It's Only Temporary - The Complete Collection

by Megan Bryce

  Who else would poke and pick and push? Who else could still expect to be forgiven? No matter what.

  He said to the blue sky and the green grass, “I know you’re taking care of Charlie, doing a great job like you always did.”

  No one answered; she wasn’t there.

  He whispered, “I know you’ve forgiven me, when you shouldn’t have.”

  The bright flowers reflected off the black marble. And they looked like spring. Like a new beginning. They looked like love and hope and life.

  He looked at his son’s name, etched into that stone– if not forever, then for a very long time. And he didn’t know how to say that he was lucky to have had what little time they’d had together. That being a father had been the best part of his life and God knew he wished he’d been a better one.

  So he said, “You keep running off that diving board, buddy. Keep trying to give your mom a heart attack.”

  That’s the memory Brady would remember. Not the screams of pain but the shouts of joy.

  He wouldn’t forget again.

  And then he turned, following Cassandra back to the car and leaving his wife and son to their peace.

  Christian arrived late for brunch, and then laughed when he realized he was still there before Shane. And Kenny.

  Tom sat in his gray, double-breasted suit, nodding at him companionably and sipping his coffee. He said, “They got distracted. Shopping.”

  Christian sighed. “I expect I’ll get a new shirt out of it.”

  “I’d expect more than one.”

  He looked down at his new aquamarine shirt, worn just for Shane, and hoped the new ones wouldn’t be too bad.

  He ordered the strawberry-covered waffles, because they were good and he liked what was familiar, and sat there. He tried not to twiddle his thumbs nervously, but he just had nothing to talk about.

  And then Tom asked him about the game he was working on. And about growing up in Utah. And Christian relaxed, interested despite his discomfort at being alone with someone he hardly knew.

  Tom ate a bite of omelet, wiping his mouth and saying softly, “They’re not like us. Kenny and Shane. They don’t understand what it means to stand out from the crowd. Because they always have and they like it.”

  Yes, that described Shane exactly.

  Christian looked at Tom’s gray suit and said, “Kenny doesn’t try and buy you more flamboyant clothes?”

  Tom smiled slightly. “I’m a lawyer. Once a lawyer, always a lawyer. And I’ve always used that as my excuse for dressing like this. But really, it’s because I’m comfortable with the image this suit presents.

  “But for the last forty years, every tie I’ve worn has had something crazy on the end. Kenny gets them specially made. And I think I could wear a different one every day until I die and I wouldn’t have to repeat.”

  He unbuttoned his vest, pulling out his tie and showing Christian the bare-assed, chap-wearing cowboy winking over one shoulder.

  Christian’s cheeks flamed and Tom tucked it back in, laughing.

  “When we’re at home, I’ll wear whatever he buys for me. And when I’m out, I wear this. And we’re happy. It’s important to find what will make both of you happy, if you want to last forty years.”

  Christian stared down at his waffles. “I think I’d like to last forty years; I’m just not sure I can stand out in the crowd for that long. I don’t think I have the stamina.”

  “Can I tell you what I’ve seen change in the last forty years?” And then Tom waited. Waited for Christian’s nod.

  “There have always been those who care a lot. Those who care about what goes on between two people, whether those people are gay or unmarried or different races. And there have always been those who don’t care. By definition, those who care will be louder than those who don’t. That is how it will always be.”

  Christian nodded again.

  Tom said, “But the number of people who don’t care is getting bigger. And one day, they will drown out those who care just by their sheer numbers. Because every time a beloved actor or a revered sports star comes out, it causes someone to think about the issue. To question whether a different kind of love really is different. And every movie, every TV show, that shows an unapologetic character being who they are will change that fear of something different into acceptance.”

  “It won’t happen quickly.”

  “Change never does. But I’m legally married to the love of my life, and I didn’t think that would happen in my lifetime.”

  “You’re married in this state. And very few states otherwise.”

  Tom nodded. “Those who care are fighting with laws, now. But they are fighting a losing battle. Because public opinion is changing, even in Utah. It has been changing for the last forty years and it will keep changing until no amount of money can sway a vote. Until no amount of fear-mongering will stop equality and freedom. Until no one has to be ashamed of who they are.”

  Tom dug into his briefcase, pulling out a stack of papers and handing them to Christian. He flipped through, seeing picture after picture of happy, tearful couples finally able to unite. Gay and lesbian, all in Utah’s state capitol.

  “You weren’t alone in Utah. You’re not alone here.”

  Tears sprang into Christian’s eyes and he said through a tight throat, “It didn’t last.”

  “That’s how it goes. One step forward, one step back. All we can do is take that next step forward. Be part of the next wave.” Tom patted his lips again and cleared his throat. “It’s all we can do.”

  “Being part of the next wave is standing out in the crowd.”

  Tom nodded. “It is. And for some of us, it is quite the gesture.”

  “Did Kenny know what it meant for you to be willing to do that?”

  Tom laughed. “No. He knew that I loved him; why wouldn’t I want to get married? But I knew. And I think you know, too.”

  Christian knew. Knew what that kind of sacrifice meant.

  It meant that you loved that person more than you loved yourself.

  It meant that you’d last the next forty years.

  It meant that your love was true.

  It sat in Christian’s gut for a week. A knot tied tight, and he wasn’t able to loosen it. Couldn’t shake it; couldn’t forget about it.

  He couldn’t talk about it with anyone.

  Not with Tom, because he loved Shane. And Tom had already made his gesture, and he very clearly had a bias.

  Not anyone in Christian’s family. He laughed at the idea, and it was brittle and lonely sounding.

  And then he did the last thing he thought he’d ever do.

  He drove out to Brentwood and he sat in the bar, and he waited for Cassandra to come down and sneer at him.

  Because she loved Shane, and she hated Christian, and somewhere between those two extremes was the right answer.

  She slid onto the stool next to him and looked at his drink. “Is that just orange juice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you trying to make it look like you’re drinking a screwdriver?”

  “…no. I just wanted orange juice.”

  She sneered, and Christian’s shoulders relaxed. He smiled at her and she narrowed her eyes at him, so he smiled down at his drink instead.

  She told the bartender, “Anything strong. As long as it’s quick and the second one follows right behind it.”

  She grabbed the shot glass, draining it and gasping. Her eyelid twitched and she said, “Yep.”

  It looked like it hurt, and Christian had never understood why people drank. Oh, he’d tried a glass or two but it tasted horrible. He preferred orange juice.

  She picked up the second shot glass and said, “Am I going to need this one right away?”

  “Are you asking me?”

  “Why are you here. Alone. Looking for me.”

  He took a deep breath and she said, “God. Hang on. I am going to need this one.”

  He watched her go through the ri
tual a second time, and it looked worse than the first one because she added a little head shake to go with the eye twitch.

  She sat, gripping the bar, not looking at him, and he wondered if it needed a few minutes to take effect.

  But then her body lost its anger and she leaned her elbow against the bar and propped her head in her hand and looked at him. No sneer, just a kind of tiredness.

  Christian cleared his throat. “I’m… I’m…”

  He glanced around the room, seeing if anyone was paying attention to them. To him.

  “Spit it out, Christian. Before I do something that will make Shane mad at me. There’s no Brady here to protect you right now.”

  She didn’t really look all that dangerous right now. She looked like she was thinking about taking a nap on the bar.

  And he decided this was as good as he was going to get.

  He spit out, “I’m thinking of asking Shane to marry me.”

  Her eyes widened into saucers and she whispered, “Excuse me?”

  He didn’t repeat it. She’d heard him.

  She lifted her head up, and then Brady was right there. Standing between their stools and saying, “This looks like it should be a private conversation.”

  There was a long pause, and Christian was glad he couldn’t see what was going on between them. A staring contest? A furious, silent argument?

  Brady said, “You can bring a drink up.”

  “I am going to need the whole damn bottle.”

  He nodded, gesturing to the bartender to send one up, and Cassandra slid off her stool and walked away stiffly.

  Brady put a hand on Christian’s shoulder and shook his head slightly. They waited until she was out of sight and then Christian whispered, “Are you scared of her?”

  One side of Brady’s mouth quirked up. “I’ve been to prison. So, no.”

  Christian never, ever, wanted to go to prison. He said, “Thanks for getting between us.”

  “I sometimes think I should let you two go at it. She’d like you more if you tipped her on her ass.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  Brady squeezed Christian’s shoulder, then dropped his hand and followed after Cassandra. Christian watched him, wondering why he hadn’t cared about Brady touching him. He hadn’t even noticed.

  He’d seen the man naked. And that memory still made Christian’s face flame.

  But his touch hadn’t made Christian uncomfortable. It was the touch of a friend. Someone he knew, someone who didn’t want anything from him that he wasn’t sure he could give.

  He had a friend.

  He’d thought it was Cassandra he was coming to talk to. But really it was Cassandra and Brady.

  Cassandra’s tug-of-war between love and hate, and Brady’s impartiality. They made a good team.

  Christian wondered what would have happened if there had been no Brady. And then decided he’d rather go to prison than find out.

  Christian was acting nervous again.

  Shane didn’t know what had happened but ever since brunch he’d been skittish. Reserved.

  He and Kenny had shown off their purchases, and Shane had given Christian a new shirt and all he’d done was stare down at it like it held the key to all life’s mysteries.

  Shane had known he would hate it. It was too bright, too bold, too noticeable.

  Just like Shane.

  Shane had never doubted himself before. He was who he was, and he liked it. He’d been blessed to be surrounded by people who felt the same.

  And Shane knew Christian liked who he was, despite how bright and bold and noticeable he was.

  But Shane couldn’t take the awkwardness tonight, couldn’t stop thinking about what was wrong, so he drove out to Brentwood to talk to Cass.

  He waited at the bar for her. He couldn’t even get up the energy to flirt with the bartender.

  Cass sat down next to him and said, “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “Gray.”

  “Why?”

  Shane shrugged. “I didn’t feel like being noticeable.”

  Brady came to stand right behind Cass. “Two nights in a row? It’s as busy as LAX around here.”

  “Go away, Brady.”

  Brady smiled, then stopped. “If he gets plastered, he’s not driving home.”

  “I know… Wait, are you talking about calling him a cab or taking him upstairs?”

  A chuckle escaped his lips and he squeezed her neck. “Those days are over.”

  Cassandra turned to watch him walk away. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at his butt and she said loud enough for Brady to hear across the room, “Good.”

  Brady smiled again and Shane said, “Hello? Stop undressing your boy toy with your eyes and pay attention to me.”

  She turned back around and said to the bartender, “Something sweet and fun. I don’t want anything harsh today. And the same for him. It’s just so much more fun to get wasted when someone will join you.”

  Shane nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  They waited for their drinks and when they came, they were bright pink and served in tall glasses.

  Shane tried not to feel better, but the drinks were just so bright and happy.

  Cass took a long sip, her eyes closing as the sweetness hit her tongue. She smiled at him, then frowned at his shirt. “You going to tell me about the gray?”

  He sighed. “I bought Christian a shirt he hated.”

  “And he returned the favor?”

  “No, I just…wanted to wear gray. I don’t want to be too bright and loud.”

  He could see the dawning realization in her eyes. “I’m trying to decide if I hate Christian for making you want to be something different. Or I love you for wanting to make someone you love happy.” She took a sip, thinking about it, then said, “Eh, I can do both.”

  She watched him take a small sip, so unhappy. “He means that much to you?”

  “Yes. But this is just a shirt, Cass.”

  It wasn’t just a shirt, and she knew it. So she just sipped. And he just sipped.

  When their drinks were gone, she said, “He came here.”

  “Who? Christian?”

  She nodded. “He needed to talk.”

  “And he came to you instead of me!” His voice got louder and louder with each word and the pain of it seared him.

  “It was about you.”

  The futility of his ill-fated relationship swamped Shane and he slumped in his seat. “He’s going to break up with me.”

  Cassandra tapped the bar and said, “Christian should realize that I would never keep anything from you.”

  Shane closed his eyes and laid his head down on the bar.

  She said, “Maybe he knows that, and that’s why he came to me. Is he that sneaky?”

  “No.”

  She stroked his hair. Petting him, and he kept his eyes closed. Basked in being loved.

  She said, “Do you want to know what he needed to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  It took her a moment. “Yes. I don’t want to tell you.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Depends on your perspective.”

  “Just tell me. Is he breaking up with me?”

  “No. He’s not breaking up with you.”

  “But it’s still bad?”

  “It still depends on your perspective.”

  He opened his eyes, keeping his head down. “Cass. Am I going to think it’s bad?”

  The bartender put two more happy drinks in front of them and she stopped stroking his hair to take a long, long pull from her straw.

  “You won’t think it’s bad. But I don’t know if he’s going to go through with it, and if he does…you’ll like it as a surprise.”

  “I can’t even imagine what it could be.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

  He started smiling a little. “I won’t hate it even a little?”

  She
shook her head again and he lifted his. He took a sip of his happy drink. “I don’t need to wear this gray shirt, after all?”

  “No, but you might want to show Christian first. He’d like it.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “The best. But we’re not friends, Shane. We’re family.”

  He nodded. Then, “You didn’t hurt Christian when he came to talk, right?”

  “Brady was there.”

  “Ah, good.”

  “So, are we going to get wasted or what?”

  He nodded. “Is Brady going to take me upstairs and do unspeakable things to me when I’ve lost all feeling in my feet?”

  “No. But he might get you a room.”

  “Well, then. Waste on.”

  Megan BryceSome Like It Hopeless

  Nine

  Getting wasted was fun. Waking up the next morning was not.

  But when Shane rolled over on the bed, groaning, Christian was beside him. On top of the covers and fully dressed, which was the only reason Shane knew he wasn’t a hallucination.

  Christian said, “Hi.”

  “Hi. When did you get here?”

  “Last night, about the time you and Cassandra started doing karaoke.”

  “I don’t remember that at all. I didn’t even know they had a karaoke machine.”

  “They don’t.”

  Shane laughed, then grabbed for his head. The bed moved as Christian got out, and Shane’s stomach rolled with it.

  “I just don’t understand why you do this to yourself.”

  When Shane was pretty sure his stomach wasn’t going to empty itself, he said, “I’m a glutton for punishment. You should be glad or we would never have lasted as long as we have.”

  Christian pushed a glass of cool water into Shane’s hand and laid a wet washcloth on his forehead.

  “I am glad. But I’m still going to try and get you to like orange juice.”

  “The older I get, the more likely it becomes.” Right at this moment, he was swearing to himself he’d never drink again.

  Christian popped pills into Shane’s hand. “Brady sent these up. Said you’d need them this morning.”

  He’d need a few good more than just two, but it was a start. Might take the edge off enough.