by Con Riley
Later they danced with the hotel staff outside a bar built from corrugated sheets of metal and cinder blocks, wrapped in a haze of marijuana smoke, high on physical contact and cheap local beer.
“Why rebuild when Mother Nature will just send another storm, baby? Maybe getting on with living is better than planning out a perfect life.”
It was ridiculous, fucking ridiculous—pathetic even—to revisit grief, to weather another tree-lifting storm, over what? A figment of his imagination? An Internet stranger he hadn’t even met? Yeah, pathetic was right. Anger, hot and slick, rose from his chest, pushing out between his ribs, piercing his skin. He’d been a fucking fool.
Who did that?
Who fell—and he had fallen, he could see that now, he’d fallen hard—for a faceless, filthy-mouthed, opinionated stranger?
Who based their day, their perspectives, even their mood, on the whim of someone who might turn out to be a kid with an Internet connection and access to Wikipedia?
The longer he spent staring at his own four walls, the easier it was to picture some kid like Evan or Joel, holed up in a college dorm room, getting off on the idea of a man—a grown fucking man old enough to be his father for fuck’s sake—responding to his juvenile dirty talk. In hindsight, what he’d seen as left-wing rhetoric could easily have been a spoiled brat virtually stamping his feet, whining it’s not fair.
When he thought back, Morgan’s online arguments could be defined as simplistic. Did he ever take the bigger picture into account until Theo pointed it out to him? Had his argument only developed once Theo showed him alternatives, sending him links, talking to him privately, endlessly, investing in a relationship no more substantial than smoke?
Theo’s spoon clinked against his bowl of reheated soup, his hands still shaking as he watched Maggie walk across his kitchen. She sat across the table from him, her face drawn.
“What happened, Theo?”
He shook his head, unable to explain how something as ridiculous as an online friendship had ended with him feeling as he did at Ben’s cremation, like some terrible mistake had been made. He remembered—and it was his only clear memory of the whole day—sitting between his mother and father, wondering how come both he and Ben had died, but only Ben had a casket.
It was wrong, he knew, to feel that old, awful ache again, which went so much deeper than his bones, over something so pointless and pathetic. It was wrong to worry Maggie, to wreck his home, to waste a single fucking minute thinking about a kid who had no idea what he’d done.
“Please, Theo, tell me.”
He shook his head again.
HE LOST days.
He wasn’t sure how he managed to lose track so quickly. He remembered his mom calling—yeah, that definitely happened—but he had no recollection of what they talked about. Maggie stopped by, making sure there was food in the refrigerator, piling up his mail on the kitchen counter. Theo woke up one morning, certain he’d already spent too many days dwelling on conversations he’d had with a kid who was probably half his age. Working his way through the apartment room by room, setting his home aright, he realized that he had done this all before. He was back to square one.
Desperate to escape his own head, he went back to the gym, grateful that Peter was away. If he had seen him, he would have taken him home and fucked him—anything to stop his brain from think, think, thinking about how empty his life was, first without Ben and now without his projection of Morgan.
Peter didn’t deserve that.
A fuck wouldn’t solve anything.
Instead he worked out, went back to work, then fired Joel.
It hadn’t been his intention to fire anyone.
There was so much work to catch up on that Theo was trapped behind a wall of paper for most of the day. Maggie did her usual thing of shielding him from distractions, so apart from his staff meeting first thing, where he lied again about sickness, keeping his eyes averted from the interns, he hadn’t left his office. It wasn’t until the end of the day, when he was racing to meet a pressing deadline that he visited the archive room, thinking it would be quicker to find the files himself rather than explain to anyone else which documents he needed. Besides, everyone else except for Maggie had already left for the day.
The archive room door swung open, revealing Evan up on the counter, leaning back on his elbows, eyes shut as Joel buried his face in his neck. Theo backed out immediately, but the image of Joel’s hand rubbing Evan’s dress-pants-covered erection as the blond arched under him, groaning, followed Theo back to his desk.
He put his head in his hands.
When Joel backed out of the archive room later, pink cheeked and loaded with boxes, Theo called him into his office. Joel stared, his face leaching of color as Theo told him to go clear his desk. By the time Evan came back from finishing his own work, Joel had already left. Theo swallowed as he saw the small blond’s face fall, then flush with confused anger. He wasn’t surprised when he tried to get Theo’s attention.
Theo closed his blinds.
Maggie was pissed off with him. She wasn’t quiet about it either. Nor did she listen when he told her that he was looking out for Evan, and that people weren’t always what they seemed.
“But why, Theo?” she demanded. “Why Joel? I don’t understand. He’s such a help, so much fun, and a real hard worker. What do you mean ‘people aren’t what they seem’? You know he’s Evan’s boyfriend now, right? He’s so upset. What the hell did Joel do?” She walked toward him, making as if to come around to his side of the desk.
He held up one hand, palm facing her, and then she left him too.
One by one, the lights were shut off across the office, leaving Theo sitting alone in the dark.
HIS parents were waiting for him when he got home. Instead of asking them in, he took them for an early dinner. Somehow he came up with conversation; at least he was fairly sure he did. His mom talked and talked. He had no idea what he might have told her during the week, so he sat, much like his father, smiling and nodding while she filled in their silent spaces.
The server brought their order. Theo couldn’t remember what he’d ordered. His dad indicated which dish went where, then watched Theo as he plowed through his meal methodically.
“You’ve lost weight, son.” Theo looked across at his dad, chewing, tasting nothing. He swallowed, then shrugged.
His mother talked about people he didn’t know and had no interest in. Theo nodded and smiled, nodded and smiled, nodded and smiled. When his mom excused herself, his father gripped his feet under the table between his own.
“What is it, son? What’s happened?”
He wouldn’t accept Theo’s headshake as an answer.
“Is it Ben? Is it work? Are you okay?” Theo knew what the last question meant. His dad had seen him at his worst after Ben’s death. He hadn’t been entirely rational. “Tell me, son, or I’m going to worry myself fucking sick.” His dad’s face was pale, and Theo wondered when he’d gotten so old. It was seeing his father’s hands shake as he reached across the table to hold his own, the same hands that had hauled him up from the ice so many times when he was a dumb kid who thought skating should be easy, that finally made Theo talk.
He held his dad’s hand and said, “I met someone. He wasn’t who I thought. I was a little upset. I’m okay now.”
“Who did you think he was, son? Tom Cruise?”
Theo snorted, half sobbing, half laughing. He nodded, yes.
“Who did he turn out to be?”
It was a valid question. Theo didn’t know the actual answer.
“I have no idea, Dad.”
Watching his father suck in a breath, Theo took a moment to try to explain. Maybe if he could find the right words to describe what had happened, he might be able to get a grip on his thoughts. He still felt caught, trapped inside, as if a hurricane had blown up in the Gulf and had torn up the world he’d only just started to rebuild after Ben died.
“I made a friend onli
ne. We talked so much that I thought I knew him. More to the point, I let him know me. All of me.”
His dad’s voice was low. “Is that a bad thing, son? Letting people into your life? It’s been hard to see you so lonely.”
He squeezed his dad’s hand again, trying to smile. “No, it would have been good, I guess, if I’d known… if I’d guessed.” He shook his head, looking across at his dad’s confused, sweet face. “I think he’s a lot younger than me.”
“So you can’t be friends?”
Theo closed his eyes, remembering Morgan’s words: I want to think about your ass clenching, thrusting, fucking me.
Fucking me.
“Not now, Dad. I’m not sure friendship was exactly what he had in mind.”
“Oh.” His dad’s cheeks pinked a little, and Theo felt badly. His dad had supported him right from the very first time Theo stood at the foot of his tallest ladder, asking him if it was okay to like boys that way. It hadn’t occurred to Theo as a thirteen-year-old to hide that shit. His dad always had the right answers.
“Oh. Well, you and Ben seemed to manage just fine, son.”
Theo felt his face twist.
“Is it Ben? Do you feel guilty about liking someone else?”
Theo had plenty to feel guilty about already without even starting to think about Ben. He considered Evan—so slight, a bruised angel—then he thought about Joel—all idealism, breathtaking smile, and huge, huge heart—and he wondered just what he’d done. What had he been thinking? What a fucking mess.
“Who feels guilty?” They both jumped at his mom’s voice.
She sat again, looking between her men before settling her gaze on Theo.
“Guilt is a terrible waste of energy, Theo. You can’t do a single thing with it. Not a thing.” She reached for their hands until all three of them were linked.
“I don’t know what it is that you boys find to talk about the minute I turn my back, but please don’t dwell on guilt.” Her gaze flickered away, then returned to Theo. “Guilt means you know you made a mistake. Don’t live with it. Set things straight, as quickly as you can.” She nodded firmly. “Set things straight, Theo.”
Under the table, his dad squeezed his feet.
HE LEFT his parents at the restaurant, splitting a dessert like they always did, claiming that he had work to do. He took the long route back, listening to talk radio, hearing nothing, not wanting to go home. When he eventually pulled into his slot in the parking lot, he took his cell phone from his pocket and switched it on.
Six missed messages since leaving the office.
He didn’t need to read them. They were all from the same person, and they would all say the same thing.
Theo deleted them, then pulled a box of files from the trunk and headed on in. He made it through the apartment complex doors, shuffling the box from side to side to press the elevator button, then fumbled awkwardly for his keys when he reached his own front door.
This time he didn’t lean on the buzzer.
He knew he was on his own.
Maybe, he thought, as he shoved the box of files onto his desk, he should be grateful to Morgan. Reliving loss for a second time had hammered home so completely the fact that Ben was gone. Although doing the same shit twice—having exactly the same reaction when he thought he would never have contact with Morgan again—filled him with guilt, it did highlight the fact that Theo could move on. Not yet, because Morgan would take some getting over, but one day, maybe, with someone who was real.
What he felt for Morgan might have been imaginary, but it starkly highlighted shit he hadn’t dealt with after Ben died.
Ben hadn’t ever been concerned about their age gap. Nine years was nothing as far as he was concerned. If the subject ever came up, he laughed. It was a trifling difference in his opinion. Besides, he was energetic and fun loving. Why should a number define whether their relationship would work?
That was the issue he found so hard to articulate, to Maggie, to his Dad, to anyone: Ben hadn’t had the slightest concern about the difference in their ages. But he hadn’t been the one who had to live on, when living seemed impossible. He hadn’t had to wade through waves of despair that just kept on fucking coming. Fuck, no. He’d eaten whatever he liked, taken no exercise apart from dancing, and saluted Theo’s arrival home every single day with a huge glass of red wine.
Oh, he quit smoking cigarettes, but he still smoked cigars with their friends, and they were with friends all the fucking time. He lived to enjoy himself, and fuck the consequences. Fuck them.
This last week without Morgan had made Theo look at the age gap between him and Ben, and blame Ben for leaving him drowning. Considering, even for a split second, becoming involved with someone so much younger—potentially pushing him into such deep, dark water one day—made him so fucking anxious.
What if Theo died and left someone behind?
What if he died, leaving someone with even a fraction of the sadness he lived with?
Theo would never willingly, purposefully, heartlessly put another human being in the same situation. He was pissed that Ben had, and that emotion wrecked him. It wrecked him.
He missed him so much, but now he was angry too.
That anger mixed in his head with the guilt he felt for missing Morgan. His Morgan. That loss was brand-new. It all swirled together, confusing him, making him crazy.
Emptying his box of files with shaking hands, Theo powered up his laptop, hoping to hide in his work for a while. His e-mail loaded first, the page full once again, as it had been all week, with messages from Morgan. One by one he methodically moved them, unread, to a folder.
His phone chimed.
MORGAN: I miss you so much.
Theo hit delete.
Chapter 15
AIDEN DALY pretty much blocked the light when Theo opened his front door the next morning. He hadn’t used the door buzzer. No, he thumped on the door, making the mirror on the adjoining wall shake, then stood with his arms crossed, light filtering through his curls, looking like some huge, dark, vengeful angel.
Theo stepped back into his entranceway as Aiden took a step forward, hands sliding to his hips, expression malevolent. There was nothing amiable about this man; he looked so much more than pissed. When Aiden opened his mouth to speak, Theo almost expected to see sound waves—like a sonic boom over still lake water. Instead, he whispered, making Theo lean forward just a little, rocking on the balls of his feet.
“One chance, Mr. Anderson. You have one chance to make things right.” He looked over his shoulder before speaking again. “Dad said you were one of the good guys. Don’t you fucking let him down.”
He stepped back before Theo could think of a single word to say, revealing Evan standing a few feet behind him. Theo blinked as the brothers spoke quietly with each other for a moment, Evan’s face tilted up, weak winter sunlight slanting through his hair, haloing him. He looked like a slim teen, dressed as he was in pale ripped jeans and a baby-blue hoodie. It saddened Theo to see that he obviously wasn’t dressed for work.
He watched as Evan’s bruised-looking eyes—shaded underneath with much darker gray than usual—slid toward him, then away again before he shrugged. Aiden watched his brother step into Theo’s apartment, then nodded curtly before walking away.
Both Theo and Evan exhaled at the same time.
“He didn’t want me to come.” The blond’s voice was clipped, restrained, as it had been at the start of their first meeting at Theo’s home, when he interviewed for the intern position. “He’s a little overprotective.” Evan looked Theo over, like he did at the office whenever Theo wore the wrong combination of stripes, plaids, and paisley. “Why are you wearing that?” Discussing fashion was completely beyond Theo right then. He stared down at his perfectly white button-down shirt teamed with a charcoal gray business suit. Even his tie was plain and gray. The kid had chosen the whole outfit, saying it was idiot proof. What could be wrong with any of it, and what the hell did it matter an
yway?
Even with his head blurry with exhaustion, he was pretty sure that Evan hadn’t come to his home at early o’clock in the morning to discuss his lack of interest in clothes. As bad nights’ sleep went, the last night had been extreme. He kept picturing Joel walking toward the elevator, clutching the box of his belongings—coffee mug, spare shirt, iPod, comb—as Theo watched his every move. The kid had looked dazed, so dazed, as if he couldn’t understand Theo’s words. Or believe them. He’d stopped at the elevator, turning to Theo, asking yet a-fucking-gain just what it was that he’d done. Theo remembered shaking his head. That seemed to be all he could reliably manage when it came to explanations lately.
“Is it because I’m with Evan? Is that what this is about?” he’d asked.
Theo shook his head.
“What then, Theo?” he demanded. “I mean, why? I don’t get it. It must be Evan. Were you lying all those times you told me he was too young for you?”
Theo shook his head so hard he almost felt his brain rattle.
Joel had stepped up toward him, and if Theo had cared he might have been worried, because the man shook with shock and anger. “He’s with me now. Don’t you try anything, not a single fucking thing. You’re right. He is too fucking young for you.” Joel dropped his box and moved as if to storm back into the office, his face stark with anger-fueled anxiety. Theo grabbed his elbow, using the kid’s forward momentum to swing him around.
He tried to find his voice, and when he finally did, it sounded like it belonged to a stranger—harsh and loud.
“Don’t talk to me about whether I’m too old for anyone, Joel.” The elevator opened and he half walked, half shoved Joel into it, picking up his box and thrusting it into his hands before the doors shut. “Apart from Morgan, that is,” he added. “You can fucking talk to Morgan about how I’m too fucking old all you fucking like.” He lay in bed all night replaying the words, thinking that he probably could have slotted in a few more fuckings if he’d had time to think things through.
