by Jay Bell
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Something Like Winter © 2012 Jay Bell / Andreas Bell
ISBN: 9781301157235
Published by Jay Bell at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
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Something Like Winter
By Jay Bell
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Author’s Note
My dad had a tattoo on his arm, one he got while in his Navy days. Beneath a skull, in ink already faded by the time I was around to see it, his tattoo read “Born to lose.” As a kid, I had no idea why someone would get a tattoo like that, and I still don’t. Was it meant to be ironic? Maybe. He became a very successful man, not that he could have known. Maybe he was feeling pessimistic that day. Most likely he was just drunk. Regardless, if I were to get such a tattoo, it would read “Happy couples are boring.”
So many people asked me to write a sequel to Something Like Summer, and often I would give the same answer. Happy couples are boring. And they are. Cozy nights on the couch, a night out for drinks, a vacation to Paris… *yawn* While these things might make for a happy life, once written down they become the equivalent of an adult watching Teletubbies. Sure the pretty colors and fanciful creatures might draw your attention, but soon enough you’ll get bored and change the channel.
Bringing Ben and Tim back for another book would mean dragging them across the coals, upsetting their lives once again in the name of entertainment. That sounds a little cruel to me, so I resisted. Luckily, many of you wonderful readers kept writing me with questions. “What was up with Tim’s scar? What was he doing all those years away from Ben? What the hell was Tim thinking when he…” Well, take your pick. This made me realize there was still a story to be told, and that’s what this book does. Something Like Winter flips the coin on Something Like Summer, revealing events from Tim’s perspective while allowing us to spend new moments with Ben and Tim that we didn’t get to see before. As for their future—well, I do meddle there, if only a little bit. I did warn you. Happy couples are boring, and I refuse to write boring stories.
-Jay Bell, October, 2012
This book is dedicated to all the wonderful readers who opened their hearts to Ben, Tim, and Jace. Thank you for making them a part of your lives, and thank you for demanding more.
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Part One:
Kansas, 1996
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Chapter One
This is my coming-out story. No, that’s too simple. This is the story of the man I fell in love with, the hero who reached out to me all those years ago and turned my life around. I first met Scott, my husband, at the company Christmas party. Oddly enough, that party was my first day at work. The ad agency had lost their top man to a corporate head hunter and rushed me in mid-December to take his place. I was scheduled to start the following week, but my new boss insisted I attend the festivities. That’s where I met Scott.
Forget love at first sight. My first impression was that I hated the guy. Scott kept giving me the eye. I thought he was sizing me up, comparing me to the executive I had replaced. After a few drinks, I felt ornery and decided to stare back. And that’s when I knew. Maybe I didn’t call it gay, homosexual, or anything else, but I knew I wanted to be with him, and from the fire in his eyes, I could tell he wanted the same thing. I’m not proud to admit it, but the first time I ever had sex with another man was that night in the—
“Ready to go?”
Tim Wyman shoved the magazine back on the rack just as his mother came around the corner. He could already feel his face burning as she looked the one place he wouldn’t—back at the rack. Luckily he was in the men’s interest section, which aside from a few gay magazines was mostly about working out, health, and fashion. Almost all the magazine covers had shirtless men on them, so it’s not like the gay ones stood out.
Unless he had put the magazine back in the wrong place, or left fingerprints on the slick cover. Shit!
“Find anything good?” Tim asked her, successfully drawing her attention away.
Ella Wyman held up two paperbacks, one thin, the other thick. Both had Spanish titles on their covers. “Enough to make the trip down a little more bearable. You?”
“No. I’ll probably just listen to music.”
“Okay. Well, I’m going to the register. Are you coming?”
“Yeah.”
As soon as her back was turned, Tim glanced once more toward the magazines. The gay one was where it was supposed to be, thank god. He glared at the cover accusingly. The guy on the front was doing the classic “thinker” pose, his body just as ripped as the famous statue. The thing was, the model looked so normal. That’s exactly what had piqued Tim’s curiosity. Despite being a gay magazine, the cover model wasn’t feminine, dressed in leather, decked out in drag, or anything else outrageous. He was just a guy with an enviable physique.
Tim followed his mom, browsing through a display of sketch books as they waited in line. He chose a small one with a plain black cover and slid it on the counter without having to ask. His mother knew he liked to paint and assumed this passion extended to drawing as well. In truth, Tim would probably use the book to write, which he did almost exclusively in Spanish. He could speak it too, but often felt self-conscious when doing so.
Once outside the store, Tim scanned the parking lot, a habit he would be glad to leave behind. He did this when entering and leaving every location, seeking out people his age who might attend the same high school—people who might have heard. With school out for the summer, his chances of running into someone were high. That’s why the past month had been spent mostly at home, but now hiding was pointless because today was the last day.
“Can I drive, Mom?”
“Of course.”
She fished a keychain out of her purse, Tim taking it and pushing the button to unlock the doors. A few minutes later they were cruising down the street toward I-35, the very interstate that would soon get him the hell out of Kansas.
“How long of a drive is it to Texas?” he asked.
“Oh, twelve, thirteen hours. Maybe longer depending on how often we stop to eat. It’s going to be grueling on your father.”
“I can drive part of it,” Tim offered, but he knew his father would never accept. Thomas Wyman wouldn’t let his own wife be anything but a passenger. Maybe his father found it too emasculating. Not Tim. He just enjoyed driving and hadn’t had much chance lately while playing hermit.
Soon his problems would be left far behind, a thought that had him in high spirits—until they pulled into the driveway. The garage door was slowly opening, revealing walls of packed boxes on one side, when Tim noticed her sitting on the steps.
“Oh, it’s your little girlfriend!” his mother said.
Tim hit the gas too hard, the car lurching. His mother made a quick plea to saints in her native Spanish while he got the car under control, parking in the garage without further incident. His hands were already clammy with sweat when he took them off the steering wheel.
“I can car
ry the bags in,” his mother said. “Go talk to Carly.”
“Carla,” he said distractedly. The difference was one letter, but Carly sounded much too cute for her now.
Carla was still waiting on the porch step when he came around the corner, which was so like her. He should have just gone inside, let her wait there for eternity instead of coming to her like an obedient puppy. Except then she might ring the doorbell and talk to his parents, and lord only knew what she might say to them.
Carla raised her eyebrows and smiled demurely, cute as a baby doll.
Tim glared back. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Carla said, ignoring his gruffness. “I just came to say goodbye.” She stood and offered a delicate hand.
Tim just stared at it. “Why?”
“Why? Because we were together for ten months. Because you were my first, and I’ll never forget that. And because we love each other.”
“Carla, you told everyone that I raped you!”
She shrugged, her fine features betraying no hint of remorse. “All’s fair in love and war.”
Right. And Carla won the war long ago. Almost a year, to be exact. Tim had met her last summer, swimming with friends at the community pool. Normally Tim stuck to the pool in his backyard, but one of the girls from school had recognized him walking by and called him over. Tim, along with his former best friend Brody, had been happy for the chance to flirt. A dozen or more girls were there celebrating a birthday. Their eager faces had been a blur until Tim saw Carla, lithe in a black bikini that matched her hair.
She knew exactly what to say to Tim, how to stroke his ego just right to make him want to give her more. And he had, emotionally and physically, and it had never been anything but consensual.
“You still never told me why,” Carla said. “You owe me that much.”
“That’s why you came? You want to know why I dumped you? Fine. Because you’re so fucking mean.”
Carla shook her head. “I wasn’t back then. I was always good to you.”
Hardly. The truth was, she had often demeaned him in front of her friends, like he was a trophy she kept for bragging rights. At first that wasn’t too big of a deal. Most of their time together was spent alone, and in those moments she had been kind. Socially, she would parade him in front of her friends like a prized pet, which made him feel oddly proud, until her comments became more critical than praising.
And of course there were other reasons Tim had left her. Like her brother, who shared the same dark eyes that were locked on him now, waiting for an answer.
“You know what?” Tim huffed. “It doesn’t matter why. You showed your true colors when we broke up. You ruined my life!”
Carla rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s not like I went to the police.”
“You might as well have. I lost all my friends. The whole freaking school turned against me! Even Brody won’t talk to me anymore.”
“Probably because he’s too busy trying to get into my pants.”
“Yeah, keep twisting the knife. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it.”
“Fine.” Carla took a step closer and put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, okay? I was mad. But this is our last day together. Do we really have to fight?”
Her eyes moved across his face, flicking down to his neck, shoulders, and chest. This was something Tim was used to, not just from Carla, but strangers as well. He owed a lot to his parents for the genes they had given him. From his mother, he had inherited the Hispanic skin tone—light enough to be mistaken for a tan—and his silky black hair. The silver eyes from his father drew the most compliments. The muscular build also came from him. Tim knew because next to her bed, his mother kept a photo of Thomas in his college rowing days, pale as ever and hair starting to gray even then, but his arms rippled with effort. No doubt those muscles had won over his mother, just as Tim’s physique had impressed Carla.
Right now Tim would trade his looks for flab and acne. He couldn’t count the number of times Carla had spoken about the children they would have, swapping their traits around to design the perfect child. Her dark eyes, his olive skin. His nose, her smile. For one chilling moment, he wondered if that’s why she was here now. One last shot at tiny versions of Carla and Tim. The hand on his arm was warm, almost hot, so he pulled away.
“I won’t look back,” he said. “As soon as I’m in Texas, I’ll forget you. By this time tomorrow, you won’t even be a memory.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No? Why would I remember? You never meant a thing to me.”
Carla’s face finally registered anger, making it anything but pretty. He stepped past her, wanting to get away before whatever venomous words she was cooking up spewed out. He tried the front door. The stupid thing was locked, so he jabbed at the doorbell.
“I guess I’ll just go over to Brody’s,” Carla said.
She didn’t get a rise out of him. Tim couldn’t care less who she fucked now. His mom peeked out the side window, and he mouthed for her to open the door. Hurry the hell up!
“Goodbye then,” Carla said. “I’ll be sure to tell my brother that he was right about you.”
Tim stiffened. His mom opened the door and greeted Carla, who replied back in pleasant tones that belied her serpent’s tongue. Tim was terrified that she would say more, would drop a bomb that would follow him to Texas, but he made it inside and shut the door before the worst could happen.
“Are you okay, Gordito?”
“Fine,” Tim said. His mother smiled sympathetically, misinterpreting his distress. He wanted to get away from her before she said something kind about the witch outside. “I’m going to make sure everything in my room is packed.”
Once he was upstairs, Tim went to his father’s office and peeked through the curtains overlooking the driveway. Carla had gone. Exhaling in relief, Tim tried to force her from his thoughts, but those dark eyes came back to haunt him once more. Then he realized that the penetrating gaze in his mind didn’t belong to Carla, but to her brother instead.
* * * * *
“You can kiss me if you want.”
Tim paced his near-empty room, frustrated by the lack of distraction. An inflatable mattress his mother had bought for this occasion, a blanket, and a pillow were all that remained. The only signs left of his world were scuff marks on the blank walls and patches of pressed carpet where furniture had once stood. He had nothing left to escape into. No books, music, or TV—not even his studio. His home had been hollowed out completely, empty now of all but memories.
Except the ghost of the room Tim found himself in didn’t belong to this house. Memory brought him to Corey’s room, a place on the brink of transformation, just like its occupant. Childhood toys competed with posters of bikini-clad girls on the wall. CDs of Disney soundtracks were shuffled up with grunge bands. Stuffed animals and designer clothing shared piles on the floor. Not the coolest place to hang out, but Tim was happy to escape the party. And Carla.
“Go upstairs and check on my brat of a brother,” she had snapped at him when he offered to get her a drink.
Tim happily complied, because that night he felt he could hardly breathe. Her brother’s room had been the perfect sanctuary. Fourteen years old, Corey and his world still mostly revolved around video games and cartoons, but he was changing. Most recently his glasses had been replaced by contacts, revealing eyes that matched his sister’s, so dark that the pupils were nearly lost.
With his parents out of town and none of his friends allowed over, Corey had been glad for the company. He even shut off his games and focused on Tim, watching him with transparent admiration as Tim nursed a beer. An hour passed easily. They bragged, laughed, and talked, Tim wondering if this was what having a brother was like. Then Corey spoke those crazy words that haunted him still.
“You can kiss me if you want.”
Tim’s grin had abandoned ship. Maybe the bass thumping from downstairs had affected
his hearing.
“Why would I?” Tim replied.
Corey’s face had fallen, which was enough to make Tim backpedal.
“I’m almost seventeen,” he continued lamely, “and you’re— I’m dating your sister!”
“I won’t tell her.” Hope lit Corey’s face, as if there was room for negotiation. “I never tell anyone.”
Corey made it sound like a game, a secret that guys kept. Like telling your best friend about the girl you wanted to hook up with, or those shitty moments when you cry or something vulnerable like that. But kissing each other? That wasn’t a secret that guys kept. Was it?
Those dark eyes, so like his sister’s, watched and waited for Tim to give the word. What if he had said yes? Would Tim have leaned forward, or would Corey have come to him? He would never know, because Tim had stood and walked to the door. When he turned around, the hurt had returned to Corey’s face, and Tim couldn’t leave him like that.
“Anyone would be lucky to kiss you, Corey. It’s just… Your sister would never forgive me.”
When Tim arrived back downstairs, he nearly wished he had done it, just to spite her.
“Where the hell have you been?” Carla said with a withering glare.
“I was just upstairs, trying to figure out if I want to molest your brother or not.”
Of course Tim hadn’t really said that. Memory could be toyed with, twisted to suit his needs. As he flopped down on the inflatable mattress, Tim tinkered with another memory. What if it had been Corey sitting on the doorstep today? No parents at home, no ugly relationship with Corey’s sister, just them alone, the crazy offer repeated one final time.