by Max Hudson
Joshua nods, but the worry still touches his eyes. “Well, if you need to talk, or anything else, you know you can always turn to me. I’m pretty easy to find.” He squeezes Owen’s shoulder, smiling softly before turning to move farther inside.
Owen exhales slowly, walking as steadily as he can toward his car. He fumbles with his keys, struggling to get the car key into the lock. He finally does, flopping down in his seat. He shuts the door softly behind him.
He sits like this for a moment – still, staring blankly out the windshield, keys laying limply in his hand at his side – before collapsing into heavy, wet sobs.
Chapter Six
The following Monday, Owen heads to work and tries to act as casual as possible. Though his stomach twists at the sight of Mason walking in the front door, he plasters a smile on his face and waves. The knot in his gut loosens a little when Mason smiles back, greeting him like any other day. The first few hours of the day are spent in a tense anticipation for Owen, but by lunch, any worry that the awkward touch had ruined their friendship has fled his mind.
The week continues without a hitch, and when Friday rolls around again, a coworker approaches Owen. He glances up in surprise when Angela says his name. She’d never really talked to him before, mostly keeping to herself and a couple of the other women in the office.
“Hey, Owen,” she says, hands clasped primly in front of her. “A few people are going to go get dinner at Raffio’s. Do you want to come with us?” She glances over at Mason. “You too, Mason.”
“Sure,” Mason says, popping his head above the cubicle wall. “I’m always down for food.”
A spike of anxiety strikes Owen, but he shoves it away, agreeing with a smile, and Angela walks away to tell the others. Owen tries to calm his pounding heart. They weren’t going alone. It isn’t like last week. They wouldn’t be drinking again. They wouldn’t be alone.
Owen repeats these mantras over and over again as the group heads to the restaurant.
Seven people in total end up in the group, and, for the most part, it’s a great night. Lou is dull, as per usual. Owen has to stop himself from telling Lou to shut up after the tenth straight minute of him rambling about his coin collection. Marcy’s voice gets under his skin, shrill and sharp, and her laugh almost makes his ears bleed. But, aside from those things, the night goes smoothly. Everyone talks and laughs and eats, and Owen realizes that this is the first time he has spent time with any of these people outside of work – aside from Mason.
Upon arriving, Owen is the first to sit. Mason carefully navigates himself so that he’s sitting a couple people away from Owen. Owen wonders if it was intentional or sheer coincidence. As the evening draws on, though, he realizes it was completely intentional. Mason doesn’t speak to him the whole night, instead taking advantage of the fact that Angela is sitting directly to his left. He touches her more often than necessary—her hands, hair, arms, whatever is within reach and is semi-appropriate to touch. Each time he does, Angela blushes, turning her head away from Mason and trying to hide a smile, giggling profusely and nervously as he flirts.
Envy blooms in Owen’s chest, and though he tries to stifle it—he knew that Mason had been with women before and he has no claim on him—it’s stoked anew every time he looks over at the two of them. Unable to control it, he scrutinizes Angela and tries to divert his negative feelings away from himself and Mason.
She was decently pretty. Not in a glamorous way, the way a super model is, but in a simple, aesthetically pleasing way. She wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, not with her light brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, soft features, and navy skirt and jacket. Even so, Owen has to admit that she looks like a girl that a man’s parents would be ecstatic to have as a daughter-in-law. She isn’t ugly, isn’t overly beautiful—just right to fill the role of wife and mother and home-maker. But this isn’t right for Mason. He’s attractive enough himself that he can have a super model on his arm and not look ridiculous, like they were a good pairing. Angela is nice, but she’s mousy, and Mason is not. She isn’t enough for him, and Owen feels a savage pleasure at this thought.
Though he continues to scrutinize her this way, picking apart her features and weighing the pros and cons of them, he can’t truly be angry at her for catching Mason’s attention. Though he hadn’t had a substantial amount of interaction with her, she was liked by everyone in the office. Perpetually sweet and quiet, she would bring in treats for everyone on holidays, remembered everyone’s birthdays and made sure to say something to them, and never complained about having to take on extra work or when someone asked a favor of her. She was the last person who would ever intentionally flirt with a guy, a friend, or even an acquaintance she had a crush on, and Owen knows that there’s no way that she could have even an inkling of an idea of what he was feeling. He can barely admit it to himself, let alone to anyone else.
After the bill had been paid, everyone sits around for a few moments, chatting and slowly getting their things together, until Lou stands up, stretching and making a show of leaving.
“Well,” he says, “I’m going to take off. It was wonderful sharing a meal with you all.” He makes an awkward, small bow, and heads toward the doorway.
Lou’s exit seems to get everyone moving, and before long, Owen is the last one out, trailing a few yards behind Mason and Angela. As they head toward the parking lot, Mason loops his arm through hers, and her laugh echoes in the street. A sick feeling develops in Owen’s gut, and he falls back a few more feet, trying to get out of hearing distance of them. He watches as Mason walks her to her car, leaning in as she puts her seatbelt on and starts the car. He shuts her door and watches her pull out of the parking space, waving as she drives away.
Mason looks up toward Owen, and he quickly looks away, hoping that Mason doesn’t realize he’d been staring. He grabs his keys from his coat pocket, dropping them as he goes to unlock his car. Cursing, he stoops down to get them, trying not to touch the snow and as he stands up, he flinches, seeing that Mason is now just a couple of feet from him.
“Hey,” Mason murmurs, leaning against Owen’s car and folding his arms across his chest.
Owen nods, turning his attention to the lock. This time, he manages to unlock the door.
“So, what do you think of Angela?”
Owen freezes as he gets into the car. He slowly straightens, still not looking at Mason.
“She’s fine, I guess. I don’t really know her. Sweet girl.”
“She’s beautiful. Got eyes the deepest shade of brown I’ve ever seen. I swear you could just dive in them and never come out.”
“Mmm.” Owen doesn’t move, can’t move. He grips the door, his fingers tightening painfully around the metal.
“I think I’ll ask her out on Monday. Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”
“No,” Owen spits through gritted teeth. “Like I said, I don’t know her that well.”
“Ah. Well, then, I’ll just take her out next weekend. Maybe get some drinks or something.”
Owen nods tightly, still refusing to look in Mason’s direction.
“Or who knows, maybe I’ll fuck her. Been a while since I fucked a girl. I mean, I had sex with my last girlfriend, but that was a couple months ago at this point. Angela seems like a good time. Always the quiet ones that are freaky in bed.”
Owen remains silent, muscles coiled and tense.
Mason slams his hand against the roof of the car, making Owen jump and knock his elbow against the window of the door. He winces as the pain throbs through his arm.
“Dammit, Owen!” Mason shouts. “Say something!”
“What?” Owen yells back. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know! Anything! Just… just give me a reaction!”
Owen narrows his eyes. “What?”
Mason tips his head back, groaning. “You’re sitting here, pretending like you don’t give a shit that I say I’m planning on fucking Angela. But I know you care. You wouldn�
��t stop staring at dinner. You’re as tense as a fucking spring right now.” He leans in closer, and Owen pulls his head back in response. Mason points a finger at him. “You. Give. A. Shit.”
“So, what?” Owen hisses. “So, what if I care? It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re not mine, not even close, and you have every right to fuck whoever you wa—”
Quickly, before Owen has a chance to even process what’s happening, Mason springs off of the side of the car and grabs his face with both hands, pressing his lips roughly against Owen’s. Owen freezes mid-sentence, stunned. Warmth shoots from his lips to his groin, and he inhales sharply. Mason breaks off the kiss, moving his face back a few inches and breathing raggedly.
“I don’t want to fuck Angela,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. He presses his lips to Owen’s one more time before letting go, turning on his heel and marching toward his car. He doesn’t look back.
Owen stands, frozen, in the doorway of his car. He touches his lips, still warm and tingling, and, despite knowing that a line has just been crossed, one that he isn’t sure his faith will allow him to forgive, a half-smile forms on his face, warmth still radiating in his chest.
Chapter Seven
At church on Sunday, surrounded by his congregation and his family, Owen has a difficult time focusing on the pastor’s words instead of on the knot of guilt in his stomach. A string of apologies runs continuously through his head—to God, to his daughters, to Mason, to anyone and everyone he let down. But though he’s sorry for disgusting and disappointing anyone who ever finds out, he realizes he isn’t sorry for the act itself. The feel of Mason’s lips, the warmth of his breath, the smell of his cologne—all of it replays in his mind, over and over again, and a pang of desire courses through him each and every time. It had felt good, that kiss, and it’s difficult for him to wrap his head around the fact that something so pleasurable, something that had felt so right, was incredibly, irredeemably wrong in the eyes of his Lord.
As the sermon wraps up and everyone heads out the door, Owen links arms with Faith, taking solace in her presence. They step out into the cold, Owen chuckling at something Faith has said, and he sees Mason standing a few feet off of the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and shoulders shrugged up against the wind.
The laugh dies in Owen’s throat as Mason spots him and heads his way. Panic claws his chest, and he’s unsure what to do. Shuffle his family away? Pretend he doesn’t know Mason? Book it to his car and never stop driving?
He does none of those things, instead freezing on the sidewalk, just staring at Mason as he comes closer. Mason smiles as he approaches, nodding at Owen.
“Hey, Owen,” he says, his voice smooth and steady and a relaxed smile resting on his lips. “I didn’t realize you went to this church. Is this your family?”
Before he can answer, Mason holds out a hand toward Faith. “Mason Westfall. I work with your dad.”
Faith smiles and shakes Mason’s hand, and Owen snaps back into reality, realizing with a relieved sigh that Mason isn’t here to make a scene. “Nice to meet you,” Faith replies.
“Mason,” Owen stammers, trying to get a hold of himself and act as he would with any other coworker. “These are my other daughters, Grace and Rebecca, and their mother, Jenna.”
Everyone greets and shakes hands. Owen doesn’t miss Jenna’s eyes raking Mason from head to toe, a small smile on her lips. A stab of envy hits Owen in the gut, and it takes all he has to not glare at Jenna.
“Do you guys mind if I steal your dad for a while?” Mason asks, pointedly ignoring Jenna’s stares. “I have some work stuff I need to go over with him.”
Faith nods. “That’s fine. Would you mind bringing him home, though?” When Mason assents, she turns to Owen. “Dad, can I have the keys? I’ll drive us home.”
“Sure,” Owen murmurs, digging in his pocket and handing his keys over to Faith.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she says, giving him a peck on the cheek before saying goodbye to Jenna and herding the other two over to the car. He waves as they drive away.
He turns back to Mason. “So,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
Mason flicks his head toward the parking lot. “C’mon. I thought we could talk.”
Owen’s chest tightens, but he follows Mason to his car. He drives for a while, stopping at a drive-thru to get coffee, before stopping in front of a park. The white blanket of snow is untouched aside from a couple of trails of footprints. No one is around.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping their coffee and staring out at the playground. Owen shifts uncomfortably in his seat, unsure where this conversation will head.
To his surprise, it’s not where he expected it to start.
“How long have you been a Christian?” Mason asks.
“Uh, my whole life.”
He nods, taking another drink of his coffee before speaking again. “Me too.”
He keeps a straight face, but Owen is startled. For some reason—perhaps because of the brash way he acted the other night—Owen had never pictured Mason as particularly religious.
“How did you know what church I go to?” Owen asks.
“Pamphlet on your desk. It was for some brunch thing, so I figured you went regularly.” He reaches up and adjusts his rearview mirror slightly, keeping his hands moving. “Are you handling it okay?”
Owen turns his gaze toward Mason, his eyebrows furrowing. “Am I handling what okay? My religion?”
He shrugs. “Kind of. More your religion paired with the fact that another man kissed you the other night.”
Owen turns back away and stares at the dashboard. “Oh.”
Mason laughs. “I’ll take that as ‘not so well.’” Out of the corner of his eye, Owen sees him shift so he’s facing Owen completely. “Look, I just want to say I get it. And I know I basically assaulted you the other night, but I swear I won’t hate you or anything if you can’t do this. You have kids, been going to church your whole life, been married and done everything according to plan. I don’t expect you to change everything just because some guy showed up at your job and made you have gooey feelings for him.”
Owen smiles wryly, glancing up at Mason. “Gooey feelings?”
He shrugs. “Or not. Maybe I just make your dick hard.” Owen flushes, and Mason chuckles. “But I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s more than that. I know it is for me.”
They’re quiet for a few moments before Owen can gather his thoughts.
“You seem…extremely calm about the whole situation,” he says. “Have you ever—”
“No,” Mason murmurs. “Never.”
“Me, neither,” Owen mumbles, sighing and leaning his head against the back of his seat. “Then how are you so okay with this?”
Mason shrugs again. “Never was a big deal in my family. Don’t get me wrong, for a while there I was confused and wigged the fuck out. But it wasn’t because I was worried God would hate me. I just hadn’t ever wanted to make out with another guy before. Comes as quite a shock when guys never did anything for you, then, surprise, a happy dance happens in my pants every time I see this one particular guy.”
“I am,” Owen whispers, the words barely making a sound as they pass his lips.
“You are what?”
“Afraid,” he replies, voice still quiet and not able to look at Mason. “Afraid God will turn his back on me.”
Mason is quiet for a long stretch, and Owen is afraid that he isn’t going to answer for a while. “I grew up in a place that was pretty liberal with all of this stuff. Being gay was never really looked down upon as wrong. There were a few gay couples that went to my church as a kid, and no one ever treated them any differently than any of the other couples. They were just members of the church. I asked my parents once about it after realizing that the Bible says being gay is a sin, and they laughed and said that the Bible also said that rape is forgiven as long as the man pays the father and marries the girl he raped. That certainly wouldn’t go over
well today, would it?
“They were honest with me, and said that, no matter how tolerant a person they are, most Christians do think that being gay is a sin, but that they and most of the congregation were pretty loose in their interpretations of the Bible. For them, it was about following the Lord in an effort to be as good of a person as they could be, and being intolerant of another’s way of life, in any way, seemed to go against that philosophy. So, I looked at it that way too. It isn’t a sin to me—just a different way of living.”
Owen doesn’t answer for a long time. “So, you’re okay with being gay and Christian?”
“I don’t think the two things are mutually exclusive. I honestly don’t think that God will send you to hell if you have feelings for another guy if you’re a good person. Who are you hurting by doing so?”
Owen nods, a weight lifting off of his chest. Maybe, if Mason is right, God wouldn’t abandon him. Maybe he could let himself embrace his feelings for Mason without renouncing his faith or fearing the fiery pit.
Mason’s hand touches his, and instead of pulling away, Owen turns his over and grasps it, squeezing tightly. He looks up at Mason, smiling softly.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “But I don’t… I don’t really want anyone to know. My kids—and Jenna, she’d blow up if…”
Mason nods, cutting him off. “That’s fine.” He squeezes Owen’s hand and raises an eyebrow, giving him a hard look. “For a while.”
Giving a chagrined smile, Owen nods, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply.
“So,” Mason says, a light tone in his voice, “can I take you to dinner this week? You know, on an actual date like two normal people would do?”
Owen laughs, the last shred of worry and anxiety leaving his heart.
Chapter Eight
Friday rolls around again, and Owen can barely contain himself throughout the work day. As they agreed, they told no one of their upcoming date and acted no differently toward one another. But each time Mason looked at Owen, brushed a hand against his own, or spoke even the most mundane of words to him, butterflies would explode in Owen’s stomach and heat would rush down his spine. He can’t help but to revel in the feeling. It has been so long since he’s felt even a fraction of the excitement Mason holds for him. Though he and Jenna have been divorced for over three years, their marriage has been without passion or intimacy for far longer than that.