Question Mark

by Culpepper, S. E.

  Christian’s gaze transferred to the table top and he had the good grace to blush again. “I lost a bet,” he admitted. When Mark cursed he lifted his hands to calm him. “Kyle thought it would be terrible for me to hit on a guy, but he doesn’t know…”

  “What? That he was signing a blank check for you because I happen to be gay?”

  Christian shrugged. “I guess. Yeah.”

  Mark was seriously irritated now. Biting back the words that sprang naturally to his lips was a true test of his desire to change. “You said to me yesterday that you’re twenty-eight—though I gotta say, you do look a lot younger—and yet, you’re running around playing games like this. Closeted. Living in secret?”

  “It’s my choice. Are you going to get all preachy on me?” Christian frowned, tearing at the label on his beer bottle.

  “Not on purpose, but you’re not thinking of how this affects other people. You’re not an island. If I hadn’t been suspicious, what would you have done? Played me and headed home with a smile on your face?” Christian began to protest but Mark cut him off. “I’ve been played, Christian.”

  That it was hell went unsaid.

  “I don’t play guys.”

  Mark looked skeptical. “No, not guys, just the women you pretend with. Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Anger flashed across Christians face as he leaned toward Mark. “What if I do?”

  “Do you really want me to break that down for you? She probably cares about you and you’re lying to her every day you’re together.”

  Christian took an angry swig of beer and slammed the bottle on the table with enough force that it splashed out over the rim. “I’m not making commitments to anybody. Get it? I’m not some kid too scared to come out of the closet—afraid of getting bashed in some alley somewhere. I’m doing what I want with my life, not running from who I am.”

  “Heavens, no.”

  “The reason I’m not coming out is because it’s not worth it. Plain and simple. I’m not wrestling with the fact that I want men, but there is no reason I should give up everything I have to gain some ethereal idea that won’t amount to anything.”

  Ethereal? Seriously?

  “Do I need to point out the fatalistic undertones throughout that confession? ‘Cause I can if you want me to.” Mark felt a trickle of sweat moving down his back in the night air. Christian was stressing him out. “And just because you don’t ‘make commitments’ doesn’t mean you don’t imply them. I’ve been through this kind of thing—wanting someone who didn’t want me but liked the idea of not being alone. If you’re set on living your life the way you are, don’t be a coward about it and force someone else into living it with you.”

  “I didn’t come over here to get a lecture from you.” Christian’s expression added several years to his face.

  Mark half-smiled, reminded so much of past immaturity; past wrongs. It made his stomach hurt and he couldn’t bring himself to touch his sandwich.

  It’s official, he thought, this night blows.

  “Then what’d you come over here for?” Mark grumbled. “Witty banter that oops! leads to a super secret rub and a tug somewhere? Use me as long as your friend over there is giving you permission?”

  Christian didn’t fly off like Mark expected and even hoped. Instead, he lifted his hands and ran them over his face and into his hair, frustration visible from top to bottom. He was silent long enough that Mark was marinating in awkwardness. When Christian did speak, at least he was honest.

  “Yes. I came over to hit on you and I wanted to end up somewhere else doing something else. Anything but talking. And it sure as hell helped knowing that I could walk out of here with you and Kyle wouldn’t be able to say anything. I could always say that we only walked and talked.”

  Christian was still trying to convince him. Mark stared at him. Hard. He didn’t feel bad for a thing he’d said. His heart pounded with the conviction of not being used again—for any reason. Rafe had taught him a lifelong lesson in that at least.

  “Well. Thanks for admitting it.”

  There was another long pause with a lot of eye contact. “Can I eat dinner with you? Only dinner.” Christian held his hands up again like he was trying to prove he wasn’t hiding anything.

  He’d kept his voice even but Mark heard and saw the longing—not a sexual longing this time, but a personal one. Mark realized then how very lonely this man sitting across from him was and he saw Christian’s existence for what it truly was: fucking sad.

  “Okay. Dinner.”

  Christian nodded and finally looked away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I thought you were on vacation, Zane!” Pete Goddard’s booming voice was preceded by a heavy handed pounding on the shoulder and Zane fought not to show how instantly angry it made him.

  Asshole. I’d be having this meeting a week from now if it weren’t for you.

  He doled out a half-smile and gave the spiel that Jenny coached him on: how he couldn’t stop thinking about the project, how he wanted to come back, blah blah blah. Pete soaked it up with a self-satisfied smirk on his face and Zane could almost see the dollar signs behind the guy’s bath-water gray eyes. Goddard had more money than a lot of people in the business and that was saying something. Recognizing the look in his eyes, Zane realized the role was always going to be his—it was never going to be Pershall’s—and Pete had played him and Jenny so that he could show them who was in charge.

  Well done, you selfish bastard, he thought grimly. You should be so proud of how manipulative you are. Fucker.

  Goddard wasn’t satisfied being one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. He still felt the need to prove it. If Zane hadn’t been wanting this part for so long, he’d be tempted to walk out of the cocktail party and wash his hands of it. But the thing with Pete was that he had a far reach. If he wanted Brad Pershall, he could get him, but the movie would be blown. Maybe in a couple years Brad could handle a role like this, but for now, most of his work was spoofy coming of age stuff. Sacrifice was a movie with a point. Zane didn’t want some other actor proving that point.

  Jenny zeroed in on the two of them, her cocktail still untouched as she worked the group of guests on her way toward them. She gave Zane a warning look that froze him to the spot and wrapped her hand around Pete’s arm, leaning in just far enough for light flirtation but not so far that she gave the wrong impression. Her blond hair and red wrap dress were a stunning combination and Pete’s answering look was clearly predatory.

  “I’m so glad we could get together tonight, Pete. Zane’s been anxious to see you and talk more about this movie.”

  Yeah, like I’ve been looking forward to a kick in the nuts.

  “Well, I’m glad to see him here. I like to know that the talent we approach for a project is as interested in making it a success as we are.”

  Jenny nodded patiently. “He’s got several offers on the table right now, but he’s asked me to standby on those so he can focus on Sacrifice. Captain Richtfeld’s story is very important to him.”

  Zane usually enjoyed watching Jenny at work, but tonight he was anxious and ready to get this business taken care of. He wanted the part. He’d be perfect for it. He wasn’t some beginner, brand new to the industry. He was a name and he’d worked incredibly hard to become one. They should finish the back and forth and sign this deal so he could get to Bora Bora and fucking sweep Mark off his feet.

  Pete was talking and generally being a lecher, his eyes running a sweep of Jenny’s cleavage and back up, and Zane tuned him out. In his mind he was in front of Mark’s bungalow making the ballsiest relationship move he’d ever made and asking him straight up if he wanted to be together. He pictured being in that warm water again, except instead of swimming, they were touching, floating, moving together… A shot of lust flashed through him and he had to count down from fifty to get his mind out of the gutter. Gucci suit pants weren’t made to hide tent poles.

  Screw Pete Goddard and Absolute Pro
ductions. Had any other company purchased the rights to this story, they’d happily get the ball rolling whether Zane was in Bora Bora with the man of his dreams or not. The script was ready to go, except for the small rewrites that might sprout up as the movie was being made. He’d even seen a blurb in Entertainment Weekly that Goddard had signed Bill Austen to play Captain Macomber, Richtfeld’s best friend. The big roles had been cast and even EW knew Zane was in talks for Richtfeld’s part.

  Suddenly, the pieces clunked together in Zane’s head and his grip tightened on his club soda. Pete knew his upcoming schedule; Jenny had seen to that. Pre-production for the second Mercenary film began in eight months. He was currently in post-production doing voice-overs and some possible reshoots on a western, Buckland’s Hill, which would be released in about three months. The media blitz for that film would pick up then.

  Of course. Pete not only wanted him in L.A. so he could move him around like a chess piece, but because they were much further into pre-production than they let on and wanted him ready. Shooting would probably start soon and Goddard wanted to keep Zane on his toes by forcing him to prepare in a grossly accelerated amount of time—like he was a last minute stand-in instead of the main goddamn character! Without any contractual obligation to each other, Pete could do whatever he wanted with pre-production scheduling without apprising Zane of any of it. Then, if Zane was signed, he’d naturally have to jump to meet the demands of his contract.

  This meant his schedule was going to be balls to the wall packed for the next year! He’d have to meet with military historians, representatives from the Richtfeld family, and pilots. They’d have rehearsals and wardrobe fittings and screen tests. Plus, the only thing he really knew about flying was the principle of lift and “Pull up!” so he’d have to study enough to be authentic on camera.

  Bora Bora and the man waiting there abruptly disappeared in a puff of smoke and his stomach lurched. Zane’s thunderous expression must have given him away because Jenny was excusing them both and leading him to a secluded corner.

  “What is going on? You look like you’re going to strangle someone!” she hissed at him and pushed him further out of the way of her other guests. Her hair glinted in the light from the candles set up everywhere throughout her home and he focused on her dangling earrings so he wouldn’t throw up.

  “Drag that shitbag, Goddard, over here with you next time so I can actually do it,” he ground out, running a hand through his hair and jacking the brown locks all to hell.

  Jenny pushed up on her toes to finger comb his hair back into place before anyone noticed. Even her Everest heels weren’t tall enough to do the job. “He’s not acting like a bigger prick than usual—though one more look at my chest and I’m going to have to take a shower.”

  Zane told her what he’d only just figured out and watched as her eyes became calculating. A couple interrupted them to chat for a moment and once they walked off in the direction of the hors’douvres, Jenny turned back to him with a tight look.

  “He’s been jerking us around,” she murmured, an apology springing to her lips. “I should’ve seen this coming, Zane… I’m so sorry. He’s just so slippery. Any time I tried to push the contract along, he stalled me.”

  Zane nodded and forced a smile at an actress across the room that he vaguely remembered meeting somewhere. “It’s not your fault he’s the way he is. It’s something about me that he doesn’t like.” He paused. “Tell me, am I being too faggy?” Zane tried to sound glib, but ended up sounding pissed instead.

  Jenny’s lips tightened in disapproval. “You’re perfect, Zane. Don’t let him trample on the ground you’ve broken. He thinks his money and name mean he can waste time on games. Do you want me to up the asking price? If he’s springing this crap on you, you have every right to request to be compensated for the pull on your time.”

  Zane didn’t care about the money, but he was furious. This was more than a pull on his time. It was a total drain and he’d probably lose any chance he might’ve had with Mark because of it. Wham!—instant long-distance relationship for an undetermined amount of time. He didn’t know Mark near well enough to put that kind of pressure on him. There was no way this could work.

  “Ask for more money,” he finally murmured. “If Pete’s that committed to being a dick about what I do with mine, then he can give the part to Pershall and watch it tank when the audience doesn’t take it seriously.”

  “I’ll do it right now,” she said with a firm nod. When she was a few steps away, she stopped and turned around, her expression tight. “I’m sorry about what this will do to you and…”

  He shook his head, not wanting her to finish. Not wanting her to say Mark’s name.

  ***

  On his way back to the bungalow, Mark was thinking a lot of things over. Seriously thinking, like to the point that thoughts were queueing up for his attention.

  Christian. Zane. The future. Dating. Rafe. Trust. Horniness. And on and on.

  That ass, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief over the dinner he’d shared with Christian. The man was screwed up and lost. Seeing that made Mark’s skeptical heart soften—not that he could admit that aloud. If he did, he was sure Christian would pounce on him. With the way Mark had promised no games to Zane, pouncing wouldn’t fly and not only because it wouldn’t help Christian figure out his life. Sadly, Mark was shockingly ready to be pounced upon, especially since his last memory of sex involved Rafe.

  Christian was a fool to think his life would be rich if he continued on the way he was. His day-to-day wouldn’t get any less complicated by throwing in a few sexual escapades with men that his starved heart lived off of year after year. Mark didn’t want to be a part of a string of lies.

  He vividly recalled every moment of coming out to his family all those years ago. After his high school graduation, Mark gathered his family in the den and with his older brothers, Sean and Reid, staring him down and his parents patiently waiting for him to talk, he pretty much spewed the truth at them and stepped back. There was a lot of clumsy, “This is who I am,” and “I’m still the same guy,” and “I just don’t want to hide anymore.” His heart had been pounding so hard he could still remember how it clenched and released.

  If it hadn’t been so terrifying Mark would’ve laughed at the way his brothers gaped at him open-mouthed. His mom pursed her lips, then smiled and whispered that she knew. How? he’d thought. Mark wasn’t a show-and-tell type of guy and he was certain his stash of magazines was very well hidden, but she just knew, she said.

  What?—like you know a good melon when you squeeze it?

  His dad did a lot of throat clearing and hand wringing after the confession, but it was the way he stood and grabbed Mark in a hug so quick it was over almost before it began that calmed his son. He’d then pointed at Mark’s brothers and said, “You give him shit about this and I’ll bust your asses. He’s your brother and our son and that’s that.”

  Sean and Reid did the yeah-sure-no-problem thing and sucker punched him as they left the room in a fog. In his family, if his brothers punched him, all was as well as it could be.

  And they never did give him any shit about it. They all moved on pretty quickly after his revelation. Jobs. College. Relationships. For Mark “relationships” referred to a long string of untouchables—sort of like with Rafe, he realized grimly—that were too closeted, or too closed off, or too cruel, or too interested in their Karate instructor...

  Mark was always the one on the chase; always the one with the hurt feelings and broken heart. At least he had support when he needed it and his parents were amazing. He had the ideal coming out story.

  Christian had nothing like that and it showed.

  There wasn’t much Mark could do for him if he wasn’t willing to change—or even accept that the situation was a mess that would drive him mad if he kept it up much longer. Christian’s life would come to a crossroads time and again and he’d have to make a decision to keep pretending, or take
the risk and be done with it.

  It was up to Christian, though, not Mark.

  In a moment of weakness, or maybe it was the softer/gentler version of Mark that did it, he gave Christian his phone number and told him if he really needed to talk to go ahead and call. No screwing around though. It would only make both of them miserable in the long run. Not to mention that Mark couldn’t get Zane out of his mind, no matter how futile it was clinging to hope. If he messed around with Christian…God, the guilt would be terrible. Well…after the pleasure, anyway. Still, not worth it.

  By the time Mark sank into the deck chair he’d abandoned hours ago, he knew he wasn’t sticking around in Bora Bora. It was beautiful—he’d spent the money on a vacation package so excited to experience it—but he was still alone. When he made the plans, that was the selling point, but thinking he could come out here and renew himself was a new way to hide from life. So far, he was more conflicted than ever.

  The trip was a way to avoid pain and he could only handle so much vacationing on his own. There was no one to laugh and flirt with and it was all sort of sad. Maybe if Zane could have stayed, Mark wouldn’t be feeling this way…

  Mark usually spent his time off with his family in Bakersfield. One brother and his parents still lived there and he hadn’t wanted to face going home without Rafe along for the ride. He knew that his family didn’t give a damn about that and only wanted Mark around, but he hadn’t felt ready. God, his mom had even cried when he told her he was going to Bora Bora.

  It was late in California, but Mark punched a number on speed dial and waited. Five rings in, Reid answered sounding out of breath.

  “Hey, little brother! What’s going on?” More breathing.

  “Did I interrupt you getting down?”

  Reid snorted then murmured something in the background. “Nah. I’m online with Sean playing Call of Duty. Had to run for the phone.” There was more murmuring and what sounded like a bunch of empty beer bottles toppling over. Reid’s juicy expletive confirmed it. “Sean says hi, by the way.”