The Connection

“These are actually not bad.”

In that moment, Quinn reminds him so forcefully of his mother that Avery half expects his little sister’s dark chocolate hair to have suddenly lightened over night to an orangey blonde. She’s still wearing her square glasses and her pajamas, although a different pair (purple plaid shorts and what looks like one of Avery’s zip-ups over a light gray tank top). Her hair is freshly washed, hanging in twisting waves around her face. But there’s just something about her, standing over a sizzling griddle, holding a spatula aloft with the air of a butcher knife, and scowling, which seems to bring his mother back from Chicago and into their tiny kitchen.

“You’re not the only one that can make mom’s pancakes, dickhead.” She glowers, flipping a flapjack without bothering to look at the pan.

“You can cook?” Max pipes up in interest; his words obscured by a mouthful of pancakes drenches in butter and about half a bottle of syrup. In the time that Avery fights the urge to kiss off a drop of glistening maple syrup off of Max’s lower lip, Quinn pipes up loudly from the stove:

“It’s the only thing he can cook. So don’t get your hopes up for a housewife.” She sasses. Max chuckles around his mouthful of buttery-syrupy pancakes. And Allie, with her shower fresh hair tossed into a messy bun at the top of her head, a pair of borrowed shorts and Student Council shirt covers her smile with another petite bite of food.

“Shut up. I can cook more than that.” Avery pouts, shoving a forkful into his mouth as well. He wasn’t lying, they are good. But his are better. He’s had more practice than Quinn, anyway. When he turned twelve and his parents left him in charge of Quinn and the house, his mother sat next to him in the kitchen as he learned with careful instructions (and a ton of mistakes) how to make his little sisters favorite food. Just in case his parents weren’t home for dinner or Quinn got hungry. It was good he learned, because every day after school Quinn would drop her Lisa Frank backpack on the floor, climb up on one of the stools around their island and demand pancakes.

And Avery (the sap) would make them every time.

“Eggs don’t count.” Quinn quips. Avery makes a noise of indignation around his food.

“Eggs so count.”

“Eggs don’t count, Av. Everyone can cook eggs.” Max supplies less-than-helpfully, his mouth full.
Avery glares halfhearted at the quarterback, who only winks and grins in response. (And just exactly how is that simultaneously the most annoying and attractive thing in the world?)

“Fine,” Avery huffs abandoning his syrup splattered, but empty plate and stalks over to the coffee maker, “Then I can’t cook.”

He’s breakfast companions all laugh at his tiny tantrum. And Avery, with his cheeks and neck warm, rinses out his coffee mug, harshly shoves his preferred coffee packet into the machine and waits; his arms crossed and his back to everyone else. While he pouts he takes the time to gaze out the window and at the still light gray sky; the rain drops still spitting softly on the window pane. Behind him, the loud voice of Quinn and the timid, yet growing stronger voice of Allie discuss the finer points of the InuYasha and Kagome’s rather unusual relationship. Avery rolls his eyes, Quinn has already turned her, like she does to everyone else she ropes into watching the too-long anime (himself included). Avery is so absorbed in being a brat that he doesn’t hear the scape of a stool as it moves backwards and the soft clicking of dishes being dropped into the sink.

He does notice the pair of thick arms wrap around his middle.

“What are you doing?” Avery deadpans, as Max stoops down to rest his stubbly chin on Avery’s shoulder. Max doesn’t respond, only sways their bodies gently.

“Seriously? Your sister is right there.” Avery tries again, heat starting to rise in his neck. His face flames as Max presses a kiss to his temple.

“If it matters, I don’t mind.” Allie’s shy voice says from the island, “I like you better than the girls he usually brings home.” She adds with a hint of distain that sounds unusual in her kind, whispery voice. A snort, not at all kind and most certainly not whispery rips through the kitchen.

“I mind. Go to your room and be gross. We eat here, Avery.”

Avery flips his sister off, before he leans back into Max’s warm chest.

Avery isn’t sure, exactly why Max is being affectionate. Sure, he’s not cold and detached, like a regency era love interest in a Jane Austen novel. He holds Avery’s hand, and isn’t above pecking Avery’s mop of hair once in a while. But this? Holding him around the waist in his kitchen while their respective little sisters eat breakfast (or a late lunch. Whatever) and rocking their bodies softly while Avery waits for coffee? Max touching him with kindness is a weirdly new experience for him, but Max touching him in front of others, not to make a point but just because? Practically National Enquire stuff.

Avery wonders distantly, as he twines his fingers with the hand not wrapped around his waist, is this what’s going to happen in less than a couple weeks when they go back to school? Or will Max continue to treat him with the indifference (rather than outright contempt) that they practiced their junior year? The very thought of Max; the same Max that laughs with him about B grade action movies, pulls him closer when they sit anywhere ever, kisses him softly and smiles even softer at his lame jokes makes his heart cave. Avery doesn’t want to be a secret. And he cringes as he thinks that, for Max, he’d willingly sulk into the shadows. He’d settle for having Max only in stolen moments in the Chevelle, or by the lake, or in his bedroom.

And it would hurt. And it’s like, Twilight grade unhealthy. But when Avery logically weighs his options, it’s either be a dirty little secret until they graduate and (hopefully) leave Franklin, or be totally shut off from Max. And as much as Avery wants to shout and stamp his foot and tell Max that he won’t be a secret and then demand that he wear Max’s Letterman jacket as a possessive decree to the entire school that Max is his; he knows that’s not an option. Avery can settle, for a while, if it means that he and Max can be happy in the long run.

“Hey…” Max mumbles his lips close to Avery’s ear. Avery hums to show that he’s listening and not trapped in his thoughts of Lifetime movies where the stunning and charming other woman is snubbed when the man gets a girlfriend, and whether or not he’d turn into a creepy stalker.

“It’s Sunday.”

“Are you late for church or something?” Avery asks drily. Max huffs a laugh, and nudges Avery’s skull with his chin.

“Football. Sunday’s are for football.” Max says, nuzzling Avery’s hair and making the already unruly mess more so. Avery chuckles.

“Okay. Football, the manliest of all sports. What about it?”

“I was wonderin’ if you wanted to watch some with me. That is, if you’re not kicking me out.”

“Why would I kick you out?” Avery questions, a bit sourly, “I don’t know anything about football, so I’d be more annoying than anything. Asking questions and stuff.” He adds a bit guiltily.

It’s not that he’s trying to get out of watching football with Max. It’s really not. It’s more that he’s totally clueless as to how football actually works, and he doesn’t want to annoy Max while he’s watching something he loves. It would make him feel useless and silly. But to his surprise, Max places a small kiss on his neck, causing him to shiver slightly.

“I know. That’s why we’re gonna watch.” He smiles against Avery’s skin. Avery snorts, and turns around to face a smiling Max. The taller boy waste not time, gently pushing Avery until his lower back rests against the granite countertop. Still smiling, he rests his hands on Avery’s hips, while lazily leaning his own hips against his boyfriend’s; effectively sandwiching Avery between Max’s narrow waist and his kitchen counter. Avery blushes at their position, and immediately looks around Max’s bulky frame for Quinn and Allie. Luckily, both girls are nowhere to be seen, leaving only dirty dishes in the sink and a bowl, dripping pancake batter over the counter.

“You want me to bother you?” Avery questions, peering up at Max with skeptical eyes. The quarterback grins, and presses a kiss to Avery’s forehead.

“Mhm. That why you’ll know what’s goin’ on when you come to one of my games.”
Avery feels his heart clench painfully. He wants to go to Max’s games too, but he’d much prefer them if he was wearing Max’s jacket and could run on the field when Max wins, along with the other girlfriends, like Kat surely will be able to do. He smiles, anyway, letting his head fall against Max’s chest so Max can’t read the sadness in his eyes.

“And you don’t care that I’ll be annoying?” Avery insists, breathing deeply the scent of his own lemongrass shower gel on Max’s skin. He likes it, in his own possessive way; but he much prefers Max’s own smell of cloves, coffee and motor oil. Max huffs a laugh and presses another kiss to the top of Avery’s head.

“You’re always annoyin’, so it’s no different.” Max says laughter in his voice. Avery rolls his eyes.

But leads Max into the living room, anyway.
________

When Avery’s mom calls, he has to tell her something.

Which, for the record, he wouldn’t have had to, if Quinn and Allie would have stopped shrieking enough so he could at least pretend that there weren’t other people in his house.

“What’s that?” His mother asks, without even a hello. Avery pinches the bridge of his nose, willing his little sister and Allie to stop laughing like idiots over something on Quinn’s Tumblr. Max has left Avery alone with two gabby teenage girls under the guise of getting Chinese food.

Bastard.

“Avery. What’s going on?”

“Uh,” Avery stalls, throwing a couch pillow at Quinn with impressive force. She yelps when the decorative plush smacks against her messy hair and after she’d rubs the afflicted area, she glares up at him but thankfully shuts up.

“Max and his sister are over. That was Quinn and Max’s sister being stupid.” Avery says lightly, hoping that his mother won’t demand that Max and Allie leave immediately.
It’s not like they could anyway.

Max and Avery are sprawled out on the couch; Avery, his butt firmly seated on his Max’s thighs, his gangly legs thrown across the rest of the sofa, his head cushioned against Max’s shoulder. The quarterback is trying to explain what the hell the numbers on the field meant, and how they were even relevant to how far the players had to run, when Max’s phone rings. After some impressive wiggling to keep Avery in his lap and reach his phone tucked into his back pocket, one look at the screen and his face turns dark. Avery peeks over at his phone screen, and his feels his own heart clinches painfully.

“You should probably just answer it.” Avery says firmly. Max cast him a sour look, but answers his phone with a small sigh, anyway.

Max’s mother asks him where he and Allie are at. And Avery is a little surprised at the tinny voice coming over the other end. He had expected something straight out of every movie he had ever seen about abusive parents. He expected Max’s mom’s voice to be smoke roughened, cold and harsh (and for some reason British). But the voice is shockingly like Allie’s. Soft, although a bit braver and kind. Max responds in the voice Avery knew growing up; cold and with just a hint of barely disguised furry. He tells her that it doesn’t matter, they’re fine. Max’s mother accepts his less than specific answer easily and then asks him if he could stay gone for another night, ”Just until Mike cools down.”

At that, Avery feels something black and gnawing in the pit of his stomach… a rage the he’s never been familiar with before, but feels natural. He feels the anger that Max should have felt at being so readily dismissed by his mother. He knew Max to be an angry person up until last year; someone cold and mean. But the way Max responds to her request, with detachment and acceptance, makes Avery want to scream for the boy that readily pressed him into lockers and stared him down with venom deep within his forest green eyes.

Also, it’s infuriating to him that she takes her husband’s, a drunk and a child abuser’s, needs above her children’s. He is so absorbed in his thoughts of protecting Max and Allie and feeling irate at this woman, that he doesn’t notice Max cast him a rather needless pleading look. Avery doesn’t respond, only kisses Max’s cheek as an answer. Max tells her gruffly that he can manage. And without even asking him where they’re staying or if they even have a roof other than the Chevelle’s over their heads, she says ‘okay.’ If that wasn’t bad enough, when Max tells her, rather gruffly that he has to go, this woman has the gull to say softly as Max holds out his phone, his thumb hovering over the ‘end call’ button, “I love you, Maxie.” Max doesn’t respond, just tosses his phone on the coffee table
with a grimace.

He tightens his grip around Avery’s waist and then turns up the TV when Avery tries to talk to him.

“Max has a sister? Does she go to school with you and Quinn?” His mother asks. Avery breathes a sigh of relief, happy that his mother is more interested in Allie than she is as to why two teenage kids are at their house uninvited.

“Uh, yeah. Allie is a freshman.” Avery quickly answers, and then he throws caution to the wind, “They were going to stay here tonight, is that okay?”

“Both of them in the guest room?” His mother answers a little skeptically. Avery swallows, hoping his mother will have that moment of, ‘oh yeah, son with his boyfriend’ but it never comes. Avery swallows again, gets off the couch and walks into the kitchen. Contemplates washing their breakfast dishes. Fiddles with the coffee maker. Opens his mouth and then close it, once, twice, three times.

“Avy? Honey, you still there?”

“Max is going to sleep in my room.” Avery blurts. Oh God, nice one.

“I mean, I’ll sleep on the floor, but Allie can have the guest room. Because Max will be in my room. So, he won’t need the guest room.” Avery babbles, red faced. From the other end of the phone his mother laughs, like a spring breeze though a wind chime. Musical and soft.

“Well, you’d have to be on the floor, honey. That bed’s not big enough for the both of you.” His mother answers, her voice light and teasing because his mother isn’t stupid. Avery decided to play dumb and readily agree.

“You know, Dad and I should get you a bigger bed. Quinn, too.” She adds as an afterthought. Avery wants to tell her that he likes his tiny bed, because it gives him an excuse to curl up close to Max and then wake up cradled against his chest. But instead he runs with it.

“Maybe if dad were to stop spending money on fancy business trips to Chicago we’d have enough money to buy a bigger bed.” He says without real venom. His mother laughs good-naturedly.

“Speaking of which, we’ll be another couple of days.” He mother says, and then, “Max and his sister…”

“Allie.”

“…Allie. Can stay for tonight, but dad would probably dislike coming home to four teenagers and a messy house.” His mother says a little sternly. Avery grins, and nods a little.

“Okay, mom.”

“Make sure you do the dishes and we’ll be home sometime tomorrow night. I love you, Avy.” His mother says. And Avery wants to tell her how much it means to him that she so willingly accepts Max (and even Allie, whom she’s never met) in their home and into their lives. He also is overcome with the strong urge to tell his sweet, understanding mother all about Max, and his less than happy home life. He wants to tell her that Max and Allie are staying at theirs because Max showed up bloody on their doorstep. He wants to ask her how she would have helped him. He wants to apologize for getting Max’s blood all over her washcloths.

But most importantly, he wants to ask, and beg for his mother to help him find a solution for this. He wants his mother to say that, yes, Max and Allie can move in. He wants for her to give Allie the guest room and let her paint it in shades of rosy pink (her favorite color) and buy her bundles of yarn in a rainbow of colors. He wants Max to move into his room; for him to bring his collection of classic rock CD’s and his closet full of flannels and concert shirts from the 70’s.

He wants his mother to buy a king sized bed and somehow get it upstairs.

But he knows that as much as he wants, as much as he begs for something to happen, it won’t. Their house is hardly big enough for the four of them, let alone two more people. And, yeah, his parents make enough money to support the two siblings; it’s unfair for him to ask. And, while Max is eighteen Allie isn’t. As much as her mother and stepfather seem to dislike having kids in their house, Avery’s sure they wouldn’t so willingly part with her. And Max would never let Allie live alone with them. Max would never accept anything, so long as Allie’s not taken care of.

He can hear the sound of their front door opening and closing, and then Max calling that food’s here. His stomach clenches when he thinks about how Max carefully took down Quinn’s order (Chicken and Broccoli, pork fried Lo Mein and an order of spring rolls) and then refused Avery’s debt card, kissing his forehead and walking out as Avery cried protests. He wants to cry. But instead he answers his mother.

“I love you too, Mom.”
_______

Sometime after midnight, Avery is struck by an idea.

Which is impressive, considering that he and Max are cuddled close in his bed, both sated and happy as sweat cools on their mostly naked bodies. Max is lying on his back, his boxer slung low over his hips, one arm wrapped around Avery with his hand carding through his sex messy hair (literally this time). Avery curls into Max’s side, his head pillowed on Max’s freckles chest. Avery’s room is dim, with only the electronic light of TV casting a faint blue glow around. Max is breathing deeply, teetering on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. And Avery isn’t far behind him; but in the middle of his sleepy, soupy thoughts something right on the edge of his thoughts, burns bright, and the edges clear and crisp.

“Max…?” Avery breathes, just in case that ma really is asleep. His pillow shifts slightly.

“Hmm?” Max hums to show that he’s at least listening. Avery swallows, here goes.

“What if… what if we found your dad? Like, you know his name and stuff. And maybe he could help you and Allie find a way out. He’s a lawyer, right?” Avery says, the edges of his excitement poking through the soft veil of his tone. Max is quiet for a long time, so long that Avery thinks that maybe Max really is asleep or he’s trying not to punch him.

“He was a lawyer. At least when he was with mom.” Max says gruffly, and then, “Av… he didn’t want us. He left us—“

“But what if he didn’t? You said that your parents weren’t Soul Mates, right?”

“No… Mom’s Soul Mate died when she was younger. But Av—“

“And you said that your mom partied a lot; that’s why your dad left.” Avery buts in; his idea growing sharper in the fog of his mind. He’s got a plan. He’s going to get Allie and Max help.

“Yeah, but—“

“So, maybe he didn’t leave you and Allie. Maybe he just left your mom. Did pay child support or anything? Because you and I, we could find him if we had an address or—“

“Avery, shut up.” Max says forcefully, effectively cutting Avery’s train of thought and making him feel deflated and rude. Avery burrows his face into Max’s chest.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…”

“I know, Av.” Max says softly, his hand running through Avery’s hair softly as an apology. Max squeezes him gently.

“I just don’t think dad wanted us. And yeah, he did pay child support… but he never wrote or called or anything. Not even a fuckin’ birthday card. So, ‘m not sure if that’d be a good idea.” Max says. Avery sighs, he has to fight this. He’s got to make sure that Max and Allie are safe and happy.

“But… But what if he did want to see you and Allie? Maybe… Maybe Mike stopped it. Or your mom?” Avery insists, under him Max shifts until he’s sitting up on his elbows and looking down at Avery with an unreadable expression on his face. Avery too looks up at Max, pleading heavy in his eyes.

“Why’s this so important to you, anyway?” Max asks his tone soft and disbelieving. Like he can’t possibly fathom why Avery cares about him or Allie. Avery looks at Max hard (or at least, the shape of his face) before he speaks. He wants Max to feel somehow, just through a look or the gentle stroking of his finger on Max’s forearm, how much Avery cares. How much Avery loves him and wants him safe and happy. How much it kills Avery to have to see Max, bloody and beaten and defeated.

“Because I love you…” Avery answers his voice strong like his feelings.

“And I want you and Allie to be safe. And if I see you like this—“Avery says, placing his hand gingerly on Max’s cheek, “—one more time, I’m going to go down to your house and I’m going to make sure Mike never touches you or Allie ever again. I promise you.”

Max stares at Avery for a long time; He’s never heard Avery like this. He’s heard him snarky and snide, and crying and hurt and even how he sounds right before he comes, breathy and whining. But never has he heard this much strength and determination, this much fight, this much love in his tone before. It makes Max’s chest expand, like his heart is too big to hold all the feelings his has when he even looks at Avery. Messy haired, beautiful eyed, and positively tiny Avery, who couldn’t make Mike do anything at all. But the sentiment is still there and it makes Max feel things he’s never felt before. Avery stares right back, his hand on Max’s bruised cheek, waiting for a response, but already knowing that he’ll do anything to protect Max and Allie. Finally, Max chuckles softly, his hand coming up to cover Avery’s.

“You’re gonna go defend my honor?”

“If I have to.” Avery says, his lip twitching. His rolls his hand over to twine with Max’s; their fingers lock into place, as if their very hands were meant to fit so snugly, so perfectly with one another. Max smiles, bright and laughing and shakes his head softly, hoping Avery can’t see the blush spotting his cheeks.

“Mike would kill you.”

“I know I guy that wouldn’t let him.” Avery says shrugging, his eyes bright with laughter. Max chuckles again, pulling Avery down on top of him.

“Yeah?” Max says softly, as Avery finds a comfortably spot, his head nestled under Max’s chin, their body facing each other, gripping on to each other tightly, “He’s a tough guy?”

“He likes to think he is. But he’s a push over.” Avery answers, grinning into Max’s neck. The quarterback laughs, booming and bright, kisses the top of Avery’s head.

“’m sure that he’d make sure you’d be fine.” Max answers softly, and then, “He loves you. A lot.”

“I love him too. Even if he’s a big softie.” Avery smiles. They lie there until, they’re both breathing softly; wrapped in the warmth and comfort of each other. Avery’s almost asleep when Max kisses the top of his head.

“Hey, Av?”

“Hmm?”

“We can try. I can try.” Max breathes in Avery’s hair, so soundlessly that Avery has to hold his breath just to hear. But he does. And when he does, he feels an overwhelming wave of joy wash over him. He presses a kiss, deep and full of love into the hollow of Max’s neck.

“If you’re sure.” Avery mumbles. Above him, Max nods.

“I’m sure.”