Between the Shadow and the Soul - 19. Doomsday Clock

November 4, 2016

"I'm glad we had that session," I told Nate as I loaded dishes into the dishwasher.

"I guess I'd been struggling with that for quite a while."

Giving him a compassionate look I explained, "Like I said, I've never blamed you. But I can see how you would've felt guilty anyway. In your shoes I'd've felt the same."

He smiled over his shoulder as he put leftovers in the fridge. "It's all good now, G-Man. Working through it with Uncle Farid has helped, and finally coming clean to you about it really took a weight off my shoulders."

"I'm glad. I really don't want you burdened with it. You've always been my hero. You saved me that day, Nate. Remember that. There's no reason for you to feel bad about any of it."

On his way back to the dining room he stopped and leaned his head on my shoulder, kissed my cheek, then whispered in my ear, "Your forgiveness helps, even if you think there's no reason for it. But what you just said helps most. Thank you." Then he nuzzled my neck before walking away.

Frozen. I stood frozen with one hand in soapy water and the other holding a wet plate above the sink. My eyes misted and my heart hammered and my breath stuttered. Then just as quickly I went back to what I was doing, hoping the hitch in my giddy-up had gone unnoticed.

Coming back with more dirty dishes Nate said, "Now that you're getting better, now that you're seeing things clearly again, it means a lot knowing you feel that way. I still needed to get it off my chest, but at least I'm not worried about your response being the product of hiding the truth from yourself." Leaning against me from behind he again whispered in my ear, "And I'm really happy you're getting better, G-Man. Nothing could make me happier." Another peck on the cheek and he was gone again, picking up the last of the food from the table.

Focusing on the work at hand, I kept quiet.

What am I supposed to say? Gosh, thanks Nate, glad you want me to be better. I see you've taken it as a sign to move on and my heart's breaking and I have to leave you because I'll never get over you while I'm around you and you'll always struggle with finding your own happiness so long as you're focused on me. Somehow that doesn't sound like the proper response.

"The twinkle's back in your eye."

My head whipped around only to find him bent over the table wiping up a few crumbs, his back to me.

"What are you talking about?" My voice was distant, like it came from some other place, and I barely got the question out above a whisper.

Turning to face me, his expression puzzled, he answered, "Just... I'm not sure. Maybe it sounds silly, but there was something... some light in your eyes back when we were kids, from the time we met until not long after you came out, and it was like this blaze of life and joyous emotion and... and something. But it disappeared years ago." With a shrug he added, "But it's back. I guess it's been back a few weeks maybe."

"Huh..." I mumbled as I returned to the dishes.

I wonder why he's never been able to see it. He sees everything else in my head, he reads me like a book, and yet he's never been able to see that. Why?

Standing beside me rinsing the rag he'd used on the table, Nate nudged me with his elbow before asking, "Is something wrong?"

"What? No. Nothing's wrong."

Just focus on the dishes.

Leaning his hip against the counter so he could face me, his expression the very definition of thought and study, he pursed his lips but said nothing. Finally he quietly sighed then explained, "Yeah... Something's wrong. You've been distant lately, increasingly distant in fact, and you're constantly rushing off so we don't spend much time together anymore." With the expression of someone who feels a hurt they can't identify or fix he inquired, "Did I wrong you in some way? Did I hurt you?"

Play it cool. This won't last forever. Just do what you have to do as quickly as possible so you can—

"What are you in a hurry to do?" he asked quietly.

"The dishes." My voice was flippant to my own ears but I couldn't stop. I had to keep him out of my head. "I have to catch up on some work. So that means I need to hurry with the dishes."

Nate huffed, his breath cascading over my skin with the force of wishful thinking. Until that moment I'd been able to ignore his smell, but being caressed by his exhale pushed all the right buttons. As I inhaled his breath, I also inhaled the scent I longed to bottle and carry with me every moment of every day.

"Please talk to me, Greg."

Fuck. He's so worried right now, scared even. I can't let that go on if I can help it.

After quickly drying my hands, I turned slowly to face him, schooling my features and blanking my thoughts, since with Nate that's what would betray me.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Quite the opposite." I reached up and cupped his cheeks, gently sliding my thumbs over his beautiful brown skin. "You've always done everything right. You're such a perfect friend to me that it scares me how much I love you."

I gave him a quick kiss before turning back to my task. But I saw the look on his face, the one that said he was confused and hurt.

"You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If something was wrong between us you'd tell me, right?"

His voice was soft and thoughtful, full of emotions, one of which was doubt.

Which makes sense because even thinking the question a month ago would've been laughable, a preposterous notion, a silliness that needn't be given voice.

But things have changed.

"Of course I would." And I will. Just not yet. Not until everything's in place. With a quick peck on his cheek I added, "Of course I'd tell you, Nate. You know I would."

"You need to tell me something, something important, is that it?"

"You know me, Little Big Man. My mouth engages long before my brain, so when I have something important to tell you, it'll fall out of my mouth of its own accord."

"Hmmm..." he muttered. Then he shrugged before stepping around me. When he reached the stairs he said, "I'm gonna take a shower. I'll be back down shortly. Save me a beer or ten."

As soon as he'd climbed the stairs far enough to disappear, my head dropped and I sighed, disgusted with myself and sorry for Nate and worried for what lay ahead and what I had to leave behind.

* * * * *

When Nate came down the stairs, he had on a loose pair of sweats hanging from his hips and a tight long-sleeve tee that hugged his broad chest and clearly showed his nipples. Otherwise it dangled freely over his tight abs and narrow waist.

Heaven help me, can't he wear something else? Like, I don't know, a full-length kaftan ten sizes too big?

Stopping in front of the fireplace, the flames silhouetting him beautifully, he paused, lifted his arms, did a slow circle, then dropped his arms as he joked, "You looked hungry."

"Smartass," I muttered.

He turned sideways and smacked his delicious bubble butt. "Not sure it's one of the smart kids but it sure is a popular one." Then he winked.

He's driving me nuts.

"You're already crazy, G-Man. You can't blame that on me." Then he let out a puerile laugh.

My focus returned to the tablet and the work messages I was perusing as means to get him out of my head before that became a problem.

"What's got you so serious?" he asked on his way to the kitchen.

"Work. Catching up on crap."

"Sounds fun."

"I came up with a different word that starts with an F and has a U in it."

Pulling a cold beer from the refrigerator he spun toward me and announced, "Speaking of fun, I'm taking Rita out later this week. I'm thinking I might take her to that Greek restaurant we like so much."

My hands froze, my breathing stopped, my eyes lost focus, my mind went blank. Well, not so much blank as chaotic.

Obviously I rebooted when Nate landed on the couch and plopped down with his head in my lap. He didn't spill a single drop of beer despite the kamikaze maneuver.

I'm gonna be sick. Damn it all to hell I can't even breathe. And I'm shaking. He's gonna notice.

I can't do this. I can't sit here with his head in my lap pretending everything's normal when he's gibbering about a girl and what they plan to do on their next date while I'm burning up inside with this inferno of emotion that I can't talk about and can't share and can't get rid of and can't expect to be returned.

Standing abruptly not a second after he landed, in the process nearly dumping him on the floor, I grabbed my beer and headed toward the stairs.

"G-Man, wait. G-Man! Damn it, Greg, what the fuck!"

On the bottom step I paused long enough to look at him.

"Please tell me what the hell is wrong. This is killing me."

He was on the verge of tears, although he was also pissed and confused. Mostly, though, it was hurt I saw on his face.

With a dismissive shrug meant more to stop me from shaking I mumbled, "I'm tired. I need to take a shower then I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Nate."

I didn't wait for a response. His lost, agonized expression said quite enough.

* * * * *

November 5, 2016

"How'd you sleep last night?"

"With my eyes shut."

Keigan kicked me under the table. Not too hard, though, so I couldn't file an abuse claim since there'd be no bruise to prove it.

"Hey!" I said with false offense. "I answered your question, didn't I?"

He kicked me again.

Mustering faux offense I asked, "Listen up, you crafty bastard, if you're going to practice your field goal, might I suggest you not mistake any of my body parts for the pigskin?"

He tried to scowl through a chuckle, tried being the operative word. "If you're done being a smartass, Mr. Beaumont, I was asking if you've been sleeping alright. Lately you've looked... haggard."

"Just working a lot," I told him, trying not to sound defensive and dismissive, both of which I felt in great quantity.

He studied me for a moment before saying, "I'm not buying what you're selling."

"Nothing more complicated than that," I assured him, though it sounded like empty justification. Because it was. But then I realized I had no reason to pretend all was well in my world. More importantly, what hope I had of something with Keigan would die an early death if I nurtured it with dishonesty.

As my shoulders sagged and my head dropped, I let out a little sigh. "No, that's not it. And I'm sorry I wasn't being honest. I don't know why I was avoiding the truth."

"You can talk to me. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah. That's just it. I know that but I didn't want to talk about it. Like not talking about it meant it was happening to someone else."

"But it's not."

"No, sir, definitely not." After a sip from my latte I set the cup on the table and began rotating it between my fingers, my eyes locked on the lazy patters it drew invisibly on the tabletop. "I'm going to move soon."

"What?" He was as surprised as I thought he'd be. "Didn't you move into that house earlier this year?"

"April."

"What happened? Bad plumbing, bad wiring, bad neighbors, something else?"

I snorted before saying, "Nothing so pedestrian as house problems. And the neighbors are awesome." After a deep breath I explained, "It's an emotional thing. Both the problem and the topic, if that makes sense."

Keigan looked confused but said nothing.

"Here's the deal," I said in a conspirative tone as I leaned forward a bit, meeting his gaze. "You know Nate, my best friend. He lives with me. It's our house, right?" He nodded. "We've been friends for more than twenty years." With a slight shake of my head I added with a frown, "I've recently concluded that, in his best interests, I need to move."

"What, are you like a serial killer or something? Is he unsafe in your presence?" He was only half joking.

"Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid."

"Finally realizing you can't control yourself around his hotness?" he asked facetiously.

Maybe it was the stricken look on my face, or the plethora of other emotions that shot through my expression, but Keigan leaned forward a tad and asked, "What is it, Greg? What's happened between the two of you?"

"It's just that... well... I think I've been holding him back from life. We have a serious history and we've faced some major demons together, and I think he feels compelled to stay by my side out of a wrongheaded sense of responsibility and guilt. Except he'll never be able to find happiness, find a spouse, have kids, whatever, so long as he's with me. So I've decided to move out, set him free as it were."

"He's straight?" He sounded surprised. Or at least perplexed.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," he said a bit too quickly.

He flirted with Nate the first time he met him. Maybe the question was fantasy-based. I mean, looking at Nate, who wouldn't entertain some fantasies?

Keigan gazed at me studiously, frowning, eyes squinted in thought. Finally he prompted, "And what else?"

"Huh?"

"You repeat yourself."

"So I do. But I still don't know that I caught your meaning."

"There's something else, right? I mean, everything you said sounds selfless and all, so kudos to you for your self-sacrificing ways and your willingness to put your lifelong best friend's needs ahead of your own. But you're not showing all your cards, are you?"

"Well... That's... I mean there's... But wait. What?"

Leaning forward a bit more so we huddled together over the table, in a hushed tone he inquired, "What's your other reason for moving?" Then his eyes widened and his mouth formed that perfect O of surprised discovery. "Shit..." he mumbled, "I knew it."

"What? Knew what?"

"All this time I've picked up on something but couldn't figure out what it was. I wasn't sure if it was big or small, but now I know."

"Know what, K? Damn it, what do you think you know?" I was panicked, afraid he knew and afraid of what he'd say and afraid of what it meant for us if he was right.

Keigan sat back a little as he sagely nodded. A knowing smirk slowly spread across his face, but not an entirely happy one. Some small piece of it looked like hope dashed.

I huffed, more in frustration than anything else.

He reached across the table with his tanned, vascular, strong hand and stilled my fidgeting—and therefore the cup by proxy—before he wrapped his fingers around my hand and squeezed.

"From the moment we met, there's been something in the back of my mind," he told me, "something I couldn't put my finger on. Not a bad thing, I thought, just something about you that I should recognize, I should know. Every once in a while I'd get a glimpse of something that reinforced the idea that there was this nebulous thing out there, this mysterious something." With a chuckle he added, "I just figured it out, and it seems so obvious now."

"What?" I asked, desperate and a little annoyed.

Leaning forward again he quietly continued, "The thing is, Greg, you hide it well. Shit, you hide it so damn well I'm surprised you know it's there."

"Will you quit beating around the bush and tell me what the fuck you're talking about?"

"You're in love."

Maybe it was just me or maybe time really stopped at that moment. I couldn't have said if I breathed or if Keigan blinked or if a car drove by outside Starbucks or if the world ended. Then time started again and I flinched.

Squeezing my hand firmly as he shook his head, again sitting back a little to better scrutinize me, he said, "This whole time and I didn't see it. You've been trying really hard to keep it hidden."

"Nonsense."

Goodness gracious, was that peevish noise my voice? Egads!

"Listen, Greg, the cat's out of the bag now. Rather than dance around the hissing creature at your feet whilst trying to explain why you're moving and emotionally drained and physically wiped out without acknowledging the truth, why not grab the damn feline, admit it's yours, and talk to me like a real friend, with honesty and sincerity?"

All I could do was stare, mouth agape and eyes wide.

I guess he's smarter than I thought. And observant.

And pushy. Don't forget pushy.

"Fine..." I muttered with a shake of my head. "What's the point, right?"

"You're in love."

"Yes."

"With Nate."

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Maybe as long as I've known him. Close to that anyway. Twenty years, give or take."

"Have you told him?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Chill, Greg. Tell me why that's a bad idea."

"Because he's already sacrificed so much for me. He's already spent so much of his life by my side. If he knows this, it'll be one more thing he'll try to do for me."

Fuck... Did I just quote Richard as justification for leaving Nate? Is that bastard's manipulation still running around inside my head?

Whoa, dude, that ain't good.

With a doubtful frown he said, "People don't just go gay because their best friend loves them. If telling him caused something to happen between you two, it's because that's what he wants, not because he feels obligated."

Wiping my free hand down my face, I sighed, the sound of it bordering on disgust with self coupled with frustration with self.

Richard's still in my head. Why the fuck is that shit going on?

No kidding. I mean seriously, what the hell, dude?

"Yeah, that sounds stupid when I say it aloud." Then with more conviction I added, "But that's not the point. The issue is Nate needs to find his happiness and telling him will confuse the issue. He's recently met a girl, maybe the one and maybe not, but he needs to find out without my feelings clouding the issue more than they already have."

"But you're leaving him because of your feelings, right?"

Damn it! Caught again.

"Well... Uh..."

"We've come this far. Don't back out on me now."

"Fine. Yes. Being around him just makes it worse. Seeing him dating this girl makes it hurt more than anything ever has. Knowing he'll never be what I want him to be fills me with disappointment. Knowing he'll eventually move on fills me with dread. It's like my heart's breaking a little every day, like some piece of me dies every day. I have to get away from the situation."

"How do you know he can't be what you want him to be? Have you given him the chance?"

"He's straight."

Keigan's mouth worked a few times before closing. His expression was thoughtful, if a bit amused. With a neutral tone he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I replied defensively.

A slight shake of his head looked a lot like frustration. Then he said, "It's your decision, of course, but it sounds to me like you're putting the cart before the horse. You haven't told him, meaning you don't know what the result would be despite your assumptions. Sounds like you're running away."

"I'm not running away."

"Actually, Greg, you are."

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

Deflated and defeated, I told him, "I can't move on with my own life while I'm around him. I can't get over this love I've had most of my life so long as we're this close. I need to get away from him so I can get away from what I feel."

"Are you planning to end your friendship with him?"

"It's the only choice I have."

"I'm not sure about that. Of course I don't know all the details either, so take that with a grain of salt."

"Noted."

"Is there room in your heart for more than one person?"

"Of course. Wait. How do you mean that?"

"Can't you love more than one person at a time?"

"Well... Like, I love both my parents, my aunt and uncle, Nate, my friend Kyle... But wait! That's different. We're not talking being in love, we're talking love."

"Being in love with someone is just a different depth and intensity of love, but it's still love."

"You're not asking for academic reasons, are you?"

"No. I was being totally selfish. And silly."

"Why silly?"

"Because being in love with someone is too potent to spread around too much. It's rare that anyone can pull it off completely with more than one person at a time. Not impossible, mind you, but rare."

"You're thinking about us."

"Guilty as charged. I'm just trying to determine if I can be objective about this situation while having a vested interest in the outcome."

"Can you?"

"I doubt it."

Keigan released my hand and sat back, sipping his coffee as he stared at me. It was a considering stare, a thoughtful stare. Finally, pursing his lips, he set his coffee down and asked, "Any idea when the great Beaumont exodus will take place?"

"The twentieth," I said without hesitation. "I'm looking at apartments but am probably going to go with a hotel for the immediate future, that way I'm not rushed." Shrugging in defeated acceptance I reiterated, "So the twentieth."

"In just a few weeks?" he asked in surprise.

"Yeah. The clock's ticking."

* * * * *

November 11, 2016

"We had to take some stupid test," Kyle groaned as we walked into the house.

I tossed my keys, wallet, cellphone, and cigarette pack on the bar, though I kept my gym bad with me. "Your mom said it was some standardized thing."

Tapping the hard pack nonchalantly he said, "Yeah."

I caught his eye as he glanced at the box then back at me. "What?" I asked, "You think you're the only one who uses that trick?"

He snickered. "Nah, man, was just curious. I figured either you carry your smokes the same way I do or you picked up a nicotine habit while I wasn't looking."

"So back to the test. Was it the STAAR test?"

"No. It was some kind of advanced placement test."

"No wonder it came at an odd time of the year."

"Yeah. It took half the day, we had to take it, but we don't get graded on it. Total waste of time."

"On your birthday? That's way harsh, dude."

"It is what it is, man." He leaned back against the bar and shrugged his shoulders. "Where's Nate?"

"Work. Once he finishes at the current gym, he'll go to the new location he bought so he can get an idea of what he needs to do to open it."

Shaking his head and looking amazed he said, "That's just... Wow. It's so cool his business is good enough to open a second gym."

"He's good at what he does, both as a personal trainer and as a businessman." There was more affection and appreciation in my voice than I'd intended. I was okay with that. "But the new one will need a lot of work before it's ready. It won't open for months."

"Huh..." he nodded.

Pointing at the refrigerator I told him, "You're welcome to have a beer or something else while you wait. I'll only be a minute. I just need to change clothes."

"Cool."

When I reached the bottom of the stairs I added, "Only one beer if you go that route. We have all evening and I don't want to take you to your birthday dinner while you're slurring your words and stumbling about drunkenly."

"Come on, man," he whined facetiously, "you know drink's not my thing."

"I hear you," I chuckled as I climbed the stairs.

* * * * *

"I would've skipped school to go to MJ's recital. I love watching her dance. Hell, man, I love my little sister."

"She idolizes you."

Kyle blushed and ducked his head, shrugging his shoulders as he softly responded, "I think maybe she idolizes you more."

There's actually a wee bit of jealousy in Basketball Boy's voice. I absolutely must not snicker.

I snickered. His head popped up and he asked, "What's funny?"

"MJ's cute as a button and full of way too much energy. Like a pixie she flits about bringing light and joy to whomever she encounters, her blond curls bouncing and her green eyes twinkling. She's definitely all teenager and all girl. Which, as you know, isn't my type, Kyle."

"Two mountains and a molehill not to your liking?"

Laugher erupted from me like hot lava. I had to muffle myself with a fist so I didn't make a scene. When I finally caught my breath, trying to sound stern despite my stupid grin, I said, "Fucking hell, Kyle, that's the best—or worst—metaphor I've ever heard. Really bad but really funny."

He'd dropped his head as his shoulders shook from quiet laughter.

"Don't use it in polite company, dude," I said through a humored smile. "Besides," I added as I waved my hand up and down in front of my torso, "I don't believe you see two mountains and molehill, so clearly that combination isn't to your liking either."

"But you're..." he began as he gestured frantically toward me. "I'm not..." Then his fiery blush exploded in his cheeks and spread.

I couldn't help but snigger.

Feeling caught, realizing why I snickered, he chuckled at himself as he shook his head, self-deprecation evident when he admitted, "I know. Still... I'm just a kid with..." He gestured vaguely between us above the restaurant table. "I mean..." His blush reached his ears and vanished beneath his collar. "Shit..."

Restraining my laughter lest it become something loud and obnoxious, all I could do was shake my head and watch his embarrassment grow.

Poor guy. He still can't say it, whatever it is he's feeling. Be it a crush or love or something else entirely, he's scared of saying it or doesn't know what to call it or is mortified by it, none of which would be unusual. The first time's always the hardest.

Deciding to help him out of the conversational quagmire he'd dropped himself into, I decided to borrow a play from his and his mother's book by changing the subject. Radically.

"You're sixteen today. Feel older?"

Like a deer caught in headlights he startled, eyes a bit wide, then he laughed. "Hell no."

"Feel smarter, more mature?"

"Nope."

"Sixteen wasn't a big deal for me either," I told him. "The ones that count are eighteen and twenty-one, and every birthday that ends with zero."

He gave me a confused look. "Zero? I don't get it."

"I think the zeros represent milestones. At twenty I wasn't a teenager anymore and was finally a real adult. At thirty I realized I wasn't a spring chicken anymore and, though not old, it was time to think mature thoughts and get serious about the things I want to accomplish in life. At forty I'll probably realize something else, like that my youth is officially behind me and physically my peak is past. At fifty it'll be something like half my life is over. At sixty, maybe that retirement is looming and it's time to slow down because I'm unable to do the things I used to do. At seventy I'll probably realize I need to plan for a future when I can't live on my own anymore, when I need someone there with me to make sure I'm okay. At eighty it'll probably be that I can't remember where the bathroom is or if I ate breakfast. At ninety I think something like I'll realize I can't realize anything anymore."

He laughed, that wonderful, genuine, deep laugh of his. I joined him, but mostly I just wanted to listen to him make that sound. It meant I'd pulled him out of his head for a moment, gave him a reprieve from the teenage angst and emotional turmoil he'd been going through lately.

No thanks to you.

Hey, look here. I messed up, sure, and I own that, but he's dealing with teenager stuff that has nothing to do with me. That's nature.

Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right.

"Seriously," I continued, "I only know about twenty and thirty, but they both came with these life-defining realizations, so I suspect it's a pattern with the zeros."

"What about ten? Did you realize anything when you turned ten?"

The first significant memory from when I was ten involved meeting Nate and the profound impact that encounter had on me. Maybe it was the beginning of love that I felt then, or maybe it was just an attraction that would later grow into love. Either way, I was already ten when that happened.

"Maybe, but I don't know what. Maybe that I wasn't a 'little kid' anymore, what with a two-digit age and all. Probably not really anything now that I think about it. Generally at ten you don't entertain esoteric thoughts."

"Hmmm..."

After retrieving my credit card from the table and slipping it into my wallet, I enjoyed the end of my Sapporo before chasing it with the last of the sake.

"I never knew there was Japanese beer," Kyle mentioned absently, staring at the black-labeled bottle on the table. When I set the empty sake bowl back on the table he added, "Or rice wine. Who knew that was a thing?"

"If you're going to drink sake, make sure it's genshu. It's the strongest. As for the rest, I'm sort of a food and drink snob. Stick with me long enough and you'll know which beer to pair with which kind of food, which alcohol or wine to pair with which meal, and where to go for the best sushi."

He gave a little amused laugh, then his smile bloomed. "Never had it before. None of it. And other than that green stuff—"

"Wasabi."

"Right. That stuff. Other than that, everything was awesome."

"Ready to head home and burn one?"

"Yes! That's sounds good."

* * * * *

"Thanks for dinner."

"You're welcome. And again, happy birthday!"

"Thank you." Leaning back on the couch and turning to me he went on, "Thank you for dinner and thank you for a nice evening. But also thank you for introducing me to Japanese food. I'm so stuffed I might explode."

"You're welcome on all counts. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I know I did."

A brief silence ensued while he took a hit from the joint I'd rolled. Handing it back he he turned to me and said, "It was nice. I mean tonight. It was..." He gave a little shrug. "It was just nice."

Graciousness notwithstanding, I had no idea how to respond to that.

You know what he's saying.

Yes, and I know what he's feeling, too. And that's the problem. It wasn't meant to be a romantic dinner for two. It was a birthday dinner for a friend.

Teenagers!

Still staring into my eyes he asked, "Why aren't you with someone?"

I couldn't hide the surprise that leaped to my face. At least the fear the question elicited remained cloaked by shock. Nerves quickly forced me to break eye contact.

Though we talked about anything that came to mind, I had drawn an imaginary line in the sand and tried to avoid discussing romantic entanglements. It seemed an unnecessary way to rub salt in Basketball Boy's open emotional wound of unrequited love. Or crush. Or whatever he was feeling.

Apparently he decided your line in the sand was a challenge.

Yes, and he did so by once again going for nonlinear thinking. Or in the layman's parlance, he blindsided me. Sneaky bastard.

Meeting his gaze again I asked, "Do you mean in a relationship?" Yes, I was stalling.

Why would he go there if it bothers him? What's he up to?

"Sure, yeah, in a relationship. Why aren't you dating?"

"Who says I'm not?"

"I have eyes."

But of course he does. Duh! Spending so much time with Kyle makes it obvious I'm not hooking up at the gay clubs or being courted by potential suitors. The boy does pay attention, that much is true.

"I've been out recently. Not often, but a little."

Fuck, dude, he's going to know you're stalling, trying to delay and divert. He's not stupid.

He huffed in disappointment and looked away, maybe at the wall or the blank television or the empty fireplace or some other fascinating sight.

Damn it, Greg, at least respect his interest as a sign of a good friend. Don't dismiss him. Fuck, you hate it when people do that to you.

True that.

After taking a good hit from the joint and handing it back to him, I leaned back, took a drink of beer, then settled into the corner of the couch. Finally I explained, "Before you say I'm avoiding the issue, I'm not. It's complicated but not impossible to talk about." He immediately faced me again as I went on. "You know I've gone out a few times with Keigan. It's nothing serious. We're friends hanging out like friends do. Other than that, I don't really have the emotional bandwidth to offer to someone at the moment."

"What do you mean?"

I exhaled a little too loudly before answering, "You might say my heart's tied up in someone that will never feel the same way about me. Until I move beyond that, I'd be using someone if I tried to date seriously."

"But you're a really hot guy and you're really nice and you really care about people. Finding the right person shouldn't be that hard for you."

Once again I looked away. I needed a clear mind to have this conversation. Eventually I looked back to accept the joint from him.

"If you're talking about just sex, that's fine and not a problem for me. But I can only tolerate that a little because I want something more. Unfortunately for me, my heart bet itself on somebody who's not in the race. Which leaves me a spectator until my heart gets its shit together. It wouldn't be fair to me or the other guy to try anything right now. Eventually, though, what I feel will change and I'll be in a position to date with intent rather than for a lay."

"What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" I asked as I tamped the roach in the ashtray.

After swallowing the last of his beer Kyle explained, "In a relationship. In another man. What are you looking for? What do you want?"

"Something real. Something lifelong. Happily every after, if you will. I want someone to be there with me every step of the way. Someone to call husband who will call me husband. Someone to help me feel better when I'm sick. Someone I can take care of when they're sick. Someone who'll watch the sunset with me. Someone who wants more than sex and more than things. Someone to take vacations with and someone to sit around and read with and someone who'll get stoned with me and giggle at my stupid sense of humor and stand around in the dark and enjoy the night and each other's company and cuddle with me and show me in all the little ways that I matter while I show him in the all the little ways that he matters. Someone who'll never leave me. Someone who loves me with their whole heart the way I love them. Someone who knows my every secret and doesn't care if I'm not perfect and accepts my mistakes as just that and would rescue me if I was in danger and would be my hero—"

I stopped. Immediately.

What am I doing?

He continued gazing at me, only interest evident on his face. As though—I hoped—he hadn't correlated what I said with anyone in particular.

In a soft and wistful tone he offered, "There must be plenty of guys out there who're looking for the same things."

"Maybe. Probably. I guess they'll keep passing me by until my heart gets its shit together."

"I'm not so sure," he whispered.

* * * * *

I'd let Kyle drink a few beers in addition to the one he drank before dinner. He remained surprisingly sober, although he was definitely stoned. By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, he was as glassy-eyed and giggly as I'd seen him.

As I walked him to the garage so he could head home, he stopped and spun on his heels. At first I feared he'd try to put the moves on me, given how close we stood. But he didn't.

"It was Nate's dad," he said pensively.

All I could do was stare and blink.

"The doctor who hurt you," he explained, as though I needed the qualification.

Holding a hand up to stop him, I took a moment to ponder this turn of events. But obviously Basketball Boy didn't understand hand signals.

"At Fat Daddy's that day you worked the phoenix tattoo something fierce when he mentioned his dad. And he made it clear by the way he said 'father' that he was disgusted by the man."

"You are so fucking observant that it scares me," I muttered before I knew what was coming out of my mouth.

Kyle smirked and shrugged one shoulder.

"Yeah," I told him, figuring in for a penny, in for a pound, "it was Nate's dad. Richard. The doctor. He—"

Shut up! If he got that far with deductive reasoning, what's the next step based on what you've already told him?

But it was too late. He closed his eyes and wagged his head with a grim look on his face. He'd obviously just realized something very important.

When he met my gaze again he said in a hushed, wistful tone, "It's Nate. That's who you were in love with as a kid. That's why his dad was so mad." With a sigh he added, "And you're still in love with him."

"Since before you were born..." I muttered under my breath.

He wiped a hand down his face. It wasn't betrayal I saw there, but rather disappointment. And hurt.

"It's not just my age and what happened on your fifteenth birthday that stand in the way." His statement was declarative, not interrogative, not even inquisitive.

What do I do with that?

Tell the truth.

After I sighed I admitted, "You're right. Right now my heart's taken even though it's for naught. Until I can overcome that obstacle..." I shrugged. Then, taking a play from his own book, I yanked the wheel hard to turn the conversation in another direction by blurting, "I'm moving out soon."

"What?" he nearly shouted.

Shit. You've done it now. Might as well finish what you started.

"I can't stay here. For precisely the reason you've just expertly inferred. If I don't get out of here, how I feel will only get stronger. So probably in little more than a week, as soon as I have everything together, I'll be moving.

"It won't change our friendship, Kyle," I rushed to add when I saw panic rising in his features. "We'll still be going to the gym and hanging out like we have been. I'll just have to drive over and pick you up, that's all. No big deal, I promise."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, so I grabbed him and pulled him into a hug as I added, "Just chill, dude. I'm not dying and I'm not leaving the state. Hell, I'm not even leaving the neighborhood. I'm going to rent a hotel suite in the Sheraton at Preston and Park, so just down the road from here. From there I'll look at the available options and figure out where to go. This changes nothing between us, you hear me? Our friendship is strong enough to survive a little extra distance."

When I released him and stepped back he looked better.

He just needed reassurance.

Don't we all...

* * * * *

November 18, 2016

"Please tell me what's going on," Nate said from my bedroom door.

I glanced at him before answering, "Nothing." I added a shrug for emphasis.

Walking to the bed and dropping down beside me he asked, "Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?"

The panic in his voice made me set the tablet aside, push the folders out of the way, and pull him closer so we faced each other.

Looking him directly in the eye I said, "I promise you didn't do anything wrong and you didn't hurt me."

He had to see the honesty and had to know what I said was true. It was also a lie of omission, but I'd deal with that fact if it became relevant.

Nate wasn't satisfied, though. His face showed that clearly. He knew something was amiss. I'd been distancing myself from him as much as possible without being mean, but he'd noticed all the little changes. Not as much time spent together, nowhere near the usual touches and hugs and kisses, no cuddling anymore. Yeah, things had changed.

Cupping his cheeks, I kissed him, not just a peck but an emotional kiss that communicated far more than I could with words. Then: "Listen to me, Little Big Man. Look into my eyes and hear me well. You did nothing wrong, nothing at all, and you didn't hurt me."

Unshed tears in his eyes and not inconsiderable anguish in his features told me I'd been far too clumsy, far too evident. I'd already hurt him, greatly by the looks of it. But I knew I'd have to hurt him one more time in a big way before he could move on. Just two more days and it would all be over.

"I know something's wrong, G-Man. I see it and I feel it and every bone in my body knows it. I just can't figure out what it is. I feel like I'm losing you. I don't even know what I'd do if that happened. I don't think I could survive without you. If something's wrong, tell me so I can fix it."

My voice hoarse as I fought back tears, I pulled him to me, forehead to forehead, sharing breath. "Believe me when I say there's nothing for you to fix. It's all me. I have a lot going on with work—let me finish--but more importantly I'm making huge progress in therapy. I'm facing things that are big and difficult but not impossible."

"Let me help. We always help each other. Just talk to me."

"I will, Nate, in time. For now I need to deal with it."

"I'm scared. I'm hurt. I'm angry at myself for not knowing how to fix this. I'm desperate to put things right."

"I love you. If there's nothing else you take away from this conversation, take that. I love you, Nate Sawyer. You have been and always will be the most important person in my world. I can't imagine loving anyone as much as I love you."

"I've never doubted that for a minute. But still..."

"I love you, Nate." Placing my hand on his bare chest above his heart while wrapping the other behind his head to hold him close, I said, "You feel it here all the time, right here. I love you. For now that's what I can give you. And I hope it's enough."

Before he could reply, I kissed him again, this one potent but not sexual, intimate but not carnal, emotional but not arousing. It lasted a minute or ten minutes or an hour or a day, I couldn't tell, and when it ended I didn't think Nate could say either.

He looked bewildered and hopeful even with dazed eyes and slack mouth. I'd left so much unsaid except in the kiss, which had communicated my heart and soul to the man I loved more than life itself and that I'd soon set free. Very soon.