Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

real reason he left New York. Besides the fact that he couldn't make a living as an actor; that was so common, it was a cliché. No, the real reason Jackson had come home was Serpento. Gorgeous, dangerous Serpento. Jackson's heart and self-esteem had been shredded by the selfish man. He had finally grabbed at the chance to leave when it presented itself in the form of Dad's funeral. He hadn't looked back, and Serpento had not come looking for him. Jackson had secretly hoped he would come for him, but in the end he was left with a raw awareness of Serpento's complete lack of interest. He felt invisible. And, he had realized Dad's prediction had come to pass. Dad had yelled at him to give up the silly notion of acting and then had gone so quiet Jackson had to strain to hear. Serpento was bad news, claimed Dad. He repeated vague rumors and hinted at a hidden criminal past. Jackson had been certain Dad was just trying to break up his romance as though that was the thing that made him gay.
    Jackson raised his eyes to the purple evening sky and let the painful memories flow out of him like a cleansing flush of cool water.
    The two men and their dogs spent a companionable evening finishing their food and watching the various small prizes being awarded, a favorite part of 'Dogs Dine Out'. Evan won for best decorated stroller. Jet won the 50-50 drawing and gave the money right back as a donation. Jet insisted on picking up the check for both their meals, telling him that Jackson had already spent a fortune on Burtie's vet fees and this was the least he could do for such a loyal patient. Jackson hated for the interlude to end.
    "Hey big guy," Jet murmured affectionately to Ingo. "Ready to head home?" Ingo obediently struggled to his feet and took a few stiff steps but then sat down. Jet frowned and picked the dog up and cradled him against his chest.
    "Is your car nearby?" Jackson asked quietly.
    "No, we walked. He was pretty spry earlier today, and it's not far. Damn. I should have brought his meds."
    "I'll give you a lift. My car is just over there," Jackson offered. Jet nodded and followed Burtie and Jackson back to the car. "Will he stay put, or will he try to jump out the open windows? I only have one set of doggie seat belts, and I need them to keep Burtie under control. Don't even ask to roll the windows up."
    "I'll hold him." Jet carefully placed Ingo on the back seat and climbed in after him. Jet gave directions to his house. It wasn't far if he was walking across The Commons and down a short path, but it was longer when he was held to the roads. Jackson pulled into a winding, tree-lined driveway and parked. He examined the cottage with interest, a converted servant's quarters behind one of the stately mansions that lined the back side of the university property.
    "Come on in. I'll just be a minute while I get Ingo settled." Jet led the way through a tidy entry hall to the main room of the house. "Bathroom's that way if you need it." He motioned with his chin towards a white door off the main room. Jackson made quick use of the facilities, even though he was semi-hard and had been all evening. He peeked into the medicine cabinet, unable to resist the urge to snoop but also knowing it was prudent for a gay man to do so. Aspirin, shaving cream, razor, bandages, liniment. There were no pharmacy bottles of ultra-strong antibiotics or anti-viral meds. Good to know. Jackson returned to the main room and watched as Jet readied an injection for Ingo as he lay curled up on a sheepskin-lined dog bed. He was cross-legged on the floor next to the dog and stroked him as he waited for the pain medicine to take effect. Burtie sat next to Ingo and watched everything with interest.
    "Does that make you feel good?"
    "Yes."
    Jackson wandered around the room noting the stack of unopened packing boxes against the wall. A laptop sat closed on a desk tucked into a corner. He glanced at the framed photos on the desk and then looked closer. A younger uniformed Jet stood next to a soldier with a dog sitting between them. Ingo without any scars. The two soldiers... Jackson closed his eyes. He recognized the look on the faces of the two soldiers, both staring into each other's eyes as though nothing else in the world around them was worth noticing.
    "David. Ingo's handler," said Jet, a warm presence close behind him.
    "You loved him."
    "Don't ask, don't tell," he murmured as he ran his finger along Jackson's temple and down to his chin. His eyes