3

by Jacob Z. Flores

  “I want you to know something,” he said, once the breath returned to his lungs. “Leaving you wasn’t something I wanted to do. Finding you was like finding a part of myself I never knew existed. I fell for you so hard and so fast it was scary. One minute I wasn’t in love with you; the next minute I was. It was like you turned on another switch inside my soul and inside my heart.”

  He stared at Dutch, hoping the emotions behind his words were soothing the pain he’d inflicted. “That love is still there,” he said. “It still burns just as bright.” He didn’t want to admit what he still felt, but he needed to say it and Dutch needed to hear it. “Seeing you on that bed, hurting both physically and emotionally, is tearing me apart. Knowing that I caused it is so much more than I can bear, but I’m trying my best. I have no right to offer comfort. I’ve lost that, I know. But it still kills me to see you like this when all I want to do is crawl into that bed and stay here with you until you feel better.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Dutch asked. The distrust in his eyes was apparent. Dutch didn’t hear the truth in his words or in the emotion he’d hoped to express. To Dutch, nothing had changed. He had been cast aside and that was all that really mattered. His words were merely words.

  “You,” he replied.

  “Me?” Dutch asked. “How am I stopping you from doing anything? Everyone knows no one stops you from doing anything you want to do.”

  “That’s true,” he admitted. Everyone knew being headstrong was his tragic flaw. He shot through life like a missile, making his way to his intended target. Little stopped him once he made a decision, but that wasn’t the case this time. For the first time in a long time, he really was thinking about someone other than himself. “But going to you now would be a disservice to you. You’ve been hurt enough. You don’t need any more pain. The best thing for you is to get me out of your system, to move on and find someone truly worthy of you. You don’t deserve some asshole who fell in love with two men.”

  Dutch didn’t respond. Justin knew that was Dutch’s way of agreeing with him, especially when he didn’t want to. Dutch deserved a love that was all his and no one else’s.

  The bitter freeze in Dutch’s eyes melted as he acknowledged Justin’s words. They looked renewed and filled with purpose, like they used to in the early bloom of their romance.

  Even though he didn’t want to, even though he wanted to deny it to himself and to Spencer, Justin still loved Dutch. Loving someone, though, meant doing what was best for them, not him. That was why his words no longer meant anything for Dutch. Only actions would be convincing.

  “I need to go,” he said, rising from the chair. “I have something I need to do.”

  Ice slowly crept back across Dutch’s eyes. Justin suspected Dutch thought he was leaving, but he wasn’t. At least not permanently.

  “I’m coming back,” he said. “I’m not leaving you like I did the last time. I’m going to see you through this. That’s a promise. I know my promises don’t mean shit, but I’ll make you a believer again.”

  “What the hell do you expect in return?” Dutch asked, extremely skeptical.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Liar.”

  “You’re right,” Justin admitted. “Maybe I’m hoping for forgiveness for all the wrong I’ve done. There’re some things I can’t fix, things you don’t even know about. But there are things I can fix. I can help fix you. I can help undo the damage that I’ve done. If I’m truly responsible for starting you down this path, then I should be responsible for turning you around and getting you going in the right direction again.”

  “I’m not some community service project,” Dutch told him.

  “I know you’re not. You’re someone I love, someone I need to help get better, someone I need to help get back on his feet, so he can travel down whatever path he needs to get away from me. If I can do that for you, help you return to the person you were before me, it’ll make me feel just a smidge better about myself. I’m not saying it’ll undo the hurt or erase it in any way, but it might give me the strength I need to go on.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do you care now?”

  “The why isn’t important. It just is,” Justin said. “I’m not looking to get you back in my life. I’m not trying to win your heart. I’m not stupid. That ship has long since sailed. But I can do something about what I’ve done to you.”

  Without another word, he left Dutch’s room with purpose, something he hadn’t felt for far too long. It was time to make reparations, to fix what he had broken in his life and in others. Only then might he be able to once again live with himself.

  CHAPTER 22

  2009

  FINDING a parking spot in downtown San Antonio on a weekend wasn’t easy. Dutch considered using one of the parking garages or the valet at the restaurant, but both were pricy. He needed to conserve, not waste, money. Being unemployed didn’t allow him to splurge. The dinner date alone might be more than he could afford, but the cost of the meal was justified if it meant getting to meet J-squared in person.

  As he walked down N. St. Mary’s, away from his free parking slot a couple of blocks from the restaurant, he reminded himself to call him Justin, not J-squared. He found it difficult to shift from Justin’s screen name to his real name. For so long, he had known him as J-squared. When he thought about him, he thought of him as J-squared.

  Now, he was Justin.

  They had crossed the gulf from anonymity to a more familiar relationship. After tonight, their familiarity with each other might evolve into intimacy.

  He lit a cigarette to ease his nerves. Even though he’d made numerous vows to quit smoking this year, he had yet to follow through. His life was too chaotic, too uncertain to give up the one vice that made the world not as harsh. The inhalation of smoke felt good and always calmed him down, no matter how anxious he got. Still, he really didn’t want to go on the date smelling of smoke, especially since he was unsure of Justin’s stand on smoking. Even so, his anxiety got the better of him.

  The dinner was unnerving. The potential for more than just a chocolate mousse for dessert was terrifying.

  He was uncertain how he felt about sex. While the idea excited him, it also filled him with apprehension. Justin was in a committed relationship with a man he still loved. S held Justin’s heart.

  He couldn’t compete with that, and he felt like he shouldn’t have to.

  He was a good man and a great catch. Even though he was currently unemployed, he was educated, professional, intelligent, and pleasing to the eye. He might not be a waifish twink, which was currently all the rave, but he wasn’t old, wrinkled, or saggy. He took good care of himself. His body wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t grotesque either. If he set his mind to it, he would have no problem finding a man with less baggage and willing to commit to him, and only him.

  Getting further involved with, for all intents and purposes, a “married” man wasn’t like him. He knew better than that. A relationship between two people was sacred, not something to be trifled with.

  Yet, despite that knowledge, Dutch’s feet turned right on Crockett Street and ever closer to the restaurant where he would have his date with Justin.

  The silver signage of the Watermark Hotel appeared as he turned the corner. The sign was sleek and modern in design, a standard for such a high-end four-star spa and hotel.

  A doorman stood outside greeting passersby and opening the door for guests trying to escape South Texas’s attempt at winter.

  He was accustomed to the harsh winters of New England. It was almost February and only in the high forties today. In Boston, there was snow and blizzards in late January. This was more autumn than winter, but he found it amusing how the native Texans shivered and ran for warmth whenever the slightest cold snap blew into town.

  A group of well-dressed women exited a limousine and walked through the door held open for them by the doorman. They ignored the doorman’s greeting and disappeared inside the Watermar
k.

  In just a few moments, Dutch would be one of those people—not a rude socialite, but a guest, and not a guest of the hotel but of the hotel’s restaurant that sat on the River Walk, Pesca.

  Dutch had never dined at Pesca before, even though many people he knew raved about the food. He felt the Watermark was too pretentious for his tastes; this feeling carried over to its restaurant.

  He liked simpler fare. While he did enjoy good food and wine, he preferred more casual environments than those typically filled with society types who looked down their noses at those not of the elite.

  He took one final drag on his cigarette and then flicked the still burning butt down a drainage ditch.

  “Good evening, sir,” the doorman greeted him. The man’s smile was huge, and his mouth was filled with horse teeth. “Welcome to the Watermark Hotel and Spa.”

  “Thank you,” Dutch responded. “How do I get to the restaurant?”

  “To Pesca?” the doorman asked, as if the answer weren’t obvious. Dutch nodded. “Go down the hallway to the elevator. Take the elevator down to the River Walk level. When you exit the elevator, take a right and you’ll see Pesca.”

  “Thanks,” he said as the doorman told him to enjoy his meal.

  He walked across the cream marble tile of the Watermark’s foyer and toward the elevators. He passed expansive floral arrangements sitting on oversized tables. Staff dressed in black uniforms busily went to and fro, performing tasks of upkeep or customer service. Guests relaxed on oversized chaise lounges or on overstuffed chairs with their feet propped upon ottomans.

  He stuck out like a sore thumb.

  Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve black button-down shirt, he didn’t resemble the other men in the hotel, who wore suits or blazers and dress pants. His leather jacket marked him a commoner, far below their social rank. Occasionally, he spotted a casually dressed tourist, but the suits and party dresses outnumbered them.

  As he hit the elevator’s down button, he stared at his reflection in the hard polished metal of the elevator door.

  He might not be in a suit or coat and tie, but he looked damn good. His hair was perfectly combed and his mustache and goatee were neatly trimmed. The black leather of his jacket brought out the spattering of gray in his hair; he looked distinguished, not old-mannish. His jeans were snug in all the right places, and his black Cole Haan shoes were polished.

  The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside.

  He was ready to meet Justin.

  When the doors opened once again, he exited the elevator. Pesca was to his right, and the River Walk and the bustle of tourists were to his left. The hostess stand rested on the other side of two massive wooden doors with glass insets, allowing the tourists a view into the restaurant.

  From what he could tell, Pesca was just as luxurious as the Watermark. A bar surrounded by four stone columns. Glassware hung from the ceiling, suspended by metal bars. Cherry wood ceiling fans comprised the outer perimeter of the bar, and oil lanterns were mounted throughout the restaurant. On the tables sat cobalt-blue goblets, which matched the fabric that covered the booth seat backs and the napkins sitting on the snow-white plates.

  He wished he'd dressed up a bit more. If Justin showed up in a suit, he would die.

  “Thinking about cutting out?”

  He turned toward the voice behind him.

  When he saw Justin, he held his breath. Justin’s Cyber picture didn’t do him justice. He was even more amazingly attractive in person.

  His hair looked a bit longer than on his profile. The dark wavy strands blew back in the wind, and he brushed a pesky wisp from his eye. Even though Dutch didn’t typically fancy men with longer hair, the look worked for Justin.

  The primitive mane and the dark tuft of facial hair underneath his lower lip made him look rugged.

  The long hair, the soul patch, the almond eyes, and the tan skin transformed Justin into a tropical fantasy usually found only in a loincloth on a deserted beach.

  Justin crossed over to him, and the smile emblazoned on his face glowed brighter and friendlier in person. The smile exuded sincerity, and it didn’t end at his mouth. His dark-brown eyes sparkled with a radiance more comforting than chocolate to a chocoholic.

  Thankfully, Justin had dressed in blue jeans. He sported a black collared shirt with a tight-fitting mustard-colored cashmere sweater on top. The sweater and shirt looked to cover a nicely shaped chest.

  “You okay?” Justin asked, staring at him in concern.

  Dutch realized he hadn’t responded to Justin’s initial question.

  “No, not backing out,” he replied. He had no intention of telling Justin he felt out of place. “Just wondering where we’d meet up.”

  “Wonder no more,” Justin said. His smile still lit up the area more brightly than all the oil lanterns combined. “Shall we go in?”

  Dutch couldn’t respond.

  His body was having a reaction it had never had before. He felt like a moth drawn to the flame of Justin’s smile. Everything and everyone around them simply ceased to be. All he could see was Justin, and all he could feel was the rapid beating of his own heart to the primal beat of a phantom tribal drum.

  Before, he'd felt nervous and out of place. He felt uncertain about the evening and his actions, and he questioned his integrity. He was, after all, on a date with a “married” man.

  Those concerns vanished like insects before the light of Justin’s smile.

  Still, he couldn’t move. The light enthralled him. It beckoned him, and he had to answer the call. His will was no longer his own. What he was before this moment had become null and void. What happened next couldn’t be avoided.

  He took one step toward Justin, who stared at him in silence. Justin, too, looked transfixed, as if bound by unseen forces.

  Justin advanced toward him as well.

  The two matched each other’s steps, as if partners in tune to some cosmic choreography.

  While they were only a few feet apart, he felt as if miles separated them. He wanted nothing more than to close the gap as quickly as possible, but such things shouldn’t be rushed.

  The slow dance beat played in measured time. They needed to trust their bodies, which were on autopilot. They simply had to trust and let go.

  Now only a few inches apart, he stared down into Justin’s eyes. The brown chocolate pools invited him in for a swim. Justin’s tanned flesh begged to be touched, and he wanted nothing more than to take Justin in his arms and hold his body against his own.

  His arm stretched toward Justin. It found the back of Justin’s neck, and his hand ran through the hair at the back of his head. His other hand encircled Justin’s waist and pulled Justin the rest of the way into him.

  He now held Justin in his arms outside a restaurant on the banks of San Antonio’s famous River Walk, for all to see. He didn’t care who was looking or what people were saying. All he knew was what was right now wrapped in his embrace.

  He placed his thumb under Justin’s chin and lifted his head upward. Looking down, he gazed into Justin’s already parted lips and bent downward to meet them.

  When their lips joined, mariachi music blared in the background as a band passed by on a riverboat. Some whistled while others cried in protest.

  Those sounds became background noise. He could only hear the rhythm of their hearts beating in tune with the mariachi song, their souls soaring with the roar of the trumpets.

  CHAPTER 23

  2010

  FROM behind the men’s room door, which he held ajar, Spencer watched as Justin left Dutch’s room and entered the elevator. If Justin hadn’t announced he was leaving, he would have caught Spencer eavesdropping in the hall. Embarrassing questions would have been asked, and he wasn’t in the mood to answer them, especially not after what he heard.

  Justin had already admitted he fell in love with Dutch while they were together, but he had no idea Justin still loved Dutch. Did loving Dutch mean Justin was still in l
ove with Dutch?

  Justin’s confession almost made him fall apart in the hallway. His knees buckled, and all breath was knocked out of his body. He had to grab onto the wall for support.

  Coming back here was a mistake, he thought. He scanned the hallway to his left to make sure Justin had not returned.

  I thought so too, his father’s voice said. But I was wrong. You needed to hear that. You needed to hear that spic say he loved someone else. Now you can move on, find yourself someone else, someone better. Maybe even someone with tits. Real tits. Not fake tranny tits, either!

  The reemergence of his father’s voice irritated him. He thought his father had finally left for good earlier this morning, when he refused to hurt Dutch despite his father’s urging.

  I still think you should’ve done it. Would’ve made your life a lot simpler.

  He knew differently. Hurting Dutch wouldn’t have changed anything. Justin loved Dutch, and harming him wouldn’t alter those feelings. Besides, he hadn’t come here because of Justin. He’d come here to face his own demons, the ones he had yet to own up to. This was the only place to finally put that to rest.

  No, goddamnit! his father screamed. You need to leave well enough alone! Why open up that can of worms? Don’t you have enough on your fucking plate?

  I’m not afraid of worms. He pushed open the men’s room door and started down the hall to Dutch’s room. You taught me not to be afraid of anything.

  I also taught you to be smarter than this, his father yelled. You fight one war at a time. You don’t start a second war when you haven’t even won the first!

  I’m not you, Dad, he replied. Dutch’s door was open. I’m stronger than you or I even think.

  Standing at the threshold, he looked at Dutch but said nothing. Dutch’s attention was drawn to the window, looking outside but not seeing the sky or the clouds inching across its canvas. His eyes were far away, piercing this world and its concerns. His vision perhaps rested on a different world, where he and Justin lived happily ever after, and Spencer was nothing more than a passing thought.