Taking his bottom lip between my teeth, I tugged and drew another low moan from him. With my fingers still digging into his hips, I maneuvered him so his back was facing the couch and pushed him down onto it, already reaching for my belt with the intention of feeding him my cock.
Before I could, Keith let out a yelp of pain, his hand immediately going to his leg. Sudden cold slammed into me, dousing the frenzy I'd been in moments before. Fuck. What was I thinking? What was I doing?!
"Shit, I'm sorry," I apologized. "What does the pain feel like? How would you describe it on a scale of one to ten?"
"I'd describe it as a three out of get over here and finish unzipping your pants," he said, though his teeth were gritted in obvious pain.
I took in a few deep breaths, already having decided in my mind. It was one I should have made days ago, but at least it would keep us from doing something incredibly stupid.
"We're not doing this, Keith," I told him softly.
He scoffed, reaching for my belt. When I pulled his hand away, he met my gaze. As it dawned on him that he wasn't going to get what he wanted, his eyes filled with hurt.
Then anger.
"Of course you'd fucking do this. Make me think something can happen, then rip it away at the last second."
I just stared at him, baffled. "When have I ever done that to you?"
"The last night we saw each other, asshole," he ground out. "When I was on top of you in the bed of your truck. Or have you forgotten?"
"Of course I didn't forget." I thought about that moment constantly. For years after it happened, I couldn't help thinking about it every single day. "But I didn't just decide to 'rip it away' from you."
"Right, your dad showed up, and you couldn't look like a little queer in front of Daddy," he said, his tone mocking.
Any desire that was left in me evaporated at that. "Are you seriously doing this? Are you fucking shaming me for not being out to my homophobic dad?"
He pushed himself up, and I could see he was practically shaking. I didn't think it was from the pain, considering the emotions that played across his face. There was a vulnerability there, and some stupid part of me just wanted to take him into my arms and apologize.
At this point, though, I didn't even know what I was apologizing for.
"I'm shaming you because you turned your back on me, Brendan," he said, more hurt than angry now. "Because when it came down to it, you chose an easier life in the closet. And hey... part of me doesn't fucking blame you. I wish I could've made that choice, but I wasn't going to live a lie. Not after that."
For the longest moment, I just stared at him. Keith stared right back and, though I knew he was being nothing less than sincere, my absolute confusion led me to ask the worst questions.
"Is that seriously what you think? Jesus, Keith, I'm out. I've been out for years. And as far as turning my back on you is concerned--"
"I don't wanna hear your excuses, Brendan. You had plenty of time to get in touch with me. I don't believe for a second you couldn't do it if you wanted to."
I thought back to those years, remembering the hell of that summer. My dad forbade me from having any contact with Keith. He made sure I couldn't access a phone at home, and we lived far enough away there was no hope of just walking to a pay phone. I'd let him terrorize me. Let him tell me I was broken, let him call me every name in the book. I never let him tell me how I did or didn't feel about Keith, though.
But how was Keith ever supposed to know that? Every letter I tried to send was confiscated, I was sure of it. By the time I left for college, where I would have had more freedom to reach out, I... didn't. Because I didn't think he'd want to hear from me anymore. Because I knew on some level that I was a coward.
As all of that hit me, my shoulders slumped. Keith hadn't thrown me out yet, so I chanced a look at him. His arms were folded over his chest in a protective gesture and he eyed me warily.
"No excuses," I said softly. "But will you at least let me explain? Not... here. Over dinner or something. Tonight, if you're free. No matter what else happens, we need to work through this, Keith."
He regarded me for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally, he said, "Better be an expensive dinner, because you're paying."
The smallest smile quirked my lips. "Deal."
11
Keith
I don't know why I agreed to go with him.
I could tell myself it's just because I wanted a free meal, and maybe I was hoping he'd give in on the whole fucking me thing. I was pretty sure the truth ran deeper than that, though. What he said, combined with Elliot and Reuben's complete bafflement when I'd told them the kind of person Brendan was, made me question if I was right.
He'd still hurt me. Deeply. I didn't know if I could ever forgive him for that, and I definitely couldn't forget, but I'd finally reached a point where I was willing to hear him out. If he fucked around and gave me shitty excuses, at least I'd know he wasn't worth bothering with. If he was sincere, maybe there was a chance we could start to repair our friendship.
I wasn't going to hope for more than that. Not when that particular ship had long since sailed, no matter what my heart wanted to believe.
So I let him take me out to a place called Nouvelle. I'd heard about it from Elliot. Apparently he and Reuben went there once and they raved about the food. It was way out of a teacher's budget, but since Brendan was paying and he'd definitely delivered on my wish for something stupidly expensive, I wasn't going to complain.
His text suggested I should wear a jacket, though a full suit wasn't required. I snorted when I read that. I owned exactly one suit, and it was fitted to the point where I was sure the pants wouldn't actually slide over my brace. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that I didn't want to get it dirty when I inevitably tripped with my crutches and fell ass first into a gutter or something.
For all my bluster, my leg ached bad by the time I got ready to go. I split one of my pain pills in half, not wanting to be loopy when Brendan was trying to explain himself to me, but also not wanting to be in pain. Once the ache settled to a dull roar, I struggled to put on loose slacks, a belt, a button-down shirt, and a blazer. I brought a tie with me, just in case, but I had no intention of wearing it unless it was required.
I took a Lyft to the restaurant, finding Brendan already there and waiting for me. He was wearing a stylish sport coat that was cut to accentuate his broad shoulders, and I found myself staring for a moment, wishing I could run my hands over them. The rest of his ensemble was just as tempting, too. A double-breasted silk shirt and perfectly-tailored, straight-leg trousers.
"Look like you're all ready to go to prom," I teased, somehow managing to navigate the curb with my crutches.
Hobbling a few steps unaided in my apartment was one thing. Cruising around town, doing what basically amounted to parkour in my current state was another.
"Ass," he said, a smirk curving his lips. "You don't look half bad yourself."
"Wasn't sure if I'd need this," I said, holding up the tie, "but since you don't have one..."
I quickly stuffed the thing into my pocket, glad to be rid of it. Brendan laughed.
"You ready to go inside? I reserved a table, so we can be seated whenever."
"Sounds good. I'll probably need a half hour just to find something edible on the menu."
We headed inside and I was instantly struck by just how ridiculous this place was. There had to be someone who liked that overwrought style, but the chandeliers and sconces, the sparkling crystal, the water fixtures in the walls, all read as if it was trying too hard to me.
A man greeted us at the podium. Tall and slender with rich brown skin and striking amber eyes. His beard was perfectly trimmed into a goatee, his hair perfectly styled. He wore a full suit, complete with cuff-links, of all things.
He was hot, definitely. Hot enough to go a couple rounds with, if the opportunity ever presented itself, but he looked too high maintenance for anything else.
He probably spent more on hair products than I spent on food each month.
"We have a reservation for Newell," Brendan said.
"Right this way." His voice was richly textured and almost melodic. He smiled at us, then gestured for us to follow.
I didn't try to hide the fact that I was checking out his ass as we walked behind him. Nice and tight, with surprisingly good muscle definition.
We were sat at a small table in the center of the restaurant and as soon as the host left, Brendan leaned across it to say, "You are shameless."
I scoffed. "Like you weren't looking."
Just a couple weeks ago, I would have never imagined I could tease him like this with any sincerity. I'd convinced myself he wasn't actually gay, and had somehow just... faked an erection, faked his obviously positive responses to me. It seemed silly enough in retrospect.
"I did it less openly," he replied. "You've gotta learn the art of the covert scope."
"The covert scope, huh? Sounds like some top secret military thing."
"It's definitely top secret," he said with a small shrug. "Maybe one day I'll tell you."
I shook my head, unable to help the smile that tugged at my lips. I missed this. Just dicking around with Brendan. Being near him, listening to him joke and joking back with him.
Swallowing, I looked down at the menu that was already at the table. It was just a single laminated sheet, which would make picking a little easier. In theory. When I scanned the dishes, I saw every single one was listed by its French name, with the English in tiny text beside it.
"At least they're consistent in their pretense," I muttered.
"Yeah, this is... a bit much, isn't it? I feel like I shouldn't be allowed to be in here."
I nodded my agreement. Part of me was tempted to suggest we just bail on the place and go get some real food, but I wasn't going to end up here again. Might as well enjoy it.
After spending not thirty minutes but at least fifteen deciphering the very short menu, Brendan and I ordered an appetizer to share as a test. The mini croque-monsieur arrived perfectly browned and steaming. The only problem was there were just... two of them.
"I guess this is an appetizer for a single, petite French woman," I said, carefully taking mine and putting it on a plate.
"Apparently."
I let it cool, finally digging in with some restraint. My first thought was how rich it tasted, and not in a good way. Maybe people who were used to this style of cuisine had a better taste for it, but to me it was like coating my tongue in lard.
I glanced at Brendan who was valiantly trying to eat his, but I could see the displeasure on his face.
"I honestly never thought you could use too much butter," he said, swallowing down his bite, "but I guess I've been proven wrong."
"Right? It's like they let everything sit in it for an hour before serving, just to really saturate it."
I did finish my three bites of food, though, because we were paying for it anyway. Or Brendan was paying for it, something I suddenly felt a little guilty about even if I couldn't see the prices.
"How are you affording this? This little snack probably costs twenty bucks alone."
"Credit card," he said with a shrug.
"Dude. Seriously?"
"What? I have excellent credit and a high limit. It'll be fine."
I let it be for now. Maybe the actual meal would be better. I'd ordered the leg of mutton because it was the most normal-sounding thing on there. Brendan went for the coq au vin. It didn't take long for our plates to arrive, surprisingly, and I was able to see firsthand that no, the entrees weren't much better.
The portions were slightly more generous. Slightly. There was probably two ounces of mutton on my plate, along with a mint sauce that was smeared across the bottom, and mashed potatoes that were way fancier than they needed to be. Brendan's dish didn't fare much better, and I could smell the cooking wine from here.
"Maybe I'm just uncultured swine, but I'm pretty sure they're supposed to cook off most of the alcohol," he said once the server left.
"Nah, you just get a bonus. Hope you weren't planning to drive anywhere."
We tasted our meals and once again, it was all too rich. The sauce, the potatoes, even the meat itself was rich in a way I just couldn't describe. There was balance, sure, but not enough.
And, even though we'd come here to talk, conversation just didn't feel natural. The awkwardness I felt now wasn't because of Brendan, but because of this restaurant. My gaze started to wander, my urge to people-watch kicking in. I landed on the hot host and followed the line of what was a very intense gaze to see him watching a good-looking guy who was currently seated with a woman opposite him. The two were obviously on a date, but the host was staring at the man with palpable longing.
I inclined my head to Brendan, gesturing in the host's direction. "Check this out. Poor guy."
Brendan looked, seeming grateful for the opportunity to focus on something else. He winced when he saw what I'd seen.
"Yeah, that's never good. No use pining over straight guys."
That stopped me in my tracks, and I looked at him for a long moment. For years, I'd convinced myself I'd just been pining over a straight guy. Or at the very most, someone who was bi-curious but not actually interested in a relationship with a man. I'd been careful about it ever since, making sure I, without a doubt, didn't involve myself with any men whose sexuality was ambiguous.
Now, it was seeming like I'd been wrong about Brendan after all, and I wanted to know the truth. I knew I wasn't going to feel comfortable getting it here.
"Hey... you wanna ditch this place? Maybe go get a couple of burgers at Mac's?"
"Jesus, I thought you'd never ask," he said, all but throwing his napkin down. "Let's get out of here."
I laughed, half convinced he was just going to split without paying. But Brendan waited until he could catch the server's attention, then he just handed the man his credit card, not bothering to look at the total bill. I didn't really blame him. The shock of it was liable to prompt a heart attack.
Once he signed, we were on the way to the parking lot, with the valet bringing Brendan's truck around.
"How do you still have this thing?" I asked, truly baffled. It'd barely run back when he bought it, and that was over fifteen years ago.
"I did some restoration. Gutted almost everything but the body. So she still looks the same, but she runs much smoother."
He opened the door for me, and I put my crutches in the back before climbing into the cab, the interior much, much nicer than I remembered.
"You're paying for the burgers," he told me as he shifted into gear. "And I'm getting a shake."
I laughed. That was only fair. "Deal."
12
Brendan
We pulled through Mac's, then decided to drive out to Payne's Prairie and park. Not the shortest drive in the world, but the highway was pretty clear and the burgers we ordered stayed warm inside the paper sack.
I turned off the truck and went back to lower the tailgate, with Keith grabbing the burgers and shakes. We sat on the edge of the bed and enjoyed greasy, flat-top grilled burgers dripping with melted cheese and condiments, and just looked out over the prairie. It was empty right now, no wildlife meandering across, but there was a good view of the stars up above, and I could hear nightbirds calling in the distance, along with a chorus of frogs.
It was peaceful, and so nostalgic I felt a stab of pain lance through my chest. Keith and I had this once. We'd done this same thing lots of times, parking out in the middle of fields and just gazing up at the stars together. We could've been doing it for the past fifteen years, but I'd made a mistake. I'd been a coward, too afraid of what he might think of me to fight for him like I should.
I didn't want to be a coward anymore. Even if all we would ever be was friends, his friendship was worth the world to me.
"I never meant to just... disappear from your life," I said into the stillness.
&n
bsp; Keith didn't respond for a time as he laid back in the bed of the truck, looking up at the sky. Finally he asked, "Then why did you?"
"When my dad found us, I got scared. You're right, and I did try to go back into the closet for a little while." He tensed, but I continued. "Back then, I still had so much faith in my dad. I thought I could get through to him, and that if I just held out a little longer, I could wear him down. He'd see I was still the man he raised, even if I didn't go to med school. Even if I was gay."
Keith snorted, his eyes still on the sky instead of me. "Sorry, but your dad was always a piece of shit. There's no rehabilitating that level of backwoods ignorance."
"I know that now," I said, rubbing my thigh self-consciously, "but he's still my dad, and it was hard to let go of that. When I finally did, I was two semesters into med school and absolutely miserable. I was... I wasn't in a good place, mentally."
My thoughts had never run too dark; I'd never considered ending it all, but I was so stressed and unhappy that I found next to no joy in life. I gained almost twenty pounds that year because I just... didn't care. About anything, including myself.
"I told him I couldn't do med school anymore. That I wanted to take a little time off school to figure out what I was truly passionate about. He flipped the fuck out about that, got into a shouting match with me, so I... also told him I was gay. That if he couldn't accept that, he could just stop calling me."
"Let me guess," Keith said, voice tinged with bitterness, "he stopped calling you?"
"Yep." It still hurt. Even if I knew he wasn't going to change, he was still my father. Some part of me still wanted his approval. "Every now and then Mom will call and try to get me to talk to him. She even figured out FaceTime once to trick me into seeing him. I hung up."
Keith was quiet for a long time. I lay down beside him, feeling more vulnerable than I ever had. Finally he looked over at me, and I could see the mask he'd built up over the years was gone. Just for a moment.
Time Out (Dear Lonely Guy Book 2) Page 7