Between These Walls (33 page)

Gabe thought for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, okay.”

Gabe’s face underwent a subtle change to a light pink, which only Hunter could notice since he sat close beside him, and Hunter knew Gabe had grown embarrassed. He wanted to wrap his arm around Gabe to protect him, but given the context, he knew such a gesture would mean trouble for Gabe. And Hunter, too.

Cleveland opted to take its chances. A round of groans from the living-room quarterbacks ensued. Joe slapped his hand against his forehead. The team lost 15 yards, ending up deep into its own territory when Kansas City sacked the quarterback.

“Shhhhhhhit!”
Randy shouted, then nodded at Gabe and added, “Or, your quarterback tries a surprise passing play and doesn’t get rid of the ball in time. Then you’re screwed!”

The game faded to a commercial break. Gabe excused himself for a quick run to the bathroom. From that distance, the television’s volume overpowered voices at a normal conversation level. Joe spoke first.

“Who
is
that dude, Hunter?”

Okay, here we go.

Hunter couldn’t mention the massage appointments. He’d never hear the end of it.

“Just a buddy of mine,” Hunter punted.

“How long have you known him?”

“A few months. He works in Solon.”

“He doesn’t seem to be into anything you’re interested in. How’d you start hanging out?” asked Randy.

“We crossed paths at his work, started shooting the breeze, then started hanging out. Good guy.”

“Is he straight?” Randy asked with a tone of derision.

Hunter grew nervous. His pulse rate spiked. Suddenly, he realized trying to hang out with the guys with Gabe around would prove tougher than he’d imagined. He would need to fight to maintain a tight grip on what information he allowed them to learn.

Joe rolled his eyes and glared at Randy. “Dude, why would you ask him that? Of course the guy’s straight.”

“Hey, I’m just saying!” Randy said, palms out, fingers spread, two beers already in his system. “It didn’t seem like he—”

A click from the bathroom door and the voices stopped. One broadcaster spouted a piece of trivia about Kansas City’s star wide receiver as the team set up its next play. To Hunter’s relief, Gabe padded back into the living room. He’d only left the room for a minute, but to Hunter, that minute had stretched much longer.

“Did I miss anything?” Gabe asked with a nod toward the game.

“Not a thing,” Randy replied. Nonchalant, he waved a hand in the air in
Whatever
mode. “Just talking shit while K.C. sets up its next play.”

Hunter sank so far back into the sofa, they could have used the cushion to cast a mold of his body.

CHAPTER 29

Only once before had Hunter come anywhere near the border of a same-sex relationship.

Hunter was a junior in college at the time. The difference between Gabe and the guy back in college was that Hunter and the college classmate shared similar interests. That’s how it all started between them.

Hunter had found himself in the midst of a vulnerable season in his life. Before returning to school for the fall semester, he had ended a relationship with yet another girlfriend. Unknown to the girl, Hunter had experienced a loss in confidence, and she had fallen victim to his self-sabotage tendency. And while Hunter always felt bad after ending a relationship under those circumstances, where he knew more about his rationale than the other individual, this particular breakup had hit him harder than usual.

This time around, Hunter underwent a lot of internal evaluation. He felt like a loser, as he usually did when he sabotaged a relationship: He had failed both his girlfriend and himself through his dishonesty, and by involving both of them in a relationship he knew was doomed before it had begun.

For the first time, however, this particular failure left him afraid about the future.

For the first time, he wondered if winding up
alone
in life was a real possibility. He couldn’t force himself to yield to a heterosexual relationship. But he also couldn’t bear to consider the possibility that his attraction to the same sex was
not
a temporary phase that would disappear.

And so, that August, Hunter returned to school with an intense sense of loss. He felt like he’d started to outgrow his fraternity activities, so he minimized his time at the fraternity house and lent more time to his studies. For social interaction, he opted for intramural sports. He involved himself in sand volleyball until October, then indoor volleyball until spring.

Hunter met Lance on the sand volleyball court. Lance exuded sheer confidence in demeanor and agility. The first thing Hunter noticed about him was his legs, bronzed from the sun and carved with precision after years of exercise. From behind his sunglasses, Hunter would study Lance’s legs in motion on the sand, racing closer to the net, then flexing before he reversed course to prepare for the volleyball’s return. Hunter gave no indication of his own interest. And although he couldn’t pinpoint where the masculine Lance’s attractions resided, Hunter had to assume the athletic guy was straight.

Their association began innocently enough. They played on the same team. Hunter would set the volleyball for Lance to spike over the net, or they would crash into each other as both chased a ball the other team had lobbed over the net faster than expected. The ball would sail past their arms and leave them shrugging their shoulders, laughing.

Hunter and Lance also shared similar personality characteristics, including compatible senses of humor, and within a few weeks, they bonded. In the weeks and months that followed, on most days, they met each other at the campus recreation center, where they ran a mile or two before dinnertime.

They talked sports and business classes. Lance wanted to go on to law school after graduation. After classes, oftentimes they sneaked into the law school library, where, unlike in the student commons, they could study without distraction from fraternity guys who walked past. Sometimes Hunter and Lance would look up from their books and engage in spontaneous conversations about inane topics, speaking under their breath in the law library.

“I have an affinity for leather-bound books,” Lance would whisper in jest as he glanced at the reference shelves around them. “And fine mahogany tables, and lamps with these little green shades,” he would add, flicking a banker’s light with his index finger.

The cunning expression on Lance’s face as he joked around kindled Hunter’s affection, yet for all Hunter knew, he meant nothing more to Lance than anyone else in the room. So Hunter would respond with a tone of equivalent humor.

“I have a sudden urge to smoke a pipe filled with the finest tobacco,” Hunter whispered above a snigger.

Hunter enjoyed those moments. Because the library enforced a strict policy of silence, he and Lance had to lean toward each other to whisper. Though he refused to admit it to himself, Hunter grew weak at Lance’s green eyes, which seemed to wink whenever he smiled. He admired the natural way Lance’s hair parted on one side, and the tiny scar over his eyebrow, which Lance attributed to a hockey incident as a kid.

One evening in early December, Hunter stopped by Lance’s apartment to study for final exams before they caught a basketball game on television. Lance’s roommate had left for a study date at his girlfriend’s apartment.

As game time approached, Lance turned on the television. Side by side, they sat on the floor, backs against the sofa, where they continued to study. Soon they veered into one of their typical back-and-forth jabs involving random, personal trivia.

“Pancakes or waffles?” Hunter said.

Lance thought for a moment.

“Waffles,” he replied. Then, with a glint in his eye, he said, “Ocean or mountains?”

“Mountains.”

Lance looked surprised. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

“Why not?”

“I guess you seem more like a beach type of person. The waves, soaking up the sun ...”

“I like the ocean too,” Hunter said. “Given a choice, though, I’d get submerged in nature, up in the mountains where it’s silent and you’re surrounded by trees and wildlife.”

Lance grinned, then angled his head as if to examine Hunter’s face closer.

“I guess I learn something new about you every day,” said Lance.

For Hunter, though the television remained on, the room quieted down. As Lance studied Hunter’s face, Hunter returned his stare. Soon their eyes locked, their gazes lingering a bit too long. Hunter felt a magnetic current tighten between his chest and Lance’s, and he sensed Lance had picked up on the connection, too. Lance’s pupils fluttered larger—ever so slightly, but Hunter caught sight of it.

Lance leaned in. Hunter responded on instinct and, before he could give it a second thought, leaned into the magnetic current.

One kiss.

Hunter had never kissed another guy before, and on the slim chance it were to occur, he’d always envisioned a queasy feeling would settle into his gut. What he
hadn’t
anticipated was his reaction upon kissing Lance. Peaceful confidence overshadowed the nervousness he’d expected. Rather than shame, invigoration coursed through his veins. The kiss reminded him of neon-orange sparks on the Fourth of July.

The shame followed later.

As Hunter lay in bed that night, recounting the kiss in Lance’s apartment, the acid of guilt washed over his soul. Hunter realized he now had another secret to hide. More than that, he wondered if he had failed God. Hunter felt ashamed by the temptation he faced, because he knew, given the same opportunity, he would engage in that kiss all over again.

After that night, Hunter decided his best course of action would be to avoid Lance altogether. Since it was the last week of the fall semester, he had no difficulty accomplishing that feat.

Hunter never touched bases with Lance during winter break. When they returned for the spring semester, Hunter switched to intramural softball. He avoided the law school library. Hunter retreated into the backdrop of the university’s large campus.

He and Lance never crossed paths again.

But in spite of his efforts to deny the temptation, Hunter couldn’t erase the memory of that kiss, the one that challenged who Hunter had thought he was.

CHAPTER 30

Hunter ran a finger between his tie and his neck. Normally ties didn’t bother him, but the context of a stuffy uniform made it feel tighter than usual.

Ellen had rented the uniform for him. Its black jacket and pants mimicked a tuxedo. His white shirt felt so starched, Hunter swore he could hear it crinkle when he shifted his arm. Ellen had furnished Gabe, who stood beside him, with an identical uniform for her catering event.

Ellen had arranged a buffet-style layout for the evening. In keeping with how organizers had planned the room’s décor, she had designed her menu with an upper-echelon feel. Oftentimes when she catered, Ellen plated each course, which the event’s servers would deliver to guests at their tables. Tonight’s event, however, called for a cocktail hour and silent auction, after which guests could make their way to dinner tables at will. The buffet layout had struck her as a fitting match for the evening’s schedule, and organizers had agreed.

Ellen had assigned Hunter the primary duty of slicing honey-roasted ham upon request. She had taught him the precise method by which she wanted him to slice the portions. For his part, Gabe sliced roast beef. Throughout the evening, they had also acted as runners, replacing serving pans of side dishes and an assortment of desserts they had plated in advance. Before the event began, Hunter and Gabe had helped Ellen prepare and deliver the food. When the evening ended, they would help her clean everything up. Throughout the evening, in addition to replacing items along the buffet line, Ellen had floated around the room, filling in gaps and helping tend the open bar when the bartender got busy.

Though dinner service had ended, Hunter and Gabe remained in position at the serving line in case any no-shows decided to arrive late. Taking a breather after refilling some desserts, Ellen stood beside Hunter, facing the dinner tables. Hunter knew Ellen had pasted a smile on her face in case any guests happened to look back at a random moment.

“So, Gabe, Hunter wrangled you into helping me? You’re such a sucker.” She gave him a wicked grin. For an extra jab, she added, “And you’re not even getting paid. Go figure.”

“Well, you’ve given me enough referrals. I think I owe you something,” Gabe joked back. Ellen had, in fact, offered to pay him, but he’d turned down her offer. “Thanks for the tux uniform, by the way. It’s spiffy.”

Hunter snorted under his breath.

“I have to say, I knew the massages would do Hunter some good,” Ellen said, “but I never expected the two of you to become friends out of it. How did
that
come about?”

Hunter felt his heart rate rise. They would need another cover story. Would he spend
years
covering things up? The pressure had begun to weigh on him. But then he considered the alternate scenario, of people finding out and opening
that
Pandora’s box.

“Oh, you know ...” Hunter shrugged, “we started talking, had a few laughs ...”

“Yeah, I’ve told Gabe plenty about myself the last couple of years. You just hope he can keep a secret, know what I mean?” she said with a wink.

“I’m still standing right here,” Gabe joshed, leaning over from the far end of their threesome. “Good to know you think I’m a double agent trading secrets, Ellen.”

“I apologize for doubting your loyalty.” Ellen turned to Hunter. “Don’t even think about gaining blackmail material from him about me, Hunter. Gabe doesn’t play for both teams. Only mine.”

If Hunter were sipping champagne, he would have choked at Ellen’s remark. Perhaps he could find humor in this after all.

They stood in the rear of a hotel ballroom. Guests had mingled over cocktails in the hotel’s inner terrace before heading into the ballroom for dinner. From Hunter’s view, he saw a range of circular tables covered with white tablecloths and a crowd of two hundred people, most of whom he estimated as his parents’ ages or older. The men had dressed in tuxedos or black suits, the women in formal gowns or dresses. At the front of the ballroom sat a podium where, after dinner, the evening’s host would perch. Classical music played overhead, a concerto from Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons,
which Hunter recognized from a music-appreciation course in college. The hearty scent of roast beef now sent hunger pangs through him. He’d grabbed a chicken sandwich for dinner a few hours earlier, but now he craved a bite of red meat. It took extra ounces of self-control not to sneak a sample. Then again, a mental image of Ellen’s wrath served as a deterrent.