Us Again

by Nell Iris

  He lifts his head and looks at me with those impossibly big eyes. “You still love me? Even though I was horrendous to you?”

  I cup his cheek and sweep my thumb under his eye, rubbing lightly, as if to check if I can erase the blackness. “That’s not something I can just turn off, you know.”

  His reply is vehement. “I don’t know. I don’t know how it feels to love anyone.”

  “Oh, honey. Of course, you do. You love me. At least you used to.”

  “How…” He clears his throat. “How do you know?”

  “How do I know you loved me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You showed me every day. The way you touched me and looked at me and took care of me and wanted me to feel good. All those fabulous meals you cooked for me. The way you listened to me complain about work.” I slide my hand around his neck and tug gently until he understands what I want, then lies down on top of me again. “But most of all, you showed me with your kisses.”

  “What do you mean?” He’s so close, his lips touch my skin when he talks.

  “You kissed me with your entire being. Like it was the best thing in the world. And you made these cute sounds that curled my toes in my boots.”

  “Wow,” he exhales.

  “Mhm.”

  “I never knew.”

  That makes my heart hurt. What kind of life did he live before we met if he couldn’t recognize love? “How could you not know, Sammy?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  He falls silent, but I can almost hear him think. I let him mull it over as I caress him, drag my big paw that spans half the width of his back, up and down in a soothing motion. His ribs are easily noticeable under my fingers, like speedbumps on a road, and I draw in a stuttering breath. I press a kiss on the top of his head, and he shivers.

  “Laura…my mother…she…” His grip on me tightens. “She’s not…let’s just say she’s not going to win the parent-of-the-year award. Ever.” He chuckles out a humorless sound, and the way he holds himself against my body—stiff, unmoving—tells me he’s doing his best not to fall apart.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She wasn’t always like that. At least that’s what David says. She used to be a regular mom until our dad died in a car crash.” Puffs of air tickle my neck as he talks, and I love having him close again, even if I wish the circumstances were different. “I don’t remember any of it. I was barely a year old when he died. But David was almost six and remembers cuddles and homemade birthday cakes and teaching him how to read. I never had that. I think that makes it harder on him than on me.”

  I don’t know Sammy’s brother and have no way of knowing if that’s true or not. But judging from our brief encounter earlier, I’m sure David was better off than Sammy.

  My gentle, sensitive Sammy. I’d bet my last fucking dime he had a much harder time coping.

  Sammy resumes his story. His voice is completely devoid of emotion and every word spilling out of his mouth makes me angrier and angrier until all I want to do is scream and punch someone and wrap Sammy in my arms and growl at anyone trying to hurt him ever again.

  Laura Hayes lost her marbles after her husband died. I’m sure there’s a more politically correct term for what happened to her, but in this moment—with her son trembling in my arms—I don’t give a shit.

  She started drinking. Stayed out all night partying, leaving David and Sammy alone. After that came the men—Sammy is a little fuzzy on the timeline—but she brought a new guy home every night and never bothered to hide what she did.

  Sammy didn’t understand what was happening—what he was hearing—at first, and David protected him for as long as he was able. He knew Sammy hated the sounds that came out of their mother’s bedroom; they made his skin crawl and his stomach churn, and the brothers stayed out of the house as much as possible.

  The neighbors eventually started noticing, but at the first sign of grumbles, she packed up her sons and moved. They never lived in one place long enough for Social Services to realize what was going on or for the boys to make friends. Somehow, she managed to make sure they stayed in school, and that became Sammy’s lifeline. He found peace and empowerment in learning and focused all his energy on it. After he read all the books provided by his teacher, he went looking for more and found the library, where he spent most of his afternoons, doing his homework, or reading just for fun.

  It was in the library he learned the meaning of the word whore.

  He heard it during a loud argument between Laura and David after she had to go to a meeting with the principal because his brother had been in a fight and she was furious at him. David had punched three older guys when they’d called their mom a whore. “You don’t beat up someone for telling the truth,” Laura yelled at David. When Sammy asked what “whore” meant, neither of them answered, but he knew where to find answers. He wasn’t surprised at what he found. He was more surprised to learn that not all mothers acted like his.

  “One afternoon I had to leave the library early,” Sammy explains. Words pour out of him as though he’s relieved to finally share his big secret with someone. “They had a water leak and closed the place for a few days. Laura knew I never got home before closing time and wasn’t expecting me. I walked in…on her having sex. They were naked, except the guy wore his socks. She was bent over the dining table and he fucked her from behind. Slapped her. She made these horrid noises…I’ll never forget them. They didn’t see me, so I snuck out and waited in the park until the time I was supposed to come home. When I got back, they were dressed but yelled at each other.”

  A shiver racks his body, so severe I fear it will tear him apart. He grips my side and squeezes until I’m convinced I’m gonna be black and blue tomorrow. I let him. His silence grows. Stretches out for several minutes, and I don’t know if I want to hear the rest, but my instinct tells me to let him finish his appalling tale. To let him get it out in the open once and for all.

  I’m surprised my hands don’t shake as I stroke his back, but my insides do. They shake and scream and cry over little Sammy and what he had to endure. I can’t fathom how he could grow up to be such an amazing guy with that kind of upbringing.

  “The guy, whoever he was, wanted Laura to stop whoring around and be with him,” Sammy continues. “He would take care of her and us, he said. She just laughed. Loud and cackling, and I remember thinking she sounded like a witch. She refused, and he screamed that he loved her and asked if that meant nothing to her. And she…cackled that weird laughter and shouted back. ‘Love? Why the fuck would I want love? All love ever got me was a broken heart and two stupid fucking brats that destroyed my fucking life.’”

  My mouth opens and closes several times, and I swallow big gulps of air to stop the rage burning in my chest from lighting me on fire from within. “I’m gonna kill her,” I growl between clenched teeth.

  “Be my guest. But you have to find her first. I moved out on my eighteenth birthday and haven’t seen her since. I have no idea where she is and frankly—” he lowers his voice to a whisper “—I don’t care.”

  “I can’t say I blame you.”

  “No?”

  “Of course not. No one should have to live through what you did. That shit ain’t right.”

  He clings to me as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear. I bury my nose in his hair and breathe him in, hoping his familiar scent will calm my rage. When he hasn’t spoken for several minutes, I ask, “I still don’t understand what this has to do with us. Why you broke up with me.”

  Sammy lifts his head and props himself up on an elbow. With his free hand, he cups my cheek and runs his fingers through my beard, sending a trail of goosebumps all the way from the base of my neck to my tailbone.

  “Don’t you see?” he whispers. “When you said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, I got scared. What if…what if I’m like her? What if I hurt you like that? What if I’m unable to lov
e someone at all?”

  My heart cracks open. “How can you even think that? You’re nothing like her!”

  “How do you know?” His fingers follow the shape of my ear and his gaze flits from one place to the next, never leaving my face but not really focusing either.

  “Did you ever cheat on me when we were together?”

  “What? No! I would never do that!” His answer is immediate and emphatic.

  “Did you want to? Did you dream of finding another guy to hook up with?”

  “No! How can you even think that?”

  “I don’t, that’s what I’m trying to say. How about after we broke up. How many guys have you slept with?”

  His eyes grow wider for every question. “No one.”

  “And why is that, Sammy?”

  “It wouldn’t feel right to be with someone when I still miss you.”

  His admission causes an eruption of flutters in my belly, but I keep my focus on him. Nothing is more important at this moment. “And why do you think that is?”

  “I…don’t know?”

  “Wanna know what I think?”

  He nods.

  With tender fingers, I grab his chin and make him look at me. “I think it’s because you’re a sweet and loyal and loving guy. You’re nothing like Laura Hayes.”

  His eyes search mine. I look back at him. Wanting—needing—him to read the truth in my gaze. A few seconds pass before he gives a slight nod and kisses me.

  The spark is so intense, I fear we will set the hospital on fire, but he pulls back before I need to call 911. He retakes his spot on my shoulder. “I trust you. I believe that you believe that.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “No. I’ll…try, though. I promise I’ll try.”

  “I’ll help. I’ll make you see it.”

  “How do you plan on doing that?” A little bit of cheekiness finds its way into his voice.

  My body relaxes—I didn’t realize I was so tense—and I can breathe easier. “I’ll show you. Every day until you believe it, too.”

  His breath hitches. “Every day?”

  “Every. Day.”

  He jerks up his head and scrambles on top of me. Knees framing my hips. Hands gripping my shoulders. “You fucking better,” he mutters.

  Before I can question his use of profanity, he claims my mouth with warm, demanding lips, and all rational thoughts abandon me.

  * * * *

  Eighteen months later

  I re-read Sammy’s text for the tenth time after I park next to his toy car.

  Meet me in our spot after work. XO.

  I jump out of my truck. I was delayed at the office and didn’t have time to go home and change. So, here I am, in my fancy pinstriped suit and polished shoes far more suitable for the boardroom than a walk through the woods.

  I pull off my tie, roll it up, and stuff it in my pocket. Then I shrug off my suit coat and throw it in the back seat. With a press to the key fob, my baby is locked, and I head down the narrow footpath.

  Descending carefully—so I won’t slip on the yellow leaves covering the ground and fall on my ass—I roll up my sleeves. After I open the two top buttons on my lavender shirt, I can finally breathe again. I love my job as a CFO; it’s just too bad that the office dress code prohibits my comfiest jeans and one of my many, many flannel shirts.

  I see him long before he notices me. As usual, he’s absorbed by his book and totally oblivious to what goes on around him. Give that man a novel and he could read his way through an entire death metal concert without being bothered.

  I call his name so I won’t startle him. He looks up and his face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the sun.

  “Care Bear!” He leaps to his feet and throws himself into my arms when I’m close enough.

  I chuckle and hug him. Hard.

  He flings his arms around my neck and jumps. I catch his ass in my paws as he hooks his feet on the small of my back and lets out a pleased sound.

  “You’re my little monkey boy, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up,” he mumbles and presses his open mouth against my neck. My dick perks up and I squeeze his delicious butt as I walk us to the bench. Sammy slides his hand to my shirt, pops open the third button, and slips his hand under the fabric and rests his palm on my hairy chest. I shake my head. He can never keep his hands away from my fur. Not that I’m complaining.

  When we’re safely seated, he kisses me. His hot, soft lips make me weak in the knees, and I’m happy we’re no longer standing. He licks against the seam of my mouth and I open up and let him in.

  He’s a sloppy kisser. He uses his tongue and presses wet, openmouthed kisses everywhere he can reach, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake.

  I fucking love it.

  He grinds against my rapidly growing cock and I moan into his mouth. My hands are still cupping his ass and I press him closer to me, his hardness poking me in my belly, driving me out of my mind.

  The situation is incredibly hot. There are never a lot of people at this particular spot, but we are out in the open where anyone can see. And he doesn’t seem to give a damn, just keeps kissing me. Keeps petting my fur and keeps rubbing on my dick.

  I tear my mouth away from him. “Sammy,” I pant, “you gotta stop. I’m gonna blow.”

  His mouth twists into a grin, and he shuffles back an inch or two on my lap and looks down at the four-man tent I’m pitching in my pants. His eyes crinkle and he collapses in a fit of giggles against my chest. “Oh, my God, I didn’t mean to maul you, but you look so delicious in your work clothes, I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I don’t mind being mauled. I just don’t wanna have to explain a huge cum stain in my pants to the dry cleaners.”

  My words make him laugh even harder, and I can’t take my eyes off him.

  It’s as if he’s let go this last year and a half. Like he decided to go for it and jump off the cliff and trust I would be there to catch him. He’s happy these days, in a way I’ve never seen before. Not even our first time together. And he’s healthier. He’s back to his old weight, and after a lot of excellent help, he’s eating regularly. I rarely need to remind him these days.

  He climbs off my lap. Sitting cross-legged next to me with a cheeky glint in his eyes, he gives my cock a light pat and says, “We’ll continue where we left off later.”

  I groan. “Don’t pet it if you don’t intend to follow through.”

  “Awww, poor Care Bear.”

  “Imp.”

  “Grump.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I snort. Then I lean in and kiss him. It’s quick and chaste and the complete opposite of what we did a few moments earlier, but he’s so kissable, I can’t help myself. “I hope you weren’t planning on a hike,” I say, gesturing to my shoes.

  He shakes his head.

  “So, what did you want?”

  He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and rubs a knuckle against his chin. Then he straightens his back and reaches for my hand, sandwiching it between his two. “Do you remember that question you asked me?”

  I pinch my eyebrows together. “What question?”

  “You know the one…” He clears his throat. “The one that scared me and made me drive you away?”

  Oh! “Yes, I remember.”

  “I…want you to ask it again.”

  My heart thumps hard in my chest. “You do?”

  He nods fervently. “I’m ready for it now.”

  “You sure?” The last thing I want is to spook him again, but I desperately crave what I believe he’s offering. We’ve grown incredibly close over the last year, and it’s painful to say goodbye to him and go back home at night. I never want to do that again. I want to wake up next to him every morning for the rest of my fucking life.

  I look at him. Really look. I see no hesitation, only contentment and happiness. A steady gaze. A small smile playing on his lips as he waits patiently for me to ask him to move in together. To fully be “us” again.
/>   “Sammy?”

  “Yes, Alexander?”

  “I know what you want me to ask, but do you remember what else I said that time?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down several times, and he nods.

  “How about I ask you that question instead?”

  “Are you saying that you want to ask me to…” His voice trails off and he mouths the rest of the sentence. Marry you?

  “Mhm. Do you think you’re ready for that question?”

  Tears well up in his eyes as he lets go of my hand and crawls onto my lap. This time, there’s no dirty grinding. Just his breath against my cheek. His heartbeat against mine.

  And then. In a barely audible whisper, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  THE END

  ABOUT NELL IRIS

  Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along but, let’s face it, she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (“Make it so”). She loves words, poetry, wine, and Sudoku, and absolutely adores elephants!

  Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender, or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

  Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love.

  Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.

  For more information, visit nelliris.com.

  ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

  JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!