by Con Riley
Why had he ever thought that things might go differently between them?
It was as if they were tuned to the same frequency now, where before he had only heard white noise or harsh spikes of discordant static. Even when they were both behind the register, Marco was helpful rather than a hindrance. He assessed customers the same way Aiden did, stepping back from those who were only browsing and making conversation with patrons who enjoyed personal service.
Levi and Evan had finished restructuring the stockroom so it was much more organized, and after a call that took only a few minutes, Marco cleared even more space. He made Aiden a significant profit, easily selling the shipments that Aiden had ordered incorrectly, finding new homes for all those panties. Marco only pretended to look sorrowful as he sealed up the final carton.
He also searched for new lines using Aiden’s old stockroom PC, yawning dramatically while waiting for its pages to finish loading. Then he sourced brand-new suppliers, using his business contacts and charm to secure extended lines of credit. Marco uncovered the bones of Aiden’s business, revealing what Theo had already observed: Fundamentally, it was very strong and had potential to do even better.
In no time, everything was so well organized behind the scenes that all Aiden had to do was stand at the register, taking people’s money. He watched Marco, Evan, and Levi work hard to make his business better, and then he sat behind his rickety desk feeling more optimistic. It was a weird, almost uncomfortable feeling after years of struggling alone, barely treading water.
He tried hard to relax, and Marco helped him do so.
Marco teased Levi pretty much relentlessly, asking him to try on a new range of sheer, slim-cut shirts, then come out and model for them. The way Levi blinked before nodding, as if hypnotized by Marco’s warm gaze and cajoling accent, was kind of entertaining. But Levi still hesitated if he needed to use the register when Aiden stood close by it, and that was the one remaining work-related cloud on Aiden’s horizon.
Aiden made it clear that while he didn’t view Levi as a thief, the way he’d stored his wages in the register was very concerning. He couldn’t draw a line under what had happened until Levi explained his reasons. Levi always nodded, adding nothing, which left Aiden frustrated.
“Give him time,” Marco advised. “Is it possible that you’ve made rash mistakes about money before, and then decided no one would understand your motives? I have no doubt that he will tell you eventually. Or”—Marco watched as Levi carefully folded a patron’s purchases, smiling as he did so—“you can put some more pressure on him. He won’t struggle to find work, not with that work ethic, and then you’ll never hear his answer.”
Aiden was pleased, all over again, to have Marco’s perspective.
The only person who wasn’t initially pleased to see so much more of Marco was Evan. He was polite, but that was the most warmth he could muster. He showed more enthusiasm when Aiden explained his mom’s plan for them all to go to therapy. Their first session was set for the end of the week, and Evan had agreed to come, sounding interested and eager.
He’d frowned at the deck of cards Aiden pulled from his pocket, then wondered aloud about what he should bring. Aiden had cleared his desk, and Evan had dragged a carton to its opposite side, sketching ideas between them on the back of an old invoice. They’d sat knee to knee, and although discussing their dad wasn’t easy, after that first time Aiden could almost see the benefit.
Almost.
He liked the texts Evan sent him over the next few days too, even though his phone would save them up, only delivering them much later, in batches.
EVAN: I could bring a jar of peanut butter.
Aiden had read that text in the dark of his bedroom, and his loud snort had woken Marco. He’d smiled up at the ceiling as he explained his dad’s preference for one type over all others, choosing to do without rather than accept an inferior-to-him option.
EVAN: Or I could bring my SAM card.
As a kid, Evan would have lived at the Seattle Art Museum if he’d been given the option. It had been a place of safety, somewhere he visited a couple of times a week. His bad mood when he was too old for free admittance had become part of family folklore. David Daly giving him a membership had been a stroke of genius.
Aiden had sighed reading that text, then admitted to Marco, who had snuggled close beside him, that he’d been the one to renew Evan’s membership for the last five years. That had led to Marco murmuring, calling him a secret hero before kissing him softly, slowly, gently, until they’d both drifted back to sleep.
Aiden woke up the second morning of that week able to visualize a different kind of future. He’d gone to the store early, leaving Marco still sleeping, and had continued his conversation with his brother face to face as they worked together. Evan was nervous and excited, talking about their upcoming therapy session and about his and Joel’s grad school decisions. Aiden paid little attention. The closer it got to lunchtime, the more his gaze was drawn to the store doorway where he hoped to see his boyfriend.
Marco finally arrived, smiling and so good-looking, his own gaze fixed on Aiden.
Evan’s demeanor had changed in a heartbeat.
All it took was Marco’s warm smile of greeting, followed by his usual kisses to Aiden’s cheeks, for Evan’s smile to fade. His expression shifted, shuttering in the time it took for him to see a new hickey Aiden had left high up on Marco’s neck.
Aiden made a mental note to talk it over with him. Not the hickey per se, but how bad he felt about the way he’d acted when Evan and Joel had first gotten together. Now that he had Marco, he understood that restraint was almost impossible.
How could you hide feeling like this from other people? That question was on his mind pretty constantly.
He’d bitched about Evan looking loved up when he and Joel first got together, citing his mother’s mental health as his main consideration, but he’d had no clue back then how they must have felt keeping things on the down low. He hadn’t understood that jealousy—over losing his brother’s company, as well as over Evan’s deepening relationship with Joel—had shaped his responses either. He’d been an asshole. No wonder Evan was slow to warm to Marco.
Marco told him not to sweat it. “Evan will come to love me.” He’d gestured at his face and body. “No one can resist this package.” His tone had been teasing, his smile suddenly huge when Aiden grumbled that Marco’s “package” better only be for him. Then, after sharing some kisses in the stockroom, Marco became more serious. “He’s pissed off at the moment, and maybe a little worried.” He then answered Aiden’s unspoken question. “This year of study will be difficult for him without his boyfriend, if Joel decides to go to Portland while Evan stays here in Seattle. I imagine that making a final decision must be very stressful for them both. Perhaps Evan feels he has to stay here. Explaining his motivation for leaving the city without mentioning Joel might be impossible.” Marco had nudged the deck of cards on the desk with one outstretched finger. “These therapeutic conversations might be a chance to address more issues than your father.”
Aiden had understood what Marco meant: He and Evan should both come out to his mother.
“One thing at a time.”
Marco’s nod at Aiden’s words had been slow. Then he’d waited, drawing more words from Aiden simply by remaining silent.
“I want to, but I don’t know how much she can take.” How much could he dump on her without a repeat of her breakdown? Marco had nodded again, putting no pressure on him.
Aiden thought that over later, deciding that Marco was very clever.
In asking for nothing, he made Aiden want to give him everything that he had.
It was hard for Aiden to believe that Marco was the same man who had annoyed the crap out of him just a few weeks earlier.
He got home on the second day of that week to find Marco making ravioli. Just like his brother years before, he’d carefully spooned heaps of amazing-smelling filling onto thinly roll
ed sheets of pasta, taking care to make each one equal. He’d looked up as Aiden entered, caught in a moment of concentration so profound that his tongue tip was visible between his lips.
Aiden had crossed the kitchen in a moment, overwhelmed with memories of a different de Luca who’d suggested that making ravioli was an expression of commitment. He’d pulled his own de Luca to him, holding him close even as Marco struggled, warning him of his floury hands.
Aiden’s description of watching Ben make his own ravioli had been slow and halting. He described his crush, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with Marco as he did so. When he confessed that the worst thing about house-sitting had been coming face to face with a ghost, Marco asked him what he meant.
“You look so alike.”
“And?” Marco’s expression had been amused. “There are even more of us in Milan. Does this mean you intend to hit on my brothers too? I’m sorry to tell you that the others are all straight and very stupid.” His kiss had been flavored with red wine. “Is this is why you used to look at me as if I’d hurt you?” He’d paused when Aiden shrugged. “And do you still wish you could be with him?”
Aiden’s “No!” had been emphatic. “I didn’t even know him. Not really. It was all in my head.” His hands gripped Marco’s hips, pulling him as close as he could get. “Meeting you reminded me, that’s all. It reminded me of how dumb I was, and how much I could have hurt people who didn’t deserve it.”
“Theo?”
Marco sighed at Aiden’s rough “Yeah.”
“You are too hard on yourself, tesoro. It sounds as if my brother gave you good advice. Perhaps you should finally let yourself take it. Relax, and learn to share with people who care about you.”
They’d made out against the counter before Aiden had lifted Marco onto it. Marco’s urging for him to be careful of their dinner had faded into low groans as Aiden blew him. The flour had brushed out of Aiden’s dress pants later, just as it had washed out of his hair, where Marco’s hands had tightly clutched him. But even after they were both showered clean, he still saw the ghost of flour across Marco’s nose—a mental image that left him smiling.
Then at times Marco was so annoying that Aiden wondered how he’d ever gotten past it. He flooded Aiden’s inbox with links to walk-in clinics.
“Heartburn can be a sign of underlying issues. You should take care of yourself before you have real problems.”
Aiden’s only problem, he explained, was finding time to wait in line.
Marco had raised one eyebrow.
“And I have other things to spend my cash on.” That comment was met with a slow nod as Marco acknowledged his real reason.
“Let me do this one thing for you? I will book you an appointment. Joel has sent me a list of doctors.”
Maybe Aiden would have reacted differently if that name hadn’t been mentioned. All he knew was that Joel and Marco having discussions about him left him irked. He accepted that his dislike was most likely irrational. Lately he could see that he’d unfairly transferred a whole lot of his frustration onto his brother’s boyfriend’s shoulders. Marco hadn’t mentioned the subject again, pressing himself up against Aiden’s resolutely turned back in bed until he’d changed position. Aiden woke later with pins and needles in his fingers where Marco still held his hand.
Even in his sleep, Marco wouldn’t let him go.
On the third day, Marco slept in again. He’d gotten up during the night to make some transatlantic calls and had disturbed Aiden when he’d climbed back into their bed. His uncharacteristic tossing and turning had then roused Aiden even further.
“You okay?”
Marco had been noncommittal, thumping his pillow into shape before flopping down on his belly.
“Marco. What’s the matter?” He’d persisted until Marco had rolled over.
“Mamma isn’t answering her phone. It is probably nothing. She is getting forgetful. She probably went out with my brothers and left her phone at home.”
He had sounded worried, so Aiden had pulled him closer. “Did you call any of your brothers?”
“I left some messages. This is not unusual. She often forgets to charge her phone or leaves it in the last purse she used. I’ll try again first thing tomorrow.”
He slept through Aiden showering in the morning, sheets still pulled up to his shoulders, so Aiden left him sleeping.
In hindsight, Aiden wished he hadn’t.
Later that morning, he stood watching a couple of kids lurking near the store doorway. Aiden wondered idly if he should go over and let them know he had his eye on them. They weren’t his usual customers—too young and grungy looking. Then he tried to put a de Luca-style positive spin on the shifty way they peered around the store.
Perhaps they just needed help purchasing something for one of their dads—maybe for a birthday. Or maybe they were looking for a friend they’d lost in the already-busy mall. He walked toward them, taking in the way they both held defensively onto their beat-up skateboards.
“Looking for something in particular?”
Cool pale-blue eyes met his from under a brighter-blue bandana.
“Someone, not something,” the taller kid said, peering around Aiden, his eyes scanning the far corners of the store. “This is where Levi Medina works, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but he’s not due here for a while. Want me to give him a message?” Seeing kids like this, who looked no more than sixteen, made Aiden rethink his perception of his sales clerk. He was just eighteen, yet acted so much older.
The shorter kid looked over his shoulder before facing Aiden’s way again. “Tell him we heard Kas is looking for him.” They left then, dropping their boards, shooting away even though skateboarding wasn’t allowed inside the mall.
It wasn’t the words that particularly stayed with Aiden, but rather the way they’d been uttered—quietly and emphatically as if someone might overhear them, and that overhearing might cause trouble.
He passed on their message, describing what the kids had looked like, when Levi arrived later.
Levi froze midstretch as he pulled his work shirt on, muffling a sudden “Shit.” Then he hurried out to the front, saying nothing further.
That was weird, Aiden thought, as was the way Marco didn’t arrive at lunchtime. He checked his phone several times, frowning at its clouded display as if that would encourage it to ring. When he tried to call Marco instead, it went immediately to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.
He stood behind the register frowning until Levi asked why he was still there.
“Isn’t this your usual lunch-date day?”
Of course. Marco was probably with Paul and Jack. He looked at his watch. They’d probably already left for the diner. He went out to the office, about to lock his computer before heading to meet them, when Marco’s emailed list of doctors caught his eye. That’s all Marco had done—asked Aiden to take care of himself, then sent him links to do so whenever he was ready.
Making a snap decision, this time Aiden left Marco a voicemail message as he headed out, saying that he had to run some errands and he’d catch up with him later.
He turned off his cell as advised by the signs at the first clinic he got to. It was next to an ER and was busy—chock full of screaming babies and people who looked really sick. Finding out that the wait time there was several hours made him hurry to another. The second clinic was just as noisy. The receptionist glared when he dared to multitask, asking if he could combine seeing a practitioner about heartburn with a full sexual health screening. She’d shoved a pamphlet under the glass screen between them and then loudly called out, “Next!”
She’d passed him a list of sexual health clinics. This time Aiden called ahead, listening through his phone’s crackle to the voice of someone who actually sounded human. They told him to come along. The doctor working that day would most likely help him.
Aiden was glad he’d decided to keep looking. This final clinic was homely but much
more welcoming. He looked out the window, watching clouds roll in, and then passed some time reading information displayed on the notice board.
Groups for LGBTQIA teens were pinned next to posters advertising homeless shelters.
Aiden looked closely at one notice.
Is someone in your life living with addiction?
You don’t have to cope alone.
Let other people help you.
The message was bold and black, its font distinctive, making quite an impact. Aiden’s gaze skimmed over the contact number before stuttering to a halt. He pulled out his cell, checking in his list of contacts before turning it off again—the number matched the shelter where Evan and Joel helped out.
Lost in a moment of reminiscence, he didn’t respond when a nurse called him back for his turn with the doctor. He stared instead, recalling Joel sending him a similarly phrased message when he’d first stuck his nose into their family business. He’d written virtually the same thing, saying that Aiden’s mom needed different support.
“Mr. Daly?” A nurse finally got his attention, taking him to a treatment room where he took Aiden’s vitals. Aiden then sat alone for a few minutes, lost in thought again, before a low-pitched voice greeted him.
Aiden looked up to see a smiling, tired-looking man maybe a few years older than him. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners, suggesting gentle humor. “I’m Dr. Azizi.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”
The doctor discussed Aiden’s reasons for coming. He addressed the panel of sexual health tests first, accompanying them with the usual safe-sex warnings, his humor revealed as he described saliva as “badass” when it came to killing microbes. He added, “But it’s still best if we don’t engage unless we’re with a tested partner we have trust in, and make use of condoms.”
His warning was explicit, and Aiden quickly nodded. “My partner’s latest tests were clear, and we’ve only had safe sex so far.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Now, about your other issue . . . .”
