After Ben

by Con Riley

  This was so hard.

  Too hard.

  “Let’s eat,” Peter suggested. “What do you like? Italian?”

  “No!” Theo shot the word out, then covered his mouth with his palm, embarrassed, shocked at his own emphatic rudeness. Peter blinked.

  “I’m sorry. I just… I think I need to go home now.”

  Peter didn’t let Theo take more than three steps. Instead he guided him to a doorway and pulled him into a tight hug. He was so strong, wrapping Theo up, holding him steady. Theo felt completely wiped out, exhausted beyond belief.

  “Come on,” Peter’s voice was soothing, his breath coasting across Theo’s ear. “Let’s go eat. You can tell me about your day, and I’ll tell you about mine. We both need to chill, yes?” Theo stood very still for a minute, then nodded against Peter’s neck. “Okay, good. That’s good. So, I’m going to choose a place, and you are going to come with me, and it will be fine, yes?” Theo nodded again. Peter took a deep breath. His chest was broader than Theo was accustomed to, and it was warm and comfortable to lean on. He felt as if he could sleep standing up. If it wasn’t for Peter’s constant talking, he probably could.

  “We’ll eat and talk… and maybe flirt a little?”

  Theo swallowed and shrugged. He felt Peter’s cheek lift against his own. He was smiling. “I’ll flirt. You just have to keep me company while I do it, okay?” Theo choked out a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. Peter gave him one last squeeze, then slipped an arm across his back, guiding him along the street and into another bar. This one was quieter, the patrons more in their age range. Some musicians were tuning their acoustic guitars on a small stage in the corner.

  Yes, this was better.

  He watched as Peter ordered for them—more beer, bread, tapas for two—then found a table tucked away from the busier bar area. Peter talked pretty much nonstop, not giving Theo a single chance to overthink, until their food arrived, smelling garlicky and gorgeous. The food was delicious, spicy, and hot. Peter kept heaping more onto his plate, encouraging him to taste everything.

  “Try the squid. Fucking delicious, right?” They fought over the last of the patatas bravas, then Peter pushed away from the table, leaning back, wiping his mouth. He watched Theo scoop up spicy sauce with a crust of bread and smiled. “Better?”

  Theo figured it was too late to be self-conscious. He’d stuffed his face like he hadn’t eaten for a week, so he just smiled, nodding across their small table at Peter’s obvious pleasure.

  They shared a dessert dish of something sticky that oozed hot chocolate sauce, while Peter told him more about his newest work project. He’d qualified as a paramedic years before and had moved over to a management role five years ago. The way he discussed the politics he dealt with every day sounded so familiar. Before he knew it, Theo was sharing the details of his shitty week with Peter, who leaned in, elbows on the table, listening closely before speaking.

  “Man, canning people sucks. It helps to have friends to talk this shit out with, right? I nearly didn’t take this new promotion until my friends talked me into it. All I could see was the paperwork, and that shit’s not exactly appealing. I’ll never stop wanting to respond to 911 calls, so I still cover crew shifts from time to time. It was firing I didn’t want the responsibility for, but it’s such a small part of the job that I’m glad they talked me into taking it.” Peter lifted his bottle as a server passed, asking for two more.

  “Anyway, my new posting is more training oriented, and I’m really excited about it. Crisis management has been overlooked for so long, but when people call 911 after a rape or an assault, the way they are initially treated is so fucking important. It’s even more so in cases of attempted suicides and domestic violence.” He nodded before continuing. “A lot of EMTs view suicide attempts or repeated domestic calls as huge wastes of resources. It’s all human pain, though. If the crews get crisis management training, they learn how to listen without blaming or judging. It’s important, right. Feeling heard when you’re in a bad place. We all need people to talk to.”

  Theo had nothing to add. Who did he talk with? Maggie? Anonymous strangers on the Internet? He hadn’t kept up with their friends since he’d been without Ben; he’d let too many invitations pass. He’d pushed them all away.

  Peter was perceptive. Scooting his chair a little closer as the guitarists started their set, he placed himself so he could see both the stage and Theo’s profile easily. “Hey, where did you go?” He patted Theo’s leg under the table, then raised his hand again to take the fresh beers from their server. After a moment of silence that lasted just a beat too long, he put Theo out of his misery.

  “Why don’t we just sit and listen to the music for a while?” he suggested. Theo nodded, honestly relieved. Conversation seemed too fucking hard. He drank instead. The week caught up with him as he let the music wash over him, vaguely aware that he was comfortably full, with the beginnings of a good buzz, and with someone warm and solid to lean against for a change. He let out a huge sigh, then relaxed.

  When Peter’s fingers trailed across the back of the hand that Theo rested in his lap, turning it palm up, he held his breath. Peter’s fingers—long, slightly rough, steady—traced the lines across his palm. He watched Peter move one fingertip along his life line first, then work his way slowly, slowly, slowly all the way along his heart line. When he pressed two fingertips onto Theo’s skin, tracing both lines at the same time, Theo found himself gasping.

  He glanced to the side. Peter’s gaze was on him, focused, dark, intent.

  Peter cast a quick look around. The other patrons were all busy with their own parties, or had their heads turned toward the musicians. He curled his hand around Theo’s and, leaning in closer, brushed a light kiss across his lips.

  Theo closed his eyes.

  How many times had he sat in bars with Ben and stolen kisses?

  How many times had he taken those moments for granted?

  His throat constricted.

  He missed him so much.

  When he opened his eyes again, determined to tell Peter that he was sorry but he’d made a terrible mistake, he found Peter already standing, pulling out bills from his wallet. As soon as they were out on the street, Peter started apologizing.

  “Theo, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I told you no strings and I meant it. I did, honestly. I just…. You looked….” He stumbled over his words. “I can see that you aren’t ready for this right now. I shouldn’t have touched you.” He paused, scrubbing his hand across his jaw. Theo could hear the soft rasp. He could imagine now exactly what those fingers felt like.

  The fresh air hit him hard—he hadn’t drunk alcohol for well over six months—and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way that Peter’s eyebrows drew down as he frowned, so obviously pissed at himself.

  Peter started talking again, “It’s just hard, you know? I think we could be—” Theo stopped him, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. He gripped Peter’s arm, making him slow, then stop completely. Before Peter could say another word, Theo pushed him back toward the shadowed recess of a boutique doorway.

  When he kissed Peter, he didn’t think about whether they could be seen. He didn’t think about much at all. He just pressed his mouth to Peter’s, tasting beer, chocolate, and residual spice as their lips touched, just like all those times he’d kissed Ben after dinners out with friends. Peter stood still, so completely still that Theo started to pull back. Then he groaned, wrapping his arms around Theo, pulling him closer and kissing him back. Their tongues touched, and it was the most alive Theo had felt all year. Peter’s mouth was like dipping into warm, wet velvet with just a hint of teeth.

  Perfect.

  Amazing.

  He could really kiss.

  Peter slowly increased his intensity, first taking his time to advance slowly, then pulling back to make Theo follow him, chasing his lips. Theo held Peter’s face still, registering the roughness of his light scruff u
nder his fingers, wanting to get closer. He slipped one hand into Peter’s thick, dark hair, making him groan into his mouth again. Theo didn’t think about anything. Not about his shitty week or his terrible, terrible year. Beer, fresh air, and Peter’s kiss wiped his mind completely clear, leaving him hanging onto his broad shoulders. He could feel Peter’s hands holding him firmly, pressing their way down his sides, moving back to hold his ass. They inched closer, kissing deeply, hips starting to press together.

  With no conscious thought at all, Theo’s hands slipped down to the bottom of Peter’s shirt, seeking out skin-on-skin contact. Peter felt so hot to him, his muscles evident yet covered in the softest skin. Theo wanted to kiss him there too, maybe even lick him a little. Peter shook under Theo’s cool fingers, then said his name in a voice that was so obviously not Ben’s that he lurched backward, blinking and dazed.

  The sudden sound of a passing siren made them clutch at each other momentarily, then step apart again. Theo shook his head, trying to clear his foggy thoughts. He rubbed both palms over his face, wondering what the fuck he’d been thinking.

  Dry-humping in a dark doorway?

  His dick throbbed, and he felt a little sick.

  Hadn’t he just been thinking about Ben?

  “Theo, don’t go.” Peter clutched at his arm again as he made to step out of the darkness, desperate to get home right away.

  “Stop. Please stop. Wait.” Theo did, standing at the sidewalk’s edge as Peter stood behind him. His voice was quiet but firm. “I’m not sorry for that. Not at all, Theo. I’d like to do that a whole lot more, and I think that part of you would too. But maybe not right now. Am I right?”

  Theo shrugged.

  “Let me put you in a cab. I’m going to be out of town for the first few weeks of my new posting. Why don’t you think about this—us—while I’m away?” He sounded so reasonable to Theo, who turned, taking in Peter’s expressive, handsome face. And he was handsome, even when he didn’t smile. The shadows gave him a look of mature, calm authority.

  “I’d like to see you again, Theo. I’d like to see you a whole lot, but maybe we should start from the beginning when I get back.” He paused, then looked directly at Theo, not letting him hide, tilting his chin up until he made eye contact again. “Maybe then you could tell me what happened with Ben. Perhaps you’ll be ready to let go and move on.”

  Theo swallowed and shrugged again, waving down an approaching cab, judging himself as pathetic for only just choking out a good-bye. He couldn’t even think about what Peter was suggesting. Not right then, at least.

  Maybe never.

  He felt the weight of Peter’s hand slip from his shoulder as he climbed into the cab, then wound down the window, remembering belatedly to say thanks for dinner.

  “You’ve got my number, Theo. I’m not going to bug you, but you can call me whenever you like. Talk to my voice mail. I’ll always get back to you, although I can’t promise when. The next few weeks will be busy.” Theo nodded, taking in Peter’s sweep of dark lashes and the way his lips naturally lifted at the corners. He looked back as the cab pulled away, watching as Peter stood at the curb, one hand pushed into his hair, before turning away.

  Later, in his dim bedroom, Theo opened his laptop to find message after message from Morgan. He’d been causing havoc all over the message board, inciting arguments, then stepping neatly out of the way.

  MORGAN: Where the fuck have you been?

  Theo powered the laptop down and stared at the ceiling until morning.

  SATURDAY morning found Theo gritty eyed and unrested yet determined to do something productive with his time. He spent an hour doing domestic chores—laundry, cleaning the bathroom, changing the bed linens—then found himself standing at the side of his bed after tucking the clean sheets into place, Ben’s pajamas clutched in his hands.

  Sliding open one of Ben’s empty dresser drawers, he carefully put them away instead of placing them under his pillow, smoothing the fabric, lips pressed together tightly as he told himself that this too was progress. Then he grabbed his keys and left the apartment, directionless, purposeless, just wanting really badly to be somewhere else for a while.

  It wasn’t until he took the I-5 north toward Vancouver that he realized he was headed toward his parents’ house.

  He hadn’t visited the lake house—his childhood home—for nearly a year. It wasn’t that Theo didn’t have a relationship with his parents; he did. As a family, they weren’t as close-knit as Ben would have liked, but Theo had grown up with their reserve and was somewhat used to their reticence around “new” people. It wasn’t until he and Ben had been together for over a year that he realized his mom actually had an issue with their relationship. Initially he had been disbelieving, trying to force situations where the four of them could spend time together. How could anyone not love Ben?

  It took a few years for Theo to pretty much give up hoping, and honestly, it wasn’t that much of a wrench. His parents seemed perfectly happy with their own company, even though they had all been so close when he lived at home. They came into Seattle at least monthly, and Theo met them for lunch on his own, taking Ben up to the lake house only on the holidays. His parents were always polite, and Ben used to try so fucking hard to find things to talk about with them. Eventually, his mom’s brittle edginess around Ben just made them both sad.

  The concept of adults still seeking parental approval had been the subject of heated discussion on the message board earlier in the week. He and Morgan had messaged privately several times about the subject—sometimes there were aspects of debates that bordered on being too personal for open discussion—and Theo had felt touched that Morgan chose to share the loss of his parents with him.

  It was understandable, of course, that people in their age group lost their parents. Theo guessed that they were all getting older; his own parents were in their seventies. But Morgan’s message had made him really consider his parents for the first time in ages.

  MORGAN: I wish I could talk to Dad again. Just for one last time.

  Theo understood.

  MORGAN: Sometimes I wonder if he would be proud of me. Sometimes I’m absolutely certain that he wouldn’t be. Not right now, anyway.

  Yeah, parents.

  MORGAN: If I could go home right now, I would.

  Theo stopped at a service station when he was half an hour away from Big Lake and spoke briefly to his mother, holding the phone away from his ear at her burst of delight. The rest of the journey flew by, leaving him with little time to think, which suited him just fine.

  Thinking had kept him up all night.

  Thinking made his palms tingle, as if he still had Peter’s skin—hot, soft, not Ben—pressed under them.

  As he turned right onto East College Way, just a few miles from home, he started counting food outlets to distract himself—McDonald’s, Domino’s, Quiznos, Pizza Hut, Subway, Denny’s, Taco Bell—thinking that Morgan had been right yet again.

  During an online debate on the nation’s health he stated that if you put junk food within a mile of students, that’s all they would eat, and that students were targeted with a higher density of junk-food choices than any other demographic in America. There had been a lot of talk about personal responsibility, but he had turned the tables neatly, asking if anyone on the forum had heart health issues. There had been a flurry of assent. Then he asked if they would have chosen tofu and sprouts when they were teens and first away from home.

  Maybe, Morgan suggested, someone should care about kids’ hearts, not just the hearts that cost insurance companies the big bucks when it was already too fucking late. It was a far from perfect argument, but it had stuck with Theo. He thought about that, fretting slightly that maybe Morgan was also in the heart-health age group as he passed the Mount Vernon campus of Washington State University. Minutes later he turned onto the road that led to the cove on which his parents’ house was situated.

  The house looked no different.

&nbs
p; His mother was at the door, waiting, while his father stood halfway up a ladder against one of the upper-floor windows.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The man was seventy-three years old. Theo was out of his car and across the lawn to the foot of the ladder in moments, holding it steady, suddenly overwhelmed with something close to guilt. His father shouldn’t have to do dangerous repair jobs like this on his own.

  “Theo,” his father smiled down at him. “I’m nearly done here, so go get some coffee with your mom. She’s been annoying me for the last half hour.” He felt his mom’s warm hand on his shoulder, then her arms slipped around him, hugging him lightly.

  “Baby boy.” It was always like this. His dad pretended that he was invincible and that Theo was still a kid who couldn’t help him out. His mom reverted to seeing him as an infant. Sighing, Theo wondered why they never saw him for who he was: a grown man in his forties with responsibilities of his own. Later they took their places at the kitchen table just like when Theo was a kid, while his dad probed him about work. They talked shop until his mom sighed before asking if he was seeing anyone nice.

  “What? I’m sorry, I mean…. What?” While his parents had always been quietly supportive of his sexuality, they never, ever asked for details of his personal life.

  “I just wondered if you had met anyone, Theo. I’m sure they’d be nice; you’ve always been a good judge of character. I just….” She looked across at his dad, then pushed her thick white hair away from her face in a gesture that Theo recognized as his own before adding, “It’s been a year.”

  Theo excused himself and headed for the bathroom, where he splashed his face with cold water until his eyes stopped burning. Fuck. This—this—was exactly why they didn’t spend time together. Returning to the kitchen, which looked just the same as when he’d groaned over his homework at the table as a kid, he resumed eating, tasting absolutely nothing.

  His mom tried again. “Since Ben—”