Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  My phone chimed, alerting me to an incoming text. Hallelujah!

  Him: sorry about yesterday. 2 far out to get a connection. u sound down. r u? miss u lots. don’t give up on me, k? love u more than u know.

  Me: Really?

  My fingers flew over the tiny letters, and I let him have it. I was sick and tired of being told I was loved, but then when it came right down to it, I wasn’t. Deserting me for some godforsaken cause was not my idea of true love.

  Me: then why aren’t u here?

  Him: stop acting like a lil cunt!

  The blood rushed to my head. In the three years we’d been together, he’d never called me that, and I lost it!

  Me: who r u calling a cunt u selfish prick

  Him: don’t have time 4 this shit.

  Me: make time!!!

  Him: keeping contact with u is against regs

  Me: u’re not in the army yet.

  Him: have 2 act like I am.

  Me: u’ve been gone less than a week and u’ve already changed.

  Him: you want me back in one piece or not?

  Me: course I do!

  Him: gotta act like a soldier. stop bitching.

  Me: up yours!

  Him: signing off!

  Me: don’t u dare!

  He never replied so I knew he’d disconnected. That fucker! Now I was really and truly pissed. Four days gone and he was acting like General Patton. Trent had made me watch that movie a million times, and even though George C. Scott was only acting the part, he’d done such a damn good job, I hated Patton’s guts. Trent, on the other hand, loved him. The general was one of his heroes, and we argued endlessly about Patton’s character and the repercussions of his underhanded and oftentimes erratic behavior. I thought he was an arrogant asshole, whereas Trent thought his every move was justified.

  Trent’s metamorphosis from financial planner to mercenary to a member of the elite Special Forces would get worse the longer he stayed in that environment. Seriously, I was deluding myself into thinking he’d get this out of his system. It was like shoving a crack addict into a vat of the white stuff. No way in hell would he give this up once he’d had another taste.

  I threw myself on the bed and covered my face with a pillow. Angry tears were running down my cheeks, and for the first time in a very, very long time, I thought about cutting—and not the kinky knife play that sent me off to subspace, but the bad kind I’d used as a form of pain management in the past. My personal demon was rearing its ugly head again, and it scared the crap out of me. I threw the pillow aside, went to the bathroom to rinse my face, and left the room.

  There were several bars in the hotel, and I picked the first one I came across. Vodka shots would be my poison of choice as the thought of more sake or Kirin beer made me gag. I was well on my way to a comfortable high when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around and looked into Cole’s worried face.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “You were asleep, so I thought I’d have a couple of drinks to relax. Can’t seem to shake the jet lag.”

  “Plausible explanation but I don’t believe a word. Why are you down here getting shit-faced?”

  “How did you even find me?”

  “I asked the concierge if he’d seen you, and he pointed me this way.”

  “Go back upstairs, Cole. I’m not in the mood for company.”

  “I’m hungry and want some dinner.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Alcohol never solved anything.”

  “It helps to dull the edges.”

  “Of what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Let’s compromise. You can drink while I have something to eat.”

  I was reluctant to leave the bar, but at least Cole was asking and not demanding.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Something Western.”

  “I’m shocked. I was sure you’d opt for Japanese again.”

  “It’s nice to change things up once in a while.”

  We picked Italian this time and shared a meatless lasagna. I hadn’t planned on eating, but the dish looked amazing and tasted just as good. We also enjoyed a bottle of excellent Bordeaux Cole had picked out.

  “I didn’t know you were such a wine connoisseur.”

  Cole chuckled. “Don’t be so impressed. The little knowledge I have comes from Bryce.”

  “He’s a great guy,” I said. “You should really reconsider your decision.”

  “We remain good friends, Sloan.”

  I nodded. There didn’t seem any point in pursuing the topic when he’d answered with such finality.

  “Speaking of friends,” Cole said, putting down his glass. “I know my track record hasn’t been exemplary, but at one time, you considered me one of yours. I wish you’d tell me what’s troubling you. We may not solve anything, but it’s better to get it off your chest, and I’m more than happy to listen.”

  It was a good thing he couldn’t see the tears flooding my eyes upon hearing his statement. I was touched by Cole’s thoughtful words, especially his reminder that we were friends above all else. I took another sip of wine to calm down. Tears were for losers and always put you behind the argument, instead of front and center. I was done playing the weeping willow. It would be a relief to discuss my concerns with someone who had a brain and knew me like a book. Then again, I wasn’t sure how impartial Cole could be; after all, Trent was his rival, no matter how this played out. Would he be able to give me a fair assessment of my current crisis without letting the past cloud his judgment? I supposed there was only one way to find out, so I drained my wine glass and began to talk.

  He didn’t interrupt, and by the time I finished, he looked upset. Now it was his turn to pick up his goblet and swallow the contents in two gulps.

  “You think it’s hopeless?” I prompted. “What are the odds he’ll turn down the offer from Uncle Sam?”

  “I’ve only known him for three years, and certainly not intimately, so it’s hard to predict. I honestly thought you meant more to him than his career.”

  “So did I.”

  “The ugly side of me wants to remind you that I told you so, but it would be counterproductive and not entirely true. Trent has given you something I never could: awareness of your self-worth. It’s disturbing to see you in pain again. It’s not like I haven’t dragged you through hell enough.”

  “This isn’t about you, Cole.”

  “I know. Have you made your feelings crystal clear?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you’re supposed to play the waiting game for six weeks? You were never good at that.”

  “You got that right,” I said sardonically. “Patience has never been one of my strong suits, and even worse is being put in this position again.”

  He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  “Playing second fiddle to something much bigger than me. With you it was the kids, and now it’s the Army. How in fuck do I compete with that? There’s no goddamn way I can,” I said despairingly.

  He reached for my hand and folded it in his. “Sloan, I’m sorry.”

  It was either his tone or his touch, but something hit a nerve. My tears were running down my cheeks, and I didn’t make any attempt to staunch them. Maybe I just needed a good cry, and Cole’s wide shoulders were handy.

  “Why don’t we drown our sorrows in music,” he suggested.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s go see if there’s a piano bar or something equally good. A little rock and roll could go a long way tonight, and it’s better than sitting here feeling despondent and getting shit-faced.”

  His solution was certainly the last thing I would have expected from Cole, but it did make sense. I couldn’t change the outcome of this current crisis with Trent, booze notwithstanding, and flaying the skin off my thighs was a temporary fix. A slide back into the hell I’d left behind was unacceptable.

  We lucked out an
d found a karaoke bar in the hotel. Not surprising since we were in the country that invented the pastime that had swept the world and satisfied the hearts of a thousand wannabe singers. It was fairly crowded, but a kind waiter spotted us, glanced at Freddie, and, when he realized Cole was blind, moved heaven and earth to rustle up a table close to the stage. Cole and I got comfortable, and Freddie put his head on his paws and resumed his nap.

  There was no shortage of willing participants at the microphone, and they ran the gamut from mediocre to pretty damned good. I nursed a vodka tonic but stopped guzzling the drinks like a thirsty camel. Cole was right to suggest this venue, and I felt myself relaxing. I noticed quite a few couples dancing and was shocked once again when Cole asked me if I might want to dance.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t you think I’m capable?”

  “We’ve never danced before.”

  “There’s always a first time for everything.”

  “No shit,” I said, standing and moving trancelike. I guided him through the crowded room, but when we got to the dance floor, he took me in his arms confidently, and we began to sway to the sound of Natalie Cole in the background. She wasn’t one of my favorites, but she was singing a familiar tune, and I went with the flow. Cole was surprisingly graceful, and I let him lead.

  After a few minutes, I whispered, “This is nice.”

  “Isn’t it?” he said. “John suggested I take up something physical after my suicide attempt, and ballroom dancing was one of the options. Don’t ask me why I jumped on it, but now I’m glad. It gives me a chance to show off my skills and take your mind off your troubles.”

  His breath was warm against my ear, and his body felt good pressed against mine. We’d always been a good fit, and for a brief moment, I was able to imagine we were a couple again.

  “Thank you for distracting me,” I said sincerely.

  “For once I can reciprocate, Sloan. It seems like you’ve done nothing but help me for as long as I can remember. It feels good to exchange roles.”

  We didn’t say much more after that but danced through two more songs. When they switched to disco, it was almost a relief. My body had begun to respond to Cole’s touch and the sheer pleasure of another male pressed close. The slight trembling in his arms and the hard lump against my groin told me he was feeling it as well. I could sense his disappointment as I pushed him away and commented jokingly that I hadn’t mastered my Travolta moves. He gave me a half smile and allowed me to lead him back to our table.

  Freddie sat up as soon as he saw us and wagged happily. “Come on, boy,” Cole said softly. “Time for bed.”

  Chapter 13

  A THOUSAND scenarios were going through my head as we made our way upstairs. Cole didn’t say a word and paid more attention to Freddie than was necessary. He was probably trying to find something to do with his hands and body so he wouldn’t slam me up against the side of the elevator and have his way with me. I had to admire his restraint. He’d come a long way from the needy wreck who’d tried to talk me into being his boy toy/mistress. This Cole was a lot more in control, and there was a tiny part of me that wished he’d lose it. I needed a solid pounding to counterbalance the horrible feeling of being rejected by Trent. My rational side acknowledged that it would be a monumental disaster, one that could destroy our friendship forever. Ignoring the physical pull was much more sensible.

  We said good night and entered our individual rooms. I locked the door that separated us so Cole wouldn’t be tempted, although I was the one more likely to cave. I’d had too much to drink and was thinking with my cock. Deciding to solve the problem with my own hands, I headed straight for the bathroom and sat on the edge of the sunken tub. It was over in a few minutes. A tug here, a little twist there, and I was spewing cum all over the tiles. I cleaned up my mess and decided a long, hot soak would go a long way to relax me, so I turned on the tap and waited for tub to fill. Like a dumbass, I grabbed my phone to see if Trent had ever surfaced after that last exchange. I was shocked to see an e-mail rather than a text, and I clicked on it immediately.

  Sorry for being a jerk, but you have no idea what I’m dealing with. Watching my back has taken on a whole new meaning. I’d forgotten what this is like. Not that I hate it, but it’ll take a few more days to get back in the killing zone. No matter what the outcome, believe me when I say I love you. Start thinking like a military spouse. It’ll make this a lot easier on both of us….

  What the fuck? I would never start thinking like that. Never, ever… and just to make sure I didn’t slip up and hit reply while my blood was boiling and booze was giving me false courage, I tossed the phone out to the room and heard it land against the wall with a dull thud. It was protected by an OtterBox casing, so I wasn’t worried; it was also far enough away that getting out of a comfortable tub to retrieve it and send back a steady stream of hate mail would be unlikely at this point. I could use some downtime and counted on the massaging jets of the whirlpool tub to provide what I needed. In the morning, I’d meditate, a good habit Trent had instilled in me and one I’d neglected since we started this trip. It helped to start out my day in the right frame of mind and gave me the necessary tools to combat residual fears of unworthiness.

  It had been a long and difficult road to overcome my general lack of confidence and self-worth, but entering my third decade with a string of modeling successes behind me and a solid relationship with a man who epitomized my ideal had proven that I was entitled to everything I had. Our current crisis had more to do with Trent’s past than mine. I had to stop taking his dilemma personally and start thinking as a concerned partner instead of a selfish child.

  Could we make this work if he decided to reenlist? If I set my mind to it, I knew I could do anything, but was it the wisest course of action for us as a couple? There were thousands of men and women who had loved ones in military positions of one sort or another, and they managed to cope. Why was I so resistant to the idea? Distance would factor heavily into the equation, and not knowing from one minute to the next if Trent survived to enjoy another sunrise was another dimension of hell I’d never had to deal with in the past. Did I have the stamina for that? A great man became greater with the right partner when it came right down to it. History had proven that over and over. Most of the famous names in the world were always attached to a man or woman at home who gave them unconditional love and support. Could I join ranks with them and be the power behind the throne, so to speak, while going on about my day without freaking out every time the phone rang or I saw a military vehicle?

  Deluding myself into thinking I could compartmentalize when I’d never been able to do it in the past was unrealistic. It was a learned skill I’d never mastered because I was all for the here and now. Living without Trent for days, weeks, and even months on end would be an extreme hardship, and that, above all else, was what I had to envision. Imagining lonely nights and empty days minus his quick smile and encouraging support were making me miserable.

  Searching for something positive to get me out of this dark mood, I closed my eyes, leaned my head on the small pillow built into the tub, and gave over to my memories. We were back on the yacht on our way to Provincetown, toasting our future with a magnum of champagne. It had been a warm night on a calm sea, the surroundings incredible, and the staff discreetly out of sight. We were dressed in our wedding finery—Scottish attire for him and a dove gray tuxedo for me. I was tripping on how gorgeous he looked and thinking how lucky I was to be in that time and place after all I’d been through in the previous three years. We’d exchanged vows underneath a blanket of stars, and at the end, he’d taken me by the hand to our cabin and gave me the one thing he’d been holding back for so long.

  Curling my fingers around my rising cock, I imagined entering Trent and relived the incredible sensation of breaching him for the first time. He was tight and shaking with tension, but I opened him up with infinite patience, and we reached the pinnacle of sexual heights as one, ca
pping off the evening with his surrender. He’d given me his almost virgin ass as a wedding present, and surely there was no better proof that he loved me with all his heart. I groaned as I stroked my length, using the soapy water to imagine the slippery slide into Trent’s warm body. His neck was bent forward, and I lapped at the beads of sweat that dotted his back while he braced for my invasion. He’d admitted he was scared, not so much by my size but by lingering thoughts of the trauma he’d endured, and I talked him through it, just like he’d walked me through my worst episodes right after Cole’s betrayal.

  We were good for each other—more than good, we were goddamn perfect together—and I cried out his name as I came, shooting spunk into the bubbling water. As soon as I opened my eyes, reality set in, and I was all too aware that I was alone. This is what it would be like married to a military man. Self-service and phone sex until we were too old to care or he was reassigned someplace close to home. I knew there was more to marriage than sex, but when it was missing after being an ongoing and very enjoyable presence for so long, it would become a huge problem. What were the odds we’d survive without cheating? Now that gays in the military were no longer slinking around in the closet, it was very likely that some asshole out there would poach Trent.

  I shook that disgusting thought away and stepped out of the tub. Releasing the plug, I watched as the water gurgled down the drain, then took the handheld sprayer and hosed down the sides of the tub meticulously. The cleaning crew would do it again tomorrow, but I did the best I could without getting down on my hands and knees and scrubbing. It’s not like I was HIV positive or anything, but common courtesy had been drummed into me from an early age, and I couldn’t just walk away from my own mess. When the porcelain was restored to its former gleaming self, I grabbed a towel, dried off, and headed to bed.

  I woke up after five hours and drew back the curtains. It was still dark, but there was a slight hint of sunrise far off to the right. Obviously I was still jet-lagged, but I didn’t want to go back to bed. Covering the window again, I turned toward the bathroom to do my business and brush my teeth. When I got that out of the way, I padded back into the room and stretched out on the floor. I’d thrown on my boxers and nothing else. The carpet felt itchy against my back, and I tried not to think about germs or I’d lose my concentration. I did some preliminary stretches and then got on my knees and clasped my hands behind my back in a classic submissive pose. I drew several deep breaths, trying to get into the right mindset. Without Trent to prompt me, I chanted my daily mantra on my own, hoping it would help to push all the chaotic thoughts from my head.