I Hate To Love You: A Contemporary Gay Romance

by Oliver, J. P.

  “I never would have guessed,” muttered Tommy.

  “You mean you work on TV shows and stuff?” gawked Philip, thoroughly intoxicated and overly amazed.

  “He works on Sublime,” commented Drew proudly.

  “What? You mean we could have been asking for spoilers this whole time?”

  I laughed, waving at the table. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” offered Liam, standing up from his seat. He placed his hand on the small of my back, firm fingers pressing gently into my spine. It concerned me deeply how badly I wanted him to keep his hold there, strong and almost protective.

  New York felt like an entirely different place late at night. When I looked up, I could just barely see the moon, the bright lights of the city drowning its soft glow with a mix of golden neon. I shivered against the chilly evening breeze as we walked to my car that was waiting in the corner of the pub’s parking lot. I quickly dialed Rick back, doing my best to hide my concern.

  “Dude, where the fuck have you been?” my brother shouted over the receiver loud enough for even Liam to here.

  “Sorry, I was–”

  “Dad’s missing. I can’t find him anywhere. Mom’s freaking out. I think he’s fallen off the wagon again.”

  “Slow down,” I said calmly. “Maybe he’s just staying late at work.”

  “I already called his boss. Said he left hours ago.”

  I sighed. “Shit. Did you call the bar?”

  “Obviously! This isn’t exactly my first rodeo, Mason.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said firmly. “I want you to go home and take care of Mom, okay?”

  “But I can help–”

  “Just do as I say, kid. I’ll call you when I find him.”

  I hung up immediately and stuffed my phone back into my jacket pocket. I fished around for my car keys, pulling them out rather unceremoniously to finally unlock the door.

  “What’s going on? Who was that?” asked Liam. His brows were drawn together into a steep frown, genuine concern written all over his face.

  “That was my brother.”

  “Richard?” he recalled. I was surprised Liam even bothered to remember him.

  “Yeah. He… My Dad,” I started, voice fading into a whisper. Embarrassment had my face feeling hot. “He’s… I need to go find him. He’s got a bit of a…”

  “Yes?” he urged.

  Never in my life had I seen him so patient with me. It was weirdly nice.

  “He’s a drunk,” I answered with a sigh. “I need to find him before he does something stupid again.”

  “Again?” Liam echoed.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Let me come with you,” he added quickly.

  “What? No, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “Really, it’s nothing. Besides, you did me a huge favor tonight,” he reasoned. “I’d hate to owe you one.” Liam tilted his head to the side so he could look me directly in the eye. He reached up and gently grazed the pad of his thumb along my jaw. It was a fleeting gesture, but it left me feeling winded all the same. I wasn’t used to this tenderness, to this care and attention. I didn’t understand why he did it. Drew wasn’t in our line of sight any more. Maybe Liam was just too caught up in the act.

  I was scared, really. I was scared because I wanted him so badly.

  I wanted him so badly that it was starting to hurt.

  “Come on,” he said as he took the car keys from me. “Let me drive. I didn’t actually have that much to drink. And you look a little too nervous to be behind the wheel.”

  And for the second time in two days, I said, “Okay.”

  10

  Liam

  When we were younger, Mason would skip school on several occasions for family emergencies. I never asked what had happened, never bothered to find out what was wrong. We didn’t run in the same circles, save for our mutual friendship with Drew. I didn’t care back then. But I certainly did now.

  Life was funny that way.

  He refused to look at me as we drove. Mason alternated between the passenger seat window and his phone, checking frequently for new messages from his brother.

  “Rick just got off the phone with a few of Dad’s drinking buddies,” he informed me.

  “Oh?”

  “He left the bar about an hour ago. He’s probably passed out in an alley somewhere.”

  “We’ll take a look around,” I said calmly. “I’m sure he couldn’t have gotten too far.”

  “You’d be surprised,” replied Mason weakly. “He’s a resilient ass.”

  “No love lost between you two, huh?”

  Mason shrugged, keeping his eyes cast down. “He’s not that bad. When he’s sober, I mean.” There was an awkward, tense beat. He looked like he was about to say something else, but it died on his tongue.

  “I know a thing or two about asshole parents,” I said after a moment.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, my old man’s a real piece of work. I get it. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” he retorted, a little indignant. This was good. Any reaction out of him was better than no reaction at all.

  “Then why’s your face all red?” I teased.

  Mason swallowed, cheeks burning an even deeper hue. I had to fight every instinct to laugh. It should really be illegal to be that adorable.

  I pulled the car into the small parking lot just behind a dilapidated brick building. If it hadn’t been for the bright red neon sign that read The Seedy Scotchman, the place would have easily been mistaken for a crack house. It wasn’t like we were in a particularly poor part of town, what with all the newly-built apartment complexes and office high-rises in the area. It was a wonder that the city hadn’t cleared this sad plot of land yet. The moment I parked the car, Mason was already jumping out to begin his search.

  “Dad!” he shouted into the night.

  No answer.

  “Steven Neal!” Mason snapped at the top of his lungs. “Where are you?”

  I got out of the car and followed him, shivering against the cold. It was drawing closer to one in the morning. There were only one or two other cars in the parking lot, and from what I could tell, the bar was just about to close.

  “Are you sure he’s going to be here?” I asked.

  “Wait in the car,” he instructed. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Liam, seriously. I don’t–”

  “I appreciate the concern,” I interrupted, “but this will really go faster with more people.”

  Mason sighed, but nodded in agreement. I placed a hand on his shoulder, utterly thrilled when he didn’t move away.

  “Let’s try around back,” he suggested.

  We walked around the perimeter of the building and found ourselves in a narrow passageway. Save for the single light by the bar’s emergency exit, it was entirely dark. Empty crushed beer cans littered the pavement, along with a sprinkling of smushed cigarette butts and gum. Mason led the way, all too familiar with this sort of situation. He seemed calm for a guy whose father had a history of drunken stupors. I wondered how often he had to do this, how often he had to do this alone and go to work the next morning like nothing even happened. It was discouraging to see him navigate the narrow space without a hint of hesitation.

  Closer to the end of the alleyway was a pile of black garbage bags that had been left out for collection in the morning. My eyes widened in surprise when I noticed a pair of feet sticking out from the bottom, hidden behind the rubbish. Mason shook his head and groaned, quickly pushing one of the garbage bags away to reveal an unconscious man hidden beneath.

  “Jesus,” I hissed. “Is that–”

  “Steven?” he called clearly.

  I recognized him, but just barely. Mr. Neal would come to pick Mason and his brother up every now and then from school. He had aged significantly, face a canvas of
wrinkles with thinning gray hair atop his head. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, accented further by the baggy skin beneath his lower lashline. His lips were chapped, a combination of vomit and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. There were food stains all over his gray sweatshirt, and the fabric around his crotch was darker, soaked with his own piss.

  “Should we call an ambulance?” I asked.

  “Don’t bother,” Mason said flatly. “He’ll just refuse to be treated like last time.”

  Last time.

  A wave of anger suddenly shot through me, inexplicable in its intensity. And here I thought my father was an asshole. It suddenly occurred to me, in one giant flash, all the times I used to tease Mason about his father. I used to pick on him for his father never being around, for never coming to pick him and Rick up from school. I used to pinch my nose, laugh, and point at Mason while loudly shouting how badly he smelled of beer. There was a terrible weight at the base of my throat that made it hard for me to breathe. I frowned at the memories of my relentless teasing, guilt eating away at my nerves as I watched Mason try to help his father as best he could. Had it been this bad when we were kids? Judging by the way Mason spoke and moved about with an almost rehearsed fluidity, it wasn’t too hard to imagine why he seemed so experienced with all this.

  Mason bent down and patted his father on the cheek, earning a disgruntled mumble.

  “L’ve me ‘lone,” groaned Mr. Neal.

  “Dad, wake up,” ordered Mason. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Fuckin’ go ‘way,” he whined around a disgusting belch. He swatted his arms to keep Mason from helping him sit up. “Fuck off!” he growled.

  “Mom’s worried about you.”

  “Screw that bitch!”

  I helped Mason lift his father up. The older man was shaky on his feet, swaying dangerously with a sick expression on his face. I had been to my fair share of frat parties back in the day to know what was about to happen. Mr. Neal bent over, groaning loudly as he hurled up the contents of his stomach. It was mostly liquid, dark brown mixing with sticky, slimy mucus and bits of what must have been his dinner.

  “What the hell happened, Dad?” demanded Mason, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

  “Don’t fuckin’ lecture me,” slurred Mr. Neal. “Get enough o’ that shit from your mother.”

  “Come on,” I said, “let’s get you home.”

  “Who th’ fuck ‘re you?”

  Mason tried to place his hand on his father’s back, attempting to guide him toward the car. But Mr. Neal was too intoxicated, too disturbed and agitated. He swung around and threw his fist, his fat knuckles making sharp contact with Mason’s jaw.

  “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” Mr. Neal screamed.

  What happened next was a blur. My body moved on its own accord, a twinge of protectiveness rising up from my gut. Mason was only trying to help, and it didn’t seem right that his father was so unbelievably ungrateful. I shoved Mr. Neal hard, watched as he crumpled over and slammed into the hard pavement. I rushed to Mason, placing my hand gingerly where he’d been hit. His face was understandably crumpled up in pain, his jaw already swelling and turning red.

  “Shit,” I hissed. “You okay?”

  “Fucking ow,” he groaned.

  A weird giddiness filled my chest, despite the mess we were in. I’d never heard Mason swear before. He’d always been such a goody two-shoes that hearing him cuss was a thrill a minute. I couldn’t help but chuckle, rewarded with a deserved glare.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “I hear dodging’s a good idea.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” he said flatly. But despite his tone, I could tell he was trying to fight against a smile.

  “If you were a professional boxer, I’d definitely bet on you,” I continued.

  Mason rolled his eyes, the corner of his lips ticking up into a grin. “Shut up and help me get this asshole into my car, okay?”

  “Seriously. I think you’d give Mike Tyson a run for his money.”

  Mason began to giggle, starting off softly until it was bright and loud. His shoulders shook as he laughed, smiling wide like the handsome idiot he was. I found myself joining him, utterly in awe of how beautiful the sound of his laughter was. It must have been the adrenaline, or my body’s weird attempt at trying to keep warm. Never in my life did I believe I’d be laughing with Mason and not at him. As delightful as it all was, the experience was jarring. It was jarring because a small part of me hoped I got the chance to hear him laugh like this again. But I was a realist, and the realist in me knew that it was highly unlikely because Mason probably wouldn’t be friends with me even if I were the last man on Earth.

  11

  Mason

  By some miracle, Liam and I managed to carry Dad into the house. Mom had left the porch light on for us, illuminating our path up the front steps and through the front door.

  “Oh my God,” she sobbed, her hands covering her mouth as her eyes fell upon her husband. “Where was he?”

  “Behind the building, near the dumpster,” I huffed. Dad was really starting to pack on the pounds.

  “Bastard,” Rick hissed under his breath. “Should have left him there.”

  “Oh my God, did he hit you?” cried my mother, noticing the swelling along my jaw.

  “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

  “Put him on the couch,” rushed Mom.

  Liam and I carried Dad to the old leather ottoman in the living room, placing him on his side against one of the colorful throw pillows. Liam exhaled, as exhausted as I was.

  “What the fuck’s he doing here?” grumbled Rick, glaring a hole into the center of Liam’s forehead. Liam’s face went blank as he awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “Where are your manners?” gasped Mom, slapping Rick across the back of the head. “Please, come on in. I can put on a pot of tea for you if–”

  “It’s all right, Mom,” I said quickly. “It’s late. We really need to get going.”

  “At least let me get you some ice for your jaw,” she protested, already turning on her heel to leave for the kitchen.

  Rick crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning at Liam. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

  Liam cleared his throat, glancing at me nervously. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said quietly.

  My little brother snorted. “Oh, sure you don’t. Convenient memory lapse, much?”

  “Rick, let it go.”

  “Fuck, no,” he grumbled. “This dude made your life a living hell. Or have you forgotten?”

  I clenched my jaw, speaking through gritted teeth. “I don’t have the energy to get into this right now, Rick.”

  “I’ll, er…” stuttered Liam. “I’ll wait in the car, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, face warm with embarrassment. “Sorry. I’ll just make sure everything’s okay here. Shouldn’t take me too long.”

  “Take your time,” he said firmly as he slowly backed away. He left through the front door, closing it gently behind him.

  I glared at my brother. “That was really unnecessary.”

  “So was making you cry every day,” he retorted. “What were you even doing with him, anyways? Don’t tell me you’re seeing him.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. No, I’m not. We’re just working on a project together, that’s all.”

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Mason. He’s done it plenty of times before, what’s to stop him from doing it again?”

  “Rick, I know. I feel the exact same way. But I really don’t want to get into this right–”

  “Here you are, darling!” shouted Mom as she rounded the corner. She handed me a plastic sandwich bag filled to the brim with ice cubes. She had wrapped the whole thing with a light pink tea towel. “Oh,” she blinked, “where’d your friend go?”

  “In the car,” I answered quickly. “I really do have to go. Will y
ou two be okay?”

  Rick sighed, rubbing his temples. “Dad’s pretty much out. I’m sure we’ll be okay.”

  Mom leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you for your help, honey. Tell your friend I said thanks, too.”

  I nodded my head. “Will do. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “Okay,” she cooed.

  “Don’t forget to turn him onto his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit.”

  Rick huffed in frustration. “I know.”

  I left the way I came, throwing Rick and Mom a small wave over the shoulder as I opened the car door and slipped inside. Liam was chewing on the inside of his cheek, obviously deep in thought. As I put on my seatbelt, I noticed him watching me.

  “So…” he hesitated. “Your brother’s… He’s interesting. Taller than I remember.”

  I cleared my throat, scratching behind my ear. “Yeah, sorry about him. He’s really protective of me.”

  “That’s good,” he said, nibbling his bottom lip with his teeth. “That he’s protective.”

  “Yeah, he’s a good kid. Massive ego, though.”

  An awkward beat.

  Liam sighed. “Look, I… I want to apologize.”

  I turned my head to look at him, confused. “For what?”

  “Let’s not dance around the subject, yeah? I’m sorry for…” His words trailed off, eyes distant and glossed over as he struggled. “I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit actually. About you. Us. When we were kids. About how shitty I was to you.”

  I raised an eyebrow, uncomfortable with the tension that lay over us both, thick and damn near tangible. It wasn’t like Liam to be this nervous. He’d always been so confident when we were growing up, always bordering and teetering on the edge of downright arrogance. Even when he was wrong, Liam never backed down. He was stubborn like that, sticking to his guns even when they didn’t have ammo. I couldn’t count the number of times we’d ended up in huge arguments. I don’t even remember what they were about –probably some stupid trivia fact or math answer– but seeing him like this had me chewing on the inside of my cheek nervously. It was unprecedented, uncharted territory.