by Anyta Sunday
“How can you know that?”
“Because he’s your brother and no matter what, he always will be.” He was fumbling for the right thing to say here, hoping he wouldn’t screw up. “You show you remember him and respect him by the choices you’ve made. Like never hitting anyone, anymore, and by sharing his memories with people—with me.”
“Yeah, but sometimes . . . ” he trailed off, and picked up the cap from his side table. “It’s why I’m always wearing this. It’s his, and I figure, so long as I have it, it won’t happen. Superstitious, maybe, but I get anxious when I don’t have it on me.”
Will took the cap, studying the frayed edges of the bill, then set it on Heath’s head, exactly the way he’d seen him put it on so many times. “Another way you keep his memory alive. You are so full of love for William, there is no way you will forget him.”
Heath swallowed hard, Adam’s apple jutting. In a movement too quick to anticipate, Heath had him in his arms, kissing him once, long, hard. “Thank you.”
Heath leaned over him and switched off his side lamp before turning to do his own. It was as if the action was the period to their conversation. Because that was it, no more talking, they were done.
But it wasn’t over. Will could swear on it, there was no way they’d really ended this conversation. It had merely been put on pause.
14 Right
It was the third and final day of the trip. Heavy breezes pushed against them, making it that much harder to pedal up yet another incline. Ahead was a long viaduct, hills plummeting into a valley below it, the sky above brilliant blue. Yeah, that’s right. Just concentrate on the beauty. Not the pain.
Oh, the pain. The sweat. The chafing!
Why had he agreed to come on this trip?
He scowled at Heath’s far too gorgeous back and ass. Your fault. All your fault. As if reading his thoughts, Heath chose that moment to slow down and ride beside him.
“Only thirty kilometers to go.”
Only?
“Guess it all whizzes by when you’re having fun.”
Will groaned, not caring to hide it any longer. He didn’t care. Much more of this and he’d have blisters down there. He pointed to his crotch. “This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it? Making me so sore down here it’ll be days before I can seduce you.”
Heath’s eyes lit with mischief. “Fortunate coincidence. Sure does make it easier though.”
“That’s it.” Stopping his bike, Will climbed off. Heath put on his brakes and scooted back to him.
“That’s it?”
He swung off his bag and rummaged through it until he had a thick pair of socks. “I don’t care how much I like you and want to impress anymore. Your groin might be made of leather, but mine’s not. Right now it feels like it’s on fire.” He peeled apart the socks, stretched the waist of his biking shorts, and tenderly as he could, wincing once or twice, lined the socks in the right spot for extra padding.
He threw Heath a look, daring him to laugh at the chunky bulges in his shorts. Carefully as he could, he climbed onto the bike.
“Help any?” Heath said, biting back a laugh.
If only there were something to chuck at him. As it was, he had to settle with the same old scowl.
The socks didn’t help much, unfortunately, and, after an hour, had slipped their way down his thighs until they were half hanging out of his shorts. Heath yanked on one, pulling it free and riding away with it like it was a game of chase or something. If Will could go any faster, he’d be doing it already.
His body was so ready for this trip to be over.
Well, mostly.
The dramatic landscapes were amazing. And Heath, yeah, well, they’d certainly seen each other at their worst now.
He pulled at the second sock making its way out of his shorts.
If Heath was still attracted to him after this, it really said a lot.
Heath waited for him next to a gate, sock still in hand. “Sorry these didn’t help you any.” His smirk was practically stained onto his face, and his words sounded on the cusp of a chuckle. Grrrr. “Tell you what, when we get back this evening, I’ll give you a back rub.”
“That’s not where it’s hurting.”
“You don’t really want me rubbing down there now, do you?”
Sweet potatoes, no! His privates were off limits until they’d recovered. “Let’s just get home.”
* * *
On their car trip back into the city, Vicky texted to invite Will to dinner. Which he gladly accepted. He’d shower at the Wallaces’ and change into the clean clothes Heath had dumped in the car.
“So, just to avoid any faux pas on my account, does your mom know about us?” he asked Heath, who was drumming his thumbs to The National.
Heath’s thumbs stilled and he looked over at him. “Um, not yet.”
He swallowed the slight disappointment that rose in his throat hearing that. “Well, at least you know she’ll be okay with you dating a guy.” That he was sure of. But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t the issue.
“I’m going to tell her, Will. It’s not going to be like it was with Karl.” Heath rested his hand on Will’s thigh, rubbing lightly. “I promise you that. It’s just . . . she may need a little longer.”
Will got it. It wasn’t about the fact Heath would be dating a guy, it was that he’d be dating him. The guy that reminded Vicky of her dead son. Well, it sure was screwed up. He’d give them points for originality.
Just before five, Heath pulled up to their house, but he didn’t turn into the driveway as he usually did. The reason: a grey van had parked there.
Heath killed the engine, eying the van and readjusting his cap. “Dad’s here already. Wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow.”
Will followed his gaze to the opened front door. “Do you want me to leave you guys a little space?”
Heath clutched Will’s hand, shaking his head. “No. You’re not going anywhere. I’m staying with you tonight, but let’s do dinner first, like we planned.”
Leaving their stuff in the car, they walked into the house, Heath close next to him, but no longer touching. They slowed and came to a stop just before the kitchen as Vicky spoke, voice cracking. “That’s what you came to tell me?”
A tired male voice responded, “You must have known this was coming.”
Heath bit his bottom lip, glancing at him and throwing a finger to his lips. Hey, he didn’t need to be told the rules of snooping. He was quite the master. Still, he gave Heath a nod and motioned for him to leave. Not that he wanted to, but because he wanted at least to try show some privacy to them.
Thankfully, Heath braced his wrist, keeping him there.
“I—I—” Vicky started. “Divorce? Are you sure?”
Heath’s grip on his wrist tightened.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Is it because you’ve—have you . . . met someone?”
A long silence extended, and Heath’s grip on him doubled, almost hitting his pain threshold, which, luckily for him, had grown significantly since their trip.
Heath’s dad sighed. “Yes.”
“Oh.”
It was a simple sound, but Will could feel the magnitude of the pain that came with it. Heath’s chest rose as he breathed deeply and took off his cap. Without letting go of Will, Heath moved into the kitchen.
Vicky and Mr. Wallace—was his name Greg? He couldn’t remember—sat across from each other at the table, a pot of tea in a tea-cozy between them, cups cradled in each of their hands. Vicky looked like she’d spent a good deal of time in front of a mirror getting herself perfectly dolled up for her guest, only he detected tears in her eyes that threatened to smudge her eyeliner.
Mr. Wallace sat slumped over his tea, dark bags swelling his eyes. The lines at the sides of them looked flat and dry as if he hadn’t smiled in a long while; instead a deep frown etched his otherwise handsome face. He ran a hand through his blond and grey speckled hair much like Heath did.
&nbs
p; “I don’t know what to say,” Mr. Wallace said.
“Hey, Dad,” Heath bellowed as if he could somehow cut through all the tension. “Wasn’t expecting you today.”
Mr. Wallace snapped his head up and quickly rose to his feet. “Heath.” In two steps, the two were embracing. “I’ve missed you.”
“So what were you telling Mum?” Heath said, right to business. “I didn’t catch all of it. Just the mention of divorce.”
Mr. Wallace’s arms fell slack to his sides. “I was going to tell you myself.” For the first time, he noticed someone else in the room. He folded his arms to his chest and nodded to me with his chin. “And who’s this?” he asked Heath.
Heath opened his mouth, presumably to say something, like Will’s name, but nothing came out.
Stepping forward, Will held out a hand. “I’m Will. A friend of Heath and Vicky.”
Instead of taking his hand, Mr. Wallace swung around to his wife at the same time Heath winced and dropped his chin.
“I thought you’d moved on from this, Vicky.” He sounded so sad. “He’s not William.”
Vicky shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t—”
But Mr. Wallace didn’t listen, with heavy steps, he pushed out of the kitchen and left the house.
Vicky’s hands shook, tea spilling over her fingers. Heath came around to her side and gently pried the cup off her.
“I know he’s not William,” she said to him. “I just—I never . . . I never got to . . . ” She closed her eyes and rubbed her knuckles against her forehead.
Heath fished out the keys to the Commodore from his pocket and threw them to Will. “Take Sally and go to Benny’s. I’ll . . . I’ll see you later.”
* * *
Later didn’t turn out to happen. Heath sent him a text apologizing, but he had to stay with Vicky for a bit. He understood, sure, but it felt weird sleeping alone again. He found himself grasping at the sheets, searching for Heath’s warm body to curl into.
On the plus side, he could really stretch out in bed, minimizing the pain that came from all that chafing.
He shared the table with both Benny and James in the morning. James poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and milk, while Benny cut up some fruit.
“So,” Benny said. “Are you and Heath together or what?”
James elbowed his side.
“What? I know you want to know as much as I do.”
“Yeah, but maybe it’s nothing they want to be open about.”
“Pssht. Heath owes me this at least.” Benny faced Will again, offering him some of the fruit. “So?”
He gratefully took some of the fruit and shrugged. “Well, I guess you won’t be surprised if he stays over occasionally.” All the time, if he could swing it.
“I knew it.”
James finished a spoon of cornflakes and leveled his gaze at him. “Just make sure he isn’t pulling you along, thinking you have something that you really don’t.”
Benny slapped him over the back of the head. “Will you ever give the guy a break? Yes, he was a bit shitty with me, but he apologized for that already.” He smiled at Will. “Just ignore my guy here. Oh, and Will, James and I were talking over the weekend and we had a great idea. If you’re interested.”
Will speared a piece of banana and popped it into his mouth, raising his brows to show he was listening.
James’s spoon plunked into his empty bowl. “How’d you feel about house-sitting for us while we’re overseas? We’ll be gone six months.” . . .
Six months! That was the whole second semester. Finally he and Candice had a place they could live in.
He hurried to uni. He could barely wait to see Candice’s face when he told her.
Only when he got into the office, with lattes for the both of them, he immediately detected a weird vibe in the air. Candice sat, her cast arm resting on the desk top, staring blankly at her closed laptop. Behind her, the canvas had drastically transformed from blobs and streaks of color to something with form—was that the harbor? Certainly, a few days working with Sig made a load of difference.
He shook his head away from the canvas back to Candice and then to Eric, who shrugged.
Will sat on the corner of her desk and passed her one of the lattes. “How’s it going?”
In response, she chewed her bottom lip and looked at the latte in her hands. “I have a small conflict,” she said finally, darting her gaze toward Sig’s empty desk.
He raised one brow.
“I saw Harriet,” she blurted. “I mean, I saw her straddling another guy’s lap.” She met his eye, anger seething from her in the set of her jaw and the force of her words. “She was all over him. Even invited him to her flat party tonight.”
“Have you told Sig?”
Eric had stopped working and had twisted his chair in their direction, listening.
Candice sipped her latte. “I can’t. Won’t. Not after what I did last time. I can’t interfere again. Besides, she didn’t kiss him or anything so I don’t have solid proof she’s screwing around on him. It’s just . . . he deserves someone who wouldn’t do things like that, you know?”
Hell yes. He’d hate it if Heath flung himself all over just anyone. It’d cheapen what they had.
“So let’s get proof,” he said.
Candice’s eyes lit for a moment before fading. “I want to, but I really can’t screw this up between us again.”
Eric gestured for Will to follow him, and they walked out of the office and down the hall to the ugly foyer and lone plant.
“I’ll help get evidence with you.”
Which is how he and Eric ended up at Harriet’s flat party that evening. Trashy music filled the dingy flat, spilling out into the front yard, where a group of girls huddled, passing around a vodka bottle and taking swigs.
The smell of weed burned the back of his nose and he coughed. Eric fanned the air around his nose. “Suddenly, I’m rethinking my offer to help.”
“Got your camera on?” he said, pretending he was texting on his phone as they walked through the sweaty crowds filling up the house.
“The house smells of sex,” Eric said and Will agreed—he could smell it on the walls, like they’d been painted with spunk or something. Needless to say, he avoided touching anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.
A guy belched loud and rude next to his ear, sending a cheese and beer tainted cloud in his direction. Gross. “I’m bathing as soon as I get home.”
But first that picture. It was probably terrible for him to admit, but despite the spunk walls and belches, he was taking a perverse satisfaction in trying to catch Harriet out.
At least he could tell himself it was for a good cause. Someone had to tell Sig if she wasn’t to be trusted. It wasn’t fair on him otherwise.
But also, this was the perfect way he could really, really dislike her again.
A blonde and brunette came up to them, trying to snag them both into conversation. Eric smiled politely and shook his head, and Will leaned in and asked, “You know where Harriet is?”
The two girls giggled and pointed down the hall. “Last room on the right.”
Will lifted his cell phone, finger at the ready, and walked to the room. The door was partially opened and voices trailed into the hall. A group sat huddled on two sofas, in the middle of which sat Harriet, up close and personal with a guy who could have doubled as a model. Her hand was on his thigh, inching up, and, like he couldn’t have wished for better, the guy turned and started sucking her neck.
Click. Click.
They were as bad—or good?—as paparazzi.
Taking the picture was easy. What was hard was breaking the news Sig.
Early next morning, he and Eric dragged their chairs over to Sig’s desk and waited. “So, how do you know Rory?” Eric asked out of the blue.
“Rory? I wouldn’t say I know him. I’ve met him a couple of times, and none of them have been particularly pleasant. Do you know him?”
“Sort of. Wish I didn’t.”
“Sounds like a story there, what happened?”
“My gaydar was all off. I thought he was interested.”
Will cringed. “That can’t have been good. The guy’s a homophobe.”
“You don’t say.”
“You all right?”
“Only my ears were seriously offended. I never wanted to see the guy again and then, boom, last week he was there, standing in the doorway of our office, wanting to speak to you.” He pulled at his earring, a frown forming. “Thing is though”—he paused—“he’s a homophobe all right, but I swear, just for a second, he was reciprocating that kiss—”
“You kissed him!”
“Well, yeah. A mistake, believe me.”
“How’d you ever get that close?”
But he didn’t get time to answer, as Sig strolled through the door, clad cooly in a pair of jeans and a dark button up, and carrying a box with paintbrushes poking out of it. He looked at the two of them at his desk. “What’s up?” he asked, watching them as he rounded Candice’s desk. He placed the box on the chair and started unloading it, adding paints to the window sill and brushes to the board under the canvas.
“Well. Thing is,” Will started, fumbling to unlock his phone and bring up the picture.
“Harriet’s a skank,” Eric said, shrugging. “I’m sorry, but that’s what it is. No pretty words for it. She’s cheating on you, Sig, and you deserve better.”
Will moved over and showed him the photo.
Sig looked at the photo, and continued to unload the box. Will gaped at him. That was his reaction? He continued to stare, and finally Sig stopped rearranging things and faced him. “It’s okay.”
His head was spinning. “Okay? How is that okay?”
Sig clapped the dust from the box off his hands. “Because we’ve stopped seeing each other. At the weekend, we talked. It was for the best.” He tossed the empty box under the desk. “We tried, but it just—it just wasn’t right. . . . I used to think it was, but I was so wrong.”
“Morning guys!” Candice said, waltzing in the room, balancing four coffees on a tray in her good hand.
Sig looked up at her and his face lit up, a smile quirking his lips. “I was so wrong.” Before he could comprehend, Sig’s steps ate up the distance between him and Candice. He took the coffees from her and placed them on the desk.