William

by Anyta Sunday

  Nerves. Being too freaking excited. Having Hitchcock on the mind. . . . “This way I’ll order less.”

  “Forget that.” Heath swiped his toast and dumped it in the trash. “You’ll order as much as you like. Now, no more knife play while I go toilet.”

  Heath disappeared, and Will sat on a dining chair and pulled the mail toward him. He took the envelope addressed to him, and using his finger instead of a knife—just for Heath’s sake—he tugged it open and pulled out a card.

  He blinked at it several times before the words made any sense. And when they did, a lump in his throat made it almost impossible to swallow.

  Karl Andrews and Paul Hyte

  request the pleasure of the company of

  William Sharp

  to celebrate with them their marriage

  at Garden Grove Park

  on Saturday 23 October

  at 10 am

  17 Words

  Try as he might, Will just couldn’t shake off the—well, to be honest—the jealousy that came from reading Karl’s invitation. All the way to the restaurant, the news rung in his ears. He couldn’t say he liked his reaction. Of course he was also thrilled for his friend, but shouldn’t it have only been that? Why did the green-eyed beast have to wake and immediately start twisting his insides?

  The only thing that kept the beast from getting really riled was having Heath next to him, their pinkies crossed on the console. He had something just as amazing as Karl! And they were off to celebrate that tonight. He heard Heath’s words and smiled: I want this to be special.

  He jumped out of the Commodore as soon as Heath had parked, and snagged his guy into a short, sweet kiss before they walked down the hill to Macaroons.

  “What was that for?” Heath asked.

  “Does there need to be a reason?”

  “I like you excited.” At the restaurant, Heath gestured toward the double doors. “Shall we?”

  Inside was bustling with customers and wait-staff, and spices and heavenly aromas filled the air, beckoning them further inside, all the way to their reserved table. Everything was perfect, from the décor to the lighting to the music. Only when their waiter arrived to serve them, did it hit a snag.

  A small one in Will’s mind. But for Heath maybe not so much; he quickly pulled his hand away from where it rested next to his.

  “Rory! I thought you said you weren’t working tonight?”

  “Alicia called in sick. I’ve got her tables.” He eyed the two of them with more than a hint of suspicion.

  Will rested back in his chair, stifling the urge to roll his eyes. Because of course Rory would be working tonight. The universe loved throwing these twists in his face. Though it was hardly that much of a twist. Like that first day he’d eyed up Heath at the airport—he should have guessed what’d happen.

  After they’d ordered their drinks and Rory had walked away frowning, Heath sighed. “Sorry, Will. It was stupid to book us in here.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re not bothered?”

  He shrugged. “He has to find out eventually.”

  Heath whipped his head fervently from side to side. “Not tonight, Will.”

  Will scanned the menu Rory had left him. “He may already be piecing it together. We’re just the two of us having dinner.” He lifted his fingers to the flame over the tea candles. “Over candlelight. . . ”

  “Damn.” Heath searched the restaurant for any sign of Rory. “Well that makes this much less romantic than I’d wanted.”

  Will shut the menu. “Don’t let that stop you. He’s not sitting at our table, Heath, he’s busy working. We’ll barely see him once we order.”

  Translation: Please still say the words to me.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He was.

  Mostly. After they’d ordered and the food arrived—with more eye-narrowing on Rory’s part—they were left alone.

  Heath’s foot gently rubbed at his ankle. “How do you like your meal?”

  Will tasted another forkful of the fish—next to and not on the bed of rice. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

  Heath bit his lip, his blue eyes dancing in the candlelight. “Okay, I can’t wait any longer.”

  Will straightened, quietly placing the fork on the plate. “Wait any longer?”

  “To tell you.”

  Oh, yes, world, thank you. This was requited in the way he wanted it to be. He watched Heath’s lips quirk, his fingers tapping on the table with barely contained excitement before running them through his hair. Will tried to tamp down his smile, to look like he had no idea what Heath was about to say. But he couldn’t pretend for more than a second. He loved this guy. Really, truly loved him. And this moment was about to become a memory he wished to cherish forever. His smile burst out of its confines and he watched the effect it had on Heath, lighting his face up, too, his eyes glowing bluer than he’d ever seen them.

  “Making you happy like this is the best feeling,” Heath said and twisted to pull something out of his jacket, hanging on the chair. He pushed a folded piece of paper toward him.

  He picked it up slowly. What was this? Had he written something to go with those magical words? A poem came to mind, and he almost choked on a laugh at the thought. No way was that Heath’s style. Too cringe-like for sure.

  “Open it,” Heath urged.

  All right then. He unfolded and read. He frowned, confused at the words on the paper for a moment. Then it all became clear.

  “It’s an itinerary,” Heath said. “I remember you mentioned once that you wanted to go to Stewart Island. So, next month, we’re going. A whole week, just you and me. And no bikes this time.” He laughed. “I promise.”

  His hopes plummeted and he had difficulty drawing in a breath. He felt like he was the Jack in the Box wound up so tight he should have burst free, but something had gone wrong, and he was trapped with no way out. He wanted to be ecstatic and excited, bouncing around; happy for being given such a thoughtful gift, but instead of all that, the green-eyed beast—already lurking in him from earlier—took charge, poisoning his veins with disappointment.

  He struggled to fight it, forcing a smile. “Oh that’s great.” It was. It really was. Show it more, dammit! “Good foresight with the bikes—or lack thereof.”

  “Thought you’d appreciate it. God, I can’t wait for it to be just us two in the nature again—no rules stopping us from enjoying every little bit of it. . . .”

  “Yeah. No rules.”

  They ate more of their dinner, Will picking at things without much appetite, rather using his energy to keep the conversation light. But maybe he wasn’t doing such a great job against the beast inside, because it wasn’t long before Heath frowned. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Um, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Declare? Say?

  “Nope, you can go right ahead.”

  He took a large gulp of water to ease the lump in his throat. “So . . .” he fingered his napkin, wiping his clean hands on it as if they needed it. “I got something in the mail today.”

  “A postcard from Benny and James? Finally.”

  “No. It was—” but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Just thinking about the card had him losing the battle to the beast, and his next words tumbled out his mouth. “What are our plans after next semester?”

  Heath jerked in surprise for a second, then looked down at his fork. He shoveled some potato on it but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “I don’t know.”

  “You have no ideas at all?”

  “It’s too far, Will. I just want to focus on the now and on finishing my honors degree next semester.”

  Heath had never thought about them and their expiry date at all? That didn’t exactly bode well. Suddenly, he wasn’t just not hungry anymore, he felt sick.

  “But I am thinking in terms of next month,” Heath said, inclining toward the itinerary for their trip to Stewart Island. “That counts
for something, right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Maybe.

  Not enough.

  Because if this was real, if this relationship was The One, wouldn’t Heath know it already? Wouldn’t he know exactly what he wanted like Will did? Like Sig and Candice did? Like Karl and Paul?

  Did that mean this wasn’t love for him? Wasn’t The One? Was this just a fun and wonderful In Transit affair to Heath? Not the destination?

  “Please, Will, let’s just enjoy what we have.”

  For the time we have it, went unsaid, but Will heard the words as if they had permeated his heart.

  “I do enjoy what we have,” he said.

  Heath sighed, sounding relieved. “Good.”

  “I also love you.”

  Say it back to me.

  When Heath didn’t acknowledge his words at all except to keep eating, he thought maybe he hadn’t heard him. “Did you hear what I said to you?”

  Heath sliced his Portobello mushroom. “Yes, I heard you.”

  “You heard me?” he repeated dumbly.

  Oh.

  There it was, confirmed.

  Heath didn’t love him back.

  He pushed his chair back. “Excuse me, I need the bathroom.” But before he could stand, Heath snatched his hand.

  “Don’t. You’re upset.”

  Upset? Upset? That didn’t even begin to cover it. His heart had just shattered. “I really need to go.” He fished for his wallet, drew out enough cash to cover his meal, with tip, and dumped it on the table.

  “Are you kidding me?” Heath said. “Sit back down. I can’t believe you’re going to—to throw a tantrum just because I don’t say the words back to you.”

  Tantrum? That’s what he called the mess of emotions reigning him right now?

  “Why can’t you say the words back to me? I thought—” his voice broke. “I guess I was wrong.” He laughed. Just like he had been with Karl. Only this time the pain was so much worse. It felt like if he didn’t soon get out of there, he’d drown on the sobs he was choking back.

  “No, I can’t say those words. I haven’t been able to for months—which is why I fake sleep when you whisper them to me at night—but—”

  In ultimate bad timing, Heath glanced to the right. Not six feet from them, Rory as well as the table he was waiting on, was watching them.

  “Fuck,” Heath cursed. As he went to grab his wallet and throw more money onto the table, Will picked up his jacket, zigzagged around the tables and hurried out of the doors.

  The fresh air sliced into his lungs and he retched into the gutter.

  Doors banged behind him. Out spilled Heath. He barely managed more than “What the hell—” when the doors opened again.

  “Fuck, Heath,” came Rory’s voice. “What was that back there?”

  Heath, flustered, threw a hand in Will’s direction. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Are you two . . . Fuck, Heath,” he said with a sneer, “are you boyfriend to this fag?”

  Heath said nothing. He didn’t defend him, didn’t acknowledge anything they had. Because what they had didn’t mean as much to him. He didn’t love him.

  Will uncurled himself from the gutter. In his hurt, he couldn’t stop the next words pouring from his mouth. “Ex-boyfriends, all right? We’re ex-boyfriends. And fuck off.”

  Heath stepped back like he’d been slapped in the face; he glanced away from Rory to him.

  “That’s disgusting,” Rory said and banged his way back into the restaurant without a second glance at them.

  Heath shifted from foot to foot, and Will closed his eyes preparing for Heath’s next words. The anger he’d have for outing him. He didn’t know what to expect, only that Heath wouldn’t punch him like Karl had, but not because he wouldn’t want to.

  “Ex-boyfriends?” Heath said, surprise and . . . was that hurt in his voice? He opened his eyes and looked up at Heath closing his jacket more tightly around him.

  Will let himself hope just a fraction. “I can’t do this if it’s just a fling for you. That—that hurts too much. I need to hear you say what you really feel about me.”

  Heath slowly shook his head, his frown deepening. “I know what you want to hear, but I can’t say that.”

  His voice croaked out of him, and he twisted away from the man he’d let himself so stupidly fall for. “Then, yes, ex-boyfriends.”

  With that he charged around the corner, half hoping Heath would run after him, and knowing he wouldn’t. Why would he when Heath didn’t love him back?

  18 My Guy

  In the very early a.m., he called Candice and told her to get to Capers ASAP, no questions asked.

  He ordered a coffee and waited for her, staring out the windows onto the church across the road. Every part of him was numb. Too hurt to feel it properly any more. He sipped his drink, but didn’t taste it, even clasping his hands around the cup, he felt cold.

  He’d barely slept last night—instead he’d stalked the streets until the early morning, feeling like a stranger to himself. He’d been wounded when Karl had left him, but this felt like something different. Something he didn’t know how to handle: shock, frustration, anger, disappointment, shame, and the feeling of being absolutely and entirely isolated overwhelmed him. Hammered at him—his heart. It might have been battered before. But he knew this time it was cracking to the center—where he held Heath closest.

  His heart was breaking for real. A tear dropped into his coffee. The first of many, he was sure of it.

  He didn’t care who could see him, what they thought of him. The only person whose thoughts he really cared about didn’t love him back. He barely felt it when an arm circled around his neck and lips brushed his temple.

  Candice pushed her seat snug against his and rubbed circles on his back, not asking, not needing any explanation, just knowing he needed a friend; that she needed to be there.

  She quietly drank her coffee, ordered another, and all the while, they sat and stared at the sidewalk, watching pedestrians walk by, laughing, yapping, lazily dragging their feet. And he counted their footsteps, each one seeming to nail the feeling of isolation in even more. Even with Candice right there next to him, he couldn’t help it. He felt so very lonely.

  “We broke up.” He looked at her sympathetic gaze and it only made it worse. A sob thrummed inside of him. “I—I can’t do brunch.”

  She continued rubbing his back, and nodded.

  He didn’t want to go home, either. Too many memories. Maybe that was why he’d avoided going back to the flat last night. But he knew he had to.

  She wrapped him into a hug, her arms so tight around him, as if she could squeeze his pain away. “Anything you need, Will.” And I’ll be there for you. “Anything at all.”

  * * *

  He wasn’t sure why he bought the gift, but he did.

  He was wandering aimlessly in the mall, trying to submerge himself in the crowds as if it would help him feel less . . . alone. And then, there in the display window he saw it, and it was perfect, and so he got it.

  Each time he lifted his shoulder bag, he felt its presence and he imagined what Heath’s face would have been like as he unwrapped it; imagined, just like that, it’d spark love in Heath for him.

  If only dreams came true.

  *

  By the fourth day post break-up, he was in a god-damn funk. He moped about; no longer frightened by the squeals and ghostly whispers of the house he lived in alone now. In fact, he almost wished someone would jump out at him—just so he could feel something other than this . . . this all-encompassing sadness.

  *

  A week to the day after they broke up, Will felt like he was drowning in his bed. He didn’t want to—couldn’t—get up. It took Candice making him cup after cup of tea to drag his sorry ass out of bed.

  When he came back from the bathroom, his mattress had been tipped off his bed, the sheets stripped. “Time to get up.”

  “I don’t want to.
”

  Candice pulled open his drawers and pulled out a fresh t-shirt and jeans. “The first few days, fine, I can understand, but now? Now it’s just getting pathetic. The brooding has gone on long enough, and if you don’t get yourself together, there’s going to be a very cheesy talk coming up. And I was kind of hoping we could save on that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be such a fool. Get yourself together, boy, or I promise Sig, Eric, and I will team up and give you some advice that I can promise will get cringe-worthy.”

  “What?” he said and cracked the first grin all week. “This doesn’t count?”

  She threw the clothes at him. “Just get up. I want to see you at the end-of-year party this afternoon.” With that she left him to it.

  And despite her good warning, Will slipped the mattress back onto the bed, chucked the bedclothes on top, and crawled back in. He had three hours before the party started, there was no point getting up before he really had to.

  He left his cell phone on the side-table set to alarm. And slept.

  And slept.

  And slept! Will leaped out of bed, staring at his goddamn cell—he’d pressed snooze once, it should have gone off again. Dammit, how had he missed his alarm? The party had started for sure—Candice had been excited about this for months. How could he miss it? He skipped a shower and just changed, but even jogging to the Commerce building, he knew he was too late. In the elevator, he crossed his fingers maybe Candice was still around.

  Sorry Candice. You were right. He deserved all the cringe the guys would give him after this.

  The elevator doors pinged open.

  He took one step into the foyer. A few people milled around, laughing, eating party sandwiches, their faces lit with the golden glow of sunset sifting through thin wispy clouds. Will looked past them and halted.