Better Than Friends (28 page)

I left a message for Jack when I walked outside to the street to say good-bye to my friends an hour later. I stuck my cell in the back pocket of my jeans and wondered if I should just drive to his shop. He was probably knee-deep in some repair or other and wouldn’t bother to check messages. I turned back toward my building, intending to grab my keys and head over the bridge to Jack’s when I spotted Paul making his way up my sidewalk.

Oh shit. I had completely forgotten about him.

His stride was easygoing and jaunty as though he didn’t have a care in the world, and nothing more pressing to do than go on date to see a jazz band. I liked Paul. He was a nice man. Nice. But he wasn’t the guy for me. He didn’t excite me, make me angry, make me think, or make me laugh, at myself or life in general. And honestly, I didn’t like jazz as much as I thought I did. I just wished I didn’t have to go through a potential scene when my mind was a hundred miles away from caring about ending something that really never was.

I offered him a weak upturn of the lips when he recognized me standing outside wearing a pair of ratty old jeans, a black T-shirt, and a SF Giants baseball cap. He was dressed for an evening out in his ubiquitous khakis and a light blue cashmere V-neck pullover. His blond hair was cut shorter than I remembered, and although I couldn’t deny he was a handsomely elegant man, I knew now I preferred someone rougher around the edges… with longish dark hair, toned muscles, and lots of gorgeous ink.

Paul greeted me with a warm hug and gave my ensemble a quizzical once-over. I certainly wasn’t dressed for a date.

“Running late?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“It’s all right. We have an hour or so before the concert. I can wait.”

I took a deep breath and folded my arms over my chest before launching into my explanation. I hadn’t rehearsed what I’d say to him because I’d barely thought about it. No doubt everything came out in a terrible jumble of nonsensical words.

“Paul, I’m not going to the concert. I’m—I met someone. Well, actually we’ve been friends for a while, but I’m in love with him. And I can’t go with you tonight. That’s all. I should have called you, but it’s been a strange week. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’d congratulate you, but you don’t seem particularly happy. Are you sure about him?” he asked kindly.

“Jack? Yes, absolutely. I’m not… happy. But that has nothing to do with Jack. My father died. Today. I’m try—”

Paul’s response was immediate and it surprised me. He pulled me into a tight embrace and wrapped his arms around me in a show of comfort. The hug went on a little longer than normal, which I could accredit to some compassionate side to him I didn’t know. When I managed to pull away from him, I knew I was fucked.

Jack stood five short feet away. His face was unreadable, but his posture was rigid and tense. Paul didn’t seem to notice him when he leaned forward to kiss my lips. But Jack noticed. He turned on his heels and walked up the street toward his red pickup truck. I pushed Paul out of the way and started to run after Jack. It was too late.

I
WAS
at Jack’s garage twenty minutes later. I didn’t know if I’d find him there or at the bar. He wasn’t answering his phone, so I took my chances with the shop first. I turned my car down the small alley entrance leading to the back garage area and sighed in relief when I spotted his truck. I parked illegally in front of the heavy metal doors and made my way toward an open side entry. The sound of classic rock being played at an obscene volume greeted me as I peeked inside. There were two burly-looking men dressed in coveralls working at different stations. They appeared to be engaged in a conversation, but there was no way I could hear them over the din of the music. One of them noticed me and hooked his head toward the office. I looked in that direction and found the guy I’d been hoping to see. I nodded and made my way toward the windowed office, carefully setting aside the memory of the last time I’d been there.

I knocked once and cautiously opened the door. Jack was sitting at his desk seemingly engrossed in something on his computer, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. I smiled at the incongruous sight of him in a snug-fitted T-shirt, his body ink beautifully displayed, with those “old guy” glasses. My heart skipped a beat as I once again was rocked by my feelings for him. I sent up a quick prayer he’d listen to me as I closed the door behind me.

Jack set his glasses aside and rubbed the bridge of his nose before he looked up at me. The office was obviously soundproof. It was eerily quiet in the small space. I took a deep breath and bit the inside of my cheek, hoping I could figure out how to get him to listen to me.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” Jack gestured to the chair in front of his desk, ignoring the fact he’d seen another man’s arms around me less than half an hour ago.

I sat on the edge of the seat, too nervous and keyed up to relax.

“Thanks. I’m going back tomorrow morning. Cary said a memorial service was being held the day after.”

“That’s fast.”

I gave a humorless chuckle and wiped my damp palms on my jeans. It seemed strange to be talking about the service when the air was practically buzzing between us with unspoken grievances.

“Cary told me Dad, in his typical fashion, had the service planned himself. He wasn’t leaving his last hoorah up to anyone’s whim. Strict instructions about which psalms were to be read and what music should be played were carefully drawn up. Knowing him, a lawyer was probably involved.”

Jack smiled weakly and turned his head to look out at his garage. When he turned back, I saw the resolve in his eyes. He was shutting me out. It was time for me to explain.

“Jack, Paul means nothing to me. I was… look… I was outside saying good-bye to Matt and Aaron when he walked up and… I told him about you. I told him I couldn’t see him again and….”

“Curt, stop!” He stood up quickly and hit his desk hard once with his fist. I started in surprise. I’d never seen Jack really angry before, and it was a little frightening.

He didn’t speak for a moment, and I got the impression he was trying to figure out what to say to get me to leave.

“Jack, please, you don’t….”

“I don’t. You’re right. I can’t do this, Curt. I can’t be the fucking schmuck who gets screwed over yet again. I won’t be left again.”

“What do you mean ‘you won’t be left again’? I haven’t left. I won’t leave you.” My voice had risen to a strangely high pitch. The entire exchange had an almost out-of-body feel.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest defensively as if warding off words he wanted to believe but wouldn’t let himself. He had to know I was sincere. How could he not?

“Jack, you’re always telling me to trust you. I do. Implicitly. Please trust me. I wouldn’t hurt you. I won’t—”

“I don’t know what to say. I can’t take chances anymore with…. When I saw you with Pat, something inside me just….”

“Paul,” I corrected him.

“Whatever. I’m just not made for this… part of it. I can watch sports and God knows I love sex, but this… I’m not doing this again.”

“What exactly are you not doing? I don’t get it.” I was so frustrated and emotionally raw. His cryptic references to the past were confusing. If I was fighting a ghost, I needed to understand what the fuck he meant.

“This! This relationship shit! I’m the one who gets screwed. The one who wants more than the other guy, or worse, the idiot who gets cheated on!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t cheat on you. I’ve never cheated. Ever. I… who…?”

“Shane. Whatever, not important. I doubt you’re kind of man who sneaks home to get fucked by his boss, but I’m not taking anymo—”

“Is that what he did?”

“It’s not important. Curt, I care about you. You’re a good friend, but the rest… as much as I want to, I’m not sure I can trust anyone again. I’m… sorry.”

“Jack, I love you.”

It’s hard to say which of us was more surprised by my outburst. I sat back in the chair, torn between being mortified by my revelation and really fucking proud of myself for admitting how I felt. Humiliation won out as the silence stretched longer than comfortable. My skin felt warm, and I found it suddenly difficult to breathe.

“Curt.” As his astonishment faded, his piercing blue eyes sharpened with determination.

I wished I could hear even the faintest bit of music from the speakers in the garage. Anything to break the ominous quiet in this small fishbowl of an office. I couldn’t bear the sound of my labored breathing or the pounding of my heart. The problem was, I didn’t know what to say to change Jack’s mind. To make him admit he loved me too. To make him say he’d try to trust me. I wasn’t even sure that was something one could try to do. It seemed like you either trusted or you didn’t.

I nodded lamely and swallowed hard as I stood on shaky legs. What now? Did I shake his hand and agree that friendship was cool? That all I needed was a buddy to watch a baseball game every now and then? The very thought of pretending I could be content with just hanging out once in a while was unbearable. I loved him. If I couldn’t have all of him, I knew I’d never be happy with a small piece of his time. It was over.

I held on to the edge of the desk while I took one last glance at Jack. He looked as miserable as me. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t giving us the chance we deserved, and while I wanted to fight for us, to change his mind, I wasn’t capable of it just then. I needed to go to San Francisco first. Maybe when I returned, I could make this right.

I moved on trembling legs toward the door and opened it slowly, letting the wall of sound pour over me. The extreme volume of the music playing in the garage flooded the small office like that damned wave I’d always been sure was close by. It was the perfect analogy for how I was feeling at that moment. I knew when I first met Jack he was different, special. I knew I was out of my league, out of my depth. I should have known it was simply a matter of time, but I had stupidly begun to hope. Unfortunately, I had been 100 percent correct, and now I was a drowning man.

“Forgiveness says you are given another chance to make a new beginning.”

—Desmond Tutu

M
Y
BROTHER
met me at the airport in San Francisco. I expected to get a taxi, stay at a nearby hotel, and quietly attend the service on my own. I was here because Cary asked me to be, but I also knew Matt’s advice that I attend for closure was sound. There was more anxiety, guilt, and anger inside me than I wanted to acknowledge. Perhaps this first visit back home in over a decade would help free me of the past. It was time to move on.

Cary stood at the curb outside the airport beside a newer model BMW, waiting with his cell phone at his ear. He waved when he caught sight of me and ended his call. I saw my brother once a year on average when he was able to make a trip East for work or fun. He hadn’t changed much since December when he claimed work had brought him to the capital. Cary was a good-looking guy. His hair was the same shade of brown as mine with natural auburn highlights. He was my height and shared the same slender build as me. I hadn’t realized how alike we were physically. Cary was a little more “put together” than me, with his perfectly pressed trousers and designer Oxford shirt, but then again, I was stepping off a plane after a six-hour flight.

He smiled widely in greeting and came around the car to wrap his arms around me in a brotherly embrace. His kind eyes appeared a little hollow, as though he were under extreme stress. He was obviously grieving. A part of me felt a sharp pang of guilt, knowing I wasn’t here to celebrate a life well-lived at Cary’s side. I felt horribly selfish. And like a really crappy brother. It made me wonder if part of me had wallowed in anger at the expense of people like Cary. I shook aside my musing and returned my brother’s hug before hopping in his luxurious car.

“How was your flight? Did you get any rest?”

Cary checked his rearview mirror carefully before pulling into traffic. Again, I noted the lines of fatigue. Poor guy looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Good. And no, I never sleep well on planes. How are you? You holding up okay? You look tired.”

Cary threw a weak smile in my direction as he switched lanes and veered toward the highway entrance.

“Dude, I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.” He laughed humorlessly and seemed to lose himself in thought. “Curt?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really glad you came. Thank you.” His voice was low and full of emotion. I might not have heard him if we weren’t next to each other, but I wouldn’t have missed the anguish.

I turned to face him in my seat, really seeing him for the first time.

“What is it, Cary?”

He started to shake his head in denial. All’s good. It always was. But he stilled his movement and licked his lips thoughtfully.

“Nothing. I’m just tired of doing this on my own and I… I’m glad to have you here. It’s nice to have someone on my side. That’s all.” His grin was still more of a weak upturn of his lips, but it reached his eyes this time.