Good Guys Don't Date Bad Boys Chapter 32
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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