Jim and Chad, Part 2 - 34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

 

 

'Hey, Jim, how are you?'

 

Oh, that voice I love to hear so much. Haven't talked to him in a while. 'I'm doing well, Chad. And you?'

 

'Doing okay. Hey, I'm calling to ask for a favor. Can you come help me replace. . . .'

 

 

'Do what?'

 

'Come help me replace the toilet and the bathtub in my apartment?'

 

 

Toilet and bathtub? What the f? Apartment? What happened to his townhouse? 'Can't you get the landlord to do that?'

 

'He doesn't want to, so I'm doing it. . . .'

 

 

I wake up suddenly and jerk into a sitting position. Sunlight is streaming in through a pair of windows on one side of the room while the other side of the room is dark. It takes me a few seconds of looking around to remember where I am and figure out what's going on. Then it all begins to settle back in on top of me. I'm still in the cabin in Nevada. After a few more seconds I finally remember that it's Saturday morning, and I'm leaving today. Oh, fuck, and Chad's already gone, left me for some . . . woman. Shit, how messed up is that? A guy losing his male lover to a woman. Must be a first. And then there's the way I left Jeff last night. . . .

 

As I lie back down and stare at the ceiling, a feeling of dread and loss starts deep in my gut and rolls slowly outward through my body, leaving me with this hopeless feeling which is going to take a while to shake. All I can think is, 'What the fuck have I done? What is wrong with me? Have I been so stupid to push away the two best men I've ever known?' As I visualize Chad and Jeff in my mind once again, they both stack up to be great guys. Both are good . . . no, both are great looking, compassionate, smart, and well-built. The only real difference is that Jeff is wider, taller, and stronger. But no matter what their differences, Chad's smiling blue eyes and Jeff's trusting green eyes always seem to make my legs turn to rubber whenever I'm anywhere near either of them. . . .

 

 

"Alright already. Stop the fucking beeping," I yell up into the air. I roll onto my side and try to find whatever it is that's making the pissing-me-off noise on the nightstand. I finally pull the cell phone out of the wallet-watch-keys-phone pile and look at it. Maybe a message? A message from Chad?

 

But my hopes are dashed once again when all I see on the front is "Low Batt." Damn these fucking cell phones. Even when they're supposed to be on vibrate or silent, they beep to tell you the most stupid things. And to make a beeping sound when they're supposed to be saving energy? I'll NEVER figure that one out.

 

I flip the cover open, press the End button until the phone goes off, then close it while thinking, 'Dammit, Chad has the charger cord in his suitcase.' After a short pause, I take in a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh, then toss the phone back onto the pile. As I roll onto my back again and look up at the ceiling, I say quietly to myself, "Guess there's no need to charge it now. No one's going to be calling me, especially since Jeff doesn't have my cell number."

 

At this point, the indication is pretty clear to me: Chad is really gone, and I'm to move on without Jeff. As much as I don't want to, it's time for me to face up to what I have to do next, whatever that may be. And as much as I'd like to move, there's just too much involved to uproot myself from where I am now. I have too much crap to get rid of, and I'd have to sell the condo and the house. Then there's the job, my wife's family, my good friends, the 20-plus years I've spent there, and all of the memories, both good and bad. I'd be a fool to give it all up to chase a dream 3,000 miles away on the other side of the continent.

 

'But it's one hell of a dream,' a small voice inside says.

 

Then the authoritarian voice inside speaks up. 'Yes, but it's only a dream. So wake up and come back to the real world. You still have obligations, like a round of golf at two this afternoon. And Chad has already paid for it, so get your ass into gear and let's get this day going.'

 

I take a deep breath, put an arm over my eyes to cover them, and mentally berate myself for a while. I have to stop doing this to myself. I have to stop all this debate and make a decision. I have to . . . to grow up and work through this and stop being such a wimp about it. I have to get on with my life wherever it may lead me now.

 

So I sit up in the bed and take a quick look at the clock. It's just a little after 9 a.m. I should be able to take a shower, get packed, and have a breakfast of donuts and milk in about an hour. Then drop off the bags at the SUV, go by the office around 10:15, and be out of here by 10:30. That's 30 minutes before Mike is supposed to get here, so I shouldn't have to worry about bumping into either him or Jeff. Then back to the hotel in Vegas in a little over an hour, with plenty of time to get ready for golf at 2 p.m. Finally, dinner and early to bed in preparation for the 4:30 a.m. wake-up call to get to the airport for the 7:30 flight. That's all I have to think about for the next 24 hours.

 

After a few seconds, I stop thinking and chuckle a little. Yeah, it sounds like a good plan, and Chad would be so proud of me. So I get out of bed and start executing the plan.

 

At a little after ten, I find myself standing at the cabin door, all showered, fed, packed, and ready to go. I know I shouldn't, but I take a long, final look at the cabin. This was my Heaven and Hell on Earth during the past four days, the 96 hours that have totally and irrevocably altered the course of my life.

 

The memories creep back in and quickly take over my conscious. Those hot images of Chad and me on the bed, by the fireplace, and on the deck, both with and without clothes. Those haunting images of me on the sofa watching the movies. The images of a supportive and inquisitive Jeff as we talked briefly after he helped me get into my cabin the first night we met. All of those images flood me with guilt, regrets and pain, all of them making me wonder why I'm such a failure in these two relationships when everything else seems to go so right.

 

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open the door. The cool mountain air flows in around me, and I breathe its crispness along with the scents of the nearby trees. A small voice inside quietly says, 'It's all in the past. It's time to put away all the memories. It's time to move forward.'

 

I open my eyes and look at the long, wide wooden ramp which will take me up and away from the cabin for the last time. Then I take a long, lingering look up and over to Jeff's cabin which sits next to it. He doesn't appear to be there. He's not sitting or standing on the deck, and I don't see his face in the windows either.

 

In some ways I'd like to see Jeff one last time, to touch his face, to get one final hug before I go. But then the small voice inside speaks up again. 'You were together only to get through this short transition. It's time to do this on your own.' So I step out, close the door behind me, and make my way up the ramp to the parking lot in the bright morning sunshine, pulling my suitcase along behind me.

 

After putting the suitcase in the back of the SUV and dropping off the cabin key at the office, I soon find myself sitting in the driver's seat with the door open, trying to make my body put the key into the ignition and start it. I move toward it a couple of times, but somehow I end up just staring at the key.

 

A quiet, deep chuckle comes from over my left shoulder. "You do know what that's for?"

 

I lean my head back against the head rest and close my eyes. Just hearing that voice, that deep, drawling voice, starts a set of intense feelings swirling through me like the breezes flowing in and out of the SUV and around me. Intense feelings of love for him and for the other person who has just left me, and, as much as I don't want to admit, of hate and anger for all of the other people in the way. All of these emotions leave me feeling frustrated, confused, and helpless, unable to go forward but also not wanting to stay where I am.

 

As if he can read my mind, I hear the slight rustle of Jeff's coat and feel the warmth of his body as he leans into the SUV between me and the steering wheel. With one arm in that empty spot behind my head in the hole between the top of the seat and the bottom of the headrest, and the other arm wrapped around my front and right side, he pulls me into a gentle, comforting hug. I know I shouldn't, but I desperately reach inside his open coat, around his muscular, warm body and grab hold. I pull him tightly to me, willing this moment to last much longer than it really will. The emotions ride me pretty hard as my vision gets blurry.

 

In that tight hug, Jeff quietly says, "Sorry, bud, I meant it as a joke."

 

I can't help but try to pull him even closer to me. It takes me a couple of tries, but I finally calm down a little and croak out "I'm sorry for pulling you into my mess." He tries to pull away, but I won't let him. "Not yet . . . please," I say quietly. After a few more seconds I add, "I was sure that you wouldn't want to see me after I walked away from you last night. I'm surprised to see you out here today."

 

Jeff doesn't say anything, but I know what he's thinking when he leans into me more, gently squishing my body into the seat. He turns his face into my neck, and I feel his warm breath pulse slowly against me. The confusion and frustration melt away as I simply enjoy his warmth, his scent, and his presence so close to me.

 

All too soon he begins to pull away from me, and I reluctantly let him go. A feeling of emptiness quickly fills me as I realize that that was the last time I'll ever get to hold him close.

 

But he doesn't move completely away. He looks at me, those now-sad green eyes looking at me longingly. Then much to my surprise, Jeff leans in for a gentle, short kiss, a kiss that's warm and wet and oh so wonderful. Then, as if he too doesn't want it to stop, he slowly pulls away from the kiss, his lips lingering and barely touching mine for a few seconds. In consolation, he quickly moves back into the hug and we hold on to each other for another couple of minutes.

 

When we begin to let each other loose, he sighs and, with something of a chuckle, quietly says, "I can't make you move to L.A., but I sure as hell can influence your decision." I laugh out loud at his comment and give him one last big squeeze before letting him go.

 

As he stands up, he pulls out his wallet and gets out a couple of business cards. I think that he must have been a Boy Scout when he also pulls a pen from his back pocket, writes something onto the back of one, and puts it into my shirt pocket. "That's my business card with personal cell phone and e-mail on the back." With a bit of emphasis he adds, "Don't lose it."

 

Then he flips the other card over and hands it and the pen to me. "I want yours," he says, the now-serious look on this face signaling to me that I don't have any other option. So, I take the card, write my info on it, and hand it and the pen back to him. He puts the card in his wallet, then puts the wallet and the pen into his back pocket.

 

We look at each other intensely for a few more seconds, then Jeff looks up, focusing on something in the distance. He gets a squinting, far-away look in his eyes, and I soon hear the soft clattering noise of a diesel truck pulling in close by. He looks back down at me and says, "Mike's here." After a short pause, he adds, "Please don't leave yet. I want to show you something."

 

A momentary wave of panic flows through me as I close my eyes and put my head back against the headrest again. Even accidentally I don't want to meet Mike. I've seen the look in Jeff's eyes when he talks about Mike. I'm not sure I could mentally handle it to see that look again.

 

But soon I feel Jeff's hand on my shoulder, gently massaging it. "Please?" he asks.

 

I quickly open my eyes and look up to Jeff's face while thinking, 'You've got to be kidding, right?' But that angry feeling evaporates when I see the child-like, hopeful look on his face, a look which shows how much he really wants me to see whatever it is that he has. So I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, then let it out shakily while saying, "Okay."

 

The happy look with the huge grin which spreads across his face bathes me in a sunlight-like warmth that permeates my entire body. He squeezes my shoulder, lets go, then says, "Wait here. I'll come get you in a couple of minutes."

 

He quickly disappears around the vehicles which separate my SUV from what I believe is his truck, at least from the muffled sound I heard earlier. Although I can't see or hear what's going on, I soon see a tall, really good-looking, blond guy walk past the back of my SUV, headed toward what seems to be the office. Then almost as if he has magical powers, Jeff suddenly appears at my door, waving for me to follow him. "Mike's gone to the office for some reason, so I can show you now," he says excitedly, almost bouncing on his feet around like an overgrown, overexcited puppy.

 

I get out and follow him around the back of the SUV and past four or five mini-vans and cars and another truck. I quickly find that I'm not at all prepared for what I thought I would be seeing.

 

It's black and shiny, so shiny that it's almost like a mirror. I had expected the green truck of earlier this week, but this certainly isn't it. As I look at it, I see the entire landscape behind me reflected in the side of this super-long, tall, sleek truck. As I scan the outline of the truck, I find myself truly impressed with what I see. Before I know it, a quiet "Wow" escapes my lips.

 

This truck is my dream truck, only in black instead of gray. I hesitantly walk forward and reach out to touch it, my hand reflecting clearly in the side as I get closer. But a few inches before I actually touch it, I pull my hand back because a small voice in my brain says, 'Something's wrong.' I can clearly see myself and Jeff in the reflection. I can also see the other truck parked next to this one and a couple of tall trees in the distance. But my brain continues to tell me that something just doesn't add up.

 

Jeff's quiet chuckle interrupts my thought and I turn to look at his eyes. He quietly says, "You can touch it. You aren't going to hurt it." And as always, those trusting green eyes let me know that everything is fine.

 

When I turn back to the truck, I don't know why but I find that I'm almost afraid to touch it. But I force myself to reach out again, trying to make it all real in my mind, not just my vision. After a few more seconds, I finally realize what's happening: the black is a shadow-swallowing black, a black so black that the shadows created by my hand and arm in the late-morning sunlight disappear completely on its surface.

 

I reach forward and finally make contact with the truck, my fingertips and the rest of my hand joining with its mirror image. The surface is cool, smooth, and slippery, and, as I begin to relax, I soon find myself quietly chuckling at my earlier fears. "You and your damn paint sealant," I say quietly which immediately invokes a deep, quiet laugh from Jeff. He probably now knows what I was thinking.

 

After a few seconds, Jeff quietly asks, "So what would you name it?" Yesterday's conversation about my love of one particular truck quickly comes to mind as I pull my hand away from the side of the truck and begin to walk around it and look it over.

 

The truck has large, wide tires on 20-inch rims--not too large, but visibly larger and wider than stock truck tires. A cap over the truck bed which looks like a direct extension of the main cabin. And it's in the same shiny black as the rest of the truck. On the front, the special colored trim package, and all of it so inky black and shiny that the only things that really show up are the headlights, turn signals, small driving lights, and license plate.

 

I move back down the side of the truck and stop at the model badge just in front of the driver's door. It's a Ford F350 Super Cab, Lariat Edition, only one step larger than what I had wanted, but otherwise the same as I had wanted. I trace my finger around the metal plate, then look over at Jeff while thinking, 'You had to do me one better, didn't you?'

 

The big grin on Jeff's face tells me all I need to know. But the grin slow morphs into a questioning look which means he's still asking for a name.

 

As I look at him, I quietly say, "I'd call it 'The Beast', mostly because there's so much here. And given the huge diesel in these things. . . ." Then another thought pops into my mind. "That way you'd be The Beauty in The Beast."

 

Jeff chuckles, but also rolls his eyes and says, "Let's leave Disney out of this, please."

 

While thinking about another name, I walk to the driver's door, open it, and crawl up inside with the help of the stirrup-like contraption on the side where I would have had a running board instead. As I slide into the driver's seat and take a look around the inside, I'm amazed at the extras that Jeff has added. A different stereo, an upgraded in-dash GPS, and a CB radio mounted almost out of sight under the dashboard are the beginning. But what interests me more is the name-brand MP3 player (exactly like one I have at home) laying in a holder in the console between the two front captain's chairs.

 

I look back over at Jeff once again. This time he has something of a impish grin on his face as he says, "I had to do some customizing."

 

The word "customizing" triggers something in my brain, then I suddenly remember. I reach down and feel the seat itself. It's not leather: it's cloth, gray cloth. So he's also replaced the seats like I would have. And as I look closer at them, these are the captain's chair type of seats I would have used. As I look around the entire cabin, it's all a light gray, exactly like my dream truck would have been.

 

I immediately look back at Jeff, but this time the look on his face is unreadable. He's not smiling, but somehow I know that he's not angry. He reaches over my legs, grabs the MP3 player, moves his fingers in the well-known circular motion on the dial, then reaches under the dash to flip some sort of switch. Music begins to play softly and I hear the lyrics as he slowly raises the volume. Almost as soon as I hear them, I know that the song is "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts.

 

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While the music is playing, I look into Jeff's lush green eyes. Those eyes let me know that the choice of music is his simple way of wishing me safe travels . . . and letting me know that he loves me. But little does he know that his actions have finally shattered all the barriers I've put around my heart, opening me to him like only two other people before him. I begin to understand how similar we are, and I also understand that he's everything I've always wanted in a close friend, if not a life-long mate. All he has to do now is ask me, one more time, to come to California. . . .

 

But when the song gets to the end of the first refrain, some other part of me, some self-preservation instinct, something from beyond my comprehension, quickly and quietly takes over. My right hand, which my brain doesn't seem to control now, takes the player from him, stops the music, and puts the player back in its place on the console. As the tears cloud my vision, my left hand gently pushes Jeff toward the back of the truck while my body twists in the seat and slides out of the truck.

 

"I have to go," I say quietly to Jeff. When I look up to his eyes again, a lump forms in my throat because my own emotions are quickly multiplied by the tears I see piling up in his eyes. I wish the situation could have been different, but it isn't. I live on a different coast, and he already has someone who loves him.

 

But my heart can't seem to leave without adding something else. I put my hand on his chest over his heart and feel it beating slowly and strongly under my fingertips. "If Mike ever lets you go, call me. I'll be there as soon as I can." The logical part of me deep inside my brain tells me that I'll regret saying those added words. However, I didn't know how quickly that would prove true until, from the other side of Jeff near the back of the truck, I hear someone clear his throat and say three words barely loud enough for Jeff and me to hear.

 

"Never . . . gonna . . . happen."