by Jerry Cole
“It sounds like you’ve become what everybody said you were,” he said. He looked me in the eyes with concern but it didn’t feel charitable. He wasn’t pitying me, which made it a whole lot easier to stomach.
“It just worked out like that,” I broke eye contact and cleared my throat nervously.
“My therapist, well, one of them anyway, said something very important to me. I know our situations aren’t the same but it might be useful to you.”
Little did he know, I was all ears.
“She said that what happened to me probably changed me forever. I will never be the same again. But those are just the circumstances, you know? That’s just the hand I was dealt. The real question is who am I? If I lose track of what made me Ian before all these things happened, then they win. Then instead of being a survivor, I’m a victim. Maybe you need to remember what made you Patrick.”
His soft doe-eyes and calm tone were soothing and infuriating at the same time. I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want to admit that he made sense. I didn’t want to consider the fact that he had everything I ever wanted in life and maybe, just maybe, it was because he was a better person than I was.
I rolled onto my stomach and blew out an exhausted sigh.
“The problem is, I don’t remember who I was?”
“I do,” Josh came into the room and stood behind Ian. The two of them standing together looked like the millennial version of a Norman Rockwell painting.
“Do you?” I meant it to be sarcastic, but the shithead took me literally.
“You were sweet, but not a pushover. You had things you wanted but you weren’t ambitious. You were generous. We all knew the things you gave didn’t really cost you anything, but you never made us feel like beggars. You weren’t naive, but you weren’t jaded either. You were a good kid, and cute, too. You were obviously pampered, but not spoiled—”
“Not yet,” I added.
“No, not yet,” Josh cocked his head to the side and looked at me strangely. “Whatever happened to you?”
I rolled my eyes and tucked my chin. I could feel the stinging behind my eyes that meant I was on the verge of tears. I was like that a lot more often these days.
“I made a bad decision, and then another one, and then another one. Then, one day I woke up and that was who I was. The Prince of Bad Decisions?”
“And nobody expected anything else of you,” Ian added. Josh was right, all of his years of therapy did make him a bit of a know-it-all.
“Not nobody, just nobody whose expectations meant anything to me,” I corrected.
“So, you stopped trying. You gave up on you,” Ian said.
I didn’t say anything else because there was nothing left to say. He was right. I gave up. I stopped even pretending to be a good son. Despite the fancy titles and wealth I was given, I knew in my heart that I hadn’t earned any of it. I gave up trying to find purpose, meaning, or even love. I was wasting my life in the most extravagant and extraordinary way I could devise. It was my personal fuck you to people who I knew didn’t care one way or the other.
So why was I so obsessed?
Marcelo scooted into the room. He’d already showered and changed clothes. I wondered if Josh or Ian had given him a hand. The thought of either of them helping him to undress did not sit well with me, but since I was asleep with my ass in the air when it happened I would just have to put up with the unknown. It was better not to ask those types of questions anyway.
“Dinner is ready, go wash up and we’ll eat” Marcelo’s eyes lingered on me for a few seconds before he left again.
“I don’t know what the deal is between you and him, and believe me when I tell you I don’t want to know and don’t really care. But, it’s pretty obvious to me that all he really wants is for you to act like you give a damn about anything but yourself and put in a fucking effort.”
I turned to look at Josh.
“What am I supposed to do?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t know, try starting with the truth. Be honest with him and yourself and see where that takes you,” Josh said.
Honesty.
Wasn’t I being honest? Hadn’t I honestly asked him not to leave?
The more I thought about it the more I realized I hadn’t. I hadn’t given him one good reason to stay with me. I hadn’t been honest with him or myself from day one, and I was running out of chances. If I didn’t make some serious changes I knew how this would end. Once again it would be me spending months fantasizing about all the ways I could sweep him off of his feet and make him love me. Once again it would be me waiting for somebody who is never coming back; somebody who left because I wasn’t honest.
Chapter Ten
By the time Josh, Ian, and their dogs left it was already late into the evening. Nobody had meant for things to go the way they had, but we all adjusted; myself included.
I was surprised when I found myself laughing at some silly story about ferns or watching the two dogs snuggle together in a corner of Marcelo’s living room. It wasn’t that I wanted them to stay, but I had to admit that I was a little upset when they left. They had been a great buffer between Marcelo and me.
Now that they were gone, we were left alone with nothing but silence and our feelings to fill up the evening.
“I should head back,” I said, trying to avoid the awkwardness.
“You can stay.”
“You don’t need me; you can handle getting washed up and dressed alone. I’d just be in the way.”
“I want you to stay,” he said, touching his fingers to my chin and kissing me softly. I could feel my body melting.
“I want to stay as well, but I’m nervous.” That was the truth. I was going to take Josh’s advice and stop trying to trick him into staying with me. I was going to be honest with him and myself.
I was terrified.
“Why are you nervous? It’s not like it’s your first time?”
“It is, in a way,” I stepped back from him and took a deep breath. “I don’t want just sex with you. If that’s what you want...if that’s what this is about then I should just go home.”
He lifted his eyebrows as he listened.
“Trust me, I’m just as shocked as you are. But, I got some good advice and after watching those two love birds today I have to admit that I want that. I want more.”
“From me or just generally?”
“I want more generally but I also want you.”
He flinched.
“I know, shocking facts, right?”
Marcelo put his hands on his slender hips and tilted his head to the side. His brow wrinkled as he tried to puzzle out what was happening. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t 100% sure what I was doing either.
“So, what are you saying?” He pressed his full lips into a thin line.
“I’m saying, I want you to stay. Not just for your foot or for your sister’s show or because the pay is great. I want you to stay here, with me, FOR me.”
“For you?”
“I’m saying you’re important to me. Not just because you clean up my messes and make my coffee. I know you don’t believe me, and I hardly believe it myself. But, when we stopped...you know.”
“Sleeping together,” he provided.
“Yeah, that. When we stopped, I always assumed that one day we would resume where we left off. As long as I still got to see you every day it was okay. As long as you were part of my life, I could go on. I wanted you around even if we weren’t going to be intimate. Do you understand me?”
He shook his head.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t care. That’s not why I didn’t put up a fight. I cared. I still care. But I don’t care about whether or not we are sleeping together. I care about having you in my life and I don’t want to lose that. I did all of this to convince you I’m worth staying for.”
“You murdered my cat and broke my foot to prove to me that we are meant to be together?” The tension in his face eased a little
and I felt more comfortable, even hopeful that he wouldn’t make me regret this brief moment of vulnerability.
“And the spa,” I added, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Ah, yes, with Beau the Belle of the Ball,” he batted his eyelids at me and flicked his wrist in a way that would’ve been offensive coming from just about anybody else.
I couldn’t hold it in any longer and we ended up chuckling like two teenagers. We both understood the joke but neither of us would ever be able to explain it to anybody else. It was something between us, something we shared together. Just us two. It was so nice to have something like that with somebody again. It felt good to connect in a way that didn’t involve money or pedigree.
Marcelo opened his arms and I stepped into a hug. We were both still chuckling but even I wasn’t sure why. It just felt good. He felt good.
“I don’t know if we were meant to be together. Maybe I hoped we were...once,” he confessed in a hushed tone, his breath tickling the tip of my ear. “I’d hoped that maybe you believed it, too. But living with that hope was like living with a ghost. I don’t want to live like that anymore.”
“So, you'll stay?” I leaned back to look into his eyes. He searched my face for a long moment and then slowly shook his head.
“As romantic as this day has been, I can’t throw my whole future away based on a few botched attempts at decency. I don’t want to live my life hoping that it will be real one day.”
“But it is real!” I backed away from his embrace and stared at him. I knew this wouldn’t work. I was an idiot for listening to Josh and his stupid sappy boyfriend.
“I know what you feel is real…”
Oh. Maybe it was working.
“...and I’m glad that you finally just came out and said it. You have no idea how happy I am to hear those words coming from you.”
I sensed a ‘but’ coming along.
“BUT...I can’t promise you anything. It’s been too long and too much has happened.”
I rushed forward and grabbed his hands.
“You don’t have to promise me anything. Just promise to leave yourself open. Don’t count me out yet. I know I have a lot to prove and I really have no idea how I’m going to do that, but I’m going to figure it out. I promise,” I stopped because for some reason I’d run out of breath. I didn’t realize I hadn’t been breathing and I was sure my cheeks were probably red but I couldn’t care.
“Just leave some space in your heart open for me, okay?” I panted.
He didn’t answer me outright. He simply leaned forward and kissed me. It wasn’t a hard, lust-filled kiss but it was just as intense and urgent. But this feeling was different. Lust was like a fire that ran through the veins and pooled in my groin. This was slower and seemed less dangerous though it was much more destructive. Like lava. It rolled slowly, uninhibited, unstoppable through my body, still pooling in my groin but that felt more like a side effect rather than the point. The objective of his kiss was the smoldering, life-altering heat that singed me to my marrow.
I took that to mean yes.
He kept kissing me, our tongues dueling and breath mingling. Suddenly it was very hot and staying dressed just didn’t seem like a good idea. We made our way into the bedroom clumsily. His injury and my general lack of athletic ability made the journey comical at best. That was okay. We laughed, kissed and touched all the way. We ripped seams and popped buttons leaving a trail of clothing all the way to the bed.
This time, when we tumbled, there was no talk about it being “just” anything. We weren’t “just” fucking. This wasn’t “just” physical. It was everything. He touched every inch of my skin, rediscovering all of the old familiar places and exploring new sensations. We both marveled as we found new ways of connecting and rolled around like a scene from an old Hollywood musical, except way gayer.
I straddled his hips and grasped both of our cocks in one hand. I rocked my hips, grinding against him. It sent shivers down my spine and he bit his bottom lip. I repeated the actions, stroking our cocks together, and grinding against his body. He closed his eyes and caught his breath.
“This part I’m good at,” I boasted.
“Always were,” he agreed, gripping my ass and massaging it with his palms.
I probably shouldn’t have felt so proud to hear it. He was, after all, calling me a great lay but I was used to being little more than a warm body to the guys I slept with. I might not have been the best at love but I was great at this part.
I kept it up, changing tempo several times, bringing us to the brink of madness before I allowed him to release. He ground his teeth and yelled so loud I worried that he’d accidentally hurt his foot again. He shook his head no and smiled as he panted, his pillow damp with sweat. I took the opportunity to gloat a little. I looked down at him and wound my hips like a stripper, putting on a show as I sought my own satisfaction. Something tells me that I would’ve been a pretty good exotic dancer. He seemed excited by it and rewarded me with his lips on my skin.
I collapsed forward and found myself in the unfamiliar position of being nestled against his chest. Of course, it wasn’t the first time I’d ever rested my head on another man’s chest. It was the first time that it felt warm and inviting like we both wanted me to be there for as long as we could tolerate it. He stroked my hair and rubbed the back of my neck with his fingers. I found myself dragging a blanket over our bodies, and shifting so that we could both sleep without losing sensation in our limbs.
We didn’t speak even though I was sure there was a lot for us both to say. I didn’t want to press my luck. So far this whole being honest thing has worked out well for me. Agreed, he hadn’t agreed to run away with me and share a chalet in Switzerland, but he wasn’t running either. He was at least willing to entertain the idea that I wasn’t a complete sack of shit. That was a win in my book.
Everything else would have to wait until I was sure I could face it. One day at a time.
Chapter Eleven
Marcelo
I woke up buried under waves of pain. That seemed to be my new normal. At all times, in various different ways, I was always hurting. I don’t really remember when it started but I’d given up on trying to make it stop.
Today I’d been pulled out of a dream I was having by a sharp pain. I wasn’t sure what it was about but I remembered that my sister was there. Not the way she was when she died, but the way she was when she lived; before her illness had eaten away the best of her. Remembering her that way brought on the dull ache that grief gifted me every day.
But it had been Patrick’s foot that had caused me enough pain to wake up. In a clumsy attempt at, what? Cuddling? Whatever it was, he had accidentally kicked me in his sleep. The sharp pain had sliced through my sleep and brought me into the here and now.
And that was even more painful. At least for me.
Patrick Dunlevy here in my bed, looking like an innocent ginger-haired boy was one of the most beautiful sights I’d ever seen. I remember how I used to wake up early just to watch him sleep. Back then I had a fantasy that our fling would turn into a thing. Back then I’d been so desperate for a shoulder to cry on and an escape from the horrors of Ariana’s illness that I’d made the mistake of falling in love with the least emotionally available person I knew.
It took me a while to realize my mistake and fix it. Separating myself from him had nearly killed me, but I did it. I learned not to let the pain of being next to him every day show on my face. I hid behind my professionalism. I did everything I could think of to wait it out, convinced that I would move past it. But the truth was that I still loved him. I love him even now. But it wasn’t a healthy kind of love.
I loved Patrick the way addicts love getting high. I knew he was no good for me. I knew it was a bad move. I knew it would destroy me in the end. But I couldn’t hold back. I was like a moth drawn to an open flame. Although I thought I did a pretty good job of avoiding him, somehow I was right back at square
one. Love him. Sleeping with him. Letting him make promises I knew he couldn’t keep. At least this time he wasn’t also my boss. One complication eliminated, only a billion left to go.
Loving Patrick Dunlevy is a sure-fire way to end up in pain and I don’t need any more of that. The Dunlevys all have the same problem. They’re all liars. Mostly, and most importantly, they lie to themselves. Mr. Dunlevy tells himself that he doesn’t care whether or not his son is happy as long as he is successful. Once he’s successful enough he’s sure Patrick will thank him. Patrick tells himself that he doesn’t care...about anything or anybody.
So how was I supposed to react when he admitted to having real feelings for me and asked me to wait for him? It was like something out of a John Waters movie, and although I am too old to believe in fairy tales from the 1980s, I wanted to believe him.
So, I did. I relapsed. I tumbled into bed like an idiot without the benefit of being too drunk to remember or take responsibility. I’d gone willingly to the gallows and I was already regretting it.
“Are you okay? You feel a little hot,” he pressed his palm to my forehead without actually opening his eyes.
Pain. I reminded myself. Patrick Dunlevy will bring you nothing but pain.
“I’m okay. I just need to use the toilet and take my meds.”
“Does your foot hurt?”
“I’ll be okay,” I said, getting out of bed as quickly as I dared. I made my way to the bathroom as best as I could without looking like an idiot. It’s hard to look cool with your foot in a cast. Luckily, Patrick kept his eyes closed and settled deeper into the pillows as I left.
I took another dose of pain killers and gave myself a ten-minute pep talk about not putting all my eggs in one basket, particularly if that basket was Patrick Dunlevy.
Out of habit, on my way back to bed, I checked my phone for any new messages. I really shouldn’t have had much to check. Mrs. Moraz was doing one hell of a job and really didn’t need much help from me. I felt good leaving the day to day functions of the office in her capable hands. Wrangling Patrick into shape was another job altogether, yet she seemed to be doing well. Something told me that he was being on his best behavior while I was still around, and her hardest days with him were still yet to come.