by Lane Hayes
The word hovered over the table for a moment. I didn’t know how to touch it, but I had to before it took on a life of its own and became a verb instead of an arcane concept.
“He said ‘good-bye.’ No. He said, ‘fuck you’ and a whole bunch of other—”
“And now he’s running out of time, Kyle. He can’t undo the past. He can’t get back what’s lost, and he can’t make it right. Forgiveness is all he can ask for.” She put her hand over mine. “Think about it.”
Sound rolled over me in waves until I couldn’t differentiate the nuances between laughter and random chatter. It blended and melded in a freakish symphony that made my head pound against my skull. I stared a hole in the table, unable to participate in the polite round of good-byes Charlie initiated. I frowned slightly when he jumped up to hug Mona impulsively. Who was he? What the hell was going on? Charlie didn’t belong in the same room as Mona or my dad. He was the sarcastic ballbuster I liked to wind up at the studio. Those worlds were never meant to cross. One was supposed to stay in the past and the other…fuck, I didn’t know what I was doing with Charlie. But I was pitifully glad he was here.
No, that wasn’t good. I shouldn’t want him here. Hell, I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to get the fuck out of there, but I couldn’t go anywhere until Mona was long gone. I refused to hang out at the curb, continuing any portion of that conversation with her while we waited for our rides.
“Christ, that was intense,” Charlie hummed beside me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded lamely, then tipped my glass and drained it. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. Even if you aren’t close, that’s terrible news and—”
“We’re not talking about this,” I snapped.
I immediately regretted my tone when Charlie pulled back as if I’d slapped him. He didn’t deserve my misdirected angst. I’d practically dragged him over here to provide a buffer of some kind between me and my fucked-up family and ended up exposing the ugliest part of me. I fully expected him to shred me with a withering look or a pithy one-liner to put me in place. But as usual, Charlie surprised me.
“Okay. Do you want another drink?” he asked as he waved the waiter to our table.
“I’m going home. I can get myself there.”
When I pulled out my phone to call for a ride, he covered the screen and scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take you.”
“I don’t want you to take me. I want you to pretend you didn’t hear any of that. Got it? Not a fuckin’ word,” I growled.
Charlie didn’t flinch. He held my gaze, then shook his head. “You shouldn’t be alone in your condition.”
“Dude, I’m not pregnant. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m…” I raked my fingers through my hair and shook my head. “I don’t know what I am.”
“Distraught?” he suggested.
“That’s a little dramatic.”
“I’m a little dramatic. But I’m also a good listener, and years of therapy have taught me that you should talk about your distress before it eats you alive.”
“Charlie. Listen up,” I growled in frustration. “I like you. I respect you. And I’m really sorry about tonight. I’m sorry I asked for a ride. I’m sorry I dragged you to this table. And I’m sorry you heard anything she said. I always go one step too far. Tonight is no exception. But I’m still not telling you anything.”
Charlie gasped, startling the woman sitting at the table next to ours. “You can’t leave me hanging! We just shared a heavy moment. Telenovela style. Your estranged father is dying, and his ex-wife thinks we’re boyfriends. News of our relationship might save him. And when he finds out I’m the father of your unborn child, things are going to get confusing. Or exciting. Or just weird.”
“You’re weird.”
“You already knew that.”
“True. I suspected you were crazy too, but I didn’t know for sure.” I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. “Father of my kid?”
“It was a metaphor…maybe. Hey, I come from a very strange place and I have some big issues, Ky. Big. Abandonment, trust, failure…”
“Are you saying your family is more fucked than mine?” I tugged at his curls playfully and smiled in spite of my crappy mood.
“It’s not a contest, but yes…it’s a strong possibility. There’s so much BS none of us can change or shake easily, but it helps to get it off your chest. I’m cheaper than a visit to your therapist. Tonight anyway.”
I studied his pretty blue eyes and pink lips and clenched my fist when the urge to run my fingers through his hair got a little too strong. “I don’t feel like talking about my dad, Charlie, but I’ll take you up on the ride.”
“Fabulous.” He hopped off his barstool and dug into his pocket for his valet ticket. “Shall we?”
I nodded, then wrapped my arm around his neck and deftly plucked the ticket from his fingers. My attempt at silly flirtation was meant to bug him and maybe reestablish a playful contentious vibe. It backfired big time when he turned and my nose rubbed against his cheek. The brush of skin and the scent of his cologne sparked a tsunami of desire inside me. I tamped it down and winked before heading for the door, waving the ticket high in the air.
“I’m driving, Charizard.”
Charlie didn’t do quiet well, but I gave him credit for dropping the “you should talk it out” discussion. He fiddled with the satellite radio, switching channels and skipping over a few of my favorite songs. Not a big deal, I reminded myself when he bypassed Radiohead, Queen, and Pearl Jam in quick succession before pausing at a Sade oldie. Halfway through the song, he turned the station again.
“Wait. I liked that one,” I said with a frown. “It’s got a killer bass line.”
He switched it back to “Ordinary Love” before twisting in his seat. “I can’t hear the bass, but I do love this song. It’s so romantic.”
“The bass is the song. And there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s a stalker song.”
“Stalker? I don’t think so. She sounds so perfectly wistful and dreamy…romantic.”
“Yeah, real romantic. Like she’s wondering if the high-powered binoculars she bought will be strong enough to see into her ex’s bedroom window,” I snarked, slowing as we entered the residential area near my place.
“Ugh. You make it difficult to be nice to you, Ky,” he sighed.
I let out a half laugh as I turned left on 2nd Street, pulling into an open spot a block away from my building. I put his BMW in park, then unfastened my seat belt and gave him a crooked smile.
“I don’t want you to be nice to me. You’re never nice and that’s cool ’cause I hate phony nice. It’s annoying as fuck. I’m gonna be really pissed off if you start acting funny around me because of anything Mona said tonight.”
Charlie huffed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. Forget about it, Char. Forget all of it.” I hiked my thumb in the general direction of my place and reached for the handle. “I’m gonna raid my liquor cabinet and hang out on my balcony, getting drunk and stoned. You coming?”
“Yeah. But to clarify…when you say ‘stoned,’ do you mean smoke pot? ’Cause I haven’t done that in years. The last time I got a serious case of the giggles and the munchies. Laugh-crying while shoving handfuls of Cheetos in my mouth is not a good look on me. I came home with orange shit all over my face and mascara running down my cheeks.” He shivered theatrically, then gave me a blank look that made me think he’d forgotten what he’d asked in the first place.
I chuckled softly. “I don’t have any weed. Sorry. I have a case of Corona, some Jack, Stoli, and tequila.”
Charlie hummed thoughtfully. “What are your mixers?”
“Mixers?” I repeated.
“Yes. Do you have triple sec, Coke, margarita mix?”
“I’m not sure. I usually just drink the beer.”
“I don’t care for beer. I suppose I could do a tequila shot or two.”
“You’ve a
lready had wine and a martini. Two shots of tequila will throw you over the edge.”
“Says who? I can hold my liquor. I bet I could drink you under the table.”
“Char, I can fit you in my pocket. There’s no way you can drink me under the table.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t fit in your pocket either. Your jeans are too tight. I suppose if your dick is small enough, I could squeeze into your front pocket, though.”
“As you know, my dick is fucking huge,” I boasted like a moron.
He batted his eyelashes lasciviously. “Really? I forgot.”
“Forgot?”
I banged my head on the steering wheel until he giggled, marveling at how easy he was to be with. Don’t get me wrong, Charlie was a lot. He was sharp edges with boundless energy, but there was something fluidly charming about him that stopped me every other time he opened his mouth.
“I’m kidding. I remember it well.” He leaned across the console and bit my jaw. “Just cut me off at three shots. Patrón makes me horny.”
“No tequila for you. I’m not holding your hair back while you pray to the porcelain gods.” I opened the car door and met him on the sidewalk.
When he stumbled against my side, I put my hand on his waist to steady him. Charlie smiled at me, then hooked his fingers in my belt loops and drew me close.
“I’m not a damsel in distress, Ky. I can hold my own hair.”
He kissed my cheek, then licked it before pulling back with a lascivious lopsided grin. I swiped at my face irritably and headed up the path with Charlie cackling behind me. I had a brief thought that this might be a mistake. But I quickly dismissed it. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I’d hung around him a little longer than necessary for a reason. He frustrated me, but he calmed me too. And I wasn’t ready to let him go.
5
Charlie
So this was how semi-straight boys lived. I pivoted in a slow circle in the middle of Ky’s living room and took in the “dude” decor. Skateboards and surfboards in various sizes and in every hue under the rainbow were hung or propped on one side of the room. A collection of guitars lined the opposite wall. Acoustic, electric, bass…he had a few of each. A couple of amps did double duty as side tables on either side of a comfy-looking denim sofa. And the enormous flat-screen TV was positioned on a narrow stand in front of a bank of sliding glass doors, which I assumed led to the balcony he’d mentioned earlier. It was too dark outside to tell.
I followed Ky into the adjacent galley-style kitchen and opened a long rectangular cabinet I assumed was the pantry. “You have Cheetos,” I commented, pulling out an unopened bag.
“Make yourself at home,” Ky snarked.
He set a bottle of wine on the white-tiled counter, then grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the top off.
I shook my head in mock exasperation when it hit the wall and landed on the floor beside the trashcan before pointing at the wine. “Is that for me?”
“Yeah. I don’t have wineglasses, but I have coffee cups and beer mugs.”
“Anything is fine. I’m not picky,” I said, chuckling when Ky grumbled, “Yeah, right” under his breath.
He slid a “Skateboard, skateboard, skateboard, tacos…” mug on the counter toward me. Then he dug around in the drawer for a wine opener and set it down before yanking his shirt from his jeans and unbuttoning it. “I gotta get out of these clothes. Feel free to snoop. I know you want to.”
I inspected the wine label, then poured some into the mug and opened the drawer to return the utensil, snickering when I found a package of condoms and a bottle of lube. I carried the wine and Cheetos into the living room and left them on the coffee table before heading back to the kitchen to close the cabinets and wipe the counter.
“Find anything interesting?” Ky asked as he sauntered barefoot into the room.
I nodded and held up the lube and condoms, but my smartass remark about taking kitchen safety to new levels got stuck in my throat. Dammit, why did he have to look like that? His toned abs, sun-kissed skin, and all that gorgeous ink did things to me. I licked my lips and treated myself to the view of the serpent and rose tattoo at his V-line as he pulled a T-shirt over his head. He’d changed into his signature low-riding board shorts, showcasing his trim waist and long legs.
“Just these,” I choked.
“Ah, party favors. Looks like we’re set.” Ky’s ear-to-ear grin was cocky as hell and annoyingly contagious. He grabbed a sweatshirt from the hook near the front door and tilted his head toward the balcony. “Let’s go outside. I’ll take the Cheetos and my beer. You bring the wine and rubbers. Just in case.”
I rolled my eyes and picked up my mug before following him onto the balcony.
The evening air felt crisp and refreshing. I gazed at the clear sky, counting a few stars as I inhaled the sweet ocean breeze and released a contented sigh.
“It’s a beautiful night.”
“It is. I wish the view was better.” He pointed at the office building across the alley and shrugged before taking a swig of beer. “If you crane your neck to the right you can see a glimpse of the sand from here in the daylight.”
“Do you go to the beach every day?” I asked before taking a sip of wine.
“Yep. I surf every morning and if I have time, I ride down the boardwalk to the park to get some runs in before I meet the band.”
“What does ‘ride down the boardwalk’ mean?”
Ky shot a sideways glance at me and shook his head. “It means I trade a surfboard for a skateboard.”
“Is that before or after you’ve had coffee?”
“Before,” he replied with a laugh. “You gotta be in the water by sunrise to beat the crowds. And I can tell from that judgy tone in your voice that you don’t approve.” Ky took a swig of beer, then tossed the bag of Cheetos on a low table before sinking into the chair closest to the stucco wall. “Come sit and tell me all about it.”
I obeyed, idly watching his wrist as he lit the huge candle on the table between us. “I don’t disapprove. I just don’t understand your world. We come from very different places. That’s all.”
“Dude, that is the understatement of the century,” Ky said, ripping open the bag and offering it to me. “And as you probably caught on from that scene at the bar…my family is seriously fucked up.”
I took a few of the orange snacks and grimaced. “These aren’t as tasty as I remembered. Maybe they’re better when you’re high.”
“Maybe. And they don’t go well with wine.”
“True.”
We were quiet for a moment. It was a pleasant kind of silence, but he’d given me an opening, and I couldn’t let it slide.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” I said softly. Ky nodded in acknowledgment, then leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees. “It’s terrible news and it definitely gives one perspective.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fretting over a stupid record deal is embarrassing. It doesn’t compare. It makes you realize how we get caught up in everyday drama and forget to look at the big picture and appreciate what we have.”
“Maybe. But he’s not your dad,” Ky said flippantly.
“No. I’d be devastated if Dad or Gray—God, I can’t even think about it.” I shook my head as if to erase the thought before continuing. “I’m so sorry. Even if you’re not on good terms with your fath—”
“I’m not. I haven’t seen him in years. He showed up at my mom’s funeral out of the fucking blue. We had words and agreed we were both better off going our separate ways and not letting our paths cross again. Ever.”
“Gee, and then he had the audacity to get sick and ask to see you. Sounds awful,” I huffed sarcastically.
“Back off, Charlie. You have no idea who he is or what he did. Don’t even think about judging me,” he hissed.
I set the mug down and held my hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about your mom to
o. She must have been young. What happened?”
“Cancer,” he replied swiftly.
“Oh, Ky.”
He let out a ragged sigh and pursed his lips. I studied his profile in the shadows and waited for him to tell me something before I started asking a million questions I shouldn’t. “She was fifty. She had breast cancer when I was a teenager. She beat it…physically anyway. Mentally…it got her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She had serious mental health issues. She was bipolar with heavy bouts of depression. She was hard to know. Don’t get me wrong. She wasn’t sad all the time. She was just…closed off, you know? When she got diagnosed again, she gave up. She swallowed a bottle of pills and ended it.” He turned to me then. “That was four years ago. I wasn’t in the country when it happened. I think I was in Amsterdam. I can’t remember. Karly found her and called me and—it was just an ugly time, you know?”
I nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I’m sorry for a lot of things. I felt guilty I wasn’t here, guilty he was. I don’t want to do this again. Any version of it. I suck at the hard stuff. I’m never where I’m supposed to be, never on time. I never get it right. If I didn’t have Zero, I swear I’d be packing my bags right now. And that’s the honest fuckin’ truth.”
“Where would you go?”
“I don’t know. Belize, Mexico…somewhere warm where I could get lost on the beach and tune out the noise. What about you? If you could go anywhere right here, right now, where would it be?”
“Hmm. It depends,” I replied thoughtfully.
“On what?”
“Lots of things. The weather, who I’m traveling with…or do I get to be alone?”
“You gotta make everything complicated, don’t you?” he huffed in amusement as he twisted to face me. “Just pretend you get to do whatever you want and answer the question.”
“Okay. Um…Paris in the spring with the man of my dreams.”
