Broken Wings

by Bethany Brown

  “What? You don’t think I can kick his ass?”

  “In all honesty, no, I don’t.”

  “Hey, I can hold my own.”

  “I know that. I remember all the shit you used to get me into by fighting.” Brad gave the phone a slightly annoyed look. “You know, you really did get me in a lot of trouble. Why are we still friends?”

  “Because without me your life would be boring and mean-ingless.”

  “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. What were we talking about?”

  “Why you don’t think I can beat up your boyfriend.”

  “One, he’s a cop. He could probably beat the shit out of you before you got a punch in. Or he could just shoot you. Two, he’s gone back to Ontario, so unless you can teleport, it’s not going to happen. Three, I’m not even sure if he’s my boyfriend.”

  “Did you break up?”

  “Maybe?” Brad growled in frustration. “I have no clue. We had a fight, and then he left without telling me. And he hasn’t called.”

  “Have you called him?”

  Brad fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch, feeling sullen. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want him to tell me that we did break up. Plus, I’m still kind of mad at him.”

  Graham’s laughter flooded the line. “You’re a bit of a freak. You know that, right?”

  “So you keep telling me.” Brad sighed and leaned back into the couch. “So, how’s Cooper’s dad doing?”

  “He’s getting better, but the recovery is going slower than he wants. Of course, if he’d stop trying to do shit with a broken leg, it might heal faster.”

  “That sounds like him.” Brad chuckled lightly, not really feeling the amusement. “How’s Cooper?”

  “Fine.” Graham’s voice had lost some of its humor. “Why didn’t you tell me that Cooper is gay?”

  Brad nearly choked on his juice. “What? Cooper’s what?”

  “So you didn’t know that he was gay?”

  “No! How did you find out?”

  “He told me after I caught him making out with some guy.”

  “He was making out with some random guy?”

  “No, this guy is apparently his boyfriend.” Graham nearly growled the word “boyfriend.”

  “So, do you have a problem with Cooper being gay or the boyfriend?”

  “I don’t give a shit that Coop’s gay. I just don’t like this guy.”

  “Why?”

  “Gives me bad vibes. I don’t like him, Brad. He doesn’t fit.”

  Brad sighed. Graham had had hunches about people since they were kids. And the scary thing was, his hunches tended to be right. If Graham said someone didn’t fit, there was usually something wrong with that person. Brad normally gave him the benefit of the doubt, but he was still reeling from his own emotional fallout and didn’t want to deal with anyone else’s. “You told me that you thought Patrick fit.”

  “I still think he does.”

  “He left, Graham. He left, and I haven’t heard from him in almost three weeks.”

  “Don’t count him out yet.”

  Brad sighed once more. God, I’m sighing so much I sound like I have respiratory problems. Shit. I am so pathetic. The thought annoyed him so much that he actually sighed again. “Fine, I won’t give up on him yet.” Brad heard the sound of the mailbox on his porch closing. “Look, my mail is here. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye,” Brad echoed. He hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch. Groaning, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He needed to stop thinking about Patrick all of the time. All it did was depress him.

  Brad pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door. He was waiting for the new issue of a graphics magazine, and he was almost positive it should be arriving within the next few days. It was sad to think that a magazine was all he had to look forward to. Now completely depressed, Brad opened his front door and collected his mail.

  He closed the door with his hip as he looked through the pile of mail in his hands. Most of it consisted of bills or junk mail, but there was a box that appeared to be some type of package. Brad tossed everything except the box on the table by the door and then walked over to the couch with the box. He sat and looked at the postmark. When he saw that it was from Ontario, his hands started to shake. It took two tries before he was able to open the box.

  It was just a plain shipping box; Brad pulled back the flaps, revealing a mess of packing paper. With still-clumsy hands, he yanked the paper out and reached farther inside. His hands encountered something soft. Frowning slightly, Brad pulled it from the box. He stared for a moment before he felt a smile. In his hands was a stuffed giraffe wearing a green, blue, and white striped scarf.

  Brad remembered the giraffe. He and Patrick had taken a trip into a neighboring town for lunch one day and had been wandering around when he spotted it in a window. Patrick, knowing about the collection of stuffed animals that Brad’s grandmother had started for him when he was twelve, hadn’t batted an eye when Brad dragged him inside the store to look and see if they had one with a scarf. All of his animals had scarves. The first one had been a polar bear with a scarf that his grandmother had brought back from a trip to Alaska. He really wanted a giraffe.

  Unfortunately, while the giraffe in the window had been perfect, the store didn’t have one with a scarf. Brad had left feeling somewhat down, but spending the rest of the day with Patrick had made everything better. He couldn’t believe that Patrick had remembered how much he had liked the giraffe. What was even more astounding was that Patrick had somehow found a scarf for it.

  Settling the giraffe in the crook of his arm, Brad dug back into the box. He pulled out a matching scarf, mittens, and socks for himself. Brad flung the scarf around his neck. Okay, I don’t think anyone has ever sent me knitted socks before. So either Patrick had someone make these, or he’s gone insane. It was kind of amusing to imagine him at some kind of gay man’s stitch’n’bitch.

  At the bottom of the box was a CD with “Play Me” written on it in Patrick’s handwriting. Biting his lip, Brad stood, giraffe still in his arms, and put the disc in the player. He hit play and then curled back up on the couch, scarf around his neck, giraffe in his arms. “Hey, Brad, it’s me. Patrick.”

  Brad shivered as his estranged lover’s voice washed over him. With Patrick’s voice echoing around the room, he could almost smell the scent of his skin.

  “So, I bet you’re wondering why I sent you this instead of calling. Well, I couldn’t really send the giraffe through the phone, now could I?”

  Brad chuckled softly.

  “Okay, I’ll be honest. I was afraid that if I called, you’d hang up on me. And I’d deserve it, I really would. God, I was such an asshole. I’d completely understand if you never want to talk to me again. It would break my heart, but I’d understand.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, I’m horrible with words, well, at least words of my own, so I’m going to try and tell you how I feel a different way.”

  Brad settled against the couch cushions as a piano started playing a vaguely familiar tune. Patrick’s surprisingly good singing voice joined it a second later, and the feeling of connection that Brad had with Patrick, which had been fading since Patrick had left three weeks ago, flared back to life as he listened to the words of the song.

  Patrick still thought about him.

  And if the words in the song were true, Patrick still cared about him too.

  Brad was shaking slightly as the song finally came to an end.

  “Well, I guess that’s everything I have to say. I would really like to hear from you, Brad. I know I have a lot to make up for, but I’m willing to do it if you’ll just give me a chance. Please, Brad, just give me a chance. Be my Angel again.”

  In the sudden silence of the room, Brad could hear the sound of the wind hitting the side of the house. A loud gust startled him so much that he actually jumped
and clutched the giraffe tighter to his chest.

  Shaking his head at his own reaction, Brad took a deep breath and turned his attention to the phone. He reached out a still-shaking hand and picked up the phone, dialing the number from memory. He started to breathe faster as the phone rang.

  “Hawkins.”

  “Patrick?” Brad whispered. He flinched as a loud thud came over the line.

  “Shit! Brad! Brad, are you still there?”

  “I’m here. What was that?”

  “I dropped the phone.”

  Brad felt a small smile cross his face. “You dropped the phone?”

  “Well, you sort of surprised me.”

  Brad laughed softly. “I find that hard to believe. I never really took you for the type that is easily surprised.”

  “No. I’m more the type that makes stupid spur-of-the-moment decisions.” Patrick took a deep breath. “Did you get the package?”

  “I did. Where did you get the giraffe?”

  “When I was in Alberta, we went and did tourist stuff. I got it at that store we went to a few towns over.”

  “But where did you get the scarf?”

  “I may have pouted until Cam’s mom made it for me.”

  “You had Cam’s mother knit a scarf for a stuffed giraffe?”

  “Yep. Plus, there was so much yarn left over that she made one for you.”

  “She also made me mittens and socks.”

  “Mittens and socks? She didn’t tell me about those when she packed the box for me. What are you going to do with knit socks?”

  “Hey, it gets cold here. Now my feet will stay warm.”

  “I’m glad that your feet will stay warm.”

  Brad took a deep breath. “Patrick, did you mean it?”

  There was a slight pause on the other end of the line that could have meant anything at this distance, followed by a breath Brad could hear. “Yes, I meant it. I meant every word.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “Because I’m an idiot. And an asshole. I should have never left like that.”

  “You just left, and you never called.” Brad was horrified to hear how choked up his voice had become. Just thinking about the hole that Patrick had left when he ran away made his heart ache.

  “God, Brad, I am so sorry.”

  “You should be. You hurt me, Patrick.”

  “I know. And I know that you have every right to want nothing to do with me ever again, but please, Brad, please; I want another chance. Can you do that? Can you give me another chance?”

  “You really want to do that, Patrick? You not only want to have a relationship, but you want to have a long-distance one?”

  “If it’s with you, I’ll take anything that I can get. These last three weeks have been awful.”

  “It hasn’t exactly been a picnic for me, either. The first time I let a man into my life, and he takes off on me.” Brad felt some of his anger start to bubble over.

  While he was happy to be talking to Patrick once again and thrilled that Patrick wanted to work on their relationship, he was still angry over the way he had been treated. In fact, he was fairly certain that if he and Patrick had been in the same room, he would have punched the other man.

  “Oh God, you’ve called to break up with me, haven’t you? I’ve actually managed to fuck this up enough that you don’t want anything to do with me.”

  Patrick’s outburst reminded Brad that he wasn’t the only emotionally fragile one. With a little effort, he managed to get his anger under control. “Wow, you jump to conclusions worse than a woman.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m not calling to break up with you, you moron. I want to work things out. I just need you to know that you have your work cut out for you. You hurt me, Patrick. You hurt me, and you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

  “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll just give me a chance.”

  “Don’t jump too far ahead of yourself, Patrick. Let’s just take this one day at a time and see how it goes.” Brad finally relaxed into the couch. “So, you have a pretty decent singing voice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Who did you get to play the piano for you?”

  “That was all me, Brad.”

  “You play the piano? Why didn’t I know that?”

  A soft chuckle came over the line. “It’s not exactly something that I advertise.”

  “But you’re good.”

  “I am.”

  “And so modest,” Brad teased. The conversation was slowly losing the stilted quality that had tainted it earlier and was transforming into their normal form of banter.

  “Hey, my grandmother wanted me to be a concert pianist. I know I’m good.”

  Brad gave the phone a stunned look. “If you’re that good, why didn’t you become a concert pianist?”

  “I wanted to be a cop. I went to the Julliard audition, mainly because my grandmother really wanted me to, but I wanted to be a cop.” Patrick laughed softy. “She sighed at me and made some crack about boys never doing what their elders wanted them to.”

  Brad laughed. “She sounds like she was a cool lady.”

  “She was. She would have loved you.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. She was smart. She would have seen how amazing you are.”

  Brad flushed, momentarily glad that Patrick was still in Ontario and couldn’t see the color on his cheeks. “You think I’m amazing?”

  “I do.”

  “You’re not that bad yourself.”

  “Even though I’m an idiot? And an asshole.”

  “You do have your asshole moments, but on the whole you’re a pretty decent guy.”

  “That means a lot coming from you. For the life of me, I still don’t understand how guys like you and Julian can give me a second chance.”

  “You deserve a second chance, Patrick.”

  “So, how are we going to do this, Brad? I know that we’re going to have to go slow so you can trust me again, but how do we do that?”

  “You’re leaving that up to me?”

  “Hey, I’m the one who fucked up. You get to call how I make it up to you.”

  Brad took a deep breath and actually thought about the question. While he wanted nothing more than to have Patrick fly to Alberta so he could wrap the older man in his arms, he knew that going slow was the best idea. The way Patrick made his emotions jump would be a problem face-to-face until they worked out some of their issues. “How about phone calls and e-mail?”

  “Phone calls and e-mail?”

  “For now. We should talk on the phone at least once a week, maybe more. You know, take the time to learn all about each other.”

  “You mean that step we kind of skipped last time?”

  Brad smiled. “That would be the one.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Would daily phone calls be a bit too crazy stalker?”

  “Maybe a bit. I wouldn’t mind daily e-mails, though.”

  “That’s right, the web designer likes the Internet.”

  “I do. You probably just use it to look up porn.”

  “Mean. I can e-mail you a picture of my new dog.”

  “You got a dog?”

  “I did.”

  “Wow, I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

  “Yeah, we do.”

  “So, do you have time now, sugar?” The endearment slipped past his lips before Brad could stop it.

  “Yeah, Angel, I have time.”

  “Good,” Brad replied. Warmth flooded through him at the sound of the treasured pet name. His stuffed giraffe in one arm, Brad twisted his body so he was sprawled comfortably across the couch. “Tell me about the dog.”

  TUGGING on the collar of one of the few dress shirts he owned, Brad walked up to the front doors of Score!, the sporting goods store that had hired him to do their web page. He wasn’t always asked to come to the store when he designed a web page, but the Calgary-based stor
e wanted him to meet with their head of marketing. With his laptop bag over one shoulder, Brad pushed open the door and entered the store.

  The inside of the store was larger than Brad had expected and surprisingly well-lit. Everything seemed to be neatly organized, and the store was split into sections for the different sports. Brad readjusted his bag and headed over the easily located customer-service desk. A rather perky blonde girl smiled at him.

  Her smile brightened as her eyes traveled over his body. “Can I help you?”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Wilson.”

  “Let me just tell him that you’re here,” she replied. The smile on her face didn’t dim as she lifted the phone. Brad could feel a small chuckle trying to build. He was starting to think that the young girl was hoping that he would be working there. He coughed to smother a wry grin as she batted her eyes at him.

  “Mr. Wilde?” a voice called. Brad turned to see a man in his late forties walking toward him. He was tall, with brown hair flecked with hints of gray at the temples and smiling brown eyes. He was dressed simply in jeans and a button-down shirt, but there was an aura of authority to him. A slightly limping gait brought him to Brad’s side, where he held out a hand. “I’m Allan Wilson.”

  “Brad.” Brad’s hand was taken in a rather firm shake.

  “We’re in the process of packing everything up to move next door for a lunch meeting.” Allan gave him a sheepish smile. “I skipped breakfast this morning, and I’m starving. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good. Follow me and you can give us a hand with some of this stuff.” Allan turned, and Brad fell into step with him.

  “So, who makes up the ‘we’ you mentioned?”

  “Well, me, of course, and Dwight Richards. He’s our marketing guy. He had some ideas on what should be included in the website and wanted to be included in the meeting.”

  “Of course he did,” Brad muttered. He felt his ears redden as Allan laughed. He hadn’t realized that he had said that out loud.

  “Yeah, Dwight can be like that. Seems to think he knows everything about how to give the store more impact. At one point, he had even said that he was going to do the web design himself.”

  “How did that turn out?”