by Shawn Lane
Once he’d even taken out the phone book and looked up mental health professionals. He hadn’t gotten up the nerve to actually call one, though.
He’d considered that his attraction to men could be just a phase. He dismissed that though when he remembered that before Scott left for New York six years ago Preston had wanted him. It hadn’t just happened. And he didn’t think he could ignore it either. Two minutes around Scott and he was jumping him.
So Preston had come to a decision. He was going to accept, at least for now, that he was at the very least bisexual, and possibly gay, and having a relationship with his best friend’s brother. He would allow the relationship to continue, but on his terms. He was pretty sure Scott would accept the terms too. They were pretty much the same stuff they’d already been doing.
His doorbell rang, and he went to let Scott inside. His heart skipped a beat when the young man brushed past him. He closed the door and locked it and turned to face the man he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off nor his mind from straying to.
It being Saturday and warm, Scott had dressed casually in shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. He had just enough sexy stubble covering his chin and his sandy-blond hair was windblown. He grinned and held out the paper sack he’d carried in with him.
“Are you hungry? I brought fried chicken,” Scott announced.
Preston frowned at the grease spot on the bag. “Uh, where did you get that?”
“From a place down the street from my parents’ house. I swear they’ve been using the same oil for the last five years.” His grin widened and he headed into the kitchen with the bag of chicken.
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
Scott shrugged. “I guess some people might get squeamish about that sort of thing. But they did get their rating up since they were closed down by the health department.”
“I hope you are kidding about that.” Preston cleared his throat. “But anyway, I’d like to talk to you.”
“Talk? I’m kind of surprised I got all the way to the kitchen without you bending me over.”
“I—” Preston felt his face heat and he looked away.
“I am kidding about that. Jeez, Pres, you’re so serious.” Scott leaned toward him and kissed him full on the lips. He grabbed Preston’s hand and threaded his fingers through them. “Sure, we can talk. Any time you want. In the bedroom?”
“No, we won’t get any talking done then. In the living room. I want to talk about us.”
Scott looked instantly wary, and Preston could have sworn he backed up a step, but whether he imagined that or not, Scott nodded and pulled him toward the living room.
They sat next to each other on the loveseat. Scott stared into Preston’s eyes for several seconds, looking almost sad, and then he said, “Okay. What about us?”
Preston was suddenly nervous and he wondered if maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. “Well, I know you’ve wanted to talk about our…well, whatever we are.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve accepted that I might be attracted to men.”
Scott blinked. “Might be?”
Preston shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, that I am.” He swallowed. “I have to admit I’m not entirely sure what that means. Obviously I have been attracted to women in the past as is, you know, normal.”
Scott inhaled sharply and went completely rigid. “What did you just say?”
He shook his head. “Scott, being ga…attracted to the same sex is not normal.”
“Gay, Preston. Being gay. Jesus, you can’t even say the damn word, can you?” Scott looked away quickly, but not before Preston saw a hint of moisture in the other man’s eyes.
“Scotty, I don’t want to fight with you. That’s not what this is about.” Preston rubbed his temples in frustration. “I wanted to tell you that I want to be with you.”
He thought that would make Scott happy. That he would suddenly turn to Preston with his heartbreakingly beautiful smile and throw his arms around him and say how glad he was. That’s the scenario he’d played in his mind. Trouble was, Scotty never did what Preston expected.
Scott continued to look away from him and he closed his eyes. “What does that mean to you, Pres?” he asked softly.
He nodded. “It means I want to go on seeing you, being with you. I think—I think what we have these past few weeks has worked really well.”
“So, you mean you want nothing to change.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“I love you, Pres.”
“That’s—that’s wonderful,” Preston said, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He didn’t like the tone Scott used. It was off. Odd. He forced himself to ask, “Then you agree?”
Scotty shook his head but didn’t say anything.
The lump in his throat dropped to his stomach. “No?”
“You want to keep things as they are, but I can’t do that,” Scott said hoarsely. “In other words, you don’t want anyone to know you’re gay or like guys, whatever. You don’t want anyone to know you’re seeing me. Sleeping with me. You want to live this secret life.”
Preston opened his mouth to say something but then realized it was true. He couldn’t deny that was exactly how he felt.
“The problem is, Pres, everyone already knows I’m gay. I came out several years ago, and my family knows I’m seeing someone. Don’t worry—they don’t know it’s you. But they are eventually going to want know who it is.” Scotty buried his face in his hands. “What am I supposed to say then? The guy I’m with is too ashamed of me to admit our relationship?”
“Scotty.”
“Do you even know what that means? You always keep separate houses, separate expenses. You can never spend holidays together. You’re never really together. Never.” Scotty removed his hands from his face and finally looked at Preston. There was no mistaking the tears welling in his eyes. “If this were a hundred years…even thirty years ago, I probably would be okay with that. But I’ve already accepted who and what I am, and I can’t go back to pretending otherwise.”
“You said you love me,” Preston pointed out, grasping. “If you do, then why can’t you accept that this is the only way it will work for me?”
“I do love you. But I also have something called self-respect, Pres. Too much to be someone’s dirty little secret.”
“You don’t understand.” Preston felt a little desperate. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. “I have children. They can’t…I can’t let them know about me. I can’t have them thinking I’m abnormal.”
“Like me?”
“Scotty, I—”
“That’s why you had the phone book out the other day turned to the listing of psychiatrists, isn’t it? You put it away, but I saw it before you did. You think I’m some sort of freak, and you hate the fact you might be just like me.”
“I don’t think you are a freak.”
“You think I’m abnormal,” Scotty said, his voice faltering on the last word. He stood up. “I have to get out of here.”
“What? No. Please, it doesn’t have to be like this.” Preston stood up too, his hand shooting out to stop Scott from moving.
“You know I both wanted and feared having this conversation. I wanted to have it because I hoped, dreamed really, that you would tell me you loved me and wanted to spend the rest of our lives together and you didn’t care who knew it. But I feared it would go exactly as it has. I should have known. Any dreams I ever have only end up badly.” Scott shook his head, shrugging off Preston’s hand from his arm. He walked to the door.
Preston followed. “Don’t do this, Scotty. I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay.”
Scott’s hand froze on the doorknob and he turned to face Preston. “Do you love me?”
Preston’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His mind fractured. Men didn’t love men. Not romantically.
“Jesus, you should see your face right now. You look like you want to puke, Preston. You can�
��t even make yourself say it. Because you don’t. You don’t love me, and you never will. Sure, you like the sex, but so fucking what, huh? You can find some other sucker to be your dirty little secret and he probably won’t demand anything else from you, like for you to give a shit about him.”
Preston couldn’t breathe. He wanted to tell Scott he was so wrong. He tried to speak, but emotion clogged his throat.
Tears streamed down Scotty’s cheeks and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry, Preston. Really. I wish I could just hide the way I feel and be what you want me to be. I can’t. Coming out was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I did it and my family and friends accept me and love me still. I can’t go back. Not even for you.”
Scott turned his back on him, opened the door, and left Preston’s house. His life.
Preston went to the closed door. “Scotty, please.” His hand pressed to the front door, he wanted to go after him. Wanted to beg Scott to give him another chance. He’d try. He would. But he would be lying just to make the other man stay. He couldn’t come out. Not ever.
He sunk to the floor with his back against the door, misery and loneliness hanging over him like a thick cloud.
* * * *
Scotty dropped to a crouch on Preston’s front doorstep, burying his face in his hands. The tears flowed freely now.
He couldn’t catch his breath. His chest hurt. His head hurt. His stomach hurt. Every part of him ached with near mind-numbing agony. He almost wished he would drop dead right there in front of Preston’s house.
Maybe if he started the day over, he could avoid the conversation where Preston had forced him to end it. Refused to talk about it just as Preston had these last few weeks.
But he could dream and wish and hope forever. It would change nothing. It was over and he hated himself for caring so damn much.
He straightened and began walking. He made it to his car, but once inside he just sat there, leaning against the steering wheel letting the racking sobs out. His vision was too blurred by tears to drive, so he just let himself cry it out.
Somewhere in the back of his surely feeble mind he still hoped Preston would come running out from his house, taking what he’d said back. Telling Scotty he was sorry for thinking him abnormal. But no matter how hard he stared at the front door, it didn’t happen.
“Fucking idiot,” he yelled. “You’re just a fucking idiot.”
He’d done this. He’d allowed himself to ignore all the bothersome signs Preston had been giving him. Allowed the love he had already felt for Preston to deepen further. And now that it was over he had no one to blame but himself.
He was crying like a baby.
Finally exhausted from his tears, he rested his head against the steering wheel for several minutes more. He didn’t know how long. Oddly his stomach gurgled, reminding him he’d never had the chance to eat the greasy fried chicken.
Scotty turned the key in the ignition, started the car, and drove away from the man he loved.
Chapter 9
Over the weekend Scotty had decided he would have to quit his job. There was no way he could face Preston every day. Not now. Maybe in another ten years when he’d somehow gotten over him and found a new man to love. Hopefully one who loved Scotty, too.
He stood outside Kenneth Trask’s office door, absolutely dreading the conversation about to take place. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. His father had mellowed over the years and even accepted his being gay. Eventually.
It was just…well, he’d finally earned a little bit of respect from his dad. Enough that he was willing to offer him a job at the firm he’d started. That was a big deal for his father.
His semi-retired father only worked three days a week now. Monday being one of them. He tapped lightly on the door.
“Come in,” a deep, authoritative voice called.
Scotty was nine years old again. Afraid to face his father after breaking his trophy in the family den. He turned the knob and plastered what he hoped was a casual smile on his face.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Scotty, I was just thinking about you.” His father smiled. Scotty’s older brother, Jack, resembled their father more than he did, but there was no getting past the fact the family all looked alike. His father gestured to the big plush chair in front of his desk. Even though he only worked part-time now, his father was impeccably dressed in a black suit with a pale-yellow dress shirt and tie.
“Uh, you were thinking about me?”
His father nodded. “I’ve been going over your accounting and investigative work and I have to say I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Scotty let himself bask in the feel-good glow of his father’s approval. He’d so rarely had it, surely it couldn’t be so terrible for him to enjoy a bit of it now and then. “About the job,” he said slowly, carefully.
“You’re not going to ask me for a raise already, are you?” The old man grinned. He picked up a mug of coffee he’d had on the desk and took a large sip.
“What? Oh, no, sir.”
“Now, now, don’t dismiss it so easily. We can talk about it.”
Scotty swallowed, realizing this was going to be harder than he’d actually thought. And he’d thought it would be hard.
“What kind of money are we talking about?” His father was in business mode. Negotiating with a cool smile.
“Dad, I don’t want a raise,” Scotty said. “Actually, I’ve come to give you my resignation.”
His father’s smile faded with lightning speed. His blue eyes turned glacial. “Your…resignation?”
Scotty nodded. “I know this is a surprise.”
His father laughed a short, barking sound. He wrinkled his nose. “No. It’s not a surprise at all. I should have expected this.”
He frowned. “Expected it?”
“I told your mother offering you a job at my firm would be a big mistake, but your mother insisted I was making the right decision. But I knew it in my gut. Should have trusted my instincts.”
Dreading the answer, Scotty forced himself to ask, “Knew?”
“That you were nothing but a worthless screw-up. You always have been. I didn’t think you’d be any different now.” His father shook his head. “For a minute there when I looked at your work I thought maybe you had changed after all. But you haven’t.”
His heart rose in his throat and then dropped like lead into his stomach. “Dad, that’s not true. I’m not a screw-up.”
“Yeah, sure, Scotty. Whatever. You can’t handle being a man and working for a living. What’s the matter? Had to work too hard?”
“That’s not what this is about.”
His father arched a blond brow at him. “Really? Then why are you quitting if it isn’t because you can’t handle a real job?”
Scotty opened his mouth, ready to refute the angry words spoken by his father, but he couldn’t tell the truth without outing Preston. He couldn’t do that to him. It would crush Preston and, as hurt as he was that Preston didn’t love him, Scotty could not turn on the man he loved with such viciousness. He still wanted only the best for Preston.
“I—I guess you’re right,” Scotty said softly, his heart squeezing in his chest. He had the urge to curl into a fetal position at the look of extreme disappointment on his father’s face. He’d been so close to having his father’s approval, only to have it snatched away.
His father grimaced. “Get out.”
“What?”
“I said, get out. Grow the fuck up, Scott. You make me sick. Get your things and get out of my firm.” His father waved his hand toward the door.
He felt the prick of tears but angrily forced them away. He would not give his father the satisfaction. Scotty struggled up from the chair, trying to maintain some dignity. His father had turned away and wouldn’t even look at him.
Scotty wanted to say something…anything, but he couldn’t think of a single thing he
could say that would repair the damage. The pain was too raw. He turned and walked out of his father’s office.
* * * *
Preston stared at the computer screen, not really seeing anything on it. He’d spent all of Sunday in bed. Grieving he supposed. He couldn’t make himself care about anything.
By the time he forced himself out of bed Monday morning, he hadn’t made it into the office until after ten o’clock. He put on a suit but hadn’t straightened his tie. He hadn’t even bothered to shower or shave. What difference did it make anyway?
When he got to the office he hadn’t missed the fact Scott’s office door was open and the room itself dark. Apparently he hadn’t even come in.
He couldn’t say why, but he missed the pulse-pounding rock music blaring through the office walls.
His heart was shredded. He couldn’t deny the way he felt about Scott. Not to himself anyway. Though it wasn’t supposed to happen that way, he was completely and thoroughly in love with Scotty. Not that he intended to do anything about it. He couldn’t change.
Eventually he would get past the ache, the need for Scott. He simply had to. Scotty didn’t want a clandestine affair, and he didn’t want an open one. They were at cross-purposes.
Love and relationships sometimes just didn’t work out. His marriage hadn’t. When he’d proposed to his wife, Preston had thought he loved her. He never would have bothered otherwise. But it was clear almost from the beginning they weren’t really compatible. And now, with all that had happened with her and Scotty, Preston decided he had never really loved her like love was supposed to feel. To be fair, Preston didn’t think she’d ever loved him either. They had two wonderful children, though, and he wouldn’t regret them.
He did love Scotty, but that didn’t mean they were any more compatible than he and his wife had been. They wanted different things. Scotty wanted to be openly gay, and Preston didn’t.
