Right for Me

Author's Note:

This isn't my first attempt at writing or posting to Nifty, but it's my first attempt at anything for the boy-band area. I have to admit it took me a long time to actually read any of the stories in this area. I made some assumptions about the genre that took a bit to get over. Once I did though, I couldn't stop. I think some of the best writing on Nifty is in this area, and so I finally decided to join the ranks of some of my favorite authors and post. Any comments or encouragements would be appreciated. I'm more than willing to accept criticism or suggestions, but please no flames.

Disclaimer:

This story is pure fiction. I don't know any of the guys from `N Sync and my writings should in no way imply anything about their sexuality. Please do not post this story with out first receiving my permission.

I pulled over to the side of the hill and put my jeep in park. I spent a few moments looking down at my new home, wondering for the millionth time if I was doing the right thing. Glancing at the sprawling ranch before me, I hoped that I hadn't made the wrong choice.

I had to admit the place was impressive. Rolling green hills surrounded the farm buildings. Buildings obviously well tended, and maintained. A small creek meandered throughout the property, emptying merrily into a small pond; a splash of blue that broke the monotony of those endless shades of green. I'm sure during the spring flowers were abundant. It just had that feel to it, a small island of luscious foliage that belonged more in the hills of Ireland.

I have to admit the rolling pastures and hills surprised me. I hadn't realized that Florida would have such interesting landscapes. I'd imagined flat land as far as the eye could see; acres of orange groves, the monotony only broken by swamps filled with alligators.

The ranch looked rustic, a place completely out of time. Although there were signs of modern intrusion; power lines, telephone poles, paved roads. These concessions to industrialization were minimal. The infrastructure that butchered the landscape had obviously been designed to be as unobtrusive as possible. Man had left his mark at this ranch, but he had done so grudgingly.

It was June; the middle of the day, and the heat was sweltering. I felt a bead of sweat form and trickle down my back slowly. Even so, there was a light breeze that stirred the air and sent the foliage before me to undulate and dance lazily.

There was the obligatory red barn, but other than the house itself, I was at a loss as to the purpose of the other buildings. One appeared to be a single story office complex, with an abundance of windows. The edifice was a caricature of steel and glass, and contrasted almost painfully with the rustic quality the other buildings possessed.

And there was a low wooden building. It was massive, surrounded by wooden gates and a manicured lawn, it was an architectural focal point , and appeared as if the ranch and it's activities revolved around it. If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed it was a horse race track. It appeared to have an oval track and starting gates. The infield had a glorious water feature, but I wasn't sure exactly what the gates and poles were for.

It was there that I saw my first signs of activity. Men were sitting on wooden fences, walking in and out of the building and leading horses around on tethers.

I couldn't make out features or voices, but even from my rather distant vantage point, I was able to tell who was orchestrating the activities for the small army of men at work and at rest.

Taking a deep breath I changed perspective, allowing the sights, sounds and smells of my surroundings to fade away. Turning my head I glanced with real fondness at my passenger.

Reaching across, I slowly and carefully brushed his hair out of his eyes, as I made a quick mental note to make sure to get him a hair cut. He was all of three feet tall, blond hair, and blue eyes, and he was my tough little man. Brave and strong, he had weathered the death of our parents amazingly well. He was resilient and determined, and his unwavering love and trust for me had cemented my decision. I would do anything to protect him, even sacrifice my own dreams.

In actuality we were only half brothers. We shared a father, but my father had reluctantly moved on and remarried almost ten years after the death of my mother. There hadn't been any awkwardness, any resentment. I'd liked Pam immediately. She was small and delicate, and one of the toughest people I'd ever met.

She had managed to rekindle the spark of life and love that had been missing in my father's eyes since mother's death and for that if nothing else she deserved my respect. But our relationship was so much more than that thankfully. She didn't attempt to fill my mother's shoes. She blazed her own trails, creating a place of her own. She moved deftly from her position of second wife, to that of life partner, and as I watched the life and love between her and my father grow, I basked in the overflow.

They were elated when they learned of her pregnancy. I managed to see the humor. I was fifteen when they announced the blessed event, and once I got over the embarrassment of realizing my father actually had sex, I enjoyed and participated fully in the experience. I delighted in teasing them. His age, her size, they were patient and indulgent. Laughing at my antics, as I watched in awe and wonder the miracle they had created.

They allowed me to be present during the birth. Apprehensive and uncertain at first, I watched in terror and horror as my brother was born. But the pain and blood was quickly forgotten when we held him.

He was perfect, and as I held him tenderly I realized that he was the closest I would ever have to a son of my own.

Looking at my father and step mother, tears obscuring my vision, I realized in that one wonderful moment that they knew. Knew I was gay and would have no children of my own. And they had shared this experience with me, recognizing as they did so, that I would probably never repeat it.

And so our family grew once more. Pam the loving yet tough as nails mother. My father, George, a man who had managed to find two wonderful and loving women to share his life, was amazingly tender and patient and watched his family grow with a fondness, and indulgence that was breathtaking. Chad, my beautiful and perfect new brother, he completed our family just by his existence; he was a brilliant burst of light and love that filled our hearts with joy. And then of course there was me, Dylan, sensitive and studious, I loved them each immeasurably as they forced me to participate in life instead of watching it pass me by.

I was attending the Art Institute of New York when I received the phone call. My parents had been attacked and robbed after closing the family restaurant. The prognosis wasn't good, and the doctor I spoke with suggested I return to Chicago as soon as possible.

I'd tried to get back quickly, I honestly did, but it seemed fate had other ideas. A snow storm blew in and shut down Chicago's O'Hare airport. It took days to dig the city out and by the time I finally got home, dad and Pam had both passed away.

I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner in a fetal position and just ignore the world and what had happened. But I couldn't. There were simply too many things that needed done, and no one else to do them. And there was Chad to think of.

I was on autopilot for the funeral. I vaguely remember making the arrangements, agreeing to and making the hard choices that seem morbid and macabre unless forced to confront them.

Chad had spent the last few days with the babysitter, but that arrangement couldn't last. Pam's sister wanted to take him to live with her, and for a brief second I actually considered allowing it. I came to my senses quickly instead and informed her and the rest of the family, that Chad would be living with me.

The battle that ensued with that declaration was rather fierce. Luckily, Chad was in bed for the night, and managed to miss seeing the rest of us turn into jackass's as we each tried to yell louder then the next person in an attempt to determine what would be best for him. His parents had just been buried, and now his home had been turned into a war zone.

Luckily, the discussion was moot, which I was overjoyed to discover at the reading of Dad and Pam's will. All monies, stocks, bonds, insurance, and the restaurant had been left to me, along with the stipulation that I was to raise and care for Chad. Our house, the apartment in New York, and a cabin in the mountains had been left to Chad, along with a trust fund, again with myself appointed guardian.

We weren't Sam Walton rich, but managed properly, neither one of us would actually have to work a day of our lives if we didn't want too. And Pam's relatives confronted with the reality of a long drawn out legal battle to contest the will in order to gain custody of Chad seemed resigned to leaving well enough alone.

Once that was settled, I began the soul wrenching process of sorting through personal affects, and deciding what to do with some of the assets. I had worked in the restaurant after school and summers every year since I had turned thirteen, and I felt confidant about being able to run the place, but I just couldn't bring myself to keep it knowing that was where Dad had been killed. So I reluctantly placed it on the market, reasoning that it was better to sell it to someone else, rather then let it deteriorate from neglect.

Finally I came to a point where I had to decide where we were going to live, and what I was going to do at least for the foreseeable future. Although I knew how to cook, quite well in fact, it wasn't what I had planned to do with my life. I was attending the Art Institute to perfect my painting. I loved working in oils. The colors were just so vibrant. And I felt the medium suited itself more for experimentation, it was a bit more forgiving than watercolors or sculpting and even mistakes could result in something truly wonderful and awe inspiring.

I had created a style of painting that blended portrait with impressionistic. It was something I loved doing, and my pieces were actually starting to get noticed. An art critic or two had discovered them and a few pieces had been highlighted in publications that catered to patrons of the arts. I had a few pieces hanging in a wonderful little art shop, and they were consistently pressing me for more so that an actual show could be held.

Since our parents death, I wasn't comfortable living in Chicago any more, and I was certain that New York wasn't the place to raise a small child, so I had resigned myself to abandoning my goals. I had decided to move Chad and myself to the cabin in the mountains, and begin life over there. It wasn't ideal. I knew it was only a stop gap measure, but it would give me the space I needed to actually get past the miasma and fog the death, funeral, and fighting had created.

I just needed some breathing room.

And then all my plans came crashing down.

Heather had other ideas. She'd flown into town the day after I'd called to inform her I wouldn't be returning to New York. And she was pissed.

"Forget it Dylan," Heather demanded adamantly. "I'm not letting you run off to some cabin in the middle of fuck knows where and bury your head in the snow."

"Heather," I began, trying to explain for the tenth time, "I'm not hiding. I just need some breathing room, a moment to myself so I can regroup."

"Bullshit!"

"You're running away."

"You're scared to live at home because of what happened to your parents. You're scared Pam's relatives are going to find a way to take Chad away from you. And you're scared that you can't handle all of this. So you're running."

I stared at her for a moment, really considering her words. I hadn't known Heather that long, only since I'd started school in New York. We'd met by accident, literally. She'd swerved to miss a bike messenger, and in the process side swiped my car. Our friendship had blossomed that day, and it had only grown and deepened over the next three years. We'd become the best of friends, and I was willing to recognize the fact that she knew me better than anyone. And in a sense, she was right.

But I wasn't going to admit it.

"Heather," I said firmly, "I have to do what I think is best for Chad. And raising a little boy in a large dangerous city like New York or Chicago when you have other options is just insane. I'm not running, I'm not hiding, I'm just doing what I think makes the most sense."

"And what about art school?" she demanded. "You just put your entire life on hold for the next fifteen years while you wait for Chad to grow up?"

"Art school isn't important any more. Chad's the only thing that matters," I tried to explain.

"Stop with the self pity bullshit, Dylan, this wallowing in martyrdom isn't going to last long. And when it wears off you're going to resent Chad. Resent what you sacrificed for him, resent that you weren't able to finish school. Do you really want to live a life of regrets and what could have been?"

"I don't think that will happen," I said. "I'm not giving up painting. I'll still be able to experiment and explore. I'll still be able to submit my work to art shops. I'll just be doing it from Colorado."

"But why there?" she moaned in exasperation. "You won't know a single person. Please Dylan, just consider my idea."

I was completely exasperated by this point, and figured the easiest solution now was to just humor her. What would it hurt to hear her out?

"Fine," I said throwing my hands up in defeat, "let's hear it."

"Move to Florida," she suggested succinctly.

"Florida? I don't know anyone in Florida either, and if I moved there I'd have to buy or rent a place to live. Why would I want to do that?"

"No you wouldn't," she explained. "A friend of my brother's own a small ranch not far from Miami, you could stay there. It's perfect. It gets you and Chad out of the city like you want, but it's close enough to Miami that you could transfer your credits from New York to Miami's Art Institute."

"I've already checked, and the programs for both schools are comparable, and the credits would transfer. In fact, Miami actually will have Michael Lanstren as a guest professor next year. You've always admired his work; maybe he can help you to perfect your technique."

"J.T., my brother's friend, has a son too. About the same age as Chad, it would give him someone to socialize with; every little kid needs a best buddy. And you get the advantage of a built in support system. With the extended friends, families and relatives of J.T. and my family, it would have to be easier for you, at least as you find your feet."

"And I'll be moving back at the end of this semester, after I graduate, so you'll have at least one good friend you can rely on."

"Heather, why would this person let me move in? He doesn't know me or Chad, and what is his wife going to think about this? This would have to be a major imposition."

"He's not married, Dylan, and I've already talked to him about it. He thinks it's a wonderful idea; he isn't really much into the domestic side of housekeeping. He has a part time housekeeper but it's hard for him to find people he can trust. I told him about how well you cooked, and he was practically begging me to send you down there. I think he was even willing to help kidnap you after I described your peach cobbler to him," she said laughingly.

"Look, Dylan," she continued, "it's really a pretty good deal. He'll be able to watch out for Chad while you're in class, and you'll cook and help out with the household shit in exchange."

"He does do a fair amount of traveling, but I'm positive you'll be able to work things out when that happens."

I looked at her for a moment, chewing on my bottom lip, surprised that I was actually considering her proposition.

"Well," I drew out the word still thinking, "There has to be more to it then him just wanting a live in cook.

It sounds too good to be true, honestly, and I don't want to get myself or Chad in an uncomfortable position. We've had enough shit to deal with the last few weeks."

"Does he know?" I asked changing the subject abruptly.

"Know? You mean about your parents dieing? Of course he does," she said.

"No. Does he know that I'm gay? I'm not going to hide or lie about that Heather. So if it's something you expect me to hide then this is definitely not doable."

"He knows, and it's not a problem, believe me. In his line of work and with the traveling he does, there isn't any room for bigotry or prejudice. Believe me it's not gonna be a problem."

"What does he do?"

I watched suspiciously as she tried to avoid the question. Finally she admitted defeat, "He's in entertainment."

"An actor?"

"No. Music."

"Would I recognize any of his work?" I asked.

"Maybe, he's pretty famous. It's the biggest reason he has problems finding people he can trust. Once people recognize him they treat him differently. Try to use him for his fame or money. It's left him a bit gun shy."

"Don't worry, Dylan. He's a good guy. I promise. I wouldn't set you up with someone that was going to bash you. Believe me this isn't entirely one sided. He needs a friend, someone he can trust, almost as badly as you need a safe, secure place to raise Chad."

I studied her face closely, trying to determine exactly what it is she was trying to hide from me. Finally I shrugged it off as not important. Fame and name recognition had never been something I obsessed over.

"When would I be able to meet him?"

Heather glanced at her watch quickly checking the time. "He should be home now if you'd like me to phone him."

I nodded my head slowly, agreeing reluctantly.

Heather snatched her phone out of her purse quickly, barely glancing at it as she hit speed dial. It was amusing watching her, the almost frantic way she placed that phone call, afraid I suppose that if she gave me much time to think about it, that I'd realize what an insane idea this was and back out.

I have to admit I was actually more than convinced already. The prospect of being able to continue with school, and have Heather around while not needing to live in a big city was like the answer to a pray. Maybe Chad and I were actually catching a break. It had seemed life -- fate -- had been conspiring against us lately. Maybe things were finally looking up.

"Hello, J?" Heather said as the person she was calling obviously answered the phone.

"Yeah, I'm at his house now," she paused listening.

"Yeah, I've discussed it with him; he wanted to talk with you before he made a decision."

"Ok, here he is," she said as she handed her cell phone to me.

"Hello," I said uncertainly.

"Dylan! It's great to finally talk with you. Heather's told me a lot of good things about you, bro."

"Shit! I forgot about your parents," he said interrupting himself self-consciously as he realized his perkiness might come across as unfeeling and condescending. "I'm really sorry for you man, I know it's gotta be tough. But you need to get your ass down here! Get with some peeps that are gonna care for ya and help you work through this shit."

"J is it?" I asked deciding to confront my concerns head on. "Why?"

"Why what?" he asked.

"Why would you want someone you've never met, someone you don't know to move in with you, especially if you have a son? I'm sure you have to be concerned about his safety. I mean I can't imagine any parent just opening their home to a complete stranger without being concerned how it would affect everyone. I could be a mass murderer for God's sake!"

Heather and J laughed in tandem at my statement, and I looked up to see her eyes twinkling at me mischievously, "Well," she began, "if you consider masturbation murder^Å"

"Heather! Stop right there," I warned her shacking my finger in her face. "We are so not going to go there!"

"What did she say?" J asked as he stopped laughing.

Thankful that he couldn't see me blushing I replied, "Nothing worth repeating."

"That good was it? You know she's going to tell me next time I talk to her."

"Probably," I agreed. "She has no shame."

"Seriously though, why would you be a party to her hair brained scheme?"

"Listen, Dylan, I know you don't know me yet, but one thing you'll find out is that once I trust a person, once they are my friend, I trust them implicitly. I've known Heather forever. She says you're a good guy then you're a good guy."

"I don't know how much she's told you, but this certainly isn't a totally altruistic decision on my part. When Heather brought the idea up, it didn't take me long to agree that there were definite advantages in it for both of us."

"I can really use the help around the house. I want Jesse to have as normal a home life as possible. I want him to have memories of cookies baking, home cooked meals, peach cobblers, and playing with a best buddy. I don't want him to grow up and look back on his childhood and life and blame me for what he didn't have."

"For someone in the public eye, normalcy is priceless.

And you can help bring that to us."

"I don't know how to say this without hurting your feelings, but you're basically on your own now. From what Heather said, the members of Chad's family are more interested in taking him away from you than actually helping. You get away from that here, and you have a built in support system to help when you need it."

"It seems like a win-win from where I'm sitting. And look at it this way, if Heather's wrong. If this scheme of hers is completely insane, we're gonna figure that out pretty damn fast. What's to keep you from packing up and heading to your mountain then? What's it hurt to give it a try?"

"I'm not sure." I began trying to explain my misgivings, "It just seems too good to be true; you know what I mean? There has to be a catch we aren't seeing."

"Come on J, Heather thought of this, it's bound to end in disaster some how." I finished smirking at the look on Heather's face at that pronouncement.

"Ummm, J, I don't think there's a political way of bringing this up so I'm just gonna spit it out, Heather told you I'm gay, right?"

"Yep," he responded brightly. "Don't worry about it; you won't be the first guy to fall in love with me. I can handle it!" He said as he began to snicker.

"Oh someone thinks his shit doesn't stink," I said joking back. "Think you're all that do you?"

"You know it stud," he said playing along. "Gonna take you five minutes to fall madly in love with me."

"That long huh? I'm not sure what you've done with the legion of men that have fallen at your feet before now, but I promise you, I'm made of sterner stuff. It's gonna take at least six minutes!"

"We're gonna get along just fine Dylan. Pack your shit up and get down here."

"Well, it's not exactly that easy stud," I said. "I still have to close up the house, contact a realtor about renting it out, the restaurant's new owners want to meet with me tomorrow^Å"

"Ok. Ok. I get it," J said laughingly as he rushed to interrupt me from giving him my entire itinerary for the next few weeks. "It sounds like you decided to give it a try though?" He continued questioningly.

"Yeah," I began tentatively. "This may be a tremendous mistake for both of us, but you were right, if it doesn't work out, we just move on."

I happened to glance over at Heather as I informed J of my decision, and the look of satisfaction she tossed my way was just too galling for words. I was certain I'd never hear the end of this, especially if I got down there and everything worked out perfectly. "Oh well," I thought to myself, "Even Heather can be right once in a while."

The next few weeks were a complete blur. Heather stayed the rest of the week too help as much as she could, but there wasn't really a lot anyone could do. She did get Dad and Pam's personal clothing and shit like that packed up and sent to good will. It was a little thing really, but I appreciated her help immensely. I'm sure I would have spent more time crying then packing. As it was, going through personal and business papers was emotionally wrenching. There were nights, after I tucked Chad into bed that I would lay down and cry for hours.

I hired a realtor to handle renting out the house and after an extensive walk though of the property, decided exactly what need to be placed in storage. It hurt thinking that someone else would be living in our home, but it was too late to turn back.

The corporation that bought the restaurant wanted to license and franchise the name too, and since I hadn't sold the name along with the restaurant, it meant more legal agreements. It took me twenty seconds to agree to it, with the proviso that all franchisee must maintain the same high standards that my father had demanded. I thought it a fitting legacy for my father, knowing that Carlton's could exist nation wide was very satisfying. The stock option offered wasn't anything to sneeze at either.

I'd been in continuous contact with my professors at the Art Institute, and when I informed me of my plans, they were generous enough to accept projects I'd turned in as sufficient to meet the criteria for the semester. It saved me from losing the credits that year. I was completely overwhelmed at their generosity. I doubt many institutions of higher learning would have been that flexible.

Finally, I traded my parents Lexus in on a new Jeep Cherokee. I thought it more practical; it certainly had more carrying capacity. And I thought as Chad and Jesse got older the extra room would have a definite advantage.

I was realistic enough to know that we couldn't take everything with us. I sent items I thought were completely essential ahead, placed the majority of stuff into storage, made sure the utilities were cut off, the paper canceled, the bank, brokerage house, real estate firm, and Carlton franchise headquarters had the correct contact information.

I held Chad closely as we took one last walk through a home that had been filled with happiness for us. It was a tearful farewell for me, as each room brought up a wonderful memory of better times. Chad was stoic, hugging me gently as I meandered through those passages of time. Patting my face softly, consolingly, he gently forced me to acknowledge that it was time to move on.

It was time for us to begin our new life.

Closing the door firmly behind us, we climbed in the Jeep and began our trip to Florida. Uncertain and still wary, even as I pulled away from our home I was certain of one thing. I loved Chad unconditionally and no matter what happened or where we wound up, I would do everything in my power to protect him and make sure he was a happy healthy little boy.

It's funny how you can review weeks and months of your life, and only seconds or moments have passed in the real world? An insect buzzing by my head interrupted my introspection. Once my focus was once again on the present, I drew a deep breath. Glancing quickly at Chad, I put the Jeep in drive and slowly began my descent on the winding drive that led to the house that marked the end of our trip.

As I parked and got my first good look at the house, a sense of excitement and curiosity managed to assuage the feelings of uncertainty and indecision I had been having. The house was obviously done in Tudor Revival. The stone work was lavish and stately. There appeared to be two rather ornate chimneys, but since I was looking at the front of the building, I was willing to concede there might be more. It's rather steep roofline was impressive, and seemed to fade naturally into the impressive oak trees that helped to frame it.

I watched as the front door opened and a man holding a small child walked out. He headed toward us gracefully. As he waved to me uncertainly, I forgot about the house, about Florida, about my parent's death, about everything. I was pissed. Major pissed.

The kind of pissed that makes you think your head is going to explode.

J.T. my ass. That is fucking Justin Timberlake, I thought. What the fuck did Heather get me into? Maybe this isn't right for me.