Worst Men: An Enemies to Lovers Gay Romance

by Rachel Kane

  I guess because it all fit. In his mind, it must have all lined up perfectly. His psycho ex tells him I’m a gold-digger, his pal Hunter tells him the same, and backs it up with actual names!

  There are stories you tell about yourself to everyone, and then there are stories you only tell people who are close to you. Then, even deeper, are the one or two stories you don’t tell anyone. They’re so deep inside you--dark and fundamental--that to speak them is to rob them of some of the pain that built your psyche, that made you who you are.

  If Sergio had asked me about this, it would have been hard to talk about. It would’ve taken time, and maybe a few drinks to steady my nervous, but I think I could’ve done it. He would understand something about me that very few people did--only a very few close friends.

  But he didn’t ask. He assumed Hunter was right. He didn’t ask any questions at all.

  I mean, I knew exactly what Hunter would’ve told him. Before Xavier, there were Richard and Craig, a creeper couple who had left Oceanside years ago, before Sergio or Hunter or any of these other guys had shown up. I knew exactly what people had thought about the trio of me, Richard and Craig. I knew the rumors the two guys spread about me.

  The ginja was making my throat burn. I didn’t care. I had another.

  I don’t talk about Richard and Craig, if I can help it. If Xavier was a dark time in my life, then Richard and Craig were the black abyss that sucks in all the stars. Not just shadows, but negative light. Xavier had left me bruised. Richard and Craig had surgically snipped out part of my soul. They were the reason--I think, deep down--that none of my relationships ever worked.

  I could’ve explained that, given time. I could have told Sergio what they’d done to me.

  But he didn’t care. He was too pissed off to listen, and was looking for an excuse to get rid of me.

  It wasn’t fair. I didn’t understand why he wanted that excuse. Was he so embarrassed over his fucking social gaffe that he had to destroy me and shove me away, so it wouldn’t weigh on his mind?

  By the time I’d finished the last drink, the injustice had become a hot fury inside me, hotter than the sun whiting out the blue of the sky above me. I got up and stumbled, nearly knocking over the chair. The bartender gave me a look before going back to his newspaper. I waved at him. “Last time I’ll ever see you, bub,” I muttered.

  My phone rang, and I glared down at it. It was stuck in my pocket, and I had to struggle to get it out. Was it Sergio, coming to his senses and ready to offer me an apology? Fuck him. I would never forgive him using my past against me.

  It wasn’t Sergio. It was Nat.

  I glanced at the top of the screen and looked at the time. “Oh fuck, the wedding.”

  “You can’t just disappear!” said Nat, wearing his tuxedo shirt untucked, his tie still untied.

  “I’m here, right?” I said.

  “Yeah, now you are, but oh god, are you drunk?”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you understand I’m about to get married? You’ve got to walk me down the aisle!”

  We were in a dressing room off the large courtyard. My tux was hung in a dry-cleaning bag. I’d taken thirty seconds upstairs to get a shower and shove some product in my hair to get it to cover up the bruise Hunter had left. No sense advertising I’d been in a fight. “I made it. There’s plenty of time,” I said.

  “Yeah, but you were supposed to meet me for breakfast, remember?”

  I squinted at him. “Was I?”

  “Yes! Remember, the grooms can’t see each other until the wedding, so you were going to hang out with me?”

  Damn. I didn’t remember that at all. It would’ve solved a lot of trouble, if I’d done that instead. “Sorry, I guess I forgot.”

  “You forgot. The biggest day of my life, and you forgot. I’ve been pacing in my room for hours, then finally decided to just come down here and get dressed and hope you showed up.”

  “You could’ve called,” I said, getting the plastic bag off my clothes.

  “It’s my fucking wedding!”

  “I know. I know. I’m really sorry.” I slid into the stiff shirt and began buttoning it.

  “You look like hell, also. You’re sure you’re not drunk?”

  I wasn’t positive. I was pretty sure I’d sweated three gallons of alcohol out of my pores on the walk back to the resort, but I still felt unsteady and punchy. “I don’t think I am,” I said.

  “I don’t need any extra chaos this morning. That’s all I’m going to say about it. No drama. Please. You’re the least drama-prone friend I have. That’s half the reason I asked you to be my best man.”

  That made me laugh, a sharp bark. He gave me a skeptical look.

  “I’m serious, Marcus. Did you know Cal and Edgar broke up again? They were about to fly back home in a huff. We finally calmed them down and got them to agree to sit on opposite sides of the aisle. Meanwhile my dad is halfway to starting a diplomatic incident every time he opens his mouth, Rhody’s a mess over some girl she met on the island, and Owen’s so nervous I can barely speak to him. You’re my rock, man!”

  I buttoned my cuffs. “You picked a bad time to need me as a rock, that’s all.”

  “Oh lord, what happened with you?” He was looking into the mirror, tying his tie, but his eyes were on me.

  The shirt rustled as I shrugged. “Sergio and I broke up. No big deal.”

  “Broke up? Wait, were you actually together at some point? I was never clear on that.”

  “See? That’s why it’s no big deal. I guess it was just one of those stupid hook-ups people do when they’re somewhere new.”

  “But that’s...well, I was going to say great except for the part where you broke up.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. We’re just back to being enemies.”

  Part of me wanted to tell him how I’d accidentally destroyed Sergio’s wedding present, but it might sound like angry ex-boyfriend gloating, which was exactly the wrong tone to strike when you’re talking to the present’s recipient.

  “Just please be on good behavior during the ceremony, okay? You guys can fight or something during the reception. But the wedding itself, behave.”

  “Come on, Nat, I’m a grown-up. I’m not going to throw a punch while you’re saying your vows.”

  “You better not,” he said. “Now finish getting dressed. I’m ready for Owen to make an honest man of me.”

  As we walked out, I was stunned. Maybe it was the heat, or the ginja, or maybe it was just an honest reaction to how everything looked.

  It was as though every natural beauty of the island had been brought to the courtyard for display. There were thousands and thousands of tropical flowers everywhere you looked. An arbor at the end of the aisle was heavy with vines and blooms, their heady perfume filling the air with rich, drowsy scent.

  A string quartet began to play, our cue to begin the walk down the aisle. “Want me to take your arm?” I whispered to Nat.

  He was beaming proudly. “I think I might faint,” he whispered back.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch you.”

  We proceeded slowly past the crowd. All my friends turning to look at us, smiling, waving.

  Waving at Nat, not at me. It wasn’t my moment. I was in the middle of it all, and nobody on earth paid a shred of attention to me. It was kind of glorious. For just a few minutes of my life, everyone would be too preoccupied to think of me, of the rumors that were going to dog me forever. We passed Hunter. I was pleased to see his swollen lip; apparently I’d gotten a nice punch in too. I didn’t make eye contact, but smiled brightly and stood up a little straighter.

  There was Rhody, sobbing into Cal’s shoulder, and Nat’s parents, everyone overcome with emotion. I could get used to this. It was the perfect camouflage. I had a random thought that I should become some pop star’s bodyguard or something, just to get this level of invisibility all the time.

  I took my
place off to the side. The minister smiled warmly at Nat, but Nat was looking nervous. That changed as soon as we heard the rustling as everyone turned back to the beginning of the aisle. There was Owen, looking dapper as hell, accompanied by Sergio. Mr. Thurgood followed closely behind, solemn and dignified in his small dog-tux. Owen’s eyes were locked on Nat’s, like there was nobody else in the world, and I could see Nat visibly growing happier and calmer, almost serene.

  Had I ever felt that good about anyone? I looked back at Sergio. I didn’t want to look him in the eye. It was hard to miss, though, that he looked bad. I knew I was a little unsteady, but he looked like a fucking zombie, walking just a little out of step with Owen. He didn’t even look like he was in the same wedding as the rest of us. Was he wobbling? I wondered if he’d had his own version of five ginjas before the ceremony.

  Good, I thought. Serves him right. I hope he’s suffering. I hoped he was feeling guilt somewhere deep in the pit of his soul right now. If lightning had struck him right here in the middle of the aisle, I don’t think I would’ve blinked.

  Then he saw me. The look he gave me was so grim I found it chilling. We’d always been enemies, but I don’t think it was until that moment that I had seen pure hatred in his eyes when he looked at me.

  He wouldn’t care if lightning struck me, either. Hell, he might’ve cheered it on.

  It wasn’t fair. How dare he look so fucking superior, like he was the aggrieved one here? He had spent years dragging my name through the mud, and now that he had decided he didn’t want me anymore, he was offended by my mere presence?

  He took his position off to Owen’s side, so carefully that it was obvious he was intoxicated. I saw Nat and Owen share a look, and Owen rolled his eyes and tilted his head slightly in Sergio’s direction. Nat sighed quietly.

  I wondered if Owen had given Sergio hell about showing up drunk. I felt a little chill, even in the sun, wondering if maybe Sergio had told Owen about the breakup. Had there been time? Could he have told anyone else? Word had traveled so fast about everything else that had happened between us, would he have spread the story of my shame? I hardly dared to glance back at the crowd. Sure, they were looking at Nat and Owen...but were they thinking about me? I felt hot. My collar felt much too tight. It was difficult to swallow. What had he told them? Who had he talked to? I looked back at him, and he glanced over just long enough to scowl at me.

  The minister had already begun talking, and I hadn’t been listening. Fortunately I tuned back in right as he was saying, “And who gives this man Nathaniel to be wed?”

  There it was, my one line in this whole performance. “I do,” I said, in my most stately voice.

  Sergio scoffed. He actually, audibly scoffed.

  Nat shot him a worried glance.

  “I am pleased,” said the minister, oblivious to the drama playing out before him, “to have been asked to join Nathaniel and Owen in holy matrimony. Indeed, what could be a happier occasion than to be married in a setting so blessed with natural beauty? It reminds us that our natural state is that of love, and togetherness, and commitment, one to another.”

  When Sergio laughed, everyone froze. I couldn’t even turn my head to look at him. I could barely get my eyes to look his way. I could feel a flush covering my cheeks.

  He was just standing there, chuckling.

  Nat was worried, while Owen looked like he wanted to kick Sergio. Mr. Thurgood glared up but was too well-mannered to growl. This time, even the minister noticed, and he cleared his throat and looked back at his notes.

  “As...as I say, commitment, one to another. We do not enter into this commitment lightly, though, but with reverence and solemnity, recognizing the great task we set before these two, to love each other, to take care of each other, forever. Therefore, if any person before us can show cause why these two should not be joined together, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”

  I saw Owen mouth these words to Sergio: Don’t. You. Dare.

  Sergio peered at him, blinking. Slowly he nodded, and looked back at the minister. I think we all heaved a sigh of relief that he didn’t say anything. But I was tense as hell, so tense I couldn’t even listen to the vows. I’m sure they were nice and all, and when the moment came, I gave Nat the ring to put on Owen’s finger, but honestly, my mind was on Sergio, a mixture of hate and horror and just wanting to be gone.

  “Then, by the power vested in me by the city of Sao Marcos, I pronounce you married,” said the minister, glowing with pride. “You may kiss the groom. Both of you.”

  I know it was supposed to be a romantic moment, but watching Nat and Owen kiss, watching them hold each other like there was nowhere else in the world they’d rather be, felt like a knife in my heart. I thought about the ice sculpture, broken and tumbled to the floor, shattered into thousands of shards. I thought about those brief moments with Sergio, so brief, where I thought I’d found someone who could understand me.

  There was a tear running down my cheek. I never cried. Ever. It just wasn’t something I did. I hoped no one was watching, then realized everyone would think it was because I was overcome with emotion for my friends getting married, and then I told myself to just shut up and stop overthinking everything.

  23

  Sergio: Worst Men

  The humiliating thing was, I thought I was okay. I should have known better. I should have left the freezer and found someone to talk to. Some way to get the emotion out. I should never have gone to the bar, right before the wedding. Too late now.

  Why couldn’t I just go numb? Why couldn’t I stop feeling it? The guilt wouldn’t go away, nor that sickening feeling of having been tricked. All I wanted was to stop hurting. Instead I felt like I was moving in slow motion, trying to stay upright, while the minister said ridiculous things about love.

  I couldn’t even look when Nat and Owen had their first married kiss.

  We slowly worked our way back up the aisle. I had Owen’s mom with me. She was furious at me for laughing during the wedding, I guess. Owen certainly was. Even Mr. Thurgood was glaring balefully at me, like he might nip my ankles.

  I was furious at myself, too.

  The ballroom was laid out, and music was playing, and everyone went to their tables and sat where a little white card had their names.

  I was seated at the grooms’ table. The little white card next to my chair said Marcus.

  When he walked up, he looked as surprised about it as I had. He gave me a look, but didn’t say a word as he slid into his seat.

  Nat and Owen were making the rounds, shaking hands and smiling and talking. Beaming, they approached us. Owen put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Please god, don’t make a scene, you two.”

  I shook my head. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  Nat was also leaning down to Marcus. “I swear, we will make you swim home if you do a single other thing to ruin our wedding.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” whispered Marcus.

  I scoffed, and then winced when Owen flicked my earlobe. “You quit that,” he hissed. “Get along. Eat your dinner like civilized adults, play nice. You can get back to fighting when it’s over.”

  “We’re not fighting--” I began to say, but then it looked like Owen was going to flick me again so I just nodded.

  I sat there like a statue, not looking at Marcus. Looking everywhere but his way, like one of those negative space exercises you do in art school, where you draw everything but the object in question. The object in question wasn’t looking my way, either.

  After everyone was seated, the man who was leading the band took up the microphone. “Now, we have a very special treat for our wedded couple! I understand that one of the best men is noted sculptor Sergio Taylor.”

  “Oh no,” I whispered. Meanwhile, Marcus looked like all the blood had drained out of his body.

  “Mr. Taylor has designed an exquisite ice sculpture for this reception, and as we bring it in, I hope you’ll all take a moment to apprec
iate its artistry!”

  Marcus shot me a look. “You...didn’t...tell them?”

  My face was in my hands as the doors to the ballroom swung open. There was the wheeled platform I’d discussed with the hotel early on. On it was my sculpture. Life-size legs, fractured and uneven where the blocks didn’t match. Chests and arms scattered over the platform. Heads smashed to bits, only chunks remaining.

  Horrifyingly, the faces were still intact--although instead of the eyes-closed, open-mouth kiss they had initially shared, now they appeared to be screaming.

  All conversation in the ballroom ceased. “What...what is it?” asked Owen.

  The man at the microphone chuckled and said, “Well, folks, I don’t know much about art, but I can say that certainly does look modern!”

  So many voices in the room: “I don’t understand this at all!” “Is it...violent?” “Why do they look like they’re in pain?”

  Nat and Owen looked at me. I shook my head, rising unsteadily from my chair. “Don’t ask me about it. Ask Marcus. He’s the one who destroyed it.”

  “You what?” said Nat.

  “Some kind of crazy bargaining maneuver,” I said. I threw my napkin onto the table. “Sorry he ruined your reception, guys. I really wanted to give you something better than this.”

  About half the room began a hesitant applause when I rose. “Oh come on, people,” I said. “I didn’t mean for it to look like that.”

  As carefully as I could, with as much dignity as the booze would allow me, I left the ballroom.

  The courtyard was baking hot. I undid my tie, and sat in one of the remaining chairs, watching people disassemble the wedding decorations.

  “Well, that was a fucking disaster,” said Rhody, coming up behind me and pulling over a chair.

  I looked over at her. “They didn’t send you out to talk to me, I hope.”

  “Who, Nat and Owen? You’re lucky they didn’t send me out to murder you. What the hell is happening?”