by K. C. Wells
For a moment, the driver of the second car stayed put, probably deciding if it was worth braving the bitter cold. I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets and wished for a warmer jacket. Mr. Post was telling a story about a fistfight at one of his auctions last summer when the driver of the second car finally emerged.
Everything around me faded into the background as my vision seemed to telescope in on the tall, lean man who’d gotten out of the car. Even under the bulk of his coat, I could tell he’d lost some of the heavy muscle tone he’d once had, but his face hadn’t changed. I’d never forget his face.
Martin Palone was here.
And I’ll be damned if he didn’t turn his head and look right at me.
Chapter Eleven
I DIDN’T register moving, and I doubt I even bothered muttering an excuse to Jeremy or Mr. Post. I just remember shoving my way through the kitchen door and into the cold, noxious-smelling ruin of a kitchen. Panic tightened my lungs, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I grabbed the grimy edge of a counter and stared at the stained wallpaper that had once portrayed merry fruit baskets. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the chill threading its way through my entire, trembling body.
He’d found me here.
And why not? Martin wasn’t stupid. If he checked the local papers, he’d have seen the obituary or the auction notice. I was a fucking idiot for thinking I could stay here, even for a few weeks.
A hand touched my shoulder. I shouted and nearly jumped out of my skin as I stumbled away from the owner. I stumbled right into the empty space where the stove once sat and banged my hip on the edge of the counter. Jeremy stared at me with his hands in the air, eyes wide.
“It’s just me,” he said. “Jesus, Cole, what happened? You look like you saw—” He stopped, and understanding sharpened his features. “He’s here.”
All I could do was nod miserably.
Something dark tightened the corners of his eyes. “Which one is he?”
I shook my head. Jeremy was capable, but Martin was incredibly strong. I didn’t want a confrontation, not here and not ever. Maybe if I just stayed inside the house, he’d look around and go away.
And maybe tomorrow you’ll start to fart dollar bills.
Jeremy closed the few feet of distance between us, but he didn’t touch me. “I can call the sheriff if you don’t want him here,” he said.
The sharp rap of a fist on wood startled us both. Even through the murky glass of the back door, I could see Martin from chest to chin, hugging his winter coat close. Jeremy glared at the door as though he could make it explode with his eyes, and I was so grateful for him being there. To have someone on my side, willing to protect me from the Big Bad Wolf huffing and puffing at my door.
But my house wasn’t made of straw or sticks anymore, like it was when I allowed Martin to walk all over me. Jeremy had helped me rebuild my house with bricks forged from understanding and forgiveness, and an inner strength I never recognized in myself. I was sick of being afraid of Martin.
Martin knocked again.
“Cole?” Jeremy asked.
“Let him in.”
Jeremy frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He pivoted and stormed over to the kitchen door, clearly not in favor of my decision. He yanked open the door but made no move to let my guest inside. “Can I help you?” he snapped.
Martin blinked down at Jeremy, then spotted me. I held his gaze until he broke first and looked back at Jeremy. “I’d like to speak with Cole.” Something in his voice had changed, almost softened. I’d noticed it in that July phone call and chalked it up to good acting. But the rough, demanding edge I’d come to fear was gone, replaced by a gentling calm I didn’t quite trust.
“And you are?” Jeremy asked, even though he knew full well.
“Martin Palone. We’re old—” Martin froze, as though he didn’t quite buy his own ability to call us old friends. “We used to know each other.”
“Uh-huh.” Jeremy stepped aside, giving Martin just enough room to enter the kitchen.
Martin’s nose wrinkled as the smell hit him. He used to dominate every room he entered. Today he lingered near the door, hands in his pockets, everything about his posture suggesting submission. Had the Big Bad Wolf lost his teeth?
“Can we talk, Cole?” he asked. “In private?”
They both looked at me, the ball firmly in my court. I wanted Jeremy to stay for emotional support—plus I didn’t quite trust Martin or his fists. Something tickled the back of my mind, though, whispering that I’d be fine. My survival instinct didn’t recognize danger in Martin, only the memory of old hurts.
“Please?” Martin said.
He’d never said that word before. In all his pleading and apologizing, he’d somehow verbally danced around saying please for anything. Ever. One single word, spoken in that new voice, convinced me. “Jeremy, can we have five minutes?” I asked.
Jeremy glanced at the clock on his cell phone, then nodded. “Five minutes.” He gave Martin an “I dare you to try something, asshole” glare, then shut the back door behind him.
Alone with Martin for the first time since he threw me through a glass shower door, I didn’t experience the overwhelming sense of panic that I expected. My initial shock at his appearance had worn off, and now I just wanted him to use his five minutes and leave. I stood straight and tall, arms by my side, unafraid. He wouldn’t hurt me here, not with so many witnesses. “Why did you follow me here?” I asked.
“I owe you an apology,” Martin said. “I wanted to give it to you in person.”
I scowled. I’d sat through too many tear-filled apologies from him over the years, always followed by a promise to not lose his temper so badly again. He’d even apologized in the hospital after his actions put me there. “I’ve heard your apologies.”
He wilted a bit in front of me, and I studied this new him. He walked differently, talked differently. The angle of his nose was different, too, slightly more bent. The faint line of a scar ran the length of his left jaw from temple to chin, and a second bisected his right eyebrow.
“Why is this apology different?” I asked.
“I can’t pretend to understand your feelings about what I did to you, but now I can say I know what terror feels like. And if the terror I felt is even a fraction of what I made you feel, then there are no words to express how sorry I am. I am so sorry, Cole, for everything I did to you.”
God help me, but I believed him. Physiologically, the same Martin Palone stood in front of me. In every other way, he was a stranger. The anger, the danger, the underlying violence of my old boyfriend was missing, replaced by regret and some awful experience of his own.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“I hit rock bottom a year ago. I was already heading that way, and it was all my own fault. My obsession with finding you after the shower door”—he flinched—“incident was partly out of guilt and partly to get you back. I still felt like you were mine, even though you are not and never were anyone’s property.”
I very nearly rolled my eyes. Nearly. I’d be rolling them at myself too, because for a long time I’d identified myself as Martin’s partner and then Martin’s victim. It seemed like an eternity of identity confusion before I was just Cole.
“Rumors about why you were in the hospital and why you left got around to my friends and to my boss. People were whispering behind my back. I started treating everyone badly. I lost my job, and by that last time I saw you in Des Moines, I’d lost our—my apartment. I’d burned a lot of bridges, but an old college buddy agreed to let me crash at his place while he was out of the country for a week on business. He had this gorgeous house in Falls Church, Virginia.”
Martin wrapped his arms around his middle. He’d been telling his story to the floor near my feet, and he finally looked at me. Once angry eyes swam with sadness. “No one was supposed to be home all week,” he continued. “The second night, three men broke into the
house to rob it.”
My stomach flipped, and a shudder tripped down my spine.
“Needless to say, they didn’t expect to find me there, and three against one are bad odds. They tied me to a chair and took turns beating me, while the others robbed the place. They made a lot of threats, too, that scared the holy hell out of me, including violating various orifices with a fireplace poker.”
I grabbed the counter beside me before my knees gave out. No one deserved those kinds of threats or that sort of fear—the fear of someone stronger mutilating your body and causing you physical agony. The fear of being trapped and unable to defend yourself against your attacker. Utter helplessness in the face of danger.
“All I really remember about that night is being convinced they would kill me like they kept threatening to, and that this is what your life must have been like with me. I hated myself for that.” He cleared his throat hard, his eyes shiny. “When they’d loaded up their truck, they beat me unconscious and left me there. It was two days before the gardener came by and saw me through a window, and another day in the hospital before I even woke up.
“I had a broken nose, three broken ribs, torn ligaments, a bruised kidney, and a serious concussion. I still get dizzy sometimes if I turn too fast or if a bright light flashes.”
The petty side of me wanted to rejoice in his pain, in the notion of the abuser finally getting what was coming to him. But I saw the agony in his eyes, and I heard the misery in his voice. Martin had experienced something that night, and he’d survived it. He’d survived, and he’d had the courage to tell me about it. The Martin I’d known would have never admitted to fear or weakness.
“I’ve been crashing with my stepfather since I got out of the hospital,” Martin said, since I still hadn’t found the strength to speak. “I never thought I’d lean on the old man like that, but he’s been surprisingly supportive.”
My eyebrows jumped. Martin’s stepfather had kicked him out at sixteen, right after Martin’s mother died and he admitted to being gay. I didn’t know the two had been in touch, and the fact that Martin had reconnected impressed me. “I’m glad you had him,” I said.
“Me too. It gave me time to heal and to think. The one thing I always knew was that I had to find you. I had to say all of this.”
“It was a lot to say.”
“Yeah, it was, but it needed to be said. That’s why I tracked you down in Pittsburgh and why I followed you here. Cole, I’m so sorry about your mother. I’m sorry about everything.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t know if I possessed any forgiveness to offer him, but I did know that I no longer hated him. No longer feared him. The man I’d hated and feared had been beaten nearly to death, and the man who’d survived wasn’t him. With or without my personal forgiveness, he deserved a second chance.
“And I promise this is the last time I’ll bother you. I hope you find someone who makes you happy.”
As my thoughts jumped to Jeremy, my mouth pulled at the corners, and I tried to squash the smile before it began.
The subtle change wasn’t lost on Martin. “Unless you already have?” He glanced at the back door. “Your pit bull?”
I snorted at the somewhat apt description of the way Jeremy had leapt in to protect me only a few minutes ago. “That is none of your business,” I said without ire.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for coming here, Martin, and for telling me all of this. I hope you find what you’re looking for out there.”
“We’ll see. Good luck, Cole.”
“You too.”
We didn’t shake hands, and we certainly didn’t hug. We never reached a closer proximity than five feet, but somehow we still touched each other. We shared something more than physical when our eyes met—an understanding of a shared past, of undeserved pain, and of second chances. He opened the door and left in a gust of frigid air, disappearing from my life as quickly as he’d reentered it.
Jeremy came inside almost immediately, his face twisted into a mask of worry. “You okay?” he asked as he walked right to my side.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I pulled him into a hug, just to feel him close to me. “I really am, finally.”
His arms tightened around my waist. “I’m glad.”
I didn’t forgive Martin that day, but the frozen hatred I’d once carried for him had already begun to thaw. One day, I’d be able to fully forgive him. And maybe on that day, I’d have the same courage to be able to say so to his face.
Maybe.
AT DINNER that night, Jeremy seemed preoccupied. He talked little, and he nearly burned the garlic toast that went with our pan of baked ziti. I could guess what was bothering him from among a number of obvious things, from tomorrow’s auction to today’s trip down memory lane. But I didn’t want to guess, and my conversation with Martin had given me the courage to be blunt about what I wanted.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about so hard,” I said when he nearly dropped the hot pan of ziti on its way to the counter.
He looked up from his attempt to balance the pan on a pair of cork trivets, eyebrows knotting. “What?”
“You. Thinking. Not paying attention. Talk to me.”
The knots smoothed, but he remained tense. And he remained on the other side of the counter, keeping a buffer between us. He also didn’t speak for close to a minute. “Did Martin ask you to forgive him?” he finally asked.
“Yes, he did.”
“Did you?”
“Does it really matter?”
Jeremy scowled. “I guess not.” He yanked a serving spoon out of the utensil holder and slapped it down on the counter next to the ziti.
I leaned back in the stool I’d occupied a few minutes ago and crossed my arms over my chest, annoyed. “You know, Jeremy, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever lied to me.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, because what I really want is the truth. Would it bother you if I forgave Martin?”
“Yes. Yes, it would fucking bother me. He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven for what he did to you.” An angry sort of desperation clung to his words, and it betrayed his fear.
“Even if I forgave him, which I’m not saying I did, that doesn’t mean I’d ever go back to him. I won’t. That ship didn’t just sail, it went around the world and shipwrecked on a desert island. I’m done with Martin, and I won’t let what he did control me anymore. He had his say, I had mine, and it’s over.”
“Just like that?”
“Hardly. But Martin went through something a year ago, and I genuinely believe he’s sorry and that he’s changed. It might be hard to understand, but he’s not the same guy that I hated.”
Jeremy nodded, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm against the countertop. He gazed at the cooling ziti as if it held the secrets of the universe. When he looked at me, something in his face had relaxed. “So you’re not afraid of him anymore? Of him trying to get you back or anything?”
“No, I’m not.”
“That’s good.” He went to the cupboard and brought back two dinner plates. “What about when everything from the auction is settled?”
My heart kicked. “What about it?”
He seemed poised to roll his eyes in frustration, then stopped himself. “Are you still in a big hurry to hit the road for the great unknown? Or have you thought about sticking around for a while?”
We’d tiptoed around this particular topic all week. At the start, my moving in with him was supposed to be temporary. A way to save money until the auction was over and I was able to skip town for my new life. But I’d fit too neatly into his life here—to a degree. We got along perfectly, the sex was amazing, and we could talk about anything and everything. Bethann seemed to suspect we were more than friends, but she never said a cross word to me or made me feel unwelcome.
In a perfect world, I’d move into my parents’ house and hang around so Jeremy and I could test the
longevity of our undefined relationship. But this wasn’t a perfect world. We lived in a very small town that didn’t know Jeremy was bi, didn’t know I was gay, and might not be so happy to know two queers had shacked up above the antique store. He had more at risk than me—his home, a community that liked him, and a business that supported him.
“I’ve thought about it,” I said. “But I never gave it serious thought until after I saw Martin today. I don’t have to pick up and run from him anymore. I can figure out what I really want to do next.”
“Any thoughts on that?”
“I might go back to college.” I’d wanted to do that for years, ever since the day I dropped out.
“On location or online?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll have to do some research.”
He scooped out two plates of steaming ziti and added slightly singed garlic toast to each plate. I jumped up to pour two glasses of iced tea, and we settled at the counter with our respective dinners. The conversation had only paused, though, not ended. Two bites into his ziti, Jeremy dropped his fork onto his plate with a startling clatter.
He turned his stool to face me. “Okay, look, I’m trying to not be selfish about this, but you said you wanted me to be honest, so here goes. I don’t want you to leave town.”
I managed to keep a calm exterior while my insides leapt for joy. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t. Cole, I haven’t had strong feelings like this for someone, male or female, in a long time, and I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you, not before we have a chance to see where this goes. That’s the truth.”
Fuck a calm exterior. I nearly knocked him over backward when I jumped forward to hug him, so many tumultuous emotions climbing over each other to surge up first. Joy beat them all, and it bubbled up on a peal of laughter I barely recognized as my own. His arms snaked around my waist and balled in the back of my shirt.
“Does this mean you feel the same?” he asked, hot breath tickling my neck.