by Rachel Kane
Every bookish kid must go through this, it occurred to Alex. Whatever you’re reading, there’s someone there to tell you to put the book down and go play baseball or catch frogs or whatever it is that boys are supposed to do, as though there were not a particular species of boy evolved precisely for lying in bed, staring up, eyes focused somewhere far past the ceiling and the roof, imagining a world they could only visit on the page and in dreams, a world of pirates and aristocrats and—if you like—robots and galactic emperors. What was imagination for, if you couldn’t use it?
“I know what he means,” Judah said. “He thinks these lions are a kind of toy for me. And that I should grow up and stop surrounding myself with toys. Should stop playing games, stop…well, stop doing everything I like.”
“If someone told me I had to stop reading books and grow up,” said Alex, “I’d be pretty pissed. I mean, if everyone stops reading, I go out of business.”
“I can’t even be that mad at him, because we are busy right now, and it probably is asking too much to bring these things up into the house, and why on earth do I suddenly have to fall in love with statues of lions at the worst possible time?”
“You can’t schedule how your feelings react to things,” said Alex. “You can’t tell your heart when to love something, and when to stop.”
The problem was, he could see Judah’s pain from here. Judah had not meant to bring that up, he’d just wanted to show Alex the statues, but even so, it was obvious. Here was a man who, though loved by his family, always felt a little separate from them—from the entire world. A man who loved things that millions of other people loved, yet sensed that he would always be an outcast for loving them.
It was such a simple thing, acceptance. Why did people resist it so much? If Toby had ever reacted to Alex’s love of literature the way Liam acted towards Judah, Alex would’ve popped him right in the eye.
Liam wasn’t a bad guy, that wasn’t the issue at all. He wasn’t trying to make Judah unhappy. He was just set in his ways. He had a happy life now, so thought Judah should emulate him exactly, in order to be happy himself.
Why couldn’t he see that the one thing Judah wanted more than anything, was his big brother’s approval?
Maybe even Judah didn’t realize that was what he was after.
Sometimes people don’t know themselves very well.
Sometimes they need help.
Alex grinned to himself. Wouldn’t that be funny? All this time, Judah had been desperate to help him…but what if Judah was the one who really needed the help? What if Judah needed a hand with expressing how he really felt about things?
It took a moment to realize they had both been staring at each other for a while now, each lost in his own thoughts.
“Do you…” Now that he had the idea, he discovered it felt impossible to articulate. “Do you want to talk?”
Judah’s eyes widened. “About what?”
“About… About the lions. About Liam. About anything.”
But Judah shook his head. “Nah. There’s nothing really to say, is there? I’ll figure out a way to convince him. I can fix it, if I can just think it through enough. Maybe Thaddeus will come up with something compelling—”
No, I’m not talking about how to fix things. I’m talking about your feelings.
He wasn’t sure how to get Judah back on that subject. Maybe the direct path was the wrong way. Too forceful, he might scare Judah off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Thank you for showing these guys to me,” he said. “They’re beautiful.”
Judah blushed as though he’d made the lions himself. “They are.”
“I suppose I should get to bed. Long day at work tomorrow…for both of us. Unless you want to…?”
He left the sentence unfinished, an open-ended invitation. Unless you want to come with me upstairs. Unless you want to strip me down and pull me into your lap. Because he felt a closeness to Judah that he didn’t expect to feel. He didn’t know what to do with it. This sense of wanting to help him, this sense of feeling the pain he was in—the pain Judah carefully kept hidden from himself—all he wanted to do was grab Judah close, and hold on to him, and tell him things were going to be okay.
The light of morning revealed a half-empty bed, the covers rumpled from where Alex had been abandoned in the night. He threw his arm over the pillow that still smelled like Judah, inhaling it, pressing his face into it.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I sad that he’s gone? We both agreed he had to get back to his own room last night.
They hadn’t talked about anything serious. Judah had told him all his theories of where the lions had come from, the research he’d done into foundries and studios from that era. Somehow, without any clear segue, that had involved their clothes falling off, as tended to happen now whenever they were alone behind a locked door.
Judah was the most thoughtful lover Alex had ever had. The slowness with which he had entered Alex had left behind a tactile memory that Alex could still feel this morning.
Careful, careful.
Right. You couldn’t take that too far. It was dangerous. This was just sex. Friendship and sex. It couldn’t go any further than that.
You couldn’t miss Judah when he was gone.
Couldn’t press your face against the pillow, couldn’t roll over in bed, your cock pressed against the sheets, imagining how he had pinned you down last night.
Don’t make a mistake here. Don’t get your heart broken again.
It was good advice. The last time Alex had his heart broken, it had shattered into bits, exploded across three counties, and nobody ever found all the shards, nobody would ever be able to put them back together.
Better, far better, to be safe. Keep things on an even keel.
Which meant he’d better get out of bed and start his day. Get busy, lose himself in work instead of in thoughts.
Bathing was easier, at least. He’d gotten good at not dying in the tub—and not knocking his cast against anything, which was, it turned out, equally important. He was able to dress himself. The day would come when he could wear normal pants again, and he looked forward to that. Or maybe bell-bottoms would come charging back into style, and then the cast wouldn’t matter so much.
See, there, a perfect look, hair in place, teeth shining, the energetic young bookseller ready to get out into the world and make some literature change hands. And he didn’t think about Judah even once that whole time. It was a little victory, a symbol of self-mastery. Can’t let people get too close, after all!
He took the elevator downstairs. The resort wasn’t really awake yet, and aside from a housekeeper, he didn’t see anyone up. Which was fine. He didn’t look nearly as wealthy as the guests who had arrived yesterday. Would any of them want something to read? Would they stop by the bookstore? That was an interesting thought.
It really wasn’t until he reached the lobby that he realized something was wrong. There hadn’t been any warning. No crashes of thunder. No trembling of the earth.
No, just a familiar sound as he step-clicked his way into the lobby.
“I have to admit,” said the voice, “that I do not have a reservation, in fact I didn’t even know you existed until I looked up motels in…what is this town again? Bastian, remind me.”
Alex’s heart slammed against his chest, a sense of horror burning through him.
The man at the desk, Bray, cleared his throat. “We’re in Superbia, sir. The house itself is called Superbia Springs. And I’m afraid we generally do need a reservation.”
Alex paused in the door, unable to move another step. Unable to retreat, unable to hide.
“I understand,” said the voice, “believe me. My place in Shanghai was the same way, very exclusive. Although a bit more urban, shall we say, than this, although I certainly see this house has its charms. It’s only that I have a friend in town, someone I have been dying to see, and who honestly needs a good deal of help, and I plan to
be here for several days, and… And I say this without trying to be critical, but have you seen the motel in town? It looks like it is full of bedbugs.”
“Maybe I can speak to the manager,” Bray said, picking up the phone. “Give me just a moment.”
“Of course,” said the voice, and its owner turned around to look at the foyer. He gazed up to the ceiling, down to the staircase, a polite, patient smile on his face.
Then his eyes alighted on Alex.
Those eyes brightened.
That smile became wider, with its artificially-whitened teeth nearly glowing.
“My goodness! Bastian! Look who it is!”
The other blond man standing there turned, and his face clouded briefly before clearing.
His pounding heart had taken up residence in his throat, and summoning every last shred of courage in his body, Alex step-clicked forward.
“Hello, Ian.”
18
Judah
Liam waved Judah over but held up a shushing hand while he listened to his headset. "Of course, of course, right away. Yes, thank you." Then he tapped the headset to hang up.
"Liam, listen—"
"Judah, can you take fresh towels up to suite 10? I don't know if Mirelle forgot to prep their room or if they're just very wet people, but they say they are already out of towels."
He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Already? Okay, but I'm not a maid. But first, listen—"
The phone was ringing again, and Liam took the call, waving Judah away.
Judah's shoulders slumped as he left the office and went to the laundry room.
How was he supposed to do this with no one to talk to?
And by this he meant whatever this thing was with Alex.
This was dangerous territory, this was driving in snow and ice for the first time, the car veering all around, and suddenly you're on a narrow bridge that shakes in the wind. Do you tell someone how you feel, if you know you feel something but you don't know the name of it?
Everyone on earth had an easier time with feelings than Judah. It wasn't that he didn't have them, it’s just he didn't know what to do with them. Last night with Alex, he'd felt constantly on the verge of saying something, asking something, words whose sound and shape he did not know, even though he could feel them coming, hurtling ahead in a race to leave his lips before second thoughts could pause them. In fear, in hesitation, he'd halted, more than willing to let the physical passions of the moment fill in for the silence in these words he could neither form nor say.
The laundry was warm and humid this morning, the big industrial washer chugging through a load of sheets. Things were unattended at the moment, although once the washer had done its job, someone would be down here lugging the sheets over to the dryer, and then there would be the big press that looked like a work-site accident waiting to happen, to make them smooth and crisp.
Fortunately, nobody had asked him to do any of the resort's laundry. He could barely get his own done.
He pulled a stack of clean white towels down. They were so soft. For a moment—just a moment—he buried his face in them, inhaling the clean scent, letting the fibers tickle against his face.
How come everything couldn't be as easy as this? Someone needs towels, you bring them towels. You didn't have to question that need. You didn't have to wonder whether anyone reciprocated the need for towels. You didn't have to pair off people who had an equal need for, and supply of, towels. No, that would be silly. If someone needed towels, and had the ability to wash and dry them themselves, then that person didn't need anyone else in the world, right?
That's how Judah had always seen himself. Towel-sufficient. He didn't need anyone to bring him anything.
Until Alex. Suddenly he wanted towels all the time. Towels in the quiet moments at work, towels all night, towels between—
I am demanding you think of a better analogy than this, he told his brain.
He took the back stairs, the narrow servant staircase, up to the second floor. The elevator scared him, and besides, it took longer than walking.
Passing Alex's door, he paused for just a moment. He didn't press his ear against the door; people were staying here now, and nobody needed to see their hosts eavesdropping. But he did stop long enough that if Alex had been talking in his room, he would've heard it.
He's gone to work by now.
Yes, that was it.
And yet, when Judah found the keycard in his hand, and found himself opening Alex's door quietly, slipping inside, the excuse he made to himself was Maybe he needs help, maybe he's in here and silently calling out for assistance—
"Or maybe you're just turning into a stalker," he murmured to himself.
No, this wasn't weird and invasive like that. He'd slept here, after all. That was the shape of his body in the rumpled sheets. On the other side was the outline of Alex’s body. Alex, who was not here.
He set the towels down, and went to Alex's side of the bed, kneeling next to it. Just this nearness to the scene of the crime made him half-hard, but that's not what he was doing here. This wasn't about the physical. This was about the confusing part. The bit he didn't understand, that he didn't have words for.
Kneeling next to the mattress, he put his face against Alex's pillow. It was a different scent than the towels. Still hints of that clean laundry scent; he'd made the bed himself yesterday. But more than that, it was the scent of Alex. His skin, his hair, all mixed in with the resort's shampoos and beyond that, the knowledge that his sleeping head had rested here, as though you could smell a memory.
Judah kissed the pillow.
I don't know what's happening with me.
There was a simple answer to all of this. He could—no, he should—talk to Alex.
But how do you tell someone how you feel, when you don't know how you feel?
I want to spend all my time around you, was that a good thought, or was it just one of those needy things people got scared off by?
I wished you lived here at Superbia Springs instead of that tiny apartment. That had the wrong sound, it was too practical.
If you lived here we could sleep together five or ten times a day. While true, it was too physical. He definitely wanted that; Alex had opened whole new vistas of pleasure that Judah had only dreamed of before. But it wasn't enough. He wanted more than that.
At least I think I do. How do you know when you want more?
He couldn't linger. There was work to be done. Menial work, but people don't come back if they don't get their towels. They don't leave good reviews, they don't tell their friends. Must...deliver...towels...
Dropping them off was easy enough, although he had to fight the urge to peek over the guest's shoulder and into the room to see what exactly they'd done with all the towels they had already received. Towel-fort? Dead body? It wasn't his place to ask.
Then back down to get his next task from Liam. Which was, in itself, a bit of a problem. Getting bossed around by his big brother wasn't exactly where he saw himself at this point in his life. Yes, there were all these thousands of little jobs that needed to be done, and yes, they could only hire limited staff at present, so it wasn't like they had a professional towel-wrangler. But still, he was supposed to be on the technical side, and here he was, delivering the linens.
He realized it wouldn't have felt the same way if, say, Noah had asked him to take the towels, or if Mason had. No, it had to be his big brother, and that made it weird. A lifetime of being bossed around. Nice.
Or are you just using resentment against Liam to try to hide from what you're feeling for Alex?
No, because in truth he wasn't even sure he did feel anything extra for Alex. Friendship, of course. And lust. Whatever this other thing was—this unnamed, ambiguous cloud of something—unless and until it announced itself, what could he really do with it? Nothing. He was just giving himself a hard time over nothing. Clearly, if Alex wanted something more, he'd have no trouble telling Judah. That would be the signal. U
ntil then, friends with benefits would be enough.
If he dropped back by the office, Liam would have something else for him to do right away, but if, say, he wandered around downstairs looking busy, nobody could assign him to do anything. So he went downstairs and looked busy, inspecting the kitchen, the breakfast trays being assembled, shouts carrying from one side to the other, orders and accusations. "It's toast, man, how do you burn toast?"
"Have you seen this fucking toaster? It's a thousand fucking years old!"
Judah scowled. That toaster worked fine, and until all these outsiders had taken over the kitchen, Roo had had perfect toast every morning.
But he didn't say anything. The kitchen wasn't his territory, it belonged to Chef Xander these days.
The whole house was like that. Soon they'd take over the basement, too. They'd take over every inch.
He could remember the first time he'd visited the place—ancient, abandoned, ready to crumble around them. He and Noah racing through the halls, shouting, voices echoing in the emptiness.
He missed those days. Life sure hadn't seemed simple back then, but in a way it had been.
You've worked hard in service of Liam's dream, but when are you going to have a dream of your own?
But Judah had plenty of dreams. They just weren't realistic, is all.
He walked through the gallery, cold and silent. Nobody was down here this morning, which gave it a certain allure. It had looked haunted the first time he'd seen it. Now it was classy, with modern Southern art decorating the green walls. He could hear voices and bustle in the distance, and thought about staying here in the gallery all alone, where it was quiet. Or maybe wandering outside. Surely no one was in the spring-house yet, soaking in the waters.
Then he heard a familiar click.
The sound of a crutch against marble.
He moved forward to the end of the gallery, not sure why he felt this compulsion to hide, to eavesdrop, but he paused at the doorway and looked out into the lobby.
There you are! he thought, as he saw Alex. Why aren't you at work?
