by Cara Dee
Antidepressants didn’t cure depression. It merely gave the brain a chemical nudge. The rest came from hard work.
"How long have you been on leave?" I wondered.
He squinted in thought. "About a month?"
Right. He faced me, hopefully thinking the same thing I was. A month was nothing. It seemed to dawn on him, at least.
He released a breath, his shoulders slumping a little. "Thank you for distracting me."
I shrugged. "Still the truth, buddy. Consider the adjustment, and we'll work on the rest together. Exercise, getting enough sleep, eating properly…" I gave him a pointed look, to which he inclined his head, his expression grumpy in a lighter way. "It's an uphill shit parade of struggles, but that’s how I know you'll make it."
*
Some thirty-plus years ago, Will and I sat in a tree house sipping a beer we'd stolen from his parents. The bottle of bourbon between us now wasn’t stolen, though we sat in much the same way, backs against the wall, legs stretched out along the bed, and conversation flowing aimlessly and easily.
It'd always been easy to talk to Will.
Reminiscing hadn't been his thing at guys' night, but we got to share some memories now. Everything from summer camps and shit we got into, to school and sports.
After learning that his folks were several states away, it was easier to talk about times when they were involved, too.
"I'm glad you're back," he admitted, taking a sip of his drink. "I never thought I'd say that."
I smirked wryly. "Never thought I'd hear it."
He snorted a lazy chuckle.
He was quiet while I refilled the glasses, and he got pensive.
"I've been selfish, though." He kept his gaze on the drink. "You'll use my depression as an excuse—perhaps it's valid—but that doesn’t make it right."
"What do you mean?" I took a swig, finally relaxing. The week was coming to an end, my kid was happy and making new friends, the cabin was starting to look like a home, and I was with Will. The bourbon was fucking stellar, too. My chest felt warm and loose, the burn in my throat dull and smooth.
"We haven't talked much about you," he clarified. "The news you dumped in my lap on Alex's steps wasn't exactly minor. You've had a lot happening, as well."
Maybe, but I was in no rush. "There's time." I bumped his shoulder with mine. "I wanna ensure your depression is temporary—you know what I mean." It was a nasty bitch to get rid of completely; bouts came and went. "Whatever happens then… But before we get there, I don’t want you to pretend to be interested."
He winced. "It's hard to explain."
"No need to explain something I already understand." I emptied my drink and coughed. "I'm no almost-doctor like you, but I know that shit's chemical. I also know you. You give a damn." I shut up, thinking I might be rambling without getting my message across.
Will sighed and followed suit, draining his glass. Then he tilted his head back against the wall and huffed with a wry smile. "Almost-doctor."
The corners of my mouth twisted up.
Who knew, maybe I would be next. Unlike when I was a kid, I could pinpoint feelings and thoughts now. This constant need to be here for Will and how often he was on my mind went beyond friendship. He was pretty much everything to me for nineteen years, but then I was gone for twenty-four. Yet, I came back here, and as much as everything had changed…nothing had. Along with my boy, Will was still part of that "everything."
When he got better and went home to his wife and children again, it would be difficult to act as if that didn’t bother me on a personal level.
Some friend I was.
I was the guy who reaped the benefits of our friendship. I could thank him for being able to graduate high school. He was the giver, regardless of what he was going through right now. Me? I took. I got him into trouble when we were young. He bailed me out. Lied for me. Smoothed shit over with our folks.
"Why was it difficult to come out for you?" he wondered.
Only for so many reasons, most related to him. I was feeling the effects of the alcohol enough not to mind sharing the story, though I guessed it was best to make sure he actually wanted the real answer.
"It's kind of a depressing story, and it involves your parents," I told him.
He blinked at me, confused, then lifted a shoulder. "Kelly, I'm the master of depressing stories. Hit me with it."
I huffed and took a swig straight from the bottle. It numbed the part of me that got anxious, and soon, I was at ease.
"All right, I guess it was a series of events," I said gruffly, and then the past engulfed me.
"I'll be right back, Ma." I landed a smooch on her forehead before I set out to find Will in the sea of graduation robes and family members. For being such a small school, we sure knew how to fill an auditorium.
I grinned widely when I spotted him farther away, being hugged by aunts and uncles. I hadn't thanked him enough. It was because of him I graduated today.
As I was about to shout his name, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I spun around to see Mr. C. Goddammit. What had I done now?
"Congratulations, boy." He shook my hand in a firm grip, his smile tight and his stare unwavering.
"Thanks, Mr. C." I'd calmed down this year. I knew they were watching me like a hawk, so I didn’t think I'd done anything wrong.
He nodded and stepped close, a hand on my neck. Squeeze. "Just a quick word," he promised, speaking for only me to hear. I swallowed nervously. "My wife and I aren't blind. We see the way you look at him, and it ends now."
"I haven't—I'm not a fag," I growled.
"Listen, boy." His voice shook with anger, and he squeezed my neck harder. I could probably shake him, but fear's grip on me was too strong. "It's my last warning. We're reasonable people, and my son is an emotional being. For as long as he doesn’t have his own backbone, I'll be there. You can be his friend if you accept you'll come in second place."
"I get it," I bit out, humiliated and enraged. "I won't hold him back. I won't be in the way."
I tipped back the bottle again, avoiding Will's shock. I loathed feeling vulnerable, and telling him about the initial hints and then the ultimate warning from his parents was like undressing on a stage.
My humor turned dark, and my smile was bitter. "The irony of it all is that—" I stifled a belch in my fist and cleared my throat. "Your folks made me scared to shit that I was gonna lose you, but…in the end, I pushed you away all on my own."
I bet his parents were thrilled I went away. They'd seen something in me not even I knew. The looks they insisted I sent Will…? That I was supposedly eyeing him in a special way…? I was so deep in denial back then I didn’t even believe they were telling the truth. The seed of doubt had only just begun to grow, and when Will kissed me, I exploded.
"I don’t know what to say…" He looked dazed for a moment, only the tick of his jaw betraying anger. "I'm very sorry, Kelly." He shook his head slowly. "I grew up more wary and fearful of my father than I respected him, but I didn’t know they went that far. I remember them warning me, saying you weren't good for me… I thought that was the extent of it."
It was okay—now. Much like Will had processed the moment I viciously shoved him out of my life, I had processed his parents' bigoted ways toward me. While I didn’t have any desire to see the Calverts again, I sure as fuck didn’t fear them.
"Here." I refilled our glasses, and we clinked them softly. "It's in the past."
He didn’t say more on the matter, though I could tell he was thinking about it.
Now it was out there. He knew, and we could move on.
I racked my brain for a minute, trying to come up with a lighter topic that would put us in a better mood.
In the end, it was what he did.
"Lasagna," Will said.
"Huh?" I frowned. What the fuck was he talking about lasagna for? I automatically made a face.
He had his eyes closed, and there was a faint smile on his lips. "Yo
u don't like lasagna—for the most bizarre reason. You can’t trust anything that's served in layers."
Fuck.
Kids with crushes…
"Tea is for old people or the British, you said," he continued quietly. "The smell of apple juice turns your stomach, but if you could live on apples for the rest of your life, you probably would."
Despite the queasy fear of the unknown and what this meant, he drew a chuckle from me, and I fucking ached.
"I'm not sure I have a childhood memory without you in it, Kelly."
Fuck, fuck.
Chapter 11
William Calvert
With the bourbon loosening me up and warmth seeping into my core, thoughts and memories I usually viewed as shameful didn’t weigh me down as heavily. For twenty-four years, my childhood was off-limits. Everything was so deeply connected to Kelly that I locked it all away, and the tidbits I shared with my family were vague and mundane.
Kelly being here meant I could unlock that rattling box, and then memories came flooding out.
God, I'd missed him.
I was angry with my parents, angry with myself…and perhaps that made it easier to get lost. I was stepping back into the world before our forever ended, and I could only hope I'd find the strength to exit. There was a reason I allowed myself to go through photos only once a month. I became stuck too easily, wishing for a life that turned out much differently. And once I was down that rabbit hole, I was gone. Guilt crushed me for implying I was wishing away my children. Yet…I wondered sometimes.
Because of Brady and Aurora, I could never regret any past event that led to them being here, though that didn’t mean I couldn’t be greedy with wishful thinking of having the cake and eating it, too.
I yearned to be happy.
"I wanna ask something I know you're uncomfortable with."
"Shoot," I replied. He was in luck, because I wasn't uncomfortable right this minute.
He shifted next to me, and I opened my eyes to find him watching me with an expression of hesitancy.
"How…or when, maybe…did you realize it was just a phase?" he wondered. "Whatever you felt for me, I mean. As a guy, not—you know."
"A phase?" My eyebrows rose.
"Yeah." He waited, probably not seeing anything strange with his question. I certainly did. "Was it right after I split? When you met your wife?"
"What makes you think it was a phase?"
"The fact that you're married to a woman was my first clue."
"And bisexuality is what, a myth?"
That shut him up, and he sat back again, having clearly not entertained that idea. Had he not confessed he was gay, I would've tensed up and become defensive. He was right; the topic did make me uncomfortable, except the alcohol helped.
"I've never talked to anyone about this, so I guess I'm rusty." He poured another drink and downed it too quickly. "I—fuck." He coughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Never mind."
No, not never mind. His tells were all too familiar. He was more uncomfortable than I was. "You never talked about what, your sexuality?" I tilted my head. "How long have you been out?"
He rubbed his forehead and squinted. "A few years, but I've known longer. Before I had the balls to be honest and accept everything, I went to a few bars for the wrong reasons." There was a pause before he spoke again, and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it. "Rage, shame, to prove a point, bargaining with myself—just this one time, I said."
"You mean with other men," I said quietly.
I couldn’t identify the twinge that seized in my chest, only that it was sharp and painful.
Jesus. Jealousy.
"Right." He nodded. "I couldn’t bring myself to go home with anyone, much less grow close and consider relationships, so in my back pocket I have some depressing hookups and bad memories." He blinked blearily and chuckled humorlessly. "I was too angry, and unlike you, I didn’t get the college experience. I was too much of a fuck-up for that."
I frowned, struggling to focus. No more bourbon for me. "Um. What do you mean by college experience?"
"Well, that’s why I asked earlier." He waved a hand. "About when you realized it was a phase? But if you're bi, I'm guessing college was an easy place to explore."
I couldn’t help but snort. I wasn’t even sure why it was funny.
"What the fuck is that for?" He looked as amused as he was frustrated.
"You seem to believe I spent my undergrad testing out men," I chuckled. "I was miserable in college, Kelly. Freshman year, I had one encounter. It shot me straight toward thoughts on suicide. The second and last guy I was with was senior year, and he thought I had alcohol problems because whenever we saw each other, I had to be intoxicated."
The admission didn’t sober me one bit, though it did wipe away all traces of humor.
It wasn’t funny—any of it.
"You weren't supposed to fucking leave," I said in a moment of anger. Pulling up my legs, I hugged them to my chest and rested my chin on a knee. Something was cracking wide open inside me, which I wouldn’t be able to deal with. I couldn’t handle any more defeat, goddammit.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, dizzy from the bourbon.
"I know." The bed dipped with his weight as he shifted, and then I felt his chin on my shoulder. "By the time I got to Texas, I knew I'd made the biggest mistake of my life."
My heart squeezed, and I tilted my head toward his so our foreheads touched. There was no way I'd open my eyes, though. Nor did I release my legs, for fear I'd do something stupid. I only needed a minute to revel in the closeness. He was back. Kelly was home.
"Don't leave again."
He shook his head minutely. "Never." When he eased closer another inch or two, he accidentally brushed his nose against my cheek.
I tensed up for a second as my stomach dropped. I'd made the monumental mistake once of going too far, and this was why. Kelly was an affectionate man—then and now. It was easy to misinterpret and gain false hope.
"You were stuck in my head, Will," he whispered. "I may have been gone, but…Christ, you weren't."
A shiver ran down my spine when his hand made its way up my back. He had to stop. Soon. One more minute. It was safe as long as I remained still, though I acknowledged I should tilt my head away from his. Should.
"How do you mean?" I asked nervously.
His touches were so fucking familiar. I craved them.
"I named my son after you." The next brush wasn’t an accident. "Matthew William."
I hauled in a breath and screwed my eyes shut harder, his nose lingering at my jaw, his hand on my neck, fingers playing slowly in my hair.
Don't do this to me.
"Why?" I croaked. Matthew William. My chest filled with warmth while my heart hammered furiously at Kelly's touches. Up and down my back, lazy, sensual, into my hair.
Was I really so stupid as to imagine the lust, or had I lost my mind? Or…was it real?
"Because…" He let out a soft yet husky chuckle. "You were always there. I couldn’t let you go, you bastard. I tried… " He sighed and rested his forehead in the crook of my neck. "I gave up years ago, though. I was an idiot for even thinking there could be anyone else."
"Kelly—"
His next words held more urgency. "You have no clue how much I missed you." He kept toying with me. In that second, I hated him. He nuzzled my cheek, his damn lips following. It was killing me. This was too much—even for him. "I'm a shitty fucking person. You don’t have to tell me."
I wasn’t going to.
His free hand came up to my other cheek, and I gnashed my teeth together. There wasn’t an ounce of resistance when he turned my face toward his. The weak man that I was, I caved before I could even consider fighting. Then his mouth covered mine, and I shattered.
The mere dream of kissing Kelly had drowned me for decades.
The reality sent me flying in the most absurd way. A foreign noise slipped past my lips, and before I knew it, I was ki
ssing him back. My arms were no longer around my legs. I turned to him, cupped his scruffy cheek, and swiped the tip of my tongue across his lip.
"Ah, fuck…" He groaned quietly.
The sound sent a rush of power through me. I deepened the kiss as I pushed him back. Kelly sucked in a breath and scooted down, and I followed, ending up half on top of him. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not ever—and I was powerless to stop it.
"Why the hell did you do this?" I kissed him harder, leftover anger mingling with a brewing surge of desire. "Christ." The sensation nearly floored me. I grabbed his jaw, tasting the bourbon on his tongue, and for the first time in years, I was overcome by hunger.
Kelly's hands roamed my back and sides, clutching at me.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, out of breath.
"Are you?"
"No."
I shuddered. My brain shut down, and I poured everything I was into each touch and every kiss. I allowed myself to be gluttonous. I felt the hard planes of a man's chest under my hand. Kelly's chest. I let myself love the feeling of scruff and sharp features. I unleashed the fantasies I'd conjured over the years, and they rolled through my mind and fueled every move I made.
"Fuck, you feel good," he growled.
I let out a labored breath, the unmasked lust in his voice waking me up further. My cock filled slowly, almost a foreign feeling these days. I rolled on top of him and controlled the kiss completely. I became handsy and rougher, as if he was going to disappear any goddamn second and I had to get my fill.
You get one night.
I touched him wherever I could reach. I scratched my fingers lightly against his scruff as I stroked his tongue with mine. I rubbed his bicep when he flexed it to cup my neck. I pushed my hardening cock against his erection that strained in his jeans, and I tugged at his hair to angle his head for an even deeper kiss.
"So sexy," I whispered.
He sighed and exposed his neck to me when I trailed openmouthed kisses there. "Scrawny and still fucking irresistible."