Chapter 2

They arrived with baked ziti, miniature rum cakes, and an oversized photo book about historic scenic drives across Europe, which Jason had been planning to give to his father as a random present at some point anyway. They came in through the back and the wide comfortable patio, because the gate was open; California palms and orange trees bobbed at them in dwindling light. Jason's sister, the first person in hugging range, promptly pounced on the rum cakes, and observed, through a mouthful of caramelized sugar, "You two got here fast."

"So did you." Jason set everything else down on the closest kitchen counter; Colby, at his side and a step behind, offered Alessandra a smile. Allie threw both arms around her older brother, black curls bouncing, and murmured into Jason's ear, "Everything's fine, Dad's doing okay, no worries."

Jason hugged her back. Grumbled, "Yeah, and you're here too because you're not worried, obviously," and let her go. A few other offerings decorated the kitchen counters, he noticed: an eruption of casseroles, tiramisu, blueberry muffins, gifts from friends and family wanting to help. "How's the bar exam prep?"

Allie made a face. "Awful. But it'll be worth it. Colby, hi, I made your chocolate chip cookie recipe the other day, totally stress baking, but those always come out so good!" She was looking at Colby as if wanting to throw her arms around him too, but not moving; Colby smiled a little more, stepped out from behind Jason, and let himself be hugged.

Jason's grandmother, from the living room, waved a knitting needle and distressingly purple yarn. "You come over here and say hello!"

"Jason. And Colby." Donatella came back around the corner, phone in hand, and hugged both her sons. Colby expected this from Jason's family, by now, and reciprocated; Jason still tried to catch his eye and vaguely check in. His mother patted his arm, and considered their offerings. "Oh, you two. Already doing so much. You didn't have to bring all this."

"Food means love," Jason pointed out, "you always say that," and went over to hug his grandmother, and also his father. Luca, cheerfully enthroned on the large squishy sofa, said, "Ah, you brought the rum cakes, exactly what we needed!" and grinned at him. "How's my baby?"

He meant the Porsche, sleek and classic and rippling with silver-streak speed; it'd been his before he'd given it to Jason. Jason said, "She's great, we'll bring her in to see Mike in a month or two, just for a check-up," and dragged over a footstool and sat down. "Tell me what happened to you."

"Oh, nothing, nothing." Luca waved a hand. "Honestly. Just getting old, parts wearing out, getting in and out of that MX-5 too many times…"

"Dad."

"Nothing, I said, don't worry. Did you catch your cousin Nicky in NewGangs of Old New York, last week, when it opened? Great footwork, up on that scaffolding. He's getting real good, these days, almost as good as you."

"Better. He's half my age and made of rubber. It's not nothing if you're getting a new hip."

"Ah, it's just a hip. And, nah, you'd fight smarter. Nicky's too fast sometimes, too quick for the choreography. You were better, at his age."

"Maybe, but I'm not twenty-two and working out with a team of stunt guys every day anymore, either. Nick'll be better than I ever was, once he stops trying to show off." Jason regarded his father, for a moment. Not quite an older mirror of himself, not exact. But they did look alike, something he'd always appreciated. A lot of the extensive Mirelli clan shared the same strong features, dark good looks, athleticism. A family, close-knit.

He remembered the strangeness, the first day he'd realized he'd grown taller than his father. The first surprise of it: a new perspective, world flipped around. Some part of that feeling came back now, as he balanced his bulk on the hopefully solid footstool.

The house hummed with life around them. Familiar, the place he'd grown up. The home he'd always had, full of memories as color-drenched and lively as early-morning cartoons. He'd watched all those animated space heroes and magical unicorn princesses with Allie, when they'd been younger.

The kitchen had been updated, and the walls repainted, a warmer creamier hue. But it was still the house where he'd come home from wrestling practice, where he'd devoured epic fantasy novels in and around helping out in the garage and the kitchen, where he'd finally come out to his family as bisexual, after his sister overheard him on the phone with a boyfriend and kept asking him about it. They'd all been perfectly supportive; he couldn't recall now why he'd been so afraid to tell them, though he had been. They'd baked him a rainbow layer cake.

He'd been anxious about a lot when he'd been younger, in a way he hadn't fully understood. Lots of juggling pieces of himself, always being the person he was supposed to be, whatever that meant at that particular second.

Good at school, but not too good. An athlete, a jock, he'd admit that, but he hoped he'd been a nice one. Always willing to help somebody out, from his mother in the restaurant to a friend who needed a hand with a history project or construction of sets for the drama club, though he'd never joined the club, of course. A solid team player and good at sports, an easygoing loyal kind of guy who had a steady girlfriend and got invited to the cool parties because everybody liked Jason Mirelli, and Jason carefully didn't talk about the way he'd noticed the gold in Dustin Thompson's eyelashes during peer-mentor history tutoring sessions, or about his love for all fifteen glorious books of The Timebinders of Eldamere, with the elves and the dragons and the temporal magic and the Dark Lord's return looming on the horizon.

He'd hand-copied some maps, clumsily. He'd learned two dialects of Elvish, and hadn't told anyone. Not even Allie. She would've made fun of him forever.

All those pieces had been real. They still were. He'd spent a long time trying to keep the right ones at the surface at the right times. Never letting anyone down, whatever they needed: ready with muscles or a smile.

He looked over at Colby, who'd brought Jason's grandmother a rum cake and was now listening, apparently attentively, to what sounded like an emphatic disquisition on the importance of good baking skills in a happy marriage. His father caught the look; lifted both eyebrows. "We do like seeing you happy, son."

"I am," Jason agreed. "He's…yeah. Everything."

Colby Kent had always been himself, in a way that Jason at first hadn't believed and then had admired. Or maybe he'd always admired it, and hadn't wanted to admit that.

Colby had never hidden his loves, at least not most of them. Openly dating men, open about being very cheerfully gay, adoring his characters and his movies, wearing cuddly rainbow sweaters, baking cupcakes for castmates. Bubbling over with words about cheese and calligraphy and queer steampunk romance novels, if asked. He hadn't told the world that he'd been a genius Hollywood script doctor for years, ever since his first film, because he hadn't wanted to take credit; but then he had, out loud and unafraid, because he'd finally chosen to.

That was a kind of bravery that left Jason in awe. Especially when he knew all of that simultaneously was and wasn't a performance: it was all real, but it was also Colby hiding a hell of a pit of loneliness, a deep-down certainty that he wasn't good enough and wasn't really wanted by anyone, beneath a stubborn determination to be as kind and nice and generous as humanly possible.

Colby had given Jason his own coffee, the first day they'd met, because Jason hadn't had any. Jason, being an ass and horribly insecure, had thrown it out.

Somehow, despite that beginning, he'd ended up here. Married to Colby Kent. With a library full of fantasy and romance novels, and a kitchen overflowing with pots and pans and spices. With various acting awards—both of theirs, not only Colby's—decorating their bookshelves.

In love, wholehearted and unafraid and amazed by his world, every day.

His parents' house was noisy even now, the way it always was in his memories. Mixing bowls and movie nights, loud Italian-American discussions and debates, stuntperson friends and drivers arguing about speed and techniques. At the moment the din was only a mild clamor.

His mother asking Allie about the bar exam next month, and whether she had everything she needed, and how long before she'd know the results. His grandmother now sweeping Colby on into some sort of deep-dive monologue about knitting and blankets and favorite colors, which suggested that the terrifying purple monstrosity might be a gift and might be for them.

The history and laughter of the family portrait wall, the one covered with snapshots of generations old and new. Mirellis on sepia-toned movie sets, and at neon-hued nineteen-eighties birthday parties, and celebrating Jason's mother's first restaurant opening, and hugging each other at Jason and Colby's wedding, everyone beaming and dressed up and proud.

He said to his father, "Oh, we got you a present," and handed the book over, full of road trips and possibilities. "Figured you'd want something to read, while you're getting better. And maybe we can make some plans." Luca's eyes lit up.

Jason glanced over. Colby, trapped by an elderly affectionate hand on his arm and pointed gestures with a knitting needle, couldn't get up; but he caught Jason's gaze, across the room. He was smiling, which meant he was doing fine; the softness in his eyes said I love you, and I'm here.

Jason nodded back, and listened to his father talk about the best roads in Italy in the summer, places he should take Colby, drives the Porsche would love.

* * * *

They did spend the night. Jason wanted to be there when his father went into surgery, in the morning; he didn't say so aloud, but Colby knew, and without comment went and put their overnight bags in Jason's old bedroom, coming back after a few minutes.

"Hey," Jason said, catching him in the hall. "You okay? Need some space?" His uncle Frankie had arrived, along with Mike from the track; boisterous happy shouting about the best car for those drifting sequences, for the heist movie, was happening out in the family room. They all had opinions.

"I'm all right." Colby ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it. He tugged down both sleeves, after: neatly, over his wrists. The stripe of darker blue in his eyes caught the light; the edge of tension reminded them both just how little Colby liked raised voices and big emphatic unpredictable gestures. "I believe we're getting an eggplant-themed blanket, courtesy of your grandmother."

"Oh God."

"It's very purple."

"You can say no."

"Oh, no, I'd never. She's put so much work into it already. Besides…" Colby's mouth quirked, a smile. "I do appreciate a good eggplant."

"I remember when I thought you were sweet and innocent."

"And now you're married to me, and you know better." Colby batted eyelashes at him, tired but teasing. "How're you? And your father."

"Dad's not worried about anything," Jason said. "He's Dad. I'm…you know. I'm okay."

"Of course we'll stay over, tonight," Colby said. "So that we're here in the morning. I've been making a list of everyone who's called or dropped by to bring something, so we can thank them all later. Did you talk to Evan?"

"Yeah. He and James are filming in London, but he'll check in tomorrow. And he said they'll send some sort of get-well present." Jason's best friend aside from Colby was also a family friend, and had grown up hanging out at the Mirelli house, and later training and working on various stunt teams together. Evan—and his brother Charlie, before that loss and that grief—had been there to help out when Luca had first been injured, friends who'd come and stayed and cared. This wasn't, shouldn't be, serious—routine surgery—but he'd known Evan would want to know. "Knowing them, it could be anything from a cake to a car."

"Possibly a cake shaped like a car?"

"Wouldn't be surprised. And James knows, like, everybody, so they can make anything happen. Which is kind of scary, when you think about it." More accurately, Evan's boyfriend, the current star of that blockbuster superhero Star Captain franchise, had in fact slept with just about everybody, but in a way that somehow magically made him everyone's friend, no complications, no regrets, only pure shared pleasure. Jason had wondered how this might work with Evan's asexuality, early on, but he'd realized that it actually made perfect sense: James simply liked making people happy, in whatever way that might entail, so he took Evan on rock-climbing and candy-store dates, and he looked at Evan as if Evan hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Jason had decided to approve.

"Perhaps he'll give you more details tomorrow." Colby hesitated. "I might get some writing done, if you don't mind…"

"No," Jason said. "I mean, yeah, of course, go ahead, I'll tell everyone you're busy if they ask." He touched Colby's cheek, a question. The gold of his own wedding ring snagged his attention, against fair skin. "Want company? Or not?"

"You should go and visit with your family." Colby tipped his head into the caress. "I'll be back out in a bit."

"Needing a break?"

"Well…I do also want to work on those revisions…"

"I have my phone," Jason said. "Text me if you need anything." He moved his hand, drew his husband into a kiss. Colby kissed back readily, easily, opening up for him.

Colby tasted like coffee, and sugar, and heat. Sweetness, the way Colby was sweet: yielding and melting against him and taking every invasion of Jason's tongue, every plundering, a flawless equal match. His body was strong and slim and firm under Jason's hands, as they kissed right there in the hall, with voices echoing from the other room.

Jason let him go reluctantly. Colby's lips were pink, and his eyes sparkled.

"Go be brilliant," Jason told him. "I'll be here if you think of something you need."

* * * *

Colby held him, in the night, after. The bed wasn't big enough for two grown men, especially with Colby's legs and Jason's shoulders. But the sheets were soft, and the night was soft, and Colby's hair was soft where it fell against Jason's skin.

They'd gone to bed relatively early, everyone wanting to make sure Luca got a good night's rest. Jason had finished changing into pajama pants and an old plain grey shirt—he absolutely wasn't going to sleep naked in his parents' house—and had brushed his teeth, side by side with Colby, in his old childhood bathroom.

That bathroom had been remodeled too, in calm neutral tones. No more dinosaur stickers on the edge of the mirror, though it'd been decades since those memories had stomped and thundered.

He looked at Colby. Colby, in pink-and-blue plaid pajama pants and a palest-rose pink shirt, long-sleeved, covering up all those acres of skin, reached up and out and put both arms around Jason. Fit their bodies together, settling down into sheets and blankets. Tucked his head under Jason's chin.

"I've got you," Jason said, for Colby, for them both. "Warm enough? Want the other blanket?" The solid oak of the bedframe, his old headboard, the built-in drawers, supported them. Old sturdy bookshelves, still holding some battered sword-and-sorcery paperbacks—the ones he hadn't taken when moving out, years ago—stood at attention in the dark.

"Oh, it's not that," Colby said. "I thought you might like holding me. Which I also like, so that's perfect. He'll be all right, you know."

Jason exhaled. "I know. I mean…God, I hope."

"It's—if not entirely routine, under the circumstances—certainly a well-practiced procedure. And your father's so strong." Colby snuck one leg between Jason's. Jason loved that feeling, loved the weight and shape of Colby in his arms. "And we're here, and we'll be here in the morning. And I love you."

"I love you," Jason whispered back. "You should rest, too."

"Yes, of course." Colby's arm around his waist got tighter. "I'll sleep much better knowing you are, as well."

"You're right," Jason said, Colby's hair against his face, his mouth. "I like holding you."