by Alexa Land
“Nope. They don’t even know if I’m alive or dead, and that’s just the way they want it.”
“What do you mean?”
“They disowned me when I moved here.”
“Why?”
“It’s kind of a long story. Do you want to hear it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, after high school, it took my boyfriend Cole and me a couple years to save up enough money to move to California. That had always been our dream. Well, specifically, that was my dream. Cole’s was simply to get the fuck out of Gomsburg, Idaho, he didn’t really care where we went. But from the first time I ever heard of San Francisco, I knew this was where I wanted to be.”
I leaned against the apartment building beside us, and continued, “Well, when the time finally came to move and I told my parents my plans, they gave me an ultimatum. They said, ‘If you go, don’t bother coming back, because you won’t be welcome here anymore.’ I kind of thought they were bluffing. But they were so angry that I was running off with Cole that they really did disown me.”
“Man,” Brian muttered. “I can’t believe someone would do that to their own kid.”
“I tried to reach out to them a couple times over the past two years, but they wanted nothing more to do with me.”
“That’s such an extreme reaction.”
“Yeah, well, it was bad enough that I was moving in with a guy, and I’ll spare you the horror stories of my family’s efforts to ‘cure’ me of being gay when I was growing up. But they were doubly pissed that I was running off with Cole, of all people.”
“Why?”
“Because he hit the trifecta of prejudice. Not only was he gay, he was also half African American and half Jewish. My parents got to channel their homophobia, racism and anti-Semitism all into one person. So did a lot of other rednecks where we grew up, actually. He had it so rough as a kid.”
“I can only imagine.” Brian took in all I’d told him for a minute, then asked, “Are you two still together?”
“No.”
“Where’s Cole now?”
“Here in the city, waiting tables at your cousin Jamie’s bar, actually.”
“Small world.”
“Yes and no. I actually met Christopher, your future brother-in-law, last Christmas Eve, when I crashed a party at your cousin’s bar. I was there looking for Cole, but he was a no-show.”
“So you and your ex remained friends.”
“Far from it,” I said. “Cole hates me now, with the intensity of five million suns.”
“Because you broke up with him?”
“Yeah. It’s been two years, but he’s never gotten over it.”
“Why’d you dump him?”
“Because we were utterly wrong for each other. We kept trying to make it work, we tried for three years, but it was just such a constant struggle. I finally realized it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“If he hates you that much, why would you go to the bar looking for him?”
“Because being by yourself at the holidays can make people do stupid things. I was feeling so desperately lonely that I went there to beg Cole to take me back, as a friend, a lover, any way he’d have me. But that would have been such a huge mistake, and I was so glad later that he blew off the party.”
“I get it, being alone on Christmas sucks.” His expression was sympathetic. “Thanks for being so candid with me,” he added.
“I’ve totally been up in your business, so why not let you be up in mine?” I smiled and said, “Thanks for faking an interest in my life, Brian. Mission accomplished: you distracted me long enough to get through the panic attack.”
“I wasn’t faking it. You’re a legitimately interesting person.”
As we’d been talking, the city had gradually been waking up around us, and a few people on the early shift had begun filtering past on their way to public transit. It was still really foggy, but it didn’t seem sinister now. It just seemed like any other day in the city. Brian shielded a huge yawn with his arm, then asked, “Do you always get up this early?”
“Hell no, I hate mornings. I never really get going until about ten, and then only with about a gallon of coffee.”
“So, come back to my house and let’s work on some caffeination. Why’d you take off so abruptly, anyway?”
I shrugged and said, “Your personal space comment made me feel like I was intruding.” There was more to it than that, but it would do for an explanation.
“I say a lot of dumb things, you shouldn’t take it personally. Also, I’d like to point out that I was under the influence of a raging hangover, so you’re lucky I didn’t bite you when you put your hand near my face.” He grinned as he said that.
I grinned, too. “You do seem kind of feral with all that hair and that huge beard, I wouldn’t put biting past you. What’s with this look, anyway?” We both began meandering back in the direction of his house as we were talking.
“This is called total and utter failure to give a shit. I think it’s going to catch on in a big way. Just wait and see, pretty soon all the hipsters will be sporting the full-on crumb catcher and locks of loveliness.”
I laughed at that. “Hey look, you actually have a sense of humor.”
“It’s been known to happen. Okay, maybe not for like, the last three years, but it has happened.”
“Well, I’m honored to be here for the rebirth of your shriveled up funny bone.”
He chuckled and said, “Weird way to put that.”
“Yup. By the way, next time you fall asleep in my presence, I’m attacking you with a weed-whacker. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but the locks of loveliness aren’t so lovely.”
“That seems to suggest you’re planning more sleepovers.”
“If that ever happens again, I have an idea: let’s not polish off an entire bottle of tequila.”
“Oh, no problem there. Jose Cuervo and I are no longer on speaking terms. It’s going to be a long time before that sounds like a good idea to me again.”
When we reached his house and he worked his way up the ramp, Brian asked, “How were you not affected by all that drinking? Were you even a little hung over?”
“Not really. I was definitely buzzed last night, but I can hold my liquor. By-product of being raised in the country, where there was nothing else to do. Drink early and drink often, that’s our unofficial motto.”
“And yet you don’t like beer, country boy.”
“The one time I got sick enough to throw up, I’d been drinking beer. I was probably about sixteen. Once you experience beer both coming and going, it tends to lose its appeal.”
He chuckled at that. “Just hearing it described that way is enough to make it lose its appeal.”
When we reached his kitchen, he got the coffee pot going and I immediately started cleaning. “There’s your compulsive side again,” he commented, watching as I used a pair of salad tongs to pick up and throw away his kitchen sponge, then began rinsing dishes.
“Don’t knock it, just enjoy the benefits of my compulsion.”
“Wait, didn’t you say there was somewhere you needed to be?”
“I just said that to make my speedy exit.”
“Ah.” Brian looked at me, then looked away.
When he did that two more times, I turned to him and said, “What? Just say it.”
“I have something I need to do. Could you just, like, stay in the kitchen for a few minutes?”
“Are you going upstairs to use the restroom?” I guessed.
“Exactly.”
“And you don’t want an audience for your stair-climbing method,” I guessed. He looked embarrassed, and nodded. “Believe me, I have more than enough to keep me occupied in this kitchen. Go do what you have to do.”
He left without further comment, and I listened to his progress as I poured myself a cup of coffee. This place was at least eighty years old, and creaked like a haunted house. I was concerned about him making it up the stair
s safely, but wanted to respect his wishes, so I stayed where I was. It took him a while, but eventually he made it to the second floor, and I heard the floor creaking overhead.
Once I knew he’d made it up the stairs, I tossed my jacket over a barstool and rummaged around until I found a new sponge still in the wrapper, and a packaged pair of yellow rubber gloves. They were a women’s medium, stiff and flaky with age. It was pretty obvious who’d purchased them. There was something kind of sad about the fact that so many, or maybe all, of his mother’s things had been left in place, as if the family had never really let go after her death.
I put on the gloves and flexed my fingers a few times to loosen them up, then got to work scrubbing the sink. The kitchen wasn’t quite the botulistic nightmare it could have been, maybe because Brian lived almost exclusively on take-out. It still needed a good cleaning, though.
A few minutes later, the floor above me creaked again, and then I heard Brian on the stairs, climbing down on his hands and knees. I stopped what I was doing to listen, just to make sure he made it down safely. His shout and the crash that followed made my heart leap in my chest. I took off running.
Brian was curled in a tight ball at the foot of the stairs. “Oh my God,” I exclaimed, dropping to my knees beside him. “Please be okay!”
He was clutching his right hand to his chest, and drew in his breath sharply. “I think I broke my wrist.” I helped him sit up, and he winced as he tried moving his hand. “Shit, this is bad. How am I supposed to work my chair with only one hand? I’m going to be completely stuck.”
“We can get you an electric wheelchair until you heal,” I told him. “Those can be operated with just one hand.”
That calmed him a bit, and he nodded. “Didn’t think of that.”
“Does anything else hurt?”
“I probably bruised the hell out of myself, but I don’t think anything else is broken.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“Yeah, but not that hard.”
“We need to get you to a hospital, both for your wrist and to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” I peeled off the gloves and pulled out my phone. “Taxi or ambulance?”
“Taxi. I’m not that bad off.”
“You sure?” He nodded, and I called for a cab. While I did that, he crawled over to his chair, locked the brake, and tried to pull himself up into the seat with one hand. It wasn’t working very well. “Will you be insulted if I try to help you?” I asked when I disconnected the call.
He sat back and shot me a look. “How?”
“I could lift you into the chair.”
“I think I literally weigh twice as much as you, there’s no way you could lift me.”
I smirked at that, and despite myself, quipped, “Judge me by my size, do you?”
Brian burst out laughing. “Oh my God, I knew it! You are a total nerd, with or without the glasses.”
“What? I am not. Shut up.”
“You just quoted Yoda. That’s freaking hilarious.”
“Yeah, well, you got the reference, so you’re no less geeky.” I went around behind him, then said, “Push up when I tell you to.” I grasped him by his armpits, and he squirmed like he’d been hit with an electric shock. “Oh man, and you’re ticklish. And yet you’re making fun of me.” I grasped him again, despite his spastic gyrations, and said, “Push yourself up with your knees.” When he did that, I used his momentum to lift him and swing him around in one fluid motion, depositing him in his chair.
“I can’t believe you just did that. How could you lift me?”
I told him, “I work out six days a week, sometimes twice a day.”
“That’s kind of insane.”
“Another compulsion, I guess.”
“But if you work out that much, why are you so slender?”
“I’m very careful not to add any bulk when I exercise.”
“Why?”
“Well, if I developed too much muscle mass, it would damage my career.”
“Because muscular guys don’t get roles in gay porn? Come on.”
“Of course they do, but I’m too short and small-boned to pull off the muscle-bound jock look,” I said as I leaned against the staircase’s railing. “This thin, waifish thing is my claim to fame.”
“And if you changed your physical appearance, you think you wouldn’t get any work?”
“Well, I’m under contract, so I’d still get work, but the films wouldn’t be as popular. I’m famous for a specific thing, and a lean body type lends itself best to that.”
“A specific thing?”
It was embarrassing to say this to Brian, but I admitted, “Most of my films are domination fantasies.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, a bigger, stronger man overpowering me, forcing me to do things…you get the idea. And my fans like that I’m kind of…you know. Fragile-looking, I guess.” I felt the color rising in my cheeks, and muttered, “How did we get on this subject?”
He stared at me for a few moments, brows knit. And then he asked, “Do your co-stars get rough with you during filming? Do they hurt you? Is that a part of the whole ‘domination fantasy’ thing?”
“Sometimes. But you know, just to whatever extent the director calls for.”
He was still staring at me. “So, you don’t just get fucked. You get…what? Tied up? Smacked around?”
“I think we should probably stop talking about this,” I said, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Really? You’re too embarrassed to talk about it? Then maybe you shouldn’t be doing that for a living, Hunter.”
“It doesn’t usually embarrass me. Most men I meet are gay, they’ve seen my films, so I don’t have to describe any of this to them. It’s just awkward trying to explain it to someone like you.”
He frowned at that. “Someone like me. That’s all you see me as, a homophobic bigot. Right?”
“No! Of course not. I just meant—”
“Oh, I know what you meant.”
I sighed in frustration, then glimpsed the taxi pulling up out front and went to get my jacket. Brian was sulking when I returned, and seemed to resent the fact that I had to push his chair down the ramp because of his injured hand. He got into the cab using his knees and elbows to hoist himself up, and I folded the chair and put it in the trunk.
When I started to get in the taxi, he held up his uninjured hand and said, “There’s no reason for you to come with me. I’ve got this.”
“Like hell you do.”
“The nurses at the hospital will help me when I get there, that’s their job.”
I frowned at him. “Why are you suddenly so pissed off at me?”
Instead of answering, he said, “Can I please just go to the fucking hospital, Hunter?”
“Fine.” I slammed the door to the cab, and it took off down the street. He was such a pain in the ass.
Chapter Five
For lack of a better idea, I went to the gym. I really took my time, doing two different yoga classes in addition to about an hour of cardio, which helped burn off some of my frustration.
By the time I’d done all of that, showered and dressed, it was no longer obscenely early, and I could text Christopher. He told me to come over, and answered the door to his apartment looking like he’d just gotten out of bed. His blonde curls were rumpled, and he was dressed in a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. I said, “Please tell me I didn’t wake you when I texted.”
“No, I just haven’t made it to the shower yet.” Christopher gave me a big hug as soon as he shut the door behind me, and as usual, I didn’t let go for a really long time. “How are you, Hunter?” he asked.
“I have to think about my answer.”
He pulled back to look at me, and brushed my hair back from my eyes. “Did you spend last night at your apartment? Nana told me her grandson installed a new alarm system for you.”
“She called to tell you that?”
“She’s worried about you.
So am I.”
“I tried to go back to my apartment and just couldn’t do it, so I actually spent last night cleaning Brian’s living room.”
“Really? Why?”
“I went over there to check on him, and one thing lead to another. And another.”
“What does that mean?”
“Where’s Kieran? What I’m about to tell you might kind of freak him out.”
“He’s soaking in the tub, his back’s still really sore.”
“What did he do to it?”
“Strained a muscle. He’s all drugged up on pain killers and a muscle relaxant.”
“Poor guy.”
Christopher led me by the hand to his sofa, and we settled in side-by-side. “So what’s this news that might freak him out?” my friend asked as he tucked his feet under him.
“I don’t quite know what to make of this – and I should mention that a lot of tequila was involved – but, well, Brian and I kind of made out last night.”
He flashed me a big smile and said, “That’s hilarious.”
“You totally think I’m kidding.”
His eyes went wide. “You’re not?”
“Nope.”
“But – wait, are we talking about Brian Nolan?”
“Yup.”
“There’s no way! He’s just not gay. And even if he was, there’s not enough tequila in all the world to float him out of the depths of that deep, dark closet.”
I shrugged and said, “And yet.”
“How did it happen?”
“I don’t know. I mean, there was a lot of drinking involved, like I said, and for some reason I was laying on top of him. Next thing I knew, he was kissing me.” Christopher absorbed that for a few moments, and I added, “He doesn’t remember it, by the way. That’s how drunk he was.”
Christopher shook his head. “That’s pretty much the very last thing I was expecting you to say. It was hate at first sight between the two of you. Never mind the fact that he’s a rage-filled homophobe.”
“Maybe the ones yelling the loudest have the most to hide.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. I shifted my position slightly, curling up right beside my friend, so close that our arms were touching. “Or…I mean, I don’t know. Maybe he’s not as bad as we think he is.”