by Shona Husk
‘Why are you telling me?’ He and Paul hadn’t been on the best of terms for the last ten years. Basically since he’d come out to his family and asked to be called Ripley.
‘I’m glad I know … I loved Angie … but.’ He swallowed. ‘I’m going to travel next year. Do all the things I didn’t while I was studying and getting married. I can’t wait. Will it get me in two years or ten or fifteen? Dad was forty but I might get it sooner. I don’t know and no one can tell me. Then, when it shows up, they don’t know how fast it will move. I spend so much time staring at my hand, daring it to twitch.’
‘I do that too.’ Even though he was too young to have any of the physical signs. But there were all kinds of mental symptoms that were easily missed or brushed aside—his mother and father had done exactly that so as not to worry him and Paul while they were still at school. Looking back, he could see it. It hadn’t been work stress making his father irritable and forgetful. Maybe his parents hadn’t wanted to face it either.
‘But I know mine will one day.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I know I haven’t been the best brother … you were the most embarrassing younger brother and I wanted to pretend we weren’t related most of the time.’
‘If that was an apology, you’re doing it wrong.’
Paul didn’t look at him. ‘I’m sorry, okay. You never cared what everyone thought; I hated the way everyone knew who you were and what you were.’
‘A dancer?’ That wasn’t it, but Paul had made his life less than comfortable for so many years he wasn’t above a little payback.
‘Gay … I can say that, right? Or is there some other PC term?’
‘Queer, gay. I don’t care about that. I care that you still call me Jacob.’ His voice softened. That hurt more than he let on. He was sure Paul had done it to needle him as teens, but it had gone beyond that. He stared at his brother still lying on the grass.
A fifty/fifty chance of getting it. If Paul had it, did that mean he was safe? He wanted to believe that, but he’d be lying to himself, and he’d sworn not to do that.
‘It was the only ammunition I had. You were too goddamn together. You even knew what you wanted to do with your life while I was still figuring out what I wanted to do at uni.’
‘Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want to be fighting at home? That I got tired of doing all day every day at school. I was so jealous when Dan got kicked out. I wanted to go too, but Dad said no because I needed a good education to fall back on. They didn’t expect me to make it, even though they supported me.’
‘That’s not how it looked to me. They had your back every single time, and bought you anything you needed. You could do no wrong.’
‘Right back at you. When you married I knew Mum was thinking this was her chance for grandkids.’
‘Now she won’t be getting any.’
Ripley shook his head. ‘Not in the next five years … but maybe … if I found the right man.’
‘You’d adopt?’
Ripley shrugged. ‘I haven’t thought about it much yet. But I do know family is important.’ He wanted a family, but it was a one day kind of thought at the moment. ‘Was it you or Angie who wanted the divorce?’
‘Me.’
‘Dude … you are a dumbass. She really loved you.’
‘I know. She even said it didn’t matter about kids, that there were ways around that so it wasn’t passed on.’
‘See if she wants to travel with you, put it back together.’
Paul sat up. ‘No. I don’t want to put her through what Mum is going through. I just can’t. One day when you meet the right … man, you will know what I mean.’
Ripley stared at his brother. He’d never thought about it like that. What if he got with someone and it was all going great until he developed symptoms? Did he need to get the test done and be honest about it? Did he need to know how many years of dancing he had left?
That was the real reason he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t bear having an expiration stamp on his career and life. He was scared.
Chapter 11
This was a proper date, not just meeting up for sex … or a sleepover without sex. They were going out in public. And while it had been all right going out with Ripley and his dancer friends at night, this was something very, very different.
Pierce wiped his hands on his jeans as he got out of the car. Ripley was feeding the meter coins. He was smiling as though there was nothing wrong. Pierce wiped his hands again and made his lips turn up. It was a beautiful day. Clear blue skies and a light breeze. In Victoria this would’ve been called summer—autumn in Perth was still warmer than most days where he’d been born.
He took the offered ticket and put it on the dash. ‘I don’t think much has changed in the last few years.’
‘That high rise wasn’t being built.’ Ripley pointed over the road. He scanned the rest of the area, taking in the cafés and then the beach.
There were a few desperate surfers making use of what little waves there were, some families, and quite a few clusters of teens.
Pierce forced out a breath. He could do this.
‘Come on.’ Ripley nudged him, but didn’t take his hand. ‘I want to get a coffee and walk along the beach. It’s too nice to sit indoors.’
Because Pierce didn’t have any alternate ideas, he agreed. He wasn’t sure what today was exactly. He wanted to hold Ripley’s hand the way he had the other night, but it was easier to do in the dark.
Ripley didn’t seem to mind. He ordered a giant-sized coffee and an equally large chocolate chip biscuit.
‘Don’t you have to be careful what you eat?’ Ripley didn’t seem to be made of anything except lean muscle.
‘Yeah … I have to make sure I eat enough for all the calories I burn up in rehearsals and on stage.’ He grinned.
Pierce shook his head and ordered a normal-sized coffee.
‘I don’t share cookies,’ Ripley warned.
‘Biscuit, you’re not in the States now.’ Pierce looked at the girl who was waiting to finish the order. ‘I’ll have a choc chip biscuit too.’
Ripley pointed to the sign on the side of the biscuit barrel. It said cookies.
‘They will always be biscuits to me.’ And he doubted they’d be as nice as the ones his mother had made. He’d resigned himself to never tasting them again. They walked out into the sun with their orders. ‘Don’t suppose you can cook biscuits?’
Ripley laughed. ‘I’m very good at the throw it in the oven and slow cook it for three hour meals. Mostly because I can simply throw it in the oven. Baking, nope. But then, I’ve never really tried because then I’d eat all the cookies and then there would be a problem. I have to fit into my tights.’
‘I keep hearing about these tights, and seeing them in the bathroom, but I have never seen you wear them.’ Pierce glanced at him. They probably wouldn’t stay on long …
‘You could come to a show.’
‘Nope.’ Warm sand flowed over his bare toes as his flip-flops sunk into the sand.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know …’ Ballet wasn’t his thing. He didn’t want to sit in a theatre watching people dance around. He liked to go and see comedians or concerts. ‘All that dancing …’
Ripley bit his biscuit and lifted an eyebrow. ‘Did you get your gay card out of a cereal packet?’
‘Yes, that was exactly what happened. I opened up the box of cereal, saw a glittery pink card and went, “cool what magic powers will this give me?” and suddenly I wanted to kiss men.’
Ripley choked on his biscuit he was laughing so hard. He took a sip of coffee. ‘But you chose not to hand it in.’
‘I guess not. But I still don’t want to see you dance.’
‘You might like it.’
Pierce was quiet for a moment. ‘And if I do, every time I go I’ll think of you.’
‘You make that sound like a bad thing,’ Ripley’s voice softened.
They walked in silence along the water’s edge. Pier
ce finished his biscuit and coffee and shoved the paper bag into the empty cup. In another week that was exactly what he’d be doing with this relationship—if that was what it truly was. And no one would ever know that it had happened.
He wanted to be able to talk about it the way Ripley did with his friends. To be that casual and not worry what people would think. It was really none of their business. Most people probably wouldn’t care.
Pierce stopped walking. He pulled out his phone.
‘What you doing?’
‘I want to get a picture.’ He wanted something tangible that this had happened.
‘No cookie crumbs?’ Ripley ran his tongue over his lip in a way that made Pierce want to check more closely—which was probably Ripley’s plan.
Pierce resisted, but only because there were other people on the beach, including an old couple and their dog.
Pierce took a couple of photos, then Ripley stood next to him and leaned in.
‘I suck at taking selfies.’
‘Practise.’ Ripley took control of the phone. ‘Smile, pretend you’re happy to be out with me.’
Pierce rolled his eyes and looked away.
‘Would you like me to take the photo?’ The old woman had walked over.
Ripley glanced at Pierce. He shrugged. He doubted she was going to run away with his phone.
‘Thanks, ma’am.’ Ripley was all smiles now.
‘You boys here on holiday?’
‘A few weeks travelling around.’ His accent had suddenly become more American.
Pierce watched the interaction as Ripley showed her which button to press. She was chatting to him like they were old friends. That was exactly how Ripley had sucked him in. Did he even realise he was doing it?
Ripley put his arm around Pierce. ‘Smile for the nice lady, she thinks we’re here on our honeymoon.’
Pierce looked at Ripley. His mouth opened. Ripley kissed him before ‘why the hell would she think that’ slipped out.
‘Beautiful.’ The lady handed the phone back.
Pierce was left holding his phone filled with a dozen pictures of Ripley and him with the ocean behind them. They both looked happy.
‘Can you send me that one?’ Ripley pointed at the one where their lips had met for a second, maybe two.
‘Yeah. You know you are a compulsive liar.’
‘She assumed, I may have agreed. But she took some nice pictures. Lucky for us because you can’t.’
‘Your attempt wasn’t much better.’
‘You pulled a face and looked away.’ Ripley was still standing very close. His hand was on Pierce’s lower back.
Pierce sent the picture and put his phone back in his pocket. The old couple and their dog were further up the beach. Ripley had kissed him in public. In daylight.
The world hadn’t ended.
No, but the sun would go out soon enough.
He refused to let the shadows start today. He took Ripley’s hand. It was nice to see him startle for a moment. They walked a little further
Ripley eventually spoke. ‘I was thinking it might be nice to keep in touch.’
‘So you can drop in if you are in town and need to get laid?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that …’ A smile formed on his lips. ‘Maybe a little. I like spending time with you.’
‘I sail in August, which will make it much harder to keep in contact.’ While he wasn’t ready to be ending this—it felt as though it was just getting started—he didn’t know if it should be continued either.
‘You still get email?’
‘Intermittently.’ Ripley would be back in America, and he’d be sailing and doing his thing. The odds of them crossing paths again were small. He didn’t want to hold onto hope that would turn sour.
He sighed. ‘I’m having fun, and we can keep in contact, but this is it really. Isn’t it?’
Ripley stopped and faced him. ‘What if it wasn’t?’
‘But it is.’
‘What if I lived in Australia?’
‘I’d still have to sail. This would still be long-distance some of the time.’ He looked at Ripley. ‘I don’t think you know what that means. You leave before it ever has the chance to get complicated.’
‘Says the man who never even went on dates.’ Ripley pulled his hand away. He finished his coffee and fiddled with the lid. ‘I don’t usually give guys a key.’
The waves lapped at the shore. Pierce didn’t know what to say.
Ripley glanced at him. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going and I overstepped. I haven’t done that in a long time.’
Pierce frowned. What was Ripley trying to say?
‘I don’t expect you to feel the same way.’ He finally got the lid off. He took Pierce’s paper cup out of his hand and dropped it inside before replacing the lid.
Oh … Pierce managed to work out what Ripley was avoiding saying outright. And now he needed to say something.
Anything.
A couple of seagulls started arguing.
‘I … I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then don’t say anything.’ The smile was gone, replaced with tension.
‘I’m not good with people and words like you. You know exactly what to say and when to make people want to be with you. I keep thinking that if I stand too long near you I’ll get burned, but then I don’t want to move away because I like the heat.’ He dug his toe into the sand. ‘But I know I am going to have to learn to live without it. Without you.’
Pierce almost expected Ripley to smile or laugh or something, but he was quiet for a moment before speaking. ‘Friends isn’t going to be enough, is it?’
Pierce didn’t need to answer that. ‘People make long-distance work.’
‘Yeah.’
They both knew it wouldn’t be enough.
***
It was the Sunday night show and everyone was in high spirits. They’d been getting good crowds and good reviews. No one wanted to dance in an almost-empty theatre. For Ripley it wasn’t only the usual rush before a show. There was a lightness in his step … in his heart. He tried to concentrate on last-minute stretching instead of Pierce.
Falling in love was not part of the plan.
It was impossible and it would never work.
Nope. They were too different no matter how well they got on. No matter that Pierce had all but confessed to feeling the same way. No matter that they both wanted more. They couldn’t have that.
Yet despite all the reasons it no made sense, all he could think of was yes. Pierce liked him, really liked him—it was more than sex. He hadn’t let himself feel that way in so long. He wanted to bask in it.
He got Cait to take a picture of him in tights to send to Pierce. It was perfectly respectable—he didn’t want anything questionable ending up online. Then he’d had to get ready.
Since then he hadn’t checked his phone. Before a show was too busy. He got his name checked and ran through a sequence of steps. Anton’s voice in ears, reminding him of all the things he needed to adjust. The changes were settling in.
Cait ran up, he caught her and lifted. He shoulder pulled, and his arm felt weak. It was becoming an all too familiar sensation. And he was starting to worry. He lowered Cait down before completing the move.
‘Are you okay?’ She put her hand on his arm. She knew that it was giving him problems.
‘Yeah … I knocked my arm yesterday.’ While he’d been fighting with his brother. His fingers curled. He refused to check his hands. He was too young. All the checking meant nothing. It was his blood that needed checking and the idea of made him want to throw up.
Cait went up on to en pointe and moved around him. ‘Don’t drop me.’
Ripley stuck out his tongue. ‘As if I would … I’d never hear the end of it if I did.’
It wouldn’t do his reputation any good either.
By the time the curtain went up, the only thing he should be thinking of was the music and the choreography. But he cou
ldn’t shake Pierce out of his head or heart.
And while he danced well—it was one of those days when everything came together—his shoulder was giving him grief. Anton had done the right thing in cutting him from the matinees. He didn’t want to consider what would happen if it didn’t get better soon.
He shouldn’t have fought with his brother. Falling on his shoulder hadn’t helped. After the intermission, his shoulder went from annoying to painful. With every lift he could feel it getting worse, and it was becoming harder to lift his arm.
They weren’t good signs, but there were only about fifteen minutes to go, so he was going to finish. He’d get it looked at after the show. He let a staff member know he wanted to see the physio afterwards for his shoulder.
He moved with Cait. Extending his arm and ignoring the pain.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ He looked at her. ‘You don’t need to worry.’
‘Truth.’
‘Worse.’
She swore, even though her lips were smiling. His smile was becoming more fixed by the second.
‘You got this?’ Her gaze was flinty.
‘Of course.’ But this time he wasn’t sure he did. They pulled apart for a moment.
He lifted Cait and something went pop. He lost all strength in his arm. He took a couple of steps back as he lowered her carefully down as though it was part of the dance. Some behind him muttered that wasn’t right.
Cait knew something was wrong straight away.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Her tone was sharp.
‘Can’t lift.’ He muttered as they kept moving. They still had three to go. They were screwed. No, he was screwed.
‘At all?’
He tried not to wince as he was supposed to lift his arm. He was going to modify everything on the fly. ‘I can’t lift my arm past first.’
Cait passed the word. Within a minute everyone would know his shoulder was done.
This close to the end; he had to keep going.
‘What do we do?’ She smiled with her mouth for the audience but scowled at him with her eyes.
‘Fuck knows.’ The pain was radiating through him. ‘Do something and I’ll follow.’ He couldn’t think. He wanted to drop to the floor, grip his shoulder and howl. Which was a totally useless response.
