Chapter Nineteen

 

 

“I’M REALLY not sure it’s a good idea,” Kevin said.

Ben tried not to frown at him. Of course it wasn’t a good idea. Did Kevin really need to point out something so obvious? Ben rolled his shoulders and tried to focus on the task at hand.

“And not really appropriate,” Kevin added. “Why on earth are there fraternity party games at a baby shower?”

“Frat party,” Ben said. Damn, he’d sounded mad. He forced a smile and said, “I don’t think anyone uses the whole ‘fraternity’ when they’re combining it with the word ‘party.’ Maybe college disciplinary committees. But nobody else.”

“I actually sat on my college disciplinary committee.”

Of course he had. Ben smiled again. “I’d like to hear more about that—it must have been really challenging, but rewarding at the same time. But right now, I need to focus on the baby pong.”

“Beer baby,” Uncle Calvin said from somewhere far too close. “It doesn’t make sense to cut out the ‘beer’… we’re still going to drink beer. It’s the ‘pong’ that’s gone.”

Yes, the pong was gone, because instead of tossing ping pong balls at the other team’s cups they were tossing little plastic babies. It was either the best baby shower Ben had ever been to or the worst.

He rolled his shoulders again and put on his game face to glare down the long table at the opposition. Seth. Good aim but easily distracted. And Liam. What the hell had Calvin been thinking when he came up with these teams? Seth and Liam, Ben and Calvin himself. Kevin excluded, because—because Kevin wasn’t really part of this. This set of old friends. Old enemies.

Old. That was the part to remember. Calvin had set up a little trip down memory lane, but it was just a quick visit to the past. Ben was living in the present. With Kevin.

Who had drawn his lips up into a positively prissy little moue of disapproval.

Ben could fix that later. After he and Calvin destroyed Liam and Seth at baby pong. Beer baby. Whatever.

“Visitors go first,” Calvin said, and he tossed a baggie of plastic babies to the other end of the table.

Liam nodded seriously, pulled a plastic baby out, and bounced it on the table. “Totally erratic,” he told Seth after several bounces. “Unpredictable. We need to go for the direct throw.”

Seth had been tossing his own plastic baby from hand to hand, and now he nodded. “Roger. Direct throw.”

Yeah, beer baby was on.

Seth had the first toss. A direct hit, beer splashing up out of the plastic cup. Then Liam. Damn it, another hit.

“That means we go again!” Seth crowed, and he and Liam did a ridiculous little high-five dance. Well, wasn’t it nice to see them getting along so well? Wasn’t it just lovely?

Ben downed his beer and braced himself, but both Seth and Liam missed on their second chances. Now it was Ben’s turn. Oh, no, apparently it was Calvin’s, because the old guy was lining up, working out a sort of modified overhand toss—and, splash, right into a cup. Hell yeah.

“Pressure’s on now,” Liam said. He was watching Ben with—damn it, with a completely inappropriate level of intensity. Sure, it was just because of the game, but the eye contact, the slightly open mouth, the way he was leaning forward, anticipating, waiting for Ben to—to toss a damn plastic baby into a cup full of beer. That was all. He needed to keep his focus.

He threw and the stupid baby bounced an inch to the side of the target.

“It’s okay, partner,” Calvin said. “We’re still fine. We’re in this.”

Yeah, they were in it. They were in it to win it. To teach Liam that he couldn’t just swan back into town for no damn reason and think everyone was just waiting for him, like the last fifteen years hadn’t happened, like the cheating hadn’t happened, like everyone had been in a cryogenic holding chamber and had only been thawed out when he’d shown his face, like—

Plop. And then immediately after, another plop. No!

“Death cup!” Liam and Seth yelled triumphantly. Ben didn’t want to know which of them had thrown first and which of them had the killer instinct to throw second, into exactly the same cup. He’d thought Uncle Calvin was his nemesis, but what if it was really Seth? Or Liam?

Well, actually, Liam made a lot of sense. Liam was almost certainly his nemesis.

“Now we drink that cup plus two more?” Calvin asked innocently, as if this were just a happy little game at a happy little—oh. Yeah. A baby shower. Ben needed to dial it back a little. Possibly there was no need to have a nemesis in beer baby.

Ben lifted his cup and glanced over at Kevin, who was still looking decidedly unimpressed with the entire situation. A raise of the cup in salute, but Kevin just shook his head in response. Oh well. Chug, chug, chug. Encouraging cheers from the crowd—from Seth and Liam, even—but not from Kevin.

There was a third cup. Ben had drunk one, Calvin had drunk one, and there was a third. There was no reason for Ben to drink it. No reason for him to be part of this game at all. Sure, Calvin would be disappointed if he walked away. Seth wouldn’t think much of it. But they’d both forgive him. And Kevin would be impressed. Kevin would think Ben was mature, ready for a real relationship, ready for commitment, maybe even for….

Ben reached for the third cup, lifted it to his lips, and downed the contents in four swallows.

“That’s my boy,” Calvin said. “Now, free your mind. Let yourself be the baby. You’re the baby, and you’re so thirsty. You just want a little beer. No, wait, you want to swim in the beer! Swimming is fun for babies. Swimming in beer? Yeah, sure, that’d be fun for anyone. You’re a little baby, and you want to go swimming in the—”

“That’s not helpful.” Ben straightened, the plastic baby gripped securely but lightly in his hand. He looked down the table. Seth, making some truly ridiculous faces, and Liam, so calm, so cool, so fucking perfect all the time.

Ben took a deep breath, stared Liam straight in the eyes, and tossed the baby. He didn’t even smile as he heard the plop.

Seth was quick, though, pulling up the cup and starting to drink before Calvin had a chance to even try for a death cup.

And Liam was still looking at Ben. Ben was still looking back. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. At least, it wouldn’t have been if they hadn’t had an audience.

The click of Calvin’s baby hitting the table barely registered.

But it was impossible to tune out Calvin’s overly dramatic groan, the way he clutched Ben’s arm in despair and slumped toward the ground….

“We’re going to need to work out a signal for if you ever have an actual heart attack,” Ben told him. “Especially after last weekend. Otherwise you’ll be gasping in real pain and I’ll just ignore you.”

“I have real pain! Did you see how close that shot was?”

By the time Ben looked back at Liam, the moment was over, and Liam didn’t make eye contact again for the rest of the game. Which he and Seth won easily.

There was a brief stretch of peace after that while Calvin marshaled a round of pin-the-fetus-on-the-uterus, and Ben took advantage of the chance to go to the bathroom. After he peed out at least some of the beer, he washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He did a few of his deep breaths, trying to get rid of the orange-pink-yellow swirl of Liam and replace it with some nice, calming blue, but someone banged on the door partway through and the whole exercise fell apart.

There was another event, players racing to be the fastest to drink a beer from a baby bottle without using their hands, and Liam was at his competitive best, throwing himself down on the ground and holding the bottle with his feet without any apparent self-consciousness. Ben went back into the house and made his guesses for all the stupid games in there, trying not to think about how flexible Liam still was, how he frowned in exactly the same way he used to when he was concentrating on something, working toward something… sucking on something….

Ben pulled another beer out of the fridge and rubbed the cool glass over his face before opening the bottle. He didn’t really need more alcohol, but he was going to have some anyway.

He was in the yard talking to the mayor, Mack Cleese, having trouble with the conversation because, as usual, all he could think was don’t call him Mayor McCheese to his face, don’t call him Mayor McCheese to his face, when he heard Calvin calling his name.

“Stroller race is about to start! You should come see this!”

Ben wasn’t sure why he was being singled out for a special invitation, not until he got closer to the starting line and saw the teams. Fairly innocuous for the most part, but Liam was at the end of one line, Kevin at the other. They were both anchors for their teams; they’d be going head-to-head for the win.

What the hell had Calvin been thinking when he set all this up? Maybe he really was Ben’s nemesis.

Ben found his way to Kevin’s side while Calvin explained the rules with typical glee. Each participant had to get the stroller through the obstacle course without touching the unstrapped-in baby doll or letting it fall out. They were only allowed to touch the stroller on the handle, not grab hold of the two ends and carry it. Not sophisticated, but clear enough. Then Calvin added, “And you have to chug a beverage at the far end before you race back and hand off the stroller.”

Kevin frowned and looked toward Ben as if—what? Asking permission? Ben was pretty sure he didn’t grant it, but Kevin turned around anyway and said, “I’m not comfortable with that part of the race. I don’t think it’s a good idea to encourage alcohol consumption as if it’s some sort of sport.”

And Ben agreed with him, mostly.

Calvin just looked confused. “A beverage,” he said. “There’s an assortment down there. Beer, soft drinks, fizzy water—I made them all carbonated, to be fair. But I’m not sure why you’d jump to the conclusion that they’re all alcoholic.”

It had been a trap, obviously. Calvin had set Kevin up with the beer baby and baby-bottle race, made it seem like the same pattern was repeating, and acted innocent when Kevin made the logical assumption. Typical Calvin. But why was he doing it?

Not that Calvin ever really needed a “why” for his shenanigans. Personal entertainment was always reason enough. But with the whole party to plan, the guests to fuss over, the games—the real games, not his twisted extras—why would he bother with Kevin now?

And why had he invited Liam?

It was hard to believe that the two decisions weren’t connected, but what on earth was Calvin trying to prove? What decision was he trying to make on Ben’s behalf? And why the hell did he think it was his place to do… whatever the hell he was doing?

Ben reached for Kevin’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Thanks for asking about that,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re right—drinking alcohol like it’s a sport is pretty unhealthy and immature.”

Kevin’s surprise was clear enough to make Ben feel guilty. Apparently his date—his boyfriend—hadn’t expected any support. But he’d still had the courage to speak up and express his opinion. An opinion that Ben agreed with. Mostly.

“You’re a good guy,” Ben said, more quietly this time, so only Kevin could hear. “A really decent human being.”

Kevin smiled. “I try to be,” he agreed.

It should have been a sweet moment. It shouldn’t have made Ben want to grit his teeth and yank his hand back from Kevin’s grip. Shouldn’t have made him feel like he was trapped.

“First racers, on your mark…,” Calvin said, and Kevin let go of Ben’s hand as if he’d forgotten they’d even been in contact. He edged forward, all his attention focused on the race.

Apparently Kevin was taking the stroller obstacles pretty seriously.

And so was Liam, Ben discovered as he drew back into the crowd of onlookers. All the participants were fully engaged, yelling advice and encouragement, and otherwise acting as if they were in the finals at the Olympic Games. Calvin had chosen extremely competitive people for this event.

Made sense that Liam was acting that way—he’d always been driven and intense. But Kevin?

The first three contestants made it through the course without injury, although one runner from each team spilled the doll out of the stroller and had to race back to the top of the course to restart the run. Liam and Kevin started out neck and neck. Liam had a good initial sprint but took the first corner too fast and almost lost the doll, then had to waste precious seconds trying to get it flipped all the way back into the stroller. Kevin took a more balanced approach.

Calvin was commentating on the action like a demented sports announcer, and almost everyone at the party was gathered and cheering for one team or the other or both. The racers reached the far end almost in unison and grabbed their beverages—beer for Liam, a can of ginger ale for Kevin—and that was where Kevin lost his edge. Liam chugged his bottle like a frat boy while Kevin took a gulp, winced, took a sip, looked pained, took another sip, made another face, took a sip—and Liam was off. His team roaring, the crowd electrified, all eyes on him as Kevin took one more sip, then set his can down on the messy, liquid-strewn table, on its side.

The base of the can was turned toward the crowd, and there was so much activity, so much commotion as Kevin grabbed his own buggy and took off after Liam, only a stride or two behind. Ben couldn’t really see, not for sure, that there was liquid spilling out of the can.

And Kevin didn’t waste any time worrying about it. He made up time as he and Liam weaved their way through the bags of disposable diapers, and he had almost caught up when they hit the final turn, charging around the huge stuffed elephant Calvin had said would belong to Tamara when the party was over.

They were close, but Liam was ahead, and there was no reason he wouldn’t stay that way. He stretched out almost horizontally, the stroller keeping him upright as he sprinted for the finish line, his entire body driven and focused on its goal, its destination, its home—

And Kevin collapsed to the ground with a yelp of pain. He was clutching his ankle as Liam blazed across the finish line and was absorbed into the arms of his jubilant teammates. Kevin looked up, caught Ben’s gaze, and looked down at his ankle, shaking his head.

Ben did his duty, but he didn’t rush. He edged through the crowd, made his way down the lawn, and crouched next to Kevin. “Twisted it?” he asked as neutrally as he could manage.

“I guess, yeah. There was a hole—not a hole, I guess, but an unexpected dip.” He forced a smile. “It’s not like we can expect Calvin’s backyard to be equipped for Olympic sprinting.”

“Olympic stroller racing,” Ben corrected absentmindedly. “Oh well. You gave it a good try. Want to get up and walk it off?”

“I’m not sure I can just walk it off.” Kevin poked gingerly at his ankle. “I wouldn’t have stopped running if it was just something minor, you know.”

Ben thought of the ginger ale can—it’d be empty by now, certainly. And it didn’t matter anyway. So what if Kevin hadn’t totally finished the drink? So what if he’d taken a fall and was faking an injury in order to cover up his loss? Ben couldn’t be sure any of that was true, and even if it was… so what?

“What do you want to do?” Ben shifted around so he could sit on the grass next to Kevin. “Do you need to go to the hospital? Or just ice it? Do we need to leave?”

That was when he noticed the shadow falling over their legs and looked up to see Liam peering down at them. “Everything okay?” he asked. His face was gently flushed, his hair tousled, and Ben had to force himself to turn away. He couldn’t see Liam like that, not without—well. He just wouldn’t look at him, and that made everything simpler.

“I’ll be okay,” Kevin said. “It’s too bad it happened—I think I had you.”

“You think so?” Liam didn’t sound angry, or even frustrated. The patronizing bastard sounded amused. “We’ll have to have a rematch someday.” Then something changed, shifted in the air, and Ben knew without looking that Liam’s attention had turned to him. “Calvin wants you, Ben. Apparently you’re surprisingly good at the boring games inside. Even though I’ve won a lot of events out here, Calvin says you made up enough points on the other stuff that we’re tied. He’s got some sort of head-to-head—”

“No.” Far too much emotion in that word, and Ben took a deep breath before saying, “I don’t know what Uncle Calvin’s up to, but—no. I’m done.”

“Done… at the shower? Like, Kevin needs you to go nurse him back to health?”

“No. Done with the games.”

Liam knew what Ben was saying—Liam always knew. But he pretended otherwise. “That’s not cool, man. Calvin’s put a lot of time into all this. I know it’s kind of surreal, but there’s just one more game, you might as well—”

“There’s never just ‘one more game’ with Calvin.” Ben knew it too well. “He’ll always keep pushing, testing, until somebody says ‘no.’”

Still, Liam played stupid. “I think he means it this time—he’s got the trophy all ready to present. There are quite a few trophies, actually, with all kinds of different titles. He’s put a lot of work into this, Ben. Be cool, okay?”

“Cool?” Too loud, and it all got worse when Ben pushed himself to his feet and glared at Liam. Adorably, sexily disheveled Liam. But Ben wouldn’t think about that. “There’s nothing cool about this! About him inviting you, you being here, him setting up all these contests—pressuring poor Kevin into this stupid race! And now Kevin’s hurt, and you’re still here, and—”

“Keep your voice down,” Liam said. A suggestion, calm and pleasant. “Kevin’s not really hurt—you know that. And the rest of it? What did you tell me about that disgusting coat he loaned me? Messing around with people is Calvin’s weirdass way of showing affection. That’s all this is. Don’t build it into something bigger.”

“Do not tell me how to handle my uncle!”

“Ben.” For the first time, Liam let a little emotion into his voice. “You’re losing it. If you don’t want to do the last game, fine. I’ll—” He cast a derisive look in Kevin’s direction. “I’ll tell him I pulled a muscle or something, okay? Fake injuries for everyone. Just chill out. This has been a really nice party for a lot of people you care about. Don’t mess it up.”

It was exactly right. Exactly what Ben needed to hear, and said in a way that let him really see what he was doing and how destructive it could be.

And that rightness—that fucking perfection—made it all so much worse.

“Oh, you’re the hero?” Ben growled. “You’re the golden boy who cares about everybody else and just tries to make it all work out, and I’m the asshole who wrecks it? Is that how you see things?”

“If you’re talking about fifteen years ago, then, no, I was the asshole. Everyone agrees on that. But if you’re talking about right now? Hey.” Liam stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. “If you’re so damn determined to wreck things? Okay, yeah. Right now, you’re the asshole.”

“You push and push, and when I finally say ‘no’—”

“How the hell am I pushing? I asked if I could come to this, and you said fine. You said you were past it all and none of it mattered. You remember that conversation? You said you wouldn’t have had a right to say ‘no’ even if you wanted to. And the other night? You said it was all over. So what the hell’s your problem now?”

“You know what my problem is!”

Not only too loud this time—also too damn honest. Liam stared at him for a long moment, then took a half step forward. “If I know what the problem is, I know what the solution is too. Jesus, Ben, there are no guarantees in life. I can’t—I can’t promise that everything will be perfect forever. But I really think we’re worth taking a chance on. Don’t you? You said the other night that this was over, but if it really was, it wouldn’t be an issue for you to see me.”

Ben stepped closer too, and his voice came out low and growly. “It was done fifteen damn years ago when you fucked—I was going to say when you fucked your Art History TA, but really I guess it was over when you fucked half the campus.”

“So I guess I don’t know what your problem is.” Liam’s gaze was still steady and level, too intense to be anything but intimate. “And I’m not really sure what my problem is, either, except—” He looked away, then back. “Except I miss you. I can’t really understand what’s wrong with my life in general, but the one thing that’s totally clear to me is that you’re not with me, and you should be. That’s—”

“Excuse me,” Kevin said, his voice almost trembling as he rose to his feet. “This is outrageous. Ben has made his feelings on this matter crystal clear. It’s unfortunate that you’re struggling with something in your life, but to impose on Ben this way, to make him feel as if it’s somehow his fault or his problem?”

He stepped between Ben and Liam, and it was as if he broke a vacuum seal, neutralized a magnetic bond—did something that brought Ben back to reality, back to Uncle Calvin’s backyard with half the town staring at him as he listened to ravings—absolutely surreal lunacy—from Liam.

“It’s been fifteen years,” Ben said. “It’s over.” It had to be over.

“And there’s absolutely nothing left?” Liam said it wistfully, almost sweetly, but there was something else, something extra that Ben couldn’t quite figure out.

Still, he knew the answer he needed to give. “There’s nothing left,” he said firmly.

And Liam was ready. “So there’s no problem with us doing the final event, right? No reason you can’t play one more stupid game in order to make your uncle happy?” He glanced dismissively at Kevin. “Your date seems to have recovered from his horrible injury, and I think he’s still got about half a can of ginger ale he could be drinking while he waits for us to play. So what’s holding you up? Let’s go.”

A dare. That’s what it was. Sure, Ben and Liam had turned into something else, but at the heart of their relationship they’d always been friends. The two of them and Seth, endless summer days, almost-as-endless winter adventures after school or on weekends—they’d been kids together. And the inability to walk away from a dare was a bone-deep instinct in any kid.

And there was a part of Ben, a sweet, adventurous, joyful part of him that wanted to respond the same way now. Of course he’d take the dare, and play one final game, and spend more time with Liam. And his resistance was already so weak, his self-control so challenged, that a bit more time was all it would take before he crumbled. Kevin was nothing, Liam was everything; Ben would take Liam home, or hell, maybe just upstairs, and they’d be together in the way they always should be together, and it would be perfect and golden and glowing.

But not permanent. Liam would leave, and Ben would be left behind, empty and alone. And he just wasn’t strong enough for that to happen again.

“I’m leaving,” he said quietly. Kevin immediately put his arm around Ben as if offering support, and Ben resisted the urge to tear himself free. “I’m done.”

He knew they still had an audience, and he forced a smile onto his face for the benefit of the crowd. “We need to get some ice for Kevin,” he announced. “He’ll be fine, but there’s no point messing around.”

And Kevin supportively added a bit of a limp to his step, although Ben was pretty sure he was favoring the wrong leg.

“You guys are made for each other,” Liam said as Ben made his way past. “You’re both quitters.”

The words rose to Ben’s lips, the accusations and rebuttals. Maybe Kevin and Ben were quitters, but at least they weren’t cheaters. Except for the unfortunate ginger ale incident. And remembering that was enough to keep Ben’s mouth shut.

He made his apologies to Calvin, trying not to wonder if the disappointment in the old man’s face was solely because the playoff game was cancelled, and threw the jauntiest wave he could manage in Seth and Dinah’s direction. They waved back, Dinah making a face of slightly overdone sympathy in Kevin’s direction.

They were halfway down the front walk when Ben heard a cheer from the backyard. “They gave Liam the trophy,” he said.

“Liam,” Kevin said. “He’s—well.” They walked a few more steps; Kevin wasn’t even trying to limp anymore. He stopped at the sidewalk and turned to Ben. “I’m going home.”

“Oh. Okay. Is your ankle hurting?”

“No. But—I need to take some time. By myself.” He paused, maybe a bit more dramatically than necessary. “To think about whether it makes sense to continue this relationship.”

Oh.

It was clear that Kevin was waiting for a reaction. Begging, maybe, or at least reassurances. But Ben didn’t have them to give, and Kevin didn’t deserve to be lied to. “I guess that’s a good idea. I mean—Liam is not a threat. Not an issue. But I can see how this would all be a little unsettling for you.”

“Not an issue,” Kevin echoed. “Well. That’s—” He stopped and shook his head. “Maybe we can talk later in the week.”

“Sure,” Ben agreed. And then Kevin left, and Ben was alone. Standing pathetically in the street as his current maybe boyfriend walked away from him while his ancient definitely boyfriend received kudos and applause at the booze-soaked baby shower of Ben’s best friend. That was his life. That was what he’d managed to achieve for himself.

Damn it. He needed—maybe regular meditation wasn’t going to be enough. Maybe he needed some sort of retreat, some intensive intervention.

Maybe he needed a damn lobotomy.

If there was a surgery to remove just the Liam-related memories, a sci-fi storyline so he could travel back in time and—and what?

What would he change, exactly?

His own behavior, he supposed. When he’d first suspected that Liam was cheating, had it already been too late? Could he have fixed things if he’d spoken up, if he’d been brave enough to have the fight instead of hoping it would all just go away?

Could everything have been different?

He took a deep breath and started walking. There was no surgery, no time travel. He had only one life, only one chance. He needed to be smart and not waste time on daydreams.

He needed a drink. That, at least, seemed like an achievable goal, even if he’d be meeting it alone.