by Chase Connor
“Might have been.”
“Concerned about what?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” She threw her hands up suddenly. “Talk to him about it. Y’all are so close now.”
I sighed.
“And we were having such a nice moment.”
I rose to my feet and started to walk away.
“Oh, don’t be so damn sensitive.” Oma huffed from behind me. “How the hell am I supposed to tell you things I don’t know? Someone needs to slap you upside the head.”
Turning to Oma, I said: “And someone needs to drop a house on your sister.”
Oma’s eyes turned to slits. I let that hang in the air.
“Goodnight, Oma.”
And then I went upstairs to bed.
Chapter 7
The house was on fire.
That’s what woke me up.
Flames.
Smoke.
Heat.
Oma and I needed to get out.
Except, when I sat up in bed, my chest heaving, my heart thumping, sweat beading on my forehead, everything was dark and quiet. I heard something scurry away. I glanced in the direction of the sound but saw only a shadow slip through the bathroom doorway. Clutching my hand to my chest, I smelled the air, listened for the crackling of a fire. Within the space of heartbeats, it became apparent that I had only had a bad dream. With mild trepidation, I pushed the covers off and slid my legs over the side of the bed.
My feet touched the icy floorboards, but I didn’t even wince; instead, I focused all of my energy on other senses. What could I see and smell? The room was pitch black, and I could smell nothing—other than how Oma’s house normally smelled. Wood and cinnamon and a faint undercurrent of the lavender cleaner she liked to use when performing the task. I pushed off of the bed gently and stood at my bedside, my head turning slowly, my nose and eyes laser-focused on their assigned tasks.
Nothing.
I was alone, and everything was quiet and still. There was no fire. I had merely been dreaming. Nothing more.
Just as I was going to sit back down and slide my legs back under the covers, staving off the frostbite that was threatening my toes, I saw the light. A sickly, eerie green light slithering under the door. Something between a glowstick and radiation beamed from under the door and cast the room in an eerie, putrid glow. My eyes grew wide as I stared at the crack under the door where the green light was coming from. As I watched, the light grew brighter by the second as my eyes grew wider at the sight. Within ten seconds, the room was filled with the color of the light, and I had to reach up to shield my eyes in an effort to keep from being blinded.
When I opened my eyes, the sun was rising in the sky and was filling the bedroom with light. I was comfy, cozy, snug as a bug in a rug in bed. I had only been dreaming. I sighed to myself as I pulled the covers more tightly around myself. Spring was looming in the background, but upper Ohio had decided that one more really severe cold snap was necessary before winter would give up the ghost. I shivered slightly, tempted to roll up like a burrito and attempt to go back to sleep. As I rolled to my side in the bed, my phone on the bedside table caught my eye.
Text Lucas and tell him to come over and crawl into bed with you. He’ll make things warmer.
Shaking my head clear of the thought, I gathered up my nerve and got out of bed, wincing and hopping from foot to foot on the icy floorboards. After making the bed and generally straightening up my room, my cell phone stayed in my mind. I wanted to text Lucas. But that wasn’t the right move at this point in our…relationship? I needed to establish boundaries in whatever it was we had going on. Coming off as overly eager or ready to try and fall in love, or hell, even have an actual relationship wasn’t the best move. Well, maybe Lucas would have welcomed such a move, but I wasn’t so sure that it was something that I could commit to at the moment.
But you want to, dumbass.
Okay. So, yeah. I wanted to—for once in my life—jump headfirst into something besides my career and not care what consequences might come my way. Especially with a romantic relationship. As I went into the bathroom and went about my morning routine of getting ready for the day, I couldn’t help but consider my past relationships. I’d literally only dated two guys in my life—and I wouldn’t have categorized either as all that serious. Nice, sure. Serious? No. One was at the beginning of my rise to stardom in the industry, so we all know why that didn’t work out. The other one was a few years before I had come back to Point Worth looking for silence and, love, I guess. It just fizzled out.
Passion is essential in a relationship. I hadn’t been passionate about either. The sex had been mediocre, maybe because I hadn’t been that into the guys I’d been dating, but I hadn’t been that interested in sex, truth be told. When I was a teenager, I was pretty sure that I was gay. I had even told Oma that I was gay. I found guys attractive—even wanted to express my appreciation for them physically from time to time. But when I went to Hollywood, and my career started, I found myself less and less interested in guys and sex.
Guys had always been more sexually attractive to me. I had never found a single woman attractive in a sexual way. Beautiful? Hell to the yes. Did I ever want to have sex with a woman? Fuck no. Nothing against women, but guys were my thing. Or, so I’d thought. When I got to Hollywood, started working hard, traveling, becoming Jacob Michaels, I suddenly wasn’t so sure about anything. No. I wasn’t questioning if maybe I was straight or bisexual or something…but perhaps asexual? Sometimes the very thought of having sex completely turned me off.
Some of the hottest guys in Hollywood—sexual orientation is always debatable when it comes to a lot of rich and famous people—had tried to get in my pants. It was always a struggle to not throw up a little in my mouth each time. The whole concept of someone wanting to date me or have sex with me because they saw me as this “gorgeous movie-slash-rock star” made the bile rise from my gut and settle at the back of my throat.
That was it, though, wasn’t it? After a long time, I began to realize that I was definitely gay and not asexual. I just couldn’t get sexually aroused by people who wanted to have sex with me because I was Jacob Michaels. I wanted someone to want to be with me and have lots of sex with me because I was Rob Wagner. Or Robert Wagner or, hell, even Robbie Wagner. I wanted someone to want me for me—not all the glitz and glam and things they believed because PR and the media had told them to believe them.
Lucas likes Rob Wagner. A lot.
Was that why I was so drawn to Lucas? He had been attracted to me when I was just Rob Wagner in high school? He didn’t care that I had become a celebrity and famous the world over? He didn’t care that I had played concerts and performed on the most revered and storied stages all over the world. He didn’t care how much I got paid for a single movie. He didn’t care if I had won any awards or knew so-and-so or what kind of car I drove or if I had a big, fancy house. The first question he had asked about my acting career was whether I had gotten to see the Northern Lights while shooting in Finland.
Just invite him over. Nothing has to happen. Nothing has to be assumed.
When I walked down the stairs, my room was in perfect order, and I was wearing long underwear, jeans, a t-shirt, sweater, wool socks, and hiking boots. A suitable outfit for a cold Ohio day. Oma would be pleased. In fact, when I walked into the kitchen, hugging my arms around myself, she was at the stove, dressed similarly to myself and making breakfast.
“It’s twenty-damn-degrees in here, Oma,” I grumbled as I went to the fridge for orange juice, then remembering I hadn’t picked any up as promised the day before, frowned as I opened the door.
Orange juice. Oma never failed.
“I turned the damn furnace up ya’ titbag.” She grumbled back with a smile on her face. “I didn’t have it cranked that high because I thought they was lying about this cold front coming in. It’s damn near the end of March, and it feels like the beginning of January.”
“You aren’t l
ying.” I agreed as I poured a glass of juice.
“Now they’re saying we might get one last snow tonight before all is said and done.” She shook her head. “Can you believe that shit?”
“Well…yes.” I laughed as I put the orange juice back in the fridge and poured myself a cup of coffee. “And you shouldn’t have a problem believing it either. You’ve lived here over a hundred years.”
“Sit your ass down at the table before I kick it.” She jabbed a gravy covered spoon at the table with a laugh.
Following her command with a chuckle, I sat down and sipped at my juice, then switched to my coffee. I needed something warm and comforting on such a cold day.
“You know how to start a fire?”
“Are you thinking of arson, or…”
“In a damn fireplace, ya’ idiot.” She rolled her eyes even though she was amused. “I was gonna put a fire in the fireplace after breakfast, but if you know how, I’ll put you to use for once.”
“I can probably figure it out.” I shrugged. “It’s been a minute since I’ve used a real fireplace.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Most the ones I’ve used were gas and turned on with a button or the turning of a knob.”
She waggled her head.
“Now, I’ve made some biscuits, good ole sausage gravy, bacon…”
“Oh, good. Heart attacks all around.”
“…and you’re gonna eat all I give ya’.” She snapped. “You’re still too damn skinny, and I don’t want you to look like this come Spring. I wanna be able to take you out in public without getting looks. At least, not for the wrong reasons. Also, if you’re going to be tumbling in the sheets with Lucas all the time, you need the extra calories.”
“Ew.”
“Just tellin’ it like it is.” She shrugged. “Besides, the food will help warm ya’ up. Nothing like a thousand calories at breakfast to raise your body temp.”
“I suppose.” I chewed at my lip.
Oma looked over at me with a frown.
“What?”
“Just come out with it, ya’ asshole.” She waved the spoon in the air. “I can tell you got something on your mind. So just say it or ask it or whatever you need to do.”
I sighed and took a sip of my coffee. How was it that Oma could always tell from one thing I said or one look I gave that I had something weighing on my mind? I guess she wouldn’t have been my grandmother if she couldn’t read my behavior.
“It’s nothing really,” I replied. “I just woke up and thought about texting Lucas to invite him over for…I don’t know. No reason. Just to invite him over.”
“So?”
“That just seemed a little odd is all.”
“Robbie,” Oma chuckled, “once you’ve seen a man’s balls, it’s hard to call anything else awkward, right?”
“Oma.”
“Well, hell. If you can see that, you can surely invite a man over for breakfast or coffee or just to have a nice leisurely chat. Not much is more awkward than a ballsack, Robbie.”
“From the owner of a ballsack, and also your grandson, I ask that you never utter the word ‘ballsack’ again in your life.”
“All’s I’m sayin’.” She shrugged. “I mean, you two are…friendly…he’s my friend, he can be invited over without it being weird. I don’t want to see you two going after it, though. My heart couldn’t take that.”
“Oh, you volunteer at the LGBTQ center, but two guys smoochin’ is too scandalous for ya’?” I teased.
“It’s not because it’s two guys, ya’ dipshit. I’m just old and ain’t gettin’ none myself. I don’t need to be reminded that those years are behind me now. Your Oma is dried up like a prune.”
“Ew.”
She waggled her head.
“You could always give Mr. Barkley a call.” I grinned evilly.
“You could always turn that chair over and sit down on it.” She growled.
I laughed.
“Maybe I’ll invite him over, then.” I shrugged as Oma grabbed a plate from the countertop beside her and started making a plate. “He could have lunch with us or something.”
“Text him for God’s sake.” She rolled her eyes as she ladled gravy on top of biscuits. “If he ain’t busy and gets over here soon enough he can have some biscuits and gravy.”
“Is there sausage or anything in it?”
Oma looked up suddenly with a smile.
“What?”
“Considering his dietary needs, huh?”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“That spells out caring.”
“I can spell other things if you like,” I grumbled.
Rolling my eyes, I reached into my pocket and found nothing. I had left my cell phone upstairs in my room on the bedside table. For a split second, it pained me to not be able to text Lucas and tell him to come have breakfast with us. That thought immediately coming to mind just pissed me off. I was starting to get pissed that my mind would immediately think such a thing so quickly and easily about someone whom I was just…well, I didn’t know what to call the thing Lucas and I had going on, did I? Were we “seeing each other”? “Dating?” “Fucking?”
No. That last one was crude, and we definitely cared about each other as people, so “fucking” was reductive. Maybe “friends with benefits” or something? We were definitely becoming friends, if not already friends, and there were definitely benefits to that, so maybe that was the best term. Then again, I wasn’t sure how I truly felt about Lucas. I knew that my body was drawn to his. In fact, every time he popped into my head, I felt aroused. Not physically of course, but I felt that fluttering in my lower abdomen that was a signal that my body was pleased by the thought.
Also, I was irritated with myself that I was being such a whiny little bitch about the whole thing. Maybe I didn’t vocalize every thought I had, but I definitely had some inner turmoil over the entire situation. That was high school type behavior, and I just didn’t want to admit that my brain possessed such abilities. Then I’d remember that werewolves were real and Oma was a witch and wonder why I was wasting valuable thoughts on something like whether or not Lucas and I had a real relationship forming.
Andrew. That was a problem.
Why hadn’t I thought about Andrew and that whole situation more since it had happened? No, plainly said, why wasn’t I spending more mental energy on dissecting the new knowledge that Andrew was a werewolf? That werewolves were real? Why hadn’t I thought about going to see Andrew during the light of day to speak to him? I needed to tell him what I thought of him. I needed to ask questions. Ultimately, I needed to let him know that next time I would ask Lucas—or whoever was driving—to back up and hit him again. I needed to have a confrontation with the guy I had been on a date with who had tried to force himself on me and then, I guess, murder and eat me.
What do werewolves do when they attack someone?
Do they just attack the person?
Do they turn them into werewolves?
Do they eat their victims?
What…exactly…had been Andrew’s intent in werewolf form?
Did he even know?
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, just use my phone.” Oma rolled her eyes as she slapped the plate of food down in front of me. “Text the boy and get him over here so you can stop frothing at the mouth.”
“That’s not what I was thinking about, Oma.”
My grandmother picked up her phone and tapped on it for a second then set it back down in the same spot.
“There.” She put her hands on her hips. “I texted him for God’s sake.”
“Okay.” I shrugged and picked up my fork. “But that wasn’t what I was thinking about, either way.”
I looked down at my plate and saw that it was covered entirely in biscuits that had been split in half, drowning in creamy gravy and slices of bacon to the side. Looking at all of the heavy food made my stomach churn a little. Partly in a good way at the thought of Oma’s delicious cookin
g, but also from thinking about how my gut would feel an hour after eating it.
“What the hell were you stuck in your head about then?” She asked as she walked over to the stove to make her own plate. “You sure have been thoughtful lately. Wish you’d been like that a decade ago when you packed up and ran off in the middle of the goddamn night.”
“Oma…”
“Oh, just tell me what you was thinking then.” She stopped me.
Oma’s phone dinged. I reached over and looked at the screen.
I’d love to come have breakfast. Be there shortly. That’s what Lucas had responded. He hadn’t even asked what we were serving.
“I think I need to talk to Andrew, right?” I responded as I set Oma’s phone down. “Lucas is coming over.”
“Good,” Oma said. “And why the fuck do you think you need to talk to Andrew? He done messed up. That ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”
Oma filled her plate and came to sit down across from me, immediately grabbing up her fork and cutting off a piece of gravy-laden biscuit. She stuffed the bite in her mouth with a satisfied, nearly orgasmic expression.
“Because I have questions.”
“What questions could you have?”
I thought about that.
“You’re just curious ‘cause you found out he’s a damn werewolf.” She shook her head before stuffing another bite in her mouth. “Let that go, Robbie. It ain’t gonna lead nowhere but trouble. He tried to attack you, Lucas stopped him, he learnt his lesson, it’s over.”
Andrew had said some things over dinner that I had questions about that were starting to come back to me. It was like experiencing a trauma—which I guess nearly getting attacked by a werewolf was trauma—and my mind had shoved details out of my mind in the moment. Like temporary amnesia. Now I was starting to remember the details of our conversation over dinner at the Indian restaurant. Things like how he thought I smelled. He had said I was “intoxicating.” Lucas had recently said the same thing.
What does Oma smell like?
I smelled the air, pretending that I was clearing my nose. Everything just smelled like food. I couldn’t pick out a particular scent on the air that could be attributed to Oma’s person.