Waiting for Patrick

by Brynn Stein

  We were in the tree fort one afternoon, and I had stolen the journal he always wrote in and threatened to read it. He got upset and tackled me to the floor. We rolled around for a while with me holding the journal out and him trying to get it. Finally I offered it up to him as I lay on my back on the floor, with him lying on top of me trying to reach it.

  “Why is it so important that I not read it?” I was truly puzzled. “We tell each other everything.”

  His face turned red in that way that only a redheaded person’s face can. Freckles standing out so bad they looked like they were going to jump off his face. Even his ears turned red. He finally looked away.

  “Don’t we?” I asked, now almost positive that apparently we didn’t.

  “Not everything.” He forced himself to look back at me. I could tell he didn’t want to face me.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I was confused and a little hurt. I told him everything. Well, almost everything. Okay, there was one thing I hadn’t told him.

  He met my eyes and slowly moved his face closer to mine. “This,” he said, a moment before our lips touched.

  It was a chaste kiss, dry, quick… wonderful.

  I smiled. “I was keeping the same secret.”

  His eyes danced with happiness, and he brought his mouth to mine again. This time it wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t dry. But it was still wonderful.

  He licked my lips, asking for permission to come inside. I had never kissed anyone before but it felt so good, I opened them a little and he slipped his tongue in. He licked and teased the inside of my mouth. His tongue tasted the roof of my mouth, brushing against my teeth, licking my lips, tangling with my own tongue. He finally started sucking a little and I thought my head was going to explode, it felt so good. I couldn’t catch my breath, but I couldn’t get enough of him. I never wanted to stop doing what we were doing right then.

  Before long, though, he pulled back and looked down into my eyes.

  “I was so afraid you didn’t feel the same way,” he admitted.

  “I do,” I told him unnecessarily. “I feel the same way.”

  We didn’t have a name for it for a long time. We didn’t know if it was infatuation or real love, but right then, it hadn’t mattered. We’d spent the rest of the afternoon kissing.

  It didn’t take long before we knew it was the real thing. We were so in love. We knew it was different, even hated, so we kept it a secret from the rest of the world. People said it was wrong for two men to love each other, called them “gal-boys,” tried to shame men and boys into denying how they felt, or if that didn’t work, guilt them into a “normal relationship” by threatening tarnation.

  But there was no way that something that felt this good, this strong, could be wrong. We would do anything for each other. We would each die for the other if we had to. The feeling was so immense that a simple, small word like love barely covered it. Patrick said that we were soul mates. He was always more interested in school than I was. He had read of the god Zeus who split humans in half as a punishment for our pride, and we were doomed to have to wander the world looking for the other half of our souls. Patrick said we were lucky. He and I had each found ours.

  I didn’t know about Zeus or souls, but Patrick was definitely my other half. I didn’t feel whole when I wasn’t with him. I didn’t feel alive. I knew if I ever lost him, I wouldn’t want to live. He said that’s the good thing about soul mates. Once you find each other, you can’t really lose the other one… only be separated for a little while. I didn’t want to ever be separated from Patrick.

  “What are you thinking about, Ben?” His voice brings me back to our card game.

  “Losing you,” I say before thinking about my answer, and he frowns.

  “You’ll never lose me. If we get separated, wait for me, and we’ll get reunited somehow.”

  I smile. He always has answers like that.

  He looks around to make sure we’re as alone as we can get, make sure no one’s looking. Then he reaches over and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. It’s as much as we dare right now, but it’s enough. He loves me. I love him. We’re together. That’s all that matters.

  ELLIOT WOKE up, confused. He brought his hand to his mouth, where he still felt the kiss of the other man in the dream. His heart was pounding as hard as it had been then. He’d been waking up breathless and with a pounding heart more often in the last several months, but he’d never remembered the dreams that caused it. Why was he remembering them now? Why was he dreaming about two men from the Civil War? The same two men as in the last dream. It didn’t make sense.

  Eventually he put it out of his head and went about his day. He made a few more calls to contractors from neighboring cities and towns, still hoping to find someone reasonably priced who would do what he wanted. He read his e-mails, paying special attention to advertisements of two more houses that Elliot’s real estate agent had found for him. Then there was the call from the Chicago branch of his architectural firm.

  “Stephen, I’m telling you, we can find the right materials for cheaper than that,” Elliot told his CEO.

  “Maybe, but the time it takes to continue calling around is costing money.”

  “Not that much.” Elliot walked outside to sit on the porch. There was hardware in the ceiling that boasted it had once held a swing. For now, Elliot made do with one of the two white plastic chairs he’d found stacked up in the foyer. “It’s a multimillion-dollar project for a loyal customer. We want the fixtures he asked for, but we also want to make sure we don’t go over estimate.”

  “That’s why I’m saying to go with cheaper fixtures.” Stephen was arguing in his ear as Elliot watched a butterfly engage in a flower-judging contest in the small garden beside the steps. “The ones he wants will put us way above budget, cutting into the profit.”

  This was a tired, old argument. “You know how I feel about that. Customers come before profit margin. We’ll still make money on this, even if we take a bit of hit on the prices of materials.” The butterfly eventually decided to award the prize of its presence to a golden rose with pink tips. “But I’m almost positive we can find these for cheaper than you’re saying. I looked over the prices myself before I gave the estimate. Did you consult Fuller’s Lighting?”

  Elliot dropped his head in his hand. Stephen and he never saw eye to eye on the companies they could contract.

  “I don’t like to deal with them. You know that,” Stephen sniped into his ear.

  “Stephen.” Elliot raised his voice and the butterfly abandoned its prize and rode the wind to parts unknown. “I really don’t care that you have a personal problem with Macky Fuller. They’re the best company for this job. They have the light fixtures Marshall wants for a price our company can live with.”

  “But—” Stephen started, but Elliot cut him off.

  “Call Fuller’s, Stephen.”

  After a pause, Stephen relented. “Okay, but that’s not even the biggest problem we’re having with this. Prices across the board are too low on the estimate. There’s no way we’re going to bring this in under budget.”

  Elliot watched the butterfly peek around the corner of the house, scoping out Elliot’s temper to see if it could return. The roses there really were beautiful. Elliot hated keeping the poor thing away from them. “Okay, lay them all out for me.”

  Stephen started in on a whole list of things he felt needed to be done differently for the high-rise project. Elliot didn’t agree with any of them and told Stephen so.

  “I did the estimates myself, Stephen. I have the list of recommended companies in the file. Marshall loved the samples I showed him, and the prices in the estimate are based on those samples. I’ve already done most of the work on this one. Just follow the damned recs.”

  “Some of these companies don’t carry the stock anymore, and—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. We have contracts with them. They promised to provide the amount of product we need for this job. It’
s all in the files.”

  There went the butterfly again, poor thing. It really didn’t like Elliot’s angry voice.

  “Well,” Stephen started, “Landry’s says they never signed an agreement with us, and I can’t find it in the file. Gatlin’s too. The papers aren’t here.”

  “They were when I left.” Elliot was getting a headache. “Screw it. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and I’ll line up all the companies. Again.” Elliot hated having to micromanage. This was what he had a CEO for, dammit. “You’re coming with me this time, and then we’re not having this conversation again.”

  Stephen sputtered, “No, you don’t need to come up. I’ve already lined up other companies. I only wanted to let you know.”

  “Well, you see, Stephen, here’s the thing.” Elliot was trying to keep his voice calm, he really was. But it didn’t work. “I’m the goddamned boss of this company, and yes, if I hadn’t set up this contract myself, I wouldn’t have a problem with you choosing whatever the hell companies you wanted. But I did set them up, and those are exactly what the customer wants. And it’s damned well what he’s going to get.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll be there by the end of the business day.” He pressed End and longed for the days when he could bang down a phone receiver. This pressing a button on a screen didn’t have the same effect.

  One of the perks of having his own company was that he owned his own plane and had pilots on the payroll. It was nothing to fly up to Chicago from South Carolina. After he arrived it took him two hours to call all the companies and verify that they would provide the materials at the price he had arranged before. He didn’t know if they were trying to pull a fast one on Stephen or if Stephen wanted to swing business to people he liked better. Either way it wasn’t acceptable to Elliot, and he said that to all concerned.

  He decided to stay the night up there, though, instead of trying to go back to SC for the evening. He really had no connection to one place over another. It was nice to spend time with Sheri, but it would be too late for that by the time he got back anyway, so he checked into his usual hotel and fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

  He woke the next morning and didn’t realize until he was halfway through breakfast in the hotel lobby that he hadn’t dreamed the previous night. No dreams at all that he could remember, but especially none of Ben and Patrick and the Civil War.

  He chuckled to himself.

  It must be sleeping in that old house. There’s such a feel of history there, my imagination is working overtime.

  Since his original business was completed, he took some time to contact some contractors in Chicago, to see if any had some ideas of how to renovate the old plantation house to his specifications. He didn’t have any more luck with the companies there than he did in South Carolina, but he was glad he tried.

  He hopped on his plane around dinnertime, and the pilot flew straight through to SC. They got there just before dark and he went straight to his old house. Elliot shut the door behind him and leaned against it, the weight of exhaustion making his limbs heavy. He’d been getting fatigued much more easily in the last six months or so, and he once again cursed getting old. He climbed the stairs and felt as though they stretched out interminably ahead of him. For every one he gained, he was sure two more were added to the top by some magic known only to tired executives.

  When he finally reached the summit, he dragged his weighted body to the bedroom, took off his belt, and threw it at the ottoman by the window. Then he collapsed into a seated position on the bed. It occurred to him, while he was untying his shoes, to lie down without bothering to undress, but he was already uncomfortable in the stiff shirt and jeans, so he struggled out of them quickly and pulled off his underwear for good measure. After throwing back that awful comforter and climbing between the sheets, he felt himself drifting off to sleep almost instantly.

  PATRICK AND I are cut off from our company. That last skirmish was particularly chaotic.

  “We need to find a place to sleep tonight,” Patrick decides. “Then we’ll try again tomorrow to find our way back.”

  We walk toward the hills, hoping to find a cave. As Patrick often does, he goes one better and finds a little cavern.

  “Who knows how far back it goes.” He beams with pride. “It’s too bad we don’t have time—or light—to explore it.” That’s Patrick through and through. Always one to explore and discover. “But it does afford us shelter.” He pauses and waggles his eyebrows. “And a private place to be alone.”

  “How can you have any energy left to think about something like that?” I try for a scolding tone, but he’s right. It’s been so long since we’ve shown each other how much in love we are.

  “Come here,” Patrick says in a hoarse whisper. He reaches toward me and cups the back of my head. He caresses my hair for a second but then pulls gently forward.

  I go to him easily and we’re kissing. We’re desperate, all sloppy tongues and clashing teeth, and it’s still the most perfect kiss ever. Every single one with Patrick is perfect.

  There’s very little light making it back this far in the cavern, and we feel around with our feet to find a rock-free place to sit—or lie—on the floor. I stumble over a relatively large rock, and Patrick kicks several out of the way, but we finally have a spot cleared and waste no time going to our knees, holding on to each other, guiding the other down.

  We don’t restrict our actions to kissing for long.

  Patrick undoes my uniform jacket as I undo his. We get our arms tangled a couple of times and laugh but don’t let that stop us from completely unwrapping our most precious gift… each other. Before long we’re naked. Patrick feels around to make a larger clearing so we can lie down on the cold cavern floor.

  “Hope there’s no bugs,” I mumble between frantic kisses and gropes.

  “Doesn’t matter to me.” Patrick laughs. “You’ll be the one on the bottom.”

  But he proves he was kidding by rolling us over and pulling me on top of him. He knows I don’t like bugs. But I’d deal with them for him. I’d manage anything for him.

  We don’t last long, frantically rubbing against each other. But we get the desperation out of the way and start again. This time more slowly.

  We spend the rest of the night caressing, rubbing, kissing, nipping. We relearn each other’s body and make love several times, worshipping the other physically as well as emotionally. We’re still tangled together when we eventually fall asleep.

  ELLIOT WOKE up the next morning, still feeling the heat of Patrick’s body against his. He stiffened inside sheets dampened with his sweat and semen. His groin and stomach itched and spunk matted his hair to his belly. He was torn between the need for a shower and the desire to fall back to sleep and hope he could pick the dream up where he left off.

  The shower won. He stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the water, stepped under the spray, and picked up the soap, taking care of the stickiest part of his body first. As he soaped up the offending area, he thought back to the dream. That turned out to be a mistake if he wanted to get out of the shower in a timely fashion. Between the remembered sensations and the slow movement of his soapy hand on his shaft, he was rock hard again in an instant. As hard as those rocks in the dream that had dug into his side before Patrick pulled him on top of him. He felt fascination and a small shiver of wrongness that he was so thoroughly involved in what seemed to be another man’s life. But he rinsed his apprehensions away with the soap and the come. It didn’t take much longer for him to shoot his desires all over the shower wall as he came again, and he watched that join the evidence of last night’s activities as it all circled the drain, then vanished.

  Once dried and dressed, he stared at his bed, especially the sticky, damp sheets. He had the irrational thought that he needed to take care of them quickly before his mother walked in on him. He hadn’t had a wet dream like that since he was a teenager.

  He dragged the wet linen to the washer. The washer-and-drye
r hookup was a concession that he would allow to stay. It was already in the house, and the place would be easier to sell if it came with a washer and dryer, but he had several ideas of how to camouflage the little laundry closet so that it didn’t take away from the ambience. He drew mental plans as he loaded the offensive sheets into the washer.

  HOURS LATER, as he pulled weeds from the flower garden by the porch, Elliot’s hands still shook as he held the gardening trowel. The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway brought back echoes of walking over the rugged hillside to get to the cavern, which only reminded him of what had happened in that dark recess, and he could feel his dick twitch at the memory.

  Elliot looked up. “Darrell.” The man sauntered toward him across the lawn while Elliot threw another clump of weeds on the growing pile beside him. “You have a car?”

  “I do.” Daniel smiled, obviously ignoring the incorrect name. “I was in no condition to drive the night we met.”

  “What about the other day at the diner? I drove you to your apartment.” Elliot placed the trowel on the damp grass. “And left you there!”

  Daniel twisted his car keys in this hand. “I had a friend take me to get my car later.”

  “Why?” Elliot brushed his hands together to dislodge the worst of the dirt. “Why not simply tell me to follow you or something?”

  Daniel frowned the tiniest bit. “Because I wasn’t sure you actually would.” He seemed to be suddenly interested in the way the grass curled over his shoes. “I was afraid you’d go off in the opposite direction and I wouldn’t see you again.”

  Elliot flicked a look at how the car had found a seat on his drive. “You obviously know where I live.”

  “Yep.” Daniel smiled and kicked at the curls of grass. “And I came to see if you’d like to come back to my apartment for a while.”