by Anyta Sunday
He knew Eric would follow. He wanted him to follow. He could sense him too, footsteps heavy behind him. Then a shadow fell over him, and they were side-by-side. Without speaking they walked back to Eric’s pickup.
Eric didn’t open the doors, instead he leaned against the front, staring hard at his folded arms. “Shit. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have taken you there tonight. I think that was a bad move on my part. But I’m possibly more sorry I dragged you away from your dance like that. It wasn’t my place and none of my freaking business.”
Lifting a hand, Eric scrubbed it through his hair.
“You’re sorry you dragged me away?”
Eric’s shoulders slumped and he glanced over his pickup.
He continued, surprised at what came out of his mouth next. “What the fuck took you so long?”
Eric straightened at that, a frown cutting deep between his brows. “Sorry?”
He panicked. Why’d he said that? Fuck. What was wrong with him tonight? He was losing his control on things.
Though maybe that had been lost the moment their lips had touched in Eric’s bedroom.
Shivering, he shook his head, pleading Eric not to ask him to explain. “Can we . . . can we just get home?”
Eric narrowed his eyes, and for a second Rory thought he wasn’t going to hand the keys over until they’d finished this whatever-this-was talk they’d started between them. Thankfully, Eric reached into his pocket and dropped the keys into his hand.
He didn’t wait for anything else Eric might want to say to him and circled around the pickup to the driver’s side, trying to steady his shaking limbs.
When the doors unlocked, they both slid inside. The air in the pickup was thick with silence. At least outside there’d been the distant pump of music and passersby hollering and whistling away. Inside it was like they’d sealed themselves into a vacuum. With an elephant squeezed between them.
He could barely breathe through it.
He glanced at Eric, who was drumming his fingers over the knee of his jeans, looking deep in thought. Then, he sunk the key into the ignition and started the car. Even the rumble of the engine didn’t change the tension between them. Rory ran his palms over the steering wheel, gripping tightly as if the harder he held on the more clarity he’d get of the situation, the way his insides felt they’d turned to unidentifiable mush.
Rory drove them back to Eric’s. He’d wanted to turn on the radio most of the way, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Somehow it felt like cheating.
He parked right outside the gate and switched off the engine. The headlights cut out and darkness smothered them. The streetlamps were on, but the light refracted away from them, glowing over Eric’s house.
They both sat there, unmoving, staring out the windows. In his side vision, Rory caught the outline of Eric’s hand running up and down his thigh. He heard his tongue click and braced himself.
“What are we doing?”
He could have kicked himself for the chicken-shit answer he then gave: “Dropping you home, obviously.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Eric said slowly. More gently than he deserved. “And you know it.”
Rory clicked open the seat belt ready to crack open the car door and get out, but as the belt slipped over his chest he shifted in Eric’s direction. The guy’s eyes were on him, watching his every move as if they saw the words Rory was incapable of saying.
Glancing down at the console between them, he said, “I-I don’t know.”
“You wanted me to take you off that dance floor earlier?”
He looked up at Eric. “I don’t think I wanted to go down there at all. At least, not with that guy.”
Eric’s Adam’s apple jutted out as he swallowed. “Not with that guy.”
Rory knew what he was fishing for, but he couldn’t say it. Instead, he shrugged.
Eric added, “I didn’t want you to dance with him either. I fought the whole time not to lurch onto the floor and drag you away. And when he kissed your neck . . . I didn’t even realize what I’d done until we were at the pickup.”
Eric reached out as if to touch him, but reconsidered, dropping it to the middle console. “After we kissed earlier you said you didn’t want that. Not with me. But, I kinda feel like I’m getting mixed signals right now. What do you want from me, Rory?”
Inside, his gut swirled so violently he felt like he was on a rollercoaster—nauseous but exhilarated too. “I want . . .”
Eric waited, gaze intent on him. More than a minute went by. He couldn’t finish.
Cracking open his passenger door, Eric murmured for him to have a good night and got out. Bashing his palms on the steering wheel, he followed suit.
“I don’t want this,” Rory said and slammed the car door to Eric’s back, heading up his path. He strode behind Eric, and grabbed his elbow, forcing him around. “Earlier . . . you misunderstood me. I meant, not with you, because . . . because . . . you’re you.”
A breeze wrapped around them both and shadows of cabbage tree leaves flickered over Eric’s face.
Rory dropped his hand from Eric’s elbow, as Eric turned and opened his door. He held it open for Rory to follow inside.
He did, not bothering to take his shoes off this time.
“Because I’m me?” Eric said once he’d flicked on the light in the dining room.
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and took them out again. Unsure what or where to put himself, he moved toward Yowler. He petted his head, feeling Eric come up right behind him, so close the guy’s breath shaved across his ear.
Rory whispered, focusing on the grey kitten, purring for once under his fingers, “I didn’t want . . . I didn’t want it to mean nothing with you. It didn’t mean nothing. But I don’t know what it did mean, either.” He withdrew his fingers from the grey furball and forced himself to turn to the heat behind him. “It just happened and it . . . it—it didn’t feel casual.” His breath shook as he exhaled. “It felt complicated. Like we might be crossing a line that I don’t know if we should be crossing at all. But, I—I wanted to in the moment. It felt so new, warm and . . . good.”
Eric’s green eyes darkened and flickered with a force that was enough to make him feel like a match had been struck to his core. Eric’s gaze kept slipping to his mouth, and it made his words come out breathy and really, what was he even saying? He had no idea.
Then Eric’s lips were moving against his, lustful and demanding. Rory’s body reacted on instinct; he wrapped his arms around Eric, one hand sliding up to his hair, where he pulled at the roots as their tongues meshed, needy against each other.
Eric pressed him into the table, his feet either side of him, their lengths against each other’s, hot and hard. Rory drank in more of his moist kisses, his confidence growing with each one as if it held an elixir that gave him the strength to be who he was and do what he wanted. And in a way that was true. It was because of Eric he was taking the necessary steps he needed to move on with his life.
A lot of things were thanks to Eric.
He’d put up with him when he was a homophobic prick, he’d been patient with him when he didn’t deserve it, he’d helped open his stubbornly shut eyes, he’d comforted him in what was the lowest moment of his life.
Lessening the grip he had of Eric’s hair, he smoothed it as he dropped his hands to his shoulders.
Rory’s lips tingled when Eric drew away and said with a husky voice, “I should stop. You should really figure out what you want first.”
Rory shook his head, sliding his hands down Eric to clamp them on his hips. Eric needed to stay right where he was. He knew he wanted this much. Hell, since the moment Eric had held him so tight in his bed, this feeling—this churning of his insides—had just grown more and more intense, and kissing helped relieve it.
More of that please.
Fingers inched under his shirt, hesitant, as if tossing up between waiting for permission and just letting go, giving in to
the urge to explore.
Rory felt a hiccup rise inside of him on the edge of a laugh and a sob. It felt as if the edges of his body were melting and merging with Eric’s and it was so fucking warm and comforting . . . He’d ached for this touch so many years. He didn’t want it to stop, but it was all so rich. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t burst with this fullness inside of him.
“Awe,” Eric said against his jaw as his kisses wandered. “Rory Awe Phillips.”
Rory laughed at the corniness and threw his head back, giving him access to his throat. He accepted Eric’s weight as he leaned him on top of the tabletop. Eric bit his bottom lip as he propped himself on his arms to look down on him. The light from the bulb hanging from the ceiling framed his hair, and Rory found himself reaching to touch the soft short strands again.
Eric closed his eyes, a soft moan escaping him, then moved his mouth back to Rory’s throat. His tongue tracing down to the collar of his shirt had him reacting in a 180 to his experience at the bar. Here, his breathing quickened, heart pounding in his rib cage so loud Eric had to feel it against his chest.
Just how far were they going to go? How far did he want to go?
And if they went much further than making out, what would that mean for them?
What did he want it to mean?
Eric took the lobe of his ear in his mouth and sucked. That was too fucking much; his body thrust up against him, and his arm dropped, whacking the top of Yowler’s chair and wobbling it.
The kitten let out a cry and scrambled onto the tabletop, clawing over Rory’s hand all the way to the other end, where he leapt to the mantel on the fireplace.
The disturbance had Eric lifting off Rory. Rory, exposed lying back on the table, slipped to his feet.
Letting out a shaky breath, Rory peeked at Eric, who looked like he was trying to figure out exactly how they’d ended up on the table like that.
“That was . . . unexpected,” Eric said.
Rory nodded, then shook his head. “Yeah, but no.”
Eric looked down at his shoes. “Maybe not so much.”
Yowler moved in his side vision. Rory glanced at him, and froze as he saw the kitten pushing his way behind the glass jar urn.
Yowler’s body pushed it half off the edge. Rory watched as it teetered in slow motion. He could see the way it would tumble in a single arc before smashing against the hard floor, ashes billowing into a cloud and settling as far as their feet. He could imagine the way Eric’s face would blanch, sucking the flush away their kiss had given him, and all the warmth that went with it.
Rory launched himself across the room, diving in single pursuit of saving this moment.
He caught the jar, but as his body hit the ground, his hold slipped and the glass bounced from him. “Fuck!”
Ruined.
The jar rolled, stopping at Eric’s feet, a large crack zigzagged down the side. Eric picked it up, murmuring something, and when Rory looked, his fear was confirmed. The color had washed from his face and the light in his eyes deadened.
Chapter Fourteen
Eric stared at the long jagged crack. His hands trembled, and he moved blindly to the kitchen bench. Gently, he set his grandpa down next to the half-eaten pumpkin pie.
This shouldn’t have happened.
Wouldn’t have happened if he’d scattered the ashes as his grandpa had wished.
He shuddered thinking what his grandpa would say if he were able. Probably he’d be understanding about it. Just like he was when Eric took him to his treatments. No matter how much pain it caused him inside.
How could Eric still do this? Still be so selfish.
Grandpa had a simple wish: to be let out to sea and reunited with his beloved wife.
“I’m sorry,” came Rory’s voice.
Eric shook his head; he didn’t want Rory thinking it was his fault. It wasn’t. That was all him.
He opened the cupboards, searching for something to place the ashes in. Somewhere that would be safe.
He rummaged through all his stuff, through pots, pans, lid-less Tupperware, zip-lock bags, wrap, foil, tin cans, pasta packages, tomato sauces. He couldn’t find a single container with a sealable lid. The zip-lock bags looked too flimsy to be suitable . . .
Rory crouched next to him in the kitchen surrounded by the contents of his kitchen on the floor. Eric was on his knees, going through all the Tupperware again to make sure he hadn’t missed something.
“Can I help somehow?” Rory asked.
He shook his head. Eric needed to do this himself. Needed to make things just that inch better.
He tried forcing a lid on a container, but the size was a fraction off. “Fool,” he said, throwing the useless plastic back into the opened cupboard, where it hit the wall with a loud slap, emphasizing his anger.
He turned to Rory, who sat back on his haunches looking at once concerned and saddened. “Did you hear me? You kissed a fool tonight.”
“You’re not a fool, Eric—”
“Oh, I’m lacking in the good judgment department all right,” he threw back at him.
Rory paled, and Eric wanted to kick himself. He could see Rory thought Eric meant kissing him.
He scrambled to his feet and searched the condiment cupboard once more. “This is me, Rory. Let me warn you, starting with fool—”
He clutched an apricot jam jar and took it out. Grabbing a spoon, he untwisted the lid and shoveled heaps into his mouth. He barely tasted it. He just needed the jar empty.
“Fool for giving up uni. Fool for forcing my grandpa to his treatments. Fool for leaving his ashes so unprotected like that.”
Rory slowly pushed to his feet. “No—”
“Next on the ‘F-words’ list: Failure. I failed to keep my last job. Yeah, that’s right, I got fired in Auckland, because I failed to ring on multiple occasions to tell them I couldn’t come in.” His gaze moved to his grandpa’s cracked jar. “Failed to set him free right away.” He rubbed his brow with the spoon, the metal sticky. When Rory clasped a firm hand on his upper arm and drew closer, Eric jerked his spoon, gesturing to the walls. “I can’t even fix the smallest things in this house. Failure.” He wanted the calm soothing touch Rory offered, but he needed to finish first, tell him everything. Give him the option of turning on his heel and fleeing from him.
He stepped back, bashing into tins and sending them rolling. “I’ve been the biggest flut, Rory. I slept with anyone. It made me feel better. I liked . . . I liked not having to invest emotionally. I had enough of that to deal with.”
That admission had Rory stalling. His hand dropped. “What else is on that list of yours?”
“Fidiot.”
Rory leaned against the bench, folding his arms. “Fidiot? Frankly, I think this list of yours is rubbish. Or should I say fubbish?” His words were soft and kindly spoken, and yet he didn’t sugarcoat it. “You keeping tabs on these words . . . is it maybe feeling sorry for yourself?”
Eric stared at him, hating him for being so honest. So right.
He fell back against the sink, half-eaten apricot jam gripped tight in one hand, a spoon in the other. Staring at them, he frowned.
“I am feeling sorry for myself. I’ve lost everything, Rory. My sorest word on that list: I’m familyless.” He turned, dropped his spoon in the sink, and pointed to the broken jar urn. “That’s why I can’t let him go. He’s all I’ve got. Once his ashes are gone, who’s left?”
Rory pushed a pasta package out the way with his foot and shuffled through the junk over to him. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. But the Eric I know is much stronger than all those words.” He looked up, dark eyes piercing his, sympathetic and stubborn.
“I’m going to make you see that list is wrong.” Rory nudged his foot against his toes. “Let me help you now, please?”
Eric closed his eyes as Rory’s arms circled him, warm and strong. He nodded onto his shoulder. “You are helping. If it weren’t for you, Grandpa would be in the vacuum cleaner.”
&
nbsp; When Rory pried his hand from the jar, Eric gave in. He stood next to Rory and watched him rinse out the jam and scrub the glass clean. When he was drying it, Rory asked, “If you don’t invest emotionally, why’d you do that with me?”
Eric sighed. “It felt like a second chance. When you were drunk, you told me you wanted to move on. It’s what my grandpa wanted and I didn’t accept it. So when you wished the same thing . . . it was like my chance to do the right thing.”
Rory put the jar down on the bench in front of Eric. He didn’t look at him. “So I am like atonement for you?”
“You were a bit, yes. It was partly why I didn’t want to give up.”
“Oh.”
That little ‘oh’ was the saddest sound Eric’d heard. He wished he could take it away, make it never have happened. He went to say more, to tell him it was more than that, but Rory cut over him.
“Yeah, look,” he said, his voice a pitch higher than usual. “I gotta go. I’m taking my bike in for repairs early.” He darted toward the door.
Swearing under his breath, he made after him. “Rory, I don’t . . . it’s not like that anymore. I shouldn’t have said—”
Rory turned around, a sad smile playing at his lips. “You were just being honest, Eric. Just like I was about your F-word list. Maybe we both could’ve kept that to ourselves, but I for one am glad to know how it really is. Goodbye, man. Consider yourself atoned.”
With that, Rory left, shutting the door too softly behind him. Eric stared at it, hollowness creeping into every inch of his body.
Rubbish list or not, Eric couldn’t stop from feeling more sorry for himself. He wished, just for Rory’s sake he could suck it up and be stronger. Instead he mentally added “Friendless” to his pathetic list. His pathetic life.
Like every night, Rory tossed and turned not catching more than a few measly winks of sleep.
Unlike every night, this time he only had one thing on his mind. Eric.
It felt like he was in a fucking David Lynch film or something. Snippets of his kiss with Eric replayed from different perspectives and at one point, Rory was the size of a thumb, rubbing his body along Eric’s giant koru tattoo as if the ink would roll into waves and push him in the direction he needed to go.
