Crash: M/M Straight to Gay First Time Romance (3 page)

Reid

              WHY?

              Wasn’t that the question of my life?

              Why was I here? Why did I care about what happened to a stranger? Why did I lie and say I was his husband? I didn’t have good answers for all of those questions, so I decided to feign ignorance and stall for time.

              “Why what?”

              The man whose driver’s license said was named Liam McClehllan looked at me as if I were the most annoying creature on the planet before rolling his eyes and scribbling something else on the page.

Why help me?

              I thought about it for a minute. To be sure, I had my reasons. I am not a monster. I don’t want to see anybody hurt or dead if I can prevent it. But why had I stuck around? Probably because Liam reminded me of somebody I used to know. A long time ago, I walked away when I should have done the right thing, and that guy paid for it. That was before college and rehab and all twelve steps. I was a different guy then, but I never got the chance to make it up to that kid. As much as I wanted to leave, I just couldn’t walk away until I was sure that Liam would be okay. My conscience wouldn’t let me.

              “I am actually a nice guy. I know this is creepy, but we all thought you weren’t going to make it at first. If I was in the hospital dying, I wouldn’t want to die alone. I figured, having a concerned stranger keep you company was better than nothing,” I explain. It’s as close to the truth as I am willing to give him.

              His face twists into something resembling a snarl before he flinches. The stitches in his face still look pretty raw, and the swelling hasn’t fully subsided.

              “Look, I am not crazy or a stalker or anything like that. If you want, here,” I give him my driver’s license. “You can run a background search on me. I work at the recreation center here in town. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. I got your car hauled out of the valley, but I couldn’t find any contact numbers for your family when I searched your name online. You have to be the only guy I know who doesn’t have any social media accounts.”

              Liam smirks and snorts a little. I can’t tell if he thinks I am funny or if he is pissed at the invasion of privacy. His face is still too swollen to make out all of his features clearly. I smile. A little charm goes a long way.

Are you gay?

I don’t know why that question upsets me. I just spent the last week telling everybody that he was my husband. Maybe I hate the idea that he has to ask; as if there is something about me that won’t allow him just to assume I am a red-blooded heterosexual American male. I am trying to “check my privilege” as my sister would say, and give him an answer that isn’t sarcastic when I notice him scrutinizing my face. He is waiting, judging me and my reactions, as if he expects me to lie to him.

“No I am not gay...and I am a little upset you have to ask,” I reply. It’s better, to be honest. Even if he doesn’t like my answer, he will know where I stand. A strange thought occurs to me, and I hesitate before vocalizing it. “Are you? Gay, I mean.”

Liam lets one corner of his mouth turn upwards in what I am sure will one day be a smile.

Yes, completely.

The look in his eyes lets me know he is being sarcastic and trying to get a rise out of me. I don’t fall for the bait. Instead, we move on to the awkward part of the conversation. The one where I explain to him that I need him to keep acting like we are madly in love so that I don’t lose my job and the hospital doesn’t call the police.  Considering he just regained consciousness, he is taking everything well. I am still reluctant to push my luck. I think it’s stretched about as thin as it can tolerate.

“Listen, I am sure there are a lot of things you want to ask me, and there are a lot of things I need to explain to you, but I am going to boil it down to three points and then get out of here so you can rest. First, the bandage on your head is covering several wounds. One of them is from a surgical incision. I signed some paperwork allowing them to drill a hole in your head.”

Liam’s eyes go wide with shock. That’s to be expected, but he isn’t screaming or throwing things at me yet, so this is still going well.

“Technically it wasn’t a life or death situation yet, more of a precaution, so I had to sign some paperwork. Which brings me to my second point. I need you to keep telling them that we are married. If they find out what I did, they are obligated by law to report me and the last thing I need is a criminal charge.”

Liam narrows his eyes at me and exhales loudly. He picks up the pad again and flips back a page, holding up the word written there.

Why?

“If they didn't get the swelling under control quickly there would be brain damage. It was too hard to tell what was causing the swelling. You were a mess, and you had a lot of internal bleeding. The doctor looked jittery, but he said it would buy you some time and release some pressure. They put it back together after you were out of the woods, but you should know.”

His face looks doubtful as if he is trying to decide if what I am saying makes sense scientifically. I know it sounds like I just let an intern go all mad scientist with his brain, but I couldn’t sit still and let him die. I wasn’t his family, but he probably had one, and it would be nice to deliver him back to them with his brain undamaged.

“The last thing is, I see your license says you are from Arizona. I don’t know how you ended up out here in the sticks, but you are going to need a lot of help once you get back home. You may want to go ahead and make arrangements before you leave. Like I said, I couldn’t get in touch with any of your people since you don’t use social media and your phone was destroyed in the crash. Even still, I am sure you want to call somebody who loves you,” I say.

He smirks at me as I put on my jacket. For a minute, I freeze. Looking at me like that, with a mixture of contempt and amusement, he reminds me of that kid. But that kid never smiled. He never laughed and never would consent to sit in the same room with me. Not after what I did to him. It’s funny the way random things bring back powerful memories. I don’t remember a lot of things about my senior year of high school. The parts I do remember usually involve sports. But that kid, I remember him very well.

He sat behind me in homeroom. To be honest, I don’t know much about the guy at all. I never bothered to find out. He was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made him stand out instead of disappear. He never said a word to me all year long. But I still felt like I knew him, you know? Over time, it became my habit to turn around and look at him. His reactions, no matter how subtle, began to matter to me. When it was my birthday, he dropped a candy bar on my desk. When I broke up with my girlfriend, he looked sad for me. When I got my acceptance letter to State, he almost smiled at me but nodded encouragingly instead.

Those memories follow me all the way home. It’s lucky for the both of us that I live in town. Making the trip to my house and the hospital every day would have been an issue if I lived out in the sticks. Hazelton isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, but the downtown area offered all the comforts of a big city at a fraction of the cost. Working for the state’s parks and recreation department means that although my work is steady, it isn’t lucrative. Still, I love what I do. I help people. I intervene in lives that would otherwise go off the rails and end in disaster.

This place was hit pretty hard by the economic downturn and people’s lives still haven’t fully recovered. We are all just one or two bad weeks away from being flat broke and out on our asses. It’s better than it was. Once upon a time, the two biggest industries in this place were meth and gutting foreclosed homes. In all of the hardship, the kids were hit the hardest. Crime, violence, drugs, prostitution-- the kinds of things you don’t associate with charming little cities nestled in the mountains--all flourished. Just like me, this town has fought hard to be better than it was. I like to think my rec center is part of the recovery. I like to think that the kids in my afterschool and summer programs are safer than the kids who aren’t. I see something every day in my line of work that breaks my heart, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. 

When I get home, my sister is waiting for me.

“I’m here to drop off the dog. That’s something I never thought I would have to say,” says Darlene. I pull her into a tight hug and kiss the top of her head.

“That’s an interesting color. What is that?”

She runs her hand through her asymmetrical cut and smiles.

“Something called Pixie Frosting. I wasn’t sure what it was either but it was too cute not to give it a try. What do you think?”

I look at the pinkish tresses and shake my head.

“It looks like frosting,” I admit. Flecks of pink and a color that might be some shade of green mar the silvery whiteness of her hair. It looks like one of her cosplay wigs.

“I know, right! Come on, Buster! Daddy’s home,” she calls out excitedly.

The red nosed pit bull sprints across the playground in front of my house and jumps into my arms, sending us both to the ground. It is several minutes before I can pry him off of my chest.

“Aww, heartwarming,” she says, slinging a duffle bag full of Buster’s things at me with mild disgust.

“You’re not coming in?”

“No, I have to run. How are things going down there at the hospital? Must be hard being a newlywed,” she says, teasing.

“He woke up,” I say.

“Holy shit. No way! I just knew you were going to sit by his bedside and pretend to pine away for him for at least another month.”

“No. He is up, and he seems to be mentally fit, despite dropping a car on his head.”

“Did you tell him? How did he take it?”

“I told him. He looked...I don’t know. Maybe pissed off, but not really.”

“It’s gotta be like waking up in the middle of a nightmare,” she says with wonder in her eyes. I punch her arm softly.

“Hey, being married to me is hardly the worst thing that could happen to a person,” I say, defending my honor.

“None of your ex-girlfriends seemed to feel that way,” Darlene says, winking.

“Whose side are you on now?”

“His,” she says, definitively.

“Yeah, well, so am I,” I say kicking the dirt with my boot.

“Is he like that guy?”

“Yes and no. His personality is very different, and his looks are different in a lot of ways. But when he smiles, it looks like what I imagine that kid’s smile would have looked like,” I say, thinking back to the few smirks Liam had offered in their short exchange.

“Just remember that he isn’t that kid. That kid is long gone,” Darlene reminds me, her face losing any trace of the mirth that usually follows her.

“Yeah, it’s just a coincidence, but it feels like my last chance. They even have the same first name.”

“But it’s not him,” Darlene insists.

“I know. It just feels like him. Maybe this is my way of getting closure on that whole chapter of my life. Even though I will never see that kid again, I will consider this my way of paying it forward and closing that chapter.”

Darlene looks at me skeptically. She was against my involvement with the new Liam from the beginning. Even though I have been clean for years, she is always afraid that I will relapse. I am a lot stronger now than I ever was, but she can’t see that. Even though it makes her a pain in the ass, I love her for it.

“I just hope you know what you are doing. If this guy tries to hurt you, I will personally cut his balls off,” she says fiercely, pivoting on her toes and skipping back to her truck.

“Bye, sis. Love ya,” I call as she pulls away.

Honestly, I hope I know what I am doing as well.

Liam

              When doctors say “observation,” what they mean is an intense schedule of invasive tests and mountains of paperwork designed to make your time in the hospital so inhospitable that you are forced to either recover quickly or die promptly. I know this is true because that has been the scope of my reality since waking up from my little coma. Between the constant checking and prodding by the medical staff here, I managed to make contact with my agent and update him on my condition.

              “Jesus, Liam, you went there to have some place quiet to work, and now this. I need you to be on deadline with this,” Sy complained.

              “Well I didn’t throw myself off of the side of a fucking mountain on purpose, Sy,” I say, giving him just as much attitude as he gave me.

              “You might as well have. This is a movie deal, Liam. Do you know how many writers would kill for this chance? Even best sellers
never
get this chance. And then to be brought on board for the screenplay adaptation?”

              “I know, but right now I can’t do anything about it,” I said, exasperated.

              “Listen, sit tight. Do you have your work backed up on cloud storage?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Then all you need is a laptop, and you can get back to work,” Sy said slyly. While his complete lack of concern for me as a person would be upsetting to most people, I find it comforting. Sy is in it for the money. It’s an honest motivation. I can trust him to do whatever will help us make money, and trust is not something I give easily.

              “You forget one thing. My right hand is pretty much useless right now.”

              “Don’t worry about that. Dictation software was designed for this type of thing.”

              “Oh, you know I hate those things,” I whine. I hate dictating anything. It feels like I am walking around my room, talking to myself. Being a writer makes me crazy enough without adding strange behaviors.

              “You have a better idea?”

              “If we could just postpone by a few weeks,” I begin, but I know the deal. I have already negotiated one of the most favorable contracts for a writer in my position that the industry has ever seen. Asking for more time or failing to deliver in any way would just be asking for trouble.

              “This is business,” is Sy’s reply. I close my eyes against the finality in his voice. I get it. Everything I know about the business, he has taught me. The number one rule of business is to deliver, every time, on time. Nobody cares about your excuses. Nobody is interested in all of the difficulties that you have encountered. I gave up the idea that writing was about “making art” and stringing together masterful prose whenever my muse struck. It was a business. It was my livelihood. And, whether I like it or not, finishing this screenplay on time was my
job
.

              “Okay, let me see what I can do on my end,” I concede.

              “Good. Talk to you soon. Get well soon,” he says before hanging up.

              This little snafu is just another in a list of issues that need sorting. The first one being, how do I get rid of my “husband”? He shows up every day. Yesterday he brought flowers. He keeps saying that he isn’t into me, but I am not so sure. The way he looks at me is too intimate; like he knows me. It’s too much to hope that he would finally figure it out. He is too dense for that. He was dense back then too.

              Also, I was a brunette…and a Hasker…and mostly mute. But even then, I thought he liked me. I push the thought away and focus on the present.

              “So why don’t you level with me and tell me why you’re here,” I say when I see him coming in this afternoon. Spending all day trying to get a laptop delivered to my hospital bed has put me in a foul mood.

              “You remind me of somebody,” he says. I am taken aback by his honesty.

              “Was she cute?”

              He snickers under his breath as he lays the contents of his deli bag on the serving table. Rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, and something that is supposed to be a vegetable.

              “He was okay, I guess. He was quiet. I never really bothered to get to know him, but I think I should have. I have always regretted that, and I am a man who wants to die without any regrets.”

              “So I get the pleasure of your company every night instead of him,” I finish. He doesn’t look up as he cuts my meat for me but nods curtly. For some reason, that little movement warms my heart.

              “You and my dog, Buster,” he says.

              “I’m more of a cat person myself,” I say, shoveling food into my mouth using my left hand awkwardly.

              “I can tell. You are too moody to be a dog lover,” he chuckles. He picks up a napkin and wipes the gravy from the corner of my mouth before turning his attention back to his plate. For a moment, we are having a normal conversation. For a moment, you can forget that we are in a bat-shit crazy situation. Anybody watching us from outside the door would think that we were close friends, or maybe even lovers. For a moment, even I forget that Reid Cummings is an asshole at heart with a vacuous hole where his soul should be.

              But only for a moment.

              “The doc says you can leave in a day or so, but you need to set up some pretty intensive physical therapy,” he says.

              I frown. “I know.”

              “Are your people coming to get you?”

              “My people?”

              “Yeah, your family,” he says so naturally that I feel a little embarrassed for us both.

              “No family to speak of. Just me. Not even a cat,” I explain. It’s funny that the only person I can depend on in this world is a guy I hate who is pretending to be my husband. The fates are truly cruel.

              “Oh, so…”

              “I came out here to finish my writing. I have an important deadline I need to keep,” I explain.

“So how are you going to take care of yourself while you are recovering?”

“I will hire an assistant,” I say, reminding myself that for most people simply hiring a nurse or an assistant to come and help out is not an option. For most of my life, I was one of those people. It’s funny how money changes things.

“If you don’t mind me saying-”

“I do,” I cut him off. The last thing I need is his small town Northwestern charm. I am in the middle of a crisis, and I don't want his sympathy. I want to throw something at his head.

“If you want, since you were going to be in town for a while...I can help out,” he offers quietly. 

Is he crazy? He must be crazy. “Are you insane?”

“Must be, right?” He smiles that same smile I used to see him wear all the time. It still makes me melt a little inside, and I hate that fact. I hate that smile, and I hate him for being able to use it so freely.

“What’s in it for you?”

“Money,” he says in a matter of fact manner.

“Now we are on the same page. Why not? I was going to have to pay somebody. Why not you?” Simple motivations. I can trust that, even if I don’t trust him.

“I might be a little cheaper than those private nurses,” he said. “So if you don’t mind me asking, how come you don’t have any family to speak of?”

“Bad luck,” I say.

I don’t talk about the accident. Not ever. My shrink says that’s unhealthy. I say I pay him to listen, not to tell me what I should and shouldn’t talk about. Looking at Reid’s face, I am tempted to say something for the first time in nearly a decade. I want to see his face as he comes face to face with the person he abandoned for dead so long ago. I want to watch him cringe and try to apologize. Instead, I say nothing. He purses his lips and nods his head in the way that lets me know he isn’t going to ask me any more questions on the subject.

That look infuriates me. The things that happened to me weren’t all his fault. There were a lot of others and plenty of blame to share. Maybe, to some extent, it was my fault as well. If I hadn’t been so trusting then, maybe things wouldn’t have ended the way they did. But at every step along the way, he was absent. In all likelihood he was there, watching, laughing, saying nothing. When he finally made his appearance, later that night, he swore he would come with help. He never did. He ran off into the darkness and never came back.

I will never forget watching his back as he disappeared from view. He didn’t bother to look back. He was the closest thing I ever had to a friend, and he didn’t even bother to look back.

As the silence grows between us, I begin to hatch a nasty plan. It feels like fate threw me off a cliff to drop Reid Cummings into my lap. This time, I would be the one to walk away. I look at his simple, peaceful face and bile bubbles up in my throat. I have spent my whole life paying for my weakness back then; it’s about time that I get some return on investment. If he doesn’t remember who I am, there is no need to tell him. Everybody has a weakness, and I’m a bright guy. This time, I tell myself, I am going to exploit his weaknesses and watch him squirm as his life falls apart.

“So your place or mine?” I say. I sound creepy. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“The commute between my place and the hospital is probably shorter. You’d be closer to help if anything went wrong. But if you are paying for your place, you should get some use out of it,” he grunts.

“It’s up the mountain,” I say.

“I figured that much. They put up some vacation cabins up there a while back. I’ve never been, but I heard they were pretty swank. You must make good money if you can afford to rent one for a few weeks at a time. Most folks around here can only hope to afford a week in a hunting shack,” he says, still not looking at me and completely unperturbed by my attitude. For a moment, I think I detect a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Jealous?” I ask because the painkillers they gave me short circuits the edit button between my head and my lips. Either that or this idiot is rubbing off on me. I chose to believe it’s the IV.

“Bitter.”

Shit! Does he have to be so achingly honest about everything?

“Bitter?”

“I bust my ass at work every day. You sit and play pretend, making up stories, and you live a life I can’t even imagine. Then again,” he turns and smiles at me “I can wipe my own ass. So I guess life has a way of balancing the accounts.”

“I guess so,” I say, smiling back despite myself.

I am feeling comfortable, even friendly, despite wanting to kick him in the teeth. The truth is I need the help, and getting back at some asshole jock from high school is just icing on an otherwise pretty shitty cake. The sad fact is that he is the closest thing to a friend I have ever had. It feels like things between us never change, no matter how much I want them to.