by Kim Dias
That had been almost a week ago.
Of course he hadn’t asked for Callum’s number. He’d known even then that he wouldn’t come back. Callum’s life—his big, bold, beautiful life—was in Los Angeles. He’d had one night here with Fred, and that was it. They weren’t a love story; they were a moment.
He was okay with that. He had to be okay with that.
Fred sighed and looked in the mirror for the seventh time in the last hour. He wore jeans and a pale blue button-up shirt, which he had managed to iron—somewhat—on his dining room table, because he was now the kind of man who owned an iron, but no ironing board.
It was too warm for a jacket, and Fred wished that it wasn’t. He had a dark blazer—a present from James, several years ago, and God knew why he still had it—that would make him feel more… more… more dressy.
That wasn’t right. Even Fred knew he was lying to himself. He didn’t want to be dressier today; he wanted to be more like James. To fit in with the crowd, to prove to himself and to Amira—and, yes, to James—that he could still mingle with their old friends. With James’s friends.
Fred scrubbed a hand over his face. He had trimmed his beard. He was wearing nice clothes. He had Amira’s present wrapped and ready to go. This was as good as it was going to get.
Fred left the bathroom and grabbed his keys from the coffee table. He still couldn’t look around his living room without thinking of the way Callum had fit in it so perfectly.
But, no, Fred reminded himself. He hadn’t. He hadn’t felt like he fit and so he had left, and that was his decision, and Fred had to respect it because otherwise he’d go insane.
He walked to his front door. Shoes already on, he opened it—
—and fell right into Callum.
Fred caught himself just in time and reeled backward. Callum had his arm raised, fist in the air, just about to knock. His hair was messy; his nails were bitten so badly that there was dried blood on his thumb, and just looking at him made the bottom drop out of Fred’s stomach.
Callum blinked just once at Fred’s sudden appearance. “Whoa,” he said. “Hey, hi, hello.”
“Hi,” Fred breathed. “You… hi.”
Callum smiled, small and quiet. His Hyundai was parked in Fred’s driveway; he had a backpack over his right shoulder. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “Surprised? Shocked? Disappointed?” And, oh, he tried to play it cocky and casual. But when he said disappointed, the word drooped in the middle, had a note of fear at the end….
That was what made Fred kiss him.
Callum clung to him. His fingers dug into Fred’s back, probably creasing his shirt, but fuck that, it hadn’t been well ironed anyway. He gripped Callum’s T-shirt, the material soft under his hands, and pulled Callum as close to him as he could possibly get.
“Oh my God,” Callum kept babbling between kisses. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God, how did I miss you so much, this is ridiculous, it’s stupid, oh my God.”
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Fred said with another kiss, then a third, and a fourth.
“I said I would, you moron. I promised, didn’t I?”
“You’re a bit late.”
“Keep touching my ass like that and we’re going to scandalize your neighbors.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m not late, I’m right on time.”
“Stop talking.”
“Okay.”
TWENTY MINUTES later, as he trailed his fingertips idly over Callum’s bare shoulder, Fred said, “I should go.”
“Hmmm?” Callum turned his head to look at Fred. “Go where?”
“It’s Amira’s birthday today.”
“Shit, right, it’s Saturday, isn’t it?” Callum rolled over, sharp hips digging into Fred’s stomach. “Sorry,” he said, not very apologetic at all. Now lying on top of Fred, Callum’s elbows rested on the mattress on either side of Fred’s head. “Do you have to leave right now?”
“I should, yeah.” Fred tore his gaze away from Callum to look at the clock on his bedside table. “I definitely should.”
With a loud sigh, Callum tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling as if about to make the greatest sacrifice known to man. “If you have to.” His voice pouted. “I’ll just stay here and, I don’t know, think of you while I masturbate or something.”
Fred spluttered with laughter, feeling his cheeks turn ruddy at the thought of Callum stretched out on his bed, fingers wrapped around his cock with Fred’s name on his lips…. He shook his head to pull himself away from the paths those thoughts could lead down. “I have to go,” he said softly. “I wish I could stay here with you, but it’s her birthday and….”
“I know.” Callum placed a gentle peck on Fred’s lips. “I’m just being a brat, that’s all.” He rolled off Fred, then straight off the bed, where he bounced to his feet, looking about a thousand times more energetic than Fred ever was, never mind right after sex. “Hey, can I drive you?”
“What?” Keeping up with the way Callum’s brain zigged and zagged was, Fred was becoming more and more convinced, a full-time job.
“To the party. If I drive you, I can drop you off, then go exploring, then pick you up, and then….” Callum shrugged. “I don’t know. Take you out on a date.”
I don’t know—yeah, right. Sure, Callum sounded casual, but Fred knew fake casual when he saw it. Genuine casual didn’t generally involve staring at the other person with big eyes full of anxious anticipation.
Fred had to fight his smile. “Yeah,” he said. “That would be really nice.”
Callum’s smile flashed with relief. “Okay,” he said, and the smile grew. “Okay okay okay.”
“YOU LOOK nice,” Callum said as Fred got dressed in his bedroom.
“I’m sure she’ll love it,” he said when Fred picked up the present.
“You’re going to have a good time,” he said when they were halfway there.
“Oh my God, you’re not going to die,” when they pulled up outside James’s house and Fred still hadn’t said a word.
“You never know,” Fred said. His voice sounded pale. “I might.”
Callum stared at him. “Jesus, and people say I’m dramatic. Look, you’re gonna go in there, you’re going to talk to people, eat food on sticks, and make your daughter’s entire fucking day.” He leaned over and grabbed Fred by the front of his shirt, pulled him close for a hard kiss, and said, “You look gorgeous, so if all else fails, just flirt. I’ll be back to get you in—how long do you need? A couple of hours?”
“An hour,” Fred said firmly. When Callum opened his mouth, presumably to protest, he repeated it. “An hour.”
Amira opened the door with her bright smile, blonde hair its usual curly mess. Her smile only widened when she saw who it was. “Daddy!” She threw her arms around Fred, and as he hugged her back, guilt squeezed at his stomach. If it hadn’t been for Callum, he never would have been here, wouldn’t have given his daughter a hug on her birthday.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you!” That got him a kiss on the cheek. “Is that for me?” she asked when he handed her the wrapped present.
“Of course it’s for you,” he told her. “Who else would it be for?”
She laughed. “Thank you,” she repeated. After a second’s hesitation, as they walked into the house, she added, “And thank you for coming. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Of course I’m here,” Fred replied idly, not really thinking about what he was saying, ignoring how blatantly untrue those words were. He was distracted by the house. “The carpet’s gone.” Hardwood stretched the length of the hallway floor, where a forest-green carpet had been since the day he and James had bought the house.
She glanced down at their feet. “Yeah. Dad did that ages ago. I don’t even really notice it anymore.” When she hugged her present closer to her chest, she suddenly looked impossibly young. “I guess you haven’t been here s
ince….”
“No,” Fred said, “I haven’t.” It was such a small thing. A tiny, small, insignificant detail. It should not have made his head spin the way it was, but… it wasn’t his house anymore. He had known that, but now he felt it. He swallowed. “We should….” He gestured vaguely to the living room, where he could hear light chatter.
“I’m really glad you’re here, Daddy.”
He stopped to think about his response this time. “I’m sorry I said no at first.”
She waved a hand between them as if sweeping his words away. “Don’t, okay? You’re here now, and you seem happy—are you happy?”
He thought of Callum. Of Callum’s smile, the way he had pretended not to be shy when asking Fred on a date today. His giggles, the way his fingers combed through Fred’s chest hair when they lay in Fred’s messy bed earlier today. “Yes,” he said, unable to keep his smile hidden. “I am.”
Amira’s answering smile was a little uncertain, a little curious, and very genuine. “Well, there you go. That’s all that matters.”
“No, it’s not.” Fred wasn’t entirely sure why he was arguing, why he felt this urgent need to prove her wrong. This was his easy out—why couldn’t he let himself take it?
Maybe because he’d taken the easy out for far too long.
“I should have said yes straight away,” he said. “I shouldn’t have even hesitated, and I definitely shouldn’t have said no, and I’m sorry that I did.”
She stared up at him with a horrible expression on her face, one that was patient and wise, the face of a little girl who’d grown up with a dad who would spend entire days in bed, who would sometimes cease to function the way a person should. “Daddy,” she said. “You… you had to do what you had to, you know? I understand that.”
“I shouldn’t have had to do it.” His chest hurt.
She shrugged. “But you did. You’ve always been that way.”
Her words slammed into him and all he could do was nod numbly as she, taking his nod to mean that everything was all right, stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and then walked into the living room. Fred, meanwhile, tried to remember how to breathe.
He had never realized how unfair it had been to her.
THE PARTY wasn’t as bad as Fred had anticipated. It also wasn’t as easy as Callum had claimed it would be. Flirt. Callum’s advice came back to Fred fifteen minutes in and he had to stifle a sardonic laugh. Right. The crowd wasn’t only made up of Amira’s friends. When James threw parties, he invited everyone he knew, everyone and their partners and parents and pets. Fred had known them, too, once upon a time, all those friends who had sided with James in the divorce—not exactly a crowd ripe for flirting, if he was entirely honest.
Forty-five minutes in, he locked himself in the bathroom to talk himself down from a panic attack.
Every conversation he’d held was stilted, full of I’ve been meaning to call you and Things have just been so busy lately. He’d nodded and said all the right things—“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it, I completely understand”—and kept an eye on the clock to count down the minutes until Callum would pick him up.
Astonishingly, the least awkward conversation he’d had was with James. It was short, of course; when James was entertaining, he flitted from guest to guest, and those closest to him tended to get the least attention. But he’d offered Fred a drink, told him it was nice to see him there, and given him a quick smile before looking past him to someone.
If he was honest, it had gone better than Fred had hoped it would.
A knock came at the door, soft, but sudden enough to make Fred jump; he’d thought choosing the upstairs bathroom would keep this from happening. “One moment,” he called. He stood up, tripped over his own feet, and wondered if he should flush the toilet, run the taps, make it look like he had been doing something in here other than breathing exercises.
James’s voice came from the other side of the door. “May I come in?”
Fred hesitated, but only for a second. He opened the door.
James stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He looked at Fred with cool eyes, amusement written in the lines of his eyebrows. “Why am I not surprised?”
It sounded more rhetorical than anything else, but Fred answered anyway. “Because you know how I get. You know parties have always been more your thing than mine.” He swallowed, watching James’s face darken. He didn’t know how his comment had been misconstrued, but he wasn’t surprised; this was what their interactions had become, both of them taking even the most innocent of comments personally. So he tried again. “It’s great,” he said. “Amy’s really enjoying it.”
James eyeballed him but accepted the olive branch. “It was good of you to come.”
“Thanks for having me.”
Silence fell, thick and awkward, and Fred sat down heavily on the edge of the tub. “Jesus,” he said. “Are things always going to be this shitty between us?”
He regretted the question a second after it left his mouth, but to his surprise, James didn’t take offense. Instead he flipped the lid of the toilet down and sat, rubbing his hand over his chin. “I don’t know.” He sounded more honest than Fred had heard him in… well, it felt like forever. Definitely months, if not years. He stayed silent, watching as James ducked his head and inhaled deeply before he made eye contact with Fred again. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “It… it’s good to see you. And it means a lot to Amy.”
“I know.”
“Where—” James cleared his throat awkwardly. “Where’s your, uh, your boyfriend?”
“Not here.” He didn’t want to talk about Callum with James; he didn’t want his… his thing with Callum, whatever it was, to be touched by the mess of a relationship he’d had with James. “It would have been a bit weird, don’t you think?”
“Just a little.” James suddenly laughed, and Fred stared at him. “I was not expecting—when I came over to your house, of all the things I expected…. He’s so young, Fred.”
“I know.” He did. He was painfully aware of it. Every time he rested his hands on Callum’s sharp hips, he thought of his belly pushing at the front of his shirt. Every time Callum toyed with his hair, Fred could feel another gray hair. “I can’t believe you’d think I don’t know.”
James opened his mouth, then hesitated. When he spoke, he said the last thing Fred expected.
“Are you happy?”
“Um.” All Fred could hear was Amira. God, she and James… they were so much better than he could ever dream of being. But James wasn’t his daughter; he could afford to be a little bit more honest about his uncertainty. “I think so? Maybe?”
“That’s a question?”
“Yes,” Fred said. “I think… I think I’m getting there.”
“Good. I know—” James cleared his throat again. “I know it’s not the easiest thing for you. Being happy, I mean. I know it doesn’t—it doesn’t come… naturally? Is that the right word?”
“It’s a good word.” Fred met James’s gaze. “Thank you,” he said.
James didn’t reply, but when he stood up, he extended a hand to Fred and pulled him to his feet. Once Fred was standing, though, James didn’t let go. He looked down at their hands and said, “I… I’ve missed you.”
“James.” Fred struggled not to let his words get stuck in his throat. After all he had said to Callum about being scared of his lingering feelings for James… James was the one to say this? He was the romantic one, leaving Fred to take on the role of the practical one? Fred swallowed and tried to lighten his tone, tried to soften his next words. “Darlin’.” The pet name slipped out, old and worn and familiar on his tongue. “We would have killed each other.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across James’s face. “We would have, wouldn’t we? I guess….” He looked up and finally met Fred’s eyes again. “I guess I miss the way we used to be. I miss—I miss thinking you were the love of my life.”
Fred’s chest
ached; he didn’t have the right words to respond. He tugged at James’s hand, still clasping his, and pulled him close. James stepped willingly into the embrace. He mumbled something into Fred’s neck; Fred had no idea what it was, but he held James tighter. It felt good, James in his arms again. It felt good and it felt strange, familiar and so foreign at the same time. In just a short time, Fred’s body had become accustomed to the shape of Callum against it, but years of habit, years of holding a man as his body changed and aged and still fit against his perfectly, weren’t going anywhere.
It was sweet, and it was sad, and it felt a lot like the goodbyes they’d never properly said.
He didn’t know if James kissed him or if he kissed James. Maybe it didn’t matter; the one who moved second was only a moment behind the first.
It wasn’t hungry, like the earlier kisses between Fred and Callum had been. It wasn’t surrounded by whispers of I love you and I want you to be mine forever, like the kisses in the early days of their relationship and during their honeymoon. It wasn’t even rote, the way their hello and goodbyes had become over their number of years together.
It was something entirely new, an unfamiliar kiss with a familiar mouth. It was slow, tentative, explorative, and somehow Fred knew when it was over, that would be the end for him and James, a goodbye more final than even the divorce had been.
The way James was kissing him, gripping the front of Fred’s shirt with both fists, Fred could tell he didn’t want it to end. He wasn’t alone in that—God, was he ever not alone. Fred pulled James close to him, hand spread on James’s upper back. He kept kissing him, kept kissing him—
But it had to end, it had to—
—and so Fred stepped back and moved away from James, though he softened the motion by bringing his hands up, one to circle James’s wrist, the other to cup his cheek. “We were a disaster,” Fred said, whispering for reasons he didn’t understand. The bathroom was still, silent if not for Fred’s soft words. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”