Brendan stared in horror at the dildo he'd left soaking in the bathroom sink the night before. What if Jamie had asked to use the bathroom? Hurriedly he rinsed it off and shoved it into the back of the drawer beneath the counter.
A dawning sense of hope edged over the horizon of his consciousness. Jamie Hunter wasn't a thousand miles away with the man Brendan couldn't forget. He was sitting in Brendan's kitchen sipping coffee. Life didn't often come with a second chance. Was that what this was? Don't jump to conclusions, Brendan admonished himself as he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He might only be here to tell you in person what an asshole you are.
Brendan recalled the pain in Tuck's voice after he had delivered his pompous, stupid sermon about facing reality and letting go of fantasies. No doubt Tuck had relayed the conversation, while taking comfort in Jamie's welcoming arms. Maybe Jamie was only here to settle the score.
He pulled on a fresh shirt and headed back to the kitchen, ready to face his just desserts. Jamie had poured himself a mug of coffee and was sipping it. Brendan entered the room and helped himself to the coffee. He sat across from Jamie and tried to smile. No matter what dire message Jamie had come to deliver, it was so good to see him again.
It was odd to see him out of context. The whole bizarre experience had been preserved in his mind like reels of old film he'd take out and watch again and again. On one level, Jamie only existed as a memory, frozen in time against a backdrop of snow and ice.
What an amazing couple of days they'd had. What a sexy, generous lover Jamie had been. He looked so good, even better than memory had served. His light brown hair was shiny, falling in shaggy waves over his eyes and down the back of his neck. His mouth was sensuously curved, the very mouth that had sucked Brendan's cock, accepted his kisses, whispered sexy, dangerous things that even now Brendan blushed to recall...
He watched Jamie sipping his coffee, glad Jamie couldn't see into his head. He had an urge to drop to his knees at Jamie's feet and wrap his arms around his legs, while begging forgiveness for being such an ass.
Jamie would laugh in his face. Jamie had probably been glad he'd excused himself from the ménage, leaving Tuck all to himself. But if that was true, what was he doing here?
"It's good to see you, Jamie. Are you, uh ... are you and Tuck together?” Are you lovers? Do you ever think of me while you're fucking each other?
"Yeah. Two out of three.” He was surprised by the bitterness in Jamie's voice.
So they were together. Of course they were. Lovers, with Brendan nothing more than a memory. Then he replayed Jamie's words. Two out of three. Was he the third? Brendan's heart lurched. God he missed them, missed Tuck, missed the closeness, the heat, the passion, the raw, aching sweetness.
He hoped his voice would remain steady when he spoke. “How's Tuck?"
Jamie's smile was paper thin. “Tuck is fine. No thanks to you."
Brendan felt himself flushing. He looked away.
"You broke his heart, Brendan. It's as simple as that."
As simple as that.
Anger rose in Brendan's gut like corrosive acid. The anger was easier to handle than the sorrow and the shame. He clung to it, letting its poison pervade his psyche. Who the fuck was this little prick to barge into his home at the crack of dawn and accuse him of something like that? Why wasn't Tuck speaking for himself? If his heart was so broken, why hadn't he ever called again? Didn't he understand how difficult this was for a straight guy to come to grips with?
"I what? I got news for you, Jamie. You can't break someone's heart unless they're in love. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you just admitted the two of you are lovers. How the fuck am I supposed to compete with that? You live in the same town, work in the same damn building, see each other every day. I'm up here, a thousand miles away, the curious one, the anomaly, the straight guy it was a challenge to seduce and then forget—"
"How dare you.” Jamie's voice cut across Brendan's rant. “Nobody's forgotten you, Brendan. Shit, if we could forget you, would I be here? Nobody seduced you—not in the way you're implying. You were ready, willing and able. You were as into us as we were into you. Then the rescue ‘copter shows up and you do a one-eighty. Suddenly the open, tolerant, bi-curious guy becomes Mr. Straight Asshole, callously chocking up whatever had happened between us three as some kind of aberrant homosexual fling, the stuff of desperate men facing war or whatever the fuck you dribbled into Tuck's ear like liquid shit."
Brendan opened his mouth to protest, outrage and bitter shame fighting a duel inside him, the slashing pain of it rendering him mute.
Jamie wasn't done. “Yeah, you're right. You have to be in love to have your heart broken. He's in love with you, asshole. He's been in love with you since before Antarctica. If you weren't so busy shoving your cowardly head up your ass to keep from admitting your real feelings, you'd know that. Christ, Brendan. You'd know how we both felt. How I feel..."
Jamie's voice cracked, his handsome face a mask of pain. He stood and blew out a deep breath. “Jesus. This isn't what I'd planned. I don't know what I was planning, really. I didn't get that far in my head. I'm sorry. I have no right to talk to you like this. You made your position abundantly clear on the phone. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking at all, I guess."
"Jamie.” Brendan tried to speak but a lump had formed in his throat. If he said another word he would start crying.
"No.” Jamie held up his hand. “Look, go back to bed.” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “I'm such a jerk. Here I kept advising Tuck to let it go, then the minute he's out of town I hop on my bike and ride up here, like it's going to make a difference, like any of this matters to you.” He turned to go.
"No. Please. Jamie, don't go."
It was too late. Jamie strode out of the kitchen. Brendan sat, rooted to his chair for several horrible seconds. Finally he found the wherewithal to move and leaped up, running into the living room in time to hear the door slam.
Sprinting, he raced to the door and flung it open. “Jamie! Jamie, don't go. You can't go. Please. Come back. I need you. Please."
Jamie had his helmet on and was kicking at the stand of his motorcycle. Brendan watched helplessly. When Jamie climbed onto the bike, Brendan sank to the ground, hiding his head in his hands. His heart split with pain for all that he'd done and all that he'd lost.
If the engine hadn't stalled, Jamie wouldn't have known Brendan followed him. He wouldn't have turned back to see him crumpled at his doorway, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking.
Jamie's heart contracted with pity. He hadn't meant to lash out like that. He hadn't even realized he was carrying so much anger. He climbed off his bike, not willing to leave Brendan alone and crying. He'd never meant to make the man weep. The trembling rage he'd felt when he tore out of there had evaporated in the face of Brendan's tears.
He thought back to that day in Antarctica, when it had been Jamie's turn to break down. Brendan had comforted him, just holding him in his arms, no questions asked. He'd felt safe then, in an unsafe world. Brendan had protected him and accepted him without judgment.
Jamie climbed off his bike and removed his helmet. He returned to Brendan. “Hey. Hey, Brendan. It's okay. Come on. I'm sorry."
Brendan didn't respond. Jamie crouched beside him. He touched Brendan's shoulder but Brendan shook him off. He raised a tear-streaked face. “Sorry ... I didn't mean ... don't want you to see me like this ... please ... just go..."
Jamie stayed where he was. Brendan got to his feet and stumbled back into his house, trying to push the door closed. Jamie stood and blocked the door with his shoulder. Brendan gave up, retreating into the room.
Jamie followed him to the couch. He sat beside Brendan and put a hand on his shoulder. Brendan continued to cry, hiding his face in one hand. Feeling helpless, Jamie looked around the room. He spied a box of tissues on a side table and hurried to retrieve it.
He pulled three tissues from the box and set them on Brendan's lap. Bre
ndan, still without looking at Jamie, grabbed them and wiped his eyes and nose. He was still crying, but more quietly now. Jamie put his hand on Brendan's thigh, half expecting him to push it away.
Instead Brendan put his own hand over Jamie's and looked at him, smiling crookedly between his tears. “Man. I'm really sorry. You must think I'm such a ... I don't usually...” He shrugged helplessly.
"Don't. Don't apologize for crying. I'm sorry I was such a shit. I didn't really plan on coming all this way just to tell you what an ass you were."
"Well, you were right. Everything you said was true. I accepted the love you both offered me and then I turned around and trivialized and denied it because I was scared."
"I know.” Jamie stroked Brendan's wet cheek. “But me barreling in and bludgeoning you over the head with it wasn't exactly the coolest thing I've ever done. I'm sorry. I can be a real horse's ass myself sometimes."
"Thanks for coming back, Jamie.” Brendan shook his head. “Thanks for coming all the way up here to see me."
"Even if what I had to say wasn't what you wanted to hear, huh?"
"Yeah, but maybe it's what I needed to hear. Though it might surprise you to know it's nothing I haven't been telling myself. I just figured it was too late. I'd already blown it with you guys. You had moved on and I was trying like hell to figure out how to move on myself."
He wiped his face with a soggy tissue. Jamie held out the box. “You want to wash your face or something?"
"Yeah.” Brendan stood and drew in a long, shuddering breath. “Man. I haven't cried like that since I was eight years old. I didn't even know I knew how."
Jamie smiled. He wanted to draw Brendan down into his arms and just hold him, but he sensed Brendan was trying to recover himself and being held was maybe the last thing he wanted. So instead Jamie suggested, “Maybe we should go get breakfast or something. Any good diners around here?"
Brendan looked gratefully at him. “Yeah. Sure. That's a great idea. Just sit tight, I'll be right back."
Jamie leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. Tuck wouldn't have made Brendan cry. He would have handled things so much better.
He looked around the room while he waited. It was a masculine room, with dark leather furniture, two walls lined with bookshelves, another with a large old wooden desk on which sat a flat-screen monitor and piles of papers and research texts. The floors were hardwood, stained a rich reddish brown. A large bay window faced the tree-lined street.
To keep himself occupied, Jamie got up and moved toward one of the bookshelves. Most of the books were nonfiction, large tomes on various esoteric scientific subjects. One shelf was filled with paperback mysteries and science-fiction novels, clearly much read.
There were several books in French. Jamie picked one up, titled Rendez-vous avec la mort and saw it was by Agatha Christie, a translation. He flipped through the pages, which might as well have been in Aramaic as far as he was concerned, and recalled Brendan's story about losing his virginity to his French tutor.
They knew so little about each other, he realized. They'd worked side by side for six weeks, yet it was only in those last few days they'd connected. Could the feelings he felt for Brendan really be love? If not love, the precursor to it? He was in love with Tuck, of that he was certain. Yet he'd been drawn to Brendan, and Brendan's rejection, which he was sure was based purely on fear, hadn't lessened his desire.
Yes, the anger was still there for the way Brendan had shut them out, but it had lost its sting. He was making his peace with Brendan. That didn't mean, he knew, that Brendan was necessarily going to come running back to them. It was possible he just didn't have it in him. His curiosity, if that's what they wanted to call it, might only run so deep. As much as Tuck and Jamie wanted Brendan, maybe he just wasn't capable of any kind of sustained relationship with other men.
Nevertheless, he was glad he had come to Seattle, and even gladder he had stayed. He would have remained angry with Brendan, and had added anger at himself for his abrupt, immature departure if he'd left after his melodramatic speech.
Well, Brendan had given him a second chance. They would start over, and this time Jamie would give Brendan a chance to talk. He would listen and try to understand.
Brendan returned to the living room. His eyes were still red but his hair was combed and he'd added a dark blue work shirt over his light blue T-shirt. He smiled at Jamie. “Found my books, huh? I can't ever get rid of a book, even if it's terrible."
"Can you actually read these? The stuff in French?” Jamie waved the book he was holding toward Brendan.
"Yeah. If I have a dictionary with me. It's the slang that kills you, though. Christie is easier—not so much slang. Modern books though, forget it. You really need to live in a place to pick up their slang. I've been to France, but never for longer than a month at a time."
Jamie, who had never been out of the States, other than their fateful trip to Antarctica, was impressed. “I'd like to travel someday. I'd like to go to the Himalayas and Amsterdam. And Paris, of course."
"Of course.” Brendan grinned. “It really is the most romantic city in the world. I'd love to go back.” He smiled dreamily, as if recalling some romantic memory.
Jamie wanted to take him into his arms, to kiss his swollen eyelids, to stroke his cheek and hold him, to say again how sorry he was for making him cry. He took a step toward him, licking his lips in anticipation of their kiss.
Brendan suddenly snapped out of his reverie and turned away, his voice strident. “Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."
Jamie stopped in his tracks. The moment was lost. He put the book back onto the shelf, wondering if their timing would always be off.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Sixteen
"I didn't realize how hungry I was.” Jamie took another bite of French toast. He dragged a piece of sausage through the syrup and ate that as well. “This is delicious."
"Yeah.” Brendan nodded. “I haven't been here for a while.” He chewed a bite of his blueberry blintz. He could hardly believe it was really Jamie sitting across from him right there in Seattle, instead of consigned forever to bittersweet memory.
Jamie thanked the waitress when she topped off his coffee. He turned back to Brendan. “So you were, like, engaged to a woman? And you've always only dated women?” They had been talking in general about sexual orientation—gay versus straight, with Jamie holding forth about his theory that no one was purely one thing or the other.
"Yeah,” Brendan admitted. “Tuck and you were my first, um, real experience."
"So never before? No teenage experimentation? No crush on an athlete, something like that?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, I guess I've always had crushes, to use your phrase, on guys. I mean, I didn't define it like that. I admired them. I found them attractive, you know, but I didn't think of it as sexual precisely."
"Precisely? So just sort of?” Jamie grinned and Brendan felt himself blushing. Jamie continued his relentless questioning. “So when you were a kid, there wasn't that one boy in ninth grade who slipped into your fantasies while you were jerking off under the covers or in the shower? That one guy in college who, after a few beers too many, accidentally groped you instead of his girlfriend?” Jamie smirked.
Brendan felt his face heat. Jesus, had he left some kind of window open inside his head for Jamie to peer into and make fun of? Zach Hickman. He hadn't thought about Zach in years.
It wasn't ninth grade, but tenth. They were both on the track team. Zach had long dark hair he wore loose. His features were almost feminine—a cupid's bow of a mouth and large dark eyes. In fact, Brendan used to tell himself he was only attracted to him because of his feminine traits, in those moments he admitted to himself he was attracted at all.
Zach had just turned sixteen, while Brendan was still fifteen. He was spending the night at Zach's, and they were celebrating Zach's birthday with a fifth of blackberry brandy Zach had convinced his older brother
to buy for them.
It was a warm, sticky summer night. They were lying on the bottom bunk in Zach's bedroom in just their gym shorts, listening to music, getting drunk and talking about nothing much. The light was out and it was late.
Brendan fell asleep at one point and when he woke, Zach was draped over him, his hand on Brendan's crotch, his eyes closed. What the hell was going on? Brendan realized he had a full erection and his heart began to pound. He lay still, wondering what to do, both frightened and aroused by Zach's proximity and touch. He didn't dare to move for a full minute. Zach seemed to be asleep, but the limp weight of his hand was driving Brendan crazy.
He finally got up the nerve to move his hips a little and Zach's hand shifted, his fingers brushing Brendan's cock through the thin cotton of his shorts. At the same time, he could feel Zach's erection press against him.
They began a silent, unacknowledged sexual dance, with Zach's fingers responding with gentle but insistent pressure each time Brendan moved his hips, accompanied by the subtle press of his hard shaft against Brendan's side.
Brendan kept his eyes closed and tried to keep his breathing regular and even, mimicking Zach's pretense of being asleep. They continued the charade until each boy, within seconds of one another, ejaculated in their underwear.
Zach rolled away from Brendan, who lay still, his heart pounding, for a good ten minutes before daring to move. Zach appeared to be asleep. Brendan crept out of bed and cleaned himself up as best he could in the bathroom.
When he returned, Zach was still in the same position, on his side, his face to the wall. Brendan climbed into the top bunk, half-wondering if he'd dreamt the whole thing.
Things seemed to change between them after that. Zach avoided Brendan, which hurt his feelings and confused him. Brendan wanted to bring up what had happened, to ask Zach what he thought, but he never dared. Zach never said a word. After a while it was as if it had never been, except that the easy friendship they'd shared since childhood was never regained.
Polar Reaction Page 15
