by E M Lindsey
“Here,” he said, distracting himself by offering up his smallest pair of basketball shorts. “Get comfy. I had some shit I wanted to work on, and I can throw on a movie or something.”
Amit gave him a crooked grin before pulling his jeans down, and Miguel couldn’t stop the strange feeling of wrongness in his chest when he saw Amit in boxer-briefs rather than the lace he’d come to love. Amit didn’t offer an explanation though, and Miguel knew it was best not to ask. He dragged his laptop onto the bedspread, then opened up Netflix and offered it over.
“Pick whatever you want, yeah? I need to get a couple of my supplies.” Miguel’s initial plan had been to go on a date, then fuck Amit until they were too tired to do anything but lay there. When he wasn’t with the other man, his art was scratching at his hand, an uncontrollable itch under his skin that was hard to sate.
He’d started a couple of new watercolors, and they were messy, but he was starting to feel more confident about his abilities. He never let people watch him work, not like that, but right now he felt safe. He gathered his supplies from the box stashed under his sofa, then walked back into the room to find Amit curled up under the blanket, knees drawn to his chest.
He looked small, sweet, and a little sad, which made Miguel want to abandon his project. But he didn’t think that would do either of them any good right then. The domesticity of the moment was a little crushing—a taste of something Miguel had never let himself dream of having, and fear choked him a little at the thought of losing it.
He should kick him out. Kick Amit out and send him on his way and protect himself. Instead, he set the box on the side of the bed, crawled up next to his lover, and drew him into an embrace. He kissed the side of Amit’s head, noting his hearing aids were out, and the show on the laptop was silent, the captions rolling.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Amit nodded. “I mean, I will be. I’m processing.” He sighed, turning his face and he pressed a kiss against the side of Miguel’s neck. He barely felt it through his thick skin there, but the warmth still spread to his cheeks. “Thanks for this. I think it’s exactly what I needed.”
Miguel tipped his face up, kissing him, then unwound from Amit’s arms and reached for his stuff. The pair of them said nothing after that, and Miguel pulled out his watercolor pencils and got to work. His grip was still a little weak, his lines not as straight, but the page was coming to life the way he’d hoped.
For a few minutes, he’d wondered if he’d actually be able to work with Amit right there in bed with him, but soon enough he forgot about everything except the flowers blooming under his hand. He bit his lip as he shaded, his mind racing forward to when he’d take a wet brush and gently swirl the colors and blend them. He didn’t look up until he felt a puff of warm breath on his arm, and he realized Amit was looking over his shoulder,
“That’s amazing.”
Miguel shrugged, letting out a tense laugh. “I used to be a lot better before the fire. But after I met Martin, he told me to keep going, to try something new. It’s…it isn’t what I planned, but it’s something.”
Amit reached his hand out, tracing a long finger around the edge of the paper. “Do you have plans for this?”
Miguel frowned. “Plans?”
“Are you going to sell it?” Amit clarified.
Miguel laughed again. “Oh. Shit, no. Not this. I do some prints online in a shop I have, but this is just…I don’t know. Fucking around, getting rid of the itch.”
“Well, if it needs a home,” Amit said quietly.
Miguel put his pencil down and traced the edge of his thumb knuckle over Amit’s jaw. “If you really want it, it’s yours.”
Amit bit his lip, eyes flickering down to the page, then back up again. There was a heat to them when he nodded, and he didn’t speak again until he’d kissed Miguel long and thoroughly. “Yes. I know I have a piece of you on me forever, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I’d love to have this when it’s finished.”
Miguel smiled and answered Amit with a kiss of his own.
Chapter Fifteen
It took three days for Amit’s mother to be released into his care. Three days of simultaneously worrying beyond reason that she might not make it, and escaping into his little world of bliss with Miguel. The two parts of his life warred with each other, leaving him twisted and conflicted, but unwilling to give up either.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he was told that his mother—though she would need rehab—was out of danger for the moment. “She’s not out of danger for good,” the doctor let him know as his sisters helped her dress. “Her risk of another stroke—one that may be potentially fatal—is much higher. It’s wise to make sure her affairs are in order.”
It gutted Amit to hear it, because though he knew first hand that neither of his parents were immortal, having it real and imminent was almost too much. He took the literature he was offered, signed his mother out, and drove home carefully with his sisters in the back.
She was partially paralyzed on her left side, but was mobile enough that she wouldn’t need in-home care, and that in itself was a relief because none of them had the insurance to cover it. Amit would need to start picking up shifts, and Aminah would have to be over more to fill in when he couldn’t. It also meant his days with Miguel were over. At least for the near future—and when they weren’t, it would be because his mother was gone and that…well.
He wasn’t quite there yet.
Amit: She’s home, getting settled. I don’t know when I’ll get free time though.
* * *
Miguel: Good thing your job is social. I’ll see you soon.
Amit warmed at the thought, but winced, because it felt like stringing him along. He was under orders to keep his mother’s stress levels down, and learning about Miguel would kill her. Coming out seemed so damn selfish now, so cruel when he could wait. However long, he could wait.
He heard a faint knock, and he turned to face his sister who was glaring at him with her arms crossed. She was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, her hair in a long braid down her back, veil hanging over her shoulders like a wrap. “What are you doing?”
Amit put down his jar of moisturizer and shrugged at Aminah who hadn’t moved from the doorway. “Getting ready for work,” he told her.
Her gaze raked up and down his body, and she scoffed. “Are you a stripper.”
Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the mirror and grabbed his pomade. “I’m a bartender, just like I was when I came home, and just like I’ve been the entire time I was living here.”
“Don’t…money…it…degree?” she challenged.
He glanced over his shoulder when he didn’t pick up everything she said, but he was pretty sure what she was getting at. “The money I spent on my degree?”
“You went to college, racked up all those student loans. What for?”
Amit dropped his hands and spun on her. “Are you my financial planner now?”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “You told mommy and daddy you were going to go because you had big plans. You were going to be a doctor, it was going to be worth it. Now you’re barely making ends meet working at a bar. I have to give up my nights to fill in because you can’t have a normal job?”
Amit felt his chest burn, and he took a step toward her. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get through college like this,” he waved at his ears.
“You always use that as an excuse,” she all-but shouted at him.
The noise pierced the insides of his ears, muffled but painful, and he let out a breath. “The truth is not an excuse, and none of you ever bothered to understand! These don’t fix it,” he flicked his hearing aid. “They don’t make me hear. They just make noise! They make noise, and I have to guess half the shit you’re saying. I asked for an interpreter for one of my lectures and they gave me a student. A second-year student.”
“So?” she sneered.
He curled his hands into fists, then brough
t them up to sign. ‘So, it was like having a toddler interpret my classes. I had no idea what was going on, just like you don’t know what I’m saying now.’
“You know I don’t sign,” she hissed at him.
“And that’s the problem, Aminah. You, Mommy, Dad, Farhia—you never…you never tried. It was better for me to make your lives easier. I wanted to finish, but not without help, and none of you were willing.” He stared down at his bare toes and curled them into the rug. “I gave up everything after dad died, and it wasn’t good enough.”
“This…because you want…fuck boys,” she said in a tone so low he only caught part of what she said. But it was enough.
His gaze snapped up, staring at her angry expression. “Aminah.”
“Don’t try to hide it. I’ve seen you out with your friends, I know about the skirts you try on,” she waved her hand at his dresser and his heart sank. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. You could have been normal.”
“No. I could have pretended,” he said, the words choking him.
“You’re going to hell,” she spat.
He took a step back, anger boiling hot, making his face burn. He wouldn’t give in though, not now. “You know how they say because I’m Deaf, all of my other senses are heightened?”
She stared at him with wide eyes, but she didn’t dare say a word.
“Well, I guess that means I can smell your bullshit a mile away.” He paused as she took a step back away from him. “When I die, I’ll go wherever Allah sees fit, but it’s hard to imagine him condemning me for the person I love. You, though…”
“Don’t you dare,” she spat. “You don’t get to be self-righteous to me when you’ve done everything wrong. Your hearing—it’s not a condition, it’s a punishment.”
Reeling back, he reached up with a firm grasp and ripped the aids out of his ears. He spun on his heels, snatched his keys from his desk, and stormed out, leaving his hearing aids behind. He could hear the muffled sounds of her calling after him, but he didn’t stop. His shoes were by the door, and he slipped them half on, then broke into a run as though she was at his heels with more hatred, more venom.
He couldn’t do it. Not home, not work, not his friends. His Deaf friends were everything, but they’d come from homes who understood—from homes who had generations of the language and culture. They weren’t rooting for scraps at the edges of their life. They had always belonged.
Lost in his head, he found himself pulling into James’ driveway, a little embarrassed about the fact that he’d blown off work and had showed up without an invite. He pulled alongside of the house, but when he turned the car off, he saw the guesthouse was dark and the motorcycle was missing. Stupid of him to assume Miguel would be sitting there alone with nothing to do when he wasn’t around, but he couldn’t help the crushing feeling anyway.
Before he could start the car back up, James’ door opened, and he saw a figure step out onto the dimly lit porch. His eyes adjusted and he saw it was Mat, waving an arm and beckoning him out. Over the quiet sounds of the evening, he could hear a distant rumble of tone, which meant Mat was speaking, and for a second he regretted leaving his hearing aids at home.
“Sorry,” he said when he pocketed his keys, “got my ears off.”
The noise faded, and when Amit stepped onto the porch, Mat stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re shaking,’ he signed. Mat’s skills weren’t nearly as fluent as everyone else, but Amit knew it was everything to do with his head injury. ‘You okay?’
Amit opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, shook his head, and promptly burst into tears. He felt like a goddamn fool, but he let Mat bustle him inside, easing him down onto the sofa where James and Rowan were sitting. A warm arm came around him, soothing tones rising in the room, a hand rubbing up and down his back.
“Shit,” he said with a heavy breath. “I’m so sorry.”
A hand touched his chin, and he glanced up to see it was Rowan pressed against him. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Is it your mom?’
Amit shook his head. He raised his hands, then realized Wyatt was in the room too and he cleared his throat instead. “No. My mom’s fine. She…I…my sister,” he tried, but he couldn’t make himself repeat the things she’d said to him. He licked his lips, trying to regain his composure. “Tonight really sucked and I was hoping Miguel was home.”
He watched the small group exchange an uncomfortable look, then Rowan signed, ‘He had some emergency he had to take care of. He left this morning, said he’d be back tomorrow. He didn’t text you?’
Amit felt his stomach sink to the floor. “No,” he whispered.
Rowan reached out to touch his hand, then pulled back. ‘I’m sure he was just caught up in everything going on. It seemed like an emergency, but he will be back. All of his stuff is still here.’
That was something at least, and Amit could understand it. He’d probably do the same thing if the situation called for it. ‘Maybe I should try him?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, pulling out his phone and thumbing through the messages. The last one he had from Miguel was the morning before saying he’d see him at the bar later.
Amit: I’m at James’. He said you had an emergency. I hope everything’s okay?
* * *
Miguel: Shit. Sorry, babe. I’ll explain when I can.
* * *
Amit: No worries, just checking.
* * *
Miguel: Don’t you have work? What’s wrong?
* * *
Amit: Long story. I’ll be alright though. See you when you get back?
* * *
Miguel: I’m gonna hit the road asap. My key’s in the porch lamp cover if you want to stay. I’d like it if you stayed.
* * *
Amit: I’ll see what I can do.
He set his phone down, and when he looked up, Mat and Wyatt had moved to the kitchen, and James was trying to look busy on his phone. Rowan was the only one not hiding his intentions as he stared pointedly at Amit.
‘Okay?’
‘He said I can crash at his place if I need to,’ Amit told him. ‘I might. My sister and I had a huge fight. She said I was worthless—being a bartender. Said I use my deafness as an excuse for not going to grad school.’ He swallowed thickly, trying to find the balls to tell Rowan the rest. ‘She says I’m going to hell because I like to fuck men. Can’t imagine what she’d think if she knew I also liked to wear panties and nail polish.’ He reflexively ran his thumb over the nail on his first finger, though he’d removed the polish the second he got home from the hospital.
Rowan’s face fell and he looked like he wanted to pull Amit into a hug, but stopped himself. ‘That’s…a lot to unpack.’
Amit snorted, nodding. ‘Yeah. Uh. I just had to get out of there. She’s pissed because my mom needs care and I have to work still. I don’t have the money to pay for home health care, and she needs rehab and shit.’ Amit let out a bitter laugh. ‘And I think I probably lost my job considering I’m on shift right now but never showed.’
Rowan shook his head. ‘You run that bar. I’ll call them for you and let them know a personal emergency came up. Trust me, I can be persuasive.’
James waved at him for his attention. ‘That’s not a lie. Trust him. And you can totally stay here. If you can’t find the key, I have an extra one.’
Amit felt settled again, and he let out another long breath. ‘Thanks. I might head over there now.’
Rowan’s brow furrowed. ‘Are you sure you want to be alone?’
Amit shrugged. ‘I don’t have my aids on, and I don’t want to make it hard for Wyatt.’
At that, James pulled a face. ‘If anyone won’t care, it’s Wyatt.’
‘I think I just need to lay down, you know? Deal with it? I promise, if I start to freak out, I’ll come back over,’ he assured the two men.
James looked dubious, but eventually nodded and stood up, walking Amit to the door. ‘Promise me,’ he insisted.
; Amit dragged his finger from his lips, his palm hitting his fist sharply, with emphasis. ‘Promise.’
James gave him another lingering stare, then finally let him go. The door shut with a thud he could feel in the soles of his feet, and he let out another bone-deep sigh as he stepped off the porch and walked around to the guest house. The sky was richly dark, the air biting cold, but it felt nice as he stepped up the ramp and felt around in the light cover for the key. His fingers closed around the cool metal, and he opened the door with some relief.
The place was warm, smelling of woods and of Miguel. He felt a punch of loneliness to his sternum, but knowing he could strip down and curl up in Miguel’s bed felt better than anything else he could have done in the moment. He left the lamp on, piling his clothes on a chair, then shoved his face in Miguel’s pillow and breathed in the echo of him,
His phone stayed in his hand in case Miguel needed him, but knowing he was finally away from the chaos of his home, sleep crept up at the edge of his consciousness. It was with Miguel’s face on his mind that he finally let himself drift off.
A twelve-hour drive in one day was enough to drive a man crazy, but to be dragged into a run-down little office to have his cheek swabbed because some crackhead was claiming he was the father of her child was the cherry on the fucking cake. Miguel had dragged his feet about that phone call for as long as he was able, but eventually the office was able to catch up with him. He still had no idea who this Cristin woman was, but he was happy enough to prove he’d never fathered a kid in his life. He’d fucked women only a handful of times, and every single one of those, he used a condom.
He’d gotten away with a negative status and his balls intact, and he meant to keep it that way.