Tribute Act

by Joanna Chambers

  Mack’s hard expression crumbled at whatever he saw on my face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business how you deal with your family.”

  Your family.

  Not his. Not even ours.

  Yours.

  At that instant, I just felt incredibly . . . sad. Still angry, still hurt, but sad more than anything else. And I couldn’t think of a thing to say. What was the point is saying They’re your family too—he obviously didn’t see it like that.

  I turned away, hiding my face from him. “I could do with a shower—if the offer to finish dinner’s still on the table, I won’t stop you.”

  “Okay, good.” He sounded relieved. “Chicken stir-fry, right?”

  “Yeah. Chicken’s in the fridge. There’s rice in the cupboard or noodles if you prefer.”

  “Coming right up,” he said, positively cheerful now. “I hope you like it spicy!”

  I need you back; I want you back

  The one I thought loved me so bad

  You looked at me like I could be

  The best guy that you ever had

  Like someday soon I’d hang the moon

  Right there amongst the stars that glow

  But now it seems I killed those dreams

  And you’re packing up your stuff so you can go . . .

  (Repeat chorus)

  — “Christmas Stocking” by The Sandy Coves, 1989

  November

  I’d hoped things would change between me and Mack after that night, but somehow they just went back to how they’d been before. The next day, Mack made no mention of us having sex and I, nervous of spooking him, followed his lead. And so it went, for the next couple of weeks.

  I put up the Hallowe’en decorations. Bought in orange- and green-iced cupcakes. Took the decorations down again. And suddenly it was November. Cold and grey and pitch-dark by the time I closed up the café each night. Mack and I worked our shifts together during the day and passed our evenings in the same amicable way we’d done before. Mack played guitar a lot, which was fine with me. I liked listening to him while I read or caught up on paperwork.

  On the Friday after Hallowe’en, Rosie came over for her guitar lesson. As usual, she banished me from the room—she hated being watched—so I sat in the kitchen with my laptop. I could hear the soft rumble of Rosie’s and Mack’s voices and their frequent laughter in between the snatches of music. It made me smile and feel envious at the same time.

  Who was it I was envious of? Both of them maybe. Rosie and Mack were more alike than me and Rosie. My sister was a chatterbox, like Mum, but deep down, she had the same laid-back attitude to life that Mack had—and that they both seemed to have inherited from Derek.

  Whilst that easy attitude had been a major factor in Dilly’s getting into such a mess, I had to admit it had its upsides. It was clear that Rosie found Mack easy to be around. As for Mack, he showed a soft side when he was with her that was noticeably absent the rest of the time, his expression losing some of its innate wariness in her presence.

  When the lesson was over, Rosie poked her head round the kitchen door.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m off.”

  I shut my laptop. “I’ll walk you back.”

  “No need. Mack’s coming. Not that I need either of you.” She made a face.

  “Sorry but you know the rules.” Mum wasn’t ready to let Rosie walk around on her own yet. It was progress that she wasn’t insisting on driving her here and picking her up.

  She sighed heavily, all put-upon.

  “Anyway,” I said, getting off my stool and opening my arms. “Gimme a hug before you go. I need one.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she came closer and let me wrap her up, giving a contented little sigh against my chest.

  We were still hugging a couple of minutes later when Mack walked into the kitchen, saying, “Are we going then, Ro?”

  He stopped dead when he saw us, staring at us as though we were aliens.

  “We’re having a hug,” I explained.

  “Oh.”

  Rosie broke out of my embrace and moved towards him. “Your turn,” she said, opening her arms.

  He actually looked scared. It was funny in a way, but it made my chest ache watching as he raised his arms and stepped back as though to get away from her. It did him no good anyway—she just moved into his space and put her arms round his waist, squeezing him hard. He winced a little—God, his poor scar—then, after a moment, he patted her back awkwardly and sent me a look that seemed to say, Am I doing this right? I grinned at him teasingly, as though I really was amused by his predicament, but in truth, my heart felt all twisted up. His unfamiliarity with simple affection tore at me. Not that he’d want my pity. He’d be mortified if he could read my thoughts.

  Eventually Rosie let him go, and they headed back to Mum’s. When Mack got back, I had a big bowl of salty popcorn and drinks waiting—beer for me, Coke for Mack.

  “I thought we could watch a movie.” I was already searching options, clicking through a menu of recent releases, most of which we’d seen already. “I don’t fancy any of these.”

  Mack settled on the couch beside me and reached for the popcorn. “How about we watch something different for a change?” he suggested. “An independent film maybe? If I have to watch another superhero movie, I’m going to start thinking I’m a superhero.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to answer that we could just watch some porn instead, but I knew that wasn’t a smart suggestion. Instead, I tossed him the remote. “Pick whatever you like. Just no gay tragedies please.”

  He laughed. “No Brokeback Mountain, got it.”

  He flicked through the menus for so long I zoned out. Finally, though, he stopped. “Oh, I heard this was good. Let’s give it a try.”

  “It’s Spanish,” I whined. “I’m too tired to read the subtitles.”

  “Oh, give it a go,” he groused. “I’ve watched practically every Marvel movie with you over the last few weeks. It’s the least you can do.”

  “Movie snob.” I sighed, reaching for another beer. “Fine. Put it on.”

  We’d got into the habit of switching off the main lights when we watched movies at night, sitting in the dark with my big plasma screen lit up like a minicinema. Now, as the opening titles ran, I stole a glance at Mack, watching the play of the flickering lights and colours on his face, quickly averting my gaze when he looked my way.

  There were a lot of characters in the movie. A complicated plot too, everyone talking in rapid Spanish. Despite my whinging, it was a lot better than I’d thought it would be and I was reluctantly drawn in, almost forgetting that Mack was sitting beside me . . . until the sex scene started.

  The hero stripped his clothes off—he was a beautiful man, his naked body smooth and golden, his eyes burning with emotion as he approached the heroine. The camera kissed his body, lingering over every perfect line, pausing on his perfect, sculpted back, then drifting down to take in his taut arse and long legs.

  “Christ, that’s hot,” Mack muttered beside me.

  “Yeah.” I shifted in my seat to ease the pressure at my crotch.

  “He looks a bit like you,” Mack added without taking his eyes off the screen, making me glance at him in astonishment.

  “Maybe if I lost two stone,” I scoffed.

  He turned to me, frowning. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Put yourself down like that. I don’t know why you do it—you must know you’re gorgeous.”

  Pleasure flooded me, and for a moment I couldn’t look away from his penetrating gaze. For some reason, though, my stupid mouth kept running on. “Oh, come on, I need to lose a stone. My stomach . . .” I touched my belly, self-conscious.

  Mack stared at me for a couple of beats, then he said firmly, “Take your shirt off.”

  “What?”

  “Take your shirt off. Let me see.”

  My
mouth went dry, but I did as he said, reaching for the hem of my T-shirt and drawing it slowly over my head. My cheeks were warm by the time it came off, my stomach knotting with mingled desire and embarrassment. In the background, the movie played on, but neither of us was watching anymore.

  I dropped my T-shirt on the floor and sat back, letting Mack look me over, He gazed at my torso, his eyes tracking me all over. I couldn’t breathe as I withstood his scrutiny. At length, he said quietly, “How can you think there’s anything wrong with your body? You’re amazing.”

  Jesus.

  I cleared my throat awkwardly. My cock had filled as he examined me, though it wasn’t yet obvious with the loose joggers I was wearing, and the way I was sitting. “I used to be leaner.” The tightness in my voice betrayed my tension. “My diet’s gone downhill though and I don’t exercise as much as I used to.”

  “I think you look great,” he murmured. “You have great shoulders and for someone who claims he doesn’t exercise enough, your muscle tone is really good.” He licked his lips and my cock pulsed.

  I stroked my hand over my belly. Swallowed. “I just need to lose some of this.”

  He glanced back at my face then and gave me a wry, one-sided grin. “Don’t be a spoilsport. I like a little meat on a guy’s bones.”

  We stared at each other in silence. Despite his lighthearted words, the mood between us had subtly changed. In the background, the characters on screen panted and kissed, muttering to each other in passionate Spanish as violins soared.

  Softly, Mack said, “Can I touch you?”

  My heart was banging in my chest. “Okay,” I breathed.

  He surprised me by going straight to his knees on the floor, moving his lean body into the space between my open legs. My dick throbbed as I watched him, waiting, wanting.

  Slowly he reached out, sliding his warm palms up over my belly, past my ribs and my pecs, curving his hands over my shoulders, his touch gradually growing bolder and firmer as he learned every inch of my body.

  Keeping as still as possible, I let him do just as he wanted, afraid to make a sound in case I broke the strange spell between us. I never wanted this to end. I loved having his hands on me. His dark, melting gaze on me.

  I held my breath as he leaned forward and kissed my stomach, turning his face to rub his cheek into the slight softness after, his closed eyes and moan of pleasure telling me just how much he liked this. He pressed little kisses against my skin as he moved higher and higher, his lips tracing over my ribs, teeth catching on one small, tight nipple, making me gasp. Eventually, he clambered right up onto the couch again, straddling my thighs with his own, and grazed his teeth up my throat till he reached my ear.

  “I think your body’s fucking perfect,” he whispered.

  I turned my head—his eyes glittered with lust, and I knew mine probably did too.

  I whispered, “Let me kiss you.”

  He seemed puzzled. “Why?”

  I smiled at that. At his confusion. “Because I want to. How come you never let me?”

  “I let you,” he protested. “The other day, in your room. Before we blew each other.”

  “Not really,” I said, smiling to take the sting out of it. “Not the way I want to.”

  He hesitated.

  “Come on. Please. You might like it.”

  He sighed. “Okay then.”

  I took his face in my hands and guided his lips to mine, watching him the whole time, till I settled my mouth over his. I didn’t go in with my tongue, not yet, but alternated tiny suckling pulls and nibbles at his lips with glancing sweeps of the very tip of my tongue that made his breath catch. And all the while I was arching my body against his and pushing my hips up, getting us both so hot that, in the end, it wasn’t me but Mack who parted his lips and thrust his tongue right into my mouth, deepening the kiss the way I wanted.

  I moaned with satisfaction, tunnelling my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck as I opened to him, letting him take whatever he wanted from me. And God, did he take. He pinned me to the back of the sofa with his wiry body and his hands got busy shoving down my joggers as he tongue-fucked my mouth.

  And I just sat there, uncharacteristically passive, letting him do whatever he wanted to me, helplessly turned on by his apparent need for me. I gasped into his mouth when his questing fingers grazed my cock and he began to draw it out of my joggers. And then he was pressing it against his own bare dick, and beginning a rhythmic stroking.

  For a guy who wouldn’t kiss me before, he was suddenly very into it, lips mauling mine, tongue in my mouth. But as his hand sped up on our dicks, he tore his mouth away, pressing his forehead against mine and closing his eyes as he worked us together.

  “Nathan,” he moaned. “Fuck, what you do to me.”

  My heart swelled with gratitude at his words. I was amazed I did anything to him, but right now, he did seem to like me—

  —and fuck but I liked him.

  In fact, going by the ache that spread in my chest as I watched him coming, I liked him way too much.

  After that night, there was no more will-we-won’t-we? We fell into the habit of sleeping together—or rather, fucking—most nights. Mack never stayed over in my bed though.

  We didn’t talk about it either. Mack made it pretty clear, pretty quick that he wasn’t comfortable acknowledging what we were doing too explicitly. Whenever I said anything—even if just to ask him if he wanted me to suck his dick—he’d shut me up with his mouth.

  Which was something of an incentive to ask him a lot.

  His aversion to kissing seemed to have faded too—at least, he didn’t seem to mind the tongue-fucking sort of kisses we’d shared that night on the sofa. He still didn’t seem to like the more tender variety though, making sure to quickly sexualise any embraces we shared.

  Looking back, I was amazed that what was going on between us wasn’t obvious to everyone else. We couldn’t get enough of one another at that point. We spent every night holed up in the flat together, fucking, and whenever we were working together in the café, I spent the whole shift eyeing him.

  And yet, we didn’t talk about any of it. Not what was happening between us. Not my fear that Mack was just going to up and leave one day without warning.

  Not the fact that I was falling for him, hard.

  I’d been in relationships and I liked being part of a couple. Liked having someone of my own. My partners had always seemed to feel the same way.

  As those first weeks with Mack—in whatever this thing between us was—passed, I found myself really thinking about those previous relationships. I realised that all my boyfriends had told me they loved me before I’d returned the sentiment. That I’d never had to face up to the possibility of rejection when I’d told a guy I loved him. What’s more, I’d always been the one to end things, and while a couple of those breakups had made me unhappy for a while, not one of them had torn me apart.

  Not one.

  What was it Gav had said? That I’d “fallen into” those relationships? At the time, I’d been oddly offended by that accusation, but now I thought that maybe he’d been onto something. All my old boyfriends had had one thing in common—they were predictable. They gave me certainty and comfort, if not much excitement.

  With Mack, things were different. Frankly, he didn’t seem to want anything from me but my dick. I must admit, it was difficult to resent him for that when he was taking me to the back of his throat, but the rest of time I felt . . . unsettled. Definitely uncertain. For the first time in my life, I was the one with feelings to confess first. Feelings that I was pretty sure weren’t returned. Feelings that I suspected would have Mack running out the door like a hare if I gave voice to them.

  The trouble was, I wasn’t the kind of man to keep my emotions locked down, and trying to stay silent took its toll. Mum might not have noticed what was going on between Mack and me, but she noticed that much.

  “Are you not sleeping?” she asked one Wednesday ev
ening. Mack was playing in the café and the place was full of customers. Rosie had snagged a table near him with two of her friends while Mum and I shared our usual table next to the counter.

  “I’m fine,” I said, adding to distract her, “I’m just a bit nervous—Derek and I have that meeting with Fletchers’ Delis next Friday.”

  Mum glanced at me sharply. “What time?”

  “Ten—but it’s in Truro, so we’ll have to drive down.”

  Mum sighed. “Derek won’t be able to make it, love. We’ve got an appointment at the hospital with Rosie that day. He’s got to be there.”

  I was surprised by the sting of resentment that needled my gut at that. I didn’t begrudge Rosie having Derek at her appointment—I really didn’t. But more than ever these days, it seemed like I was running Dilly’s single-handedly. Like Mum and Derek were employees who thought all they needed to do was pitch up for the odd shift or make a few batches of Raspberry Ripple.

  “I think they expect too much of you sometimes . . .”

  “Nathan?”

  I met Mum’s concerned gaze.

  “Are you okay?”

  I debated saying something then . . . but I couldn’t do it. Mum had had so much to contend with lately, and she needed to concentrate on Rosie right now. She didn’t need me getting on her case about the fucking café. I felt like a dick that it even crossed my mind that she should.

  “Yeah, of course,” I said quickly, adding in a blatant change of subject, “So, how do you feel about Rosie’s appointment on Friday?”

  Mum smiled tentatively. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but she’s been so much better these last two weeks. I feel like we’ve turned a corner.” She babbled on happily about the minutiae of how Rosie had been, what she’d been eating and drinking and how much she’d slept. I smiled and nodded, half-listening to her and half to Mack, who was singing my favourite of the songs he played, “Carrickfergus.” I loved that song. Loved the way his low voice stroked the words and the sad, sweet tune.

  He did one more number after that, a stripped-back country song, then wound up for the night. The customers began to depart, and I got busy clearing tables. Mum started helping, but Rosie was tired so I shooed them off, assuring them that Mack and I would close up.