Justin's P.O.V. Staring at the bare white canvas for what seems to be hours, my mouth is stain with the taste of wood as I continue to chew on the paint brush, leaving deep teeth marks along the handle. I can't focus. All I keep seeing Brian’s smug face across of me; his smirk with the slight curve corners of his lips, the wavy creases under his cheeks, the line that parts the tip of his nose, his long dark eyelashes which surround two dirty hazel, green eyes gleaming with self-confidence and looming thick eye brows hovering above them, chestnut bangs lingering to the sides of his forehead with a calming arch to them that shines with the rest of his rich hair against the light. Oh and let’s not forget the small colorful welt with a scab covered cut that I imprinted into the stud of Liberty Avenue’s face which hangs right below his eye. The stud seems not so perfect with it, but some how it makes him even sexier which pisses me off. Why does every inch of the man have to scream sex? I think about what happened at lunch. It’s not like Michael to act upon something, no matter how big or small it is, without discussing the situation with me first. I blame Brian for it. I mean, he has to be behind it. Not only did the cocky weasel get himself invited to the wedding, but now he’s made himself a part of it! Shit. Sighing, I think about Emmett and how much he was looking forward to being our best man; he must be so crushed. I twist the paint in between my teeth grinding into it. I wish I knew exactly what Brian is up to. I don't like this, not one bit. He's just going to fuck up everything between Michael and me. I know. I can feel it. Just being around the man makes me feel uneasy, and I don't like it! And if that man thinks I'm going to be nice to him just because of what he did at the diner for me, he's got another thing coming. The ringing of my cell phone pierces the air with its clubbing tune, effectively interrupting my thoughts. Tossing the chewed paint brush in the trash and spitting out small souvenirs of paint and wood, I head over to my messenger bag to answer my cell. Michael's name blinks across the screen. I crossing my arms over my chest, and I stare, contemplating, at the phone on the table. Hmm... to answer, or not to answer. I'm still not happy with him, and I want him to know it. But then the thought of Brian being there to comfort him... The hell with that! I snatch up the cell and answer it just as Michael apparently hangs up. "Shit..." I grumble. I wait and see if he leaves a message. He doesn't. I'm half tempted to call him back but I resist. Instead, I glance at the clock, figuring that he called to tell me he was on his way over to pick me up for the family dinner with some lame sorry excuse at the side. I'm not looking forward to attending dinner to say the least, since all conversational topics for night will probably be about Brian, the changes in the wedding... and they will probably bring up what happened at lunch too. No, I'm defiantly not looking forward to dinner at all. )=( Michael's P.O.V. This isn’t a good sign as Justin’s voice mail kicks on. He didn’t pick up. Did he not hear it? Does he have dead battery? Or was still upset with me? Should I leave him a message? Do I call again? The traffic turns red like answering the question. I hit the end red phone button, hanging up right before the beep. I’m a coward. I didn’t even have the courage to go pick him up, because I'm afraid he was still upset with me. I shake my head. What am I doing? I screw up, so now what? How do I make it better? I should turn right around and go pick him up so we can talk. Yes, that’s what I need to do. I’ll call Brian and... “Shit! I don’t have his number.” I can’t call him. Why didn’t I get his cell number? I’m such an idiot. I hit my head on the stirring wheel letting out a whiney sigh. Brian is probably almost there I tell myself in hopes to make me feel better. I’m halfway to Gus anyway. It was pointless to change things now. As far as calling him back, if his battery is good, he will see that I called, and if he wants to talk to me, he would call back to check in. For not leaving a message, I don’t what to say to him except for the obvious: Brian is picking him up, because I need to rescue Gus and to explain how sorry I am for changing the wedding plans without him. But that I know that really isn’t something I should do over the phone. I need to do in person, and I don’t have foggiest idea how to make up to him. God, at lunch he must have been... Oh my God, that was the reason he choked on that French fry. I almost kill him. I almost kill him again. )=( Brian's P.O.V. Now I don’t mind so much going out of my way to pick up blondie. In fact, I was kind of looking forward to it there for a few seconds. It has been a few hours since I've seen the blond. I hate to admit it, but I was missing his fiery present. However, that was before I was honor with brat-sitter Mikey’s coning little pet project. How the fuck did I let this happen? "Shit, I can't believe this!" exclaims... um, what the fuck was his name again...? I think it begins with a... with a... Ah, fuck it! I don't give a shit what the hell his name is. He's being a real pain in my ass at the moment. Oh, gimme a break. Stop what you’re thinking right now. I didn't mean in that way and you know it. Besides, I'm a top. "Someone should pinch me," he squeals. Well, okay then. Maybe it would shut him up. "Ouch!" he yelps in pain. He rubs his arms and a goofy grin spreads across his face, one can assume that he’s damn pleased, and not at all hurt. "Oh, I hope that leaves a mark. Tommy and Nat are going to be so jealous!" Well, so much for that idea. Christ, where's the “off button” when you need one? "So this is it?" "No, I just happen to have the keys to this one," I snicker as I unlock the doors. "Bitchin' ride." "Just don't drool on my seats. They're worth more than you." "Funny," he remarks with a smile, getting in. Then he shakes his head. "Michael has you down to a ‘T.’ It's so surreal." "I bet." "Though... the fuck-o-mobile is way cooler than this, but it's still hot." "Fuck-o-mobile?" I press my tongue against my cheek. Mikey. "And what does Rage drives these days?" "A dark green 1971 Corvette Stingray." A classic, powerful, and still a sex magnet. Not bad Michael. Not bad. "Wait, you didn't know what Rage drives... Haven't you read the comics? Why the fuck not?" "I didn't know there was a comic until yesterday," I confess. "Fuck no..." he gasps. He sits in silence for a moment or two which is nice, but it doesn't last long. "Oh, that's right. You disappeared off the face of the planet. Michael thought you might have seen or heard about the comic wherever you were. It was in the news a lot when it first came out. It's the first official “in your face” gay comic book series, you know. He thought it would bring you back, but apparently that didn't work." "Apparently..." I cough. I had heard about the series about the “Gay Crusader,” but I never took the time to check it out. Comics were Mikey “thing,” not mine. "So... it was the wedding, wasn't it? That's what brought you back." Clever kid, I'll give him that, but annoying as hell. I say nothing and concentrate on driving. "Oh my God! You came here to stop the wedding. Aren't you? Shit!" "Brian, I think you should take a look at this." "Cynthia," I grumble, not taking my eyes off my desk, "I'm buzy now, and I know I told you not to bother me. I've got a two o'clock deadline and three days worth of work in front of me. And I have to be brilliant, or they will give the account to Dale," I remind her. "Let them." "Excuse me?!" What the fuck? "Let Dale have the account." I tear my eyes off the papers lying on my desk and glare at her like she has lost her mind, because clearly, she has. "Do have any idea what will happen if I let Dale take this account away from me?" I stare her down. "It will prove that I'm unable to keep up with demand. And that 23 year hot shot will have my job. You really want to be fired, Cynthia? Because if so, I can fire you right now." She rolls her eyes. "You know I love my job, working for you. But it seems like seniors want you gone. Why else would they give you these ridiculous deadlines? They're just looking for an excuse to fire you." "Well, I'm not going to give them one." "So, you’re just going to continue to kiss their fat asses until they kick you out the door with shoe you just had shined? Everyone knows you should have made partner by now." She’s right, as usual. Not that I’d tell her that, of course. But really, what am I suppose to do, take all this shit lying down? Fuck that! I'll be damned if I've invested about four years for nothing. I'm not going down without a fight. "What the fuck did you want, Cyn?!" "Take a look at this." She holds a selection of the newspaper in my face. I groan taking the selection. "Brian, this is important. You know I wouldn't have bothered you if it wasn't." "Engagements?" I raise an eyebrow. "So what... you’re getting married.” "Oh no, not me. Michael is. Michael Novotny. You remember him, don't you?" Michael getting married... "I mean he's the whole reason we moved here, wasn't he?" I glare at Cynthia studying her face for any sign that she’s bluffing, but there’s none. My eyes trail down to scan the paper. Sure enough, she’s right. Fuck what the hell does he think he’s doing? "So... are you like, in love with Michael?" "Christ no!" I snap. "Then why do you want to break up their wedding?" he pries with crooked grin. "Did I say I came here to do that?" I sip. "Okay... fine. Be that way. But if you ask me, your timing is too much of a coincidence." "Well, I didn't..." "And if you didn't come back for the comic or Michael... What other reason would you have for being here?" "Why do I need to have a reason?" "You wouldn't be here if didn't have a reason." This kid is too smart for his own good. "Shit, you came back for Gus!" he gasps. "Who?" "You're here to take Gus away from Michael and Justin." "Why in the world would I want to take Gus?" I inquire, arching an eyebrow. What the fuck is this kid talking about? "Well, he is your kid after all." "My kid, right," I chuckle. "I don't . . .” Lindsay. Fuck, I have a kid, don't I? I slam on the brakes at a yellow light. Fuck, I have a son? Fuck! "Gus is my son?" "Ah, duh." "Why the fuck isn't he with Lindsay and Melanie?" "Who are Lindsay and Melanie?" "His mothers. Why isn't he with the lesbians?" He shrugs. "Michael likes to put in storylines from his life into his the comics. And in the comic, Leslie dies so that Sonny Boy could live. It was the only way. So maybe they died or something." "They're dead!" When the fuck did this happen? "Oh, that's right. Rage doesn't know that he’s the father of Sonny Boy. Whoa, this is like, like totally fucked up." "You can say that again." He grins wide, "So, you're really here to stop the wedding after all."