Better Than Another Man (2 page)

Carey shrugged his shoulders. “He’s not shocked either. I think he’s always known. It’s why he’s forever disappointed in me. He wanted a jock like you for a son.”

“Maybe, but I’m an asshole.”

“I
know
!” Carey grinned. He’d changed since he’d confided in me, easing the burden that he’d carried with him all this time. He was still struggling, but it was getting better.

We attempted to keep Carey’s secret from the rest of the school. It was a decision we made together. I revealed my fears about his coming out. I was afraid for his safety. We’d both heard the slurs and tasteless jokes in the locker room about homosexuals. Hell, I’d told a few myself. As far as we knew, there were no other openly gay kids at our small-town intolerant high school. There were some kids that we suspected might be, but it wasn’t until we went off to college in a bigger city that Carey was finally free to be himself and met other guys he could connect with. He even dragged me to a couple of gay bars as his wing-man a time or two in the beginning. I was a little uncomfortable, but I was also kind of glad that I could check these guys out. I didn’t want him going out with some flamboyant kind of guy or one that was just going to use him, or abuse him or whatever. I was always grateful that Carey was still masculine. I’m not sure I would have been able to remain his friend if he’d been too out there.

We sat playing video games in our dorm room apartment on a slow Saturday night, about six beers in each of us, and we let loose as always, joking and insulting each other as we did. But it was also when we had some of our best conversations.

Carey turned to me and set the game paddle down. “Bryan.”

“Yeah, dumb-ass. You just lost, ya know.”

“I know. I gotta say something.”

“So say it. I’m going on without you…Whoa!” I thumbed the control, zagging out of the way of a stray bullet.

“You know, I don’t think I ever thanked you. You know, for still being my friend, after…”

“I know. You don’t have to thank me,” I acknowledged, distracted by the game.

“It’s not just that you remained my friend, you saved my life…Bry!” He grabbed my shoulder.

“What?” I complained, getting aggravated by his incessant chatter. I didn’t even want to think about that day. “Fuck, man, you’re turning into a girl.” I always teased him that way.

Carey pursed his lips, clearly not appreciating my joke. He threw himself back onto the couch, picked up the joystick and hit reset.

“Hey!”

“I’m gonna go out with that guy that I met at the bar.”

I nodded. “Okay, he seemed like an alright guy.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“It’s none of my business. If that’s what makes you happy?” I shrugged.

“You’d be okay about me, ya know, bringing other guys…here?”

“Yeah, I bring chicks here, what’s the difference?”

Carey sat back on the couch. “Okay.” He nodded as if he’d made a decision.

It wasn’t easy for either of us. Guys are dicks, let’s face it—gay or straight, we are a selfish breed. Carey went through a string of men who either used him or walked all over him. I hated that people felt the need to treat other human beings that way. But male or female, people just generally sucked, I accepted that. And just like back in kindergarten, when they hurt him, I wanted to beat the supreme shit out of them. However, at times I had to let Carey fend for himself. I guess it was no different for him when I went through girl after girl. The difference was, I didn’t care if they stayed or not. There was always someone else. They were easy to replace. But not for Carey. He always took it hard. He wanted a relationship. A real, loving, give-and-take monogamous mate. And I really hoped, for his sake, one day he’d find it.

Chapter Two

We were in our final year of college. Carey was studying to be an architect and I was kind of bouncing around, not really knowing what I wanted to do. I was not one of those fortunate few who knew from infancy what they wanted to do, like Carey. He could sketch like no one else I knew. I always thought he’d be an artist or something, but he was going to design buildings instead. He even had blueprints of his dream house, which even included a room for me.

I’d applied to the same school as Carey just because they had a pretty good football program, I didn’t really care where I went to school, but we wanted to go somewhere together.

Nevertheless, when I got there, I soon realised that just because I was a star in high school didn’t mean that I could just walk right in and own the team. The competition in higher education was fierce, especially for someone like me that never strived with any real ambition toward anything. Football had always come easy to me—I didn’t have to work at it to be good. But the guys at college level were freakin’ diehards. I wasn’t even in their league. I made the team by the slightest stroke of luck and blew out my knee in the first game of the season. I had surgery a week later and my short-lived football career was over. Carey was at my side the whole time, helping and encouraging me, but after that the only sport I played was beer pong.

As for a major, I started out with business courses, then halfway through switched to economics, which I didn’t find was any different. And now I was considering either computers or just flunking out, going back home and applying for a job in the factory where my old man worked, when Carey dropped a little bomb of his own.

“I’m thinking of moving to Chicago after graduation,” he said over a bowl of cereal one morning.

“Chicago? What for?”

“I got a job offer.”

“You did?” I smiled, proud of him.

“Yeah.” He grinned back. “It’s a good firm, too.”

“That’s freakin’ awesome, Care!” I slapped him on the shoulder.

“What are you going to do? After graduation?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Well, we both know I’m not going to graduate, so, I thought I’d go back home and work in the plant.”

“Oh, yeah, cause you’ll love that,” he retorted.

“What else am I going to do? I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Nothing appeals to me. I don’t really care about any of this. You know that. I thought I wanted to play ball, and look how that’s turned out.”

“Because you didn’t try! You could have made the team second year. Your knee was healed up by then, and you didn’t even go to tryouts. Why don’t you try coaching?”

“I don’t wanna be a teacher!”

“Then don’t. You don’t have to have a teaching degree to coach, and there are some very good places in Chicago that you could apply to.” Oh, so that’s where this was going.

But we didn’t get a chance to hash things out. The phone rang, interrupting our ongoing argument about what I was going to do with the rest of my life and if we were headed in the same direction when I did it, or if we were finally going to have to go it alone.

Carey answered the phone, he listened, and his face paled. He held up the handset. “Bry, it’s your dad.”

I took the phone, dread settling in the pit of my stomach just from the look on Carey’s face.

When I hung up, Carey opened his arms and I let him comfort me. Who’d have imagined my mom would have a massive coronary at forty-two.

* * * *

Carey was fantastic, as usual. He helped my dad and me make the decisions that needed to be made for my mom’s funeral—even picked out our suits and chose the music. He single-handedly put together a reception for afterward and most importantly stood at my side and held me up when they lowered my mom into the ground.

We spent the rest of that week at home, then went back to school.

For approximately a month afterward, Carey cleaned up after me as I drank an excessive amount of alcohol, determined to keep my body and mind numb so that I didn’t have to deal.

I woke up one night, in my own bed for a change. Reaching toward the side table, knocking over empties, I grabbed the nearest bottle with any liquid still left in it, held it to my lips and gulped the contents. I tossed it carelessly when it was empty and settled back down into bed.

Carey was there. He pulled my head against his chest and held me as he’d been doing for weeks now. He swept his hand into my hair, stroking my scalp. His touch was the only comfort I needed and looked forward to.

And somewhere in the middle of the night, in the dark, I found myself seeking more from him than I’d ever expected.

I was warm and dizzy, in that state of unrealism or drunkenness and dreams, and seeking to feel something other than the raw nagging loss clawing at my chest. He stroked my arms and shoulders with his strong hands. I rolled into him, not thinking about what I was doing, just turning to the warm body that was with me. He kissed my forehead and whispered soothing words to me.

I tilted my chin towards him, raking his jaw with my teeth before brushing my lips over his skin searching for his mouth. He stilled, then tensed when I demanded entrance. I dropped soft kisses on his closed lips, coaxing with my tongue, until he began to respond.

When he surrendered, I forcefully seized his head, slanting my mouth over his, exploring, plunging, tasting this new willing partner. His unshaven cheeks chafed my lips and jaw line as I plundered mindlessly.

My body was alive and hard. Finding strength. I pulled myself against the other firm body.

My partner groaned, eliciting the same response from me. My companion clutched at my hips, sliding his erection slowly and seductively next to mine. I bucked, straining, begging to feel his solidity. I grabbed his ass and pulled him more fully against me. Rubbing my cock roughly against his…cock…

My thinking slowed, as I acknowledged the two identical body parts. My clouded brain demanded cognizant thought.

I jumped from the bed, covering my swollen lips with my hand as the realisation of what I’d been doing settled into my rapidly sobering consciousness. I tried to breathe through my fingers, my chest heaving with not only latent arousal but also disgust.

It was dark and I couldn’t see but I knew it was another man in my bed. Not just any man. Carey.

The mattress springs squeaked under his weight and I assumed he was sitting up. I panicked. And I bolted, unable to face him or myself. I fled the house, appalled by my behaviour. I ran until my stomach hurt. Several blocks from home, I fell to my knees in the grass and I puked my guts out.

I walked around town aimlessly until the sun came up, finally sitting on a park bench overlooking the water.

* * * *

What the fuck was that? I sat trembling on the side of the bed and turned on the lamp in the empty room. My body was on fire and my heart pounding, along with my blood.

I wasn’t dreaming. Bryan kissed me. He was just as turned on as I was. I’d felt the undeniable evidence. My lips still burned.

I only wanted to comfort him. Had I orchestrated that—taken advantage of his vulnerability?

These last weeks since he’d lost his mom had been pure hell. Just trying to keep him alive seemed like a full-time occupation. Bryan drank non-stop from the time he woke up until he finally passed out, then started all over again. I was afraid for him. If he didn’t slow down, he was going die from alcohol poisoning. I was terrified to leave him alone. Tonight he seemed extra needy.

Some nights I stayed in his room, not always in his bed, but this time I’d been exhausted. I needed to rest too. I held Bryan and caressed him, perhaps selfishly, thinking he wouldn’t even remember. Then he’d reached for me, his plump lips seeking. I froze when his mouth touched mine. He didn’t know what he was doing, but God, I wanted it. When he began to persuade me with his tongue, I was lost and kissed Bryan in return. He’d grabbed my ass, straining to get closer and I realised he was as hard as I was…fuck! It was what my dreams were made of. But then he’d run off. I wasn’t even sure where he’d go.

I pulled on a sweatshirt and grabbed one for him, just on the slim chance that I found him.

I went to the football field first, thinking that Bryan might go there. Then I just wandered with no real direction in mind, just hoping I’d run across him. But as I plodded along searching, I was worried. Bryan was such a man’s man. There was not a homosexual inclination in him. He accepted me, but he wasn’t like me. I didn’t know how he would react to what had happened. Would it drive him into even more of a downward spiral than the one he’d already been in?

The sun started to come up. I was near the park when I saw his silhouette by the edge of the water. Relief and need swamped my chest. It kind of pissed me off. I’d buried those feelings for Bryan back in high school. They were back, with a vengeance.

* * * *

That was how Carey found me.

He sat down on the bench beside me, careful not to touch me. I couldn’t even look at him. He set a hoodie down between us. I was cold, so I pulled it on.

“I’m sorry,” I offered, my voice raspy with guilt and shame.

In my peripheral vision, I saw him nod. Carey leaned forward, resting elbows to knees, chin in hand.

What could he possibly be thinking? Carey was my best friend, for God’s sake. My gay best friend. How could I have done such a thing? Christ! Why had I wanted to? Even now, I waged an inner battle, as my traitorous cock threatened to swell into another full-fledged hard-on at the memory of Carey’s muscular body moving against mine?

“I’m not gay!” I blurted.

Carey exhaled on an anxious laugh. “I’m well aware of that,” he responded, his voice incredibly deep, his tone clipped, as he tended to get when he was upset.

I rubbed my face roughly and stood, then walked to the rail, looking down into the dirty water and placing my back to him.

“I don’t know what happened, Care! I’ve been in such a fuckin’…I don’t even know, funk, since my mom died and I’m not using that as an excuse for what I did, or the alcohol or…” I paused, turning to face him.

“Bryan. It’s fine. Let’s get you home.”

“It’s fine! How can you say that? Nothing’s fine! I just…we just…”

“We didn’t. You needed someone and I was there. That’s it. I know who you are. You know who I am. Now let’s go. You can take a shower, because you smell like puke. You can get some much-needed sleep. I’m going to dump out every last drop of booze in the place and you are going to grieve soberly for your mother. I shouldn’t have allowed you get away with this for as long as I have.” Carey stood, but his expression was guarded. He seemed almost angry, but like he was holding back too.