Really, it’s a big fucking deal. Even after all this time, I’m back in that apartment, my head gushing blood and Mom crying even harder. I’m back there holding a towel to my head and telling her it will be okay when nothing fucking felt okay.
When Gabe doesn’t reply, I turn to face him. Slowly, so fucking slowly, he lifts his hand, touches my cheek, then rubs his calloused thumb over the scar. His fingers smell like salt and grease from the fries.
This stupid urge to close my eyes hits me, to just close my eyes and feel. To pretend my past isn’t my past and Gabe’s past isn’t his past and we’re just two guys sitting in a car together.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, still touching my face.
“I know,” I tell him. I’m sorry for what he’s been through the same way he’s sorry for my life. Being sorry doesn’t change anything, though. “I should go.” Really, I don’t need to, but I think it would be better if I did. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just afraid of this, of letting him get close.
“Okay,” Gabriel replies. He opens the car door, shifts to get out but then he stops. Suddenly, he’s moving toward me instead of away. I think he’s going to kiss me, and on instinct, I wet my lips with my tongue. I want to taste him. Even as a kid, I wondered what he’d taste like, what it would be like to kiss Gabriel.
But he doesn’t. Not in the way I expect at least. He leans in and presses his lips to the scar at the corner of my eye. They linger there a second, warmth and breath against my skin, and then he pulls away, gets out of the car, and walks inside.
For at least five minutes afterward, I sit in my car, my finger absently rubbing where his lips pressed against my skin. I’ve kissed my share of guys before, but not like that. No one has ever kissed me the way Gabriel just did.
14
Gabriel
My lips touched Lucas’s face and I couldn’t stop thinking about it all night. That faint scar and that screwed up story he told me. Damn.
I sound like I’m fourteen fucking years old or something. I can’t stop my leg from bouncing as I straddle the beam that supports the scaffold and Lou yells at me about shaking the box of spiral flooring nails he placed on the joist.
But more than the kiss kept me up—it was the look on his face right before my mouth met his skin. Like he wanted me to. He was ready for a full on kiss. He would’ve accepted having my lips right up against his.
And when he flirted with me at the burger joint about putting things in his mouth, well fuck, I thought a lot about that too. After I got inside, I jacked off in the shower and Ezra might’ve heard me, but I didn’t even care.
I take deep breath after deep breath, trying to get my racing thoughts in order.
He told me that he was locked up in juvie and I don’t know how to feel about that. But maybe he doesn’t know how to feel about me spending time in a psych ward.
I learned my lesson and turned myself around. I won’t be that person again.
And hell if I don’t believe him. How could I not? I’m the one not being completely truthful. The fact is, I’m ignoring a pretty significant part of myself, but it feels so goddamn good to be winging it. I was under my parents’ constant scrutiny, my father’s ruling fist, for so long, I just want the chance to truly be me. No barriers, no groggy meds. Just me. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
I refrain from pulling out my phone to see if Lucas has responded to my text from earlier in the day. So what are your plans for that skyscraper?
I usually only check my phone during breaks so that I can get the day job done.
As soon as the foreman blows the whistle, I spring up and balance myself on the support plank I helped Lou install. I began as an unskilled laborer but this past year I’ve been shadowing him more and increasing my skill level. It isn’t my dream job but it makes me feel like I’m getting somewhere.
I throw out my arms and stare down at the ground below, imagining that I’m one of those single engine prop planes. Damn it feels nice up here, the wind on my face, nothing but air around me. It’s like I’m floating. If I stepped off the beam, I almost feel like my wings would carry me away.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lou hisses from somewhere behind me. “I swear, kid, sometimes I think you’re going to jump because you believe you can fly or some shit.”
“Well maybe I can.” A laugh bordering on maniacal bursts from my lips, and though I can’t see him, I already know I’m making Lou nervous.
“Don’t be crazy, G Man,” he says in a shaky voice. The same voice Ezra uses when he’s worried about me. And because I have enough sense right now not to lose my job over a stunt like this, I draw back and land my feet on solid concrete.
“Sorry, Lou. Just excited about the end of my day.” When I get to his shiny Ford pickup and hop inside, my face burns with shame that I act like such an idiot when he’s willing to give me rides. Lou gets a call from his wife as we’re pulling onto the street, so I fish out my phone and find a text from Lucas.
You realize you never even told me about flying the other night?
My fingers soar across the keys as I type him back.
Damn, you’re right. LOL. I’ve been taking an on-line aviation course, but I also need to take lessons too, which are expensive.
I leave out the part where I have to apply for a student pilot certificate in order to log at least 40 hours of initial flying time. But in order to get that document, I need to undergo an exam by an FAA board-certified doctor and that’s where my dreams fall to crap. Because your prior medical history matters and depending on the type of meds you take, you might not be allowed to go airborne at all. Or what meds you’re supposed to take, I guess I should say.
The smell of pot hits me as soon as I walk through my apartment door. Ezra’s blasting depressing stoner music, standing in front of one of his creations in his make-shift studio. Contact high, here I come.
He waves to me over his shoulder and says, “I left a number on your bed.”
I see the torn paper with a Dr. Damien scrawled across the center along with a couple of ways to get in touch with him. It’s the referral from his psychologist sister. I pull out my phone and consider making the initial appointment.
My fingers linger there, the phone suddenly heavy in my hand. I’m suspended in limbo. Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.
I think about Ezra doing this for me, and what might happen when I go to the doc. That shitty feeling I get because I have to be on meds just to make me normal. And what if this time they don’t work the same? What if the prescription they put me on makes me feel even more like a zombie than that initial week last time? It’s fucked up. People shouldn’t have to take meds just to live.
I just want to be like everybody else. Want to pretend I’ll have a flying career someday. A cool apartment, a boyfriend who loves me, and a brain that can regulate itself all on its own.
But then I feel like a hypocrite because I should be glad that prescriptions are available for practically every medical condition out there. And having a mental illness shouldn’t be any different than having diabetes. Except that society doesn’t see it that way.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I nearly drop it. It’s Lucas.
Nice. Glad you’re working toward something. That’s more than I can say. I’m just servin’ people alcohol.
There’s an edge to those words, a story there. One I’m desperate to know.
Are you at work right now?
Yeah, slow night.
My fingers hover on the keys, debating with myself, but then I just type it. I would much rather see him than deal with the piece of paper Ezra left me.
Feel like a visitor?
I remove my clothes to shower as I ignore his long pause. Afterward, I pick up my phone to tell him to forget it when his response comes back.
That’d be cool.
An hour later, I’m walking into Pete’s. I notice a few tables are occupied along with several barstools. Maybe business has p
icked up in the last few minutes.
Lucas’s gaze tracks me across the room, making my pulse pick up speed. He looks me up and down and tips his chin in my direction. I didn’t wear my hoodie this time so maybe he likes what he sees.
After he serves a couple of men their drinks down the bar, he heads my way, pausing briefly to answer another bartender’s question.
“What can I get you?” He has his beanie on today, the one he wore when I first saw him a couple of weeks back. It hides his hair but brings out his strong jawline. Either way, he’s striking.
“How about a Jack and Coke?” I say and I see a flicker of something in Lucas’s eyes that looks a lot like disappointment. I’m not sure what it means, but I want to follow up when I get a chance.
I watch as he reaches for a glass and pours my drink effortlessly, his forearm flexing beneath his black button-down shirt that he has rolled to his elbows.
Suddenly starving, I reach for the bowl of snacks realizing that I haven’t eaten dinner.
“So does this bread aversion extend to pretzels?” I ask when he sets my order down in front of me. He watches as I bite off the edge of one of the twisted knots.
“Guess I never considered that.” He rubs his hand along the scruff on his chin and I wonder what it would feel like against my cheek. “Not the same consistency.”
“True. I like this brand,” I say grabbing another one from the bowl. “Not too salty. Just right. Not opposed to salt are you?”
I feel a line of heat crawl across my neck as I arch my eyebrow.
“No, I’m definitely a fan of salt,” he says with a smirk as he watches me swipe at the pretzel with my tongue and crunch down on it. “And sweat.”
We’re doing that flirty thing again, and I can’t help discreetly pushing down on my lap with the heel of my hand. “Pretzels don’t sweat.”
He barks out a laugh and I love seeing his green eyes light up. Not sure why but I don’t imagine that Lucas laughs nearly enough.
Two female customers slide up beside me at a couple of stools and place their orders. I sip my drink and glance around the bar, noticing that it’s filling up with more patrons.
Before you know it, the place is hopping for the middle of the week and the girl beside me mentions that there’s a Lakers game on tonight. There are two televisions above the bar and most of the customers’ eyes are intent on the match.
I don’t want Lucas to feel guilty for being too busy to talk, so I strike up a conversation with the ladies and settle into watching the game. Time flies by as we’re cheering and high-fiving each other, and at one point, a burger is waiting for me at the edge of the bar. When my gaze seeks out Lucas’s across the room, he winks at me.
And damned if that doesn’t make my stomach buzz.
By the end of the fourth quarter, the Lakers are losing so the tavern clears out, including the two women next to me.
Lucas rests his arms on the rim of the bar top and blows out a breath as I pick at the last of my greasy fries. “Sorry, should’ve paid closer attention to the game schedule. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No worries; I don’t need a babysitter,” I say, slurping the rest of my watered down drink.
“I can see that.” He clears the empty glasses from the ledge.
“So hey, you still got that sketchpad?” I inquire out of the blue. But in reality, I had been waiting to ask him since earlier in the evening.
He looks over his shoulder at the other bartender as if making sure our conversation is private. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Yeah, you even emailed me some drawings once.” One of them was a Frank Lloyd Wright sketch, all clean lines and modern flow. “You scanned them through your printer.”
“That’s right,” he says as he thumps the top of the wooden bar. “At this point, you know more about me than any of my friends around here.”
“Freaky right?” I lean forward and whisper. He nods. “Scary too?”
“A little, yeah.” He adjusts the beanie on his head. “Just don’t want to—”
“Mess anything up?” I say as if I can read his mind, when in reality it’s the exact same thought I have. I glance casually at my watch, maybe to avoid the heavy turn of conversation. But I also need to get home and finish a school assignment.
“Something like that,” he says as I meet his eyes. “So, I’m taking a break in five minutes. I can walk you out.”
“Sounds good.” I pull out my wallet to pay my tab.
Lucas waves his hand at me. “Put that away; it’s on the house.”
I hesitate but then see the determination in his eyes and drop it back in my pocket. “Cool, I’ll be sure to get you next time.”
After we get onto the street, we slow near the same back alleyway where I threw my arms around him days ago. I keep myself in check so that I don’t do anything stupid like that again. But my body is thrumming with nervous energy and I have to keep a distance away from him to keep my impulses under wrap.
“So,” he says, adjusting his cap on his head, making me wonder if it’s a nervous habit for him.
“So.” To avoid his eyes, I look down the street toward the direction I’m heading.
“You hiking it home?” he asks with some trepidation in his eyes. He knows it’ll take me a good thirty minutes.
“Yeah, I like to walk,” I say. Helps me burn off energy, I leave out.
Now we’re in a staring contest and if he glances at my lips and back up to my eyes once more I just might tackle him to the ground.
I kick at a stone on the curb. “Want to do something soon?”
“Yeah, sure,” he replies.
“Cool, what do you want to do?”
“Surprise me.” He throws my words back at me.
I grin. “Okay.” And I know exactly what we’re going to do. As soon as I figure out the logistics. “So I’ll see you again.”
“Yeah.” He leans against the wall as I turn toward the light to cross the street.
But then that impulse takes hold and I spin around. Take a step toward him.
His breath hitches in his throat as I crowd him against the bricks.
“Gabe…”
Before either of us can think it through, my hand fastens around his neck and my lips press firmly against his. He tastes like mint and sweat, musk and man.
I hear a husky groan under his breath and before I drag my mouth away, I flick out my tongue to swipe it across his lower lip.
“Been wanting to do that forever,” I say against his ear.
Satisfied with the glazed look in his eyes, I force myself to back away. I turn and cross the street, making sure to never glance back.
15
Lucas
Gabriel,
My mom brought home another computer today! I think it’s cuz she feels guilty about Tim. I don’t know where she got the money, and I don’t want to know. The last one was such a piece of shit. It went so slow, and would sometimes just cut out. I got to watch my first porn without the video blinking in and out! LOL. It’s hot… and I jerked off, but…does it kind of scare you too? Dude, I feel like a wuss asking that. I might delete that sentence.
Anyway, the computer is used, and the camera is fucked up, so we still can’t video chat, which sucks.
Mom sat me down and said she needs my help. She said she wants me to do what I have to do, if I see she’s drinking. She wants me to be in control of the money. If I find alcohol in the house, she said she promises not to get mad if I dump it out. We’re a team and gotta work together, ya know? So, that’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll watch over her, and make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.
I think it’ll be easier now that she’s not fucking Tim anymore. My eye is still black from him, but he got it worse than I did. Dude, you probably think we’re so fucked up. I bet no one where you go to school gets in fistfights with the men their mom fucks.
But then…you have your own stuff too, don’t you? Maybe from the outside ever
yone’s lives look different than they really are. Do you think so? Or maybe we both just got dealt a shitty hand.
How are things with your dad?
We got this.
Lucas
I’d hoped he would tell me he didn’t want anything to drink.
Which is fucking stupid. We were in a bar. Not everyone who drinks is an alcoholic, but it scares me…people I know drinking. I’ll probably always be sensitive to it. Keeping myself around alcohol is good for me because it shows me what I don’t want. That’s not Gabriel’s problem. My shit is my shit, but it’d been on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he’s allowed to drink on whatever medication he’s taking for his bipolar disorder.
I’m smart enough to know you need to be careful with that shit, but what right do I have to ask him that? Gabe’s smart enough not to drink on his meds, if he’s not supposed to drink. He took off from his parents because they were always overbearing and tried to run his life. He doesn’t need me checking in on him.
He’s not my mom. Like he said, he doesn’t need a babysitter. Hell, he has his life together better than I do. At least he’s doing something more than just working a dead end job. He’s making sure he’ll find a way to fly one day, while I’m too afraid to try and make my dreams come true—to make my mom’s dreams for me come true.
Before I get sucked into the past, I finish up my shift and head home. The first thing I do is strip before getting into the shower. Jesus, I still can’t believe he kissed me the way he did. I don’t know why I thought he would be a little shyer than that. I’d wanted it, really fucking wanted it, and even though Gabe is more touchy-feely than I am, I still didn’t expect him to take control the way he did.
It was sexy as hell.
Hot water pelts against my skin, making me shiver. I reach for the shampoo, and soap my hand up really well before lowering it to my dick. It’s hard and aching and really wants to come, so I wrap my fist around it and stroke.
My left hand rests against the wall with the showerhead as I lean forward. Water runs over my head and down my back as I work my cock, because honestly, it’s been days since I came, and orgasms are one of my only true pleasures right now.
Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) Page 7