Something Like Thunder (47 page)

Nathaniel should have felt proud, and to some extent he did, but seeing his fear partially realized only made the subsequent rounds more grueling. Kelly seemed to be in his element regardless, his performance as exceptional as it was varied. He acted goofy and friendly during one appearance, which suited the outfit covered in flowers—an upside-down rose where his leg should be. Or fiercely angry when he appeared in an outfit made entirely of tight black netting.

The press was eating it up. Perhaps that’s why Kelly closed the show, the final model on the runway. This outfit matched the crutches—silver and glittering—but the material only covered certain areas of his body, smooth dark skin providing a natural contrast. As Kelly reached the end of the stage and stopped, his expression became defiant. He didn’t turn around. Instead he spread his arms wide until they were perfectly horizontal, muscles trembling with effort as he balanced on one leg. He held that position until the audience grew quiet in anticipation. Then Kelly released the crutches, letting them drop into the pool.

Nathaniel was on his feet in an instant, ready to leap across the water to catch him. Everyone rose with him, cameras clicking. Kelly turned with one graceful hop. Then he kept on hopping. Nathaniel froze, sending out silent prayers to any gods willing to listen. Kelly reached the far end of the runway and disappeared through the doorway.

Nathaniel pushed through the crowd, in spite of the large round of applause that came when the Lieutenant appeared on stage. The models reappeared next, but not Kelly. Had he fallen? In his anger, had he refused any offer of help and been forced to crawl back to his usual crutches? Or was he being lectured for disrespecting the Lieutenant’s work? Nathaniel almost decked a security guard when he was stopped outside the ballroom and suffered an agonizing wait while the man confirmed via radio that he was allowed inside. Finally in the room, Nathaniel dodged around people to find Kelly.

He spotted a crowd circling one person. The Lieutenant, no longer on the runway basking in the audience’s approval, was in the center. He had his arm around Kelly, squeezing him affectionately, grabbing a champagne glass and shoving it into his hand. Applause, smiles of admiration, cell phones held up to take photos. Nathaniel stopped and watched from a distance. Kelly was so happy that tears filled his eyes. Oddly enough, they matched Nathaniel’s own.

* * * * *

Kelly was drunk in the most wonderful way possible. He kept laughing and speaking in funny voices, asking the same questions over and over after forgetting the answers. He stumbled out onto the wooden patio of their hotel suite that overlooked the ocean but offered a hot tub in case they were feeling lazy. Kelly obviously did, because he started ripping off his clothes, at one point spinning around dangerously while battling with his shirt.

“Easy now,” Nathaniel said, grabbing him by the shoulders. He’d decided to remain sober, mostly because of situations such as these. “You’ve had enough brushes with water tonight, don’t you think?”

“Nope. Hot tub. Right now.”

When Kelly struggled with his shirt again, Nathaniel helped him take it off. Then Kelly started messing with his shorts.

“All of it?” Nathaniel asked.

Kelly’s nod was exaggerated. “Naked. You too.”

He was feeling silly rather than horny because he wasn’t hard when Nathaniel helped him out of his underwear. That’s more than he could say for himself as he stripped down, but Kelly was too distracted to notice as they both slipped into the tub. Kelly sighed, as if feeling relief, which raised a question Nathaniel finally felt brave enough to ask. Funny how alcohol could summon courage for the person drinking, and also for those who remained sober. He could ask anything he wanted and there was a fair chance Kelly wouldn’t remember later.

“Does it hurt?”

Kelly looked at him, struggling to focus, but the question seemed to sober him up. Somewhat. “Stumpy? Noooo. It doesn’t hurt. I’m lucky. No phantom tingles. No pain. Not physically anyway.”

“Emotionally?” Nathaniel asked, searching his eyes.

Kelly took a deep breath. “You know about the accident, but what about the details? They weren’t in the newspaper. They don’t print stuff like that!”

“Then tell me.”

Kelly looked around, as if searching for another drink. When he couldn’t find one he sighed. “William and I weren’t a good match because he was too good and that wasn’t good.” Kelly didn’t laugh. He shook his head. Then he looked at Nathaniel with pure adoration. “You can take it. I don’t have to be some impossible ideal with you. I can be fucked up and bitchy and a mess, and you’re like this stone wall that I can’t break. I wasn’t good for William. The only good I am is damaged goods.” Kelly chuckled madly. “Damaged goods… That’s so true.”

Nathaniel made a concerned face. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

Kelly seemed not to have heard him, his emotional pendulum swinging from manic joy to sudden sorrow. “He was breaking up with me. William. I loved him. More than anyone, and I’m sure he loved me too. I still managed to push him away. I ruined it all. It was raining and we were arguing and he said it was over. I wanted to hurt him and I guess I did because he turned the wheel and—” Kelly’s voice squeaked. “You can’t kill love. Not that way. It didn’t change how I feel. It should have, but it didn’t.”

Nathaniel couldn’t reassure him otherwise. He knew Kelly was right. People hurt you—the ones most capable of doing so—because you love them and they love you. They hurt you deeper and more permanently than anyone else can, and it doesn’t change a damn thing. You keep on loving them, even if you leave.

“It doesn’t hurt so much anymore,” Kelly mumbled. Then he pantomimed peeling something and pressing it to his chest. “Band-Aid. You’re my Band-Aid.”

Nathaniel considered him a moment. Then he laughed. Kelly flipped him off, then started laughing too. They boiled in the hot tub a little longer until Kelly started nodding off. Nathaniel made him stand. Dizzy from the heat, he still managed to carry Kelly to bed, thinking about what he had said. Damaged goods. They both were, even if Nathaniel’s wounds weren’t as visible. Perhaps that’s what made him want to take care of Kelly, to look out for him, so he wouldn’t get hurt again. Nathaniel wondered if the feeling was mutual. Maybe Kelly had the same urge. Maybe that would be enough for them to not hurt each other.

If only.

After convincing Kelly to take two aspirin, chug a glass of water, and lie down, Nathaniel stood to leave but found a hand still gripping his own, tethering him to the bed.

“Time to sleep,” Kelly murmured, face half-buried in a pillow.

“Let go,” Nathaniel said, shaking him off. But he didn’t walk away. He watched Kelly, certain he was finally sleeping just before he opened his eyes and smiled.

“Why are you naked?”

“The hot tub,” Nathaniel said. “Remember?”

“Time to sleep,” Kelly answered, closing his eyes again.

Nathaniel shook his head, then turned off the bedside lamp and slid between the sheets. Kelly made room for him, reaching out to thwack him with his hand.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Kelly slurred.

“Go to sleep,” Nathaniel whispered, not having a clue what he was talking about.

“I don’t love William more than anyone else. Only back then.”

“That’s fine,” Nathaniel said reassuringly. “Now sleep.”

“I love you more than him.”

Nathaniel’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to respond, but too many feelings were rushing to the surface. One realization managed to rise above the chaos in the form of four simple words. He rolled them over in his mind, examining them to make sure they were true. By the time he was certain, Kelly was quietly snoring beside him. Nathaniel spoke his name aloud, just to make sure he was truly asleep. When no response came, he set the words free to fall on deaf ears.

“I love you too.”

* * * * *

Being politically correct might mean not giving a shit, but being in love meant caring way too much. Nathaniel was on constant alert, making sure photographers were treating Kelly right, that he wasn’t being worked too long without adequate breaks, that he was eating and drinking and sleeping and getting everything he needed from him. Physically, at least. Kelly didn’t seem to remember his drunken confession, returning to the same unspoken agreement the next day. At work they would be professional. At night they would be together. And while travelling…

Nathaniel found letting go easier during their trips. Kelly celebrated each success with little additions to their repertoire: holding hands during a bus ride through Dublin, stopping to kiss while crossing one of Venice’s canal bridges, hugging to stay warm while waiting for a taxi one chilly night in Milan. As long as they weren’t in Austin, they allowed themselves almost anything. Except for words, which would only divide what they had together, dissecting it into different categories and restrictions. In Nathaniel’s mind, he labeled what they shared as affection. Musicians sang about love tearing people apart, not affection ruining lives.

He began to yearn for each trip, worrying less with each as Kelly proved himself over and over to be fully capable of handling himself. One photographer had mistakenly referred to Nathaniel as Kelly’s manager, to which he only snorted and shook his head. Nobody could manage Kelly, not even Marcello. Getting him headed in the right direction was possible, but what he would do once he got there was anyone’s guess. Kelly had taken down models who thought they could bully him and won over egotistical monsters like the Lieutenant, who even half a year later kept begging Kelly to relocate to Mexico. Most recently on his birthday.

“Have you seen the size of this box?” Kelly said, dragging it into Nathaniel’s office, one end of it pinned beneath his arm.

“Yes,” he said, pushing aside the ridiculously huge bouquet of flowers that the Lieutenant had also sent.

Kelly managed to get the long box onto Nathaniel’s desk, grinning at him as he sat. “So what did you get me?”

Nathaniel opened a drawer, then slid a flat rectangle across the desk surface.

“It’s not very big,” Kelly pointed out. “Not by comparison. Oh wow, those flowers! Are they from you.”

“You know they aren’t. You saw the card already.” Nathaniel glared at the bouquet, trying to get them to wilt. Kelly laughed and opened the Lieutenant’s present first. The contents were familiar. Jewel-encrusted crutches.

“Think these are real diamonds?” Kelly asked.

“They better not be!” Nathaniel grumped.

Kelly laughed again and read the enclosed letter, doing his best imitation of the Lieutenant’s accent. “It pains me to give these, since they are part of myself, but you already have my heart. These will now join it. You have inspired me, my muse, and will continue to do so even from a distance. But really, Marcello can’t afford to pay you what—” Kelly stopped narrating and scanned the rest. “Same as usual,” he summarized.

“Don’t show that to Marcello.”

“But I love it when his face gets all red. Like a big cherry!”

Nathaniel sighed. “Might as well open mine. It can’t compete with promises of untold wealth.”

“And fame,” Kelly said helpfully. He grabbed the present and unwrapped it. The frame was vintage, as was the content, a black-and-white photo of a man on crutches, one leg missing. The image was taken from behind; the man’s artificial leg sticking out of his backpack. He seemed to be waiting for someone, his head turned slightly to look down the railroad crossing where he stood.

“Ernst Haas,” Nathaniel said. “He did a series on returning prisoners of war. I just thought… The image is compelling. That’s how it is whenever you’re in front of the camera, but from what you’ve shown me of your own photos—the ones you used to take—the reverse is also true. You’ve got talent. I thought about getting you a camera or something, but I know you already have one, and this seemed a better symbol. Just don’t give up. That’s all.”

“I love it,” Kelly said, admiring the image again and chuckling a little. “Seems to be a theme this birthday. Crutches.”

“I also got you a new cell phone, just in case this was a total bust.” Nathaniel dumped the gift onto the desk without ceremony.

“Yay!” Kelly cried, setting down the frame and grabbing the box.

“Considering it has a built-in camera,” Nathaniel said, “maybe the real theme is photography.”

“Works for me!” Kelly said, grinning happily. “Now let’s go see what Marcello got me.”

Another assignment, as it turned out, this time in Vancouver. Canada was experiencing blizzards, but the shoot was indoors so the snow didn’t matter. Not until they were hurrying from the hotel to catch their flight home when Kelly slipped on the ice and fell. No serious damage. Just a bruised knee and elbow. It could have happened to anyone, but Nathaniel brooded over it all the way home. He’d been doing research, not because he wanted to change who Kelly was or try to fix him. That wasn’t it at all. He wanted him to have the best quality of life, but it seemed disrespectful to even bring it up. Kelly had done his own research, had experience with a prosthetic, and had made his decision long ago.

Regardless, when a woman at the Austin airport assumed Kelly was a war veteran, Nathaniel couldn’t hold back. He glared after the woman as she walked away, but Kelly took the encounter in stride.