“No,” I say, finally sinking down beside him. “You don’t make me nervous, at least not in that way.”
I push back toward the cushion opposite him and tuck my legs so that I can face him better. He’s quiet as his gaze maps the entire landscape of my body, and I wonder what he’s thinking as I look away.
“Not sure where to even start. I…I went up on that bridge after a huge fight with my parents about an English grade,” I mumble, but he stays silent, as if waiting on me. “The teacher had written that I was rushing through my assignments and making careless mistakes. It felt like everyone was coming at me at once but nobody was really seeing me, just talking over me, and I thought my head was going to explode.” I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts. “I felt so alive on that ledge, full of possibilities—like nobody was going to lecture or yell at me or tell me to shape up. It was just me and the wind. And at least the wind was silent, listening and waiting. I could tell the wind my secrets and it wouldn’t fucking judge me.” I wring my hands. “And…and then I thought of you—that maybe you wouldn’t either.”
I have trouble making eye contact with Lucas as heat burns my cheeks. My confession is embarrassing and I probably just freaked him the hell out. Except his eyes are wide and compassionate and it helps me finish my thought. “But I was also terrified and so damn confused about everything. I didn’t understand what the heck was happening to me. I was pretty messed up but they got me evened out with meds.”
He draws his bottom lip between his teeth as if to hold himself back from any kind of strong reaction. “Those meds though—fuck. At first they made me feel like I was seeing the world behind some kind of glass wall, and I didn’t like it one damn bit.”
“But they help right?” he asks, his forehead scrunching. “I mean you seem…okay now.”
“They helped for the most part, along with therapy. And once they got the dosage squared, I was able to function a hell of a lot better,” I say, puffing out a breath, remembering how crazy those initial side effects were—the nausea and the constant dry mouth. I don’t tell him all of it though. I can’t give away everything. Not now. Not yet. I don’t even know if I’ll see him again after this. “Once I graduated high school, it took me some time to figure out what to do. I knew I needed to break away from my parents and try to make it completely on my own. Living there was not healthy for me.”
He nods, as if remembering all the things I told him about my fucked-up relationship with my mom and dad. He knew how strict they were with me. How they just wanted me to be the good son, probably so I could remain invisible to them. The idea of that makes acid churn in my gut.
“I thought about you, often, and wondered if you’d come here. If you’d made it,” I say, fidgeting with the frayed hem of my jeans. “I imagined you having this awesome life, maybe a hot boyfriend. In fact, I thought maybe…”
I shake my head, a line of heat crawling across my neck.
“What?” he asks, his voice sounding husky. “What did you think?”
I force aside how attracted I feel being in such close proximity to him and focus instead on repairing our friendship, our broken connection.
“I thought maybe you didn’t want me to touch you the other night because you were serious about someone and…” I hold up my hands. “For the record, I wasn’t trying to make a move on you or anything.”
“I didn’t think that…” He blows out a hard breath. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Relief rushes through me but it’s short-lived. He probably thinks I’m too much of a wreck anyway, given everything I shared with him.
“It’s just…” I say, rearranging my jumbled thoughts. “There you were right in front of me—my old friend, my good friend—and I guess I needed to see if you were real.”
His solid gaze latches onto mine and it gives me the opportunity to finally stare at him unguardedly. His unruly hair curls beneath his jaw, and his green irises are as bright as gemstones. The scar by his eye that I always noticed from his photos sits prominently on his square-shaped face, as if it’s a battle wound. And maybe it is.
On impulse, I stretch out my fingers. “How did you get that?”
Lucas stiffens momentarily, his eyes flashing with pain, but then he seems to lean into my touch. My fingers trace over the jagged scar and I can hear his breath releasing in small pants. I want to keep my hand on his face and outline his jaw and lips and ear, but I figure he’s only tolerating me. As far as I’ve gathered, touch seems hard for him, so I pull away before I make him too uncomfortable.
“It’s a long story,” he mumbles, effectively dismissing my question. That’s when I realize that I’ve told him quite a bit about myself while he’s shared practically nothing.
We have a history and I feel like I know him, so maybe he needs me to keep prodding until he finally opens up, like he used to when we were kids.
“Does it involve your fists?” I say, only half joking. “You’ve got a mean right hook.”
He laughs. “I guess I deserve that.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just remembering what you told me all those years ago about school and getting in trouble,” I say, trying to form some kind a bridge between us. “I shouldn’t pry. You obviously turned out all right, so…”
“No, it’s okay. My fists have definitely gotten me in trouble,” he says and there’s that glint of pain again. Like a deep ache sitting just below the surface. “But how about we save that for next time?”
“Next time?” I say and my voice sounds too optimistic, but I can’t help it.
“Yeah,” he says. “Next time. I think we could probably both use some space right now to think about some shit.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” I say. “That means you could see us possibly…keeping in touch?”
He stands up which I guess is my cue to leave, so I follow suit, stretching out my cramped legs. “I do want that…I mean, if you want to?”
“That would be great,” I say. “I’ve missed you.”
I resist the urge to hug him, to feel his body close to mine, to smell him again. At this point, I need to accept anything he’s willing to give.
I walk to his door and twist the knob. “Thanks for letting me come over. For letting me explain everything.”
“Glad you did,” he says as I step into the hall. “And Gabriel? I missed you too.”
The door shuts before I can turn and look his way. See his eyes. I brace my hand against the peeling paint on the opposite wall as my heart rises to my throat. Well damn.
10
Lucas
I spend hours looking up information on bipolar disorder. It sucks doing it all on my phone, but I don’t have a computer. I never cared much before, but now it feels stupid. I should at least have a tablet or something to make it easier.
Everything I read scares me. It makes me a douchebag but for a second, I consider never talking to him again. It’s a big deal, something like this. There’s this fear clawing at my insides that somehow I’ll make things worse for him. That I’ll screw up, make mistakes and then Gabriel will suffer for them.
But I know I can’t walk away either. I don’t have it in me. Seeing him feels like getting the only good part of my teen years back. No, that’s kind of a lie. I loved my mom, loved her more than anything. She was a good part of my youth, when she didn’t let her addiction take over.
I fall back on my bed. Why can’t just one fucking thing be easy? We both had to come to terms with being gay. I grew up poor, and my mom was an alcoholic. Gabriel’s parents were fucked in their own way. I fucked up and got locked up. He was institutionalized for something he had no control over. It’s like one thing after another.
But then…he said they got it under control. He said he’s okay.
I should have asked him about flying. He asked me about skyscrapers. Why didn’t I ask him about flying?
So, I do. I open a new email and type his name in.
Gabriel,
Ar
e you going to fly?
Lucas
And then I hit send before jumping in the shower to get ready for work.
It feels so petty, my previous anger at him, anger I had no right to feel. I think in a way I always saw Gabriel as this perfect fucking being. He made me feel better. I liked talking to him. His family had money. He wanted to be a pilot and even though I had dreams of my own, I saw his coming true, but not my own.
What do I know about anything? I’m a high school dropout, an ex-pot dealer who sometimes took things that weren’t mine if it meant paying bills or putting food on the table. And I solved everything with my fists.
I want you to be better than me, Lucas. You can be so much more than I ever was. That’s my one wish for you. I’d give anything to make that come true.
Turning off the water, I try to block my mom’s words out. I failed her. I’ve failed myself. I don’t want to fail in my friendship with Gabriel.
Conner’s off today. I work with a girl named Lisa. She’s in her early forties and reminds me of my mom. She has a kid at home, but she’s in the bar a whole hell of a lot on her days off.
We’re uncharacteristically busy for a weeknight. I pour beer after beer and make drink after drink, my reminder of what I don’t want.
When I take my break later that evening, I check my email and there’s a response from Gabriel.
Lucas,
There’s nothing I want more.
Gabriel
And then below it is his phone number. Calling each other wasn’t part of our friendship before. I’d never heard his voice until he came into the bar. Never seen his face. He’s even more gorgeous than I expected. A smile pulls at my lips when I think about him calling me stunning. There’s never been a time in my life someone called me something like that.
The hesitation is there, part of me wanting to call him now but the other part holds me back. It wasn’t that long ago that I told myself I hated him. We’ve seen each other twice and I punched him one of those times, leaving me at a fifty percent violence rate.
But this is what I’d dreamed of as a kid…making our friendship tangible. There have been two people in my life who I’ve given a shit about—my mom and Gabriel.
I can’t get her back, but I can have this. Maybe things can be that easy. Maybe I’m the one who makes them hard.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but my pulse speeds up as I make the call. The phone rings over and over and—Hi, this is Gabriel. Leave a message—of course he doesn’t answer.
I hang up the phone and start a text instead. I probably should have begun with a text anyway. So why don’t you? I ask him. I’m sure he’ll realize I mean fly.
An hour later as I’m pouring three shots of tequila my phone buzzes against my hip. It’s fucking ridiculous, but I feel that buzz inside me as well.
After handing the shots over, I take their money before pulling my phone out. How about we save that for next time? Gabriel uses my words on me. They’re not so fun on this side of it. Still, I realize I’m smiling.
Funny guy.
“Excuse me? Can I get another beer?” an older guy sitting on one of the barstools asks. We get a lot of construction workers and shit in here. I can tell he’s one of them and must have decided to call it a day early and drink instead. It’s then that I realize Gabriel probably should have been at work today. Or maybe not. How do I know his schedule?
“Yep. Coming right up.” I take his bottle of Bud before grabbing another and popping the top off.
The next time I have a chance to check my cell, his message says, I’m actually not that funny. But I definitely have my moments. LOL. And, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.
But then if he doesn’t want to tell me, I don’t want to force him. The last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable. I don’t know how all of this works. I don’t want to make him upset. Bipolar was never on my radar before now. I feel even more out of my element than I would becoming friends with someone else.
No…it’s cool.
But really, I want to know.
How’s work going?
Lisa’s voice pulls my attention away from my phone. “What are you smiling about?” Immediately I feel my lips stretch into an even line. I hadn’t even realized I’d been smiling.
“Nothing,” I tell her.
Work picks up again and it’s not until I’m on my way home that I have the chance to text him again. It’s late, so I’m not sure if I should. I want to, I realize. I want to talk to him.
It was work. I fucking hate it there. Hey…are you busy this weekend?
I have to read the text over again to make myself believe I’m the one who wrote it. What in the hell am I doing?
No. His response is almost immediate.
Do you want to do something? I ask.
Yes.
Because suddenly, I really do want to know everything about him. I want to know what it was like when they locked him up, how good he must feel now that he’s better, and if he’s happy to have managed to get away from his family.
I want to know if he’s the guy I always imagined him to be.
What should we do? I type back.
Surprise me. It’s not the response I expected, but do I know him well enough to really expect anything out of him?
Okay. I send back, even though I have no fucking clue what we’re going to do.
Btw, okay if I call you Gabe?
If I’m allowed to call you Luke. I smirk at his response and realize how much I’m looking forward to getting to know him again.
11
Gabriel
“What the hell are you so happy about?” Rich asks me on our lunch break at the construction site. It was the same question Ezra had for me last night, after I turned on some head-banger music and started tidying up the apartment. “You get laid or something?”
The other guys laugh but Lou gives me a warning look. My co-workers know I’m gay. I don’t hide who I am, but I also don’t speak openly about it.
“What, I’m not allowed to smile every once in a while?” I ask and then bite into my turkey sandwich. We’re sitting on the grass near the foreman’s trailer so he can have a quick meeting after our hour is up.
These men work with me every day so they’re used to seeing me anywhere from broody to frenetic—although mostly somewhere in between—but they rarely see me grinning with simple contentment.
“Well, you’re not running your mouth this time so I figure you got laid and don’t want to share the details,” Rich says.
Another guy named Mickey thumps my shoulder. “Who’s the girl in those situations, anyway? You? Inquiring minds want to know.”
It’s a question I’m used to so it doesn’t really boil my blood anymore. But before I can open my mouth, Lou steps in for me. “Are you really that uneducated? There ain’t no such thing, you idiot. Your gay porn subscription must’ve expired or something.”
Rich howls with laughter and Mickey shakes his head, pink dotting his cheeks. The other guys start cleaning up their leftovers as I finish up the remainder of the chips in my bag. Lou stays behind as the crew heads toward the foreman’s office.
“You do seem different this week,” he says. “Happy.”
“I just made contact with an old friend.” I shrug. “We realized we live close, so it’s cool to be able to talk again and make plans.”
“Well good for you,” he says. “You could use a friend.”
I scrunch my brows at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means just what I said,” he answers, crumpling up his brown paper bag. “You could use a good friend. Everybody can.”
“Okay then,” I say, throwing out my trash and heading toward the crew. But I know Lou’s right. And a friend like Lucas, somebody who knows me, would be amazing. If I can break through some of those walls he’s built, even better.
After I get home, I shower, shave, and pull on a pair of gray skinny jeans. I stand in front of my clo
set deliberating what else to throw on. I know this isn’t a date. But Lucas actually asked me to do something which means he’s cool with us hanging out. This is the very thing I daydreamed about when I was younger so for it to come to fruition is pretty surreal.
Ezra clears his throat in my doorway. “You should wear the blue shirt. It brings out your eyes.”
I turn to see him crunching down on an apple. “Thanks, man.”
“So you were friends with this guy back in high school?” he asks around a bite.
“Yeah, he’s the first person I told that I’m gay,” I say. Ezra is asexual—or maybe the word is demisexual. He’s always been open about the fact that he’s never really attracted to anybody physically, only emotionally, which apparently is the ticket for him when it comes to hooking up. If he feels something for the person, he enjoys sex, otherwise, he can go without it. “He was a great friend…but we lost contact.”
I know there’s a question hanging from his lips and before I can say more he asks. “Does he know? Your diagnosis and your history with….”
“Most of it,” I say, trying to shut the topic down. I do not want to ruin my good mood. Sometimes I wish that Ezra hadn’t witnessed some of my highs and lows over the past year. At least I’m getting better at recognizing the signs. “But we’re just getting to know each other again. Give it a minute.”
A small smile lines his lips. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“He’s somebody important to me,” I say after I pull on my shirt and adjust the shoulders. I already know what he’s thinking: If he’s so important then you’ll consider getting your mental health sorted out.
There’s a knock right then and my entire body thrums with tension. Taking a deep breath, I walk past Ezra and pull open the door.
Lucas stands there looking gorgeous as ever with his faded jeans, blue Converse kicks, and a Henley shirt the color of oatmeal. I’m speechless for a moment as I check him out, but then I get myself together.
Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) Page 5
