Let It Be

by Cheryl McIntyre

  “It doesn’t.

  “It’s a stupid ritual.

  “But I filled a plate to overflowing anyway, and shoved a couple of bottles of water into my pockets to take up to Hope in the tree house. As soon as she spotted it when we got home, she headed straight for it.

  “I elbowed the door in the floor open and my eyes met hers. I think she had been crying, or maybe trying not to. Her eyelids were pink, her eyes bloodshot. She was lying flat on her back with her bare feet crossed at the ankle, and her hands were resting on the middle of her stomach. And those ear buds were snuggly attached. She’s always loved music—probably as much as you.

  “I asked if she was hungry as I held out the paper plate that was bending under the weight of the greasy comfort food.

  “She sat up, tucked her legs beneath her, and pocketed the iPod. ‘Not really,’ was all she said. I set the plate between us and offered her a bottle of water, watching her small fingers twist the cap back and forth as I struggled with my jacket until my arms were finally freed. I’m telling you, Ian, the suit was bad. But it did make a nice pillow. That horrible tie came off next and I tossed it to the floor before lying back.

  “I told her it was a nice service, because I didn’t know what else to say. All I knew was I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to take some of her sadness away.

  “I felt that way about you too. Especially these past few months. I could see you weren’t as happy as you were when we met.

  “But I didn’t know it was this bad.

  “I…I didn’t—I didn’t know. I wish I had, but I just didn’t see it.

  “Maybe I didn’t want to see it. Maybe my subconscious refused to accept it. I don’t know.

  “I don’t know

  “I don’t know.”

  Fuck.

  I run my fingers over my face roughly. “I need a minute. I’m sorry. I just need… I’ll be back. I promise, I’m not leaving the hospital—I’m not leaving you. I’m going to take a walk and I’ll be right back.”

  I skim my fingers over his pale cheeks. I’ve never seen someone look so ghostly white before. I hate it.

  I hate it.

  This isn’t him. So still, so placid, so colorless.

  I push the chair back with my legs as I stand and head straight for the door. I practically rip it off its hinges as I tear it open. I feel like I’m suffocating in this room.

  I can’t breathe.

  I just need to get away.

  This isn’t my reality. It can’t be. It’s a long, twisted nightmare.

  I’m going to wake up and Ian and I will be lying in bed. His palm will be flat against my chest, over my heart, like it is every morning. His wrists will be unmarked, soft and smooth how they always have been.

  His eyes will flutter open, catching me looking at him while he sleeps. He’ll smile and I’ll lean in to capture it with my mouth. We’ll both laugh easily and I’ll tell him about the most horrific nightmare I have ever had. And he’ll hold me, smoothing the hair away from my face as he assures me it would never happen because our love it too strong for such an awful thing to occur.

  I’ll make him promise me and he will. Sealing it with a kiss.

  Because something like this doesn’t happen to people like Ian and me. Not us. We’re too happy and too in love.

  Four

  Ian

  I never understood why it was called “falling in love.” It’s not like there’s a pit somewhere labeled “Love,” and people are falling in, two at a time. It didn’t make sense.

  Not until now.

  I wasn’t looking for this. For him. I was just going about my life and one day, I stumbled upon this man—tall, blonde, beautiful, with eyes like an ocean and a voice that sends shivers down my spine. I tripped over it—all of it, and fell right onto my ass at his feet. Completely in love.

  I want him. All of him. For now. For tomorrow. Forever.

  Sitting here on his couch, face to face, knees to knees, while music filters through the small speaker of his iPod is the singular most perfect moment of my life.

  I want to kiss him. More than I want to eat or drink or breathe.

  So I do.

  I lean forward, bringing my face close to his. His eyes are steady on me, watching me. The look on his face right now, tells me he knows what I’m getting ready to do and that he approves. He wants this too.

  My hand is a little shaky as I reach for him. I think he notices, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he wraps his fingers around mine securely and the trembling stops. My lips part in appreciation as he slides my hand around his neck, pulling me closer.

  “I’d like to kiss you,” he says. It’s not a question, but he waits, giving me time to answer anyway even though we both know I was already headed there.

  My only reply is to lean in closer, lick my lips, and press them to his. He holds perfectly still, letting my mouth form to his. It’s not until I apply a small amount of pressure, asking to deepen the kiss that he finally reacts.

  He takes over. His mouth opening, causing mine to open in the same motion. His tongue sweeps over mine like he’s testing. Tasting.

  I taste him back.

  He’s a little bit sweet, a little bit salty, and wholly flawless.

  I love kissing him as much as I love loving him.

  I never want this to end. I want to bask in the harmony of this instant for the rest of my days.

  Five

  Guy

  On my walk, I pass room after room after room. All filled with people. Injured people. Sick people. Dying people.

  They all have a story. A reason for being here. But all I care about is Ian and why he’s here.

  It’s my fault.

  I know it is.

  We had a fight before I left for Chase and Annie’s wedding. All because I wanted him there with me. I wanted my boyfriend at my side to watch one of my closest friends marry my stepsister. I wanted it so much, in fact, that I said some horrible things. Things I can’t take back. Things that will haunt me always.

  His first text came through during the wedding vows. Short and simple. I’m sorry.

  The second on my way to the reception. It won’t always be this way.

  The third during Chase and Annie’s first dance as husband and wife. Please forgive me.

  I stopped checking my phone after that because I was hurt and angry, and I felt that if he couldn’t be with me in person, then whatever he had to say could wait. It didn’t matter anyway, I had heard this all before, more times than I could count. And the wedding only amplified my pain because I knew I would never have the kind of life my friends have.

  Hope is my best friend, my other half, my female counterpart. She knows all of my secrets—the good, the bad, and the ugly. The one and only person I tell everything to and trust with all that information. Everything except Ian.

  I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Except Ian.

  I used to tell Hope how much I love her on a daily basis. But as we grew up and went our separate ways, I’ve told her less and less frequently. That’s how life works, I guess. At some point, calling up your best friend just to say, “Hey, I love you,” becomes a little weird the older you get. Especially after you fall in love.

  I rested my arm on Hope’s shoulder as we watched Chase and Annie cut their wedding cake—typical flowered towers, growing in size from top to bottom, with a small, ornate bride and groom perched on the highest layer. As the knife sliced through the cake, it might as well have been my heart.

  On the other side of Hope, her husband, Mason, slipped his fingers in between hers. I stared at their hands for a long moment, and the same familiar pang registered in my chest.

  Jealousy.

  Not because Hope has Mason or Mason has Hope. I’m happy for them—always have been. I’d like to think I was responsible for bringing them together all those years ago.

  The envy inside was because they’re madly in love and disgustingly happy about it. In fact, everywhere I l
ook there’s a blissfully happy couple. The whole world knows just by looking at them. And I want to know that feeling.

  How does it feel to share your happiness with all the people that mean the most to you?

  I’m twenty-five. Ian’s twenty-three. Much too old to have to hide. I know how difficult it can be, believe me. But I was so tired of faking my life.

  When I first came out and Mom and Dad split up, I went crazy, searching for acceptance and love from someone—anyone—who might understand the turmoil poisoning my insides. For a long while, I kissed, sucked, and fucked any guy that showed interest. Because for those few minutes, I felt good.

  It lessened the pain I held inside, but only added to the guilt I felt over my mom. Knowing I was not only responsible for the screaming matches between my parents, but also for their divorce, and then, ultimately, for my mom taking off and abandoning all three of her children, was often more than I could bear.

  And in the back of my head, at all times, was the fact she didn’t love me for who I was—who I am.

  My sexuality and her religious beliefs clashed. Sides were taken, war ensued, and in the end, there was no victory. Only casualties. We all lost. A family torn apart. Over me.

  Mom thought I was sick. Mentally. Spiritually. She thought she could pray the gay away. And when that didn’t seem to work, she looked into shrinks, priests, camps, and counselors.

  Seeing the toll it was taking on our family, Dad presented Mom with an ultimatum: Accept it or leave.

  She was gone within the month. I’ve only seen her twice since then, and it was two too many times.

  But I still love her. I still hold guilt.

  I’m still gay.

  And I didn’t go through all of that just to hide now.

  But somehow I’m still searching for the unconditional love all my friends have found. I thought I had that with Ian, but every time he pulled his hand away from mine when someone entered the room, it left a scar on my heart until I couldn’t take the hurt anymore.

  Cheers and laughter filled the air as Chase ran from Annie. He grabbed my arm, ducking behind me, hiding from his bride and the large clump of cake in her hand.

  I realized what she was going to do half a second before she swung her arm. Though I tried to get out of the way, Chase was still holding onto me. Hope was on my other side. And I had nowhere to go.

  Icing, fondant, and little pieces of red velvet cake splattered across my face and onto my shirt, jacket, and tie. I froze in stunned silence, peering down at myself. Chunks of frosting fell from my head and landed on my shoe with a wet plopping sound.

  A bark of laughter sounded beside me and I glanced sideways at Hope. Her eyes were bright with amusement as she gripped my tie, tugging me down to her height, and licked the side of my face from my chin to my temple. Just a reminder as to why she’s my best friend.

  “Oh, it’s good,” she said, scooping more icing off with the tip of her finger and placing it in her mouth.

  I licked my lips, noting that it was, in fact, delicious. Moist, soft, and sweet. And my thoughts instantly went back to Ian because he would have loved everything—from the cake to the attack to Hope eating it directly from my face.

  After making sure Chase ended up messier than me—because come on, it was only fair—I went inside the house to start washing up.

  That’s when I finally pulled my phone back out.

  I wish I had looked at it earlier. I wish I hadn’t chosen to ignore the many texts Ian sent. Because I know now he was reaching out, begging me for help.

  And I wasn’t there.

  Six

  Ian

  It’s probably not normal to be happy about our first fight, but I can’t hide the pleasant chill I get as Guy paces the length of the couch like a cheetah, sizing up his prey. It’s sexy as hell.

  The reason behind his anger is even sexier.

  “It’s one thing not to announce you have a boyfriend because you aren’t announcing that you’re gay. I hate it, but I can live with that. For now.” He pauses, hands on hips, chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths as he pins me in place with his heated stare. “But having to sit by and keep my mouth shut while another man openly hits on you…that’s too much.”

  “I think you’re overreacting. He wasn’t hitting on me. As far as he knows, I’m straight.”

  Guy’s head lolls to the side in disbelief. “He was definitely hitting on you.”

  “He wasn’t,” I correct. “But does it even matter? I’m only interested in you. I only want you.” I throw my hands out, gesturing toward him. “You. You. YOU. I could give a shit about anyone else.”

  He moves toward me slowly, dropping to his knees in front of the couch. His fingers dig into my sides as he pulls me to the edge, his anger gradually dissipating. “It matters because I didn’t like it. It made me jealous and I’m not accustomed to feeling this way. Normally, I’d just tell the dude to back off my man, and I couldn’t do that this time. I don’t. Like. Feeling this way.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur. The caveman jealously is cute—I’ve never had that before, but I hate that I make him feel anything other than happy. “Next time, I’ll let him know I’m already taken.”

  One light brown brow lifts, that intensity once again shining in his eyes. “I want to take you right now.”

  Every muscle in my body clenches pleasantly with his declaration. “Then take me.”

  Without another word, Guy grabs my hand, pulling me off the couch, and tows me into his bedroom. His scent is on everything, filling the room. I inhale deeply, taking it in and letting his smell oxygenize my cells as they flow through my blood.

  He undresses me, pulling me shirt over my head before unbuttoning my jeans. When I’m in nothing but my boxers, I return the favor, stripping him of the layers separating us.

  He kisses me. Soft, slow. My fingers dig into his cheeks as I stifle a moan. Every kiss always feels better than the last. His teeth sink into my tongue hard enough to make me wince before a new rush of desire washes over me. One where my movements become rough, rushed, and clumsy.

  I slide my fingers behind his neck and fist them into his hair. I give it a little tug enjoying the way his breath catches. His hand presses into my back, pulling me tight against his body. I can feel every rigid muscle in his abdomen. Skin to skin. And lower, I feel the solid evidence of his need.

  I like sex. I have from the very first time I tried it. I’m also versatile—I like to give pleasure as much as I like to receive it. But this is our first time together. So I let him lead.

  Guy lowers himself to the ground, his chest grazing my front all the way down. I’m throbbing. I’m so ready for this. Have been since the day we met.

  His fingers curl into the waistband of my boxers and he slides them down, the movement measured, deliberately slow.

  My erection springs free, making Guy smile up at me.

  “I love that I do this to you.”

  I love it too, but I don’t tell him this because if I say anything right now with the word love in it, it won’t be about my hard cock. It will be about him. How much I’ve fallen in love with him. And we’re not there yet. Not until I can bring him home to meet my family. Not until I can hold his hand at the store. Not until I can tell a random stranger hitting on me that I have a boyfriend.

  Guy takes me into his hand as he runs his hot tongue over my engorged length from the tip to the hilt and back again. I hiss though my teeth, fisting my fingers into his hair. He keeps up a tortured pace, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

  He pulls back, running his finger under his lip. “I want to be inside you. I want to make you feel good,” he husks. “Get on the bed.”

  I do what he says, hopping onto his bed and stretching out on my back. I watch him wiggle out of his boxer-briefs, admiring the beauty of his naked form. Solid muscles, firm and all man. Sexy beyond belief.

  The mattress dips under his weight as he crawls over me. His arms are
positioned on either side of my head, holding his weight above me, but I want to feel him on top of me. I nudge his inner elbow, causing him to drop. He laughs and I wrap my arms around him as I close my mouth over his.

  His laughter fades quickly, replaced with a feverish desire as he kisses me back.

  Unable to wait, I reach between us and stroke him. He’s silky smooth and I love the way he feels in my hand. Like he was made for me.

  Guy reaches over, tugging a condom from the bedside drawer. I take it from him, opening it with my teeth, and roll it on, sheathing him. It’s my way of letting him know I’m ready.

  His forehead touches mine for a moment, his breath dancing across my skin. And then he’s pushing inside as slowly as he took me into his mouth. He stretches my legs up, using one to rest his chest on as he grips my pulsing length. His hand matches the rhythm of his thrusts and I’m gone. So gone. Lost in a cloudy haze of euphoria.

  It’s never felt this good before. But I’ve never done this with someone I love before, either.

  It’s amazing. As perfect as he is.

  Seven

  Guy

  I find myself back at the door to Ian’s room. I have no idea how long I’ve been gone. Time no longer has meaning.

  I push it open hesitantly, almost afraid of what I’ll find on the other side. But he’s exactly as I left him, unmoving¸ silent.

  My feet take me across the room on their own accord. They don’t stop until I’m standing in front of the window. I peer outside, taking in the depressing view of the emergency room parking lot. Every space is filled. Must be a busy night for tragedy.

  Picking up where I stopped earlier, as if I never left the room, I lower myself into the chair and start talking.

  “I know I’ve told you this before, but it’s a good story. My first hetero kiss. And kind of my only, because even though I had a few, they were all with Hope. But the first, that’s the most important.