by Lori L. Otto
“Cal, come on. I’m sorry I got upset.”
“I said I gotta go.”
I hang up before he convinces me to talk and take another drink of whiskey straight from the bottle I’d bought to replace what Max tossed out yesterday morning.
I’d tried calling him a dozen times. I’d filled up his voicemail. I finally understand what it must have felt like to him when I ran away two summers ago when his brother walked in on us. I’d said no goodbyes. I just disappeared for weeks, leaving everyone except his brother, Will, wondering if I was dead or alive. Max was so strong. He was confident in his feelings for me, and in mine for him, even though I gave him no reason to be. He knew we were in love back then. He never took me for granted–not for a single moment.
I’ve done it to him so many fucking times, taken him for granted.
I don’t deserve him. I probably never did.
Texts come in from Jabin, inviting me to meet them at the pool, but I don’t have any desire to leave my room. I’ve got everything I need here: alcohol and my phone. Plus, I don’t want to run into Spence, the guy whose proposition I failed to turn down yesterday.
It was pointless. I got nothing out of it. I thought I’d get some sort of satisfaction from it, but I didn’t. I barely got off at all. It reminded me of sex with Brinlee, or the other girls I’d been with before Max. Before we got together, I never thought I’d relate fucking to feelings, but he’s ruined me. He’s ruined sex for me. There’s nothing casual about it anymore. Nothing fulfilling about it, anyway. And it’s not a bad thing. I love sex with Max.
I love Max. So fucking much.
Why the fuck did I say yes to Spence?
Pettiness and anger, Callen. And too much fucking alcohol.
I remember Max’s video–specifically the part where he mentioned his concern for my drinking–while I’m mid-pour of my fourth glass. I know I’m not an alcoholic. I just like drinking… and it’s been a lot of fun doing it here, with my friends… but there’s no way I’m going to be able to convince Max of that. Especially now. Maybe if I hadn’t cheated on him, I could have shown him that I don’t need it.
But I know Max. It’s not like he’s sleeping in, and that’s why he’s not returning my calls. I betrayed him. I hurt him. I broke what we had, and he’s not someone who will stand to be disrespected. He’s not going to take me back on an apology, even a groveling one.
I’ve always known, deep down, that to keep him, I had to do one thing: I had to love him without fucking it up. All I had to do was not fuck it up. And what did I do? I fucked it all up.
But I’m not giving up.
I walk to the sink and pour out the liquor–not just what’s in my glass, but what’s in the bottle, too. It all starts today. This won’t be an apology. I’ve already left messages begging for forgiveness, confessing my sins, crying with my regrets. That’s all been said. This is where I start living for him. Showing him that I can be worthy of him again someday. No more instant gratification for me. That Callen can stay on this fucking island. The one returning to the States tomorrow is growing up.
I’ll be the man he wants me to be. The one he needs me to be. He may not know it. Hell, he probably won’t even see it. It may take weeks or months for him to realize my efforts. Maybe he’ll hear things from Trey or Will. Maybe he’ll see headlines on gossip sites: Callen McNare Practices Abstinence in All Facets of His Life.
I laugh to myself at the thought of that. They never report on the good things. In fact, I should probably be worrying about Spence going to one of these tabloids with his story. Please, God, don’t let him do that. Please don’t let this cheating incident be news at home where Max may be confronted with it again.
I just want a fresh start, beginning right now. I know Max is the only one for me. I came out for him. If it wasn’t for his commitment to me and his certainty about me two years ago, I may not be here today. He saved me, and I am grateful for him.
Sitting down on the bed, I stare at a picture of the two of us on my tablet. We never talked about getting married, but I always imagined this particular picture of us displayed at a reception for us, after a wedding. It was inevitable. I had been equally certain of him for the past two years, too.
I call my father back.
“Carter McNare,” he answers, always in business mode.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Callen? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I want you to, um… can you find me some place to go to rehab… for alcohol? Somewhere I can go as soon as I get in tomorrow?”
“What?”
“I think I have, well… I think it could really become a problem, and I don’t want it to make my life any worse than it already has. I don’t want you and Mom to worry. I just want to handle it.”
“Wow, son. Okay. You’re sure?”
“I’m asking for help, Dad.”
I hear him sigh. “Consider it done. Your mother and I will meet you at the airport and we’ll take you there ourselves.”
“I thought you were leaving for Puerto Rico tomorrow morning.”
“It can wait.”
“Thank you.”
12
Trey
Requisite.
Zaina and I have had sex three times, and already I feel like I can define how it will be in our relationship: requisite. And not as if it’s something that needs to be fulfilled–more like it’s something I have to do in order to keep our relationship moving forward.
Sex is not what I thought it would be, that’s for sure. Shouldn’t I want to be with her, sexually? I’m attracted to her. I always have been. But I’m not entirely sure we’re sexually compatible. I’m not looking forward to doing it again with her, if what I have to look forward to is what we’ve done already.
“What are you thinking about?” She coos in my ear, wrapping her arms around me as we sit in our first-class seats on the airplane.
I stare out the window in a daze. “Things,” I say, my eyes fixated on a couple standing inside the terminal. Their passion for one another is evident. It had been since the moment they showed up at the airport, and the strange thing was, I’d never even seen them kiss. They held hands. He would touch the small of her back. She would run her fingers through his hair. She even blew in his coffee to cool it down, and he watched her sweetly, so obviously smitten with her. Every so often, he would tap her toes with his, which would get her attention, and then they would smile at one another adoringly. I had wondered what they were thinking about.
“This morning?” Zaina asks.
“I mean,” I stutter, “sure.”
“This morning was amazing.” She says it as if she’s trying to convince me. She can’t. It wasn’t. But I don’t want to let her know that. Maybe it’ll get better. I just don’t see how if she’s going to have strange inhibitions and rules when we’re being intimidate.
I nod and smile. It’s requisite.
“Do you think people can tell?” Her voice is a whisper. If it was anything more, I would probably be annoyed with her. Privacy is a rarity in my life–people are constantly watching me, eavesdropping, and–especially now–I would like to keep our personal life between the two of us as much as possible.
I shake my head subtly. “Zai,” I say softly, leaning into her. “I’m sure people assumed we were already sleeping together. I just don’t think they care one way or another.”
“You don’t think they care?”
“Why would they?”
“Because you’re you.”
“Like I said, I don’t think they care.”
“The fact that photographers are always following you around says otherwise,” she counters. Maybe she’s right. They care because they make money from exploiting me. They care because news about me draws hits to their sites and sells their trashy magazines. Most of the time, I try not to let it bother me. While the press has been hurtful at times, it’s also been helpful. It drives people to my site, which promotes non-profits around New York.
These organizations get thousands of dollars of donations every month from the articles I’ve written about them. So, what they say is true–there’s no such thing as bad press. Sometimes it just takes digging to find the positive elements of it. If giving up my privacy on occasion ends up helping people in need, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.
I get my head back into our conversation, returning the focus to us. “We don’t need to worry ourselves with the paparazzi, though. This is our life. We care about each other. That’s it. What everyone else thinks? It doesn’t matter to us. Right?”
“I guess not.”
“Tell me it doesn’t matter to you, Zai.”
“It really doesn’t,” she finally says. “I just feel so different now. I wondered if it showed, that’s all. Do I look the same to you?”
I look into her eyes and consider my response. “No. My vision of you has changed. We have changed. I love you. I respect you. I’ve been completely vulnerable with you. I’ve never put so much trust in another person.”
“I meant physically,” she adds.
I put my lips next to her ear. “You’re sexy as hell naked. And some of the expressions you have when we’re making love?” I tap my forehead. “I’m filing them away so I can remember all the details on those nights when I feel alone at Columbia and you’re across the pond at Oxford.” When I pull away, her cheeks show a tint of pink. I touch one of them with the back of my middle finger. “And I’ve seen that blush more times in the last three days than I have in the entire two and a half years we’ve been together. That is lovely.”
She smiles and swallows. “Did you like it?” Her expression lets me know which ‘it’ she’s talking about.
“Of course. I mean, we’re not pros yet, but we’ll get there, right?”
“Right. So, I was thinking maybe… Thursday night?” she asks.
“I can’t see you until Thursday?”
“You can see me whenever. I just thought maybe that’d be a good night to… you know… do it again.”
“I mean… should I put it on the calendar or something? Are we scheduling it?” I whisper, looking around.
“I thought it would be best to plan it.”
“Sure,” I respond. “Gotta plan it. Wait, why can’t we be spontaneous?”
“That’s how accidents happen.”
I look back out the window and nod. “Okay, then. Thursday’s good.”
“Great. Your house?”
That gets my full attention. “What? No! My house is off-limits. It always will be. It’s a cardinal rule in the Holland home,” I explain. “It’s a promise I’ve made to my parents.” It’s one I’m not willing to break.
“Well, then where? We can’t do it at my place. My dad would toss you out my bedroom window.”
“What about your beach house? Is it occupied?”
“No,” she says. “We could go there.” She smiles brightly. “We could definitely go there. Good idea.”
“Then it’s a date.”
When we land in New York, I leave Zaina at the baggage carousel while I tell Callen goodbye. She hadn’t wanted to speak to him at all, but he texted me that he was checking himself into rehab for a month, and I wanted to talk to him before he left.
“You really think you have a drinking problem?” I ask him once we find a quiet corner to talk.
“I think drinking is what got me into this mess.”
“You’re not just using it as an excuse, Callen, are you? It’s not gonna work, you know.”
He stares at his watch for a few seconds. “I know,” he says. When he looks up, his eyes are watering. “T, I don’t know if I’m an alcoholic. What matters is that Max thinks I am. I’m gonna make sure I never become one–for him. That’s a non-negotiable for him and his family, I know that. I gotta get it out of my system.”
I nod and pat him on the back. “I guess that’s a good reason. But Callen, I have to be honest… I think it’s over. I don’t want to discourage you from doing what you think is right, but if you’re just doing it for him, like… maybe don’t.”
“It’s not over,” he argues. “It can’t be over, Trey.”
“But you did the unthinkable. He stood by you through everything. When you weren’t sure you wanted to be with him. When you ran away from home, and from him. When you were afraid to be seen in public as his boyfriend. He patiently waited for you through all of it.”
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. He’s why I’m still here. I know it’s not over.”
“Just don’t put all your hope into that, okay?”
He nods, and a tear falls down his cheek. He swipes at it quickly with the back of his hand. “Will you keep me in the loop on things… with him?”
“I won’t betray his trust, but… yeah.”
“Please make sure he’s okay.”
“I will.”
“And make sure he goes to college. You know how much it took to twist his arm.”
“I think he’s still going.”
He thinks for a few seconds. “Still in California?”
“As far as I know, his plans haven’t changed.”
Callen smiles, but begins to cry. I pull him into a hug. “Good,” he says. “That’s good. I hate that I’ve fucked this up so badly, T.”
“I, uh… I hate it, too, Cal.” I feel a little emotional about it all, as well. “I wish I’d done something to stop all the drinking earlier in the week. In my sober moments, I knew we were being assholes. But we were having fun. After all the stress of our senior year and baseball playoffs, I felt like we deserved some time to unwind… and I felt like Max and Zaina couldn’t relate to what all we’d been through. But we should have included them.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s not your fault, though. You never would have cheated on Zai.”
“No,” I say. “I never would.”
“I want to be better,” he says through his tears.
“Callen, I know you’re a good guy. You messed up big time. Do what you can to make amends. I know that Max loves you, but I know how badly he was hurt by you. I don’t know if he can get past it. I wish I could predict the future, but that’s not my thing.”
“That’s Will’s thing, right? Astrology?” he teases. Max’s brother is one of the world’s leading astrophysicists, but this is a running joke in our family.
“Ha! Exactly. You should ask him.”
“I did. I called him first thing. I know he’ll be there for me. He sort-of took me in two years ago. He can’t get rid of me now. He said so himself. I know Max will come first to him, but I’ll always have a friend in him, too.”
“Well, that’s an ‘in.’ If you really want this, Callen–for real–show us how much you love Max every day. Leave Friday behind. Don’t let shit like that happen again. You’re a part of this family, and I don’t want to lose you, either.”
“Thanks… uh, Zaina’s found you,” he says, nodding behind me. “She just sneered at me.”
“She, on the other hand, couldn’t give two shits about you right now, unfortunately.”
“Don’t let her get in your head,” he says quietly, embracing me one last time.
“Never gonna happen. Take care of yourself. Call me in 30 days.”
“We’ll go play some ball when I’m out.”
I shake his hand, telling him goodbye, and hear Zaina walking up as he turns away, making his way toward the exit. “Where are our things?” I ask her.
“Daddy hired a driver to pick us up. He’s got everything together.”
“Let’s go.”
“How could you be nice to him? Max is your best friend.”
“Zai, we’re never going to agree on how we feel about Callen, so unless you want to fight about it, I think we should eliminate him as a potential topic of conversation.” I take her hand in mine, spotting a driver with five photographers flanking his sides. He must be ours.
“I plan to badmouth him every chance I get. And Max will, too. “<
br />
“Max is welcome to. Max is who he hurt. I’m not kidding about you and me, though.” Releasing her hand quickly, I find my baseball cap and sunglasses in my backpack and put them both on, obscuring my face as best as I can. When I look at Zaina, she’s reapplying lipstick.
As soon as the driver makes eye contact with me, all the photographers turn around and descend upon both of us, shouting questions.
“Did you have a fun time in St. Thomas?”
“Did you stay together?”
“What did you do while you were there?”
“Weren’t Callen McNare and Max Scott with you?”
“We saw Max came back early with an injured hand. What happened?”
“He busted out a window because Cal–”
“He fell,” I say over Zaina, wondering why this is the question she decided to answer. I know for a fact Max wasn’t talking to anyone. “Max fell into a window. Tripped over his flip flops.” My cheeks heat up. I’ve never been able to lie undetected, but I’m hoping my partial disguise hides it from everyone.
“Zaina! Zaina!” they shout, following us out, knowing now where they’re most likely to get answers. “What did you two do while you were in St. Thomas?”
“We had a very romantic time,” she responds with a wide smile, and blinking that makes me think she has something in both of her eyes. I help our driver load all of our luggage, hoping to hurry things along before she gives them all the details they want.
“How so?” one man asks.
“Well…”
“Zai,” I say, putting my arm around her. “Why don’t we just invite them next time?” I ask sarcastically, signaling for her to get into the back of the limo.
“Tria!” she squeals, settling into the back seat.
“They don’t belong there, right?” I ask when we’re shut into the car, alone.
“Of course not!”
“They don’t belong in the conversation, either. Please stop giving stuff away. It’s our private life. Nobody else’s.”
“Are you mad?”
I swallow hard and bite the inside of my cheek in thought. Truthfully, if we’d had a romantic time, I might not have minded her saying anything to them, but to me, it’s a lie. I tried like hell to make it romantic. There were moments when she let romance happen, but for the most part, it was regimented and overly hygienic. Nothing felt natural or impulsive, and in turn, it all seemed almost disingenuous.
