by E M Lindsey
He second guessed his outfit three times, but as he came down and heard Dmitri’s faint whistle, he felt like maybe he was doing something right. Then Lorenzo appeared outside the manor looking like an actual movie star, and he was once again reminded that their lives existed in two different worlds. He was a small town nobody in the face of a man who should have inspired Grecian sculptures. Wilder had to remind himself, over and over, that Lorenzo was leaving. He was here for a week, maybe two, and then he’d go back.
And maybe his life wouldn’t be the same as it was—the sort of shallow, painful pretend-play that had been tying Lorenzo into knots, but he definitely wasn’t going to lock himself down to a place like Cherry Creek. There was nothing there to offer excitement or conflict, and Wilder knew too well that it took a special sort of mindset to be content there for long.
And that was okay.
It was.
He repeated that like a mantra because Lorenzo might be the first since Scott, but he didn’t have to be the last. He was the step toward this path Wilder was ready to take. He wanted to learn his new normal, his new boundaries. He wanted to explore this version of himself that erupted from the ashes of his former life and grew into a whole person.
In spite of his nerves, Lorenzo seemed genuinely excited for the trip into the aquarium, and Wilder was excited because the maximum capacity there was twenty, which meant there wouldn’t be overwhelming noise if they chose to not sign, which Wilder often preferred in public.
He hated being watched. Signing was his language, and he should have unrestricted access to it, but it was exhausting feeling like he was on display, giving some sort of modern art performance for hearing people. More times than he could count, he caught people surreptitiously trying to record him when he was with Deaf friends back in college, and after Scott, the idea of anyone watching him without his consent sent him into spirals of anxiety.
It was why dating still terrified him. It was why walking toward the door with Lorenzo grabbing his hand made his heart race.
Not enough to turn back, but enough to feel a flush creeping up the back of his neck as they approached the doors.
“Let me,” Wilder muttered, fumbling in his pocket for the print-out. The woman at the door looked bored more than anything and used a hand-held to scan the code before waving them through. Wilder had been to the aquarium twice—both times during the day. There had been kids and parents and even a field trip, and the sheer volume of white noise had overwhelmed him to the point he’d pushed his hearing aids into his pocket and let everything dim to a quiet roar.
It had taken something away from his experience, having to navigate through the sensory over-load, and he’d done it alone. By the time he’d gotten back to his car, he was grateful he’d gone, but he was still trembling at the knees, and his head was still pounding. He wanted this time to be different. He was desperate for it.
He wanted to hold Lorenzo’s hand and watch another universe float above them. He wanted to let himself feel small and unimportant and then look across the table and be reminded that he wasn’t. And it might have been unfair to put that on Lorenzo, but the way he clung to Wilder said maybe he understood.
“I think it’s this way,” Wilder said, tugging Lorenzo toward the sign that led to the people mover. It ran through the small aquarium tunnel and opened into a larger auditorium under the dome of water. According to the photos, all the tables were set up there, with dinner service, cocktails, and desserts.
For building his entire life around Indulgence, he had never let himself have something that felt so decadent before. His palm was a little sweaty against Lorenzo’s, but the other man showed no signs of wanting to let go as they stepped under the faint, soothing blue lights of rippling water, tropical fish swimming through it like a cascade of rainbows over their heads.
His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself smiling as he watched a shark press its belly to the glass, then wander off without a care in the world. It wasn’t a life he wanted to live—he liked being busy, he liked being human—but he thought maybe it would be a soothing rest for a little while.
“This is amazing. I didn’t come here last time I was in Denver.” Lorenzo’s voice carried in the echo of the tunnel, reaching Wilder’s ears and rushing through him like a vibration. “Thank you.”
Wilder had no real answer for him, so he squeezed Lorenzo’s fingers a bit tighter, then led the way off the people mover and toward the woman standing as hostess for the arriving couples.
There were only ten tables set up, a bit close together, but the room was quiet and had the same echo from the glass above them. Wilder wanted to look up. He wanted to lie on his back and hold Lorenzo’s hand all night and watch the sea from below it. Instead, he gave their name and followed quietly to the table that was one close to the glass.
“Are you hungry?” Wilder asked as he picked up his menu.
Lorenzo laughed. “Not really? I was nervous, and it killed my appetite.”
“Are you afraid of fish?” Wilder asked with a tiny grin.
“I was afraid of having to be myself.”
Wilder blinked in surprise, and it took him a moment to form his question. “What do you mean?”
With a shrug, Lorenzo shifted his chair closer. “Is this okay, or do you want me to sign?”
“Voice right now,” Wilder asked. He braced himself for Lorenzo to ask why, but the other man just nodded instead.
“You know by now I don’t have real friends. Every time I was out with people, it was like putting on a show. Rich, pretentious, spoiled. We’d shop at designer boutiques and eat at restaurants where the meal cost more than my mortgage. We’d drive aimlessly in my Bentley so people could be seen in it.” He ducked his head for a second, and Wilder could see a rising flush on his cheeks, though it faded by the time he looked up again. “It was the only way my friends would spend time with me.”
“All of them?” Wilder asked quietly.
“Enough of them. And you, well…you just want dinner. It’s new.”
The way he bit his lip and looked so damn unsure made Wilder’s gut clench because in reality, he did want something more than dinner. He wanted to press Lorenzo to the cool glass and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. He wanted to put hands on him, wanted to wrap around him, wanted to feel things he hadn’t let himself feel in so many years because he was afraid of his own vulnerability. He wanted to take him home, to keep him, to wake up with him in the morning and start all over again.
Wilder wasn’t sure if that made him better or worse—or maybe just the same—as all those other people. But he liked to think that maybe what he wanted was okay, because maybe Lorenzo wanted it too. He lifted his water glass and smiled over the rim. “Here’s to new experiences, then?”
Lorenzo’s smile was bright—lighting up the place like the roof cracked open and let the sun in. They clinked glasses and took a sip, and Wilder knew that no matter how far gone he was, he could never let him be like those people in Lorenzo’s life who wanted to bleed him dry.
Lust would never be enough.
It had to be love.
The meal wasn’t great. It was barely tolerable, but the atmosphere and their shared laughter made the whole thing worth it. Lorenzo’s smile continued to light up his entire face, and Wilder felt a wild compulsion to do everything in his power to keep it there.
As the server took a way their barely-touched dessert dishes, Wilder slipped a cash tip under the salt shaker, then rose and extended his hand. “We have a whole aquarium to see if you’re up for it.”
Lorenzo’s palm was warm against his, fingers tight as he held on, and he let Wilder lead the way past the dome and into the hallway that he knew led to the interactive exhibits. A lot of the hallways were roped off, but he could smell the sharp scent of saltwater from the touch pools, and he felt a sort of rush—making him feel the youth still left in his bones as they hurried along the dark corridor and into the open space.
He smiled at Lorenzo, who grinned back shyly, then tugged on Wilder’s hand until they came to a stop by the stingray pool. The animals inside were swimming around lazily, brushing the top of the water, then sinking back down. Lorenzo cocked his hip on the side of the wall and dragged his fingers through the water.
“I… stung… before…trip.” Lorenzo’s face was tipped down, so Wilder missed a lot of the sentence, but he picked up enough and shifted closer.
“Did you say you got stung?”
“In the hand.” Lorenzo pulled his hand from the water and turned his wrist to the side to display a short, thin scar beside his thumb. “Rocco took us all to Mexico one year to celebrate his birthday. It was his ex’s idea,” he said it with such a deep scowl that Wilder wanted to hug him. “There was this cove right outside our hotel, and the front desk had forgotten to warn us that there was a massive stingray migration going on. I was sitting in the sand, and I put my hand down and…” He slapped the water, making one of the rays jet off to the other side.
Wilder’s stomach clenched in sympathy. “Did it hurt?”
Lorenzo laughed, shaking his head. “Not the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Less than taking a goat to the testicles. But yeah, it was pretty bad. My hand swelled up like three times its size, and I had to go home.”
Wilder reached over, grabbing his hand, and he ran his thumb over the flat scar. It was nothing like his own—lacking the puckered ridges of traumatized flesh from where he’d been cut open and stitched back together. They were echoes of his past. They didn’t define him, but they meant something. A bit like Lorenzo’s little mark, carrying no lingering pain, but he’d always remember where it came from.
When he looked up, he saw something soft in Lorenzo’s eyes—and maybe a little afraid. He moved to pull away, but Lorenzo twisted his hand around and held tight—a sort of desperate action that Wilder wanted to feel and yet didn’t. It was too close to a line he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross right then, no matter how much he wanted the other man.
“Why did you bring me here?” Lorenzo asked after a beat.
Wilder swallowed thickly. It was a loaded question. The answer was simple enough—he’d wanted to make Lorenzo happy, but the why of that statement was so much more complicated. “I like you.”
Lorenzo lowered his eyes, his shoulders moving with a sigh. “Right.”
“I wanted you to smile.” Wilder gave in to his compulsion and cupped his hand around Lorenzo’s neck, brushing the warm skin with the edge of his thumb. “You haven’t had the best few days.”
At that, Lorenzo nodded and let out a small laugh and looked up into Wilder’s eyes. “My time in Cherry Creek has kind of sucked.”
“Yeah,” Wilder said, grinning right back. “And I hate that you came here looking for peace, and all you got was…”
“A busted dick?” Lorenzo offered with a snort. “It’s probably karma.”
Wilder rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help his smile from going impossibly wider and shook Lorenzo gently by the shoulder. “You deserve to have nice things, Lorenzo. Without a cost attached to them.”
Lorenzo licked his lips. “You know, I told myself that earlier. I’ve been trying to tell myself that since I got here. But it’s not always easy.”
Wilder sat down on the bench, then shifted closer and pressed Lorenzo’s hand between both of his own. “It takes time to get there. And I know the feeling of desperation—the need to rush it, because the time between not being okay and being okay feels like an endless void of…”
“Nothing,” Lorenzo whispered. Wilder couldn’t hear the word, but he saw it on his lips, in the movement of his tongue as it briefly pressed between his teeth.
“But it isn’t nothing.” When Lorenzo didn’t look up, Wilder touched his chin with his fingers and drew his gaze until their eyes locked. “I like you,” he said again. This time, it was an offering—one he had told himself not to make, but he couldn’t hold back. He wanted Lorenzo to know the choice was there, that Wilder wanted more, but he was willing to take whatever Lorenzo felt safe giving him. “I like you,” he repeated, willing Lorenzo to understand.
And, after a moment, he did. Lorenzo’s eyes softened, and his nostrils went wide with a heavy breath. “Oh.”
“It doesn’t mean…”
But his words died when Lorenzo shifted as close as he could and reached with his other hand—damp from the water—pressing it to the side of Wilder’s neck. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“Yes. And I’m…I have to take it slow. I haven’t been with anyone since my ex. I haven’t wanted to be, until I met you.”
Lorenzo’s cheeks went dusky with a very faint blush, his eyes darting back and forth like pieces of him couldn’t sit still, even though his grip on Wilder was painfully tight. “That’s a lot.”
“I know,” Wilder said. He bowed his head. “I know, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. Just friendship with you is enough, if that’s what you need.”
Lorenzo swallowed thickly, then cleared his throat. “I don’t want your friendship.” Wilder winced, reeling back like he’d been slapped, but before he could stand up, Lorenzo detached his hand from where they were tangled together and bracketed Wilder’s head, thumbs near his temple in a hold so gentle, he could barely feel it. “I mean, I do, but I also want so much more, and I don’t know how to deserve you.” His voice dropped again so low, Wilder had to strain to hear it, to read what he missed on his lips. “All I have to give is myself, and I’m not sure that’ll ever be enough.”
Wilder felt those words rip through him—so much to unpack, so much he wanted to undo. He wanted Lorenzo to feel his own worth, but at the same time, some people needed to be loved anyway—even when they couldn’t love themselves.
And he could do that.
Given time, he could do that.
Closing his hands around Lorenzo’s wrists, he held him tight. “I can think of a thousand ways you’ve already come to matter to me, just by being you.”
Lorenzo’s eyes closed, and his breath shook. “I really want to kiss you.”
And god—god—Wilder wanted that too. He needed it. The first kiss he’d share in so many years, he’d forgotten what it was like to want to feel someone’s lips on his. He didn’t know how to open himself up to it anymore, but things felt easier, suddenly, when Lorenzo took the lead. His hands moved to cup Wilder’s cheeks, and his left thumb brushed over his lower lip.
“Slow,” he said, and Wilder knew he meant more than the kiss—and that was everything.
“Slow.” The word fell from his lips before Lorenzo closed the distance between them, and their mouths brushed. It was more breath than anything, the press so gentle he wasn’t sure it happened until Lorenzo surged forward again. And then again—harder, with a swipe of tongue that made Wilder gasp. He opened to it then, pushing his body into Lorenzo’s, letting him invade his mouth in careful sweeps, like he was trying to taste the essence of him.
He was so gone. He groaned and clawed his nails into Lorenzo’s wrists where he held on for dear life, and his heart thudded so hard, it drowned out what little he could hear.
He thought for a moment he could lose himself entirely in this kiss, and then Lorenzo’s entire body stiffened, and he let out a pained, agonizing groan and wrenched back. “I can’t,” he gasped.
For a moment, Wilder panicked, like maybe the whole thing was too much, or maybe he went too far. Then he saw Lorenzo cupping his hand over his crotch, saw his face drawn and pale, and he realized why. “Oh god, your balls.”
There was a man standing to the left that burst into laughter, and Lorenzo groaned louder as he buried his face in Wilder’s neck. “If public humiliation is the price I have
to pay for kissing you—I’ll gladly pay it. But it sucks.”
Wilder couldn’t stop his laughter. It was rich and full, and it filled his entire body. It was fueled by so much more than just humor. It was filled with wonder, and his own strength, and the elation that he had taken this step and it meant something to him that no one could ever take it away.
He composed himself a second later, then extended a hand to Lorenzo, who had managed to breathe again, and together they headed for the parking lot. They didn’t say much after that, the ride in the car too dark, but Lorenzo held his hand the entire way, and Wilder stared ahead at the sea of stars low on the horizon as they made their way back to Cherry Creek. And, for the first time in forever, he understood what it meant to feel content.
Chapter Eleven
Lorenzo shifted from foot to foot, leaning in to press the buzzer with his elbow, his arms occupied with three Tupperware containers of food and sauce. He had Raphael’s crumpled address in his pocket and a knot in his gut, because he had never in his life just showed up to someone’s house without making concrete plans—after convincing himself they wouldn’t hate it if he was there.
After a bit, Lorenzo started to panic like maybe Raphael wasn’t home, or maybe he’d seen through the peephole and had decided not to answer. He took a breath and reminded himself that Raphael might need a few minutes to get to the door, and that was proved true when it opened and Raphael was there, leaning heavily on a cane.
His brows lifted, his mouth parting in faint surprise, then he smiled. “Is that my dinner?”
“Yes.” Lorenzo dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, then shrugged. “You said to come by whenever, so I thought…if you’re not busy…”
“I am never busy when someone wants to cook for me.” He stepped back, letting the door swing wide, and Lorenzo walked in. The place was small, with polished wood floors and wide doorways. It was a great room with the kitchen against the far wall and nothing more than a TV stand and a sofa.