Counting Down

by Kelly Jensen

  “It was a long time ago, and I don’t think about it. Not really. I didn’t even tell my parents about it until the next spring when they asked if I wanted to visit Uncle Jeb that summer. That’s….” He barked out a laugh. “That’s how I came out to them. Fun, huh?”

  “But they were okay with it, right?”

  Henry’s family seemed to have no qualms at Christmas about Henry rolling up with a male friend who was quite obviously more than a friend. They’d welcomed Marc warmly.

  “They were great. Mostly. My mom cried, but Dad was really cool. He just thumped me on the back and said, ‘You are who you are, Heinrich.’”

  Marc swallowed. “Would it be wrong to say I feel fortunate to have missed out on the juvenile gay experience?”

  “No.” The back of Henry’s jacket whispered against the wall as he shrugged. “Sounds like you had your own stuff to deal with, anyway.”

  “I was never locked in the basemen by a Bible-bashing madman. Where was Jeb’s wife? Was he married?”

  Henry laughed without mirth. “No, never married. I actually think he was gay.”

  Marc felt his upper lip curl. “I’d feel sorry for the old coot if not for that story, then.”

  “Old coot?”

  Marc took a turn at shrugging. “I’ve got a mental picture of him. Check shirt, suspenders, coonskin hat.”

  “Not all farms exist in the 1950s.”

  “S’pose not. So….” Marc angled his head a little to peer into Henry’s eyes. “You good?”

  Henry met his gaze. In the dim light, Marc couldn’t see the color, but he just about had it memorized—Henry had mostly gray eyes, and they were kind of beautiful.

  “You can open doors for me if you want. If you get to them first. I’d do the same for you,” Henry said.

  “What about the hugs?”

  “I’d never have figured you as the hugging type.”

  “You don’t know me very well, do you?”

  “No.”

  Henry moved away from the wall, taking a step toward him. Marc closed the distance and pulled Henry into an embrace that quickly surpassed casual. With them being of similar height and build, Marc had supposed hugging Henry might feel awkward. It didn’t. Henry fit against him and, with a small adjustment for shoulders, into his arms.

  “This isn’t how I imagined it,” Marc said.

  “What?”

  Henry made to pull out of his arms, and Marc tightened his grip. “No, I like it. It’s just different. I don’t think I’ve ever hugged a guy before.”

  “It’s not a requirement, you know. For being gay.”

  A chuckle bubbled up in Marc’s chest. He released the hug, pausing to kiss Henry’s temple as he let go. “You’re such a dope.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s just, like, I’m trying all this stuff out. Holding your hand, kissing you in the street. Hugging you. Molesting you in the copy room and….” Marc’s thoughts caught up with his tongue.

  With the exception of the kiss that had trapped them behind the fire door, he was the one making most of the advances. Henry seemed to appreciate his eagerness, and he returned every kiss, every caress. He’d been the one sucking cock in the copy room—but had he dropped to his knees, or had Marc pushed him down there?

  Wait, stop. Henry knew how to say no. He was full of pushback. Guy was as contrary as they came.

  But….

  “You’re into this, right?” Marc could have wished for a more confident tone, but the question was out there now.

  “What do you mean?”

  Was he imagining it, or was Henry’s habit of answering his questions with another question some sort of deflection? “Are you still hung up on the whole experiment thing?”

  “What? No.” Henry huffed out a sigh. “I’m trying to find the place between helping you figure stuff out and more.”

  “More?”

  “This isn’t the time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “This isn’t the time for a relationship talk. It’s been a week, Marc. We’re barely walking, and we’re stuck in a hole in the ground. Maybe we should be trying to find a way out of here instead of figuring out if the gay is going to stick.”

  Marc sucked in a breath. “You do think I’m just experimenting.”

  “Is that so unreasonable?”

  “No. Yes. I mean…. Jesus. I….” The hammer of his heart did not feel good or exciting. Instead of desire, anger burned through his veins. And something else. Not humiliation, but close enough to it. Marc closed his eyes and watched the patterns whirling through the dark behind his lids for a moment. The blotches of orange and red resolved into ticking numbers. Opening his eyes, he pulled out his phone to check the time. Just after ten. Two hours until midnight—two hours to something that felt as nebulous as their escape from the basement.

  Marc tucked the phone back in his pocket. “You’re right. Now isn’t the time. So, should we camp by the door or try the laundry vent?”

  Henry looked at the door, then turned to gaze down the hall. A heavy sigh pulled his shoulders down. He seemed to make a careful study of their shoes before glancing up again. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cool.”

  Henry opened his mouth and closed it. Nodded. “Let’s wait by the door for a while. Until maybe eleven. If we don’t hear anyone come or go or whatever before then, we can try the laundry chute.”

  “Okay.”

  One of Henry’s eyebrows quirked upward, and the hint of a smile pulled at his mouth. “It’s going to kill you to sit still, isn’t it?”

  Marc gave in to the smile Henry was fighting. “Probably.” He didn’t add But I’ll try, for you. Sorta went without saying.

  SILENCE COULD be deafening. Marc had noted the phenomenon before—usually while in the company of his parents. How many dinners had he shared with them where the only sound to break the heavy quiet was the click of silverware or the occasional clank against china? Even then, too much noise had often earned a sharp look from his mother.

  When he was younger, he’d often imagined that the world ended while they ate. That outside the starched silence of the dining room, the nation’s capital was reduced to a smoking ruin. The president was dead, or buried in a bunker, and lawlessness brooded across the land. And there he was, stuck in a dining room with a man and a woman thoroughly disconnected with anything that mattered, being admonished for scraping his knife across a plate.

  Of course, the silences had been easier to bear than the forced conversation. Sometimes his parents exchanged quiet words about their day before asking him about his. They weren’t really interested. They were simply being polite. Teaching him to be polite. The only time their conversation rang with something other than emptiness was when they had something to say to him—usually a complaint. The school had called, or was he sure he didn’t want to play lacrosse this year. Why hadn’t he called the Kinney girl? Had he filled out the application to Harvard yet?

  Bullshit. All bullshit.

  They’d never wanted to hear about his contributions to the school paper. The silly comic strip he loved creating. He should be running for class president instead of wasting his time with the AV club.

  He tried it their way. Junior and senior year of high school, he picked up every elective his father suggested. Played lacrosse. Dated the daughters of his mother’s friends. Ran for the student council. He’d never been more miserable.

  His act of rebellion? Turning down a place at Harvard for a partial scholarship to BU to study what interested him. A career in finance. He wasn’t interested in law—outside of securities regulations. He didn’t want to counsel people. He didn’t even really want to make a lot of money—just enough to guarantee his freedom. A sum of success he could show his father one day.

  Henry’s foot nudged his, and Marc looked up from the tangle of his fingers, let the complicated vines of his thoughts fall apart, remembrance and history recede back into the
corners of his mind. They were seated on the floor again, each on their own side of the hallway, legs and ankles intersecting in the middle. Henry had his arms crossed over his knees, his chin resting on the shelf they formed. “You’re thinking pretty hard over there.”

  “Why did you go into financial consultancy? Mergers and acquisitions in particular?”

  Henry’s brows rose, and he lifted his chin, sat back against the wall.

  “I don’t need the qualifying answer. It’s not an interview question. I just wondered why you picked this career over all others.”

  “I drifted toward it in college. I’ve always liked numbers and figured I’d get into accounting. Then I attended a lecture on strategic mergers and became fascinated by the idea of taking two separate business entities and combining them into one. It was like a puzzle. Sometimes the pieces all fall into place. It makes sense, and you don’t understand why everyone else can’t see the solution. And finding the perfect match, making it work. But even when it doesn’t make sense, I enjoy the challenge. Then there’re the situations where you’re saving a company. Breathing new life into a business that’s still viable but just being mismanaged.” Henry nudged his ankle again. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I was just interested.” Marc lifted his chin to indicate the apartment upstairs. “Shelly Flores? She hates her job. I think that’s why she’s so ruthless. I’ve been on her team for three mergers, and they’ve been bloody. It’s like she has to punish everyone for making her do something so detestable.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what about you?”

  Marc thought it over for a second, but Henry’s answer so clearly matched his, he didn’t have to dig far. “The puzzle. Like you said. My starting angle was different. Forensic accountancy. I had this idea of….” A soft snort tickled his upper lip. “My dad’s a criminal lawyer.”

  “Ah.”

  “A couple of his cases have been pretty sensational. Death threats and the like. After reading about one of his scumbag clients in the paper, I remember thinking they really needed someone to rip apart his finances. The proof would all be there.”

  “So your entire career is based upon a need to humiliate your father.”

  “When you put it like that….” Marc exhaled and leaned back against the wall. “I know you think I’m what, a go-getter? Direct? A Shelly Flores.” Henry opened his mouth, but Marc overrode him. “I like building stuff. I feel like that’s what we’re doing. Fixing problems and making companies stronger. No, it doesn’t always turn out that way, but when it does? When it’s that perfect match you described, well, it’s like a high, isn’t it? When it all works.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the money’s good.”

  Henry chuckled. “Yeah, it is. Or will be when I finish paying off my loans.”

  “Smart guy like you didn’t get a free ride?”

  “Not to BU. Another school. But… I wanted to stay here.”

  Marc smiled. “You didn’t want to leave home, and I couldn’t wait to.”

  Henry said nothing to that, and the quiet returned, creeping gently between them with cool fingers. Marc shifted, acknowledging as he did that his buttocks were going to keep going numb as long as he continued sitting on the floor.

  Then Henry spoke again, his tone quiet and confidential. “Are you going to tell your parents you think you’re gay?”

  “I don’t think I’m gay. I know I am.”

  Henry made an odd sound.

  “Look, I know you think I’m feeling my way here and maybe using you along the way, but it’s not… that’s not what I’m doing. It’s like a veil has been ripped away. Like the black-and-white movie of my life has suddenly met Technicolor. I’m not scared of this, and trust me, I know all about fear. Every confident guy you meet—the go-getters? We’re all hoping you buy the act. That you don’t look beyond the veneer.”

  “What’s behind the veneer?”

  Good question. Marc licked his lips, recognized the nervous habit he’d worked hard to forget, then fought against the urge to press his palms to his eyes or tug at his hair. He’d started this conversation. Couldn’t say why, but he’d been the one to ask the first question.

  Then the answer came to him, and like the silence preceding their conversation, it rang loudly. “Me. Just me.”

  Henry didn’t mock. Instead, he nodded. Glanced at the door and looked back at Marc. “This is pretty deep for a first date.”

  “It’s how we roll.”

  “We’re kinda beyond first date material, anyway.”

  “Yeah.”

  Henry kicked at his ankle and smiled. “I’m glad you’re not scared. Of this. Maybe you can talk me out of it as well.”

  With those words, it all fell into place. Marc welcomed challenge and change. It meant growth. He wasn’t in a hurry to share this new change with his parents, but not because he feared their reaction. More, he wanted to keep it to himself. Cherish perhaps the most important discovery about himself for a while. But Henry was afraid, and that could only mean one thing. He thought Marc might hurt him—intentionally or otherwise. It wasn’t a foolish notion. Marc might very well mess this up. He’d already blundered noisily and messily.

  It was the reason behind Henry’s fear that plucked at the center of Marc’s chest, though. Henry could be hurt by what they were doing because he was invested. So was Marc—not that that was news to him. Curiosity aside, his attraction to Henry was more than physical. Feelings were definitely involved… and it was way too early to talk about them.

  But, hey, if every date included a disaster scenario, they could put off getting any deeper than this for quite some time.

  He kinda hoped every date wasn’t this much of a disaster.

  Chapter Four

  “IT’S COMING on eleven.” Henry tapped at the screen of his phone again and held it to his ear. After a couple of seconds, he pulled it away with a frown. “And that one bar is still teasing me.”

  “Think we might have any more luck sending a text?”

  “Couldn’t hurt to try.” Henry started tapping again.

  Marc woke his phone and sent a quick note to Shelly. “Okay, one of these has got to get through.”

  “Now we just have to hope she checks her phone.”

  “Who doesn’t check their phone every three seconds for an update on life?”

  “Me.”

  Chuckling, Marc tucked his phone back into his pocket and pushed up off the floor. “My ass is numb.” He pressed his palms to cool denim and rubbed.

  “I’d offer to warm it for you, but we should use lube your first time.” Henry’s grin brightened his entire countenance.

  “Just the first time?”

  Henry laughed. “Let’s not go there right now. This corridor is not where I want to have the sex discussion.”

  “There’s going to be a sex discussion?”

  Pushing to his feet, Henry shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t need to be, beyond us deciding what we want to try. Unless you want to talk about it. At another time and in another place.”

  “Like when your finger is in my ass?”

  Henry made a choking sound. “Are you totally sure you’re new to the gay thing?”

  “I watch porn, remember?”

  Henry shook his legs out and did a little ass massaging of his own. Cocking his head, Marc made a show of watching until Henry waved him off. “Stop.”

  “Can I just say one thing?”

  “One. Just one.”

  “You turn me on like no one I’ve ever met before.”

  Even in the low light, Henry’s blush was visible. It must have stung his cheeks. “You really do give everything your all, don’t you?”

  “Only the important things.”

  Henry smoothed his hands over his thighs. “So, wait by the door or check out the ductwork over the laundry?”

  “Are you good with heading downstairs to check out the laundry?”
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  “It’s forward momentum, right? Besides, we haven’t heard anyone enter the building for over half an hour.”

  “Yeah. C’mon, let’s go.”

  The ductwork might not prove an avenue worth exploring, but as Henry had indicated, checking it out would be doing something. Once back downstairs, Henry climbed on top of the washer again, grinning as Marc helped with judicious groping. Henry’s ass felt pretty good through his jeans. Cold but strong. Masculine. Marc stood back to watch as Henry unfolded his pocket tool again and began unscrewing the vent.

  “Wanna come up here and hold the vent so it doesn’t drop when I’m done?”

  Marc climbed up beside Henry, put two hands to the vent as Henry continued loosening the screws, and became absorbed by Henry’s expression of concentration. The small crease between his brows, the tightness along his jaw. His tongue tip teased his lips now and again, and his eyes were laser focused.

  “If you tell me I’m cute when I’m concentrating, I’m going to call this whole thing off,” Henry said.

  Marc grinned. “Okay, I just won’t say it out loud, then.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “You enjoy the challenge.”

  Henry glanced down, meeting his gaze. They were close enough to feel each other’s breath. Close enough to kiss. One corner of his mouth tugging into a grin, Henry looked up again. “Last one.”

  The vent dropped into Marc’s hands. With Henry’s help, he lowered it to the top of the adjacent washer. Then he looked up. The duct was as wide as the vent and looked like a straight shot to the top of the building until he shone the light of his phone into the hole. “It turns two feet in,” he said.

  Henry nodded. “Two questions. How do we get in there, and will it hold us?”

  “Really only has to hold one of us and we should be good. It’s in the ceiling rather than suspended beneath it.”

  “Okay, which one of us is going to check it out?”

  “I’ll go.” Marc shrugged his coat from his shoulders and dropped it on top of the discarded vent.

  “You sure? I’m good to go if you’re not.”