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 say goodnight to 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.

Adam gave him a nod of thanks as he handed it back, then shot to his feet, tugging on the hem of his shirt in a futile attempt to cover his nudity. "Be right back." He darted off to his bedroom, returning a moment later with his jeans back on. The boy sank onto the couch, all traces of humor erased as he looked up at John from under his eyelashes. "You're not gonna be able to stay the night, are you?"

John winced. He glanced past Adam, picturing the urn that rested just beyond that wall, and shuddered. "I'm sorry, baby." He shook his head. "I don't think I can." He paused. "It felt like he was watching us. Watching me . Judging me for being with you. For touching you."

Adam's face scrunched up. " Aaaaand if the mood hadn't already been dead, it is now. Thanks for that image. Dad watching us fuck? Shit." He barked a laugh, but the humor quickly vanished again. Adam squirmed where he sat. "I could…you know…maybe put it in the other room?"

John opened his mouth to say yes , but stopped himself. For one thing, it wouldn't be enough. Having the urn out of sight wasn't going to make him forget it was there. But more importantly, Adam's body language spoke volumes. The hunch of his shoulders was like an audible scream. Putting that urn somewhere else would crush him.

And John wouldn't do that to his boy.

"No, don't," John finally replied. He watched Adam's shoulders drop with relief even as an apologetic grimace crossed the boy's face. "It's okay," John murmured.

"Is it?" Adam asked. "It's been almost nine years . Nine years! And I'm gonna be twenty-seven soon, which means he's been gone a whole third of my life. Fuck! Shouldn't I be over this by now?"

John reached out and gave Adam's hand a squeeze. "Like I've told you before, everyone grieves differently. If you're not ready, you're not ready."

Adam looked down and slowly nodded. Before John could say anything more, the boy stood up and said, "So. Your place? I'll pack a bag." With that, Adam whirled around and started off for his bedroom again, only to stop and turn back. "Or would you rather be alone?" he asked quietly.

John considered it. He'd had a hell of a week, and a quiet night at home was exactly what he needed. But his boy also needed him. John wasn't going to abandon Adam. Not again.

"I could…sleep on the couch?" he suggested, checking the corners again as he said the words.

Adam barked a laugh. "Okay, one, that couch is too small, even for me, and you get grouchy when you don't sleep well. I still don't know how Theo managed it when he stayed here with Haven over Christmas. Two, we both won't fit, and I really want to sleep beside you. And three, momentary mood killer aside, I'm really gonna need you to fuck my brains out at some point tonight, so if we can't do that here…"

John slowly nodded. Could he get the specter of Frank Barnes out of his head, even at his own house? He wasn't sure now, but at least he wouldn't have an urn staring him in the face. Maybe, once he was back within the safety and familiarity of his own four walls, it would be easier to ignore the past hanging over their heads. "Go pack a bag."

Adam grinned and whirled away.

John slowly got up and made his way to the front door. He paused at the kitchen, his stomach growling when he spotted the lasagna resting on top of the stove. John wrapped up the dish and set it on a table by the entryway, then checked to make sure he had everything while he waited for Adam.

Several minutes passed. John chuckled to himself, picturing Adam scrambling about his room, tossing clothes haphazardly all over the place. When he didn't hear anything, John slowly made his way down the hall, coming to a stop before he inched towards Adam's bedroom door.

He peeked in and found the room empty. Clothing was strewn all over the floor and furniture, just as he'd suspected, but no sign of Adam.

John frowned as he continued down the hallway, checking each room as he went. He passed the main bathroom, then Adam's roommate's bedroom. Both were empty. At the end of the hall, another door stood open. John approached it, then lurched to a stop.

"Christ," he gasped, taking in the space. "I thought this was a closet." The few times John had been over, this door had always been shut, and he'd never suspected it could be a third bedroom.

Adam twisted back to look at him over his shoulder, a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry it's a mess. You don't have to look."

John took a step inside the room. Which was just about all he could do, considering the clutter. "What is all this?" he asked, waving at the endless sea of boxes stuffed into every available space in and around all the furniture crammed into the room.

But he knew the answer even before Adam voiced it. "This is all the stuff from the Idaho house," Adam said. "I used some of the furniture for the apartment," he went on, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder, making John suddenly realize why the couch and the dining table had always looked oddly familiar. "And some of the kitchen stuff. But I couldn't make the rest fit, so I put it all in here. Plus all of Dad's old business records and…hell. I don't even know what's in those boxes anymore. Probably old toys and school papers from my childhood. Dad did love to keep everything."

"Christ," John whispered. His skin crawled at the sight of all that chaos and clutter. He suddenly wanted to go home and downsize again. Do another purge of anything he could live without, just to give himself more room to breathe.

"I guess I never really realized just how big that house was until I had to pack it all up," Adam murmured. "Not that I actually packed it up. I paid some movers to do it, but…yeah. You know what I mean."

John barked a laugh. "I thought the same thing after my folks died and I had to clean out their place, getting it ready to sell."

Adam shifted, like he was adjusting a weight in his arms, then reached out to touch an old rocking chair. "How–" he began, but John interrupted him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stepping around to see the urn tucked into the crook of Adam's arm.

Adam grimaced. "I thought I'd try. Even though you said not to. But then I got in here and I couldn't make myself set it down."

John hesitated, eyeing the urn before he reached out and rubbed small circles between Adam's shoulder blades. "Go put it back," he murmured.

"Okay." Adam gave the room one last, sweeping look before he followed John out and shut the door.

John went to go pull on his boots, then waited until Adam came out, overnight bag in hand. He thought he heard Adam whisper something before the boy stepped out of his bedroom. Probably saying goodnight to his dad.

"Oh!" Adam gasped, his somber expression vanishing as he looked at the baking pan. "I forgot all about that. Ugh . And now I'm starving ."

John chuckled. He ushered Adam out the door, then paused on the threshold, glancing down the hallway. Goodnight, Frank. Christ, please forgive me. I love your son and I would never hurt him. At least, not again. I hope you know that .

He swallowed hard, feeling like a fool. It wasn't like he actually believed in ghosts or an afterlife. Logically, he knew Frank wasn't really there. Wasn't watching them. It was just his own shame and regrets that haunted him. Shaking his head, he quickly stepped outside so Adam could lock the door, then they headed out to John's truck. John fired up the engine, waited until Adam was buckled, then pulled out of the parking spot.

The silence in the cab was broken before they reached the street, with Adam darting out a hand to turn on the radio. It was set to the local country station, as usual.

"I have no idea how you listen to this stuff," Adam teased, only to turn around a moment later and join in with Kenny Chesney, hamming it up as he sang about a sexy tractor.

John laughed, feeling something loosen inside himself as he watched Adam goof off, dancing in his seat. But John quickly stifled his laughter, not wanting anything to interrupt the sound of that angelic voice. Even when Adam was being silly, his voice was pure magic. John couldn't get enough.

Despite his protests against the genre, Adam sang along with almost every song as they made their way out of the city limits and onto the country road that led home. The only exception—and the only time John never argued when Adam changed the station—was when "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" came on. Adam refused to sing the Shania Twain song, and John couldn't blame him. The poor boy struggled enough with his body as it was. He didn't need any more reminders, no matter how subtle, of what lay beneath his clothes.

When Adam finally switched back to the country station, "Friends in Low Places" was on, and Adam jumped right in to sing along like nothing had happened.

John grinned as he slowed the truck's speed, keeping an eye out for deer and wanting to prolong the experience of Adam's singing. Nothing in the world was as beautiful as that.

He turned up his driveway, the hard-packed dirt meandering between massive oak trees. The driveway branched, and John took the fork to the right. The other fork led up to the main house, which John rented out. The right fork curved off to another section of the property, opening at a small clearing where his little house stood. It was nothing more than a one-bedroom granny unit, but it was perfect for him. Just far enough away from the main house and separated by enough oak trees that he couldn't hear his tenants.

John pulled his truck into the garage, then waited to shut off the engine until Adam had finished the last few lyrics of "Country Roads." The silence barely settled in when John threw off his seatbelt and leaned across the center console. He grabbed Adam and crushed their mouths together.

" Mmmph! " Adam gave a start, then moaned and melted into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting John thrust his tongue inside.

John let out a shuddering breath as he broke the kiss. "That voice of yours."

Adam laughed. "We should write another song together. Although, if you're gonna kiss me like that every time I sing, we'll probably never get one finished."

John chuckled even as he tugged on the waistband of his jeans, trying to give his growing cock more room. "If you only knew," he growled, thinking back ten years. Back when he and Adam would spend whole weekends, sitting on the floor in the living room of John's childhood home, John playing guitar while Adam sang. "I swear, sometimes I kept that guitar in my lap just so I wouldn't launch myself across the room and pin you to the floor."

Adam's eyes darkened. "And we haven't done that now why ? Shit. I just realized we haven't done a single jam session since we got together." He paused with a smirk. "Too busy making up for all that lost time in the bedroom, I guess."

John growled under his breath, having to adjust himself again. "Get inside."

Adam flew out of the truck, snatched his things from the back seat, and disappeared inside the house.

John hurried to join him, hoping all the while that Frank wouldn't follow.