Let It Be
(A Sometimes Never novella)
By Cheryl McIntyre
Let It Be (A Sometimes Never Novella)
Cheryl McIntyre
Copyright Cheryl McIntyre 2014
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without prior written permission by the author except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real persons, events, or places are used fictitiously. The characters are the work of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons living or deceased, events, or locales are coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status, as well as ownership of products referred to in this work of fiction. The uses of these trademarks have not been authorized, nor are they associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover photo by Scott Hoover—Courtesy of Love N. Books
Cover model Jacob Sones
Cover design by Sommer Stein
Edited by Dawn McIntyre Decker
August 2014
Table of Contents
Prologue Guy
One Guy
Two Ian
Three Guy
Four Ian
Five Guy
Six Ian
Seven Guy
Eight Ian
Nine Guy
Ten Ian
Eleven Guy
Twelve Ian
Thirteen Guy
Fourteen Ian
Fifteen Guy
Sixteen Ian
Seventeen Guy
Eighteen Ian
Epilogue Guy
Other books by Cheryl McIntyre
Acknowledgments
About the author
Prologue
Guy
I would like to say I’ve always known exactly who I am.
I’d like to tell you that I somehow skipped over the confusion and struggles with my self-esteem, self-worth, self-image. I’d like to say I have always accepted myself and my sexuality.
That I grew up gay and proud.
I’d like to say that, but it would be a lie.
At eleven years old, when most of the kids in my school were showing interest in the opposite sex, I was absorbed in music and video games. And I saw nothing wrong with that. In fact, I paid absolutely no attention to it at all.
And then one day, right around my twelfth birthday, it happened. Troy Jensen transferred to my school. He walked into my band class. Our gazes met as Mrs. Farrow introduced him, and I thought he had the nicest smile I had ever seen. His eyes were like green glass and they held me captive.
I tried to stop staring because I didn’t want him to think I was weird, but the more I looked at him, the less I wanted to look away. He was the first person I ever thought was beautiful. Not pretty. Not cute. Not glamorous or interesting.
He was beautiful.
I’d like to say it hit me like an epiphany. That the clouds parted and the sun shone down on me with a sudden clarity as trumpets played the sweetest symphony. That I realized I was gay. And I was okay with it.
I’d like to say that—I really wish I could—but it would be a lie.
No matter how incredibly right it felt, it just felt wrong.
I felt wrong.
So I fought against it. I tried to ignore it. I hid it from everyone. Especially Troy Jensen. The more my friends talked about girls, the more I tried to embrace heterosexuality. I joined in the discussions about girls—who was the prettiest, who I wanted to get to which base with, who was most likely to allow me to get to those bases, and so on.
But the whole time, I knew it was a lie.
I didn’t want it to be untrue. I tried to force myself to actually feel the way I was pretending to feel. Claiming to feel. Begging to feel.
But I couldn’t do it.
No matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I fought—and against everything I was raised to believe—I couldn’t hide from the fact that I was different.
I liked boys.
I liked boys the way my friends liked girls.
And so, one day, I started using my closet for what it was really meant for—clothes and shoes, and random shit you can’t find a place for—and I stepped out. Because I wasn’t some random thing that didn’t have a place.
I was a person who just wanted one thing out of my life. The same thing everyone, everywhere wants.
Happiness.
And you can’t be happy living a lie.
I decided being different was a blessing—not a mistake, not a curse, not a disease. And I had every right to that happiness as everyone else.
Unfortunately for me, I didn’t understand what true happiness was until it was taken away.
One
Guy
I don’t know exactly when it all went wrong. Maybe I should know. Maybe that was the problem. But I didn’t have a clue. Looking back, I realize there were signs. Nothing big or glaring, but signs all the same. If I only understood what I was looking at.
When Ian frowned, I would tickle him until he laughed. When he refused to get out of bed, I would lay in bed with him, vegging out and watching TV alongside of him. When he refused to go out with me because he was tired or sick for the fourth time that week, I would bug him, making him feel guilty until I either got my way or gave up. And when he would pick fights with me over random nothingness, it eventually got to me, and I would tell him he was crazy.
I close my eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling.
I told him he was crazy.
It must have killed him a little more each time I said it. How could I do that? How could I have said that to him? What kind of person does that?
I’m so selfish. I always made it all about me. What I wanted. What I needed. We argued so much. The fact that he wanted to hide our relationship hurt so badly at the time. I threw ultimatums and accusations left and right.
It’s all so meaningless now.
So pointless.
My fingers curl around his hand lying beside him, limp and cool in the hospital bed. I don’t touch the bandage on his wrist, afraid it will start to bleed again if I make contact with it.
The image of him, floating in a bath of his own blood is burned into my mind forever. I’ll never forget. It will never go away.
Nothing will ever be the same.
The door opens and I release his hand immediately. The nurse smiles gently at me after she injects something into Ian’s IV. I think she knows who I really am, though I haven’t offered her that information. For now, I’ll continue to play the role of concerned roommate.
“He’s doing well,” she says softly. “His stats are good. Blood pressure is exactly where we want to see it.”
I nod, staying quiet. I think if I allow myself to talk right now—even something as little as a thank you—I’ll burst into tears, sobbing beside my unconscious boyfriend. That isn’t what he needs. It’s not what he would want.
I have to be strong. For him.
The rock, the pillar, the anchor—that’s my job.
“Talk to him,” the nurse adds. “Sometimes it helps.”
My blurry eyes follow her until she crosses the threshold, leaving the room.
Sometimes it helps.
I wonder if she means for him or me.
I drag the chair over to his bed and lower myself heavily. I feel like I’ve aged ten years. Every muscle aches—weighed down from the heaviness I carry in my heart. My hands are shaking as I grasp the railing, pressing my forehead to it. And then I talk.
“We met on a Friday. I know, because that’s the day I always used to stop in Marlow’s Music. Every Friday, like clockwork, to browse the half-priced CDs, though I rarely ever bought.
“Our hands met as we both reached f
or a Misfits album—ironic, I know. It was like an electric shock—sparks dancing along all five fingers and absorbing in my palm. Though you’ve never said it, I think you felt it too. You looked at me and I’ll never forget the way you smiled. Uninhibited and carefree. You took my breath away in that moment. And I knew I needed to know you. You didn’t pull your hand away, so neither did I.
“Instead, you bent your head toward me and asked, ‘Did you know this store is named after a dog? Because I didn’t. I’ve been calling the old lady behind the counter Marlow for weeks. I couldn’t understand why she kept giving me the evil eye until she finally snapped at me today. Marlow was actually her husband’s dog. Apparently it’s a touchy subject—her husband naming their store after a dog as opposed to her—but I kind of get why.’
“We both turned then, glancing back at the old woman behind the counter. She glared at us and we burst into shameless laughter. We spent the next hour talking as we walked aimlessly around the small store. You bought the Misfits album and insisted I take it. And when I got home, I found your number scrawled across the label. Such a brazen move on your part, but really I had the hardest task—making the call and asking you out.
“We were inseparable from that moment on.
“I never told you this, but I noticed you immediately when I walked through the door that day, skipping your fingers along a stack of records. Something about you wouldn’t let me look away. You were captivating with your messy dark hair and soft blue eyes. The most fascinating person I ever laid eyes on.
“I think you stole a piece of my heart within those first few seconds. You took it and you never gave it back.
“But that’s okay. I don’t want it back. It’s yours to keep, and there’s so much more waiting here for you when you wake up.
“Because you have to wake up, Ian. You have to.
“You have to.
“You have to.
“We’ll do everything your way, I promise. On your terms. However you want it. I’ll never complain again. Just. Wake. Up.
“Please. I don’t know who I am without you.”
Two
Ian
“When I was little, I thought I was a superhero,” Guy says out of nowhere.
“Which one?” I hold my hand up, stopping him before he can begin. “Hold on, let me guess. Batman. No. He’s too dark and…throaty. The Flash? No, Superman.”
His lips twitch with amusement. “Batarangs and speed have never been my thing, but I’ve always wanted to fly. And being bulletproof? Come on. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“I KNEW IT.” I let my smile drop, looking at him seriously. “I can see it. You have that hero vibe about you.”
“What? Sexy, smart, and addictively charming? That’s just good genes.”
“Don’t forget modest,” I add with a smirk.
He laughs, the sound more than appealing. “No point in hiding what’s so blaringly obvious.”
Now I laugh. I like this guy. Ha—this Guy. A lot.
I’ve never felt like this before. This frenzied rush of adrenaline, anxiety, attraction, and joy. It’s too much all at once. But it’s the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
I’m on cloud fucking nine. And ten. And elven. And twelve.
Chinese food has never tasted better in all my twenty-three years than it does at this very second. It’s a scrumptious work of art. I want to share it with the world even though I know they won’t understand.
I click a picture and upload it to Facebook with the caption: Best Lo Mein of my life.
Questions pop up instantly, wanting to know where I am. I ignore them, slipping my phone back into my pocket because it has nothing to do with the place. It’s all about my current company. Like I said—they won’t understand.
“You’re smiling a lot over there,” Guy says. He shoves his chopsticks into his container of rice, giving me his full attention, which I can’t get enough of. “Care to share what has you in such a good mood?”
I grin around a mouthful of noodles, offering him a wink. “Nope.” I don’t think I really need to tell him. I think he knows he’s responsible for my bliss.
“Hm,” Guy grunts. “I hope it just has more to do with me and less to do with the food. Did I see you snap a picture?”
I nod, swallowing my bite. “For Facebook. I might not be able to post a pic of us or announce we’re on our first date, but I can share a photo of our meal. We’ll know what I really mean. That’s better anyway—like our own little secret.”
His brows furrow, unpleased, casting a shadow over his eyes. “I don’t know how I feel about being a secret,” he utters.
And just like that, my good mood pops like overinflated balloon. “It won’t be forever,” I murmur. “I just need some time.”
Three
Guy
“Did I ever tell you how Hope and I met? I can’t remember.” I pause, though I know he can’t hear me.
“It was at my Uncle Donnie’s funeral—one of the four worst days of my life.
“I’m sure you can guess this day is at the very top of that list, now replacing the day my mom left.
“Anyway…I trailed behind my dad with my head cast down. I didn’t want to be there. In fact, I would have paid to be anywhere else but there.
“All the people made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know any of them. Outside of my family, the only person I knew was lying in one of the coffins in the front of the room.
“Is that the right word?
“Coffin?
“It feels wrong somehow. Like Uncle Donnie was a vampire, ready to rise at dusk to suck the blood of the innocent.” I chuckle lightly. Laughing is the last thing I feel like doing right now, but I can’t help finding the terrible irony—talking to Ian about death, coffins, and funerals while he lies in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.
Hell, I don’t even know if he’s fighting.
I clear my throat and keep going.
“A flash of color caught my eye. I glanced over and noticed a young girl with multi-colored hair. She was so small and cute, like I could tuck her into my pocket. But her eyes were the saddest things I had ever seen. I couldn’t stop staring at her and I’m not sure why.
“Maybe it was because she was subtly falling back, letting the crowd hide her from the double coffins in the front of the room.
“And then I realized who she was.
“I glanced over at the long, dark hair of Uncle Donnie’s girlfriend lying motionless in her satin bed.
“Then my gaze slid back to the girl and I realized she was the one that would be my new foster sister.
“Someone up front made an announcement and the crowd thinned as people found seats. I tugged the sleeves of my two-sizes-too-small suit—you would have loved it, Ian, it was completely ridiculous—and that’s when she noticed me. I watched her as she took in my dumbass outfit.
“And then she laughed, one of those surprised snorts she does—you know what I’m talking about. It was so loud in the otherwise quiet room. Heads turned in her direction, making her blush. And you know Hope doesn’t blush easily.
“I felt like total shit for making her laugh at a funeral—her mom’s funeral. So I smiled back apologetically. I wiggled the knot on my hot pink tie—you would have loved the tie, too. I might still have it over at my dad’s house somewhere. I’ll have to look.
“Anyway, Dad nudged me into the chair then, right next to some old woman I guess I was—am—apparently related to, and I lost sight of Hope.
“My dad leaned into me and whispered, ‘I hate these things.’
“I just raised a brow, because seriously, doesn’t everybody? I never met a person who told me they loved attending funerals.
‘“I never know what to say,’ he continued. ‘Everybody always says they’re sorry. But what are they sorry for?’
“I shrugged, and you know what I said to him?” I pause again, giving him the chance to answer me, but of course, he doesn’t.
‘“Maybe they’re sorry for being happy it isn’t them that died.’
“I actually said that. And at the time, I believed it.”
I suck in a harsh breath, my lungs trembling beneath my ribcage.
“I don’t feel that way anymore, Ian. I swear, I don’t. I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat if only it were possible.”
When the tears clear my vision, I sweep the hair off of his head, letting my fingers soak in the texture of each strand. Ian’s always had the softest, smoothest hair.
I take another long breath and keep going.
“Some…someone was talking about Uncle Donnie and how they met when I spotted Hope again. She was sitting by herself in the very back. Family was supposed to sit up front, but I think she knew that. She just didn’t care.
“I told Dad I was going to go sit with her because nobody should sit alone at their mom’s funeral.
“Dad looked at her for a long moment and then turned back to me. He just nodded me on. I think he could see she was broken just as easily as I could.
“Hope’s head lifted when I slid in next to her. I whispered a hello. I knew I shouldn’t talk to her during the funeral, but I got the impression she wasn’t paying attention to the eulogy anyway.
“I told her my name. She knew that already too, but you know how I am when I meet someone new.
“She smiled as she pushed a chunk of rainbow hair behind her ear—did you know she used to dye her hair? Exactly like a rainbow. I’ll have to show you pictures when you wake up. It was really unique. Different. You would have thought it was beautiful.
“Anyway, I didn’t tell her I was sorry about her mom. She didn’t tell me she was sorry about my uncle. Instead, she inclined closer to me and extended an ear bud.” I smile again with the memory. “I had to stifle a laugh because I realized she had been listening to music the entire time. It was The Cure. So inappropriately appropriate.
“After the funeral, everybody came back to our house.
“You know, I’ve never really understood that part. How does standing around with a bunch of strangers, shoving food in our mouths, help the grieving process? As if the unknown casseroles and ridiculous array of desserts will somehow magically make me miss my loved one less.
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