Guyliner

by J. Leigh Bailey

  “Careful.”

  Connor pushed at his hand. “Nope. Coming down now.” Connor slid bonelessly to the floor, his back resting against the chair.

  “Don’t hurt your leg.”

  Connor’s scowl was comical. “I’m fine. Besides, I don’t feel any pain right now. I think I like coconut mouthwash.”

  Oh no. Was Connor still using prescription pain relievers? Painkillers and alcohol equaled a bad combination. “Hey,” Graham said. “You didn’t take any pain pills tonight, did you?” He looked carefully for signs of something more than drunkenness in Connor’s face. The idea of a middle of the night run to the ER to have Connor’s stomach pumped freaked him out.

  “I’m not stupid,” Connor snapped. “I wish people would stop treating me like an in… inv… inval… baby.”

  “You can’t expect them to not worry. People care about you.”

  “Do you?”

  “Care for you?”

  “Yeah.”

  It didn’t even occur to Graham to hedge his answer. Instead, he said with the utmost honesty, “Yes. More than I should.”

  “I like the dark,” Connor said again. “I can do things in the dark that I can’t do in the light of day.”

  “Like what?” Graham’s voice caught, chest tight with anticipation.

  “Like touch you. Hold your hand.” Connor picked up Graham’s hand. “I like your hands. They’re long and narrow. Not like mine. I’ve got farmer’s hands. Big, rough. Like my dad and grandpa.”

  Connor traced the creases in Graham’s palm. The light touch sent tingles like Fourth of July sparklers shooting from the palm of his hand straight to his chest. Who knew his hand was so sensitive?

  “I can say things in the dark that I can’t say during the day too.”

  “What can’t you say during the day?”

  “So much. There’s so much I want to say, to so many people. But I can’t, so I don’t.”

  “Can you tell me, here, now, in the dark?”

  Graham shouldn’t be taking advantage of Connor’s inebriation, but he was sure that Connor needed, quite desperately, to get something off his chest.

  Connor laughed a little bitterly. “There’s so much. I don’t know where to start.”

  Graham went with the question that he most wanted answered at that moment. “Tell me why you and Allyson fought.”

  Connor heaved a sigh and scooted forward so he could lie back on the floor. After a brief pause, Graham did the same. “I’m tired of being weak. I’m a man, damn it, not some little kid. So Allyson had to pick me up because I’m still not cleared to drive. Then Roy and Clint hit me with that picture tonight. I stood there in the kitchen like a moron and let Allyson defend me.”

  “What did they say?” Graham wished he’d been there to stand with Connor.

  “Oh, you know, their usual crap, just with ‘proof.’ Oh”—Connor jerked into a sitting position—“Roy and Clint are the ones who posted the picture.”

  “Where did they get it?”

  “Cluthin.” Connor swallowed and tried again. “Clint’s cousin,” he said carefully, nodding with each word. “She was there. I have the worst luck.”

  Graham made a sympathetic sound. The crap really did seem to be piling up around Connor.

  “Anyway.” Connor sighed, lying back down. “Allyson goes all mama bear on me, finding a place for me to sit, ’cause God forbid I actually have to stand around for a while, and then sits there with me, all uptight. So, I don’t know, I decided I had to do something to prove my manhood or some shit.”

  “And you thought sex was the answer?”

  “I know, right? I’m an idiot. I got all handsy, and she stalked out. I don’t blame her either. If some guy was being that pushy with Becca, I’d hand him his ass after stomping it into the ground. The worst part is, I don’t even want to have sex with Allyson. I love her, she’s one of my best friends, but the thought of doing it with her is….”

  “Like kissing your sister?”

  Connor shuddered. “Yeah. I guess I felt like I had to prove something to Roy and Clint, to me. Maybe if I did something normal, I wouldn’t want—” His voice cut off.

  “You wouldn’t want something abnormal?” Did Connor think of Graham as abnormal? Was the thought of feeling something for Graham that hideous? A shard of anguish pierced Graham’s chest.

  “Yeah. No. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with people being gay—”

  “Just as long as those people aren’t you?”

  “Look, I’m obviously not thinking straight right now—” Suddenly Connor burst into laughter. “Thinking straight. I’m not thinking straight. That’s it. That’s it exactly. I’m not thinking straight, and I’m trying so hard to think straight that I’m fucking up everything in my life.”

  There was a hysterical edge to Connor’s laughter. Graham didn’t find it funny, and he was pretty sure that Connor didn’t find it that funny either. The alcohol, on the other hand, probably thought it was hilarious.

  Graham braced himself on his elbow and propped his head on his arm while he waited for Connor’s chuckles to subside.

  When Connor was finally reduced to gasping breaths, he said, “It’s not you, you know. Not your fault. It’s my fault. Everything is falling apart and I’m going to be stuck here, working for my father for the rest of my life.”

  Connor was right, Graham decided. Maybe things were easier to talk about in the dark. “What else is falling apart?”

  Connor expelled a deep, coconut-scented breath. “Me. I’m falling apart. My knee is trashed, which means any hope of playing baseball through college is trashed right along with it.”

  “Was baseball that important to you? Don’t get me wrong, you are a fabulous player, but I never got the feeling that it meant that much to you.”

  “I needed baseball. I still do, but now I’m screwed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was good at it and it would look good on my college applications.”

  “Didn’t you enjoy it?”

  “Didn’t matter if I enjoyed it. If I want to get out of here, I need to get scholarships. If I want to go to a pres… presti… good university, I need a lot of scholarships. Baseball was one more way to pay for school.”

  “Connor, you’re involved in everything and still get great grades. Marc told me you’re top of the class as far as GPA goes. I think you’re going to be in a good position for financial assistance, with or without baseball.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re loaded. You could probably go to school anywhere you wanted and not have to worry about tuition. And if that isn’t enough, you even have scouts, actual fucking scouts, watching you. Things are easier for you. You don’t have to worry about that kind of crap.”

  Graham bit back a curse. “First of all, I’m not loaded. My father is. And yes, I probably don’t have to worry about how to pay for tuition when I go off to college. I’m lucky and I know it. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve still got a lot going for you.”

  “You don’t understand. You haven’t had to work for anything in your life. I’ve had to work for everything.”

  “That’s not fair and you know it. You know exactly what I’ve been through.” Ice formed in Graham’s gut and frosted his words.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Connor rolled toward him, plastering himself to Graham’s side and then flung his arm around him.

  Graham grunted as one of Connor’s hands landed hard on his stomach.

  “It’s fine,” Graham said, trying to still Connor’s movements. Rolling around while wearing a knee brace probably wasn’t a good, or painless, idea. “You need to be careful not to hurt your knee.”

  Connor hissed through his teeth. “Crap. Yeah, that hurt. I didn’t notice it until now. Note to self: flopping around like a fish hurts like a bitch. Good to know.” Connor rolled back, slowly and carefully.

  Graham sat up. “
Do you need ice or something?”

  “Not you too. No, I don’t need ice. I only need to leave it alone for a minute.”

  They lay in silence for a few moments. Graham started to wonder if Connor had passed out again, when he spoke up. “I’m sorry for something else.”

  “For what?” Graham tucked his legs under him, tailor-style.

  “For the way I’ve been treating you.”

  “You explained—”

  “I’m not brave like you.”

  Graham leaned back to try and get a better look at Connor. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the bravest person I know. I mean, after everything that happened to you, you still don’t hide who you are. It’s like, if people don’t accept you as you, then fuck ’em. I want to be like you, but I’m scared.”

  “Connor, I’d never force you to come out. I learned the hard way I’d rather be me, with no apologies. That works for me. It’s the constant push and pull that drives me nuts. Even if we can’t date, I’d still like to be friends.”

  “But if I wanted more with you, I’d have to come out?”

  Graham hesitated. This was not a conversation that should be happening while Connor was drunk. “Yes.” He sighed. “It’s too hard to be with someone and hide it. I can’t—I won’t—do that again. But that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out, can’t be friends.”

  Silence grew between them again. The sounds of the party outside the office door seemed to be lessening, which probably meant people were starting to leave.

  Connor broke the quiet. “Can I ask you something while it’s still dark and I’m still drunk?”

  “Sure,” Graham said, shifting into a more comfortable position on the floor. It was an old house and the carpet was worn and thin, not the cushiest place to rest.

  “Do you want to have sex with me?”

  Graham suddenly knew what it felt like to swallow one’s tongue. He tried to swallow and inhale at the same time and instead managed to choke. “What?”

  “I know, it’s that, I guess I want to know if… I mean, do you see me that way? I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’m messed up in my head, you know? Is it my imagination? You make me feel things I’ve never felt before, and suddenly I’m questioning everything I thought I knew about myself. And I can’t believe I’m asking you this. You know what, ignore me. I’m drunk and rambling and tomorrow I’m going to hate myself for even talking about this. Besides, I’m probably not your type. And—”

  As adorable as the rambling was, Graham stopped the avalanche of words by covering Connor’s mouth with his. Connor responded with an enthusiasm that rocked Graham, but he also tasted like coconut rum. What was he doing? Connor was drunk, and taking advantage of a drunk guy was not cool. “I can’t,” he said, drawing away with a groan. His body clamored for more—stupid hormones—and it was killing him to stop. They’d just gone through all the reasons something between them wouldn’t work.

  “So that’s a no, right?”

  Graham combed his hand through his hair. He gave the ends an extra-hard tug to keep himself from ignoring his good intentions and devouring Connor. “Connor, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying. Last time we talked about this, you were adamant that you were going to keep things normal.”

  “I think about it, about you, all the time.”

  Graham pounded his head against the threadbare carpet. “That’s not fair. I’m trying to do the right thing here. If we act on this—and God, yes, I would love to have sex with you—you’d hate me in the morning.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. And you do too. Or you would if you hadn’t been mainlining rum all night. Besides,” he added softly, pushing himself up from the floor. “You’re dating Allyson. I’m trying to respect that.”

  Connor groaned. “Yeah. Shit, Allyson.”

  “You might want to think about that when you’re not trashed.”

  Connor lay on the floor, blinking, his good leg bent at the knee. His eyes were glassy, pupils dilated. As hot as the guy was, the sight of him drunk off his ass strengthened Graham’s decision to do the right thing. The darkness, and the intimacy it provided, was too tempting.

  Graham extended his hand to Connor. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He helped haul Connor to his feet, grunting a little at the weight. Connor was a big guy and as drunk as he was, he was too uncoordinated to make the assist smooth. He wobbled and hissed in pain when his weight settled on his legs.

  “I didn’t plan that very well,” Graham said, wrapping his arm around Connor’s waist to steady him. He maneuvered them to the desk where Connor braced himself while Graham retrieved Connor’s crutches.

  Connor had trouble with the crutches. When he planted them and went to swing his good leg forward, his whole body leaned and he almost fell flat on his face. Graham caught him and laughed at Connor’s peeved expression. He looked so offended that his body wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. “Okay, Mr. Smooth. We’ll have to do this a little differently. Put one arm around my shoulders and carry your crutches in your other hand. Can you do that?”

  Connor rolled his eyes and followed the instructions. Again Graham was struck with the desire to laugh at Connor’s exaggerated expressions. He was kind of fun like this. “Okay, buddy, let’s get you home. And, please, please don’t puke in my car.”

  Chapter 30

  GRAHAM LET himself into the house, moving quietly so as not to wake his parents. The moment he crossed the threshold, however, he saw that the kitchen and dining room lights blazed. Oh shit. This wasn’t going to be good.

  “Graham?” His mom ran from the dining room, her satin robe billowing behind her. She launched herself at him. “Oh my God, you’re okay? Where were you?” Her face was pale, and her hands trembled where they clutched at his shirt.

  “What’s the matter?” He looked from her to his father, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen. His hair was a mess, sticking up as though he’d run his hands through it a number of times. Deep furrows crossed his brow, making him look older than he was.

  His mother pushed back until she held him at arm’s length. “Where have you been? We’ve been going out of our minds. We were about to call the police.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You were gone again,” his father said quietly, his stiff, stoic face a clear sign that he was forcing back extreme emotion. “I got up to get a drink of water and saw your door was open and you weren’t in bed. I checked the rest of the house and you were gone. Your car was gone and there was no note, no message. You were just… gone.”

  “Connor called. He needed a ride home from a party.” What was going on? Why were his parents freaking out?

  “You had no business leaving the house at this time of night. At the very least,” he said, speaking over Graham’s protest, “you should have let us know what was happening. We wouldn’t have stopped you from helping a friend.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you up. It was one in the morning.”

  “You could have left a note!” There was a screeching quality to his mother’s voice that he’d never heard before. “Graham, we thought something had happened to you. The last time you snuck out in the middle of the night you—” Her voice broke and all the tension left her body. She released her grip on his shirt and wrapped her arms over her stomach, shoulders hunched in. Sobs wracked her body. “I can’t go through that again.”

  Graham stumbled back against the entryway wall, knees suddenly weak. “Oh God, I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me that you’d wake up, that you’d think….”

  “You almost died. We almost lost you. And it could have happened again and we wouldn’t have known.” Tears ran freely down her face. She’d never looked fragile before, and it was his fault.

  His father walked over to Graham’s mother and pulled her against his side. “What you did was careless and disrespectful. Anything could have happened, and there would have been nothing we could do.”

/>   “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning. We need to get to bed.” His father urged his mother forward. When they reached the hallway, he turned to Graham. “Next time, leave a note.” His voice was full of disappointment. It sent bone-deep chills through Graham’s body. His father could have been talking to a misbehaving employee. Graham tried to swallow past the lump of shame lodged in his throat.

  He couldn’t even get mad at his parents. He wanted to. They were unreasonable about his safety. But could he blame them? It had been over a year, but the result of that night defined his life. It changed what he wore, how he carried himself, and his relationship with his parents. Some of the changes were good, others, not so much. Being happy, or at least sure of who he was: good. The doubt and anxiety he always had to push aside: not so good.

  After turning off the remaining lights on the first level, Graham went upstairs to his room. Weariness and doubt hung heavy on his shoulders, making the trip seem longer than it was. He lay on his bed, staring into the velvet darkness of the room, his mind going too many directions for sleep to take him. After a few frustrated minutes, he turned on the light on his nightstand and tossed aside the covers and went to the closet.

  Graham retrieved the shoe box hidden on the top shelf and sat down with it at his desk. His mouth dried. He’d come this far, but he wasn’t sure he could actually open the box. Inside was a collection of newspaper articles, photographs, medical reports, and cards he’d received while recovering from his assault. He’d collected the mementos obsessively during his physical and emotional therapy. A tangible “never again” reminder of all he’d been through.

  He hadn’t opened the box since they’d moved to Green Valley. Somehow he’d hoped the new location would be a fresh start, a chance to be the real Graham, without the shadow of the attack hanging over him. In some ways that was true. Since he’d been here, he’d refused to apologize for being gay. Hell, he had the T-shirt collection to celebrate it. Granted, people no longer looked at him with sympathetic eyes or viewed him as some kind of spokesperson opposing violence against gays, but the attack still influenced too much of his life. The fear for his safety was the worst. He hated that he now viewed everyone and everything through a filter of doubt and suspicion.