Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2003 08:56:26 -0800 (PST)
From: Brandon Kies <brandonkies@yahoo.com>
Subject: Right For Me - Chapter 1

Author's Note:

This isn't my first attempt at writing or posting to
Nifty, but it's my first attempt at anything for the
boy-band area.  I have to admit it took me a long time
to actually read any of the stories in this area.  I
made some assumptions about the genre that took a bit
to get over.  Once I did though, I couldn't stop.  I
think some of the best writing on Nifty is in this
area, and so I finally decided to join the ranks of
some of my favorite authors and post.  Any comments or
encouragements would be appreciated.  I'm more than
willing to accept criticism or suggestions, but please
no flames.

Disclaimer:

This story is pure fiction.  I don't know any of the
guys from `N Sync and my writings should in no way
imply anything about their sexuality.  Please do not
post this story with out first receiving my
permission.

I pulled over to the side of the hill and put my jeep
in park.  I spent a few moments looking down at my new
home, wondering for the millionth time if I was doing
the right thing.  Glancing at the sprawling ranch
before me, I hoped that I hadn't made the wrong
choice.

I had to admit the place was impressive.  Rolling
green hills surrounded the farm buildings.  Buildings
obviously well tended, and maintained.  A small creek
meandered throughout the property, emptying merrily
into a small pond; a splash of blue that broke the
monotony of those endless shades of green.  I'm sure
during the spring flowers were abundant.  It just had
that feel to it, a small island of luscious foliage
that belonged more in the hills of Ireland.

I have to admit the rolling pastures and hills
surprised me.  I hadn't realized that Florida would
have such interesting landscapes.  I'd imagined flat
land as far as the eye could see; acres of orange
groves, the monotony only broken by swamps filled with
alligators.

 The ranch looked rustic, a place completely out of
time.  Although there were signs of modern intrusion;
power lines, telephone poles, paved roads.   These
concessions to industrialization were minimal.  The
infrastructure that butchered the landscape had
obviously been designed to be as unobtrusive as
possible.  Man had left his mark at this ranch, but he
had done so grudgingly.

It was June; the middle of the day, and the heat was
sweltering.  I felt a bead of sweat form and trickle
down my back slowly.  Even so, there was a light
breeze that stirred the air and sent the foliage
before me to undulate and dance lazily.

There was the obligatory red barn, but other than the
house itself, I was at a loss as to the purpose of the
other buildings.   One appeared to be a single story
office complex, with an abundance of windows.  The
edifice was a caricature of steel and glass, and
contrasted almost painfully with the rustic quality
the other buildings possessed.

And there was a low wooden building.  It was massive,
surrounded by wooden gates and a manicured lawn, it
was an architectural focal point , and appeared as if
the ranch and it's activities revolved around it.  If
I hadn't known better, I would have assumed it was a
horse race track.  It appeared to have an oval track
and starting gates.  The infield had a glorious water
feature, but I wasn't sure exactly what the gates and
poles were for.

It was there that I saw my first signs of activity.
Men were sitting on wooden fences, walking in and out
of the building and leading horses around on tethers.
 I couldn't make out features or voices, but even from
my rather distant vantage point, I was able to tell
who was orchestrating the activities for the small
army of men at work and at rest.

Taking a deep breath I changed perspective, allowing
the sights, sounds and smells of my surroundings to
fade away.  Turning my head I glanced with real
fondness at my passenger.

Reaching across, I slowly and carefully brushed his
hair out of his eyes, as I made a quick mental note to
make sure to get him a hair cut.  He was all of three
feet tall, blond hair, and blue eyes, and he was my
tough little man.  Brave and strong, he had weathered
the death of our parents amazingly well.  He was
resilient and determined, and his unwavering love and
trust for me had cemented my decision.  I would do
anything to protect him, even sacrifice my own dreams.

In actuality we were only half brothers.  We shared a
father, but my father had reluctantly moved on and
remarried almost ten years after the death of my
mother.  There hadn't been any awkwardness, any
resentment.  I'd liked Pam immediately.  She was small
and delicate, and one of the toughest people I'd ever
met.

She had managed to rekindle the spark of life and love
that had been missing in my father's eyes since
mother's death and for that if nothing else she
deserved my respect.  But our relationship was so much
more than that thankfully.  She didn't attempt to fill
my mother's shoes.  She blazed her own trails,
creating a place of her own.  She moved deftly from
her position of second wife, to that of life partner,
and as I watched the life and love between her and my
father grow, I basked in the overflow.

They were elated when they learned of her pregnancy.
I managed to see the humor.  I was fifteen when they
announced the blessed event, and once I got over the
embarrassment of realizing my father actually had sex,
I enjoyed and participated fully in the experience.  I
delighted in teasing them.  His age, her size, they
were patient and indulgent.  Laughing at my antics, as
I watched in awe and wonder the miracle they had
created.

They allowed me to be present during the birth.
Apprehensive and uncertain at first, I watched in
terror and horror as my brother was born.  But the
pain and blood was quickly forgotten when we held him.
 He was perfect, and as I held him tenderly I realized
that he was the closest I would ever have to a son of
my own.

Looking at my father and step mother, tears obscuring
my vision, I realized in that one wonderful moment
that they knew.  Knew I was gay and would have no
children of my own.  And they had shared this
experience with me, recognizing as they did so, that I
would probably never repeat it.

And so our family grew once more.  Pam the loving yet
tough as nails mother.  My father, George, a man who
had managed to find two wonderful and loving women to
share his life, was amazingly tender and patient and
watched his family grow with a fondness, and
indulgence that was breathtaking.  Chad, my beautiful
and perfect new brother, he completed our family just
by his existence; he was a brilliant burst of light
and love that filled our hearts with joy.  And then of
course there was me, Dylan, sensitive and studious, I
loved them each immeasurably as they forced me to
participate in life instead of watching it pass me by.

I was attending the Art Institute of New York when I
received the phone call.  My parents had been attacked
and robbed after closing the family restaurant.  The
prognosis wasn't good, and the doctor I spoke with
suggested I return to Chicago as soon as possible.

I'd tried to get back quickly, I honestly did, but it
seemed fate had other ideas.  A snow storm blew in and
shut down Chicago's O'Hare airport.  It took days to
dig the city out and by the time I finally got home,
dad and Pam had both passed away.

I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner in a
fetal position and just ignore the world and what had
happened.  But I couldn't.  There were simply too many
things that needed done, and no one else to do them.
And there was Chad to think of.

I was on autopilot for the funeral.  I vaguely
remember making the arrangements, agreeing to and
making the hard choices that seem morbid and macabre
unless forced to confront them.

Chad had spent the last few days with the babysitter,
but that arrangement couldn't last.  Pam's sister
wanted to take him to live with her, and for a brief
second I actually considered allowing it.  I came to
my senses quickly instead and informed her and the
rest of the family, that Chad would be living with me.

The battle that ensued with that declaration was
rather fierce.  Luckily, Chad was in bed for the
night, and managed to miss seeing the rest of us turn
into jackass's as we each tried to yell louder then
the next person in an attempt to determine what would
be best for him.  His parents had just been buried,
and now his home had been turned into a war zone.

Luckily, the discussion was moot, which I was
overjoyed to discover at the reading of Dad and Pam's
will.  All monies, stocks, bonds, insurance, and the
restaurant had been left to me, along with the
stipulation that I was to raise and care for Chad.
Our house, the apartment in New York, and a cabin in
the mountains had been left to Chad, along with a
trust fund, again with myself appointed guardian.

We weren't Sam Walton rich, but managed properly,
neither one of us would actually have to work a day of
our lives if we didn't want too.  And Pam's relatives
confronted with the reality of a long drawn out legal
battle to contest the will in order to gain custody of
Chad seemed resigned to leaving well enough alone.

Once that was settled, I began the soul wrenching
process of sorting through personal affects, and
deciding what to do with some of the assets.  I had
worked in the restaurant after school and summers
every year since I had turned thirteen, and I felt
confidant about being able to run the place, but I
just couldn't bring myself to keep it knowing that was
where Dad had been killed.  So I reluctantly placed it
on the market, reasoning that it was better to sell it
to someone else, rather then let it deteriorate from
neglect.

Finally I came to a point where I had to decide where
we were going to live, and what I was going to do at
least for the foreseeable future.  Although I knew how
to cook, quite well in fact, it wasn't what I had
planned to do with my life.   I was attending the Art
Institute to perfect my painting.  I loved working in
oils.  The colors were just so vibrant.  And I felt
the medium suited itself more for experimentation, it
was a bit more forgiving than watercolors or sculpting
and even mistakes could result in something truly
wonderful and awe inspiring.

I had created a style of painting that blended
portrait with impressionistic.  It was something I
loved doing, and my pieces were actually starting to
get noticed.  An art critic or two had discovered them
and a few pieces had been highlighted in publications
that catered to patrons of the arts.  I had a few
pieces hanging in a wonderful little art shop, and
they were consistently pressing me for more so that an
actual show could be held.

Since our parents death, I wasn't comfortable living
in Chicago any more, and I was certain that New York
wasn't the place to raise a small child, so I had
resigned myself to abandoning my goals.  I had decided
to move Chad and myself to the cabin in the mountains,
and begin life over there.  It wasn't ideal.  I knew
it was only a stop gap measure, but it would give me
the space I needed to actually get past the miasma and
fog the death, funeral, and fighting had created.

I just needed some breathing room.

And then all my plans came crashing down.

Heather had other ideas.  She'd flown into town the
day after I'd called to inform her I wouldn't be
returning to New York.  And she was pissed.

"Forget it Dylan," Heather demanded adamantly.  "I'm
not letting you run off to some cabin in the middle of
fuck knows where and bury your head in the snow."

"Heather," I began, trying to explain for the tenth
time, "I'm not hiding.  I just need some breathing
room, a moment to myself so I can regroup."

"Bullshit!"

"You're running away."

"You're scared to live at home because of what
happened to your parents.  You're scared Pam's
relatives are going to find a way to take Chad away
from you.  And you're scared that you can't handle all
of this.  So you're running."

I stared at her for a moment, really considering her
words.  I hadn't known Heather that long, only since
I'd started school in New York.  We'd met by accident,
literally.  She'd swerved to miss a bike messenger,
and in the process side swiped my car.  Our friendship
had blossomed that day, and it had only grown and
deepened over the next three years.  We'd become the
best of friends, and I was willing to recognize the
fact that she knew me better than anyone.  And in a
sense, she was right.

But I wasn't going to admit it.

"Heather," I said firmly, "I have to do what I think
is best for Chad.  And raising a little boy in a large
dangerous city like New York or Chicago when you have
other options is just insane.  I'm not running, I'm
not hiding, I'm just doing what I think makes the most
sense."

"And what about art school?" she demanded.  "You just
put your entire life on hold for the next fifteen
years while you wait for Chad to grow up?"

"Art school isn't important any more.  Chad's the only
thing that matters," I tried to explain.

"Stop with the self pity bullshit, Dylan, this
wallowing in martyrdom isn't going to last long.  And
when it wears off you're going to resent Chad.  Resent
what you sacrificed for him, resent that you weren't
able to finish school.  Do you really want to live a
life of regrets and what could have been?"

"I don't think that will happen," I said.  "I'm not
giving up painting.  I'll still be able to experiment
and explore.  I'll still be able to submit my work to
art shops.  I'll just be doing it from Colorado."

"But why there?" she moaned in exasperation.  "You
won't know a single person.  Please Dylan, just
consider my idea."

I was completely exasperated by this point, and
figured the easiest solution now was to just humor
her.  What would it hurt to hear her out?

"Fine," I said throwing my hands up in defeat, "let's
hear it."

"Move to Florida," she suggested succinctly.

"Florida?  I don't know anyone in Florida either, and
if I moved there I'd have to buy or rent a place to
live.  Why would I want to do that?"

"No you wouldn't," she explained.  "A friend of my
brother's own a small ranch not far from Miami, you
could stay there.  It's perfect.  It gets you and Chad
out of the city like you want, but it's close enough
to Miami that you could transfer your credits from New
York to Miami's Art Institute."

"I've already checked, and the programs for both
schools are comparable, and the credits would
transfer.  In fact, Miami actually will have Michael
Lanstren as a guest professor next year.  You've
always admired his work; maybe he can help you to
perfect your technique."

"J.T., my brother's friend, has a son too.  About the
same age as Chad, it would give him someone to
socialize with; every little kid needs a best buddy.
And you get the advantage of a built in support
system.  With the extended friends, families and
relatives of J.T. and my family, it would have to be
easier for you, at least as you find your feet."

"And I'll be moving back at the end of this semester,
after I graduate, so you'll have at least one good
friend you can rely on."

"Heather, why would this person let me move in?  He
doesn't know me or Chad, and what is his wife going to
think about this?  This would have to be a major
imposition."

"He's not married, Dylan, and I've already talked to
him about it.  He thinks it's a wonderful idea; he
isn't really much into the domestic side of
housekeeping.  He has a part time housekeeper but it's
hard for him to find people he can trust.  I told him
about how well you cooked, and he was practically
begging me to send you down there.  I think he was
even willing to help kidnap you after I described your
peach cobbler to him," she said laughingly.

"Look, Dylan," she continued, "it's really a pretty
good deal.  He'll be able to watch out for Chad while
you're in class, and you'll cook and help out with the
household shit in exchange."

"He does do a fair amount of traveling, but I'm
positive you'll be able to work things out when that
happens."

I looked at her for a moment, chewing on my bottom
lip, surprised that I was actually considering her
proposition.

"Well," I drew out the word still thinking, "There has
to be more to it then him just wanting a live in cook.
 It sounds too good to be true, honestly, and I don't
want to get myself or Chad in an uncomfortable
position.  We've had enough shit to deal with the last
few weeks."

"Does he know?"  I asked changing the subject
abruptly.

"Know?  You mean about your parents dieing?  Of course
he does," she said.

"No.  Does he know that I'm gay?  I'm not going to
hide or lie about that Heather.  So if it's something
you expect me to hide then this is definitely not
doable."

"He knows, and it's not a problem, believe me.  In his
line of work and with the traveling he does, there
isn't any room for bigotry or prejudice.  Believe me
it's not gonna be a problem."

"What does he do?"

I watched suspiciously as she tried to avoid the
question.  Finally she admitted defeat, "He's in
entertainment."

"An actor?"

"No.  Music."

"Would I recognize any of his work?" I asked.

"Maybe, he's pretty famous.  It's the biggest reason
he has problems finding people he can trust.  Once
people recognize him they treat him differently.  Try
to use him for his fame or money.  It's left him a bit
gun shy."

"Don't worry, Dylan.  He's a good guy.  I promise.  I
wouldn't set you up with someone that was going to
bash you.  Believe me this isn't entirely one sided.
He needs a friend, someone he can trust, almost as
badly as you need a safe, secure place to raise Chad."

I studied her face closely, trying to determine
exactly what it is she was trying to hide from me.
Finally I shrugged it off as not important.  Fame and
name recognition had never been something I obsessed
over.

"When would I be able to meet him?"

Heather glanced at her watch quickly checking the
time. "He should be home now if you'd like me to phone
him."

I nodded my head slowly, agreeing reluctantly.

Heather snatched her phone out of her purse quickly,
barely glancing at it as she hit speed dial.  It was
amusing watching her, the almost frantic way she
placed that phone call, afraid I suppose that if she
gave me much time to think about it, that I'd realize
what an insane idea this was and back out.

I have to admit I was actually more than convinced
already.  The prospect of being able to continue with
school, and have Heather around while not needing to
live in a big city was like the answer to a pray.
Maybe Chad and I were actually catching a break.  It
had seemed life -- fate -- had been conspiring against
us lately.  Maybe things were finally looking up.

"Hello, J?" Heather said as the person she was calling
obviously answered the phone.

"Yeah, I'm at his house now," she paused listening.

"Yeah, I've discussed it with him; he wanted to talk
with you before he made a decision."

"Ok, here he is," she said as she handed her cell
phone to me.

"Hello," I said uncertainly.

"Dylan!  It's great to finally talk with you.
Heather's told me a lot of good things about you,
bro."

"Shit!  I forgot about your parents," he said
interrupting himself self-consciously as he realized
his perkiness might come across as unfeeling and
condescending.  "I'm really sorry for you man, I know
it's gotta be tough.  But you need to get your ass
down here!  Get with some peeps that are gonna care
for ya and help you work through this shit."

"J is it?" I asked deciding to confront my concerns
head on.  "Why?"

"Why what?" he asked.

"Why would you want someone you've never met, someone
you don't know to move in with you, especially if you
have a son?  I'm sure you have to be concerned about
his safety.  I mean I can't imagine any parent just
opening their home to a complete stranger without
being concerned how it would affect everyone.  I could
be a mass murderer for God's sake!"

Heather and J laughed in tandem at my statement, and I
looked up to see her eyes twinkling at me
mischievously, "Well," she began, "if you consider
masturbation murder^Å"

"Heather! Stop right there," I warned her shacking my
finger in her face.  "We are so not going to go
there!"

"What did she say?" J asked as he stopped laughing.

Thankful that he couldn't see me blushing I replied,
"Nothing worth repeating."

"That good was it?  You know she's going to tell me
next time I talk to her."

"Probably," I agreed.  "She has no shame."

"Seriously though, why would you be a party to her
hair brained scheme?"

"Listen, Dylan, I know you don't know me yet, but one
thing you'll find out is that once I trust a person,
once they are my friend, I trust them implicitly.
I've known Heather forever.  She says you're a good
guy then you're a good guy."

"I don't know how much she's told you, but this
certainly isn't a totally altruistic decision on my
part.  When Heather brought the idea up, it didn't
take me long to agree that there were definite
advantages in it for both of us."

"I can really use the help around the house.  I want
Jesse to have as normal a home life as possible.  I
want him to have memories of cookies baking, home
cooked meals, peach cobblers, and playing with a best
buddy.  I don't want him to grow up and look back on
his childhood and life and blame me for what he didn't
have."

"For someone in the public eye, normalcy is priceless.
 And you can help bring that to us."

"I don't know how to say this without hurting your
feelings, but you're basically on your own now.  From
what Heather said, the members of Chad's family are
more interested in taking him away from you than
actually helping.  You get away from that here, and
you have a built in support system to help when you
need it."

"It seems like a win-win from where I'm sitting.  And
look at it this way, if Heather's wrong.  If this
scheme of hers is completely insane, we're gonna
figure that out pretty damn fast.  What's to keep you
from packing up and heading to your mountain then?
What's it hurt to give it a try?"

"I'm not sure." I began trying to explain my
misgivings, "It just seems too good to be true; you
know what I mean?  There has to be a catch we aren't
seeing."

"Come on J, Heather thought of this, it's bound to end
in disaster some how." I finished smirking at the look
on Heather's face at that pronouncement.

"Ummm, J, I don't think there's a political way of
bringing this up so I'm just gonna spit it out,
Heather told you I'm gay, right?"

"Yep," he responded brightly.  "Don't worry about it;
you won't be the first guy to fall in love with me.  I
can handle it!" He said as he began to snicker.

"Oh someone thinks his shit doesn't stink," I said
joking back.  "Think you're all that do you?"

"You know it stud," he said playing along.  "Gonna
take you five minutes to fall madly in love with me."

"That long huh?  I'm not sure what you've done with
the legion of men that have fallen at your feet before
now, but I promise you, I'm made of sterner stuff.
It's gonna take at least six minutes!"

"We're gonna get along just fine Dylan.  Pack your
shit up and get down here."

"Well, it's not exactly that easy stud," I said.  "I
still have to close up the house, contact a realtor
about renting it out, the restaurant's new owners want
to meet with me tomorrow^Å"

"Ok. Ok.  I get it," J said laughingly as he rushed to
interrupt me from giving him my entire itinerary for
the next few weeks.  "It sounds like you decided to
give it a try though?" He continued questioningly.

"Yeah," I began tentatively.  "This may be a
tremendous mistake for both of us, but you were right,
if it doesn't work out, we just move on."

I happened to glance over at Heather as I informed J
of my decision, and the look of satisfaction she
tossed my way was just too galling for words.  I was
certain I'd never hear the end of this, especially if
I got down there and everything worked out perfectly.
"Oh well," I thought to myself, "Even Heather can be
right once in a while."

The next few weeks were a complete blur.  Heather
stayed the rest of the week too help as much as she
could, but there wasn't really a lot anyone could do.
She did get Dad and Pam's personal clothing and shit
like that packed up and sent to good will.  It was a
little thing really, but I appreciated her help
immensely.  I'm sure I would have spent more time
crying then packing.  As it was, going through
personal and business papers was emotionally
wrenching.  There were nights, after I tucked Chad
into bed that I would lay down and cry for hours.

I hired a realtor to handle renting out the house and
after an extensive walk though of the property,
decided exactly what need to be placed in storage.  It
hurt thinking that someone else would be living in our
home, but it was too late to turn back.

The corporation that bought the restaurant wanted to
license and franchise the name too, and since I hadn't
sold the name along with the restaurant, it meant more
legal agreements.  It took me twenty seconds to agree
to it, with the proviso that all franchisee must
maintain the same high standards that my father had
demanded.  I thought it a fitting legacy for my
father, knowing that Carlton's could exist nation wide
was very satisfying.  The stock option offered wasn't
anything to sneeze at either.

I'd been in continuous contact with my professors at
the Art Institute, and when I informed me of my plans,
they were generous enough to accept projects I'd
turned in as sufficient to meet the criteria for the
semester.  It saved me from losing the credits that
year.  I was completely overwhelmed at their
generosity.   I doubt many institutions of higher
learning would have been that flexible.

Finally, I traded my parents Lexus in on a new Jeep
Cherokee.  I thought it more practical; it certainly
had more carrying capacity.  And I thought as Chad and
Jesse got older the extra room would have a definite
advantage.

I was realistic enough to know that we couldn't take
everything with us.  I sent items I thought were
completely essential ahead, placed the majority of
stuff into storage, made sure the utilities were cut
off, the paper canceled, the bank, brokerage house,
real estate firm, and Carlton franchise headquarters
had the correct contact information.

I held Chad closely as we took one last walk through a
home that had been filled with happiness for us.  It
was a tearful farewell for me, as each room brought up
a wonderful memory of better times.  Chad was stoic,
hugging me gently as I meandered through those
passages of time.  Patting my face softly,
consolingly, he gently forced me to acknowledge that
it was time to move on.

It was time for us to begin our new life.

Closing the door firmly behind us, we climbed in the
Jeep and began our trip to Florida.  Uncertain and
still wary, even as I pulled away from our home I was
certain of one thing.  I loved Chad unconditionally
and no matter what happened or where we wound up, I
would do everything in my power to protect him and
make sure he was a happy healthy little boy.

It's funny how you can review weeks and months of your
life, and only seconds or moments have passed in the
real world?  An insect buzzing by my head interrupted
my introspection.  Once my focus was once again on the
present, I drew a deep breath.  Glancing quickly at
Chad, I put the Jeep in drive and slowly began my
descent on the winding drive that led to the house
that marked the end of our trip.

As I parked and got my first good look at the house, a
sense of excitement and curiosity managed to assuage
the feelings of uncertainty and indecision I had been
having.  The house was obviously done in Tudor
Revival.  The stone work was lavish and stately.
There appeared to be two rather ornate chimneys, but
since I was looking at the front of the building, I
was willing to concede there might be more.  It's
rather steep roofline was impressive, and seemed to
fade naturally into the impressive oak trees that
helped to frame it.

I watched as the front door opened and a man holding a
small child walked out.  He headed toward us
gracefully.  As he waved to me uncertainly, I forgot
about the house, about Florida, about my parent's
death, about everything.  I was pissed.  Major pissed.
 The kind of pissed that makes you think your head is
going to explode.

**J.T. my ass.  That is fucking Justin Timberlake,** I
thought.  **What the fuck did Heather get me into?
Maybe this isn't right for me.**