by Lane Hayes
“You didn’t play by the rules!” he screamed. All pretense was gone. He was raw. Hurt, angry, and more fierce than I’d ever seen him. He stepped closer, his eyes blazing with fury. “Rule number one, never fucking lie to me!”
“I didn’t lie.” I grabbed his arm, willing him to listen to me.
“No. You just didn’t tell the whole truth!”
“How could I? Do you think it was easy for me? I was devastated. Julie wasn’t the only one who was crushed when the baby didn’t make it, Alex. I didn’t expect him, but once he was here, I wanted him too. I wanted a chance to be more than I am for someone who mattered.” My voice cracked, and tears welled ominously.
Alex studied me in the darkness. I had no idea what he saw or hoped to see. I was so lost, so on edge, I could barely see straight.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry for your pain. But more than anything, I’m sorry you haven’t figured out how to deal with it. How to listen to music that haunts you or talk about things that hurt. I can’t do that for you. Only you can.” He shook his head and looked away. “Right now I need to fix my own problems. I can’t help you any more than you can help me. I feel too much for you, Nate. It’s not smart.”
“No. You’re wrong. This is smart. This is real. This is right. I love you, Alex.”
The cool wind whipped around us, pelting my ankles with sand and sending a shiver down my spine. My heart beat an anxious tattoo as the silence stretched between us.
Alex opened his mouth to let out a rush of breath. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. “I can’t do this now.”
“I can wait. I can do whatever you need me to. If you need time, I understand. But, Alex, I’m not giving you up.” I shoved my cold hands into my pockets to keep myself from reaching out for him, knowing he’d pull away.
Alex inclined his head and gave me a sad look. “I’m leaving now. Let me go.”
I studied his expressive features for clues. He looked miserable. The sorrowful eyes and deep frown were so out of place on his handsome face. I had no idea what to say to make him stay. Or if his staying was a good idea. Maybe he was right. Maybe we both needed a little space and perspective. But as I watched him turn away and jog back in the sand toward the boardwalk, a crushing weight of unbearable sadness settled over my chest. Heavier than any burden I’d carried in a very long time.
I BURIED myself in work. It was the only thing I could think to do while I waited for him to tell me what came next. The next morning I was up and on the road well before dawn and didn’t come home until at least ten o’clock. In my mind forty-eight hours was enough time. It was all I was willing to grant him. I hated the silence. What I used to find peaceful, I now found oppressive. There was no music blasting down the hall, no laughter, no one speaking in Spanglish or challenging me… physically, mentally. There was only quiet. I yearned for Alex. I wanted to hear him play piano, tell me stories about his mother or a new client he was training, or hell, what he ate for breakfast that morning. Anything. Anything but silence.
By Friday I was a bona fide mess. I couldn’t concentrate. I was jumpy, nervous, worried. For someone who’d made a reputation being cool under pressure, it was rattling to suddenly be on the extreme opposite of calm and collected. People were bound to notice. I caught a few employees giving me concerned sideways glances and knew I had to find another way to pass the time until Alex was ready to… fuck, I didn’t know. Admit he cared? I hoped so because the idea of him saying he wasn’t interested was too damn painful to consider.
The late afternoon traffic was a joke. It took me fifteen minutes of sitting at a standstill on the 110 before I realized I’d get there faster traveling on surface streets. I exited at Olympic Boulevard and headed west. I was strung out and wracked with nerves by the time I pulled up in front of Definition. Felix greeted me warmly in Spanish at the valet kiosk, assuring me he’d take good care of my car. I smiled weakly as I handed him my keys.
Tomás gave me a friendly smile and a wave when I pushed open the door but continued his phone conversation. He gave me a perplexed look when I didn’t keep walking through to the gym.
“Hey there, handsome! Where’s your workout bag?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes flirtatiously.
“I—um. Is Alex here?”
Tomás’s expression seemed guarded suddenly. Protective. “No. He’s training a client off premises. I doubt he’ll be back in today. Did you try his cell?”
“Uh, no. I’ll do that. Thanks.”
I turned away before he could ask any other questions, like “why don’t you know where he is?” or “what happened?” I was very aware I exuded an uncharacteristic anxious aura. The last thing I needed was the entire gym to start speculating what was wrong between their boss and me.
I stood outside, contemplating my next move. It was ten minutes after six. The traffic on Melrose was heavy. It would take forever to get home, and I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in my car with my head full of worry. I turned right and started walking. Everyone was in a hurry. Someone bumped into my elbow with a giant shopping bag emblazoned with the BGoods logo. Suddenly I knew where to go.
The store was closed. Of course. I peered inside to see if Bran was there and saw a large bald man chatting at the register with a pretty young woman with strawberry-blonde hair and a sunny smile. She handed him a bag and escorted him to the door. They were still engaged in conversation as she unlocked the latch and opened it.
“Bye, darlin’. Tell Brandon I’m in love with this new collection. It’s divine! I’ll be back for the fabric samples Monday.”
“Will do! Have a great weekend.” She waved at the man and gave me a lopsided grin, “Sorry, sir. We’re closed for the night.”
“Is Bran here?”
“Yes, but—”
“Will you please ask him to—”
“Whatcha doing here, Nate? The gym’s thataway.” Bran stood with one hand planted on his slim hip and the other pointing in the direction I’d just come from. He gave me a thorough once-over before inclining his head. “Lizzy, this is Nate, who has inexplicably lost his way. Come on. Join me in my office while I go over receipts. I told Jake I’d be home in an hour.”
Brandon sauntered away, leaving me to follow. Lizzy smiled and ushered me inside so she could relock the door. “Go on. He’s in a hurry. I think Jake’s actually making dinner. They were making plans earlier when he came by to get Mack and….”
She was still talking somewhere behind me. Jake, Mack, pasta… I didn’t know. Nor did I know what I was doing here. What the hell was I going to talk to Bran about? I was woefully unprepared. It was the same foreign feeling I’d been carrying with me now for two straight days.
BGoods was a high-end home accessory boutique. Bran’s clientele was much like Alex’s, well connected with time to spare and the means to enjoy the finer things in life. I passed a vignette of tasteful glass bottles adorned with seashells and jewel-toned crosses. My eye was drawn to a colorful display of pillows on display. Bran was a master at creating visual interest. Though my taste ran more toward modern design, I could appreciate superior design aesthetic when I saw it. And Brandon Good was certainly talented.
And he was now staring at me like I’d dyed my hair purple, and he wasn’t sure how to tell me that particular shade didn’t suit me. He sat on the corner of his rough-hewn wood desk with his arms crossed, his beautiful face angled curiously. Brandon exuded an effortless sense of style. No doubt he’d been at the store for eight-plus hours, but he still managed to look chic in his slim-fitting khaki trousers and a black V-neck cashmere sweater. I felt like a slob in my two thousand dollar charcoal Armani suit in comparison.
“Well?”
“Um.” I sat down in the modern-looking metal chair in front of the desk and took off my glasses. I didn’t need to see anything. I was lost. What difference could it possibly make if I could see? “I don’t know, Bran.”
“Hmm. Does it start with an A?”
&nb
sp; I shrugged and swallowed hard before setting my glasses back on my nose. “Hmm.”
“Do you want to talk or would you rather practice telepathy?”
I gave him a short laugh and tried a smile. I felt like shit. “Telepathy please.”
“Sorry, hon. I’m a little rusty there. And it’s been a long day. I have a hot man and an old dog waiting for me at home.”
“So, spit it out, eh?”
“See? Your direct slash indirect communication skills are already improving,” he snarked.
“How much time is the right amount to give when someone tells you they need space?” I gulped and fixed my gaze somewhere just beyond Bran’s head. It was too weird to initiate this type of conversation. I was out of my element in every possible way.
“Depends.” Bran sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Every situation is different.”
“What if the person—”
“Alex?”
“He found out about Julie and the baby and, fuck. I would have told him. I was going to when she stopped by that day in Oxnard but—”
Brandon held up a hand to halt my flurry of speech. “Slow down.”
I let out a rush of air and closed my eyes briefly before launching into my story. I didn’t stop long enough to think about the dose of poetic justice involved in me baring my soul to the man I thought was a poor substitute for Jake’s ex. Brandon listened patiently, his expressive face vacillating between supreme amusement and something just shy of sorrow.
“I’m not sure I’m qualified to give any advice here. I can’t relate. I’m gay. I know it. Alex is gay, and he knows it. In fact he wants everyone to know. He’s looking for stable ground in a situation that eluded him once, and maybe he doesn’t want to take a chance he’s about to run into the same drama with a new bisexual guy.”
“I’m a bad bet, huh?”
“Not if you love him.”
“I do. I told him but… time. He wants time. Fuck. Bran, this is new for me. I usually walk away well before I get in this far with anyone. It’s too hard to feel so….”
“Vulnerable?”
I nodded miserably.
“If it hurts it’s worth it. I know that shouldn’t make sense, but it’s true. I can’t tell you what to do. But I will say this: talk. Communicate in every way you can. Make him hear you.” Brandon stood and reached out to smooth my hair behind my ear in a gesture that was slightly overfamiliar and very Bran. “After that it’s up to him.”
Twelve
HOW CAN you make someone hear you? How do you make them listen? And what the fuck do you do when you’re not sure if they’re even physically present in the first place?
I called his cell and knocked on his door at various intervals throughout the weekend. When my four walls threatened to suffocate me, I put on my running shoes. I jogged along the boardwalk, keeping a careful eye out for a muscular man with longish dark wavy hair and a stunning smile. He was nowhere to be found. I thought I heard a noise next door when I returned from one of my runs and immediately began a renewed effort to call, knock, and in short make it very clear I wanted to talk. Nothing. Going back to stalk him at the gym after being pointedly ignored didn’t sound like a good plan. So I tried something else.
I played Beethoven. Nonstop and loudly. I played every sonata, symphony, and concerto I had on my iPod. Even Moonlight Sonata. This had to be another odd take on stalking and disturbing the peace. I couldn’t believe no one called the police. It didn’t matter. He still didn’t return my calls or knock on my door. Even to tell me to keep the racket down. Severe sleep deprivation combined with an inability to eat or concentrate at the office made me a zombie by the middle of the following week. But I remained hopeful. Or stupid.
The following Wednesday I drove to the LGBT center well before the regularly scheduled practice time. I was useless at work anyway, and my plan was to catch Alex before everyone arrived. I’d changed into black soccer shorts and a bright yellow pullover. Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Oh good. The ref’s here!” Eli mocked as I approached the field. “Or are you trying to attract some honey? Wait. I thought you were into dick. What the fuck?”
“Leave him alone, and go get dressed.”
Michael stood with one foot resting on a soccer ball. He carried himself with an innate poise and confidence that at times bordered on arrogance. I had a feeling it was a product of a lifetime spent on fields like this one. Today he and Eli were the only people on the huge green expanse adjacent to the center. I checked my watch. I was really early, but yes, it was Wednesday. So why was Michael here? This was Alex’s day to—Oh. My heart sank. I couldn’t muster the courage to look at Alex’s best friend until Eli was halfway across the field, but I felt his scrutiny keenly.
“He’s not coming, huh?” I kept my eyes focused on the lone towering palm tree near the entrance to the center. It was one of those impossibly tall, spindly trees that looked interesting when planted in groups of twos or threes but awkward on their own. I could relate, I mused.
“Hmm. He asked me to switch days and to tell you to turn your music down.” Michael’s mouth lifted slightly at the corners.
I gave small chuckle that quickly morphed into a belly laugh. The poetic justice kept right on coming. Michael eyed me warily before setting a hand on my shoulder. I looked into his concerned face and fuck, I felt like crying. I hated pitying stares and having people who knew me as a stable, serious man look at me like I had a screw loose in the worst spot possible.
“Do you want me to go? You probably don’t need me here.”
“Hell no, I don’t want you to go! There is strength in numbers when you’re dealing with teenagers. I can’t do this on my own.” Michael shuddered dramatically, but his panic had a note of sincerity.
I nodded, unable to find the appropriate words.
“Nate.”
“Hmm?”
“Alex and I… we come from a different place. One that is very insular. Very traditional and religious. Our families are good people who’ve worked hard for a chance at a better life and for opportunity. We’re taught to respect the old ways and carry on tradition. It’s expected. Tonio is a good man who—”
I snorted derisively.
Michael chuckled before continuing. “You sound like Luke. The truth is Tonio’s better than most. He reacted better to us being gay as teenagers than my dad did when he found out two years ago. I think he’ll come around. He loves his family. And Alex is… special. He knows that. For Tonio’s generation, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ was a kind way to deal with an uncomfortable subject. He doesn’t think tolerance is a dirty word, and he doesn’t get why Alex is so upset. It’s hard to let go of old ways.”
“I understand. That’s not why Alex is avoiding me, though.”
“Maybe not directly, but be patient. He’s doing that interview with the reporter now.”
“Wait! Now? Where?”
“Inside the center. We did part of it together, but he wanted to talk to her priv—where are you going? He’ll be done soon. Nate?”
I walked toward the center with a purposeful stride that became a jog by the time I neared the front door. Michael was calling me back, but I knew instinctively I had to move forward. Eli gave me another taunting once-over when I stepped into the reception area. He was leaning against the wall like he owned the place and was wondering how the hell I was allowed inside.
“Where’s Alex?”
“Why d’ya wanna know?”
I growled and surprised us both when I caged him against the wall with one arm and got directly into his space. “Tell me where the fuck he is, Eli.”
The standoff was thankfully short. He eyed me thoughtfully before inclining his head to the right. “Conference room.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, Nate.”
“What?” I stopped with my hand on the knob.
“Don’t mess with him.” Eli’s voice was soft but resolute. He’d been through more cra
p than most kids his age, but in Alex, he’d known kindness too.
I swallowed hard and nodded.
My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the door. The conference room was small but colorful. A gray modern-style sofa was pushed up against a lime-green-painted wall with a side table and a funky-looking orange lamp next to it. A moderate-size flat screen television hung on the opposite wall. The bright afternoon sun shone through an enormous floor-to-ceiling window in between, casting the small round table nearby in an ethereal light. Alex sat at the table talking to a petite brunette with long silky hair and a look of utter infatuation on her pretty face. She was obviously taken with the charismatic former pro soccer player turned advocate for troubled teens. Who could blame her? With his signature tousled hair and his friendly smile in place, he looked angelically beautiful and maybe even a little dangerous.
“…it’s like Michael was saying earlier, sports teach life lessons. Discipline, drive, how to work together toward a common goal. How to win and sometimes, how to lose. Skills everyone needs to succeed. I am a better person for having learned the value of sportsmanship and respect for others. As a member of the LGBT community, I hope to give back somehow.”
“Alex, are you saying—”
He looked up and stared at me meaningfully when I approached the table. The woman gave me a curious glance. She seemed a bit perturbed, but she was too polite to ask what the hell I was doing interrupting her exclusive interview for a major periodical at exactly the wrong time. She was just about to get a major scoop, and my presence was an annoyance.
“We’re almost done, sir. Do you mind if we finish up?”
Alex held up a hand to stop her speech, though he kept his gaze fixed on me. His expression was wary, but I saw an almost infinitesimal shift, a sign of some sort. For someone who always wished to be understood without having to speak, it was an odd moment. I thought I knew what he was communicating, but I wasn’t 100 percent sure. My heart skipped a beat. This could either be horribly embarrassing or a poignant opportunity. But I wouldn’t know until I took a chance.