by Lori L. Otto
“No, but he just sat down.”
“Let’s invite him over.”
“Really?” he asks. “I thought you wanted this to be our day.”
“It’s just lunch.” The waiter converses with our friend as he picks up the other place setting. Max puts on his sunglasses and takes a sip of water. “And look. They just picked up the other silverware. That’s a table for one. No. We can’t let him sit there alone.” Before Trey can argue anymore, I get up and go over to Max.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, sitting in the chair next to him tentatively.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m having lunch, Zany. I’m eating my emotions. That’s what’s going on.”
“Where is he?”
“My answer has not changed since before… only my tone has, because now I’m really angry.”
“Have you called him?” He glares at me. His lenses aren’t dark enough to hide the look from me. “No answer?”
“No phone. He left it in our room, that dick.”
“Max… what happened?”
“I left him in the room around eight-thirty. He’d already had a beer and a glass of whiskey. He made his choice, and I made mine. There’s broken glass and sticky, brown liquor all over the patio floor if you want to see the evidence.”
“You broke it?” I ask, hesitant.
“I needed to make a statement.”
“That must have gotten through to him.”
“Well, his reaction is what I would expect from someone who didn’t give a shit about their boyfriend.”
“He loves you.”
“His way of showing it could use some work.”
“…and yours, too… maybe? Did you have to break the bottle?”
“Yes, Zany,” he says, matter-of-fact, but I know he regrets doing it. “Yes, I did.”
“Come have lunch with us,” I urge him.
“No, I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Okay,” he says, getting up and following me to our table with his water in hand. “Hey,” he says to Trey, exchanging their familiar, familial handshake that they created years ago. “You didn’t grow fins and gills from all that pool time?”
“Bygones,” Trey says. “I’ve apologized to Zai. Do I need to apologize to you, too?”
“You are part of the reason Callen felt like it was okay to fuck around in that pool all day and night.”
“Interesting choice of words…”
“Clearly no one’s been fucking–yet. You know what I mean. If you had set a better example and been a better boyfriend to Zany, he probably would have followed suit. I’m just sayin’.”
“Callen’s his own man, Max. You do know that, right?”
“I do know that. You guys and your friends and your alcohol have been priority number one this whole week.”
Trey nods his head. “I see that now. We kind of thought you both were having fun hanging out, too. I know Zai doesn’t really like all the guys… and I know you don’t know them too well. And I know you wanted to do excursions and things. Callen and I really wanted to relax and cut loose–”
“I would have much rather relaxed and cut loose with Callen–no offense, Zany.”
“None taken,” I tell him.
“Max, all right, I’m sorry. I wish you’d said something–”
“We shouldn’t have had to say anything!” he yells.
Trey sighs and looks up at the multi-colored umbrella over us. “Fine. I wish we’d had less to drink and picked up on the social queues you were obviously sending us. Once you get started at that cabana bar down there, they keep pouring. We were relaxed and just trying not to think about anything that stressed us out.”
“Implying that we were stressors?”
“Max, stop reading into his words, okay? He apologized. He’s not who you’re mad at,” I remind him.
“Sorry, Trey,” he says. The waiter swings by and takes his order: shrimp lettuce wraps. They’re delivered quickly, obviously an easy item to prepare.
“Max, what has been your favorite thing we’ve done?”
“Snorkeling in Turtle Cove, I think. The water here is so fucking clear, it’s like you can see for miles. But those turtles were fascinating. And there were rays, too.”
“Yeah, I remember that from when my parents brought us here,” Trey says. “This is where I got my diving certification when I was thirteen. It was incredible.”
“We were going to do that this week,” I say to him, my disappointment evident. I’d taken all the coursework. I just had to do the open water portion.
“Max could have done all of that with you. He’s certified,” he says, realizing immediately it’s not what he should have said. “I wish we had done that, though. You’re right. I’m sorry, Zai.”
“Maybe next summer.”
“Sure. That sounds like a plan.”
“Maybe just the two of us.” I take his hand in mine and he leans in to kiss me.
“Should I go now? Is this, like, happening now?” Max interrupts.
Trey picks up a cherry tomato and throws it at him, hitting him square in the forehead without even aiming.
“You do not want to start a food fight at the Ritz, my friend,” he warns as he takes a small shrimp from his plate.
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, uh…”
“Hit me?”
“Well…” Trey hedges and laughs.
“Throw it?”
“I mean, I did, but–”
“Take it and we’re even.”
“Fine. Your aim is shit anyw–” Somehow, Max manages to get the shrimp right into Trey’s mouth. “That’s really good,” he says, chuckling and wiping his chin. “I should have ordered that. Your aim’s better than I remember.”
“It’s been awhile since we’ve played.”
“True.”
“I don’t mean to break up the bromance,” I say, “but let’s try to figure out where Callen may be… for Max’s sake?” I look to Trey for answers.
“Where have you looked?” he asks Max.
“The pool and hot tubs. The volleyball courts. This part of the beach. Our room, of course.”
“We hit a few of the bars inside earlier this week. You may check those. And the gym. As stupid as it sounds, we’ve been trying to sweat out the alcohol as best as we can and keep up our workouts. Not the best idea, now that I think about it–using that equipment drunk–but it’s seemed fine at the time. We’ve always had each other as spotters,” he explains.
“You’re not there now, though,” I remind him. “Could you maybe text the other guys?”
“They are at the pool,” Max says. “I asked where he was. They said he told them he was spending the day with me.”
“Maybe he’s planning something special. Maybe he went shopping for something.”
“That’s your romantic-girl-brain talking. We’re guys. We don’t do that shit.”
“Trey bought me flowers.”
“Because he knows how your romantic-girl-brain thinks. Callen and I don’t have to accommodate one another that way.”
“Well, maybe you should,” I say to him simply.
Max shakes his head, essentially brushing off my suggestion. “So, other bars in the hotel and the gym. Nowhere else?”
“He said he was going to get souvenirs for some people, so maybe the shops. I’d check your room, again, too. He’s probably going to be worn out.”
“I left him a note on his phone. I told him to call me… and I told him I was sorry about the whiskey. I’d offer to replace it, but I don’t have that kind of money.”
Trey sighs. “Want me to have a bottle sent to your room?”
Max considers it. “No. I don’t want to replace it here. Not now. It’s causing too many problems.”
“Okay.”
“I mean… do you think he has a problem?” He looks at Trey for a response.
“Ho
nestly?”
“Yeah.”
“He has been drinking a lot recently. I know you noticed it back home–we talked about it. And since we got here, he’s had twice as much as I’ve had every day, at least. I’ve tried to get him to slow down, but he likes the buzz.” He pauses for a moment, then sighs. “I hadn’t told you this, but he’d been bringing a bottle of something to school some days for the past few months. I mean, he’d normally just save it for practice after school, but still. It was weird.”
“Did your coach know?” I ask.
“No. It looked like he was just drinking from a steel water bottle, you know?”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Max asks.
“I didn’t want to mess shit up with you guys. I kept urging him to stop. Tried to remind him where you come from.”
I try hard to remember those days when my mom would come home drunk, or wouldn’t come home at all. I was so young, and my brothers hid so much from me back then. I was blind to most of it, but Will and Jon both suffered for years because of my mother’s alcoholism. Callen has heard plenty of stories. It makes me livid to know that Trey’s reminded him of these facts and he still keeps drinking.
“Thanks for trying,” I say simply, finding a 20-dollar bill in my wallet and setting in on the table. “I’m going to go try to find him.”
“Max?” I call out to him as he starts to walk away.
“Yeah, Zany?”
“If we see him, we’ll let him borrow one of our phones.”
“Thanks. Oh… and, uh… have fun.” He winks at me, making me blush. Trey waves goodbye to his friend, but squeezes my hand. I look up at him and smile.
“Well? What do you want to do next?” he asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say shyly. “Do you want to go back to the room? Maybe watch a movie?”
“Sure! I saw the new Avenger’s movie was playin–”
“A romantic movie?”
“But I know what Captain America does to you,” he teases me. I lean into him, kissing his lips as I trace a star onto his chest.
“You are my Captain America and you know it.”
“Is that really why you like him?” he asks me, sitting up straight and grinning. “Because I dressed up as him for Halloween last year?” I nod slowly. “I had no idea. I thought it was the actor.”
“You’re so much hotter than he is.” I move my hand to his thigh and trace another star. His eyes are locked with mine.
“I’m getting hotter,” he whispers next to my cheek. “I definitely want to go back to the room. I’ll do anything you want when we get there.” His mouth touches a spot on my neck beneath my ear.
“Ahem.” Our waiter stands a few paces back until we look up. “Mr. Holland, Miss Mishra. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Trey looks at me to confirm that I’m finished. “No, thank you. If you can just charge everything to the room and…” He picks up the twenty Max left and hands it to him. “A tip.”
“Thank you. Have a good afternoon.”
“You, as well.”
5
Max
I had no idea there were so many bars inside this resort–or so many adults staying here and frequenting those bars. I felt like a total creeper, weaving between the tables and amongst the crowds looking for Callen. It wouldn’t have been so bad had I found him, but I left every bar without a drink or a boyfriend. I grew paranoid by the fourth bar, and kept looking behind me for a security guard or undercover cop or someone trailing me, wondering what I was doing casing all the joints.
The final bar I check opens out into the main pool where Callen had spent most of his time this week. His friends are still there, talking up some girls I don’t know.
“Jabin!” I call across the water.
“Yeah?”
“You seen Callen lately?”
“Uhhh…” He nods his head twice before another friend, Derek, splashes him with water. “I thought I saw him a few minutes ago, but no. Must’ve been someone else.”
I look at Derek. “Do you know where he is?”
“No clue, Max,” he answers, but he’s not looking at me when he tells me this.
“Really?”
“Go check your room. He said he was gonna be with you today.”
I shake my head and huff. “Yeah, but like I told you guys this morning, he left our room.”
“Bet he’s back by now.”
I smile, realizing he must be there. Callen must have been by here and told them not to say anything to me.
“Thanks, guys.”
“Anytime,” Jabin says.
I jog all the way back upstairs, bypassing the elevator because I don’t want to be dependent on its careful speed or the number of stops it has to make before picking me up and getting me where I need to go. I take a few breaths before I tentatively open the door, expecting the romantic gesture I earlier assured Zaina that Callen was incapable of.
The room is just as I left it, with one exception: Callen’s cell phone is missing. I check in all the possible hiding places and call his name, just to make sure he’s not going to pop out of something holding flowers over his cock for me. Yeah, that doesn’t appear to be happening today.
So, not only did he stop back by to get his phone, he saw my note (which now sits on his nightstand) and completely disregarded it. Checking my phone again, I verify that I haven’t missed any calls from him.
If he had another bottle of six-hundred-dollar scotch, I’d break that one right now, too. Standing in front of the balcony window, I stare at the mess of glass from earlier as I call him. The phone rings twice before going to voicemail. So, he sent the call to voicemail. That asshole.
“Callen, where are you?” I realize I’m gritting my teeth as I talk. “I’ve been back to the room twice, and I’ve been all over this resort looking for you. Why didn’t you call me? I’m sorry about the liquor. I’ll replace it. I swear. Don’t let that be the reason you’re mad or avoiding me. It’s just stuff. I can replace your fucking stuff. I just want to hang out with you–whatever you’re feeling up to. Call me, please. I’ll be… down at the beach, I guess? I don’t know where else to look.”
After hanging up, I go back downstairs and past the pool once more toward the gym. I think about saying something to Callen’s friends, but I know I won’t get a straight answer out of them, so I don’t bother. They’re too busy making out with girls, anyway.
Most people seem to be using the resort as it’s intended to be enjoyed–there are only three people using the equipment in the gym, and none of them happen to be my boyfriend. I notice a hallway and remember seeing something about yoga classes in the hotel’s guide in our room. Callen’s never done yoga, but I peek into the rooms anyway, just to make sure I’ve covered all of my bases.
I end up confronted with the men’s and women’s locker rooms, and decide to step inside, having given up hope in finding him today. Just two steps in, I hear a sexy laugh I’m all too familiar with echoing off the concrete walls. A deep breath inhaled and ready to call out his name, I second guess myself and move past three rows of lockers that likely never get used with no sign of Callen.
Well, no sign of him visually. I hear sounds that are singularly distinctive to him. The hairs on my arms prick up in anger, and I feel my face flush hot and red because the noises I hear are intermingled with someone else’s voice. And they’re not talking. This isn’t a conversation, but I can easily decipher what’s going on.
Moans and grunts guide me to a shower stall at the far end of the locker room. There’s no one else in here but Callen and whoever else is in there… and me. It can’t be him. Can it? He wouldn’t. But it’s him. I know his cries of ecstasy like I know my own soul.
And now I see his swim shorts. The ones I picked out two weeks ago in preparation for this trip. They’re on the floor, peeking out of the stall underneath his phone and next to a condom wrapper and a pair of turquoise shorts that look suspiciously like the uniform of
the men who work at the cabana bar.
As I walk up onto the stall, I snap a photo of the items on the floor. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’ll do with the picture. My heart is racing so fast that I don’t know what to do. Do I interrupt them? Do I holler out to Callen to stop them? Open the black curtain, the only thing that separates me from my boyfriend fooling around with someone else, like, four feet away? How bad is he cheating? I have to know.
On my knees, I look under the curtain. “Fuck him,” I murmur quietly to myself after seeing four feet, standing close together but far enough apart to know what’s happening, all angled away from me and toward the corner. Callen’s fucking this other guy… something he hadn’t been sober enough to do with me all week. Tears drip on the floor next to their clothes.
I should take his fucking shorts. I should bust in and kick him in the balls.
Hearing them both beginning to climax, I realize I have to get out of there to maintain my sanity. To keep myself from hurting someone I love, or potentially this random stranger that I definitely hate. Crimes of passion are completely justifiable. I totally believe that right now. I could kill him.
I grab Callen’s swimming trunks.
My head down as I pass the pool, I practically run back to my room. The door is barely closed before the sobs erupt from somewhere deep within my throat. I throw his shorts on his bed and find my suitcase, throwing my stuff in it haphazardly. I can’t stay with him.
Where the fuck am I gonna go? Our flight is on Sunday. I have two more hellish days to endure this fucking island. Jon and Livvy will book me a room somewhere. I’m sure of it.
I just have to calm down.
I just have to calm down.
I can’t fucking calm down!
Anger propels me back to the patio window, where my fist connects with such force that I can feel the warm breeze from outside before my brain acknowledges the searing pain.
“Fuck fuck fuck!!”
I stare at my hand through the glass in shock, gasping in air, before reflexively yanking it back through toward my body. “Shit!” Only after doing that do I realize that wasn’t the best idea.
Blood is gushing from countless wounds that I can’t even see. Shards stick out from multiple places in my skin. “Fuck.” Grabbing the only free item of clothing near me, I wrap Callen’s shorts around my forearm and try to constrict the flow of blood as best as I can. I need a belt or a long sock. I need help.
