Bombora
Page 35
“We both feel like we have something to prove right now, or need to have something proven to us,” he said quietly. “Let’s not make any promises except to say that we both want this to work, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” His brave smile let me know he was on the same page: trying not to become mired in the doubt that killed us the first time around. “I’m trusting that you aren’t going anywhere either. Is that enough?”
Unsure of my voice, I nodded and let him put his hands on me. Surprisingly, the heat of his touch was all the reassurance I needed. It was enough.
Still is, and I interrupt Phel’s lazy attempts at soaping me up to get my arms around him again and bear him back against the shower wall. Definitely trying this later, I think. He hisses as his butt hits the chilly tiles, but smiles at me ruefully.
I love seeing his hair all wet and plastered to his forehead like this, those great blue eyes blinking up at me from under his lashes. Fuck, he’s sexy, and I want to go on being reminded of that fact every day until I die. I always want to feel this greedy and uninhibited as I slide my hands down his slippery sides to his ass, then bend my head to kiss his neck. Knowing I can do these things whenever I want is exhilarating, and an opportunity I don’t plan to pass up again. It’s crazy, but my dick is already getting hard again as it brushes Phel’s thigh, and he only has to take one look at the state I’m in around him to know I will always be his, for anything and everything. Tonight is only the beginning. Hell, the past year and a half will have barely scratched the surface if I have anything to say about it.
“When do you suppose Emilia and Liam will expect you back?” he asks, teasing, the smile evident in his voice. I bite down a little on his collarbone just to hear him chase the question with a gasp. “I might not be done with you for a while yet.”
Even before I open my mouth to respond, when I lift my head to smirk down at him, I can tell from his unimpressed expression that he knows whatever I say next will make him roll his eyes epically. “Well, while you were busy recovering from that spectacular ass fucking I just gave you, Emilia sent me a text to say I shouldn’t bother showing my face until I’m sure we’ve sorted things out.” Enough years of marriage will make you pretty good at approximating tone of voice even through text messages, and I heard Emilia’s amusement in every word. Knowing her, she called Hugh already to high-five him over the phone.
“And do you think we have?” Phel asks, a note of seriousness in his tone.
I try to let the force of my kiss speak for me, and based on how he slumps a little in pleasure, I think it does, but I pull back to touch his cheek in a fond gesture anyway. “I think there’s a lot of crap still to discuss,” I tell him honestly. “But we’ll get there eventually. This thing of ours…. We knew what we were betting on from the beginning, even if it took us a hell of a long time to get it right.”
Phel cocks a little smile at me that suggests he’s thinking about some other conversation he’s had. “Hugh told me something not long after you left, about how good surfers always know how to spot the best waves even if they don’t always know how to ride them at first.”
I smooth my hand over Phel’s shoulder as he shrugs, partly just to touch him but also to encourage him to finish the thought.
“He said I was one of the best surfers he’d seen, in that way. Out of everything he’s ever said to me, that might be the one thing that stuck.”
“That kid knows what he’s talking about sometimes,” I admit and think that there might never be a way to qualify how much I owe my brother. For this, for being my Rock of Gibraltar. For helping me come back to myself when I always assumed I’d be the one taking care of him. I know Phelan feels pretty much the same way, that whatever lies in our future can only include Hugh as well, and I’m over the mood at the thought. It feels like that’s how it should be. Everything in its right place, to quote a song.
I press another kiss to Phel’s forehead and then reach out to shut off the water. We’re both clean enough, I think, and there’s a whole pile of blankets and pillows calling to us. Right now all I can think about is loving him again and then falling asleep while I stare at his face. I’m eager to wake up and see him there in the morning. It’s a deep, bone-tingling excitement better than the rush of crashing out on a really spectacular wave—a full-body high.
“Come on, sunshine,” I say. “I’m not done catching up yet. Let me take you back to bed. We can talk about the rest of our lives tomorrow.”
Epilogue
Hugh
LET me just start by saying that Liam is not, and has never been, a shy kid. He has every ounce of his father’s cockiness and charm and a heaping dose of Emilia’s poise and good sense, so it would surprise me little—as in not at all—if he someday went on to become the kind of lawyer students read about in their textbooks and dream of one day becoming. A real killer in the courtroom, the kind of prosecutor who goes on to take down every Don Corleone type there is. Arguing with that kid puts me on edge; I always lose. Then, to make matters worse, Phel went and buoyed up every last remaining insecurity he could find, so my nephew now has roughly enough self-esteem to go out and become the next Brad Pitt. Loosely put.
More specifically, Liam is really goddamn good at surfing for a kid his age, and knows it. I’m all for confidence out on the waves, but it makes teaching him safety and technique all but impossible.
Liam looks at the foam training board like it’s personally offended him, happily uncaring that he hasn’t surfed in months and oblivious to my God-given right to play the overprotective uncle. It’s a gorgeous June morning, the breeze crisp and the sun bright, and it was more or less unanimously decided that today should be spent down at the beach, same way we unanimously reach this decision every morning. As such, no one needed much convincing, least of all Liam, who I know has been dying to get back on a surfboard for ages. It’s his second summer out here with us in California, and he won’t be heading back to Ohio until the end of August.
I’m all for letting him at the waves, but I need to know he can handle himself out there before I let him anywhere near the water. Nate, Emilia, and Phel will all string me up by the nuts if something happens to him out there. But the only response I can get out of him is an exasperated “I’m a better surfer than my dad, Uncle Hugh—for one thing, I’m not afraid of big fish or mermaids,” followed by the kind of eye roll perfected by eleven-year-olds the world over.
“Stop mouthing off and show me another pop-up,” I snap good-naturedly. “You can show off later when I’m sure you’re not going to be feeding any fishes on my watch.” There’s another exhausted roll of Liam’s eyes before he gives up and does as I say. I have to admit he’s doing really well, young body springing up to the proper surf position with complete ease. The only unusual thing is that Liam surfs goofy, like Phel, and I have to mentally flip him around to adjust his legs here and there.
As I leave Liam to practice a few more times, I glance over to the water and see Nate and Phel coming in from the surf with their respective boards under their arms, bickering and shoving one another like they’re ten. Like I’ve seen happen a million times before, Nate, who rarely wins his arguments with Phelan the honest way, stops Phel midsentence by grabbing him around the waist and hauling him in for a kiss. A childish part of me still wants to blush and look away whenever they do that, and I hear an echoing “Gross” from Liam’s quarter. I make a face at him to show my agreement, though I’ve definitely caught Nate and Phel in more compromising positions before. And I’m not even just talking about the first time.
Holding hands (which, by the way, will never not look weird coming from my macho-as-shit brother), Nate and Phel wander over to where we’ve laid our towels and gear on the beach. Almost immediately, Liam starts whining to Phel about how overprotective I’m being.
Phel snorts and turns, a signal for Nate to unzip the top part of his wetsuit, then flicks an amused look my way. “Much as I enjoy seeing your father and uncle made
out to be the bad guys,” he says, “I got the same treatment from Hugh before I was allowed into the ocean with a surfboard too. You better get back to practicing if you ever hope to prove them wrong.”
Liam grumbles some more about how this isn’t his first rodeo, but complies.
“How’d you do that?” I ask incredulously, amazed that Phel can get Liam in line without batting an eye. Not that I’ve ever seen Nate or Emilia struggle with him to any great extent, but with me it’s like pulling teeth to get my nephew to do anything he doesn’t want to. I think the kid knows I’m a pushover, though Phel spoils him more than anyone else.
It’s Nate who answers, stooping to ruffle his son’s hair. He playfully plants a foot in the middle of Liam’s back as he’s lying across the board, laughing as Liam whines and struggles to get back up like a turtle who’s been marooned in the sand. “Liam doesn’t like it when Phel gets pissed,” says Nate, grinning. “He knows it’ll just lead to a lecture with lots of big words he doesn’t know.”
It occurs to me this is precisely how I used to lecture Nate as a kid, how much it used to annoy him then too. Like father, like son, I guess. But this, I think, is why Nate is the perfect dad: his parenting style would probably get Child Services called on him if witnessed by the wrong person, but the fact of it is, he ignores the adult/child dynamic most of the time, treating Liam with the same amount of roughhousing and silliness as two kids would each other. I’m reminded how little physical attention—or affection—our own father paid to us as we were growing up, and I know why Nate does it. I know why Phel spoils Liam rotten, too, though he’s not so much the roughhousing type. Instead he appeals to Liam’s desire to be taken seriously, which earns him major brownie points in Liam’s book.
I see this look pass between Nate and Phel, a quick flash of smiles and locked gazes that suggest a lot of making out is probably imminent, so I sigh in resignation and look down to where Liam is currently trying to wrap himself around Nate’s leg like an octopus and bring my brother to the ground. “C’mon, Liam,” I beckon, and go fetch both our surfboards where they’re lying a few feet away. “I think we better get in the water unless you’re in the mood for a free show from these two.”
“Ew,” yelps Liam, and he pretends to fling himself away from Nate as Phel leans in for a kiss to prove my point.
Considering Liam spent the first ten years of his life exposed to nothing but displays of heterosexuality from his dad, I have to give him credit for how cool he is about Nate and Phel, even when they’re at their most obnoxiously affectionate. Obviously it wasn’t always like that—it’s clear Liam struggled to adjust to the new relationship at first, trying to balance his like of Phel as a person with the dissolution of his parents’ marriage and Nate’s identity as a gay man. That would be tough on any kid; hell, it was even tough for me at first, and I had plenty of time to adjust to the idea. Now, though, you’d never know it was once otherwise, with Liam adapting to Phel’s new role as co-parent and, most of all, friend.
This explicit acceptance is how Nate and Phel can get away with playing up public displays of affection just to watch Liam squirm. He never fails to be as dramatic as possible about it, but I see no difference from the exaggerated show of disgust he used to put on whenever he caught Nate and Emilia kissing. Liam treats all demonstrations of adult affection as equally horrifying, and that, I know, is a sign of his approval of Phel and Nate’s relationship.
Helping Liam into his wetsuit before we jog out into the surf together, that Nate settles down next to Phel and Callie on their towels, his arm slung around Phel’s neck, doesn’t escape my notice—they’re always touching in some way or another, which, after over a year of being back together, is both the most astounding and ridiculously sappy thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a difference in Nate I can’t help but double take over each time. The fact that I’ve never known him to be so openly affectionate clearly doesn’t mean he’s never wanted to be; and if the way he looks at Phel is anything to go by, he wants it all the time. (Whatever else Nate happens to want all the time is strictly not for me to comment upon.) Taking into account everything they went through, it’s a damn miracle he and Phel can be together this way. I’m definitely not the one to accuse them of being too gooey around each other and, given the alternative, would never ask them to stop.
I guess it’s what one might call an unconventional arrangement, but after Phel went to go find Nate in Mount Vernon, they were able to work out a system that allowed the unlikely family unit to split its time between California and the Midwest. Things are finally really good between Emilia and Nate, who have taken to the role of joint parenting with an enthusiasm I both respect and admire. They make it look easy, really, and personally I think Emilia seems a lot happier too, having started dating this chiropractor called Chris who Nate says is really nice. Rather than spending all their time flying back and forth, he and Phel tend to spend longer stretches of time in each place, including summers exclusively in Cali with Liam, who seems to have taken to the SoCal lifestyle like a duck to water.
Meanwhile, the surfboard business Phel and I took on as partners is going great; it took about five seconds for me to realize the untapped goldmine we had in Max and Logan, who produce some of the most beautiful and technologically advanced surfboards I’ve had the pleasure of trying. Even Nate got in on the game, starting off as an apprentice before taking on his own share of projects in the shop. He’s a natural to the craft with his artistic eye and background in carpentry. In one way or another, we’re making a real name for ourselves in the industry, and between the four of us, work can get done pretty much anywhere. Phel still has contacts to help with the marketing aspect back in Chicago, and Nate even has a workshop set up in the basement of their house in Ohio in addition to the one here. Max and I keep things running smoothly while they’re away—after all, he’s the founding partner of the business—and so far I think we’ve got a promising future ahead of us.
I know Phel would say things could only be more perfect if he was back in contact with his family, but we all know that’s probably not going to happen. Even Aurelia, who always seemed pretty cool from Phel’s stories about her, limits her contact to a few texts and phone calls every couple of months. It’s obvious how much it pains him to still be cut off, but he claims not to blame her for being unable to sever the ties to their family for Phelan’s benefit alone. I would certainly do that much for Nate, and vice versa, but if Phel’s family refuses to come around, the most we can do is try to compensate with love of our own. Where Nate is concerned, I know how happy he makes Phel; they effect such a recognizable difference in each other, I’m almost at a loss as to how they managed before.
Obviously Nate is a different person now that he no longer has to pretend to be what he’s not, but it’s Phel who seems the most changed out of everyone. He’s so confident and self-possessed, finally in control of his life, and with such calmness and ease I actually feel envious sometimes. It’s obvious he’s found the balance he struggled with so much when he and Nate were apart. Seeing that guy, I think I know what attracted my brother in the first place, and it’s amazing how Nate, just by being in proximity to Phel like this, is so much more open and unguarded and vibrant, where he always seemed to be on the defensive before. They saved each other, I guess.
And me? Well, some days I feel like everything has changed, others like it’s exactly the same. My last book was a hit, the fans seeming to enjoy the addition of Agent Jacob as a new character to the series, with critics calling him a welcome counterbalance to the Manderfeld twins. I’ve even started dating again, though I’m aware that my love life is the laughingstock of this family. It’s still a work in progress, but I’m here in Cardiff with the people I love most in the world, drawn together, however weirdly, by surfing and some sleepy town in the middle of nowhere.
I’ve since changed my opinion about Cardiff: it isn’t just a place for people to go with all their baggage and when their lives feel the mos
t broken, though I do think it rescued us, in its way, from a lifetime of real misery. It might have started off as a home for my grief, but now it’s the only place on earth where I’ve ever felt perfectly happy, and like things have worked out exactly as they’re meant to. In one way or another, I can’t think of anyplace else I’d rather be.
About the Author
MAL PETERS’s first complete story was a retelling of The Tortoise and the Hare, co-written at age six with her father and set in the Welsh countryside of her birth; it involved the conspicuous use of vintage muscle cars. Although she’s since gone solo due to creative differences, in the past twenty years she hasn’t forsaken her love of sweet rides or writing fiction, having completed degrees in creative writing, English, and information studies, and has published her work in a small (very small) selection of Canadian university journals. Simultaneously a librarian, freelance editor, and fencing coach in Toronto, where she has lived more than half her life, she also enjoys cooking, music snobbery, soldering things, loudly pontificating the superiority of Piedmont region wines, and talking bollocks. If she can’t be overheard making sarcastic remarks or working on her trilogy in four parts, she’s probably asleep.
Visit her on the web at http://www.malpeters.com.
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Also from DREAMSPINNER PRESS
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