Dissonance (12 page)

C
AM
YAWNED
and rolled onto his back. Early Sunday morning, judging by the angle of the sun through the windows of the guest bedroom. He’d slept better than he had in days, but he still felt exhausted.

He nearly jumped when something cold touched his face, and he realized he wasn’t alone in the bed. For a split second, he thought it was Galen. Then he realized it was Galen’s dog. What was his name? Max. Max, no doubt noticing Cam’s eyes were open, decided he was fair game and licked him several times on the cheek before aiming for Cam’s slightly parted lips.

Horrid, french-kissing a dog. Not that Cam hadn’t kissed men who were equally uninspiring, but really, wasn’t the dog supposed to be with his master? Wherever that was?

Cam pushed the animal away—good Lord, he was heavier than he looked. Cam had figured he was mostly fur.
Apparently not.
Clearly Galen fed him well.

He reminded himself he had nothing to complain about. He’d spent the night before in a subway station, after all. Last night he’d eaten a decent meal for the first time in days, even if the grease from the meat and fries still felt heavy in his gut. When Galen had mentioned something about being a vegetarian, Cam hadn’t been terribly surprised. It went hand in hand with the California surfer look (Cam had fucked a few of those in his day) and the hound from hell. All right. Perhaps “big sloppy dog” was a better description of Max, who was by now curled against Cam’s hip and snoring.

Cam allowed his eyes to close and drifted in and out of semisleep. He awoke to light streaming in the window through the miniblinds. Max was gone, but Cam’s eyes itched and his nose had started to run.
Good riddance.
His stomach growled its displeasure. He didn’t want to ask Galen to feed him again, but he figured eating Galen’s food wasn’t any worse than sleeping in his guest bedroom.

“You’ve never needed to ask for help.”
Galen was right. He never
had
asked for it, and he hated having to do it now.

He sighed and got out of bed, though he was tempted to stay under the warm duvet. The sheets were nothing like the crisp pressed cotton he was used to. They were a slightly off-white color and well-worn. Still, he liked the softness against his skin. He’d ask Luisa to add a bit more fabric softener the next time she changed his sheets.

The thought made him laugh. Of course she wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort. Not for him, at least. Still, she was on the company payroll.
For now.
They’d need someone to keep up the Manhattan apartment until they sold it. He wondered if she’d be able to find another job.

For the first time since the entire mess had blindsided him, he felt something other than sorry for himself. Guilt. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the feeling—he’d felt it when he fucked things up and broken Aiden’s heart—but somehow this time it felt so much more
real.
He thought of Luisa’s kids, the ones she’d proudly showed him pictures of, and wondered how she’d make ends meet.

She’ll be fine.
He needed to focus on himself right now, or he’d be in far more dire straits.

He ran a hand through his hair and found it soft when he’d been expecting the usual stickiness from the gel he favored. He vaguely remembered having showered before bed. He’d been so tired. He looked around and saw a pile of clothes on the nearby table—Galen must have put them out for him while he slept. Normally someone coming into his room while he slept would have bothered him, but today he didn’t have it in him to care.

Cam picked up a pair of jeans from the pile. They were a bit long but otherwise fit well enough, once he’d secured them with a belt. Unlike Galen’s jeans, these looked relatively new, with no holes that Cam could see. He’d expected to see a T-shirt but instead found a polo shirt in pale blue. It surprised Cam that Galen had realized he didn’t wear T-shirts. He was quite sure it wasn’t a coincidence.

He wondered again why Galen had offered him a place to stay. Undoubtedly he expected something in return, and since Cam clearly had nothing to offer other than himself, he guessed Galen probably did want sex, despite what he’d said. Sex with Galen wouldn’t be so bad. He might be a bit slow, but he was attractive enough. Cam hadn’t been looking for sex, but he wouldn’t say no to Galen either.

You don’t even know if he’s gay.
Cam had always been pretty good at guessing. Gay or bi, judging by how comfortable Galen appeared about asking Cam home. Few people wondered about Cam’s orientation—only grandmothers and young women seemed to be oblivious. His mother knew and ignored it. Duncan had never asked. No one else seemed to care, if you didn’t count the men who came on to him. But he liked that.

He pulled on the shirt, then checked his hair in the mirror. Without product, it was even messier than usual. Well, it wasn’t as if Galen cared about how Cam looked—he’d taken him home even though he hadn’t bathed since he’d left the cheap motel two days before. Cam yawned and glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 10:00 a.m. Not all that late, really.

After washing his face, he got dressed and walked down the stairs in the pair of athletic socks Galen had left him. They slid over the wood floors, but they were warm. Max met him at the bottom of the stairs, his tail wagging in circles like a furry helicopter. As soon as Cam let go of the railing, Max jumped on him, paws on his shoulders.

Damn animal.
Why did people bother with pets?

“Max! Down!”

Cam looked around for Galen. Cam expected to find him in the kitchen, but the voice came from the small sunroom on the side of the house. That was when he noticed two bare feet sticking up in the air behind the couch. He peered around to find Galen in a handstand. And not just any handstand. Galen’s hands and forearms rested flat on the floor, his face hovered an inch or two above it, his back was arched, and his legs, bent at the knees, hung over his head.

The thin cotton pants and fitted black tank left little to Cam’s imagination. Galen’s sculpted body was a revelation after the baggy T-shirt and jeans of the night before, the muscles of his arms and legs tensed as he maintained the pose. Cam watched Galen, noted the steadiness of his body and the relaxation of his face despite the obvious effort. Why hadn’t he noticed how beautiful the man was? He’d always preferred men with nicely honed bodies, especially since he himself was far less substantially built.

Max nudged Cam again, bringing him back to himself.

“Max,” Galen warned. He wore the same apologetic look as the night before. “Sorry. When he gets used to you, he’ll leave you alone.”

Cam did his best to force a smile as he wiped the slobber off his cheek. “Not a problem,” he lied. He’d manage. There were more important things than having clean cheeks.
Like food or a roof over your head.

Five minutes later, after Galen had rolled up his yoga mat and put it away, they made their way to the kitchen. “Toast all right with you?” Galen asked, holding up what looked to be a homemade loaf covered in oats, seeds, and nuts.

“That’d be perfect.” Any food sounded perfect.

Galen popped several pieces of bread into the toaster, then asked, “Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, if you don’t mind.” In spite of his penchant for coffee, Cam preferred tea for breakfast, a holdover from his childhood. Some of his best memories were of sipping tea on the veranda with his father in the summer. They hadn’t talked much, but Cam had felt close to him.

“Coming up.” Galen turned his back to Cam and opened one of the white metal cabinets. “Earl Grey, Irish breakfast, Assam, or Darjeeling?”

“Irish breakfast, please.” Another surprise. The man didn’t serve Lipton. Or tea in tea bags, Cam now saw. Galen seemed to be brimming with surprises.

“With milk and sugar?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Galen whistled and got to work. The tune was vaguely familiar. Not jazz. Classical? Mozart? No, Beethoven.

The table reminded Cam of something from a 1950s sitcom, with its chrome legs and laminate top with silver and gold sparkles baked in. Cam sat in one of the chairs, which wobbled a bit on the uneven tongue-and-groove floor. A few minutes later, Galen set down a large cup of tea and a beaker of milk, followed by the toast, butter, and several jams that looked homemade.

Cam picked up one of the jars, opened and sniffed it, then spread the jam on his toast and took a bite. The taste of fresh strawberries danced on his tongue, reminding him of the jam Cook used to make at the castle when he was little. He’d helped the staff pick them when they ripened, and he’d watched the cook can them afterward.

“Excellent jam,” he said as he picked up his tea.

“We’ve got a great farmer’s market not far from here,” Galen explained.

“Oh, I see.”

“Lots of local produce.” Galen spread butter on his toast, then piled several spoonfuls of jam on top of that. “Most people don’t realize how much of Jersey is farm country.”

“Mmm.” Cam, mouth full, figured agreeing with this statement was easiest. He didn’t particularly care, although the jam tasted quite good. After he swallowed, he asked, “Was that yoga before?”

Galen nodded and took a sip of his tea. “I’ve been practicing yoga for about ten years now. Keeps me centered. On the right track.”

“I see.” Cam didn’t, of course, but he’d be polite nonetheless. Riley had been on some hot yoga bender a few years before. Like everything else she’d taken up in what she’d called her “quest for perfection,” she’d dropped it after a few months. This thought led him to wonder if he’d been a fad with her too.

“You okay?” Galen frowned, and Cam realized he’d been holding his tea so long his fingers were burning. He set the cup down, spilling a bit of the liquid onto the table.

“Perfectly fine.”

“Sleep okay?” Galen stood up, retrieved a sponge from the sink, and wiped up the spill.

“Quite well,” Cam lied. “Thank you. The bed is very comfortable,” he added, which of course was true.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

The question took Cam aback. They’d gone from small talk to best mates in the span of twenty-four hours? “What for?” What could he possibly feel the need to tell Galen?

Galen shrugged and offered Cam an understanding smile. “I just wanted you to know I’m a good listener,” he said. “If you ever feel you need to talk about things.”

Cam schooled his expression and did his best to sound conciliatory. “I appreciate the offer. And I appreciate what you’ve done for me. But I’m perfectly fine.”

“No problem.” Galen finished the last bit of his toast, then asked, “More tea?”

“Thank you.”

Galen snagged the teapot and strainer from the counter and walked back to the table. “So what would you like to do today?”

“
Do
?” As in a date?
Or maybe a play date.

“It’s Sunday, the weather is beautiful, and I was thinking maybe we could go to the flea market or something.” Galen refilled Cam’s tea, then his own.

Cam felt the panic return with a jolt to his gut. If he went out, they’d find him, wouldn’t they?
Stop it! They’re not so interested in you that they’ll be knocking on doors in New Jersey.

“Cam?”

Cam realized he’d been silent for a minute, maybe more. “I… ah…. I probably should be getting back.”

“Where do you need to be?” The same words Galen had spoken when he’d bought Cam coffee.

“I’ve got someone I need to meet. In Manhattan,” he added quickly.

Galen wiped down the table, dried it—the man was so bloody neat—then sat back down facing Cam. “I know you don’t have anywhere to go. You wouldn’t have come here with me if you did.”

Cam clenched his jaw. “I should get out of your hair. I’ll figure something out.”

“You can stay as long as you need. Like I said, Max and I are used to having company.”

“What kind of company?” Cam heard himself ask.

Galen laughed, and Cam thought he saw a hint of pink on his cheeks. “Not the kind of company you’d imagine. Usually a stray kid. My brother, when he has business in the city. My folks, when they drive down from Maine.”

“Stray kid?”

“I teach high school, remember?” Galen put the top back on the jam jar and turned it so that the label faced toward Cam, perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. “You know, kid gets into a fight with a parent, threatens to run away?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Cam stood up and walked over to the window. The wind had died down, leaving the yard covered in leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Galen said as though he meant it, which just irritated Cam more.

“Don’t be. I spent my formative years at a very expensive boarding school in Scotland. After my father died, my mother decided the best way to make a man out of me was to send me to an all-boys’ school.” Cam didn’t add that he’d learned early on that if he was going to survive there, he needed to “help” the older boys out. He’d been quite good at that too. Once, when he’d been caught blowing one of them behind a building, he’d even helped one of the teachers.

“Doesn’t sound that great, the way you say it.”

“I learned a lot.”

Galen’s expression didn’t waver. “Is your mother still living?” he asked.

Tactfully done change of topic.
“I called her before I decided to take a nap in the subway station,” Cam said with a laugh he knew sounded bitter. “Shall we just say she wasn’t exactly interested in my predicament, and leave it at that?”

This time Cam knew he’d struck a chord. He saw the barely visible shift in Galen’s gaze. Good. Maybe Galen wouldn’t ask him anything else. Cam didn’t want to talk about her.

“I could use a little help with the leaves,” Galen said after a pause.

“Leaves?”

“Raking?” Galen prompted. “This time of year, it’s all I can do to keep them off the grass.”

“What’s wrong with leaving them on the grass?” Cam countered.

“Don’t know. I guess it’s just what I’ve always done. Rake them, I mean.” Galen grinned, then added, “I remember when I was a kid, my dad would gather them into a pile and my brother Ryan and I would jump into them.”