Gnarly

by Mickie B. Ashling

Long before it was cool to be supportive of a queer son—in a predominantly Catholic country—Patxi had stared down the haters and watched Javi’s back without hesitation. After his first bullying incident on a school playground, Patxi had hired someone to teach Javi how to fight. He’d also accompanied him to the beach most days before the bar opened for business in the evening. He frolicked in the waves beside his only son and enjoyed it immensely.

  Patxi’d had no idea Javi’s affinity for surfing would turn into a career. If he had known the sport would take Javi away eventually, he might not have been so keen on the idea. None of them had a crystal ball, though, and the long and short of it was Patxi had spent hours of quality time with his child, and they had bonded in the most enjoyable way. Even now, decades later and after everything was said and done, Javi knew his father loved him unconditionally.

  Chapter 6

  JAVI’S COMBATIVE attitude the night before had taken Ed by surprise, and he decided to step back and give them both a few days to get used to the idea of being in the same vicinity again. There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to browbeat the man into accepting his help. Clearly it was unwelcome. He was sure he hadn’t misunderstood—despite his rudimentary Spanish—when Patxi informed him that Javi had turned into a recluse since the accident. Seeing him behind the bar had caused Ed to hope his words of advice hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, but the conversation had taken a downward turn and he’d reacted poorly.

  Disgusted by the turn of events, he channeled his frustration into more positive endeavors. He spent the next few days leisurely exploring the area. Most of it was done on foot, as almost everything was within walking distance. Unlike other doctors, who did rounds, an anesthesiologist sat in the operating room. His job was mostly sedentary, so he’d become a regular at the gym to make up the shortfall.

  Now he was glad he’d been religious about his workouts. He started out each day with a light breakfast before heading out to the promenade. Walking or jogging along the ocean was inspiring and much more enjoyable than wearing out the rollers on a treadmill. The views—both natural and human—were uplifting, and he’d log several miles a day. On the days he ventured farther, he used public transportation to the point of interest and walked some more.

  Much had changed since his last visit to the area, but the one constant was the delicious food. He didn’t even bother counting calories, though, as daily exercise burned up everything he ingested. He was glad he’d thought to bring two pairs of athletic shoes. At this rate they’d be worn out before he boarded the plane home.

  So far, he’d been back to Monte Igueldo, the iconic landmark overlooking the city. He’d taken the ancient railway, or funicular, up to the theme park at the summit. The climb barely lasted five minutes, but it was worth it. The views up top were spectacular, and riding the third-oldest funicular in Spain was an experience in and of itself.

  The next day he’d spent a couple of hours at the aquarium, which he passed on his daily walk on the Paseo Nuevo. It was nothing spectacular. He’d been to several with his boys while they were growing up, and the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago was hard to beat.

  Continuing on his walk, he toured the grounds of the Miramar Palace, former summer home of the Spanish Royal Family and currently the head office of Musikene, the center of upper musical studies in the Basque Country.

  On his way back to Gros, he had lunch at Borda Berri on Calle Fermin, falling in love with the refreshing gazpacho and a platter of sheep cheese risotto. He had deep-fried octopus as a side dish, all washed down with a carafe of excellent white wine from the region. Ed imagined he’d turn into a connoisseur by the time he left the area because of the proximity of eateries throughout the city and the endless variety of choices. There wasn’t even an ounce of guilt when he stopped for a tasty ice cream cone on his way back. The scooper had pushed the turrón flavor, something different, and he’d become a fan, choosing it every time he thought he needed a cool treat.

  He’d barely scratched the surface of his long list of things he wanted to do while he was in the region, yet somehow he always found time to spend an hour on Zurriola Beach, zoning out to the rhythmic sounds of the rolling waves as they crashed on the shore and slowly pulled away. This afternoon was no different, and he’d come prepared with a large beach towel and his Kindle, not that he ever actually read. He was too busy tracking the eye candy.

  To Ed’s utter surprise and consternation, his body was reacting to the gorgeous lifeguards patrolling the area in red Speedos. Behind the protective shield of his Ray-Bans, he soaked up the tantalizing view, wondering all the while if he’d finally lost his mind or had some kind of psychotic break without realizing it. When had he ever been attracted to a ripped and tattooed brunet sporting a man bun? Was it something in the water around here that made him switch back into bisexual mode? Or did that guy remind him of Javi back in the day? More than likely it was the latter.

  The stud who’d caught his eye might have passed for Javi’s younger brother, although he was taller by at least three inches. He oozed sex appeal, and Ed found himself with an embarrassing erection he quickly covered up with the shirt he’d removed a few minutes ago. How was he supposed to walk home in this state?

  That he was attracted to another guy boosted his theory that his psyche, for whatever reason, was scoping out a different landscape. Even the topless women failed to hold his attention. None affected him in the same way as the lifeguard. He shuddered involuntarily as he imagined hanging on to those wide, wide shoulders while plowing his gorgeous ass.

  Fuck. After all these years, why wrestle with this sudden urge to have sex with a man? Wasn’t his life complicated enough without throwing that into the mix?

  When he’d returned from Spain after that summer long ago, he’d been too busy to try and figure it out. Then he’d met Carol, and the subsequent chain of events convinced him that his relationship with Javi was a one-off induced by booze or marijuana. The charismatic surfer had swept him off his feet with his world-class blowjobs and almost puppylike devotion. He’d been unable to form one coherent thought whenever he was in Javi’s shadow, and after a while Ed stopped wondering what or who he was. He’d gone with the heady flow.

  Doing his best to get his mind out of the gutter, Ed picked up his Kindle and attempted to read. Hopefully his woody would be long gone by the time he was ready to get up and go. Five minutes into his book, he was distracted by shouting. He lifted his eyes and watched the commotion on the shore. People were gesticulating and a young woman sobbed as she pointed out to the water. Immediately whistles began to blow, and lifeguards were running toward the water with bodyboards under their arms.

  Curiosity and his medical degree got the better of him, and Ed joined the small crowd gathering along the shore. He watched in apprehension as the young men paddled out to rescue the swimmer, who was no longer visible. Ed knew they only had three to four minutes to grab the victim and start CPR before the lack of oxygen resulted in brain damage. Fortunately for the distressed swimmer, the lifeguards knew what they were doing. They hauled a lifeless body up on one of the boards, and while one person started CPR, the other paddled them back to shore. It was tricky, as the waves continued unabated, but they eventually made it back.

  Ed stepped forward and, in stilted Spanish, volunteered to help. “I’m a doctor in case you need assistance.”

  The brunet he’d been eyeing looked up and nodded. “Thanks, Doc. Would you mind taking over the compressions while I catch my breath?”

  “No problem,” Ed said, sinking to his knees.

  The victim was a young boy who’d barely crested puberty. Ed’s training kicked in and he commenced CPR. After checking the boy’s pulse and finding it to be weak and erratic, he tilted the boy’s head back, lifted his chin, and covered the boy’s mouth with his own, creating an airtight seal. He gave two one-second breaths and then placed the heel of his right hand on the boy’s chest at the nipple line and began his thirty compressions. When nothing
happened, he repeated the cycle twice before the boy began coughing and spitting up seawater.

  Ed stood back and let the mother comfort her child while the lifeguards warned the rest of the onlookers, especially the younger swimmers, to stay away from the right side of the beach, as the sea waves originated there and they could easily be dragged by the tide. Ed had started walking back to his spot on the sand when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

  “Doc, I haven’t had a chance to thank you.” The disembodied voice was tantalizingly husky.

  Ed spun around and stared into eyes the color of a summer sky. “Hey, no problem. I’m glad I could help.”

  “You took over in the nick of time. Getting the victim on the board sapped all my strength.”

  “You guys did an amazing job. He’s lucky you were close by.”

  “We always keep an eye on that one spot. Despite the warnings, people love to go out there and catch the bigger waves.”

  “Crazy surfers,” Ed muttered. He stuck out his hand. “My name is Ed Hollingsworth, by the way.”

  “Iker Lizaso,” the lifeguard replied. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Ed replied. He couldn’t stop staring at those fucking eyes. And his mouth. Dear God. He wondered what those full lips would feel like wrapped around his—

  “Are you in town for very long?” Iker asked.

  Wrenched out of his fantasy, Ed murmured, “Another five weeks.”

  “I’d like to buy you a drink to thank you for your help,” Iker said, eyeing Ed closely.

  Fuck. Could he read Ed’s mind? Was Ed emitting a signal and could this gorgeous man actually be responding to the ever-increasing pings?

  “Sure,” Ed said slowly. “But it’s not necessary.”

  “Please.”

  What the heck? “Okay. Do you want to exchange phone numbers or what?”

  Iker looked down at himself and then up at Ed with a smile. “All I have on me are my Speedos.”

  “Right,” Ed said, suddenly feeling all kinds of stupid. “What’s your number? I’ll plug it into my phone.”

  Iker rattled off his phone number. Since they’d been speaking Spanish all this time, Ed missed half of it, and he had to ask him to repeat it more slowly.

  “For some reason, I forget my numbers in Spanish,” he said sheepishly.

  “No problem,” Iker said, showing off large white teeth in a dazzling smile.

  Once more, he rattled off the numbers without slowing, and Ed gave him an exasperated look. He handed over his phone. “You do it.”

  Iker laughed out loud and quickly thumbed in his contact information.

  “Can you call me around six?” he asked after handing the phone back to Ed.

  “Um, sure,” Ed replied, convinced he was suffering from heatstroke. He had to be at least fifteen years older than this guy. What could Iker possibly want with him? Or was it a truly innocent thank-you-for-helping-out sort of drink? Surprisingly, that theory was disappointing, and Ed hoped he was wrong.

  “Great,” Iker said brightly. “Talk to you later.”

  Ed walked back to his apartment deep in thought. It was one thing to feel an attraction toward Javi. They had a history, after all, and it was easier to justify. But Iker? Seriously. What in God’s name was he thinking? Even if, and that was a major sticking point, if the kid… no, goddammit, make that man. Even if Ed was older, Iker had to be in his late twenties or early thirties, right? Okay, now that he’d cleared up that minor niggle, what if Iker felt the same pull? Would Ed have the audacity to do something about it?

  He was distracted with thoughts of Iker and the possible repercussions of meeting for a drink when he crash-landed into Javi, who was going in the opposite direction. They fell onto the cobblestones in a tangle of limbs and crutches.

  “¡Joder!” Javi exclaimed loudly. “What the hell, Ed?”

  “Sorry. Good grief, man. Are you hurt?” Ed asked, helping Javi back up.

  “I’m fine,” Javi said, still scowling. “What’s the big hurry? You have a date?”

  Ed stared into Javi’s mocking face and something clicked in his lizard brain. “Actually, I do.”

  Eyes wide, Javi asked, “Male or female?”

  “Really?” Ed replied.

  Javi shrugged. “I’m curious; that’s all.”

  Ed’s upper lip curled into a satisfied grin. “If you must know, I have a hot date with a guy who looks a lot like you when you were his age.”

  “Who?” Javi challenged.

  “Jealous much?”

  “Fuck off, Ed.”

  “That’s what I plan on doing shortly,” Ed said, unable to stop the charade. The anger on Javi’s face was worth the unadulterated bullshit. “See you around.”

  Ed stomped off toward his building, and this time he kept his eye on the road. After a few seconds, he turned to see if Javi was watching his progress. The ex-surfer hadn’t budged. He continued to track Ed until he reached his building and turned the key. Mission fucking accomplished.

  In his apartment, Ed downed a bottle of mineral water, stripped, and headed for the shower. He scrubbed his body with a loofah and the good bath gel he’d bought at Neiman Marcus before leaving home. The smell of sandalwood and lemon was subtle but intoxicating and made up for the outrageous price. He hoped it would work its magic on Iker.

  Glancing down at his rising cock, he could see it was totally on board with the idea. Why the fuck not? He was unencumbered, and no one in the area, except Javi and his father, would ever know. Why not dive back into the pond headfirst? At the very least, he’d add a pleasurable experience to his memory banks. The worst-case scenario would be falling for the guy, but the probability of that happening was remote now that Javi’s stubborn ass had taken up residence in his brain.

  Chapter 7

  UNDER NORMAL circumstances, Javi would have rushed Ed, pressed him up against a wall, and kissed that smug look off his face, but nothing about his current life was “normal.” All he could do was lean on his crutches and shake with impotent rage as jealousy coiled around him like a slimy eel.

  Taking a deep breath, he continued his ungainly walk toward the bar to start his shift. He must look pathetic to an outsider, he thought disparagingly, a damaged has-been, pulverized by a young man’s sport. He should have quit while he was ahead. His pride would have remained intact, as well as his body, and he could have rested on his laurels instead of trying to figure out how to get from point A to point B without falling flat on his face.

  Patxi recoiled when Javi finally crossed the threshold.

  “What’s the matter?” Javi glared.

  “You look like you want to kill someone,” Patxi remarked, crossing his arms. “What just happened?”

  “Leave me alone,” Javi rejoined. He reached for a bottle of Alhambra, uncapped it, and drained half of it in one long pull. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “I’m hungry.”

  “Sit down, and I’ll get something from the kitchen,” Patxi said, still looking at Javi warily.

  “Thanks.”

  Patxi returned with a platter of meatballs and fried cubed potatoes. A small salad of mozzarella and tomatoes drizzled with olive oil and vinegar, a chunk of fresh bread, and a glass of rioja topped it off. Javi felt like an asshole for snapping at Patxi earlier, and he slung his arm around his father’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. “Thank you, Aita. I’m sorry for being so moody.”

  “It’s all right,” Patxi said gruffly. “Eat your dinner while I get things set up at the bar.”

  Javi nodded and ate with gusto. His appetite had improved since his decision to come back to work—a welcome change after steadily losing weight since his accident, turning him into a pale, scrawny imitation of his old self. Suddenly he wanted Ed’s focus back on him. After shoving him away ungratefully, Javi knew it was going to take more than words. He could start by looking better.

  Tomorrow he’d figure out a way to get some sun. Maybe it was time for
a haircut and some clothes that actually fit. And if he were really intent on rocking Ed’s world, he’d have to cave and go to the clinic he’d been assigned after he was released from the hospital. He had never made his follow-up appointments after his first visit because he couldn’t bear to look at the artificial foot, let alone use it. Javi knew he had to overcome his distaste and learn how to walk with the damn thing. Trying to get his sexy back with a crutch was stupid when he had another option.

  His mood improved tremendously with a full belly and new resolve. Old customers who’d known Javi as a young man greeted him fondly as they popped in and out of the bar, leaving generous tips to let him know without fanfare how much they appreciated his return. Basques weren’t a particularly demonstrative lot. They were a tough, hardworking, independent people, and very often guarded with strangers. Once they took you in, however, they were generous, sincere, kind, and extremely loyal. Like his father, the regular patrons of Elizalde Bar were men of few words, but when they spoke in the guttural language most linguists couldn’t fathom, they were nothing but supportive, and they’d fight until death to defend their own. And Javi was a native of San Sebastián, a true Basque by birth and ancestry.

  Javi had always considered his bartending gig the embarrassing job he was forced to take on for his parents’ sake, but tonight that misconception was quickly laid to rest by the warm sense of camaraderie. The men who gathered in front of him—Belasco, Danel, Julen, Mikel, Iñaki—were family, not judgmental strangers, and the sooner Javi accepted he was a part of this world, the better he’d feel about himself. It was a little late in life to have a eureka moment, but Javi had been behaving like an irresponsible playboy for years, always in search of a lifestyle and crowd that were more exciting than his friends and acquaintances back home. People he’d considered simple and boring were actually far more genuine than the horde of pretenders he’d met throughout his travels. This new awareness was hitting him hard as he perched on his barstool, pouring drinks and serving up pintxos.