Green Pastures 3

I'm tentatively labeling this chapter three, but there are significant pieces that have been glossed over between chapters two and three. Maybe someday there will be something in-between. 

Green Pastures 3

Tilden had been standing too long at the study door. Milton would see him. The man had eyes in the back of his head or at least some sort of overdeveloped sixth sense. 

Milton was older now, his dark curls more grey than the black-brown of his youth. Lines crawled down his forehead and etched like bird’s feet from his eye. He talked often now of shaving his beard. He’d grown it at twenty in a desperate attempt to look older and not like a ruddy cheeked boy just off the farm. Later he’d called it his intellectual pretense, a beard to tug when he wanted to look thoughtful. Now he called it white and mercilessly teased himself about being an overgrown elf in some Christmas pageant.

He was still gorgeous, still in Tilden’s mind’s eye the boy who had smiled across the table at him and whispered sly comments about the dullness of the history professor. Milton worked at his broad shoulders and trim waist now. His body had none of the scent of new mown hay or the rippling strength of carrying buckets of half-frozen water over a snow-encrusted path. It had been years since Milton had sold his grandfather’s farm and more years since Tilden had been there. Milton had dragged Tilden there one summer in one of Tilden’s fits of academic dizziness that erupted every six months during his torturous progress in graduate school. Tilden had hoped he would stay, gone as a willing hostage to his unanswered love, and been disappointed at the chaste kiss on his cheek when Milton left the next day. Old Mr. Brown, a fearsome man even as stood gnarled with arthritis, had counseled patience.

“The boy’s stubborn. He’ll see for himself soon enough.”

Soon enough, years and a retinue of others hadn’t been what the older Brown meant. Tilden had Milton now. He’d felt those lips on his; he’d lain under that great mass of muscle and temper, but it wasn’t twenty-five years ago. They couldn’t change all that had happened between those longing looks of near teenagers and the complications of men who had already lived a good deal of their lives.

“Tilden, you’ve lived here far too long to be hovering in the door.” Milton’s voice held the same forcefulness and humor that had captured Tilden the first time he’d heard it. “Come in. I’ve got plenty of youngsters who can hide behind doors and give me alluring looks.”

“Yes, sir.”

Milton’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he turned and pushed away from the desk, his full attention on Tilden. Sir wasn’t common off Tilden’s lips, maybe if forced into a Green Mountain Boy event or under Gordon’s sharp glare, but otherwise Tilden spoke to Milton as an equal. Laughable enough. He was a submissive. He bowed to Milton’s will and had been doing it for years.

“Here.” Milton pointed at the floor with a flick of his hand.

Tilden enjoyed being on his knees, feeling the caress of Milton’s hand on his head or the back of his neck, knowing he had Milton’s attention even if he were reading or grading papers. Now Milton wasn’t grading papers or flipping through some book. He was watching Tilden with unflinching dark eyes. His hand dropped on Tilden’s neck as he sank to his knees.

“Boy, what do you need?”

Tilden shook his head. Nothing. He’d had all sorts of words prepared, but now they fled. He could spew out some Russian folk saying, but Milton would jerk him up short. Landon had put a stop to Tilden’s hiding behind all things Russian with a sharp analysis which was too blunt to hide or laugh away.

“We’re alone here.” Milton moved his hand to stroke the sensitive spot behind Tilden’s ear.

That was true enough. Austin and Sheldon were off with Austin’s wonder boy rescue. Well, Milton’s now. He’d made it all happen. He, on his white charger, had rescued the kid’s sorry ass, managed to get him a late withdraw from school, and packed him off to Gordon and Landon and the charms of whatever young dominant he could find. The kid had fallen hard for Milton, didn’t they all. At least Sheldon had satisfied his infatuation for young ones after Austin and had almost shoved the kid out the door. Poor Sheldon, he’d taken the brunt of Tilden and Milton’s extended midlife crisis. 

“Not everything’s about sex,” Tilden snapped in a peevish voice that would have sounded better on Austin or any other kid that still looked forward to birthdays.

“You haven’t been around Landon enough,” Milton said with fondness in his voice, his fingers still stroking Tilden.

“He’s probably already in Joe’s pants.”

“Tilden.” Milton’s fingers wrapped in Tilden’s hair, a painful grip and a raw reminder of the power that was interwoven in their relationship. “Landon is promiscuous. It is understood in his relationship with Gordon. He doesn’t touch what other’s own, and he doesn’t rape anyone.”

“I never said that,” Tilden said, feeling about two as the sharpness and insecurity of his reply hit his own ears. 

Milton maneuvered the chair, its legs scraping over the wooden floor. Strong fingers grasped Tilden’s chin and forced his head up. “What is with you?”

“Nothing.”

Milton gazed at Tilden’s face for a long moment. “That’s twice now.”

“Twice what?”

“Twice that you’ve lied to me. Twice you’ve solicited my attention and pushed me away. This is not how this is played and you know it. Are you looking to be punished? I can cane you without you having to make me angry or twist yourself into knots. There is nothing shameful about liking a few stripes from your lover. Haven’t I taught you that?”

“You’ve taught me a lot.” The words poured and tumbled from Tilden’s throat in uncontrollable spurts. “You taught me we can’t be those twenty somethings again, unattached with our lives in front of us. Life went on. We made lives. We can’t turn the clock back or twist the world into a different shape. I love you. I’ll always love you.” Tilden ran a hand over his face, willing the tears away. “Mike’s leaving. You’re pushing him away. Luke doesn’t know where he fits. You’re with a kid that’s young enough to be my son. He’s younger than the kids we teach.”

“Same age now.”

“I can’t go to bed with someone who looks at me to help with his homework. We parented the kid.”

Milton stood and pulled Tilden to his feet. He guided Tilden to the sofa, his hand on Tilden’s arm not cruel, but not kind either. His face was blank as if it were carved out of the granite boulders that littered the farms of Vermont. He opened a drawer of the tall wooden filing cabinet that stretched to the ceiling. He tossed three manila folders on the desk. 

“We’ll need a notary. Do you think you want a lawyer?” Milton’s voice was flat and remote, the life gone from it.

“What?” It wasn't articulate, but Tilden’s mind fought to follow the conversation. Nothing was making sense.

“We’ve lived together for a long time. It will be complicated. I’ll give you the house, of course. I have somewhere else to go. Give me a week or so to get it organized.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Tilden shot to his feet. His voice rose with each word. “You—“

“Tilden, you consider me a pedophile. That is not a successful foundation for a relationship. I’ve hurt you enough over all these years. I want to make this easy.”

“No!” Tilden grabbed onto Milton’s hand, hanging on as if it were a life ring in the expanse of the ocean. “No!” He flung the files to the floor. “You’re the rational one. You don’t do anything rashly. Don’t do this! Don’t do this to me. I didn’t mean those words.” Tilden panted as if he’s been running for miles. He spewed more words, apologies that made no sense, pleas that were incoherent.

“Tilden, stop.” The shake was only a fraction of Milton’s strength. 

Tilden found himself back on the sofa. His back hit the too stiff velvet cushion. Milton dropped to his knees, eyes wet and haunted searching Tilden’s face. “I didn’t mean it.” Tilden shut his eyes and let a tear escape.

“My love.” Milton’s finger tracked across Tilden’s face, catching the drop of wetness. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Tilden repeated.

Milton sat back on his heels. “Maybe not those exact words, but I’m not blind. What might have been cannot be. We are not unencumbered. This relationship sails from shoals, to reefs, to storms. We cannot continue.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“I will leave. The college won’t object. My other activities make them wary.”

“Mike?”

“The man who he’s been meeting when he goes with Ryan to do the demos will take him. He’s a decent sort. I’ve met with him. Only Mike thinks it’s still some sort of secret.”

“Luke?”

“It’s you he loves, not me. I scare him.”

“I’m not a dominant.”

“He refuses to accept his submission beyond some fairy tale. He’ll be fine.”

Tilden couldn’t make the words leave his throat. What about him? He was a submissive, and now he would be without a dominant.

“Tilden.” Milton kissed the khaki covered knee. “I asked you for too long to pretend one thing when you were another. And now I’m asking you to pretend again. You love me, but you love the memory of me at twenty when you would have been the only one, when your submission could be private and discreet. I’m not that. I do all these things you hate. I take children to my bed. I flaunt my dominance. I am close to Gordon and Landon. I come with too much that you hate. The past is gone.”

“I want the present.” Tilden reached forward and stroked the graying curls. “You shouldn’t be on your knees. It feels wrong.”

“I won’t use my power as a dominant here.”

“That’s why I love you,” Tilden said softly, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me go.”

“Tilden, I can’t change Austin’s age. I can’t make Luke love me. I can’t change anything. How can I make you happy?”

“Being without you isn’t going to make me happy.”

“I heard your words, Tilden.”

“Austin, shouts stupid stuff at you all the time. Mike is worse.”

“Austin is twenty and Mike is looking for a rise. You are neither. You are a conservative and wonderful boy from the Midwest. I’ve loved you. I’ve always loved you, but I’m not your prince charming.”

“You are.” Tilden leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “Punish me. Forgive me.”

“I don’t think I can,” Milton said coming to his feet.

“Why? Please?”

“Tilden punishment is a game or maybe sometimes a code known only to the participants. You weren’t playing. You weren’t pushing my buttons to get a rise. You hurt me.”

“I know.” Tilden stared down at his own knees. He’d chosen those words to hurt. He’d been trapped in an anger he didn’t understand, an anger that had broken as Milton had tossed those documents on the desk.

“You need help with the guilt?”

Tilden nodded.

Milton tugged on his beard. “I don’t know.”

“Please.”

“Tilden, I don’t know if you’re the right type of submissive for this, if I can't create the right headspace. It’s just a cruel beating if I can’t. Plus, you’re not the only guilty one. I’ve failed you, and I’ve failed Luke and Mike more.”

“I’ve given Luke a place to hide.”

“I’m the dominant. I should have worked around it.”

“Doesn’t Gordon beat you for those God like pronouncements?”

“Brat,” Milton said, a fraction of his usual humor back in his voice. “Tilden.” Milton put his hand on Tilden’s shoulder. “You have to let me think about it. I have to be in the right headspace too.”

“OK.” Tilden pulled the hand forward and kissed the knuckles. “I trust you, sir.”

Almost two weeks had passed. Tilden ran his finger around the glass. He’d let his tea get cold.  Two weeks and he hadn’t managed to face Milton. Yes, they’d talked; they even had serious conversations, but that inglorious moment in the study hung between them. Milton was affectionate in that casual way he was with everyone. Strangers called him cold and stern, but anyone who knew him even slightly knew the falseness of that reputation. Milton touched. He kissed a cheek or ruffled his fingers through stray locks of hair or draped an arm over shoulders. He still touched, but he touched Mike also, and Mike was leaving.

Tilden swirled the dark, cold tea. He’d been made to sit through it, a victim of Milton’s logic.

“He came as your boy. No matter where you stand now, you still have some responsibility for his future.”

They’d sat at this very table, Mike looking so very young again as he’d fiddled with his soda can and refused to make eye contact. He’d wanted cut loose. That had been obvious enough, but he’d been furious over the spying as he called it.

“I didn’t break a letter of my contract. I’ve not been unfaithful. Don’t you trust me?”

Milton had sat quietly though the near riot, his face impassive. He’d finally spoken when Mike had fallen silent in a teenage pout. “It was Ryan who made the first contact. He wanted to make sure you were safe. This dominant shows up at all the seminars where you’re one of the demos. He’s cautious that way. He thought you might have a stalker.”

“Hawthorne is no stalker,” Mike had said savagely as if willing Milton to start a fight with him.

“I know. He came to me, Mike. Ryan told him you were taken, and he called me.  I went to meet him, several times. He wants you, even though all he’s ever done is play with you under Ryan’s supervision and taken you to a few harmless dinners and a baseball game.” Milton had paused, his hand clenching and unclenching around his own can of soda. “He’d be a good match for you. Is that what you want Mike?”

“You’re throwing me out. I know when I’m not wanted,”

Milton had reached across the table and grasped Mike’s wrist. “You’re wanted, boy.” He’d reached up with his other hand and stroked the five studs in Mike’s ear. “You’re wanted, but here you can only be one of five. I can’t change that.”

“I’m not doing it for attention.”

“Mike,” Milton had said with both sadness and weariness in his voice, “if I thought for an instant this was attention seeking, I’d beat you black and blue and then punish you for real. We didn’t choose each other. I know where your relationship is with Tilden and Luke. Is this what you want? Not what you committed to, not what you know is safe, but what you want?”

Mike had turned his soda can and stared at it with blank eyes. “I came back before.”

“I put pressure on you to come back. You are neither the boy nor the man you were then. You know who you are as both a man and a submissive. I will not trap you. I will not hold you against your will.”

Mike had looked at both of them, dark eyes behind dark brows. His eyes had gone back to Milton, a glimpse of vulnerability before he hid everything.

“Tilden, I have this from here.”

Tilden didn’t know what had been said from there. He only knew that they’d both had red rimmed eyes and Mike’s ear was bare. Sheldon’s sport of harassing Mike stopped. Mike was silent at meals, frequently not showing for dinner, but Milton said nothing. Mike moved to the guest room and kept his door shut most of the time. Mike had never managed to speak to Tilden or Luke directly, but had left a letter to each of them on the bureau. He had Milton’s blessing to go, and Tilden guessed in some ways that was all that mattered. He would be gone permanently once he found a job in Omaha, Hawthorne’s home city.

Tilden shook himself, lifted the glass and choked down a swallow of his now cold tea. That had been his debacle. Mike had been his responsibility, his lover at least at first. Tilden could hardly remember that long ago. Luke and Mike had both been so young. Had he ever loved Mike or had Mike just been with Luke? Mike was never sweet. He never had the gentleness of Luke, but Luke had loved him for a least a while, his first real lover. It was Milton who’d dealt with Mike, even when they were pretending to be separate households. Milton had dominated Mike. Tilden saw that now, looking back on it with clearer eyes. It was Milton now who was doing everything. Moving Mike to a new dominant left Tilden with a bad taste in his mouth. It felt like an arranged marriage, but he guessed Mike was all right with it. He didn’t seem angry, and he wore his anger loud and clear. No one could miss it. Milton was no longer sir, but Mike was polite enough, even kissing Milton’s cheek as he scrambled out the door in the morning.

“How cold is your tea?”

“How long have you been standing there?” Tilden glared at Milton, not that his glare could chase off a fly. 

“Long enough to see you grimace when you took a swallow. Long enough to know you’re brooding.”

“Why shouldn’t I be brooding? You let him go.” Tilden snapped his fingers. “Poof he was never here.”

Milton walked over to the table and sat down. “Mike and Luke were both very young when they first came here. Neither of them signed up for me. Needs change. He had no relationship with you, and as far as I can tell beyond pushing Luke for a quick fuck occasionally, he has none with him. Besides me, he is closest with Sheldon, and their relationship needs a referee half the time. I like Mike.” Milton stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I love the boy in a way, but he’s not a boy I would have ever chosen. He’s fun to play with, but he’s not fun to live with. You live with me. I’m head of the Green Mountain Boys. My submissives must not be at war with me half the time. He’s insecure, even after all these years he’s still insecure, and I can’t change that. I have four others. For both him and Luke it’s hard. Sheldon was already mine, I’ve known you for years, and I chose Austin. Where does that leave them? Knowing they came with you.”

“Do you want Luke out?”

Milton reached across the table and brushed Tilden’s hair back from his forehead. “I think Luke would prefer that I kept walking until I came to the end of the world and then walked off. He loves you. The rest of us, he does a good job at invisibility.” Milton paused and stroked Tilden’s cheek. “It’s not healthy.”

 “You need to talk to him.”

“I have, Tilden. Over and over. He doesn’t hear or doesn’t listen. I’ve been gentle and patient until I can’t see straight.”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“Tilden, I never have.” Milton sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I treat the boy like blown glass, and maybe that’s the problem. He can’t live in this limbo. He’s either only your lover and lives here because I’m your dominant or he’s my submissive and heeds me. I’ve given him space and space. He needs a push.”

“He’ll leave.”

“If you’re sure of that, he needs to come to me and tell me he’s not a submissive. Every time I’ve pushed him that way he’s been back like a cursed boomerang. I’m not playing this game any longer where he’s a submissive when he wants a shoulder to lean on and beats a retreat when I ask for something. He’s a sweet and brilliant man, but he makes me dizzy.”

“He’s afraid of you.”

“He needs to get over it. It’s not like he just met me.”

“You’re intimidating.”

“Tilden.” Milton rose from the table, his movements stiff and contained. He grabbed a glass from the shelf and filled it with water. “Are you telling me that you’re afraid of me?” Milton didn’t turn around. He propped his hands on the sink and looked out the kitchen window.

Tilden swallowed another gulp of cold tea. “When you’re like this…” 

“Like what?” Milton spun around. “Do I terrify you also? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“No.” Tilden couldn’t meet those fierce, dark eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” Tilden pushed back from the table. He needed space. Milton would blow over; he always did. He always apologized for the edges of his temper, and they would laugh about it later. He always took care of everything.

Milton stalked closer. His hands pressed on Tilden’s shoulders, pinning him to the chair. “No, you’re not afraid? Well, maybe you should be. I’m a human being. I’m a fucking dominant. I have wants and needs also. It isn’t all about you or Luke. It’s supposed to be about us.”

The silence hung in the kitchen, oppressive and suffocating. Tilden wished for any distraction, even Sheldon and one of his childish pranks would be welcome.

“Shit.” Milton collapsed into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Milton groped for Tilden’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I love you, damn it. Why does this have to be so hard anymore?”

Tilden stroked his thumb over the hand of the man who had been there for almost as long as Tilden could remember. Milton had always been his rock. Even in college when they were both impossibly young, Milton had plans. He’d been the secure and confident one. He’d been the one who had prodded Tilden through his insecurities.

“I don’t want to leave,” Tilden murmured, wondering if Milton could hear the words that felt trapped in his throat. “I love you. I need you.”

“Tilden, I’m not the man who you imagined for so many years. I’m not your prince to sweep you off your feet and live happily ever after. I have warts and flaws.”

“I like you better for them.”

Milton shook his head and pulled his hand away. “You’re like Luke. You want a hero in a cape. I am flesh and blood.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Do either of us?” Milton shoved his hands through his hair, still thick despite his age. “Times change us. We tried to have what might have been when we were twenty. We’re not twenty. We might have hated it even when we were twenty. We can’t go back.”

Tilden reached for Milton, resting his hand on Milton’s arm. “We can go forward. I love you.”

“Maybe love is not enough. We have to be compatible.”

“We’ve shared the same house for umpteen years, and you think we aren’t compatible. Your stubbornness is legendary, but this takes the cake.”

“My dominance has too many hard edges. You don’t want that.”

“No, Milton. You’re a caretaker. Mike left because of that. He hated it.”

“Mike left because he needs to be the one and only, not one of many.”

“No.” Tilden shook his head. “He left because you wouldn’t stay out of his head. He wants to play, he wants to have wild sex, but that’s where his submission ends. You’re a control freak. You push Luke away because he wants his hand held, but that’s what you do for Sheldon and Austin. Sheldon doesn’t exactly process the world like a normal person, and Austin has only just left childhood. You care for them.”

“They understand the exchange,” Milton said through tight lips.

“Meaning they get a kick out of your sexual domination and about open displays of submission. Submission isn’t only about sex. I’ve heard you say that yourself.”

“You’re sexually submissive. You’re not an exhibitionist and you’re repressed as all get out.”

“Not all of us are Gordon who would fuck himself on a garden gnome. You aren’t Gordon. I’m sure not Landon. Gordon’s dominance is all about what works for Landon. It’s not the only model. I’m not naive about you. I know what I give up every time I say yes to you. I know the wrong asshole could hurt me badly, but you don’t.”

“I’ve hurt you plenty.”

“Both of us were young and stupid. I’m as responsible as you were. To call that all your fault makes me the weakling, the helpless creature, you rail against. You should beat the stuffing out of me for lying to you and myself all those years. I knew I was lying. I’m the guilty party.”

“I don’t want to beat you.”

“Why not? I called you a pedophile. I’ve been impossible to live with. I’m only half truthful. You beat Austin for far less.”

“Austin understands the rules. You don’t.”

“I do. Only my rules need to be different. I need your shelter and your strength. I’ll take what is deserved in exchange.”

“That’s not an exchange I’ll make.”

“Why not? It’s not only about sex and games with you? Look at your boys. It’s just more obvious with me or Luke. Get over yourself. I know what I’m getting into.”

“No one should give that sort of sovereignty away.”

“And nobody should beat his lover bloody. Nobody should own a slave.”

“It’s their choice,” Milton snapped back, his hand tight on chair back beside him. 

“My choice also. I’m not a child who needs protected from himself. I’ve had years and years of test driving. Nothing you do will be a surprise.”

Milton stared at the worn surface of the table, his eyes studying the ring from a hot skillet years ago. “You don’t need me to organize your life.”

Tilden smiled, a smile that he knew was soft and glazed with a bitter sweet fog that filled his brain. “Maybe I don’t need you to, but I want you to.” Tilden rubbed his thumb over the rim of the glass. “I can make my own breakfast, get myself to work, pay my bills, but I am a herd creature. I don’t want to be in front of the herd. I want to follow, and I’ve picked you.”

“I might not be the best one to pick.”

“Bullshit!” Tilden came to his feet. “We’ve been together a quarter of a century. Don’t go telling me you’re too dangerous for me or too dominant for me. Do you still think I’m that naive twenty year old? I know what goes on in these relationships. Maybe my hard limits are different than most. You act like Ryan, and I’ll call the cops.”

“Ryan’s a great dominant.”

“For Blade. He’s an overgrown, patronizing ass with me. I’m repressed and afraid of my own sexuality because I don’t want to be paraded around naked with stripes on my ass or at least that’s Saint Ryan’s view.”

“Sit down.”

“Make me.”

Milton turned and gave Tilden a long look. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to force you to your knees like some wet behind the ears submissive who doesn’t know his head from his ass? You’re no brat, Tilden, and shouting at me isn’t going to change that.”

“At least you understand that, you idiot,” Tilden yelled. “You and Sheldon had it down to an art form.”

“It was a game. We both understood the rules.”

“Yeah, right. I saw Sheldon when he was twenty. You were holding that kid’s shit together. He was a menace to himself and to the world. God only knows what would have happened to him if his desperation hadn’t soothed your soul about running his world. Well, fuck it. That’s all I ever wanted from you.”

Tilden knew he was crying. He could feel the wetness of his cheeks and taste the salt in his mouth. He should wipe his face. He should pull himself together, but damn he was tired of pulling himself together. He was tired of being the only adult in the room.

“Come here.” Milton’s voice was rough, his grip rougher. His hug surrounded Tilden, squeezed him from all sides. “You want me to run your life when I’ve made a total mess of it for twenty-five years? That doesn’t seem like good judgment.”

“I don’t care,” Tilden said and buried himself deeper into Milton’s arms. “I want it. Please.”

Milton pushed Tilden to arm’s length. “I don’t know if I can. It’s too much power.”

“Sheldon has to ask you for lunch money, and this is too much power?”

Still holding Tilden firmly with one hand, Milton traced his hand down Tilden’s cheek. “He’s excited by that, by the possession, by feeling owned. It’s different then. I don’t see that with you.”

“I’m not up for your sexual marathons, so I get nothing. I’m a submissive. You’re a dom. What is so damn hard about this?” Tilden knew his voice was rising again and that he was losing his rationality. Everybody always thought he was so steady and so rational. Had it always been an act? He’d always turned himself into whatever people wanted to see. To his father, he was the great scholar. To his mother, the sweet and perfect boy and to the man he’d loved for more years than he could count the placid and together friend. 

“Tilden, you’re a capable man. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m thinking clearer than I have for twenty-five years.” Tilden jerked from Milton’s hold and stormed to the other side of the kitchen. With a clatter, he grabbed a glass and held it under the tap. He drank it down, not registering until the final swallow that it was lukewarm. Unable to turn around, unable to make eye contact, Tilden counted the glasses on the shelf. He counted them in English and Russian and in Ukrainian. “I’ve been what everybody wants of me. Now I want something.” He was up to twenty in Tatar. He couldn’t speak the language, but he could count and say hello. “If you can’t do it, I need to find someone who can. I deserve that.” Tilden’s voice broke. He bent and splashed water on his face.

“Tilden, what you’re asking—“

“I know it’s impossible. You’ve already told me that a thousand times. You can’t bend yourself that way.”

“I can’t hurt you.”

“And you think this doesn’t hurt.” Tilden grabbed a dishtowel, wiped his face, and tossed the ball of cloth to a far corner. “I’ve had enough hurt for a lifetime.” He turned, still not able to look at the man who he’d wanted for so many years. “I don’t want the house, too many memories. I’ll get an apartment.”

“Tilden.” The word was a pistol shot. “Don’t you even consider making these decisions in a fit of temper. Corner. Over there.” Milton’s hand propelled Tilden forward. “Hands on your head. Don’t you dare turn around.” One hand held the back of Tilden’s neck, the other landed on his thigh. “Be still. You know how this is done, boy.”