My Other Half

by S Michelle

  * * *

  It only rang once before she answered. “Thomas. Hi. I can’t talk long. I need to get ready for surgery, but I need you to have a look at the paperwork I emailed you. I think it’s all self-explanatory, it’s just the new power of attorney documents and updated will I talked to you about last month. I don’t want to hear any discussions about it, please love.”

  * * *

  “I will jump on and have a look.”

  * * *

  I slumped in my chair. I wasn’t sure how to work out what I was feeling. Relieved she wasn’t calling because she knew. Happy she was doing what she wanted. The forms were new power of attorney and will documents because she was going to be travelling with Medecins Sans Frontieres. Scared because where she was heading is dangerous. There were bits of all those emotions, but the dominant one was relief.

  * * *

  I had to rush to get to work on time, which was kind of good because I didn’t have time to try to second guess every look someone gave me. We were slammed all afternoon, and it wasn’t until a small lull in customers that I took five minutes to have a drink. Celia, my boss, brought some empty trays out as I was finishing.

  * * *

  “So, I heard about last weekend”

  I froze. I looked at her quickly, then looked away, fascinated by the label on my drink.

  “You were the talk of the morning rush all week, sweetie.”

  I closed my eyes, my hands shaking.

  “I can’t believe everyone walked in on you fucking some hook up. Bet you don’t see that guy again.”

  My eyes flew open. She was busy washing the trays, but smirking at me.

  “Better luck next time, kiddo. And if you want to put on a show, at least post it on PornHub so we can all see.” She patted me on the shoulder as she walked out.

  * * *

  My feet were killing me, and my knee was throbbing like a bitch. I considered getting a taxi home even though with this traffic, it honestly wouldn’t have been much quicker than walking. My phone beeped with a text as I hobbled up the stairs to my front door. Dean.

  * * *

  I will be collecting my things tomorrow between 12-6. Please don’t be there.

  * * *

  I opened the text to reply. But I had no idea what to write. Did I apologise? Did I try to pretend we were both drunk and it just happened? Did I beg him not to tell anyone? I wasn’t sure any of them would be a good idea. So simply I answered,

  * * *

  OK

  * * *

  I pushed the door open and dropped my bag in the hallway. Gingerly, I toed the shoe off my left foot, then kicked the one off my right, leaving them as they fell. I felt grimy and sweaty after work, even though the walk home was freezing. I dropped my jacket as I entered the lounge room and lifted my shirt to toss it off as well, when movement in the kitchen caught my eye.

  * * *

  I blinked. Gabe was here. He was really here, standing there staring at me. I blinked again. He was still there.

  “We need to talk.”

  My shoulders slumped. Those four words were not something anyone wanted to hear from the person they love.

  “I thought we really should talk this time, but if I thought you would be in the mood, I would have just laid myself on the kitchen table rather than cooking for you,” he says lightly, nodding towards the clothes I discarded on the floor.

  I was still staring, but his smile as he spoke relaxed me. Even when I felt like my whole world was imploding into a black hole, he could make me relax with a smile.

  I glanced in the oven when he opened the door to check on the food. I frowned at him. “But you hate salmon.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t hate it. It’s not my favourite. Or in my top three. Or in my top ten. But you love it. So we are having salmon. Do you want a quick shower? It will be five minutes.”

  * * *

  I nodded and headed off to the bathroom, washed myself quickly, and threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt.

  * * *

  Right as he was putting the plates on the table, I walked back into the kitchen. I hesitated, and he nodded to the chair. “Sit. Eat first, talk second.” I wondered if he was putting off the talk again. He smiled at me. “I’m not putting it off. I just want to make sure you eat.”

  * * *

  We made small talk about work (although I didn’t tell him about my conversation with Celia) and the weather. He asked about my knee. I lied and said it was fine. He told me to stop lying.

  * * *

  Once our plates were empty and my stomach full, the silence became awkward as he took the plates to the sink and rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher. I headed into the lounge room and busied myself with straightening out the cushions and refolding the neatly folded blanket.

  * * *

  Once I ran out of things to straighten or fold, I sat on the lounge and waited for him while he made us tea. When he carried the mugs in, he hesitated, looking at the lounge and separate chairs. I nodded at the lounged next to me. “Sit.”

  He smiled. “If I do, will you call me a good boy?”

  I frowned at him. How could he be joking with me at the moment?

  He passed me my mug. “I’m trying to lighten the mood because you look terrified. Please relax.”

  “I look terrified because I am, Gabe. Our worst nightmare happened, and then you ran. How else am I supposed to feel?” I whisper.

  * * *

  Gabe shifted his weight so that he was facing me with one leg tucked under him. He seemed to be weighing his words. “Firstly, I am so so sorry for just running off down the hall. That wasn’t fair of me. I panicked. I have no other excuse. I hate that I didn’t make sure you were okay. I really am sorry for that, Tom.”

  I shook my head weakly. “No, I didn’t mean… that was…. I was panicking too… That’s not what I meant.”

  He looked confused for a brief moment, and then understanding dawned. “T, I wasn’t running when I left in the morning. I left a note. I love you. I learned my lesson. Running from you nearly killed me. I am not making that mistake again. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to stay wrapped around you. But… but I needed to find out what we were facing. I needed to know how Sam and Dean were and what the other guys saw. I’m sorry if you thought I was running. I needed to sort out what was happening.”

  * * *

  I nodded but didn’t look at him. I watched my tea, swirling it in my mug. “Sam came over on Monday morning.”

  “I know.”

  “He didn’t… umm, he seemed… I don’t know, almost okay with me… I mean, he didn’t yell or anything… so that’s good, right?”

  * * *

  Gabe put his mug down and rubbed his hands together.

  * * *

  “I haven’t really talked to Sam. He tracked down Dean with me on Sunday, and then we haven’t had a chance to sit down since. I tried, but he brushed me off, telling me to deal with the boys and you. But honestly, I’m not worried about Sam. Have you heard from Dean?”

  * * *

  I nodded and showed him the text.

  “I’m sorry, Tom. I know you guys were close. I wish I could say to give him time and he will come around, but honestly, I don’t think he will. I think some of the anger was that he thought this had been going on since before he moved in, and he was pissed we had been lying to him. But even once he believed it was new, he couldn’t be okay with it. I’m sorry.”

  * * *

  I shrugged. “I don’t really blame him. I… I don’t mean that we are doing something wrong. I just mean I can understand it being hard for him to understand. Do you think he is going to tell people?”

  * * *

  Gabe shook his head. “No, honestly, I don’t. He might not understand, but he isn’t vindictive. I don’t think he is going to tell anyone. And the other guys didn’t really see anything. I was probably more worried about them. But they were all telling me about it like I
wasn’t here. They just saw you with ‘some twink.’ I mean, Jeff even called me a ‘skinny arsed twink’. Seriously, do I need to do more squats? And by more, I mean any?”

  * * *

  I smiled at his feigned dismay at being called skinny arsed. “So what now?”

  * * *

  Gabe smiled at me. “Well, I guess that’s up to you. This week has been far harder on you than me. And that’s partly my fault. I should have called you, but I wanted to make sure no one had said anything, and I still had to work and well, you didn’t call or text me either, so…”

  * * *

  “But you left. Your note said you needed time. So I was giving you time. I just wasn’t sure if that meant forever.”

  * * *

  Gabe reached over, put my mug of cold tea on the coffee table, held my hands in his. They were so warm. I needed more of that warmth, so I shuffled a little closer.

  I looked up at him. “Why did you say this week has been harder for me?”

  He started rubbing my hands as he spoke. “Because I have spent the last eighteen months running through every worst-case scenario. I have probably run through thousands in my head. And the last six weeks with Dr. Emery, I have talked through the worst of them. And T, babe, all the worst scenarios were losing you. Every other possibility is survivable. That’s what it comes down to. For me, as long as I get to be with you, then the rest I can manage. I don’t mean as fuck buddies or boyfriends or whatever we choose for this to be. If it is just as brothers, I can cope with that. The past eighteen months, my biggest fear has been you finding out how I feel and reacting like Dean. That didn’t happen, so the rest might be hard, but as long as I have you, I’m okay. Please just tell me that I’m not losing you.”

  * * *

  My stress drained away, my shoulders relaxed, and my lungs filled with oxygen for the first time in a week. And I realised we are going to be okay.

  * * *

  “You are not losing me. Ever.”

  Epilogue

  Eight years later

  I reached for my water glass, not wanting to have another wine yet until after the awards were announced. I had only had two, but there was no way I was going to embarrass Gabe tonight. Whether he was recognised in the awards tonight or not, this was a huge night for him, and I wanted to help him celebrate.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Cheryl, my first boss straight after university, smiling down at me. I stood and kissed her on the cheek before shaking her husband’s hand.

  “So where is my competition?” she asked good naturedly. Both Cheryl and Gabe had been nominated for the Grueller design award.

  I glanced around and spotted him on the far side of the room, shaking hands with a couple of other nominees.

  “Fielding job offers, probably.” I nodded in his direction.

  She chuckled when she found him. “Don’t they know I have dibs if you two ever decide that running your own business isn’t for you? You know you would both have so much more time for designing together if you didn’t have to look after all the business side. You could spend your days being architects, not doing the books.”

  I grinned at her. She knew the first five years had been really hard. I had really lucked out with the perfect boss straight out of university. When I left a few years later to start working independently with Gabe, she encouraged us and offered support.

  We made small talk for a few more minutes until someone else grabbed her attention. I took the opportunity to admire my beautiful angel from across the room, animated and excited. I knew he was complimenting one of the men on their designs. Then I saw him look shy, staring at his feet, and I knew the attention had turned to him.

  I had felt blessed every single day of the past eight years. Not every day was perfect. We had disagreements. We had moments of jealousy and moments resenting the secrecy. But every single day, I knew I was loved. And that was a lot.

  When the emcee took the microphone to announce dinner was about to be served, Gabe made his way back to the table, pausing to look at his phone on the way. He was still looking at his phone when it vibrated again in his hand as he sat beside me.

  I raised an eyebrow in question, and he tilted his phone towards me. I sucked in a breath when I saw it was Dean. Although we had been at the same events with friends numerous times, he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with either of us.

  I scanned up to see the text conversation. Simple, but nevertheless, it was the first time he had initiated contact.

  * * *

  Congratulations on being nominated for the Grueller.

  * * *

  Thank you so much. I really appreciated it.

  * * *

  I was told to congratulate you, so I did.

  * * *

  I frowned at the second text, but tried to tell myself it was a step in the right direction that he even reached out. I offered Gabe a small smile, and he reached over and squeezed my knee as he put his phone away.

  The dinner was simple but elegant, the company fun and easy. There were only a couple of people at the table that I hadn’t met before, and we made small talk and exchanged banter.

  When the formal part of the evening approached, we had been sitting for quite a while, and Gabe shifted in his seat, inhaling sharply at the ache I had gifted him earlier today. He insisted we work until lunchtime but had been grouchy and snapped at me one too many times. He was decidedly less grouchy after I tied him to the antique drafting table I had spent a small fortune on for him. Money well spent. The ability to change the angles had come in very handy, and it had proven itself quite sturdy. Gabe thought he could goad me into being rough and quick, but he soon shut up the third time I stopped right before letting him come. I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent edging him, and he offered all kinds of promises if only I would let him get off.

  In my infinite generosity, I did, with three of my fingers massaging his prostate. As soon as he started to shoot, I pushed inside him. He sobbed beautifully through the post-orgasm torture as I continued to peg his prostate again and again. He had begged me to stop because he was too sensitive, but without a traffic light safe word to be seen I relished his sobs turning to pleas when he reached a second orgasm with me.

  I squirmed in my seat, trying not to think about why he was uncomfortable. Even without glancing at me, he knew. The small smile was all the proof I needed.

  * * *

  After some of the minor awards, they finally got to the Grueller Award. Most of the other nominees were large architect firms with dozens of employees working on a major project. We had the two of us and the recent addition of an office manager. The project Gabe had been nominated for was the conversion of a dilapidated warehouse into a not-for-profit community and recreation centre. The budget had been a fraction of most of the other designs nominated tonight, but the love and vision he put into it still blew me away.

  * * *

  I reached over and grabbed his hand as the emcee ran through the nominees, including a presentation of each nomination. The emcee explained that, of the ten nominations, there would be a runner up and a winner. Gabe started to tune out a little. The presentation of each nominee was what he had been looking forward to. Although he could sell his ideas to a client, he had a hard time being told how good they were by others. I nudged him, and he sat up straight and returned his attention to the stage.

  * * *

  My attention was firmly on the nape of his neck, where I desperately wanted to suck on his skin, when the emcee’s voice got my attention. “…Gabriel Carrington of Carrington Designs.”

  The look on Gabe’s face as he turned to me was a mirror of the shock I felt. We threw our arms around each other at the same time, and he clung to me as I whispered in his ear. “You deserve this. You deserve the world, my angel.”

  * * *

  Gabe accepted congratulations from the rest of the table and then headed up the stairs onto the stage. He looked terrified, his hands shaki
ng as he accepted the runner’s up award. His eyes found mine while he stumbled with what to say, and I touched my hand to my chest. He calmed like I knew he would.

  “Thank you so much. I... I haven’t prepared a speech, because... well, there is no way in hell I was going to be up here.” The crowd laughed, and Gabe took one more deep breath.

  “I will keep it short. This project deserved every second of time and sweat and tears and curses I threw at it. The kids this project was for deserved every ounce of my heart that I poured into it. And there is one person I need to thank for keeping me sane and tied to the drafting board. My partner and my best friend Thomas.”

  I blushed a red I didn’t think was physically possible, even though no one else could possibly know the meaning behind the tying him to the drafting board comment or the double meaning behind him calling me his partner. I didn’t want or need anyone else to know.

  * * *

  I knew.

  * * *