by Peter Styles
Not this time, however. This time, his mother’s death was in vivid technicolor and sound, something that Greg couldn’t stick his head in the sand and wish away. It could have been five hours or five minutes later when they signed the paperwork and had to go home. He didn’t know. He didn’t truly care, either.
Outside the hospital, Bethany whispered that it was three in the morning. Mark hadn’t spoken to Greg very much. Dimly, he recalled his mother’s words about how once she was gone, they only had each other. The thought made him sad. A feeling of loneliness and regret swept over him.
Mark looked at him for the first time all night. “I’ll call you tomorrow. So we can start planning the funeral.”
Greg nodded, hollow inside and unable to say anything. At least Mark wasn’t being an asshole now. There were more important things to tend to. He watched his brother turn around and head toward his car. His shoulders were hunched together and his hands were shoved in his pockets. Greg knew Mark was trying not to cry. He always curled into himself when he was trying to fend off crying.
Bethany hovered by Greg’s side. In the light from the hospital, her skin looked sallow. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for your loss,” she whispered and reached over and squeezed his hand.
Greg smiled wanly. “Thank you.”
She nodded, looking like she wanted to say more. But Mark called her name and she swallowed. Whatever she wanted to say, now wasn’t the time. She mumbled a goodbye to him and Catherine, hurrying off to follow Mark.
“Are you going back to the house?” he asked Catherine. “You can come to my place if you want. Sleep on the couch.”
Catherine gave a small shake of her head. “No. No, I have somewhere to go. But thank you.”
Greg wanted to offer words of comfort, let her know that it wasn’t her fault, try to ease the trouble of a woman who had taken care of his mother full-time for the past few months. But as if sensing what he was thinking, Catherine held up her hand.
“This isn’t the first time, Greg. I am a caretaker. It comes with my job.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier, I’m sure.”
“No. I always struggle when I lose someone I have been taking care of. It is always a process. But I worry about you and your brother.” Catherine sounded tired and looked older than her age, her hair highlighted by the glow of the hospital lights.
“We’ll be okay,” Greg said, with a confidence he didn’t feel.
If she wanted to delve into the issues with his brother, she didn’t push it. She nodded and then hugged him. Greg let himself take comfort from her touch. When the hug ended, she wiped her eyes furiously and took a step away from him.
Catherine quickly said goodbye and Greg watched her leave. It struck him just how alone he felt, how desperately empty his insides were, like someone had scooped them out. He couldn’t cry, even though he knew he probably should.
The drive home was a blur, streetlights dragging across the dashboard of the car, the sound of a storm in the distance. The air in the apartment was perfectly still as if Greg hadn’t left at all. He found himself hovering outside Jewel’s door, debating waking her up to tell her.
But something stopped him. He stood there, hearing the fan blasting in her room because Jewel could only sleep if it was like the arctic. But to say the words to her—My mom died—stuck in his throat. He hadn’t digested it yet, hadn’t even begun to wrap his head around the fact his mother was gone.
He found himself in the kitchen. Should he eat? Maybe he should eat something. He couldn’t recall the last time he had eaten. At his mother’s, that afternoon. That afternoon. How was it possible that only twelve hours ago she was alive?
Staring at the fridge, he looked at the magnets that Jewel had stuck on it. There was contact info stuck underneath a garish magnet of Las Vegas. Stephen had taken her there once. Jewel’s phone was constantly dying, so she had started scribbling down phone numbers on paper and leaving them on the fridge in case she needed a number or an address.
That was how Greg found himself staring at Ben’s work number and the location of his bar. It was silly, of course, to entertain the idea of going to where he worked. He might not even be working tonight.
But Greg was out the door without a second thought, anxious to outrun the thoughts of his mother nipping at his heels.
Chapter Thirteen
The bar that Ben worked at was on the outskirts of town. It was the sort of place Greg normally would never enter. It looked more like a dive bar rather than a place anyone respectable would go. Angry rock music spilled out onto the street. A new town ordinance let bars stay open past two in the morning. This place seemed to take full advantage of that—a neon sign brightly proclaimed they were open until five.
This late there was a chill in the air, biting at Greg’s skin. He should have brought a jacket, but he hadn’t been thinking. He just needed to be here, even if Ben wasn’t, at least there were people. No one here would know how his night had gone or be aware of the guilt that was working its way through his body.
He stepped into the bar and looked around. It was surprisingly full for how late it was. A small cluster of people were on the dance floor, flailing their limbs around to the rock music. The air stunk of cigarettes and there was a fog from the smoke hanging around.
Greg didn’t see Ben. But Ben spent time here and right now that would have to be enough. Ben walked in this bar, worked here, spoke to people here, and was distant from everything that had gone on tonight.
He made his way to the bar, narrowly avoiding getting a beer accidentally spilled on him by an extremely drunk woman. Wedging himself into a small space between the wall and the only free stool, he looked at the bartender, who leaned over and asked loudly over the din of the music what he wanted.
Greg asked for a beer; he didn’t care what kind, he just wanted a beer. The bartender handed him one. Taking a sip, he looked around the place. Normally, he would feel out of place here. This wasn’t his type of place at all. But right now, he felt nothing but relief that he wasn’t in bed, staring at the wall.
He didn’t want to think about his mother, afraid that if he did he would start crying in front of everyone. But it was impossible not to think of his mother. He kept reliving his final conversation with her, unable to shake the feeling that he had moved here too late. He should have moved back ages ago.
He closed his eyes, trying to shake the feeling away and took a deep breath. Opening his eyes and taking another sip of his beer, the side door to the bar opened and, to his surprise, Ben walked in.
Ben didn’t notice him. Someone stopped to talk to him. Tonight, he was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. The t-shirt seemed to accentuate his toned chest and his broad shoulders. He towered over everyone else in the bar, leaning over to listen to whatever his co-worker told him.
Greg felt his chest tighten at the sight of Ben. He felt mingled relief that he was here after all, as well as panic that he was going to think Greg was weird for being at his work.
But before he could leave or maybe duck behind the bar counter like a fool, Ben noticed him. Their eyes locked although Greg couldn’t read the expression behind them. His grip tightened on his beer as Ben went around the bar counter, heading toward him.
Nudging through a group of people who had just ordered a round of shots, Ben was pressed close to Greg. Pinned between the wall and Ben, he was forced to look up at him.
Ben asked something, but Greg couldn’t hear him over the music. He leaned down. His mouth close to his ear now, his body close to Greg’s. He could feel his nerves starting to hum with the energy of being this close to Ben again.
“Didn’t expect to find you here,” Ben said into his ear.
Greg tilted his face to better look at him. They were as close as they had been in the kitchen and Greg wondered if Ben was thinking about the near kiss like he was. He didn’t know what to say, shouting in
to Ben’s ear over the loud music, so he shrugged.
Ben studied his face for a couple of seconds and said, “My shift just ended. Come on.” He motioned for him to follow him.
Greg hadn’t finished his beer but didn’t care. Trying to pull his wallet out of his pocket, Ben leaned across the bar countertop and told the bartender something. She glanced at Greg and nodded. Then Ben nudged him with his shoulder, shaking his head at his wallet.
Greg followed him out of the bar and into the night air. Ben headed to the side of the building, glancing behind his shoulder to make sure Greg was still following as they rounded the corner.
“Quieter here,” Ben remarked, as he leaned against the wall.
It was reminiscent of their conversation at the hospital, which felt forty lifetimes ago.
“Thanks for the beer,” Greg said, lamely.
“You were only a couple of sips in before I dragged you away.” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here. This place is… Well, it sucks.”
“It has a certain charm. A sort of… down on my luck why am I living charm, I guess.”
Ben peered at him closely. “What’s wrong?”
The lump in his throat grew larger and he swallowed hard. He would have to say it aloud, wouldn’t he?
“Is it Jewel?” he sounded alarmed now, the earlier tension fading away in concern for his sister.
Quickly, Greg shook his head, “No. Sorry. She’s fine. Although, she doesn’t know that I’m here. I just…” He forced himself to swallow. “It’s my mom.”
He couldn’t say anything else. The words died in his throat as he looked at Ben. His gaze softened as he realized what had unfolded; apparently, Greg didn’t need to say anything more.
“Shit. Tonight?” Hands through his hair again, the gesture so familiar that it offered a sense of comfort to Greg. “I am so sorry. How? Don’t tell me. You don’t have to say anything else.”
He took in a shuddery breath as Ben moved toward him. For a second, they just stared at each other. Greg found himself staring into his eyes, thinking about the terrible emotions swirling inside of him.
“I didn’t want to be alone. And I didn’t want to talk to Jewel,” he admitted, wanting to reach out for Ben but afraid of rejection. “I felt it. Earlier today. I spoke to her and I just felt like she was saying goodbye and I thought I was being crazy. But now she’s— and I moved back too late. I should have come back earlier. Or never left at all. Now both are gone and Mark and I still have no idea what we are doing. What happens now? Do I just go? Do I stick around here? I—” His voice died and he shrugged, trying hard not to cry in front of Ben, afraid that he would look weak.
But Ben didn’t make fun of him or even reply. Instead of saying anything, his fingers were tilting Greg’s face upwards to look at him. It was exactly like the moment in the kitchen—but this time nothing stopped Ben from kissing him.
The sensation of Ben’s lips on his was like a warmth cutting through the sadness that had taken him over. He felt it from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. His lips opened as the kiss deepened. The sounds of the club faded and, in those moments, the feelings that threatened to overtake him were kept at bay.
Ben’s hand cupped his cheek, bringing him in closer. With Greg’s mouth open, Ben’s tongue pressed against his. Every nerve in his body was responding to Ben’s kiss. It had been so long since he had felt this way kissing someone. Pressed against the bar of the wall, feeling Ben’s warm body against his—for the first time all night, things felt a little better.
The kiss broke. Ben let out a small gasp for air as if he had been underwater. He looked down at him. His hand still cupped his cheek as his thumb grazed his skin. Greg wasn’t sure what to say, afraid that if he spoke Ben would run off, startled by his own actions.
“My apartment is nearby,” he said, nervously.
“Show me.”
Ben laced his fingers through Greg’s. It was surreal, he thought, as he followed him to his car, how this night was unfolding. Ben’s hand was warm and steady. It was present, indicating that he wasn’t alone. He had someone here with him during this hellish night. Greg’s car forgotten – he’d get it tomorrow morning, he didn’t care—he got into the passenger seat of Ben’s car.
Ben hadn’t lied. It took only a couple of minutes to arrive at his apartment. They didn’t say a word the entire time. Talking would come later. Tonight, Greg just wanted to be held.
Ben’s apartment was on the second floor. Unlocking it, he pushed the door hard with his shoulder, mumbling that it stuck sometimes and walked in. Greg trailed after him and looked around.
The place was small, entering directly into the living room with a narrow kitchen off to the side. He could see the bedroom across the living room. It was a bit messy, something he had in common with Jewel.
“Do you want a drink?” Ben asked, as he opened the fridge.
He seemed too large for the tiny kitchen and the sight was almost comical, causing Greg to smile.
He raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Nothing. You’re just tall.”
Ben feigned surprise, looking around him as if noticing his height in relation to his surroundings for the first time. “I’m tall? Shit. I had no idea.” He held out a beer toward Greg, who refused.
Opening it himself, Ben leaned against the fridge and looked at him. On the ride over, Greg assumed that as soon as they came through the door, they would tumble into bed together. But Ben didn’t move and he felt too drained to pursue it. Perhaps it would be a mistake to sleep with him when he was this emotional and torn about his mother. It wouldn’t be fair to Ben either, if this was something new to him.
However, another kiss would be something that he could get behind.
“I’d give you a tour but I think you can see the entire place from where you are standing. Come on.” He moved past him into the living room and sat down on the couch.
“It’s nice though. Like your own place. I’ve always had roommates.”
“You lived in the city, though, so it’s understandable. Only reason I can afford this place is it’s a shitty part of town and poorly put together. Probably isn’t passing current building codes,” he remarked, as he took a sip from his beer.
“I’ll probably end up here if Jewel moves out with Stephen. If I don’t…” He trailed off.
“Move to the city again?” Ben prompted, shifting his body so that he was looking at him.
“Yeah. I moved here too late. For my mom. I should have moved back earlier.” The lump in his throat had returned, making it impossible to speak another word.
“No, no, you are not doing this to yourself,” Ben declared. “You are not going to blame yourself for your dad’s death and now your mom’s.”
The word ‘death’ hung in the air, hovering over Greg’s head like a terrible storm cloud.
Ben winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“No. I know what you meant. It’s okay. I just—I haven’t really wrapped my head around everything. That has happened, I mean.”
“Probably why you’re here.”
At this, Greg looked surprised. “No, I wanted to see you.”
There was silence again, but this time it was charged with something else—the kiss from earlier. Like they were teetering on a cliff, unsure if they should take the leap or not.
“Out of everyone, you came to me.” Ben’s voice was low and there was a flicker of something across his face—gone so quickly that Greg couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“I like talking to you.” God, that sounded lame. “I feel safe around you.”
“Yeah?” He bit his bottom lip, looking away for a moment, clearly holding back on something.
Somehow, Greg knew what it was and why Ben wasn’t coming out and asking. With the news of Nicki’s death, he didn’t want to ask trivial questions.
“I told Wayne I couldn’t see him anymore.”
&nb
sp; The relief was clear on Ben’s face. There was something else, too, surprise and perhaps contentment. He took a sip from his beer. How late was it now? Probably nearing four in the morning. Yet Greg didn’t feel tired at all. Energy hummed through him, pain blistering through his skin with Ben as his only balm.
“Yeah? Probably for the best. That guy was a dick.”
“You barely knew him,” Greg countered.
Ben scoffed. “I didn’t have to know him that well to see he wasn’t right for you. Did he take it well? I hope he didn’t.”
“He definitely did not take it well. He brought you up. Said that I was into you and led him on.”
“Well?”
“What?”
“Were you leading him on?”
“We had been on two dates. It wasn’t like we were seriously seeing one another or anything,” Greg explained, worried that Ben would think he was into Wayne.
“What about what else he said?”
“What?” Greg’s heart skipped a beat.
“That you are into me?” Ben asked without a trace of nervousness, as if he wasn’t afraid of rejection at all, wasn’t worried the kiss earlier had been a fluke.
Greg studied his face. The face of someone he had known for a long time, someone he had never given a second thought to. Ben, gangly, long limbed, and awkward Ben, with a sullen look on his face whenever he’d slam his door shut to ward off Jewel. Yet now, he made Greg’s pulse quicken with his broad shoulders, toned chest, and messy hair. But it was more than physical attraction. There were layers to Ben, beneath his prickly exterior and seemingly uncaring demeanor. He had been an avid listener, kind underneath that icy exterior.
“Hmm, into you?” Greg replied, dragging the moment out just to see if it was possible for Ben to squirm. “I don’t know. You were a real pain back in high school.”
“Okay, in my defense, I was like, fourteen. Everyone is annoying then.”
“Are they? Jewel wasn’t.”
“What?” Ben rolled his eyes. “She was totally annoying. You just didn’t see it for some reason. But I’m not talking about my idiot of a sister. I’m talking about me.”