got a lot goin’ for me, especially now I have you. What I mean is, I’m kind of ordinary looking, ya know? People would hardly see me if I were regular sized. To make myself extraordinary, I need the mass. But you don’t need it. You’re extraordinary already.”