Page 6 of No Rhyme or Riesling

“John?” Adam twisted around and watched the man snatch up his clothes before racing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. The loudbangmade Adam flinch. He sat there, blinking dumbly, as he looked from the urn to the bathroom door and back.

What the hell just happened?

Chapter 3

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JOHN

JOHN DROPPED his clothes and pressed both hands to the bathroom door, like he expected the ghost of Frank Barnes to burst into the room at any moment.

Christ. He flicked the lock, then snatched up his underwear. John fumbled them, his hands shaking too much, then grabbed them again and managed to pull them on. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, but he still felt naked as he put his back to the door and slid down to sit on the cold linoleum.

“John?” Adam called. He knocked on the door, just above John's head. “John? What's going on?”

John covered his face with both hands, feeling a weird, uncomfortable urge to burst into tears.What the hell?He never cried. Never. He'd gotten choked up when his parents passed away, of course, but that was about it. And it wasn't like his father had raised him with that machismo bullshit about men never crying. Still, he'd never felt the need for that kind of emotional release. Not since he was a kid.

Christ. Maybe he was more tired than he thought if he felt that close to a breakdown.

“John?” Adam repeated, his voice rising in panic. “Talk to me. Please!”

“Shit,” John murmured. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes, slowly got up on shaky legs, and struggled with the door lock. It had barely disengaged when Adam twisted the knob from his side and barged his way in.

“What's wrong?” Adam panted, his eyes wide as he searched John's face.

“I–” John began, then glanced over Adam's shoulder, his gaze going straight to the urn in the distance. A shudder ran through him. John gently pushed Adam aside and bolted from the room for the safety of the hallway.

Except that wasn't far enough. John continued on to the living area, pacing around the furniture while he tried to catch his breath.Christ. Shit. Fuck!He scanned the apartment as he moved, fully expecting to see Frank Barnes materialize in front of him, getting in his face for daring to go near Adam.

John sank onto the couch and hung his head in his hands. He could still hear Frank's voice, clear as day despite the memory being nine years old.

“Touch my son again, and I'll kill you.”

John shuddered. The memory of those words was why he still couldn't listen to Frank's voicemail all these years later. He couldn't bear to hear more of that anger. Or to hear that Frank was pressing charges against him. All because John was too ashamed to explain what really happened that night.

“John?” Adam called, his voice sounding meek and broken.

John sighed and looked up. Adam stood several feet away, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt, his little body otherwise still naked.

“What's going on?” Adam whispered.

“I'm sorry, baby,” John managed to reply. He reached out, then hesitated, glancing all around the room before he patted the cushion beside him.

Adam shuffled over and slowly sat down, pressing his hands between his knees.

Damn it. John hated seeing Adam like that. So crushed and uncertain. John blew out a heavy breath and scanned the room again, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.Christ. Even though he knew it wasn't logical, he kept thinking he saw movement in the corners, Frank's ghost ready to jump out and rip him away from the boy he loved.

“Okay, now you're freaking me out,” Adam panted. “What's wrong?”

John scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “I'm sorry. That–” He exhaled heavily again. “The urn caught me by surprise, that's all. I guess I assumed he was buried back in Idaho.” John paused. “Has that always been there?”

Adam squirmed where he sat, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Yeah.” His cheeks turned pink. “Okay, fine. I know it's stupid, but I like to saygoodnightto him. It's my little ritual. The last thing I do before I turn off the lamp and go to sleep.” Adam barely paused to take a breath. “And Dad didn't want to be buried, which honestly freaked me the hell out when his lawyer read that part of the Will. And then they wanted me to pick out an urn and I couldn't do it because I couldn't begin to wrap my brain around my dad being nothing but ashes–” Adam broke off and sucked in a breath. “And why the hell do we keep having serious conversations when I'm not wearing pants?” he exclaimed, nearly yelling the words.

John choked on a laugh. He tried to hold it back, knowing how utterly inappropriate the reaction would be, but no matter how hard he forced it down, the laughter simply wouldn't be contained.

“It's not funny!” Adam shouted, only to burst out laughing a moment later.

They both fell into a fit of mirth, only winding down when tears began streaming down Adam's cheeks. John pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, handing it over so Adam could blow his nose.

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