Good Guys Don't Date Bad Boys – Ch. 32
By Laura S. Fox
Copyright © 2022 Laura S. Fox
All Rights Reserved
Gay Erotica
Intended for Mature Audiences Only
This story will contain graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, strong
language and it is not meant for readers who are less than 18 years of age.
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Chapter Thirty-Two – Sh*tty
Families
It was now or never,
Jonathan declaimed the words in his own head, as he squeezed the phone in his
hand. The people around him moved fast, out of synch with his hesitant steps.
He made a left turn and sat down on a bench, his fingers gripping the phone too
tightly. With one last deep breath before the dive, he lightly touched the
screen, hoping for a technological glitch at the last moment.
"Hello?" His first word
was a pebble thrown into a bottomless pit.
"Jonathan."
Matter-of-factly, directly, like they had just seen each other a week or so
before.
Neither of them uttered
another word, waiting for the other to say something.
"What have you been
doing?" There was a slight upward inflection at the end, a reproach of sorts,
not at all just a formal and polite question as it could have been interpreted.
"I've been studying," he
offered the only neutral thing that came to mind. Nothing along the lines of
`I've been making friends' or `I got myself a boyfriend'. For this occasion, it
was better to bury the hatchet and leave it undisturbed for the next few days.
"I spoke with the dean.
Whenever you decide to pick up from where you left off, you are welcome to
return."
Jonathan moved the phone
from one ear to the other. "I will finish my studies here."
A short silence followed.
"Sunny Hill, is it?"
So, they knew. Jonathan
didn't bother to ask how. Without a doubt, they were people with means and they
never hesitated using them when the need arose.
"Yes, Sunny Hill."
"You are determined to
finish your studies there."
"Yes."
"Very well."
Jonathan didn't know what
else to add. Could it be that his father truly agreed with his decision?
"If you want to make a
mess out of your future."
Of course, how could he
not see it coming? The other shoe, always waiting to drop. He took a deep
breath. "I was thinking of coming home for Thanksgiving." He waited, while his
father remained silent.
"You are welcome here,
any time you decide to come back."
Was that a veiled condition
for him to be allowed to visit them? To go back home and play the nice quiet
son once again?
"We can also discuss the
Kincaid family when you visit."
Jonathan felt his
eyebrows knitting into a tight frown. "What about them?" he managed to force
the words through his teeth by sheer power of will or a miracle.
"I spoke with them. They
agree that the whole thing was blown out of proportion."
"By the whole thing, do
you mean my getting as good as executed by the great powers that be on false
grounds?" Jonathan didn't realize he was raising his voice until a woman with a
kid passing by gave him a strange look.
He half-turned from the
street, the phone pressed tightly against his ear.
"The dean agrees, too. I
already told you. You are welcome back, whenever you decide. Of course, it
doesn't mean that you should take advantage of people's benevolence."
A hand of iron gripped
Jonathan's throat, threatening his ability to breathe. "I will not go back to
that school," he said as firmly as he could without letting his father hear the
trembling in his voice.
"We will talk more when
you arrive."
Jonathan looked around,
resting his eyes on a colorful light ornament glittering behind the clear
windows of a store. "What do you want to talk about? Regarding... Andrew
Kincaid?"
"His parents took
measures to correct his behavior. I can assure you of that. They told me to
give them a call if I heard from you. Your fellow student will extend his
apologies as soon as he's given the opportunity."
"Apologies?" Jonathan
squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to chase
away the pain nesting behind his forehead. "What kind of apology would ever be
enough for what he did?"
"You are very young,
Jonathan. Andrew, as well. You both made mistakes, and you're not the first, or
the last, to fall prey to certain temptations."
Was his father talking
about the sexual nature of his and Drew's relationship? Or about the drugs Drew
used to do on the regular?
"Of course, we would like
you to take a test as soon as you arrive. These schools," his father said with
vague contempt, "are known as dens of iniquity."
"Do you think I'm doing
drugs?" Jonathan didn't know what to think. "I didn't do drugs when Drew got
caught."
"It's a measure to put
your mother's mind, and mine, at ease."
"You still don't believe
me," Jonathan said in a bitter voice. "You think I lied to you."
"You have become rather
obstinate. What is happening with you? If this is about the situation with
Andrew--"
"It has nothing to do
with him. Not anymore," Jonathan said in a strained voice. "It is about us. You
and I, as a family. You should have known me, dad."
Short pauses were for
effect, but not with his father. He always thought before speaking, choosing
from the various possible answers as from a box of cutlery. It had to be
flawless and in synch with the rest of the table arrangement. "You surprised
us. Quite unpleasantly. Before you hurry to condemn us, if Andrew is what you
wish for in a partner," the last word came out with some difficulty, "it is
something we could come to accept."
Jonathan shook his head,
although he knew very well that his parent couldn't see him. "Should I be
thankful for that?"
"Certainly, at least not
as ungrateful as you sound right now. Come home. We have many things to
discuss."
Jonathan rubbed his
temple hard. "I think it's too early for us to see each other again."
"What nonsense. You just
said that you plan on visiting us."
"No." Jonathan surprised
even himself with the categorical answer. "You're sweeping everything under the
rug. You believe Andrew and I should kiss and make up, as if we just had some
schoolyard brawl. And that all will go back to the way it was. Well, maybe not
as it was. Apparently, you're willing to consider that you can accept my being
gay."
"It isn't like you to
speak out of turn in such a fashion. What are they teaching you at that school?
The next thing we know, you might pick habits such as protesting for the
wellbeing of whales or against nuclear testing, or something just as silly."
Jonathan felt hot and
cold at the same time. It was true that he had never before dared to talk like
this to his father.
"We appreciate your ability
to be self-reliant," his father continued. "But you are a Hamilton. Doesn't that
name mean anything to you?"
Oh, there came the guilt
trip. Jonathan decided that he would have none of it. "Happy Thanksgiving, dad.
Tell mom I wish her well."
"Jonathan," his father
said sternly. "Stop this nonsense. Fine, if you do not wish to talk to Andrew
and accept his apologies, we can wait until you're less hotheaded than right
now. But come home."
If he had been the kind
to believe in miracles, Jonathan would have thought that there was a trace of
something human and father-like in how the last sentence was spoken. But no. He
would just fall back into his old patterns, and it would mean that he hadn't
learned anything from his past experiences.
"If Andrew," Jonathan
said through his teeth, "had wanted so much to apologize to me, he could have
called any time. I doubt his intentions are sincere. But, after all, when were
they ever?"
"Forget about the Kincaids for now," his father cut his words short. "Come
home."
The last thing Jonathan
expected was for his parent to admit that they missed him, just as he missed
them. And it didn't come, of course.
"No, I cannot."
"Will you never come
home?" his father asked harshly. "What do you hope to prove with this?"
"No, I am not saying
that. I will come and see you. I just don't know when. Maybe I should wait for
my hotheadedness to cool first."
"Sarcasm doesn't become
you."
"That is something I can
live with. Goodbye, dad. I hope you won't tell Andrew you heard from me. God
forbid he feel any pressure to call. I'm on a diet of no bullshit lately."
His father sucked in a
breath. "I can see what kind of school you're attending. Let them strip you of
your good upbringing if that makes you happy."
For a moment, Jonathan
considered apologizing for the rude language but stopped himself. He had to
accept so much from them, their distrust, their betrayal, after all. They could
live with hearing words that hadn't belonged in any Hamilton's vocabulary to
date. Even that was hypocritical of them. Jonathan had heard his grandfather
swearing like a sailor on at least two separate occasions. The façade was
cracked; he wouldn't think for a moment about closing his eyes to the fissures
in the edifice his father considered their family to be.
"Goodbye, son. I hope to
hear from you once you put that head of yours in order."
Jonathan waited for his
father to terminate the conversation without saying another word. He could
measure the time in heartbeats. It only took three for his dad to hang up on
him.
He caught his head in both
hands, pulling at tufts of hair until the slight pain stabilized him. Well,
that left him little choice. Thanksgiving on his own would have to do.
***
"I'm sorry, but we cannot
refund you for the ticket."
Jonathan nodded. There
wasn't much he could do about that, of course, and it had been a crap shoot to
begin with. He should have tried online, but his steps had taken him to the
airport anyway. It was as if there was still an unraveled thread pulling him
toward his previously planned destination.
"Maybe if someone needed
one?" the woman offered with an apologetic smile. Her colleague on her right
gestured for her to lean in. Her face lit up immediately. "It looks like
there's a passenger who might want your ticket."
Jonathan turned to
witness a rambunctious group of kids followed by two adults.
"Do you happen to have an
extra ticket?" The woman asked him, and her eyes were full of hope. "You see,
we weren't expecting my husband," she gestured at the man who grabbed the kids,
two boys of around ten, under his arms, "to come home, and we made other plans
with the family--"
Jonathan handed her the
ticket without saying a word.
"Oh, we should pay for
it. We're so, so grateful," she said as she began rummaging through her purse.
"No need," he said.
"Are you sure?" She
stopped and took a good look at him. "No, it's not possible. It's quite
expensive."
"I insist," he said and
extended his arm more so that she would take the ticket. "Happy Thanksgiving."
He turned on his heel
while the couple was still thanking him profusely for his grand gesture. It
took some of the bitter taste off his tongue, but not all of it.
***
It was still possible to
call Maddox or Ray, but he felt that he would just be imposing. People, normal
people, were reuniting with their families now and didn't need to hear about
his miserable conversation with his father. He took a look inside the small
fridge and nodded thoughtfully. With just a few ingredients, he could put
together a festive dinner of sorts for tomorrow.
But, before that, he
wanted to take a walk. The campus was almost deserted, with very few students
hurrying with luggage out of their dorms, chatting happily and making plans for
their short vacation.
It was such a strange
feeling to see the place, usually so animated, being drained of the young blood
that made it what it was. Without the joyous voices to break the silence,
nothing remained but buildings, but Jonathan didn't mind it.
He waved at the security
guard making his rounds. "When are you leaving, Jonathan?" he asked.
"Change of plans," he
said brightly. "I'll have to spend Thanksgiving here."
"That's too bad. Did you
miss your flight?"
The man had seen him
earlier, with the plane ticket clutched in his hand, hurrying off like everyone
else. "Yes. I don't know where my head is at these days."
"It must be because of
too much studying." Not only the students, but the personnel on campus had gotten
to know him. Jonathan had no desire to be a celebrity, but he was always polite
and apparently that made him stand out from the student body in general in the
eyes of the people who worked there. "Take it easy, and enjoy your
Thanksgiving, anyway," the security guard wished him.
Jonathan offered the same
in return and continued his walk against the fading tide. There were no more
students now, and the silence was starting to creep in like a veil. He looked
up and noticed something white and small descending and landing on the tip of
his nose. He sneezed. It was snowing. As far as he was aware, it shouldn't be,
but he had been too busy with other things lately to be concerned about the
weather forecast.
His father sneered at
Sunny Hill as if it were some inferior institution of education. Jonathan had
come to love the campus and its buildings, and he smiled when he noticed the renovations
under construction. He and Maddox had had some truly interesting moments behind
those buildings. The snow fell gently, covering everything and making the
silence all the more pleasant. Now, Jonathan could see the traces of his steps
stretching behind him.
The windows everywhere
were dark, but one was lit. Jonathan looked up. Could it be that there was
someone still in there? Maybe they had just forgotten to turn off the light. It
was the arts building, a place he didn't have any business to be in, given his
major, but he doubted anyone would mind if he just walked over to the first
floor and turned off the light.
There was a chance that
the door was locked, and his good intentions wouldn't matter, but when he put
his hand on the handle, it turned, granting him access right away. Jonathan
shrugged. It wasn't as if anyone would walk in there and steal something,
right? He walked up the stairs, deciding to remind the security guard that this
building hadn't been locked yet.
Jonathan stopped on the
landing as his ears caught something. It was a muffled sound and it came from
one of the rooms, and when he walked closer, he realized that it came from the one
with the light still on. He stopped in front of it and pressed his ear against
it. Definitely, someone was in there.
And he was singing. A
pleasant male tenor voice drifted to Jonathan's ears, convincing him that he shouldn't
refuse himself the pleasure of opening the door to the music room and witnessing
firsthand the young artist displaying his virtuosity.
He would be quiet so that
he didn't interrupt. Jonathan turned the handle slowly, pushing the door open
little by little, all the while his hearing focused on the fantastic voice that
continued attacking the highest notes of the classical aria. Did their school
have such an amazing talent? Why had he never heard about it? Who could it be?
Jonathan couldn't say he knew all the students, but he hoped he wasn't as dull
and uninterested in the life around him to be unaware of the presence of an incredible
artist in such close proximity.
He stopped in the doorway
and froze when he realized who was there. Headphones on, lost in a world of his
own, sitting on a high chair in front of a microphone, was no one other than
Rusty. Jonathan gaped and blinked. Was this some kind of lip-synching?
But no, it couldn't be,
he thought, as his eyes, glued to Rusty's lips, could
see the obvious effort he put into pronouncing each of the Italian words. There
was a candid misstep here and there that convinced Jonathan he was witnessing
the unfathomable.
Rusty was singing. No, he
wasn't just singing. He was displaying true talent, force and passion. Jonathan
took a step back, hoping that he still had the time to make himself scarce
without looking like an intruder, which he was.
But the aria reached its
final notes, and Jonathan hesitated, as the music lover in him ached to witness
all of it. Rusty smiled and his eyes opened. Without anything left for him to
do, Jonathan let go of the door and clapped. "Bravo!"
The mischievous green
eyes grew wide. Rusty threw off the headphones and tripped over some wires as
he hurried to reach Jonathan. "Hamilton, you're a dead man!" he shouted.
Ah, well. Now that was
his cue to make a run for it. He made a one-eighty and rushed out and down the
stairs, Rusty on his tail. It didn't help that he was laughing while trying to
put some serious distance between him and his pursuer; for some reason, the
fact that Rusty could sing and that he was now chasing him seemed incredibly
funny.
The chase only
underscored who the athlete was between them. Rusty caught him just as he tried
to pull open the front door of the building. Jonathan felt himself hoisted by
the shoulders of his coat and then thrown against the wall. "Ouch!" he
protested while trying to catch his breath.
Rusty grabbed him by the
lapels of his coat and stared him down. Light from the streetlamps filtered
through the tall windows, so they could make out each other's faces, making it
obvious what their eyes were saying right now.
"The fuck you doing here,
Hamilton?" Rusty shook him.
"I should ask you the
same. Stop shaking me already."
He didn't expect Rusty to
obey, but the guy stopped abruptly and let go of his coat. Then, he put a
finger in Jonathan's face. "You're going to keep your mouth shut, or we're
going to have a problem."
"Really?" Jonathan
adjusted his clothes and let out a snort. All that chasing had left him with no
air in his lungs. Still, he felt like laughing. It was no less than exhilarating
to be chased down a corridor like that. "What kind of problem?"
Rusty munched on his
lower lip, as if he was thinking of ways to make Jonathan disappear. "I could
ask nicely," he said abruptly and looked Jonathan straight in the eye.
No wonder people were
crazy about this particular Sunny Hill student, both girls and guys, as far as
Jonathan knew. Seconds ago, he had looked like he was about to commit a murder
like an Italian opera buffo, and now he was playing
nice.
Jonathan sighed. "Sorry
about intruding on your personal time like that. You don't have to worry. I
won't tell anyone that you can sing. Although, it's quite a shame. You have a
wonderful voice."
Rusty rubbed the back of
his neck. It didn't look like he wanted to elaborate on Jonathan's remarks in
any way. "Weren't you supposed to go visit your folks or something?"
Jonathan shrugged. "I
was." He didn't add anything, either. "So, when are you going to leave?"
"Leave where?"
"To visit your dad.
Maddox told me. I hope it wasn't a secret," he said quickly and ready to
apologize.
To his relief, Rusty
grabbed him by the shoulder and squeezed hard. "Nah. I'm spending Thanksgiving
here."
"What a coincidence,"
Jonathan said, somewhat relieved. "Same here."
Not that he would ask
Rusty to make plans together, even if now they were, most probably, the only
students left behind.
Rusty made a gesture for
him to walk out of the building first. "Let me guess," he said as soon as they
were outside. "Shitty family?"
Jonathan stopped and
looked at him. Rusty was underdressed, in just a t-shirt and sweatpants. "I
suppose you could say that," he said quietly.
Rusty nodded thoughtfully
and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. "Same here."
There appeared to be a
tacit understanding between them. "You can sing," Jonathan said automatically.
He didn't know exactly how to behave around Rusty, now that they were walking
side by side, across the deserted campus.
"Yeah," Rusty admitted.
"But you suck at karaoke.
I mean, Maddox told me as much, and I even witnessed... Hey, don't you have a
coat? If you left it back there--"
"Nope. Wait, don't tell
me you're going to criticize my fashion sense now."
Jonathan recognized a
challenge when he heard one. Also, he understood that Rusty didn't want to talk
about the incredible fact that he had a voice that recommended him for the
greatest opera stages in the world. Still, it didn't mean that he would let it
go, just like that. It irked him to no end, he realized, that Rusty was hiding
it. Clearly, Maddox and the rest of Rusty's closest friends didn't have any
idea about it, unless it was a secret better guarded than Fort Knox.
"Your fashion sense is
impeccable," he said in a deadpan voice.
"Really? Have you seen these?"
Rusty gestured for him to examine his footwear.
Jonathan's eyes grew
wide. "Pardon my French, but are you out of your goddamn mind?"
Rusty snickered and
raised one foot, displaying the pink plastic croc with what seemed like real
pride.
Jonathan pursed his lips
and grabbed the guy by his elbow. "It's snowing."
"It wasn't when I left
the house," Rusty said defensively. "Hey, where are you taking me?"
"My dorm room is close by.
I'm going to give you some socks."
"Hmm, kinky."
"Only you would say
something stupid like that. I'm also going to give you a sweater. What do you
have to say about that?"
"I'll have to give it
some thought. Trust me, I can come up with something," Rusty promised.
"I don't doubt it for a
moment. Hey, how did you catch me so quickly wearing crocs?" Jonathan wondered out
loud.
Rusty's grin was worthy of
a world record. "Not my fault your ass slow, Hamilton," he drawled.
"Jesus, you're a natural
talent, aren't you?" Jonathan murmured mostly to himself.
"What do you mean by
that?" Rusty asked.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have
said it like that. I know you must be working hard to be in such good shape.
And you're an athlete, after all."
"Now you're just
buttering me up. You really want to put those socks on me that badly?"
Jonathan grunted as he
pushed Rusty to walk into the dorm building first. "I don't know how everyone
puts up with you."
"They must like me,"
Rusty said.
"There is plenty to like,
I admit. Let's go up. And you're going to tell me why the world thinks you
cannot sing if your life depended on it, while you're a Pavarotti in the
making."
"Who's Pavarotti?"
"Shut up, Rusty. You're
not fooling me again. You know who Pavarotti is."
"I do," Rusty admitted.
"You're not letting me off the hook about this, are you?"
"Are you kidding me? It's
the juiciest bit of news since Maddox's dog died."
Rusty laughed. "Are you
going to sell me out?"
"No. I'm not that kind of
person. And I detest Xpress and everything it stands for. But I cannot let go
of this tasty bone, you do realize that, right?"
"Bone? Are you a dog,
Hamilton?"
"Oh, shut up, Rusty. I should
have known you'd take any word of mine and make it sound perverted."
"Hey, I'm going easy on
you, you know? I could have said something about boners," Rusty pointed out.
"Well, then I should
consider myself lucky. Get in." Jonathan opened the door to his and Ray's place
and held it for Rusty to walk inside.
Rusty stopped for a
moment before going in. "Jonathan," he said in a somewhat hesitant voice, "can
I spend Thanksgiving with you?"
"Sure. But I have to warn
you. It's going to be a meager meal. I wasn't prepared."
Rusty shrugged and
finally walked inside. "Good. `Cause I have a turkey
and no idea what to do with it."
"You have a turkey?"
"Yeah." Rusty walked into
the small kitchen. "Your place is so tiny!" he exclaimed. "We'll party at
mine."
"All right," Jonathan
agreed. "But where did you get a turkey?"
"That's my secret," Rusty
said promptly.
"One of many. And before
you ask, no, I won't let you be until you tell me all about your incredible
voice."
Rusty cocked his head and
stared at him. "Is it that incredible?"
Jonathan nodded solemnly.
"Yes. And no, I'm not buttering you up only so that I can convince you to let
me put socks on you."
Thanksgiving with Rusty.
Now that was going to be an experience. Jonathan hoped he was ready for it.
TBC
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