Here for You (13 page)

Suddenly Marc’s trash bag, full of dumped cigarette ashes and used plates, had burst at the bottom and the trash fell back onto the lawn and onto Marc’s feet. As Marc cursed wildly, they’d all giggled, still a little buzzed from the night. And then the rain came down, splattering them without warning.

They ran around the yard, scrambling to toss in more garbage before the distant roll of thunder brought lightning too.

That had been their biggest problem. A ripped garbage bag and some rain.

T
HE
DOORBELL
rang, pushing Cole out of his memories. He rubbed the back of his neck, irritated at the interruption. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Ian said.

He gazed intently at Cole. It was one thing to hear his voice on the phone, another to be near Ian’s solid presence, see his actual face. The air suddenly felt inadequate. He could barely make his lungs work.

“Hi, Ian, good to see you,” Ian mimicked, when Cole merely stood there. “How are you doing, Ian? Oh, not bad.”

Cole was sweating and hoped Ian wouldn’t see the beads of perspiration at his forehead. But Ian would notice, because Ian saw everything about him. He paid attention when most people remained unaware.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see how you are. I wanted to know if you’re okay.” Ian cocked his head slightly. “Are you?”

“What?”

“Okay?”

Ian’s gaze searched his, and Cole found it impossible to lie. “I don’t know,” he managed to croak out.

Ian nodded. He gestured to the plastic bag in his hand. “I brought tacos. And lime chips. And beer.”

“Beer’s good.” Cole rubbed the stubble at his jaw. He realized how disheveled he must look and blushed. “I guess I’ve been in a bit of a self-made purgatory the past few weeks.”

“Well….” Ian was quiet a moment. He smiled gently. “I’ve heard that beer goes good with purgatory.”

“So does Mexican food.” Cole smiled back. He opened the door wider. “Come in.”

“We’ll need some plates and a bottle opener, but I have condiments and everything.”

Cole nodded, chewing his lip. He shot Ian a quick look. “Listen, about the other night.” He paused to draw a fast breath to speak as quickly as he could. “I wasn’t very nice to you. It was the night of Brendan’s funeral and—”

“That’s okay. I know.”

Cole wanted to ask what Ian knew exactly, but words failed him. The weird part was it felt as if Ian did know. Cole’s glance skittered off. He couldn’t look at Ian’s wise eyes, his kind smile. He could feel Ian’s intent, though, radiating from him: that Ian wasn’t leaving, not this time. Sooner or later he’d have to explain to him about Brendan.

“I’ll get those plates.”

They bickered a little over the right level of hot sauces, Ian preferring spicy, and Cole liking salsa verde, and they shared a little bit of each. Ian told him about the best expensive tequila he’d ever drunk, which had them discussing the bar, and Cole told a few stories about Sandy and Paula from work. It was so incredibly easy to be with Ian on one hand, while on the other, Cole’s deep attraction to Ian pulsed silently between them.

When Ian’s fingers brought the bottle to his lips—well, Cole pictured other things his fingers and mouth had done. Desire was the elephant in the room. And the elephant was underfed and feeling mean for more. Ian handed him some more chips, their fingers accidentally brushing, and Cole couldn’t do it any longer. It felt like it was tempting heaven to be so close to Ian again. Not having him was definitely hell.

“Ian, maybe you should—”

“No.”

“No? You didn’t let me finish.”

“That’s because I’m ignoring whatever bullshit you’re about to say. I’m here. And you’re not hiding from me anymore.”

Cole blinked. He tried desperately to gather his thoughts as he stared into Ian’s eyes.

“Jesus, Cole. I’m not proposing marriage here. We’re sharing a meal. That’s all. You’ve broken out into a visible sweat. Relax.”

“It’s the hot sauce.”

“Is it?” Ian licked his lower lip. “It wasn’t that hot.”

Cole let out a low sound before he could stop himself.

Then he leaned in and kissed Ian’s salty lips. He gripped Ian to him as they kissed and neither of them dared to move. The kiss knocked the wind out of Cole, literally stealing his breath from his body. He shook, his mouth quivering with feeling. He moved his tongue over Ian’s. It felt perfect, right.

He froze.

Then he pulled back and folded his arms at his chest.

“Cole?” Ian stroked the nape of his neck. “What?”

“It wouldn’t be right. I want to, so much, but it’s not right to Brendan.”

“Brendan?” Ian frowned deeply. “I don’t understand.”

Cole sucked in a brave breath to explain, when his phone rang.

“Hold on,” Cole told Ian as he answered it. “Who is this? It’d better be good.”

“I’ve been arrested. Can you come get me?” It was Marc, his voice funny and tight.

“What? What for?”

“Drunk and disorderly.”

“Shit, Marc.”

“Don’t tell Tomas, okay? Just you come.”

“He’s in Miami, remember?”

“Oh. Still?” There was an awkward pause. “When he returns, I don’t want him knowing how stupid I was. Can you come?”

“Yeah.”

“And I might need a lawyer.”

Cole stared at Ian, who raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I happen to have one with me.”

“T
HANKS
FOR
helping me out, Ian,” Marc said, as they returned to the house. He held his bruised ribs gingerly.

“No problem.”

“Can you make it up the stairs?” Cole asked.

“Sure.”

But Marc looked wobbly to him, so Cole tucked his arm underneath Marc’s elbow and helped him. “Be right back,” he told Ian.

Marc, with a strong alcohol smell still on his breath and clothes, and Cole made it to Marc’s room, and Cole eased him down on his bed. Marc rolled to his better side. His face, too, had a nasty red bruise at the jaw.

“What’s he doing here anyhow?”

“Ian? He was…. He’s been there for me since Brendan.” Cole gently took off Marc’s sneakers and spread his blanket.

“Eggs,” Marc said, using Cole’s nickname, “be careful.”

“With what?”

“Your heart.” Marc tapped his. “You’re in a strange place these days.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m far more of a bastard than you. I’ll bounce back.”

“Marc, you know Tomas will see you’ve been in a fight when he returns.”

“I know.” Marc shrugged, then winced. “We can fight about my fighting.”

“What is it with you two?” Cole had never directly asked Marc this before. “I know I wasn’t the only one seeking comfort the night Brendan died. So why won’t you be together fully? You love each other more than any two people I’ve seen.”

“There’s more to being together than love.”

“What else is there?”

“Trust.” His mouth thinned. “You don’t got that, you don’t got shit.” Marc flung his arm over his eyes. “And I’m too tired, too hungover to talk about it. Tomas and I are a story for another day.”

Cole stood there, looking at Marc. He didn’t seem angry at the world right then, but shrunken and bruised. Cole hoped that one day Tomas and Marc could mend whatever had shattered their trust in each other. He loved both of them a lot.

He closed the door quietly and went back downstairs.

Ian sat waiting.

Cole took him in hungrily. He felt starved for Ian, and that terrified him more than a little. He wanted to throw his arms about Ian and kiss him wildly. Ian’s eyes met his, and his gaze pierced Cole’s heart. He tried to put a clamp on his emotions and failed.

“How’s Marc?”

“Okay. Hungover, but glad he got off with only a fine. Grateful you helped him. I’m, eh, grateful too.” Cole smiled a little ruefully. “Tomas will be relieved also. None of us could take anything happening to Marc, even if it is his own damn fault for fighting.”

Ian had been terrific at the police station, efficient. Cole thought of how a month back that’s all he’d have seen, but now he also saw all Ian’s compassion underneath.

Ian nodded and rose to his feet. “Should I go?”

“No. Don’t go.” Wordlessly he approached Ian. He thought about the bitterness in Marc’s voice about trust.

Cole trusted Ian.

Surprised by the direction of his thoughts, he halted. It was true. What they’d gone through, finding Brendan like that and the way Ian had come through for them all at the hospital had given him a strong sense of faith in Ian. Enough to finally tell him the truth. Cole continued walking until he reached the sofa. He sat, and Ian instantly sat too. He curled an arm around Cole’s shoulders. For a moment, Cole simply enjoyed that, nestling closer to Ian, wishing he could stay there, but then he saw the heat in his expression, felt his own body responding, and knew it wasn’t enough.

“Ian. I have to talk to you. About us. Me. Brendan.”

“All right.” Ian ran his thumb over Cole’s mouth. “What is it?”

Cole talked and talked, the words tumbling over themselves, and Ian listened. He kept his hand on Cole’s shoulder the entire time.

“I understand,” Ian said when Cole finished. “But I also think you’re wrong. Brendan didn’t love me. He wasn’t
in love
with me. Maybe he had a crush at some point, but not at the end. I would have known it.”

“He told me… and Brendan doesn’t—didn’t lie.”

“When? When did he tell you this?”

“I don’t know. He liked you right away, so it was some time back, when he started working a lot with you.”

“It was temporary, then. Because he never said a word to me or tried anything, and I really don’t think—”

“All I know”—Cole interrupted him—“is that Brendan said he was in love with you. And maybe if he were still here….”

“But he’s not.”

A shaft of pain went through Cole. “I know that,” he whispered.

Ian ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I argue too much. It’s just… this roadblock you have erected between us doesn’t make sense. Even if you’re right and Brendan was in love with me, I was
never
in love with him. He was a wonderful person, and I cared for him a lot, but he was my employee, and nothing would have happened between us.”

Cole’s face flushed from the way Ian stared at him. His heart pounded. “Still, I’m sorry, Ian, but—”

“You need time to really accept it.”

“Yes.” Cole was torn. Part of him hoped that Ian wouldn’t be so fucking understanding. But he wasn’t ready to take what Brendan had wanted, even if Ian would never have been with him. “You should forget that night, forget me, and haul your ass out of here. That’s what a sane person would do.”

Ian smiled. “I should, huh? Well, I always make up my own mind. And I’ll wait for you. I think you’re worth waiting for. If that’s what it takes. If that’s what you want?”

Cole stared. He couldn’t even begin to answer Ian. He was still caught by his words. Nobody had ever said anything like that to him before, not in his entire life.

“But—” He made one last feeble protest. “—I’m all hot and cold with you. I’m not promising I can even get past this thing about Brendan. Lots of other guys would want to be with you, Ian. All the way.”

“I don’t want them.” Ian cupped Cole’s face and looked right into his eyes. Honesty blazed from his gaze. “I want you.”

I
AN
STEWED
at home that night. Maybe he should have simply grabbed Cole into his arms and kissed him senseless. Cole might have folded then; they might have had more hot, intense sex, and maybe that was enough…. Only it wasn’t. Ian wanted all of Cole. He was greedy that way.

With a grunt, Ian took out some butter and heated it up to pour over his popcorn. He liked butter and grease, lots of it, especially when he was feeling moody.

Cole had walked him out and bid him good night. Right before Ian turned to open the car door, Cole had called out, “Why? Why did Brendan have to die in that accident?”

Ian hadn’t known what to say then, all his usual reasonable words stuck in his throat. Cole hadn’t really expected an answer, had he?

Ian made a move to hold him, but Cole shrank back.

“Everything is all turned around.” With that, Cole had left Ian standing in the driveway

Ian crunched his popcorn, the butter slick on his tongue. The house was too silent. It really was way too big a place for one person. He turned on the television with a flick of the remote and watched it, unfocused. His mind was going over the events of before and after Brendan’s death.

He thought mostly about Cole insisting Brendan was in love with him. He could accept that Brendan might have had some infatuation, maybe at first, but Ian strongly doubted it was more. The last few months, too, Brendan hadn’t sought out his company as much or asked his advice as often. He’d seemed preoccupied.

Ian glanced at his phone. He debated calling Sam to ask his ex-boyfriend “Am I oblivious to people’s feelings?” He was too sure the answer might be a resounding yes to actually make the call. Ian was often lost in his own work too much to register other people. Or maybe Sam, although a truly wonderful man, hadn’t been the right person for him? Ian had spent the past few years blaming himself for the ending of their relationship. But here was Cole, a person totally wrong for Ian on paper, somebody he’d spent little time with—even if their time recently had been intense. Yet Ian wanted him with every fiber of his being. Sam had heard it in his voice.

But had he been oblivious with Brendan? That was the question before him tonight. Brendan certainly never made an advance, not even a lingering hand on Ian’s shoulder. They never talked about really personal matters either. Although Ian did recall that Brendan once commented on sex: “It should make you feel good, not crazy.”

They’d been considering representing a father in a divorce. His wife had cheated, so he thought, and had cried out the other man’s name in her sleep. She’d disappear on weekends from their son’s soccer game. He claimed to have found condoms in her purse, and he’d had a vasectomy years earlier. He followed his wife around town. He called her a whore. She swore he wanted sex from her constantly until she was exhausted, and she laughed bitterly at the accusation of an affair.