Page 26 of Troy

Reentering the building after watching Raff speed out of the lot, I walk back to the room. My head is a mess; what the fuck just happened? Ben organizes the wrap-up of the afternoon, talking quietly to the veterans as they gather their stuff. All but one of them. The man who blew the whole afternoon to pieces. He merely stands there, dazed.

Racing over to him, I stop a couple of feet away. His head lifts and, apart from the pain and sadness in them, I see the same green as Raff’s. Tipping my head to one side, I see the same high cheek bones and strong jaw, only this time not hiding under the beard I love so much.

“What did you do to him?” The words are out of my mouth before I can control them. I watch him recoil as if I’ve struck him.

“I broke him.” He whispers to me before turning away and trudging to the door. Ben calls out to him but he waves and carries on walking.

Spinning on my heel, I glare at Ben who instinctively throws up his hands. “Whoa, Troy, back off!”

“Who the fuck is he? I want a name and address. I want his fucking history and I fucking want it now! I want to know what the fuck he has to do with my man.” I storm out again and head out, but where to go? Raff drove here today; he knew it would be a long day and he wasn’t happy leaving the dog.

Digging up my phone, I call him but it goes straight to voicemail; I knew it would but I hoped not. “Raff? Raff, sweetheart, talk to me. Please, honey, talk to me.” Dropping the call, I skid down the wall I leaned against and rest my head on my arms as they lie across my bended knees. This is bad, this is really bad.

A hand on my shoulder makes me lift my head and I discover Ryan standing at my side. “What happened, Troy? What can we do?”

“I have no fucking clue what to do, but that man hurt Raff so badly that he ran.” I push myself up from the floor and run my hands through my hair, trying to clear my head. “I need to get home, I haven’t got a car here.”

“Take mine, I drove my own today. I’ll go home with Nico.” Ryan hands over his keys and smiles sadly. “It will be okay, Troy. You two have something too good, it’s the real thing. I don’t think he’ll throw it away.”

As I turn to leave, Ben walks up to me. He looks grim but I think he has some answers. “Tell me, Ben. Tell me what that man has done.”

“His name is Corrigan Deschamps. His father is Ferdie Deschamps, the senator. Corrie left home at eighteen and joined the military. By the sounds of it, he has severed all ties with his family and hasn’t been home since. He’s a good man, Troy, I don’t know or understand what has just happened and Corrie hasn’t said anything. Maybe you should speak to him, he may explain himself to you. I’m sorry, Troy.” Ben tries a weak smile but I can see his heart isn’t in it.

“Really? Senator Deschamps? That man is a homophobic asshole, all bible quotes and shit. I’ll need this guy’s address and contact number, Ben. But I have to go home now. I need to speak to Raff, I can see if he can explain this.” I rush out, knowing I’ve wasted too much time here. Jumping into Ryan’s car, I’m on the road in no time. Traffic is heavy but Ryan’s Aston Martin is more than capable of clearing through the cars. It’s ten minutes later when I drive up to the house, but there is no truck. So, no Raff, shit!

I pull out my phone again and call his number but it goes to voicemail again. I feel sick and know I’m half a second away from breaking down. “Raff, talk to me. Please. I love you. Don’t be another man I lose; I can’t survive this again. Please, come home.” Sobs build up in my throat and tears fall freely down my cheeks. “Come home, sweetheart, we can deal with this together.”

If Raff is related to Corrigan, and they look so damn similar he must be, then there is no wonder he freaked out. Raff would have been subjected to his father’s hateful diatribes for years.

I wish he would answer his damn phone, he promised he wouldn’t leave. I need him, I know I won’t survive him turning away from me.

As I drive away, I know I’m a coward, but shit! That’s my brother, and look what he has gone through. Yet, as he placed me, I saw shame, I saw grief. I wanted to reach out to him but, in my head, he is still that scared, twelve-year-old boy holding back his tears as he watches me, broken and bleeding, leave my home. I don’t know what to do or where to go, so, I drive. An hour later, having followed the edge of the lake, I find a beaten track leading down to the water, and I park under the huge canopy of branches from the giant pine trees surrounding this part of the lake. Hopping down, I go around the truck to let Boss out. He bounds out and races around, looking and sniffing out the new environment. But I simply take the dozen or so steps and head down to the water. A large, driftwood tree trunk resides where the grass turns to sand, bleached white from the sun; it makes a perfect resting place.

Sticking a cigarette from the box in my shirt pocket between my lips, I flick my Zippo and inhale the smoke deeply before sitting down to try to clear my mind and let the thoughts come to me—a technique my therapist taught me. Great-aunt Sylvie determinedly instilled me with a belief in myself. Her promise to never tell her niece, my mother, where I was, made her my champion. I worshipped her and miss her still. She left me her house and money; I haven’t touched either of them yet, but maybe it’s time to go back there?

My thoughts reform and my mind fills with images of Corrigan as a little boy. Arriving when I was five, I wasn’t impressed I had to share my mother, and it worsened as he became the golden boy and I took on the role as whipping boy. I carried the blame for his every mistake: I should have watched him more, I should have stopped him from falling. Anything and everything became my fault, but not to him. I remember he would climb into my bed after I had been punished and cry he was sorry; he looked up to me.

Then Troy fills my mind, making my heart clench, the man I love. What do I do now? He means everything to me. Can I walk away? No! I can’t, but I need to get my head straight; I need to speak to my brother. Then I visualize my father, his hatred, his bitter disgust and disdain. A man of such power, who can make laws and decisions that hurt so many people. Why is he incapable of recognizing that it doesn’t matter to anyone who you love so long as you love them well? But still, he feels he has the right to humiliate and debase the idea of two people of the same sex loving each other, when he has never shown any love to his wife or children. He twisted his own mind so that he is incapable of any form of love.

Troy reappears, his beautiful face smiling at me as I walk to him. His laughter morphs into his scent, his taste and the feel of his body wrapped around me as I thrust inside him. A moan escapes when I know I can’t be without him. My phone buzzes in my pocket; digging deep, I pull it out and see messages and voicemails from Troy. Pressing for the voicemail, I hear the pain in Troy’s voice. The second message is worse. The thought of him breaking down, of him not surviving without me, strengthens my resolve. I’m going home, because he is my home. We can work this out together.

Returning the call, I hold my breath, but he answers on the first ring. As I exhale, a lump forms in my throat, trapping my words.

“Raff? Are you okay? Talk to me, my love.” Troy’s worried voice comes over the line.

“I’m sorry, baby, I got scared. I’m still scared, but I can’t deal with this without you.” I hear Troy’s sigh, hopefully of relief. “I’ll be home in an hour.” My emotions tip over as another ragged breath draws down my throat.

“Where are you, Rafferty?”

“I’m by the lake, I found a beautiful spot. It’s so peaceful here, I could clear the fucking hornet’s nest of confusion in my head. I think I drove for about an hour; I won’t be long, baby, I promise.” I wipe the wetness from my eyes. Shocked, I gaze at my hand. Jeez, I haven’t cried for a very long time.

“I’ll be waiting, Raff, drive careful now.” The relief in my man’s voice is palpable.

“Hey, Troy?” I catch him before he disconnects the call.

“What?”

“I love you, that’s all.” I stutter as I wrestle with my emotions.

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