All I'll Ever Need

by J. P. Bowie

  “Nope. They have my cell number. If they were interested in how I was they could call.”

  “Edward…”

  “Let me explain something so you don’t think I’m some jerk who couldn’t care less about his family’s welfare.”

  “Whoa, when did I ever give you the impression that thought had even crossed my mind?”

  “You haven’t—sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that at all.” Edward sighed. “When I came out to them my father reacted so violently I thought he might just kill me right there and then—or have a freaking heart attack. I’d never seen him behave like that before. He lurched out of his chair so fast it skidded across the dining room floor and crashed against the wall. He screamed at me, words—God, Alex, it’s hard to describe how I felt at that moment—words straight out of the Bible—words like sodomite and hellfire punishment—and my mother just sat staring at me, her face so hard and unforgiving, her eyes cold with no love in them for me. Right then, I could see her distancing herself from me. And asshole Craig, my brother, laughing his fool head off. He said he was going to beat the crap out of me.”

  “Surely your parents wouldn’t allow that?”

  “They’d have turned a blind eye, but I didn’t need their protection, Alex. Over the years I’d learned to take care of myself. When I was a little kid, Craig used me as a punching bag any chance he could get. Mom and Dad didn’t even seem to notice, and of course Craig warned me he’d beat up on me even more if I ever said a word about what he was doing. So in junior high I joined the wrestling team and started working out, went to a class and learned some defensive moves. I was able to get in a couple of punches now and then when he’d start his crap. I managed to take him by surprise once or twice, but then of course he’d get his buddies, mindless morons like himself, to back him up, and I went down a couple of times.”

  And even that wasn’t the worst of it…

  “Jeez, why am I telling you all this?” He rolled onto his side to face Alex. “I want this evening to be about you and me. Just you and me, not my folks, not my jerk of a brother who doesn’t deserve one moment of thought from me.”

  Alex held him close. “I hoped it might help if you talk about it. Those kind of memories can be hard to live with if you let them fester.”

  “What I want are better memories,” Edward said. “Moments like this that I can remember with a smile on my face. While you’re gone I’ll be able to play back in my head everything we’ve done together. The way your kisses feel, the sensation of having you inside me, of being inside you, your beautiful face…”

  “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?” Alex murmured, and kissed Edward’s forehead. “I won’t forget our two nights together either. They’ll have a special place in my memory.”

  A concerned expression creased Edward’s brow. “I will see you again, won’t I? I mean when you come back from New York.”

  Alex smiled. “I want that, and I was hoping you would too.”

  “You bet I do.”

  “I get back on Saturday morning, so perhaps we can meet for dinner, or you could come round and I’ll prepare something.”

  “You’ll have just got back. Let me take you to dinner, then we can head back here, if that’s okay. I’m not ready to have you stay over at my place yet. It needs some work.”

  “Mmm…” Alex ran his forefinger over Edward’s lower lip. “I have to say I’m still not happy about you sharing with someone like Troy. He smells to me of trouble.”

  Edward sucked Alex’s finger into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before letting it slip out. “Now there’s someone else I don’t want to talk about right now. Talk about a buzz kill, Alex.”

  They chuckled together then Alex said, “You’re right. Enough talking, more kissing.”

  “And everything else that follows,” Edward whispered.

  Chapter Four

  Three days later

  Edward hadn’t quite realized just how much he would miss Alex’s company while he was in New York. Business at the bank was slow mid-week, giving him too much time to think about Alex and the incredible nights they’d spent together. Nights he could hardly wait to repeat again and again. Alex had phoned him three times since he’d been gone—long phone calls that had Edward jerking off while listening to his deep, sexy voice. Phone sex would never replace the real thing, but it was gratifying to hear Alex’s breathing become labored as he neared orgasm.

  He phoned on the Friday night to remind Edward he’d be back in LA Saturday morning.

  “As if I’d forget that,” Edward said. “I can’t wait to see you. Did you get everything taken care of?” Alex had told him one of their clients was unhappy with the agency’s recent publicity coverage and he had been given the unenviable task of meeting with the sour celebrity, and smoothing things over.

  “Yes, all’s well in that particular camp. I got him lined up with a morning TV interview which went very well, and the New Yorker is going to run a piece on him next month. I’m calling you early because I have a dinner date with him and his wife which will most likely go on into the wee small hours. Now he’s a happy man I can’t get him to stop talking!”

  After telling Edward he was ‘itching’ to see him again, Alex hung up. Edward had just turned off his phone when the front door to the apartment was pushed open so violently it crashed against the entryway wall.

  “What the—?”

  His roommate, Troy, staggered in, his face deathly pale. Without a word, he headed straight for his room and slammed the door. Kevin followed seconds later, and from his grim expression, was thoroughly pissed off.

  “What’s going on?” Edward asked.

  “He’s fucked up. I found him puking outside. I asked him what was wrong and all I got was a garbled bunch of words that made no sense, not even to him I should think, then more puking.”

  “Should we call nine-one-one? He looks terrible.”

  “If I know Troy,” Kevin said, his face showing his disgust, “he’s been mixing his drugs. If he goes to the hospital they’ll have to report him for drug use, and believe me he won’t thank us for that.”

  “He’s done this before?”

  Kevin nodded then grimaced as the sound of retching came from Troy’s room. “He does sound worse this time.”

  “Maybe we should go in there. He might hurt himself.”

  Kevin sighed. “It won’t be pretty and he’s not going to appreciate us trying to help. He gets really nasty when he’s like this. It might be best to let him sleep it off.”

  “You think?” Edward frowned as he heard a thud then a moan of distress. “I’m going to see if he’s okay.” He pushed Troy’s bedroom door open and found his roommate sprawled on the floor beside the bed, blood seeping from a gash on his forehead.

  “Shit,” Kevin muttered behind him. “He must have banged his head on the nightstand.

  They both knelt by Troy’s unconscious body. “I really think we should call nine-one-one,” Edward said. “He could have a concussion. People can die from not having that kind of thing diagnosed right away.”

  “You’re right.” Kevin pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and hit the emergency number. “He’ll just have to suck it up when they find out what’s in his blood.”

  While Kevin reported the accident, Edward got a washcloth from the bathroom to clean up the wound on Troy’s head. It was deep and his face had taken on a pale, waxy appearance. He’s going to need stitches. He remembered reading in some article or other that if you suspect concussion the person should be kept very still. He was glad Troy was showing no signs of coming round, or else he might just try sitting up.

  “They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Kevin said. “How’s he doing?”

  “Still out, and I don’t really know if that’s a good thing or not. Did they say what to do in the meantime?”

  “Just keep him comfortable. If he regains consciousness we should keep him quiet.” He chuckled dryly. “Fat chance of
that with Troy.”

  But Troy didn’t wake up and when the paramedics arrived they put him on emergency life support and quickly wheeled him out of the apartment.

  “One of you better come with him and prepare to give the doctors some information,” a tall, lean young man with a name badge that told them his name was Brad said. “Looks like a drug overdose to me.”

  “I’ll go.” Edward and Kevin spoke simultaneously and Edward couldn’t help but notice Kevin had his eyes glued on the paramedic’s trim body. He rolled his eyes. “We’ll both go. You get in the ambulance, Kevin, and I’ll follow in my car.”

  “You sure you’re okay to drive?” Brad asked.

  “Totally sure,” Edward snapped. “Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  Several hours later, a thoroughly exhausted Edward returned home. He headed for the kitchen to make himself a cup of green tea to take to his room. Kevin had opted to hang around, waiting for Brad to get off duty. He said he’d sensed an interest from the young paramedic. After several stitches, Troy was going to be okay. They were keeping him overnight for observation, and the doctor had recommended that he see a counselor about his drug use. He added that had his roommates not called for help he might have fallen into a coma and the result would have been much more serious. Troy appeared less than grateful and Kevin informed Edward that the chances of Troy taking the doctor’s advice were approximately zero. Never mind the fact he got lucky the doctor didn’t report the incident to the cops.

  “He’s been doing this stuff for the past several months,” Kevin said. “I’ve tried talking to him but he just tells me to mind my own fuckin’ business, so don’t even try going there. I’ve known him for years and he won’t listen to me. With someone he barely knows—and by the way,” Kevin’s voice held a trace of warning as he continued, “has a boyfriend he’d love to get his hands on—he’s not likely to listen to you.”

  Boyfriend. Edward wondered how Alex would react to being called his boyfriend. They’d only been out together twice. Edward was unsure when you could start calling someone your boyfriend. He’d never had one, so the occasion hadn’t come up before. Two years ago he’d met a guy online he had thought he could fall for, but that was before their less than stellar night together.

  Stan had been so far in the closet he was used to the dark. “I want to have sex with you,” he’d confessed one night after they’d been to the movies together, “but I’ve never done it with anyone I know. Just truck stops and back alley stuff in Charleston. You know, that kind of thing.”

  Edward knew about ‘that kind of thing’ but not from personal experience. He wasn’t being prudish about it, it had just never appealed to him. He didn’t want sex to be a hit-and-run affair. He wanted a relationship. Nevertheless, he let Stan make a move on him in his car after they’d driven so far out of Ellingsworth, Edward was convinced they’d crossed two state lines.

  Stan didn’t want to kiss, he just wanted to trade blow jobs. Problem was Stan couldn’t get hard no matter how long Edward sucked and played with his dick. Edward was hard as a rock, something that seemed to upset Stan to no end. Finally he pulled away and muttered something about it being easier at the truck stops. Edward had tried coaxing him into just holding one another, but Stan didn’t want any of that. ‘Too girly,’ he’d said sneering, and started the car, driving Edward to his parents’ house without another word.

  Edward had tried phoning the next day and the next, but Stan was ‘not at home’, and when they had met by accident—an easy occurrence in a small town like Ellingsworth—he’d averted his gaze, pretending not to see Edward.

  He gave himself a shake to clear his head. He’d told Alex he didn’t want to live in the past, only the new life LA presented. So, why now had he started to remember this? Especially as those memories held no fondness, only reminding him of how desolate his life had been back home. Stan had not been his only bad experience—there had been worse, much worse. It would be great to call Alex his boyfriend, or, even better, his lover—but that was being way too optimistic.

  Two nights together does not a relationship make, he told himself.

  Hearing the sound of voices in the living room, he thought he’d better make his presence known. “Hey, guys,” he said, opening one of the café doors that screened off the kitchen.

  “Oh hi, thought you’d be in bed,” Kevin replied, pausing in his attempt to dislocate Brad’s tonsils with his tongue.

  “Just on my way.” Edward carried his cup of green tea toward his bedroom. “Don’t mind me.” It was obvious they weren’t about to mind him. Shirts were being removed before Edward could even close his bedroom door. Once inside, he undressed, threw himself down on top of his bed and plugged in his iPad recording of Adele Live at the Royal Albert Hall. Adjusting his ear bud, he thought, Adele should be enough to drown out the noise they’re bound to be making any minute now.

  * * * *

  Alex relaxed into his aisle seat on the plane back to Los Angeles. He’d opted to take an earlier morning flight as his business with his petulant client had been satisfactorily taken care of. Celebrities, he thought wryly. Wouldn’t want to live with one for all the tea in China. He’d been around them long enough to know that although some were decent, hard-working men and women, there was almost always the need for ego stroking, even among the more established stars. They could get downright prickly sometimes if they felt they weren’t getting the kind of attention their stardom merited. But he was used to it, and over the years had managed to maneuver his way around the minefields of short tempers and flaring indignation that were all part and parcel of his job.

  One day I might write a book about the more hilarious aspects of dealing with the stars…

  Maybe that’s why he’d found being with Edward so refreshing. There wasn’t any artifice in that young man, as far as he could tell anyway. He considered himself a pretty good judge of character—had to be in his field—and so far Edward just came across as one of the good guys. A bit introverted perhaps, and obviously carrying a lot of hurt and regret from his past, but with some TLC that could be repaired.

  His self-esteem could use a bit of a boost without a doubt, and maybe I could be of help there.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the man sitting next to him snorted then grumbled, “Breaking news? There’s war and famine all over the world and this stupid channel is more interested in some movie star getting herself pepper-sprayed by a security guard.”

  What?

  The man’s eyes were riveted on the small screen in front of him. “What program is that?” Alex asked, keeping the tone of his voice on an even keel.

  “AMZ or something. Crappy channel, but it’s all I can get at the moment. Wish my iPad wasn’t busted.”

  Alex turned on his headset and listened while a blonde woman recounted what had taken place in his office a few days ago.

  “Our inside sources tell us that Lena Miles had been making a nuisance of herself and had to be restrained. When she started kicking the security guard he pepper-sprayed her. No charges have been filed but our source says Miss Miles was so furious she threw a tantrum and tried to break things in the office, the one that handles her publicity. Not such a clever idea, huh? Sounds like things are not going well for her ever since her husband, Hank Bartell, died of a drug overdose a year ago. You may remember—”

  Damn it! Alex pulled off his headset and sank back in his seat. Who the hell in the office had blabbed that story? He didn’t want to hear the account of Hank’s death repeated yet again. He remembered that horrendous time all too well and the thought of it even now brought a welling of tears to his eyes. Try as he might to stem the rush of memories, they flooded his mind with a sickening clarity—the hysterical call from Lena in the middle of the night, the nightmare drive to Beverly Hills with Lena calling him every two minutes wanting to know when he’d get there, her refusal to call nine-one-one. “He’s still breathing, Alex, he’s going to be all right.” He�
��d called the paramedics himself and had let out a sigh of relief when he’d seen the ambulance already at the gates to Hank’s mansion. Only, they had been having a problem trying to gain entrance.

  “Lena,” he’d growled in frustration at her stubbornness. Using the code he had known by heart, he’d signaled for the medics to go on through ahead of him as the gates swung open. By the time he’d reached the house all he’d been able to do was try to calm Lena down while the medic team had attended to Hank. But it was too late. Hank had died there on the bedroom floor despite all attempts to save him. If only Lena had called Emergency when she’d first found him lying in his own vomit, if only he’d been more in Hank’s face about his drug use, if only he’d never let Hank go along with the sham marriage just to appease the studios and stave off the early rumors of his homosexuality. Why the hell hadn’t he demanded that Hank say fuck you to the studio bosses and stay with him. If only he’d fought harder… If only…

  He swallowed the sob that had risen dangerously close to escaping his throat, but he could not stop the tears stinging his eyes. Hank… So fucking gorgeous with that mane of blond hair and eyes the color of the ocean, such a deep, dark blue. A god among men was the way he’d been described in People magazine when they’d named him Sexiest Man Alive.

  Alex had agreed. He’d been so in love with him and had enjoyed the silly, secret pride of knowing that he alone knew the real Hank Bartell. Not just the one pictured in the glossy magazines, but the real flesh and blood man with the wicked sense of humor and the tendency to let slip a loud fart now and then. How they had laughed on their first night together when after a bout of mind-blowing sex, they’d lain exhausted in each other’s arms. Alex had been just about to drop off to sleep when a colossal fart had sounded from under the sheets.

  He’d looked at Hank with wide eyes. “Oops, sorry,” Hank had muttered. Alex had giggled as he’d tried to prevent Hank from lifting the sheets. “No, no,” he’d yelped. “We’ll be gassed by noxious fumes.” They’d wrestled amongst the bedding, laughing hysterically like schoolboys.