Reese’s eyes widen. I grab his hand and squeeze it tightly as a smile sweeps across my face. I can barely contain my excitement anymore as I say, “We got approved for adoption. And there’s a little girl, a little adorable girl who’s only fifteen months old, who needs a family. That Cheryl woman at the adoption agency who we spoke with felt we would be perfect parents for her. We’re going to have a family, Reese!”
Reese swallows hard, and I can tell that he’s fighting back tears. So am I. Gordon chimes in, “If I’m crying, you two should be crying too! I'm just going to be a grandfather, but you two, you're going to be parents.” Reese and I both look over at him, the one-time shrewd businessman who did a complete turnaround the moment I took a stand for my relationship with his son. His eyes are watery and on the verge of tears.
Oh, and while I'm at it, I should mention the fact that Gordon's initial investment in the Long Tower Plaza project almost doubled within the first six months after completion. That didn’t hurt matters in terms of him coming around and supporting Reese and me in every aspect of our lives.
“Okay, Dad. Thank you for your support,” Reese says to his father. My fiancé walks up to Gordon, several tears now streaming down his beautiful cheeks, and he wraps his arms around the old man. Unbelievable, two hugs between the two of them in less than five minutes… a new world record.
I reach forward and wipe a stray tear from my lover’s cheek. He returns the favor and swipes his thumb across my cheek, just before a tear reaches the corner of my lips. “Can you believe this?” I whisper.
He shakes his head and smiles. “I never imagined a life this good, Cruz.”
Gordon clears his throat, making an awkward attempt to keep his own emotions in check. He looks at me and reaches out to shake my hand. “I couldn’t be happier to have you be a part of our family.” I nod and flash a warm smile.
Then he looks at Reese and says, “Son, I love you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t always there for you. When your mother died, part of me died with her. I can't go back in time and fix the past, but I promise you that I’ll never make that mistake again.” They give each other a warm, tight hug and we say our goodbyes to Gordon. Seeing their relationship heal over time like this is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed.
Gordon leaves, and the door shuts behind him. I look at Reese and hold out my arms. He walks right into them, and we hold each other tightly, in silence, for what feels like forever. I look down at him. “I love you so much, Reese.”
His lips form the most gorgeous, adorable smile ever. “I love you too. I couldn’t be happier.”
I gesture towards the door. “Shall we go out and celebrate the news, my love?”
He winks at me, and as the two of us walk through the door of our condo, I can’t help but feel a blanket of warmth wash over my soul.
Reese’s last few words echo through my mind.
And I can’t stop thinking to myself… I couldn’t be happier too.
THE END
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BONUS STORY : Hold Me Tight
By Alex Gold
Copyright © 2017 by Alex Gold
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
HOLD ME TIGHT
ETHAN
I knew in my gut, and my pants, from the second I set eyes on him… I was finished.
The flashes always come at the most random times. Could be while I’m doing something meaningless like tying my sneakers. They might come while I’m rolling up my sleeve to remind myself of the most important tattoo on my body, the reason I’m still alive. They come out of nowhere while I’m drifting off to Twenty One Pilots in my ear buds. But most of the times I get a flash when I’m getting lost in a myriad of screenplays, especially any of the hot new releases from one of the major film festivals across the world.
They come in all different forms, but their essence is always the same. Every single one of them is a blurry reflection of precious time wasted and permanent damage done… reflections of a life that could’ve been. But theoretically, although most outside observers who’ve been standing by and watching my life implode would beg to differ, the flashes are also glimpses of a better life that stands at least a remote chance of coming to fruition.
Time’s beyond almost up though, and I know the only first step out of this mess is to put one foot in front of the other. But my legs, and my heart, feel like they’re chained to cinder blocks. And all I can seem to do is cycle through the same fucking question over and over again in my mind…
After everything I just went through, do I really have any fight left in me?
The lobby I’m sitting in right now is highly unimpressive. Bland office space shared between lawyers, small local retailers, and psychiatrists. The white walls are dirty and covered with greasy smudges and toddler-induced crayon marks. The carpet is cold and gray. And all of the magazines in the waiting area are mostly outdated, likely from whoever is in charge around here letting the subscriptions run out.
To be clear, I don’t have a drinking problem. I was set up to look bad by my ex. But the courts demanded that I complete an eight-week rehab treatment program with a psychiatrist named Garrett King in order to prove that.
No choice in the matter, not with what’s at stake.
I sit up taller in my plastic folding chair as footsteps approach me from the long, empty corridor.
“Ethan?” the voice calls. I feel a tingle in my gut, knowing how important my first impression will be in terms of convincing this psychiatrist that I have my shit together and that I’m just as capable of taking care of my daughter as my bloodthirsty ex-wife.
I turn to face the man’s body, immediately confused by what I see. His body doesn’t match his surroundings, nor the preconceived image I had in my mind about a psychiatrist named Garrett King. He’s tall and extremely fit, with no shortage of shoulder and chest muscles to fill out every inch of his professionally pressed white button-down shirt. His tight-fitting, dark gray dress pants reveal a pair of legs that are as thick as they are strong.
I look up an inch or two more and our eyes meet head on. My breath is suspended for a split second by a pair of sky blue eyes that seem to light up the room. There’s a raw fucking power in those eyes of his; I know because I’m currently trapped inside of them as he holds out his hand and waits for me to return the gesture.
I clear my throat and stand up to shake hands with the man, determined to appear as normal as possible. We shake hands and he smiles, showing off a set of lips and teeth so perfect that I sense something inside of me is off immediately.
His sandy blonde hair, combed over to the side like a beautiful wave washing over a hump of beach, is absolutely impeccable. Literally, there isn’t a fucking strand out of place. He’d be a perfect cover model for a shampoo company or a haircutting chain or anything whatsoever to do with hair in general. I find myself fighting not to stare at it, not to study every golden thread.
Plain and simple, this man looks too good for his surroundings. He doesn’t belong here. He belongs on the top floor of an executive skyscraper, running board meetings with Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg and mapping out the future of our universe.
“I’m Ethan, nice to finally meet you,” I bumble.
Idiot. Nice to finally meet you? What the fuck does that even mean?
His eyes flicker as though he can sense my discomfort. “Ethan, what a cool name. Relax, I’m Garrett. And I won’t bite,” he says.
Fuck, I feel a surge of heat move between my legs, and even I can’t deny that something about this man is charging me up inside.
Why am I behaving like this? He’s a man. I’m a man. I’m not in
to men. And even if I was sexually attracted to men, which I’m not, I’m here because the courts made me come if I want to stand a chance at getting to spend time with Zoey before she hits middle school and doesn’t give a shit about either parent.
He nods towards the corridor. “My office is just down the hall,” he adds. I follow behind him. I find my eyes locked in on the backside of his legs and butt. It’s as though his pants were custom tailored to meet the demands of his trunks and ass.
Shit, I just referred to another man’s butt as an ass.
The hallway itself is as dreary as the waiting area. We walk past several other benign offices until we reach Garrett King’s door.
His office itself is immaculate inside. Freshly painted linen white walls with large standing plants, Zen-inspired artwork, and a pristine red velvet couch. He closes his office door and I let out a smothered chuckle as I spot the poster hanging on the back of his door… a picture of Martin Scorsese, the greatest filmmaker ever to live, and a direct quote from the movie god himself:
It seems to me that any sensible person must see that violence does not change the world and if it does, then only temporarily.
Not what I expected to see hanging on the back of a prim and proper shrink’s office door.
“Are you familiar with that face?” he asks.
I shoot him a look. “Um, yeah... film is my passion, I actually studied it in college,” I say, looking back at the poster as Garrett’s eyes study my every move. This man’s supposed to help me, supposed to straighten me out and all. And yet, the truth is, whether or not I’ll be cleared from Elizabeth’s charges are directly correlated to Garrett King’s final report. In other words, this guy will prove to be either my greatest ally, or my worst enemy.
Other than Elizabeth of course.
“What do you think?” he says, pointing towards the poster.
“I think he’s a genius. The best director and screenplay writer ever to walk the earth,” I say.
His eyes tighten. “No, I mean the quote. Do you agree with it?”
And your point is?
I feel my lungs constrict. I make a go at the quote. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, not sure if he’ll accept my response or not.
This man makes me extremely nervous, in more ways than one.
“The session starts now, Ethan, and it’s important for you to know that every question I ask you has a purpose. The more honest you are in your responses, the better sense I can start to get as I formulate my report,” he says.
I swallow hard, my body suddenly corpse-like. I’m frightened and pissed off at the same time. Why the fuck do I need some random stranger to decide whether or not I’m a decent person, able to spend time with my own flesh and blood? And what the fuck does my interpretation of some random quote have to do with any of this?
“Can I sit down?” I say.
He nods once, those electric eyes practically lighting up the office.
I relax into the soft velvet couch. I find myself in a twisted emotional pickle… even though I don’t want to be here in this office and I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack, I also feel kind of safe and don’t want to be anywhere else.
Oh, and then there’s the whole I-don’t-have-a-choice-in-the-matter thing too.
I look around at the plants and warm artwork; my nervous system starts to simmer down enough so that I don’t blow my chance of getting a favorable report within only minutes of meeting this man.
Garrett sits down in the chair across from me. We're both a little bit too close for comfort. For whatever reason, I just don’t feel like myself around him, not that I’ve felt like myself around anyone for the past two years.
Still, this is worse than my usual foggy, deranged state of mind. I find myself overly intrigued by his face and physique. Any chance I get, like when his eyes wander to the yellow legal pad in front of him, I find my eyes drifting towards his belt buckle. Or even worse… to the space beneath his buckle. It’s like I have instant OCD and can’t stop checking him out.
I’ve never been with another man, never kissed another man, and never really got turned on by another man. But part of me always wondered if I would’ve been better off my whole life dating and in falling in love with boys instead of girls.
Elizabeth is a case in point. Our relationship was a fucking disaster, right from the start. From the moment she and I met at our college orientation, we got locked inside of some toxic bubble that never really satisfied me.
I’m not saying that deep inside I’m some gay, closeted man hiding behind the guise of heterosexuality. But in all truth, I never really enjoyed any of the girls I dated.
“Would it help to have something to drink before we get started, Ethan?” he says in a confident but soothing voice.
Coincidentally, or not, my lips and tongue are dry and chalky from desperately needing a sip of water. I decide to play it cool though, even though I feel anything but cool inside. “I’m good, but thank you for the offer.” His eyes twinkle and I shift nervously in my seat; it’s as though he can tell I’m dehydrated as fuck but won’t man up and admit it.
So far I’m not doing so hot. I couldn’t answer a simple question about the Scorsese quote, and now I can’t admit to needing a shitty cup of water.
Garrett pulls some stapled white sheets of paper out from a manila folder and taps a pen on the side of his chair while he reads whatever is on those papers. He squints his eyes, as though he’s surprised by whatever he’s reading about me. Then he pulls his chair in just a little bit closer towards me. “Your situation looks complicated, Ethan. Can you give me a little background, from your perspective?”
I run my hand through my hair in order to buy myself some time. I don’t want to look like an idiot to him more than I already do. I know the truth… that I’m a great father, and that I’m not an alcoholic. And that Elizabeth is a fucking bitch who will do anything to destroy me. But this man doesn’t know me from a hole in a wall, and that’s what absolutely terrifies me. If he doesn’t buy my story, I’m finished. I’ll be lucky if I get to spend a few hours of supervised visits a week with Zoey.
“Can I be totally up front?” I say.
“That would be refreshing in here. I’m not looking for perfection, just humanity,” he says.
I’ll believe that when I see it, I think to myself.
His godlike blue eyes soften around their edges, putting my mind slightly more at ease.
Then the verbal vomiting ensues. “That’s a relief because I’m definitely not perfect. But I’m a good man, I’d lay down my life for my daughter. I made a mistake, that’s all. And it got blown way out of proportion. She…” my voice trails off as my heart starts to thump in my chest. I try to collect my thoughts, maybe even calm myself the hell down a little. It’s just hard knowing all that I’ve just lost.
“She, meaning your wife?”
I let out a single chuckle. “Ex-wife. I was in college when we met… when I got her pregnant. I was still a kid myself,” I say.
Garrett scoots his chair even closer towards me, his legs roughly thirty-six inches away from mine. I have his full attention, which I half like, and half don’t like. The soft glow in his eyes is gone as he leans in to say, “So you dropped out of college.”
I look directly into his eyes. “I didn’t have a choice. Like I said, I was majoring in film. It was my absolute dream my whole entire life. Then…”
He finishes my sentence for me, “You had to put food on the table.”
I let out a mellow laugh. “Something like that. I worked three minimum wage jobs so we could get our own apartment, one big enough for the baby. But she…”
“Your ex?”
“Yes, Liz. She got to stay in college after I dropped out. And she didn’t pay for any of our shared living expenses even though her family had money. She always made a point of reminding me that real men could provide for their family on their own…”
I slouch back on the couch a
nd rub both temples. “So I listened to her. Even though her family has more money than the Trump organization, and she could have worked too, I kissed my own dreams goodbye in order to make enough money for us to survive, without any assistance from her whatsoever.”
Garrett studies my eyes more carefully than anybody has ever studied them before. He leans forward in his chair in and says, "Tell me about other relationships in your life. Was Elizabeth your first serious partnership?"
I noticed the fact that he used the word partnership. When I think of that word, in terms of relationships, I don't think of heterosexual relationships. Maybe I’ve been ignorant not to. But is he implying that I've been in other types of relationships?
"Nothing serious. The classic high school stuff. Lost my virginity after the junior prom. Dated a few girls for a couple of months here and there, then we'd break up for no apparent reason other than maybe I was spending too much time working on my own screenplays or hanging with friends at the time. Elizabeth was my first real attempt at anything serious, and obviously I failed at that."
"Sometimes relationships fail on their own. Sometimes there isn't any fault involved," he says.
The air in my lungs seems to vanish. I know Elizabeth is a bitch, but I can't fucking help feeling responsible for everything that Zoey will have to face now. It is my fault, I keep telling myself.
"I guess," I mutter.
"But it's understandable why you would feel partly to blame. That's the price we pay for love," he adds.
I shake my head and stand up from the couch. "I don't love that-" I stop myself from calling her a fucking bitch and force myself to tone it down a notch. "I don't think I ever loved her in the first place," I clarify.
Garrett makes a note on his pad of paper and then leans back in his chair.
Did I just go too far? I need to calm my ass down, that much I know.
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