Page 51 of True North
Misha shifted in his seat. “Uh—Khabarovsk. It’s um, very far to east, near China. It’s on big river.”
“Must snow a lot there,” JT’s dad said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much about that part of Russia.”
Misha cracked a smile. “No one in Canada ever hear about Khabarovsk. It’s okay.”
“What brought you to Canada?” JT’s mother asked.
“Work.” Misha shrugged. “I have friend in Toronto. He said, come stay with me, you can work, save money.”
This was more information than JT had ever gotten out of him previously, but it was clear Misha still wasn’t telling the full story. No one left their friends and family, their close-knit shifter clan, and moved all the way across the world just for a job.
JT knew a little about Russia, though. He knew Russia wasn’t necessarily a great place to be gay. He could guess, maybe, why Misha had decided to leave.
“Toronto,” JT’s dad said. He held his wine glass loosely, but his eyes were sharp. “That’s a long way from here.”
Misha shrugged again. “Yeah, it’s far.” The set to his jaw told JT that he would say nothing further.
An awkward silence settled. After a moment, JT’s mom said, very brightly, “Well, I got some great news from your Aunt Diana the other day. Let me tell you all about it.”
The meal passed with bland chitchat. JT’s dad brought cream puffs from the kitchen for dessert. When they were done eating, Misha excused himself to use the washroom while JT’s dad went to let the dogs out, leaving JT and his mom to clear the table and clean up in the kitchen. JT suspected a setup and knew he was right when his mom said, “Misha seems nice.”
JT snorted. Misha was a lot of things, but ‘nice’ wasn’t exactly the first word that came to mind. “Say what you really mean, mom.”
“Fine, I will.” She set down the dishes she was holding on the counter and folded her arms. “Are you involved with him?”
JT drew on all of his years of media training to keep rinsing plates under the tap and not react in any visible way. “What makes you think that?”
“The two of you kept looking at each other during dinner. Checking in. Plus, I know you, and he’s definitely your type.”
“I don’t have atype.”
“You absolutely do. Shy, wounded, a little dependent on you. Marcus was the same way.”
“Marcus wasn’t,” JT started, but then came to an abrupt stop, because she wasn’t wrong. “Ouch, mom.”
Down the hall, the washroom door opened. JT’s mom sighed and said, “I’m sorry. That crossed a line.” As Misha came into the kitchen behind her, she gave JT a worried smile and said, “We want what’s best for you.”
JT bit back his instinctive reply that Misha was what was best for him. “Yeah. I know that.”
“I help with dishes?” Misha asked tentatively.
JT’s mom cleared her throat. “That would be lovely, Misha, thank you.”
* * *
The sun was setting as they headed home. JT turned on his brights and kept a careful watch for deer, and used his vigilance as an excuse to drive in silence. He had a lot on his mind.
Misha’s personality really wasn’t anything like Marcus’s. He was a brat, for one thing. He was lazier, which JT mostly found amusing. He was largely indifferent to sports, whereas Marcus was a jock through and through; he and JT had met because Marcus coached for the youth hockey team JT sponsored in Toronto. But now that his mom had pointed it out to him, JT couldn’t deny that there were some underlying similarities.
Marcus had had a shitty childhood, and although JT was ashamed to admit it even to himself, he had liked being a source of stability and comfort. And now here he was, doing the same thing with Misha: setting himself up as Misha’s protector, fixing all of Misha’s problems for him, and fucking him, too. As if that was any way to have a normal relationship.
He managed not to hit any deer on the way home, although he could see their eyes shining at him from the side of the road. When he pulled into the driveway and parked the truck, Misha shifted in his seat and said, “You’re upset.”
JT turned to look at him. He couldn’t make out Misha’s expression in the poor light. “Just distracted. Sorry.”
“I hope I don’t, um. Didn’t offend your parents.” He pronouncedoffendstrangely, with the emphasis on the first syllable, which made JT feel an overpowering surge of affection. Misha was trying so hard. “I know I’m like, don’t talk enough—”
“You did fine. That’s not the issue.”