by Ann Grech
“Theresa,” she yelled back, stepping closer to me and slipping one leg between mine, her other straddling my thigh. She wound her arms around my neck, and I palmed her ass, pulling her close. Her perfume was spicy, and I breathed deep. I liked that smell. It was almost manly, a lot like Angelo’s. That thought—she smells like Angelo—on top of everything else, confused the hell out of me. I wanted him, but I shouldn’t. I couldn’t. She wanted me. I could have her easily enough, but—and here was the kicker—should I? Of course, right? She was keen; I was going to get hard. My little blue pills always took care of that. But I’d failed to even dim thoughts of Angelo with the tequila I’d drunk. That meant something, didn’t it?
For the first time in years, I thought of my life as a façade, and that lie was starting to crumble. Thoughts of “I’m gay” were creeping back into my psyche, but I didn’t want them to. I really didn’t. God, I couldn’t go there again. But now I felt like I was running straight into trouble. I was drunk and I had a girl in my arms who was riding my leg like a randy dog. My brain told me to fuck the doubt out and prove that I was straight. I needed to get off and I needed the affirmation even more. I was desperate for a reminder of why I chose women, but that damn voice in my head was like a fly I couldn’t swat away, telling me “no” at every pass. Begging me.
Talk about an existential crisis in the middle of a damn dance floor.
8
Angelo
Gabriella topped off the two glasses of Campari with a dash of gin and set the bottle down on the coffee table. We’d been drinking since she arrived, and I was warm and fuzzy from the liquor, loose-limbed and lazy. The warmth of the potbelly fireplace cocooned us. Like old times, we cuddled on the sofa, our feet on the old timber table and a blanket wrapped around us. I missed her. I missed my life here too, but I’d found something special in Queenstown. Striking out on my own and finally feeling grown up, it was like an adventure. My sister may be the youngest, but I’d always been the baby of the family. I was the closest of my siblings to Mamma, and I’d lived at home for the longest too. But I’d been bitten, and the itch wouldn’t leave me. I had a yearning to set myself free and see if I could make it on my own. Succumbing to the siren’s call, I’d followed it to Queenstown. Something pulled me there. Something in me knew I would call it home the moment I saw those mountains. I didn’t realize until later that it wasn’t the town calling me. It was the man who’d left here a few hours earlier.
As if she’d read my thoughts, Gabriella asked, “You miss living here?”
“I miss you and Mamma. My friends. But no, I don’t miss the place. Queenstown is home now.” I picked at the frayed wool of the blanket edging, wanting to say more but not knowing how to put it into words.
“I don’t think it’s Queenstown that’s home. I think it’s Trent.” She grasped my hand and held it tight and I looked to her. She must have seen the truth in my eyes, the emotion I couldn’t hold back.
“I love him,” I whispered back, barely able to get it past the lump in my throat. “It’s been good living together, but it’s hard too. I look at him and I want to reach out for him. Hold him. He gets down sometimes, like he’s a shell of a person. It’s as if he’s missing a part of himself. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.”
“I think you do help him. He looked happy today. He was smiling at you all the time.”
“He was happy, wasn’t he?” I smiled, remembering all the glances back and forth we’d shared during lunch. But then I thought about the present Ford had given him. My initial instinct was to laugh, but then I’d seen Trent struggling with it.
“Why didn’t you go out with them tonight? Maybe you could have carried on the smiling.”
“No. I think he needed some space. Ford’s present….” I didn’t even know how to describe the emotions I saw crossing Trent’s features when he’d opened the package.
“Yeah, I saw.” She nodded and slowly sipped her drink. “Will he be okay?”
“I hope so,” I mused. I shifted on the sofa, resting my head back against the old cushion, and sighed. Hopelessness and helplessness filled me. I wanted to be there for Trent, but I had no idea how. I had no clue about what he needed or why it’d affected him so deeply. “He drinks sometimes, you know?” Without waiting for Gab to respond, I continued. “He gets down and pulls out a bottle of tequila. He’ll take shot after shot until he staggers into bed and passes out. It worries me that one day he won’t want to fight anymore.”
“You two fight?” Gabriella asked, the horror in her voice obvious. I knew what she was implying, and it wasn’t whether he was angry. It was whether he took it out on me.
“No, never.” If there was one thing I knew about Trent, it was that he didn’t have a violent bone in his body. He was a healer, a carer down to his core. He’d never hurt a hair on anyone’s head. “I worry that he won’t see what he has to live for anymore.”
“Oh, Angelo.” The sympathy in my sister’s voice broke my heart. She leaned her head on my shoulder, and I inhaled on a shudder.
“I know I can never have him, but I couldn’t bear losing him.”
We sat there like that, sipping our drinks. I was lost in thought, and Gab seemed happy to just sit with me. I found myself watching the clock, its hands ticking slowly away into the early hours of the morning. I wondered what Trent, Ford, and Ricky were up to. No doubt Ford was hooking up with a pretty girl. He loved to love, but he didn’t lead women on either. They knew he was only in it for one night with them. He was a playboy and he was drawn to playgirls—the perfect match for him. Ricky could go either way—hooking up or staying solo—and honestly, I’d rather not imagine him doing anything. Then again, if it meant I wouldn’t picture Trent with someone else, I’d change my mind. I wanted to believe he’d had a few drinks, possibly danced for a bit, but it was wishful thinking. I’d seen him drunk and partying enough times to know that he’d welcome the press of breasts against him, the heat between a woman’s legs. My stomach soured, and I put my drink down, unable to stomach another sip.
Gabriella yawned and stretched, and I took it as my cue to leave. “I’m going to head to bed.” I slipped out from the blanket and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, Gab. I missed this.”
“Goodnight, Angelo. And so did I, but I’m glad you left. I’m glad you’ve found him, even if things aren’t exactly how you want them to be.”
“Me too.” I nodded and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth before turning in. I stripped off my shirt and slid between the sheets before gazing at the empty bed next to mine, wishing that things between Trent and me could have been different. I wasn’t lying to Gab though. I’d gratefully take what I could. His friendship meant the world to me, and while I couldn’t love him the way I wanted to, being his friend would always be enough.
The bed shifted, and I woke with a start. Heat from the hard body pressed against me had me stiffening and not in a good way. But when Trent wrapped his strong arm around my waist and pulled me back against him, I melted into his embrace. His lips skimmed across my nape and he kissed a line up my spine to my hair before he took a deep breath. His hand splayed low on my belly had my dick instantly reaching up to greet him. “Trent,” I moaned on a breathy gasp.
“Shhh,” he whispered. I could smell the liquor on his breath, and when I turned my face to his, I got a whiff of a spicy perfume.
“You’re drunk, and you smell like whoever your hookup was.” I kept my voice soft, trying not to sound too harsh, but I disentangled myself from his grip, pushing his arm away and moving as far out of his reach as I could on a single bed. He was a grown man and I had no right to get jealous, but there was no way I was subjecting myself to being his seconds. I had more self-respect than that.
He laughed, but it held no humor, and when I looked at him, I saw the true Trent. His walls were down and he lay there before me open and vulnerable. The raw honesty in his gaze held me captive, and I was unable to look away even if I’d wanted to. H
is words were slurred when he spoke. “I tried, but I couldn’t. All I could think about was you.” Trent closed his eyes, breaking our connection, and the pain in his voice slayed me. He reached out for me again, pulling me close once more, and I let him do it. I had no idea whether he didn’t want to want me, or whether I was reading something more into what he’d said. Either way, it didn’t matter. Deep down I knew that this would be the only time I’d have him so close.
“You were thinking about me?” I whispered, something dangerous wanting to unfurl in my chest. It was hope, but I dared not hold out for it. I knew I wouldn’t get a response from him, and even if I did it probably wouldn’t be the one I so desperately wanted, but I waited for him anyway, wishing that he’d reaffirm what he’d said. But it never came. Trent’s breathing had evened out and he was fast asleep, curled around me as he held me close.
Tomorrow I’d deal with the fallout—the what the hell? and the I’m not some fairy when he was sober enough to erect the fortress he held around himself again. Until then, I’d cherish every moment I could with Trent’s arms around me, his solid chest pressed to my shoulder, the bulge at his groin nestled against my ass. I lifted his hand and brushed my lips against his knuckles in a whisper-soft kiss. I love you. I closed my eyes, committing his touch to memory. The gentle way his arm wrapped around me, and the strength in his hand splayed against me. Those same hands could save a dying man or bring new life into this world, and he chose to caress me with them. The warmth of his breath against my nape as he exhaled, and the ghosting of his lips against my own skin made me want to stay in this moment for an eternity.
All too soon, the sun’s rays kissed the sky, waking me from a deep sleep. I was tangled in Trent, our legs and arms wound around each other. We’d rolled over during the night and now I spooned him, my arm holding him to me as I breathed him in. I could feel his heart beating under my palm. Strong and steady beats. Instinct had me wanting to nuzzle him, but my morning whiskers were sharp and I didn’t want to startle Trent awake. I pressed a soft kiss to his broad back and unwound myself. I stifled a groan, my head thudding like a bitch. My hangover pierced my skull with every movement I made, but as much as I didn’t want to leave the warmth of our cocoon, I forced myself up. I needed a piss and Tylenol too.
Leaving the bed without waking Trent up was harder than I thought possible. I had to scoot down to the foot of the bed before I could climb off, and doing it shirtless was bloody freezing. I slipped into the flannel shirt and padded out in search of painkillers and water to fix my cottonmouth.
“Good morning, Mamma,” I mumbled as I stumbled into the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the faucet. Blindly, I opened the cupboards in search of painkillers and groaned when I couldn’t find where she’d moved them to. When I turned to ask her, she held out the packet to me. I downed a couple gratefully, refilled the glass, and took it and the pills back into the bedroom.
Trent was sitting up, rubbing his head when I entered, and my breath caught at the sight. He was warm and sleep-rumpled and in my bed. I bit my lip, resisting the temptation to touch him. His hair was sticking up in patches and flat in other parts, and his stubble was longer this morning. He usually kept it short, but I liked this look on him. I wanted to know whether it was as soft as it looked. Would he finally welcome me if I reached out and cupped his cheeks, pulling him to me and kissing him the way I’d wanted the night before? He was bare-chested, and I admired the curve of Trent’s muscles. Not as built as a body builder, he was still far bigger than me. Where I had height and a lean build, he had size. My olive complexion courtesy of my Italian heritage was so different to his light brown skin. It had me wondering whether he had a Maori background. I couldn’t ask about his family though; the subject was an unapproachable one and I wouldn’t ruin the morning by asking. Trent scratched his chest, drawing my attention to the soft hair there. I wanted to curl up on his lap and rub myself against him like a cat.
“Morning,” I greeted him, still a little groggy but my headache forgotten at the sight of him. I hoped that my loose pajama bottoms hid the wood I was sporting. There was nothing hotter than Trent with my rumpled covers pooling around his slim waist. He wore only underwear, tight-fitting boxer briefs that I wished I’d gotten a thorough look at. He had a good ass—a great one in fact—and I really wanted to get a look at it in those boxers.
“Oh, thank God,” he mumbled when he saw what I was carrying as he clutched his head. “I feel like shit.” I placed the glass on the nightstand and popped two pills into his outstretched hand, inhaling sharply at the briefest brush of our hands.
“How much did you drink?”
“Too much.” He downed the pills and drank the water and looked around the room, his brow furrowed. “Apparently when I’m drunk I don’t know which bed is mine.”
I smirked and cleared my throat inwardly, cursing at the excited jump my cock just made. “I didn’t mind.”
“At least you weren’t asleep when I got here. How gay would it have been if we’d shared a bed?”
I opened my mouth to correct him but shut it again, turning toward the closet to hide the emotions I couldn’t control. I wanted to cry. I wanted to rage and scream at him. Why was it that he would pull me into his arms and hold me like a precious lover when he was drunk, and when he was sober, he did shit like that. He hurt me more with his careless words than anyone else had done before him. I guess it was because I wanted him to want me as much as I did him. Instead, I’d gone and fallen for a homophobic asshole.
I did the only thing I could. Chin up, I pulled a change of clothes out and walked away from him, going to take a shower without saying another word to him.
I don’t know if I was being childish, but I didn’t really care. I’d managed to ignore Trent for most of the morning, but Mamma was calling us for lunch, and I’d have to at least be civil to him. She wouldn’t stand for us fighting when we came together for another feast, this time to make a dent in the leftovers.
Gabriella had picked up on the tension between us, but I’d waved off her concerns. I didn’t want to talk about it with her. It’d only hurt worse to admit that I’d gotten my hopes up despite knowing he was drunk and not thinking straight. I was an idiot. A fool. And I was pissed about it. I slammed the door to the cupboard shut and made my way back to Mamma with the tea towels she’d asked for.
“I take it you haven’t finished being shitty yet?”
I stopped in my tracks and whirled on him, grinding my teeth together before hissing, “What did you just say?”
He puffed out his chest and took a step closer to me, coming face-to-face. “I said, you haven’t finished being shitty yet.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d thrown the towels on the floor and grabbed his sweater, pushing him against the wall. “Fuck you, asshole.” I shoved him again and stepped back, but Trent had fire in his eyes. He wasn’t finished, and neither was I.
He laughed coldly and pushed me back, making me stumble. I fell against the wall and used it to brace myself, stopping me from landing on my ass. “Little limp-wristed there, Angelo. Want me to show you how a real man fights?”
Seething, I clenched my fists by my sides and stepped up to him again. I wanted to hurt him as much as he was hurting me, to make him regret every moment since he’d opened his mouth that morning. Or maybe I wanted to punish myself for being so damn stupid to think that he was anything other than a homophobic bastard. And I was even more of a fool for being friends with him. In that moment I despised him, but I knew I couldn’t hurt him. Not intentionally. I could never do it. I wasn’t that sort of person. The fight left me, and I looked down into his eyes, searching for something I knew I’d never find. What I did see eviscerated me, and I knew the answer before I’d even asked the question.
“Why is it so bad to be gay?” I whispered and shook my head, knowing that in his mind, it was something to be reviled. Without waiting for an answer, I turned and walked away, collecting my coat and b
oots from the mudroom and leaving through the front door. I closed it quietly behind me and walked away from my childhood home, my family, and the man who’d broken my heart.
The weight of the world sat atop my shoulders as I trudged up the path leading to the lookout. It was closed at this time of year, but it wasn’t exactly a high-security entrance. The lone chain across the walkway and a sign that said No Entry in my mother tongue were easy to ignore. I knew this place like the back of my hand. I’d traversed it hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times, going there whenever I needed a timeout. It was midsummer the last time I’d gone, and it looked very different from that day but no less beautiful. Pristine white snow a couple of feet deep covered the path that snaked its way up the steep slope. The branches of the large trees, heavy with the fresh Christmas Day falls, gave me enough purchase to haul myself up through the knee-deep icy clumps, but I ended up covered in heavy chunks that had shaken onto me. Even though it wasn’t a long way up, it was still challenging in the snow, and I was grateful to finally reach the rocky outcrop. A chain-link fence spanned the open space at the highest point of the lookout, and I leaned against the attached iron railing to catch my breath. Overlooking the village and the mountains surrounding it, I was in awe every time I saw it. Stunned by the perfection of nature. A cerulean sky painted a perfect contrast to the blanket of white covering the ground below. Towering conifers rose up and stood at attention like silent sentinels. Without a breath of wind in the air, their branches were still. Undisturbed.
