Run and Hide Pt. 04

Erik sighed deeply, relief flooding his face. "Thank you. It's been making me sick."

They sat and swung in silence as the early evening faded into a cool, clear night. Two friends together, but in a kind of limbo, both wishing things could be as they were before.

"So," Erik said, breaking the silence. "What's your plan for getting Paul back?"

Ace turned and blinked. "You want me to get him back? Even after --" he gestured between them.

"I want you to be happy, Ace," Erik said. "I had just hoped you might decide one day you could be happy with me."

"Erik --" Ace swallowed hard against threatening tears.

"Don't worry about it," Erik waved him off. "I'm not your type, I get that. I've known this for a long time." He leaned back in the seat and pushed them into a stronger swing. "I'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all."

Ace felt the tears well in his eyes. "I don't deserve you, you know that?" He pulled Erik into a hug.

"This is my burden," Erik joked through his own tears, his face pressed into Ace's shoulder.

They both sniffled and pulled back to compose themselves.

"So, I've been thinking about it, and I've decided your situation calls for a grand gesture," Erik announced.

Ace looked at him with skepticism. "This is not a wacky Matthew McConaughey movie." His face went temporarily dreamy. "Mmmm, McConaughey."

"Please, I would not stoop to that reference," Erik scoffed. "I was thinking more 'Say Anything.' You know, boom box over your head, Peter Gabriel, the works."

"I got rid of my boom box after college."

"Or, to be a shade more classical about it, you could write him a long letter, a la Mr. Darcy," Erik offered.

"But I want to see him," Ace insisted. "Want him to see me. Want him to really see that I need him. That I lo-" he stopped abruptly and swallowed. "That I love him," he finished softly. "I do. I can't tell him that in a letter."

Erik nodded at him and smiled softly. That was the first time Ace had admitted the depth of his feelings out loud.

"It's not enough to tell him the L-word, you know," Erik said. "You have to let him all the way in."

"So to speak," they said in unison.

Erik looked all around Ace's bright, stuffed, artful living room. "You've built a beautiful cocoon here. Lots of projects, lots of protection. Make sure he knows he's welcome in your turf. And I don't just mean on this couch."

Ace frowned again. Paul was here all the time. Hell, he could still smell hints of him in the cushions. How much more did Erik want?

All the way in, he said. Did Paul not know how he felt about him? Was it not obvious? Was that why Tanner was able to scare him off so easily?

Erik was right. Ace hadn't let anybody in -- really in -- for a long time. Instead, he'd filled himself up with projects and work and distractions and this simmering, heavy anger. How could anybody new find a place in all that?

Remarkably, Paul had. He was persistent, stubborn and irresistible. And now it felt like he could slip away forever.

That scared Ace more than any deep, dark closet.

"So, it sounds like the only plan available is to stand outside his door and wait for him to show up," Erik said. "Go and put yourself in his face." He smiled over at Ace. "Seriously, who could resist that face?"

Ace managed a watery smile.

Erik gave his thighs a definitive slap and stood up. "I'm going to go. Get to work on this plan and report back, if you please."

"Yes sir," Ace said. So easy to say that, he thought. Come up with a brilliant plan. Wait for a miracle to happen, skip to the end.

"He loves you too, you know," he said, pausing at the bottom step. "I could see it right away. And that doesn't go away as quickly as you're afraid."

He left Ace alone with his thoughts and his purring cat.

Ace meanly thought that, really, Paul should be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Ace had suffered more than a few indignities in the short time he'd known Paul. The least that man could do was answer his damn phone.

But Ace knew how it must have looked with Tanner -- a young, admittedly hot, eager guy touching him like that. Ace tried to imagine how he would have taken it if he'd seen Paul in a similar position. The fury that raced through his veins made him almost dizzy.

And it came at possibly the worst time for Paul, right when he was experiencing the darkest part of coming out. Ace could remember that hopelessness, the cold plastic swing and the rusted chains against his hands, staring down into the scuffed dirt at his feet. He remembered how alone he'd felt -- right until that moment Sonya came by and pulled him out of his funk.

He wanted to be there for Paul, especially now. But being there would involve chasing after him. How ironic. All this time, Paul had been doing the chasing, and Ace had been holding him off.

Now he found the roles reversed. He was going to have to be persistent, to not take no for an answer, everything Paul had done to win him over. Could this be fixed with a sexy back rub? Some cotton candy?

This was utterly new territory for Ace. He had never before understood the concept of fighting for someone. If a guy didn't want to be with him, what good would it do to try to change his mind? To twist his arm into loving him? Then they would both always know that one of them had to beg and the other wasn't completely on board. It's why he was able to walk away from Cameron even though it broke his heart to do so.

But right now, Ace wanted to fight -- fight to be understood, fight to get back in Paul's arms, fight all comers.

A dramatic act, Erik had said. A grand gesture. Maybe it wouldn't take anything grand.

Maybe just something slightly sneaky.

Chapter 14

He could probably get away with not telling them.

Paul was a few blocks away from the Gaf, where he was meeting his parents and Steven and Holly for lunch. For the entire drive from Lawrence, he'd been debating with himself -- well, arguing, really -- whether to tell Helen and Jack McDonnell his big secret.

His bruised, cowardly angel said: They've lived their whole lives just fine without this little bomb being dropped on them. And it's not like they live in town or that you see them very much.

His also bruised, angel-knows-best side said: You're lying to them. There is no excuse for that. The lie compounds the pain.

Coward: It will probably hurt them worse to know the truth about you. Their son is a fag! Think they're going to be proud of that? You can spare them that pain.

Better angel: Tell them. Mom's going to keep pushing for you to get a wife and give her grandchildren. Stop lying to your mother.

Coward: Do you really want your dad to look at you that way? Like he's tasted something awful? Do you know how much that will hurt? Look at us! At these bruises we already have! Nobody is going to shield you from this. You can't take much more.

Better angel: You've come this far. You are strong. You can do this.

He pulled into the small parking lot and gathered his nerve. He hated feeling like this -- uncertain and nervous. The confident mask he wore for the world didn't fit so well anymore, especially around the people who had known him the longest.

He didn't have long to sit in his car before he saw Steven find a spot near his. Their parents were staying with Steven while they were in town, which meant he was also their duly appointed chauffeur.

An older version of Paul unfolded himself from the back seat of Steven's car. At age 60, Jack McDonnell's hair was a little grayer and his face more lined, but apart from that, he and his son could be mistaken for brothers. They shared the same grey blue eyes, the same wide smile, even the same long-fingered hands.

Jack gripped Paul's hand in a firm handshake, and Paul pulled him into a hug. He hadn't seen them since Christmas, a fact his mother was sure to mention.

"Hey, Dad," he said. "How was your flight?"

His mom beat her husband to the answer. "Oh, I just hate flying, don't you just hate flying, Jack? So exhausting, aren't you exhausted? Traveling just takes it out of me."

A short, stout woman with mostly silver hair and large glasses squeezed in between her husband and son to claim her hug. Paul leaned down to hug her back.

"You look tired, sweetie, doesn't he look tired, Jack? He works too much. That's it, isn't it? You always work too much. You should get some rest. Visit us in South Carolina. We're right by the beach, but you never come to see us and we miss you."

The McDonnell men stood back and absorbed Helen's speech with long-practiced patience. Paul leaned back down and kissed his mother's cheek. "It's good to see you, too, Mom," he said with a smile.

"Hey, let's get inside you guys," Steven said. "I'm starting to melt, and it's barely noon."

Jack took his wife's arm and followed after Steven into the restaurant. Holly tugged on Paul's arm. Her eyes were wide and alarmed.

"Oh my God, Paul," she whispered. "I mean, oh my God."

"That bad?" Paul grinned.

"Well, not that bad, but oh my God."

Paul laughed. He knew his mom was an acquired taste on a normal day, but the reason they were in town was to help with wedding plans. Which meant Holly was catching the brunt of his mother's daughterless enthusiasm for the event.

"I'm trying very, very hard to keep an open mind about her suggestions," she said carefully, "but I don't think your mother ever met a wedding cliché she didn't love."

Paul winced and chuckled. "I'll run interference for you," he said. "I'm pretty sure I owe you." Regardless of how that particular scenario was currently playing out.

"I'm starting to think about a little chapel in Vegas," Holly muttered.

He hugged Holly's shoulders in support and steered them both inside.

"So this is what they did with Romanelli's," Jack said, looking around the Irish pub from the foyer. "I tell you what, I loved that Romanelli's."

"Well, sure and who didn't?" John swept around the corner with menus in hand. "There's not a day goes by that I don't hear someone mourning the old place. And with good reason. Yes, with good reason. But we still serve Romanelli's marinara, if that's what you'll be needing."

Steven introduced his parents to the owner, who immediately welcomed them as extended family of the Gaf.

He lifted Helen's hand to his lips. "And it's plain where your strapping boys get their good looks," he smiled. "Why it's right there in your lovely eyes, isn't it?"

Helen giggled. "Oh, I haven't been flirted with in years," she said.

Jack reclaimed her arm. "I'll have to rectify that, then," he said with a low voice and a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, let this be the place to do it then," John trumpeted. He led them to Steven and Holly's usual table and took their drink orders, half of which he knew already.

Jack looked around with approval. "Well, if this place had to change, I suppose it could have been worse."

"High praise, Pop," Paul smiled. And it was, Paul knew, high praise coming from his dad. The man did not approve of much change, and his inflexibility had gotten worse as he'd gotten older. Maybe that was a function of age, but age plus a stubborn Irish temper didn't make for the most open-minded of men.

Which didn't bode well for Paul's announcement.

"Oh, I just love planning a wedding!" Helen gushed as the waiter arrived to distribute their pints. "I should have had a daughter. I was born to be the mother of a bride. If only we still lived in town. I could be there with you every step of the way!

Holly shot Paul a quick, alarmed look.

"Paul, sweetie, you need to find a nice girl like Holly," Helen continued, squeezing Holly's hand. "I want another daughter-in-law like her. It's high time you settle down, you know."

"Your mother's right, son," Jack said.

That was unusual. Usually his dad let Helen have the floor almost exclusively -- and always when it came to Paul's love life.

Holly poked Paul in the side from her seat at his right. It was time. This was as good an opening as any. Paul cleared his throat and took a long, fortifying drink.

"Yeah," he said. "I've been meaning to talk to you both about that."

"You're seeing someone?" Helen chirped. "I knew it. That's why you're getting no sleep, right, am I right? Not that I want all the details, of course, but am I right?"

Paul fought a groan. "Not exactly, no."

Both parents looked at him expectantly, and the silence threatened to swallow up all of Paul's practiced words. He fought to get the next words out.

"The thing is," he said, "there isn't going to be a nice girl for me. Ever." He let that sink in.

Helen was still confused, but Paul could see understanding dawn in his father's face.

"You mean you broke up with somebody?" Helen guessed.

"Not exactly, no."

Holly squeezed his leg under the table and gave him a bolstering smile.

Paul tried again. "The thing is --"

"You're queer," Jack said flatly. The air left Paul in one big breath and he looked at his dad warily. The face he found was filled with comprehension, yes, but also incredulity and thinly masked disappointment.

Helen smacked her husband's arm. "Jack! How can you say that about your son! That's not what he means! Paul, tell him that's not what you meant."

Paul swallowed heavily. "It is what I meant. I'm gay, mom."

This time Helen had no alternate explanation. Only silence.

At that moment, John popped by their table. "How're we doing here, folks? Have you decided what you'll be having?"

Steven broke the silence. "Give us a little more time?"

"Not a problem, take all the time you need," John said. He patted Paul on the back as he left, and Paul knew in that moment that he told more than his parents his news.

Jack's face was growing red and his jaw was ticking with the strain of clenching and unclenching, but he said nothing.

Not so his wife. "But, I don't understand," she spluttered. "How can you be -- gay?" She whispered the last word, as if she was talking about cancer. "You're so -- well, look at you! You're so tall and good looking and you have a beard!" she wailed.

Paul smiled sadly. "Not all gay men look the same, Mom," he said gently.

"And facial hair is rarely one of the indicators," Steven chipped in.

"Don't make fun of your mother, boy," Jack said sharply.

"I wasn't!" Steven protested. "I just --" He gave up and sank back into his seat.

Helen wadded up her napkin and carefully blotted tears from her eyes. "I just don't understand," she said. "All this time..."

"Yes, all this time," Jack said with a tight, gruff voice. "How long have you known this, exactly?"

"High school," Paul admitted.

Helen gasped. "But, but your girlfriends! You went to prom with that nice Bannister girl! I have pictures of it!"

"I was trying to be a normal guy," Paul said.

"You were normal," Jack spat. "Then."

Paul swallowed down his irritation at the implication. "Actually, I wasn't. Not when I was hiding from everyone." He looked at Holly and Steven. "I feel a bit more normal now."

"I see," Jack said shortly.

Another awkward silence descended. These silences were the worst part of this process for Paul. Wasn't this supposed to get easier with practice?

"This is really hard for him, you know," Steven said quietly. He looked at Paul. "Probably as hard as it was to keep this hidden, right?"

"And just how long have you known about this, Steven?" Jack asked. "Have you been helping your brother in all this hiding?"

"No! I didn't --" He stopped himself and cleared his throat. "I've known for a few days."

Jack nodded curtly and turned to Paul. "Well, I suppose there's some small comfort that you've been lying to everyone all these years, not just your parents."

"I haven't lied!" Paul snapped. Which was, of course, a lie. And he knew it. But something in his father's voice took him back to his teenage years when everything his parents said felt like an attack, whether that was true or not.

"Of course you've lied!" Jack thundered. "It's a lie of omission! You let me believe my eldest son was --" He swallowed his unspoken words like they left a bad taste in his mouth.

Paul fought against the old urge to yell back. He and his dad hadn't been adversaries in a long time, aided by the years and the physical distance between them. But they were both cut from the same stubborn-as-hell cloth, and Paul tended to lose his hard-won patience around Jack McDonnell.

And his dad had a point, much as he hated to admit it. He hadn't been simply hiding. He had been lying -- to himself and to everybody. He hated being caught in this lie. It felt exactly as it did when he was a kid and he found himself in trouble. He was defensive, indignant -- and most of all, disappointed in himself.

He had assumed that the biggest sticking point for his parents would be the actual fact of his sexuality -- the thing that his dad would find unbearably distasteful and the thing that would break his mother's heart. Then there was the Irish Catholic thing; his parents were devoted church-goers. He expected some old-fashioned wrath of God, or at the very least a heaping helping of Catholic guilt.

But apparently, just as with Steven, the deception upset them most.

He refused to apologize for being gay, but he knew an apology was called for.

"I had my reasons for keeping this to myself," Paul said quietly. "But I am sorry for not being completely honest with you both. I was worried about how you'd take it."

Helen sniffed loudly and wiped her tears -- and most of her mascara -- from her face while Jack sat stone-faced beside her. She gave him a watery smile and reached across the table to take Paul's hand.

"So, sweetie, do you have a nice, um, b-boyfriend?"

Though she stumbled on the b-word, Paul was relieved that he could always count on his mother to get right back on track.

He hesitated before answering her, and Holly gave his leg another reassuring squeeze. Did he have a boyfriend? One week ago, he would have said yes, happily. One week ago, he didn't know about Ace's frat boy on the side.

And yet, he wasn't ready to say no. Wasn't ready to officially, out-loud close the door on Ace. Even the thought of it -- of his life with no Ace ever again -- was enough to make his heart dangerously tight in his chest.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Not exactly," he said. "It's more of a maybe. I hope."

Holly's smile widened, and he knew Operation Yenta to the Rescue was about to launch. Just as soon as he survived this lunch.

His mother perked up a little at the thought of a maybe boyfriend. He never thought he'd be so utterly grateful for his mother's indefatigable push to see him mated. But it looked like -- at least for now -- she wasn't put off by the idea that his mate would be a man.

His dad, on the other hand, looked entirely uncomfortable with the whole concept.

"Is this how it's going to be now?" Jack asked tightly. "We're going to talk about boy-" He stopped, unable to say the word. "No, no, I can't. I need to --"

He stood abruptly. "Steven, your keys, if you wouldn't mind. I assume your brother can give you a lift home."

Steven handed over his keychain, and Jack held out his hand to Helen. "Let's go, dear," he said.

Helen bit her lip as if she wanted to protest, but she gathered her bag. She gave Paul an apologetic look as she hurried after her husband.

"Don't forget," she called out to Holly from the entrance, "we still need to talk about centerpieces!"

Steven and Holly stared at Paul in the long moment that followed. Paul just stared at his empty Guinness.

Once again, John magically showed up to fill the silence.