by Vicki Tharp
And while three seconds ago he’d lamented that Demetri hadn’t found a way to contact him, he was pissed that Demetri had chosen the cafeteria for that confrontation.
Roman wanted to eat the tasteless food, space out in his next class, and go home to hibernate before he had to do it all over again the next day.
“Roman, would you wait up?” Demetri caught Roman’s arm as Roman made it to the table.
All the hurt, all the sense of betrayal that he’d tried to keep strapped down so he could at least function on autopilot for most of the day broke free and welled to the surface as anger. He slammed his tray on the table. The hamburger bounced, and his tea dumped over. “What do you want?”
The buzz of conversation in the cafeteria died as all the curious students eyeballed them. There were a few giggles and embarrassed smiles before most everyone looked away again, and their conversations picked back up.
Demetri caught Roman’s cup. The tea had drenched Roman’s food and spilled onto the floor, splashing Demetri’s dress shoes. Roman tossed his napkin on top of the mess, but it was like trying to sop up the Great Flood with a Q-tip.
“I want you back in my class.”
“It’s too late for that.” And Roman wasn’t just talking about the fact that the Add/Drop deadline had passed.
He couldn’t get back into Demetri’s class even if he wanted to. He’d suffer through Landscape Drawing for the remainder of the semester. He’d been lucky someone had dropped it at the last minute, allowing him to pick it up. He hated the class, but it fulfilled his requirement for graduation, so that’s all that mattered.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” Demetri kept his voice low, but with some undue attention still on them, more people than Roman cared to had to have heard him.
“Now you want to talk? Now?” Anger, as well as his voice, rose like super-heated steam. He poked Demetri in the chest. “Fuck. You.”
Roman heard the squeak of the rusty wheel of the mop bucket rolling their way and turned as the janitor appeared to clean up his mess.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Demetri said.
Those words only made it worse. Demetri reached out to him, but Roman stepped away. “You were right from the start. This wasn’t a good idea. I didn’t listen. My bad. This is my fault as much as it is yours.”
Roman pasted on a plastic smile for anyone still watching. He didn’t know if he believed his own words, but he knew there had to be a nugget of truth to them, even if he hated to admit it.
You know everything isn’t about your father.
Moses’ surprisingly insightful words popped back into Roman’s head, though they hadn’t been far from his consciousness since they’d fallen out of his roommate’s mouth. The crazy part? Roman doubted Moses remembered uttering them.
“Can we—” Demetri huffed out a breath as the janitor wedged between them and started cleaning up the mess. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked the older gentleman.
Roman took hold of the mop handle. “It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.”
The man looked between Roman and Demetri and must have sensed the tension because he said, “I’ll be back in five.”
Ignoring Demetri, Roman squeezed the excess water out of the mop and tackled the puddle on the floor. Demetri put a staying hand on his arm, but Roman shook him off, unable to keep the emotion from his voice when he said, “Leave me alone, Demetri.”
It came out more like a plea than the command Roman had intended.
Demetri took the mop from Roman’s hand and bobbed his chin toward the cafeteria doors. “Go. I’ve got this.”
Roman only made it a few steps before Demetri called out to him. “Roman?”
He should have kept walking. He knew that’s what was best for his head and his heart, but his feet betrayed him and stopped. “What?”
“You going to be at the community lot tomorrow?”
All week, Roman had managed to avoid Demetri. He couldn’t think with him near, which hadn’t differed much when they were apart. If he didn’t get his head on straight soon, his job and his grades would suffer. If he said yes, would Demetri not go?
“It’s my job.”
When Roman started walking again, Demetri didn’t stop him. That’s what Roman wanted.
Right?
Demetri approached the community lot on Saturday with equal amounts of excitement and dread, not knowing what to expect from Roman. He walked up to Grant, who had already arrived with Tavi and Remy in tow. Even Sebastian had made it.
Of course, with a group of kids expected to help, it was an all-hands-on-deck sort of day. Luckily, the kids weren’t due to arrive for a little bit, giving him time to drink his extra-large, extra-caffeinated coffee.
Grant and Sebastian were in the middle of building what would be ten waist-high planters for the community garden section of the lot.
“Hand me the crescent wrench,” Grant said, his hand stuck out like a surgeon waiting for a scalpel, a circular saw in several pieces on the ground by his knees.
Sebastian slapped something into his hand.
“That’s a box wrench.”
Sebastian pulled out another tool.
“Those are vice grips.”
Sebastian tossed them back in. “You’re gonna have to give me a clue.”
“God, I love you.” Grant chuckled and looped an arm around Sebastian’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. He released Sebastian, pulled the tool bag closer, and held up the tool he’d wanted.
“To be fair,” Sebastian said, “If you’d needed a fully catered dinner or flowers for a venue, I’d be a lot more useful.”
“You were certainly useful this morning.”
The grin on Sebastian’s face and the red creeping up his neck told Demetri they weren’t talking about planter construction anymore.
Grant held Sebastian’s chin and kissed him. It was slow and deliberate and so intimate that it made Demetri want to turn away. “I’m glad you’re here. Thanks for coming.”
Demetri tried his damnedest not to feel jealous over Grant and Sebastian’s relationship. But fuck it hurt to see them so happy. Even though he knew their relationship hadn’t come easy. Neither had Niko and Vin’s.
Isn’t everything good worth fighting for?
Then why have you given up on Roman? Isn’t he worth the fight?
Demetri couldn’t watch the two of them anymore. He turned away, giving them some privacy, and bumped into a wall of muscle.
“Ow.” Roman shook the hot coffee from his hand, his to-go coffee cup falling and dumping all over the dirt.
“You okay?”
Roman sucked at a spot on his hand that must have received the brunt of the burn. He held Demetri’s eyes, his throat rough when he said, “I will be.”
And, fuck, that answer had zero to do with Demetri’s immediate question. The hurt in Roman’s eyes had replaced the anger from the cafeteria the day before, and all Demetri wanted to do was pull him in for a hug and tell him everything would be okay, even though he’d been the one to cause the hurt.
Instead, Demetri held out his cup of coffee to Roman. “Take mine. Two creams and a raw sugar, the way you like it.”
Roman took it, more out of necessity for the caffeine probably than anything else, but Roman didn’t throw it back in Demetri’s face so he’d call it a win. “Thanks.”
“Look,” Demetri started, “Can we—”
“Work together?”
That wasn’t where Demetri was going with that. His thoughts had gone more towards a conversation they could have in private, but maybe being able to spend the day together without having a fight or causing a scene was a good place to start. “I can do that. You?”
Roman took a sip of his coffee, and Demetri tried not to look longingly at it as if it were a prized treasure he’d lost. If it took relinquishing his coffee to have Roman speak to him again, it had been well worth the monumental sacrifice.
“I can.” Demetri picked up
Roman’s spilled coffee cup and tossed it into a wheely bin trash can that Grant had brought to the site. “Sorry about the coffee.”
Roman’s gaze went past Demetri to the church behind him. Demetri was almost afraid to turn around and see who was coming. He’d about had enough of the pastor. “What happened over there?”
Demetri spun around. The front door of the church lay wide open, and two firemen in their turnout gear walked out with the pastor. Demetri hadn’t noticed when he’d walked up the non-existent loading and unloading of kids at the church’s entrance.
“Hey, Grant,” Demetri called out, “What happened at the church?”
The pastor shook hands with the firemen and sat on the church steps, looking utterly defeated as the men walked around the corner to their truck parked on the side street near the hydrant.
Grant stood and brushed the dirt off his legs. “There was a fire in the kitchen in their community room. Most of the fire crew were packing up the hoses by the time we got here, though.”
Now that Demetri paid closer attention, a faint smell of smoke lingered in the air, but Demetri had figured one of the local barbecue joints had started up their cookers earlier than usual.
“Anybody hurt?” Roman took another sip of his coffee.
Demetri had to catch himself from watching the play of Roman’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. Who would think something so innocuous would be so damn sexy? Especially on a man who’d reached deep down and fucked with Demetri’s heart.
“Sounds like it happened in the middle of the night when the building was empty, luckily,” Sebastian said.
Vondra arrived as cars started pulling up, and parents started dropping off their kids to work on the project. She’d done a good job, scheduling out the kids into two-hour time slots spread out over the day so that the younger ones, especially, wouldn’t get too tired or lose focus.
Demetri’s group consisted of a revolving door of tweens who kept him laughing and reminded him how much art brought people together. Roman had been saddled with some of the younger kids, but his energy and playfulness kept them all engaged. If the kids lost focus, Roman gave them a break and miraculously redirected that innocent energy onto Tavi’s paint-by-number wall, turning it into a masterpiece instead of something that looked like a two-year-old’s finger-painting project.
And fuck if the way those kids grinned up at Roman didn’t make Demetri’s heart shift in his chest. He couldn’t reconcile the man who’d run out on him when he’d found out Demetri had HIV to the man in front of him directing a bunch of paint-splattered kids like a graffiti conductor.
But the pain of Roman’s rejection shifted Demetri’s heart back into place. Demetri yanked his eyes away from the play of Roman’s sweat-slicked muscles his tank top couldn’t hide and tried to concentrate on his kids and his art wall. Wishing things were different couldn’t change what had happened.
Lesson learned.
Time to move on.
That thought should have felt relieving or refreshing or something other than a chunk of lead ballast in his gut.
“Hey, Mister Demetri.” One of the kids, a boy about eight years old with wide brown eyes and an innocence Demetri hadn’t seen in a kid that age in a while, interrupted his thoughts. “Why do you keep staring at that man?”
“That’s Roman. And I wasn’t staring.”
The kid leaned in. “It’s okay. I used to stare at a girl in class all the time, and now she’s my girlfriend.”
Demetri swallowed down the bubble of laughter. Since when did eight-year-olds have girlfriends and boyfriends? “What does that mean when you’re in what, third grade?”
“She makes me eat lunch with her, and I have to let her cut in line in front of me when we are buying lunch or lining up for recess. Maybe if you asked really, really nice, Mister Roman would eat lunch with you, too.”
If only it were that easy. Demetri ruffled the kid’s shaggy hair. “Maybe, kid, maybe.”
By the end of the day, they’d made significant progress on the walls. All the bright colors made the once dirty, dilapidated eyesore of a lot cheery. A place you would want to play and spend time. Grant and Sebastian had made significant progress on the planters, and Tavi and Remy had filled them with wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of rich, dark soil.
The volunteer kids had finally gone home, and now all that remained was a little cleaning up before they started it all over again the next day. Roman dunked the paint-covered brushes into a pail of water and carried the small, plastic containers of paint over to Demetri to pour back into the paint cans.
“Here are a few more,” Roman said as he set the containers down next to Demetri.
“Thanks.” Without glancing up from where he knelt on the ground, Demetri started combining the paint.
“You’re not even going to look at me?”
Demetri shaded his eyes with one hand as he finally gazed up at Roman. “One of my kids accused me of staring at you too much today.”
Demetri had been staring at him?
Roman’s heart twirled in his chest, but he beat it into submission.
“Apparently, from what one of my kids said, I’m supposed to share my lunch with you, and then you’ll be my boyfriend, and I will have to let you cut in line in front of me.”
“Seems legit. What did you tell him?” Roman couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. God, he loved those kids.
Demetri returned his focus to the paint cans, but not before Roman saw the flash of darkness in his eyes as his mood shifted. “Look, Roman. You’re the one who wanted space. I’m trying to give it to you.”
He dug at the lip of the paint can with the head of a screwdriver, the soft metal giving way to the prying because the dried-up paint along the rim had sealed it closed.
“Space doesn’t mean pretending I don’t exist when I’m standing in front of you.”
The screwdriver slipped, catching Demetri in the web of his hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Damn it.” He tossed the screwdriver aside and stood, sucking on his hand.
“Let me see.”
Demetri cautiously allowed Roman to take his hand. Without Demetri’s mouth covering the wound, it bled freely. He’d be lucky if he didn’t need stitches.
“Let’s get that cleaned up.”
“I’m fine.”
“The Center can’t afford the lawsuit when your hand turns gangrenous and falls off. So do Grant and I a favor and stop being macho.”
Demetri chuckled, and damn if that soft, rolling sound didn’t make Roman want to wrap Demetri in his arms and kiss all the pain away. But kissing a boo-boo wouldn’t make what happened between them any better.
“No one has ever accused me of being macho before.”
Roman raised a brow at him. “How about stubborn then?”
“That word may have been thrown around a time or two in my general direction.”
Roman huffed and, under his breath, said, “Tell me about it.”
He didn’t let go of Demetri’s wrist as he led Demetri back to Grant’s truck to scrounge around for the first aid kit. He lowered the tailgate. “Sit.”
Demetri sat, the blood dripping down his fingers and splattering on the asphalt.
Roman riffled through the first aid kit but couldn’t find any gloves. “You’re undetectable, right?”
Demetri wiped a hand down his face and muttered, “What am I thinking?” more to himself than Roman. “Here, let me do it.”
Reclaiming Demetri’s wrist, Roman said, “If you’re undetectable, you can’t infect me. Even with an open, bleeding wound like this.”
“Well, no, but...” Demetri cocked his head, a hint of confusion lining his face. He let the rest of the sentence fall off, and Roman was too busy wiping off the blood and cleaning the wound to press the matter.
It didn’t look like the wound needed stitches after all, so Roman applied some antibiotic salve, a few gauze squares, and wrapped his hand with soft cling gauze. “There. All
better.”
“Thanks, I—”
“Everything okay, here?” Grant had several paint cans in each hand. He lifted them over the side of the truck and set them in the truck bed behind Demetri.
“Industrial accident,” Demetri teased as he held up his hand. “All taken care of.”
The boys dropped the tools into the truck and climbed into the rear seats, while Sebastian brought the last of the painting supplies. “We’re going out for pizza. You two coming?”
Demetri raised a questioning brow at Roman, but Roman didn’t think a night staring across the table at Demetri would do his battered heart any good. “I think I’ll head home.”
Hopping off the tailgate, Demetri closed it. “I think I will, too. See you all in the morning.”
“Night, everyone!” Vondra called out. She left with a friend who’d met her at the lot.
“Night!” They all waved back.
Grant and Sebastian said their goodbyes, got in the truck, and pulled away, leaving Roman and Demetri standing by the sidewalk.
Roman didn’t have much to say to Demetri, especially with the hurt so fresh, but damn it, he didn’t want Demetri to leave either.
Demetri shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes going to the ground, not making a move to return to his car. A noise came from the church behind Roman, and Demetri’s attention shifted over Roman’s shoulder.
“What’s the pastor doing?”
The hair on the back of Roman’s neck stood on end, not quite knowing what to expect when he turned around. He doubted it would be anything good. Prepared for a confrontation, he turned. The pastor, who’d at some point changed into old work clothes, carried a water-logged cardboard box out of the front of the church and dropped it at his feet next to several other similar boxes on the church’s neatly manicured front lawn.
Even from a distance, Roman could see the pastor’s sweaty hair plastered to his head and the dark sweat stain down the front of his shirt. Roman started walking his way.
Demetri jogged to catch up. “Where are you going? You remember he doesn’t like us, right?”