by J. P. James
Hudson places a steaming mug on the counter in front of me. I take a brisk sip, looking out the window at the apartments across from us. The morning light plus coffee never fails to wake me up, but I wish I was in a better mood to start the day.
“Thanks,” I tell Hudson.
He gulps his coffee, and sets his mug down loudly so my gaze shifts from the windows to him.
“Want to talk about it?” He asks.
I shrug, looking at the brown drink in my hands.
“He didn’t say anything. He’s probably still is his audition. I think he has the closing shift at Florian’s. We could go there for dinner before our shift?”
Hudson shakes his head, pressing his lips firmly together.
“I don’t want to scare him,” he clarifies.
My eyebrows cross as I take another sip. “What makes you think he’s scared? I’m not sure what he feels.”
Hudson nods, considering the possibilities. “Even more reason not to crowd his space. He needs time.”
Sometimes it’s infuriating how right my brother can be. He’s hit this one on the head though. We’ve spent most of our lives out of the closet, knowing this fundamental part of our identity. Ricky had a crash course in his sexuality a few hours ago. He needs to process things, not just with us but also on his own. If he’s gay I’d welcome him to the community with open arms, but he doesn’t have to rush this just to find a label. Besides, I’m afraid that if he rushes into things, I’ll feel compelled to rush things too. I don’t know what that means for our relationship with Ricky, and the unknown terrified me.
Instead of voicing all these worries, I turn to Hudson and nod slowly. “Honestly, I think I need time too.”
Hudson smiles softly, his eyes shining with what I think are same worries as mine. “Me too,” he says as he takes another sip.
It’s been one hell of an overnight shift.
“I don’t think there’s any beer in the fridge, damnit,” Hudson groans as we throw ourselves into his Lincoln like two corpses into their graves.
There’s a saying when you’re an EMT. If you’ve seen one EMS shift, you’ve seen one EMS shift. There’s never a pattern. Some night are busier or slower than others, just because. Some people might not like the variety, or the uncertainty, but Hudson and I have always handled unpredictable situations well. We work well under pressure. That doesn’t mean, however, that shifts don’t get to us.
Tonight was a grueling reminder of that fact. Over the last twelve hours, we’ve had just as many emergency calls. We rushed an unconscious woman from her apartment building to the nearest hospital. There was a three-car pile-up with multiple injuries, but we transported two seven-year-old twin girls and their mother while another ambulance came for the other cars. The worst call of the night had to be the DOA bicyclist struck by a drunk driver. He was young, still in high school, and he wasn’t wearing a helmet.
“I’m too burnt out for a beer anyways. I just want to get to sleep,” I tell him.
Simmering in the background behind our crisis responses, I can’t stop worrying about Ricky. We didn’t hear from him today. I tried texting to ask how the audition went, but nothing. The naïve child in me wants to believe he’s busy, that he’s not avoiding me on purpose. My pride knows better. He either doesn’t know what to say, or doesn’t want to say anything.
I’m trying to keep my worries at bay, but I think I’m more worried about myself than I am about Ricky. Hudson and I used to play the field. We’d go out and hook up on our nights off. Danny wasn’t the first guy we shared in bed, but he was the first one we agreed to date. We fell hard when we shouldn’t have. Despite the love I felt, that I still feel for Danny, it pales in comparison to Ricky.
Ricky means the world to me, to both of us. I knew we were growing apart, but the three of us are thicker than that. We’re like the Musketeers, or Harry, Ron, and Hermione. When we get together, it’s as if time and distance mean nothing. We’re the same rowdy kids in class, pretending to swordfight with pencils and sneaking out at night to watch movies at each other’s houses. We’ve been best friends forever, and I don’t want to ever lose that.
When I think about what the three of us did last night, I’m stunned silent. I’ve always wanted Ricky to feel safe, wanted him to know that Hudson and I were there for him, and it was like all that love and devotion for him finally clicked. He turned me on like a lover never has. I could watch him take his pleasure for hours. He was completely free. It was erotic and sensual and breathtaking, the way he moved his body. Don’t get me started on his sounds either. I could probably come just listening to him call our names, hear him whine in ecstasy for more.
I can’t stand that we haven’t heard from him, after we were so vulnerable for each other. My body was ready for anything, but I think my heart wasn’t. It’s still recovering from the torment Danny inflicted.
It’s a quiet ride back to the apartment. I tune the radio to one of the independent stations, hearing but not really listening to the ambient electronic music. It isn’t until Hudson parks the car that he speaks up again.
“Have you, uh,” Hudson tries to ask, keeping his eyes on the road. “Have you heard anything?”
He knows I haven’t. I’d tell him the second I did. I wonder if Hudson’s heart is hurting from this too.
“No,” I tell him.
My mind wants to add, not yet, I haven’t heard yet, but again that’s the naïve child talking. The child gets his hopes up. I bury the words before they surface.
We stay silent as we walk into the building, and ride the elevator to our floor. The hallway is eerily quiet at this hour, but I’ve gotten used to it too. It doesn’t help the thoughts that won’t stop circling back around, but I figure I’ll pass out before much longer. Hudson opens the door, and I’m the one to close it behind me.
“Uggh,” we hear from the other side of the apartment.
I flip the switch as I hear Hudson shift into defense mode, ready to tackle the intruder. What I see instead sends my heart into panic mode.
Ricky curled up on the couch. He’s hugging one of the cushions, but he looks like he’s having a nightmare. He tosses and turns, his face scrunched tight.
Hudson turns to me. He’s been just as stressed tonight, on edge from everything that’s happened the last 48 hours, but I see it melt away before my eyes. His face softens, and he’s smiling. He even has some color back to his face. After the horrors that we saw tonight, that alone is a miracle.
“Hud-son, Hay-don,” Ricky mumbles in his sleep.
My brother and I move like a unit, kneeling at Ricky’s side in an instant. I watch for a moment, admiring how real he looks.
He’s here. He’s in our apartment, sleeping on our couch. This isn’t some naïve childish hope. This is real. I place my hand on his arm gently, wanting to feel how real this is. Hudson goes for his cheek, brushing it lightly with his fingers.
“Ricky,” Hudson whispers above him.
Ricky’s eyes shoot open, but he stays still. His eyes process the view, and I can see his mind working to catch up to them. It takes a few seconds, but he sits up quickly once his mind clicks to life.
“You’re back,” he says back, his voice rough and dry. “I thought you left.”
I’m the one to chuckle, albeit lightly. There’s an unmistakable longing in his voice that settles deep in my core.
“It’s our apartment, Ricky,” I tell him. “We just finished our night shift.”
He nods, but the action has him slump forward. He rubs his head, and groans into the quiet apartment. My hand on his arm tightens, rubbing it as Hudson moves his hand from Ricky’s face to his knee.
“Long day?” Hudson asks.
Ricky nods, slower this time, and then looks up at us.
His eyes are tired and vulnerable, not to mention stunning.
“You could say that,” he says. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Us to,” I tell him. I don’t need to confir
m this with Hudson. I already know he’s been racking him head too.
Ricky looks between us, his mind working like it’s making a decision, and then he lunges. He pulls our bodies to him, his right arm gripping around my shoulders while his left arm grips Hudson. He pulls us to his neck, and he breaths deeply against us.
“I missed you guys,” he says hoarsely.
The horror, the tension, and the anxiety of the night snap, disappearing for the time being. I’m sure it’ll surface at some point, the next time I feel stressed out or the job is just tough, but Ricky’s arm work like a salve. His embrace is balm on an open wound, and I sink farther into him. Hudson does too, and I feel surrounded by the two guys I’ve come to care about most in my life.
“I had a terrible day,” I confess.
Ricky’s arm grips me tighter, grips Hudson tighter too as Hudson nods vigorously to match my words.
Ricky’s breath is warm and comforting in my ear, his lips brushing against my neck as he whispers.
“It’s okay. I’ll support you. I’m here for you.”
Hudson chokes, and leans impossibly closer to Ricky. Ricky kisses our heads, and pushes our heads against him. I bury my face deeper against his firm chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. It calms me, soothes me, and heals my heart all at once.
We’ve always offered Ricky our support. I didn’t know how much I needed his in return.
10
Ricky
One week later…
I tap my fingers on the white tablecloth. I know I look crazy but, hey, nothing about my life is normal these days. I look like a junkie on the lookout for a dealer.
In reality, I’m at a lovely Italian restaurant waiting for one boisterous and spirited pink-haired lady.
“Hey sweetie,” Sarah shouts from over my shoulder.
I jump halfway to the ceiling as she appears from behind. She moves like a snake, taking the empty seat across from me.
“Jumpy, much?” She asks as her eyebrows crinkle.
I groan and roll my eyes halfway to Sunday.
“You’re the one that calls me out of the blue, after a week of radio silence, saying we need to meet within the hour. Forgive me if I’m jumpy,” I say back.
She puts her hands up, calmly, as her face softens. “Sheesh, where’s the fire, Ricky? I didn’t mean to rile your feathers, but I wanted you to hear this from me. You know, before–,” but her voice trails off.
Her head gestures wildly instead. I’m pretty good at charades, and judging my her arms, I’d say her sentences goes something like, before my shit storm of a life drops this bombshell on me.
“S-so,” I say before my throat dries. I clear it, and try again. “You’ve heard from her. Is she alright? Where’s Janine?”
I sound pathetic and I don’t care. Despite everything that’s happened this last week, she’s one of the most important people in my life.
Sarah doesn’t keep me in the dark for long. She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. “Janine’s fine.”
Just as quickly though, Sarah takes her hand back and rolls her eyes. She chuckles too. Unlike Hudson and Hayden’s laughter, which never cease to sound pure and happy, hers is laced with pity.
“Janine is more than fine. She’s on your honeymoon.”
I choke on the water I had just sipped, spilling some down my chin and onto the tablecloth. Of all the awful scenarios I conjured in my head, this was not one of them. Her parents bought us tickets to Florence as our honeymoon present, on top of everything else they covered. Unlike the Rolls Royce or the venue, I patiently awaited our Italian vacation. I’ve never been to Italy. I knew the food and the sights would amaze me, but I really wanted to visit some of the fencing academies. Italian fencing is beautiful, and I wanted to get my hands on a foil and spar in Tuscan countryside.
I forgot all about the honeymoon until now.
“Who’d she take in my place?” I can’t help but blurt out the question.
I know it sounds selfish, but if she whisked some beefy finance bro off on our honeymoon, I don’t think I’ll be able to look her in the eyes ever again. My chest tightens around my heart, and I reach for the remainder of my water to gulp it down.
Sarah snorts, apparently amused by the question. “It’s not like that. She went solo. She finally responded to my DM. She said she’s finding herself,” Sarah tells me, coupling the last phrase with air quotes.
“Oh, okay.” I say lamely.
I can’t fault her for wanting to find herself. It feels like that’s all I’ve been doing for the last week.
“I just wish she hadn’t left you the way she did. She just posted a bunch of pics to her Instagram,” Sarah goes on.
“What?” I ask, another realization hitting me hard in the gut. “I haven’t seen her updates.”
Before Sarah responds, I grab my phone and open the app. I try a couple times to see her page, but once the timeline refreshes and I check my friends, reality comes crashing down.
“Janine blocked me,” I say absently.
Sarah gasps, covering her mouth with one hand while the other rubs at mine. The waitress rounds the corner, all smiles as she tries desperately for our attention.
“Good afternoon and welcome to Ristorante It–,”
“We’ll take two espressos and two glasses of Prosecco, molto pronto,” Sarah barks at the poor girl.
She runs away quickly, a smile never leaving her lips but there was nothing but fear in her eyes. Sarah can be abrasive, but it comes in handy when you need something done and done fast.
“Thanks,” I say as I try to catch my breath. “I can’t believe she blocked me.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want you to see what a mess she is right now,” Sarah wonders, tapping the table with two fingers as she thinks.
“What a mess she is right now?” I say, twirling the empty water in my hand. “I had to move out of our apartment, after being dumped at my own wedding.”
Our waitress sprints across the dining room, and sets all the drinks in front of Sarah. She probably wants to avoid the yelling, and since Sarah ordered it all, she gets it all. Sarah shoos her away and hands me my drink first.
“Bottoms up,” she cheers. We clink, and down nearly the entirety of the sparkling wine.
I grab my espresso next, choosing to swirl it instead, looking at the dark liquid for an answer.
“I hope she’s alright, I really do, but my life is a disaster,” I tell Sarah honestly.
I look at her, and see her expression changed from pity to…pride?
“For a self-proclaimed disaster, you look remarkably put together. For a guy who’s been severely jilted, dare I say you look happy,” she appraises.
I hope it’s the alcohol that’s making me blush, but I finally sip my coffee in the hopes that it’ll also distract from my reddened cheeks. I nod, and when I think quickly over the past seven days, I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling.
“I’ve been focusing on taking care of myself. I took a yoga class this week, and I set up an appointment with a therapist in two days. Otherwise, I’ve been eating well and drinking water. Everything Dr. Oz wants me to do.”
Sarah clicks her tongue, and takes a quick sip of her espresso before she continues.
“So this has nothing to do with a certain set of twins, huh?” She teases.
Ah, yes. My cheeks have now gone lava red.
“I’ve been staying at Hayden and Hudson’s apartment,” I say. Sarah’s eyes bulge, and I rush to explain myself, “you know, because the lease on my apartment was up. It’s been interesting to say the least.”
Her eyes search mine, but then wander over my body, from my neck to my hands. I feel like I’m under a microscope, or a frog waiting for dissection day. Sarah’s eyes settle on mine again, and she smiles coyly.
“Define interesting? You’ve been hanging out a lot, I assume?”
My cheeks aren’t just the color of lava, but have turned into molten earth under cu
rious gaze. I don’t want to admit anything, but I’ve never been good at keeping secrets. Sarah, on the other hand, can smell a liar from a mile away.
“Yeah, we’ve been hanging out. I see them every day, you know, since I live there for the time being,” I try to sound confident as I tell her.
She nods minutely, her eyes narrowing into slits. It’s intense, and I’m not sure how much of it I can take. Finally, though, her eyes release me and she takes a final sip of her espresso.
“Okay, just wondering.”
After a beat of silence, I let out the breath I was holding. Sarah’s given up for now, and I’m going to relish the break.
“Whoever it is, I’m glad you’re getting laid,” she says.
“Me too,” I respond before my idiot brain catches up my idiot mouth. “I mean, shit, I didn’t sleep with anyone, I, uh, I–,”
Sarah chuckles as I try to recover, but she just waves our waitress over instead of listening to my excuses. The waitress sidles up to her, cautiously, but relaxes under Sarah’s softened eyes.
“My dear, what specials do you recommend to replenish someone after a night of tantric sex?” She asks as innocently as if she’d wanted a wine and cheese recommendation.
I blow air hard out my nose, closing my eyes so not to see the horror on our poor waitress’ face. What did she do to deserve us?
“S-scallops, ma’am,” she mutters. “And another glass of Prosecco.”
I look up to see Sarah smiling at the girl. She agrees with her recommendation, ordering the same for us both, and lets her off the hook without another word. Instead, she raises her hand to me, the high-five waiting like an asinine invitation.
Before she makes a scene, I tap her hand quick as a flash.
“I bet that was the first high-five in this restaurant ever,” I tell her.