Here for You (11 page)

Ian nodded. He couldn’t speak. His emotions were too raw and uncomfortable. He’d never imagined he’d feel so much, so fast. All he knew was that Cole mattered to him—
this
mattered.

They wrapped the towels around themselves and tumbled back to bed, where they drifted away to sleep.

L
ATER
THEY
had each other again. There weren’t any words, they simply turned to each other and began to move in sync. They joined together easily, naturally, their need for each other beyond any thought. Their limbs entwined, their cries in the dark became loud and urgent, and they pleasured each other, learning each other’s bodies inch by inch. It felt like a dream, only it was too intense not to be real: every brush of hands, every kiss, every flick of tongue increasing the need to consume each other fully. This time they collapsed together, like two shipwrecked bodies on a new shore.

Cole hugged him. His arms tight, his face buried in the crook of Ian’s neck. Ian thought he felt a damp press of tears too, but he wasn’t sure.

I
AN
WOKE
to noise. A loud grunt and a curse. Cole was out of bed and in Ian’s still darkened room had stubbed his toe or something, because he was hopping around, naked, holding his foot.

“Are you okay?”

Cole startled at the sound of Ian’s voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ian sat up. “Are you going? You can stay.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No.” Cole vehemently shook his head. “I can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is a mistake.”

Whereas moments before they’d fallen asleep, Cole had been blissful and happy, now he looked white-faced and disoriented as he stumbled around getting his clothes.

“It wasn’t.”

“God, Ian, you’re such a fucking lawyer! Don’t argue with me. I’m going. This is a bad mistake. End of story.”

“Stay. I’ll make you something to eat. We’ll talk.” Ian threw off his sheets and got out of bed. He saw Cole’s gaze move over his naked body.

“How can you stand here and listen to me and sound so… reasonable?” Cole asked. “I’m basically telling you it didn’t mean a damn thing. You don’t mean a thing. And I regret this.”

“Because I’m an adult, not a moody teenager, and I know we can work out whatever is bothering you if you talk with me. And because I know you’re lying. You don’t regret this.” Ian lowered his voice. “You wanted it as much as I did.”

“You’re nuts.” Cole’s voice dipped down too. “I had no idea you were this crazy underneath that buttoned-up exterior. If I had known….”

“What?”

Cole closed his eyes briefly. “Nothing. Stop being nice. Why are you being nice?”

Because I know you’re in pain.

“Are you even listening to me? I’m telling you nothing else will happen between us. I don’t need to talk. I’m leaving.”

“Okay.”

Cole stared, his gray eyes filled with sadness and determination. “Good. I’m glad you’re hearing me now. Just understand that I am going on to the next guy. It’s not personal. It’s the way I am. I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

Ian’s mouth curved. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.” As Ian took a step toward him, Cole quickly took a step back. He moved at record pace into his clothes. “I wish you’d stayed asleep.”

“Sorry.”

For a second, Cole looked at him, and Ian could read regret all over his face. “I’ve got to go.” He shrugged into the rest of his clothes, biting his lip. “And don’t contact me. If you’re waiting for me to come back here again, sniffing around you for more of this—” He gestured wildly to the bed “—it will be a long fucking wait for you.”

Ian was silent a moment, absorbing this, and then he went right up to Cole, until their faces nearly touched. “We’ll see,” he said. He grabbed Cole’s cheeks and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“
Ian
.” Cole’s voice rose. “I can’t. Okay? It’s not fair.”

“To whom?” Ian was truly baffled by that, although he saw nothing but raw honesty on Cole’s face. Cole believed staying with Ian would be wrong, somehow.

“Is it that you don’t want to be happy right now? Is that’s what not fair?”

Cole wouldn’t answer.

“I’m a lawyer,” Ian drawled. “We don’t believe in fairness. Only justice.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Ian looked at him intently, drinking him in with his eyes. “No.”

I
AN
POURED
himself a stiff drink, Grey Goose with a twist of lemon. He’d wanted to pin Cole down, wrangle answers out of him, but the devastation on Cole’s face made any challenging words lodge in Ian’s throat. Cole had fled with his demons at his heels.

“What the hell….” Ian downed the drink in one gulp, letting it warm him. Nothing since Brendan’s accident was making sense. He looked around his empty house, always way too big for him, but he’d bought it at a steal.

Ian drummed his fingers on his chair a moment and then picked up his phone to FaceTime Sam. Even though he and Sam had separated a while ago, they’d remained friends, and Ian didn’t have too many of those. It helped to smooth the animosity when Sam had moved back to his home state of Michigan and fallen in love, getting over Ian much faster than Ian imagined. Up until Sam left, Ian thought their relationship had worked. It had been comfortable. They were affectionate with each other in weekly increments, shared a similar humor and interest in sports, although Ian loved basketball and Sam loved golf. They were both lawyers. They’d liked the same Chinese takeout place. Both of them were tidy and organized at home. In fact, they’d barely fought, right up until the end, and even then it had remained civil. Sam had explained that this was
exactly
the problem, and he was tired of waiting for Ian to understand that.

Ian got it now.

Within a month of moving, Sam had fallen for Roger, a software consultant for a big firm in Detroit. Ian had met him once. Roger was a big fellow, with a slight paunch and a wry smile. For Sam, he hung the moon.

Sam answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh, hey… I was thinking about you earlier. How was the funeral? That poor kid.”

“Yeah. It was—” Ian paused, no accurate adjectives in his head. “—sad.”

“I bet.”

“And weird because—”

“Because?” Sam prompted.

Since Ian had used the FaceTime option on his phone, he could see Sam’s expression all too well. Ian sucked in a deep breath. “Because tonight one of Brendan’s housemates came here, and we….”

“What?” At Ian’s silence, Sam added, “Really? No shit. Well, the guy must be in all kinds of emotional upheaval and needed comfort. You know?”

“I know. He was. I did.” Ian shifted in his chair. “But now I don’t know whether to simply let him go or pursue him.”

“What’s he like? What’s his name?”

“Cole? He’s young. Too young for me. And a bit of a player. Well, I thought so. He works at this bar downtown. He’s fucking gorgeous, like he could be in the movies. Kind of knows it too. And… he’s got this huge heart. He desperately wants to hide it, I think, but it’s easy to recognize. When you meet him, you can see his every emotion right there on his face. He feels it all so earnestly. It’s like… he’s absentminded one second, superintense the next. I’ve never met somebody so— He’s not what I expected.”

“I’ve never heard you go on and on about somebody this way.” Sam paused. “I wish you’d sounded like that about me, the way you did just now about this guy.”

“Christ, Sam. That was insensitive of me.”

“No, it’s okay. It took me by surprise, but—” Sam drew an audible inhale. “—I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. You’re a good person. A better friend than I deserve too.”

“Untrue. You were good to me too, Ian. It just wasn’t…. Anyhow, it’s ancient history. I have Roger, and I want you to have somebody too.”

“I don’t have Cole. He made it pretty clear as he left.”

“He slept with you, didn’t he? From the way you describe him, he could have gone to his bar and found somebody else, but he wanted you. I’d give him some time. You’re good at that—patience. And it sounds like he needs it. I’d wait a few weeks, give him a little healing space. And then….”

“Yes.” Ian nodded. He’d already decided Cole was his. Whatever it took, Ian would go after him and figure it out. The only thing stopping him from the pursuit right now was Cole’s obvious pain.

He’d back off, if it were possible, at least. Ian was usually good at being patient, but he wasn’t sure he could be objective about Cole. Not when part of him kept replaying how soft Cole’s lips had been, how warm his skin. Just thinking about him, Ian’s heart picked up speed.

He’d try to give him a little space, a few weeks to clear his head. He respected letting Cole mourn awhile, and he didn’t want the next time they were together to be about Brendan’s death and the heavy burden of grief. He wanted it to be about everything good and light in the world.

And there would be a next time. Ian would make certain of it.

“Earth to Ian? Are you still here?”

“Sorry, yes. Thanks for listening to me go on and on, Sam.”

“Well, that’s okay. You listen to me sing Roger’s praises often enough.” Sam sighed into the phone. “It’s not easy, though, this staying-friends thing, is it? But keep me posted on you and Cole, okay? I do want you to be happy.”

“You too.”

They hung up.

T
HE
ONLY
problem with waiting Cole out was that Ian wasn’t entirely sure what had driven him away. Yes, Cole was grieving. Yes, his emotions, as Sam pointed out, were in upheaval. But when Cole said it was a mistake, he’d had such a mournful look on his face. His words said he wanted to go, but his eyes said the opposite.

Ian went to change his sheets. But seeing the bed, he stopped and recalled Cole’s tender mouth on his, the sweetness of having Cole in his arms.

T
HE
WEEK
following the funeral, Cole remained restless, grief at his very center, but he trudged on as best he could. It was the worst time of his life. Worse than his parents’ bitter divorce; his absent, uncaring dad; his ugly fights with his mom and her boyfriends. It was worse than being on his own at seventeen and feeling totally unsure of his place in the world. Because now, well, he had a place—he had a home—but it was all slipping away. Cole had worked so hard to make their house a safe place—a real home, where they could be themselves, accepted for themselves, which none of them had before—and it had crumpled at their feet, buried with Brendan.

They would need new roommates to try to cover Brendan’s and River’s absence.

“I don’t want anybody else here,” Cole said.

“We have to. We can’t afford the rent with two of us gone.”

“Fuck that River!” Marc swore. “He’s such a screwup.”

“Maybe he’ll be back. We could keep his room?”

“No,” Cole said. “Let’s let somebody take River’s room and leave Brendan’s. I don’t want….” Cole cleared his throat. “I don’t want to disturb all his things. Or have some stranger in there.”

Cole tried once to organize and pack Brendan’s belongings. Brendan’s parents hadn’t contacted them about it, and Cole considered donating them to Goodwill, which he thought Brendan would approve of. He’d gone into the room and run his fingers over Brendan’s books. Cole couldn’t tell one law book from another, but he smiled faintly at Brendan’s dog-eared, well-read Stephen King and Dean Koontz collection. His John Irving shelf and Hemingway—they’d argued once over the best author of the two. Cole loved
A Farewell to Arms
while Brendan’s favorite book was
A Prayer for Owen Meany
. It was one thing he and Brendan had in common: they both liked to escape into books. Sports bored the crap out of Cole, and he was terrible at math, but Cole had always loved to read. His grades in school sucked, though, mostly due to his mother shuffling them around, following one guy or another.

Cole opened the closet and looked at Brendan’s clothes. What was left behind, all the colorful work shirts, carefully hung and pressed pants, worn shoes lined up like soldiers in a battle; but also the weekend T-shirts, all with silly sayings scrawled over the chest, and the scattered, mismatched socks. Cole shut the door. He wanted to hold them all to him, and he didn’t want to.

It was too much. A hurricane of grief.

Lost, he touched the walls, the neatly made bed. He wandered into the bathroom and stared at his brush, still holding some wispy hairs in the bristles, and at Brendan’s uncapped toothpaste, his Oral-B toothbrush, minty floss. He could see Brendan there, teasing them all about good dental hygiene.

Cole left it all alone, feeling sick and weak. Tomas and Marc did not touch it either.

“I’m not giving away Brendan’s room,” Cole said.

“Agreed,” Tomas said softly, breaking the awful quiet. “We rent River’s room.”

“Agreed.” Marc nodded.

Halfheartedly, they put up a few flyers, made the rent cheap enough to lure guys to the house, but none of the parade of guys who checked the place out and sat through their interview wanted to move in. Who wanted to stay in this house? Feel its sadness? It was palpable. It permeated every wall. They all knew it.

Cole decided if they wanted a break on the rent, he’d have to confront the problem head on, so he called Evie. She liked them. Cole only hoped she liked them enough to be patient. Evie had her own bills to pay, after all.

Evie came over with her kids. She brought them a Campbell’s soup mushroom and chicken casserole and told them she’d try to give them a month or two to figure out the rent situation. She chatted on as Cole and Tomas sat there. Her younger daughter Amanda watched television, while the older one, Rachel, played on her phone, earbuds plugged into it, her thumb working like mad.