The Connection

“So you comin’ or not?”

The late October wind whips through the dying trees, giving Max’s words a harsh, hissing background. Fallen leaves stir around their feet; Max’s covered in hard soled boots and Avery’s bare, and freezing on his porch. He stares at Max like he’s grown an extra head. Which apparently is not the correct response, because at Avery’s confused stare a muscle jumps in Max’s jaw.

“Uh… shouldn’t you be taking Allie?” Avery inquires hesitantly. That too, is apparently incorrect because Max sighs in irritation and shakes his head. His hair has grown since this summer. It’s still shorter than Avery’s, but now it takes much more gel to keep his bangs upturned. The stands at the base of his skull flip outward at the ends, much like Allie’s.

“No. She’s not. I don’t want her to get her hopes up, he might be an asshole. I can’t have her meet him yet—“

“But I’m a perfectly good candidate to meet your estranged farther.”

It’s a gross understatement to say that Max and Avery are not the best at communicating.
This, like their mutual crushes and their disastrous return to school, they haven’t discussed. Not on the points that really matter, anyway. Avery knew Max called Mr. Matthews, sometime when his mother was working and Mike was at a bar. He knows that Mr. Matthews was pleasantly shocked to hear from his son, and eager to meet up. He knows that Max was going to meet him this weekend; at a fast food place in Champaign; a half way point between Max and his father (though not really. Avery checked the miles and Mr. Matthews is driving way more than his son).

Avery knows that Max is nervous, beyond nervous, really. He’s been messing up at practices and in games. The Vikings still have their position at the top of the high school football hierarchy (Max said the name once, but Avery can’t remember), but Max has been running extra drills during practice to atone. He comes to Avery’s at night, freshly showered, but exhausted. He usually accepts still warm leftovers from the Mrs. Reeves and then crawls into Avery’s bed to sleep for as long as Avery has the heart to let him. His head always cushioned on Avery thigh, as the younger boy does homework or sketches (mostly the angles of his sleeping boyfriend’s cheeks and sleep mussed hair).

And Avery thought Max was going to meet his father alone.

Max grasps his chin and tilts it upward. The retort Avery had now dies in his throat as he looks up and his soft green eyes. His fingers surprisingly aren’t cold. They’re warm from spending time fisted in his jacket pockets and carry the faint scent of motor oil and coffee grounds that seems to cling to Max’s body. Even when naked, covered in cooling sweat and wrapped in Avery’s laundry detergent scented sheets.

“I need you to come with me. If you do, I’ll know right away what kinda guy he is.” Max says lightly. Avery tilts his head as the words, the connotation seeping into his brain.

He should be angry. Really. It should be irritating and disrespectful to use Avery as an accessory. The scrawniest, most bottom-y bottom he could find in order to proclaim loud and clear to a father he can barely remember, Guess what, Dad? I like guys! Here look, I even brought on with me! And he knows that it’s probably unhealthy that with one look at Max, at his clear green eyes beseeching and not at all demanding, that he’ll say yes.

But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be a bitch about it.

“So, I’m like a big screw you to your dad.” Avery summarizes drily, looking up at Max. The quarterback flinches, as if physically smacked. His hand drifts to the back of Avery’s neck, careful and warm on the chilled skin. It feels like a claim, but the gentleness in the hold and the thumb, dipping beneath his collar to stroke the first knob of his spine, say it’s anything but.

“If you wanna look at it like that, then kinda.” Max says honestly, but his tone is not at all happy about it.

“But… I’ll know better. If he’s a dick to you, then I’ll know. And if ‘m gunna invite this guy into our lives, then he’s gotta be okay with you too.” Max says softly, he leans down, resting his forehead against Avery’s in a gesture that Avery has come to associate with Max needing him. Avery is the anchor that stills Max’s frayed nerves. As much as Max says he hates feelings and affection, he’s always the first to curl his hand in Avery’s, always the first to kiss him goodbye in the crowded hall, always there to question when Avery’s face betrays the slightest bit of displeasure. And he’s always there to spill his feeling too the shorter boy.

Max has gone his entire life caring for others. He’s spent his life living in a world devoid of hugging, slight brushes of thumbs on cheeks and kisses on the forehead. Avery, with every touch, every smile and laugh is building the family, the support that Max has always provided, but never had himself. Max is dependent on Avery’s love; like a fragile new sunflower, soaking up any warmth it can find. Avery’s hands find their way up, to cup Max’s stubbly jaw. He sighs. He’d always be willing to give Max whatever he needed, whatever he wanted. Maybe, they’re both unhealthy.

“And I’m a valuable part of your life?” Avery says teasingly, their noses rubbing the chill from each other’s. Max snorts, kisses his forehead gently.

“So yes.” Max mumbles, ignoring Avery’s mocking. They both know. Each turn of kindness, both in the relationship and out have woven their lives together. Max would die for Avery, and Avery would be right behind him.

“I’m not talking for you, though,” Avery grumbles, looking up at Max’s glowing face, “If I’m acting the part of doting girlfriend slash accessory, then I’m gonna do it right. I’m going to be silent. Just going to sit there and look pretty.”

“You’re always pretty.” Max snorts, a slight flush blooming in his cheeks. Avery (cheeks pinker than before) rolls his eyes, and steamrolls ahead.

“I’m going to wear Quinn’s jeans and I’m not going to wear a shirt. I’m just going to wrap myself in a Pride flag.” Avery continues, eyes shining. Max laughs a booming happy sound in the dying October sun.

“Wear Quinn’s jeans. But I like your purple hoodie. I can finda rainbow pin if you want.”

“I’m going to talk with an accent and only talk about musical theater.”

“You don’t like musicals. And I thought you weren’t gonna talk.”

“Fine then. Maybe I’ll just sit in your lap. And I’m definitely going to hold your hand.”

Max smiles at him through his laughter, his forehead resting on Avery’s and his spearmint breath puffing pleasantly over his face. Avery’s mask of seriousness is showing fine cracks in the way the corner of his mouth tilts upwards, the way his nose wrinkles with suppressed giggles.

“No lap sittin’ ‘til we’re in the car, at least. But hold my hand ‘til your heart’s content,” Max smiles, he presses a kiss to Avery’s forehead and then murmurs so softly, the sound is almost lost in the whistling October wind, “I’ll need it, too.”

They stand like that, forehead’s pressed and arms curled around each other until long after Avery’s lost feeling in his toes. Then Avery drags Max into the warm, pumpkin scented foyer of his house, and then through the kitchen. Mrs. Reeves isn’t fazed by the quarterback in her kitchen; she simply smiles and goes about fixing him a plate of leftover lasagna. When they’re both seated at the island, Max shoveling food into his mouth and Avery eating Max’s slice of garlic bread, Mr. Reeves wonders in.

The professor goes about making a cup of coffee, only engaging his wife in conversation. After the machine beeps and Mr. Reeves has his steaming mug in hand, his gaze finally settles on his son and his Soul Mate. He takes in Avery, already in his pajamas, and Max devoid of his usual jacket and boots, his socked feet on the floor. He snorts, taking a sip of coffee.

“You’re fortunate it’s Saturday, Avery.” He says drily and then leaves the kitchen.

But not before clapping both Max and Avery on the shoulder.
________

Max is eating a hole into the universe, Avery’s sure.

The restaurant they’re in is a blue and white colored chain with the standard burger chain menu. Which Max has been steadily working through since they arrived an hour ago. When the chipper blond at the register took their order, she seemed a little appalled. Max ordered their signature burger, loaded with bacon, cheese and onions. And then fries, and then onion rings and finally cheese curds. When the girl was frantically typing in his order, Max turned to Avery lifting his eyebrow as if to challenge him. Avery didn’t, just ordered chicken strips.

When the girl rattled off their impressive total, Max didn’t even look shocked. He just dug into his wallet and handed her the bills with a shaking fist.

The chose a seat near the window, and sat on the side facing the whole dining room. And when the food came on two full to bursting trays, Max didn’t even thank them, just tore into his burger.

“Should I get more food?”

Avery snorts into his soda.

“They won’t have any left.” He teases, trying to make the rigid line of Max’s shoulders and the steady drum of his nails on the tabletop relax.

“How are you still hungry?” Avery asks in disbelief, looking at the empty wrappers crumpled in a heap on Max’s tray. Max turns slightly pink and looks out the window for the millionth time.

“’m not. I just… I dunno. That ice cream stuff they have here looks good. Want some?” Max says, starting to stand at their table. Avery pulls on his hand, tugging the larger boy back down with surprising ease. He twines their fingers, strokes Max’s cracked knuckles with his thumb.

“Stop eating your feelings.” Avery says, not unkindly, “Take a deep breath, okay?”
Max huffs and rolls his eyes, but at Avery’s little pinch to the meat of his palm, he complies. He takes a few huffing, quick breaths and Avery can’t help but crack a smile at his stubborn boyfriend. Avery’s other hand finds the back of Max’s flushed neck. Max goes willingly, nervousness making him pliant and seeking some sort of comfort. Their forehead’s rest together and Avery presses a tiny peck to Max’s chapped lips.

“Now breath, you dork.” Avery says, laughter on the tail of his tone. Max quirks a smile despite himself, and does. His breath smells like onions and fried foods, but Avery doesn’t mind too much. Max continues to take deep breaths and then releases them on Avery’s command, their foreheads never moving.

“Better?” Avery prompts after a while. Max shakes his head, his forehead moving against Avery’s.

“’m sorry. Just nervous.”

“I know. You’ll be okay, though.”

“What if ‘m not?” Max mumbles helplessly, “What if he don’t show up? Or what if he says no? Av—“

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls Max and Avery away from each other. The fingers woven with Avery’s clench tightly, and next to him Max seems to stop breathing.

There’s a man, and a women in front of them. Both are impeccably dressed; the man in a blazer with no tie and the woman in a ruby red sweater and a beige scarf. In a way, this couple almost mirrors Max and Avery. The man is tall and broad across the shoulders, his hair short and dark blond under the dusting of salt and pepper gray. His jaw is squared and covered in a thick dusting of dark stubble, his nose straight, and his lips plump. But his eyes are what nail Avery. They’re just like Max’s; deep green with golden and brown flecks and long blond lashes. They even have the same thick dark brown eyebrows, both draw in confusion.

And if the woman is anything to go by, then Max and his dad definitely have a type. The woman is short and skinny, the top of her head brushing Mr. Matthews’ shoulder. Her hair hangs in supple waves of dark brown and her tastefully made up eyes are a rich blue. She’s pale and she (like Avery) is looking at her partner with concern.

“Jim?” She says finally, and her voice is musical, yet strong. She glances back at Max and Avery, her thin eyebrows knitted. Mr. Matthews clears his throat, his eyes looking a little wet around their rims. Words seem lost to him. Max clears his throat.

“Hey, Dad.” Max says finally, holding on to Avery’s hand so tightly, he can longer feel his fingertips. Max’s voice is cracked under its strong surface, and that seems to break Mr. Matthews out of his trace. He nods, clears his throat again.

“Can I—“He asks, his voice smoky with age and emotion, a dead ringer for Max’s own, “Can I hug you?”

And Max nods.

They’re the same height, but when Max wraps his arms around his father’s shoulders, Avery is reminded of a small child, finally seeing their dad after a long day at work. Mr. Matthews holds tightly to Max, his hand slapping him on the back and then clutching his worn flannel, like he might be lost if he lets go again.

“It’s good to see you, Maxie.” Mr. Matthews says his voice quivering as he rubs in between Max’s shoulders. Max must mumble something in the affirmative, because tears well up in Mr. Matthews eyes.

The woman smiles at them, tears in her own eyes. She glances at Avery and smiles at him too.

They pull away from each other, clapping each other on the back and smiling. Then Mr. Matthews looks at Avery, like he’s just noticed a skinny almost-doppelgänger of his wife.

“You don’t look like Allison.” He smiles jokingly. Max turns around, his cheeks pink and his eyes watery. He grabs Avery’s hand, sitting lonely on the table top and tugs him up. Avery goes and when standing, Max wraps a protective arm around his shoulder.

“This is Avery. He’s my Soul Mate,” Max hugs tighter, “And my boyfriend.”

Avery holds his breath, and next to him Max is a ball of tension. And Avery knows that should his father reject them, no reunion would make Max stay. Mr. Matthews stares, dumbfounded for a moment, and that moment seems to stretch and wind on forever. Finally, he offers a soft smile, not at all the tight uncomfortable thing that Avery had imagined and Max has feared. Mr. Matthews offers his hand to Avery, that same soft smile on his mouth. He looks remarkable like his son.

“Jim Matthews.” He says, and shakes Avery’s hand lightly, still smiling softly at Max’s arm throw like a shield over Avery’s small shoulders.

“It’s wonderful to meet you.”
________

They spend all afternoon in that little booth in the corner of the restaurant.

Max and his father talk endlessly, Avery and Andrea (“Its Andy.” The dark haired woman chided her husband when he introduced them) mostly smiling into their sodas and adding only little bits and pieces as Max and his father catch up on fourteen years of silence.

Jim (who, like his wife, refuses to let Avery call him Mr. Matthews) is ecstatic at Max’s football career. And Max finally having a male who appreciates football as much as he does soaks in his father’s interest like a sponge. Max entertains his father with stories of this football season, as well as past ones. Jim responds to every spectacular save, every near miss the same; with a booming laugh and genuine praise. The kind of which, Max has never received before.

They talk of Jim’s career as an Employment Rights lawyer. Jim talks about his career with the same enthusiasm that he shows his son’s football career. He’s truly happy to help people who have been wronged by big companies. He proudly tells Max that he helps all people; gay people and trans people, African Americans and little old ladies, and even people with mental disorders that won’t be hired because of their illness.

This conversation leads seamlessly into a discussion of Max’s own career path after graduation. Max shakes his head when his father asks what college he’s going to, and with some reluctance Max admits that he wants to be a mechanic. Surprisingly, Jim nods proudly.

“The Chevelle looks amazing, by the way.” He says, his thumb pointing out the window to the gleaming black vehicle.

Max’s smile is brilliant.

It’s when the conversation shifts politely to Max’s mother and Mike that things turn uneasy.

Max turns stony, as he alludes to the years of physical abuse he suffered at the hands of Mike. His shoulders become rigid once more and to ease Max’s subtle rage Avery rests his head on his shoulder. Andy covers her mouth and her eyes look tearful. Jim looks angry, his fist balled on top of the table and a muscle jumping in his jaw; it’s a type of silent rage that Avery knows well.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there, Max.” He says finally. And Avery can hear the sadness and the anger as if written in neon lights.

“But where were you?” Max counters, all the joy and easy conversation before, evaporated from the air. His voice shakes, rage and abandonment coloring his tone.

“It was hell for me ‘n Allie and you weren’t there. Mom said you didn’t want us, left in the middle of the night. No note, no calls, nothing!”

Jim’s brow wrinkles in confusion and then realization draws, tight and rigid on his handsome face. He sighs heavily, like a defeated man.

“She never gave you the birthday cards I sent?” He asks already knowing the answer and looking at Max with a careful eye. Max stops breathing next to him and a slight tremor of understanding travels through his fingers and into Avery’s.

“W-what?” Max whispers, looking aghast and so confused by this realization. Because it was so easy for Max to believe what his mother said; that his father left him. Avery curls his free hand into a fist. He never liked Max’s mother; but she was easy to explain. A poor woman left by her children’s father without word, only a pitiful child support payment each month. No cards and no Christmas presents. No help raising an aggressive little boy and a timid, sad little girl. She would be easy prey for a drunkard, a user. And her kids would be no different.

But now, Avery feels nothing but distain for the dark haired, freckled woman he’d met only once before.

Jim runs a hand through his hair in such a familiar gesture that Avery’s heart aches. Max could have had so much more. Without the weight of Allie’s protection and his mother’s blatant disregard, Max could have been the sweet, kind man that Avery had to fight so hard to know. He might have been set on a career in science or math where he excels. He might have become Avery’s friend back in grade school, along with Kat and Cooper. He might have answered Avery’s clumsy kiss in the bathroom with one of his own. He might have spent those years protecting Avery, instead of bullying him.

“Yeah. I sent you and Allie cards. Every year on your birthdays and Christmas, and even a few Easters. I kept doing it until Allie was about seven, then Mike called me. Told me you two didn’t want to hear from me, that I should just leave you guys alone.” Jim looks up from the table top, his eyes heavy with apologies.

“If I would have known Max, you and your sister would never have had to stay there. I would have fought for custody of you guys. I’m so sorry,” Jim says, his voice breaking slightly.

“I’d do anything to have a relationship with you and Allie. I’d move down here, if you wanted. You name it Maxie, and I’ll do it.” Jim says, his voice pleading. Max swallows his eyes teary. Avery gives his hand a little squeeze of reassurance.

It’s now or never.

“I… There is something.” Max’s voice is rough with emotion; he squeezes Avery’s hand back.

“Anything, son. Andy and I want to help.” Jim says. Max takes a shaky breath next to him, his body tight, his hand bruising.

“Allie. She can’t live there. Not anymore.” He says in one breath, he swallows, fighting the emotion swelling in his tone.

“I-I’m eighteen, so they can’t make me stay. But Allie can’t even drive yet, she’s fifteen and I can’t let her live there anymore. You’d have to get custody of her, but with Mike that shouldn’t be hard. I just… I’m gunna leave soon, and I can’t leave her there.” Max pleads, his voice stained and near hysterical. He looks between his dad’s and step mother’s stony faces.

“I have a job. I can pay for her stuff, whatever she needs, but all ‘m askin’ is you give her a place to live. Please, she—“

“Honey… stop.”

Everyone looks towards Andy. The dark haired woman is smiling sadly, rich blue eyes shining with tears. She reaches for Max’s hand. Her pale, delicate hand looks so small in Max’s freckled, meaty one.

“We’ll do it. We’ll help you guys out.” She says softly, not bothering to look towards her husband for confirmation. But, she must know she doesn’t need to.

Jim is nodding his head, some of his artfully styled hair falling into his eyes, only to be swept away again. He places his hand over his wife’s and Max’s.

“I know a really good family lawyer. He’ll be able to do it. He’ll make it quick, too. We can get her out of there before you graduate.” He says, his words falling rapidly. But Avery isn’t sure Max understands them. The quarterback looks stunned, his cheeks pink and his eyes filled with tears. Max blinks rapidly, willing the tears to stop.

But they don’t.

At seeing his son’s stubborn tears, trailing down his freckled cheeks, Jim Mathews starts to cry too. The man in front of them huffs a laugh, a single tear making a path down his lined cheek. He pats Max’s hand; a steady tempo that Avery can image he patted on Max’s back when he was a baby. Just a chubby thing with freckles and curious green eyes.

“I won’t leave you anymore, Maxie. Or Allie. I just…” Jim swallows his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he wills the emotion down.

“I just hope you can forgive me. For not being there when you needed me.” Jim says heavily, smiling sadly. It’s a promise, one that Max believes. One that he’s needed for fourteen years. The man in front of them is here, and Max’s fears are gone for the time being.

“I love you, Maxie. Okay?” Jim says, his voice breaking, but his smile bright.

Max nods, tears streaming down his pink cheeks.