Loving Edits

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “No, I don’t, but I don’t want to give him false hope either. When was the first time you felt weakness in your legs?” Dr. Jordan asked, turning his attention away from Paul and back to Mick.

  “December.”

  “That was six months ago. How many times have you fallen since?”

  “Many.”

  “Do you feel your legs getting weaker?”

  “Every day.” Mick’s reply was accompanied by a look that Paul had never seen before. The fear had leached the color from his skin, making him look haunted and desperate. His purple eyes shimmered, and he picked at the crease in his pants in a nervous gesture. Paul rose automatically and knelt by his side.

  “It’ll be okay, Mick. We’ll get through this.”

  Mick nodded, brushing away a rogue tear.

  “Excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Alcott, but what is your relationship to Mr. Henley?”

  “He’s my best friend,” Paul said gently, cupping Mick’s face, “and the only man I’ve ever loved.” The last part was a whisper, strictly for Mick’s ears.

  “Is your partner aware of this relationship?” Dr. Jordan asked.

  “Sort of,” Mick tore his eyes away from Paul. “Tono knows we have a history.”

  “And he’s okay with Mr. Alcott being a part of your life? I know it’s none of my business, but the last thing you need is undue stress.”

  Paul stood and looked at the doctor. “Call me Paul, will you? I think we’re beyond a getting-to-know-you phase, so we may as well be on a first name basis here. I don’t care what Mick’s partner thinks of me; I have every intention of sticking around, unless Mick, himself, asks me to leave, and even then, I may ignore him.”

  “Won’t this cause problems, Mr. Henley?”

  “We’re working things out, doctor,” Mick sighed. “Paul and Tono have a business relationship of sorts.”

  “Look,” Paul interjected. “This is all rather sudden, and we’re trying to address the issues as they arise. We haven’t worked out the logistics yet.”

  “I understand.” Dr. Jordan nodded. “Do you have family that will be inquiring about your health or making any decisions for you?”

  “No,” Mick replied. “Both my parents have passed away.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. They lived very full lives.”

  “Do you have a power of attorney in place, Mr. Henley? Who will be addressing your medical issues when you are no longer able to use your hands? Have you thought about a DNR?”

  “Whoa! Hold on, Dr. Jordan,” Mick said, sitting up straight. “I really don’t think I’m even close to that point yet.”

  “I don’t think you understand what’s going to happen, Mr. Henley. Once the paralysis sets in, the progression moves rather quickly. The biggest concern among ALS sufferers is breathing. When your diaphragm loses the ability to expand and contract on its own, we have to think about an alternative. Life can be prolonged by the use of a ventilator, but infection or other complications may ensue.”

  “Not now, Dr. Jordan,” Mick protested. “I can’t deal with any of that today, or tomorrow for that matter.” He ran a hand through his dark curls and looked to Paul for help.

  “Mr. Henley,” Dr. Jordan persisted, “it will make it easier on the people around you if your wishes are clearly laid out. This way, the decisions are yours and made before the emergencies arise.”

  “That’s enough for today,” Paul snapped. “We’ll discuss this amongst ourselves and keep you apprised. Any legal documents will be prepared and signed, don’t worry,” Paul said. He wrapped his arms around Mick and helped him up. “You good to go?”

  Mick nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “If you want me to manage this case, I will need certain documents in place,” Dr. Jordan continued, used to being put off by patients or family members in denial. “I want to make sure we have definite guidelines that cannot be misinterpreted.”

  “Dr. Jordan,” Paul replied, in his determined voice, recognized by his employees as the final word, “we will discuss this and get back to you.”

  “Fine. Make an appointment for two weeks from now. That should give you enough time to deal with this.”

  Chapter 10

  TONO slammed the bathroom door shut, locked it, and heaved into the toilet. The bile came up in choking spasms, making his eyes water and his knees give out. He sank to the floor and embraced the porcelain, resting his forehead against the cold rim, hoping the screaming in his head would stop. His fear dripped out of every pore, along with his sweat as it fell in loud plops into the water.

  Dr. Jordan’s frigid pronouncement was a shocking reminder of what was to come. He hadn’t expected this kind of reaction; after all, he’d heard this many months ago. But Mick’s symptoms had not escalated, lulling him into a sense of complacency, which was destroyed as soon as the doctor opened his mouth.

  Hearing Mick call Paul “sweetheart” again didn’t help. He wanted to pick up the blond and forcefully eject him from the room, but a scene would only hurt Mick, and that was the last thing he wanted. Paul had no right to be involved. He gave up that right years ago when he cheated on Mick and abandoned him at the height of his career. Mick had recounted the sordid details when they’d first met. Tono had had misgivings when Mick first broached the idea of having Paul edit his novel, and now more than ever, he knew he’d been right to worry. Paul had slipped back into Mick’s life with surprising speed. If Tono had only known how deep and powerful their connection had been, he would have protested much more vehemently.

  But that was months ago, and the opportunity had passed. The pisser in all of this was the unexpected physical attraction he felt for Paul. He’d been around long enough to know when feelings were reciprocated, and the sexual energy between them was undeniable, although hard to understand. Paul was blond and blue-eyed―characteristics Tono found unattractive. He was also cold, egotistical, and ruthless, but when he gazed at Mick, he softened, and Tono caught a glimpse of another man hiding behind that professional façade. He supposed it was this man Mick had fallen for years ago, and the same one he seemed to have trouble letting go.

  He headed to the sink and splashed water on his face, enjoying the refreshing feel of the cool liquid. He knew it would take a few more minutes for his body to recover, and he decided to stay in the restroom until that happened. He’d have to face Mick without fear, to be the strong and comforting presence he required, but in truth, he was overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness, compounded by the loss of everything familiar.

  Tono was an athlete and accustomed to a life that was regimented and predictable. His daily routine had included morning exercise before lunch at two, and then he was off to the fronton at four until closing, around midnight. After that, it was drinks and dinner with Mick or friends and then bed. Since going on hiatus, he’d neglected the gym, and everything seemed off-kilter. Being in America didn’t help either. Although he’d lived here for five years, it had never been home. The apartment they’d rented in Chelsea was too small, the view nonexistent. He missed their spacious home overlooking the harbor.

  In fact, Tono missed everything about San Sebastian. He longed for the camaraderie of an environment where everyone knew him on a first name basis. He could walk into any establishment and be greeted warmly, “Tono, ¿qué tal?” It was an inquiry requiring no answer, and it was reassuring to know that people were interested in his life. Here, he felt inconsequential, like a worm that could easily be stepped on and forgotten. Paul treated him with disdain, tolerating his presence for the sake of Mick, making his feelings painfully obvious.

  Yet, to voice a complaint, or even think it, felt selfish. He’d wrestled with his fears months ago, and he thought he’d come to terms with them, but that was in the past; their current situation was nothing he’d expected. Watching his lover deteriorate each day was not going to be easy, especially so far from home and with Paul’s constant presence.

  Tono supposed that if
he were sick, he’d also want to be surrounded by all that was familiar. Mick had said repeatedly that he loved Spain and wanted to live there forever, but the reality was that he’d come home to die. Tono swiped away the tears that sprung forth with this realization. He couldn’t afford to show Paul this side of his personality. Somehow, Paul would use it against him. It was better to remain a mystery; the strange foreigner―the bastard who’d captured Mick’s heart.

  THE drive home was more depressing than the ride to the doctor’s office. Each man was lost in his own thoughts, and they were in Chelsea before they realized it. Mick stumbled twice on his way to the front door, so Tono picked him up in his arms and carried him across the threshold. Paul followed mutely, too shocked by everything he’d heard to take offense at Tono’s proprietary attitude.

  Mick began to cry softly against Tono’s neck, and they sat on the sofa while Tono cradled him, rocking gently, an instinctive move in the hopes it would comfort. His heart was shattering into a million pieces and his resolve to remain cool and stoic in Paul’s presence was destroyed as soon as he heard Mick weeping. His eyes overflowed, and he buried his face in the abundant dark curls and wept as well. He didn’t hear the door slam shut or look up when the Bentley peeled away from the curb. All he could think of was comforting Mick, and they held each other until the room grew dark.

  “CARIÑO, let me turn on the lights and start dinner. Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “You have to eat, Mick. You can’t afford to get weak.”

  “Maybe dying of hunger is a better alternative.”

  “Stop talking this way. You have many years left, so we need to nourish your body while we can.”

  “Tono, it’s hopeless. You didn’t hear the doctor. He said I shouldn’t count on miracles because there are none for this fucking disease.”

  “Shh―cariño. Please don’t talk like this.”

  “Why not? I’m tired of being brave.”

  “You don’t have to be brave for me, but you can’t give up hope. That’s all we have left.”

  “Aren’t hope and courage tied together?”

  Tono cupped Mick’s face and kissed his mouth, moving on to his cheeks, and finally the curly lashes spiked with tears. The supreme irony of it was that Mick had never looked more beautiful. The violet hue of his eyes, always so arresting, seemed to glow with an iridescent light, making this even more painful.

  “It’s okay to be frightened, cariño.” Tono sighed and drew him closer. He tried to alleviate Mick’s fear by giving him permission to stop putting up a brave front for everyone’s sake. “You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t afraid, but I’ll be right here by your side to give you the strength you need.”

  “Majo―”

  “Losing hope is giving up, Mick, and I won’t let you,” Tono persisted. “We can’t just accept an outcome because of a doctor’s verdict. They’re human and have been wrong.”

  “But… he said I was being unrealistic.”

  “Bullshit! He’s saying that ’cause he’s got nothing else to say. Maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones like that Hawking guy. Why not hope for the best, rather than expecting the worst?”

  “I’d like to think I have more time.”

  “You have much to look forward to―book signings and possible movie deals. I know this is in the future, but it’s within the time frame, if you don’t neglect yourself. You need to eat to stay as strong as possible.”

  “Majo, I can do the right things, but eventually, my muscles will atrophy and die.”

  “We have at least three more years, cariño. Lots of time.”

  “But not all those years will be good ones, Tono. My doctor wants us to sign papers. To decide who will be in charge of my medical decisions and how I want things handled when I can no longer breathe.” Mick’s breath sobbed in his throat, and he threw himself at Tono again, breaking down once more. This time, the sounds of his grief were loud and angry.

  Tono held him and waited for this wave to pass. He’d been told that one of the manifestations of ALS was excessive laughing or crying, but this was the first time he’d seen Mick truly distraught. Maybe it had to do with what the doctor had said, or maybe this was a part of his disease and something he should get used to. Regardless of which it was, it would take him a while to become immune to this kind of despair. Tono did the only thing he could think of; he carried him to bed.

  He laid Mick on the mattress and began to remove his clothes, stopping to kiss every square inch of flesh as it was revealed. Tono licked his way down the finely shaped limbs that had yet to show any signs of deterioration. The only sign of the disease were the twitching muscles hopping about as Tono moved down each leg. Mick began to respond as Tono knew he would. He was a sensuous man, and their sex life had always been satisfying. The only plus in this entire nightmare was the fact that Mick would be able to feel his touch and maintain an erection despite everything else going on. He peeled off Mick’s socks and caressed his feet, licking at the soft arches and massaging each toe one by one, making Mick writhe and moan. Tono had a thing for feet, and he knew that Mick loved a good foot massage―a treat they always gave each other. He would have sucked on each toe if he’d had a washcloth handy, but it could wait for another time. Right now he was more interested in providing comfort, not servicing his own kink.

  Mick’s cock responded valiantly, a barometer for his state of mind, and Tono curled his fingers around the engorged shaft. He had every intention of chasing away Mick’s melancholy mood with multiple orgasms. Tono swamped the silky organ, loving the taste as it leaked into his mouth. His tongue poked in and out of Mick’s slit, twirling around the smooth head.

  “Tono.” Mick’s sigh of pleasure quickly replaced the anguished cries as Tono sucked on the sensitive veins and ridges underneath the long shaft. He nuzzled Mick’s sac, playing with it lovingly, burying his scratchy face against the tender skin of Mick’s inner thighs. He heard Mick gasp when he breached him with his tongue and felt him pulling on his hair and canting his hips, rutting fiercely against his face.

  “Majo, please.” Mick’s voice was hoarse. “Let me.”

  He moved and straddled Tono, pushing down on his chest and latching on to his nipples with a greedy mouth. “I want to possess you.”

  Tono quickly realized that Mick needed to be in control. There would come a time, in the not too distant future, when Mick would only be able to let Tono make love to him, but right now, he was not only able to take the lead, he was demanding it.

  Mick reached for the lube they always kept by the bed and slathered a generous amount on his cock, wiping the excess in and around Tono, readying him. He clutched Tono’s hips forcefully and pushed, pausing briefly when Tono exhaled with a loud grunt, adjusting to the stretch.

  Mick’s scorching hot breath seared Tono’s face. He was a man on a mission, determined to take Tono to sexual heights that surpassed all others. Every move resonated with love, touching Tono to the core. He moved Tono’s legs up on his shoulders so he could burrow in as deep as possible, and he began to snap his hips aggressively against Tono’s thrusting.

  Mick’s determination pierced Tono through the heart. He knew this could be one of the last times Mick would be able to assume control of this intimate act, which was so much more than sex. It was love and commitment and a desire to give more than receive. The warmth filled Tono as Mick came in a shudder of release, pushing Tono’s orgasm to the forefront as he spilled all over his stomach and Mick’s chest.

  “Never leave me, cariño.”

  “Till death, Tono.”

  Chapter 11

  PAUL drove away from the Chelsea neighborhood and headed uptown. He was shaken by the scene he’d just witnessed. Up until now it had been conjecture and theory. Seeing Mick break down had almost destroyed him.

  He endured the traffic and gridlock, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, intent on keeping it together until he reached the privacy of his h
ome. Public displays of emotion were inherently repugnant to him and a sign of weakness according to Paul Senior; it was a mantra he’d drilled into his son for years. Paul Junior was famous for his ability to keep it together under fire, yet tonight he felt his self-control crumbling inside of him.

  The last time he’d felt such raw emotion was when he and Mick had broken up. It had taken him months to regain his sense of self―months of drunken one night stands to forget that he’d destroyed the only relationship that had ever meant anything to him. It had been years before he could think about Mick without the accompanying feelings of guilt and remorse, and now those same feelings were coming back to haunt him―even more overwhelming as he realized that his window of opportunity to make amends had narrowed down to a few years.

  The worst part of this was that he was still in love with Mick while Mick had moved on. Sure, Mick said he loved Paul, but it was obvious that he was in love with Tono, and there was no way Paul could compete or intrude. It wouldn’t be right, nor would it be fair. The most he could hope for was the opportunity to help with their literary pursuits and to provide the best medical support money could buy. He would have to throw all his energy into that goal to keep sane. But it was easier said than done. For the first time in years, he wanted to cry, to rage against this twist of fate, and to lose it in a hideous display of emotion.

  Paul needed to talk to someone who would offer a sympathetic ear, if nothing else, but the truth of the matter was there was no one. After he and Mick broke up, he’d closed himself off, never allowing another man into his heart. The realization that he had no one to share this horrible moment with struck a nerve, and he headed toward the only source of comfort he had left. Baxter would know what to do. He’d know what to say to make this better.

  When he got to the Terraces, he parked in front of the building and tossed his keys at the doorman; he’d take care of putting the Bentley away in the underground spot. He entered the elevator for his penthouse residence and leaned against the mirrored wall as it moved up to his apartment. The doors slid open, and he stepped onto the burnished hardwood floor, covered with the finest Persian carpets from exotic places such as Isfahan, Qom, and Kashan. The silence and security of his home enveloped him, and he relaxed visibly as he made his way into the kitchen area, seeking out Baxter.