Until There Was You (3 page)

Once they were in the bedroom, Joshua carefully lowered Nate onto the bed. Nate reveled in the fresh sheets and let his skin grow sensitive and warm under Joshua's hot tongue. Nate rose from the bed and unbuckled Joshua's belt, pulled his tight black jeans down his firm ass, and kissed his taut stomach.

Blue light slivered through the window and landed in a spot on the carpet. The window projected glittering blue moonlight throughout the room, giving it the sense that it was suspended under a shimmering sea. Nate pulled Joshua's underwear off and looked at his naked body in the blue luster. He traced his muscular frame; his strong, supportive shoulders; his big, protective hands; his solid thighs. Everything about him was durable and resilient—Nate could almost convince himself that Joshua was shelter from every storm that could ever come. The sheer physicality of the moment was almost enough to make Nate's worried mind stop still. Feeling Joshua's exposed skin made Nate wish that he could see what Joshua was thinking as clearly as he could see his body.

Nate wanted to disappear into the knowledge that Joshua was the comfort of the past and the security of the present and the promise of the future; he wanted to feel the same way about Joshua that he had the first time they had met. He wanted Joshua to be a superhero again. Nate felt a tear run down his cheek and then Joshua's kiss absorbing it. Nate didn't know if the tear was because he had swept away his doubts or because he hadn't.

"I just want you to know that whatever happens, I love you. I always have and I always will. And, umm, well, that's it. I love you." Joshua's voice sounded calm and peaceful. Nate looked at their entwined hands and noticed how their skins clashed and complimented each other. Joshua's Mediterranean complexion looked perfect against Nate's smooth paleness.

Nate knew that there were questions to be asked, things that weren't yet completely right, and cracks that needed to be examined and smoothed over. He still felt that sliver of doubt, that whisper from somewhere deep within that warned him to be more guarded. But he allowed himself to get tangled into the duvet and into Joshua's warmth. He allowed himself to dive into comfort and security, to cast away the worry so that he could embrace the joy. He felt Joshua's weight like a cover over him and became lost—lost in heat and laundry detergent and starlight and pain and pleasure.

Nate watched as Joshua reclined on the mattress and kissed his collarbone, snuggling his body under the weight of Joshua's arm.

"That was…" Joshua sighed.

"Yeah," Nate replied, catching his breath.

"Like, completely."

"Exactly. A star. Gold medal," Nate replied, wiping beads of sweat from his hairline.

"Can you believe that we're still crushing it after ten years together?" Joshua asked before yawning deeply.

"Don't get me wrong—you're a grade-A stud, but you're too old to use the term crushing it. And you look really tired, so you should get some sleep, build your strength up. I'm going to get some water and do some writing."

"I don't even know how you can write after that."

"Just call it my superpower," Nate said quietly before he shuffled into some pajama pants and walked out of the bedroom. He went to the kitchen, poured himself some water, wiped down the work surface, checked on Bailey, and then slid back into bed next to Joshua's sleeping body.

He looked over at Joshua, smiling as he heard the baritone rumbles that came from his sleeping figure. Joshua looked peaceful, his features smooth in sleep. It was perhaps the only time he wasn't wearing an expression of concern and weariness. It was good to know that he could still look calm and contented, even if it did require unconsciousness. Nate kissed his back and pulled his laptop onto his lap. Muted light from the screen threw a shadow across his face, and he began to type the opening to his next chapter.

"It seems to me that so much of relationships, with other people and with ourselves, is about expectations. About understanding the things we are willing to give up to find lasting happiness. And honoring the things that we can't give up to respect ourselves. If it is true that you receive the love that you think you deserve, then how do you work out what it is that you deserve, what you have the right to ask for? Do you demand everything—the big house, the outlandish romantic gestures, the knight on the white horse—and risk being disappointed? If you set your expectations too high, does it make it impossible to truly experience the kind of day-to-day love that is, ultimately, the stuff that constitutes your life? But, on the flip side, if you don't throw down the gauntlet, if you are not passionate enough about your own happiness, will you look back with wiser eyes and realize that you gave up?

When so many people find themselves in lives that they don't want because they didn't have the courage to ask for anything else, it seems to me that it is pretty important to have expectations of how you should be treated. It's a big issue. And too many people brush it under the carpet, because life takes over and you learn to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. The truth is, you are allowed to say "look, here is what I need to feel supported and loved. I don't think it's too much, but if you don't think you can provide it, then I love myself enough to find someone who can." And it's difficult, because it means that you have to have a hard look at yourself and work out the things that are essential to your well-being and the things that you can do without. It requires sacrifice
—
putting away the things that you would like so you can get the things you need. It also means that you have to accept one of the universal truths; that when something isn't right, then it's, well, wrong. It means that you might realize that you have placed a bet on someone, or something, that hasn't paid off.

But here is the thing that muddies the water. It is really easy to let the dream of what your life will never be intrude of the life that you could actually have. You can hold out for the rom-com ending, but you have to remember that life keeps going after the credits roll. The music swells and the final kiss happens, but that isn't really the ending. In fact, it's just the beginning. Or it can be—if you're brave enough and strong enough to keep going."

The Harsh Light of Day

Nate stretched out in bed, letting his fingers slide across the sheet in search of Joshua's warm skin. His eyes opened when he realized that he was alone, that there was no weight next to him. Nate looked at the alarm clock to make sure that it was early. He knew that it was a Saturday because he had scheduled a whole day of writing while Joshua could look after Bailey. The sun was bright, throwing harsh light across the bed. Nate squinted against its glare, rubbing his eyes of sleep.

He felt his forehead and wiped away the beads of sweat that bunched at his hairline; his whole body felt hot as he threw off the duvet and grabbed his pajama trousers from the floor. A headache pumped around his skull, his temples throbbed violently, and the urge to be sick was powerful. Nate knew instantly that something was wrong; he could feel it in his stomach, the undeniable feeling that something had changed for the worse. Nate had felt like this before, like the universe was giving him some kind of signal that his world was about to be knocked off its axis—but this time was worse. The exact same feeling had hit him a couple of days before his sister had died, and the night before Joshua had bundled him into the car and driven him out of his hometown once and for all.

Something was off. Nate shuffled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He clutched onto the side of the sink as another bout of nausea punched through his weakening body. He heaved as he felt the sick rush up his raw throat and into the sink. Nate tried to think what could be wrong, what could have changed so much overnight that his body would react like this. He turned the tap on, made sure that the remnants of his queasiness circled down the drain, and sat on the tiled floor. He let the chill of the floor seep into his fiery skin. When his breathing evened out, he began to gather himself together, to glue back all of the pieces that had fallen apart for a minute. He rose from the floor, splashed his face again, brushed his teeth, and emerged back into the bedroom, squinting once again under the strain of the blinding sunlight.

"Joshua! Babe! Are you downstairs?" Nate called out. He looked around for his T-shirt and noticed a folded piece of paper on his laptop keyboard with his name written on the front. It looked like an envelope. He immediately recognized the handwriting; the way the "a" looped and the "t" and "e" joined up in a strange wave. The writing was open and durable—same as its owner.

Nate held the piece of paper against his heart for a second, visualizing Joshua writing it, remembering the way he gripped his pen too tight. He could see the way that the pen looked so small in Joshua's huge hand, the way he brought the pen up to his mouth to chew on the end when he was thinking of the next thing to write. Nate opened up the piece of paper, his hands trembling and his thoughts preoccupied with concern. The feeling that something had gone badly wrong gnawed at his insides as he began to read.

"
I am sorry. I would explain if I could. I wish I could leave you with some profound words, with some sense that I am taking anything but the most cowardly way out. But I truly believe that you are better without me. I love you, I love Bailey. I loved you both before I had even met you. I always will. But I am going, and I won't be contactable. Don't try to find me, because you won't be able to. Someday you will be able to see that this is the best thing for both of you."

Nate felt dread roll down his body as if from a dripping tap—a trickle of numbness and horror and confusion and fear. Another wave of nausea hit him, but he couldn't move from his spot at the edge of the bed, his body rocking backwards and forwards. He felt like the whole world had been smudged, like a clumsy artist had tried to rub it away and made more of a mess than before. He felt and heard the quiet sobs that erupted from his throat, but they seemed like they were coming from outside of him. The walls seemed to be getting closer, the house closing in on itself. It felt like he would suddenly fall through the floor if he didn't hold on tight to the bed—the bed that had last night felt like the start of something new, or something old that was becoming new again. Nate rubbed his face and saw that his palms were wet with tears. He inhaled deeply, hoping that the oxygen would calm his burning nerves and stop his insides from tearing away from their sinews.

Nate closed his eyes and all he could see was Bailey sleeping in his bed, oblivious to the fact that his whole life could have suddenly been thrown out of whack. Nate imagined the heartbreak on Bailey's face and wanted to burst into tears. He couldn't fight the feeling that he had let Bailey down by not managing to make Joshua open up to him. Nate felt guilty and incapable of weathering this storm with any kind of fatherly strength. He wanted to turn back time and see Joshua holding Bailey's sleepy body again. He felt irrationally disappointed that he hadn't taken a photograph of them the night before; he wanted to be able to pinpoint the exact moment when they had seemed so happy together and everything had been so routine. Nate felt sick again; he didn't know how he would look Bailey in the face, how he would help Bailey feel okay or how we would explain any of what was happening.

He needed to hear Joshua's voice. Nate needed Bailey to hear Joshua's voice. If he could just speak to him, if he could just calm him down and make him see sense, then everything would be okay. If he could remind him of the home that they shared, of how much Bailey needed him, and how much he meant, Nate's whole body wouldn't feel like an exposed nerve. He reached under his pillow and grabbed his cell phone. There were two voicemail messages, neither from Joshua. Nate dialed Joshua's number and began to pace around the room.

"Shit," Nate whispered. "Okay. Josh. Joshua. Babe. Please, umm... Please turn your phone on, because I am, for the first time in a really long time, absolutely terrified. I'm really frightened. I woke up. And you weren't there. I don't know where you are, but you aren't with me where you're supposed to be. And I read your note and I keep thinking that it must be some kind of prank. And if it is, then it's working, because I feel like I am going to fall apart. I feel like I'm—well, I don't know how I feel. Just know that I love you. And whatever it is you think is happening doesn't have to be happening. We can work together. Like always. Just call me."

Nate clicked off the call and sat back on the bed.
How am I going to do this
? Nate thought as he looked around the room, desperately searching for some kind of sign that this had all been some kind of dream or mistake.
How am I going to face Bailey?

The phone buzzed and Nate grabbed it as quickly as possible, convinced that Joshua had gotten his message and was replying.

"Hello? Joshua, is that you?"

"Mr. Grace? Is that Mr. Nathaniel Grace?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded authoritative and official.

"Umm, yes, it is, but I'm not in a very good place to talk right now, can I call you back?" Nate said, trying to battle down feelings of hopelessness and fatigue.

"Well, I'm actually trying to get a hold of your partner, Joshua. Joshua Mangelino."

"Why? Has something happened to him? Is something wrong? Did he…? Are you the police?" Nate's panic increased.

"No, Mr. Grace. I am Joshua's financial advisor, the person who is in charge of all the money for the business and, well, I suppose all of your partner's money. My name is Jack Clark." He sounded uncomfortable and more than a little shocked by the anguish in Nate's voice. "I've been trying to reach him for a couple of days. It's an urgent financial matter. I get the sense that he is not with you, and, as this matter concerns you too, I think we should meet. Your name is on a lot of the paperwork and it looks as if you signed some things three years ago—we have some contracts here with your signature. And we had your cell number on file."

"Sorry, this is not a good time. As you can probably tell, I'm in a bit of a, umm, strange place. I don't have any information about our finances, so I don't think I can help you."