Rough Road (11 page)

The next morning, I try again, early this time, hoping to get him before he goes to work.

I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I regret that. I’d like to see you. Call me back?

But he doesn’t.

So I take a shower, and I try not to be disappointed, in myself, in him, in how craving him in my life crept up on me and how not having him hurts.

And of course the phone is ringing when I step out. I stub my toe in the rush to the bedroom to answer it, and I bite back a curse.

“Hello?”

“It’s. Um, it’s me . . . Wish.”

Hope is a big, bright thing unfurling in my chest. “Hi. I’m so glad you called.”

“I need you to let me be mad for a while, okay? Maybe stop with the texts. I mean, I appreciate the apology, but I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know. And I want to make it right.”

He sighs. “I don’t know how to say this except—I don’t know if
you
can fix it. But I know
I
can’t be with you when I feel this way. It’s different from the riling each other up for play. Because we play rough, it’s important to be clear where the lines are and not risk bringing genuine anger into our play. If I ever hurt you for real, I’d hate myself. You get that, right?”

God.
Even when he’s mad at me, he’s so fucking sweet.

“I don’t want it to be over,” I whisper.

“I don’t either,” he admits. “So give me a few days. Don’t text, don’t call; let me stew in my own juices, okay?”

That’s going to be hard. Really fucking hard. But I can do it.

“Okay,” I agree.

It takes three days. Three goddamn fucking days of thinking about him and being sad and angry and remorseful all at once. Three days of wanting him and not having him. Three days of holding back.

When my phone finally rings, my nerves almost knock me off my chair. I’m at the pro shop, having lunch with Ben, and I take the phone to the back office, walking on shaky legs.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to call.”

“I think we need to talk about it, clear the air.”

“I can do that.”

“And then, I think we need to figure out how to disagree like grown-ups and move on.”

“I can do that too.” Relief washes over me.

“I’ll come over tonight then? To talk?”

“Absolutely. Should I get dinner delivered?”

“Let’s see how the talk goes.”

Ah. There it is. The acknowledgment that talking might not be enough. Disappointment leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “Okay.”

“Seven sound good?”

I nod, realize he can’t see me, then manage, “Yes.”

“I’ll see you then.”

When I walk back out into the shop, Ben is with a customer. I take my seat behind the counter and pick up my sandwich. Unfortunately, my appetite seems to be mostly gone, so I watch Ben charm the customer with a story about some sick air he got one time. Ben’s anecdotes almost always turn into a sale. Sure enough, a few minutes later the girl comes to the counter with a new board and bindings and a starry-eyed expression on her face. Ben grins while I ring up her order, that sweet, contagious grin of a guy talking about something he loves. I don’t know if he knows how appealing he is when he talks about his sport, how anyone who sees him when he describes cutting through the water falls for him, but I’d say the girl is firmly in the Legend fan club by the time she leaves.

“Nice kid.” Ben gestures at her with his chin, settling in next to me and resuming his lunch.

“You had her completely charmed.”

“She was getting frustrated with her board. Wants bigger air. The three-stage rocker in the new board will be good for her.”

I feel a pang at the thought of the shop not being here. At the idea of it moving somewhere else, or simply being . . . gone. What Ben’s made of the place is special. He’s good for this town and for the kids who idolize him. He shows them what a living legend can be—a part of a community, a cornerstone of it even.

And never mind the community; what would happen to Ben without the dealership? He doesn’t have a college degree, and he can’t exactly make a living wakeboarding anymore. He can’t meet the lifting requirements for a lot of retail jobs and manual labor is completely out of the question. How the hell would someone like Ben survive unemployment?

“Wish and I had a fight.”

He sets his sandwich down. “You break up?”

“I don’t know; were we even together?” I wave a hand at him. “And I don’t know. He’s coming over tonight to talk.”

“Good. You’ll sort it out. He seems like a good guy.”

“He is.” I fidget in my chair. “Hey, Ben?”

He grunts and raises an eyebrow at me.

“Did you know anything about me before we met?”

“Nope. Heard people calling you a fag. Figured you were a guy I’d like to know.” He leers at me.

I can’t help but laugh. Man, I got a lot of ass in high school. The benefits of being the only gay guy out. “Yeah. I’m glad.”

“Me too. I got blowjobs from your exes.”

I feel a little wistful. It had been a rough, angry time in my life, but it had also been exhilarating. My first taste of power. My first understanding of how I could fit into this town as more than my daddy’s son.

“Would you be mad if I told him a secret I haven’t even told you?”

Ben startles. “You have secrets?”

I look away for a minute. “Yeah. A few.”

“I think it’s a good thing, you wanting to tell him something personal. I think that’s real good.”

“It won’t hurt your feelings?”

He slings an arm over my shoulder, gives me a snuggle. “Eddie, I want you to have what Dave and I have. I want you to find someone who makes you feel alive and full of hope and joy. And who puts stripes on your ass—because I know you like that sort of thing.” He shudders and holds up a hand. “Not judging. I just . . .”

“Yeah.”

“I know I gave you a rough time about him at first, but I like the idea of you having someone.”

“Thanks.” I lean into his shoulder, enjoying the closeness.

“Welcome.”

He gives me one last squeeze, and then lets go before the hug gets awkward. “So, this kid, what’s he got that he managed to tame the notorious Edward Russell?”

“He makes me happy.” I shrug.

“That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”

The doorbell rings right at seven. I love his punctuality. I open it to find him standing on the front porch, a bottle of wine in hand. “It’s cheap.” He holds it up. “But I thought if we ended up ordering in, it would be nice to have a glass of wine with dinner.”

“Thanks.” I take the bottle. His bringing wine is a good sign, right? Hopeful, at the very least.

“Let’s go sit down.” I take his hand and lead him to the living room, and I sit in the corner of the gigantic sectional and curl my feet under me, setting the bottle down on the way.

“Come here.” I pat the couch next to me. “I want to tell you something. It might seem a little out of context, but I promise, I have a point.”

He sits, all tension and rough angles.

“When I was sixteen, I was working at what was then the Russell-Romeo Marina. My dad and Rodney Romeo’s uncle were business partners. My summer job, such as it was, was running odd jobs around the place.”

Wish starts to settle into the story, and I pull his feet into my lap. He’s initially resistant, but he gives in as I keep talking.

“I had a secret. A boyfriend. He was older—twenty-one—and an intern in the accounting department. He was so funny, and sweet, and really the perfect first boyfriend to explore my sexuality with.” I slip off his shoes and begin to massage his feet.

“Ben wasn’t your first?”

“No, I met him later. Thank God.” I smile. “Justin was my first, and he was something else. I was starting to figure out I liked it rough. I didn’t know what masochism was, beyond some porn that turned me on for reasons I didn’t understand. Justin wasn’t a sadist or a Dom even—I honestly don’t think he was kinky at all. But when I told him to pull my hair and slap me around a little while I was blowing him, he was game. He was really game for anything that made me happy.”

“He sounds great.”

“He was.” I squeeze his feet in my lap. He’s much more relaxed now and doesn’t protest. “Anyway, Rodney Romeo was at the marina to pick up his boat, and he came into the office. I remember everything about that day. It was hot and sticky, and I had Justin’s pants around his ankles under the desk while I blew him. The room smelled like my dad’s cigarettes and sunscreen. Romeo’s keys hit the floor behind me right at the exact moment that Justin yanked my hair and came in my mouth. It was the first time he’d done that—come without warning me—and he pulled my hair hard enough that I shot too. Knowing someone had walked in on us made it hotter—for about the time it took for my dick to stop spurting all over the floor.”

“Then what happened?”

The humiliation and pain of that afternoon sweep over me, and I can’t meet his eyes. I sniff hard, trying to hold back the prickling sensation in my face.

“He outed us both. To my dad. To his uncle. Justin got fired, and my dad threatened to have him arrested for statutory rape. My whole life changed that afternoon. And while I don’t regret who I am or what I’ve done with myself . . . I felt like I’d lost a lot more than my boyfriend. And he lost a lot more than an internship.”

“How did your dad take it?”

I always feel a pang when I think about my dad. “He called me into his office after he fired Justin, and he stared at me for a while. Then he said we were rich enough I could fuck who I wanted and no one would care, but I should probably stick to guys my own age, and to wrap it up for God’s sake, hadn’t I ever heard of AIDS?” I smile at the memory, even though I’d been terrified at the time. I had it about as good as any queer kid in the eighties ever did. “I wish I could have told him myself.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“Not your fault.” I let him see it then, the way I suit up. I straighten my spine and deliberately jut my chin. “You see, lovely, that’s something that can only be taken from a person once. In a way, Romeo did me a favor. Yes, he outed me to my dad, but I never had to come out ever again. I claimed my queerness with every breath I took. By the time I went back to school at the end of the summer, there was a new swish to my step, a lilt to my voice, and a violence under my skin. I heard every slur in the world the first week, but nobody laid a finger on me. I practically dared them. I was itching for a fight, but no one gave it to me.”

“That’s probably a good thing. But I’m still sorry you went through that.”

“I’m not.” I mean it. “It was awful, but it made me king of this town. Whether they left me alone because they respected me or because they were afraid of me, I’m not sure. But they did, and I thrived.”

I give his feet a final squeeze. “Unfortunately, Rodney Romeo and I have been at war ever since. His uncle and my dad parted ways. His mama and my mama stopped playing tennis together. The roads project? It’s no accident they chose
that
bridge to propose expansion, when there’s another one three miles away which is on a bigger highway and has more traffic. It’s personal for me. I let it become an obsession. I’m sorry I didn’t consider your feelings.”

He sighs. “I still support the project. I have to. But I get how personal this is for you. I’m sorry I called you a snob.”

“Oh, I think I deserved that.” I shift so that I can set his feet down and then I crawl onto his lap. I straddle him on my knees and stare into his eyes. Neither one of us is hard, and that’s okay. Since I don’t see any more anger in his face, I relax, laying my head on his shoulder. “I want us to give this a try. Lovers—boyfriends—whatever you want to call it, I want to do it with you. I want to introduce you to my mom, for real. I want to meet your mom and your brother. And didn’t you say you have a cat? I want to meet her too.”

His hands come up and stroke along my spine. “I’d like that.”

“So we can agree to disagree? About the roads?”

He nods. “For now. In November, when we vote on the tax, it’ll change things.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

He keeps stroking me, and I shiver. I lift my head and claim his lips, trying to show him how relieved and thankful I am for the reunion. I slide my hand around the side of his neck, feeling his pulse hammering and his muscles flexing. He runs his hands down my back to cup my ass, rocking me forward into his dick, which, like mine, is stiffening fast. I break the kiss, and he chases after it, biting my lower lip.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs, then he tugs me back in for another.

His kisses are the kind that go on and on, a heady, mind-reeling seduction with lips and tongue and even teeth. The whole time, he never stops rocking our hips together, first slowly, but then more urgently as we start to get really into it.

I pull away again, this time putting a hand between us when he’d drag me back.

“Skin,” I demand, and he rips off his shirt, then mine, and then lifts me off his lap and dumps me on the couch, reaching for the button on my pants. I try to help him, but he slaps my hands away, hauling my pants off and then stripping himself of his own. He leans over me, a wicked grin on his face. “You’re so fucking hot. How do you want to do this? If you’re feeling vanilla, we could move to the bedroom, but I’d love to warm your ass up with my hand and play with your balls before I fuck you over this couch.”