by E M Lindsey
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“God, yes,” Harry said with a laugh.
James hauled himself up, and after only a moment of hesitation, he let his hand slip into the other man’s. He knew he was doomed at that moment when his first thought was how different it felt to Rowan’s, how wrong it felt, but he forced himself to go forward. Harry’s fingers tightened in his, and after a bit, it stopped feeling so strange.
They made their way to Harry’s little car, James easing into the seat and trying to get his legs comfortable, and Harry pulled out onto the main road, heading toward the center of the city. “Any suggestions?”
“Friend of mine has a bar not far from here,” James said with a shrug. “Well, he works there. He’s one of our regulars at the shop. I did a little ink on him a while back, and he gives us the friends discount.”
“Let’s do that,” Harry said.
James was mildly surprised that Harry so readily agreed to a date at a bar, especially since he was just a few months fresh out of the closet, and from his life as a religious leader, but he didn’t call him on it. Who was he to question Harry’s choices? And the fact that they could do this in a space where he felt comfortable made it so much better.
They didn’t hold hands on the way in, but James waved to Amit who was behind the bar when the guy saw him, and he pointed to his usual table then signed, ‘Beer, please,’ before laying a hand on Harry’s lower back. Harry jumped a bit, but when James made to pull away, Harry pushed back into the touch.
“Sorry. It’s…new,” Harry said.
James shook his head, understanding more than he’d bothered to explain yet. He slid into the round booth, smiling when Harry eased right up next to him, and less than a minute later, one of the servers dropped off a pitcher and two pint glasses of the house lager.
“Thanks,” James said, handing over his card. “Tell him to start a tab?”
She laughed. “Right, like he’ll bother.” She took the card anyway and walked off, and Harry raised his eyebrows at her, then back at James.
“You weren’t kidding about the friends discount,” he said.
James laughed. “They get great deals in ink, we get a great place to unwind after a long week. It’s win-win. We got the same deal goin’ with a little spot in Fairfield, too.”
“Must be nice,” Harry said, his voice a little wistful. He leaned his elbow on the table as James poured, and neither one of them picked up their glasses to drink. “The one thing I miss about my old life is the sense of community. But it’s hard to keep it, you know? When the entire community thinks you’re depraved and sick for who you love.”
James winced. “Yeah. I get it.”
“I figured as much. Baptist pastor for a father. I couldn’t imagine.”
“How’d you get involved in all that priest business?” James asked. He was burning with curiosity, knowing full well that even as a devout child the idea of dedicating himself so fully to the church terrified him. More than going to hell, if he was being honest.
Harry sighed, then drew lines in the condensation of his glass. “I was raised at the church. Literally,” Harry said with a half-chuckle. “My mother was there when she was pregnant with me, and she didn’t want to give me up, so she made a deal with her parents that it would be a big part of my life. I…I don’t blame her. She was just fifteen, made a mistake.” He sighed, then took the smallest drink from his glass. “It was all I knew—other than I was different, and that scared me. I thought maybe giving myself to God would help.”
James couldn’t help a bitter laugh. “Tried that. Then tried giving myself to my country, but that didn’t work out to well for me neither.”
Harry bit his lip for a second. “Your injury?”
“Equipment malfunction,” James said, not wanting to do the whole damn song and dance again. “Not combat or anything, but same results. Honorably discharged with a heap of cash from a settlement and the heart to finally come out to my daddy.”
“And he didn’t take it well?” Harry asked.
James couldn’t help his chuckle. “Nope. But didn’t worry myself over it. Had a plan, saw it through. Moved down here and got my shop, eventually started workin’ with the guys. Could be worse.”
Harry breathed out a soft laugh. “Yeah. I think we both know that’s true.”
James fiddled with his glass, then took a drink before looking over at Harry. “I’m strugglin’, and I think that’s probably pretty obvious to all y’all at the group. I still don’t know how to reconcile loving God and being gay.”
“I think…in some respects,” Harry added like an afterthought, “we all are. We always will. We have nothing to connect us to God but the mouths and pens of men. We’re subjected to their whims unless we listen to our hearts. And the worst part about that, our hearts are human just like everyone else’s. We can have faith, and we can have belief, but we’ll never have knowledge. Not until it’s all over.”
“So, we burn or we don’t,” James said.
Harry dragged a hand down his face, then said, “I could never make myself believe in hell. At least, I could never make myself believe that something so unlike God would come from him. I think hell is our own torment. Man-made, whether or not we carry it with us past death. If you ask me —as a man who dedicated his life to serving the Lord— if I believe that in spite of myself, we’re going to burn, I’d tell you no.”
“And as a gay man?” James asked.
“I’d tell you I’m terrified, but not terrified enough to deny myself the rights that every straight person is entitled to simply for being born the way they were born.”
James bowed his head, letting out a breath. “Pretty deep shit for a first date.”
Harry laughed, reaching out to tip James’ head up. “I don’t mind.”
James couldn’t help a grin, in spite of the fact that he was still sitting next to a man he was desperately wishing was someone else. “Yeah. Yeah, me neither.”
They didn’t stay long, and didn’t finish much of the beer. Amit tried to wave James out of the bar without paying, so he stuffed all the cash he had in the tip jar and took his card back, promising to set aside some time for him later. James let Harry take his hand as they walked back to the car, and they kept their fingers tangled together over the gearshift all the way back to Fairfield.
When Harry pulled up, he didn’t kill the engine, and James found himself profoundly grateful not to have to invent a reason why he wanted to spend the night alone. He turned in his seat, reaching out after a second, and brushed a lock of Harry’s hair back from his forehead.
“This was nice,” he said.
Harry nodded, then swallowed thickly and looked nervous. “I want to kiss you, but…” He stopped and licked his lips, his gaze darting out the front window. “When I first came out, I thought what I needed was to get it all out of my system. I felt…wrong, and unloved, and really alone. I like you, and because of that, I want to take it slow.”
James’ breath rushed from his lungs, and he felt almost dizzy with gratitude. “That’s more’n okay. I promise you. I might’ve been out a lot longer, but I don’t got much more than that. I’m not ready to…I’m not in a place, you know, to rush.”
Harry pulled James’ hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand. “Can I see you again?”
“Yes,” James said before he really even considered if that’s what he wanted. But it didn’t feel entirely wrong. Just a little sad. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“I’ll text you.” Harry kissed his hand once more, then carefully let go and stayed in his seat as James climbed out of the car and headed for the door. He didn’t look back, but he was profoundly aware of Harry watching him, and only heard the tires crunching on his gravel when he was behind his closed front door.
Leaning against the wood, James pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. The shop group text was alive, but he usually ignored that, and he s
crolled down to the thread he and Rowan had ended earlier. Swallowing thickly, he opened up his keyboard.
James: It went well. We didn’t kiss. He wants to take it slow. He was sweet.
* * *
Rowan: I’m happy for you. I wish I was there to hear all about it. It’s an early night for me, and I was just about to text you that I was off for bed. You good?
* * *
James: I’m good. Night, darlin. Talk to you soon.
James didn’t know what it meant that Rowan had answered him immediately. And he really didn’t know what to do with the fact that after his first real date, Rowan was the only person he texted.
Chapter Seventeen
“Mr. Balk.”
Rowan looked up from the stack of papers he was trying to sort to find Rob Whitmore, the attorney handling his mother’s will, looking somewhat apprehensive. Rowan trusted him, mostly because he’d personally vetted him before she hired him on, but apart from sending his mom’s retainer, he hadn’t really interacted with the guy. Rowan appreciated how hands-on he was, though, and how organized, which saved Rowan a lot of trouble during his mom’s decline.
At the moment, Rob looked a little out of sorts, and Rowan frowned, setting the document down and rising from the office chair. “Everything okay?”
“I just received a strange phone call,” Rob said, then cleared his throat. “It’s…sensitive in nature, and I’m sorry for it. But are you aware of any biological children your mother might have had?”
Rowan blinked at him, and almost laughed, but he knew that reaction was mostly from stress. “No. I feel like she would have told me if that was the case. I mean, it was just me and her growing up and…I…no,” he said, letting out a puff of air. “Why?”
“I received an email from a woman named Anna Grant. She claims she was adopted and believes Marie is her birthmother.”
Rowan frowned. “I don’t…I mean, I don’t know for sure.” He wanted to say that they could just ask her the next time she woke up, but the doctors seemed unsure that would happen again. His mother hadn’t done much more than open and close her eyes in the last three days, and she’d stopped eating. He had decisions to make in the coming hours, and the idea of a sudden child out of nowhere threatened to choke him. “Fuck. Are there records? Does she have proof?”
“I just need your consent to speak with her,” Rob told him softly. “I’ll find out what I can, but I didn’t want to over-step. This isn’t my area.”
Rowan bowed his head. Technically, something like this was his area. And he wanted to believe that if his mother had given a child up for adoption either before or after he’d been taken by CPS, she would have told him. It didn’t make sense. “I’d offer to do it, but I have to meet with her doctors today and decide if we,” his voice cracked and he stopped, clearing his throat.
“I understand,” Rob said gently. “Why don’t I call you once I’ve made contact.”
Rowan nodded, swallowing thickly, and he found himself unable to look up at the other man. He didn’t move from his spot until the office door closed, and then he sank back down into the chair. Dragging a hand over his face, he let out a half-sob before forcing his control to the surface. There would be plenty of time later to fall apart. Once she was gone, once this mess was taken care of, once every single one of these documents was read over.
Once he finally allowed himself to let go.
Rowan reached for his phone without really thinking about it, and he pulled up the thread with James. They’d chatted a little the night before, James having gone on yet another date with Harry—the ex-priest, who seemed almost too good for him—and his tone was different. It was lighter, and less afraid, and Rowan had to accept that he hadn’t done that.
He’d maybe given James the tools to go forward, but that was a stretch. James was a strong, brilliant, incredible man who had his own strength all along. He didn’t really need anyone. And maybe that was the crux of it. Maybe that’s why Rowan was so afraid. His entire life, he’d always been needed. Now, he’d have to accept just wanted, and he damn well knew how fleeting want could be.
Rowan: How’s your day going?
* * *
James: Good, darlin’. Was thinking about you today on my ride. Harry and I are grabbing drinks at Ruby’s tonight and he asked if I would take him on the bike.
* * *
Rowan: That should be fun for him.
* * *
James: Not sure if I’m going to.
* * *
Rowan: Why not? He not a fan of bikes?
* * *
James: Seems to like mine well enough, but…I dunno. Seems intimate in a way I don’t think I’m ready for.
* * *
Rowan: You had no problem when it was with me.
* * *
James: You’re different, you know that.
Closing his eyes, Rowan breathed out, trying to absorb the fact that James was still separating him out, almost like he was admitting that he was still waiting. But it felt too good to be true. James had also told him Harry wanted to consider dating exclusively, and James was giving it some serious thought. The idea gutted him, but all the same, Rowan wasn’t about to try and stop him.
James: You alright? Don’t usually hear from you this early.
* * *
Rowan: Fine. Just…kind of a rough day. No big deal. I hope you have fun tonight :)
A second later, his phone started buzzing in his hand, and he jumped before scrambling to answer it. “Why are you calling? Aren’t you working?”
James chuckled, the sound like balm to Rowan’s frayed, bleeding nerves. “I can tell things are more’n just rough, darlin’. Talk to me.”
Rowan bowed his head, his breath escaping him in a shaking rush. “I don’t…she’s dying. I mean, she’s really dying. She hasn’t been awake for three days, and today they’re going to want me to decide whether or not we take her off everything except the meds to make her comfortable.” He sniffed, wiping his hand under his nose, and he blinked back tears. “I wish I could just ask her if that’s what she wants, but she’s so far gone. I’m…it’s too much. I’m not ready to decide whether or not she’s going to live or die.”
“Tell me you’re not doin’ all this alone,” James demanded.
Rowan let out a wet laugh. “No. She didn’t want to be in hospice, so there’s round the clock care for her here.”
“That’s not what I meant,” James chided softly. “I mean alone, alone.”
Rowan rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and ignored the hot tears now flowing down his cheeks. “There’s…I don’t really have anyone. It was just me and her growing up. Her distant relatives will probably come for the funeral, but I wasn’t ever close with anyone. But it’s fine,” he said in a rush. “I’m fine.”
“Sweetheart,” James breathed out. “Don’t.”
Rowan shook his head. “I swear, I’m fine. I can do this. It’s just…there are difficult moments, you know?”
“I do,” James murmured. “What can I do?”
“This is good. This is enough,” Rowan said. It was a half lie, because short of putting a ring on James’ finger and vowing to spend the rest of his life doing what he could to make him happy, it would never be enough. But this would do. “Thank you for calling. I wouldn’t have asked.”
James laughed quietly into the phone. “Darlin’, why d’you think I didn’t wait. It’s okay to ask for things you need, though, and for things you want.”
“Even if they’re selfish?” Rowan whispered.
“Especially then. Especially now,” James clarified, his tone firm. “And I know we don’t necessarily see eye to eye on the idea of God or an afterlife, but I can tell you whatever choice you make, it ain’t gonna alter the plan. Your momma’s dyin’, whether it’s now or a week from now, or a month from now. She’ll go just as soon as she was meant to, and she knew it long before you came out there. She isn’t gonna blame you for it, whatever you decide.”
>
Rowan closed his eyes and exhaled another trembling breath. “I miss you,” he admitted.
“I miss you too, darlin’. I hate that I can’t be there with you right now. Can I…will you text me your address so I can send you a little something?”
Rowan opened his eyes and blinked at the top of the desk. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I know. But I want to, so indulge me, alright?” James pushed.
Rowan couldn’t help a laugh. “Alright, fine. I should let you go, though. I have a few things to finish up, and you have a date to get ready for.”
“Yeah,” James said. He sounded less enthused about it than the last time they had spoken, but Rowan didn’t have it in him to press. Not right then. “Talk soon, darlin’.”
“Have a good night. Say hi to Harry for me,” he said. He hung up right after, afraid if he lingered, he’d give in to James’ request that he be selfish and ask James to give up his date and just wait for him. But as much as he was desperate to, Rowan just wasn’t that kind of man.
James blinked, looking up when he realized he’d been staring at the same spot on the floor for at least twenty minutes. His last client had come and gone, and he had his station wiped down and sanitized. He was on walk-ins for the next half an hour, then Harry was picking him up for dinner.
And maybe a ride, though the thought of letting the other man climb up where Rowan had sat still felt wrong. Sickly wrong—like cheating. And that was saying more than anything else right then. He was trying his damndest to move on from a man who wouldn’t make him any promises, but he couldn’t.
