Page 29 of A Cure for Recovery

Leo clears his throat, recaptures his attention, and says, “I shouldn’t say this, but Keith is excited to meet Lawson.” His smile is encouraging. “I think he’s going to give him good news. He asked for the full manuscript and Lawson emailed it to him yesterday.”

Tommy’s brows lift, because he didn’t know that. Lawson once again shielding him from potential bad news, protecting him.

Then Leo sobers. “But that doesn’t mean he’ll take on Lawson as a client. So don’t get your heart set on it,” he warns.

Tommy snorts. “Yeah. Thanks.” He extends his hand across the table. “I’m sorry for being a jackass.”

Leo accepts his shake readily. “Don’t worry about it. Apology accepted.”

~*~

Lawson’s waiting in the parking lot when he gets off work, fifteen minutes late thanks to a last-minute customer phone call. “Hey,” he says, when Tommy slides into the passenger seat. “Mom wanted to know if we could–”

Tommy doesn’t slow. As he pulls his door shut, he braces his other hand on the console, leans into Lawson’s space, captures his jaw with his now-free palm, and kisses him soundly. Not a chaste,hi, honey, parking lot appropriate kiss, but hard, and wet, and insistent.

Lawson stills a moment, in surprise, and then his hand is fisted in the front of Tommy’s nice shirt, and his tongue is pushing past Tommy’s lips.

Tommy allows it a moment – shit, no, he revels in it, almost lost to the drugging swipe of his tongue – but then reminds himself that they are, in fact, in a parking lot, and pulls back. Sinks down into his seat while Lawson blinks at him.

After a long beat, Lawson finishes, “…stop at the store on the way home.”

Tommy grins. “Sure. Sounds good.”

Lawson blinks some more, then clears his throat and faces forward. “Damn,” he murmurs, before he cranks the engine, and Tommy laughs.

They buy ground beef, and onions, and brioche buns. It’s a warm night, and Lawson wants burgers, and Tommy picks out the produce: the lettuce, tomatoes, and a head of cabbage for a quick-pickled slaw.

Back home, Lawson gets the dinky little Weber grill loaded with charcoal and lit on the back deck, while Tommy stands leaning against the counter inside, chopping cabbage and carrots, and pausing now and then to peer out the window and admire the shift of Lawson’s back muscles beneath his worn-thin t-shirt as he puts the grill rack in place and starts slapping down the burger patties.

Lisa joins him, and it’s easier than he expects to tamp-down the kneejerk urge to duck his head and pretend he hasn’t been watching Lawson twirl the spatula and shimmy his hips along with whatever song’s playing in his head. He’s assumed every other time he’s tried to play at a more platonic vibe it was some sort of latent prudish streak; typical embarrassment over being a red-blooded human with urges and admirations. But he thinks now that it might have been more personal than that: some sense that he hasn’t earned Lawson, or the chance to be happy and dopey in love.

But it’s like Leo said: he can’t change the past. He has to move forward, and be good to the people he loves now that he can.

Lisa sidles up beside him at the window, and makes a fond, amused sound. “Bill was always like that when we first got married. Always a song in his head. He didn’t walk; he danced everywhere.”

He aches for her, for the loss of the kind of marriage she used to have. He knows Lawson does, too; that his guilt has threatened to drown him at times, and that he goes above and beyond the call of duty to look after not just his father’s medical needs, but to pick up all of Lisa’s slack and then some. He tries to make her life easier. He’sgood. Tommy’s chest clenches with an affection so acute it’s painful. He thinks of his own mother, and knows he doesn’t possess half of Lawson’s goodness.

“Hey, Lisa?” he says, scraping cabbage shreds into a bowl, and she turns to face him, gaze big and blue in his peripheral vision. Astute like her son’s. “Lawson has that meeting with the literary agent in New York next week.”

“I know! I’m excited for him,” she says, voice jittery with nerves.

“Me, too.” He sounds just as jittery. Then presses on. “Nothing’s certain, yet, and obviously we’d wait to make sure we hired someone you’re comfortable with to help with Bill, but–”

“Oh!”

He turns to her again, and sees a smile bloom. Joyful.

“Are you going to go with him? A trip just the two of you?”

His face warms, but he doesn’t duck his head now, either. “Yes. If we can swing it. We thought we might make a mini honeymoon out of it.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful!” She hugs him, and he hugs her back, careful not to dab cabbage juice onto her sweater. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find someone. I want you to be able to go.” She takes a deep, hitching breath that he feels against his chest, and in the spasm of her arms around his neck. “You boys deserve a getaway.” Softer, like she can feel the racing of his heart, she adds, “You both deserve to be so happy.”

He wants to believe her…and maybe some day he will.

8

Tommy doesn’t think he’s missed Manhattan until he’s walking arm-in-arm down the sidewalk with Lawson, and then he’s struck by a sudden, swift nostalgia.

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