Afraid to Fly

by L. A. Witt

  “Are you sure?” He put his hand over mine and turned toward me. “You really didn’t have to give up that seat.”

  “I know. But I don’t think I’d be all that comfortable up there while I knew you were back here . . . you know . . .”

  “Freaking out?”

  I nodded.

  His cheeks darkened. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Don’t.” I squeezed his hand. “I didn’t invite you along on this trip so I could ditch you on the flight home.”

  “But your back—”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  The plane started toward the runway, and Clint stopped arguing. He was probably focusing on not panicking, so I clasped his hand between both of mine and tried to keep his mind off the flight.

  I told myself I’d only passed on the upgrade because it would be a dick move to ditch him back here when he was afraid of flying. It had nothing to do with that familiar insecurity creeping in like a sneaky muscle twinge, making my heart pound at the thought of letting Clint out of my sight. As if the minute he were alone, he’d start to realize how much simpler life was without someone who could do literally nothing without stopping to consider how it would affect his pain level. It had gotten old for me in a hurry—if I could’ve walked away from me and my bad back, I would’ve. So how could I hold it against him if he did the same?

  And who was I kidding if I thought staying close to him would prevent the inevitable?

  The airport had barely faded into the rearview before the painkiller knocked Travis out. He’d hemmed and hawed about taking it because he was down to his last two hard-core pain pills, but by the time we’d made it back to the car, he’d made up his mind.

  As I drove, I still felt guilty that he’d given up a comfortable seat for me. Guilty, and a little stupid—there was something embarrassingly ironic about being more afraid to fly than a guy who had actually been in and narrowly survived a crash. If either of us had an excuse to break a sweat during takeoff, it sure as fuck wasn’t me.

  We’d made it back to terra firma, though, and now Travis was dozing beside me thanks to the painkiller. I had the radio on to keep me awake and fill the silence as I followed the winding highway toward Anchor Point, and of course kept the volume down so it wouldn’t disturb him. Though with as quickly as that pill had put him on his ass, I probably could’ve blasted Judas Priest while badly singing along and he wouldn’t have noticed.

  While he slept and I drove, I thought back to our trip. I hadn’t had that much fun in ages. Charlie and Maxine were awesome people, and even though they’d been strangers a few days ago, I’d left their house feeling like I’d known them my whole life.

  And was it weird that Travis and I were only a couple of months into this and already spending holidays together in other states? We’d spent Christmas together. We were out at work. We’d seen each other in the throes of night terrors, and accepted the fact that flashbacks were always a possibility now. He knew my deepest, darkest secret. The one I couldn’t tell my ex-wife and shouldn’t have told him, but had finally been able to get off my chest.

  And afterward, he hadn’t looked at me any differently.

  I glanced at him. This had the potential to get serious if it wasn’t already.

  On one hand, I was thrilled. Excited. Couldn’t wait to see how things played out. On the other, my mind kept going back to my kids and ex-wife. If I was seriously involved with someone, then sooner or later I would need to explain that to them. And if that someone was a man . . .

  I gripped the wheel tighter. I’d already put those kids through hell. They’d watched me devolve into a distant, drunken asshole who rarely came home. They’d watched their mother struggle to put on a happy face. When I had come home, they’d had front-row seats to our screaming matches, and they’d watched in uncomfortable silence while their hungover father patched yet another wall.

  The memories made me squirm. Acid rose in my throat. Mandy and I had almost never raised our voices at each other until things had started spiraling downward. We’d always been that couple who would argue by way of calm discussions. Then almost overnight, I’d been regularly buying paint and drywall, and we’d gotten on a first-name basis with everyone in base security thanks to our twice-weekly domestic disturbances. That had nearly destroyed my ex-wife. I could only imagine what it had done to the kids.

  So how much did I want to pile on top of that? Things had been a lot better lately, but we weren’t out of the woods yet. At what point would Mandy decide enough was enough, throw up her hands, and petition the courts to revoke what little contact I still had with our kids? I wanted to believe the judges weren’t so archaic that they’d see my non-heterosexuality as a sign that I was an unfit parent. After I’d self-destructed as badly as I had, though, I could see one particular judge—and my ex-wife’s pit bull of an attorney—calling it evidence that I was still unstable.

  But would Mandy see it that way? I told myself she would accept my sexuality and my relationship. She wasn’t homophobic. She’d adored her brother before and after he’d come out. But how would she feel when her ex-husband, the father of her children, the man she’d slept next to for sixteen years, came out at forty? How was I supposed to explain, without hurting her more than I already had, that I’d always known I was attracted to both men and women? That yes, I had absolutely been attracted to men all the time we were together, but I’d been afraid to tell her? That one of the reasons I’d been afraid was that while she was fine with gay people, she’d always thought of bisexuality as some sort of fad or a pass to cheat?

  Resting my elbow below the window, I chewed my thumbnail as I watched the white lines fly by in the headlight beams. Bisexual or otherwise, I never would have cheated on my wife. Never. I’d have happily gone my whole life without ever touching a man if we hadn’t split up. After all, we’d been monogamous, and I’d had every intention of being married to her until the day I died. I’d never told her I was bisexual because what difference would it have made if I was interested in men? It would make about as much sense as mentioning to my redhead wife that I thought blondes were hot.

  And now I wasn’t even sure what I was. The wounds from my divorce had at least started to heal, but apparently not enough for me to feel anything for women. Sure, I’d fucked a few during my self-destructive period right after she’d kicked me out, but once I’d sobered up, calmed down, and started to pull myself together, I’d only been interested in men. Because they were new? Because I had sixteen years of pent-up curiosity? Because touching a woman made me feel guilty for what happened with—no, what I did to—my ex-wife?

  That part was bothering me less, now, thank God. After Travis had told me his attraction to men had dropped off for a while after he’d lost the man he loved, I was more at ease. Maybe my numbness toward women right now was a coping mechanism. A lull while my brain sorted itself out.

  I glanced at Travis. Whatever the case, my attraction to men—especially this man—was strong and solid.

  I blew out a breath and scratched the back of my neck while I kept my other hand on top of the wheel. Whatever I was now, I had to tread lightly with Mandy. I wanted to be honest with her, but I didn’t want to hurt her by making her believe the years we’d spent together were a lie. They weren’t. That much I knew.

  So did I come out to her, let the shock wear off, and then tell her I was seeing someone? Or cut right to the chase and tell her I had a boyfriend? If I’d introduced someone like Logan to her, I could’ve anticipated one hell of a side-eye. But someone like Travis? What wasn’t to love about him? He was one of the kindest, sweetest men I’d ever met. If she didn’t get hung up on the fact that he was my boyfriend, she would adore him. I just knew it.

  I stole another glance at Travis, still sound asleep in the darkness, and something settled in my chest. I slipped my hand into his. Though he was out, he curled his fingers between mine, and I smiled to myself as my pulse slowly came down.

  This woul
d all work out. Coming out to Mandy wouldn’t be easy, but if I was going to drop that bomb on her, I could do a lot worse than add “. . . and this is the guy I’m seeing.”

  It still wouldn’t be easy. And how would the kids take it? Hard to say. They loved their uncle. They’d been pretty young when he and his wife had split, and he’d brought a few boyfriends to family gatherings since then. The kids had never seemed put off or confused. But would it be different when it was their dad?

  I tried to put myself in their shoes. What if, on one of those weekends when I’d been staying at my dad’s house, he’d told my sister and me that he was gay? How would I have felt? Would it have been any different than when he’d told me he had a girlfriend? Shit, what if my kids met Travis, and they liked him, and then we split up? How would they take that? How would I take that?

  I shuddered. No point in following that train of thought. Things were going great right now. Better than I’d imagined anything in my life ever would after the divorce. The future was anyone’s guess, but right now, I wasn’t about to dwell on the bad things that might happen.

  I ran my thumb back and forth along his, and as I faced the road, kept right on smiling like an idiot.

  Everything would be all right. It would take some time, and there’d be some adjusting for everyone involved, but for once, I actually believed everything would work out. First things first, I needed to come out to Mandy, then to my kids. So, after I was back in Anchor Point, and I’d slept on it, I’d do it. I’d get her on Skype and tell her I was seeing a man.

  And we’d see where things went from there.

  The day after we came back from California, Clint had some errands to run and another Skype chat with his kids, so he left my house after breakfast. He’d barely pulled out of the driveway before I was texting Paul.

  You free for lunch?

  In minutes, he replied, When & where?

  I had never been so relieved to have someone take me up on a lunch invite. Thank God the man was retired now and, since he’d quit the volunteer gig, had a lot more time on his hands these days. That wouldn’t last. He’d find some sort of part-time thing to give himself something to do—and so he wouldn’t drive his fiancé crazy.

  For today, though, he was free. And it was a shitty, rainy day out there, so he wasn’t golfing. Sometimes things just worked out.

  I picked the first restaurant that came to mind, suggested meeting around eleven, and stepped into the shower. When I got out, he’d confirmed both the time and place. Now if I could keep from losing my mind before I got there.

  I’d been awake for way too long last night. Part of it had to do with the Percocet knocking me on my ass in the car. Though it was chemical sleep and not really “rest” per se, it’d been enough to throw off my ability to sleep for the rest of the night.

  At least half a dozen times, I’d considered waking Clint in the middle of the night and hashing this out. All the I can’t do this and Do you have any idea what you’re getting into with me? and Look at me—I’m a train wreck had been on the tip of my tongue, but I’d stopped myself. I wasn’t going to wake him when he was sleeping soundly for once. Good nights were rare for him. Plus he’d already had to deal with air travel, not to mention driving us back from the airport while I was in my Percocet coma.

  Let the man sleep, for God’s sake.

  Even if it’s really because you’re a fucking coward.

  So I’d just lain there awake, staring wide-eyed into the darkness while he’d snored softly beside me. All fucking night, I’d swung back and forth between wanting to call it quits before we got in too deep, and realizing we were already in way too deep and I’d be stupid to leave.

  I’d never met someone like Clint before. And I’d never felt this way about anyone. Male or female. Not even my ex-wife. The one time I’d ever come close, a car crash and a funeral had left me in the emotional equivalent of a tornado’s aftermath—nothing but shards, splinters, and disbelief.

  By four in the morning, I’d made the decision to reach out to Paul as soon as the clock showed a civilized hour. He’d never been one to pull punches. Whatever I needed to do here, he’d set me straight.

  Because heaven knows that’s exactly what I need right now.

  Like a lot of businesses here in Anchor Point, the restaurant was situated in an old Cape Cod–style house with a tiny gravel parking lot outside. It was pale gray—typical of seaside buildings. I would’ve bet money the paint they’d used had been called “driftwood” or some variation thereof. Against a backdrop of mist and clouds, the whole place could’ve passed for a black-and-white postcard if not for the bright-blue sign propped up on top of the roof’s dark shingles.

  At a table by the windows, I looked out at the ocean. The weather wasn’t pretty, so the seas were predictably rough. Just the sight of the whitecaps made the floor rock beneath my feet. I’d long ago broken the habit of holding on to my drink if I was near stormy seas—my brain had finally accepted that the table wasn’t going to move no matter how big the swells were—but I could still feel the motion of the ocean sometimes.

  I shook myself and shifted my attention to the menu.

  I’d arrived early, but not five minutes after I’d sat down, Paul strolled in too.

  You have no idea how glad I am to see you.

  I played it cool, though, and grinned as I laid down my menu. “You’re early. Haven’t broken out of that military indoctrination yet, have you?”

  Paul chuckled as he took the seat opposite me. “Are you kidding? I’ll never break out of that as long as the assholes down at the golf course cancel my tee time if I’m not there twenty minutes early.”

  “Oh, the suffering you endure.” I clasped my hands over my heart. “How do retirees withstand such hardship?”

  “It’s a rough life, but someone’s gotta live it.”

  “Uh-huh.” I ran a finger around the rim of my water glass. “Your other half didn’t mind me running off with you for a couple of hours?”

  Paul laughed. “I don’t think he minds getting rid of me every now and then.”

  “Must be why he doesn’t mind you golfing every other day.”

  “Hey, it works out for both of us. I’m not going to complain.” His amusement faded, and he tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows. “All right, I left my crystal ball at home, but the spirits are telling me there’s something bothering you.”

  Okay, so we’re diving right in, are we?

  I gulped. “Is it that obvious?”

  “I’ve known you for how many years?”

  “Fair enough.” I sighed and rubbed my neck. “So I took Clint to California with me. To spend Christmas with Charlie and Maxine.”

  “Okay. How are they doing, by the way?”

  “Good. Good. And the trip was great. Clint’s really . . . I mean, he’s . . .” I folded my arms on the table. “We go pretty well together.”

  “So I’ve seen. And knowing you, the fact that you two go so well together is part of the problem.”

  “It is the problem.” I blew out a breath. “Damn. Am I that predictable?”

  Paul nodded, and the bastard didn’t even bother offering a joke or a comment. No, he was giving me absolutely no diversion from the topic, and he was leaving it to me to fill the silence.

  Well, this was why we were here.

  “Now that we’ve been seeing each other for a while,” I said, “I don’t know how I ever thought things wouldn’t get serious. It just makes sense to feel like this for him.”

  Paul’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Whoa. I never thought I’d hear you say that about a man.”

  “Neither did I.” I wrung my hands under the edge of the table. “It takes a lot for me to want to be in a relationship with someone. Always has, even before Dion died.” I leaned back, subtly pressing against the hard-backed chair to stop the growing spasm beneath my shoulder blades. “The thing is, there are only a handful of things that have ever hurt like losing Je
ssica. And nothing that hurts more than losing Dion. I don’t know if I could handle falling that hard for someone and losing them a third time.”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.” He started to say something else, but the waiter showed up right then.

  “Can I get you two started with anything?” he asked with cheeriness that seemed almost offensive at the moment. “Maybe an appetizer?”

  My stomach turned. The thought of eating anything made me want to gag.

  Paul glanced at me, then handed his menu to the waiter. “Just an iced tea for right now. We might get something else a bit later.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “Okay, sounds good.” The waiter left, and our conversation stayed on pause until he’d come back with our drinks.

  “Anyway.” Paul watched me as he poured a packet of sugar into his iced tea. “You were saying? About Clint?”

  “Yeah.” I rested my elbows on the table, but didn’t touch my tea or my water. “I don’t know. I guess . . . maybe this is just moving too fast, you know? I’ve known him, what? Three months? If I feel this way about him now, how is it going to be in six months? Or a year?”

  “Better?”

  I met Paul’s eyes.

  He leaned over his folded arms. “Look, I get why you’re scared. I really do. And I can’t imagine how hard it’s been to move on after Jessica and Dion. But maybe this is your shot. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”

  The air stopped in my throat, and a memory flashed through my mind of Clint using that phrase as he’d pitched softballs into a stack of milk bottles. I dropped my gaze. “A pessimist might interpret that to mean the third time is the one that’ll—” The words kill me didn’t make it past the tip of my tongue. Still avoiding his eyes, I muttered, “The one that’ll finally do me in.”

  Paul studied me for a long moment. “Listen, I don’t want to downplay how tough this is on you. I can’t even imagine. But what was it some grizzled old ex-pilot told me once?” He inclined his head. “Something about even if it blows up in my face, nothing’s worse than looking back and wondering what might have been?”