Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “What is?”

  “Feeling worthy, validated, loved….”

  “Sloan, you are.”

  “Say it again,” I whispered, almost afraid to ask.

  He got up on one elbow and looked down at me. His hair fell in a silky curtain, partially covering his face, but I parted it so I could see his eyes, while they could still see mine.

  “I love you,” Cole said, his voice shaking a little, but then becoming more forceful, and he said, “I love everything about you.”

  “No one has ever said that to me.”

  “I’ll say it as often as you need to hear it, Sloan, because it’s true.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t,” he admonished, bending down and kissing me deeply. “Don’t ever thank me for something I need as much as you do. You’ve given me back my life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I need to tell you something,” he said. “Something I’ve been hiding from you.”

  “I think I already know, Cole.”

  He squinted, looking at me intently, “What do you know?”

  “I know about your eyes.”

  We were on the floor and he turned away with a sigh. “How long have you known?”

  “Not long, Cole. I just found out.”

  His head whipped back at me, “Who told you?”

  “Nobody. I followed you to The Lighthouse.”

  “You’re a piece of shit.”

  “I know it, but I had to find out what was wrong.”

  “You still want me?” He put his arm on my hip and sort of rolled me over so that I was looking right at him. His deep blue eyes were swimming with tears, and he opened his mouth to say something but bit his lip instead. I blinked back my own tears, which had already been too close to the surface. My voice was trapped somewhere between a sob and a wail, tight from the effort of holding it all in and being strong for him, but I had to tell him how I felt.

  “Please don’t push me away.”

  “I can’t,” Cole replied, wrapping both arms around me. “I need someone who’s not afraid to yell at me,” he uttered, in a quiet voice that moved me even more. “I need someone to love at night, to make me feel like a man.” He stopped for a minute, his voice breaking. “I need you to tell me I’m a fucking hypocrite on a daily basis.”

  “I can do that,” I acknowledged, barely able to get the words out. “You have no idea how much I want to do this for you.”

  Cole nodded. “I also need someone to help me find my way in the dark.”

  “Cole….” I couldn’t see him anymore; my tears were blinding me as I lay on his chest and broke down. I listened when his breath faltered once, and soon we were both crying.

  “Sloan, I’m so scared.” He sounded terrified.

  “I’m here for you, Cole. Whatever obstacle you face, we’ll face it together.”

  “Why would you waste your life on an invalid?”

  “You are not a fucking invalid!” I shook him gently to get his attention. “You have to know that you’re so much more.”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “Believe me! The man I love is way more than the sum total of his eyes.”

  “This is why I need you,” he groaned, turning his face and burrowing into my neck.

  “You don’t need me, Cole. You can do anything on your own, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to come along for the ride.”

  “I’d love to have you by my side, but promise me one thing, Sloan.”

  “What?”

  “No more cutting.”

  “I don’t know if I can control it.”

  “If I can figure out how to walk around with no eyes, you better fucking well figure out how to stop cutting.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “Do you even need to ask?”

  “I was being polite for a change.”

  Cole laughed despite the drama of the moment. “Whenever you get the urge, you come to me. If I have to tie your hands to mine for days on end, I will.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Hey, I can be as big an asshole as you. No more cutting bullshit, understand?”

  “I’ll try, Cole. That’s all I can promise. I’ll really, really try.”

  “I guess that’s all I can ask.”

  Cole and I spent the next forty-eight hours in each other’s arms, with our comfort level growing as swiftly as the love we now declared freely and openly. He made good on his promise and told me how much he loved me several times a day, which only made me love him even more.

  This morning I decided we were going to do something completely unexpected and fun for a change. But first I had to tell Emily what was going on. She deserved to know after texting me on a daily basis with the same old refrain, move on. She wasn’t in, so I sent her a text, he loves me. I put in the little heart symbols in case she didn’t get it. I could just imagine her jumping up and down and getting all girly; she was a romantic and loved a happy ending. I was leaning against Cole when I sent the message, and he kissed my cheek as he looked over my shoulder. I turned and kissed him back, saying everything with my lips.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That you love me.”

  “I do,” Cole said gently, “more and more each day.”

  His blistering kiss confirmed it without a doubt.

  “Now, what is this exciting thing you’ve got planned for us?” Cole asked, reluctantly leaving my mouth.

  “We’re going to Central Park to throw some balls.”

  “Have you lost your fucking mind?” Cole asked, bemused.

  “Listen, Cole. I was a pretty good catcher, and I heard you were an incredible pitcher. I think if I can manage to catch your goddamn balls, you can fucking well throw them in a straight line.”

  “You think so?” He smiled and shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that? How do you expect me to see your mitt, dummy?”

  “Spray paint in a horrible luminescent orange.”

  “Actually, that might work. I can still see colors.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Cole said, smiling.

  We got out of bed and dressed quickly. Cole swore he had his baseball gear stuffed in some bag in the hall closet, so we spent a good half hour getting it together. There was a drug store a few blocks away, and we bought a can of spray paint in a god-awful green. They didn’t have orange, so green would have to work. After spraying the glove liberally, I threw it in a plastic bag so the fresh paint could dry on our way to the park.

  “We’re taking the subway,” I announced.

  “Yes,” Cole agreed, happy I’d suggested it.

  I let him walk ahead of me. I wanted him to feel like he was alone, so he could get more and more comfortable with the idea. He only tripped once, and that’s because there was a dip in the concrete. I didn’t rush to help. I just stood back and let him make the adjustment. He’d know better the next time around.

  When we got to the park, we held hands while we walked around to find a good spot. There were a few makeshift pitcher mounds I could see, and I picked an area that was away from the others, just in case Cole threw a few wild ones to start.

  I pulled the catcher’s mitt out of the bag. It was almost dry and I figured that the worst that could happen would be some puke-green baseballs by the end of the day. I paced out the requisite sixty feet and six inches from the mound and set up my gear. I went back to the mound where Cole was waiting, stretching his arm and getting ready to throw.

  “I need for you to look at my mitt and tell me when you stop seeing it. You ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. You sure you want to attempt this?”

  “Fuck yeah. It’ll be fun. Just remember, Cole, stay back, stay closed, and follow your front side to the hole,” we both said at the same time, laughing and thinking of our fathers. It had been their mantra for years.

  I started to back up slowly, holding the glove at his eye le
vel. “Can you see this?”

  “Yes.”

  I backed up several more feet, still holding up my hand. “How about here?”

  “I can make out the green, vaguely.”

  I moved back a few feet at a time, waiting for his signal. I was about thirty feet from where I’d laid down my gear when he said stop. I was impressed he could make out the color of my glove at this distance, and although it was half of the requisite length, it was far enough for him to get in some good pitches.

  “Okay, Cole. Let her rip.”

  The first pitch was wild, as was the second. I raised my glove and waved it back and forth.

  “Can you see the color?” I yelled, worried I’d misjudged.

  “Sort of.”

  “Hit to my voice, Cole. I’ll catch whatever you got.”

  He reached into the bucket of balls we’d brought along. I wasn’t sure if Cole would be able to catch my return balls, so the supply in the bucket would prevent us from having to stop every few minutes. We could tackle that problem another day. For now, I just wanted him to enjoy pitching. The next throw was wild again, but the ones that followed landed in my glove. I could feel his confidence grow as the pitches got stronger and soon I was struggling to catch the damn things.

  “Time out,” I yelled, running up to the mound.

  “What’s up?” Cole asked. His cheeks were rosy red and he looked happier than I’d ever seen him.

  “Are you having fun?”

  “I’m having a blast.”

  “Lighten up on the speed, okay? I haven’t caught a ball in years.”

  “You got it. Sloan?” he called out as I was walking back to my spot.

  “What?”

  “Love you.”

  I beamed and trotted back to him. I threw my arms around his neck and drew him close enough so I could kiss him on the cheek and hold him tight for a minute, “I love you too, my shogun. Come on, let’s play ball.”

  Epilogue

  GRAND CENTRAL Station at rush hour was as close to hell as one could imagine for someone who was sight-impaired. This morning wasn’t any different, with a crowd that surged to and fro, rushing to catch trains, running up stairs, or packing the escalators. Cole was jostled a few times, but he was undaunted, holding onto Freddie’s harness and moving forward steadily. Sloan had indicated they would be underneath the big clock in the main lobby, easy enough to find for someone who took this mode of transportation on a daily basis.

  Cole felt many people glance his way, attracted by the Golden Retriever at his side. He and Freddie always seemed to gather a small crowd wherever they went because they made such an attractive pair. Most people were tempted to reach out and touch the dog or make small talk with Cole, since the sight of such a handsome young man with a guide dog was unusual. The fact that he was always dressed in a handmade Italian suit, meticulously laid out by Sloan each morning, helped to add to the allure of his new persona. Cole knew he looked good, and the newfound confidence of being in a healthy, happy relationship showed in his gentle smile and easygoing manner. Gone was the uptight historian who lived in a black-and-white universe. This man was much more flexible, capable of circumventing any hurdle that blocked his way.

  Cole could tell they were close to the photo shoot; Freddie’s long golden tail began to wag joyously at the sight of Sloan, swishing lightly against Cole’s pants. When the dog stopped and came to rest at his feet, Cole surmised they had arrived. And sure enough, he felt the energy change around him as Sloan approached. Cole and his dog were embraced in turn, with a few extra moments being spent on the dog, scratching behind his ears and slipping him the small treat Sloan always carried in his pocket. If Cole had a tail, he would have wagged it as happily as Freddie, but instead, his smile widened and he got up on tiptoes and bussed Sloan’s lips, careful not to smear the makeup.

  “Hey,” Cole whispered lovingly. He’d missed his partner at breakfast because the photo shoot had started at five, well ahead of the commuters. Max always liked to get an early start, and Sloan was nothing but compliant, eager to oblige the man who’d negotiated his two-million-dollar contract with Klas cosmetics.

  Max stopped directing his assistants for a second and greeted Cole, in deference to Sloan, who’d insisted they treat his partner with the utmost respect. Max and Cole had worked out a reluctant truce between them, as soon as it was established that Sloan would be the new face for Klas, and Cole had become a permanent fixture in Sloan’s bed and his life. Max was first and foremost a practical man. He would have never created a rift between himself and Sloan just because he’d opted not to partake of his brand of loving.

  Sloan was a walking, talking, money machine. He’d exploded on the modeling scene as Max had predicted. The funny part was, despite all the media hype, Sloan never looked in the mirror twice. He bore the attention gracefully, but his world centered on Cole, their dog, and the life they’d built over the last ten months. He was happier than ever before, having gained a few pounds and admitting to only two cutting incidents in all the time he and Cole were together.

  The first was when Cole fell again, on an escalator this time, and he had to force himself to stand back and let Cole manage on his own, even as the tears ran down Sloan’s face. It upset him so much that later that night he began scratching at his thighs with his nails until Cole walked in on him, clasped his hands, and growled, threatening to tie him up if he didn’t behave.

  The second incident occurred the night their fathers showed up unexpectedly. Joe Driscoll had been surprisingly supportive of the new relationship, despite the fact he’d been summoned to New York by a blistering phone call from Ken, accusing Sloan of warping Cole’s mind. Joe countered by telling Ken to fuck off and face reality the way he had years ago when Sloan admitted he was gay. Joe was relieved that Sloan was finally settled and content. Ken went a little crazy, as expected.

  The ensuing blow-up lasted for several hours, and it included a lot of name-calling and angry accusations, but Cole had stood firm with his arm around Sloan. He announced in no uncertain terms that he was gay, and his family would have to learn to live with it. It was a proud moment for the couple, but that night Sloan reached for the blade and was stopped after the first cut. His fear that Cole would regret his stand was washed away as efficiently as the warm water Cole applied to his wound. He reassured him that he wasn’t going anywhere, and the loving attention he received in Cole’s arms settled him and made him throw away the blade the next morning.

  “How long can you stay?” Sloan asked.

  “My class doesn’t start until eleven.”

  “Good. We’ll break in a few, and then maybe we can grab a coffee.”

  “Have you eaten anything at all?”

  “Not since dinner.”

  “What have I told you?”

  “No time, dude. I was crazed this morning.”

  “Well, fortunately, I know you far too well,” Cole said. He dug into the side pocket of his briefcase and pulled out an energy bar loaded with protein. “Eat.”

  Sloan smiled and reached for the bar. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome. I have a vested interest in your health,” Cole teased.

  “Oh?”

  “I refuse to put up with an exhausted partner at the end of the day.”

  “And why’s that?” Sloan leaned in and whispered in Cole’s ear. “Do you have an agenda for the evening?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “Yes, and it usually involves sex.”

  “I can’t help it,” Cole huffed. “Being unable to see only heightens touch.”

  Sloan laughed, “That’s a really good line, Cole. When did you dream that up?”

  “While I was stroking my boner in the shower this morning.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Almost, but I decided to save myself for you.”

  “I’m sorry I had to run.”

  “No sorrier than me. I missed our morning ritual.”

  “You can show
me how much you love me tonight,” Sloan said, pressing closer as the passion rose between them.

  “Cole,” Max interrupted, appearing in front of Cole’s face, close enough for him to see the shadow of his beard. “Do you think we could borrow Freddie for a few headshots with Sloan?”

  Cole felt his dog shift position as soon as he heard his name. He placed a hand on his head, admonishing him to stay, and Freddie settled down immediately. He was in tune with Cole’s every command, a smart animal that had brought so much joy into his and Sloan’s life. “You’ll have to ask Freddie,” Cole replied.

  Max knelt down in front of the Golden Retriever and said, “What do you think, you big queen? Can I take your picture?”

  Freddie barked loudly, his tail swished back and forth, and he pranced around, pleased to be the center of attention again.

  “I think he said yes,” Sloan said, grinning as he watched the scenario unfold.

  “Would Freddie ever refuse the spotlight?” Max drawled.

  Vessel

  Acknowledgments

  ONCE AGAIN, I’d like to thank Jeannie, the one person who devotes almost as much time to my writing as I do. She’s a meticulous editor, a good listener, and a great source of comfort on the days I need it. Thanks, as well, to my critique group—Ann, Lyn, Sharon, and Jackie—for their input on this roller coaster ride called Vessel. Marita, thank you once more for another outstanding book trailer, and lastly, a huge thanks to all the readers who continue to support my work.

  Prologue

  THE SUN was starting to creep over the horizon when Reiko awoke. She could tell what time it was by the faint rays of light filtering through the blinds, illuminating her small bedroom. There was no need to look at the clock. She was a creature of habit and had always risen at dawn, eager to start her day long before anyone else stirred. She lay on her futon for a few more minutes, enjoying the warmth of the thick down comforter that covered her frail body. Soon, she would have to fling it off and brave the frosty air to begin this momentous day. It had been a decade since she had awoken with such a feeling of anticipation, and she forced herself to rise, knowing it would take more time to achieve the desired result because she would have to do it herself.