by Tessa Bailey
It might as well have been Marcus who decked him.
Everything, start to finish, was on Marcus’s head.
How could he? How could he ask Jamie to be in a relationship based on a secret? At the time, it had seemed like the only option, but now? As soon as Jamie had stepped in front of Joey to protect him, the big picture had become so clear. He was honestly worried about what his family would think of Jamie? They should be fucking worried about what Jamie thought of them. Everyone in this world should be worried about that. Jamie Prince was the best man alive and Marcus had broken him. Jesus, he’d looked so broken.
My arms are too tired to pick up the pieces now.
Marcus wrapped his arms over the back of his head and moaned, wishing the earth would just accept his decomposing body already. Did it want a fucking invitation? Oh my God, he couldn’t close his eyes one more time and see Jamie’s injured face, it was like a knife twisting in his stomach over and over.
A familiar song came on, drifting from his television speakers to where he lay under the bed, haunting him. Moving only his arm, he picked up the remote and angled it toward the television, hitting stop and play, starting the movie over again. The same one he’d been watching all week since the morning Jamie left. Since the morning his world crashed down.
Marcus wasn’t sure how much time passed between starting the movie again and hearing footsteps in the bedroom, because he drifted in and out of consciousness. But when his brother’s face appeared, Marcus learned he had some life left in him. His lip curled in a snarl and the floundering organ in his chest started to rap against his ribs. At least his brother’s eye was still a mottled purple. There was some justice in this world.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Nope. You get out from under the bed.” Joey’s face screwed up. “For chrissakes, I’m a garbage man and I can barely tolerate this smell.”
“Go home. I’m not moving.”
Joey’s face disappeared and a moment later, Marcus felt a hand grip his ankle. Then he was pulled unceremoniously out from beneath the bed, leaving a trail of sweaty filth behind, like a slug. As soon as Marcus’s head cleared the frame, he flipped over and swept a leg under Joey, knocking him onto the ground.
Joey lay there wheezing for a second before raising a hand and letting it drop. “Fine. I deserve that.”
Having used up all his energy, Marcus fell back against the bed. “I don’t want to talk or get better. Just leave and let me die.”
His brother considered him from his prone position on the floor. “You know I can’t do that, right? You’re my brother and I love you.” He sat up and leaned his back against the wall. “I guess I, uh…didn’t do a good job of letting you know that if you were too afraid to tell me about this guy.”
“Call him by his name.”
Joey nodded once. “Jamie. You were afraid to tell me and Pop about Jamie.”
“Yeah, well, looks like I had a good reason for that. You…” Marcus buried his head in his hands. “You punched him in the face, Joey. Made him bleed because of who he is. It’s not the first time that’s happened to him. I can’t even begin to tell you how fast it was over once you hit him.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
Marcus shook his head. “It would hurt too bad to tell you the story…knowing our story ended the same way.”
“I’m sorry.” Joey’s voice was grave. “He tried to talk to me, tried to help…and I was too caught off-guard to listen. All I could remember was you acting off for weeks. For weeks. And my gut reaction was to blame him, but now I realize it was me. Dad. We’re the reason you’ve been acting off. Not Jamie.”
“No, all the blame is mine. I want all of it. I was too stupid to realize he was worth any reaction, any fallout. God, I’d fucking welcome some fallout right about now.” Marcus swallowed and dropped his head back against the mattress. “He’s so constant. He’s put up with me for so long, maybe I didn’t really think he’d go. But he did. He’s gone.”
Joey scrubbed at the back of his neck. “You love him?”
Amazing how this time last week, Marcus had been scared of his family finding out he was gay, now he couldn’t confess his feelings for Jamie fast enough. “Yeah. I’ve loved him for years. He loved me, too, even though I didn’t deserve it.”
They sat without speaking, nothing but the sound of the movie playing in the background. He’d gotten to the end credits again. It would be time to start it over soon.
“I said some dumb shit, man,” Joey said, finally. “Stuff I even knew wasn’t true, like…I know you’re not in the middle of some phase. I know that, Marcus. I was just pissed off and probably a little hurt that you kept me in the dark. Then all of a sudden these people I’ve never met before show up and they all know, too. We’re family. Family is everything I got. Family is supposed to know the important shit first. And I just…I fucked up really bad. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” Marcus said, wishing he could feel anything but empty. “I appreciate that.”
Joey cleared his throat. “Tell you the truth, I’m kind of glad that kid cleaned my clock.” He indicated his face with a flourish of his hand. “It’s a real draw with the ladies.”
“Oh yeah? They’re going for the whole gets-his-ass-beat look these days?”
Marcus’s brother’s lips twitched. “Hell yeah, man. You should try it some time.” He waved a hand. “With the fellas, I mean.”
A puff of sound left his mouth. “Now you’re just trying too hard.”
They shared a smile, but Marcus couldn’t hold it longer than a split second. He heard the end credits roll on the television and picked up the remote, hitting stop. Start. When the familiar music played, he closed his eyes and let the misery pull him back under. He felt Joey lean beside him up against the bed but didn’t have the strength to acknowledge him.
“Can I watch this with you?”
Marcus nodded. “Sure,” he said, already slipping back toward unconsciousness. “He was always the real Patrick Swayze,” he slurred, his head lolling to the side. “I’m not even Demi Moore. I’m just one of the bad guys.”
Joey sighed. “No, you’re not.” He patted Marcus on the knee. “I’m going to try and make this right for you, huh? I owe you. Just hang in there.”
Marcus started to drift off with those words in his head. Make this right. Make this right.
Someone should tell Joey there was no way to do that. It was too late. All he had left of Jamie were the dreams, so he latched onto them now—Jamie grabbing him by the forearm at Monster Jam, laughing, telling him later at the train station that he’d had a great time. Jamie reading the commercial lease agreement for the Main Squeeze, his brows drawn together in concentration. Jamie showing up at his door with potstickers in a sweater vest. Kissing Jamie on the boardwalk in the middle of the night. Hearing his voice through the two-way radio while staring out at the ocean. Seeing him standing at his locker for the first time in the Hut…
His exhausted mind wandered back into blessed unconsciousness.
*
Jamie gave no outward reaction when the unfamiliar man took up residence by the front door of the Castle Gate, but his stomach dropped down to his knees. The guy was their new bouncer, wasn’t he? At breakfast that morning Andrew had mentioned something about hiring a new doorman since Marcus had stopped showing up for work, but Jamie had been listening in a vacuum. Everything spoken in his direction for the last week got sucked up into a whirlwind of noise. Nothing would stick. And goddamn you, Marcus, for confirming it was the end of the world. Goddamn everybody for continuing on like they hadn’t even hit a minor speed bump. Just goddamn everything.
His face ached. His teeth, his brain. But none of the pain had anything to do with the black eyes and swollen nose he was sporting. He knew that because he had the same ache everywhere else, too. In the dead center of his chest. In his bones. He was a walking pulsation of misery. Jamie stood behind the bar fulfilling orders while moving as little
as possible. Moving made his legs feel like they were descending into quicksand.
Why was he so angry? Every time he picked up a pint glass to pour another drink, another stupid drink in a never-ending line of stupid fucking drinks, he wanted to smash it on the bar. Or maybe launch it like a fastball at the new doorman who didn’t wave or smile at Jamie, didn’t send him conspiratorial looks or play Britney on the jukebox to make him laugh. He wasn’t Marcus. There would never be another Marcus.
“Johnny Walker on the rocks, please, and another pitcher of Miller Lite,” a customer called to Jamie over the escalating din of the bar.
Jamie moved on autopilot, ignoring Rory’s concerned looks as he fulfilled the order and made change, going to the next customer, the next, the next, and all the while he wanted to rage. Jump up on the bar and punt each and every bottle of beer. Or lie down and sleep forever. He wasn’t sure. But the volatility inside of him was exhausting. Everything was just so exhausting and there was no comfort in sight. Andrew had offered Jamie the night off, but being home was worse. He kept waiting for Marcus to show up at the door.
Or he would sit in the bathtub with the shower raining down on his head, trying to purge what happened outside Marcus’s building from his memory. I’ve used him all up.
Those words, spoken by Marcus, echoed in his mind most of all. Endlessly. They were so accurate and yet, if Marcus walked through the door right now, Jamie had no doubt he would probably crawl to meet him on his hands and knees.
Use me again. I don’t know what else to do with myself.
Jamie turned his back to the bar and took a deep breath before approaching the next waiting customer. Just keep moving, going through the motions. That’s all he could do. If love reduced him to this—a man who put his self-respect second—he could not cave in to the nonstop pain. He could not let the severity of Marcus’s loss put him permanently out of commission. Move, move, talk, breathe, move.
“No way,” Rory growled, coming up behind Jamie at the register and jerking his chin toward the door. “That motherfucker has brass balls coming in here.”
“Who?” Jamie said dully. His breath ran short when he turned and saw Joey working his way through the crowd. Automatically, he grabbed Rory’s elbow. “Don’t you dare do anything, Rory. Promise me.”
“Jamie, he punched you in the face. Now he strolls in here like…” Jamie’s brother trailed off, his forehead wrinkling. “Is he waving an actual white flag?”
“Yeah,” Jamie confirmed dryly. “Although it looks more like a napkin taped to a straw.”
Andrew joined them at the register. “What the hell is that prick doing here?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Rory said, crossing his arms. “The only reason I haven’t jumped the bar yet is he looks way worse than Jamie. You’ve got a nice right cross, Andrew.”
“Thanks.”
The three brothers watched through narrowed eyes as Joey sidled up to the bar, still holding his makeshift flag aloft. “I come in peace,” Joey said.
Rory snorted. “How about you leave in pieces?”
Joey sighed. “I just need to talk to Jamie,” he said, red coloring the tips of his ears. “First off, I want to apologize. For the things I said in anger. Things I didn’t mean or maybe…I wasn’t clear on, but I am now. I’m sorry for hitting you. I’m really sorry about all of it, okay?”
The way he shifted on his feet reminded Jamie of Marcus and his chest gathered together like a fist, squeezing. “Thanks.” Self-preservation had him turning away. “I appreciate the apology, but I have to keep moving. I have to get back to work.”
“Wait.” Joey’s expression turned anxious. “Come on, man. I have to make this right. My brother is…broken. He won’t even get off the floor.”
“Don’t tell me this,” Jamie said loudly, his voice hoarse. “I don’t want to know. It’s not my problem anymore.”
“He just keeps watching Ghost, over and over. And the smell. Jesus Christ, the smell. We’re going to have to burn everything he owns.”
Jamie cleared his throat to camouflage the pitiful sound that climbed up his throat. Marcus watching Ghost on repeat, refusing to get off the floor. It was almost impossible to live with that knowledge. It flayed his skin. And more than anything, he just wanted to go live on the floor beside him. Side by side graves.
“Wait, but…” Jamie shook his head as the date occurred to him, reality creeping in past the gloomy haze that made up his current world. “He’s supposed to open the Main Squeeze on Monday morning. He has a huge stock delivery coming tomorrow.”
“No way it’s happening,” Joey scoffed. “I can’t even get him to eat or shower. No way in hell he’s opening a juice shop.”
“Yes, he is.” Jamie rapped a fist on the bar. “He’s opening that fucking shop. Do you know how hard he worked on those recipes? Finding all the right distributors? Painting and hauling garbage and creating cost evaluations?”
“No,” Joey answered simply. “I don’t know about any of it. You’re the only one who does.”
Jamie focused on inhaling, exhaling, but it was hard to do when he was thinking of Marcus on the ground. “That’s why you really came down here, isn’t it? This is about the shop.”
Joey didn’t deny it. “Look, I know I can’t ask you to get back together with Marcus. That’s between the two of you.” His eyes turned somewhat pleading. “But he needs something. A reason to get up and keep on fighting. Help me. I know you care about him enough not to let him lose this chance.”
Andrew bumped Jamie’s shoulder with his own. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Jamie.”
“I know.”
Jamie thought back to the day on the train. When he and Marcus were on their way to Monster Jam. Marcus in his backwards hat trying so hard not to look too long, sit too close…and failing. Always failing to stay away.
“What do you need my help with?”
“Um. You know, like, setting it up.”
“Setting what up? The tables?”
“Or maybe all of it?”
“Jesus Christ. Exactly how hard did you hit your head?”
“Come on, Jamie Prince. It’ll be fun.” Marcus’s elbow pressed into his side and lingered. “Only the smartest of the smart could pull it off—”
“Oh God,” Jamie interrupted. “Don’t do that. Don’t appeal to my superiority complex.”
“I have no choice. Everyone knows I’m a dumbass.” Marcus looked down and Jamie’s heart erupted, spurting blood all over the place. “I have the money saved, from working summers. My mom left me some, too. But I don’t have the smarts—”
“Who called you a dumbass?”
“You’ve called me a dumbass.”
Swallowing was impossible. Had he said that? Why? Jamie had the sudden urge to punch himself in the face. “If I have, I didn’t mean it.”
Marcus’s grinned slowly. “You didn’t?”
“No. You’re not a dumbass, you just have an uncomplicated point of view. Maybe everyone else is dumb.”
Jamie returned from the memory that must have been made a hundred years ago. Part of him had already been in love with Marcus that day on the train. Maybe all of him. He’d had so many opportunities to free himself of the hold they’d created on each other and he’d never been able to do it. After being kept a shameful secret and getting socked in the face—after reliving the past almost verbatim—Jamie should have had more than enough willpower to stay away now. If not for his sake, then for Rory’s.
But he could see Marcus’s optimism that day on the train, he could feel it. He could see Marcus painting the sign, see him chewing his lip while waiting for Jamie to give a verdict on a juice recipe…and Jamie knew if he let Marcus miss his opportunity, he would regret it. Forever. Could his heart handle one more spin through the blender?
He wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t stop himself from sliding toward the spinning blades.
“I have a key to the shop,” he said, cl
earing the rust from his throat. “I’ll help set the place up and get it running for opening day, but…it’s going to be just us. When it’s ready to go, I’ll leave and you can figure out how to bring him out of hiding.”
Joey was already nodding, relief passing over his face. “Fair enough. Thank you.”
“What can we do to help?” Rory asked, studying his knuckles. “Not that I don’t think this is bullshit.”
“We’ve got a few hours free the next two mornings,” Andrew said, nudging Rory. “We’ll come by then. In the meantime, why don’t you take the night off, Jamie? Sounds like you’ve got some work to do.”
Jamie nodded, already experiencing a traitorous rush of anticipation over being in the shop again, near something he helped create with Marcus. “I’ll use the office here to call the distributors and reschedule the deliveries.” He flicked a glance at Joey. “I’ll meet you at the Main Squeeze.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When the text hit his phone, Marcus wasn’t even sure what day it was.
There was some light creeping in under the sides of the bed and he heard a rumble in the distance signaling garbage collection. So…morning? Unless day was night now and vice versa. Who cared?
He dropped his forehead back down the ground—and his phone dinged again.
Without lifting his head, he reached over, dropped a hand on top of the device and slid it to a spot directly in front of his face, so he wouldn’t have to move.
A message from Joey. Picture attachment.
Nothing new. He’d been getting ridiculous memes from his brother for over a week in an attempt to cheer Marcus up. When would he just give up?
Marcus sighed and opened the text, purely because he was going to have to rely on Joey soon to come over and write out the checks to pay his bills. Also he was running out of toilet paper and basic supplies, but since he was never leaving this apartment ever again, Joey would have to bring him groceries. Unless the universe finally accommodated him and let him die. Supplies would be irrelevant then.
It took Marcus a full minute for his delirious, malnourished self to realize what—no, who—he was looking at on the screen.
