Believe

by Garrett Leigh

  He stopped. Did Jevon really need to know he’d launched his phone across the room so many times it was a wonder it still functioned? That only the nuclear-proof case he used for work had saved it? Probably not.

  Or maybe he did.

  Rhys tapped Jevon’s chin with his knuckles, forcing his gaze up from the table. “I’m sorry . . . I really am. I’ve been wanting to see you again so much.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’ve been slammed at work, but you’ve been on my mind every spare moment I’ve had.”

  More tension seeped from Jevon’s shoulders, and he leaned forward like he was going to kiss Rhys.

  He didn’t, but the hand that wasn’t entwined with Rhys’s found his face, fingers grazing Rhys’s rough cheek, thumb tracing his scratchy eyes. “I’d nearly given up on you.”

  “Only nearly?”

  Jevon nodded. “I couldn’t bring myself to let go entirely. It’s too—too real, you know? If that doesn’t make me sound like a thirsty bitch.”

  The cruel words were all wrong falling from Jevon’s sweet tongue, from his kind lips, but Rhys got it. Jevon’s easy poise, his sunshine smile, hid insecurities that only a man naked in bed with him would ever see. “I wanted to call, Jevon. I swear. I wasn’t joking when I said I’ve been losing my mind. Shit, I don’t think I’ve slept more than a few hours a night since I last saw you.”

  “It shows,” Jevon said gently. “And ignore me. I just—um—I’m not a particularly insecure guy, but when it comes to sex these days . . . and you, I kinda lose my head a bit too.”

  Rhys nodded slowly. They’d talked about this before, and he was getting the feeling nothing he could say would do much good at this point. Jevon was fucking incredible, in every way. He just had to learn to believe it. “I hear you.”

  “I know.” Jevon’s smile finally cranked up to the mega-wattage Rhys saw in his dreams. “I always feel like you get me, even when I can’t find the words to explain myself. I’ve never felt that with anyone else.”

  Rhys had never felt anything that came close to how Jevon made him feel. To hear that even a fragment of it was reciprocated blew the stress clean out of his soul. “You can talk to me, mate. And not just about sex. Do me good to listen to something outside of my own head.”

  “Introspective, eh?”

  Rhys shrugged. “According to my brother, the fountain of all knowledge. He reckons I have one skin for work, one for hooking up, and neither is who I really am.”

  “Everyone’s got skins, dude. You think I wake up in entertainer mode every day?”

  Rhys chuckled but was saved from answering by the server coming back. “You order,” he said to Jevon. “I gotta take a leak.”

  He retreated to the gender-neutral bathrooms, and by the time he returned, Jevon was alone again, twirling a straw in a rum and Coke. “So . . . ” he said as Rhys reclaimed his seat.

  “So, what?”

  “How did you end up becoming a paramedic? It’s a pretty intense career choice.”

  “It wasn’t really a choice,” Rhys said. “Not a conscious one, anyway.”

  “Curious.”

  “Scuzzy, actually.” Rhys gulped some of the rum-laced drink Jevon had ordered for him. “I was a terrible teenager, and it spilled out into adulthood until I wound up doing community service at King’s hospital. From there, I got a job as a healthcare assistant, then a place on a paramedic course. I quit briefly to work in a butchers—ironic, huh?—but I knuckled down eventually, and here I am.”

  Jevon tilted his head to one side, spearing Rhys with a quizzical frown. “What’s scuzzy about that?”

  Rhys shrugged. “It’s not my calling, I guess. I didn’t get into it to help people . . . I was trying to help myself. Save myself, I suppose.”

  “From what?”

  “Everything. My dad died a little while ago, and before that, he was in prison for some shit that went down at home. It took me some time to get past that.”

  Jevon said nothing for a long moment. Just stared at Rhys like his bottomless eyes could burn a path to everything that had ever hurt Rhys. Like he wanted to take it away and set it on fire.

  But he couldn’t do that. No one could. Rhys had started plenty of his own fires, and somehow all the bullshit still lived in the ashes. “Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered. “I’m not one of your kids that needs saving.”

  More silence. But the server intervened with the food Jevon had ordered while Rhys had been gone. Two pizzas and a salad that looked like it belonged in the Tate Modern. And for the first time in days, Rhys was actually hungry. They dug in while Jevon explained between bites what he was doing with his life for the next few months.

  “I swore down I’d only do a few birthday parties, but I’ve got four next week alone.”

  Rhys chuckled. “You don’t like them?”

  “It’s not that. Any chance I get to act the fool is fine by me, but it just seems kind of—I don’t know—hollow, I guess. Which is why they make us do it.”

  “Who does?”

  “The team who look after the entertainers at the charity. There’s a psychologist here in London who comes to visit us on site and checks in with us when we come home. He’s the reason we’re only allowed three-month stints in the camps now before they bring us home for a while. Before him, we had people bedded in for most of the year without a break, and not even soldiers do that.”

  There was beauty in the comparison. Jevon and his coworkers fought wars of their own with laughter instead of bullets, joy in place of despair. But at what cost? Rhys had seen enough medics go under to know the risks were real. “Do you ever feel like not going back?”

  “Not really.” Jevon toyed thoughtfully with a pizza crust. “It’s hard sometimes—lonely too—but I can’t imagine leaving those kids with nothing, you know? Even if all we give them is a few days of madness. It is getting harder though. Lots of governments are tearing the camps down.”

  “I thought that was a good thing? The camps I’ve seen on the news look awful.”

  “They aren’t great, but where else do people go? At least in the camps, the aid organisations know where to find them. And, it’s safe for them to look. We’ve done some street work, but I don’t fancy roaming the Albanian countryside on my unicycle. Getting shot ain’t my bag.”

  Rhys shuddered. He’d seen a few gun shot wounds since he’d joined the chopper team, and the thought of Jevon getting hurt turned the dinner in his belly to dust. “When are you going back?”

  “Second week in December.”

  “Gone for Christmas then?”

  “I’ve been gone every Christmas since the war in Syria kicked off.”

  Rhys traced lazy patterns on the back of Jevon’s hand. He wanted to ask more, but at the same time, the thought of Jevon leaving the country in just eight weeks time made him feel sick. This was why he didn’t do relationships. Because life always got in the way and fucked everything up, and he had no idea what to do with the ever-growing, bone-deep affection he felt every time Jevon crossed his mind. Every time they touched.

  Kissed.

  More.

  I can’t do this.

  But I need him.

  Rhys took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. The pizza place had filled up while they’d eaten and it was kicking. Staff flitted around with trays of food, and the hot guy manning the pizza oven seemed to be in constant motion. Rhys watched him work, absently admiring the flex of his tanned forearms and the concentrated expression that made him equal parts alluring and intimidating. The dude was hot, and Rhys was about to say so when another man approached the chef from behind.

  This dude was half the size. Slender and blond, he reminded Rhys a little of Dylan. He climbed up the other man’s back and wrapped his arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. The chef’s answering smile was blinding.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Jevon squeezed Rhys’s fingers, breaking into his reverie. “I hung around here a lot when m
y sexuality first started making itself known.”

  “Just to watch them?”

  Rhys could understand that. Dylan and Angelo’s relationship made him jealous as hell, and Harry and Joe were so utterly perfect together, Rhys often wanted to puke in their presence, but the moody chef and his elegant partner were a joy to watch. Like the distance between them and Rhys made their love easier to bear.

  “Not just them,” Jevon said. “There’s a few queer blokes around here—more than a few, actually—and being around them made me feel normal.”

  “You don’t feel normal?”

  “I do now, but I didn’t for a while. There were moments when I was so terrified, I couldn’t imagine how it would ever end well.”

  “What changed?”

  “Lots of things over time. Work, family, relationships. Things that I thought were gospel turned out to be the opposite. My dad being sound was a big factor, and Efe is my best friend in the world, but something has always felt missing. I figured it was just the sex, but then I met you, and . . . well . . . it’s more than that.”

  Of course it was. Rhys had pictured himself having sex with Jevon so many times, it almost seemed like they’d done it already. But it wasn’t enough. Being with Jevon was so much more.

  A new chef took over at the pizza oven, and the dark-haired man and his partner disappeared. Rhys watched them go, sensing Jevon’s gaze on him but unable to face him, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

  “I watched them fuck once.”

  That got Rhys’s attention. He turned to Jevon and wondered instantly how he’d held out so long. “I’d let him fuck me.”

  If Rhys’s candour offended Jevon, it didn’t show. “Which one?”

  “The darker dude.”

  Jevon shook his head. “It was the other way around.”

  “For real?”

  “Yup. I didn’t watch it all, so maybe they switched, but what I saw was so sensual and hot, I knew I’d like bottoming . . . if I ever found the balls to try.”

  If. A tiny word that held so much power. Rhys rarely topped, preferring the oblivion of having his own brains screwed out, but he wanted to fuck Jevon. Needed to. Even if it tied a bow around the heartbreak they were surely heading for.

  Rhys caught the eye of their server and signalled for the bill. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Eight

  Being with Rhys was the perfect contradiction. Jevon had never felt more like his true self, but with that peace came the relentless sensation that Rhys wasn’t entirely happy. That he wasn’t happy with Jevon.

  Or maybe he wasn’t happy at all.

  Neither option sat well.

  They left the pizza place and walked towards the Tube station. Rhys seemed on edge. Twitchy. Jevon grabbed his hand and tugged him into the nearest shop—a gentrified cupcake parlour. “You look like you need some sugar,” he responded to Rhys’s quizzical frown.

  “I just ate my bodyweight in pizza and hipster salad.”

  “Humour me. You like chocolate, right?”

  Rhys’s expression evened out. “I do. Not white chocolate though. That shit tastes like soap.”

  “Noted.” Jevon surveyed the options and picked out two cakes he hoped would put a smile back on Rhys’s face. Then he took Rhys’s hand again and held it tight, daring him to let go as they left the shop and continued to the underground.

  Rhys didn’t let go. They got on the Victoria line towards his Brick Lane flat and found a corner on the crowded train. Jevon half sat on a cushioned ledge and held Rhys against him, ghosting a subtle hand under his jacket, then under his clothes so his palm slid over Rhys’s warm skin. Somehow touching him had become the easiest thing in the world. Would it feel that way when they got back to Rhys’s flat? When their clothes came off and they were naked again? I hope so. But for once, screwing around was the last thing on Jevon’s mind.

  He dug his fingers into Rhys’s muscled back, kneading the tension he found there. “Are you okay?”

  The words were whispered, barely audible, but Rhys jerked like Jevon had shouted in his ear. “What?”

  Jevon raised an eyebrow, waiting for the question to compute.

  Rhys shrugged and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Shit. Sorry. I’m just knackered. I swear you’re like a tranquiliser to me.”

  “That boring, eh?”

  “The opposite. I meant that you chill me out.”

  “That’s sweet, but you don’t seem particularly chilled.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Sorry.”

  He didn’t elaborate. Merely pulled Jevon off the train at Victoria and guided him onto the District line. The second train was even more crowded than the first, and an elderly lady got between them, her shopping bags piled at their feet. By the time they’d helped her off the train at Aldgate and carried her bags above ground, the moment had passed.

  Rhys’s flat was just as Jevon remembered it. Which was lucky, because he’d been so drunk that night, he’d barely recalled his own name the next morning. The bed was already unfolded though. Wasn’t it a couch last time?

  Rhys chucked his jacket and shoes in the hallway cupboard and returned to where Jevon was hovering in the living room doorway. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just trying to remember the last time I was here.”

  “Ah.” Rhys ducked under Jevon’s arm. “Good luck with that. I was pretty sure I’d dreamt you until I found your sock under a pillow.”

  “My sock?”

  Rhys rummaged in a fortuitously nearby basket of clean clothes. “Yeah. I don’t think I could pull these off at work.”

  He tossed the sock to Jevon. It was black, covered in psychedelic unicorns, and belonged to his favourite pair. How had he not noticed it was missing? Because you’ve had nothing but Rhys on your mind since he put his dick in your mouth.

  The devil on Jevon’s shoulder was so on the money that he couldn’t speak. Just took his sock and stuffed it in his pocket, willing away the random flashes of the ecstasy-laced panic attacks he’d floated through on Rhys’s sofa bed.

  Rhys sat down heavily. Jevon dropped the paper bag from the cake shop on the coffee table and joined him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “Liar. You’re freaking out about something, and if it’s me, I can easily go. St. Pancreas to Bedford and I’ll be home soon enough.”

  “No! God, no.” Rhys’s hand shot out and he grabbed Jevon’s arm. “Don’t go. It’s not that, I swear.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Rhys shoved his free hand into his hair and tugged brutally on it until Jevon stopped him. “It’s this. Us. I want you so much, but I don’t know how to do any of the stuff that comes next. Or even if you want that, because you’re leaving again soon, and I don’t want to deal with that either.”

  “You don’t want to deal with it?”

  Rhys shook his head. “Fuck. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Right.” Jevon had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going, but the distress in Rhys’s face didn’t match up with ditching someone because they were too much hassle. Jevon didn’t know much about making men come, but he recognised imploding self-esteem like he knew his own mother. This isn’t about me. It couldn’t be or everything Jevon had learned about human beings—about Rhys—didn’t mean jack.

  He slid from the bed and onto his knees, inserting himself between Rhys’s legs before Rhys could protest. Their hands were still tightly entwined. Jevon brought them to his lips and kissed Rhys’s knuckles as he tried to put words to what Rhys needed to hear. “You think you’re not good enough.”

  It wasn’t quite what he meant to say, but the flicker in Rhys’s dark gaze said it was a start. “I’m not good enough for you, Jevon. I told you—I want you . . . I just—I— Fuck. Why is this so hard?”

  Jevon had no idea. He held his tongue and Rhys’s hands and willed him to continue.

  Rhys took a shaky breath. “I’m not like y
ou. I couldn’t have waited all this time to explore liking men—liking anyone. I’ve fucked so many people I can’t even count them. Am I really the kind of person you want to do this with?”

  “You think we should get married first?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Jevon said gently. “Just because I’ve never been with a dude, doesn’t mean I’m some kind of saint. I’ve been around the block, just not the same block as you.”

  “Jevon—”

  “Shh. I’m not asking you to sweep me off my feet here, son. I’m not even asking you to sleep with me if it doesn’t pan out.”

  “What if it does?”

  “Does what?”

  “Pan out,” Rhys said. “Then what? I’ve never been emotionally attached to someone I’ve fucked, but it’ll be different with you. Everything is.”

  “You can’t have it both ways. Either you’re too cold to ruin my precious little heart or too scared of getting hurt to dive in deep. Which is it?”

  “Does it matter at this point?”

  Jevon wasn’t altogether sure, and Rhys slut shaming himself was more than he could bear, but Rhys’s phone vibrating gave him a reprieve.

  Rhys pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Whoever it was made him frown. He silenced the call and tossed the phone aside, shaking his head at Jevon’s questioning frown. “My mate Dylan. I used to hook up with him and his boyfriend in that sex club in Romford. That’s who I am.”

  “Even if that’s true, what makes you so sure I’d think it was a bad thing? You don’t think I’d play in a sex club if I had the balls?”

  The growing bleakness in Rhys’s face stalled. “What?”

  Jevon tapped his fingers on Rhys’s knuckles. “It’s a fair question. And by assuming the answer, you’re putting words in my head that ain’t there. I’m a butt-sex virgin. Not a fucking monk.”

  A wild laugh tore out of Rhys. Exploded out of him. Like it was the first emotion to escape and make a mad dash for the exit. “I don’t know what to say.”