Crash: M/M Straight to Gay First Time Romance (10 page)

Liam

             
I stifle my groan as I open my eyes and the soreness in my body assails me. Reid is still sleeping soundly beside me, one arm thrown haphazardly over his head and the other wedged beneath me. The soft, steady thump of his heartbeat is under my ear, and his deep breathing blows gently across my face. Despite the pain in my hips and thighs, I think this might be the happiest I have been since…ever.

              Finding Reid Cummings was the last thing I ever expected in my life. Discovering that he was smart and generous and kind and a vigorous lover was like a miracle for me. But the idea that he could ever feel anything for me, anything real and beautiful, is something I can’t seem to comprehend. Reid Cummings likes me, not the Liam Hasker from all of those years ago. He likes Liam McClehllan. He likes the sarcastic recluse with impossibly red hair and scars and an evil cousin who may or may not be bent on the destruction of everything he holds dear. He likes me.

              “You look happy,” he says, his chest rumbling with the deep timbre of his voice.

              “Do I?”

              “You are smiling.”

              “Am I?” I pull the corners of my mouth down. How can he see them in the first place? The sun is still well beneath the horizon.

              “I can feel it when you smile,” he says, answering my question without forcing me to ask.

              “Oh.”

              “Why are you so happy?”

              “Aren’t you happy?”

              “I don’t know. I’m at peace. I have more peace right now than I had yesterday. I guess that is the same as being happy.” His voice is pleasant, but those aren’t the words I want to hear. I want to hear that he is deliriously happy that I am here beside him, and he can’t imagine how he will survive the next fifty years of his life without me. Damn him and his honesty!

              “I guess.”

              “Why are you happy?”

              “You like me.” I sound stupid, but I can’t help myself. He holds me tighter and kisses the top of my head.

              “I do.”

              The alarm rings, bringing our early morning cuddling to an abrupt end. Like a good soldier, he sits up in bed and swings his legs over the edge, pulling himself away from my body.

              “You don’t have to be at work for hours. What are you doing?”

              “You think this body forms naturally? I need to work out.” He stands stiffly and swings his arms around in wide circles to get the blood flowing.

I stretch out on my stomach and watch as he marches around the bedroom, twisting and stretching as he forces his body to wake up. He still has all of the charisma of the high-school athlete that I used to watch from the shadows. He still seems to shine when he is in motion. All of his movements seem to flow effortlessly from some reservoir of kinetic energy I will never be able to match. I can feel the heat steal into my cheeks, and I turn my face to the pillow, hiding my smile.

              “You should sleep. I will wake you when I get back in, and we can get ready for work together,” he says.

              “Say what now?”

              “Work?”

              “I don’t need to get ready for work. I don’t even need to put on pants to work.” I sit up and look at him quizzically.

              “You’re going to work with me.” He says it as if it is a settled matter.

              “Since when?”

              “Since last night when you agreed to come to work with me and meet the kids.” He pulls on a track suit haphazardly, shaking his collar out as he searches for his shoes.

              “No, I didn’t!” Alarm creeps into my voice.

              “If we are going to make this work, the people around me need to believe that I love you, and you love me. You have to show your face at least once,” he says, kissing me on the nose before leaving the bedroom. I am still not sure what is happening when I hear the front door bang. He is gone, and I am left with the realization that there is no way out of this.

              What's worse, I am not sure I want to worm my way out of this. I scoot over until I am in the warm space he left behind. The sheets still smell like Reid. I still have a hard time accepting the fact that I am here, in Reid’s bed, after a night spent…fucking? Making love? Mutually pleasurable casual sex? Hooking up? I am not sure what to call it. Our relationship is, at its core, fake. Our marriage is fake. My identity isn’t fake, but it is problematic. Would he still accept me if he knew I was the same Liam he has been reminiscing about for the last few weeks? Would he be angry with me for hiding it from him? And how could I explain to him the reason why I pretended not to know him?

              “I was planning on getting close to you, destroying your life and skipping out of town in time to watch the show, but I discovered that you aren’t the guy I thought you were and decided to seduce you instead.”

              The words sound ridiculous even as I say them. I chuckle at the dilemma that is my life. If this were a novel, this would be the perfect plot line. It would read like a made for tv movie starring a dazzling lineup of b-movie actors and set in a non-descript town in New England.

              Oooh…that’s good.

              I force my body up and out of bed, and I shuffle through the house, naked, back to my room. I plant my bare ass in the seat in front of my laptop and begin fleshing out the idea in my head. It’s a departure from the dark tone of my usual work. By the time I hear Reid return, I have the outline of a lighthearted romance sitting in front of me.

              “Hey, working already?”

              “Always,” I look up at him and smile.

              “What is it this time?”

              “A comedy of errors.”

              He stares at me for a moment as if he is expecting me to say more. It occurs to me that sexy McJock-face might not know what a comedy of errors is.

              “It's a story where lots of little mistakes and misunderstandings create a huge problem,” I explain. He nods, and I shrug. Neither one of us cares.

              “I’m going to hit the showers,” he says, turning away and pulling the wet t-shirt off of his sculpted body. “Are you coming?”

              I don’t wait for a second invitation. I could get used to this.

****

              The center is a hub of activity all day. The morning starts with a massive influx of kids from age 4 to 13. Reid seems to know each one by name. He introduces me by name, giving me a brief description of each child’s circumstances. Father in jail. Mother recently unemployed. Lives in a homeless shelter. Great student. Wonderful artist. Promising athlete. Each one greets him like a family member, hugging him and tugging at his clothes to get his attention and tell him something important to them alone. Somehow he keeps it all straight in his head, listening and responding to each child in the few moments he has for them before buses arrive to deliver them to their respective schools.

              “You love those kids,” I say as I watch him wave goodbye to the last bus.

              “I love kids,” he says. He looks sad as he says it as if the fact that two men can’t have babies has just occurred to him. Or maybe it’s me.

              “I never thought about kids before today.”

              “Never?” His eyes are wide with surprise.

              “Never. I don’t do relationships, remember. I don’t hate kids. I just don’t think about them.”

              He nods slowly and then turns back to the center. To be honest, the place is in desperate need of the funds my cousin, the troll king, will provide with his little scheme. All of the equipment and furniture is in decline and the building itself is in need of major renovations. Still, it’s not the state of the building that makes it so vital for this community. The people here receive much-needed services and a sense of community and hope from this place, and the heart of it is Reid. After only a few hours, it is obvious that he lives for this place. It is the center of his world.

              “I’m going to help you protect this center, no matter what,” I say. He squeezes my hand gently and helps me get back to the office. I am walking now, but I refuse to use the walker they gave me. I may be a sweatpants-clad writer, but I have my pride.

              Three hours pass while I work on my manuscript. I see Reid rushing past the window several times, but we don’t talk, and he won’t interrupt me unless he must. Somehow, that seems like a comforting thought. There is a rhythm to our life together. A life…together. I never thought I would ever contemplate that idea.

              “You must be Liam,” says a woman I don’t remember allowing into the room. I look up at her and scowl. Her medium brown hair with nearly natural highlights falls in large curls around her face. She looks like a retired beauty queen. Her smile, makeup, and stylish pantsuit and pumps combination scream Dallas cheerleader.

              “You are?”

              “Clarissa Jones. I am an old friend of Reid’s. Is he around by chance?”

              “No.” I shut my laptop and stare at her from across the desk.

              “Well, I’ll just hang out here until he shows up if you don’t mind.” She sits in the chair opposite me, and crosses her legs, beauty pageant style.

              “I do, but it’s not my office.” I shift in my seat. What is it with people in this town not taking the flipping hint when I am trying to blow them off?

              “That is Reid’s way, always leaving things half done.” She chuckles softly, and I give her an approving snort. He does have a habit of disappearing at the worst possible moment.

              “So how long have you two been together?” she asks. “I hope you don’t mind me asking. I never heard anything about you until a few weeks ago.”

              “I am a private person and Reid respects that.”

              “Yes, he is good with that. When we were in school together, he was the only person I could trust with my secrets. I didn't have many close friends back then, so having somebody I could talk to about everything was a relief.”

              “You two went to school together?” I shouldn’t be interested. This isn’t my business, and I don’t know who this woman is, but something inside me yearns for news of the years I missed.

              “Yes, we met freshman year of college. He was an athlete, and I was a cheerleader, so we knew a lot of the same people,” she says sitting back in the chair and recalling the past. I don’t ask any questions, and she doesn’t need any prompting to begin regaling me with tales of late night study sessions, wild parties and a boy whose addictions were quickly consuming all of the good things in his life.

              “By the time we graduated, it was clear that he was not handling it well at all. So, I had to make a decision. If I kept hanging around, I would only enable him. I had to walk away. So I did. When I heard he got clean, I dropped him a line. You know how Reid is, never holding a grudge. And here we are,” she says, ending her story with a soft clap of her hands.

              “I wish I knew him then,” I say, feeling a sudden pang of jealousy.

              “All that time, I never knew he was gay,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me.

              “Neither did he,” I defend.

              “And you helped him discover that?”

              “I am not in the habit of helping people discover anything.”

              “No, you aren’t.” Her smile falters for just a moment and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

              “Does Reid know you are coming by?”

              “I really came to meet you, Liam. I had to get a good look at the man who stole my Reid Cummings’s heart. To be honest with you, you’re nothing like I imagined.”

              “Well Ruairi and I may share a gene pool, but he comes from the shallow end, I assure you,” I say, smiling.

She blanches for a moment, swallowing as she prepares a reply.

“Oh, you are quick,” I cut her off before she has time to lay down her cover story. “They taught you well at finishing school.”

              “What gave me away?” Her voice wobbles slightly.

              “Was it Saint Agatha’s or the Swiss Academy?” I ask her in French. She smiles again, a habit of well-groomed young ladies when they are angry or embarrassed.

              “Saint Agatha’s of course. I don’t like the snow,” she replies, her French flawless.

              We sit in our seats staring each other down. I wonder if Ruairi sent her or she just couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get a look at the competition. Was she Reid’s friend, or is she, like me, playing a role?

              “What’s going on in here?” Reid bursts in, disrupting our Mexican standoff as she turns her liquid amber gaze to his face.

              “Clarissa Jones,” he says, softly. The color drains away from his face, and he stands there staring at her as if she was back from the dead.