by KC Burn
He opened the door and a wave of sound buffeted over him. Apparently Hayden was having the party. Jez pressed his lips together and slipped into the kitchen to put away his groceries, trying to ignore the sweat that slicked his palms and his breathing edging into hyperventilation territory.
Fang didn’t come to greet him like usual, and after he was done, he went up to his room, hoping Hayden hadn’t been careless with their—no, his—puppy with all those people over. But he wanted to cover his bases before he threw another uncalled-for emotional fit.
Okay, so maybe Jez wasn’t completely heedless of other people’s opinions.
Jez’s bedroom door was closed, and he slipped inside to find Fang asleep on his bed. Fang was getting totally spoiled; Jez didn’t think he’d seen Fang sleeping in the dog bed since The Kiss. Not that The Kiss had anything to do with Fang’s actions, but it was, coincidentally, the same day Hayden had discovered that the cutest and least damaging skeleton hiding in Jez’s closet was a fat pug puppy.
Good. At least Hayden had thought about Fang’s well-being. That didn’t stop a niggle of annoyance that Hayden hadn’t mentioned this gathering to Jez. Not that Hayden needed his permission to have friends over, but it would have been nice to have a warning. It would have been even nicer to have gotten an invitation to join them, or a text letting him know Hayden was at home with people. Or even a reply to his text about the fucking groceries.
Jez paced a bit, trying to breathe slowly and calm down. He didn’t enjoy being at the mercy of his emotions. They ended up embarrassing him more often than not. Hayden didn’t owe him anything, and hell, Miguel might even be down there. Maybe Hayden thought it would be okay if Jez’s brother was there?
More likely Hayden hadn’t thought about him. After all, he’d been living on his own for years; hadn’t roomed with anyone besides his grandmother, where he was more caretaker than roommate; and during one of their movie nights, Hayden had admitted to never having had a relationship. Hell, he’d never even brought a man home. At the time, Jez had sort of envied Hayden that lack of baggage. In practical terms, though, it meant that maybe Hayden wasn’t aware of some simple courtesies.
This was the sort of minor transgression Jez could fix after the party broke up. Just a simple request that Hayden give him a heads-up, and that should be the end of it. Jez was a little more sensitive these days. His anxiety manifested as a severe dislike of crowds, and the size of the crowd didn’t much matter if he came upon it unexpectedly. And a surprise group of people in the place he called home qualified as unexpected.
Meeting Hayden and Miguel’s friends while angry and anxious wouldn’t allow him to make a good impression. He took one of his antianxiety meds, hoping he’d be able to find a new therapist before they ran out.
He flopped back on the bed and waited. No way was he making an entrance into a room full of strangers until his meds had taken effect.
The sounds of laughter drifted up from the first floor, as irritating as a wool sweater against bare skin. He wished it didn’t seem like Hayden and Miguel wanted to keep him away from their friends, not that either of them were under any obligation to include him. He focused on breathing and trying to flush out negative thoughts.
Finally the soothing lassitude of his meds took effect, the jangly tension bleeding out of his muscles. He could do this. He’d gone to New York not knowing anyone. For years he’d been the guy who’d never met a stranger. Then he’d started dating Jayson, and, well… thinking about Jayson was only going to ruin his current calm.
Jez swung himself off the bed and changed his clothes, freshened up a bit. Procrastinated. Checked his phone, although he didn’t have any social media to use as a time waster. He’d deleted everything prior to leaving New York and wasn’t ready to set up any new profiles.
He sucked in a deep breath, kissed his sleeping puppy, and slipped out of the room. Might as well get it over with.
JEZ STOOD unseen outside the doorway to the living room, hesitating. But he wasn’t a coward by nature. If he were, he’d never have had the courage to see his dreams. He hated that a man who’d professed to love him made him second-guess himself.
Fuck it. More or less the motto of his life. And if he wasn’t quite feeling his customary level of audacity, he’d fake it until he did.
He had his mouth open to form a greeting when he heard someone speak.
“So has he even got a job? God knows this place is full of people who think they can break into Hollywood. Call themselves actors, but really they only have the right to call themselves waiters or baristas.”
Jez instantly hated that derogatory sneer. Didn’t help that he was undoubtedly the person under discussion. What had Miguel or Hayden told them? Jez and Miguel might not talk about a lot of personal things, but Jez had told Miguel about every role he’d had, every professional success. If nothing else, to prove to his older brother that his faith in Jez hadn’t been misplaced.
Maybe Jez’s faith in Miguel had been too generous, though.
“I don’t know. According to Miguel, he claims he’s got a job. Had jobs. But I looked him up on IMDb. He’s not on there.”
Jez’s stomach roiled unpleasantly. Hayden had looked him up, which could be from interest, but he hadn’t asked Jez about his work.
“Did you ask him?” That guy sounded decent. Someone who echoed Jez’s thoughts. If Hayden wanted to know about what work he’d done, why hadn’t he asked? But he’d completely ignored Jez’s professional life. Maybe Jez shouldn’t have let him, but he could attribute that to not being his normal self.
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to embarrass him, especially if he was embellishing his résumé.” Oh. Well, that was sort of nice, except the sentiment came packaged with a pretty solid assumption that Jez was lying.
“Hey, I’m just saying you’re making a lot of assumptions based on almost no data.” The decent guy again. This one he liked.
“So, you banged him yet?” Another new voice, accompanied by nervous grunts, the modern male equivalent of embarrassed titters. Titters. Jez ought to lay off the historical romances, but sue him. He liked a lot of different genres.
“What? No! Why would you ask that?” Hayden didn’t have to sound quite so horrified.
“Whatever. Aren’t all those actors fags? No offense, Hayden. You’re not one of them prancing sissies. Although I still don’t understand why you don’t like women. Maybe you should try dating Vic’s sister. She’s hot. She might be able to change your mind.”
Change his mind? Like being gay was a jacket that didn’t match one’s pants. Or maybe a tie that looked more appealing in the store than it did at home. Just shrug on some heterosexuality instead, and you’re good to go! But shockingly, Hayden was out to his friends. Jez had met the species before, dude bros with straight-acting gay friends, and they faked being accepting—to a point. Unless they were faced with icky, scary things like two men kissing or hand-holding.
“For fuck’s sake, Jordan. Are you even listening to yourself?”
“And fuck you, Jordan. My sister is no man’s beard.”
Jordan, asshole. Check. Another asshole named Vic. Check. One reasonable, logical guy, as yet unidentified. Check. Hayden, possible asshole, if these were his friends. Check. Was there anyone else?
“Fuck, Kevin, getting married made you into a pussy. Your wife take your balls and keep ’em in her purse after the vows?” The other asshole spoke up.
Kevin identified as definite ally.
“Well, Vic, getting married opened my eyes, that’s for sure. And it’s pretty easy to see why you’ve had two failed marriages, if that’s how you talk to people.”
A crash that sounded like an aluminum can hitting the wall didn’t get a rise out of Hayden.
“For fuck’s sake. We’re not at work, no need for all that politically correct shit, am I right?”
“Can we just watch the game?” Miguel’s voice was like a knife to the heart. Not only did Miguel not defend
Jez, he didn’t defend Hayden, who was in the same fucking room. Had Miguel even heard that garbage?
“Who the hell are you?”
Jez saw his life flash before his eyes; then he spun around and clutched his chest like a Victorian maiden seeing a naked man for the first time. “Jez.” It would have been better if he hadn’t squeaked out his name. So much for that fucking Xanax. Why hadn’t he realized another dude bro had been lurking, sneaking about in the kitchen, tracking down the wily longneck brews?
The large man in front of him nodded. “I’m Marco.”
Not even a hint of a smile cracked Marco’s stern mien.
“Uh. Nice to meet you?”
“Hayden didn’t know when you’d be home. After you.” Marco gestured toward the living room, taking away Jez’s choice about joining the group. Marco didn’t return his halfhearted attempt at politeness.
Conversation stumbled to a halt at Jez’s appearance. “Uh. Hi.”
Hayden’s face was blank, but Miguel didn’t look pleased to see him. Jez wanted to stick his tongue out at Miguel. This was the first time he’d seen his brother since he moved.
“Look who I found in the hallway.” Marco didn’t need to make it sound like he’d discovered a Peeping Tom. Which, okay, Jez had been eavesdropping, but for the time being, he fucking lived here, and the den wasn’t exactly in the cone of silence. “Guys, this is Jez.”
Three unknown faces turned to him, and only one of the guys stood up and approached. Dollars to doughnuts, this was Kevin.
“Hi, Jez, I’m Kevin.” Jez shook Kevin’s outstretched hand. “I work with Hayden on the B crew in Pasadena, along with Jordan over there. Vic works with Miguel in an LA firehouse, and Marco behind you is a Pasadena cop.”
Cop. Figured. That explained making him do a perp walk into the den. Jez assumed this was the same group that had gone to Vegas with Hayden, then come over here for more together time in front of the TV.
“Nice to meet you all.” He gave Miguel a tight nod, but he wasn’t particularly thrilled with his brother at the moment. Had he clung to that one family tie longer than he should have?
The thought of losing yet another piece of his life made his eyes burn, despite the Xanax, and he shelved that thought for later. He’d definitely get labeled a sissy or pussy or fag if he burst into tears in front of these men, and at the moment he was too brittle to deal with that.
He settled on an ottoman. “So there’s a game on?” It didn’t take a psychic or an eavesdropper to figure that one out, but Jez would bet his painfully depleted life savings that whatever game was on wasn’t hockey.
Jordan scoffed and turned his attention to the TV.
“Not a baseball fan, I guess.” Vic rolled his eyes and sounded as though he’d somehow known and deemed Jez less worthy for the lack.
“No. Not really. I prefer hockey.” Although Jayson had managed to take that pleasure away. He hoped by next season he’d be able to put it all behind him, but he’d avoided all hockey news and games so far this season and didn’t see any reason for that not to continue.
“Yeah?” Kevin seemed genuinely interested. “My brother-in-law works up in Toronto, and he’s been trying to convince me to start watching. Maybe after the Super Bowl.”
Football too. Now Jez wanted to roll his eyes, but Kevin seemed like a good guy. How he’d ended up in this isle of misfit troglodytes, Jez had no fucking idea.
No one had answered Jez’s question about the game beyond telling him it was baseball, and he was hesitant to ask again.
Then Hayden spoke up. “This game will determine if the Dodgers are going to the World Series again this year.”
“Oh. That’s exciting.” For some. But it told Jez all he needed to know. As a California native, he was well aware the Dodgers were the Los Angeles Dodgers, and he knew the World Series was for baseball what the Stanley Cup Playoffs were for hockey. He didn’t know what the semifinals were called in baseball, but he was pretty sure they did best-of-seven series as well. It didn’t much matter to him if this was game four or game seven or somewhere in between, because LA had obviously won three games and hoped to take four wins to go to the finals.
“Guys. Can the chatter. Or save it for a break in play, for fuck’s sake.” Marco did not sound happy.
Jez didn’t want to anger anyone, but as far as he could tell, the game was nothing but a break in play. He would sit and socialize for a bit, maybe try to analyze if watching baseball was as dreary as watching football or if it was somehow worse.
The beers kept coming, Jordan and Vic throwing out the occasional homophobic or racial slur when the play didn’t go their way. Kevin wasn’t happy with their behavior, but Jez couldn’t expect him to be the sole decency police when the gay friend, the guy with the gay brother, and the actual fucking police acted as though they hadn’t heard anything wrong. The odd throwaway “no offense, Hayden” accompanied by awkward glances in his direction didn’t make any of it better. For fuck’s sake, they lived in Los Angeles, not the ass end of nowhere. Surely he and Hayden weren’t the only gay guys they’d come across. Marco rolled his eyes a couple of times and shot Jordan a glare or three, but it seemed he was more annoyed by the interruption than the comments themselves. Not that he roused himself to say a damn thing either way.
Jez tolerated—barely—the whole thing for a good thirty minutes or so, but it was all too overwhelming.
Jordan called yet another player from the opposing team a fag and gave his almost automatic “no offense, Hayden.”
“What about me?” All eyes turned to him, and he resisted the urge to flee even as Miguel cringed. Asshole brother too. Jez was almost certain no one would try to hit him, especially with both his brother and a cop in the room, but he wouldn’t want to bet his life on it. But he couldn’t just not speak up. He’d already allowed far too much to pass.
“What do you mean? You one of those snowflake libtards? Don’t like people who speak their minds?”
So many things in those appalling words, but he was going to continue from Jordan’s previous offensive statement. “Just saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t make it better, you know.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. Hayden doesn’t care.”
“Hayden is not the only gay man in this room. And I take offense.”
“I knew you were gay. I told you all actors were fags.” Jordan directed that last sentence to the rest of the room.
Jez pressed his lips together. He was in the minority here. Jordan—and Vic—didn’t give a damn that they were pricks.
“It was great to meet you all.” It fucking wasn’t, but Jez could lie better than most. He could think of literally nothing else that he had to do that didn’t sound about as convincing as having to wash his fucking hair. Then again, he didn’t have to offer an excuse. He didn’t want to stay, he didn’t have to stay. “I’m going to head up.” And he’d wait until they all left before he took Fang out for his nightly pee.
Vic rolled his eyes, Jordan ignored him, Kevin gave him a nod and a pained smile, and everyone else—including his own fucking brother—gave his announcement the bare minimum of attention.
As soon as he left the room, he heard Kevin speak. “Seriously, Jordan? Why are you such an asshole?”
“Those girly gays are always on their period.”
Jez wanted to stride right back in there and get on his soapbox, but he was pretty sure karma would make sure neither of those guys found women, firefighters or no. He couldn’t imagine any woman willing to deal with that level of misogyny. And that would have to be punishment enough, since apparently they weren’t going to lose any friends over it. Except maybe Kevin.
HAYDEN SAT frozen, muscles knotted from stress, stomach roiling, nausea clawing at his throat. What the hell had just happened?
He’d known deep down that letting Jez meet his friends would be a mistake, but he’d never followed that thought through. He should have. He’d seen each poisonous barb with new eyes, seen t
he train wreck coming a mile away, but hadn’t known what to do. He’d spent his entire career training so he could make split-second decisions in life-or-death situations, but he hadn’t been able to stop the verbal bloodshed in front of him.
Hayden glanced over to Miguel. He appeared equally uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet Hayden’s eyes. Hayden had stopped believing in God when his parents had threatened him with conversion therapy all those years ago, unable to recognize the people who’d raised him and supposedly loved him. But he sent a plea out to the universe that Miguel felt as ashamed as Hayden did, and not because Miguel agreed with Jordan and Vic and maybe Marco’s thoughts.
He could barely breathe, let alone speak, and he was even more appalled at the way Jordan and Vic fell back into the game, unconcerned that they’d hurt someone, intentionally or not. Hayden had spent so long letting their comments roll off his back, telling himself they didn’t mean anything by it. But had they never cared if those barbs left wounds, however minor? Was he right now bleeding out from the death of a thousand cuts on his soul? If so, his parents had inflicted the first slice, and there was no way to get resolution from them now.
Hayden wanted to say something. Kick them out of his house, maybe. But each breath he took preparatory to speaking caught in his chest. Confronting people, getting angry, standing up for yourself. It all resulted in loss. He came out to his parents and lost his home, set adrift from the moorings of his upbringing. He’d lost his grandmother to a terrifying disease where she became more and more a stranger—an angry, volatile stranger—every day. Now he was faced with more loss. He’d spent so much of his life lonely, whether or not he was alone. And if he chose poorly, he’d be lonely for the rest of his life.
He’d never been paralyzed by indecision before, but he now had more sympathy for deer that froze in the face of an oncoming car.
With effort, he uncurled his clenched fists and stared blankly at the television. The only decision he could make right now was to wait until the end of the game, then send the lot of them home so he could think. More inertia than decisiveness, and when his brain unfroze, he wouldn’t be proud of that.