by Trina Lane
Logan grinned. “A few.”
He saw Matt nod then his fingers began clicking on the keyboard again.
Matt typed, “Now tell me more about this adjustment. How has this sudden change affected your life?”
“It was as if a switch had been flicked, and while I could still see, all the sounds I used to take for granted were gone. I refused to talk because I couldn’t monitor my voice. I would get violently dizzy at a moment’s notice.”
“That’s what happened, but how did it make you feel?”
Logan thought about what Matt was asking. He’d recited what had happened in medical terms, he’d explained how it changed he day to day living, but now how did all this make him feel? “The day I woke up from the coma was the scariest day of my life. I randomly migrate between hate and despair. Some days, I want to lash out at everyone and everything, and others, I want to curl up in a little ball and never leave the bed.”
“Good.”
“Good? How is this good? I’ve been behaving like some psychotic.”
“I said good because these emotions are appropriate and real. If you’d said the hearing loss and repercussions hadn’t affected you one bit then I would be worried. We’ll continue to work through your conflictions as we progress. Did the event that caused your hearing loss also force your discharge from the Rangers?”
“Yes. A day after I woke up, a one star visited me in the hospital. Handed me a piece of paper that said thank you for my service to the country, and I would be going home as soon as I was stable. He saluted me then turned and walked away. I guess that was the Army’s version of a polite kiss off.”
“That had to be difficult. How long were you in the service?”
“Fifteen years. I joined when we were twenty. Gave them gallons of my sweat, quarts of my blood, and even shed a few tears when nobody was looking. But the second it became known that I was part of the dent and ding stock, they shipped me back, return to sender.”
“You said ‘when we were twenty’. Whose we?”
“Clay and I. He’s my roommate, foster brother and best friend. We had just finished our sophomore year at B.U.”
“Did Clay enlist as well?”
“No, Clay stayed in school. I left.”
Logan wondered if Matt would be able to detect the hesitance and tension with that last comment. Since he and Matt were using an altered means of communication the doctor wouldn’t be able to pull additional meaning from voice inflections. Logan had hoped they could avoid the topic of his and Clay’s relationship for a little longer.
“Let’s switch gears a little and talk about the PTSD. What symptoms do you have or events have you experienced?”
Logan typed out about the flashbacks and the nightmares. “They told me the PTSD was normal after surviving the attack. I don’t feel very normal most of the time.”
“Well it is true that PTSD is common in survivors of trauma, but symptoms vary, and everyone struggles to get a handle on their disorder in different ways. So ‘normal’ is a relative term. Has your best friend been supportive as you’ve made the transition back to being a civilian?”
“We live together.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Logan didn’t respond. He thought about all the little things Clay had done in effort to help him. All the things that Logan had brushed off or ignored. Not because he didn’t appreciate the effort, but because he didn’t want to admit there was a problem. He had enough to deal with trying to adjust to the hearing loss. The nightmares and occasional flashbacks, of which he’d had several at the apartment but never told Clay, were not on his list of priorities to deal with.
Had Clay been supportive? The man had dropped everything with a phone call from one of Logan’s platoon members, driven to Georgia to pick him and brought him home with nothing more demanding than a hug. Clay had let Logan infiltrate his home. He’d financially supported Logan for three months without question, with hardly more than a handful of stunted conversations between them. Clay was the best of them. The stronger one. The one who’d had the guts to be honest about his sexuality all those years ago. While Logan had freaked out, run away and joined the frickin’ Army rather than admit to having the same desires. It wasn’t Clay’s fault that Logan had these feelings, and yet, Logan’s actions for the past months had inadvertently been punishing Clay. All Clay had wanted was for him to be healthy and happy. All Logan wanted was Clay.
The chime from the laptop got Logan’s attention. He read, “Are you living with Clay because you want to or because you need to?”
This was one of the hardest questions Logan had ever been asked. Was he ready to talk about the complexities of his and Clay’s relationship? He’d only known this man for forty-five minutes. Could he trust him with one of his deepest secrets? He took a deep breath and reminded himself this is why he was here. Well, one of the reasons. “I live with Clay because I want to and I need to.”
He looked up at Matt then back down at the screen. Nothing appeared, and Matt just watched him. The silence stretched. Unable to look the man in the eyes, he turned to gaze at the wall of books. He catalogued the different colours of the spines in his mind.
After several seconds, he continued typing. The disembodied letters appeared on the screen. “Clay and I have always been inseparable. Well, we were until I messed up sixteen years ago. We were twenty when Clay came out to me. I panicked. Finished my exams for the semester, moved out of our apartment and enlisted in the Army in the space of one day. I had to get as far away from him as I could as fast as I could.”
“Why? Do you not approve of his lifestyle?”
He shook his head vehemently. “That’s not it. Clay being gay doesn’t matter to me. No, that’s not right. It does matter. It matters too much.”
Matt looked up and caught Logan’s eyes. He spoke very distinctly and very slowly. “Why does it matter too much, Logan?”
He placed his fingers on the keyboard and, after a few hesitant seconds, punched in the letters forming the hardest words he had ever admitted to himself. “Because I’m gay, too, and I’m in love with the man I consider my brother.”
* * * *
Clay shut down his computer in his office and practically ran out of the station when the clock signalled the end of his shift. He prayed that no one would page him with some new case that night. Today was Logan’s first session with the psychiatrist. Clay didn’t know who Logan had picked. He wanted that decision to be Logan’s and Logan’s alone. Logan had been right, this part of his recovery had to be done for and by himself. Clay would provide whatever support Logan needed, but he would try not to interrogate him about the therapy.
He was sure today would be especially hard for Logan, since it was the first time the metaphorical can of worms would be opened. He wanted to have dinner waiting and give Logan an evening where he didn’t have to think. Clay would take care of him, and if Logan wanted to talk, great, but he wouldn’t push.
An hour later, Clay balanced the bag of take away from his and Logan’s favourite restaurant in one hand and, in the other, a six-pack of long necks while slipping his key into the lock of their apartment door. The door swung open, and there stood Logan with a small grin on his face. He looked calm, but Clay saw the stress of the session lingering in his eyes.
He held up his offerings.
“I brought home dinner and beer.”
Logan took the beer. “Thanks.”
They walked into the kitchen, and Clay set the bag of food on the granite-topped island.
“Are you ready to eat?” he asked.
“Starving. I guess talking is more strenuous than I anticipated.”
Clay looked deep into Logan’s blue eyes. The few simple words spoken aloud between them meant more than he could have imagined, especially now that he knew how hard it was for Logan. He tried to assess if Logan wanted to say something further or was going to leave the topic of his therapy alone.
Logan walked
around the edge of the island and stood behind Clay. “Clay?” He placed a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You can ask.”
Clay fiddled with the foil edging over the clear plastic lid covering the plates of steak and vegetables. Logan said it was fine to ask, but did Clay have the right? If he were talking with a boyfriend, he’d have felt justified. The emotional wellbeing of a partner would have a direct effect on their relationship, but he and Logan weren’t a couple. They could never share in that kind of relationship.
Aside from the fact that Logan was straight, he’d been so traumatised by his father that accepting any kind of caring from another man was nearly impossible. Clay counted his blessings that he and Logan had become as close as they had when they were teenagers. He knew the statistics. He saw the result of child abuse daily.
Logan was a stronger man than Clay could ever hope to become. He knew his feelings for Logan would never change, but he’d made a vow years ago to never cross that line. His job was to help Logan heal. Help him make the transition to this new stage of his life. Support him as he worked to overcome the demons that plagued his dreams.
But Logan said it was all right…
Clay turned, his body nearly brushing against Logan’s, the man stood so close. His hands longed to wrap themselves around Logan’s waist. Instead, he shoved them in the pockets of his slacks and asked, “How did it go?”
“It was hard. Harder than I anticipated, but I think I chose the right doctor. I think he can help. Eventually.”
“Good. If you want to tell me anything, I’ll listen, but I won’t pry. I won’t push you.”
Logan smiled. “I know.”
Clay sucked in a breath as Logan reached out for the counter, temporarily caging him between his arms. Seconds passed, and Clay would have sworn Logan’s body leant closer towards him. He closed his eyes briefly to savour the illicit closeness, but they flew open when the heat from Logan’s body evaporated. He watched as Logan carried his plate and a beer, which had been sitting on the counter behind him, into the living room. Clay heard the TV click on and the opening theme song for Bones, their favourite show, sing out from the speakers of the flat screen. He tried to calm his racing heart with a deep breath, and when that didn’t work, he slugged back several large gulps of beer. He’d intended for this night to be one of leisure, but he was anything but relaxed.
* * * *
Late that night, Clay lay in bed, tension rolling through him. Logan had seemed to appreciate the effort Clay had made that evening, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in the kitchen when their bodies had nearly touched. He couldn’t explain why that moment was different from thousands they’d shared over their lifetime. He and Logan had always horsed around as kids. Mock wrestling fights had frequently smashed their bodies together. Even after he’d discovered his attraction to Logan, he’d never felt the sexual tension they’d shared only hours ago. Why was tonight different?
He looked down and was surprised to see his hand wrapped around his cock. Languidly, he stroked it as it hardened. He knew a good orgasm would eradicate the tension in his body and tried to picture his last boyfriend. Light brown hair and green eyes had topped a lean swimmer’s body.
Clay’s cock was fully hard now. Reaching into his bedside drawer, Clay removed the bottle of lube. A little slick would help the cause. After squeezing out some of the cool liquid, he took himself in hand once again.
Keeping the image of J.D. in his mind, he stroked up and down. As he drifted further into the fantasy, instead of imagining his tongue slowly licking down the flat planes of J.D.’s stomach, it traced the ridges of a well-muscled abdomen. Instead of a pair of long thin arms wrapped around his neck, a pair of strong hands clutched at his back. His hand sped up, and he groaned as his thumb swiped over the leaking head of his cock.
Clay lifted his hips into his fist as he imagined thrusting into the tightest, most welcoming ass he could ever imagine. His eyes remained tightly closed as he chased the explosion just beyond the bend. In his imagination, he ran his hands up and down the strong body beneath him. Muscled arms and legs wrapped around him as they twisted on the sheets.
He was flipped in a move too swift to counter, and as his eyes travelled up the torso of the man now riding him, he gasped. He’d only seen the same small birthmark above the left pec on one man. His eyes flew up to the face of his lover and were caught by a blue gaze. The challenge was evident, the dare to succumb to his long denied passions swimming in their fiery depths, but it was the love broadcasting from every pore of Logan’s body that sent Clay over the edge.
His cock erupted, and he tried to temper the cry of Logan’s name as he climaxed. Wave after wave of elation swamped him. Finally after years of denial and avoidance, he experienced pleasure with the man of his dreams.
When the euphoria faded, he came crashing down as he realised that man, would forever remain tucked away in the far corners of his mind. He knew now as he knew then that the one thing he and Logan would never be able to share was a passionate love. He drifted to sleep both hoping and fearing that his dreams would be filled with more visions of the man he loved.
Chapter Four
The fall leaves crunched underfoot as Logan walked towards the T station from Matt’s office. In the three months since he began therapy, his life had dramatically changed. With Matt’s help, he now had a much better handle on the PTSD. Case in point his ability to get around Boston alone without paralysing fear. There were still moments when his anxiety ramped up and occasional nightmares, but the occurrences were more spread out than before. The grounding techniques Matt had taught him provided a way for Logan to stabilise panic attacks before they got out of control. The flashbacks happened so quickly that he couldn’t prevent them, but he hadn’t had one—as intense as in the bakery—in two months.
Through their discussions, he’d determined that the most common trigger for the flashbacks was seeing people around him that reminded him of former platoon members. When he and Matt had gotten into the nitty gritty of his issues, he confessed his affair with Adams and how their relationship made the attack that much more traumatic. They’d spent several sessions chatting about Logan’s homosexuality and how he’d come to terms with the realisation. He and Matt had spent hours discussing his father’s abuse, and how that had shaped his view of relationships both romantic and casual.
Logan had sought help from military psychologists shortly after enlisting, and with their help, he’d overcome many of his fears. It was only after the counselling that he was able to engage in his first voluntary sexual experience. Of course, he didn’t tell the Army it had been with another man. Patient confidentiality or not, he wasn’t risking his career. Even though Logan felt he was doing better, he knew the journey in recovery was far from over. In fact, it wasn’t difficult to suspect that the hardest discussions were ahead of them.
The hours spent with Matt had been far from easy. He was convinced he’d spent more time crying in the last three months than he had in the last thirty years of his life. Matt was always fantastic about making sure he was stable before kicking him out of the office then Logan would take his red-rimmed eyes and tearstained cheeks home to Clay. He knew Clay was curious about what he and Matt talked about, but the brother of his heart never pushed. Some nights, Logan would feed Clay a little piece of information like ‘We talked about the attack today’, and sometimes, he would look Clay in the eyes then say, ‘It wasn’t a good day. Can we just chill out tonight?’ On those days Clay would break out the Ben and Jerry’s, pop in a DVD and they’d vegetate on the couch ‘til Logan felt his equilibrium restored.
In today’s session, Matt had asked Logan if he was ready to talk to Clay about his sexuality. Logan had thought for a long time before shrugging his shoulders. They’d discussed what reservations he had about being honest with Clay. All Logan could come up with was that he was afraid, if he told Clay the truth, Clay would look Logan in the eye, call him a hypocrite and walk aw
ay. Matt had counselled him that it was possible but had asked if living a lie was better.
Matt had asked Logan if his love for Clay was true. Predictably, Logan had gotten very defensive and blasted Matt with anger. Once he’d settled down, he’d discovered tears running down his cheeks, as he confessed being terrified of losing the bond he and Clay had managed to rebuild in the last few months.
Now, as Logan walked home, he pondered Matt’s statement before leaving the office. You never get an answer to a question never posed. So Logan had to decide. The way he saw it he had two choices. The first was to confess his sexuality to Clay but keep his love a secret. The second was to say a short prayer and confess all, hoping against hope that somewhere deep inside Clay there would be the ability to not only forgive Logan for leaving under the conditions he had but to return the love beating in his heart.
The tram came to a stop at the Broadway station, and he exited the car. His and Clay’s apartment was only a few blocks away. The time to make a decision was closing in. Despite the chill in the autumn air, his hands sweated and his normally quick pace faltered when their building came into sight. He saw Clay’s car parked out front, and he stood still for a moment. His gaze travelled up and caught the sight of Clay standing in the window watching, waiting for him to get home. Clay’s hand rose in greeting and waved him home. Even from this distance, he saw the smile on Clay’s face when their eyes met, and in that moment, he had his answer.
He jogged the rest of the way, making sure to look both ways before running across the street and up the stairs to the front door of the building. His feet barely touched each tread of the stairs before moving to the next, and when he reached the top level, he was out of breath. He was appalled by how lax his conditioning had gotten since his discharge and, made a promise to find a gym and get back in shape.
His hand reached for the front door, but it whipped open before he could grab the handle.