Chapter 5
HE MANAGED to make it through dinner with Annie without breaking down. Afterwards, they watched a movie on HBO; then when Annie announced that she needed to get to bed, he said, “You go ahead. I’m still antsy. I think maybe I’ll take my new wheels out for a drive.”
“Don’t drink,” Annie said automatically, then yawned.
“Maximum one beer,” he promised. “I just need to reconnect with the old neighborhood. I won’t be late.”
“You’re an adult, Davey,” she said, then dimpled. “Okay, that’s a bullshit line. You’re still my baby, so don’t be late, don’t talk to strangers….”
“And I’ve got on clean underwear in case I fall off my bike and need to go to the hospital. Yeah, Mom, I know the routine.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s good to be home, Mom. Even if you’re a total whack job.”
She smacked his butt. “What a way to talk to your mother. Go. Have fun. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t, he said, and kissed her again.
HE DROVE around for a while, seeing what was new and what had changed in his old stomping grounds. After an hour, that wasn’t helping anymore, so he pulled into a Wesley bar he used to hang out in occasionally. It looked pretty much the same—more or less a local pub, but friendly to the gay community in Wesley and the Springs. It didn’t have the little back rooms some of the more blatantly pick-up places did, but David had met a guy or two he’d liked here.
It being a Wednesday, the lot wasn’t as full as it would have been on the weekend, but there were still more than a few cars parked there. Cars, and an amazingly hot-looking Ducati motorcycle. The sodium lights in the lot didn’t give a true impression of the color, but David thought it might be red. Wow, he thought, looking the bike over. He didn’t know much about motorcycles, but he knew that Ducatis were the top of the line, and kind of rare here in Harley country.
He picked out the owner the minute he walked in. The guy stood with one foot on the brass rail, leaning forward on the polished black surface of the bar. He was tall; taller than David by a couple of inches, from what David could see. He paused a moment to admire the way the broad shoulders tapered into a lean waist, a taut, fuckable ass, and long legs in black denim. A black leather jacket was thrown on the barstool beside him. Ducati guy, David thought. Only a biker would wear leather in this weather.
The guy had his hair buzzed, but what was there was thick and black as the T-shirt that stretched over those wide shoulders and muscled arms. There was something entirely too sexy about the way the shirt bagged loosely where it brushed the narrow waist of the jeans. The T-shirt and buzz cut left his neck bare, and David frowned as he came closer and saw the ridge of scar tissue that marred an otherwise perfect view. It looked like the guy had been strangled or something.
Then he was standing at the bar next to the guy ordering a beer, and when he turned he saw the man’s profile, the strong jaw set and the face expressionless. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Zach??”
“Fuck off,” the man said, and took a drink of his Scotch.
“Jesus, it is you,” David said. “Zach….”
“What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you understand, David?” Zach replied, still looking straight ahead, still expressionless.
“Zach, can we talk? Please?” Here it was, his chance to make amends, his chance to find out what was going on in Zach’s head. “I’ve been wanting to see you….”
Zach’s eyes closed briefly, then he set his Scotch back down on the bar, picked up his jacket and turned to leave.
David stepped in front of him. “No, Zach, please. I just want to talk….”
Pale eyes flicked up to his, cold and empty. “I don’t talk. You want to fuck, that’s another story. But no talking. No kissing. No follow-up phone calls. I don’t suck dick, and I don’t bottom. Interested?”
David stared at him, uncomprehending.
Zach smiled thinly, humorlessly. “Didn’t think so.” He brushed past David and out the door. A moment later David heard the roar of the motorcycle.
“What did you do to piss off the Ice Queen?” a voice said behind him.
Dazed, David turned to the young guy, a stranger. “What?”
“The Ice Queen. He’s cold, but he’s always polite. Helluva fuck, though.”
Rage roared through David and he grabbed the guy’s shirt. “What. The. Fuck?”
“Hey! Don’t get all pissy, dude!” the guy protested. “I just asked what you said to piss him off. He don’t get mad, ever. Never saw him react like that to anybody.” The guy relaxed as David released him, and gave him a once-over. “You look like his type,” he said meditatively. “Mine, too.” He broke into a grin. “Lemme buy you a drink.”
“Got one,” David said curtly, and walked back to the bar.
The guy followed. “I’m Brian,” he said. “And you’re David? I heard the Ice Queen call you that.”
“Yeah.”
“I figured when you walked in that you’d walk out with him,” Brian said thoughtfully. “Like I said, you’re his type. But you guys, like, know each other, huh?”
“What do you mean I’m his type?” David asked. His fingers closed hard around the glass of beer in front of him.
“Blond surfer dude.” Brian waved his hand to indicate himself. “Like me.”
“You met him here?”
“Nah, at the Goose. You know it?”
“Gray Goose on Sheffield? Yeah. I know it.” Shit, David thought. That place was a meat market. Zach was hanging out there? Some of the patrons referred to it as the Dirty Duck—or Dirty Dick, as the case may be.
“He’s there a lot. Doesn’t do repeats too often, though—more’s the pity.” Brian ordered a beer.
“Do not tell me he’s a helluva fuck again,” David snarled. He stared at the beer in his hands, wishing he had the nerve to get wasted, to forget what had just happened. Jesus. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t been ready to run into Zach, hadn’t known what to say, hadn’t expected to start burbling like an idiot. And he sure as shit hadn’t expected to see Zach not only all grown up but looking older than David himself. Older and harder. He shuddered and he didn’t know if it was fear, misery… or arousal. Shit. If he held the beer glass any tighter it would shatter in his hands.
With an effort, he eased his grip, finished his beer and said, “Well, thanks for the talk. See you around.”
“I hope so,” Brian said with a grin.
I don’t, David thought, but only nodded and left the bar.
ZACH took the south gate too fast, the opening barely wide enough for the bike when he shot through going way too fast, as if he could outrun the acid bite of panic burning the back of his throat. Going up the hill toward the garage at about eighty, he skidded to a stop beneath the overhang of the upper porch, shut off the Ducati, and raced up the outside stairs, slamming into his apartment and stopping, finally, his chest heaving as if he’d run all the way from the bar. He pulled off his leather jacket and threw it over a chair, then flung himself onto the couch and let the panic attack take over. The shrink had always told him not to fight it, to let the anxiety go, wash over and through him, but it was easier said than done. The damn shrink probably never had a panic attack, never knew what it felt like to be convinced you were dying, that the incredible pain in your chest was a massive heart attack, that the turmoil in your brain was a stroke or you finally falling over the edge into insanity…. He shivered violently, sweat pouring from his clammy skin and tears from his blurred eyes, sobbing and shuddering and crying hysterically.
It was perhaps ten minutes later that the terror finally loosed its grip, leaving Zach limp and exhausted. He lay still, tucked up in a fetal position, waiting for his heart to slow. Finally, he unclenched his fists and stared at the red half-moons his nails had bitten into his palms. “Fuck,” he whispered, and got up, going into the bathroom to wash his face with cold water.
He had only had one Scotch at the bar, so he poured himself another and sat at the kitchen table, holding the glass in both hands and searching the golden depths as if the liquor held answers. He wasn’t even sure of the questions.
No, he knew the questions. What the hell had David wanted? And why the hell had Zach been such a dick to him? He couldn’t seem to stop fucking things up. First losing all control during his therapy session this morning and upsetting his parents, now this. If he’d ever had any remote hope of rebuilding his friendship with David, that hope was as dead as… well, as dead as Esteban.
Zach rubbed the scar circling his neck from the dog collar he’d worn for five years, a habit he’d been unable to break. Feeling the rough dead skin somehow always helped him focus, help him settle. Stupid, he thought wearily. Like a toddler’s favorite blanket or teddy bear—only his was scarring from five years of misery. How wacked was that? Still, it was familiar. Almost comforting.
The Scotch slid down his tear-roughened throat, the burn cauterizing his emotions. He was sitting debating whether he should have one more or just drink himself into unconsciousness like he did most nights when there was a sharp rapping at the door. Shit, he thought, and glanced at the clock on the stove to see that it was barely past eleven. Had his parents heard him coming home and were wondering why he was so early? He left the Scotch on the table and went to answer the door.
To his shock, David stood there. He reached up and pushed gently on Zach’s chest; Zach stepped back automatically and David came in and closed the door. “Hell yes,” David said.
“What?” Zach stammered.
“Hell yes I’m interested. If it’s the only way I can get you to spend ten seconds in my company, hell, yes.” He pushed Zach back another step. “So what’s it to be? You want me to suck your dick, or you want to fuck me?”
The breath whooshed out of Zach’s lungs. “What the fuck?” he gasped. “Are you crazy?”
“Yeah, I think so,” David said. He dropped down onto the arm of the sofa and looked up at Zach. His eyes looked as tired as Zach felt. “I have to be fucking crazy to be here. I just—shit, Zach, I just need some closure.” He looked away. “But I’ll settle for whatever I can get.” His lips quirked in a humorless smile. “Sorry. Forgot. No talking.”
Then to Zach’s shock, he dropped to his knees in front of Zach and reached for Zach’s fly.
Zach batted his hand away. “No,” he said roughly.
“Oh, okay,” David said. He got up, moving stiffly, and unbuttoned his own jeans. “Where do you want me? I gotta warn you—I’ve never bottomed before, so I’d appreciate it if you’d take it easy….”
“No.” Zach shook his head. “No fucking way, Taff. No. Just… just get the fuck out, okay?”
Slowly David rebuttoned, not looking at Zach. His face was white and his hands shook. “Right,” he said numbly, and left.
Zach stared at the closed door a long moment, then hissed, “Fuck,” and shot out the door, intending to chase David.
He didn’t have to go far; just to the top of the stairs. David sat on the bottom step, his face in his arms and his shoulders shaking. “Taff?” Zach said uncertainly.
David stood, wiping his forearm across his face. “I’m going,” he said in a muffled voice. “Sorry.”
“No. Wait.”
Shoulders slumped, David turned to look up the stairs at Zach. “I just need to know,” he said wearily, “why you hate me. That’s all. I just need to know why.”
“I don’t hate you.”
David’s face closed down and he turned away. “Whatever,” he said bitterly.
“No. Wait,” Zach said again.
He watched David’s shoulders sag before he turned back. “What?”
“I’m fucked up,” Zach said. He swallowed desperately, his mouth dry and his voice rough. “I’m completely fucked up, Taff.” Then he sank down onto the top step of the stairs, his eyes on David, waiting.
David considered his words a moment, then looked up to meet Zach’s eyes. “Yeah. I guess you would be.”
“I’m in fucking therapy, you know. Twice a day, every day of my life, including Sundays. I can’t imagine what my folks are paying the shrink to come in on Sundays,” Zach babbled. “I go ’cause it makes them feel better. Makes them feel like they’re doing something, you know? But they can’t do anything. Nobody can do anything.” He met David’s eyes. They were patient and a little sad. And wet. “You want a beer?”
David considered, then nodded.
“Okay.” Zach shot to his feet. “Wait. Wait right there.” He patted the air, as if he were telling a dog to sit, then realized what he was doing, shook his hand roughly, and raced into the house. A moment later he came back with two bottles of Goose Island, relieved to see David still standing at the foot of the stairs. He came down a few steps and held out one of the bottles.
David came up a few and reached out to take the bottle. Zach retreated to the top step again; David sat down a few risers from the bottom. They opened their beers in silence.
After a few minutes of it, Zach said, “I really don’t hate you, you know. I mean, I know you gotta think that, after what happened at Terry’s just now—but it isn’t like that. I don’t—I don’t know why I acted that way. I wasn’t expecting to see you, I guess. I don’t….” He took a sip of beer. “I don’t respond well to unexpected things. Most people got a sort of, of, I don’t know, buffer or something, helps them figure out how to respond to stuff. I just… I just flip out. Not very mature.” He gave David a brief, humorless grin, and drank some more ale. “I’m a control freak. Things don’t go the way I plan, I freak out.”
“You didn’t expect me to show up at Terry’s.”
“I didn’t expect you to show up anywhere. Stupid of me.” Zach shook his head. “I knew you were back in town, but I just figured you’d stick close to home ’til you moved out, and you’d probably be in the city, and I wouldn’t run into you. You don’t hang out in dumps like the Dick, or Fat Charlie’s. I thought… I thought you wouldn’t be at Terry’s, either, your second night home only. Figured you’d be with DB, or Maggie and Alex.”
“You still call my mom ‘DB’?” David asked in amusement.
Zach shook his head. “I mostly don’t talk to her,” he admitted. “I mostly don’t talk to anyone. It’s… I don’t know. It’s hard.”
“You’ve been talking a blue streak here,” David pointed out.
“Sorry.”
“No. It’s nice. It’s kind of like the old days. You never shut up then. You could talk the hind leg off a burro. But you weren’t boring. You were never boring.” He gave Zach a faint smile. “Annoying as hell, sometimes, but never boring.”
Zach picked at the label on his bottle. “Yeah, I guess. It was a long time ago.”
David asked gently, “Can you talk about what happened to you, or is that, like, too sensitive or something?”
“Something,” Zach agreed bitterly.
“I met this guy tonight at Terry’s. Brian something. You know him?”
Zach shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Blond surfer dude type. Like me.”
Zach flinched. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“He called you the Ice Queen. Says you never lose your cool. Always cold.” David took a swig of beer. “Also said you were a helluva fuck.”
There was dead silence a moment, then Zach said, “Yeah. I guess so. I try, anyway. I mean, I try to make sure they’re okay, I mean, you know.”
“That they come first, you mean?”
Zach’s face was burning. “Shit.”
David chuckled. “Sorry. I guess it is a little personal.”
“It’s okay.”
“I mean, it’s hard reconciling the kid I knew with someone called ‘the Ice Queen’. It’s weird.”
“Yeah, well.” Zach hesitated, then said tiredly, “I guess the kid you knew is pretty damn dead. There’s just me left. The fucked-up crazy-assed cold-hearted Ice Queen. Battered, bruised and bewildered.”
“But still fucking beautiful,” David said.
Zach blinked. “What?” he asked in confusion.
“You’re still beautiful,” David repeated with a shrug. “Not a compliment, just a fact. You got great bones or something.”
“I am so not,” Zach shook his head. “Not really. The light here is pretty bad.” He gestured up at the fixture over the door above him. “You’re just projecting your memory.”
“No, I’m not,” David said dryly. “For one thing, you look way different from how you looked before. I mean, you were a pretty little kid the last time I saw you. You’re a man now, with a man’s bones and a man’s looks. Does that scar hurt?” He indicated Zach’s neck with the bottle he held.
“No. Why?”
“You keep rubbing it.”
“Oh. Habit, I guess.”
“Oh. Okay. What did they do, try to hang you or something?”
Zach shook his head. “No. It’s from a collar.”
David sat up and stared at him. “Like a fucking dog collar?”
“Exactly like a fucking dog collar,” Zach replied dryly.
“Shit,” David said.
“Yep.”
“Fuckers.”
“Yep.”
The silence this time was less strained and more companionable. They finished their beers and David held out his hand for Zach’s. Zach dropped the bottle into his hand wordlessly, and he tossed them both into the recycling bin under the stairs. Then he stood at the foot of the steps, looking up at Zach.
“Taff?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to know… you said you just wanted to know why I hated you. Why do you think I hate you?”
“Well, maybe because I heard you screaming when your parents told you that I wanted to see you? I flew all the way to North Carolina from New Zealand when I heard you’d come back. I was waiting outside in the hallway. You scared the shit out of your folks.” David picked at the paint on the banister rail. “Shit, you scared me.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Zach said quietly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it hurt,” David said. “You can recover from hurt. But I didn’t blame you, Zach. I knew that whatever had happened to you had wrecked whatever chance we might have had. That’s okay. I get that. But what really wrecked me was that we couldn’t even be friends again.”
“I’d like to be friends again.”
David looked up and met his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. What happened at the hospital… there were reasons for that. Reasons I’m still kind of dealing with. But it was never you. I never hated you, never blamed you, never was afraid of you. It wasn’t you. Dick and Jane don’t quite get that—they still think I’ve got something against you but I never did. Even in the jungle… even then, it was never hate.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I could ever be the person you wanted. Shit, I don’t even know if I can really be your friend, or anybody’s friend. I told you I’m fucked up, Taff. You can’t even begin to suspect how much.”
“You homicidal? A serial killer? Torture animals? Stalk kindergartners?”
“What? No, of course not!”
David shrugged. “Then you’ll do.”
“You’re serious? You want to be friends?”
David grinned, all the weariness in his face vanishing. “Shit, yeah.”
Zach smiled for the first time in forever. “Dad and I are going hiking up at the Peak next Saturday. You want to come with us?”
“Sure, but that’s Saturday. It’s only Tuesday. What about going running with me tomorrow? I haven’t been on the trail yet since I’ve been back.”
“I don’t have much wind yet,” Zach admitted. “I don’t know how far I’d get.”
“Then we’ll take it slow and alternate running and walking. I’ve trained a few people in my time.” David grinned again. “I’ll meet you here at seven.”
“Seven a.m. or p.m.?”
“Hardy-har-har. Seven a.m., dweeb. Just be grateful it’s not six.” He dusted his hands off and dug into his pocket for his car keys. “We’ll take it slow, Zach. I just don’t want to be afraid to run into you anymore. I don’t want to feel so guilty just because I’m staying with my mom for a while. I just… I know things can’t be what they were, but I don’t want to keep them the way they are.”
“No,” Zach said. He stood up on the stairs and gazed down at David. “See you in the morning, then.”
“Yep,” David said.
Suddenly exhausted, Zach nodded and went inside, closing the door and managing to turn off the lights and get to the bed before collapsing. Gotta get out of these boots, he thought vaguely to himself, then fell heavily into dreamless sleep.
DAVID watched the lights go out, then dragged himself to the car, crawling into the driver’s seat and resting his forehead against the steering wheel. Zach had looked drained, and he felt like that too. But beneath the exhaustion was a warm feeling of triumph and contentment, as if he’d gotten everything he’d wanted for Christmas. Zach didn’t hate him. Zach wanted to be friends again. He would see Zach again tomorrow.
With a smile, he started the engine and turned the Saturn toward home.