Cross Island

by Santino Hassell

  “Thick cut or shoestring?” I asked. “Fries are my shit.”

  “Shoestring,” Charles said, holding up his wine glass. “The only way to live. Salty and crispy and delicious.”

  “Okay, sold.”

  The pressure of showing them I didn’t think they sucked faded as they lapsed into whatever conversation they’d been having before I arrived. Relieved, I pretended to scan the short menu for several minutes. Honestly, the lobster roll and fries looked good, but it said market price instead of dollars, so I had the feeling it was expensive. Me balking at money made no sense considering I wasn’t paying rent and would get a fat bonus in the next couple of months, but… it was an ingrained habit to live like I was still poor.

  I glanced up again, just in time to see Stephanie watching me from the corner of her eye. She quickly averted her gaze, but Jace was still watching me with his intense scrutiny.

  “What?” I asked with an awkward laugh. “Am I that funny looking?”

  “No.”

  Okay then. I’d heard people say here and there that Jace was a little eccentric, but now I was wondering if this had less to do with quirk and more to do with whatever one of his men—Chris—had said about me. Me and Chris had had our fair share of run-ins in the years leading up to me moving to Chicago, and I was positive the man was not fond of me. Who knew how he’d described me to his man?

  Again, I could not get over the fact that the whole crew, except Angel, had turned out to be queer.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he challenged softly, an edge of his own Queens accent slipping out even though he spoke loud enough for only me to hear. “Am I that gay looking?”

  For someone so small and longhaired and pretty, he had an attitude like he was hiding a razor blade and a jar of Vaseline in the many pockets of his jacket. Maybe he was with a rich man and living that fancy lifestyle now, but the chip growing on his shoulder matched up perfectly with what Clive had told me about Jace. The way he’d grown up in a similar circumstance as me and Steph. Except… small and looking the way he did.

  Damn.

  Damn.

  I didn’t want to know what this guy had gone through over being gay if I’d sweated it all through my adolescence.

  “No,” I said finally. “I was just thinking how Clive thought we’d get along. Said we had some stuff in common.”

  Jace’s shoulders slid down from where they’d hiked up around his ears. “Yeah, we do. Me and Steph, and you, seemed to have a pretty similar childhood. Except yours maybe had less dead bodies and prostitution, and more gang violence.”

  “There may have been a dead body or two.”

  Jace’s mouth drew down. “Sorry. People like…” He raised his eyebrows without finishing. “Well, they think I’m joking and my dark sense of humor is usually ignored.”

  “It’s okay, man. I’m usually ignored in general.”

  “Not in this crowd.” Jace flicked his fingers at the menu. “Get the lobster roll and stop stressing over the price. Live a little.”

  I snorted. “If I always went the live a little route, I’d drain my savings.”

  “Yeah, well, you know you’re not gonna do that, so why hold back?” He ran his fingers over the brim of his fedora. “Whenever I get tight over spending money, I remind myself that there’s something kinda nice about being able to drop thirty bucks on lunch when once upon a time thirty bucks seemed like a fortune. Unless you’re planning to have a bunch of kids who’ll inherit your dough, I say spend that shit.”

  Charles leaned over. “I cosign that shit. Live like someone’s gonna snatch it at any moment, in my opinion. Because some lowlife always fucking tries.”

  They gave each other understanding nods, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. The mish-mash of accents, attitudes, and back stories to this cast of characters was way more eclectic than I’d expected. And, what do you know?

  Clive was right—I had a feeling I was going to like them.

  I glanced at Stephanie across the table and caught her watching me with a tiny smile. Me interacting with her friends was apparently enough to make her happy. And if that was the case? I could do it. I could try.

  Maybe someday I’d even try with Raymond. Or at least keep from running out of the room or freezing in place at the sight of him.

  This was a start.

  The rest of lunch passed with me defaulting to spectator as they laughed and joked with each other, but the difference between now and all of those QFindr functions was that they went out of their way to draw me into conversations. They looped me into jokes. I felt included in a way that made me realize there had been a part of me that had wanted my sister to bring me into her fold all along.

  Maybe I wouldn’t become best buds with these people, because I honestly no longer felt that need to have friends or be in a close circle, but not feeling like an outcast was an improvement. Especially since Stephanie kept casting big grins in my direction, her eyes twinkling every time.

  When the little get together switched from the restaurant to a bar on the corner, I stood outside while they snagged a table to grab a smoke. Stephanie hung back with me, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat. She looked at me from beneath the brim of her Yankees cap.

  I bopped it with my finger. “Whose hat?”

  “Why do you assume it’s not mine?”

  “Because it’s too big for your head.”

  Stephanie leaned against the wall, looking like the epitome of a Queens girl with her furry hood bunched behind her neck, jeans, and high-top Nikes. “It’s actually Ray’s.”

  Of course.

  I shook my head and blew out a stream of smoke. “Angel doesn’t mind you wearing another man’s gear?”

  “Uh, no. And even if he did, that’s something I’d work out with him.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Besides, he knows he has nothing to worry about. I’m ridiculously in love with him. And Raymond is probably going to propose to David.”

  The information should have stopped me cold, the way the knowledge that Raymond was openly bisexual had, but I just blinked. “You serious?”

  “They’re basically married, anyway. They both took over the old Rodriguez house. Like, it’s in both their names.”

  Slowly, I shook my head. “Sometimes I can’t believe how much shit changed while I was gone.”

  “You mean how all of us except Angel wound up queer?” Stephanie smiled slightly. “Chris has a theory that it’s why we’ve always stuck together since childhood. Tonya was always openly queer, then I came out to you all, and… everyone knew we were all accepting?”

  Yeah. Must have been nice.

  The bitter comment almost sprang off my tongue, but I swallowed it. She seemed to see the resentment in my eyes, though, because she stepped closer to me.

  “Vic, if you’d told me that you’re bi…”

  “I’m not bi.” I held her gaze and exhaled another puff of smoke. “I’m gay. All that shit with girls? It was fake.”

  Shock crossed her face, but then she blinked it away. One of her gloved hands grabbed my own. “I wish I’d known. So much makes sense now.”

  “How does any of the crazy shit I did back then make any sense at all?” I asked with a derisive laugh. “Don’t try to make me feel better for tormenting your friends.”

  “I’m not, but it does make sense.” She squeezed my hand harder. “Look Vic, I’ve spent a lot of time learning to understand my queerness, and reading about what it means to grow up like we did, where we did, and what that can do to someone.”

  “It didn’t turn Jace into a bully,” I said flatly. “Or Aiden. Or Ray.”

  “Jace and Aiden had each other. It was them against the world since they were teenagers, and they became some fucked up Far Rockaway Bonny and Clyde.” A small smile flitted across her face at the mention of her friends. “But you were surrounded by that South Jamaica gang shit, sweetie. You were chest-deep in it because our parents left us to our own dev
ices, and those guys became your family.”

  I finished my cigarette and flicked the butt at the curb without comment. She continued without waiting for me to reply.

  “What I’m trying to say is that you being terrified to come out, and acting aggressively to the guy you wanted to mask your gayness? Yeah. That makes sense to me.”

  “And your friends?” I asked quietly, still watching the burning cherry of my cigarette as the wind blew it around. “What do they think?”

  “I don’t think they know what to think,” she admitted. “Besides Tonya, I’ve never told them my theory about your feelings for Raymond.”

  Would they understand if she did? Maybe not forgive me… but would they get that I wasn’t just some fucking monster?

  I chewed on my lower lip and kept my eyes down, but Stephanie again proved she was good at reading me even after four years.

  “Vic, do you want me to tell Raymond?”

  Once upon a time, the idea would have felt like someone tightening a vice around my chest. Now? I was hit with relief. That she understood, that she’d give them the words I’d never be able to bring myself to say. Everything would be out in the open.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Does that make me a coward?”

  “No. You don’t even see each other.” Stephanie pulled me into a hug. “I got this, baby bro.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and hugged her back. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  We stood there on the sidewalk as the wind blew around us, clinging to each other like we had as children. Back in the days when I’d wake up terrified because our parents had slipped out in the night, and she’d wake up and hold me. I remembered clear as day, being a little kid and both of us wandering down the street in our pajamas to the crack house where our parents hung out. That night, Stephanie had knocked on the door and pleaded for someone to get our mother and father. So, they could come home with us.

  And I remembered clear as day, our father screaming at her in a wild fury. Telling her to get her ass home. Threatening to beat the shit out of her for coming there.

  It was the last time we’d seen them.

  “I love you, Stephanie,” I whispered harshly. “I’m sorry if I made your life harder. That I was the way I was.”

  “It’s in the past.” She pulled back, looking up at me with damp eyes. “God, you’ve changed so much.”

  “Took me four years.”

  “And tio and Job Corps. And… Clive?” Heat flooded my face, and she grinned broadly. “Please just tell me one thing. Are you guys together?”

  I flashed her a crooked smile. “I hope so.”

  Cross Island, ch 19

  Chapter Nineteen

  Clive

  Life was strange.

  If you’d asked me a couple of months ago whether I’d find myself smoking one of Victor’s cigarettes while sitting on the window sill and watching him sleep, I’d have thought you were kidding.

  Yet, there I was taking long slow drags and running my eyes over his muscular body as he slept soundly and peacefully. He was so gorgeous, with moonlight playing over his bronze skin and tattoos, his hair spilling over the pillow, and lips slightly parted, that I was tempted to take a picture. Capture the moment before something happened and it was taken away, but I didn’t. I would never do something so intimate without his permission.

  Maybe he’d humor me again and reenact this precious pose. I was willing to bet he would. That he’d be flattered by it even if he teased me later. That he’d give me that cute smile of his, the one that detracted all of the intimidating swagger he normally exuded and look away out of half-embarrassment and half-shyness.

  Damn, I was in so deep. I didn’t just want him to sleep with me. I wanted him to be with me, and I wasn’t quite sure I’d made that clear to him after our weekend together. Even in the past few days of us mooning over each other like lovesick puppies.

  The closest I’d come had been tonight, after making out like teenagers when he’d arrived to pick me up at QFindr. My hands had been all over him in the car ride home, and he’d broken his rule for me as soon as we’d walked into the house.

  He’d whispered that he didn’t think he could handle not touching me.

  I’d breathed that I never wanted him to stop.

  And it had occurred to me, right then, that the way I felt for Victor was something I’d never experienced before. It was frighteningly intense and intensely real.

  I was falling for him.

  It was a little early to be talking about the long-term, but I was quite comfortable with the idea of him staying right where he was. In my bed. In my house. In the house that now felt like ours because he belonged here. He was comfortable here. He liked it when I called it his home.

  Only a couple of months ago, I’d been on a depressive spiral about the idea of once again showing up to my parents’ house for the holidays alone. Now, I wanted to spend it alone in my house with Victor. I wanted nothing more than to watch him open some presents just to see the look of shock on his face that someone remembered he deserved to get one. Then, I wanted to fuck him at least three times during the Die Hard marathon I’d inevitably put on.

  Yeah, “in deep” did not begin to describe the affection I was starting to have for this man.

  I exhaled slowly and shivered at the arctic air coming in through minor cracks in the window. Life was a trip. Two years ago, I’d been a ghost of the ambitious young man who’d gone to law school. The ghost version of me hadn’t existed because I’d been single. No, ghost-me had slowly taken over during the past decade of me moving through life without really living it.

  It had started with working at a prestigious Wall Street law firm straight out of law school that had been a breeding ground of sociopaths. After that, working as in-house council at the hedge fund had further sucked every spark of life out of me because I’d again been told I was lucky to be there. I’d developed another version of myself to cope with working in what had turned out to be a toxic white boys’ club environment. Then, after I’d fallen for Michael, that other version of me had started coming out to play in my personal life.

  Michael had seemed like the answer to everything that had gone wrong since I’d left law school. I could be fake at work but real at home is what I’d told myself, and he’d make up for everything else. It’d worked for a couple of months before my controlling headstrong nature had gone to bat with his fierce independence, and I hadn’t been able to cope with his choices in terms of staying closeted or his closeness with Nunzio. But I’d loved him, so I’d started becoming the Other Me at home. The Me who could take shit if it meant maintaining the status quo of things being just tolerable enough.

  Eventually my real self had faded to ghost status. I’d perpetually swallowed the fact that maybe adulthood really was nothing but a big pile of shit labeled Discontent until Nunzio pushed the envelope with his little Italy trip. It had been the biggest nope, but Michael’s oblivious reaction had been a slap in the face. And I’d had enough.

  That moment, the moment when I’d decided to make a change even if it was terrifying and plagued with uncertainty, had been when everything had shifted. Yeah, I’d mourned that relationship hard and buried myself in work for several months, but all that had come to a full stop as soon as I’d learned about him moving in with Nunzio. I’d been forced to take a hard look at my own life and make some changes if I was ever going to get to a place where I could be as satisfied as he likely was with his new man.

  So, I’d left the hedge fund for QFindr.

  I’d tried to broaden my sexual horizons at hookup clubs and makeout parties, and had found it not for me. I’d already known that I liked to be in control, that I tended to like younger guys, and that there was nothing wrong with wanting certain things in bed even though I hadn’t been able to fully go there with Michael, but I finally started to own it. I owned it with anonymous hookup after anonymous hookup until those grew empty and boring too.


  Four years later, I’d once again found myself obsessing over work to forget about my empty personal life, but those big changes I’d made before that point? They’d mattered. Leaving my old job and Michael had been the first step. I didn’t even want to consider where I’d be if I’d never felt pushed into making those moves.

  The funny thing was that I’d never looked at it from that perspective until my conversations about Victor’s past. How the hell could I tell him to move on and grow when I wasn’t doing it either? More importantly, what was the point of staying mad at Michael and Nunzio when I was finally coming to terms with the fact that he wasn’t right for me?

  Unlike Victor, who not only seemed right but felt right.

  I stubbed out the cigarette and flicked it out the window. Getting back into bed with Victor and kissing him awake was the next article on my agenda now that I had brooding out of the way, but a rustle outside sent the hairs on my body standing on end. For a second, I froze in place. Then, my heart catapulted and I slowly turned my gaze out the window and down to the driveway below.

  At first, I saw no one, but when I squinted a little closer I clearly spotted a shadowed figure standing against my neighbor’s house. They were just out of the range of the security cameras Victor and Chester had installed, but from the angle there was no doubt they’d be able to see me sitting in my window. Which meant on the first night when Victor and I had slept together, my stalker had probably seen him too. Rage welled in my chest and took hold of my body. The idea of some motherfucker seeing Victor in that moment, post-orgasmic and half naked and opening up to me in a way he rarely did, made me want to go up somebody’s head. Specifically, Travis Gills.

  When would this be over?

  Were we really expected to deal with someone peeping on us indefinitely unless we managed to hold him down and call the cops, catching him in the act? He’d run again, leading to Victor giving chase. Then Travis, or whoever, could potentially attack Victor if he was as unstable and desperate as he’d sounded in his emails. The idea of Victor potentially being hurt due to Travis Gills and his odd obsession with me…