by Kelly Jensen
“How about cutting me some slack?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and me, we’re really new and we’re still getting to know each other.”
“Twelve years, Brian. It’s not insignificant.” Mal couldn’t figure out why it felt so important, either, except that Brian had been paying so much attention to Simon that afternoon.
Brian dipped his chin in a bobbing nod. “Okay.” He took a step back. “Fine. Next time I ask you out, I’ll remember to bring my résumé.”
“That’s not . . .” Mal sighed. “You’re right. It’s not relevant.” And it wasn’t the relationship that bothered him. Not completely. It was more that if eight years with Noah had left Mal with a lingering sadness, all these years later, then Brian had to be carrying something from his relationship with Simon. Was that why he looked so sad sometimes? Was this his secret? Was he missing his best friend and confidant?
And what did that mean for Mal?
Mal cleared his throat. “I’m . . . I think I’m going to head out, okay? My legs are killing me, and I need to get ready for school tomorrow.”
Expressionless, Brian backed out of the hall and gave him room to pass.
Donny hopped up as Mal reached their table and tugged his coat off the back of the chair. “We’re leaving?” he asked.
Mal flicked a hand toward the screen. “I think we all know how this one’s going to end.” He made himself shake Charlie’s hand, offered a polite nod to Simon, and even managed to exchange a look with Brian. One that accomplished nothing more than to add to the weirdness that had started . . . when? The moment he’d started thinking that maybe he wasn’t good enough.
Donny was going to love this.
But in the car, Donny didn’t say a word, and an hour later, installed on the couch with his cat, his sandwich, his whiskey, his TV remote, and PlayStation controller, Mal couldn’t decide whether that had been better or worse than an “I told you so.”
Mal’s empty chair felt a lot like the space he’d left inside Brian’s chest.
A part of Brian roiled with contempt for the man who’d walked out of the bar, head not exactly held high, but obviously fueled by self-righteousness. Mal had probably never fucked up a thing in his life. He was the saint life tested instead. His past relationships had obviously ended on a note of perfect fucking harmony.
Another part of Brian simply wanted to leave. Go home. He didn’t want to care as much as he did. His past was his past and should have no bearing on his future, and if Mal was going to get his panties in a knot over stuff not mentioned, then he could sit on that knot and spin around for a bit.
Okay, so both parts of him felt pretty much the same.
Brian picked up the glass in front of him only to discover it was empty.
“Hey.”
Glancing over at Simon, he arched a single eyebrow. “What?” Had he been paying too much attention to Simon over the course of the afternoon?
“What happened?” Simon tipped his head toward the bar.
“Leo happened. And you. And . . . I might not have told Mal we used to be together.”
“So?”
“Leo is your number-one fan, Simon. You know he told Mal everything he didn’t need to hear about you and me. I’m sure he made it sound as if I’d been a lying, cheating son of a bitch as well.”
While Charlie glanced over before studiously turning his attention back to the game, Simon did Brian the courtesy of remaining silent, though the accusation . . . No, it wasn’t in his eyes.
Brian sat back. “Why aren’t you pointing out the obvious?”
“Because it’s done. It was done a long time ago.”
“So we’re just friends now?”
Simon let out a soft sigh. “I guess. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“I thought . . .” Brian did exactly that, again. Ran back over what he’d been doing with Simon over the past two years, since they’d broken up. Since Brian had left, apparently shredding the last of Simon’s patience, and breaking his own heart.
He gazed at Simon, at a face so familiar, he couldn’t even begin to explain the emotional twist working inside of him, and thought about the questions he’d wanted to ask for two years now, and knew he never could.
Instead, he gathered up the business cards he’d put out on the table and shuffled them into a slim stack. “Listen, I’ll take care of this. I appreciate you coming all the way out here, but I’ve got it covered.” He chanced a sideways glance. “This is going to be my last project here. Then I’m going to get out of Hicksville.”
“Oh, are you thinking about New York?” They’d talked about it sometimes. Together.
“Or maybe the West Coast.” Because they hadn’t talked about that.
“It’s a—”
“Different market out there, I know. But I’ve got a few connections.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Simon asked.
“Because it means I won’t be . . .” Brian swallowed. God, why was this so hard? “I think it’s time I walked away for good. Don’t you?”
Simon’s perfect eyebrows moved together. “Brian—”
“It’s okay. I realize I’ve been making a pain of myself for some time now. That I never let go, and it’s fucking stupid, because I’m the one who walked out.”
“You are.”
“So why can’t I let go, Simon? Why did you let me go?”
Simon’s already pale features lost a little more color, and he glanced at Charlie, who was still watching the game with dogged determination, and then around the bar. “Can we do this somewhere else?”
Brian got to his feet. “We don’t have to do it at all.” He might have vowed not to ask his questions, but now that the first, the biggest, had slipped out of the bag, his mood had begun to dip dangerously. He yanked his coat and scarf from the back of his chair, tugged the scarf around his neck, and began wrestling with sleeves.
Simon stood next to him. “Brian, please don’t go like this.”
“This is the perfect exit, don’t you think? Everything has always been so cool and controlled between us. Even the day I left, you just stood there with your face like stone and let me go. So get your look on, Simon, because this time I’m disappearing for good. Wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans.”
Rather than harden, Simon’s face fell apart, his mouth dropping open, his eyes growing wide. Then anger swept across his features. Anger thick and dark, like Brian had never seen before. Grabbing Brian’s upper arm, Simon turned toward Charlie. “Brian and I are going outside for a conversation. We’ll be back shortly.”
Charlie gave a quick nod.
Brian allowed himself to be led outside, head caught in a dizzy whirl between Simon, Josh, and Mal, and the thought that he was letting them all down. His relationship to each, and the fact that none of them really knew him. Not the real Brian. Not the scared little boy who’d come back to haunt him in the form of a gawky teenager with blue hair and too many earrings.
Outside, the cold evening pinched Brian’s cheeks. Simon’s face flushed pink under the bright light outside the bar. He looked as though he wanted to shake Brian. He let go instead, so he could finish putting his coat on, then shoved his hands into his pockets and turned square toward Brian. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“Do what?”
“Have the conversation you’ve wanted to have for two years.”
“Fuck you.” Brian started away. “I’m done.”
“You don’t get to do that. Not this time.” Simon caught his arm again, yanking him to a stop. “You want to know why I let you go? Huh? Because I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending I knew you. That I loved you.”
Brian’s knees lost a few ball bearings. Straightening them, he turned to face Simon, wrenching his arm out of Simon’s grip. Again. “You . . . What?”
“I loved you for so long that I didn’t know how to not love you when the time came. I stayed because . . . I don’t kn
ow. Because I was waiting for you to tell me why I wasn’t enough. But also because it was easier. Because you were familiar. Because I was too scared to try doing it on my own.”
Simon was killing him. Tearing out the Scotch-taped pieces of his heart and shredding them into even finer pieces.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Simon said, fabulous blue eyes blazing. “Feels like someone tore you into tiny little bits.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I let you go.”
Brian tried to swallow and got stuck halfway, his throat aching and his vision misting. He forced the issue, working his throat over a razor-edged lump. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to know how much you’d hurt me.”
Brian’s knees lost a few more essential parts. Moving toward the wall of the bar, he braced one hand on the distressed brick and let his head drop forward. Exhaled and then struggled to pull air back into his lungs. “Fuck.”
He’d waited two years for this? Why?
He studied the toes of Simon’s shoes—deep brown and well-worn. Obviously polished and weatherproofed. Practical and handsome and . . . not a pair he recognized. Nor were the neat denim cuffs hiding the rest of the shoes from his view.
He glanced up. “You’re wearing jeans. I didn’t even know you knew jeans existed.”
A tight smile tugged at one side of Simon’s mouth.
“Simon—”
“I know you’re sorry. You always were.”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say.” Actually, it was, but not for the reasons Simon might think. “I wish we’d had this conversation back then. Then I might not have been such a pain in your ass these past couple of years.”
“You haven’t been a pain in my ass. We’ve been working together, and I’ve enjoyed the projects. We always worked well together.”
“Maybe we should never have tried for more.”
Simon took a step closer. “Did you not hear what I said?”
Brian shook his head.
“I loved you. I wanted more. For a long, long time, I wanted more. I’m not sure you knew what you wanted, though.”
“You. I wanted you.”
“Then why wasn’t I enough?”
Brian shook his head again. Truth danced across his tongue until he swallowed it down. It was too late to tell Simon why. To share what he’d always held back. A great sigh left him and his chin dipped. “I never meant to cheat.”
“I know that too. You were always so goddamn sorry.”
“I . . .” The itch was back. “Does it make sense for me to say I wanted more too?”
“More . . .”
“I was always so afraid of losing you. And after every time I apologized, we’d go away or spend a weekend together, just us, and it’d be so damn good. Not at first. We’d be all careful with one another. But then we’d make love and our connection was there, it had always been there, and . . .” Brian scrubbed at an itch on his cheek, not even surprised when his glove came away damp. “We’d be so close for a while, and I’d really believe you loved me.”
“I don’t even know how to tell you how fucked up that is.” The words were harsh, but the tone Simon delivered them in was gentle.
“It’s okay. I get it.” Brian half turned. It was time to go. Delving deeper wouldn’t expose anything he wanted to talk about. Not with Simon. “So, ah, good talk.” Brian sniffed. Squinted his eyes a little, hoping his lashes would deal with the couple of tears gathering there. Maybe if he pointed his face into the wind, he could get some icicles going.
“Brian?”
“Mm?”
“I’m glad we’re still friends.”
Brian studied Simon, the sincerity written all over his face. “Even though I’m an asshole and cheat?”
“You’re good to your friends. You always have been. And I do like working with you, but I’ve been conscious of not inviting more.”
“Because you’re with Charlie and you two are it. I know. I get it. I’m sorry if I . . .” Brian pushed his gloved palms to his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
Brian peeked through his fingers to find Simon wearing one of his favorite expressions: quiet composure. Simon’s ability to remain placid, or apparently unmoved, had often annoyed him when they’d been together. But now he could reflect back on that steadfastness with affection, and realized—with a sense of levity that nearly pulled him up off the pavement—that any lingering feelings he had for this man were just that. A deep affection born of years of friendship. The struggle to put their business together and the struggle to make their relationship work. Of knowing someone so well, you could tell even the most nuanced expressions apart. Knew the definition of each smile.
Tucking one hand in his pocket, Brian extended the other. “Thank you.”
Simon studied his hand for a second, then stepped in and drew Brian into a close embrace. Simon Lynley was . . . hugging him. It was weird. And nice.
“Charlie’s good for you,” Brian murmured as he hugged back.
“I know.” Simon let him go, then took his hand in a solid shake. “You should go find Mal. I like him, Brian.”
Brian swallowed. “I’m actually going to let him do his own thing for a while, I think. I’m sick of chasing people who might not want to be run down.”
Simon offered him a sad smile. “Maybe he’s the one you’ll . . .”
“The one I’ll what?”
“The one you’ll let in. Be wholly Brian with.”
“I—”
Simon held up a gloved hand. “Don’t let him brood for too long, hmm?”
Shoving his own hands into his pockets, Brian put his head down. He was done with the weepy business now and the wind was cold on his face. After acknowledging Simon’s final words of advice with a brief nod, he set off in the direction of home. He’d think about it, about being wholly Brian with Mal. Maybe. But first he needed to chill for a while, both metaphorically and physically.
Mal checked the hallway one last time before conceding defeat. Brian wasn’t coming. Blowing out a short sigh, he pushed the door closed. Behind him, the GSA club continued rearranging desks, filling his classroom with the scrape of chair and table legs, and directionless chatter. It was a good sound, one he was used to and one he welcomed. It was the sound of industry and organization and of kids getting along.
The door pulled away from his hand, and Mal turned, already knowing his expression was all wrong. Ethan and Josh recoiled slightly from whatever he showed them—joy, need, everything utterly ridiculous—and sidled into the classroom to join the throng.
His disappointment was sharper this time. It hurt more. Yes, he’d been the one to limp away yesterday afternoon, but he’d hoped Brian would prove to be the bigger man. Then again, why should he be? Mal had acted like a fool. An insecure ass.
And he should be used to this by now.
After closing the door again, Mal made his way to the spot they’d made for him at the top of the circle and took a deep breath. “Hey.”
Murmurs and smiles.
He studied the assembled group, testing his recall of faces and names. Noting who’d been there last week and the week before and checking them off against his mental list of facts and assumptions. Two new faces, a couple of missing faces. After the two new kids introduced themselves, Mal asked after the missing faces and learned that one was home ill. The other hadn’t been seen since last Thursday.
“Should we be concerned?” God, he hated asking that, but this was his job now. These, even more than those he taught, were his kids. He’d had a bond with a couple of his students before. Those who performed well and made him proud, and those who’d asked for extra help. One of his favorites had been a girl four years ago who greeted every lecture with the attitude of the extremely bored, only to prove she secretly loved history but didn’t want to seem like a nerd or geek or whatever they called it now.
These kids were diff
erent. They needed more.
Pamela Kee spoke up. “I think they’re okay. Pretty sure they’d text me if they needed anything. Probably just sick as well.”
“I’ll check with the office later,” Mal said. “This brings up something I wanted to talk about today. I know not all of you are friends outside this classroom and that’s okay. You don’t need to be. I’m not going to be the one to tell any of you what to do. But I think a part of being in a club is networking with your people, whether we’re here to talk about music, art, sports, language, or gender and sexuality. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you have an opportunity to make a difference. That’s why you’re here. So I hope you’ll be friends to each other inside and outside of this classroom.”
The students exchanged varying nods. Some enthusiastic, others more reserved, but Mal got a sense that the bond he hoped for existed. None of these kids wanted to be heroes, but they were already keeping tabs on each other. Even quietly.
“Anyone got anything they want to add?”
A few students spoke, the first two basically confirming that they were there for everyone. Ethan looked as though he’d like to stand up, and Mal wondered why he didn’t. He was a natural born leader. Instead, he just fiddled with his phone, mouth twisted to one side. Next to him, Josh fiddled with his phone.
Were they texting each other? Sitting side by side?
A third student spoke up. “A few of us have been meeting at the boathouse. It’s pretty casual and kinda cold right now, but—”
“The boathouse?”
“It’s on the side of the lake. About half a mile up Speedwell.”
“You mean at the end of Elliott?” Mal had passed the place every time he did the Patriots’ Path. “That building is closed.”
“There’s a window into the cellar on the lake side.”
Mal held up a hand. “I can’t condone this. I’m sorry. I know you all need more than one afternoon a week, but Winterfest is coming up fast. Rachel—Mrs. Montgomery and I have reached out to a few additional sponsors. We’re going to get this drop-in center funded and open. Our biggest challenge will be finding the right place.” And it wouldn’t be an abandoned building in the park. “Any suggestions on that front are welcome. Until then . . .” Should he do this? What the heck, why not? Wasn’t like he had the life he’d been bragging to Donny about. “How about if I keep this classroom open after school. Every day. Would that help?”