Date: Sun, 6 Apr 2008 16:01:27 -0700 (PDT)
From: justinr_88@yahoo.com
Subject: Love is All that Matters chapter 6

Do not read further if you are not of legal age to do so in
your country. All the usual disclaimers and copyright laws
apply. You may keep a copy of this story for personal, non-
commercial use, with appropriate credit to the Author. (See
the first installment for a more complete version of this
message.)


LOVE IS ALL THAT MATTERS
~ Chapter 6 ~


From the Narrative of Harrison Ridgeway IV:

I managed to get home before Mom woke up and came looking
for me. Needless to say, I was still so sleepy that even a
hot shower to wash off the sand didn't manage to keep me
awake. Remembering to put on some clothes this time, I
jumped into bed and immediately fell asleep. All thoughts of
Josh, Reid and my father faded into oblivion.

For the second time that morning, I found myself being woken
up. The bright sun shone directly into my eyes through the
open windows. I groaned and tried to cover my face with a
pillow, only to find it being pulled away.

"Get up already, it's ten in the morning," said my sister
Phoebe.

I glared at her. "Don't you have a job and a baby to look
after?"

"Yeah, well, my shift at the hospital starts in about half
an hour. I just came by to drop Alan off with Mom, and she
told me you've been sleeping a lot since you came home. You
slept yesterday afternoon, and then immediately after dinner
until now."

Not entirely true, but then they didn't know about my
midnight trip to the beach. "Oh, just go away," I grumbled.
"I don't want to listen to you bitch about my sleeping
habits. No wonder everyone complains about older sisters."

"Well I'm not going anywhere until you get out of bed. Mom's
been waiting with breakfast for you since eight. She made
your favorite pancakes since it's your first breakfast back
home."

"Alright," I groaned. I pushed the bedcovers off and started
to get up. Phoebe didn't move.

"Some privacy please?" I glared at her.

"For your information I've seen you naked before. And if I
leave now, you're probably going back to sleep."

"I was about two when you last saw me naked! And in any case
I'm not naked now. Now I promise I'm not going back to sleep
okay? Could you just shut the door behind you?"

"Fine," huffed Phoebe and got up to go. Then she paused.
"Why is there sand on your floor?"

Oops. "Erm . . . it must have been from my shoes." I quickly
changed the topic. "By the way, what time did you say it
was?"

"Ten o'clock."

"Shit! I meant to do something."

"And what might that be? Sleep some more?"

"Mind your own business. Now out. Shoo!"

"I'm not some animal for you to chase out of your room; I'm
your big sister."

"You're a witch, that's what you are."

Phoebe threw the pillow at me and left the room. "Thanks for
waking me up!" I yelled to her, but by then she'd gone
downstairs.

I grinned. Despite our frequent bickering, we really got on
quite well; better than most siblings I would say. Phoebe,
being five years older, was always protective of me. Now she
was married with her own child but she still had an almost
maternal streak when it came to me.

I didn't need to shower again, so I just washed my face and
put on fresh clothes before going down for breakfast. Dad
would be at his office by now, so I didn't need to see him.
As soon as I reached the breakfast table, Mom emerged from
the kitchen with a plate piled high with blueberry pancakes.

"They look excellent, Mom," I told her as she placed them in
front of me.

"Thank you, dear. And don't call your sister a witch."

Mom had supersonic hearing. I rolled my eyes as I replied,
"Okay, Mom."

She sat down opposite me, watching me gobble down the
pancakes hungrily.

"Did you eat properly in prison? You look half-starved. You
need to eat more."

"Mom! You know I've always been on the thin side."

"Well now that you're home, you could do with a good
feeding. So what are your plans for today?"

"I think I'll be out most of the day, Mom. But I promise to
be home for dinner."

Mom looked worried. "Harrison, you're spending a lot of time
out of the house since you got back."

"You don't need to worry, mom. I just have a couple of
things to do, that's all."

She didn't look very comforted.

"Don't you trust me to look after myself?"

Mom sighed. "I keep forgetting that you're a young man now.
Okay, but drive carefully and don't be late for dinner."

I smiled at her.

                            * * *

It hadn't been easy to get the address from Jack, my
family's attorney. He'd been most reluctant to give it to
me, saying that it wasn't a good idea. But I had to get this
off my chest. He'd relented at last.

So here I was, standing outside a two-storey apartment
complex on the beachfront, waiting to be buzzed up. I wasn't
sure I would be, but it was worth a try.

I pressed the button next to the nameplate that read,
"WINTERS, D."

A voice crackled over the intercom. "Hello?"

I cleared my throat nervously. "Uh, hi, this is Harrison
Ridgeway. I - well, you probably know me already, and I was
-"

"Come on up," the voice interrupted. The door clicked open.

I was a bit surprised at the abruptness of it. Still feeling
very tense, I climbed the stairs to the upper floor. By the
time I'd reached the top, the door of the apartment in
question was already open. I recognized the guy standing in
the doorway. He was the same age as me, and around the same
height. His dark-brown hair was messy, as if he hadn't
bothered to comb it in the morning. He had a slightly nerdy
appearance, but there was an attractiveness about him which
I hadn't noticed the last time I'd seen him.

"Hi!" he said cheerfully. "Come in. I know it's a bit
chaotic in here, but I'm trying to organize things."

If I had been confused earlier, now I was completely thrown
by his cheerfulness. Did he know who I was? I was sure he
wouldn't forget the face of the guy who'd punched him for
staring at him on that life-changing night. My confusion
must have been evident on my face.

"Don't worry, I do know who you are," he told me. "You were
the only guy who didn't run off and leave me there in that
alley."

I felt a lump in my throat. "I - I'm not sure we're on the
same page here. I came here to apologize, for hitting you.
And for doing nothing while those other guys beat you up."

There was still a slight smile on his face. "You've already
apologized."

"Huh?" What was he talking about?

"Before you punched me," he explained. "With your eyes . you
said sorry with your eyes. You have very expressive eyes,
you know."

I looked down, ashamed. "I still can't be forgiven for what
I did."

"You came here to apologize, but you didn't need to. I
forgave you a long time ago. I think what you need to deal
with . . . is forgiving yourself."

I looked at him. His face showed no animosity towards me;
only sympathy for the guilt he knew I must be feeling.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Dean smiled. "So do you still want to come inside?" I nodded
and followed him into the apartment. He'd been right about
the chaos. My fingers itched to set the living room back to
rights.

"Sit down." I obeyed. "What would you like to drink? I'm not
sure my kitchen is well-stocked but I could get you a soda
from the vending machine."

"No, it's okay."

"Alright then." He sat down on the couch opposite me. An
uncomfortable and prolonged silence ensued. I wondered what
the hell I was doing there. I was supposed to apologize and
hightail it out of there.

Dean was the first to break the silence. "You know, there's
no reason for you to blame yourself. Those bastards would
probably have bashed me without any reason. And I was
probably partly to blame for staring at you in front of an
obviously homophobic crowd. Why were you with them anyway?"

"I thought they were my friends. Michael - the leader of the
group - was my girlfriend's brother."

"A girlfriend, huh." Dean shook his head. "I should've known
better than to stare at you. But I thought you were too
pretty to be straight."

My head snapped up to look at him. He held up his hands in
front of him. "Sorry, didn't mean to offend you. I guess it
must be hard for a straight guy when another man is trying
to hit on him - not that I would know."

He thought I was straight. After he'd forgiven me so easily,
I guess I owed it to him to tell him the full truth. "I'm -"
I cleared my throat. "I'm not straight, Dean."

He drew his breath in sharply. "You're not? Then . . . oh."
He nodded in understanding. "Still in the closet, huh?"

I nodded slowly.

He shook his head. "Then it must have been hell for you. You
wanted to keep up appearances, while I was behaving like an
idiot who might've blown your cover."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want those guys to know I was gay as
well, so I had to do what they wanted, as much as I hated
it. And I can't blame anyone else except myself. You don't
know how sorry I am."

"Relax . don't get all tensed up about it. I mean, I'm not,
so why are you?"

Frankly I was amazed by how well he was taking all of this.
"I don't know why you aren't. I'm the bastard who caused you
to be in a coma for more than two months."

He patted my hand. "I spent those two months in a coma,
Harrison. I didn't really feel anything. But you had to
spend those months in a maximum-security prison. And it's
not as if you committed the crime for which you were
imprisoned."

"But I did commit a crime. I don't blame you, if you want to
hit me."


Dean appeared confused. "Why would I want to hit you?"

"Because of what I did to you. Don't you want to?"

Dean shrugged. "No, but if that's going to make you happy."
He drew his fist back. I half-closed my eyes, anticipating
the punch.

But it never came. Instead his hand gently brushed against
my cheek. I opened my eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want to hit you, Harrison. That'd be like . . .
destroying a work of art."

"You don't want to hit me?" I asked him in disbelief.

Dean laughed. "You almost sound as if you actually want me
to."

I looked down. "There's no way I can make this up to you."

"Coming here to apologize was enough."

"What about dinner?" I said suddenly, confusing even myself.
Where the hell did that come from?

Dean raised his eyebrows. "So, first you punch me, and then
you ask me out on a date?" I started to look down in shame,
but Dean added, "That was a joke. I know, I have a terrible
sense of humor. At least that's what my ex always said."

"Your ex?" I asked.

"Yeah, my former boyfriend. Cute as they come, but not
exactly the type to stick around. He decided to leave me a
few months ago. I guess I wasn't good-looking enough for
him."

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you," I
blurted out. Shit, that was a stupid thing to say,
considering that the last time I'd seen him, he'd been
bruised and bloodied. But Dean didn't take the comment
badly.

He joked, "Oh yeah, comas do a lot to improve your looks. If
not for the extended period of unconsciousness, I'd
certainly recommend them."

I laughed in spite of myself. I was really starting to like
him. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing.


"Okay, I'll give you my number and we can arrange a dinner
sometime next week?"

"Sure, I'm not free this week either. I really need to get
this place in order. What's the number?" I gave it to him.
He laboriously scribbled it down on a notepad, with his
tongue sticking (which elicited another grin from me) and
then looked up at me.

"So, can I call it a date?" he asked mischievously.

I don't know why I couldn't stop grinning. Dean was just so
cute and amusing. "Maybe," I said. "Okay then, I'll see you
next week."

"I'll show you out." He opened the door and led me down the
stairs. Meanwhile my mind was swirling. I was finding this
guy cute, and I hadn't denied it when he'd interpreted my
offer of dinner as a date. There was nothing wrong with that
I suppose, before one considered how our first meeting had
left him bleeding and near death in an alleyway.

I just didn't know what to think. Was this a positive sign,
that I was getting over Josh? But as soon as his name
cropped up, I remembered the passionate kiss we'd shared
only yesterday. Forgetting him wasn't going to be easy.
Neither was sorting out my love life.

Why does life have to be so complicated?



                    To be continued . . .


You can tell me what you think of the story by emailing me
at justinr_88@yahoo.com. Thanks for all your feedback. The
next part of this story should follow soon.