But if he was admitted, he would be compelled to tell either his mother or his brother, who would then be compelled to tell either his mother or his brother. And when his mother knew, she would feel obligated to tell his father, because in some ways, she still considered them to be married. As far as Shane knew, she hadn’t dated since the divorce. Her church was skilled in the art of shaming.
Even though he was well over the age of eighteen, and his father was nowhere near being on his list of emergency contacts, his mother still thought the man deserved to know everything about Shane’s health. What parent wouldn’t be interested in that information? He knew that his father couldn’t have cared less, but he probably put on a show for Shane’s mother.
The dilemma was to stay in the bathroom or to go to bed and risk messing up the sheets. If the unsuspecting maid became concerned about the suspicious state of the room, she might call the police, and he hated cops. Never found one he could trust. Once he explained his condition, it wouldn’t matter whether or not they believed him – the blood was his and any test would prove that. But the thought of being put in another uncomfortable situation made the blood drip a little faster from his nose.
Finally, he decided on staying in the bathroom. He even managed to fall asleep. For how long, he didn’t know, but something woke him up. A knock. He could only guess who it was.
The towel had fallen from his face and there was blood on his shirt, but it didn’t appear to be new. Hopefully, the bleeding had stopped. But he felt the effects from the loss of it as soon as he stood up.
Shane had to steady himself on the sink. He washed the blood from his face, left the towel on the floor, and opened the door. Gripping the handle gave him somewhat stable support.
“Oh,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Are you just getting in?”
“Yes,” Peter said hesitantly, looking him up and down. “And by the state of you, it’s a good thing I did.”
The older man disappeared just for a moment and came back with a bucket of ice. “Want to tell me what happened?”
Taking the bucket of ice, he gestured for Peter to follow him. He went straight into the bathroom, took a clean hand towel, filled it with ice, and then pressed it to his nose. The flow might have stopped but it was better safe than sorry. “I’m on, um...I have...”
He was waving his hand, trying to think of the words, but his brain and his mouth weren’t connecting. Whatever he tried to say wouldn’t make much sense, and he didn’t want to sound like an idiot, so he waited until he was able to fully form the words before speaking them.
“I’m on blood thinners,” he explained. “I was leaving a club and this guy kinda swung the door into my face. It was an accident.”
“You’re on blood thinners?” Peter closed the door and helped the younger man to the table across the room. “How long have you been bleeding?”
“I don’t know. I fell asleep. An hour, maybe?”
“Do you have a goddamn death wish?”
“No,” he mumbled.
Peter paused. “I want you to be honest with me, Shane. Are you on drugs?”
“Do you really think I’m a coke-head?” He shook his head with a laugh. “Come on, man.”
“Well, how am I supposed to trust you? Have you looked in a mirror?”
“So, bleeding automatically makes me a liar?”
“No, but considering how unconcerned you are with the situation, I have to wonder if it was self-inflicted.”
“Well, it wasn’t. I just fucking hate hospitals.”
“I can’t blame you, but I don’t think you realize how serious this can be.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
Peter eyed him warily. “Fine. You’re an adult, I can’t force you. But at least order some room service, alright?”
He couldn’t deny that he was a bit hungry, and if he wasn’t going to replace the blood he’d lost, the least he could do was fuel his body with something else. “Okay.”
“Use the card, kid. Order whatever your black heart desires.”
Shane couldn’t help but smile even though it probably wasn’t supposed to be funny. He was able to gather his senses and ordered whatever sounded good, which was, admittedly, quite a bit.
“Alright, while we wait, let’s get to this getting-to-know-each-other business.”
Shane shrugged. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
“For starters, what do you like to do in your spare time?”
Heaving a sigh, he fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. This was more conversation than he’d had all week. Were they trying to go for a record? Part of him felt like it was a trick. No one could be that interested in talking to him, not for this long.
“Are you asking because you’re bored or because you feel obligated to make conversation?” Shane paused to rethink his response. If someone was genuinely interested in him, he should at least try to interact. “Normal things, I guess. I like being outdoors, listening to music, writing. What do you do besides pretend you’re not loaded?”
Peter chuckled and shook his head. “I like drinking, dancing, traveling, trying new things. And I don’t tell anyone I’m loaded because then they’ll make more assumptions than they already do.”
“And why would people make assumptions about you?”
He narrowed his gaze as if trying to decide whether or not he believed Shane. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Shane shrugged. “If you mean I really don’t know what you’re talking about, that would be correct.”
He was practically seeing stars but would never admit that he was close to passing out. A hospital was out of the question. No matter how much he may have needed one, or even wanted one at this point, fear made his thought process irrational. Nothing was worse than his father knowing where he was or what he’d been doing.
The food arrived and Shane was more than happy to let Peter retrieve it and bring it to the table. There were steaks, potatoes, green beans, bread, and chocolate milkshakes. None of that would go well together, however, his deprived body didn’t care.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said in between bites. “I’ll be fine.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I don’t want you to stay and I don’t want you to leave. Being weak in front of people means I’m open to an attack. Now, I know you’re not going to jump across the table and punch my lights out – at least, I hope not,” he tapped his temple for emphasis, “but the PTSD doesn’t.”
Maybe it was the loss of blood, the exhaustion threatening to take over, or the unsteadiness of his breathing that made him aware of every symptom. Maybe it was knowing that if he didn’t say anything, Peter would leave and they might never have this opportunity again. The need for sleep rendered his filter useless.
Peter stared at him for what seemed like hours, saying nothing, not touching the food on his plate. He looked as though he was contemplating his next words very carefully.
“Is there something you’d like to share with me, Shane?”
No. It wasn’t safe. He hadn’t meant to talk about his past, he’d only been trying to explain himself. Though, in order to do that, he did have to mention things he normally wouldn’t.
“I was bullied a lot in school for being weak.” Shane shrugged. “Is it lame that I have PTSD from that?”
There was a chance that Peter would buy it. That neither of them would be in danger because of his lack of filter.
“No, kids can be cruel. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He paused. “Why did they think you were weak?”
“My size, I guess. And, believe it or not, I was quiet.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”
They should quit while they were ahead. Stop before he said something he’d regret.
“I’m fuckin’ exhausted,” he slurred his words on purpose. “I should get some sleep.”
“Yeah, you should.” Peter got up f
rom his seat. “You should also see a doctor.”
“Not happening.”
“Well, I tried.” He shrugged. “I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”
4
“Fuck.” Shane groaned as he placed his hand to his head.
Looking at the time on his phone, he saw that only an hour had passed since Peter had returned to his own room. He felt weak, nauseated, and lonely. The memories he’d tucked away for the past few years were coming back with a vengeance, and now he couldn’t sleep without dreaming them.
When he woke, he often felt sick to his stomach. Nothing made him feel better.
Except for, maybe, one thing.
Swallowing his pride, he scrolled through his contacts until he found Callan’s number.
I wish you were here. There, text sent. Simple and to the point.
To his surprise, he received a text back almost instantly. So do I. But I’m in New York. There was a sad-face emoji accompanying the statement.
Shane stared at the message to make sure he’d read it correctly before replying. I’m in New York too. What are the chances?
Again, a response came with lightning speed. Where are you?
This could be it; the turning point in their relationship. If he ignored Cal, lied, or declined, it could set them back or keep them stuck in a rut. But if he let him in, it would show that Shane not only wanted to love, but to be loved as well. And he wanted that, all of it, and yet, he didn’t know if he could let himself be happy.
It wasn’t that he didn’t necessarily think he deserved love, he just didn’t think he could keep it. And if he couldn’t keep it, what was the point of having it at all?
Against his better judgment, Shane sent Callan the address.
He hadn’t realized that he’d dozed off until there was a knock at his door. While he was still tempted to chicken out and ignore the fact that there was a tall, gorgeous man on the other side of that door, he couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.
He opened the door and Callan stepped inside.
“You look pale,” he spoke quietly. “Even in the dark, I can tell.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Cal didn’t act on his command, simply staring at him as if he wasn’t sure he’d meant it.
Shane’s body was aching for Callan’s touch. Even though he knew this was a bad idea, and that they might regret it when the sun rose, he pressed his lips to Cal’s.
His fears and doubts melted away, fading into the background like an insignificant detail. Why did this older man have such a calming effect on him? It wasn’t fair when he couldn’t keep this.
Callan was eagerly exploring Shane’s mouth with his tongue, and Shane was happy to return the favor. But as soon as his hands gripped Cal’s shirt and tried to lift it up, the older man stopped him.
“We shouldn’t.”
Looking up at him, Shane furrowed his brow. “Why the fuck not?”
“Because...if we ever go there again, I want it to be special.”
“And this isn’t special?”
Callan smiled and shook his head. “It’s certainly spontaneous and passionate, but it isn’t very romantic.”
“Mmm.” He pursed his lips and folded his arms. “And you want to sweep me off my feet, is that it?”
“It’s the least I can do.” Callan kissed his forehead. “And you deserve romance.”
Now that the mood had been successfully killed, he sighed and walked over to the bed. “You broke character. I want to go back to the game by morning.”
“Does that mean I can stay?”
“Yes. Now get over here and spoon me.”
Callan did exactly as he was asked. “I don’t remember you being this bossy.”
“I told you, I’ve changed.”
With Cal’s arms around him, Shane drifted off into a comfortable slumber.
The next morning, he woke to a note on the bedside table. Cal had to work but he would be back later, ‘if he was okay with that’. Shane didn’t know what he wanted yet, so he wasn’t going to respond until he did.
He went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. When he got out, there was a figure on his bed and he nearly jumped out of his skin. It was only Peter, but his heart was beating wildly against his rib cage.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“Try not to have a heart attack, will ya?” Peter raised his brow. “I had no idea you scared so easily.”
Swallowing hard, he rubbed his chest, waiting for the discomfort to subside. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in my room.”
“You sure about that?” With a smirk, he gestured to the pillows. “Looks like someone else was in your room.”
Shane pursed his lips. That wasn’t something he wanted to discuss.
“Are you going to spill or what?”
“I’m thinkin’ a hard no on that.”
“Was it that guy?”
“What guy?”
“The guy.”
“No,” he lied.
“Fine, don’t tell me.” He raised his hands before rising from the bed. “Let’s get something to eat. Looks like you worked up an appetite.”
“I didn’t-we didn’t-” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Not that it’s any of your business...”
“Calm down,” Pete said with a chuckle. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Not that I would judge.”
“Did you spend the night alone, mister nosy-pants?”
“I did. But tonight might be a different story.”
Peter motioned for Shane to follow him out the door.
Shane was lost in thought for most of the morning. Breakfast was spent making small talk with a story or two of Pete’s adventurous evening. Shane was invited to the next night of shenanigans; he had to make a decision about that too.
Callan or shenanigans?
Love and lust or drinking and puking?
To Callan or not to Callan?
He wished someone could make up his mind for him.
The check came and it snapped him out of a daze, though Peter quickly slid his credit card into the folder. Shane’s nostrils flared in protest.
“Come on, my treat.”
Shane pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”
“You’ll get the next one,” he offered.
With a narrowed gaze, he hesitantly nodded. “Okay.”
The waiter took the folder away.
Peter lifted his chin, gesturing to Shane. “What’s that about anyway?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You got a problem with me wanting to pay for my own things?”
“No. I’m just interested in the reason behind it. This is more than you being offended that I might assume you feel just as entitled as the rest of your generation. There’s something deeper there.”
“I just don’t like the feeling of owing someone something. People do that, you know, even if they say they’re not keeping track, they are. And if I owe someone something, in a way, they own me. And I don’t like feeling as if someone owns me.”
Peter’s mouth hung open a while before he scoffed. “Your thought process astounds me. You think that when people offer to buy you something, it’s because they want you to be indebted to them?”
“When I was younger, people didn’t buy me things without wanting something in return. There were always strings attached.”
He paused. Something had clicked, Shane could see it in his eyes. “Well, now that makes perfect sense. For future reference, would you prefer I never offer to buy you anything again?”
The question caught him off-guard. No one had bothered to ask before. His family usually simply took offense without hearing him out or offering a solution. “It’s not...I mean, sometimes it’s okay. Just ask first.”
“Got it.”
“It’s that easy, huh?”
Peter furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “No one ever listens to me.”
“I�
�m here, I’ve got ears, and I’m interested in whatever you want to say.” Peter folded his arms to show his intent to stay a while. “And I would never be nice to you just because I was expecting something in return.”
Shane’s gaze fell to the table. “That’s because you’re a good person.”
He chuckled deeply. “I’m not a good person, kid.”
“Neither am I,” he whispered.
“Yeah, you are.”
Fidgeting under the table to mask his anxiousness, he cleared his throat. “I’m sure your kid thinks you’re okay.”
“Guess I’ll never know. He was pissed at me when he died.”
Shane’s gaze snapped to Peter’s. “Your kid died?”
He swallowed hard and gave a slow nod. “Yep.”
“Jesus, Pete.” How had he not known this? Granted, that was the point of this weekend – to get to know each other better. But it was something he should have sensed. It was so strange that Peter didn’t carry an air of tragedy about him. How was he able to hide it so well? Almost as well as Shane. “I’m really sorry.”
The look in his eyes had changed. No longer playful, they were dull; they had lost their spark. “I’d like to say time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t.”
“I know how that goes. Do you want to talk about it?” Running a hand through his hair, the corners of his lips twitched at a smirk. “I’m here, I’ve got ears, and I’m interested in whatever you want to say.”
Peter chuckled and shook his head. “Another time. Let’s do fun shit today.”
Fun shit consisted of eating, sight-seeing, and walking a lot. It was surprising since he was pretty sure that Peter had a very different idea of the word fun. They both did in a sense, but maybe Peter could see that he was struggling. As usual, he had a bag filled with essentials slung over his shoulder, just in case.
The nosebleeds and nightmares had drained his energy. All he really wanted to do was go back to the room and sleep. Or not sleep at all.
Callan was on his mind, and even though his ex and possibly future lover had suggested they wait, his body was hungry for attention. It would be nice to have a release with all the stress he’d been carrying.
Remember My Name Page 5