by DJ Monroe
Turning away from the slow, cranky elevator, he took the stairs to the third floor, walking slowly, doing anything to avoid unlocking that door and stepping into cold loneliness.
While unlocking his door, Lincoln heard squishing footsteps approaching and turned to see a disheveled young man coming toward him. He was drenched to the skin, his hair matted to his head and he carried a large bag of groceries in each hand. Lincoln had seen him around before, but that was about the extent of his interaction with his neighbors.
Lincoln knew the neighborly thing to do would be to at least say hello or make a comment about it being Friday night or say something about the storm, but he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. No need to get involved with his neighbors. He’d only moved into this apartment when Jon left because he couldn’t afford their place on his teacher’s salary. This was only temporary. When Jon came back, they’d look for a better place to live.
Maybe a house.
In the end, Lincoln nodded in greeting and gave the neighbor one of his stiff but practiced ‘hello’ smiles. The man hesitated slightly and smiled back. As he drew closer, Lincoln almost changed his mind about speaking when he saw the man’s kind gray eyes.
Better not to get involved, he thought.
Pushing open the door to his own apartment, he forced himself to step inside. It felt as empty and cold as it had when he left that morning. Why would tonight be any different? The rain pounding on the windows made him feel even more alone for some reason. Still, Lincoln continued to assure himself this separation from Jon was only temporary. Jon would come to his senses soon enough. He was young, still searching for his own identity, still finding himself. Being a bit older, Lincoln understood this and had promised Jon he would wait. What was that saying about if you love someone set them free?
He’d done that with one stipulation. Jon was to write him a letter at least once a week.
Jon had laughed, scoffed at Lincoln for being so old fashioned. No one wrote letters any more. But Lincoln insisted, even buying Jon special, beautiful, expensive stationary to write on. And, to his surprise, he’d been getting letters from Jon once a week, just like clockwork. They were long, chatty letters talking about nothing much but the weather in Iowa. Jon was staying with his sister and her family on a farm and he had plenty to say about what was going on there.
They had all been signed Love, Jon.
So Lincoln knew he still held the younger man’s heart. He kept the letters stacked on the table by his bed and sometimes read through them at night, inhaling Jon’s scent that clung to them. Silly, he knew, but more than once he’d been accused of being an old-fashioned romantic. He owned it. His feelings for Jon were the romantic, old-fashioned kind. The kind that lasted forever.
But there had been no letter this week and that worried Lincoln.
That was what was on his mind as he went through the dark apartment, into the bedroom and changed into sweats and a t-shirt. He touched the stack of letters, promising himself that he wouldn’t start reading them again - at least as long as he could resist. That normally lead to a long, sleepless night, an aching heart and many, many regrets. Tearing himself away from that temptation, he went to the kitchen to see what could be had for dinner. He wasn’t hungry, hadn’t been since Jon left, but he knew he needed to eat something.
In the refrigerator he found half an onion, a piece of cheese and a can of beer.
“Great,” he said aloud and let the door close, plunging the small space into darkness again.
Now, it was either go back out into the storm or order in. Or maybe he should just go to bed and try to get some sleep. Again, he knew that if he did, he would just end up lying there staring at the ceiling all night.
In the end, he opted for ordering in, although it didn’t matter what he ate. The pizza delivery number was the first one he came to. He placed his order, accepting the first ‘deal of the day’ and paid with his debit card. When his cell buzzed with a message, he grabbed it just like he had been doing every moment since Jon left.
It was only the pizza order confirmation.
Thunder boomed overhead and Lincoln moved through the nearly empty apartment to the living room area and turned on a lamp. He stood there looking around at his sparse surroundings. When he moved in, he had only brought what he needed and put the rest in storage. There was a sofa and an end table in the living room, his bed and a dresser in the bedroom and a table and two chairs in the dining room. That was all he needed. This was only temporary.
As soon as Jon returned, the two of them would find something nicer. That reminded him of the one and only time he and Jon had discussed marriage. Jon was reluctant to even talk about it much and Lincoln understood.
Not wanting to make a commitment.
All Lincoln could do was keep his promise to wait and show Jon he had nothing to fear.
The next roll of thunder ended in a boom that rattled the windows. But Lincoln heard something else. He cocked his head and listened. A knock at the door. It came again as the thunder died away and Lincoln hurried to answer it, thinking that was fast for pizza delivery in this storm.
He opened the door and came face to face with the young man from across the hall, the one he’d seen earlier. Wearing sweats and a t-shirt, it looked like he had raked his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand on end. He swayed slightly on his feet and Lincoln wondered if he had been drinking.
“Can I help you?” Lincoln asked. The words felt foreign coming out of his mouth.
“Yes,” the young man said, looking around nervously. “My name is Colton and I live across the hall.”
Lincoln nodded. “Okay.”
“Um, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake and I need to tell you about it,” Colton explained.
Baffled, Lincoln ran his fingers through his own shaggy, dark curls. What kind of mistake could this man have made that concerned him? Then he caught a whiff of alcohol.
Can I come in, please?” Colton asked.
Almost immediately, Lincoln’s guard went up. In the short time he’d lived there, he’d not allowed anyone else to come to his apartment and this felt strange. Against his better judgement, Lincoln stepped back and slowly opened the door wider, allowing Colton to enter. He staggered slightly, placing a hand on the door frame to steady himself as he stepped inside Lincoln’s dark apartment. Yes, he was either drunk or on his way there.
Lincoln did not close the door completely once Colton was inside, hoping that the man would get the hint that this wasn’t going to be a long, drawn out conversation no matter what ‘mistake’ he had made. He was in no mood for company of any kind. Lincoln turned to face his visitor and noticed, for the first time, that he carried a cream colored envelope in his right hand.
“There's no easy way to say this," Colton said, mimicking the words from the letter he’d read. “Your mail somehow got in my mail box and I just opened it with all the rest of the mail. I didn’t realize it wasn’t mine until—” The words came out in a rush until Colton paused and swallowed hard. “Until I read it.”
Lincoln barely heard him. All he could think about was that envelope. It had to be from Jon and he had to see what was in it. His heart pounded in his chest, the rush of blood to his ears nearly drowning out every other sound. It was all he could do to not reach out and grab it from the neighbor’s hand.
When Lincoln didn’t respond, Colton handed him the envelope. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Lincoln’s hand trembled as he took the letter. Jon had written this week, after all, but somehow it had ended up in someone else’s mailbox. That was all. A mistake. To reassure himself, he gazed at the name and address scrawled on the front of the envelope. It was Jon’s distinctive handwriting for sure. The envelope felt lighter than the others but maybe Jon was writing to say he was coming home.
Maybe he was even on his way at that moment.
Colton continued to stand there with a sad look on his face while Lincoln stared at the outside of the e
nvelope. He had to know what was in that letter, but he didn’t want to read it in front of Colton. It was private. He wanted to be alone when he read it.
Finally, he looked at Colton and forced a little smile. "No need to apologize. It looks like it was an honest mistake. I can see how it would have happened."
“Again, I’m sorry,” Colton said. He looked somewhat relieved but continued to just stand there in the small, dark foyer.
Thinking his neighbor needed a hint, Lincoln opened the door. Colton took a step forward, swayed again and Lincoln reached out to steady him, his big hand resting on Colton’s shoulder.
When a little shiver of desire coiled at the base of his spine, Lincoln pulled his and away quickly. After assuring himself that Colton was on his way back across the hall, Lincoln closed the door and backed up against it, trembling from head to toe. What had just happened? Jon had been gone almost two months, a long time, but Lincoln was almost ashamed at how he reacted to touching the other man, essentially a stranger.
The letter from Jon was burning a hole in his palm. He pulled the single sheet of paper out of the envelope, only then realizing it was too dark to read the letter there. All he could see was Jon’s large, loopy handwriting scrawled across the paper.
He headed across the living room toward the lamp he’d turned on earlier. Then he began to read.
“Lincoln, There's no easy way to say this so I’ll just lay it out for you. I've met someone here in Iowa and I've decided to stay. This is my final good-bye to you. Thank you for everything you've given me, everything you've taught me during our time together but I must move on. Jon”
As soon as Lincoln read the last word, his stomach dropped and he sank to his knees on the floor. He knelt there for a long time, turning the letter over thinking that maybe it was one of Jon’s silly jokes. More than once Jon had pulled a prank on him, like every day was April Fools or something.
But there was nothing else, no smiley face or any indication that the letter was anything other than it seemed. His stomach was tied in knots, his throat suddenly raw and dry as he knelt there reading the letter over and over again, trying to make sure he understood.
Jon wasn’t coming home. Jon had found someone else. Jon had broken his heart.
Another knock at the door brought him out of the stupor and onto his feet. He vaguely remembered ordering pizza. He started to ignore it. Right at that moment, he felt like he might never eat again, maybe never breathe again. All he could think about was Jon in Iowa. Jon with someone new.
Still, his feet moved of their own accord toward the door.
Chapter Three
The minute Lincoln’s door closed behind him, Colton swayed unsteadily across the hall. He was relieved that his neighbor had not been mad about Colton opening his mail. He was also relieved that Lincoln had not read that letter in front of him. What surprised him was the sizzle of electricity he felt when Lincoln touched his shoulder. He had no reason to be attracted to another man. He was in a loving, long-term relationship with Grant. But Grant had been gone so long, and Colton was almost ashamed at how eager he was to feel another man’s touch, even if it was only to keep him from falling on his face.
Steadying himself with one hand on the door frame, he tried to open the door to his own apartment but the knob didn’t turn.
Maybe it was stuck. He rattled it and tried again.
Crap. It must have locked behind him when he brought the letter to Lincoln. He stood there for a moment, fumbling around trying to locate his key only to remember that not only did he not have pockets to hold a key, he’d left the keys on the table where he’d tossed them earlier.
Now he really was in trouble.
Barefoot, shirtless, and slightly drunk, he’d locked himself out of his apartment - again. He would have to call the super to come up and let him in. Mr. Ashley was not going to be happy.
And then Colton realized that he didn’t even have his cell to make the call. He wasn’t about to make the trip downstairs, barefoot but getting more sober by the minute. He only had one choice.
Turning, he faced the door to apartment 326 again, even more frightened than before. By now Lincoln had read the letter from Jon and would be in no mood for this intrusion. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but he had no choice. He lifted his hand and knocked. Waited and then knocked again. Finally Lincoln opened the door.
"I'm sorry to interrupt again," Colton said and then cleared his throat to steady his voice and try to sound a little more confident. “But I've locked myself out of my apartment."
Lincoln simply stood there staring at him, as if he didn’t comprehend a word of what he’d just said.
"Can I use your phone to call the super to come and unlock my door?" Colton asked.
The big man looked completely shell shocked. Yes, he’d definitely read the letter. Colton’s heart was breaking for him.
Lincoln blinked and stared, then looked back over his shoulder, like he didn’t quite understand what Colton was asking. Finally he said, "Sure.”
Another moment or two passed and Lincoln stepped back into the apartment, allowing Colton to enter while fumbled in the pocket of his sweat pants for his phone. He extended it with a trembling hand and Colton took it, hating that he was intruding on what must be a very private, painful moment.
Lincoln turned away, still holding the letter in one hand. Colton pressed the button to light up the screen on the phone. Thank goodness he’d called Mr. Ashley enough to have the number memorized.
The screen was locked.
“Um, sir,” Colton said to the man standing in the shadows nearby. “Lincoln.”
Lincoln turned back toward him as if he’d forgotten Colton was even there.
Colton held the phone up for him to see. “The screen is locked.”
With practiced ease, Lincoln took the phone, swiped over the screen and unlocked the phone. He handed it back to Colton and turned away without a word.
“Super,” Mr. Ashley answered gruffly on the third ring.
Colton swallowed hard. The man had probably already had a few beers and was just sitting down to dinner. Yet another unhappy message for him to deliver that evening.
“Mr. Ashley, this is Colton from 325,” Colton said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve locked myself out of my apartment. Could you please come up and let me in?”
“Damnit, boy, I’m going to start charging you for this,” Mr. Ashley threatened.
“I’ll gladly pay,” Colton told him. “As soon as I can get into my apartment.”
Mr. Ashley threatened a few more things, cursed under his breath and then said, “I’m busy right now. I’ll be there within the hour.”
Colton knew Mr. Ashley was lying. He wasn’t busy, but he was going to punish Colton by making him wait this one out. What was Colton supposed to do, stand in the hall wearing nothing but sweats and a t-shirt with no shoes on for an hour? One glance at Lincoln’s haunted face and Colton knew he couldn’t stay there.
“He’s busy,” he explained to Lincoln with a shrug. “Says it may be an hour. If I can use your phone again, I’ll call someone to come and get me.”
Lincoln nodded as though he barely understood.
Colton opened his mouth to apologize again when there was another sharp knock at the door. Both men jumped, startled by the sound, which was followed by a boom of thunder that rattled the windows like it was right in the apartment with them.
When the knock came again, more insistent this time, Lincoln opened the door. The pizza delivery guy stood there, soaked to the skin just like Colton had been earlier. Without a word, he shoved the pizza into Lincoln’s hand and stood there glaring at both of them, dripping water onto the tiled hall floor.
When Lincoln simply stood there holding the pizza box in one hand, the letter in the other, Colton cleared his throat and said quietly, “I think he’s waiting on a tip.”
Again, moving like he a robot, Lincoln turned and placed the pizza on the c
ounter, picked up his wallet and pulled out some bills. He handed them to the delivery guy and the man turned and left without a word.
Continuing to move slowly, as if he were about to break in half, Lincoln closed the door and then stood there staring at it as if something else was going to happen. He seemed to have forgotten that Colton was even there.
Colton remembered why he was still standing there. “Um, I can call someone to come and get me if that’s okay,” he said to Lincoln. If he could get hold of his long-time friend, Richard, he would come get him and Colton could leave this man alone with his grief.
Lincoln handed the phone to him again, remembered at the last moment to unlock the screen, turned and moved off down the hall away from the kitchen. This apartment was a mirror to his own so Colton knew he was headed toward the bedroom.
Colton keyed in Richard’s number. It rang five times and then went to voice mail.
“Where could he be?” Colton whispered, keying in the number again. Maybe he was out with Henry. Colton had set them up on a blind date over a week ago and Richard said they got along just fine. If they were out together and were getting along even better, he might not answer his phone all night.
The second time he called, it went straight to voice mail. Colton left a hurried, breathless message and then decided to send a text, praying that Lincoln wouldn’t mind.
His stomach rumbled, reminding hm that he hadn’t eaten yet. The hot meaty, cheesy pizza on the counter beside him smelled delicious and he was tempted to take a piece and then come back and give Lincoln money later. Colton decided against it. He was pretty sure Lincoln had had enough of him for one evening.
“Locked out of my apartment. Using a neighbor’s phone. No shoes. Bring slippers and food,” Colton texted.