by V. L. Locey
I ended the call, looked around, and saw that the two old men were staring at me in concern.
“You okay there, lad?” the white man asked.
“Sounded like a bad fight,” the black fellow added.
“I’m fine,” I lied, picked up my two suitcases, and walked to the subway where I threw up in the men’s room before taking a train back to Brooklyn. I had the dorm to myself that night, thank God, and spent it lying on a stiff mattress with no fan, no sheets, and no aspirin to ease the pain in my head and heart.
The next day was a full shift at Babette’s, and for once, I was glad to be stuck in a blisteringly hot bakery bent over a sink of scalding water. The abject misery of heat and sweat and irritable customers kept me from dwelling. Today, after my shift ended, I was heading to the LGBTQ Film and Arts Society to thank them for the cash, but I couldn’t in good conscience accept it. I’d decided not to tell them why, exactly, because that would make Caiden look really bad, and he loved that group and what it stood for. So, I’d just decline, hand them back the letter that had been delivered to the Korean restaurant instead of my place below it and go back to financial aid and explain the situation. Thanks to my old landlords and the postal service for sending that along in snail mail where it got lost somewhere in Seattle for a month or two before finding its way back to me at my new dorm. I’d probably not be able to register for the fall semester as my FAFSA would be late, and the rooms in the dorms would be full, so yeah…
Whatever.
But oh well. I’d find another ganky room somewhere, work full time here or maybe over at Muffin Top, and I’d reapply in the spring. A man did what he had to do and he did it himself. That Midwestern lesson had been branded into me at a very young age. Real men didn’t ask for help. Ever. Of any kind. That reached into all aspects of life such as therapy or going to the doctor as well as work or home repair. We once dug and laid a waterline from the house to a small barn Dad used as a shed by hand, me, Mom, and him. I was eight. It felt like slave labor to me, and in many ways it was just like being on a chain gang. If Mom or I complained, he’d yell or throw his shovel in a fit of disgust for our lack of backbone and pride in hard work.
I paused in my ramblings to swipe at the sweat cascading into my eyes with my flour-coated white apron and tried to make sense of how my mind worked. How did a person grow up hating something so strongly—that rigid toxic masculinity ideology that real men don’t need anyone and then turn around when they were adults to embrace that hated thought pattern? I dropped the stiff scrubbing brush back into the sink and stared down at my bright red hands as I scrambled to make sense of that little epiphany.
“Hey, Devon, come on out here. We got a delivery across the street!” I startled at Lou’s bellow. Wiping the soap and sticky bits of flour off on my jeans, I untied then tossed my soaking wet apron to the floor under the sink then padded out of the kitchen, the door drifting shut behind me. My sigh at the air conditioning blowing down from the unit over the door was enormous.
“Coffee?” I asked, jerking my chin at the small area filled with eight different carafes of coffee.
“Nope, just a couple of brioche.” Lou handed me a small white bag then glanced up at the clock. “Lunch rush is over by the looks. Take a break. Maybe walk around the park. Might do you some good to look at a tree instead of a burnt baking sheet.”
“Yeah, right.” I had no intention of farting around in Bryant Park. My day was jam-packed with work. Work kept the mind clear. Ugh. “Shut up, Dad,” I grumbled, shoving my way out into the street. People hustled past me, eyes on phones or on the skyscrapers. I was halfway up the stairs leading into the park when I realized I had no clue what this customer looked like. Lifting the bag to my nose the note scrawled on it in Lou’s frenetic script was—
BIRDS BLU FUNTAIN
“Cool, so I’m delivering this to blue birds by the fountain. Awesome.” I sighed, climbed the steps, and began searching for Disney characters because those were the only birds I knew of that could order brioche on the phone. Shit, who knew, maybe when I found these animated blue birds, they’d join me in song and lead me to my handsome prince. Sniggering to myself, I sidestepped a guy with a dog, spun to face the fountain after giving the dog a pat, and saw Caiden sitting at a green table, dressed in a blue shirt and white shorts, slowly rising as our gazes met. The bag of brioche slid from my fingers. The little dog pounced on the bag. His owner scolded him, ripped the bag from his jaws, and sheepishly handed it to me. I spared the torn bag a glance. Caiden stood by the table he’d chosen, mouth set in a soft line, waiting for me to come closer or bolt. My heart flitted in my chest like a trapped bird, the irregular sensation making me feel queasy.
“As much as I enjoy your brioche, I’m not sure I want them after a dog had them,” Caiden said, his voice carrying to my ears over the din of a bustling city park.
I whipped them into a nearby trash can. “What are you doing here? Did the movie wrap?”
“Not even close. We’re still two weeks from getting it into the can. Drag queens seem to be rather high maintenance. Who knew? We need to talk.” He took the chair beside his in one hand and pulled it out. He had his sunglasses on so I couldn’t read his green eyes, but the invitation was obvious. “Devon, please. Sit down. Let’s work this out. I’ve missed you.” My gaze touched on the park, the trees, the lady with the ponytail dancing on the lawn to the music from the carousel—or maybe to the songs inside her head—to the man waiting patiently by the fountain, his fingers resting on a tiny chair with green slats. “Please?”
I slowly closed the distance. Two women in business suits cut around me, each with a coffee in hand, chatting away about some singer.
“Sit, please.” Caiden dropped back down into his chair, carefully settling himself on the public seats that looked a tad too small and wobbly for grown men. I lowered myself down gingerly. He pulled off his sunglasses. My gaze touched his. He looked much older. The fine lines around his mouth were deeper. Dark bags had appeared under his emerald eyes. “I’ll have to thank Gilles for this idea; he told me that he used to order from Babette’s daily while he was wooing Isamu.”
“If I had known it was you…”
He nodded. “Which is why Lou said he’d come up with something that would get you near the fountain.”
Great. So my boss and Brian had been in on this set-up. “What role did Isamu play in this?”
Caiden leaned his elbows onto the table, his mouth softening a bit. “He’s the one who told Brian to call me and pass along his tips on how to win over a younger man who is hell-bent on showing the world that he can make it on his own.”
I shrugged, battling madly to not let the sight, sound, and smell of his aftershave weaken my resolve. It wasn’t working, but I was trying to hang onto my pride.
“Lying to him seems legit.”
“It wasn’t a lie.” I cocked an eyebrow. “There might have been a little subterfuge involved but no untruths. There was a blue bird by the fountain. Budgie in the Dell sort of bird, wearing blue, seated by the fountain.”
“Fine, everyone but Polly and Luis was in on this.”
“Oh, they were in on it as well. Polly booked my flight, and Luis threatened to quit if I didn’t come back here, and I quote, ‘Win back that proud pretty boy who loves you big mad like you love him!’ unquote.”
That sounded like Luis. I missed him, and Polly, and Caiden. God, it hurt so bad. The yearning that had lived inside me for seven weeks clawed rabidly at me. My gaze roamed the park again as I digested what he’d said. I wished we had those brioche. It would give me something to do with my hands as I waded through this insane scenario.
“You didn’t love me,” I said, regret flaring up as soon as the whiny reply hit the air.
Caiden sniffed as if amused. I looked from the dancing lady to him. “You wouldn’t let me.” I stared at him in confusion. “It’s true.” He laid his sunglasses on the table, the tension leaving his tight shoulders and nec
k as he spoke. “You laid down the parameters of the relationship at the beginning. It was just sex and only for a few weeks. Every time I tried to show you how much I cared for you, you balked and withdrew. You left behind everything I’d ever bought for you: the clothes, the books about filmmaking, the tiny mementos that a love affair creates.”
“Because I don’t want your handouts or your gifts or money. That makes me feel cheap, like some slutty club boy who sucks your dick just to be taken care of!” He blinked at the displeasure I’d flung at him. “All I ever wanted was for you to love me. But you said you loved too quickly and then when you had the chance to tell me how you felt, you hesitated.”
He rubbed at his nose with the tips of his fingers. “That was a mistake. I should have told you the first time I felt it, but you were so damn adamant, Devon.” He closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and let it out in a measured exhalation. “We both made mistakes. Mine was letting you keep me at arm’s distance emotionally when I knew, deep down, we were connecting on a deep level. I should have been braver as well, and not let my past failure with Olander frighten me. You’d think a man a month shy of thirty-two would know how to relationship better, but I don’t, and I’m sorry for not being the kind of man you needed.”
I shook my head. “You’re exactly the kind of man I need.” His eyes widened a bit. “Needed, need, did need. Ugh.” I threw a hand into the air then let it fall to the table, a few inches from where his two hands lay resting on each other. “I need you. It’s just that…” I stared at his fingers.
“Tell me. Tell me what you need. Devon, I do love you. These past seven weeks have been horrible.” My gaze flickered from his pinkie finger to his eyes. The pull of his eyes, the tone of his voice, and the play of the wind in his hair left me wobbly and weak.
“I want to show my father that I’m a man, a real man, not a weak little fag.” He slipped his hands over mine, cradling my fingers between his warm palms. “Okay, wow! That was not supposed to come out of me ever.”
“No, no, talking is fine. It’s good. How do we know what the people in our lives need if they don’t tell us? And you are a man. A sweet, loving, passionate, stubborn man who is incredibly skilled and has a future that’s as bright as a supernova. I want to be a part of that future, Devon. I want to help you in whatever way I can, and trust me on this, we all need help. No, don’t scoff. That’s your father’s bullshit views about what makes a man a real man.” Shit. Yes, he was right. Brutally right. It hurt to know that I’d soaked up that shit and had allowed it to poison my life. “Listen to me, we all need help from time to time. Personally and professionally. There is no shame in allowing people to assist you. I’m not saying you simply ride on the kindness of others and make no effort, but this world we live in is cutthroat, Devon. The movie business is all about who you know and how sellable your product is, and that’s why we all have to play the game, even ultra-hip producers like me. Let me help you.”
“By paying my way through college?”
“No, by mentioning your name to a committee that was set up to help young filmmakers and artists, like you, reach their potential. All I did was drop your name and pass along a link to that short of yours that was chosen to be shown right here last summer.” He rolled his head to indicate Bryant Park. “Once they’d viewed it, and had a peek at that screenplay of yours, they saw the raw and brilliant talent that you had. And so, they chose you as the recipient.”
“Wait, so Wally showed them my screenplay?” He nodded. “But…why? It’s super rough; I told him it was super rough!”
“He did. He’s phoned me several times about it, gushing about the intensity and grit displayed by the leading men. I think if you polish it up there’s a good chance he might seriously consider it for an upcoming project.” My mouth fell open. He smiled. “Sometimes all a person needs is for someone to open the door. That’s what Wally and I are doing for you, Devon. I’m opening the door for you. If you step through or not is your call, but I want to make sure you get the chance. And, if you feel you can accept the fact that I’ve held the door for you not out of some sense of pity but because I believe in you, then maybe you can walk into your life fully as an out gay man and let me love you as I so desperately want to.”
The leaves rustled, and his fingers twitched. I laid my free hand over his, forming a mound in the middle of the tiny table. A light mist blew over us from the fountain, cooling my cheeks from the rush of emotion that had colored them.
“I desperately love you too,” I replied. A tender smile frolicked on his lips. As always, it was Caiden who took the lead, pressing up and out of his chair, resting his chest on our hands to cover my mouth with his. Kissing him was magical, much like those movies we both loved so much. “We could do a crossfade shot here, with us fading out of this frame and then being picked back up in another place.”
“Got any particular ideas for where the fade out ends and the new scene begins?”
“Yeah, it ends here in our old life and slowly fades back to show our new lives.”
He tasted my lips once more. “I love the way that mind of yours work. Want to call it?”
I brushed my mouth over his. “Wind, reel, and print.”
The End
Look for Reserved, A Tales of Bryant Romance, coming 4/22/20
Not even the darkest night can extinguish the radiance of two loving hearts coming together.
Life is a daily celebration for Adrian Pontimore, the hottest new event planner for the Manhattan elite. His days are a high-priced whirlwind of cocktail parties, weddings, conventions, tea parties, housewarmings, and baby showers. Everything is simply amazing for the owner of Quintessentially Adrian Event Designs. Until the dark and hate-filled side of life rears its ugly head, tearing apart the delicate happy bubble that Adrian has constructed around himself.
If not for the bravery of one of New York’s finest, Adrian’s days fussing over décor and bridal parties might have come to an abrupt end. There’s something about a man in uniform, but there is something extra special about Officer Galen Ellison. Not only did he save Adrian’s life, he’s slowly winning his heart. It’s going to take time, patience, and good humor to help Adrian overcome the fears that haunt the shadows now, but those are qualities that the handsome, affable beat cop seems to have an abundance of.
A note from the author…
If you enjoyed Fade In, A Tales of Bryant Romance, I’d be incredibly grateful if you could leave a review on a major retailer site, BookBub, Goodreads, or on your personal social media platforms.
Reviews are the reason someone else might decide to give this book a try!
Deepest thanks,
*squishy hugs*
V.L.
Meet V.L. Locey
USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey
Penning LGBT hockey romance that
skates into sinful pleasures.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
vllocey.com
[email protected]
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Other books by V.L. Locey
LGBTQ Releases
Holly & Hockey Boots
Life is a Stevie Wonder Song
Blue Line Collection #1
Improper Fraction
Playmaker – A Venom Novella
The New York Nightwings Collection
An Erie Collection
Nightside—An
Erie Vampire Tale
Love is a Walk in the Park
Shake the Stars
Tales of Bryant
Nine Small Sips – A Tales of Bryant Wedding
Fade In – A Tales of Bryant Romance
Reserved – A Tales of Bryant Romance #2
Cayuga Cougars Series
Point Shot Trilogy Boxed Set
Snap Shot—Cayuga Cougars #1
Open Net – Cayuga Cougars #2
Coach’s Challenge – Cayuga Cougars #3
Overtime – Cayuga Cougars #4
One-on-One – Cayuga Cougars #5
A Star-Crossed Christmas – A Cayuga Cougars Short
Overtime – The Trilogy
Rebound – Overtime #1
Final Shot – Overtime #2 (Coming 13 May, 2020)
Draw – Overtime #3 (Coming 14 October, 2020)
Harrisburg Railers Series
Coauthored with RJ Scott
Changing Lines—Harrisburg Railers #1
First Season—Harrisburg Railers #2
Deep Edge—Harrisburg Railers #3
Poke Check – Harrisburg Railers #4
Last Defense – Harrisburg Railers #5
Goal Line – Harrisburg Railers #6
Harrisburg Novellas
Neutral Zone – A Holiday Novella
Hat Trick
Save The Date