by Nicky James
“He does, and you know he does because I told you,” Gray corrected, having heard the beginning of my lie. “I’m heading out to physio. Just thought I’d let you know.”
He turned and walked around a few display cases to the front of the shop before the bells chimed above the door, marking his exit. His cold delivery of that statement hit its mark. Like a solid punch to the gut, and all I could do was stare after him.
“Wow, it’s so awesome seeing him walking again. With his sports pants on, you could almost believe he didn’t have a prosthesis.”
Maria was oblivious to Gray’s hurt feelings—or pretended she was. Knowing her, she was acting innocent and waiting for me to say something.
“Okay, he told me. You were right.”
“And you are freaking out now. Just because he’s gay and crushing on you doesn’t mean he’s going to act on it.”
No, but I acted and now I can’t banish the memories.
Ignoring Maria’s statement, I managed to get around her and went into the back room. “Please tell Nora to message me.”
“Nova!”
A mindless night of sex with a beautiful woman—minus any and all things oral because I valued my member—was exactly what I needed to shed the toxic thoughts of Gray from my head.
Chapter Twelve
Grayson
It was raining. What was already a confining existence became even more limited when I couldn’t venture outside. Driving was still on the list of the things I couldn’t do, and unless I wanted to take a cab somewhere, I was restricted to walking—except not in the rain.
According to Aurora, it was inadvisable to get my prosthesis wet.
With no appointments schedule that day and Beck off at work, I was caught in the trappings of my mind. A horrible place to be lately.
My newly debilitating obsession with time was becoming a huge problem, but I didn’t know how to express it to anyone without sounding like I’d lost my mind.
Reading didn’t hold my attention like it used to, and my daily physio exercises only took so long. It took effort to keep my thoughts from being sucked in the wrong direction.
I’d spent the morning on the phone checking up on house repairs and called my mother—because God forbid I left it too long between updates. She might send out the cavalry to ensure I was still alive. And, I’d spent too many mindless hours trying to watch TV, for which my brain punished me.
Subconsciously, I calculated every wasted minute in my day. Mostly, time raced. Great chunks were sucked away in the blink of an eye, never to be experienced again. Other times, I was convinced time stopped moving.
Literally.
It was as frightening as those momentary episodes when I had the sensation of being in fast-forward. When time stopped, it felt like being in a vacuum or some alternate reality where only I existed. There was no noise outside my labored breathing, and I could almost convince myself I was alone in the world. It happened at night regularly. The only indication of time passing would be the steady rhythm of the tiny second hand moving on the watch I’d bought.
I’d stare at it.
Sometimes for hours.
If I listened closely, the watch ticked like Beck’s old clock. Such a faint sound. It could be terror-inducing one minute and calming the next.
I wasn’t disillusioned. Something was seriously wrong with me, but I was convinced I could fight it. It would pass. It was a phase.
In the silent living room, listening to the patter of raindrops on the window, sitting motionless on the settee while I stared into nothingness, I considered my life. What a clusterfuck it had become. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t drive. “Yet,” chided Aurora’s voice in my head, pouncing on my negativity like she did during our sessions.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel whole enough to date again. Confident enough. Not that I’d done much dating before my accident. But the option had always been there.
When I looked in the mirror every morning, I cringed at my reflection. It was human nature to pick out flaws. Some people needed to look hard, scrutinize themselves while they noticed the tiniest imperfections. Mine was glaring.
And the discomfort from the amputation was ongoing. Slight but steady. An ache here or an itch there. Cramping. Burning. Always reminding me I wasn’t the same person anymore.
I pulled my new watch from my pocket. Knowing Beck was picking up on my new strange behavior, I didn’t wear it.
I stared at the second hand and watched its jumping, jolting journey as it traveled around and around. The steady action became hypnotizing. For a long time, I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
Listening to the rain, I started matching the steady tinkling on the window pane to the softly ticking device in my hand.
Around. Around. Around.
Tick, tick, tick…
If I looked away, time threatened to stop. I had to keep watching. My sweat slickened thumb traced the outer circle of the watch’s face as the second hand moved.
Tick, tick, tick…
When a car horn blared outside, I jolted and darted my gaze to the window. The trance broken, I blinked at the raindrops streaking down the glass and glimmering in the lamplight.
Shooting off the couch, wedging my crutches under my arms, I paced, itching to resolve this recent bout of anxious obsession. The room wasn’t favorable for expelling this kind of built up tension. After nearly tripping more than once, I plunked myself down in a curve-backed, Queen Anne style chair in the corner. It accompanied a vintage oak, roll-top desk Beck had picked up at a junkyard. He’d restored it, but it was full of imperfections.
The top of the desk was piled high with more collections and a few larger items he had covered.
Ringo materialized from a mountain of books piled off to the side. I startled at his sudden appearance, a little uncomfortable being in such close proximity to Satan himself. He hopped up and perched himself on one of the covered lumps I’d been observing. What was under that covering, I had no idea.
As demonic as Ringo was, Beck had trained him not to claw at his most precious furnishings.
“What do you want?” I asked, frozen in place and unsure if it was safe to move.
Ringo ignored me and began grooming himself like he was a normal cat. I wasn’t fooled. Keenly watching his every move, keeping a small distance, I wondered if this ritual was meant as a distraction so I’d lower my guard.
“What’s the deal with you anyway?”
He stopped grooming and glared at me through amber slits.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s creepy. My life is a fucking mess. Aren’t cats supposed to be gentle creatures? Soothing? Us gay men are big fans of your species. We house you by the dozens. You aren’t selling me on the whole idea. Is it because you live with a straight guy? Don’t worry, I have my nose a bit out of joint because of him right now too. We should commiserate together. Call a truce.”
Like he knew exactly what I was saying, Ringo jumped down onto my lap. I sucked in a sharp breath with widened eyes and froze, unsure how to take this sudden advance. Instead of dismembering me, he curled in a ball and closed his eyes. I stared at the ball of fur occupying my space, unsure how to take it.
“You’re a little close to my precious male appendage right now for my liking. Whatever is on your little kitty mind, just remember, I never did anything to you.”
He didn’t appear to be going anywhere nor did his advance seem threatening, so I chanced resting a hand on his back and gave him a little pet. Within seconds, the sounds of his revving motor filled the quiet room. I was pretty sure that had never happened before.
“That’s more like it. See, we can be friends.”
Calmed by the presence of the cat but stuck in one place since I didn’t dare move now that he was comfortable, I peeked under the larger cover on the desk to see what it was hiding. An old-fashioned typewriter.
Setting the cover aside, I traced a finger over the raised keys; pearly white with gold etched letters and symbol
s on each. There was no paper fed into the top, but I gently pressed a key and watched as the little arm came from within the machine and tapped the black roller. It made a click before falling back into place out of sight.
I pressed another.
Click!
Click!
Click!
Click!
Before long, I was emulating the ticking of a clock. Steady, metronomic, even beats. It wasn’t intentional. Each click became a second. Consecutive clicking. I counted each one. Sixty became a minute. One minute became two. Three. Four. Five.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped. Ringo scattered out of sight lightning fast like his tail was on fire. Instead of looking for the voice. I checked my phone, boggled at where in my time-lost day I was.
“Gray!” Beck snapped.
“Yeah?” It was four thirty, not five. Maybe I wasn’t losing my mind. “You’re home early. I… I haven’t cooked anything yet. I didn’t expect you for awhile still.”
Grabbing my crutches, I rose, scanning the living room like I hadn’t seen it in hours. Maybe I hadn’t. Had I been lost in my head that long? Where did time go? How was it already four thirty?
“I’m not eating here. I have a date. Do you need the bathroom? I’m gonna hop in a shower.”
For the first time, I met Beck’s steady hazel eyes as they studied me scrupulously. They harbored too many questions. Concern. Maybe a bit of a challenge.
Wait…
“A date? What do you mean you have a date?” I hoped I didn’t sound as anxious as I felt.
“What do you mean, what do I mean? I’m going for dinner with Nor…ova.” His eyes darted to the side as he considered the name. “Yes, Nova. Is that a problem?”
Yes!
“No. I don’t give a fuck if you have a date. Why would it be a problem?”
“You tell me. Your face is doing a thing, and you’re getting defensive.”
I scowled, which wasn’t helping my case. Before I could object, Beck nodded at the typewriter behind me. “What were you doing with that?”
I glanced over my shoulder, remembering my little—not little—incident. I had a sickening feeling I’d been sitting there a long time only I couldn’t pin down just how long.
“Nothing. Just checking it out. I haven’t seen a typewriter like that before. It’s…um… It’s neat.”
“Yeah. And expensive. Be careful with it. You smack those keys like you were doing and you’ll break it. Those things are a bitch to fix.”
Smack the…
Seeing as I had no real recollection of that zoned-out time period, I uttered a vague apology and hobbled into the kitchen, passing Beck as he made his way to the bathroom.
The shower ran, and I sat at the table. With my watch in hand, I frowned at the tiny dancing second hand as it circled endlessly.
Rain continued to fall outside. The shower ran. The fish tank gurgled. The old water pipes inside the walls rattled. Cars drove by, splashing along the puddled road. Faint ticking from my watch rose above it all.
Time seemed normal. For now. But the threat loomed over my shoulder, just one step behind me, waiting to take over. Grasping for control, I watched the little hand move in a circle. Not too fast, not too slow. Steady. Around and around.
The shower cut out and a short time later, Beck emerged from the bedroom dressed in dark denims and a white button-up he’d rolled at the sleeves. His shirt collar was open enough to show part of his chest, and he smelled incredible, like sandalwood and soap and something delectable I’d been craving for fifteen years.
Caught up in how good he looked, I forgot to return my watch to my pocket. Beck snagged it from my hand, and my heart responded with a panicked jolt, skipping double time.
“What is this?”
“A watch. Why? Give it back.” I failed to hide the distressed warble from my voice.
He shook it in my face, and I tore it from his hand ruthlessly.
“What is going on with you?”
“Nothing. Just…” I scrambled to pocket my watch. “I thought Nova creeped you out. Why are you going out with her again?”
My diversion only kind of worked. Beck held my gaze for many beats, searching for what I wasn’t saying before flipping around to the counter and rooting through a few drawers. “You’re thinking of Willow. Nova is the one with the braces.”
Right! The one whose oral skills I had to hear all about. Picturing Beck having sex with anyone stirred a fire inside me. Hiding my feelings had been easier before he knew the truth.
Beck found a pack of gum in the drawer and popped a piece into his mouth before offering it to me. Declining, I fingered my watch in my pocket and barely resisted yanking it out to check the time. “Will you be home tonight?”
“Do I have a curfew?”
I snapped my head up and glared. “Why are you being a dick? It was a simple question.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m not used to getting the third degree about my dates. I don’t know when I’ll be home. Depends where the night goes, I guess. If I don’t manage to get back until morning, should I expect you to be pissy and sulky? You know, thinking back, it does seem to be your MO whenever I date anyone. Guess I know why now.”
I opened my mouth. Shut it. Pinned him with a searing gaze, and snapped, “Does my sexuality bother you?”
It was one of those moments I wished I could jump up and get in his face, but since that would take several minutes—gathering my crutches, setting myself upright, and hobbling over—the dramatic effect I would have been going for would have been lost. So, I stayed sitting.
“No! I’ve never given a shit that you were gay. My best friend crushing on me is a little uncomfortable. Especially since we share a bed every fucking night.”
Fuck it! I took the plunge and staggered up from the table to get in his face properly.
“News flash, Beck, my crush has been going on for years, and you were oblivious up until a month ago because I don’t act on it. I’m just asking questions. You’re the one getting hostile. What the fuck are you afraid of? Me hitting on you while you’re sleeping? If memory serves, it was you crawling all over me in bed. Not the other way around.”
At the mention of his nighttime oops, he broke eye contact and shuffled his feet. If I wasn’t crowding him, I was sure he’d have slipped away, but I wasn’t finished.
“Do I get a little weird when you date? Yeah, okay, maybe I do. What the fuck do you want me to say? I’m human. It’s my problem. I’ll try and hide it better in the future. It’s not fair to you, and I’m sorry. Maybe…” I blew out a breath. “Maybe I should find somewhere else to stay. I knew this was a bad idea coming here.”
“Gray.” Beck’s hand clasped my arm before I could walk away. The touch was brief, and he released it once I met his eyes. “Don’t leave.”
Uncertainty loomed in the background of his gaze. But when I didn’t give him the response he was expecting, it was gone.
He growled and shoved away from the counter. Scrubbing his face then threading fingers through his damp hair. Pacing the small kitchen, it took him a minute to organize his thoughts before he turned to face me. “Look. It was… weird finding out you’ve been crushing on me for so long. Probably there were signs, but I didn’t see them. It came out of left field for me. Knowing I’m the object of your infatuation has me over-analyzing everything.”
“Like what? Am I doing things to make you uncomfortable?”
“No… but I…we…” He waved his hands toward the bedroom.
“That’s eating you alive, isn’t it?”
His shoulders slumped like I’d hit the nail on the head, and he was relieved he didn’t have to put it to words.
“Beck, you aren’t gay. I know that. You know that. You were sleeping. We can’t be held responsible for what we do in our sleep. You probably thought I was a woman.” My own words cut deep because I knew I would spend the
rest of my life imagining that night and pretending it had all been done on purpose. “Don’t punish yourself for it. It’s not like you took any pleasure in it. And… I’m sorry it disgusted you.”
My heart ached as Beck blew out a breath. Maybe it was best I leave. Our friendship wasn’t handling this dilemma well, and I didn’t want to lose Beck over a stupid crush.
As I hobbled from the kitchen, intent on giving him space so he could go off on his date in peace, he caught my arm again.
“For what it’s worth, it didn’t disgust me. You don’t disgust me.”
I gave him a weak smile and peeled his hand off me. “You don’t have to defend yourself. Have fun on your date.”
Chapter Thirteen
Beckett
If I wasn’t entirely focused on the way the low restaurant lighting twinkled off Nova’s braces as she talked then I was rolling Gray’s words around my head, dismissing my date altogether. As it stood, I hadn’t absorbed a single word she’d said, and we’d nearly finished our entrees.
Giving my head a shake, I refocused on her and tried to catch up on the conversation.
“…and then, out of nowhere, she has new scissors. Ones that are identical to the ones I’ve been missing for three weeks. She expects me to believe she just randomly decided to spend a thousand dollars on identical sheers? Like I’m an idiot. I may be blonde, but I’m not stupid. Anyhow, so I confront her…”
I drained my wine and zoned out of the conversation again. I’d forgotten she was a hairdresser. And a talker. There was a reason I’d put her mouth to work last time we’d gone on a date. I shuddered, noting the razor threat gleaming in her mouth and the risk I’d willingly taken.
Sitting in the restaurant, it was becoming harder and harder to remember why I’d been so adamant on having this second date to begin with. I’d practically begged Maria to talk me up so Nova would give me a second chance—since I’d done the “I’ll call you” and never bothered thing the first time around.
She was cute. Tiny, blonde, freckles across her nose, shapely but not too curvy, jade-colored eyes, long lashes, but most importantly, she didn’t have an interest in contacting the dead like freaky Willow. She was my type all wrapped up into one petite little package. Almost perfect, except…