Cross Island

by Santino Hassell

  “I don’t. He’s just the guy I’ve been into since I was a kid.” I get to my feet, frustrated. “You’re right—he hates my guts. I have no shot with someone who wishes me dead. So, I don’t see why you’re tripping over it.”

  “Because him existing still fucks with your head.” Shawn’s gaze rakes over me again, slower this time, before he turns back to the door. So, I’m gonna take care of it.”

  “Wait—”

  The door slams shut, resounding in the small apartment, and I flinch.

  “I was still imagining him even when I had Shawn’s dick in me. Why he flipped his shit when I said the wrong name and ran out. Why he—”

  I trip and stumble my way down the block, spin out of the way of cars on the street, and veer up 90th Avenue. I’m almost at the corner, sprinting past Yvette’s building, when the shots ring out.

  Anyone who’s grown up in this part of South Jamaica has heard that sound. Most people are so immune to it that they just know to duck indoors if they’re on the street, but sometimes get dicey and glance out their window if they’re already at home. It’s a weird intersection of indifference and self-preservation, where you’re so jaded you get cocky and think it can never be you. I’m guilty of it too. But not today.

  I freeze in place because the shots are so close. My heart slams against my chest and chills run through my body. It gets worse when I hear shouts and the sound of running feet.

  “Why he ran out in a rage and didn’t care about who was waiting or what was gonna happen. And then—”

  I skid to a stop on the corner and see Shawn face down with blood pooled around him.

  The chills spread through my body until I’m a sheet of ice. Numb and cold, unable to do anything but stare down at Shawn, so still on the ground. It’s not even the blood or the stillness that convinces me, without question, that he’s dead. It’s that his body gives off no energy. No vibes. I’m so close his blood is soaking into my unlaced shoelaces, but I feel nothing coming off a body that always causes me to have a reaction—whether it’s rage or frustration, loyalty or mind-bending lust.

  I zero in on weird details. The fact that he’s face down, his hand curled slightly into a loose fist, that his hair is still damp from his own shower. How long ago had that been? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Thirty?

  We’d been kissing and grinding against each other just before he’d run out the door. I can still taste him in my mouth. The first time he’s ever touched me that way… and now…

  I kneel and touch him with shaking fingers. He’s still warm, but there’s so much blood. When I turn his face to the side, His lips, still swollen from our violent kissing, are parted. But his eyes are open and blank. I’ve seen a dead body before, but never someone… I’d never thought it would be someone who…

  “Shawn.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Shawn…”

  Strong arms encircled me, and I didn’t resist. I let Clive pull my damp face to his stomach, closed my eyes when he ran his hands through my hair, and inhaled shakily without bothering to hide it.

  “Sorry,” I croaked.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Clive said softly, stroking my hair. “I should have thought that question through, but I… was caught up in my own train of thought without considering anything else. It was selfish.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  Clive sighed and didn’t disagree. He stood in the middle of the boutique, embracing me and stroking the hair of his crying bodyguard, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His lack of self-consciousness, of caring what anyone thought, bled into me, and I didn’t care either. I accepted his comfort and took another slow sigh.

  “Fuck. Kenneth would think I’m the worst bodyguard right now.”

  “To hell with Kenneth.” Clive tugged at my hair before releasing me. He framed my face with his hands instead of stepping back and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. My face burned, but I didn’t pull away. “Victor, are you okay with going to this wedding? We can skip it.”

  “We?”

  He blinked. “Well—”

  “If I had a problem with it, I’d ask someone to stand in for me,” I said. “And I don’t trust anyone to watch you but me. They won’t know how fucking annoying and sneaky you are, trying to give me the slip.”

  “Oh, I haven’t done that in ages.”

  “Yeah, if an age was like one week.”

  Clive laughed out loud. He gave my chin a little shake and finally stepped away. “You sure it won’t bother you to be around Raymond and his friends?”

  Part of me regretted letting him see what a wreck I could be when I thought deep enough about Shawn and the past, but another part of me? It likes his concern. The way he touched me. How protective he was being. Apparently, that part of me was soft as shit. The old Victor would stomp it down.

  “I’ll be as fine as you will be having to sit around Michael and Nunzio,” I said. “And I’m not leaving you alone to deal with that shit.”

  Clive’s mouth tightens, but he puts his hands on my shoulders again.

  “Pact to look out for each other, then?”

  I nodded. “We’re the only ones doing it. So yeah.”

  We fist bumped each other while locking eyes, then Clive jerked his chin at me.

  “Now get up so we can get you fitted."

  Cross Island, ch 10

  Chapter Ten

  Clive

  I’d attended Liberty X a few times before realizing public sex wasn’t my bag.

  Yes, I sometimes enjoyed playing with power dynamics during sex, but during my trips there I’d mostly found guys who were eager to slip into a submissive role and create an elaborate scene.

  I wasn’t interested. I liked my sex organic. Home grown roughness, where both people had no choice but to bite and scratch and tussle while screwing each other into oblivion. I knew other people thrived on rules and scenes and specifications, but it wasn’t for me. And I never trusted a stranger enough to let completely go with them. Even my Grindr freaks.

  Caleb and Oli’s wedding wasn’t the right time or place for me to be rehashing my previous sexual exploits in the Liberty X penthouse, but the setting continuously brought it to mind. It looked totally different, of course. The white walls and wooden floors were awash in golden light from candles, romantic chandeliers, and wall fixtures, creating an intimate and cozy atmosphere. Without the tented play areas, the loft-like space seemed enormous, and there was more than enough space for ten elegantly set tables of eight.

  Apparently, a “small” wedding still meant eighty people. I would have maybe invited twelve people to my own.

  “My own”. What a joke.

  Sourness filled my throat as the organ music started. Instead of focusing on the two best men—Charles Jovanovic standing on Caleb’s side and Aiden on Oli’s, and the longhaired and tattooed man who was officiating—I looked over to where I knew Michael was sitting.

  He was stunning in his black suit, and I realized it was the first time I’d seen him in a full three-piece. Michael had lived in a combination of clothing that was worn and casual but always looked amazing on him. Decade-old jeans paired with a white T-shirt and flannel made him look edible, but now? He was absolutely decadent.

  Nunzio must have thought so too, because he had one of Michael’s hands clasped in his own. I could not stop watching the slow glide of his thumb over Michael’s knuckles. Amazing how something so subtle could look so possessive.

  I followed the length of Nunzio’s arm, clad in a charcoal suit, to see his expression. He was smiling slightly as he leaned into Michael. After a second, he said something that prompted Michael to look up at him with absolute adoration.

  I was going to be sick, but I couldn’t look away. Not when the music grew louder. Not when figures appeared in my peripheral vision in the makeshift aisle. It was only after everyone stood, and Nunzio’s gaze happened to fall directly on me, did I stand and avert my eyes.

  Caught staring desperately a
t my ex-boyfriend by his husband. It was poetic and absolutely humiliating.

  The back of my throat began to tickle, so I swallowed. Then, my eyes began to burn, so I blinked. It was only when Jace, who’d been seated beside me, tugged at the cuff of my jacket did I look up again. I’d been so distracted by my own angst, that I’d failed to realize Oli and Caleb had foregone the typical arrangement of one groom waiting at the end of the aisle for the other.

  Caleb and Oli were walking up the aisle together, side-by-side, in identical black slim fit 3-piece tuxedos, except Caleb had on a traditional white shirt beneath whereas Oli wore deep crimson. They looked impeccable, as though they’d just walked off an advertisement in the suits section of Neiman Marcus.

  Oli grabbed Caleb’s hand, squeezing it tightly, and beamed. Caleb looked slightly stunned, and kept glancing from Oli, to the minister, to the crowd. On anyone else, it might look like cold feet. But he was Caleb, so I knew he was nervous. Probably that he would somehow stumble over his words or embarrass himself.

  Oli brought his hand up and kissed it, still smiling.

  “Welcome to this day of celebration,” the long-haired minister said, grinning at the two grooms-to-be. I had no idea who he was, or why he was officiating their wedding, but he looked vaguely familiar. For all I knew, he was yet another QFindr employee who I ignored on a regular basis. “It’s truly a blessing, and an honor, to witness the union of Oliver Buckley and Caleb Stone as husband and husband before the queer powers that be in New York City.”

  Caleb finally cracked a smile, and Oli winked. This minister had definitely been his idea. They’d probably collaborated on the location, Caleb had picked the suits, and Oli had been in charge of the officiating.

  “Together, we will share in the joys of their wedding, both with the party that we all know is coming, and the internal appreciation for how truly stunning the power of love can be. Oliver and Caleb came together as acquaintances due to a chance encounter, and became friends, business partners, lovers, and will now be bound together as soul mates.”

  Soul mates.

  I wanted to sneer, but my stomach hollowed. I glanced at Michael again.

  “Seeing these two proud men come together in marriage is a magical thing,” the minister continued, his deep voice easily booming throughout the room. “It’s a magic that no man can take from them regardless of political agenda or belief, because love is all-powerful and all-consuming. It can’t be stopped, and it can’t be diminished. In the words of Oscar Wilde, keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.”

  This minister was sucking my soul out of my chest and leaving raw, ragged wounds in its wake. Where was my cynicism? Where were my sneers?

  Why did this hurt?

  I looked over at Michael again, and this time I found Nunzio watching me. Not with suspicion, though. With concern. He was fucking concerned.

  An instant desire to leap out of my seat and rush out of the room overcame me. How did my face look for him to realize how hurtful this was for me? Were my eyes red? My face strained? I needed to get out.

  My eyes flew to the exits, and I spotted Victor at the back of the room. It was like looking into a mirror. He looked absolutely glorious in his black-on-black suit, dangerous and sexy all at once in bespoke threads, but his expression was strained. His attention was once again on Raymond, who had an arm around David. The blond man was pressing his face into Raymond’s shoulder, weeping already.

  My heartrate slowed.

  “—gives these grooms today?” the minister was asking.

  “I do,” Charles and Aiden chimed simultaneously.

  The minister began speaking again, and my attention skipped back to Victor. He’d turned slightly away from the room, but I could see his profile. It was studiously blank. A glance at the object of his formerly unrequited attention showed that Raymond was holding David tight, lips brushing golden hair.

  I understood perfectly how it felt to see someone you used to worship and dream of, be so in love with another man. I was living that right now. What I didn’t understand was how it felt when you’d thought that man had been straight. When your own self-loathing had caused you to push him farther and farther away until he hated you as much as you hated yourself. And no amount of empathy could ever help me get what it would be like to be constantly confronted with someone whose mere existence had inadvertently led to the death of your own lover.

  It wasn’t Raymond’s fault that Shawn had been gunned down. According to Victor, Raymond had been so far removed from the group they’d run with that he’d likely had no idea he was on Shawn’s radar. But to Victor, his love for Ray and Shawn’s murder were forever linked. His gayness and Shawn’s murder were probably linked too.

  An urge filled me, stronger than my own misery—the urge to get up and go to Victor. I wanted to touch him like I’d touched him in the suit shop. To have him look up at me with so much trust. Maybe even gratitude and some affection. Until that moment, I’d forgotten how I’d used to scrape and beg Michael for him to let me be there for him. The more I’d asked, the more he’d shut me out, and over time I’d tried to bury my desire… to matter.

  Until Victor had welcomed my help and my comfort without even a pause.

  “Oliver Buckley and Caleb Stone, I now invite you to publicly speak your love and commitment for one another. Oliver, would you begin?”

  The question snapped me back to awareness, and I remembered where I was. Guilt swamped me. This was Oli and Caleb’s day, and I was obsessing over broken hearts—my own and Victor’s.

  “On this day, I give you my heart,” Oli said, taking both of Caleb’s hands in his own. He was smiling broadly, never missing a beat. “I give you my promise to walk with you hand-in-hand to wherever our story takes us in its many twists and turns. I take you to be my most challenging teacher, my charmingly headstrong communicator, and my beautifully brave partner, for the rest of my life.”

  “Caleb Stone,” the minister murmured. “It’s your turn.”

  Caleb didn’t speak. He’d closed his eyes, and tears had dampened his eyelashes and his cheeks. He’s stiffened up, statue-still in front of everyone, with his hands clutching Oli’s in a death grip.

  “Hey,” Oli soothed, leaning in to kiss Caleb’s damp eyelids. “It’s okay, darling. It’s okay to be a hot mess at your own wedding.”

  A wet laugh burst out of Caleb, and he looked around. “God, I’m sorry.”

  “No apologies.” Oli drew him in for a slow kiss. “You ready?”

  Caleb took a deep breath and nodded. He was still a little pale, but Oli had moved closer until they were so close together there was barely any space between them.

  “On this day, I give you my heart,” Caleb said, voice steadying. “And I give you my solemn promise to walk with you side-by-side for the rest of our journey, no matter where it takes us. I take you, Oli Buckley, to be my mischievous lover, my brutally honest co-conspirator, and my fearless partner, for the rest of my life.”

  He was crying again by the time he finished, but he spoke clear and loud, and with such passion that the yawning hole in my chest widened once again. How did it feel to be so in love, and to be loved in return?

  I watched numbly as the minister said a few more words before instructing them to join hands and exchange rings. “Friends and family, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I am pleased to announce Oliver Buckley and Caleb Stone as husband and husband.” The minister beamed. “Grooms, you may kiss.”

  Oli pulled Caleb into his arms and squeezed him tight, murmuring into his ear before they exchanged a long sweet kiss.

  “Everybody, for the first time, Mr. and Mr. Buckley-Stone!”

  The ceremony ended with an explosion of applause and cheers, and everyone getting out of their chairs. I stood up, clapping, and subtly edged my way around the cluster of bodies so I could reach Victor at the entrance. He was still carefully blank, but there was a flicker
of pain visible in his eyes when he turned them on me.

  “I have to make an appearance at the reception,” I murmured. “And we’re gone.” The relief that washed over him was so palpable, and the gratitude so clear, that I smiled. “You’re not the only one wanting to get the hell out of here.”

  “Then let’s go now,” he said lowly, turning to me. “It’s not like you’re giving a toast.”

  “I’ll have dinner and a couple of drinks,” I repeated. “Then we go home.”

  Victor had started to look around again, constantly checking the doors and the crowd around us, but his eyes snapped back to me at the word ‘home’. I thought he would say something sardonic, maybe tease me about being ‘too familiar’ as he’d done a couple of times in the past week when I’d asked an intrusive question, but he didn’t.

  He jerked his head in a quick nod. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll have a drink once we get there.”

  It was a change because he considered himself on the job 24/7. It was also a testament to how stressed being in this crowd made him. I wasn’t supposed to feel guilty about my bodyguard being forced to go to events. That was his purpose. And yet, I did.

  Aiden was right. I was far too attached to this young man.

  I gave a short nod and stepped away.

  The reception was in the same open space as the ceremony had been, so there was a seamless transition between the wedding and the after party. A catering staff in sharp tuxedos swept out to quickly rearrange the room so, within moments, the place was transformed.

  I left Victor by the door to drift closer to the table where Caleb and Oli had seated me. In an odd turn of events I found that I was seated at the table with the grooms, Aiden and his lovers—Jace and Chris, Caleb’s sister Meredith and her partner Tonya. I was grateful to be with Caleb, Oli, and Aiden, but simultaneously distracted because my table was directly next to where the Rodriguez men, and Victor’s sister, were seated.

  For the larger part of the meal, I stayed out of conversation unless directly pulled in and picked at my lamb chop. Everyone was thrilled to talk to each other, which was the best case scenario for a salty introvert, but there was constant attention on me. I’d look up and see Stephanie studying me, or move to grab another drink and see Nunzio staring me down. There were even times when Michael’s attention latched onto me, usually when I went to refresh my drink.