by Witt, L. A.
“He wants to talk.” I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, wishing like hell my giddy, happy mood would come back. It felt like it had never been there at all. “Do you mind if I take my break?”
Simon glanced around the shop. “We’ve got things under control right now.”
“But if you get busy again—”
“Then we’ll handle it.” He touched my shoulder. “If you need to go take care of something . . .”
“I don’t know if I have time to dump his body in the strait.”
Simon snickered and gave my arm a little squeeze. “Go. I mean it—we’ve got things under control.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek and looked around. The Space Villager rush had died down enough for Simon, Lydia, and Dexy to keep things under control, but there would probably be another rush after lunch. If I was going to do this, I needed to either do it now or wait until my shift was over, which would mean spending the whole damn day fuming over it. Might as well get it over with.
“Okay. This shouldn’t take long.”
Simon nodded. No smart-ass retort about how it had better not take too long if I knew what was good for me, and I didn’t like that. I needed this to be a minor enough thing for my boss to make a snarky remark or tell me it could wait until after work.
But he didn’t, and I had to deal with it, so I slipped out the back with Charlie. The alley wasn’t my favorite place in the world for this shit, but no way in hell were we doing this out on the sidewalk. I’d let customers watch me throw off my dignity and turn a setup job into a near striptease. They weren’t going to watch me fighting back tears.
I wasn’t even sure about doing it out here where one of my coworkers might hear something through the door. I knew how thin that door was—Simon and Ian might’ve thought they were being stealthy back here on that rare occasion they’d ducked outside, but oh, no. This boy had heard everything.
At least they were always doing something hot. This was going to be at best awkward, at worst a knock-down, drag-out screaming match.
So we walked a ways down the alley until we were almost to the road. We were behind a coffee shop now, and it was one of those really loud ones where they had to shout your mispronounced name over the music, chatter, and machinery. If anyone in there could hear us out here, I supposed we deserved to be heard.
We halted, and Charlie took a deep breath like he was about to launch into a rehearsed spiel.
“Why don’t you just say it?” I growled. “We both know why you stood me up.”
He stared at me, mouth still open. “I . . . Jesse, it wasn’t—”
“Yeah, it was.” I folded my arms tightly across my chest and shifted my weight. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you wouldn’t kiss me when you left earlier that day. I’m not stupid.”
The blank, slack-jawed stare held for a second, but then he exhaled and shrugged. “Look, it was a shock, okay? What did you expect me to do?”
I blinked. “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe something besides turn into a douche-nozzle?”
Charlie scowled. “Come on. It caught me off guard, you know? It’s kind of a shock to find out you were making out with someone with HIV.”
I pressed my lips together, trying like hell not to let fly everything that was coming to the tip of my tongue. When I was sure I could control my vocabulary and my tone, I quietly said, “Do you even know anything about HIV?”
“Of course.” He shifted with obvious discomfort. “Which is exactly why I put on the brakes. That’s some serious shit, you know? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but—”
“For fuck’s sake.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Charlie, you’re a gay dude. You have sex with other gay dudes. How do you not know . . . I mean . . . how do . . .” I groaned in frustration—mostly because it was illegal to Batman-slap some sense into him—before I started ticking off the points on my fingers. “It’s a manageable disease now. My viral load’s undetectable. We could go bareback if we wanted to. There’s—” I was about to make another point, but the way he turned green at the mention of going bareback halted me midbreath.
Throwing up my hands, I shook my head. “Forget it. I don’t even know why we’re talking about this.” I turned to go.
“Jesse, come on.” He grabbed my elbow to stop me. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, sure you are. So if I wanted to put you up against the wall and kiss you like we did that night on my couch . . .?”
He swallowed, the green in his face not fading in the least.
“That’s what I thought.” I jerked my arm away and kept walking. He didn’t stop me this time.
I was barely halfway to the shop before he was deleted and blocked on my phone. Later, I’d do a little scorched earth with his social media presence too, but I needed to get to the shop and get back to work. There could be another rush at any moment, and Simon would have a stroke if he was short-handed. Or whatever. I just needed to be somewhere Charlie wasn’t.
Shuddering, I jerked open the shop’s back door. I shouldn’t have come out here with him. I should’ve told him to fuck off and been done with it.
Instead of heading right to the busy shop floor, I paused to pull myself together. There was a lot of noise coming from the front, so another rush had probably started, and I prayed like hell everyone was too busy to come back here. I didn’t need them seeing me fighting the urge to either cry or be sick. It didn’t matter how well I knew the reality of my own disease; being reduced to a human biohazard was always an emotional sucker punch. One I’d never be fully prepared for, and one that would never not hurt.
Footsteps caught my attention, and I sniffed sharply before turning to see Simon stepping into the back.
He stopped and studied me. “You okay?”
I forced back the lump in my throat and nodded. “Yeah. Just, uh . . .” I waved toward the door. “Someone who won’t be coming around again.”
“That good or bad?”
I didn’t have an answer. Charlie could take a long walk off a short pier for all I cared, but it still hurt like hell to know my friend was gone. To know he was grossed out by me. It didn’t even matter how many guys I’d known—and slept with—who were aware that HIV wasn’t fucking Ebola. All it took was one. And when that one was a friend . . .
Simon inclined his head. “Hey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I brushed past Simon with a terse, “I’ll be fine.”
He sighed but didn’t say anything.
And I was anything but fine.
Chapter 6
Garrett
“Garrett? You with me?”
I shook myself and turned to Scott. He eyed me from one of the folding lawn chairs on his condo’s balcony. I was sitting in the other, and suddenly I didn’t know how long I’d been staring out at the woods behind the complex.
Sitting up, I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I guess I zoned out.”
He chuckled, gesturing with the joint we’d been sharing. “C’mon. This stuff isn’t that strong.” As if for emphasis, he took a drag and held in the smoke as he offered me the joint.
I waved it off. Apparently I’d had enough. Except I didn’t think it was the weed. Normally, it didn’t do much except lighten my head and relax me. I’d get a little stupid—take longer to pull thoughts together and longer still to articulate them—but that was about it.
So, no, I was pretty sure it wasn’t the weed that had my mind floating away from Scott’s balcony.
Scott turned his head and slowly blew out a cloud. “You’re somewhere else today.” He studied me through the thin smoke, narrowing his eyes a bit like I took some serious concentration. “You want to talk about it?”
I had to think hard about the question, and again, it wasn’t the weed. Scott was one of the few people I could talk to about anything, especially my grief. Maybe it was his training as a counselor or the fact that he’d lost a partner too. Or it might’ve just been the way he was—he’d always been easy to talk to, eve
n in the days before he’d gotten his training or experienced this kind of grief firsthand.
So if there was anyone I’d jump at the chance to talk to on those days when the grief tried to double me over, it was Scott.
Except the grief wasn’t the . . . well, it wasn’t the central issue today. Sean was never far from my thoughts and neither was the emotional shrapnel he’d left behind.
At the forefront of my brain, though, was Jesse. Twice he’d come into the Alehouse, passing the time at the bar and sipping a Coke while we talked about nothing.
I glanced at the smoldering joint, debating if I needed or wanted another hit. I’d probably had enough. Maybe. I’d give it a few minutes before I—
“You don’t have to talk,” Scott prodded cautiously. “You’re just, uh . . . kind of out of it.”
“Happens when you get me stoned, idiot.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Your tolerance is easily as high as mine. Not buying it.”
I laughed. Sitting back, I let my head rest against the sliding glass door. “There’s, um . . . there’s a guy.”
Scott’s chair creaked, and when I turned, he’d sat up. Eyebrows climbing nearly into his hair, he said, “Go on.”
I looked out at the woods again. “I met him when he was in the bar one night. He was getting stood up, and we ended up talking until last call. And then he came back. To see me.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I’m . . .” I exhaled, my throat still burning from the smoke. “I think so, yeah.” I faced him again, not sure how he’d respond.
A smile spread across his lips. “Well good.” He watched me for a few long seconds, either studying me or giving his next comment a chance to break through the haze. “You think he’s into you?”
“I . . .” It wasn’t just the weed slowing my brain down. Even stone-cold sober I’d have struggled to answer him with any kind of certainty. “Maybe?”
The smile turned to a lopsided grin. “Or maybe I should ask: are you into him?”
I was nodding slowly even before I realized it. “I thought it was just friendly at first, but the way it made my night when he came in the second time . . .” I sighed, realizing a second too late how stupid I sounded. I was seriously a breath away from swooning.
So, of course, my conscience picked that moment to dump an icy bucket of guilt on top of my mood. I rubbed my tired eyes.
Scott’s chair creaked again, and he put a hand on my knee. “You’re worried it’s too soon, aren’t you?”
Lowering my own hand, I looked at him. “Am I that transparent?”
He shrugged, his expression completely serious. “I don’t know about that, but I’ve been there, you know?”
I nodded again. My thoughts threatened to start wandering again, and I shook myself, not sure if it was the marijuana or just my own screwed-up head that had carried me away for a moment, and not sure how long I’d been gone. Clearing my throat, I sat back. “Sorry. But yeah, I’m . . . I don’t know. Is it too soon?”
Scott half shrugged. “You’re the only one who can make that decision.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to be trusted with a decision like that quite yet.”
He gave my leg a squeeze. “If you’re not ready, don’t.”
I pulled in a deep breath, tasting the faint sourness of lingering smoke on the air. “What if that means I’m letting a good thing pass me by?”
“Do you think you are?” Stoned or not, he was in therapist mode. No doubt about that. Analyzing this and me just like I’d known he would. I hadn’t been ready for that the other night, but I welcomed it now—nothing like a joint and a half-baked counselor to sift through the jumbled shards of my mind.
“I don’t have a clue. It’s . . . I don’t know.” I scratched the back of my neck. “All he has to do is walk into the bar, and I’ve got butterflies.” Hell, even saying it out loud sent them fluttering. “A lot of butterflies.”
Scott smiled serenely. “Sounds like there’s something happening, then.”
“So what do I do?”
He shrugged. “Let it happen.”
I searched his eyes. “But what if he’s waiting for some kind of signal from me? I sucked at flirting even back before . . .” I swallowed. “You know me. Most of my relationships started with the other guy making a move. Or, you know, both of us being too shit-faced to care how smooth the other was.”
Scott gave an intoxicated laugh. He’d witnessed me meeting a couple of my ex-boyfriends, and he couldn’t explain any more than I could how things had progressed beyond slurred introductions and clumsy dancing to moving in together. Apparently, I was a hell of a lot more charming when I was drunk.
Sighing, I let my head fall back so I could stare up at the sky through gently swaying evergreen branches. “Maybe I should take up drinking again.”
“Won’t do you much good with this guy. If he comes into the bar and you’re working, you can’t be drinking.”
“Point. Probably shouldn’t come in on my off days and drink either.”
“Exactly.” He was quiet for a moment. When his chair creaked again, I watched him sit up and fold his hands in his lap, the lighter between them. “When he comes to the bar, what do you two do?”
“We just talk.”
“What about?”
I shrugged. “Anything. Kid’s kind of a comic nerd, so—”
“Whoa, wait. Kid?” Scott inclined his head. “How old is he?”
“I don’t know.” He’d said, hadn’t he? “In his twenties, maybe? Can’t be any older than thirty.” It took a second—probably the weed this time—but the pieces fell into place in my head, and I exhaled. “Probably the same age as Sean. Give or take a year.”
Scott said nothing.
Sighing, I looked up at the sky and branches again. “I wasn’t looking, but damn . . . he’s had my attention since he showed up at the bar the other night. He’s cute as hell, and talking to him definitely makes my shifts go by faster.”
“‘Cute’? I’ve only ever heard you describe one other man you were interested in as ‘cute.’”
I pursed my lips.
Scott’s chair creaked. “I’m assuming he’s not ‘cute’ in the grizzled biker manner of speaking.”
I laughed. “No. I don’t think Jesse could be further from that description.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I turned my head and arched an eyebrow. “What does ‘mm-hmm’ mean?”
He shrugged. “You tell me.”
“Don’t play counselor, Scott. If there’s something on your mind, say it.”
He watched me for a moment. “Just . . . you’ve always had a pretty distinctive type, you know? Right up until you met Sean.”
My chest tightened, but I waved a hand. “What can I say? He showed me the light.”
Scott didn’t laugh. “I just want to know as your friend, not a counselor—are you into this guy because he really interests you? Or because you’re trying to replace—”
“I couldn’t replace Sean if I wanted to,” I snapped.
Scott showed his palms. “I know. I know. But I guess what I’m asking is, are you looking for a real connection with someone new? Or are you looking for something you lost?”
“I’m not looking for anything. He was just . . .” I gestured as if Jesse were sitting right in front of us, “there. And the connection just happened. It had nothing to do with Sean.”
“Okay.” Scott nodded. “You know I’m only asking because I don’t want you to get hurt, right?”
“Yeah, and I appreciate it. I really do.” Sitting back, I exhaled. “But Jesse . . . he’s not Sean.” Though the more I thought about it, the more I got the feeling Jesse and Sean would’ve either been best friends or mortal enemies. Those tended to be the options when two people were so alike.
My skin prickled at the thought. It was stupid, though. The fact that Sean and Jesse were both on the feminine side didn’t mean they were alike
. Sean had hated being dragged into comic book shops. Jesse worked in one. It really meant nothing that they had some similar mannerisms, and exuded a similar charisma just by walking into a room, and had—
I shook myself again and threw a glare at the joint we’d mostly finished. Man, did that stuff make me space out. “I guess I’m nervous about dating again, and about . . .” What if I am replacing Sean? I waved my hand again. “Everything.”
“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “And for what it’s worth, no matter what, it’s going to be terrifying the first time you date someone. Whether it’s tomorrow or twenty years from now. So if you’re freaking out, that doesn’t necessarily mean you shouldn’t do it. All it means is you’re a guy sticking his neck out there and hoping he doesn’t get hurt again.”
Funny how “hoping he doesn’t get hurt again” took on a whole new meaning these days. All my life, that had meant not wanting to be cheated on or lied to or deserted. What I wouldn’t have given for that definition to still be the first one to come to mind.
I sat up and looked at him. “Good to know I’m not grieving wrong, then.”
“No. You’re not. And you’re not moving on too soon or the wrong way or . . .” Scott absently turned his lighter over between his fingers. “If you click with this guy, you click with him.”
“Except Sean hasn’t been gone that long.” Why does it feel like he’s been gone forever?
“Garrett.” He reached over and gave my forearm a firm squeeze. “If you’re not ready to move on, then don’t rush it. But if you are ready?” Another squeeze, gentler this time. “Let it happen. Don’t do yourself the way I did.”
I shuddered. It had taken Scott twenty years to find Jeremy after Nathan had been killed. I was pretty sure he’d gotten laid regularly, but he’d been too afraid of losing someone again to let himself get close to anyone. For two decades, I hadn’t understood. For the last year? Oh yeah. I got it. The thought of going through this kind of hell twice was enough to give me more nightmares than I already had. I believed I could fall in love again. I didn’t have nearly as much faith in my ability to go through this kind of grief again.