by Kaye Blue
I shrugged, and then said, “I’ve been busy.”
“Well I’m glad you finally got those off your list.”
I was too, but only because I had done so with her.
I didn’t want that to be the case, didn’t want it to matter that she was the reason I’d finally done something I hadn’t for years, didn’t want her to be so intricately tied to memories of this place, not when I knew she would be gone.
But on the other hand, I would cherish this day for all time.
It was the simple things, walking through the city streets with Mia, placing a guiding hand on her back to help her through the dense crowds.
I hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t hugged her, hadn’t even put my arm around her shoulder, but the effect was the same. Those touches, that time, still brought the level of intimacy and closeness that I had been trying—and failing—to avoid.
We had shared a wonderful day, one that felt real, one that felt like the kind of day I had dreamed of having with her for so long.
That recognition was bittersweet, a reminder that that would never happen again, but I ignored that.
Because in addition to spending time with her today, I had come to another realization.
It shouldn’t have surprised me, and I suspected I had known this all along, but now I could finally acknowledge it.
Those feelings I had for Mia, the anger, the hurt, they were real.
But they weren’t the only feelings I had.
I had seen so many glimpses of the girl I had known, had seen even more of the woman I hoped to know, and those had left me no doubt that getting Mia out of my system would be no easy task.
Might be a task I couldn’t complete at all.
And while I usually resisted feelings like that, hated being dependent on anyone, especially the only person who had the power to hurt me, I couldn’t deny it either.
The question was, what did I do about it?
I hadn’t solved that particular puzzle yet, didn’t know if I could.
So I stood in the penthouse, for once feeling comfortable in my jeans and T-shirt.
When I had shown up in the morning, Mia had quirked a brow, mumbled something about me dressing down, and that had been that.
But it meant so much more to me.
I made it a point to dress impeccably, never liked to be seen in anything less than the finest.
The reasons why were foolish, but I knew that image mattered.
I was already at a disadvantage, viewed with suspicion because I was an outsider in this new world. But the clothes, the cars, the attitude, and the money, of course, helped.
To be without that armor left me in an awkward position, but wasn’t one that was entirely uncomfortable.
Because while I had fought so long to get away from my past, to be more than the boy who had relied on Mia’s pity and his anger to make it through his life, I was still that person somewhere inside.
And to my surprise, it wasn’t all bad.
Just being free to be Alex, to not care what other people thought, to not have to worry about how they planned to take advantage of me, how I planned to do the same to them, was a welcome reprieve.
If nothing else, I would take that with me.
She moved around the kitchen placing her mugs in the cabinets, humming quietly, looking like she had always been here.
Like she always would.
The emotion that welled up in me at that thought was overwhelming, both in its power and in the fact that I wanted nothing more than for it to be true. I couldn’t give that thought space to bloom in my brain, couldn’t allow it to take root, so I moved.
I wrapped my arms around Mia’s waist and she squealed and then giggled when I lifted her. I didn’t have the patience to make it to the bedroom. The couch would have to do.
I deposited her on the couch, saw the eagerness and anticipation in her face. I had to look away from her then, worried that the desire to kiss her, something I hadn’t risked, the desire to keep her here forever, something that couldn’t be, would overtake me.
Instead I quickly removed her clothes, the need to be with her urgent, almost breaking me. I knew that nothing would ever feel as good as being inside Mia, that I would never be as at home as I was with her.
My hands trembled as I reached for my pants, but Mia covered my hands with hers. I didn’t dare look at her, but I thought my heart would explode with the need to hold her close to me, confess the feelings I hadn’t even acknowledged to myself.
I couldn’t do that, wouldn’t, so I focused on the sensations of Mia opening and lowering my pants, stroking her soft hands against my shaft. She started off tentative but grew bolder as she stroked me and then bolder still until I thought I would explode in her hands.
I pulled away abruptly, knowing I was too close to the edge. I switched our positions so that I was sitting on the couch with Mia on top of me. I entered her quickly, and she smiled down at me, her expression filled with utter joy, contentment, and for the first time in my entire life, I was complete.
But just as quickly as I felt that completion, I was reminded that it couldn’t last.
Rather than torturing myself with those thoughts, I pulled Mia even closer, closed my eyes, and let the pleasure of the moment take me away.
Twenty-Two
Mia
*
Something had changed.
After our trip sightseeing, I had been optimistic, thought that there had been a shift in the air. But I hadn’t allowed myself to take that optimism too far, put too much stock in it.
Alex was a steady person, so I didn’t think he’d change on a whim, but the difference in him was of note, so much so that I had a hard time believing that there wasn’t some string attached. I still saw his anger sometimes but there was also softness, a kindness to him now, a connection that he didn’t necessarily seem to like but one that he didn’t try to fight either. And as the days slipped by, became weeks, it seemed that there had been a permanent change.
I saw him most days, and he stayed with me most nights. I told myself not to care, not to believe that it meant anything, but it was a futile task. Every day he spent with me, every night, only brought us closer together, chipped away at the wall I’d tried so hard to build.
He’d leave in the morning, go off, do whatever it was he did to make his money. He’d tried to explain it to me, but I had lost the thread, but I knew that he had a lot of different businesses and a lot of different interests that he seemed to juggle nonstop.
Despite how busy he was, at some point during the day, he would put away his phone and just be with me.
We went to restaurants, to shows, even left one or two because we both thought they were terrible, and just walked around.
It was idyllic, blissful, a time that I never imagined I would have, and time that I knew I would always treasure.
Just as I would treasure the nights we spent together.
Making love with him was sometimes gentle, sometimes fraught, sometimes tentative, seeking, always intense.
We hadn’t talked about anything serious, but when we were alone together I could sometimes feel his pain in his touch, tried to soothe it with mine. Did the same with his anger, and lived for those moments when we shared our joy.
It was easy, so very easy, for me to lose sight of the circumstances that had brought me here.
I tried to remind myself of them constantly, tried to remember that even though I was seeing a different side of Alex, one that would be oh so easy for me to fall in love with, I couldn’t do that. I needed to keep myself distant, needed to remember that this wasn’t permanent. Tried to, but knew that despite my best efforts, the emotion I felt for him was real.
Trying to pretend otherwise would be futile and foolish, so at some point I simply tried to turn my brain off, accept that here, and now, I was with him, and he was with me. For once, the future would have to take care of itself.
I’d been surprised that I seemed to acce
pt that, but once I came to that realization, I was able to relax, enjoy, learn more about the man Alex was now.
I discovered that I loved sushi, and tonight he had taken me to one of the most popular places in town.
After a dinner that was the most exquisite of my life, I stared agog at the outrageous bill.
“Alex, that’s insane! That’s the bill for two people?” I whispered urgently as I looked at the receipt.
He always tried to keep receipts from me, but hadn’t been quick enough this time.
He simply shrugged nonchalantly. “Top-class sushi for two. Seems reasonable to me,” he said.
“That’s like…a month’s mortgage,” I said, still not able to believe the triple-digit number printed on the receipt.
“It’s fine,” he said.
When I looked at him, I sensed some tension beginning to grow, and though I didn’t want to upset the comfortable balance we had established, I felt compelled to ask the question.
“This might be rude to ask, but how did you manage to get so rich?” I asked.
He smiled. “Hard work, good luck.”
“I think there’s more to it than that,” I said.
“Oh, you think I did it through nefarious means, did whatever it took to get ahead?”
His voice had been calm, almost teasing, but I didn’t miss the implication of it. He was asking, without asking, whether I trusted him, whether I thought he was the person my father had always said he was.
“Knowing you as I did then and as I do now, I know you wouldn’t take anything from anyone,” I said.
And I meant it.
I had never met a human more disdaining of help than Alex. It had taken forever for me to get him to accept even the smallest bit of assistance from me. And when he had left our town, heartbroken and full of angry resolve, I hadn’t expected that would change.
“No, I didn’t. And I wouldn’t,” he said.
“So how did this happen?” I asked.
“It was rough there for a couple years after I left town. I just sort of drifted from place to place, working odd jobs, doing what I could to try to get my feet on the ground.”
My heart ached for him out there alone in the world, but I kept that thought to myself and listened as he continued.
“I had lost touch with Marcos, but found him again. He was working in a club, got me on as a runner and dishwasher,” Alex said.
“What happened then?” I asked, vaguely remembering his cousin Marcos from our youth, and very intrigued with the idea of Alex working in a club.
“Wait, what kind of club was it?” I asked.
He got a faint blush in his cheeks, one that made his face that much more handsome.
“Gentlemen’s club.”
“You were what twenty-two, twenty-three?”
He nodded.
“Must have been a dream job,” I said, only half teasing.
He looked wistful for a moment. “You would think so, and I won’t deny that there was some fun involved, but it really wasn’t. Everybody was just there doing what needed to be done to try to make it. Nothing more, nothing less.” He brightened, and then smiled. “But the girls loved me.”
“I’ll bet they did,” I said, not allowing myself to be jealous, but kind of feeling it anyway.
“Yeah. I was the only one who didn’t try to hook up with them. That made me almost irresistible,” he said.
My heart softened a bit at the thought, me having no difficulty believing it. Alex was a stand-up guy, and he certainly wouldn’t try to use his position to take advantage of someone, excluding me, of course. “So what happened then?” I asked.
“The owner was this old guy, and I started helping him out. First I was basically an errand boy, but I got a little more responsibility, and found out that the old guy who ran the strip club also owned real estate across the city,” he said.
“An interesting contact to get,” I said.
“Understatement of the century. I worked with Paul for about three years, and learned so much. After he died, I took the money I had been saving up and bought my first piece of property. Then another, then another, then Marcos and I invested in another club,” he said.
“Strip club?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t knock the business, but it can be a hassle, and there are easier ways to make money. We went with a straightforward nightclub and restaurant, made it a high-end experience. It did really well, and so did my other businesses, so I took the profits and kept rolling them over into other investments. Real estate, businesses, invested in a little tech company that hit, and everything sort of grew from there,” he said.
He told me the story so nonchalantly, seeming completely detached and unimpressed about what had happened, but I couldn’t stop the swell of pride in my chest when I looked at him. Couldn’t stop myself from expressing it either.
“Alex, that’s amazing,” I said excitedly.
He shrugged. “Not really. I was in the right places, willing to take the chances.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being falsely modest, though I don’t think you are. But whether you see it or not, I see it. It’s something you should be proud of,” I said.
He nodded, but didn’t speak.
I stayed quiet for a moment, studying him, thinking of all the time we had spent together, the few articles I had read about him.
Another question popped into my head, one that was probably far more invasive than asking how he had earned his fortune.
I looked at him and met his green eyes.
“I can practically see you thinking. Go ahead and ask whatever question is on your mind,” he said.
“So you’ve done this amazing thing. Built this life for yourself. But are you happy?” I asked.
Alex didn’t break my gaze, but I saw the way the skin around his eyes crinkled, saw as he began to ponder the question.
I stayed silent, waiting with almost bated breath to see what he would say.
After a moment, he met my eyes again, and then gave me that same nonchalant shrug.
“I don’t know how to answer that question,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Exactly as I said. I’m comfortable financially, have everything I could ever possibly want. But I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about,” he said.
“No. It’s not. There has to be something that gets you out of bed in the morning, something that makes this all worth it,” I said.
“The alternative is what makes it all worth it,” he said, hardness creeping into his voice.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean I’ve woken up hungry, gone to bed the same way, and done it again the next day. Now, I wake up in a place I never could have dreamed of, with resources I never could have imagined, with choices I never thought I’d have. If that’s not happiness, I don’t know what is,” he said.
I looked at him, saw that he was being sincere, but still felt a heaviness in my heart. He might not know it, but Alex deserved more than that, and one of my prayers for him when he’d left all those years ago was that he’d find a place, build a happy life with people he loved who loved him back. That hope was the reason I’d been able to live with what I’d done, and knowing what he had found, and what he hadn’t, made me question my sacrifice.
“You don’t like my answer,” he said.
“It’s not that…” I responded, trailing off.
“What is it, then?” he asked.
He didn’t sound upset, his voice wasn’t even vexed, and when I risked looking at him, I could see that he seemed genuinely intrigued.
“It’s just…that seems so empty,” I said.
“Empty. In what way?”
I had a hard time believing he couldn’t understand what I meant, but when I looked at him I saw genuine curiosity in his expression.
“You don’t have anyone to share it with,” I finally said.
“Perhaps n
ot. But I have Marcos, and he has a little girl who I see sometimes. That’s family,” he responded.
“It’s not what I mean, and I think you know that,” I said quietly.
“I know it’s not what you mean. You’re imagining me settled down, a wife and kids, someone to call my own and make it all mean something,” he said.
Even though his voice stayed quiet I could hear the rising sarcasm in it, the disgust threaded through. Still, I ignored that and pressed on.
“Yes,” I said. “I do imagine that.”
He looked at me, the smirk I hadn’t seen in so many weeks back on his face.
“Thought I’d have that once. Thought I’d give it a try. But you weren’t interested,” he said, his voice deadpan.
To my surprise, there wasn’t any particular malice in his words, but my heart twisted with nearly unbearable pain anyway. I’d thought the same thing, wanted the same thing, but had known I couldn’t have it, not with him.
I’d been sure that he would get over it, would soon forget me and maybe come to understand why I had done what I’d done. But I’d been wrong. His deadpan voice, his nonchalant words couldn’t hide the hurt that I still saw all these years later. For the first time in a long time, I questioned what I’d done, what I had cost him. Cost myself.
It was on the tip of my tongue to explain myself, to try to make it better, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, regretted having brought this up at all.
“I shouldn’t have even brought this up,” I said, confessing my feelings.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk about things like that, and I have no right to question how you choose to live your life.”
“True, but don’t worry, I’m not offended. You asked your question. I gave you my answer. And to your point, I see how Marcos is with his daughter, and I think I might want that one day. I’ll find someone suitable, have a couple kids, make sure they have the life they deserve. And that will be enough.”
It was almost impossible to reconcile the dispassionate man who sat across from me with the one who had been so adamant that he had orchestrated this entire thing.
And again I was struck by the hollowness of it all, felt a deep sorrow for him.
