From Brussels, With Love

by Emy Calirel

  When Trevor pulled the clean linens from the shelf, a large tin box fell, clattering loudly and spilling papers all over the floor. Trevor cursed and crouched down to pick everything up. He froze when he saw one of the drawings, and Jerome grimaced. Whatever drawing Trevor saw, he knew it wasn’t any good. Jerome tried to decipher Trevor’s expression, but it was hard when his brain felt so mushy.

  “Are those your comics?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a lot in here.” Trevor piled the papers back together. “I thought you didn’t have the time to work on them with the store. Had never finished.”

  “It’s not finished. They’re crap.” Jerome reached for his necklace, the rough shape of his mother’s Leo Belgicus comforting. “Any publisher would reject that. I don’t want Mama’s dream to be rejected, and my own stuff…. It’s not good.”

  “I disagree,” Trevor said, looking at each drawing before he put it back into the box. “Have you shown this to anyone?”

  Jerome shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. His walls crumbled under the fever, and he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. “It’s not good, Trevor. You don’t know anything about comics, but trust me. It’s not good enough. Will never be good enough.”

  Trevor was kneeling in front of him the next moment, wiping Jerome’s tears away as they fell.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

  “I showed them to Brice once, and he said they were bad. And he was right, you know? He was a bastard with a wife and kids and a love for dicks, but he was right. He’s a publisher, so he knows. I’ll never be worth more than postcards and T-shirts.”

  Jerome put his head in his hands and moaned, crying coupled with the flu making him feel like his brain was being painfully squeezed. He didn’t protest when Trevor pulled him against his shoulder.

  “Come on, love,” Trevor said, massaging Jerome’s neck. “Let me make your bed so you can go back to sleep.”

  “HOW ARE you feeling?” Trevor asked.

  Jerome sat on his bed, the phone on speaker while he folded clean laundry. He didn’t remember much about their weekend together, nothing more than feverish memories he wasn’t sure were real. Three days after Trevor left, Jerome was still exhausted and sore, but he was finally feeling human again.

  “Still tired, but better than yesterday. I’m getting there.” Jerome put a pair of socks together before he dared ask about what had been bothering him for a few days already. “I know I have no filters when I’m sick. Quentin makes fun of me for it. Did I… did I say anything I should regret or apologize for while you were here?”

  “I don’t think so,” Trevor said after a pause. “You called me your boyfriend and told me that you—” He hesitated. “—that you missed me a lot.”

  “I do miss you a lot. Nothing I shouldn’t have said then?” Jerome asked hopefully.

  “No, nothing you shouldn’t have said.”

  “I think I remember me crying and you calling me love too. Did that happen, or was it in my head?”

  “It happened. I found your box of drawings by accident. You were upset, and the pet name slipped out. I won’t use it again if you don’t like it.”

  “I don’t mind.” And Jerome didn’t. He couldn’t remember the last person he had dated who had given him a pet name. He liked it.

  “How did your lunch with Brigitte go?” Trevor asked.

  “She yelled at me for not telling her I was sick. Then she yelled at me for risking making you sick.”

  Trevor chuckled.

  “Then she hugged me, complimented your caring skills, and invited you over for Christmas.”

  “I really like your mother.”

  “About Christmas,” Jerome said, disappointed Trevor hadn’t picked up on it. “I told her you would probably spend the holidays with your family.”

  There was some shifting before Trevor answered. “Actually, we always celebrate Christmas on the twenty-eighth in my family. My mother works on Christmas Day, and my brother will be with his in-laws.” Jerome held his breath, afraid to hope. “My last day of work is the twenty-second, so I could fly to Brussels that evening. I could spend Christmas with you and Brigitte before I come back here to see my family. If you want me to.”

  Warmth bloomed in Jerome’s chest, and he couldn’t contain his smile. “That would be nice. Maman will be happy to see you again. Only two weeks before I see you again, then?”

  “Yes, love. Only two weeks to go.”

  Chapter 17—Trevor

  FINDING CHRISTMAS gifts for Jerome and Brigitte wasn’t easy, so Trevor roped Hannah into helping him. He was just back from an afternoon of shopping and dinner at a restaurant when someone knocked. Sure it would be Hannah needing something, he opened the door with a smile and a tease on the tip of his tongue. Both died when he found Ronan wavering on his front step, his eyes bleary and unfocused, smelling like cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke.

  Before Trevor could react, Ronan pushed his way into his apartment.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here for you,” Ronan said. He tried for a leer, but his voice was too slurred. “I’ve missed you and I want you, baby.”

  Ronan tripped as he approached Trevor, and Trevor automatically caught him, his hands on Ronan’s arms. Ronan smiled sloppily and reached for Trevor’s chest, his clumsy fingers trying to unbutton Trevor’s shirt.

  Trevor pushed his hands away roughly. “Stop it.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Ronan shook his head and reached for Trevor’s shirt again. “I know you want me too. Come on, a nice round of rough sex, just the way you like it. You know how much you like my dick, T. How good we are together.”

  “Enough!” Trevor snapped. He took a step back and slapped Ronan’s hands away from him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Shouldn’t you be drunk with the new accountant?”

  Ronan froze, and anger flashed in his gaze before it was replaced by hurt.

  “He dumped me.”

  Ronan took a step toward Trevor, and Trevor took another step back.

  “So what? You thought you could come here, and I would bend over for you like nothing happened?”

  “But we were so good together,” Ronan whined. “I fucked it up. I fuck up everything, but I want you back now. I learnt my lesson.”

  “Good for you, but I learnt my lesson, too, and you and I are through.”

  “Is it because of the new guy? The one sending all those postcards and pretty envelopes to you?”

  Trevor fumed. He knew the mail team loved Jerome’s envelopes, but he wasn’t aware of being the talk of the month at the coffee machine. “It’s because you’re an asshole. Even without Jerome, you wouldn’t get me.”

  “Jerome, huh? So what, you’re all in love now, big boy? It’s easy to be all bent over for a guy living in another country. Yeah, I saw the Belgian stamps,” Ronan sneered. “Is his dick at least worth the price?”

  Trevor saw red and tightened his fists. “You need to shut up before I slug you,” he growled.

  Ronan’s unfocused gaze searched his, and it was only his obvious drunkenness that stopped Trevor from hitting him. “Yeah, you’re in love all right. Then again, you always fall in love easily, don’t you?”

  Ronan turned around to leave but caught his foot on the chair and stumbled. He knocked his shoulder hard against the wall and fell heavily on the floor with a curse.

  “Come on, you bastard. Get up.”

  Ronan struggled to get to his feet, so Trevor put his hand under Ronan’s arm to help him.

  “Sit down. I’ll call you a cab.” Trevor pushed Ronan onto the couch, where he sprawled.

  “Sweet Trevor,” Ronan slurred, struggling to right himself. “Always so very sweet.”

  BY THE time Trevor came back from his bedroom, where he had left his phone, Ronan was already snoring, passed out with his legs dangling off the couch. Trevor cursed. By experience, he knew Ronan slept like the dead when he drank. Trevor pull
ed Ronan’s shoes off and roughly threw his legs onto the couch before he turned off the light and left the room without another glance.

  “SO, SOMETHING happened last night,” Trevor said, pouring fresh coffee into his mug. Because Jerome was still feeling the effects of the flu, he had gone to bed too early for them to talk the previous night, so Trevor had called him first thing this morning.

  “Morning, baby,” Ronan said from behind him, his voice low and gravelly. Trevor froze. He had hoped he could talk to Jerome before Ronan got up. He had just turned around when Ronan plucked the mug from him and drank from it before sighing. “Thanks for the coffee. Damn, I needed it after last night. Is that your boy toy on the phone?”

  “It’s not what you think, but I’ll call you back,” Trevor said to Jerome before hanging up on him. He took his cup back from Ronan and poured the coffee down the sink before reaching for a clean mug. “Get dressed and leave.”

  Ronan had taken his sweater off, his hairy and muscular chest on display. Only a few months ago, the sight would have made Trevor’s mouth water. Now he didn’t even give it a second glance.

  “Not even a coffee? What kind of host are you?” Ronan crossed his arms on his chest. He looked impressive, but Trevor knew he was all talk and no bite.

  “The unwilling kind. You’re only here because you passed out before I could get you into a cab. Now you’re sober, so take your clothes and your hangover and fuck off,” Trevor said, sipping on his new coffee.

  Ronan glanced down—at his lips or at the cup, Trevor wasn’t sure and didn’t care.

  “What happened to you? I think boy toy is a bad influence. We used to be friends.”

  Trevor scoffed. “Friends. Right.”

  “I know I hurt you, but we were friends.” Ronan leaned forward, his hands on the back of a chair.

  “Well, we’re not anymore.” Trevor put his cup on the counter and took a step toward Ronan. “I was in love with you, and you spent four years using me. You threw me away without a second thought the moment someone shinier came along, and now that he’s gone, you want me back? Fuck you. I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re a piece of trash and I’m not your fuck toy anymore. I’m not your friend, and I’m not your safety net either. I’m only your boss, and if you don’t pull your head out of your ass, I won’t even be that for much longer.”

  “You want to fire me? Because I dumped you?”

  “No, Valentina wants to fire you. She’s tired of wasting her time and money, and frankly? So am I.”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants!” Ronan threw his hands up. “Our designs are good.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if they’re good or not when they don’t respect the client’s wishes. Her money, her brand, her choices. Now get out of my house!”

  Ronan turned sharply and left the room. A couple seconds later, Trevor’s front door slammed shut, and when Trevor walked into the living room, all that was left of Ronan’s presence was one of the throw pillows lying on the floor. Trevor picked it up and put it back on the couch before going to the kitchen to call Jerome back. But his phone rang before he had a chance, and his day went to hell.

  IT WAS almost midnight when Trevor finally made it back home. He had texted Jerome a few times but hadn’t received any answers. Despite the late hour, he dialed Jerome’s number as soon as he closed the front door behind him. Jerome usually picked up quickly, and Trevor’s heart dropped when it went to voicemail.

  “Please call me back. I don’t care what time it is. I just need to talk to you. I….” He bit his lower lip. “Just call me back.”

  Trevor went to shower and get himself ready for bed, his phone in the bathroom with him in case Jerome called. It stayed silent.

  Unable to resist, Trevor tried calling again as soon as he was settled in bed. This time he didn’t leave a message when it went to voicemail after only one ring. He was wondering if he should persist and call again when he received the text. I don’t share with others. You knew that. Say hi to gravelly voice for me, baby.

  Trevor called back, and this time Jerome picked up. “What?” he snapped.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Jerome scoffed. “Try something else, Trevor. I’ve heard that one before.”

  “No, listen. Let me explain. Ronan came to my flat last night, drunk and wanting to fuck, but he slept on the couch, I swear.”

  Jerome didn’t say anything.

  “I promise you nothing happened. He came here because he was dumped by his accountant, but when he grabbed for me, I pushed him back. He only slept here because he passed out on the couch before I could get him into a cab.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”

  “I tried to. I was about to tell you when he interrupted me. I’m not seeing someone else. I told you, it’s just you.” Silence stretched between them. Trevor’s stomach was in knots. “Jerome?”

  “I might have overreacted,” Jerome finally said, his voice slow and measured. “But I would really prefer it if you didn’t have men sleeping at your house. I mean—” He caught himself. “It’s your home and you do whatever you want, but he’s your ex, and I know you still love him. Next time, just wake him up and call him a cab, okay?”

  “There won’t be a next time, and it’s not him I love.”

  “Let’s not go there over the phone. Why did you hang up and not call back earlier?”

  “Because I knew Ronan and I would end up fighting, which we did, and then I had the day from hell. I’ve wanted to talk to you every minute of today, but I didn’t want it to be while hiding in the bathroom between meetings.” Trevor slouched farther down his pillow. “I’m not lying.” He knew Jerome could hear the plea in his voice, but he didn’t care. He just needed today to end. “I would never cheat on you. I wouldn’t.”

  “Okay,” Jerome sighed. “Okay. I believe you. You sound exhausted. What happened today?”

  “Ronan quit my team, and Valentina doesn’t want another designer from Sidelux. She wants to keep me as her project manager, but she hired someone else. Mr. Banks, my boss, wasn’t happy, and I’m first in line for his ire. I learnt I have a meeting on the twenty-third in London I can’t cancel, my mother is bugging me, and I couldn’t even call you back when all I wanted was to hear your voice.”

  “You’re not coming for Christmas, then,” Jerome said, disappointment clear in his voice.

  “I am. I’m not sure I’ll be able to catch a flight to you that evening, but there’s a Eurostar early the next day. I could be at Brussels Midi around noon on the twenty-fourth.”

  “The ticket will cost you a fortune this late. And what about the flight you had already booked?”

  “I don’t care. I just want to see you.”

  “You should know it won’t be anything fancy. Just the three of us having dinner at home. We used to go see family in Bruges, but we haven’t since Mama passed. It’s just too hard.”

  Like every time Jerome talked about his mother, Trevor could hear the pain in his voice, and he wanted nothing more than to hold Jerome in his arms.

  “Christmas with my family is hell. If it wasn’t for my mother, I don’t think I would still go. I wish I could just spend the whole week with you.”

  “When do you need to leave again?”

  “My flight to Dublin is early afternoon on the twenty-seventh.”

  “So you’ll only be here for three days. One more than usual, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

  Even over the phone, Jerome’s sarcasm was clear as day. Trevor closed his eyes.

  “I wish you could come with me.” He opened his eyes suddenly and straightened. “You could come with me!”

  Jerome snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  Trevor jumped out of bed to get his laptop from the living room. “I’m serious. Come to Ireland with me. We could be together until the new year and kiss at midnight.” Excitement pulsed in Trevor’s veins.

  “Trevor,” Jerome said quietly. “As much as I
like the idea, I can’t afford the flight to Ireland for Christmas, last minute. The store will be closed until January third, but I’ll still have work to do, and I’ll have tours and such. I can’t come.”

  “Do you have any reservations for tours between the twenty-seventh and January second?”

  “Not yet.”

  Trevor went back to bed and opened his laptop. “Then take some time off and come with me. I’ll pay for your flight.”

  “You can’t just pay for my flight.”

  “Why not? I’m more than happy to pay for it. Call it a Christmas gift to myself if you want to. I’ll have you for longer, my mother will get off my back about bringing someone home, and when the lunch from hell is over, I’ll have someone to get drunk with. It’s a win all around.”

  “I really want to spend more time with you.”

  “Then say yes.” Trevor opened the website he used to book his flights and waited in anticipation. “Jerome, say yes. I can show you my place and my life.”

  Jerome stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity before he spoke, the smile in his voice matching Trevor’s. “Okay. Yes. Let’s do this.”

  Chapter 18—Jerome

  JEROME CAME back to the living room after Brigitte shooed him away from the kitchen. For the first time since his mama Ingrid had passed, the house was decorated. A small tree on the windowsill replaced the big one they used to have near the fireplace, but tinsel and small lights hung around the room and Christmas carols played softly on the radio.

  Trevor stood behind the couch, looking at the pictures on the wall. There were dozens of them around the house, all surrounded by thin black frames. Jerome slipped his arm around Trevor’s waist and leaned against him. Unease had lasted for a few days after the Ronan incident, but Trevor had tried twice as hard to make sure Jerome knew he cared ever since. By the time Trevor finally made it to Brussels that morning, Jerome was completely reassured.

  “Mama was the photographer of the family, but I took that one when we went to Ovifat,” Jerome said, looking at the picture of his mothers laughing in the snow, their arms around each other.