Against Fate: A Prince Castle Novel

by Damian Bloom

  “A fit mind needs a fit body,” I say, blood thumping in my ears. “You’re doing well so far, Grandpa.”

  Luis coughs and then sucks in a wheezing breath. “So far? Oh, no, we’re done here.” Standing up, he wipes the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand. His eyes shine brighter than usual from the exertion. I could turn him into an even bigger whimpering mess if he let me.

  After walking back to the bench where we left our backpacks, we drink some water, take in a few full, shaky breaths, and sit down. Behind us, a fountain spits water in high arches, some of it splattering loudly onto the surrounding pavement. In the distance, cars honk and purr and cough, but they’re far enough away to fade into the background unless I pay attention to them. Much closer and louder are the cheery giggles of a toddler who barrels into a crunchy pile of leaves. His mother, a young, beautiful woman, protests meekly but lets him enjoy himself while she hides an indulgent smile.

  Luis scratches his cheek, which shines healthily with sweat. Is it too cold for him? I worry. A chilly wind blows now and then, but it tickles rather than stings.

  He turns his head to me and asks: “What’s your favorite season?”

  “Autumn,” I say immediately, pointing an open palm toward nothing in particular. “Dying nature, shortening days and lengthening nights, Halloween—a horror lover’s dream.” I pinch the fabric of my damp T-shirt and pull it away from my chest. The wind slips underneath and makes me shudder. “Speaking of spooky stuff, how’s reading going?”

  “I’m halfway through the third book. Haven’t had much time to read lately, now that I’m basically working two jobs.”

  “Does that mean that writing’s begun to feel like work?”

  “Sometimes.” Luis bends down and picks a wine-colored leaf. Holding it by the stalk, he twirls it around, examining both sides.

  “Does that make me your boss?”

  “You wish.” He grins, watching me over his shoulder. “You’re more like my annoying coworker.”

  I laugh at his rude little joke but return to a more serious mood right away. “Are you not having a good time writing so far?”

  “It’s more complicated than that. It’s nice and all, but, like I told you that day at the Hazelnut, I just doubt myself every step of the way. It’s hard to have fun when you’re constantly criticizing yourself.” A gust of wind makes a few strands of hair quiver on his forehead. “I don’t think I’m doing a very good job, and I don’t know if I ever will.”

  I clamp a hand on his bony shoulder. “That’s because you’re just getting started, Luis. I’ve been doing this professionally for five years, and I’d been writing for myself long before that. And I still learn so much with every book that I write.”

  Luis seems rather skeptical. He lets his head hang back and stares at the clear sky.

  “For real,” I say. “I now read A House at Midnight and I cringe. I’m not that writer anymore. And four books from now, I’ll be a much better one than I am today. That’s simply how things work with any craft.” I want to scoop him up into my arms and squeeze him tightly for encouragement. “You really shouldn’t hold yourself to an impossible standard. You’re a noob. Right now, sucking at this is in your job description.”

  Luis gives me a little, tired grin. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

  Zipping up my sports jacket, I hoist myself up from the bench and stand in front of him. “In times like these, I think it’s important to remember why you want to do this. Why you want to be a writer.”

  The corners of Luis’s mouth twitch upward just a little.

  “That’s it, right there,” I say. “Whatever you’re thinking of right now. Whenever you feel like this, just remember that.”

  His smile now extends, spreading to his eyes. “I just love books,” he says. “They taught me so much. Especially as a kid, they made life so beautiful, so magical. So rich. It’s like I’ve lived so many lives, I’ve gone on so many adventures, and known so many loves.” He looks through me, beyond me, at a past I suspect he often revisits. “I looked up to the authors who wrote these books so much. They were my heroes. I wanted to be exactly like them when I grew up.

  “I guess that’s what motivates me. The idea of inspiring someone to believe in magic, in a love so strong that it can conquer all.”

  I nod, a little choked up by Luis’s intensity. “And there’s only one way to make that happen,” I explain. “Keep on writing.”

  I can pinpoint the moment when my words finally resonate with Luis. He straightens his back, juts out his chin, and sets his jaw with determination. The dark cloud of self-doubt that’s been floating over his head seems to have scattered.

  Luis smiles. “And why do you write?” His forehead creases just slightly before adding: “Especially thrillers.”

  Overhead, the sky darkens with rain clouds, turning to colder, more bleak, but just as beautiful colors.

  “You still don’t like thrillers?”

  “I’ve only ever read your work, and I can definitely see their appeal—the adrenaline and all that…But I don’t think I could take too much of it.”

  “Yeah, that’s common.” I shrug. “I’ve always liked them, though. Even when I was so young that I wasn’t even technically allowed to read them. Mostly because they’re entertaining—just fun reads. But at times, they were the only thing I had to distract me from my life.” I try to clear my throat, but my voice goes on sounding strangled. “It’s comforting to think that there’s always something scarier than whatever you’re going through. At least you don’t have a serial killer or a poltergeist on your tail.”

  Luis chuckles, but his eyes bore deeply into mine. There’s so much he wants to ask, but he fears crossing a line.

  “I guess we both want to give something back,” I muse. “If there’s even one person out there that I manage to entertain and help forget about their problems for a couple of hours, I declare myself fulfilled.”

  The child and his mother left some time ago. The wind has scattered most of the leaf pile as well. Luis raises his shoulders around his neck, bit by the sudden change in temperature.

  I feel the urge to take his hand. Not in a sensual way. Definitely not in a romantic one. But in the friendly manner in which two people who share something might hold hands—I just want him to know I get him; I understand. And maybe this is the feeling that pushes us to write. Perhaps that’s all a story is—an intention to connect, to give something that has value to you and you hope another might cherish too.

  “Can I ask you something personal?” Luis says, tired of chewing on his questions.

  I nod reluctantly.

  “Why don’t you believe in love?”

  A bitter sigh uncoils from my gut. Despite all the ways I’ve opened up to Luis so far, I’ve made sure to keep the parts of my past that still hurt safely locked away. Usually, a simple stray thought wandering into that territory is enough to make me wince in pain. “I haven’t told you yet, but I was married. Six years ago.”

  Luis’s eyes widen. His lips part in surprise.

  “Yeah. High school sweethearts. Prom king and queen. All the teenage romance cliches you can imagine.” For some strange reason, I almost feel like laughing. The boy I used to be and the man I am now have so little in common, it’s hard to believe they’re the same person. “It lasted four years.”

  I squirm under the pain of the past, not sure I can talk about this. “Started up as a fairy tale but turned into a nightmare by the end.”

  Something that Luis reads on my face makes him soften. “I’m sorry.”

  Yeah, so am I. To this day, I’m sorry I ever trusted anyone as much as I trusted her.

  He leans in, eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”

  Hands burrowed deep in my sweatpants pockets, I kick at a pebble. “I thought everything was going well. I believed we were happy. We’d even started talking about children.” My chest’s so tight it hurts to breathe. “Her name was Mia. She
worked as a legal secretary in a major law office. Great job—we were both very excited when she landed it. Demanding, too.” My throat clenches like I’m being strangled by the past. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why is it all so vivid, like it only happened yesterday? Why can’t I manage to forget it? I keep waiting for time to wash it all out, like a shard of glass polished by the ocean, pointy edges softened into curves.

  It’s the first time in years that I’ve allowed myself to climb the mental walls I’ve circled these memories with. As I talk to Luis about it, I can almost see her in front of me: stiletto shoes, carefully tailored suit, a glossy curtain of long, straight hair falling to her shoulders.

  “She started coming home later and later—sometimes, in the middle of the night. Work was crazy. They were going through a hectic period, and she was needed there. But she was getting paid for the extra hours, of course, and we could use the extra money, so she was doing it for us.” I draw in a quivering breath. “She stopped checking her texts or picking up the phone around me. We stopped having sex. When I kissed her, she was as rigid as a statue.”

  Luis winces, expecting the obvious. Of course, anyone could see it from miles away. Except for me—stupid fool, blinded by my love for her, by the ideals I had for our relationship. For our family…

  “Did you catch them?” Luis asks.

  “I didn’t have to. She woke up one morning and decided she’d had enough. Told me it was over—she didn’t love me anymore, and she hadn’t loved me for a while.” A memory descends on me as suddenly as the shudder that succeeds it—a pair of clear green eyes I’d dreamed of writing about for years, suddenly tainted with disdain. “She looked at me with such indifference…Like I was dead to her. I’ll never forget it. Like I was nothing but an inconvenience to her, weighing her down.” Tilting my head back, I look up at the sky. Clouds drift aimlessly, just like I used to, a few years back—untethered. “That’s what I can’t understand,” I say. “How can you love someone one day and then lose all feelings for them the next? If I’d at least wronged her somehow, maybe I’d have an easier time coping. But for it to all just fizzle out like that simply because she got bored of me…Like it was nothing but a dream, like I was dispensable.” I curl my hands into fists, anger surging through me. I resist the urge to punch a tree. “Our love was the one thing I was most sure of in the entire world, and it proved to be nothing but a sham. An illusion.” The air freezes around me. “It’s been haunting me ever since.”

  Pulling his backpack onto his lap, Luis clutches it to his chest. He debates saying anything else. “What happened next?”

  My world was utterly upended, my heart obliterated. I entered the darkest times of my life, and the darkness drenched me so thoroughly that it never left me.

  I shrug, but I doubt it looks as casual as I intended it to. “We divorced. Last thing I heard, she married her boss.”

  As always, words fall short. I can’t make Luis understand what it was like, so I won’t even try to. I probably will never be able to put the pain of that betrayal into words.

  Luis collects his thoughts for a second. “Adam—”

  “Look, Luis,” I say, cutting off whatever follow-up question or pitying comment he has. I wish I could tell him more, but I can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. Some monsters are better locked away and ignored. Rattling their cages only gives them power. “I think it’s good that you’re picky about guys, but I worry about how high your expectations are. The more you expect from people, the worse it hurts when they inevitably disappoint.”

  Turning his face away, Luis stares down the empty park pathway. The wind whistles in my ears. I nudge him with my knuckles and say, “Let’s go.”

  The rest of the day goes by as usual. After the park, Luis goes home to shower and change but shows up at my door within an hour.

  On opposite sides of our usual table, he and I work on our individual projects. The only sounds that break the twilight’s quiet are the hypnotic tapping of fingers on keyboards, the ungodly whir of Luis’s prehistoric laptop, and Hector’s soft purring. The cat has been home a lot more since Luis started coming around, and I can’t make sense of his spontaneous infatuation with the man.

  Although from time to time, Luis asks for my opinion on something, our current routine doesn’t exactly require us to be in the same room anymore. However, even if Luis is aware of this, neither of us dares point it out. Writing is usually a lonely profession, and a writing buddy—especially one you like—is a rare and precious thing.

  The sun splatters the last of its rays over the sky, then disappears, swallowed by the night. We only notice it’s half past ten when Luis yawns and peels his tired eyes away from his laptop. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyelids. “I think that’s all the writing I’m capable of for today.”

  “That’s alright.” I slam both of our laptops shut. It’s become a routine for Luis to hang around for an hour or so after writing, just to chat and clear our minds.

  But tonight, I’ve got a mission. “Come.”

  Standing up on unsure legs, Luis follows me to the couch. “What are we doing?”

  The standing lamps cast dim orange light from opposite corners.

  I pull out my phone and go to the app store, holding it at an angle that allows Luis to see what I’m doing. “You’ve been a bad boy,” I mutter.

  His eyes are small with exhaustion. “I have?”

  “You haven’t done your homework, have you?” The pumpkin-orange Grindr logo pops up on my phone screen.

  A short-lived flash of confusion precedes a horrified understanding on Luis’s face. “You’re signing me up for a hookup app?”

  “It’s not strictly for hookups.” Not that I’ve ever tried using it for anything too serious. “I’m sure there must be others looking for dating and love—all that stuff.” I circle a hand as if “all that stuff” might be floating in the air.

  Luis threads his fingers together in his lap, his face scrunched up with displeasure. “I want a love story,” he whines. “Not a Grindr date.”

  “Well, for that to happen, you need to first meet a man. Online dating is probably the most laid-back method to do that. Would you prefer to go to a gay bar?”

  A muscle twitches in Luis’s cheek.

  I start setting up his profile, skipping most of the questions. “Top or bottom?”

  Luis’s mouth falls open, and he barely manages to close it again.

  “Hey, the app’s asking.”

  Arms crossed, Luis turns away, facing toward the bookcase. “The app should mind its business.”

  “Vers?”

  He jumps to his feet like I pinched him, then strides over to the shelves. I’ve learned this trick of his already—pretending to browse through my book collection so he doesn’t have to look at me.

  Okay, fine, I guess we’re not advertising his sexual preference. I skip the question. It was worth a try, though.

  For pictures, I go to Luis’s Facebook page and download his last three profile photos. When I’m done setting up his Grindr profile, it doesn’t provide much information other than his first name and age.

  “You wanna come over here and check the guys out, or should I go ahead and find someone for you?”

  Luis pulls a book from the shelf and flips through its pages too quickly for his eyes to follow. “I’m not checking anyone out because I don’t plan to go out with anyone.”

  The app fills up with naked torsos, and I sigh. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. “How will you find a guy if you’re not willing to go on dates?” It feels like we’ve had this conversation a million times already.

  “You can’t force love. When it’s meant to find me, it will.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  Hearing me raise my voice, Hector storms into the room to make sure I’m not mistreating his new best friend. Luis paces from one side of the living room to the other. The cat lies down next to me a
nd watches him with half-open eyes. “I’ve told you this a hundred times, Adam, but you don’t want to listen to me. Love is meant to strike when you least expect it. That’s how all the big love stories happen—Rose and Jack, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, Noah and Allie.”

  “If Tinder would have been a thing in their time, I’m sure they’d have been on it.”

  Luis whirls to me and frowns, not particularly amused by the joke.

  “Those are stories, Luis.” I know I said the wrong thing as soon as it leaves my mouth, but Luis can be so stubborn, and I’m tired of measuring my words.

  His eyes dagger me. “To you, they’re just stories. To me, they’re the goal.” Curling his hands up into fists, he declares: “I want sparks, Adam. And chirping birds, and fireworks, and every single other cliche that’s ever been associated with love.”

  Shifting in my seat, I bury my head between my shoulders. Luis is flying so high up in the sky that I wonder how he’ll be able to survive the unavoidable fall. He’ll get hurt—that’s almost guaranteed. Although I’m not sure why I care so much, the thought of him ending up hurt makes me wince.

  “Sometimes, those things happen, and it’s got nothing to do with love,” I point out. Didn’t the air crackle when I first met him? Didn’t my stomach tingle so hard I was almost sick? Doesn’t it still happen when I look at Luis or think of him when he’s not around? Does that mean I’m in love? No, no way. It just means…honestly, I don’t know what it means. I haven’t tried to figure it out until now. The way I feel about Luis is rare enough that I don’t have anything to compare it to…

  I tense up as I search for answers. It must be lust. And maybe friendship. And just how unbearably likable he is.

  “Come on, Luis, just give it a chance. You’ve never even been on a date before. You just check it out, see if there’s anything promising there, and if not, we reconsider it.” I hold up my phone. “I can even help you text the guys if you’re shy. Just think of it as research for your book.”