The One That Counts

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 2

1. Present Day

“WHAT are we doing here again?” The “For Sale” sign had faded over the long months of exposure, the laminated rectangle as forlorn and neglected as the small strip of unkempt landscaping underneath. Tall clumps of overgrown grass and even taller weeds hid the realtor‟s telephone number and pushed the thin metal supports anchoring the sign out of the ground. Rob Gentner fumbled at one side of the bracing in an absentminded attempt to straighten the twisted frame. “I wanted to visit the old place,” Rob said over the rush of traffic on the busy street behind him, but he didn‟t glance away from the abandoned building, once such a huge part of his life. “One last time.” Rob listened as his partner, David Morris, crossed the broken asphalt of the empty parking lot, gravel and square chunks of pavement kicked out of his way. David‟s forearm snaked around his waist, pulling him flush against David‟s chest and offering the same, unflinching support Rob had depended on so thoroughly this difficult weekend. “Don‟t expect to receive any proceeds from the sale….” Rob choked back laughter, surprised at David‟s uncanny mimicry of his sister‟s shrill voice, but not the way he zeroed in on what had Rob so unsettled. For the first time

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 3 since leaving their home in Saugatuck two days before, he relaxed, his weight resting on David‟s cushioning belly. Rob tried to associate the image of his sister he carried in his mind, the childhood smiles and shared memories, with the stiff figure in the lawyer‟s office. But the woman with the tight, pursed lips and angry, disdainful glare as David held his hand through the reading of his father‟s will remained a stranger. “It‟s funny, you know,” Rob murmured. “She hated this place when we were kids. Thought her friends at school looked down on us because our parents owned a Laundromat. No matter what my dad said, she always refused to help out.” Rob traced his fingers along the smooth bone of David‟s wrist. “Guess she still has no problem spending the money.” The two men surveyed the squat brick building. The reddish-brown paint picked out by Rob‟s mother, now faded and peeling off in huge patches, reminded Rob of days spent helping his dad apply the color to the exterior blocks. The hottest weekend of the year, his dad had repeated to anyone who would listen. Plywood replaced the three broken-out windows on the side facing the road. Some of the stickers had peeled away, but the speckled glass of the front door still proclaimed the hours of operation. Despite the changes, reflections of the time passed since his last visit, Rob relished the comfortable pull of his memories. “How about you?” David asked. He rested his cheek on Rob‟s back, his breath warm and reassuring through the soft cotton of Rob‟s dress shirt. Sometimes David‟s fondness for PDAs irritated Rob; he preferred the initial “P” stood for

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 4 private. He wondered what it said about him that this weekend he welcomed every one of them. Rob shrugged. “I never cared. The folks needed me to work, so I did.” He curled his arms over David‟s, hugging them tighter to his chest as he reminisced. “It beat working fast food. My friends would hang out, and I got a lot of homework done.” David laughed, the husky sound muffled against Rob‟s shoulder. “Always the geek.” “You should have seen me.” Rob grimaced at the thought of his teenage self, an artist‟s favorite study in angles, from the protruding beak of his nose and the sharp jut of his Adam‟s apple to his awkward and pointed collection of knees and elbows. Back then, nothing seemed to fit, and he felt a stranger, both in his own body and the world around him. “I bet all the old ladies loved you.” David nuzzled Rob‟s neck. The soft brush of his well-groomed mustache raised goose bumps along Rob‟s skin, a familiar invitation to other pursuits. Refusing to acknowledge the distraction, Rob pointed to the housing complex butted directly behind the deserted laundry. Shadows trailed from the rusted fence separating the two properties and fell over the building, streaks cast by the afternoon sun as it dropped below the tall, two-story units. “We served more of the apartment trade. Mostly singles and the newly divorced.” “Interesting crowd.” “You have no idea.” A smile tugged at the corner of Rob‟s lips, memories long forgotten dancing back into mind. He ducked his head, a futile attempt to hide his expression.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 5 “I know that look.” David said. “What are you thinking?” “What look? You can‟t even see my face,” Rob protested in weak response to his challenge. David, the rat, dug his fingers into Rob‟s side while Rob squirmed with laughter, his voice rising higher in pitch. “Nothing, I swear.” “It‟s got to be something.” David tightened his grasp, and Rob yelped. David‟s portly build and, as Rob fondly called them, his gorilla arms, evened out any advantage offered Rob by his height. “You going to share with the rest of the class?” Unable to catch his breath, Rob struggled to slide out of David‟s grip. “There‟s something so wrong about the way you say that,” he panted, turning to face his tormentor. “That‟s not what my students tell me,” David said. He released Rob and fumbled in his front pants pocket with a mock leer. “Besides, I know how to get you to talk.” Rob tugged at his shirt and wiped his palm over his disheveled hair, smoothing the reddish-blond strands into place. “Here?” he questioned with a quick glance. The neighborhood showed signs of wear, but activity still surrounded them. “Here,” David answered. He smirked, and Rob knew David noted his brief mental descent into the gutter. Instead of commenting further, an omission guaranteed to raise Rob‟s suspicions, David raised his hand, slowly waving it back and forth in his effort to grab Rob‟s attention. “Where did you get that?” Rob immediately focused on the dull silver gleam of the key. David continued to surprise him. David arched one dark eyebrow, his usual response when Rob doubted his superior abilities. Both of them

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 6 teachers at a small, independent college, the now-familiar gesture first caught Rob‟s attention during the staff meeting where they met. While David now carried more padding and less hair, Rob still melted every time he did the eyebrow thing. “Let‟s just say the lawyer‟s secretary cared for your sister‟s attitude as much as I did.” Rob frowned. The lack of a relationship with her no longer troubled him, but her rudeness toward David today upset him. “I‟m so sorry about the way she acted.” “Not your fault.” David settled his arm over Rob‟s shoulder, sliding it down to his waist and pulling him close for another quick hug. “Besides, you warned me.” Rob let the warmth of David‟s fingers, spread wide across the small of his back, steer him toward the door. Once in front of the glass, he hesitated. “We don‟t have to go in,” David said softly. “It‟s just, other than this place, you don‟t ever talk about growing up here, and I thought—” Rob reached for David‟s hand, the one holding the key, and together, they opened the lock. “It‟s fine.”

WHEN Rob turned twelve, his school received a donation to build a flagpole and an outdoor seating area in honor of some aged alumnus. To distract the students from the dust and noise outside their classrooms, one of the teachers suggested they add a time capsule to the project. Busy work disguised as a useful learning experience. Each homeroom class had an opportunity to vote on what they wanted to share with future classmates. They

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 7 placed their objects of choice into a small metal container before burying the lot under the concrete paving stones. Rob never went back for the ceremonial uncapping. But here, now, as Rob entered the Laundromat, he opened his own tiny window to the past. Quiet filled the empty space with a tangible presence. Rob‟s footsteps echoed as he crossed over the linoleum floor, cracked and marred by countless trips of the wheeled carts now parked silent against the wall instead of rattling from washer to dryer and back again. Small particles of dust floated in the streams of light sneaking past the dirty windows, and as he took a deep breath, he could almost smell the memories trapped alongside the faint scents of bleach and detergent clinging to the brown paneled walls. David stood in the doorway, waiting for permission to share this moment with him. “Come on in,” Rob said. He ran his hand over one of the clothes folding tables at the end of the double row of washers, the plastic surface cool to the touch, still unstained after years of wear. “Somehow I thought the machines would be gone.” David examined the bank of dryers set into the wall and opened one of the doors. His voice sounded hollow, resonating against the metal interior before he closed the door with a loud snap. “Turn on the lights, and this place would be back in business.” “You interested?” Rob asked. “Someone could make a living here if they wanted.” David lifted one of the flyers still pinned to the corkboard mounted beside the public payphone. “Fish fry at the Catholic Church on Friday, want to go?”

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 8 “Should be numbers for babysitting, tires for sale, and start your own business with buy-at-home cosmetics.” Rob peered over David‟s shoulder. “How did I do?” “Right on the money.” David stuck his fingers in the coin return of the phone, and Rob watched him wiggle them around in search of forgotten change. “Kind of creepy, actually. You‟re telling me nothing has changed?” “I have.” Rob wandered behind the counter where he used to sit. The black swivel chair still waited there, the fabric covered with the same faded blotches from spilled bleach. His dad always wanted him out on the floor, mopping or wiping down the equipment after each customer, not sitting and reading. He used to hide paperbacks in the drawer beneath the register. “But this place hasn‟t.” “What did you use these big machines back here for?” David asked as he leaned over for a better view. “Industrial loads,” Rob explained. He watched David fiddle at the controls with a fond shake of his head. Typical David, compelled by his curiosity to touch everything. That, along with his easy, open affection gave Rob a safe, secure sense of place amidst his current uncertainty. “We offered contract laundry services, and they hold three times the amount per cycle.” “Tell me again why I‟m responsible for the wash at home?” Rob smirked at David‟s sly sideways glance as he gazed around the interior. Everything matched his memories so closely. It left him uneasy. Life, encased in amber, trapped forever and unable to evolve. Such an odd counterpoint to the changes he had gone through. “You offered?” He forced himself to respond to David‟s joke.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 9 David draped his arm over Rob‟s shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Little did I know. So what‟s the draw with this place?” Rob settled into David‟s embrace and smiled, touched once again by his partner‟s careful awareness of his moods. Despite their relationship‟s lack of perfection, Rob considered himself a lucky man to have found such consideration. He leaned over, brushing David‟s lips with a light, grateful kiss. “You know how you tell me you always knew you were gay?” “Sure.” “Well, I didn‟t.” Rob held up his hand when David opened his mouth. The two of them had touched on the subject before, but rarely in depth. Not on Rob‟s end. “Everyone called me a late bloomer, blamed that for my differences and lack of interest in girls. My mom got sick, and between the business, my dad, and school, I didn‟t have time to sleep, much less think. Then I came back here and worked over the summer.” “And what?” David prompted. “And then—” Rob searched for the right word before he gave up, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “Everything.”

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 10

2. July 1998 “COME on, man,” Barry whined. He stretched across the low counter of the Laundromat, his graphic print T-shirt riding up to reveal a pale excess of potato chip, soda, and videogame-induced flab as he tried to knock Rob‟s geology textbook off his lap. “You gotta come.” “I told you I‟m working this weekend.” Rob slouched lower in his chair, hunching over his notes both to protect them from Barry‟s flailing arms and to hide his eyes from the overgrowth of black hair covering his friend‟s stomach. “God, back off, would you, you ape?” “How many times do I got to tell you, don‟t be hating on the fur. You‟re nineteen, you‟ll hit puberty soon.” Barry finally gave up and slid off the counter. He rubbed his hand exaggeratedly around his exposed gut, knocking over the miniboxed display of laundry soap, before he pulled his Tshirt down. “You‟ve worked every weekend this summer.” “It‟s different since my mom had her heart attack.” Rob closed his book, setting both the heavy volume and his folder of paperwork on the floor. His leg jiggled up and down, his baggy shorts flapping against his thigh as an outward sign of his impatience at his friend‟s persistent nagging. “I told you that.” A buzzer went off, signaling the industrial capacity machine behind him had finished. Rob stood and raised his

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 11 arms above his head, listening to the crack of his vertebrae with satisfaction. He had sat cramped in one position for too long, studying for his test on Monday. Turning his back on Barry, he pulled up his sagging shorts and shifted the damp laundry to the dryers. Experience taught him the load took less time to dry when he divided up the wet material. “Those the sheets from the juvy?” Barry asked. “Gross. How can you touch them? I mean, who knows what kind of skuzzy stuff you‟re being exposed to?” “They‟re probably less grody than yours,” Rob responded. “Besides, it‟s good money.” He didn‟t bother explaining how his dad‟s contract with the county to handle the juvenile detention center‟s wash helped with his mother‟s medical bills. Extra effort, but the industrial work brought in more revenue compared to the daily operation of the smaller, coin-operated units out on the floor. Sweat ran down the side of his face, and Rob swiped at the moisture with the crook of his elbow. Hot and clammy even in a T-shirt and shorts, his reddish-blond hair stuck to the back of his neck in damp clumps. Thick and humid with the combined scent of multiple brands of laundry detergent and fabric softener, the air hung heavy in the small building. Most of the time, the powerful mixture didn‟t bother Rob, but this summer had been a scorcher, no sign of a cooling, evening breeze even with all the windows propped open. He tossed Barry a towel. “Speaking of gross, wipe your belly grease off the counter and pick up the stuff you knocked over.” “Not like any of the losers here would notice,” Barry grumbled, but he shifted his ball cap on his stringy black

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 12 hair, bill to the back, and set to work anyway. “Who does their laundry on a Saturday night?” Rob looked around, embarrassed to think the customers had overheard, but no one paid them any attention. Teaching her three kids how to fold towels kept Mrs. Ruiz busy, and the few others read or dozed through a replay of the day‟s ball game on the older model television his dad had hung in the corner. The dryers started, Rob emptied another cart of sheets into the washer. With not more than two or three customers each hour, his evening had stayed quiet until Barry‟s arrival. Weekends tended to be hectic during the day, the aisles full of running kids and exasperated parents, leaving the nights slower. His dad liked to close early, concentrating on the contract work. Rob figured every little bit of business helped. He would rather stay open, avoiding the inevitable knock on the glass when a latecomer spied him moving around. The later hours brought in a different kind of clientele, one rougher than the family crowd, but Barry‟s contempt toward Rob‟s regulars still offended him. “You gotta come to the party.” Barry drifted back to his original topic. “Everybody‟s going to be there.” Rob shook his head. He wondered who constituted “everybody” anymore. Since graduation and his first frenzied year of college, Rob stayed in contact with only a few fellow gamers and, of course, Barry. “I‟ve got a killer test on Monday. I need to study.” “God, you turned into such a loser.” Barry slouched back over the counter to plead his case. “I can‟t believe you‟re in summer school.”

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 13 “Sooner I‟m done, the sooner I‟m making money.” Rob shrugged. Barry‟s constant harping irritated him even though he hadn‟t shared his parents‟ financial problems or the way his dad made it clear Rob needed to be selfsupporting as soon as possible. Yeah, he worked evenings for his dad and took classes during the day at the community college while anyone else they went to high school with came home to spend their summer on the beach, boating and partying. So what? By pushing himself, Rob hoped to knock out three of his core requirements over the summer for a lot less money, and they transferred to his program. Even more tempting, the possibility of a teaching certificate if he abandoned the full four-year curriculum. The choice weighed heavily on him, but once established, he could finish up his degree at night. Maybe his dad would stop nagging him to quit school and come home. The mat at the front entrance chimed and Rob lifted his head, turning away just as quickly. Crap. Not tonight. Rob chewed nervously on his lower lip, Barry‟s voice droning on in his ear. Unable to help himself, Rob stared as the man carried his duffle bag to the end row of washers. Rob had noticed him two or three Saturdays ago. Actually four, his brain helpfully supplied. Nothing too out of the ordinary, a single guy and his laundry strolling in right before the last load time posted on the front door. He probably rented one of the cheaper units in the nearby apartment complex, unwilling to pay the extra cost for the so-called convenience of a pint-sized washer and dryer unit that wouldn‟t even handle three towels. He captured Rob‟s attention despite the way he washed, dried,

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 14 folded his clothes, and walked out each time with nothing more than a nod in Rob‟s direction. “Did I tell you Rachel Wallis and her amazing ta-tas is supposed to be there tonight?” Rob ignored Barry‟s continued campaign and squatted on his heels. He grabbed the next huge bag of dirty laundry and dumped the contents into the sorting cart. “She keeps asking me how you like college and what you‟re up to.” Barry fed some coins into the vending machine, and Rob listened to the familiar clunk as a soda dropped into his friend‟s eager hands. “She‟s still got it bad, must be all your tall, pale, and skinny. You show up tonight and even without the six-pack she cost me, I bet you could hit that.” The soda hissed agreement as Barry popped the tab, bubbles rushing to the opening. Rob stood back up, absently tugging at his fallen shorts once again. Somehow he had managed to lose a freshman fifteen, not gain. He either needed to buy a better fitting pair or regain some weight. He turned to steal Barry‟s soda only to stop, surprised to find the newcomer had joined Barry at the counter, his brown eyes fixed on where Rob‟s hand still rested on his waistband. “Can I get change here?” The guy had a nice voice, almost gentle. For once Barry shuffled out of the way without Rob nagging him. His soda dragged along, wet trails of condensation left behind. Rob swallowed, staring at the mess as he silently took the offered bill and returned the change. Of course, the first time he approached Rob, it had to happen with Barry around. Rob caught a quick flash of silver, a broad band encircling the man‟s thumb, and then it disappeared from view, folded over

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 15 the coins. Rob waited for him to walk away, hoping like hell his ability to breathe would return once he did. “Thanks.” The guy held his ground, and Rob looked up in time to catch a flirtatious smile. “Your name‟s Rob, right?” Rob nodded. He cast a glance to the side, all too conscious of Barry‟s closeness. “I‟m Jim.” Despite his desperate mental plea, Rob‟s mouth and brain refused to communicate. He bobbed his head once again, willing himself to say something that wouldn‟t sound stupid or juvenile. “I guess I‟ll be seeing you around.” Rob‟s eyes followed the scuffed brown boots as they trailed back to the washers. Barry started in, nothing different than a hundred times before when customers had interrupted them, but all of Rob‟s focus stayed on the close fit of faded denim as Jim strolled away from him. Rob traveled up the long stretch of leg, paused at the soft gray Tshirt pulled over a curving slab of back muscle, and continued to the black, curly hair pushed behind the glint of more silver. What an idiot, Rob chastised himself as his mind abruptly re-engaged, flooding with appropriate replies to Jim‟s conversational opener. There shouldn‟t be anything special about him, just another guy here to wash his clothes. Rob couldn‟t understand his fascination. Well, that was the problem, Rob thought as he wiped at his suddenly dry lips. He could. “You aren‟t even listening to me,” Barry complained. His knuckles rapped the counter in a bid for Rob‟s attention.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 16 “Something‟s different. You‟ve acted weird ever since you went off to college. Rob froze. If Barry, not the most intuitive person, noticed, had anyone else? Things were different. At least, Rob was. Going away to school, freed from the pressures of home and worry he faced experiences and opportunities he never expected. He learned about himself too, finally paying attention instead of drifting along. How had he not known? Barry guzzled the last of his soda and belched. Rob stared as his friend wiped his hands across the front of his wrinkled shirt, and he grimaced. Okay, all things considered, maybe he would cut himself some slack on the lack of personal awareness. Still, Rob couldn‟t even say for sure when he realized something was going on. Everything had clicked while sitting in his Spanish class. Kevin had been telling a story about his weekend, arms flying excitedly through the air as he spoke, and the longer Rob had stared at his hands, those long, strong fingers and carefully groomed nails, the more he wondered at their strength. The way the callused texture might feel on his skin. And the idea didn‟t bother him, not at all. So yeah, Rob was going with it. He just wasn‟t sure how. Rob had caught a guy casually checking him out in math class, but he hadn‟t felt brave enough to do more than kind of flirt back when they met in the library to study. He didn‟t know if this Jim presented a real opportunity or if he was playing around to kill time. Either way, Rob had blown his chance to find out. “I get your life sucks, coming back and working for your old man.” Barry tried the paternal approach, his arm across Rob‟s shoulder, stale breath directly in Rob‟s face. “Hell, if

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 17 my dad asks me one more time about getting a job while I‟m home I‟m going to explode, but you haven‟t dated anyone this summer.” “That you know of,” Rob pointed out, strictly on principle. “Please. You‟ve told me everything since the sixth grade.” Barry dismissed the impossibility with ease. “Promise me you‟ll think about showing up?” Rob stared at Barry, wondering how his friend would react if Rob opened up the lid on his can of confusion and shared his new awareness, his doubts and fears over his future. But should he risk going on that limb? What if this whole weird feeling was a fluke? Rob struggled with his decision, but then Mrs. Ruiz‟s two boys ran up, needing change for the ancient video game. The moment lost, he settled for nodding his agreement. “Yeah, I‟ll try.”

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3. July 1998

“SEE you next week.” Rob set the last basket of clean and folded laundry in the backseat of the older model sedan and shut the door with a wave. Mrs. Wolf hadn‟t changed since she taught his second grade class. A widow now, Rob wouldn‟t be surprised to discover she‟d talked her late husband into his grave. Sometimes he thought she brought her wash in for the company. Tonight, fresh off a visit with her grandchildren, she outlasted two older men from the senior‟s complex down the road and then followed Rob around, chatting as he mopped the floor. He finally ushered her out the door by pleading closing time, and yeah, maybe he dropped a few hints about Barry‟s stupid party. Rob‟s sense of guilt compounded at her disappointed understanding. Not only did he deliberately mislead his best friend, but now he lied to little old ladies as well. Barry was right, he was a loser. Rob locked the front from the inside and turned off the outside lights. He grabbed the bags of trash staged by the back door and dragged them out to the dumpster with a tired grunt. The night had stayed ungodly hot and humid, and he wanted to crawl into a shower and air conditioning. Maybe finish his studying. He heard music from the apartments, a television commercial blaring through an open balcony door.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 19 Barry hung around for another hour, interrupting Rob‟s work and bitching the entire time about people Rob barely remembered from high school, but who apparently now went to college with Barry. Thankful all over again his partial scholarship had taken him out of state, Rob didn‟t bother to listen. Instead, he kept trying to figure how to explain things to Barry. Hell, Rob didn‟t even know how to explain them to himself, and what about his family? He tossed the last bag into the open maw of the trash container with another grunt and trudged back to the door. Rob cursed when he stumbled over something in the dark, the overhead lamp in the rear parking lot out again. Every time the county replaced the bulb the neighborhood kids used the light for target practice. At least they kept their BB guns away from the laundry windows. “Hey.” Surprised by the quiet greeting, Rob thought Barry had returned to drag him off to the party, but then whoever slouched against the building in the dark, one foot braced on the back wall, inhaled on a cigarette. The coal sparked into a reddish-yellow glow. Sweet and aromatic smoke twisted and turned toward the sky, hanging in the still air. His nose wrinkled at the familiar smell. Definitely not tobacco. Rob swallowed. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his forearms, the moisture collected in his palms, and he wiped his hands on his shorts. Someone had draped a string of party lights on their deck, and the colors flickered on and off across the parking lot and offered enough light for Rob to recognize the Saturday night guy, Jim. “Hey,” he replied. Rob immediately wanted to slap himself for sounding like an idiot, but he couldn‟t escape the

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 20 sudden, swamping awkwardness, the million-and-one questions racing through his brain. The guy had left before Barry, leaving Rob alone to continue composing his list of all the things he should‟ve, could‟ve said. Of course, not one of those responses came to mind now that he had another chance. “You want a hit?” Jim asked, offering the joint in Rob‟s direction. Rob stared at the silver thumb ring, the glowing end of the hand-rolled cigarette, and he shook his head to try and clear the fog. “What?” “The weed. You want a hit?” As if showing Rob how, Jim brought the joint to his lips, pursing them out and inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes as he held in the smoke, head titled back and dark tendrils of hair falling into his face. The rush of want filled Rob like a punch to his gut, leaving him breathless and a little nauseous. He stared, and his body, pulled by an inescapable magnetism, swayed forward. Jim patted him on the shoulder, holding his breath and rolling his eyes to pantomime the effort involved. Rob‟s awareness focused on the heavy, warm weight of Jim‟s hand, the way his palm smoothed slow and steady down Rob‟s side before coming to rest on his hip. A casual touch between friends, except Rob‟s nerves responded in an instant, blood sparking to life in his veins. “It‟s cool if you don‟t.” Jim finally exhaled, the grayishwhite cloud billowing out. He coughed, and Rob pulled himself back, watching as Jim‟s hand fell away. “No,” Rob said. He pushed his sweaty hair off his face and hoped he didn‟t look as awkward as he felt. “I want to. I—you surprised me.”

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 21 The rest of the night seemed far away, and silence closed around them like the teasing tendrils of smoke. They stared at each other in the dim light. Rob‟s heart pounded in his chest, and he shivered as a line of sweat rolled down the middle of his back. “Yeah,” Jim said, looking at his boots. “I surprised myself.” They both laughed for some unknown reason, the sound filling the space, the silence between them. “Uhm.” Rob managed to cough the word out of his tight throat. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay.” He didn‟t understand the stillness or what Jim had tried to tell him, but he refused to walk away. Instead, he listened to the rumble of a car as it passed, the drone from a television behind him, and waited. “I‟m not trying to be pushy,” Jim finally said, back still settled against the rough brick. “But I thought maybe you were interested.” Rob tried to relax, act like nothing about the situation was new to him. His senses recognized the undercurrent here, something different than when he met up with friends back in high school to smoke up or his roommate brought out some weed at college. He just couldn‟t figure the vibe out. “I‟m good.” Jim smiled, a quick grin before he took another hit. This time he reached out, strangely gentle as he grabbed hold of Rob‟s shirt and pulled, tugging Rob forward. His center of balance disrupted, Rob fell onto Jim‟s chest. Flustered, Rob braced his arm on the wall, but before he could apologize or push back, Jim turned his head, just an inch to the side, and pressed his lips against Rob‟s.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 22 Their noses bumped together, angles misaligned. Then Jim exhaled, jolting Rob with a sharp jab of unexpected disappointment. Shotgunning. That‟s all. Except, unlike any time before. Sure, when Rob parted his lips and inhaled he tasted the smooth caress of smoke as the warmth filled his mouth and lungs, but also stubble, chapped lips, and strong hands to tightly grip his shoulders, and—oh, holy fuck. Unable to stop himself, Rob made a small noise in the back of his throat, his eyes closed as he leaned in, desperate for more. “Exhale.” Jim reminded him. Rob heard him chuckle and immediately tensed. Was Jim laughing at him? Did he do something wrong? Jim patted him on the cheek. Fingers light, brown eyes liquid with heat as he tightened his grip on Rob‟s shirt. “You good?” Rob coughed out the smoke he had taken directly from Jim‟s mouth, aware of the faint first tinglings of his buzz, unsure if the sensation originated with Jim or the dope. Hell, he didn‟t care. This time when Jim held the joint to Rob‟s lips, his other palm curved gently around Rob‟s jaw, thumb stroking the soft skin. “Hold it in, okay?” They stood pressed together, and Jim‟s eyes, dark pupils dilated from the drug and the need to take in any and all available illumination, reflected the glowing colors off the apartment patio. Rob drew in a deep breath, the world stopping and starting in jerky slow motion. He stared at Jim‟s tongue, highlighted by the cherry-hot glow, gliding pink and wet as it moistened his lips. Then Jim‟s mouth covered his, saliva slick as they shared one breath. Jim slumped against the wall, legs wide. He urged Rob closer, let him settle between his thighs as he tapped the roach out with the fingers not twisted in Rob‟s shirt. Rob

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 23 moaned at the sudden, heated contact and fumbled for more. Blinded by the rush of need, he grasped rough denim and the smooth leather of Jim‟s belt. He slid his hand under soft cotton to stroke the sweat damp skin beneath, and then he was flying. Not from the weed, but the dizzying sense of right and want and energy surging between them. For the first time Rob could remember, he fit; there was a place for him in the world, pressed so close to Jim he couldn‟t tell them apart. “Rob.” Jim shifted forward, a hard, slow grind before he backed off and gasped out Rob‟s name for a second time. Was that a question? Rob groaned his answer and dropped his head. He scraped his teeth against the skin of Jim‟s throat and fought to keep from losing everything at the salty, sweet taste. He was hard, God, was he hard. Harder than he could remember being his entire life. And Jim was too. Rob pressed the thick line through their layers of denim, and all his doubts collapsed beneath this sure and certain knowledge. Rob shifted, lifting one of Jim‟s legs onto his hip while his hand smoothed over Jim‟s rounded ass, pulling him even closer. Jim exhaled and let Rob have control, practically boneless as he rubbed against Rob‟s hipbone. His rough moan vibrated through Rob‟s chest, and he tightened his grip on Jim‟s ass, the firm flesh hot beneath his hands as they arched together. “Can I suck you?” Jim whispered. He started his own assault on Rob‟s neck, teeth and lips sharp and hungry, and Rob‟s hips stuttered, disrupting their smooth rocking motion as his head dropped to the side, offering up more of his skin. “Anybody ever done that for you before?”

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 24 “Yeah.” Rob stared into Jim‟s eyes, his voice shaky and breathless because Jim was the one begging, and the way he made Rob feel? Well, that was something to spend a lot more time thinking about. Later. Jim reversed their positions, pushing Rob against the wall and sliding, sinuous and slow, onto his knees in the dirt of the back parking lot. He fumbled with the zipper on Rob‟s shorts, fingers slipping over moist skin as the fabric dropped to Rob‟s ankles, and he glanced up to make sure he had Rob‟s attention. Jim licked his lips and pressed hot, wet kisses along Rob‟s stomach, rubbing his cheek and chin roughly over the tender skin. Rob‟s head spun, and he gasped when Jim sucked his cock into his mouth. No hesitation. No coy little games. The slippery, wet suction almost too much to take. Rob carded his numb fingers, thick and clumsy, through the dark tangles of Jim‟s hair. This wasn‟t his first blowjob, but Rob knew it would wipe the slate clean. Jim alternated the smooth, slick downward slide of his lips, the sharper scrape of his teeth. Each stroke hotter and wetter, messy with spit and Jim‟s slurping gulps of air. Rob groaned at the electrifying effect on his nerve endings. The skin on his stomach prickled, rubbed raw by the earlier brush of Jim‟s rough bristle, soothed by the softer curls that fell over his forehead, butting into Rob‟s belly with each downward motion. Saliva caught in the hair on Rob‟s thighs, dripped down his balls. Rob managed to widen the spread of his legs, head lolling against the rough brick. Rob swallowed his curses, mouth dry, tongue swollen and thick. He heard cars on the other side of the building, smelled fabric softener from the exhaust vent to his right, Jim‟s shampoo, the musk of his own armpits. He tried to

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 25 remind himself that they were outside—even with the lack of light anyone might look out from their apartment—but he didn‟t care about anything other than Jim‟s mouth as it worked his cock. Rob didn‟t protest when one of Jim‟s hands slid behind his balls, callused fingers gliding up his sweaty crack, not even when he gently circled the ridged pucker. Rob trembled with breathless anticipation. Would he? Wouldn‟t he? And suddenly everything became too much, too intense, and he couldn‟t hold on. “Oh, fuck.” Rob didn‟t try to bite back his loud curse. His hips bucked, and just that fast, he came. He pumped deeper into Jim‟s willing mouth, tightening his fingers in Jim‟s hair, niceties forgotten as he drove to finish. Finally he slowed, falling limp against the building, legs weak as his cock slipped from Jim‟s lips. Come splashed over his knee, spattering the brick behind him and dripping hot and thick down his calf. Rob blinked, eyes bleary. He ignored the spinning of the world around him and searched for the source. Jim‟s head tilted up toward him, face slack and mouth open as he breathed in harsh pants of air. Rob realized Jim had been stroking himself off at the same time, and his body flooded with heat all over again.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 26

4. Present Day

DAVID couldn‟t miss the memory-evoked emotions as they played across the sharp planes of Rob‟s face. He felt disturbingly like a voyeur, afraid he had taken advantage of Rob‟s grief to pick and pry into a past that Rob barely mentioned on a good day. Between his father‟s funeral, obviously still fresh in Rob‟s mind, and his painfully distant meeting with his sister scant hours before, today could hardly be considered a good day. But as Rob wandered through the empty building, reliving his past, David knew he had made the right decision sweet-talking the lawyer‟s assistant into giving him the key. Here, within these silent walls, Rob opened up and David caught a deeper sense of the forces responsible for shaping the man he loved. “What happened next?” David asked as he struggled to balance his jealous curiosity against his desire to support his partner. To David‟s surprise, Rob laughed. He threw back his head, face split wide in the unabashed grin David couldn‟t resist, the burst of sound disrupting the quiet around them. “No one would write a comedy this bad, I swear.” Rob climbed onto one of the clothes folding tables, his movements smooth and easy. His feet swung back and forth, rail-thin body swaying as he acted out the rest of his story.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 27 “I‟m stoned out of my mind. Come all over me, and my shorts at my ankles. Jim‟s got his dick out, still on his knees, and before I can even say „thanks‟ or give him a hand up, a car pulls into the lot and nails us. Headlights full on.” “You‟re kidding me.” David raised his eyebrow, forcing back his own expression of incredulous humor. Rob had a knack for storytelling, and his detailed description made it easy to imagine the scene, transporting them both to that moment in time. “No, really.” Rob held up his hand, his laughter trailing off. “But the story gets better.” “How?” David demanded as Rob paused and loosened his tie, dragging the silken knot lower down his chest. David leaned forward, his hands squeezing Rob‟s thigh muscles, relieved to see Rob return to his more natural and grounded self, losing the stiffness so present throughout the weekend. “It was the cops.” Rob fumbled with his collar, and David took over. He unfastened the top two buttons and opened the shirt for him, comforted by the simple, domestic act. “We were so busted.” “Oh, my God.” David dropped his head onto Rob‟s legs to hide his expression, rubbing his cheek over the fine wool fabric. He couldn‟t believe he hadn‟t ever heard this story before, and he planned to memorize every last bit for teasing at a more appropriate time. Preferably Christmas, when everyone gathered at his mother‟s house. She thought Rob was so perfect. “You should have seen the officer‟s face, especially once he recognized me.” Rob stroked the hair on the back of David‟s head, then started to rub at the base of his neck. “He

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 28 had no clue what to do. He bowled with my dad, for Christ‟s sake.” David groaned at the knowing press of Rob‟s long and steely fingers and, ignoring the twinge in his lower back at the awkward position, shifted his feet for better balance. God, he loved those hands, always had. If Rob needed a distraction from his emotions, David stood ready and willing to be his human worry stone. He stretched his arms across the smooth surface of the table and wrapped them around Rob, cupping his palms over Rob‟s ass to make sure he wouldn‟t get away. “Are you even listening to me?” Rob paused his rubbing, and David nodded, silently urging Rob to continue with both the story and the impromptu massage. Call him pathetic, but only a fool would turn down one of Rob‟s amazing neck rubs, no matter the circumstance. “Anyway, he told us to zip up, herded us inside, and called my dad.” Rob turned his attention to David‟s shoulders, finding and pressing on the knotted muscle with the unerring skill David appreciated. “That sucks,” David managed to mumble semiintelligently as his own stress of the last few days started to dissolve. Who knew being supportive was such a literal pain in the neck? Rob should be spending all his time massaging the world‟s troubles away instead of wasting his talent teaching. At least, David‟s troubles; he never had learned to share well with others. “I talked him into letting Jim leave, since he couldn‟t think of anything other than indecent exposure to book us on.” Rob still sounded surprised at his success. David might have told him otherwise; he knew his partner to be an

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 29 extremely persuasive man. His mind drifting to prior compelling tactics, he needed a second for Rob‟s words to sink in. With a manful and mature display of his devotion, David lifted his head out of Rob‟s lap and stared at him in disbelief. “He took off and left you there?” David‟s protective instincts wouldn‟t let him imagine just abandoning Rob like that, and his shoulders tensed all over again. He glared around the laundry, searching the dark corners for some sign of the jerk. But nothing moved through the deserted rows of equipment other than the dust disturbed by their presence. Rob smoothed his hand over David‟s cheek, his thumb brushing across the David‟s upper lip and mustache. “He didn‟t owe me anything. Besides, if the cop wasn‟t going to file charges, it was better he took off before my dad arrived.” He pressed a kiss at the corner of David‟s mouth while David processed this new twist. Sulky rather than soothed, David let Rob slide forward on the table, his body encircled by Rob‟s thighs as he voiced his displeasure. “What an ass.” He wouldn‟t admit it to Rob, but finding a downside to this amazing specimen of manhood in Rob‟s past pleased his competitive nature. “So, how did your dad handle things?” “Not very well. I couldn‟t wait to get back to school.” Rob leaned further forward, resting his head on David‟s stocky shoulder. His sudden need for contact told David more than any words ever would. “My sister freaked. All she could think about was what people might say. Mom wouldn‟t stop laughing, I guess I get my sense of humor from her. She made visits home a little easier. We all pretended nothing

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 30 was wrong, but after she passed on, I was pretty much on my own.” “She died right before you received your teaching certificate, didn‟t she?” David‟s eyes narrowed, his mind adding this new information into the already familiar timeline of Rob‟s life. “Yeah.” Rob‟s reply sounded muffled, and he turned his head to the side. David resisted the urge to speak ill of Rob‟s family and forced himself to sit quiet. He knew if Rob didn‟t talk about this now, the emotions would stay with him. David‟s hands stroked over Rob‟s spine, the light movements soothing for him as much as Rob. “I feel bad things weren‟t better resolved between us.” Rob sat up again, his face shadowed. He waved his hand, encompassing the building around them. “So much of our lives spent within these walls, so many memories, and in the end this is the place where it all fell apart. I‟m never going to get a chance to make him understand everything turned out okay.” David thought about the phone calls Rob had made over their years together. The cards they picked out and mailed, the slow and limited replies received in return. But responses none the less. He paused, choosing his words with care. “I think he did understand. As much as he could. He knew you went on to a good life, a career, people who love you. What more can a parent want for their child? Even if he couldn‟t find a way to show you.” “Damn, you‟re really good at this support thing.” Rob played the compliment off as a joke, but the tenseness he carried disappeared under David‟s hands. David tightened his embrace, hugging Rob closer. Rob might complain about

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 31 his octopus-like tendencies, but what else could he do? Words wouldn‟t lessen his partner‟s sorrow; maybe it was time to lighten the moment. “I find the whole situation totally unfair.” “What?” “Your experience sounds much hotter than my first few fumbles with what‟s his name in the fifth grade.” Despite his teasing, David was afraid his statement hit too close to the truth to be comfortable. Rob liked to poke at him about his possessive streak; hopefully he didn‟t realize how deep it ran. “You thought it was hot?” David nodded. Clueless to his own charm, Rob sounded dubious. David squeezed his hands over Rob‟s ass and let his voice drop until it was low and growly, the way Rob liked it best. “The way you tell it, real fucking hot.” Rob‟s cheeks flushed and, inwardly pleased at the proof his diversion worked, David continued. “I still want to kick that guy‟s ass for coming on to a sweet young thing like you.” “I was legal,” Rob protested with a fist thump against David‟s chest. “Barely. He shows up out of nowhere, pushing drugs, public indecency, God knows what else.” David allowed some of his honest outrage to bleed through. “We should look up that officer. I want to thank him for interrupting.” “You were the one messing around in the fifth grade,” Rob pointed out with careful precision. He avoided David‟s eyes, his fingers stroking across David‟s striped tie. “I was precocious.” David‟s voice filled with smug satisfaction at the small signs of Rob‟s displeasure.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 32 “I‟ll say.” Visible in all its lecherous glory, the resurrection of Rob‟s grin made David want to cheer. “You reminded me of him when we first met, you know.” “Who? This Jim guy?” “Both of you appeared so open, so sure of what you wanted.” Rob slid his hands between the buttons of David‟s shirt, fingers lightly teasing the tufts of hair. A sneaky tactic David whole-heartedly approved of. “I was a respectable college professor when we first met,” David said. “Beyond reproach.” Rob snorted and sharply tweaked David‟s nipple before he removed his hands with obvious reluctance and rested them on David‟s waist. “Who dropped to their knees in the supply closet and blew me fifteen minutes after that first staff meeting ended?” “Ouch.” David jumped, rubbing his sore flesh. “What can I say? You inspired me.” Perhaps not conventionally handsome, Rob carried himself proudly, so full of confidence and good humor David had immediately been drawn to him. Maybe there were one or two similarities to their situations. Mainly, Rob. While not happy at the comparison to Mr. Bail-at-the-first-sign-of-trouble, David took pride in knowing at least he didn‟t dick around for four weeks before making his move. He did still question how Rob had transitioned from that first, tentative encounter to the man David found so intriguing. “I should have thanked him,” Rob said. “Jim, I mean. Honestly, the whole mess saved me so much time.” David tried but couldn‟t hide his disdain. Anybody who turned tail and left a kid to clean up after him didn‟t deserve any gratitude, no matter how things worked out.

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 33 “Don‟t get me wrong, everything put right out in the open before I had time to come to terms with it scared me to death. But the situation freed me to make decisions without worrying about the fallout.” Pleased with the proof their minds once again traveled along parallel paths, David decided he would allow himself to be a bit more gracious. “Kind of eliminated the whole „what‟s the worst that could happen‟ scenario.” “Exactly.” Rob grimaced. “Makes sense now, when I think back. Imagine had things happened differently, if I made different choices, do you think we still would have met or ended up together?” “Trust me, sweetheart. One way or another, I would find you.” David kissed Rob, letting their lips cling and linger with slow, gentle promise. He refused to contemplate a life where he and Rob hadn‟t ended up together, not even to satisfy Rob‟s sudden and healthy introspection. “And if we hustle back to the hotel, I‟ll do my best to remind you of anything you might have otherwise missed.” “Shouldn‟t we get on the road?” Rob yawned, and David traced a finger over the dark circles beneath Rob‟s eyes with concern. “Work, and all that jazz?” “Not when someone requested an extension to our bereavement leave.” David tilted his head to the side and he waited. He licked his lips, uncertain of Rob‟s reaction to his so-far un-discussed decision. They had struggled with this issue before, David‟s need to protect Rob versus Rob‟s innate independence. David viewed it as a challenge, one more aspect of their relationship to keep him on his toes. “How much time are we talking about?”

The One That Counts | Chrissy Munder | 34 “Long enough for us to take a drive to the UP and enjoy a little down time,” David offered. He kept his voice low, a match for Rob‟s neutral tone that refused to give anything away. “You planned this.” Rob looked thoughtful. “You are a bad, bad man, and I love you very much.” Rob slid off the table into David‟s arms, and together they swept their gaze over the paneled walls and equipment one last time. He caught David‟s hand in his, and, always willing to follow whenever Rob led the way, David allowed himself to be pulled to the exit. “My dad told me something when I was a kid. I can‟t even remember why now. I just thought it was kind of stupid. Now I‟m pretty sure I understand.” The sun had dropped lower in the sky, hidden by the gray, rain-soaked clouds that had swept in while they explored the building. Traffic whizzed by, tires humming across the pavement. David made sure Rob stayed tucked by his side as he locked the door and Rob‟s past behind them. He pocketed the key, pleased to see Rob‟s eyes clear and unshadowed when he leaned to whisper into David‟s ear. “The last one is the one that counts.”

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About the Author

The joke in CHRISSY MUNDER‟s family is that she was born with a book in her hand. Even now, you‟ll never find her without a book or seven scattered about. Forced to become a practicing realist in an effort to combat her tendency to dream, her many years of travel and a diverse assortment of careers have taken her across most of the United States and shown her that there are two things you can never have enough of: love and laughter. Visit her web site at http://www.chrissymunder.com/ and her blog at http://chrissymunder.livejournal.com/. Friend her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/chrissy munder and follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/ ChrissyMunder.

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Copyright

The One That Counts ©Copyright Chrissy Munder, 2011 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Catt Ford This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America June 2011 eBook Edition eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-034-9