Jacob's Ladder (11 page)

The ocean rushed beneath us. I looked out over the railing to the foamy water.

It wasn"t unexpected—this moment between JT and me. He was just another fish to let off the hook. Nothing a tincture of time and a lot of hard work wouldn"t cure. I could look forward to both those things.

He didn"t turn toward me, and for the first time I was afraid he didn"t want to hang around with a guy who liked him like that. Maybe he had a problem with the idea that I found him attractive. Maybe it made him nervous, or he had a little streak of homophobia that manifested when confronted with a man who wanted him.

“I"ll understand completely if it makes you uncomfortable,” I told him quickly.

“If it changes how you—”

“Jeez, you don"t get it at all, do you?” He turned unhappy eyes my way. “I don"t
want
you like that.”

“I get it.” I stepped back, a little stunned by his vehemence. “No shit. No problem.” I turned to walk back the way we had come, away from the pier, away from him, but he gripped my arm so hard his fingers bit into my skin.

“I don"t want you,” he growled, but then he hooked his other hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss.

It was a tentative kiss, but enticing and electric. One of those kisses that begins like a cream puff, all bland and maybe a little soggy, and then slowly, surely, when I broke into it, opened it up, and dived in, it changed into an un-fucking-believably satisfying, meltingly delicious, velvety, wet treat. He tasted rich and heady, felt all slick and smooth…

Oh
fuck
.

JT pushed me into the railing with his hips. I hung there, clinging to him, scared that I"d fall, sure that he"d let me go, but I was driven by a breathless excitement to see what would come next. I could hear the waves crashing below me as he stepped between my legs. There was nothing between me and a death drop into the icy-cold, churning water but thirty feet of air and the hold I had on his shoulders. He slid his hands down my back and around somehow, slipping over my hips, burning a path to my ass. He lingered there and squeezed, kneading the muscles until my knees went weak. His cock dug into mine, and he allowed them to rub together for the brief time it took for me to realize it wasn"t an accident, and then I felt his entire body shudder.

He whispered my name and then, “No.
Stop
.” I brought my hands up instinctively between us to break his hold on me and shoved him none too gently away. “What the
hell
?” He stood rigid, simply staring at me for a minute. He lifted his wrist as though he needed to wipe his mouth, but then stopped himself. “I"m sorry.” 60

Z. A. Maxfield

I still had my hands up like he was a wild animal. I wasn"t about to make any sudden moves. “What the fuck was that?”

“I…” His eyes were wide, and the whites showed around the irises.

I started walking back the way we"d come. “Never mind. I
know
what that was.”

He came after me. “
I
don"t know what that was.” As he fell into step beside me, his breath contributed to the mist. He panted as if he"d been running a long way. He held one of his hands flat on his chest, as if he was trying to keep his heart inside.

I stopped and asked, “Are you scared?” Because damn, he
looked
scared. He looked like he"d been in an accident. Dazed, sort of. I leaned toward him. “Maybe you should sit down.”

He held his hand up as if to ward me off. “I can"t believe I did that.”

“It was only a kiss.” I told the lie with as straight a face as I"ve ever shown to anyone.

He put his fingers on his lips. Like he could still feel the kiss there. I knew I still felt it on mine. I could feel it everywhere. He"d branded me. I doubted that the memory of that kiss would ever fade.

“It just… It felt…” He wrapped his arms around himself. I thought he meant to catch his breath. Maybe I"d walked faster than I thought. I tended to move quickly when things got ugly. His beautiful jade green eyes held nothing but pain.

After that he took off running, and I let him go.

* * *

St. Nacho"s sits poised on the most awesome crest of land overlooking the endless sea. Once what little sun there had set and the breeze dissipated the fog, the moon rose high in the sky, peeking every now and again from behind a veil of swiftly moving clouds. I don"t know how long it took—hours maybe—until I stepped down from the pier into the sand. I could hear the music from Nacho"s Bar in the distance, and I made my way toward it. Cars parked everywhere on the streets around the brightly lit building. The violin music of dinnertime had given way to the heavy, rhythmic
thump, thump
of dance music.

The first thing I noticed when I got close was the number of people milling around outside. Some were chatting, away from the noise. Some had left the building to smoke. Most were openly affectionate gay couples. They had to be coming from outlying areas, towns and cities stretched along the coastline, north and south. As I got closer, I saw people I recognized from walking around town.

Apparently Nacho"s Bar was the official place to see and be seen. There were straight couples too. When I entered, I recognized Candace at a table with a man I"d never seen before. She smiled politely at me, and I waved back.

At the bar I ordered a draft beer and a shot of bourbon. It had been a day since I"d taken the pills they"d given me for pain. I was no longer sick. I knew if I felt like St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

61

it, I could drink safely. There was no one to answer to and nowhere to go but back to my motel room on foot.

“Here you go,” said the bartender. “Bourbon, beer back. Eight bucks.”

“Thanks.” I slapped a ten down on the bar and said, “Keep it.” The music was loud, but not painfully so. The mix was good—dance tunes with a romantic ballad thrown in every few songs for the gropers. I ordered a plate of nachos, and they were damn good, cheesy and hot, with plump tomato bits and shredded chicken, topped with avocado slices and jalapeño discs. Someone reached over my shoulder for one of my chips, and I looked up to see Cam grinning at me.

Why is it always so easy to hook up with the one who doesn"t make your heart race?

“Whatcha up to?” he asked, taking a big bite of one of the few remaining chips.

He got sour cream on his lip, and I thought then that if it had been JT, I"d have licked it off and promised to follow up on that anywhere else he…

“What?” he said, surprising me. “What"s that look for?” I shook my head. “Nothing. I thought you were working?” Cam rolled his eyes. “What does it say about me that I hang around the firehouse even when I"m off shift? There"s always something to do, and resources are a little thin. Plus, it's easy money playing poker with the boys.” I pushed my nachos toward him, indicating he could eat as much as he liked, not that he wouldn"t have eaten them anyway.

“Come dance with me.” Cam pulled me off the bar stool and asked the man sitting next to me to watch my food.

“You"re not supposed to do that.” I pulled away and sat back down, wedging him in between me and the other guy. “I don"t leave my drinks unattended.”

“That"s "cause you live in the wicked city,” he told me, already grooving, waiting for me to finish my beer but dancing so close he was practically humping my leg. “Here you can leave your stuff. It"s safe.” At the risk of seeming paranoid, I finished my beer and put it down on the bar.

Cam sashayed backward as he pulled me into the throng. We danced for a few minutes, and I became fully aware that I was in no shape to be doing it. I was a little loose from the booze, although not yet drunk, but I was tired and grateful when they played a slow song that I didn"t recognize. Cam was a man you could grab onto, and he"d hold you up if you needed it. I appreciated the hell out of that when he pulled me close. The song was a twangy country ballad, but full of rich, lovely harmonies. The lyrics were something about God and a broken road.

It felt good to dance with Cam. It felt natural to lean up against him, to feel those thickly muscled arms band tightly across my lower back. He was tall enough that our cocks didn"t rub together, but he more than made up for that by shifting me so I could ride his massive thigh while he ground against my hip.

62

Z. A. Maxfield

My mouth went dry before the song was over, and I would have done just about anything to stay like that, but the next song was a techno dance tune that worked as quickly as a slap to bring me back to reality.

Cam wanted to stay on the dance floor, and I excused myself. Last I saw, he was in the middle of a rowdy bunch of equally massive men having the time of his life. I fought my way back to the bar, and when I got there, I saw JT"s girlfriend, Linda, searching the crowd. She talked to a couple of the firefighters and eventually found Cam. She didn"t see me, mostly because I took the coward"s way out and ducked toward the men"s room.

Maybe I did have to pee. It"s not like I was actively avoiding her.

Well. Yeah, I was.

But apparently so was JT, because when I finally opened the door to the can, there he was.

St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

63

Chapter Nine

JT took me by the arm and yanked me inside, allowing the door to close behind us.

“What the hell?”

“I need to talk to you. Is Linda still out there?”

“Yeah, she"s looking for you. Are you in high school? What are you hiding for?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don"t know.” I turned to leave. “Well, good luck with that.”

“
Wait
.” He reached for me again, and I backed away.

“Stop grabbing me,” I told him. “That shit ends now.”

“I"m sorry.” He stood before me with quiet dignity, the confusion and desperation written clearly on his face. “I don"t know what to do.”

“Here"s the deal. First you man up and go talk to your girlfriend.”

“Linda"s not my girlfriend. She"s just a girl I go out with sometimes. One of them. We"re not—we just date.” Troubled jade green eyes met mine. “That"s the problem.”

“That doesn"t sound like a problem. That sounds like a rich and vibrant social life.”

JT rolled his eyes. “I"m an unmarried man with a job. I"m a first responder. In a Jewish singles" group, at least among the nonprofessionals, I"m the Holy Grail—

you should pardon the expression.”

“So far nothing you"ve said sounds remotely like a problem.”

“I wanted to kiss
you
. That"s the problem. I did it. I actually—What the hell does that mean?”

“There"s a whole bar full of men out there who can answer your question,” I told him. “Just ask them.”

“I don"t want to ask them. I don"t want to know. It"s not right.”

“
What
?”

“What, what? How can you be a Jew and not know it"s not right.”

“I guess I"m not that kind of Jew.” I frowned. Was he saying…?

“What kind are you?” he asked. “Either you keep God"s laws or you don"t.” 64

Z. A. Maxfield

I blinked in surprise. “Well, I guess I don"t. And you don"t either, fully, or you wouldn"t speak—”

“That"s a pretty big no-no, being homosexual.”

“Yeah, well, I can"t exactly change what I am.”

“You can change what you choose,” he said.

I admit to rolling my eyes.

“Yeah.
No
.” I turned to leave the bathroom, and he very nearly grabbed for me again but pulled back at the last minute.

“Yasha, I don"t have to act on all my impulses.”

“I don"t either. You should be grateful for that right now, as a matter of fact.”

“What does that mean?”

JT seriously didn"t get it.
Jeez
. “I"m not going to tell you how to live your life, JT. Don"t tell me how to live mine.” I left, and either he had to follow me and face his “girlfriend” or stay where he was.
Good luck with that.

On the way out I waved to Cam, and he waved back, a sloppy, one-handed thing that barely rose above the pile of men he was dancing with. He looked happy enough, and I was definitely done for the night.

I began the walk home in more of a mood than I realized—a little tense, a little angry. A car going too fast swerved around the corner behind the bar. The tires screeched, a terrifying, sharp whine in my ear, and I jumped back. It unnerved me, but I waved off the driver"s hand motion of apology.

Still, my heart was racing, and I relived a few of the worst moments of my life until I could get my breathing back under control. Sometimes it was hard to remember where I was. Loud noises, cars backfiring, even breaking glass—a common enough occurrence in restaurants—all reminded me of things I preferred not to remember.

Oddly enough, walking toward the SeaView Motel through a sleepy St.

Nacho"s effectively soothed me through the aftereffects and drained me of the turmoil that often lasted for hours. I could almost feel the push/pull of the surf tugging my anxiety out to sea.

As I headed toward a residential part of town and the sound of dance music receded into the background, I became aware of the occasional barking dog or the volume of a television turned up too loud. It really was a small town, with a main drag that was basically commercial, that had grown inland behind the two landmarks: St. Nacho"s Bar and the pier. It had been built in concentric layers like a shell. The SeaView was close to the farthest southern edge of the first layer, by the highway, which was maybe three miles away. I was used to walking, and the distance gave me time to think.

Maybe I belonged in a place like St. Nacho"s. I"d had enough of big cities. I"d left the States to make aliyah at the behest of my grandfather and lived in Israel for St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

65

six years. When he died, I returned to be with my mother in New York for a year until she passed away suddenly of a stroke.

I traveled to France for cooking school and then to Los Angeles. Wherever I lived, I always felt like I remained half-packed, always in transit, always one more plane ticket or bus fare away from the next destination.