Crash: M/M Straight to Gay First Time Romance (13 page)

              “You know, as long as you two are together, that funding is as good as gone, even if I approve it,” she whispers into my ear.

              “Liam won’t let that happen. Ruairi is smart but Liam is smarter. I trust him. And, even if he can’t pull it off, I can’t walk away. For better or for worse, right?”

              She steps back and gives me the same look you give the girl who gets second runner-up in a beauty contest. I know that everything we have worked for is in jeopardy now, but all I can think of is how much pressure Liam must be under. Like always, he is hiding it from me, trying to protect me and himself from disaster. It’s time for me to go home.

              I stand beside my truck until she drives out of sight. Then I start the engine and begin my trek back to where I belong.

Liam

              I have never wanted to be Liam McClehllan so badly in my entire life. I can honestly say, since the day I found out about my mother’s family and the wealth she walked away from to marry my dad, until today, I have never appreciated being a McClehllan as much as I do now.

I have made it my personal policy to stay away from the family business and the bullshit that goes with it. My mother understood how money and power can consume everything good in your life like quicksand. The only way to live normally is to avoid it all together. That’s what I tried to do. But watching Reid sleep soundly next to me, I realized that maybe Ruairi’s end game had nothing to do with destroying Reid. Maybe it was about destroying any chance of me ever having this. Maybe he just doesn’t like the idea of his cousin being happy, normal or loved.

              The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I have two things he will never achieve. I make my own money, and somebody, potentially, loves me. Every dime Ruairi spends is family money. He works for the family business. He lives in a family home, drives a family car, and will be assigned a wife whose upbringing and connections benefit the family. That is how the rich and powerful breed. A man with an ego like his can’t stand the idea of somebody scoffing at him, and my whole lifestyle is a huge “fuck you” to everything he thinks makes him special. He was probably hoping I died that day, but instead a man claiming to be my husband swooped in and saved me. Somebody who, his spies probably informed him, has never left my side. Not once.

I rest my head against Reid’s chest and listen to the strong, steady rhythm there. All the pieces begin to click into place. The whole picture unfolds, and strangely I feel sorry for my misguided cousin. I was a loner and awkward, but I had parents who loved me and were there for me. Ruairi was sent to boarding school when he was eight and only saw his folks on “appropriate occasions.”  He has no friends and neither do I, but he has to spend time with people who pretend to like him to benefit from the connections. I can live in peace. I think about my mother, and when she chose my dad and me over a life like Ruairi’s, it must have cost her everything. She thought love was worth it. She thought I was worth it. And now, I think Reid is worth it.

The problem is, if I don’t stop him, he won’t ever give up. Even if Reid manages to resist Clarissa’s charms, Ruairi will just find new ways to introduce destabilizing elements into our lives. That’s his way. So I started making phone calls, first to Finelli, the mad genius, who thought the idea of hacking private databases and stealing security camera footage was a great idea. Then I called Ruairi’s “friends.”

When nobody likes you people have no qualms ratting you out or setting you up. I leveled with them, and they leveled with me. The more I heard, the more they revealed a portrait of Ruairi as a dangerous and troubled man with self-destructive habits. Expensive liquor, thousand dollar hookers, a raging cocaine habit and a list of potential felonies a mile long. Money made the proof of his crimes disappear. It could also loosen tongues and nudge the long arm of justice in his general direction. The question is am I ready to risk it all to take him down?

I watch Reid get ready for work. I say nothing. This isn’t his fight. This is mine. He is the thing I want to protect. I want him always to live this way. Happy, doing the things he loves, being heartbreakingly honest. He looks at me like he is expecting me to say something, and I smile. I don’t have any words for him.

“Are you okay?”

              “Yes, I’m fine. What do you have planned for today?”

              He lists his itinerary. Special programs for the elderly and a group therapy session for kids with special needs. All the kind of shit I think we need more of in this world, but I am too lazy and self-absorbed to do myself. I am glad there are Reids out there doing it for me. I am glad that I am here to see it.

              “Is Clarissa still helping out?”

              “Yeah, I think she is impressed.” He smiles. I remember that smile. He never wore that one for me; not then and not now. It was reserved for teammates and friends, people who shared his world. I should be jealous. I am, a little. I wish I were part of that world, but I am not. I wish that smile was for me, but it’s not. But then again, Clarissa slept alone last night, and I spent all night cuddling with Mr. Do-right himself. So the beauty queen can keep her damn smiles.

              “Are you okay? Are we okay?” he grabs my chin and looks me in the eyes. I want to say I’m scared that you will choose Clarissa in the end. I want to say I am at war, trying to make sure that your world stays just the way it is. I want to say I am Liam Hasker, and you are the only person I have ever loved in my life. But those words are locked up behind a tongue that only knows how to spit sarcasm and lies.

              “We are better than okay. Just tell that blow-up doll of yours to keep her fangs out of my man,” I say, kissing him quickly before he walks out of the door.

              He doesn’t completely believe me. I can tell in his eyes. That’s okay. I
am
lying. He shouldn’t believe me.

              Today is D-day. I put on my most McClehllan-esque shirt and begin making phone calls moments after Reid leaves. My first call is to Finelli. He answers on the first ring, sounding exceedingly happy.

              “You are in luck. He is still sleeping it off in the hotel,” Finelli reports. “This guy is a riot. He threw up on a stripper last night.”

              “Eww.”

              “Yeah, sucks for her. But he did throw nearly four thousand dollars at her before he did it, so at least, she got paid for her time,” Finelli laughs.

              “True. Thanks, Finelli. Is there any way for us to keep him there longer?”

              “Unfortunately, I can’t mess with the doors. They have that on an internal system, and there is no way to access it without being in the building itself. But if I could I would just to see him throw another temper tantrum.”

              “You enjoy watching him just a little too much.” I shake my head.

              “It's like lifestyles of the rich and moronic. Oh, I managed to recover the photos you asked me to get you. All jokes aside, this guy is a seriously sick puppy. I feel dirty just knowing they exist.”

              “Are there an-n-ny…” My words won’t come.

              “No, everybody looks of age but just barely.”

              I don’t know why I am relieved to hear that. It would have simplified things if he were guilty of something horrific. I guess Reid is rubbing off on me. Next thing you know, I will be feeding the homeless and giving a shit about my neighbor.

              Finelli sends me the file he has compiled of all of Ruairi’s misdeeds in the last 18 months. His mismanagement of funds, reckless behavior and schemes against members of the board of MCM. I send it to every member of the board in time for them to review it before the meeting I called for today. The one Ruairi knows nothing about. The one where I am asking for a no-confidence vote to remove him and appoint a new GM. The one I can call because I am a McClehllan.

              I review my speech. I practice in a mirror and use every trick in my speech therapy arsenal. I keep it short, using concise language. I use my breathing techniques and a voice that isn't mine that I have mastered for moments like this.

              “Look at the camera, not at the screen,” I chant, over and over again.

              Finally, my moment comes. I am invited to a video call and projected into the boardroom. The camera on their end is pulled back so that I can see every grim face there. I can hear my breathing and my heartbeat as if they were jackhammers outside my bedroom window.

              Social anxiety disorder my ass…what is the fear of a room full of old ass men called?

              “Good morning gentlemen. I trust that you have had a chance to review the files I sent to you this morning. The reason I called this meeting is to discuss our general manager’s troubling behavior.”

              I pause, avoid looking at the screen, and instead focus on the camera, as if staring down the dead fish eyed lens of the camera would make me seem less weird. In reality, I probably look like a serial killer, but I can’t afford to think about that now.

              I give my speech, outlining the ways Ruairi’s behavior has cost us money and damaged our corporate brand. I point out the millions that have gone unaccounted for under his watch. I even touch on his expert ability to make board members clean up his mess and absorb the cost of his mismanagement. Everybody becomes quite agitated by that part. Nothing inspires betrayal like corporate greed.

              By the end, the no-confidence vote passes unanimously.

              “But Liam, we can’t just vote to remove Ruairi without finding a suitable interim GM,” says Paul Henney, the newest member of the board.

              “Would you like to take the wheel for a while?”

              He smirks. “No, I don’t have the temperament for that kind of thing. But you do.”

              I glance at the screen and watch the room full of bloodsuckers nod as they discuss the possibility.

              “I can’t. My career is…”

              “We should at least have a fair election. Is there anybody who wants to nominate another candidate?” Paul takes the opportunity to push forward his agenda.

              In minutes, a short list of potential replacements is compiled with my name at the top.

              “I have no desire to be the general manager,” I say loudly, hoping that somebody on the other end is listening.

              “Oh, come on. Just think, if you are the GM then you can be sure to keep your pet projects funded for years to come,” says Paul. “Isn’t that little center one of your ideas?”

              The heads in the room begin to nod, and I realize I am caught.

              “We will reconvene in a week’s time to elect a new GM. In the meantime, we should focus on tying up all of his loose ends.” Paul smiles as he makes the announcement. He isn’t a McClehllan, but the Henneys are MCM’s second family. His endorsement is as good as a guarantee that I will get the job. The job that I don’t want. The one that will take me far away from Reid and trap me in the ivory tower that has so spectacularly ruined Ruairi.

              By the time the meeting ends, I am minutes away from an anxiety attack. It has been so long since I had one I forget the kind of terror that grips you and doesn’t let go when you least expect it. Or maybe I am having this anxiety attack because I wasn’t expecting this outcome. Either way, I spend the next two hours on the floor of the bathroom, sweating and crying, trying to regain control of myself and my life. I hear my phone ring, and I know it's Reid, but I am not ready to leave the bathroom. I don’t answer it. I hear the chime letting me know he left a message. That’s unlike him. This is unlike me.

              Somehow I have gone from a difficult situation to an impossible place. My only hope is to come up with an alternative that is so amazing they have no choice but to agree. That should be a walk in the park, right?

Reid

              When I arrive home, Liam is already asleep.  His face looks tense, even in his sleep. I creep through the house, making sure that all of the windows and doors are secure before peeling off my clothes and slipping into bed next to him. I smooth the creases in his forehead with my thumb and pull him into my arms. We will talk tomorrow, I tell myself.

              Hours later I manage to pull myself out of the warm bed and slip into my sweat pants. Buster needs some special attention this morning. Liam is walking better, faster and farther but he can’t yet keep pace with Buster’s boundless energy. I look back at Liam sleeping soundly in the faint glow of the sunrise.

              “I’ll be back soon,” I say softly.

              Buster and I burst into the early morning air with a sense of urgency. I let him set the pace, pushing myself to make my two legs equivalent to his four. We fly down side streets and alleyways, cutting across abandoned lots and passing boarded up homes. The ravages of a sluggish economy on a small city like mine don’t strip it of its charm. There are still murals and makeshift memorials, clean stone steps to old row houses and gardens that burst out of the landscape unexpectedly. There are still parks and playgrounds and naked basketball hoops here. There is still hope and life here.

              By the time Buster shows signs of being tired, we have been gone for nearly two hours. The midmorning sun is high in the sky, and I turn my feet back to the thing that matters. Back to my home and my Liam.

              As Buster and I walk up to the front door, Darlene pulls it open and steps out. Her face is grim, and her jaw is stiff. She looks like she rolled out of bed and came directly to my home. Her heather gray sweats and make-up deprived face are a stark departure from her deranged pixie look.

              “Get rid of him, Reid,” she says, her eyes wild with fear.

              “Why? What happened? Why are you here?”

              “Just listen to me. Even if you are doing the gay thing now, we will work it out. He isn’t the one for you,” she says, placing a concerned hand on my chest.

              “Would you tell me what’s going on here?”

              “No. We had a conversation. I said what I needed to say to him. He said what he needed to say to me. I think we have an understanding. But please Reid, don’t be stubborn about this. You can’t save everybody,” she says, stroking my face, tears filling her unlined eyes.

              “I don’t need to. I just work on the projects that land on my desk. This guy literally fell out of the sky.”

              “I know but why? Why does it have to be you?” Her voice breaks with emotion as she shifts from one foot to another. Her distress is real, but I can’t yet fathom why.

              “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

              “Oh my God, Reid. That guy in there is not who he says he is. And I know you won’t believe me yet because I don’t have any proof, but he is…more than what he says he is. He already has you doing…strange things with him,” she wrings her hands and wipes at her face as she struggles to maintain her composure.

              “So who is he?”

              “You know him. He isn’t a stranger, Reid. You know him, or knew him.” Her wide eyes and hushed voice push the cold morning air right into my bones. I shiver unconsciously and then pull her in for a hug.

              “I will go in and I will talk to him. Okay? I will sort this out. I promise,” I say, trying to comfort her. We stand like that in the cold until she calms down and begins to loosen her grip on my waist.

              “Go home, have some breakfast, and put some makeup on. You are beginning to look like a grown woman instead of a mythical Japanese character.”

              She giggles and punches me lightly in my side.

              “Go talk to your…whatever. If anything goes wrong, or you just need to talk, you know my number. I will be by my phone all day. Don't let your pride get in the way,” she says, climbing back into her car and starting the engine.

              I walk into my house feeling like I am scavenging a battlefield. Whatever went down while I was gone, it was intense. You can feel it in the air. Liam is awake, sitting at the tiny dining table that we never use, his hands wrapped around an oversized mug that says “fiction writer’s fuel.” His hair is a mess, and his shirt is on inside out.

              “What happened here?” I sit in the seat across from him and wait for him to organize his thoughts.

              “Your sister is delightful. Resourceful as well. I have to give her that. You Cummings kids are full of surprises,” he says, taking a shaky breath. “Do you remember when you had your first varsity game?”

              “Yeah,” I peel off my sweaty shirt and snag a dry hoodie from the back of my chair as I listen.

              “So do I. You hit your first home run. You looked so surprised when it went over the fence; you nearly forgot to put the bat down and run the bases,” he says, looking at his fingers instead of me.

              Chills run up my spine as he speaks. My chest constricts as I begin to recall our conversations. Liam never asked about my past; it was an unspoken code between us. We focused on the here and now, living one day at a time. That always seemed the safest way. “What are you talking about?”

              “I saw it. I saw you,” he says, still not looking at me. He hasn’t moved a muscle since I walked in.

              “What are you saying, Liam!” I grab him by the front of his shirt and haul him up in front of me.

              He turns his head and indicates toward my bookshelf with his chin.

              “Let me show you,” he says. I let him go and try to breathe normally. I put my hands on my hips and watch as he walks over to the shelf and retrieves my senior yearbook. He flips through the pages quickly, naming people he knows and teachers he had. He keeps flipping until he reaches the senior portraits. Then he puts the book flat on the table and slides it over to me.

              “That one is me,” he says. The boy in the picture has his brown hair swept away from his face and held in place by a massive amount of gel. He doesn’t smile like the others; he simply looks at the camera as if he knows something the rest of us can’t begin to fathom.

              “Liam Hasker,” I say the name out loud. “That isn’t funny Liam.”

              “I’m not laughing, Reid.”

              “Liam died the night of the bonfire. His whole family died that night!”

              “No, they didn’t. My parents died, but I survived. My uncle flew in and whisked me out of the hospital before I even regained consciousness.”

              “No, I went and asked, and they said the only Haskers they had were in the morgue. I…looked…for…” I sit down heavily. I feel like I am breathing through a straw.

              “Just put your head between your knees,” he says, rubbing my back.

              “Don’t touch me!” I scream, flailing against the soothing touch. “Don’t you fucking touch me. This isn’t funny. Do you know what I thought? What I went through when he died? Do you have any idea?”

              “No, I had no idea,” Liam says.

              The room is spinning, and I know I am in trouble, but I can’t accept anything he is saying. I look at the picture carefully. The scrawny boy in the picture is nothing like the man in front of me, except for the eyes. The eyes are the same.

              “Reconstructive surgery,” he says noticing my confusion. “I smashed my face up in the accident. Apparently once you break your face, it’s never the same again. Also, it’s been ten years. You can’t expect me to be the same scrawny kid you knew then. I grew up, I filled out, I stopped dying my hair and presto change-o.”

              He looks embarrassed by my inspection.

              “But the lisp, the –“

              “The stuttering? The speech impediments took a little longer to go, but I learned to master them. Once I got the anxiety under control, it was a lot easier.” He exhales impatiently and looks me in the eye for the first time. “Look it’s me, whether you are ready to accept that or not.”

              I don’t know what to feel. Tears fill my eyes, and I let them fall. Questions flood my mind, and I don’t know where to start. Liam doesn’t make another attempt to comfort me. He stands, leaning against the wall with his eyes turned upward, waiting for me to finish.

              “Thank you for being alive,” I croak out after fighting with myself for several minutes.

              His head snaps back, and he looks at me with wide, shocked eyes. “What the f-“

              I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight. He doesn’t hug me back as first, and that’s okay with me. I am sure that we are going to have a lot to talk about, but the thing that I am sure of right now is that I am grateful that he didn’t die. I am grateful that we had a chance to meet again. All of the other emotions I am feeling, we can sort through them one at a time.

              “I think I should leave now,” he says against my chest. It’s not until that moment that I realize he isn’t holding me. His arms are still by his side, but not because I trapped them there.

              I look down into his cold flat eyes and once again I feel like I am caught in a rushing tide with no idea what I am doing or how I ended up here. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line? I mean, you lied to me all these months,” I say feeling betrayed by his desire to leave.

              Liam lifts my shirt from last night up for me to examine. On the collar and along the shoulder is lipstick and makeup.

              “You won’t be lonely,” he says.

              “Liam, this isn’t what you think. She just gave me a quick hug and that was it,” I explain.

              “I know. I also know she is going to snatch that funding away from you if I don’t make a move.” He smirks at me and drops the shirt.

              “Well then why are you leaving?”

              “Because it’s time for me to go. I am up and walking like a normal person. My new project is moving forward, I just got the production schedule, and I still have to sort out some family issues,” he says as if he is listing items on his daily agenda.

              “Is this because of Darlene, because-“

              “This isn’t about Darlene, although she did move the timeline up a bit. This is about closure. I always wondered what could have been if things had gone right that night. I found out. You are a great guy and a wonderful husband. But you and Clarissa make sense. She is obviously interested, and you get along well with her.”

              “I get along well with you. I don’t want her. What do you mean the timeline? Were you planning on leaving? You were just going to leave me?” Panic makes my voice sound high and thin.

I track his every movement as he puts his mug away and walks down the hall to his bedroom. I can feel the muscles in my legs tense up and contract powerfully, but I ignore the pain. I follow him, my legs barely working as I shuffle down the hall. “Liam…”

              “Reid,” he says my name and turns to face me. There are tears in his eyes, and I know that this is the end. He isn’t bluffing or pouting. He means it. He is leaving.

              Something inside me breaks wide open, and I can’t put it back together again. I just watch as he gets dressed, packs up his laptop and puts on his shoes. As he passes by me, he reaches up and presses a warm palm against my cheek. I grasp it in my larger hand, turning it to my lips and kissing it.

              “Trust me, it’s better this way,” he says, but I don’t listen. Nothing good can come from us being apart. Once again we are drifting apart, only this time, I am the one on the shore.

              “Liam.” When did his name become a prayer?

              He wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me in for a goodbye I am not ready to accept. I kiss his startled lips hard, trying to pin him down with my love. My greedy fingers find their way to his bare skin, beneath his clothes. I don’t allow him to object, guiding his body towards the bed and tearing at his clothes.

              He doesn’t resist, tilting his head and matching my intensity. “I’m sorry, Reid,” he says, tears choking him. I look at the man in my arms and take a deep breath. He looks up at me the way he used to when I was a hero, and he was my number one fan.

              “There is no need for that between us.”

              An all-consuming passion ignites between us and before I know it we are naked, stretched across his bed, tangled in the sheets. The sunlight streams through the window, heating my skin as I taste and tease every inch of his body. His caress is desperate and feverish. His soft moans drive me wild, and I lose myself in the taste of his skin and the feel of his warm body wrapped around mine. The firm, grasping, desperate hands stroke and pet me until my cock is engorged and aching for release.

              “Reid, I want you,” he moans, wrapping his thighs around my hips. I oblige him, using my spit to lube my cock and tearing into his body with little preamble. He cries out but doesn’t withdraw as I thrust into his body. I feel the need to please him, to remind him why drifting away from me is a bad idea.