“Yeah. Mom thought she was saving Thomas’s soul from the devil. Who, coincidentally, looked a lot like you.”
“I think she’s come around on that.”
“She’s accepted Thomas is gay. Not so sure she’s changed her mind about you being the devil.”
Snark aside, Rory remembered when his mother had pushed Thomas and Daralyn together. Thomas had been the first man Daralyn had felt comfortable around, though that hadn’t been a surprise to anyone. Thomas had a calm core to him that could settle the most aggressive of beasts. Like Marcus. Or win the trust of the most shy. Like Daralyn.
In no time, his mother had practically had Thomas and Daralyn engaged, at least in her mind. She’d wanted to deny Thomas was gay, head it off before it reached the point of no return. She’d come a long way since then, seeing past the religious doctrine she’d followed all her life to what God really was. That was the way she’d put it.
Marcus had decided to ignore his devil comment. “Thomas wasn’t your mother’s only issue,” he continued. “Daralyn didn’t see Thomas as a threat.”
“And I am?”
“You know that's not what I mean. There are two types of male threat to a woman. One is the bad kind. The other is the kind that gets her flustered, aroused. I suspect your mother worried Daralyn would never be able to handle a relationship with normal sexual expectations. But Thomas told me that every time Elaine pushed him and Daralyn together around you, you acted like an asshole. More than usual. Why was that?”
Truth? She’d made an impression on him from the first time she’d stayed with them. When she was sent away for the short period before the courts got a clue and awarded permanent guardianship to his parents, he’d felt her absence. A lot. Which should have told him something, because he and Emily had been a hot item back then.
He wouldn’t brush Marcus off with more bullshit when he was trying to help. “One night, she and Les were watching this movie in Les’s room. Chick flick, one of those Nicholas Sparks things. The one with Scott Eastwood.”
“Great ass. He’s a looker, just like his dad was at that age.”
“Gross. Anyhow,” Rory said with emphasis, over Marcus’s chuckle, “My room was at an angle from theirs, and I could see Daralyn. During those gushy love scenes, she’d touch her lips, and get this look on her face. It said to me she wanted something like that, no matter what her fucked-up family had done to her. And I thought, damn it all, why should Mom or anyone else think it’s okay to make her settle for something less? And now…”
He shook his head. “I feel it even stronger. She should be loved the way a woman wants to be loved. Not have to run from it all her life. The fuckers who did this to her shouldn’t get to take that from her.”
Marcus was quiet a moment. "Rory, you’ve just defined what true love is. When you love someone, you won't let them settle for less than what they truly want. You encourage them to embrace who they are, no matter how scary that can be. The most important thing to you is her, what she feels and what she wants. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“That kind of love allows room for mistakes.” Humor entered his voice. “A man making mistakes around a woman is inevitable. You know that, because common sense isn’t your problem. Patience is. Your temper is. Believing in yourself.”
Rory tapped his wheel, thinking. “No offense, but you love her, too. How do I know your advice isn’t based on the same wishful thinking as my attempts to make this work with her?”
In the ensuing silence, Rory could hear a faint drone. Probably a space heater running, warding off the autumn chill in the barn office.
“There came a time I had a crisis of faith,” Marcus said. “I thought I might not be what Thomas needed. I told myself I should give up, let him have his life down here, with all of you. Me not be a part of it. Later I realized the biggest part of that didn’t have a damn thing to do with what Thomas did or didn’t need. It had to do with my belief in myself. Whether I could hold up my end of the relationship, be what he needed. It was about my fear of failing him. Not loving him the way he deserved.”
Another pause. “So don’t fucking make this about protecting her when it’s not.”
Marcus had never spoken so frankly to him, or with such rough emotion in his voice it lingered like a full-on kick in the balls. Remembering the time Marcus meant only increased the impact.
Rory’s father had died, and his tractor accident had happened soon after. Both events were the double whammy that brought Thomas home. For a time he’d settled into running the store, pretending his time in New York as a struggling artist had never existed. While the specter of Marcus had been a dark blip on his mother’s Catholic radar, Rory had had his head up his own ass, wrestling with anger and self-pity, adding weight to the Thomas guilt-train.
Only Les had seen what was so obvious, that everything that fueled their brother’s soul was dying right in front of their eyes. Yet it had all been such a clusterfuck, Rory could see how Marcus might have doubted himself, whether he was the best thing for Thomas.
Now Thomas was finally living the life he’d wanted to live. One that included his family and his art, with his love for Marcus at the center of it. He was healthy and strong, just all around better for having Marcus in his life.
He should say that straight out, but he and Marcus had rules in their mutual give-each-other-shit society. Marcus had just bent them all out of shape to give Rory what he needed tonight. Better not to take it any further, or they’d end up on some touchy-feely talk show.
Fortunately, Marcus had resumed in his normal clipped, no-bullshit tone. “If you back off, then you’re doing what your mom was doing, denying Daralyn all the choices she could have.”
Rory could see that. He still had to voice his deepest concern. “I get all that. But what if I’m in the way, blocking her view to those other choices?”
“You’re in a wheelchair. She’s standing. You’re not blocking the view to anything.”
“Man, you are such a dick.”
“Thank you. I put serious effort into it.” Marcus chuckled, then sobered. “Rory, you’re right. I may not know shit, either, but I’ll tell you what my gut says, and I’m betting yours does, too. A Dom usually has a certain amount of arrogance in his arsenal. Same thing that drives a surgeon, a pilot, or anyone who has someone else’s well-being resting in their hands during a key moment. You have every right to take your shot with her. You have every right to be at the front of the line.”
He liked hearing that, but… “This isn’t just about me.”
“No, but instead of thinking of you and her in separate boxes, on separate paths, think about both of you, together. When you’re around one another, there’s a thread there. One that’s grown into a damn rope. We all see it, including you. When you came over here and I asked if you loved her, you gave me a pretty over the top answer, but I didn’t doubt you meant it as you said it.”
Rustling noises suggested Marcus had gotten to his feet. Once awake, Marcus had to be moving. Rory expected he’d just disrupted the guy’s sleep for most of the rest of the night. He’d have to make that up to him, damn it.