Chasing Rusty Parker Chapter 50
Chasing Rusty Parker – Ch. 50
By Laura S. Fox
Copyright © 2023 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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Chasing Rusty Parker is the sequel to my story Good Guys Don't Date Bad Boys that you can also find here, on Nifty.
Chapter Fifty – Boys Like You Don't End Up With The King
Matty waited patiently until Jamie let go. Their eyes met again, and he was only half-surprised by the openly appreciative smile Jamie gave him.
"I see. Wow," Jamie said.
"You'll have to spell it out for me," Matty said.
"You're in love with him."
"Because I didn't respond to your kiss?"
Jamie laughed. He appeared so confident, so easy to like. "I could make you, you know."
"I have no doubt."
"Good. It would break my little heartbreaking heart if you said otherwise. Now that sex isn't in the cards, how about we just hang out?"
"I have nothing against it," Matty agreed. "I have one question, though. Why didn't you insist, just now? I'm sure you've broken others' resolve before."
"Yeah, but when it was worth it. Call me a lawful criminal or something like that. I only steal what's readily on offer. Or, you know, on the fence, ready to fall in my lap."
"I'd call that comfortable and maybe lazy."
"Pretty boy," Jamie drawled, "don't test me. Ah, maybe you're lucky it's Rusty we're talking about."
"Because you care about him? Don't let that stop you. He made his choice," Matty pointed out.
"Let me make a little confession. It might look like it, but you forget that I've seen you with him."
"And?" Matty made an effort to square his shoulders. He had no reason to walk through the world, looking forlorn and defeated. Only Rusty had the right to see him like that, and even for him, he had mustered that smile, with all the costs attached.
"And I'm pretty damn sure that if he gets the slightest idea that I got freaky with you, he's going to have my head."
"Damn, you're good," Matty said and forced himself to smile. "You know exactly what to say to make me feel ready to fall in your lap, as you say."
"I deserve that," Jamie replied. "But this time, it's not a game. I'm telling you the truth. He's possessive of you. Very possessive."
"He's got a girlfriend," Matty immediately supplied the obvious.
"Nah, I don't buy that. Rusty has never showed that kind of possessiveness toward anyone or anything. He's the kind to let go. All the freaking time. Such a free spirit, right? Damn right annoying."
"He let me go. And I understand."
"Maybe you should stop."
"Understanding?"
"Yeah."
Matty pondered those words. He had no idea what to make of them. Jamie was, apparently, an endless supply of surprises.
"Is this the moment when you start telling me I should think with my heart or something stupid like that?"
"No, you're too cool for that." Jamie kissed his cheek noisily. "You freaking brainiac. Of course, he'd go for someone like you. Before you ask what I mean by that. Someone who's his complete opposite. You complete him," he whispered right into his ear.
This time, Matty laughed out loud. He hadn't done that for days, and the sound of his own laughter lifted a weight from his shoulders.
"Here is what we're going to do," Jamie said. "I'm going to give you all that comfort, but without the sex. What do you say?"
"Why not? Actually, thank you, Jamie. It feels good, so whatever magic you have that you use on people, it's working."
"Great. I wouldn't ask for anything else."
***
The first time, it had been sort of a shock. He should have expected it. Maybe not so soon, and the fact that it hurt him right annoyed the hell out of him. Matty was hanging out with Jamie, and if Rusty knew anything about what that kind of hanging out meant, it could only lead to one thing and one thing only.
He had no right to feel so hurt. Or jealous. It only went to show that he needed to be stronger than he was. He tried to fool himself into believing that it was only his ego demanding its rights, or that he thought Matty deserved better than a playboy. But it was neither, and he couldn't convince himself of the lies, regardless of how much he tried.
Matty didn't appear to notice the way his eyes lingered on him and his newfound friend. He always appeared to be caught up in whatever Jamie was telling him, sometimes even laughing, the sound of his pleasure carried to the onlooker... and for what?
He should have been happy, so damn happy. Matty had moved on. Just as he had expected it to happen. Yet, he was the one on the lookout for the new duo everywhere he went. More than once his steps changed direction as soon as he overheard that they had been spotted. They were even a bit of a celebrity pair. Jamie was sexy, Matty was sexy. Of course, they would make people look at them everywhere they went.
Some people seemed to remember vaguely that Matty had used to be his tutor. That was gone, too, of course. How easily people forgot. It frightened him and made him turn away and go back home where he would spend his days in bed, forcing himself to study, per the promise he had made in front of his friends. At least, there was no Matty there to worry about. Or, better said, there was the only place where he could go to leave the world outside, a world in which Matty was no longer his.
He had deleted all the texts from Matty that had been sent during those horrible days. The news from the hospital remained reserved. Anything could happen. But one thing was certain, his mother would eventually be moved to a place where they could take care of her. Also, his dad would pay for it all.
His phone pinged and he grabbed it quickly. He stared stupidly at the screen. It wasn't a text from Matty, although why he had been waiting for one had no reasonable explanation. It was just Maddox, who didn't want to move his ass up the stairs and talk to him.
Come downstairs.
Why?
We have a surprise for you.
Unless the surprise was Matty beautifully wrapped in nothing but a bow... Fuck, what the hell was he thinking? Why wasn't he letting go already? Why didn't the universe understand that he had made the right choice?
I hate surprises.
No, you don't. Now, Rusty.
Well, he couldn't study anyway. He was probably hard in the head and hadn't realized it until now. With a shrug and a look around the room that had been his safe shelter for the last few days, he decided that he needed to make an effort to get out of his cocoon of self-imposed misery. It might also give him a break from thinking about Matty. That would be good.
He couldn't help thinking about him. He was still doing that and only once he was halfway down the stairs did he raise his eyes and see the surprise.
"No," he said.
Francine was staring at him from below. She was dressed to impress, in a light cream two-piece suit, her hair pulled back into a conservative chignon, her pearls in place as usual.
"Don't you dare run, young man," she said from the tip of her lips and adjusted her bag on her forearm while maintaining the same menacing gaze on him.
"Hamilton," Rusty began, his eyes darting around the room, searching for traitors, "I'm so going to--"
"Now," Francine interrupted him.
"I need to change into something nicer," he argued. "I wasn't expecting royalty."
"No, as you are." Francine didn't spare him another glance as she turned on her heel. "Let's not keep Simmons waiting. He's very anxious for a drive."
Rusty looked down at himself, at the sweatpants and the simple t-shirt he had on. He shrugged. Supposedly, he could receive a lecture while being dressed like a bum. It might even serve to support his cause. He walked down and only added sneakers to his offensive attire. Glancing about the room, he saw that there were still no traitors around.
***
Simmons greeted him effusively, and he did look more than a little anxious, like a kid on his first fieldtrip. Maybe Francine needed to get the poor guy out of the house more.
He was in the backseat, keeping a safe distance from the tiger.
"You could have lectured me at the house," he began. "I guess you spoke to Mrs. May."
Francine was resting her elbow on the door on her side of the car and looking out the window. She didn't seem to have heard him.
"Where are we going?" he asked after a while. Wherever their destination was, it was pretty far. And Francine wasn't dragging him to Mrs. May's home studio, either. It felt a little bit like being kidnapped, only more frightening.
He had no idea what she was thinking and didn't have the guts to ask, either. She was so incredibly vicious in her silence. And the way she couldn't be bothered to spare him a glance should have been a clear sign that she had already given up on him.
The only problem was that they were still moving toward some unknown destination.
"You know, you might be rich and all, but if you plan to kill me and get rid of the body, you might not get away with it," he joked.
Yeah, fallen on deaf ears. How frightened did he have to be?
Finally, the car stopped. At first, Rusty thought they were in the middle of nowhere, but then he noticed a vehicle approaching, sending a plume of dust into the air behind it.
"Out," Francine ordered and he obeyed.
The truck, because it was a truck approaching them, stopped, and a man in his fifties with a hardhat on got out.
"Mrs. Hamilton, what an incredible surprise," he offered courteously.
Francine greeted the man with a lot more warmth than Rusty had received from her on their way here.
"Mr. Harris, please take this young man," she said with a benevolent smile. "Work him to the bone. I will pick him up at shift change. Is that all right?"
Mr. Harris examined Rusty from head to toe and seemed pleased. He asked Francine no more questions.
"Come on, lad. We're in full swing, and there's plenty to do."
All right, so it was a damn good joke and all, but what the hell? Rusty turned to watch Francine get into the car. He guessed rather than saw the way she waved at Simmons, most probably telling him to start driving.
***
Hours later, he was bone-tired. It must have been one of the construction sites run by the Hamiltons. Rusty hadn't understood a lot of what the foreman told him while pointing him at the safety gear and tools he needed. He'd only understood that there was a lot of rock that needed breaking in spots where the machines couldn't reach. And he had gone at it with a vengeance, his muscles taking over his thoughts and freeing them for a while.
All he needed right now was a bed to crash on. What was the lesson, anyway? He was sure as hell it was a lesson, only that he had no idea what it was. Ah, Francine was trying to show him where he might end up if he gave up on music. There was nothing wrong with that kind of work. It was honest, and it felt good, although it made him hurt all over.
But that was probably too simple, right?
The car stopped several feet away. Mr. Harris patted him on the back and wished him luck, telling him again how much he appreciated the work Rusty had done today.
He took another look at himself. The coveralls had kept his clothes from getting too dirty, but his arms looked like a statue's and his hair was a mess, sweaty and glued to his forehead. It would be a shame to leave unsightly smudges all over Francine's car.
The car horn startled him. Now that was his cue.
***
"You know what I don't understand?"
"What?" Matty asked and couldn't suppress a yawn. Jamie was in charge of his free hours to keep him from thinking about Rusty, and Zoey took over the second shift. That only left him with the night. It was precious little, but he didn't plan on giving up anyway. Of course, his two friends didn't know about his stubborn decision.
"Rybalt has been a no-show for a damn long time now."
Not so long. Matty knew how to count. Still, he needed to remind himself that while he was in Zoey's presence, he wasn't allowed to mope about Rusty.
"Yeah, I guess so."
Zoey stared at him with shrewd eyes. "So, how about you put on that cat suit and try to lure him out of his den?"
"That would be no use." Her surprised stare made him realize that she didn't know Rusty was Rybalt. "Stop trying to push me into the arms of other men. Jamie's enough as it is."
"Yeah, only that he's not doing what's I expected of him. Come on, Matty. You liked Rybalt, didn't you? I mean, the guy kissed you and all."
He kept his mouth shut. He was getting so tired, he just had to close his eyes.
"Who is Rybalt, Matty?"
Zoey was so close it startled him.
"I have no idea."
The problem was she was too close.
"Damn," she said once she noticed his guilty look. "Damn, Matty. Are you trying to say--"
"I wasn't saying anything."
"But of course." She straightened up. "It all makes sense now, especially his disappearance and all of the other coincidences... Matty, give it to me straight."
"Yeah, okay, Rusty's Rybalt," he exclaimed and threw his arms up in surrender. What was the point of keeping it a secret from his bestie? His loyalty to Rusty stretched just so far. This was harmless. Or was it?
"For real?" Zoey's eyes grew so wide she looked like a cartoon character. "For real?!" This time louder, of course.
"What do you mean for real? Wasn't that what you were trying to tell me?" He felt too irritated for Zoey's good. Being emotionally wrought all the time was patience consuming.
"No." She shook her head, looking just as bewildered. "I thought you must have slipped tongue to Rybalt one too many times, and Rusty somehow found out, and there must have been a battle between rivals for you--"
"Only you would think of an entire melodramatic play," Matty retorted. "Seriously? You thought I cheated on Rusty?"
"It would have made you human," Zoey replied with a shrug. "But you're a monster in love if I ever saw one. Don't give me that look. A cute monster." She slapped her own face and gasped, as if she just remembered she was supposed to be surprised. "Rusty's Rybalt?"
"Yes. I've known for some time," Matty admitted. "Feel free to hate me for not telling you."
"I'm not going to do that. You're above getting mad at because you're suffering way too much already. But... I really don't get it. Rusty can't sing. I mean, we've all heard him doing that karaoke thing, right? How does one go from that to... you know, freaking opera?"
"I think he could always sing like that," Matty said. "I always wanted to find out why he preferred to keep it hidden from everyone. I missed my chance, it seems."
"You can still ask him," Zoey said quietly. "Although, he hasn't sung a thing in a long time. What if he gave up on that, too?"
Zoey's all too innocent question made him snap his head upward so fast he startled her. He felt something inside him starting to crumble slowly. It wasn't a sudden disaster, but only the shore crumbling after days and days of rain. "Damn it, Zoey," he whispered softly.
"What? What did I say?" she asked, alarmed and a bit scared.
"It's not your fault, don't worry. It's been right under my eyes all this time. Even Xpress hasn't shut up about it. I have no idea what Rusty's doing, but this makes me think... he must have given up on music, too. Yeah, just like you said."
"It must be temporary."
"It could be, but I don't know. Right now, I just need to tell you. You and Jamie both are doing a fine job of keeping me busy so that I don't obsess over him, but this puts everything in a new light. Zoey, I'm afraid that if Rusty gave up on what seemed to be his passion – because I don't think anyone can sing like that without loving it to the core – what chance do I have?"
Zoey moved slowly and took his hands. "Don't say things like that."
"Well, I must be brave, right? I have to admit it. I can hope all I want that he might see things differently someday, but we're not kids. That thing with his mom must have given him a whole new perspective on things, on life, I don't know. All I know is that I'm not part of it."
"Are you saying that you want to move on?"
"Don't act so surprised. You and Jamie have both pushed me in that direction for some time now."
"Yeah, while hoping Rusty would get so mad with jealousy that he'd do something about it."
"It doesn't look like that's going to happen." Matty took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I need to stop this. Somehow. Not that I know how. I don't expect to stop being in love with him on a whim, but I can at least stop hoping."
"Ah, damn, this hurts," Zoey whispered and hung her head in defeat. "I really thought he'd come running back to you once he realized he can't live without you."
"That kind of stuff only happens in books," Matty said, feeling weary to the bone and in need of crawling under a blanket and having a good cry. He couldn't do that in front of Zoey, though, because he couldn't do something like that to her.
"I know what to do!" Zoey exclaimed. "You need a way to bury your love, Matty."
"I don't want to bury--"
"No, listen to me. You need a symbolic gesture, something that will draw a line so you can at least consider moving on."
"I've told you about it. Doesn't that count?"
Zoey squeezed his hands in hers. "Can you sell the cat boy suit?"
"No, I've been naked underneath it way too many times. It would be a foul thing to do. And I wouldn't sell it, anyway."
"Do you want to keep it?"
He shook his head. He didn't want that, either.
Zoey straightened up, a veritable image of solemnity. "Then there's only one thing to be done. We must bury Slicky Coolplums."
***
Now that was one driveway he knew. He turned to Francine before she could order him to get out.
"I could say no."
"Will you?"
"No."
"Then what are we talking for? Out."
He followed her like a beaten dog into the house. After all, everyone he had hurt lately had the right to yell at him. The way he saw it, Francine was saving him time and gas money.
Mrs. May didn't appear surprised to see them at that hour at all, which could only mean that their visit had been scheduled prior to their arrival. Strangely enough, Francine hadn't made one phone call or sent any texts, as far as he could remember from their silent trip by car.
Simmons appeared to be the only party oblivious to everything, taking all that was happening in stride. He was invited to join the rest of the family watching a movie while Rusty was flanked in front by Mrs. May and Francine at the rear on their way to the studio.
So, they wanted the whole thing. He'd do it because it was asked of him.
"Make him sing, please," Francine told Mrs. May as she took her place on a chair in the room, at a fair distance from him.
"What do you really hope to achieve with this? I don't want to sing anymore." He felt his presence so incongruous in that room, and not only because he was dirty and tired. "What was the point in having me break rocks all day?"
Mrs. May turned a questioning look toward Francine. Jonathan's mom seemed completely unfazed by his question.
"I made you touch the ground. How did it feel?"
Not bad. Probably good. He wouldn't admit it, though.
"Well, now Meryl and I will make you touch the sky, as well."
"Fine," he said and accepted the sheet from the vocal coach. Mrs. May had been silent save for a few necessary words exchanged at the door. "You will see that I no longer want it."
"I won't believe it until I see it with my own eyes. Go on."
Under Mrs. May's guidance, he began. He didn't plan on disappointing them, he didn't sing out of tune on purpose. Actually, the technique remained there, where it had been so carefully ingrained in him after all, but there was flatness in the way he sang that was impossible to go unnoticed.
"I'm afraid he's not ready," Mrs. May said quietly, addressing Francine.
"He's not trying, you mean. Give him another one."
So this was the kind of torture she intended for him. And he felt so tired.
"Think of what is making you sad, Rusty," Francine said, her keen eyes set on him.
So many things. His mom, most of all. But the words coming out of his mouth, every note, climbed only as high as it needed to fall back to the same cursed level of mediocrity.
"This isn't working," he said, speaking for them, voicing what they had to be thinking.
Another glance passed between the two women. And then, Mrs. May said, "Sadness was never your tune, Rusty. Think of what makes you happy."
That was a tough one, a very tough one, indeed.
"Think of her," Mrs. May added gently.
He tried thinking of his mom, a life wasted in the name of something he couldn't call love. But that wasn't what his vocal coach meant, right?
"Him," he heard Francine say.
He looked up. Mrs. May smiled in acquiescence at Francine's suggestion.
"Think of him, Rusty."
They talked about him without knowing who he was, but he did, and he was the one to sing. He hesitated as he stared at the new sheet that had been handed to him. He knew this one by heart.
So, he closed his eyes and began singing, the playfulness was doubled by seriousness because he knew that he meant everything beyond every word, even if the language wasn't the one he had been born into. He knew what the author of the piece had intended to do with it, and it was such a revelation of his life before. But now, for him, it marked a rite of passage, a movement toward something new. Suddenly, without even knowing it, only feeling it, he began meaning every word.
Minutes later, as he let the final note fall from his lips, he opened his eyes.
"I hate you both," he whispered.
Francine smiled. "Encore," she said, looking damned pleased with herself.
He sniffled and pressed his face against his forearm, the smell of earth from the construction site flooding his nostrils.
"Encore," Mrs. May agreed and nodded, encouraging him with her eyes.
"Stop breaking me, you witches," he said, choking on the words.
"Sing, Rusty. You know you can't not do so."
Yes, of course. He couldn't not. Just like he couldn't not think of Matty. Of how he truly, deeply loved him.
***
"We are, at least, a bit insane," Matty confessed as they struggled with a plastic shovel Zoey had discovered at the back of her closet, a remnant of a birthday gift that was supposed to go to one of her very young nieces. It was all they had and beggars couldn't be choosers.
"Well, being symbolic and stuff takes courage and brawn," she said as she handed him the shovel back. "Obviously, in this situation, I'm the one with the courage, you're the muscle."
"Yeah. You know, people in movies make it look so easy, digging a hole. It's not. Just how deep should we make it?"
"Well, we don't want the first rain to bring it back to the surface. It might lead to uncomfortable questions. The police might get involved," she said in an intimate, scary whisper.
"Only you can make me feel like a criminal." Matty continued the arduous task and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The plastic tool only made it more difficult.
"But you like it," Zoey shot back cheerfully. She held the phone's flashlight up so that he could see what he was doing.
The weather was starting to grow chilly. An owl hooted nearby, giving him the willies.
"Why on earth I let you talk me into such stuff baffles me."
"Wait, what was that?"
"What?"
Zoey said nothing, and they both stood still, not moving a muscle. "I don't know, for a moment, I felt as if we were being watched. I'm afraid I have to urge you to hurry up and bury your love for Rusty faster."
"Thanks, partner. All this craziness really gives the moment the right tone, methinks." He tried to laugh it off, but it didn't work too well.
Zoey grabbed the bundle made of the cat boy suit and handed it to him.
"Wait, before you put Slicky into the ground, how about saying a few solemn words?"
Matty stood by the edge of the very small hole he had managed to dig and looked down as Zoey put the latex suit inside.
"I have no idea what I should say. You try."
Zoey seemed prepared, unlike him.
"Here lies Slicky Coolplums," she said in a grave voice, "whose only sin upon this earth was to fall in love with the king of Sunny Hill. His silly antics came from the heart, and we would be hard-pressed to hold them against him, seeing how we'd all love to be capable of the same stuff if we were only as limber as he. May his latex coat and furry tail find peace and good company among the well-meaning worms aerating this patch of soil."
"All right," he said with a sigh. He loaded as much dirt as he could onto the little shovel and threw it over the cat boy's earthly remains. He had no idea if Zoey's plan was working, and he didn't feel any lighter than before, but he was tired enough to not give a damn anymore.
***
"Can you let me out here? I'd like to walk for a bit," he told Francine as soon as the campus lights came into focus.
"Of course. Remember today, Rusty. That is the real you."
He just nodded. He wanted to thank her, but he found his words too small to express it all. His mind had been hijacked by many other wondrous thoughts. They must have been to blame for it. Of course, they were all about Matty and no one and nothing else.
It didn't matter that he had worked all day breaking rocks and that he had exhausted his soul while singing in front of Mrs. May and Francine. He needed to walk, to feel the air on his face and see the campus at night, the same way he had seen it so many times.
And think of Matty. Only of him.
***
Just who do you think you are, Matthew Han?! Hear our collective gasp as we write these words. We accuse. We know everything.
You dressed up as a cat boy and cheated your way into the arms and – how presumptuous of you! – soul of our king! Now everything makes sense. Everything that has happened over the past weeks, our king's abdication, your vulgar exposure of all your hookups, the pain you caused!
In a more journalistic manner, we want to inform everyone that we have solved one more of the mysteries of Sunny Hill. Matthew Han, believing himself smart and good-looking, took it upon himself to seduce our one and only king, Rusty Parker. To some degree he appears to have succeeded, or else why would a ladies' man like our leader feel so betrayed by a nobody who hooks up all the time with other nameless nobodies? But alas, all is solved. Rusty Parker shall soon forget.
Now, back to our outrage. How dare you, Matthew Han, how dare you think you had a chance? Don't you know? Boys like you don't end up with the king!
TBC
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