by Witt, L. A.
He blushed again. “I didn’t realize you had them on speed dial.”
“You’d be surprised who I have in my contacts.” I winked as I pocketed my phone.
“I’m sure.” He paused to pour the cheese and sauce on top of the enchiladas. “Now that I’m getting into those books, I might have to get you to introduce me.”
I grinned. “I told you I will. So you started reading them?”
He nodded, reaching for a couple of plates. “Not exactly flying through because I haven’t had a ton of time, but I’m keeping the first book at work to read on my breaks. It’s really good.”
“Just wait until book three. I mean, they’re all good, but the third one takes it to another level. And when Kevin starts writing with him?” I whistled. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah?” Garrett glanced at me, eyes sparkling like he was as excited about the series as I was. “Hell, I might have to take some vacation time and binge-read them. Well, when I have some vacation time anyway.”
I stepped closer and put my hands on his hips, resting them half on his waistband and half on bare skin. Nuzzling his neck, I murmured, “You really think you’d be spending that vacation time with your nose in a book?”
Garrett shivered, pressing back against me. “You make a good point.”
“Mm-hmm.” I planted a soft kiss behind his ear, then let him go so he could continue putting dinner together. “Actually, if you’re seriously getting into the books . . .” I hesitated.
“What?”
“Well, there’s a con coming up. In Portland. I’ll be there at the End o’ Earth booth, but . . .” I scratched the back of my neck, not sure why I was hesitating. “Do you want to come?”
“What kind of con is it?”
“Wolf’s Landing–themed. It’s pretty much a smaller, furrier version of Comic-Con.”
Garrett laughed. “It’s like Comic-Con? I’m sold.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I love cons like that. I’ve been to San Diego Comic-Con twice.”
My jaw fell open. I’d known he was a geek, but something about realizing he’d made the pilgrimage to SDCC made this geek all tingly inside. “You have? Really?”
He nodded. “My sister and I try to go when we can actually get tickets and a hotel room within fifty miles.”
“Wow. I’ve always wanted to go. I’ve been to Seattle and a couple of others, but never San Diego.”
“If you get the chance, you should.” He grinned. “Maybe Fiona and I can rope you into our cosplay.”
My brain damn near short-circuited. He did cosplay? And he was entertaining the idea—hypothetical or otherwise—of including me? What? Somehow, I managed to say, “You do cosplay?”
“Uh, yeah. What’s the point of going to Comic-Con if you’re not going to dress the part?”
Be still my beating heart.
I wasn’t sure when my mouth had gone dry, only that it had. “So what did you guys dress as?”
“The first year, we didn’t really coordinate. She went as Captain Janeway and I went as Indiana Jones.”
Oh Lord. Oh, oh, oh Lord. The mental image of Garrett dressed like Indiana Jones fried what little of my brain was still functioning. Before I could stop myself, I paraphrased Kevin: “Pictures or it didn’t happen.”
He laughed. “I’ve got them on my laptop. I’ll pull them up after dinner.”
“I’m looking forward to them.” I so was.
And now that I had photos on the brain, I noticed there was a stack on the table. Next to it was a box with PHOTOS scrawled in black Sharpie, and it was about half full of loose pictures and a couple of albums. My curiosity was suddenly almost irresistible—I was eager to know every little detail about his past and his life and who he was—but I held back.
Gesturing at the box, I said, “You’ve been busy.”
“Oh.” Garrett cleared his throat. “I was, um . . . just unpacking a few things earlier. Organizing a bit.”
“So I see.” I stepped a little closer, catching a glimpse of some snapshots that were probably from a vacation. Curiosity was quickly getting the best of me, but I refused to be rude. “May I?”
“Yeah, sure. Have at it.” He didn’t sound reluctant. A little guarded, maybe. I supposed that was reasonable.
I picked up a stack and carefully went through them. Almost immediately, I came to a picture of a good-looking guy, and my heart jumped. “Is this . . .?” I held it where he could see it, my pulse pounding as I wondered if I was crossing a line.
Garrett looked at it, and from the flicker of pain across his expression, I knew the answer even before he nodded. “Yeah. That’s Sean.” He swallowed, and a smile slowly formed. “That was about three years ago, I think. When we took our nieces and nephews to Disneyland.”
I shifted my attention back to the photo. Yeah, it was definitely Disney. There were hints of familiar cartoon characters and colorful architecture in the background, and a couple of blurry people with mouse ears on their heads. The picture was just Sean, though, close-cropped to include his head and shoulders and little else. Enough to see that he’d been pretty damn hot. Sandy-blond hair that seemed to be perfect even though, from the rustle of his T-shirt, he was obviously standing in the wind. He had just enough stubble to pass for a thin beard, and it emphasized the sharp angle of his jaw and perfectly framed the smile on his lips.
In his sunglasses, I could see Garrett’s reflection taking the photo with a sleek silver camera.
“How long were you guys together?” I ventured cautiously, not sure if he was in the mood to discuss his late husband.
Garrett appeared beside me, dinner either under control or forgotten. “Almost five years. Married for three.”
In the back of my mind, I ran the numbers, and my breath hitched. Hadn’t he said Sean had lived eighteen months after his diagnosis? So they’d only gotten a year and a half to be married before they’d found out their time was short. Only three and a half years together at all. Shit. I couldn’t even imagine.
“Thank God we were married, too,” he said, almost more to himself. “And we were damn lucky our insurance company recognized same-sex marriages, so when he got too sick to work, he didn’t lose his coverage. He just became my dependent.” Garrett’s gaze grew distant, and he exhaled. “You know I sometimes have nightmares about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been able to get married. How . . .” He swallowed. “How much treatment we wouldn’t have been able to afford.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as the unspoken words resonated through the silent room: How much more he would have suffered. How much sooner I would have lost him.
I suppressed a shudder and quietly said, “I’m glad you guys had coverage.” It sounded stupid, but I didn’t know what else to say.
Garrett shook himself and met my gaze, and he smiled sadly as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take this conversation down that road.”
“No, it’s okay.” I tugged his hand around toward my stomach and gently wrapped my fingers around his wrist. “It’s probably good for you to be able to talk about it. All of it.”
“I know, but given what we’re doing . . .” He chewed his lip.
“I’d be kind of an asshole if I said I didn’t want you to talk to me about him. He was a huge part of your life. And so was . . .” I swallowed. “So was his death.”
Garrett exhaled, breath gusting across the side of my neck. Then he pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Thank you. I’m . . . working through a lot of it, and I try not to fixate on it, but it’ll probably come up from time to time.”
“That’s okay.” I ran my thumb alongside his wrist. “Any time you want to talk, we can.”
He kissed my cheek again. “Thank you.” Then he released me and cleared his throat. “Ready to eat?”
I smiled, grateful for the break in tension. “Yeah, definitely.”
As Garrett took care of dinner, I couldn’t stop thinking a
bout the photo of his husband. Something about seeing the man’s face made the whole story real. Not that I’d thought he was lying or anything, but now I knew what Sean had looked like.
In the past, I’d seen photos of guys’ exes, and I’d immediately been jealous. Comparing myself to the previous boyfriend, wondering how I stacked up against them.
Looking at Sean had just made me sad. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to lose someone the way Garrett had lost him, and I ached for him. For both of them. What must it have been like to come home from that doctor’s appointment? It wasn’t like I didn’t have experience with medical news knocking my feet out from under me, but my doctors had immediately started in on treatment options and managing the disease. They’d assured me my long-term prognosis was good, and that HIV wasn’t a death sentence anymore. And even then, I’d been scared shitless. I couldn’t imagine walking out that day knowing I was going to die. Or knowing my partner—my husband—was going to die. How did you process something like that, as the patient or the partner?
No, seeing Sean’s face didn’t make me jealous. I actually felt a bit guilty for being with Garrett. It wasn’t right that they weren’t together anymore. It wasn’t fair that an ugly disease had come along and stolen Sean away. I was thrilled to be with Garrett because he was an amazing man, but did that mean I was celebrating in some small way that Sean was gone?
Fuck. Dating a widower was a lot more complicated than I’d realized.
It occurred to me then that when I’d told him I was positive, I’d practically given him a flashback to his husband’s diagnosis. Like he had PTSD from it. And maybe he did. I was no expert on the subject, but now that I thought about it, it seemed reasonable as fuck that someone who’d lost their partner like that could have PTSD.
Given how recently Garrett had lost Sean, that raised the question of how much he’d recovered. Not only if he’d recovered enough to be interested in a relationship with me or anyone else, but how much he had to put into one. If we were just going to fuck each other’s brains out, I was totally game, but there was more than heat between us. Not love or some deep soul mate connection—just a softly glowing ember of something that felt like it could turn into a lot more if we put in the effort to fan it.
So . . . did we fan it? Was he in any place to even think about what this was or what he wanted it to be?
I surreptitiously watched him while he plated our food. Maybe it was time to talk about it. Get on the same page.
I didn’t bring it up during dinner, though. Not while I helped him clean the kitchen, not when we moved into the living room with a couple of glasses of wine. I was actually a breath away from bringing it up as we made ourselves comfortable on the couch, but Garrett spoke before I could.
“So, you really want to see pictures of me at Comic-Con?”
Okay, so I had some burning questions, but maybe they could wait a few more minutes. “I absolutely do.”
Garrett pulled up the photos. He’d been hot in the Hawkeye costume he’d worn his second year—Fiona had gone as Scarlet Witch—but he’d rocked the Indiana Jones look. The distressed white shirt that wasn’t buttoned up all the way. The khaki pants that had seen better days. The leather jacket. The hat. The fake blood and bruises on his face. The scruff.
The—gulp—whip coiled on his hip.
“Wow,” I said. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”
He laughed. “My sister and I destroyed three shirts trying to get that look.” He gestured at the screen. “You’d be amazed how hard it is to look like you’ve been dragged through the mud and run through the wringer without actually dragging yourself through the mud.”
“How did you do it?”
“Ran it through the laundry until it was starting to fall apart. Used it as a rag to wash my car. Soaked it in coffee for a few days.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was clean at the con, don’t get me wrong, but the fabric was so fucked up it was itchy as hell.”
I chuckled. “That’s dedication.”
He smiled and flipped through more photos from the con. In every one, he was smiling. No, not just smiling—laughing. And there’d been a lot less gray in his hair. It wasn’t that long ago, either. I recognized some cosplay characters in the background, and they were from recent movies.
He had on his wedding ring, but I didn’t ask where Sean was. Maybe Comic-Con hadn’t been his thing.
Or maybe he’d been too sick.
No, I doubted that. Garrett looked much too carefree and enthusiastic.
I was curious but didn’t ask.
After he’d been through the folder of Comic-Con photos, Garrett closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table. Then he draped his arm along the back of the couch, just above my shoulders.
My stomach flip-flopped. Now that I’d had a couple of glimpses into his past, I was itching to know what kind of future was in front of us. Or if there was a future at all besides burning up the sheets. Which was fine, of course—casual sex with a man as talented and hot as him? Fuck yes. But were there emotional lines I needed to know about?
Twisting a little so I was facing him, I swallowed. “Okay, I’m not going to be that guy who wants a commitment or whatever on the second date. But . . .” I chewed my lip and struggled to hold his gaze. “I guess given what you’ve been through, maybe we should talk about what we both want out of this.”
Garrett fidgeted subtly. “That might not be a bad idea.”
Our eyes locked.
You starting? Or am I?
Go ahead. No, you go ahead.
I took a sip of my wine just to wet my dry mouth. “I think I should follow your lead here. I’m open to pretty much wherever this thing wants to go, but I know you’ve been through . . .” Fuck, how to finish that comment.
“Yeah,” Garrett cut in, “and I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass and tell you I’m completely over Sean. Or that I will be any time soon.”
I nodded slowly. “So it’s really your call.”
He was quiet for a moment, gazing into his wineglass as if the liquid might offer up some wisdom. Finally, he took in a breath. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.” He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. “So . . . I don’t have much of an answer for you except that I’m open to whatever this”—he gestured at both of us—“has the potential to become. I’m just not in any hurry, if that makes sense.”
“Yeah, it does.” I took another sip of wine. “If, uh, if we’re going to keep doing this, it probably wouldn’t hurt for you to get on Truvada.”
He studied me. “That’s that . . . anti-HIV med, isn’t it?”
I nodded, my gut tightening as I waited for his response. Nothing made things sexier or more romantic than telling a dude he should be on a prescription drug if he wanted to keep sleeping with me.
He slid a hand over my thigh. “It might not be a bad idea. I can look into it.”
I exhaled, nodding again, and quickly added, “I mean, even if you’re not on it, I’m undetectable, so theoretically we don’t even have to use condoms. But I know most guys prefer to use them. And I’m fine with that.”
“We can cross that bridge when we get there. And we might as well get tested for everything else too.” He paused. “I mean, you’re the first man I’ve been with since my husband, and he and I were both negative for everything, but I’m happy to get the paper that says I’m all clear.”
“Thanks.” I was glad he’d volunteered it. It made me feel like an ass to insist on it, especially from a man who’d been married or celibate for the last few years, but I’d already been bitten once by someone who’d sworn up and down he couldn’t possibly have anything. “And . . . we can still use condoms. Even if you’re on it.” As much as science had (finally) admitted that my odds of infecting Garrett were on par with my mom’s cat learning to tango, that didn’t mean Garrett would be game to skip taking precautions.
Garrett smiled, squeezing my leg gently. “Like I said, we’ll
cross that bridge when we get to it. I’m not opposed to the idea of ditching them as long as it’s just you and me.”
My heart skipped, and I wasn’t sure if it was at the suggestion of being exclusive or at how he was unabashedly okay with having bareback sex with me. “Do you, um . . . do you want it to just be you and me?” Was two weeks too soon to be exclusive?
He studied me for a long moment, his expression giving nothing up. Finally, he took my hand and smiled. “I think it’s a little early in the game for any kind of commitment, but how about this—if you want to hook up with someone else, just be honest with me about it?”
“And vice versa, right?”
His smile made my pulse go nuts, and he ran his thumb back and forth along mine. “I don’t see me wanting to hook up with anyone else anytime soon, but yes, I’ll be honest with you about it either way. In the meantime . . .” He set his wineglass on the coffee table. Then he took mine and did the same. Turning to me, he grinned. “I’m all yours tonight.”
“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Especially the part where this not-entirely-comfortable conversation was over. Eager for a change of subject, I pulled him close, and somehow we segued seamlessly from an awkward minefield of a subject to . . . this. And I didn’t think I’d felt this relaxed in his arms before. Everything was out on the table, and nerves I hadn’t even known were there seemed to vanish as Garrett kissed me. It was like when we’d hooked up after he’d told me the real reason he’d balked, and things had just felt more open and honest.
“Should we take this into the bedroom?” he murmured between kisses.
“Hmm, I don’t know.” I dragged my lower lip across his. “I think we’re fine right here.”
Garrett just grinned, pulled me closer, and kissed me again.
Chapter 18
Garrett
Kicked back on Scott’s balcony, I closed my eyes and let the weed work its magic. This was the kind of high I remembered from my college days. Back when I couldn’t imagine anything more stressful than exams or term papers, and a few lungfuls of sour smoke was all I’d needed to relax.
