“Shit.” Luke ducks out of his hold. “Here, come sit down. Breathe. Breathe.” He urges Hal toward the sofa and he goes down willingly. “Put your head between your knees. Do you need a paper bag? Do you even have a paper bag?”
Hal pulls air down into his lungs, forces it back out.
“Slow,” Luke cautions, sitting cross-legged in front of him on the rug. He puts his hand on the crown of Hal’s head, the crunchy gelled tips of his hair. “Poor idiot,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to say those things if they give you a heart attack.”
Hal drags in a huge breath and tips his head back, dislodging Luke’s hand. “You’re such a little shit.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m trying to tell you something important.”
Luke pulls both hands back into his lap. “I’m a little bit afraid to listen,” he admits.
“I know. That’s fair.” Hal attempts to smile, but it’s shaky. “Kate was right, as usual. We shoulda had that conversation.”
“You and me?”
“Yeah. You and me.”
Before Luke can say anything else, Hal takes a deep breath and says, “Kate was the one who helped me figure it out, finally. She called me out on it.” He ducks his head and stares at his hands, picking at a callus with a thumbnail. “We were together for a couple months. And it was okay. It was good…I mean, it was fine. I think we both knew pretty quick that it wasn’t anything we wanted to last.”
Luke breathes, slow and measured, trying not to feel jealous. It’s such a long-term feeling, it doesn’t dissipate quickly.
“But then, one night,” Hal continues, lashes flickering against his cheeks as he blinks. “She asked me who I wished she was. She said,” he falters a moment, “that she could tell there was…I got this look on my face sometimes…she said, ‘You’re in love with somebody.’ And then, shit, the whole story just came pouring out of me.”
There is a part of Luke that has waited, and waited to hear Hal say those words. Not just love, but in love. A continual fantasy that haunts his dreams and probably always will.
But there is an adult, practical, self-preserving side of his heart that can’t forgive Hal for needing some woman he was fucking to point out to him that he might be in love with his best friend. Not when there had been time and opportunity to reach that epiphany on his own. Not after Luke had made a vulnerable fool of himself. He can’t let himself be broken open like that again. He won’t.
“Three years ago,” he says, quietly, “I told you I loved you. And you broke my heart. But Kate says something to you, and you wanna make out again?”
Hal makes a small, pained sound in his throat. “Will you let me explain? Please?”
Luke doesn’t want him to. It feels self-destructive to even listen at this point. But he nods.
Hal gathers his thoughts a moment. “I’ve thought about this and thought about it, and I’m still not sure there’s a way to say it that you’ll believe.” A smile breaks and retreats, impossibly sad. “I never haven’t loved you,” he says in that resonant, earnest tone Luke has always trusted. “But I didn’t ever think about us like that. Not really. I just…I was straight, that’s what I thought. I liked girls. Hell, I still like girls. I mean…shit, there isn’t a specific girl I still like. I just mean I’m attracted to them – not that I’m going to act on that. God, no, I’m not. I’m not like that…”
“You still think girls are hot,” Luke says with a patient sigh, tickled despite himself. “You can calm down. It doesn’t have to be a one or the other type thing.”
Hal nods, shoulders slumping.
“So you figured out you’re bi.”
“If that’s what you wanna call it, but…but, Luke, I’m not looking at guys. I don’t think about just anyone.” His eyes lift, moss, and emerald, and jade, and serious. “It’s you. I’m attracted to you; I want you.”
Luke aches inside, a thousand little fires sparking to life. Love you. Want you. But he jokes, “Luke-sexual?”
“Maybe,” Hal says, and means it. “I think so.”
“Hal…” he sighs.
“No. Lemme finish. I…you’ve always been one of the very most important people in my life. The most. But I always thought that relationship was separate from my love life. Maybe that it had to be. So I didn’t think…it didn’t even occur to me…and then three years ago…”
“But you ran away from me,” Luke whispers.
“I was scared,” Hal whispers back, hands clenching tight together. “Maybe it sounds really stupid, or insensitive, but I…I’d never been with a man before. And suddenly it felt like that was about to happen. And…and I liked it. And I wanted it…and you were you. I was humping my best friend and…” He looks miserable.
“I knew you were hurt – that I hurt you – and I knew you were pissed at me…
“I’ve spent the last three years trying to figure out how to tell you that I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have run. That I love you, and I want you, and I want to give this a shot.” He sits up and spreads his hands. “That’s why I’ve been acting weird. That’s…that’s it.” He attempts to smile, but his eyelids flag, and he’s so exhausted and emotionally wrung-out that it doesn’t quite form. “I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry.”
Luke lets it wash over him, absorbs it through his pores, lets it mix with his blood. Hal’s confession. Allows himself to feel the anger, like fire under his skin. Feels the joy, the wariness, the confusion.
“You were scared,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Are you scared now?”
“Yeah?”
“Of what?”
Hal swallows, throat working. “That we won’t get a second chance.”
“You love me.”
“I always have.”
Luke unfolds slowly from the floor, legs water-weak and trembling. The choice is his this time. Hal has laid himself bare, and it’s up to Luke to stay or go. Take him or reject him.
He remembers three years ago, choking on his own sobs, and he knows that could happen again.
But he also remembers Sadie’s funeral, and Hal’s head in his lap. The faded green of the football field, and the weight of Hal’s arm across his shoulders, the smell of sweat and grass stains. Remembers their first cigarette, passed back and forth, until both of them puked in the gutter. Remembers two little boys sharing sack lunches, the flicker of sunlight through cherry blossoms overhead.
“I miss you,” he says, throat catching around the words.
Hal blinks tears out of his eyes, head tipped back at a trusting angle as he stares up at him. “I miss you, too. Like hell.”
There really never was a decision to make.
Luke settles onto the couch beside him and slips an arm around his neck. Hal twists toward him, presses their foreheads together. They breathe, in and out.
“Are you scared now?” Luke asks.
“No.” Hal kisses him.
It’s slow and lush this time, all lips and teeth and tongues, wet and perfect. No rush and no hesitation. The thaw begins where their mouths touch, and spreads, filling Luke up with warmth and champagne bubbles. He’s happy, suddenly. Ecstatic.
He’s smiling too hard to keep kissing and pulls back, breathless, resting his forehead against Hal’s again.
Hal laughs, one rich low note; a delighted sound.
“Wait, wait,” Luke says. He can’t stop grinning. “Important question.”
“Huh?”
“Have you been trying to seduce me this whole time?”
“Ugh,” Hal groans. “I hate that word.”
Luke laughs. “You have been, haven’t you? Dude, you suck at it.”
“You want roses? I can get you roses. I did the whole romantic Italian dinner thing and that kinda blew up in my face.”
“Aw, you’re an awkward jock.”
Hal kisses him again, a fast, insistent press. “And you’re really hard to impress.”
“Wait.”
“Ag
ain?” Hal teases.
“Does this – does this mean you’ve got the hots for me?”
Hal whines, but he can’t contain his smile either. “Yes, you pain in the ass. I think you’re hot.”
“Ooh, in what ways? What parts of me do you think are hot?”
Hal gives him a slow, thorough kiss, tongue flicking against the roof of his mouth. “You really want to keep asking questions?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” But Hal doesn’t sound put-out. He’s breathless with elation. Luke can feel his heartbeat in his lips as they ghost along his jaw.
Some small, worried part of Luke wonders if Hal has fully thought out this whole sex-with-a-man thing. If he’s truly attracted to Luke in that way; if he looks at him and thinks about where he wants to put his hands.
“I like your face,” Hal murmurs against the point of Luke’s chin. Tiny scrape of his teeth that sends a shiver through Luke. “I like the way your jaw locks up when you get frustrated.” His thumbs sweep down the length of the bones, moving up softly when they reach the hinge. “I love how blue your eyes are when it rains; they’re so pretty.” A touch to the outer corners, careful up beneath the lenses of his glasses, and then down, to the corners of his mouth. “I love the way you chew on your lip when you’re writing. It gets all red.” He lifts his head to plant a kiss there, the simple intimacy of it makes Luke gasp.
And then he’s moving again, slow, wet, sucking kisses under Luke’s jaw, down his throat. “I like to watch your heart beat – here.” His tongue passes over his pulse point.
Luke closes his eyes and grips Hal’s shoulders, tight enough to leave bruises. No sex act has ever felt this intimate. He never imagined Hal might be like this, this gentle and relentless.
Hal moves lower, nuzzles down into the vee neck of Luke’s sweater, kisses the hollow of his throat while his hands smooth across his chest. A curious fingertip traces Luke’s nipple and it hardens through the rough wool of his sweater.
“I love your chest, and your stomach, and your back. I always wanted to know what your hips would look like with bruises on them.” He squeezes them to drive the point home.
When Luke feels his breath against his lips, he opens his eyes again. Hal’s breathing heavy; his pupils are blown, black eating away all the green.
Hal takes one of his hands and brings it to the front of his jeans, lets Luke feel how hard he’s getting. “Do you believe me?” It’s a whisper, laced with desperate hope.
“Yeah.”
Luke almost can’t believe this is happening. That Hal wants him. But when he straddles Hal’s thighs and gets in his lap, Hal’s hands stay on his hips, fingers slipping up beneath the sweater to make contact with bare skin. And when he feels his hardness pressing against Hal’s through both their jeans, Hal bucks up into the contact, breath catching in a broken, completely turned-on way.
“You think I’m hot,” he says, because Hal does, he does.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
Luke whimpers and seals their mouths together.
It’s an unhurried kiss this time, exploring one another, changing angles and figuring out what makes the other murmur low noises of pleasure in his throat. Luke starts a slow grind against Hal’s lap, not enough to get them off, just a pleasant teasing.
Luke finally pulls back, hands buried in Hal’s wrecked hair, and takes a long, long look at his best friend. The love beams out of him like sunlight, through the soft devotion of his gaze and the sweet curve of his smile. And now that he allows himself to see it, Luke knows it’s been there this whole time, his whole stay in DC, from that first moment at the airport. And it was there three years ago, too, and when they were still in school.
“You big idiot,” he says.
“I know.”
“Before…I really liked it when you called me ‘baby.’”
“I liked saying it.”
Luke rests their foreheads together, marveling…just marveling. “I think maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”
“I think you’re right.” Hal slides both arms around his waist and holds him close, stilling the movements of their hips. “I’m fine with slow. Slow is good…baby.”
Luke’s breath catches. “Jesus.”
Hal chuckles, self-satisfied and happy. “Come on, we’ve got an early day tomorrow. We should get to bed.”
“We gotta get off my bed first so we can unfold it.”
“If you think you’re sleeping on the couch again,” Hal starts.
Luke kisses him.
~*~
The moment Luke’s head touches the pillow, Hal rolls toward him and wraps him up in both arms. The difference from last night strikes a vulnerable place inside him, puts a lump in his throat. Last night, Hal had held him, but careful, gentle, not wanting to push. And now he holds Luke tight, noses into the crook of neck and shoulder and exhales in a contented, warm rush. It’s innocent, and sweet, and just about comfort and contact.
Luke rolls his head toward him, until his lips are pressed to his forehead. “Goodnight,” he whispers.
“Goodnight, baby.”
And it is.
13
He dreams of Sadie again. The white-gray pallor of her face, the cataract blue of her eyes staring, sightless, at the fickle smear of cloud across the evening sky. More often than not, when she haunts his dreams, she truly haunts them; if only he could dream of her alive, and laughing, but it’s always her dead face that greets him. Dead arms bent out at impossible angles; a dozen bones broken in the tumble down the hill to her final resting place. The dump site.
But unlike most mornings of this occurrence, he wakes to the weight of Hal mostly on top of him. The alarm bleats through the dark room and Hal’s beefy arm tightens once, reflexively, around Luke’s waist before he mumbles a protest and rolls away to shut off the clock. Afterward, he rolls back, face pressing into the side of Luke’s head, snuffling like a bear.
“So that’s your deep dark secret,” Luke says.
Hal grunts a question.
“You’re actually not a morning person.”
“Need five minutes,” Hal says. At least that’s what it sounds like he says.
Luke runs a hand through his hair in the dark. “Five minutes is good,” he says, the rest of his jokes lost somewhere between his brain and his tongue.
The nightmare lifts away slowly, chased by the warmth of Hal’s body draped across his, the gentle susurrus of his breathing, like the movements of the tide. Steady. Sure.
“Hal,” he says, voice too loud in the dark.
“Hmm?”
“Last night. I didn’t dream it, did I?” Because that would be the sort of story he made up to comfort himself in the midst of a drunken stupor.
Hal’s answer is to skim his hand up his chest and throat, and cup his face, fingers warm, and strong, and gentle where they curve around his jaw.
~*~
“Thought you were gonna be here in the afternoon,” Will grumbles on the other side of the breakfast table.
“I forgot about the damn running,” Luke says, because he had, groaning earlier when Hal came out of the bathroom in sweats. How could he forget the damn running? “Don’t sound so disappointed to see me.”
“I’m not,” Will says, scowling down at his plate. “What is this?”
“Grapefruit,” Sandy says from the counter. “It’s got Vitamin C. Eat it.” She makes the order sound like the kindest of suggestions.
“Hmph.”
Luke expected it to be awkward this morning. By the time Hal pulled up to the Maddox house, he’d wanted a smoke so bad his hands were shaking.
“Relax,” Hal said, glancing at him across the console. “Nobody’s mad at you.”
“Wrong. Nobody’s mad at you. You’re Prince Charming. I, on the other hand, am the screw-up she actually invited. I am not princely in any way. They’ll be mad at me.”
Hal gave him a patient look. “Matt and Sandy aren’t like that.”
&
nbsp; “All parents are like that. Why blame their kid when they could blame someone else?”
Even now, he has no idea why he was so thoroughly rattled. He suspects it has something to do with Hal tilting his entire world on its axis last night. Love and want and the best damn make out session of his life. Last night, his perception was proven wrong. So now, what if he’s misjudged the Maddoxes yet again? He wanted to hate them, at first, but then he couldn’t…but maybe he should have all along.
But Sandy greeted them brightly at the door, and then hugged Luke. “Thanks for looking out for my baby,” she said, patting him on the cheek as she withdrew.
He can’t fathom anyone having that kind of trust in him. Thinking the best of him.
Sandy joins them, her own plate loaded with a halved grapefruit and a dollop of plain yogurt. “Will, has Luke told you he’s going to work with Matt today?”
“Yeah.” The old man jabs at his grapefruit with the end of his spoon, frown deepening.
“I think it’s really exciting he’ll get to see him in action.” She shoots a wink across the table at Luke.
“What’s so exciting about it? It’s a pain in the ass job.”
“Yes, well.” She sighs. “Eat your breakfast please.”
Luke glances down at his own plate, spears a hunk of grapefruit with his fork. It glistens, a perfect deep pink, dusted with sugar granules. But he winces as he puts it in his mouth, feels his stomach grab. He’s nervous, he realizes. He’s very nervous.
“You okay, sweetie?” Sandy asks, because she can tell, of course she can.
He sets his fork down, chews slowly and carefully so he doesn’t have to spit the grapefruit into his napkin. “Apparently, I’m freaking out a little.”
She smiles. “Understandable. But just remember: you could introduce yourself as Prince William and still be the most honest person there.”
It doesn’t help with the stomach ache, but it makes him smile.
~*~
Hal and Matt return to the house in their usual sweaty disarray, chugging Gatorade and mopping damp foreheads with towels. But this time, Luke catches himself as he starts to avert his eyes. He doesn’t have to look away, duck his head, pretend he isn’t ogling.
Walking Wounded Page 19
