Red dirt heart 4, p.18
Red Dirt Heart 4, page 18
“Your parents. Or your brother and sisters… Oh God. What if none of them like me?”
Well, this was new.
I don’t know why I was surprised. In hindsight, I probably should have expected this, but this-is-who-I-am Charlie had been in full confident flight for so long, I’d almost forgotten about self-doubting Charlie.
“Charlie,” I said softly, “they’re gonna love you. How can they not?”
He shrugged and stared at the seat in front of him, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me. “I dunno. I’m the reason you’re not there.”
“Charlie, look at me.” I waited until his eyes met mine. “They’ll love you. Believe me, they already do.”
He cringed. “I don’t do very well in crowds or with strangers and I want them to like me. I tend to say stupid things and what if I say something that offends them or makes them think I’m an idiot—”
“Charlie?” I tried to interrupt him.
“Trav, I’ve never met anyone’s parents before. Hell, I barely even met mine, and I really need your parents to like me.”
“Charlie, listen to me,” I said a little louder this time. “They’re gonna love you. And you know what? It doesn’t matter if they don’t, because I choose you, not them.”
His eyes widened. “I won’t ever make you choose.”
I smiled and shook my head. “And my family wouldn’t make me choose either, Charlie. Anyway—” I sighed. “—I think the fact that I live in the middle of the Outback is proof enough of who I’d choose.”
He made a face and went back to staring out the window. I reached over and pulled on his arm so I could take his hand. If words weren’t gonna convince him—and knowing Charlie, right now they weren’t gonna come close—then hand-holding would have to do.
A little later, he was asleep.
* * * *
It was funny to watch Charlie disembark the plane and enter the terminal. I could tell he was nervous as hell, but it made me smile every time he’d tip his hat at everyone who made eye contact with him. He even said the occasional “G’day.”
He couldn’t have been more Crocodile Dundee if he tried. And he wasn’t even trying. He was just being Charlie. A fish-out-of-water Charlie. A nervous-as-hell, so-far-from-home kind of Charlie.
And being nervous was fine. Except when going through customs.
I stood behind him in line watching as Charlie put his carry-on backpack on the counter, and the uniformed customs officer looked him up and down. She was about forty years old with her dark hair pulled back tight and a no-nonsense set to her dark eyes. She read over his passport and declaration form and looked at him again. “Can you take your hat off, sir.”
It wasn’t really a question. Charlie did as she ordered and put it on the counter with his bag. She studied the hole-riddled, out-of-shape, stained Akubra for a long second, and I wondered briefly if she was going to either poke it or have it quarantined.
He ran his hand through his hair and, nodding toward his hat, gave her a nervous smile. “It’s had a rough life.”
She ignored him. “How long are you staying in the United States?”
“Um, two weeks.”
“Reason for your visit?”
“Um, well, a holiday, I guess,” he said, licking his lips.
“You guess or you know?”
“Well, it’s not a guess, that was the wrong word, sorry. I know it’s a holiday, but I’m meeting the… well, the in-laws, I guess you’d call ’em.” He was doing his nervous can’t-shut-up thing. “I’m meeting the in-laws for the first time and I’m not sure that qualifies as a holiday because I’m pretty sure they’re not gonna like me and I’m thinking they’re on the other side of that wall.” He nodded to the exit where other travellers were leaving through. “Which means I’m gonna be meeting them any minute now and to be honest with you, ma’am, it’s kinda scaring me a bit.” His accent sounded so much more broad in the company of other Texans.
The woman tried not to smile. “Is that right?”
He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. I mean I’ve spoken to them on Skype and whatnot, but it’s not the same as meeting them.”
I couldn’t help myself. I had to say something. “Charlie, you’ll do just fine.”
His eyes, and those of the customs officer, shot to mine. “You have to say that,” Charlie said. “And it’s fine for you, Trav. They already love you.”
The woman now eyed me cautiously, and I wondered if I’d overstepped some customs and border protection protocol by speaking to someone she was interviewing. She turned back to Charlie. “Do you know this man?”
“Well, yes,” Charlie answered. “It’s his parents I’m meeting. He’s my… that’s my Travis.”
I smiled at his inability to say boyfriend or de facto or, God forbid, partner. I’d never tell him, but I actually loved the way he called me his Travis. “We’re coming home to spend Thanksgiving with my parents.”
The customs officer looked back at Charlie. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
Charlie swallowed hard again. “I’m coming here to spend Thanksgiving with his parents, who I’m pretty sure are gonna hate me.”
This time the lady smiled a little more genuinely. “First time in the United States?”
Charlie nodded. “First time anywhere.”
She smiled as though she’d thought as much. She read through his paperwork, checked his bag and told him to enjoy his stay. She processed me a little quicker, asking general questions about where I was from, where I’d been and what I was doing in Australia.
“I call Australia home now,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s always nice to come back here, but my life is over there now.”
She stamped my papers, smiled and told me to have a great Thanksgiving.
I collected my bags and walked over to a waiting Charlie. He tried to smile, but it was pretty clear he was worried. I put my bag down and squeezed his hand, then looked at the doors we were about to walk through. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
“And by yes, you mean not at all.”
“Exactly.”
It was hard to be sympathetic when I knew his worries were unfounded. He was so nervous, so concerned that my parents and siblings wouldn’t like him when I knew the opposite to be true.
I couldn’t wait to introduce them. I wanted them to finally meet him, because I knew—I knew in my bones—that they’d love him. And I wanted my mom to see why I chose to live on the other side of the world.
“Come on,” I said, picking up my bags. He didn’t really seem to move at all, so I juggled my bags into one arm and grabbed his hand with my other. “Come on. Let’s get it over with.”
When I looked back, the customs lady at the counter we’d gone through was watching us with a smile.
We walked through the doors and headed down the corridor to the greeting area. It was a large white open space, filled with hundreds of people hugging and smiling. It was crowded, too crowded, and I couldn’t see my mom or dad anywhere.
I put my bags down and scanned the room.
“Ah, Trav.” Charlie was behind me, somehow still holding my hand, and I was scanning the tops of the crowds looking for my father’s taller-than-most head. “Trav.” He bumped into my back and tapped my arm. “Trav—”
I turned just in time to see my mother throw her arms around Charlie. He made a squeezed, awkward sound, and just when I thought my mother might hug him to death, she let him go so she could hug me.
“Oh my Lord, look at you two,” she said, pulling back. She quickly put her hand to Charlie’s face. “It’s so good to finally to meet you, Charlie.” She hugged him again, half laughing, half crying.
When she finally let him go, Charlie looked equal parts scared, relieved and violated. He straightened his hat and tipped it a little. “Mrs Craig. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh.” She looked at me and almost started to cry. “He’s so sweet.”
My dad came through the crowd, smiling terrifically. He was a good inch taller than me, broad shoulders, blue eyes and greying hair. He gave me a quick hug, then turned to Charlie.
“Mr Craig,” Charlie said with a nod. He glanced at me nervously, probably hoping I’d divert my dad’s attention, but before I could do or say anything, my dad held out his hand.
“So you’re the man who stole our son away,” my dad said, which he meant as a joke. My dad always joked. But it was the worst thing to say to Charlie.
“I, uh, I’m Charlie,” he replied weakly and shook my dad’s hand.
I stepped in close to Charlie, put my arm around his waist and gave my dad a ‘be nice’ glare. “Dad, Charlie Sutton. Charlie, this is my dad, Michael Senior.”
Dad was still smiling at him. “Please, just call me Michael.”
“You boys must be exhausted,” Mom said. “Let’s get you home.”
I gave Charlie a smile. I was excited to be back, and I was excited for everyone to meet him. I could tell Charlie was one breath away from saying, “I didn’t steal you,” so I quickly grabbed his luggage, handed it to him and changed the subject. “I want to show you so much.”
“Did you boys bring coats?” Mom asked as we walked. “It’s cold out.”
“Yeah, but they’re packed,” I told her. “It was ninety-two degrees when we left, Momma.”
“Well, it’s been a cold fall here. Feels like winter already,” she said.
I looked around to find, yes, most everyone had coats and scarves, and Charlie and I were just wearing jeans and cotton button-down shirts. Figuring it wouldn’t be too bad—and we only had to get from the terminal to the truck—I just kept on walking out into a blast of feels-like-winter air with my folks. It took me a few yards to realise Charlie had stopped walking.
When I turned to look for him, it was like the cold had snap-frozen him to the sidewalk. He was standing there, people annoyed at having to walk around him, with his mouth was open, and he was slow-blinking.
I quickly walked back to him and grabbed his arm. “Come on, you’re blocking the door.”
“’S c-c-cold,” he said breathily, but at least his feet moved.
I laughed at him. “Well, walk quicker and you won’t be in the cold.”
Mom took his suitcase. “There’s talk of snow for Christmas. We’re in for the coldest winter in decades.”
“Snow?” Charlie squeaked.
Dad was grinning, and I was thankful that Charlie didn’t see it. By the time we got to the truck, Charlie was shivering and his teeth were chattering, his hands freezing to the touch.
We climbed into the back seat of Dad’s new truck, rubbing our hands to keep warm. I guessed Charlie wasn’t the only one used to warmer weather, because the cold was a shock to me as well. Mom cranked the heat up on the drive back to the ranch, and when she wasn’t telling me the latest news on everyone she knew, I was pointing out the window showing Charlie landmarks, places I’d been and places I wanted to take him.
Everything looked just as it did when I was here for my Granddaddy’s funeral twelve months ago. Sure, a few things were different: construction, new stores. But one thing about Texas was the more it changed, the more it stayed the same.
And as we drove down the familiar drive to my parents’ house, I realised what had changed. And that was me. It was me that was different. I had changed. Charlie had changed me. And one thing I knew for certain was that the state of Texas was no longer my home.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
An Aussie in Texas.
The worst thing about travelling was the jet lag. Well, actually, the worst thing was having Mom plan a family dinner the day we arrived and not being able to sleep off some jet lag.
“But everyone wants to see you,” Mom whined when I’d made a face. “We haven’t seen you in a year, Travis, and we need to make use of every day you’re here.”
Mom was fussin’ in the kitchen, getting things ready for tonight. Charlie and I sat at the kitchen counter, our coffee in front of us. “Who’s coming tonight?” I asked.
“Michael, Jess, and the two kids. Paige will be here with her three, and Casey wasn’t sure if Ben would be coming.”
“Who’s Ben.”
“Her new beau,” Momma said with a smile. “They’ve been seeing each other a good while now, about five months. They met at her office.”
It was strange to hear about my sister’s life like it was a foreign thing. I mean, we talked on Skype, but I guess it was the small things that got left out.
“Now, Charlie,” Momma said. “Tell me, is there any food you don’t eat that I need to know about?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I eat just about everything.”
“No oatmeal, Mom,” I said. “He doesn’t eat oatmeal.”
“Oh yes. I don’t like porridge.” Charlie was so nervous, and being tired didn’t help any. I took his hand under the counter and entwined our fingers. He gave me a small, tight smile.
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs Craig,” he said.
“Oh thank you, Charlie,” Mom said genuinely. She looked around her huge oak kitchen. “We just love it.”
“Want me to show you around?” I asked him. I got up from my stool and pulled him with me. “I’ll give you the grand tour. Momma, we might rest a while before everyone gets here. It was a long flight.”
“Okay,” she said, busy chopping vegetables. “Be down by six.”
I showed Charlie around the bottom floor first. There was the kitchen area we’d just been in, which opened into the living room, then there was a formal living room, the dining room, the den and my dad’s office.
Charlie looked at the furniture, the plush carpets, drapes and precisely placed cushions and lamps. “It’s very beautiful,” he whispered. “Looks like something out of a magazine.”
He was right. It did look like something from a magazine; after all, that’s what Momma paid the decorators to make it look like. But it was the home I grew up in, so it didn’t seem ostentatious to me. I shrugged. “Eh. It’s just a house.”
“It kinda puts the homestead to shame…”
“Hey,” I chipped him. “That’s my house you’re talking about.”
Charlie smiled. “You know what I mean.”
I took his hand again. I didn’t want him to feel like what he had wasn’t good enough, when the exact opposite was true. “I love the homestead. I love it. It has character and heart: lyin’ on the couch with you watchin’ the TV, watchin’ the sunset from the veranda, sittin’ at Ma’s kitchen table. It’s home, Charlie.”
He smiled and looked to the floor. “Thank you.”
I led him upstairs. “Come on, I’ll show you up here.”
When we’d arrived, we’d literally dropped our bags off, freshened up in the bathroom and gone back downstairs, so after I’d pointed out which doors led to which bedrooms, I opened the door to my old room.
It was just as I’d left it when I went to college, and again almost three years ago when I left for a student exchange program and then last year when I’d come back for my grandfather’s funeral. Nothing had changed.
Charlie walked in, taking in everything, the posters on the wall, the student desk in the corner, the trophies on the shelf and football pennants on the wall. “So, this is you, huh?”
“Well,” I corrected him, “this was me when I was in high school. I left home for college and then ended up in Australia, remember? My mom left my room as it was.”
Charlie smiled warmly. “You were the all-American boy.”
I snorted out a laugh. “Except for the whole gay thing.”
Charlie chuckled, then looked closer at the posters. They were mostly landscape shots, some of them Australian. “Is that the Simpson Desert?”
I pointed to my own chest. “Hey, agronomy student, remember?”
“You were such a dirt-nerd.”
I barked out a laugh. “I’ve looked at those dirt-nerd photos for years. Never imagined I’d live there.”
Charlie looked at me for a long moment. “Like fate or something.”
I closed and locked the door behind me. “Exactly.”
He looked back to the bed. “So… make out with any guys on this bed? Oh Jesus, did you sleep with anyone in this bed? Actually,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
He was still facing the bed, so I put my hands on his hips and kissed the back of his neck with smiling lips. Charlie’s jealous streak ran a mile wide. “Get on the bed, Charlie.”
He seemed to hesitate. His voice was breathy and lacked conviction. “Your parents are downstairs.”
“I don’t care. I want you, in this bed, now.” I pulled his ass against my dick, then pushed him onto the bed. He planted face first, and I followed him onto the mattress and pinned him there with my hands on his back. I rubbed myself against his ass and leaning over him, whispered in his ear. “I want it to smell of you.”
He brought his hands down, and at first I thought he was going to push up and away from me, but his hands slipped under his body and undid the button on his jeans. With limited space to move, he pushed the denim down over his ass the best he could and mumbled into the quilt, “Do it, Trav. Hurry up and fuck me.”
I couldn’t have denied him if I’d wanted to. And I did not want to. I mostly bottomed, loving nothing more than being filled by him, and it wasn’t often we switched. But every now and then, Charlie wanted my dick in his ass.
And so help me God, I loved giving it to him.
He shuffled his jeans down a bit more, but it wasn’t enough. I yanked them down hard to the tops of his thighs and undid my jeans. He moaned at the sound of the zipper.
I leant over him and reached for my carry-on bag, upending it on the bed. I found the travel tube of lube, and Charlie spread his legs the best he could with me on top of him. He lifted his ass. “Travis,” he growled. “I’m pretty sure I’ll die if you’re not inside me.”
I groaned out a laugh because that is what I normally said to him. I knew his desperation, and he wasn’t at his limit yet. I squirted the lube down his ass crack and plunged my finger in his hole.
