The look on Mickey’s face as that girl hugged him and chattered in his ear like he was the big brother she’d always wanted when she’d been cursed with Crick instead eased something aching in Shane’s heart. God, Mikhail really did love Shane’s family—he’d probably been missing them since December.

  Jon, Andrew, and Jeff came up, too, shaking his hand and looking happy to see him, and for a good ten minutes there was complete chaos and chatter before Amy’s voice cut through the excitement.

  “Benny! You’d better get in here—I think Parry got into your makeup, darlin’, and tried to make up the baby.”

  Benny hopped back from Mikhail with her best “Oh shit!” look and bolted from the room. Mikhail watched her go in bemusement and then looked up to find Deacon and Crick eyeing him thoughtfully through their own excitement at the possibility of being able to keep their home.

  “So,” Deacon said, flashing sharp hazel eyes to his friends, “Mikhail—you’re not really a stranger to all of us, are you?”

  Mikhail blushed. “No—we met while Shane was in the hospital. Everybody was very wonderful—they helped me visit.”

  Deacon nodded slowly. “How long have you two been dating again?” This time he looked at Shane, and Shane blushed. Yup. It was like having an older brother. One who was younger than he was, but an older brother just the same.

  “Since October,” Shane mumbled, and Crick said, “Are you shitting me?” and Deacon said, “Hush, Crick,” but his voice was soft and a little hurt.

  “It was my fault, you see,” Mikhail said, trying to smile. It didn’t take. “I… you, your family—you were so important to Shane. I… I did not see how I could measure up.” He was still standing in the doorway. He hadn’t even taken off his hat and his scarf or his jacket.

  Deacon nodded and said, “That’s not what you said on the porch,” and when Mikhail looked up, stricken, Deacon held out a hand and smiled gently. “Never mind, come on in, then—here, Crick—take his jacket and things. Did you want to meet the baby, Mikhail?”

  Shane was not surprised when Mikhail turned a look of sheer gratitude on him. “I love babies—I teach dance. The little ones are my favorite!” And then he blushed and looked at his toes as though that much exuberance shamed him.

  Shane was on the verge of going to his side and holding his hand just to keep him from bolting or breaking Shane’s heart when Deacon said, “Go on down the hall—just follow the noise. I’m sure Benny and Amy will be happy for the help.”

  Mikhail gave a brilliant smile—the kind that Shane had needed to work hard for—and gave his jacket and things to Crick, then took off for the hall. He passed Shane on the way and reached out to touch his hand before rabbitting away to the safety of the children.

  And then Shane was there, alone, facing Deacon.

  “He was afraid to meet me?” Deacon asked, completely baffled. “Me? You had a guy for months and you kept him secret because he was afraid to meet me?”

  Shane found himself blushing terribly. “The thing is, he heard all this stuff about you….”

  Deacon glared at him.

  “It was all true!” Shane protested. “And it wasn’t all from me!”

  Andrew spoke up, looking a little embarrassed. “The thing is, when Shane was sick, Mikhail was there in the hospital, and we were trying to tell the guy why he should meet you.”

  And then it was Jeff’s turn. He spoke awkwardly, for Jeff, casting little darting looks to Shane as he did. “Damn—Deacon, you know how scared we were. Well, Mikhail was like six times as scared—and to make matters worse, he had some serious family shit going down…. How is that, Shane?” Jeff asked, looking at Shane with some head-on concern.

  And it was Shane’s turn to look away. “Not long now,” he said roughly. “She literally ordered us out of the house on furlough, I guess. I told her I’d have Mickey back later tonight, and she promised to live that long.”

  “His mother?” Deacon guessed, and Shane nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

  “Yeah. She’s good people.”

  Deacon put a brief hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. But Jesus—this is why you should have told us. Look at you—no wonder you look like hell. We could have helped, right?”

  Shane shrugged. “It wasn’t really my thing to tell, you know, Deacon? Besides—you all just got finished taking care of me and my dogs. And it’s not like you didn’t have other shit to worry about. I didn’t want to, you know, put you out any more than you already have been.”

  This time Deacon socked him in the shoulder, saying, “You’re family, asshole.”

  Shane rubbed the spot gingerly and blushed and grinned. “Man, that hurt—and you wonder why people think you’re scary.”

  "I'm not scary!" Deacon protested, still a little shocked. He looked up to where Mikhail had come in, Parry Angel’s hands firmly entrenched in his. She was looking up at him with wide blue eyes, and he was completely taken by her round little face and guileless smile. She turned away for a moment and waved at her ‘Deek-deek’ and he waved back while she preened in her tu-tu, having apparently escaped her mother’s wrath by simple virtue of overwhelming cuteness.

  “See—seriously?” he said, looking up and blushing because all of the men had stopped to watch him completely captured by the little girl. “How scary could I be?”

  Crick smirked, having heard him while hanging up Mikhail’s things on the peg near the door. “Yeah, baby—you're a killer.”

  “Fuck you, Crick. I’m not shitting around here. This guy was so freaked out you all had to lie to me about his existence? What have I ever done to deserve that?”

  Crick put his hands up in self-defense. “Hey—I didn’t know about him, either. Which is a good goddamned thing, because, seriously—Shane? What in the hell were you thinking?”

  Shane blushed. “I was thinking if you guys get any louder he’s gonna see how fast he can run from Levee Oaks to Citrus Heights. Jesus, people—has it occurred to you that for a guy who lives with his mother, there is too much testosterone in this room?”

  Jon and Jeff met eyes and burst out laughing, and Crick eyed them sourly. “You don’t get to laugh about this, straight boy,” and Jon stuck his tongue out.

  “The fuck he doesn’t!” Jeff hooted. “Any heterosexual male who is more at ease with his gay friends than with his straight ones gets to laugh about being one of two steers in a room full of queers until he wets his pants. What? What did I say?”

  Shane was aware that his own mouth was swinging open, and he looked around to see that everyone else was gaping as well.

  Jon held up his hands to ward them off, saying, “Man, that was him. I swear....” He stopped, and his chest shook, and then it shook again, and then he slapped his hand over his mouth, and then Deacon of all people started to giggle, and then it was all over. Mikhail looked up from where he was showing Parry Angel how to elevé in fifth position, and Shane was so busy giggling that he could only shake his head and mouth “Later!” to his puzzled lover.

  Later, he could explain this so it made sense. Later, he could talk about Benny and how much she needed someone who could protect her, and why she made Deacon sound like Wyatt Earp and the Terminator in one little sentence. Later, he could explain that they’d been trying to make Deacon feel better because he’d obviously been a little hurt. But right now, he was going to let Jon lean on him and giggle helplessly while Crick and Deacon did the same, Andrew wiped his eyes, and Jeff smirked in the center of the circle with his hands out, saying, “What? Seriously—it’s totally true!” while the rest of them lost their fucking minds.

  Chapter 17

  No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white…

  “I Will Follow You Into the Dark”—Death Cab For Cutie

  SHANE tried to explain the laughter in the car as he was taking Mikhail home, but Mikhail was still lost.

  “Bulls and queers. It does not sound that funny to me.”

  A hand reached out in the darkness, and a rough knuckle touched Mikhail’s cheek softly. “It wasn’t—not really. It was more the timing of it, Mickey. Deacon was hurt, really hurt, and Jeff said something funny at a time when we needed to laugh or that hurt would just keep going. Trust me. The laugh was better than the alternative.”

  Mikhail sighed and turned as far as the seatbelt would allow. “I’m sorry I hurt your family. You were right, you know. They are very nice. I should have met them when you were sick—all of them, I mean. The babies were delightful.”

  Shane nodded eagerly, and in the passing streetlamp, Mikhail caught the happy curve of his lean mouth. “Good—I’m so glad, you know? And now, if I ever get hurt again….”

  “Shut the fuck up, you fucking asshole.” Mikhail was not kidding, not even a little tiny bit, and his brain had shorted out to the extent that he’d been a stutter away from swearing in Russian.

  “I’m not saying I will—”

  “And I’m saying that if I have to think about that now I cannot function. Please?” To his shame he felt pleading come into his voice. Oh yes—he was so much the Ice Man now, wasn’t he? “Please, lubime—it has been the loveliest day….” His voice trailed off. It had been, hadn’t it? All of it—the trip out of the valley the day before, the moments spent in Shane’s arms, the cats purring on him all during the night. He had awakened that morning to find Shane sprawled out on his stomach next to him, a careless arm thrown over Mikhail’s stomach as they slept. As he’d opened his eyes in the unfamiliar room, he’d realized that he could never, not once in his life, remember waking up feeling as though nothing could touch him. Perhaps when he’d been younger, before he’d gone into dance, but he could not remember that far.

  “Please. Let me just hold on to the day?”

  “Of course,” Shane said softly, and Mikhail had to close his eyes tight against the knowledge that he really meant it. He really would simply back off and allow Mikhail to appreciate the time they’d had. Mikhail realized that not once had they mentioned his mother—they’d both been thinking about her, but this time really had been stolen.

  It had been beautiful.

  When they got to the apartment, Shane got out of the car with him, and Mikhail didn’t have to ask why. He’d told Ylena that he’d bring Mikhail back, and he was a man of his word. As they got up to the entryway, Shane grabbed Mikhail around the hips and spun him around (easily—he was such a big man!) and searched Mikhail’s eyes in the porch light.

  “Tell me it was important,” he murmured, and Mikhail nodded, wide eyed.

  “It was important.”

  “Tell me it meant as much to you as it did to me,” he begged gruffly, and Mikhail didn’t have it in him to deny it.

  “It meant everything to me, lubime. Believe nothing but believe that.”

  Shane closed his eyes, a sweet expression of savoring and joy washing over his face, and then he opened them and lowered his head to Mikhail’s. The kiss was brief and sweet, only the faintest hint of tongues meshing, only the whisper of the passion that they both knew was there. It was a promise and a benediction. It was a reminder that the other was there, even when they weren’t allowed the privacy to show it.

  They broke off from the kiss, and Mikhail brushed Shane’s cheek with his knuckle, liking the way Shane’s brown eyes looked beyond deep in the darkness, and then turned to open the door. His mother turned her head as they walked in the door and smiled slightly.

  “Mal’chiki, so glad you could make it,” she murmured, just barely loud enough for them to hear.

  Shane moved toward her bed while Mikhail went to drop his stuff in his room, and Mikhail didn’t hear what she said to him. There had been a little piece of paper with advertisements in the Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs DVD box that Mikhail had palmed when he opened it. That went into the cedar box, which still, after this time, carried a small item from every date or dinner they’d had. With the pictures from the cruise, the box was getting crowded, but Mikhail still did not trust that these times would not disappear. When he returned to the front room after that, the woman who had been staying with his mother—someone from the church—was standing stiffly as Shane bent his head to his mother’s and spoke softly.

  The woman spoke in Russian—something to the effect of “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” and then she left without a backward look. It was too bad, Mikhail thought a little sadly. She missed the way Shane smoothed his hand over Ylena’s cheek and raised her hand to his lips in a gallant kiss. The woman and her judgment missed the way Ylena smiled at him as though he hung the moon and the stars. She missed the simple love that could spring up between two pure souls.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Ylena,” Shane said now roughly, and that languid hand came up and patted his cheek.

  “Do not be counting on it, lubime, but I would not be disappointed, either. Drive safely—my son has enough worries.”

  “Guaranteed, sweetheart.” And with that, Shane gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned to go. Mikhail walked him to the door, and Shane bent and kissed him on the forehead—discreet, but also tender. Mikhail adored him for it.

  “I’m going running tomorrow, so probably around nine or ten,” he said, his hand on the doorknob.

  Mikhail nodded, and his heart ached to watch him go. He should say something, he thought miserably. Say something that would make the going easier. Say something that would make him know that dying mother or no dying mother, it was that moment, when Shane walked in the door, that Mikhail would be waiting for in order to start breathing again.

  But he could not. He could only capture Shane’s other hand and bring it to his lips and give it his own gallant little kiss. He could watch the slow smile spread on the other man’s face and see the blush and the way Shane ducked his head in an embarrassed—and probably aroused—goodbye.

  The door closed behind him, and Mikhail sighed, and then walked to his mother’s bedside and sat down on the chair nearby.

  “A good time, lubime?” she asked. He set his chin on his hands and looked at her with shining eyes.

  “The best, Mutti—would you like to hear about it?”

  “Please.”

  And so he told her, all of it. He told her of getting out of the valley, and the way the red-gold light hit the tops of the evergreens in Grass Valley. He told her about Rosie and Arlen and watching the enormous draft horses getting worked and the power of the animal in the ring. He told her about Shane’s gigantic furry dragon, and he blessed the fact that she could still laugh when he described climbing Shane like a piece of gymnastics equipment and crouching there, terrified at the dog’s friendly advances.

  “But a dog of Shane’s would not be vicious!” his mother protested, and Mikhail laughed, embarrassed.

  “It was as big as me, Mutti!”

  “You are not that tall, malenkiy mal’chik.”

  He took her hand and kissed it then. As though he needed a reminder of that!

  He continued, and told her of the cats, and of Shane’s lovely house. The floors had been hardwood, and Shane had furnished it simply—leather couches, dark green or blue rugs on the floor, cream colored walls. Shane had been quietly proud, and Mikhail had loved it. “He painted the walls himself and laid the flooring. He did not brag, because that is not his way, but it was a true home, Mutti. He is surprisingly good with making things—wood and whatnot. His porch is well crafted.”

  This is beautiful, Shane. You do nice work.

  I do okay. Nothing to brag about.

  But it was, Mikhail thought achingly, telling the story to his mother. It was something to brag about. Everything about the man spoke of fineness and care. Things too good for Mikhail, but he was not going to burden his mother with that now.

  And when he was done with that, he moved on to the family.

  “So many, Mikhail? It sounds like a church service?”

  Mikhail thought about the rowdy group of men and laughed. “No—there were many people though. They… they helped. The little girls—a tiny baby and a toddler—had so much attention, Mutti. The toddler—Parry Angel—she loves to dance. I love to see little ones dance—it always seems as though that was what dance is made for.”

  His mother stroked his hair. “You were happy when you danced as a child, lubime. Sometimes, when I regret all that came after, I console myself with that. When you were a little boy, that joy was like God’s holy light. You must promise me to always dance—even if it is simply in your home, with your lover, you must always dance.”

  Mikhail smiled at her. He couldn’t say why, but it felt like absolution for the thing he loved best to do. “I promise, Mutti.”

  “So these babies, they had mothers?”

  And Mikhail told her about tiny, maternal Amy and bouncy, emotional Benny. He told her about Deacon, finally, who had carried such an air of quiet grace around him.

  “He was not scary, this family patriarch?” Ylena sounded concerned.

  Mikhail shook his head. “No. He was strong—oh, Mutti, the strength in him. You had no idea. His man, Carrick, was a little scary, only because you can see in him that he will do exactly what he wants when he wants. If Crick is angry, you had better duck. But Deacon—he is all power and control and love. They are good people. They are,” and it pained him to say it, “they are worthy of being Shane’s family. They listened to him—I could see it from across the room. I had met many of them when Shane was sick, but not as a whole. As a whole… they are wonderful, Mutti. I loved being there.”

  Ylena smiled a little, obviously tired, but she patted his cheek and made him continue. He tried for details—the size of the stable, the jokes he heard Jeff tell. He stayed clear of the one about steers and queers, but he told her about the terrible amount of pink in the room for the baby and the pie Benny had bought for dessert because it was Deacon’s favorite. “He is too thin, Mutti. Finally, I see Shane’s concern for him—it is frightening to know what a toll worry can take on a strong man.”