Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (75 page)

did not make it
the
ring, and Patrick’s heart didn’t need to pound the

way it did, nor did his breath need to suck inward. Some men wore

pinky rings. George could be one of those men.

But the scratch told him this wasn’t true. George didn’t wear pinky

rings. He wore this ring. Patrick’s ring.

And if he wore Patrick’s ring, he had to know who Patrick was.

Had George been pretending all along not to know him, just as Patrick

had done to George? George grumbled in his sleep. The consequences

of caving to his feelings weren’t many, but they were enormous. Loss

of career. Loss of family. And for waking George up right now and

telling him, “I know what you know,” what if he did that? What then?

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“Hey.” George gave a sleep-addled greeting as he blinked his eyes

open. “You gonna give my hand back?” Patrick released it, unaware

of how tight he’d been squeezing until that moment.

“Sorry. I…” He cut himself off when George’s smile turned to

confusion. They looked down together. Despite letting George’s hand

go, he’d kept his finger over the ring. He could pull away, blow off the

incident.

But in the pause of indecision, George grabbed Patrick’s wrist. “I

knew since you walked into my office.”

Never having retreated in his life, Patrick didn’t recognize the urge

to run at first. But he hadn’t expected finding his lost heart to terrify

him. When they pretended not to know each other, there was safety in

lying. But now… now the honesty flayed him open, showed him off

and exposed to him possibilities he’d stopped allowing himself to

imagine.

Patrick could deny it. That was still an option.

But George. This was
George.
If he didn’t take this chance right

now, he’d never have it again. Could he handle that? Handle finding

and giving up his first love, whose picture lived in his uniform, whose

name he considered too private to speak? George sat up, still holding

his wrist, his face tense.

Patrick grabbed George, needing to anchor himself on the one

steady thing he had. “I knew as soon as you said your first name,” he

said, and gave himself over to George’s hands.

He wouldn’t have suspected such a confession to make a

difference since they already loved each other, even if they hadn’t said

it, but the sex that morning was the best he’d ever had. George

collapsed on Patrick’s chest after, smug little grin on his face that

knocked ten years off his forty. It wasn’t six o’clock yet. They had

another hour before they needed to be out of bed. Patrick curled

around him, too wired to sleep.

****

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 450

George woke to the scent of waffles. He pulled his sweatpants on

and wandered into the kitchen to find Patrick wearing his Army issue

boxers with George’s “Kiss the Cook” apron ladling batter into the

waffle maker. Three golden-brown waffles were stacked on a plate

beside it.

“You cook, too?” George asked. He sidled up behind Patrick and

kissed the back of his neck.

“Do everything,” Patrick said, tilting around for another kiss. “I’m

good to have around.”

“Known that since I was twelve.” George ducked away from the

dripping ladle. He smacked Patrick’s ass as he retreated to the table.

“First thing I’m doing is buying you some decent underwear.”

“Smiley faces?” Patrick caught George by the waist and tugged

his waistband, revealing his happy shorts.

George slapped his hand away. “Maybe.” The night before,

Patrick had almost given himself a hernia laughing when he’d yanked

George’s pants down and revealed them. “You’d look good in them.”

“Sit down.” Patrick laughed. After George sat, Patrick turned back

to the waffles. He’d changed since the revelation about the ring, the

revelation about each other. George had explained away Patrick’s

cordial stiffness as the result of twenty years as a military man. He’d

never thought Patrick had his guard up against falling in love with

someone who didn’t remember him. Now that that wall was gone, he

saw the boy he’d known. From the way Patrick cast rapid looks at

him, he guessed that Patrick sought George’s former self, too. George

felt giddier than he had in ages, so Patrick wouldn’t have to look hard.

Patrick dropped a plate in front of George and sat down with

another. “Advance warning: despite appearances, I’ve never made a

successful waffle.”

George gave his an experimental poke. Batter flowed from inside

a perfect exterior. “I’ve got PopTarts,” he said.

“Great. I’ll toast them.” Patrick hopped up.

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“Uhh…” Visions of black PopTarts flashed through George’s

mind.

“Or we can eat them cold.”

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” Patrick scrunched his face in

embarrassment, and flipped George off when he laughed. When

Patrick sat down again, George pulled the PopTarts box from his

hands, grabbed his wrist, and kissed him. Abandoning the silver

packet he’d pulled from the box, Patrick yanked George into his lap.

Patrick’s ingrained sense of duty ensured they were at work five

minutes early, despite every excuse George could think of.

****

“What?” Patrick looked up from his computer. Saul stood beside

his desk staring. Again. Patrick didn’t consider himself a paranoid

man, but the firm’s head accountant had been giving Patrick looks

since he’d arrived. Patrick wouldn’t have spared a thought about it,

except it kept happening and Saul worked on a different floor. In other

words, Saul made special trips to stare at him.

“Nothing,” Saul said.

Patrick sighed. “Look, if you have a problem with my work…”

“How’s George?”

“He’s fine,” Patrick said, after Saul didn’t explain why he was

asking Patrick instead of George. Saul’s expression changed. He

covered it fast, but Patrick saw the disappointment. Fuck. He hadn’t

guessed Saul meant like
that
. Patrick knew an ex-lover when he saw

one. “We’re not together,” he said, keeping his tone easy and flat.

Anti-torture training had non-combat uses, too.

“Uh huh.” Saul matched his tone to Patrick’s. “Well. See you

around, Major.”

The lack of emphasis on his military status felt deliberate and bit

harder because of it. “Yeah.” Patrick forced disinterest. After Saul left,

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Patrick got up, pushed away the unsettled feeling in his stomach,

grabbed a folder off the desk, and headed for George’s office.

****

“I have some numbers to go over with you.” Patrick wielded a

folder as he stood in George’s doorway.

“You’d better come in, then.” Grinning, George waved him into

the office and got up from his desk. As soon as Patrick shut the door,

George kissed him. “Nice excuse.”

“Best one I had.”

“Needed to see me?” George kissed him again. They hadn’t had

sex on the couch yet. They couldn’t do it now, but maybe after work…

“I…” Patrick pushed George away and held him by the shoulders.

He didn’t look happy. He hadn’t kissed back, either. “Did you tell Saul

about us?”

“No.” George tried to nudge forward to try another kiss, but

Patrick let go and stepped away.

“George, you can’t tell anyone about us. I assumed you

understood.”

George turned to follow him. “I thought Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was

over.”

“Soldiers are still getting kicked out. It’s not over yet. Won’t be

until the government and military get all their ducks lined up.”

George stared at Patrick’s back as his words and their implications

sank in. “I can’t go back in the closet, even if I was willing to.

Everyone knows I’m gay. I’m on the fucking board of directors at

GLAAD.” That was the surface of it. Beneath that were years of

standing up to bullies, taking a stand for himself over and over,

scraping confidence up from nothing. He couldn’t shove that away,

couldn’t undo himself like that.

Patrick turned around. “I’m not asking you to. You just need to not

tell anyone about you and me.” Said like it was that simple.

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“So we should sneak around?”

“We did it as kids?” From Patrick’s awkward expression, even he

knew it was weak.

“We didn’t know what the hell we were doing as kids. And in case

you didn’t notice, neither of us is a kid.” George stalked past him, he

did
not
stomp, for his stash of bourbon reserved for closing deals of

over one hundred million dollars. He didn’t offer Patrick any.

Patrick followed him and, fuck him, steadied George’s hand as he

poured. “I don’t think you understand what could happen. I could lose

my career and my kids over this.”

George set the bottle down. For the first time, he saw Patrick’s

misery. He gulped half the glass. The burn added to the pain in his gut

instead of distracting from it. He shoved the glass at Patrick and let

him finish it off. “Your wife didn’t divorce you because you’re gay?”

“No.” He didn’t go into details, staring at the bottom of the empty

glass instead.

George took it from him. “So, she doesn’t know?”

“No. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Right. You think you can waltz in here and claim me and have

things go like you want?” He let his voice go as angry as he felt.

Fucking twenty-six years he’d held Patrick up as his fucking knight

and now this, fucking,
this
was not how it was supposed to go.

“That’s not-I want you.”

George let out a spiteful laugh. He couldn’t keep it inside him.

There were enough emotions broiling down there that couldn’t get out

already. “And you aren’t willing to give up anything to have me?”

“My entire adult life? That’s what’s on the line for me. You’re

demanding that much of a sacrifice? What do you stand to lose? What

would you do for me?” Patrick asked. He had the gall to make it into a

challenge. If he knew even half of what George had done- George

backed off from the thought. He hadn’t told Patrick about those

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aspects of his life, the painful bits; he shouldn’t blame him for not

knowing.

“I’ve already done it,” George said. “The legend of you is so

strong in my mind that I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve ever had. I

should have taken this ring off years ago instead of keeping it as a

reminder of the only true love I’ve ever believed.” He yanked it off

and flung it at his desk. “If I lose you now, I’m back at square one and

all I’ve got to show for it is a lost dream and backlog of lovers who

don’t compare to you and all know it.”

“To your image of me,” Patrick said.

“What?” George snapped his gaze up to meet Patrick’s. Maybe the

military training made him look calmer than he felt. George was on

the verge of exploding.

“The real me, they probably compare to. Your idea of me, maybe

not.”

That deflated him a little. He slumped onto the couch that took up

the opposite corner of the office and put his head in his hands. “Yeah.”

Patrick sat beside him. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and

took a picture out. “Here.”

George took it. “Us?” The picture had faded to sepia tones, but

that was his skinny arm reaching up to go around Patrick’s bare

shoulders, both of them with beach towels around their necks.

“You are always with me. I keep it in my uniform pocket when

I’m under deployment.”

George didn’t trust himself to speak. He offered the photo instead.

Patrick accepted it and slipped it back into his wallet. “I’m sorry.

About everything. Not keeping in touch and just… now. But you have

to believe we’re supposed to be together. It’s too much of a

coincidence for me to be here to be otherwise.”