If I Must Lane by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online Page A

thought didn’t even bear thinking about but he had to say it anyway. “You’re not thinking,  you know, that you don’t need a roommate no more, are you?”
    Ian shook his head. “No,  no, mate. I’m just worried….” Ian’s face crumpled like a little kid’s and suddenly he was sobbing in Joel’s arms. “I just thought the only reason you stayed was because of the caaaaaaaaattt ….”
    In spite of himself, Joel found he was laughing quietly into Ian’s hair. “No, Ian. No. I’m not leaving, I promise, pappi. You can’t shake me that easy. Shhh. Shhhh.”
    Ian pulled himself together eventually, but not before Joel got a wonderful muscular armload of despondent Aussie genius.
    “I’m sorry,” Ian sniffled, wiping his face on his shoulder and pulling on his belt again. “You’re going to think I’m some sort of hormonal poofty queen.  I’m not like this.  I- I think the only times I’ve ever cried in my life are around you.”
    “Lucky me,” Joel said softly, meaning it. “Look, Ee, let’s get home, eh? I’m tired, I been stuck in that tin-can most half of the day, and I probably smell like monkey ass. I want to sit on the couch witchu, talk some.” He wanted to lean on him, stroke his chest, kiss his blond, stubbled cheek, feel his heart under a circling palm. “You know,” Joel finished weakly, “reconnect, right, pappi?”
    “Joel?” Ian said, after he’d started the car and maneuvered to the freeway on ramp.
    “Yeah, Ee?”
    “You know you’re wearin’ your accent on your sleeve, right, mate?”
    “That’s ’cause I’m home witchu, pappi. Don’t ever doubt it.”
    The twenty-minute ride home was pretty quiet after that, the rain that had threatened the skies as Joel landed staving off until they arrived. Eventually Joel was bathed, wearing a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt, and sitting on the couch with a new afghan his mom had sent home with him. Ian grabbed him a soda from the fridge (Joel had taken pains to not keep any beer in there) and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Together they looked at the little black vase over the mantle on the purple colored wall, and Joel nudged Ian with his bare toe.
    “Can I say I’m sorry again?”
    “No,” Ian replied with a self-deprecating smile. “I might cry again, and that would suck for us both, now wouldn’t it?”
    “Can I tell you I’m really glad to be home?” Joel poked Ian’s thigh again and was rewarded when Ee slid his long-fingered hand up Joel’s calf.
    “I’m glad you’re back.” Ian’s gaze—that spring-blue, wild-sky gaze—was suddenly very sharp and very focused on Joel, sitting back in his worn T-shirt and his gray sweats. Outside, the rainstorm that had threatened since Joel got off the plane suddenly spattered the windows, and Ian looked away from Joel’s searching eyes and turned that way.
    “It threatens to get nasty out there,” he said inanely.
    “No worries, pappi. All we need to do in the next two days is go get milk tomorrow. I got all of Thanksgiving in the cupboards. I even bought some new placemats and napkins and shit.”
    Ian’s next look was simple and direct, pure and full of gratitude. “It sounds nice, but you know. Why? I- I’m dying to have Thanksgiving with you. And Christmas, too, if you must know the truth, but why? You take such good care of me, and I can’t even keep….” He looked up at the mantel, and they both knew how he’d finish that sentence.
    If Joel had expected Ian to simply pick up on all his unspoken cues, he’d been living with the wrong man for the last five months. With a sigh, he swung his legs over, sat up, and then moved in closer to Ian than they usually sat. “I like taking care of you, Ee,” he said into the rain-spattered quiet. “I like knowing you’re going to be happy. I like knowing I’m, you know, your anchor to the world.”
    “I’m a colossal asshole, brother. I’ve got all this high-level shit in my head, and