Live for the Day (2 page)

He loved those memories. Christ, they’d had some fun, hadn’t they?

The bus snorted, bringing Michael out of his reverie and into the present. A hiss of air as the machine closed its doors, then the beast was off, peeling away from the town to continue its journey. It left behind a great cloud of dust, thick and opaque, obscuring those on the opposite sidewalk.

Here was where Michael imagined Steven on the far side of that dust, staring over at the café as though he’d known Michael would be there. Big old smile on his face, hands occupied by duffle bags, head occupied by a cap, the sidewalk occupied by
him
—all of him, every last beautiful inch. Black hair, blacker stubble, skin tanned, eyes bluer than any others Michael had seen.

A gust of wind rattled the café window, and Michael fancied it was trying to get his attention, to ensure he kept looking outside. The wind scooped up the dust, dragging it away, down the road toward the hills, leaving behind clear air and…Steven.

Steven?

Michael lowered his cup. It clattered onto the table, liquid spilling out to coat his fingers. That didn’t matter—nothing mattered except for the fact that Steven appeared to be out there, gazing across at him just as Michael had imagined.

Was Michael going mad? It sure felt like it. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a second or two, thinking that when he opened them again someone else would be standing there instead. Just someone who resembled Steven, a guy Michael’s mind had convinced him was his best buddy. Yeah, there’d be disappointment, the gut-wrenching kind that always had him feeling lost and alone, but he’d have to deal with that.

He opened his eyes.

Steven wasn’t there—but he
was
standing directly outside the café window, gazing in at Michael.

I’ve got to be dreaming, right? No way is he here.

Michael resisted jumping up and going out there. His heart rate sped up, sending his legs to Jell-O, and his mouth hung open. He was aware of movement to his right—Sandy?—but more aware of the movement going on outside. Steven was smiling, shaking his head, then he walked to the café door.

“Fucking hell…” Michael breathed.

“Fucking hell is right,” Sandy whispered, suddenly right beside him again. “He’s back a darn sight earlier than usual, isn’t he?”

Steven pushed the door open.

“So you can see him, yeah?” Michael asked her.

“Yep, I see him, and he’s coming right on in.” She laughed. “Steven, good to have you back. What’s your poison—the usual?”

“Please, ma’am.” Steven didn’t look at her but at Michael.

He approached the table, staring all the while, then dropped his bags to the floor. Michael snapped his mouth closed, rising to hold out a hand for Steven to shake. Such a mundane gesture, but Michael could hardly do what he wanted—fling himself at his buddy and never let go.

“What…?” Michael swallowed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he managed. “I mean, you never said you were coming back yet.”

Steven shook his hand then reached across the table to give Michael a heavy pat on the back. “Good to see you too, buddy.” He tweaked his lips upward a touch.

He sat opposite, letting go of Michael’s hand. He stretched his long legs beneath the table, catching Michael’s ankle with one of his. The contact had Michael’s heart skittering all over the place again, and he blew out a steadying breath.

“I didn’t mean…” Michael gave a low laugh. “Shit, you know I’m glad to see you, I just didn’t expect… You look tired, man.”

Steven nodded, a grimace obliterating his smile. Michael wished he hadn’t said that now—he should have kept his thoughts to himself and just enjoyed the fact that Steven was there. Of course his buddy was tired.

Stupid of me to mention it.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

Again, another stupid question—it was clear to him that Steven wasn’t okay. Something about the tightness around Steven’s eyes spoke of more than just tiredness.

“I’m on extended leave.” Steven smiled a bit. Not a full-blown grin but a smile at least. “Got hurt. I…”

He stared out of the window while Michael’s stomach did somersaults.

Hurt? How? Where?

“Shit, sorry to hear that,” Michael said. “Anything I can do to help?”

“If you don’t mind massaging my leg from time to time, then yeah, you can help with that.” Steven looked up as Sandy placed his coffee and a plate of cookies down. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“God.” She jabbed one hand onto her hip. “Anyone would think I’m ancient the way you always call me that.”

“Force of habit.” Steven grinned properly then, showing his teeth, wrinkles forming beside his eyes. “You know I don’t think you’re old.”

“Best you don’t too.” She swatted him with a dish towel. “Same age as you, and don’t forget it.”

She walked off, glancing back over her shoulder at Michael. She winked at him. Fuck, he was all kinds of uncomfortable with her doing that and Steven sitting right there.

“You’re blushing,” Steven said. “She giving you the puppy dog eyes again?”

“Something like that.” Michael gave Steven his attention.

“Still not interested in her?”

“Uh, no. A definite no. She’s not my type.” Michael’s face grew hotter.

“Didn’t think she was, and although you never told me your type, I’ve had time to think while in hospital, and I reckon I finally let myself believe that I know what your type is.”

No, you don’t. I doubt you ever will.

“Oh, really? And what’s that then?” Michael held his breath.

“Me. I’m your type.”

Chapter Two

Steven hoped to God he hadn’t just said the wrong thing. It had all been very well while in the hospital, convincing himself that Michael was gay and they belonged together. But now that Steven had said what he’d promised himself he’d say, he wasn’t so sure of his instincts. Shit, he’d known Michael forever. Wasn’t it obvious they were gay when neither of them had seemed interested in girls? They hadn’t camped out in Michael’s tent when they were eight and discussed Gloria Frenson’s tits or Fiona Brisburn’s ass. No, they’d talked non-stop military, always harping on about when they were older and had joined up—just thinking aloud about all the things they’d do. Killing the enemy. Racing through forests with rifles. Narrowly escaping being blown up by bombs.

Yeah, they were going to do all that and more. Girls didn’t figure in their plans at all. Never had.

“Say what?” Michael fiddled with his coffee cup, the contents cold by the looks of it.

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I heard you, but I don’t know if I heard you right.” Michael shook his head and focused his attention on the tabletop.

Christ, don’t let me have got this so wrong.

“I haven’t made a mistake, have I?” Steven playfully kicked Michael’s ankle. “And if I have, it doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, right?”

It took what felt like forever for Michael to raise his head. He stared Steven in the eyes and pulled over a napkin. He scrunched it up—for something to do, Steven guessed—and Steven wished he had something to hold onto as well. He drummed his fingertips on the table, conscious that it might add to the tension surrounding them but unable to stop himself from keep doing it.

“You’re not fucking with me, are you?” Michael asked. “Because if you are, that’s cruel.”

Steven jerked more upright, dragging his feet back to curl them around the front legs of his chair. He needed the stability, that feeling of being grounded the action gave him. “Fucking with you? Hell no. It’s just… Look, you’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve never had one. I thought…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what I thought. Forget I said anything. And especially forget the mention of leg massages.”

“I’ll massage your leg.” Michael winked. “I’ll massage any other damn thing you want too.”

“Fucking hell…” Steven needed to look away—the intensity of Michael’s gaze was a little too much—but damned if he could. So he maintained eye contact, lost for words. The ones he’d practiced in the hospital had deserted him. He opened his mouth to say more but nothing came out.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear something like that.” Michael cleared his throat. “Never thought I’d ever hear it, to be honest. I mean, it’s not every day your best buddy lets you know he’s interested. Assuming you are…?”

“Been interested since I was eighteen—before that when I think about it.” Steven sighed, remembering their past. “It was always you and me, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Michael laughed quietly. “Always was, and you know, I knew we’d always be friends, I just thought…well, that you’d meet some girl and settle down with her. Have kids and whatever. Me? I’d have found someone eventually, except finding a man around here is difficult.”

Jealousy speared Steven’s gut. “You tried, then?”

“I’ve put feelers out, yeah. Had to—didn’t think anything would ever come of us.” Michael opened out the napkin then tore off crinkled strips.

“So you’re not a vir— So you’ve been with someone else?”
Of course he has. I can’t expect him to have hung around waiting for me.

Michael shrugged. “I’ve messed around with some guy from the edge of the valley. You know, kissed and touched, shit like that. But not…not anything serious.”

Thank God.
“Me neither.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. No one else ever appealed. Never even been kissed. How about that, huh?”

“Yeah, how about that. Wow.” Michael put his spoon in his coffee and sloshed the liquid around. “Never would have thought it.”

“There’s only ever been you for me,” Steven said, keeping his voice low.

Steven wasn’t surprised that he didn’t feel embarrassed by his admission. If he could talk to anyone about anything, it was with Michael. Despite the enormity of what they were talking about, it was still right to be discussing it with his best friend. Who else was there apart from his sister and his mom, who’d tease him mercifully if he told them he’d never kissed anyone before? Not a damn one—he didn’t trust any other people, not even his close friend, Rory, in the Air Force.

He thought back for a moment to the last time he’d been home. His mom had asked him if he’d been out with Michael and whether there were any new developments. He’d thought she’d meant in Michael’s life, some bit of gossip he’d like to share, but now?

She goddamn knows. Bet she’s known all along.

“Your parents know you’re gay?” Steven asked. An image of the burly Mr. Critchley flounced through his head, the man all brawn, his mean, lowered eyebrows like furry beetles over his black eyes. Shit, Steven reckoned they’d get some opposition there.

“Yeah.” Michael lifted one shoulder, scratching his cheek with it. “Dad’s fine about it, Mom not so much. She wants grandkids, you know?”

“Hmm.”

Steven did know. Mrs. Critchley was all about the babies and cooed over every newborn in the valley. As for Mr. Critchley being fine… Wonders would never fucking cease.

“I can’t give her what she wants, end of story.” Michael stood. “You going to drink that drink and eat those cookies or can we get out of here?” He glanced over at Sandy.

Steven followed his gaze. Sandy was loitering a couple of tables over, apparently finding the tops exceedingly dirty.

“Out of here,” Steven said. He folded the cookies into a napkin then tucked the bundle inside one of his bags. “Your place or mine?” His cheeks flared hotly. “I mean, not because I thought… But because… Shit, to chat, you know?”

“I know. Like we always do. Don’t get your boxers in a wad. Your place, as usual. Why change the routine now?”

Michael walked up to the counter. He placed some bills on top then returned to Steven. After picking up one of the duffle bags, Michael led the way to the door. Steven stood, grabbing hold of his other bag, pausing for a few seconds to take in what was happening. He was about to leave the café with his best friend and potential lover—if he could even manage sex with him, that was. He’d only ever known his right hand. Amazingly, things had turned out exactly as he’d hoped they would. He could only pray that the rest of his hospital imaginings would come true too.

“See you around, Sandy,” he called.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even look his way.

She heard what we were talking about and knows Michael’s not into her. Crap, that’s got to hurt.

He closed the door, glad to be out of her firing range. He didn’t fancy dealing with any distraught feelings she might be having. He had enough trouble dealing with his own since—

Out on the sidewalk, he and Michael strode side by side, like they always did, the bags bumping their legs. The sun beat down on Steven’s face, bringing to mind summers gone by when they’d come into town without adult supervision. And also the wicked heat of the desert, where his mouth was always dry and seemingly full of sand. He switched his mind off from that. The desert was the last place he wanted to think about, but the problem was, it snuck inside his head when he was least expecting it and he was left to deal with whatever swirled around in there.

They passed the ice cream parlor next to the café,
the
place to go as a kid, and Steven remembered how his palm had grown hot from having held his quarters so tight. He glanced inside the store and stopped walking.

“You want one?” he asked.

“Strawberry with syrup on top?” Michael grinned. “You bet I do.”

Michael went inside, leaving Steven on the sidewalk beneath the pink-and-white striped awning to contemplate the coming hours. Wow, he couldn’t believe they were on a new level now—and so quickly after his arrival. He’d wished for it enough, so maybe whatever angel had his back had it now too. His eyes glazed, and the onset of a memory he didn’t want curdled in his mind. He fought it, didn’t want it there now he was home, but the damn thing was insistent.

“Christ… Angel, where are you? Don’t you leave me now…”

His plane dipped downward in a desert sky. He jabbed at the controls and buttons, his training kicking in even though he was frantic. He didn’t want to die out here—not here, not without Michael by his side.