Something Like Winter

by Jay Bell

“It was an accident. We were high and drunk, and it just sort of happened.”

  “He looks just like you,” Tim spat. “You might as well have fucked a hole in a mirror.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give that a try next time,” Ryan shot back.

  “Were you safe?”

  Ryan climbed out of bed. “Just shut up and let me get a coffee, okay?”

  “Were. You. Safe?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Tim shook his head in disgust and turned to grab more socks and underwear from the drawer. “Better figure out where you’re sleeping tonight because you aren’t staying here.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to go!”

  “You should have thought of that before you let Stephen fuck you. I can’t believe you weren’t safe! Do you know what he does for a living?”

  Tim felt a hand on his shoulder and went tense. When he turned around, Ryan’s face was soft instead of defensive. His angel eyes could be deceptive, but Tim was sure he saw regret in them.

  “I messed up,” Ryan said. “This is why I like you to go out with me because I know you’ll stop me from being stupid.”

  Tim huffed. “But you go out anyway, even if I’m not there.”

  “I’m still young, okay? I can’t be all grown up like you.”

  But Tim had been anything but grown up. He hadn’t done a damn thing since finishing college. “Things have to change,” he said. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s not working.”

  “It can still work,” Ryan said. “Don’t turn your back on me like my parents did. You know that will kill me!”

  Fuck him for playing that card. Tim knew Ryan didn’t deserve his sympathy, and yet it was the most effective thing he could have said. Tim moved around him, dropping the socks and underwear into the suitcase.

  “One more chance,” Ryan pleaded.

  Tim shook his head, but then sighed in resignation. “Prove that you’re willing to change. Stop hanging out with Stephen and go back to school. We’ll take a break, okay? If you love me, get your shit together and then come back. Otherwise I don’t want to ever see you again.” Tim slammed the suitcase shut. “Are you going to take a shower before you go?”

  “Maybe a bath,” Ryan said. “Are there any razors in there?”

  Tim’s blood went cold. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Why not? What have I got to live for?”

  “It’s just a fucking break, Ryan! Stop bitching and prove that you care, okay?”

  Ryan didn’t answer. He didn’t speak in the car either, except to tell Tim where to bring him. Their destination was an old apartment building on the other side of town. He prayed it didn’t belong to Stephen, but didn’t ask.

  Tim said goodbye, his words gentle, but Ryan slammed the car door anyway. Instead of letting it get to him, Tim drove downtown to a clinic that provided anonymous testing, rolled up his sleeve, and watched his blood spill into a vial.

  Chapter Thirty

  The house was eerily silent that night, the bed feeling too large and empty, but somehow Tim found sleep. In his dreams he stood in a high school gymnasium, facing a stage cast in shadow except for a spotlight. In the light stood Ben, older than Tim had ever seen him but still every bit as handsome. And then came that voice. Once it had sent him away but now it was calling him home again. His penance was done, the wait was over.

  Come home.

  Tim awoke, body tense with adrenaline like waking from a nightmare, but he didn’t feel afraid. Instead he felt a longing that made his heart ache. Chinchilla grumbled in puzzlement when he got out of bed, following him into the bathroom where he grabbed his robe. It hung next to Ryan’s, which gave him pause, but that song still filled his head, so he went to the office and turned on the computer.

  Google don’t fail me now!

  Tim had looked Ben up before, hoping to glean some insight into his life, but never found much. He had no reason to believe this time would be any different. But it was. Clicking a link to a potential lead, he poured over the website’s text like it might vanish at any moment.

  Con Man’s Heart – A musical drama of heartbreak and deceit. Austin’s Twilight Theater proudly presents an original Brian Milton production, set in colonial times and told in the traditional style of—

  Tim scanned through the play’s description, trying to find what the search result had to do with Ben. And there it was, that wonderfully familiar name, and in full!

  Staring the musical talents of Linda Anderson as the Duchess of Derby and Benjamin Bentley as silver-tongued Bo Williams.

  Theater? Scratch that. Dinner theater! Tim grinned at the screen as he learned everything he could about the theater and the play. The website even had cast photos, little headshots that were frustratingly small. He could see Ben’s familiar features, but the resolution was too low to tell how much he had changed. Of course Tim could always go and see for himself. The play was running for the next three weeks. He practically did cartwheels out of the office to get his credit card.

  When he was about to click “submit” to complete his order, he hesitated. Was this the right thing to do? What if Ben noticed him, and the play came grinding to a halt? Tim chuckled at the idea and clicked the mouse with glee.

  Ben’s face and that wonderful singing voice… If neither could be his, Tim could at least bask in their presence again.

  * * * * *

  The theater interior was tastefully decorated and well maintained, having been rescued by the local historical society some years back. This meant the stage area was grand, framed by tall pillars that ran all the way to the second story balconies. Tim felt a strong sense of relief at this, not wanting Ben to be working on a trashy stage with an audience more interested in the cheap buffet. In fact, no buffet was offered. Instead the theater functioned as a restaurant, waiters taking orders from each table, but Tim stayed in the lobby, nursing a beer at the bar until he heard the play begin. Only then did he make his way to his seat in the dark, taking a fresh beer with him.

  Tim’s frustration grew as the play went on with no sign of Ben. So far the story was about a duchess who had fled England for America, and who despite being beautiful and rich, was inexplicably single. Tim supposed he could relate. When Ben strolled on stage, he sat upright in his seat. The historical clothing and fake beard made Ben almost unrecognizable at first, but his voice was the same. Part of Tim felt like hiding. The other part wanted to leap on stage and make himself known.

  He barely paid attention to the plot, instead staring at Ben no matter which characters were speaking, but he picked up on the basics. Ben, aka Bo Williams, was a con man after the duchess’s money. Naturally, Bo ends up falling in love with her, but just before the wedding, a person from Bo’s past exposes his history. This sets off a series of misunderstandings that end in heartbreak, just as the website promised.

  Tim didn’t care much for theater, and if he was being honest, Ben wasn’t an exceptional actor. But the play featured musical numbers, and when Ben sang, Tim became enraptured. Sparing a glance for the audience, he could tell everybody else was equally impressed. At the story’s end, the duchess tosses Bo out of her life, much to Tim’s dismay. Not because he really cared about the characters, but because it meant Ben left the stage.

  When the play was over, all the lights came on at once, and the cast walked out on stage in one big line, bowing and grinning at the applause. Tim felt exposed, but Ben was on the opposite side of the stage and didn’t notice him. Still, the distance between them was relatively small. They were ridiculously close, and Ben would never know.

  Tim hastily made his way out of the theater after that, feeling heady at having seen Ben again, even if Bo and his fake beard were in the way. He’d like to see Ben as he really was. Maybe Tim could write the theater and ask for an autographed headshot or something nutty like that.

  Stopping outside his car, Tim turned on his cell phone. Three new messages, which was unusual. Any message was unexpected. Barely remembering
how to access his voicemail, Tim listened, feeling a chill despite the summer evening when he heard the key words. St. David’s Hospital. Ryan. Emergency room.

  Tim was in his car and gunning it across town in seconds, ignoring the speed limit and quite a few red lights. If a cop wanted to pull him over, he would have to chase him all the way to the hospital. By some miracle he made it there unhindered and ran across the parking lot, panting by the time he reached the nurses’ station. God damn, he was out of shape!

  “Ryan Hamilton,” he said.

  The nurse calmly typed the name in the computer, one of her coworkers speaking up. “He’s the overdose.”

  Fuck!

  “Oh, right.” The nurse looked him over. “Are you family?”

  “I’m all he’s got,” Tim said. “Is he okay? Can I see him?”

  “Just a moment.” The nurse who knew about Ryan disappeared down a hallway. When she returned, she brought a doctor with her. Tim knew she was a doctor because she had that frazzled “way too much too do” air about her.

  “Dr. Phillips,” she said, not offering a hand. “We think Ryan overdosed. Do you know if he’s a regular drug user?”

  “Yeah, he is.” Tim’s throat felt tight. “Is he okay?”

  “He was barely coherent when his friends brought him in. Since they’ve gone he’s lost consciousness. Do you know what he took?”

  “Could have been anything,” Tim said. “Probably a mix.”

  “Okay. Well, if you’ll wait here, we’ll start the gastric lavage and see how he does.”

  “What?”

  “We need to pump his stomach. Please have a seat.”

  “I want to be there with him.”

  Dr. Phillips sighed testily. “It’s better if you wait. It isn’t a pleasant process.”

  “I’m his boyfriend. I have a right to be there.” Tim doubted that was true, but Dr. Phillips gave in.

  He followed her to a small room. Ryan lay motionless on his back, the color drained from his face, reminding Tim of Eric’s death. For a moment he was sure Ryan was dead, that his conversation with Dr. Phillips had cost them precious time, but the doctor didn’t seem overly concerned when she checked on Ryan. Soon a nurse entered, rolling equipment behind her.

  “You can sit next to the bed if you want,” Dr. Phillips said.

  “Can I hold his hand?”

  “Of course.”

  The doctor took a clear tube from the tangle of machinery and inserted it into Ryan’s nose, slowly feeding more and more in through the nostril. That was all Tim could take. Gripping Ryan’s clammy hand, he looked away, sometimes even closing his eyes to pray. Where were those friends of his now? How long had Ryan been messed up before they decided to bring him in? If Ryan died, Tim would never forgive himself. He should have been there with him, keeping him safe, even if Ryan was a selfish brat.

  Once the process had begun, the doctor left them in the nurse’s care. After what felt like an eternity, the tubes were pulled out of Ryan’s nose and the nurse took away the horrible machine. The room smelled like bile. Tim found traces around Ryan’s nostril and wiped it clean with a tissue. Then he kissed Ryan’s forehead, whispering to him that everything was going to be okay, that all was forgiven.

  Hours passed before Ryan awoke, but when he did, Tim was still at his side, holding his hand.

  “I don’t feel good,” Ryan rasped. “Where am I?”

  “The emergency room.”

  Ryan’s eyes found him and his face grew pained. “What are you doing here?”

  “You gave the nurses my number.”

  Ryan tried to pull his hand away but Tim wouldn’t let go.

  “You don’t have to stay here,” Ryan said. “I know you don’t want to. I don’t blame you for hating me.”

  “I don’t hate you, but you can’t keep doing this. You overdosed. Do you realize that? You almost died.”

  “I don’t care.” Ryan’s face crumpled. “I’m such a fuck-up. I ruined everything!”

  “You didn’t ruin anything.” Tim stood. “I’m going to get the doctor and tell her you’re awake. We’re going to get you better, and then you’re coming home with me. Okay?”

  Ryan wiped away the tears and nodded, Tim stooping to hug him. They could make this right. If Ryan was willing to try, they could fix this.

  * * * * *

  Three days of sweet Ryan holding his hand, cuddling against him on the couch, listening to his stories and laughing at his jokes. For seventy-two hours, everything was back to normal. At the end of the third day, they tried having sex, Tim telling Ryan he needed to be tested in between kisses. But then Ryan’s dark side revealed itself, and Tim couldn’t continue. Hitting, biting, spanking, choking—Tim was literally sick of it. The idea of returning to that made him nauseous, and he couldn’t stop thinking about where Stephen had been and what they had done together.

  “I’m tired,” Tim said, shifting away from Ryan and pulling up the covers.

  “I’m not! What the hell?” Ryan tugged at him and fumed, eventually stomping out of the room. Tim let him go.

  The next morning he found Ryan passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of champagne on the coffee table. Tim had thrown out all the alcohol before bringing Ryan home from the hospital, but hadn’t thought of the bottle he kept chilled for Marcello. When Ryan woke up that afternoon, he was all piss and vinegar, every word venomous and calculated to infuriate Tim. Maybe he was expected to get angry and take it out on Ryan sexually, but Tim couldn’t play that game anymore. Instead he went upstairs to his office, whiling away the hours on the Internet. Naturally he kept returning to the website for the Twilight Theater. Ben was performing again tonight.

  Would Ryan be up for a show? He knew all about Ben, of course, but unless Ryan carefully read the playbill, he would never suspect a thing. It could be good, the two of them getting out. Maybe they could talk over the whole sex thing afterwards.

  When Tim went back downstairs, he noticed a pungent smell in the air, like burning plastic. And Ryan wasn’t alone. Stephen wasn’t with him, thank god, but another of his friends was. He and Ryan were giggling incessantly, even when Tim walked in the room.

  “What?” Ryan challenged.

  “What are you doing?” This caused a fit of laughter. “Seriously, what are you smoking?”

  “Pot,” Ryan said.

  Tim had smoked enough to know what marijuana smelled like. He marched over to the coffee table where a glass pipe leaned on its side.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? What is this, crack?”

  Tim grabbed the pipe and headed for the kitchen. Ryan chased him, pulling on his arm. “Give it back! It’s not yours!”

  Tim threw the pipe in the trashcan with enough force that it shattered against the champagne bottle. When Ryan saw this, he started screaming shrilly, like a child throwing a tantrum. Tim wanted to backhand him, but instead he grabbed him by the arms and started shaking him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to kill yourself? Huh? Fucking answer me!”

  Tim let go of him in disgust. Ryan slumped to the floor in a sobbing heap. This was too much! He had to get out of here. Now.

  “I’m leaving,” Tim said. “When I get back, your friend better be gone and you better be sober.”

  Ryan glared at him. “Where are you going?”

  “Out. Alone.”

  Tim whistled for Chinchilla—not wanting to leave her alone with someone on crack—and loaded her into the car. Then he went back in for a blanket and one of her favorite bones. She would need to crash in the backseat for an hour, if tickets were still available at the Twilight Theater box office. Tim had his own dragon to chase, and right now he needed a fix.

  * * * * *

  Busted. So very busted. Tim was at his third showing of Con Man’s Heart. During the previous show, the night he had fought with Ryan, he was sure Ben had noticed him. He certainly kept looking in his direction, but by the time the lights went up, Tim was alre
ady gone, not wanting to leave Chinchilla alone so long.

  During tonight’s show, Ben was staring in his direction so intently that one of the other actors had to prompt him. Tim couldn’t help grinning. Nothing like a ghost from the past to make you miss a line. The smile was his first in days. Nothing Tim said or did made a difference anymore. Ryan kept partying, seemingly set on self-destruction. All Tim could do was steer clear.

  After losing himself in the show as much as possible, Tim left the theater when Ben’s last scene was over. He checked his phone once he was on the street, always expecting the worst. This time it came in the form of text messages.

  i know were u r

  From Ryan, of course. But he couldn’t really know, could he?

  con mans hart? how appropriate

  Tim glanced around, expecting to see Ryan’s accusing glare. The play was over now, people leaving the theater, but he didn’t see Ryan. When were these messages sent? He checked the last one and sighed.

  hows benjamin?

  Tim dialed Ryan’s phone, disconnecting when he got his voicemail and trying a few more times before giving up. This relationship was a nightmare, a mess he couldn’t crawl free from without Ryan doing something stupid. Ben was Ryan’s opposite. Giving instead of selfish, reliable and steadfast instead of unpredictable and insane.

  Tim could use his help now, ask Ben what he would do if he were foolish enough to get in such a situation. He realized after a second that he could. Ben was just yards away, probably in a dressing room ungluing his beard this very moment. Tim could pop in, say hello, and ask for some quick advice. Chances were, Ben wouldn’t even speak to him. But Tim wanted to try.

  He turned around and made his way to the back of the theater, where he imagined a metal door guarded by bouncers, a flock of fans desperate for a glimpse of the star. The door was there, but Tim was alone. Feeling like an idiot, he pounded on the door a few times until a man with thinning hair and trimmed beard—this one real—opened it.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Ben. I’m an old friend of his.”

  “Oh.” The man looked taken aback. “Well, he’s already in reception talking to someone. If you go around front again—” He checked his watch. “Actually, the doors might be locked by now. Um. Follow me.”