Live for the Day (6 page)

“Yeah, I guess that was it. But I should have stayed here with you—gone with my feelings instead of hiding them. Me being stationed overseas… I’d risked us—risked there
never
being an us.”

“But it doesn’t matter now. There
is
an us.” Michael stared into Steven’s eyes. “Things happen for a reason, you know? Like, we were meant to choose the paths we did because otherwise, you might not have told me how you felt and vice versa. Hell, we could have gone our whole lives just being buddies.” He paused, getting himself ready to ask the big question. “If they tell you that you don’t have to go back there, to the fighting—that you can serve your time doing something else—would you?”

Steven nodded. “Fuck, yeah. Maybe someday I can teach people to fly, then I’d still get to be up in the air every day.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Providing I have the balls to get back in a plane after…after what happened.”

“What about seeing what your superiors say when you go in for that meeting before you make any decisions?” Michael smiled. “What about enjoying the time we have together now instead of worrying that in the future we’ll probably be parted again? Live for today, huh?”

“Yeah. That would be good. Just take each day as it comes instead of worrying about the ones ahead. I can’t say it’ll be easy, though. I’m constantly looking ahead, to when I’ll see you again.”

Michael understood how that was. “Yeah, I’m a worrier too. When you’re away, I find it difficult to function properly. With you it must be different. You have a serious job to do, and when you’re doing it, that’s all you focus on. I’d say it was when you’re off duty that your mind starts to wander.”

“You have no idea.” Steven reached his hand across the table.

Michael took it, the action so natural, so normal. How had they managed to behave any other way all that time?

“There’s a lot we don’t know about each other. Stuff we can share now that we’ve come clean.” Michael squeezed Steven’s fingers. “Take me finding it hard to get to sleep when you’re away, for instance. How some nights I don’t sleep at all with worrying over whether that night is the one you’ll get killed. I used to have nightmares when you first joined up. That the next time I’d see you, you’d be coming home in a box. Sounds sick, thinking like that, but I’ve been so scared of losing you.”

Steven’s eyes welled up. “We kept our secrets so well hidden, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think…” It was time to start expressing himself, letting out all the feelings he’d been hoarding. “Us. Well, you know what I’m trying to say. Reckon you’ve thought much the same yourself.”

“I know. I didn’t think there’d be a chance with you either.” Steven laughed. “I mean, come on now. We were little ratbags as kids, playing in the dirt, knees scraped, elbows scuffed. Not exactly the gay look, were we—the type of gay people think gay is? And do you know how hard it is to be accepted as gay in the military? Strides have been made lately, but there’s still prejudice. Me admitting who I am… I didn’t have the balls to do it.”

Michael was curious. “Do you think you’ll come out to them now?”

Steven smiled. “I just might have grown the set of balls I need overnight.”

Michael nodded absently. “So much is going to change.” He’d worry even more while Steven was away now. His love for him had grown since yesterday, the elixir that it was maturing like decade-old brandy, flowing through his blood and making him drunk.

“But it’s good change.” Steven rubbed his thumb across the back of Michael’s hand. “And nothing we can’t handle.”

Relief spread through Michael. “That’s great to hear. So you feel you can get through whatever the future holds now? Even if it means serving out your time?” He paused, wondering if he should say what was on his mind.
Would I have said it before, when we were just friends?
Yeah, he would have. “Even if you don’t get lucky enough to leave—let’s face it, I can’t see them discharging you because of a broken leg and wrist.” His words were straight to the point, but he knew Steven was used to that from him.

“But the thing is, the nightmares—they were bad while I was in hospital. So bad that…” Steven paused. It was as though he had something to admit but didn’t think he could.

“Just tell me, man.”

“I mentioned stir crazy, didn’t I?”

“You did. And?”

“I might not be able to go back because of my mental state. That’s what the meeting will be about. I… The nightmares, the daydreams—they come without any warning sometimes.”

“I understand. So that means?”

“That I may be put on the
Permanent Disability Retirement List.”

Michael let that sink in. Let himself hope. “So it might mean…?”

“Yeah. That I get to stay here. But, the question is, can you handle me?” Steven’s expression—eyes imploring, his mouth downturned—was heart breaking. “I might never stop having the flashbacks. And the nightmares might get worse, my counselor told me that. Every awful thing I’ve ever seen out there might come out of the woodwork and wreak havoc in my mind. Can you deal with that?”

Michael didn’t have to think about it. “I’ll handle whatever I have to if it means we’re together. Stand by you every step of the damn way, you got that?”

Steven smiled a wobbly smile. “It might get tough.”

“I don’t care about that. All I care about is you. I love you so hard, buddy.”

Steven stood, gesturing for Michael to walk into his open arms. Michael obliged, snuggling close and pressing his lips to Steven’s neck.

“We’ll live for today, every day,” Steven said. “Just like you said.”

Michael shifted his mouth from Steven’s neck and planted his lips on Steven’s. Steven responded, taking the lead. They kissed for a long, long time, Michael pouring every emotion into it.

And Michael didn’t want to
be
anywhere else,
doing
anything else. He and Steven were exactly where they were supposed to be.

For today.

Also available from Pride Publishing:

Trust

Sarah Masters

Excerpt

Chapter One

‘I bet there’s always that worry, isn’t there, that you’ll never find a lifelong partner?’

That’s what Nancy, my only friend at work, had said to me the other day. And yeah, there was always that worry, especially when I didn’t go anywhere or actively try to find someone. I didn’t see the point—since I’d come out, it seemed everyone treated me like a leper. Down in the bloody dumps, that’s what I was and, I had to admit, maybe enjoying that a bit too much. It was something to occupy my mind.

Buck up, you silly bastard. Put a smile on your face.

All well and good, but my face didn’t fancy stretching into a grin any time soon—and I didn’t know how to
make
that happen anymore.

I left the office block, this tall, monstrous building constructed more from glass than anything else, and headed across the street. Shops—consisting of a bookies, launderette and a Tesco Express—stood in a row as though leaning against one another for support. I kind of understood their need—except I didn’t have anyone to lean onto.

I frowned, crossing the road, annoyed at myself, because I’d slipped right back into negative thinking without, well, thinking about it. Something had to give, and as I reached the opposite pavement, I reckoned I should make a concerted effort to get happy again. So what if I didn’t have a bloke or any mates other than Nancy? So fucking what?

On the corner, beside the bookies, the sandwich shop I bought my lunch from every day belched out the scent of fried bacon. I entered, engulfed in the coolness the air con pushed down from a ceiling grate. My skin dried, giving much welcome respite to my neck. My shirt and tie was a bitch to wear in the summer.

I placed my order for a ham salad baguette, and while I waited, turned to stare outside. A stream of workers in the process of leaving the office block parted, forming a two-deep line in front of the curb. Any second now, half of them would cram themselves into the sandwich shop, the other half in Tesco.

Such was lunch hour.

I paid the weathered-looking old woman behind the counter then took my baguette outside. All right, I’d get hot and uncomfortable again, but that was preferable to being squashed inside among a load of starving people. Turning left, I walked down an alley, making my way to the terrace at the back of the shop. There were a few tables and chairs out there, and this groovy fountain in the middle of the patio that half-heartedly squirted water out of a lion’s mouth at random intervals.

A bit like me, really, that lion. Spurts of happiness and nothing in between.

“Fuck off,” I said, annoying myself.

“That aimed at me, was it?”

I snapped my head up—I’d been staring at the floor again, my usual habit lately to avoid eye contact—and glanced around to see who’d spoken. The terrace only had one person on it apart from me—that wouldn’t last long—and it was some bloke I’d seen a few times before, here and at work. I thought he was in admin, the office down the corridor a bit from the huge room I spent my days in, stuffed inside a cube answering calls from irate customers.

“Err, no.” I gave him a wonky smile—all I could manage—and self-consciously took a seat at the table farthest from him, in the opposite corner beside a terracotta plant pot filled with some flower or other. The blooms spilled over the sides, and I gave them all my attention while unwrapping my baguette from the paper bag.

He was staring at me. I felt the burn of it on my left cheek, experienced the need to get up and walk away. Instead, I remained in place and, angling my body a little so I partially faced away from him, I bit into the bread.

“Taste nice, does it?”

I had no idea what to say to that. His question hadn’t been expected, and anyway, who asked a stranger if their lunch tasted good unless they were a waitress or whatever and were paid to do so? I chewed then swallowed, mulling over whether I’d give him the time of day. Maybe he was like me, lonely and whatnot, and just wanted someone to talk to.

Or maybe he’s like most of the others around here, getting ready to start something. Bring up what happened the other week…

“It’s not bad,” I said.

“Nice sandwiches here.”

What? If he wanted to talk sandwiches, he’d be better off finding someone more inclined to discuss the ins and outs of bread and the various fillings. I wasn’t in the mood for banal chatter.

“Lovely.” I hoped he’d leave it at that.

“Trev, yeah?”

Fuck, he knows my name so he must know about the other week. Great.

“Yes, I’m Trev.” I took another bite and waited for the inevitable.

“The bent bloke, right?”

I finished my mouthful. Sighed. “Yes, the bent bloke.”

“I like bent blokes.”

That was the last thing I’d been expecting, but what if he wasn’t being genuine? Some people had lulled me into a false sense of security, making out I’d be accepted, then switched it round and given me all sorts of crap.

I cleared my throat. “Good for you.” Standard response, that.

“I mean it,” he said.

“I’m sure you do.”

The sound of numerous footsteps clattered down the alley—men in brogues and women in high heels, I guessed—and I waited for the swarm of workers to converge on the terrace. Waited eagerly, to be honest. The patio would be filled with people then, blocking that man’s view, and if I was lucky, I’d be left in peace. Round the corner they came, a sea of faces and bodies, their presence joined by the scrape and whine of chairs being dragged from beneath tables, their voices a big old ball of different tones and pitches.

I let out a sigh of relief, glad to get on with my lunch without feeling so…looked at.

“I’m sure I do too.” The man from admin was standing beside me.

I didn’t look up, kept my focus on the tabletop, although I did sneak a quick glance at his midsection in my peripheral. Shouldn’t have done that, really, what with his belt being right there, the buckle peering out from the space between his jacket opening. I tensed, expecting confrontation, and thought it best that I wait it out, see what he had to say then piss off back to work.

“Mind if I sit with you?” he asked and gestured to the seat opposite mine.

Between a rock and a hard place, that’s where I was. I didn’t want his company but at the same time I bloody did—wanted it more than I liked to admit. It came to something, didn’t it, when being a grown man was exactly the same as being a little kid? All the feelings were there—anxiety, panic, the need to get up and run.

“If you want,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like I can stop you, is it?”

“You could.” He sat, placing his sandwich on the table, the paper bag acting as a plate. “And if you don’t want me here, it’s easy enough for me to get up and walk away. No skin off my nose.”

A part of me wanted to believe he was being genuine—a sodding big part—but the rest had decided he was up to no good. I’d been through it all before, and I resigned myself to going through it again. The false hand of friendship that would quickly change to the slap of spite.

Only this time I wasn’t prepared to sit there until he decided to strike the first verbal blow.

“Look, if you’ve got something to say, just say it, all right?” I still wasn’t looking at him. My baguette was more interesting, ham and lettuce spilling out of it, the suspicion of a tomato just beneath the top half. Somewhere in there was a bit of cucumber, and if I was lucky and the old lady who’d made my lunch hadn’t forgotten, a few spring onions.