Page 26 of A Cure for Recovery

Lawson leans in and kisses him. Quick, and sweet, and bourbon-tasting. A silent acceptance of the last thing Tommy said, of the idea of this beingit.

“Are you listening?” Tommy asks, when Lawson pulls back.

“Yeah. I hear you.” He makes a face. “Time to grow up.”

“Yeah.” Tommy fiddles with the thick seam on the outside of his jeans. “For twenty years my whole motivation was coming back here. To you. But that’s not – in real life you don’t ride off into the sunset. You still have to live. Yougetto live,” he corrects, and smiles, filled with a sudden, flooding warmth that has nothing to do with the bourbon. He gets to live.Gets to. Today sucked in a lot of ways, waking up alone, his father-in-law falling out of his wheelchair in the grips of a seizure. But it could have been so much worse, and here he is sitting on the couch,alive, with the love of his life.

Slowly, Lawson smiles back.

“I have to stop waiting for when I’m better. And you need to stop expecting me to get sick of this marriage and leave.”

Lawson ducks his head; it’s hard to tell with the bluish TV glow, but Tommy can imagine the color that suffuses his cheeks. Then he tilts his head, peers up through his lashes, and says, “And you have to stop yelling at Leo.”

Tommy winces. “Yeah.”

“He’s sensitive.”

“I should apologize.”

“You definitely should.”

They sit in comfortable silence a minute, TV rumbling unheeded off to the side.

“Okay.” Tommy pats Lawson’s hip. “Lie down.”

“What? Why?”

“I wanna suck your dick, and my legs don’t feel up to kneeling down on the floor.”

~*~

Lisa calls the next morning, early, while Tommy’s in the shower, and tells them not to rush on their way back to the hospital. Tommy picks out both their clothes – which makes Lawson wrinkle his nose like a kid, but he looks damn good in the light henley Tommy selects, so he can wrinkle his nose all he likes – and goes downstairs to tidy and make sure there’s nothing that looks like it needs Lisa’s attention when she gets home. He wants her to go lie down and get some rest when she’s back, rather than worry about dishes or dusty tabletops.

They stop for breakfast at Winslow’s Diner: hot cakes, and sausage patties for Lawson, and oatmeal with blueberries for Tommy. He offers to share and gets another nose wrinkle before Lawson stuffs more syrup-soaked pancakes in his mouth. They order to-go biscuit sandwiches for Bill and Lisa, and Lawson gets a coffee refill while they wait.

Tommy takes a deep breath, and Lawson’s gaze goes from sleepy and mild to riveted on Tommy’s face. Oops. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, and if he sounds a little nervous, it’s because he is. But only a little. Mostly.

“No, it’s nothing bad. But, uh – are you gonna go to New York? To meet with Keith?”

Lawson’s wariness doesn’t dissipate, and Tommy wants to kick himself for being a jackass. All he can do now isdo better. “I don’t know.” When Tommy doesn’t respond right away, he arches a brow and says, “Why? Do you think I should?” It would sound like argument bait, if the corner of his mouth didn’t twitch and betray a withheld laugh.

“I think you should do whatever makes you happy,” Tommy says, loftily.

“Pffft.” Lawson snorts, and laughs, and Tommy huffs a sigh to cover his own threatening chuckles.

“Hey, now.”

Lawson kicks his shin under the table. “Hey, now,” he says back.

“I’m not pressuring. I’m just asking. Are you gonna go? And don’t,” he adds, “just say what you think you should say to keep me from blowing a gasket. Like, do you want to go? As yourself? Not to make money to take care of anything.” He gestures vaguely. “But do you, Lawson Granger, want to meet with Keith Whateverthefuck about your book?”

Lawson’s brows climbed slowly throughout his spiel, and now, big-eyed, he says, “Uh…”

“I’m just asking,” Tommy presses.

“Yeah, well. I see that. AndI,Lawson Granger” – he smirks and Tommy rolls his eyes – “really and truly do not know if I want to go to New York and meet with Keith Whateverthefuck.”

You should. That’s Tommy’s first and loudest thought. He presses his lips tight together to keep from voicing it, because this – Lawson’s writing, his career prospects – can’t be something Tommy shoulds him into doing. He can praise, and he can back him up, but he can’tpushhim. He’s his husband, not his parent. This isn’t a homework assignment he can ride him into finishing.

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