“So,” Liam said, his voice breaking me out of my thoughts. “What time is your friend coming over tonight?”
“A bit.” I glanced up at the clock. “At seven.”
Liam looked behind him at the clock. “That’s in like three minutes.”
On cue, headlights flashed through the window and Gus flew through the house, barking like the overgrown beast he was at Devon’s arrival.
“Or now.” Liam stood up and collected his plate from the floor and pointed toward mine. “Are you finished?”
“I can get it,” I told him.
“You cooked. It’s the least I can do.” He stacked our plates and carried them to the sink.
I left him to it, following Gus to the front door to let Devon in. He stomped his feet on the doormat and closed the door behind him, giving Gus his normal greeting of behind the ear scratches. Devon straightened and glanced down the hallway, clearly seeing Liam in the kitchen finishing up the dishes.
“He’s washing up,” Devon said.
“Obviously.”
The sink turned off and Liam padded down the hallway, wiping his hands on the front of his pants, my undershirt hanging low on his legs. Devon raised a brow at me, then turned to Liam as he approached.
“Liam,” he said.
“Devon. Uhm, if there’s some place I can go, I’ll give you two some space,” Liam offered, gesturing vaguely around the house.
“We'll go to the garage,” I said. “Don’t worry. Make yourself at home.”
I headed through the house with Gus and Devon behind me, and I didn’t breathe again until I heard Devon latch the door.
“Make yourself at home,” he repeated.
I sat down in one of the folding chairs near Gus’s makeshift bed and sighed.
“Michael would have hated him,” Devon said.
“I’m not so sure.”
At first, I’d thought Michael might have hated him, but this many years out, I wondered if that would be true. I’d been telling myself Michael would have wanted me to be happy, and if Liam brought a bright spot to my otherwise boring and predictable days, I didn’t think he would have begrudged me for searching that out.
At least not now.
Not three years later.
“Maybe,” Devon agreed.
“I’m sleeping with him,” I said, the admission flying out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“I figured.”
“How?” I cast him a dubious look.
“He’s wearing your shirt.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” Devon stretched out and clasped his hands together over his stomach with a loud breath. “He looks good on you.”
“He’s not…” I scrubbed a hand down the front of my face. “We haven’t had sex sex. Just… other things. Some stuff.”
“Are you incapable of saying it? Lost the words when you lost your husband?”
“Fuck you.” I shoved up out of the chair and walked toward the Mustang, bracing myself against the hood and pretending Devon wasn’t there.
“I get it,” Devon said from his seat. “You won’t ever find a Michael again, but if you do end up with someone else, even if only for a night or two, they deserve more than vague generalities.”
“Big words,” I muttered.
“I don’t expect you to give anyone 100% of yourself, because you can’t.”
“Jesus. Keep the hits coming, why don’t you?”
“You’ve never half-assed anything, Jasper,” he said. “Don’t half-ass this.”
“This,” I hissed, turning around and waving toward the house, “isn’t anything.”
“He’s doing your dishes. He’s wearing your clothes. He’s living in your house.”
“He’s staying with me until I fix his car,” I snapped.
“And when is that happening?” Devon folded his arms across his chest and gave me a doubtful look.
How dare he sit across from me all calm and collected like he had the moral high ground to say this shit to me in my own house?
“Tomorrow.” I pointed at Liam’s SUV at the other end of my garage. “The stupid part got sent to the wrong place.”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated.
“Then he’s on his way to New Hampshire.”
“All right.” Devon shrugged.
I stared at Devon until he looked away, but we both knew he was right. That even if whatever was going on between Liam and me was a passing thing, he deserved more than I’d given him so far. It was one thing to tell someone that they were just a hookup; it was another thing entirely to keep them a secret and pretend that what was happening really wasn’t.
I’d have to chalk it all up as a lesson for next time because, like I’d told Devon, Liam’s car was going to be fixed the next day and he would be out of my house and on his way to New Hampshire, where he would no doubt find someone else who had a couch or a bed that needed warming.
“What?” Devon asked me.
“What?”
“What were you thinking about just now?” he asked. “Your face turned murderous.”
“Nothing.”
“New Hampshire,” Devon guessed.
“Fuck you.”
“You’re in it, aren’t you?” He stood up and joined me against the hood of the Mustang. Devon rested his ass against the bumper and waited for me to answer him, which I didn’t want to do. Nor do I really need to because he knew the answer.
We both did.
“It’s his last night in Vermont, you stubborn asshole.” Devon bumped our shoulders together. “Show him some hospitality.”
“Are you leaving?” I asked, ignoring him completely.
“Sure.” He smiled at me, and headed toward the door, flicking open the latch and stepping up into the laundry room. “Are you going to see me out?”
“Fine,” I grumbled, following him through the house.
Liam sat on the couch, my shirt still on his back and his stolen guitar propped up on his lap. His eyes darted upward, giving a quick once-over to me and Devon, before looking back down at the way his left hand held the frets.
“Liam,” Devon said, the inflection of a goodbye in his voice.
Liam stopped playing and set the guitar by his feet. “Goodnight, Devon.”
Devon gave me a meaningful look that reiterated everything he’d said in the garage, then he petted Gus on the head and let himself out. I grabbed the back of my neck, rubbing at the muscles while I listened to Devon’s boots stomp across the porch and down the gravel driveway. Liam watched me the whole time.
“Did you have a nice visit?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“He didn’t stay for long,” Liam observed.
“He didn’t have to.”
Now or never.
Now or never.
“How’s the guitar playing?” I asked, awkward as ever. It was so painfully clear I hadn’t had to do this kind of thing in my whole adult life.
“It’s going,” Liam answered with a shy smile and the barest hint of a blush.”
“Do…” I cleared my throat, and Liam’s blush deepened.
“Do you want to sit with me a bit?” he asked, patting the spot beside him. “Maybe if you wouldn’t mind starting a fire, and I could work on this song a little longer.”
My question died in my throat and I answered him with a nod before bending to dig kindling out of the basket by the stove. It was better this way, anyway. Tomorrow was a new day, and it was the last day.
18
Liam
Something wet against the palm of my hand woke me up, and if the throaty bark that followed the assault was anything to go by, it was Gus. I bent my fingers, one of them cracking, and I felt my way around Gus’s face until my fingers reached the fluffy spot between his ears he favored.
I rolled onto my side and yawned, blinking the room, and Gus’s face, into focus. I could hear sounds coming from the kitchen and I knew it was Jas
per. I knew he was cooking breakfast, making coffee, starting his day. It was Monday after all, and the parts for my car were supposed to arrive and then I could be on my way.
Heading to New Hampshire and on to Massachusetts.
It was the absolute last place I wanted to go, so I curled up on the couch, tucking the warmest of Jasper’s family quilts around me. It wasn’t that I was sad to leave the sex; though kicking rocks out of Burlington without getting a chance to bury myself inside of that beefy mechanic of a man at least one time would be blasphemous. My chest twinged, thinking more so about how sad I would be to leave this house and that shower… to leave Gus, and Jasper.
I pulled the blankets up higher against my chin and stared at the wood burning stove on the other side of the room. Realizing I wasn’t going to give him any more scratches, Gus meandered down the hallway, no doubt searching after Jasper and his breakfast food.
Gus’s nails skittered against the wood floor, followed this time by the heavy thuds of Jasper’s footfalls, and both of them appeared in the room. Jasper wasn’t wearing socks; his feet were paler than the rest of him, high arches and long toes topped with tufts of curly black hair. Further up, he had on gray sweats, as usual… so cruel to me, and a ribbed white tank top that didn’t leave any dip or valley of his stomach or chest to the imagination.
My stare finally landed on his face, and Jasper reached up, stroking nervous fingers over his chin and across his beard.
“Good morning, Sparky,” I said, voice thick still with sleep.
His mouth pulled into a quick smile and he took another step forward. “I made you coffee.”
I looked down and realized he had two white mugs in his hands. “I don’t know if I put enough milk in it, but I don’t think I have enough milk in the fridge for as white as you take it.”
I shifted against the back corner of the couch into a sitting position, but kept the blankets wrapped around me. I wiggled my shoulder and worked one of my arms out of the cocoon, and he slipped the handle of the mug around my waiting fingers.
“I could get used to this,” I said, not meaning it in any way other than I liked the attention, I liked that Jasper knew how I took my coffee and that he made it for me without being asked.
The whole exchange made me feel welcome and wanted, but the heat that flared above the top of Jasper’s beard left me thinking there might have been more received by the comment than I’d intended.
“Could you?” I asked, cursing myself mentally as the question left my lips.
Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“Never mind,” I said quickly, giving him a smile. “That wasn’t… that wasn’t an appropriate question.”
As if agreeing with me, Gus barked.
“Yes,” Jasper said softly, his stare flickering around the room, avoiding my face with a near masterful talent.
“Right.”
“There’s breakfast,” he said, turning away and pointing toward the kitchen.
Hearing the word, Gus headed that way and, after a beat, Jasper followed, leaving me alone with the crackling of the fire and the weight of that unspoken insinuation between us.
I slipped out of the blankets and padded into the kitchen, finding Jasper at the table with his fork in hand but food untouched. I took the seat by the window and picked up my fork, and then Jasper speared a piece of sausage and shoved it into his mouth.
“Were you waiting for me?” I asked.
He chewed and swallowed.
“Well.” I stabbed the egg yolk and let it run around the rim of the plate, thoroughly coating the sausage and toast. “Today is the day.”
“Yep.”
“After I shower, I guess I’ll go ahead and get your sitting room cleaned up. Get my things together.”
“The part isn’t even here yet.” Jasper looked up at me.
“I know.”
“It’ll take a few hours of work once it gets here.”
“Are you saying I should wait?” I asked.
Fuck, this conversation was weird, this meal was weird. Maybe I’d been too honest with him the night before. There was no need for me to tell him about the guitar or anything else I’d spouted off. Useless information from someone who’d be out of his life in less than a day.
He’d be out of my life in less than a day.
“Just saying,” he offered.
“Maybe I’ll at least wait until the part gets here.”
That seemed to satisfy him, and we ate the rest of our breakfast in a less awkward silence with Gus pacing beneath the table on his usual search for scraps. After we finished, I took the dishes and washed them, as that had become our unofficial routine. Whoever didn’t cook did the cleaning, and as I dried the last dish, I cursed myself for being foolish enough to even have a routine with a man I’d known for less than a week.
“Can I use your shower upstairs?” I asked, finding Jasper in the sitting room, tucked comfortably into his favorite chair.
“Of course. Yes.”
He didn’t look at me, so I grabbed some clothes out of my bag and headed up the stairs. The wood planks near the top creaked beneath my weight, betraying my location as I went down the hallway to the bathroom door. There was a large part of me that wanted to go in through his bedroom. I knew he would hear me over his head because I heard him every morning, so I didn’t. Our brief engagement would be ending in a handful of hours, but betraying the small trusts Jasper had offered me wasn’t something I could do.
So, instead, I jacked off in his shower.
I pictured the way his face looked when I made him come all over my hand and that was enough to make me come all over my own hand. The hot water from the massaging shower head washed all the evidence of my orgasm down the drain, then I used his soap and his shampoo like some school age stalker obsessed.
When I was fairly sure I’d spent so much time in the shower Jasper was going to come looking for me, I turned off the spray and stepped out onto his bath mat to dry off. From the other side of the door that faced his bedroom, I heard the floor creak and I paused my drying.
Another creak, this one sounded more like the bed.
I cleared my throat and finished my routine, drying and folding the towel over the bar on the wall, dressing, finger combing my hair, brushing my teeth. I didn’t hear any more sounds from the bedroom, so I pretended I’d heard nothing.
Downstairs, I folded the blankets, folded the borrowed pajamas I’d been wearing for five nights straight, then sat on the couch and pulled my phone off the charger. I had almost a dozen missed messages from Manny and three missed calls. As I was about to dial him back, my screen lit up with another incoming call.
“Did someone die?” I answered, my heart battering its way up my throat.
“You might,” Manny said back to me.
“Why are you even up this early?” I asked.
“Your dad,” he panted, “your dad knows.”
My blood ran cold and my spine crumbled. I slumped against the back of the couch and tucked my legs up against my chest, holding myself together with one trembling arm and nothing but willpower.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whispered, stare darting toward the stairs. “I mean, I know I have to go back, but I don’t want to go back to school. I don’t want his life.”
“I know,” Manny soothed.
“I don’t want to be him.”
“I know.”
“How did he find out?” I asked.
“I didn’t tell him,” Manny promised. “I don’t know. Maybe a credit card or the location thingy on your phone.”
“The location thingy,” I repeated.
“Liam.”
“What did he say to you? When did you find out?”
“He woke me up this morning asking if I knew why you were in Vermont.”
That was so much like my dad to do whatever he wanted, to call my best friend before sunrise and wake him up. To assume that I didn’t think of things or do t
hings on my own without running it by someone else first. That wasn’t me. That was the person my dad wanted me to be, the life he wanted me to have, though. I didn’t want to live on a schedule or under a microscope.
“What did you tell him?”
“I asked what was in Vermont.” Manny chuckled.
“You’re as good at evading the truth as he is.”
“I wouldn’t give you up,” he told me.
“I know.”
“Are you going to call him?” Manny asked.
“I’d rather not,” I said.
“We all know that the first thing I was going to do after he called me was call you,” he reminded.
“I’m not going to call him,” I said.
“Are you serious?”
“He hasn’t called me yet.” I put the phone on speaker and balanced it against my knee, flicking through the texts and missed calls to make sure they were all from Manny and not my dad, or worse, my dad’s secretary.
“You can’t ignore all your problems, Liam.”
“I’m not,” I protested.
My best friend laughed at me. “You are. That’s why you’re in Vermont in the first place. Why you’re in any state that isn’t California. Why you’re doing anything that isn’t spending winter break with me and starting classes again in January.”
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
I closed my eyes and curled forward, resting my forehead on my knee and letting my phone slide into my lap. I’d always known I wouldn’t make it all the way across the country without my dad picking up that I’d left. I knew he’d be mad when he’d found out, but if I’d have told him first, or rather, if I’d asked him first, he would have told me no.
He would have said it was irresponsible. He would have told me it was careless and childish. He would have told me to think of the optics, the repercussions. He would have been worried about me getting some girl pregnant in the middle of a flyover state, though. I wondered if he would think the optics of having a gay son would be worse than that. I’d never been brave enough to ask.
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