by SE Culpepper
“I brought you something, Uncle Day. Mommy says you might not be able to take it and that’s okay, too.”
Damon took a while to answer. He seemed to be lost in space somewhere, staring at the floor. When he finally answered, it was like he’d suddenly remembered someone had spoken and it was his turn to respond.
“You didn’t have to bring me anything, kiddo. That was really nice of you.”
“Are you ready? Close your eyes.”
Alarik couldn’t help smiling at the w sound Davey’s ls made. Damon dutifully closed his eyes and Davey wriggled a bit, eventually tugging something from his pocket. He turned Damon’s hand over and set two Band-Aids in his palm.
“Okay, open up.”
Alarik’s windpipe closed tightly, and Damon looked like he was struggling with the same problem.
“This is your favorite kind of Band-Aid,” he murmured. “And you’re letting me have them?”
Davey nodded purposefully. “You got hurt, mommy said. I didn’t know how bad, so I only have two. You look like you need a box of them.”
Damon let out a short laugh. “You’re right. I guess I do.”
“Can you use them?”
Swiping at his eyes, Damon used his free hand and his teeth to open the first Band-Aid with its smiling cartoon character on the front. “Where should this one go?” he asked, his voice husky.
Davey used one small finger to point at the back of his uncle’s hand. “You can put them here. You got scraped real bad.”
Damon was fighting a tough battle, but he was beginning to lose in the face of his nephew’s sweet innocence. He somehow managed to get half of the Band-Aid stuck to his skin over one of the angrier cuts, then pressed it on the rest of the way. Davey pointed to another spot and Damon went through the same process with the second bandage.
“Good,” Davey commented. “Now this…” He lifted his Uncle’s hand and kissed the two bandages. “Those heal bad stuff.”
“I didn’t know that,” Damon breathed. “Thanks for thinking about me, little man.”
Davey slid off the bed and to his feet, noticing Alarik standing there watching them. “Hi.” He waved solemnly and Damon quickly glanced up, his body tightening. “I can’t teach you to dance today,” Davey said.
Alarik tried to smile, but he couldn’t look away from his boyfriend’s cold gaze. “I brought the suit.”
Damon stood very carefully and held out his now bandaged hand. “Luke was supposed to bring it.”
Alarik bit his tongue because what he wanted to say was: So sorry to disappoint you. Instead, he opened the dry-cleaning bag, removed the suit and hung it on a hook over the closet door. “Your father asked me to bring it.”
Damon realized that Davey was still with them and sent him off to his mom. When they were alone, a thousand unspoken words rushed in, giving an unpleasant weight to the air. It reminded Alarik of the time his father had visited him in London and all he wanted was for his dear old dad to leave again.
Alarik understood right then that he should’ve returned to L.A. He was putting pressure on Damon simply by being in the same room with him. It didn’t matter that he had no expectations beyond offering comfort. Pretending that he wasn’t injured by Damon’s attitude was also difficult and it wouldn’t be long before he let that hurt affect his actions. He stepped closer and lightly touched the hem of his boyfriend’s shirt. “Can I help you with this, please?”
Damon’s jaw tightened, but he allowed the assistance, adjusting his position as Alarik helped remove his sling and his clothing. The bruising along his chest, ribs and side was worse than Alarik had imagined and he couldn’t swallow his dismay in time. Damon’s eyes narrowed, but that didn’t stop the thank you that Alarik sent upward that his man was alive and well.
“I don’t think the sleeve will fit over your cast,” he said, meeting Damon’s blue eyes.
“Mom put scissors on the dresser. You’re going to have to cut it. Just widen the opening.”
Alarik did as he was told, cutting the white fabric along the seam, and then working around the pins in Damon’s wrist to get the shirt over his arm and shoulder. He rolled the extra fabric to the top of the cast, and then put Damon’s other arm through. He noticed Damon’s jaw working to hold in a hiss of pain, so he moved as quickly and carefully as he could.
The tie went on next, followed by the sling. They worked together in silence and when the only remaining thing to do was to put on the suit jacket, Damon stopped him, out of breath. “I’m only going to wear it over one arm, so I don’t need to mess with it now.”
Alarik hung the jacket on the hanger again and looked his boyfriend over. The suit somehow softened the appearance of Damon’s injuries and it brought Todd to mind. That picture Alarik had taken of the guys together, in their element, was too painful to dwell on for long. He hadn’t known Todd more than a few weeks, but he was sure that the man had no idea how important he was to his friends.
Sensing Damon’s eyes on him, Alarik glanced up, surprised that they were still so close together. The energy between them was different than it had ever been before; it was now a vacuum, emptying them of all but confusion.
Ever so slowly, Alarik lifted his hand to Damon’s jaw and caressed his slightly stubbled skin. For an instant, he saw the unutterable turmoil in his lover’s eyes and he leaned in, praying he wouldn’t be denied.
Damon’s lips look better, he thought idly.
A shudder went through Damon and his body responded, his head lowering a fraction. When their lips were a breath apart, Damon suddenly stiffened, backing away.
“Don’t, Alarik,” he said roughly, running his hand over his brow. “Just—not now.”
That about peeled the skin off of him and he knew he had to leave before he lost control of himself. “Your truck is in the driveway. I’ll see you at the service.”
“You don’t have to go to the funeral, you know,” Damon said tonelessly.
Alarik stopped midway to setting the keys on the dresser and gave Damon a hard look. “What?”
“He wasn’t even your friend.”
“Damon Wright.” Alarik growled, stunned by the absolute chill in the other man’s voice. “I’ll forget you said that to me. Are you listening to yourself? I love you and I’m here because I care about you. I may not have known Todd the way you did, but I did consider him a friend.”
“But, you’ll see him put in the ground today and go to work tomorrow. What’ll I do?” Damon smacked his palm against his chest as he spoke. “What do I tell Franco and Luke about this? What do I say to the woman he was talking about when—” He took a harsh breath and bit down on his bottom lip when it threatened to reveal him. “I don’t want you here, seeing me like this.”
“Whyever not? Do you think I don’t understand you’re in pain? You think this is your fault?” Alarik reached out for Damon’s hands, then lifted his own in submission when Damon jerked away, putting more distance between them. “Damon… This is always going to hurt. It will hurt at the strangest times. When you’re elated, or when you’re content. It’ll hurt when you’re angry. Losing Todd changes so much in your world, but it doesn’t change the fact that you have people around you who won’t stop loving you. I want to help you. I want to hold you, for God’s sake.”
“Stop it. Stop it!” Damon snapped. “Stop talking to me about how you love me, or what I’m feeling now, or what I’ll feel ten years from now! Can’t you see that I’m so fucking deep in this that I can’t sleep, or eat—I can barely fucking breathe, and it’s not because my goddamn ribs are broken.
“He needed me, Alarik. And I just… I—This is my world right now and it’s ugly and it’s dark and I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to worry about breaking your heart now that mine has nothing worthwhile to give you. If you’re wondering if that means what you think it means; yes, it does.”
The words sounded terrible as they came from Damon’s lips, but as they filtered from ears, to mind, to hear
t, they tore Alarik wide open. He staggered back a step into the dresser and it took him a long moment to assess the internal damage so he could make his next move.
“I don’t think you mean that,” he rasped. “Damon, I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
Damon’s blue eyes turned to ice. “I lost my best friend, Alarik, not my mind.”
Direct. Hit.
All Alarik could do was absorb the second blow and nod in agonized understanding. How could this be happening? One minute he’s helping with a suit, the next he’s being dismissed from someone’s life. It seemed like he was watching his own reactions from outside his body. Each movement was practiced and precise as he straightened his suit and set Damon’s keys on the dresser.
“Fine,” he whispered. “Forgive me, Mr. Wright. Your keys…”
His steps were sure as he left the room and the house. Jess and Davey watched him walk past on his way to the door and he ignored them. He walked two blocks to a diner and called the number Max had given him for the car service that would take him back to L.A. A nice woman named Veda served him a bracing cup of tea and he left her a tip.
Using the spare key beneath the potted plant, he retrieved his things from Luke and Mandy’s house and the driver tossed the bags in the back of the sedan. About thirty miles outside of Ventura, everything that he’d been through settled inside him with an ominous, hollow thump. The ship was sunk.
His hand scrabbled for the controls to raise the privacy screen and no amount of swallowing, throat clearing, or sniffs could stop the onslaught of the desolation.
“Fuck me…” he gasped. “My God, what just happened?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Once upon a time, Damon read that in hours of intense stress or grief, a roaring sound, like a heavy rain on the windows, had been known to fill the ears and cocoon them, so it seemed that what was actually happening in front of someone, was being heard from a great distance. Like watching events unfold from inside a bottle with the lid shut tight.
Damon thought it was bullshit until he was sitting in the front row at Todd’s memorial service. The funeral director spoke, inviting people to come forward and share thoughts about Todd, and the second that Franco stepped up to the podium, Damon went deaf. It was like he’d taken a couple of seashells and clamped the suckers to his ears. It was allllll ocean, baby. And thank God it was because Franco was losing it up there and Damon didn’t have to glance at his mom sitting beside him to know that whatever his buddy was saying was pretty touching. Molly was barely holding it together. Mandy went up next and said something that involved a lot of tearful smiles, then Luke who was emotional, powered through a speech.
Todd was an only child and after he started high school, his parents had not been a big part of his life. He bounced from Franco’s house, to Luke’s house, to Damon’s house, and then started the process all over again. His parents split up and neither of them put much, if any, effort into maintaining a relationship with him. However, they were both in attendance, holding hands in the front row. Neither of them appeared moved to speak, probably because the Todd they knew and remembered was an eighth grader with pimples and peach fuzz. He wasn’t the grown man that Franco, Mandy, and Luke were talking about.
When Leo stepped to the podium, Damon stared at his feet. He knew what his dad was saying because he’d written it down and asked Damon to read it and give his approval. Todd was like a son… We’re so proud of the man he was… So good to us and our Damon…
So good.
So good.
Leo returned to his seat on the other side of Molly and Damon sensed everyone’s eyes land on him at the same time. Honestly, he still didn’t know if he should say anything. He didn’t even know if he could hear his own voice if he went up to the podium anyway.
What had he said during his speech at Luke’s wedding? I’m going to wing it. No safety rope.
Damon cringed, biting his tongue to block out the image of Todd falling. No safety rope.
Like a tired old dog, he got to his feet and stepped behind the podium. He didn’t look out at the mourners, or at the picture Mandy had chosen of Todd laughing at the wedding—there was no way in hell Damon was going to look at a picture Alarik had taken right now. Instead, he concentrated on the wood grain of the lacquered coffin.
If coffins could be called beautiful, then they’d picked a beautiful one for Toddy. For a beat or two, he wondered if it was comfortable—like Todd was going to open the lid and say, “I’m like the Princess and the fuckin’ Pea in this thing—you guys got me sleeping on rocks!” He imagined his friend rolling his eyes, because if Todd could sit and listen to his own memorial service, he would’ve been hard-pressed not to roll his eyes or fall asleep. Before his first snore, he’d probably say, “What a lame funeral. Where’s the food?”
Damon almost laughed at the thought. That is, before the pain returned.
He turned back to the podium with its somber looking microphone and that particular image of a wryly-complaining Todd in mind. He cleared his throat and his hearing suddenly returned. Damon sort of wanted it to go away again.
“Todd knew how to make things fun. I can’t help but think of what he’d say about all of this. I love him very much,” he said quietly, but his voice was still louder than the rustlings of the audience. “I loved him like a brother since I met him. He was the first guy, aside from my own dad, to tell me it was okay to be who I am. I don’t want to say anything more. Just…I love him.”
No one moved to the front to speak after he finished, so the funeral director gave instructions to the guests and asked for the pallbearers to remain behind.
Damon, Luke, Franco, and the guys from Todd’s office stayed behind. Since Damon knew he couldn’t carry his share of the weight, he’d asked one extra guy Todd had known to stand in. They were waiting for further instructions, so while the other guys were staring everywhere but at Damon’s injuries or the coffin, Damon limped his way to it and ran his hand over the wood.
Hey, Toddy. Almost done…
The director returned and informed them in his gentle voice what they were supposed to do. Damon took position at the head of the coffin where an extra handle waited for him. He grabbed hold of it after the six other men had taken the weight and his muscles clenched down his right side.
Fuck, he thought. God-awful.
Another hand squeezed in beside his and he met his dad’s eyes. “We’ll help on this end of the trip, Day. We’ll sit it out at the cemetery.”
Damon didn’t want to argue. He just wanted to get the hell out of there and go home. Todd would whisper the same thing to him if he were there.
This blows. Let’s get pizza.
***
As instructed at the beginning of the trip, the driver took Alarik straight to the Sunrise Productions office. His car was still parked in the lot and when he saw a few other vehicles, including Max’s, he remembered that another night shoot was on the schedule; more than just the receptionist and small staff would be in the building.
Tipping the driver, he went straight to his car, chucking his things in the backseat. He hesitated as he went to get behind the wheel because his eyes fell on Max’s R8 again. In a decisive move, he closed the driver’s door and went inside through the back entrance. There were people in the small offices he passed, talking on cell phones, or hunched over their keyboards. The conference room was empty, but Max’s office door was open and he heard someone discussing lighting and weather concerns for a scene being filmed on Friday.
When Alarik stepped into view, Max looked up from notes covered in scribbles and yellow highlights. There must have been some indication that his situation had deteriorated dramatically because Max asked for the pair sitting in front of him to take a break.
Alarik stepped out of their way and into the office as Max rounded the desk to shut the door. The latch had barely clicked when he was being pulled into an embrace. Alarik had managed to release the most embarrassing
bout of emotion on the way to L.A., so he simply allowed himself to sink into Max’s hold, his face buried against the other man’s neck.
He smells so good.
Max’s left hand traveled up into Alarik’s hair, his fingers gripping the locks in a way that abruptly reminded Alarik how many days it had been since he’d experienced another’s gentle touch. He knew he was enjoying it more than he should and he couldn’t stop the quick moan of pleasure. Max’s grip tightened, but he didn’t push further.
“You’re back much sooner than I expected,” he said carefully.
Alarik nuzzled deeper into Max’s hold and nodded. He was afraid that his raw and bruised heart would have him making rash decisions. He wasn’t trying to run from his problems with Damon—in fact, he’d been dismissed and all but told that it was over between them, but he wasn’t ready to truly believe it. Logically, he could understand and interpret Damon’s behavior, but emotionally, he was rejected and hurting. Add a comforting Max to the mix and all signs pointed to trouble.
What exactly are you doing, Alarik? He asked himself, then immediately told his conscious to piss off.
“You didn’t go to the funeral?
His answer came out muffled against Max’s neck. “Damon told me to leave. I… I don’t know, but I think he ended it.”
“Your relationship?” Max didn’t stir in the slightest; he didn’t even offer a gasp of surprise, but Alarik heard the interest in his voice.
He nodded again, trying to control the reins against runaway thoughts. What if…? What about…? Maybe…?
Max didn’t immediately respond, but his embrace tightened again. God, it felt so good.
“I know you’re not okay, so I won’t ask.”