Live for the Day

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Live for the Day Page 2

by Sarah Masters


  Yeah, they were going to do all that and more. Girls didn’t figure in their plans at all. Never had.

  “Say what?” Michael fiddled with his coffee cup, the contents cold by the looks of it.

  “You heard me.”

  “Yeah, I heard you, but I don’t know if I heard you right.” Michael shook his head and focused his attention on the tabletop.

  Christ, don’t let me have got this so wrong.

  “I haven’t made a mistake, have I?” Steven playfully kicked Michael’s ankle. “And if I have, it doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, right?”

  It took what felt like forever for Michael to raise his head. He stared Steven in the eyes and pulled over a napkin. He scrunched it up—for something to do, Steven guessed—and Steven wished he had something to hold onto as well. He drummed his fingertips on the table, conscious that it might add to the tension surrounding them but unable to stop himself from keep doing it.

  “You’re not fucking with me, are you?” Michael asked. “Because if you are, that’s cruel.”

  Steven jerked more upright, dragging his feet back to curl them around the front legs of his chair. He needed the stability, that feeling of being grounded the action gave him. “Fucking with you? Hell no. It’s just… Look, you’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve never had one. I thought…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what I thought. Forget I said anything. And especially forget the mention of leg massages.”

  “I’ll massage your leg.” Michael winked. “I’ll massage any other damn thing you want too.”

  “Fucking hell…” Steven needed to look away—the intensity of Michael’s gaze was a little too much—but damned if he could. So he maintained eye contact, lost for words. The ones he’d practiced in the hospital had deserted him. He opened his mouth to say more but nothing came out.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear something like that.” Michael cleared his throat. “Never thought I’d ever hear it, to be honest. I mean, it’s not every day your best buddy lets you know he’s interested. Assuming you are…?”

  “Been interested since I was eighteen—before that when I think about it.” Steven sighed, remembering their past. “It was always you and me, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Michael laughed quietly. “Always was, and you know, I knew we’d always be friends, I just thought…well, that you’d meet some girl and settle down with her. Have kids and whatever. Me? I’d have found someone eventually, except finding a man around here is difficult.”

  Jealousy speared Steven’s gut. “You tried, then?”

  “I’ve put feelers out, yeah. Had to—didn’t think anything would ever come of us.” Michael opened out the napkin then tore off crinkled strips.

  “So you’re not a vir— So you’ve been with someone else?” Of course he has. I can’t expect him to have hung around waiting for me.

  Michael shrugged. “I’ve messed around with some guy from the edge of the valley. You know, kissed and touched, shit like that. But not…not anything serious.”

  Thank God. “Me neither.”

  Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. No one else ever appealed. Never even been kissed. How about that, huh?”

  “Yeah, how about that. Wow.” Michael put his spoon in his coffee and sloshed the liquid around. “Never would have thought it.”

  “There’s only ever been you for me,” Steven said, keeping his voice low.

  Steven wasn’t surprised that he didn’t feel embarrassed by his admission. If he could talk to anyone about anything, it was with Michael. Despite the enormity of what they were talking about, it was still right to be discussing it with his best friend. Who else was there apart from his sister and his mom, who’d tease him mercifully if he told them he’d never kissed anyone before? Not a damn one—he didn’t trust any other people, not even his close friend, Rory, in the Air Force.

  He thought back for a moment to the last time he’d been home. His mom had asked him if he’d been out with Michael and whether there were any new developments. He’d thought she’d meant in Michael’s life, some bit of gossip he’d like to share, but now?

  She goddamn knows. Bet she’s known all along.

  “Your parents know you’re gay?” Steven asked. An image of the burly Mr. Critchley flounced through his head, the man all brawn, his mean, lowered eyebrows like furry beetles over his black eyes. Shit, Steven reckoned they’d get some opposition there.

  “Yeah.” Michael lifted one shoulder, scratching his cheek with it. “Dad’s fine about it, Mom not so much. She wants grandkids, you know?”

  “Hmm.”

  Steven did know. Mrs. Critchley was all about the babies and cooed over every newborn in the valley. As for Mr. Critchley being fine… Wonders would never fucking cease.

  “I can’t give her what she wants, end of story.” Michael stood. “You going to drink that drink and eat those cookies or can we get out of here?” He glanced over at Sandy.

  Steven followed his gaze. Sandy was loitering a couple of tables over, apparently finding the tops exceedingly dirty.

  “Out of here,” Steven said. He folded the cookies into a napkin then tucked the bundle inside one of his bags. “Your place or mine?” His cheeks flared hotly. “I mean, not because I thought… But because… Shit, to chat, you know?”

  “I know. Like we always do. Don’t get your boxers in a wad. Your place, as usual. Why change the routine now?”

  Michael walked up to the counter. He placed some bills on top then returned to Steven. After picking up one of the duffle bags, Michael led the way to the door. Steven stood, grabbing hold of his other bag, pausing for a few seconds to take in what was happening. He was about to leave the café with his best friend and potential lover—if he could even manage sex with him, that was. He’d only ever known his right hand. Amazingly, things had turned out exactly as he’d hoped they would. He could only pray that the rest of his hospital imaginings would come true too.

  “See you around, Sandy,” he called.

  She didn’t answer. Didn’t even look his way.

  She heard what we were talking about and knows Michael’s not into her. Crap, that’s got to hurt.

  He closed the door, glad to be out of her firing range. He didn’t fancy dealing with any distraught feelings she might be having. He had enough trouble dealing with his own since—

  Out on the sidewalk, he and Michael strode side by side, like they always did, the bags bumping their legs. The sun beat down on Steven’s face, bringing to mind summers gone by when they’d come into town without adult supervision. And also the wicked heat of the desert, where his mouth was always dry and seemingly full of sand. He switched his mind off from that. The desert was the last place he wanted to think about, but the problem was, it snuck inside his head when he was least expecting it and he was left to deal with whatever swirled around in there.

  They passed the ice cream parlor next to the café, the place to go as a kid, and Steven remembered how his palm had grown hot from having held his quarters so tight. He glanced inside the store and stopped walking.

  “You want one?” he asked.

  “Strawberry with syrup on top?” Michael grinned. “You bet I do.”

  Michael went inside, leaving Steven on the sidewalk beneath the pink-and-white striped awning to contemplate the coming hours. Wow, he couldn’t believe they were on a new level now—and so quickly after his arrival. He’d wished for it enough, so maybe whatever angel had his back had it now too. His eyes glazed, and the onset of a memory he didn’t want curdled in his mind. He fought it, didn’t want it there now he was home, but the damn thing was insistent.

  “Christ… Angel, where are you? Don’t you leave me now…”

  His plane dipped downward in a desert sky. He jabbed at the controls and buttons, his training kicking in even though he was frantic. He didn’t want to die out here—not here, not without Michael by his side.

&nbs
p; Nothing he did stopped the swift descent. It was as though his controls were broken, every last one of them. A monotonous bleep sounded, and a red light blipped. A fucking wing had been clipped—those damn bullets, a hail of them, peppering the sky and his plane.

  “Shit, my head…”

  He was losing himself—losing concentration fast—and his eyes closed. The speed and confusion was too much. The fright. He knew what he should be doing—hitting the eject button—but sleep seemed the better option. What was going on? Why was he reacting this way when he should be—

  “Shit, someone help me. Angel?”

  A whoosh of what felt like fresh air hit him, startling him back to full consciousness. His angel had roused him? Yeah, he was sure she had, and, as he struggled with the eject button, warmth enveloped him, letting him know all would be well.

  “Fucking insane thinking everything will be all right when the goddamn plane is— Press the button! Why won’t it work?”

  He managed to jab ‘eject’ so hard there was no doubt it had depressed this time.

  “Get me the fuck out of here safely. Let me see Michael again. Please…”

  He shot out of the plane, yanked out by force, ousted by his seat shooting upward and his roof opening. His stomach seemed left behind for a moment, his heart feeling as though it was lodged in this throat. His parachute activated with a cruel yank on his body, and he wondered whether fate had played a spiteful game—he was still a prime target for the enemy. They’d be watching—could shoot him out of the damn sky any second.

  The hard tug as the wind caught beneath the parachute had him losing his breath, then came the lightness, the floating. He sailed down, too slow for his liking, heading for a cement building that stood alone in the sandy wilderness. It looked as if his landing would hurt. A glance to his right gave him a view of his plane, close to the heat-hazy horizon, about to hit the ground. He shut his eyes—didn’t want to see it crash. Didn’t want it brought home how he could have still been inside it.

  He struck the crude building feet first, his eyes snapping open in his shock. If he’d had his eyes open he could have prepared himself for landing. The jar on his bones sent spears of pain up his calves, into his knees then on into his thighs. He cried out—fucking leg was broken, he’d put money on it—then clenched his teeth, toppling sideways. He stuck his hand out to brace his fall, and the evil pain currently assaulting his leg also danced in his wrist.

  He shook his head to clear it of things he shouldn’t be thinking in this situation, like being back home, where he was safe. Instead, he processed his surroundings—nothing but shitty dry desert, a plume of smoke in the distance from his plane, and the building he was on top of. Was anyone inside? Was this the end for him if there were inhabitants who’d think nothing of killing him? Christ, they could come right on out and finish him off. Things were dire—more than dire—and he prayed his angel was looking out for him right that second, that she hadn’t gone down with his plane, and that he’d remain safe until help arrived.

  Time passed—too much of it. No one came out of the building—no one he could see from where he was peering over the edge, anyway. Maybe it had been abandoned long ago, or perhaps, if anyone was inside, they were too scared to come out. He dozed, going in and out of a pain-induced sleep. The sun had dipped, the heat less oppressive, but he was still too hot. He went through his options. He had no choice but to try to get off the building and gain entry. Hide out in there. Get some water inside him. Things were more than grim. Leg broken. Wrist broken. And if he wanted to be straight up about it, his spirit was also broken.

  It had fled, had abandoned him.

  He let his eyelids shut. Just a little sleep would do it. Refresh him. Have his mind working properly once he woke up again.

  “What the hell am I doing here?” he whispered, sleepiness slowing his words. “Why did I want to do this for a living? Why would I want to put myself in danger when I have Michael back home?”

  He drifted. His leg and wrist had gone numb.

  That’s better…

  The drone of an engine startled his eyes open. He peered into blackness—Jeez, time had streaked along and the temperature had dropped dramatically. He shivered, teeth chattering, body shuddering. Was it the same day—or had he slept the clock round?

  “Please don’t let that be the enemy…”

  The thwap-thwap-thwap of copter blades sliced the air around him, sending sand upward to coat his body, his face. He blinked to shield his eyes, listening to the voices of the men who had jumped out of the copter.

  American accents.

  American.

  His angel had done her job once again. He’d see Michael now, his beautiful Michael.

  He passed out.

  Michael came out of the store, an ice cream tub in each hand. Steven shuddered away the memories, feeling as cold as he had on that building. He smiled, not wanting Michael to know he suffered from daydreams that were more like nightmares. He accepted his ice cream, and thankfully, without needing to speak, they walked on, eating the soft scoop with little plastic spoons. It gave Steven some much needed time to get himself fully back in the present.

  It seemed in no time at all they were at Steven’s place, a one-bedroom apartment on the edge of the valley above a small gas station run by this old guy called Jed. Steven rented the apartment above Jed’s large mechanics shed, which stood a few feet from the gas pumps, so he’d have somewhere to go other than his childhood home. Mom fussing sometimes got too much.

  “After you.” Michael gestured to the metal stairs that led upward. “Always follow you so I can check out your ass.”

  Steven grinned, shocked at what Michael had said, although he shouldn’t have been, not really. Michael always came out with shit that made people’s eyes bug, but it was the knowledge that Michael had checked out Steven’s ass long before now that had him stunned. Steven had had no idea…

  He took the stairs, at the top after a bit of a struggle when his leg ached owing to the walk from town. Fishing about in his pocket for the keys, he gave Michael a sideways glance. Michael was looking down at Jed below. Jed’s skin was well weathered and brown as a conker from too much sun over the years.

  “Hey there!” Jed called. “Good to see you back, buddy. You seen your mom yet?”

  “Shit,” Steven whispered, closing his eyes briefly. “Not yet,” he said louder. “Plan on going over there soon—or at least giving her a call in a while. It’s a surprise I’m back, so keep it to yourself, huh?”

  “You got it.”

  Jed disappeared inside his shed and Steven let out a sigh of relief. He’d meant to call his mom before he’d caught the flight home, and again once he’d arrived in town, but he’d seen Michael in the café and everything else had gone out of the window.

  Steven opened his door, greeted with the musty smell of a place locked up for months at a time. He jerked his head for Michael to follow him inside, and Steven ditched his bag in the hallway then walked through into the living room to open the windows.

  “You should call her,” Michael said behind him.

  Steven turned from the window to face Michael. “I know but—”

  “No buts. Call your mother.”

  Steven nodded, drawing his cell out of his pocket. “I won’t be long.”

  “Be however long you need, man. I’ll still be here.”

  Yeah, Michael would still be there. As he always was. Waiting. Patient. The best friend anyone could ever have.

  “I love you,” Steven said with not a dash of embarrassment.

  “Yep, and I love you too. But you still have to call your mother. She deserves to hear you’re back safe. She worries. We all worry.”

  Michael was right. As usual.

  “Ten minutes tops,” Steven said, going into his bedroom.

  “Like I said, however long you need, man.”

  Chapter Three

  Concern had nipped at Michael since he’d been in the ice cream
shop. While he’d waited for his order, he’d stared outside at Steven. His friend wasn’t right—he’d gazed seemingly at nothing, looking lost out there on the sidewalk, as though he was in a town he didn’t recognize. When Steven had shuddered then shivered, like he was too cold for words, Michael’s instinct had been to abandon their ice creams and go out there to see what was wrong. A whispered voice in his head had told him to stay put, though. Steven was clearly going through something—had been through something on his last mission—and he’d brought the memories of it back home with him.

  Now, Michael listened to the rumble of Steven’s voice as it filtered through the closed bedroom door. He sounded cheery enough, but then again he would. Steven had never liked worrying his mom—which was strange, given the career he’d chosen. She worried more than the average mother—just like Michael worried more than the average friend.

  Steven came out of the bedroom. Michael searched his face for signs of distress and found none. Only happiness and contentment relaxed his features, his mouth loose, his eyes wide and bright.

  “You all right?” Michael asked.

  He wanted to push, to get the things inside Steven’s head out into the open. It felt as if whatever pranced around in his friend’s mind was a barrier between them. Usually, Steven told Michael everything about his stints in the desert, but so far, all he’d gotten was that Steven had been injured and had spent time in hospital.

  Maybe he can’t talk about it, even to me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Steven said. “Mom’s fine. Excited to see me, but I put her off until tomorrow. Said I was tired.”

 

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