by Jaime Samms
“Did I drool or something?”
Cal shook his head.
Cobalt unfurled his long limbs and set his feet on the floor. Stuffing his old bones into the chair had been a mistake. His muscles rebelled at being made to unkink themselves, and he groaned.
“Getting old?”
Cobalt huffed. “Of course, darling. Did you take your pills?”
Cal continued to stare at him. That corner of anger had peeled back a tiny bit more, though, giving him a haunted, helpless vibe.
Forcing away his annoyance, Cobalt reached for the bottles, read the labels, and portioned out Cal’s meds. “You make Holland nursemaid you too?”
Cal shook his head. He took the pills Cobalt held out, swallowed them with the water, and set the glass carefully onto the coffee table. He eased himself upright and set his feet on the floor.
“You need more ice?”
He shook his head, leaned forward, and wrapped both arms around his middle. He looked positively green.
“Are you going to puke?”
“Maybe.”
Cobalt found a metal bowl in a kitchen drawer and brought it back. “Here.” He set the bowl on the coffee table and sat next to Calvin, rubbing lightly over his back. “It doesn’t last forever.”
“Sure.”
“I promise.”
Cal turned his head just enough to peer at him. “You’re still here.”
All Cobalt could do was shake his head. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
Calvin’s answering scowl turned pathetic as a wave of nausea made him sweat and shake.
“Oh, baby.” Cobalt wrapped him up in both arms, cradling him against his chest, holding on while Cal shook and hiccupped and his skin turned clammy. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “It will.”
The waves of panic and vile stomach swept through Cal for hours, and he alternately barked angrily at Cobalt to get out and shivered in his lap, all but whimpering in misery, until sometime after ten, when the sweats seemed to finally stop. He managed to sit up, curling himself into the corner of the couch with a glass of water in hand and a blanket around his shoulders.
Cobalt watched him, wondering which piece of his ex he was going to get now that the worst seemed to have passed.
Cal sipped the water, stared at the carpet, and the silence stretched pretty thin before he finally spoke. “The doctors suggested I didn’t dance at all until my meds evened out.” He sounded broken and lost.
“Yeah. They told me the same thing. Rest as much as possible. Don’t wear yourself out. Stay strong, because the meds are going to fuck with you until they find the right ones.” He shuddered. “To think, it’s way better for us now than it was for those poor souls twenty years ago.” Absently he ran fingers over the thin piping of black bedazzle on the placard of his overshirt.
“That why you went back to Toronto?”
“Toronto is home, Cal. You could have come with me.”
Cal shook his head. “You didn’t want me there.”
No. He hadn’t wanted him there to witness this weakness, to prey on it, make it worse. And he had desperately wanted him there to hold him when he thought he was going to shake apart with the chills or throw up a lung, or when his head was splitting and his emotions took over everything.
“You abandoned me,” he whispered. Went off to keep dancing when I couldn’t. And Cobalt had punished him for that by not letting him go, even after they were apart, even after the dynamic they’d once craved had turned mean and vindictive.
Cal dragged his head up to look at him. “You left me.”
“You cheated on me long before I went back to Toronto.”
“You were too busy dancing to care.”
“I was dancing because that was the only thing I had that loved me as much as I loved it.” And look where it got me.
Cal shook his head. “That’s not true,” he whispered. “I loved you.”
Cobalt stared at him. “Did you know?”
“Know?”
“You were sick. Did you know? Did you mean to—”
“What?” All the color drained from Cal’s cheeks, and for an instant Cobalt was sure he really was going to throw up this time. “You think I did that to you on purpose?”
“Did you?”
The anger cracked open completely, and where a month ago it would have exploded and rained pain onto Cobalt, today it just split apart and fell away, an old scab covering a festering, unhealed wound. “I would never—I loved you!”
Cobalt stared, shaking himself, now, palms sweating, head buzzing.
“I didn’t know, Coby. I didn’t realize until you got sick, and then—” He swallowed hard. “I knew there was only one place you could have been infected. I knew it, and—” He gulped and an uncontrolled sound left him. “I did that to you, and there was nothing I could do to make it right. I didn’t know how to—fix—” Another gasp, a choking breath, and tears were spilling down his cheeks. “You should hate me,” he whispered.
Cobalt crawled across the couch to him, gathered him up, and rocked him, caressing his hair as his own tears spilled over. That jag lasted longer than he would have imagined possible before Cal finally pushed him away and jerked his knees up to keep him away.
“You should hate me,” he spat. “Why don’t you?”
Cobalt sighed and settled into the far corner. “What good would it do?”
“I tried to make you hate me, I think.”
Cobalt nodded. “Probably.” He smiled grimly. “And I’m just mean enough to let you keep trying.” He met Cal’s gaze, and his stomach churned at the hurt there. “I could never have possibly hated you as much as you hated yourself, darling,” he said, voice gentle. “You were hurting and you took it out on me. I know treating me like shit made you feel worse. I was mean enough to let you keep doing it and never make you stop. To watch you bleed every time you were mean to me. I was just as bad. We did it to each other.”
Cal swallowed but said nothing.
For long minutes they stared at each other. Cobalt imagined all the times he’d let Cal get away with his violence and anger, let Cal take it out on him and then try to make it up to him. He remembered every small slight, every barb he’d pushed under Cal’s skin to force his anger, and then every refusal to forgive. Every time he viciously let him back in to start the cycle over again. His entire body ached with the tension of those memories. He had to let them go, or they would poison him.
“You can’t make me stop,” Cal said at last.
Cobalt frowned. “Sorry?”
“You couldn’t have made me stop beating us up. And you can’t make me stop now.” He lowered his legs, stretching out his knee and rubbing at it. “But I can stop. I will stop.” He gazed at his hand over his swollen, bruised knee. “I have to stop.”
Cobalt nodded. “Me too.” He scooched forward. “I’ll get you some ice.”
“Thanks.”
When he came back, Calvin had stretched out onto his back again, so Cobalt arranged the ice and towel over his injury and resumed his seat in the chair.
“You don’t have to stay.” Cal watched him, the raw need still evident in his eyes, though he had managed to smooth most of it off his face.
“I’ll stay until Holland gets home.”
Cal nodded.
Silence.
“Is he good to you?” Cal asked out of the blue, snapping Cobalt’s attention from the nowhere he had been contemplating.
He didn’t have to ask who Cal meant. “Yes” was all he said.
“He’d do pretty much anything you asked.”
Cobalt nodded.
“He’ll be good for you.”
“You giving your blessing, darling?”
Cal’s smirk was edged but not mean this time. “Just an observation.” He drew in a deep breath, flaring his nostrils, and let it out again in a sigh. “Wonder how long it’ll take him to figure out you only call him darling when you’re pissed.”
&n
bsp; “He already knows.”
Cal laughed. It was about as genuine a sound as Cobalt had heard from him, other than the sobs, in a very long time.
“Holland,” Cobalt blurted. “He’s… he looks after you?”
Cal stilled, his hands coming to rest on his stomach as he nodded. “Much better than I deserve.”
“Then… we should both be better than we were, I suppose.”
Cal’s agreement was small, distracted, sad, and Cobalt could only hope he would let the little choreographer love him and help him heal.
They didn’t talk after that. Calvin drifted off to sleep again, and Cobalt busied himself with a mindless game on his phone until the battery got low. For a little while longer, he sat in the darkened living room, watching the passing of lights over the walls. It was close to midnight when a key scratched in the lock and Holland let himself in.
“Cal?” he whispered, flicking on a light over the stove.
Cobalt rose and tiptoed past the couch to the kitchen doorway. “He’s sleeping.”
“Oh! You’re still here.”
“He was feeling pretty shitty. Didn’t want to leave him alone.”
Holland frowned, deep concern all over his face. “Shitty how? What do you mean?”
Cobalt’s heart lurched, but he tucked the fear away. “Nauseous. Really bad. I remember what that was like. I just didn’t want him to be alone feeling like that. It’s shitty when there’s no one to hold your hair for you.”
Relief settled into the lines of Holland’s expression. “Thank you.”
“Do me a favor?”
“If I can.”
“Keep him safe.”
“From what?”
Cobalt sighed as he picked up his coat and bag. “Himself.”
“Why do you still care?”
“Because I have to. Because if I don’t, it hurts him, and it hurts me, and we’ve done enough to each other. Life doesn’t suck unless we wish it. And I wish….” He smiled, hearing Preston’s voice in his head.
“You wish what?” Holland asked.
“Never mind. I have to go.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
Cobalt stopped, hand on the doorknob, and looked back. “I suppose so. Two more weeks.”
“Till what?”
Cobalt shook himself. “You don’t need me. You have Lawrence. And Cal.”
“You’re not serious.”
Cobalt grinned and kissed Holland’s cheek. “I’m very serious, honey. Two weeks. I’ll rehearse with Lawrence. He’ll be fine. You’ll see. He wants it.”
“Don’t you?”
“Not this.” He glanced at the couch, at Cal’s sleeping form. “No. Not this. Not anymore.”
“I—” For an instant Holland looked like he was going to argue, but then he too glanced at the couch, and his expression softened. “You’re right. This is over, isn’t it? You and him. Onstage as well as off.”
“Very much so, yes. He’s better off with me in another country. At least for now. Be good to him. Keep him safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left the apartment then, closing the door softly behind him.
Chapter 25
PRESTON CROUCHED on the front porch, holding the door open with his body and clinking Chance’s leash clasp against his palm. “This is happening, Chay-baby. You know it is.”
Chance whined at him and ducked his head, crouching just inside the door and covering his muzzle with a paw.
“Don’t be a suck.”
Chance yipped as though insulted.
Preston let out a soft sigh and lowered himself to his butt on the porch floor. “Come here.” He patted his thigh and waited. Soon enough Chance crept forward, belly to the floor, until he could lay his chin on Preston’s leg. He peered up at Preston, clearly looking for approval.
“You’re a good boy,” Preston told him. “You just have to be brave. Trust me.” He scratched behind Chance’s ears and rubbed his hand down along his spine, digging his fingers into his fur. “I’m going to protect you.”
They sat like that for a long time as the sun tracked across the sky and spread slanted light over them and into the kitchen through the newly installed window and open door. As Preston gazed across the spotless ceramic tiles, over the gray, furry lump of his cat taking advantage of the warm patch, to the glow of dark-stained cabinets and even the ragged gold carpet in the living room, a sense of peace rolled through him.
His toolbox was tucked against the wall by the laundry nook. A pair of his boots toppled on the rubber tray next to the door, and the plaid shirt he had worn for yard work that morning hung on the back of a kitchen chair alongside one of Cobalt’s fluffy shawls. Beyond that, he could see the arm of the couch and the pile of thick knitted and crocheted blankets that Cobalt loved so much draped over it.
Chance wiggled a little bit closer, stretching his nose out to sniff at the clogs Cobalt wore in the yard. He snuffled and gnawed gently on one, making doe eyes at Preston.
“I know, Chay-baby.” More petting and scratching. “I miss him too. But you know how he is. We don’t get a say.”
“About what?”
Preston jerked at the voice and looked up. A group of people approached up the walk, and the dog scrambled to his feet, but he didn’t dash away into the house as Preston expected.
“Adam.”
Adam smiled at him and held out a hand to shake. “Matt’s parking the car.” Behind Adam, Preston caught a glimpse of Matt’s other half, Christopher, as well as Peridot, followed by Conrad, waiting patiently for Dusty to sort out his shoulder bag and his cane and make his way along the uneven paving stones.
“What’s going on?” Preston got to his feet, jostling Chance, who eased around his legs to sniff at Adam’s outstretched hand. It was the furthest out the front door he’d been without coercion since the night Preston had rescued him.
“Perfect barbecue weather,” Christopher said, plunking a cooler down with a thump and then opening it. “Beer?” With a grin, he held one out to Preston.
“Um. Sure?” Preston took the offering. “Thanks.” Frowning in puzzlement, he passed a look over the entourage and glanced past the stragglers to the car pulling up to the curb.
Azure got out of the driver’s seat, and Preston just about choked on his beer. “Driving yourself? Did something happen I should know about?”
“Does something have to have happened for a guy’s friends to want to spend some time with him?” Azure asked. He hopped up the steps to the porch and accepted the beer Christopher handed him. A twist of the cap, and he clicked the neck of his bottle against the neck of Preston’s. “You’ve been holed up here alone for over a month. More than long enough, I should think.”
“Just livin’ my life,” Preston muttered before downing a good portion of his beer as the others began to unpack hamburgers, salads, and more beer.
Preston moved out of the way for Matt to haul the little-used barbecue from the corner of the porch.
“My brother has a barbecue?” Azure asked.
Preston grinned at him. “It’s possible it came with the house. I’ve only used it a few times. It doesn’t cook very evenly, but it gets the job done.”
“Let’s fire her up!” Matt’s enthusiasm was catching, and Preston’s mood lightened as the others filed inside to find plates and condiments. Azure patted his shoulder as he followed Conrad into the kitchen, leaving Preston alone outside with Adam and Matt.
“We need to set a date,” Adam said, no preamble at all.
Preston gazed at him, absently watching as the dog sidled over and leaned against Adam’s legs, happy for the attention and comfort. “Date?”
“The show. We can’t rehearse forever.” He twisted his lips in an aborted frown. “We can’t wait forever for Cobalt to come home either.”
Preston nodded. “Have you talked to him about it?”
“He said to let him know when and he’ll be here. He’s leaving it up to us.”
“Oh.”
Then we should have it tomorrow if it’ll get him home. He watched as Adam gently teased the dog into a wriggling state of bliss. He raised his focus to find Adam watching him with amusement. “Fine. So how soon can we have it?”
Adam’s grin widened. “I have a list of dates.” He dug a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket and handed it over. “The community center has the best stage, but the audience floor is flat, so it’s not so good for watching dance. Makes everything so two-dimensional. That, and the folding chairs are insulting to anyone paying for a ticket, really. There’s a small theater space on Victoria that might suit. We can get that one in two weeks, and I like the lighting setup there. They have fewer seats, though.”
“What about doing a longer run?” Matt asked. “Make up for the smaller audience?”
“I can ask. I checked for the last two weekends of July, but I think we could do three. We’ll have to talk to the performers, though. Make sure we have enough free that first weekend in August to make a full show.”
“Sure.” Matt grinned. “I’m in.”
“Of course you are.” Adam smiled at his brother, shaking his head, bemused.
“You can count me in too.”
All three of them turned at the same time. Chance yipped and jumped down the steps, tail wagging furiously.
“Chay-baby! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Cobalt dropped his bag and knelt just in time to receive a face full of slobber from his dog. He laughed and threw his arms around the animal, burying his face in the wiry fur.
Preston stood, gaping, as the dog wiggled in ecstasy.
Shoving a barbecue flipper into Preston’s hand, Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll be inside.” He yanked Adam through the door and it clattered shut in their wake, the sound snapping Preston out of his stupor.
From the ground, Cobalt gazed up at him, still hugging his dog. “Hi.”
Preston waved.
“He’s outside,” Cobalt said.
“You’re—”
Cobalt’s smile lit up the evening. “Home,” he confirmed, getting to his feet. The dog followed him up the steps, and then Preston had his arms full of his boyfriend, and he knew exactly how the dog felt.