Nothing but Smoke (Fire and Rain) (17 page)

“Okay.” Henri had a funny tenor in his voice. “I won’t keep you, but I have to ask—and this is only because I care that I’m asking this—is this friend you’re helping out Mark?”

“No. It’s not Mark. And we broke up four fucking years ago, in case you forgot. I haven’t even spoken to the guy since—”

“Okay. Okay. It’s just…well, I know most of the guys you’re friends with.”

Michael slid into the passenger side of his rental car. He’d forgotten his casserole dish at Nicky’s as well, and the racking up of reasons to go up those steps and knock on Nicky’s door was beating Michael into submission.

He pushed the key into the ignition and turned on the electricity so he could get some heat. Compared to Nicky’s mom’s car, the Mazda felt empty. Not simply of knickknacks and scuffs and all the things that made a car lived-in, but emotions as well. The car was a shell. Useful, nothing more. “He’s just someone I know, okay? I am allowed to have other friends.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not sleeping with this guy.”

Michael closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. Fucking Henri. “No. I’m not sleeping with him.”
Not technically, at least.

“Well, in that case it’s worse because it means that you want to and can’t.”

Henri’s words rang in Michael’s head. Because Michael didn’t only want to sleep with Nicky, he wanted to do everything with Nicky. Be everything for Nicky. He wanted to run right back to that fucking house and gather Nicky up in his arms.

He wanted to rescue Nicky from himself and from his fears and even from other gay men who might take advantage of Nicky’s weakened and suggestible state. If he was being honest, Michael wanted to let go and love the guy. Give in to all that need he saw in Nicky’s eyes and let Nicky think Michael was his everything.

“I could sleep with him if I wanted to.” Not that it mattered.

“Oh, honey…”

Michael knew from Henri’s tone that his friend was going to launch into a round of unsolicited advice. Right, because finally managing a relationship that wasn’t totally abusive made Henri an authority on dating.

“I should go.” Michael rubbed his legs, warming up in the heat of the vents from the car. There was no use putting it off. He had to go back into Nicky’s house. But he had no idea what he’d do when he got there. “Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay.”

“You’ll really call me?” Henri’s voice was stern over the hum of techno music in the background on his end.

Not about Nicky.
“Sure.” Michael rubbed a hand over the logo on his shirt, a reminder that he’d drifted so far out of his comfort zone that he wasn’t even wearing his own clothes. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Chapter Twelve

Nicky paced the living room. He’d gotten the hospital bed apart, but most of the space was the same as it had been for weeks, months, maybe years. Same darkness. Same musty smell. The dent in the center of the couch where his mom had always sat made it look like she was only in the bathroom and would wander back any moment.

Worse than that, Michael still being outside was like itching powder under Nicky’s skin. He picked up the remote and turned on the giant TV set to have noise to counteract the silence.

Staring, he tried to make sense of what was on the screen. Something involving cops and crime. Without his mother to watch with, the bright flickering set seemed obscene. No light should glow when his mother was gone. Not even some stupid show he’d watched with her a thousand times.

Fitfully, he shut off the set. Then Nicky folded a random box into the right shape and tossed it on the floor. He needed to get rid of some of this stuff—now.

Maybe Michael was leaving and maybe he wasn’t. Nicky had to stop giving a shit. Michael didn’t care. Not like Nicky did. Michael’s heart wasn’t wrapped in leather and getting tighter by the second.

Nicky threw a box at the corner.

Fucking do-gooder Mr. Nice Guy.
Michael didn’t even realize how much he was being an ass.

Grabbing a lamp, Nicky ripped off the shade. He hated the damn thing, and now that his mother wasn’t around to argue against getting rid of it, he’d finally toss it in the trash.

“Fuck!” The carved wood of the lamp dug a splinter into Nicky’s palm. He winced, squeezing his eyes tight. He wouldn’t let a tear escape. Not another one, and not when Michael might come back in any second and see. Nicky could be hard and cold too. Lift his fucking nose in the air and act like he was better than everybody.

Storming into the kitchen, he fumbled through cabinets for a Band-Aid. Sitting on the counter was Michael’s casserole dish. Nicky wanted to throw the damn thing across the room. Hell, he wanted to smash half the house to pieces.

He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and even though he and Michael hadn’t eaten dinner, he downed the entire thing.

As he opened his second beer, he wondered if Michael had left yet. Part of him wanted to call and find out. The rest of him wanted to hear a screech of tires that meant Michael was gone.

A knock from the front door sounded through the house. Slowly and very deliberately Nicky set his beer on the counter. He wouldn’t cry. Michael didn’t deserve the satisfaction. Tipping his chin up, Nicky made his way to the door. When he opened it, Nicky pressed his lips together so he’d neither frown nor smile.

“Hey.” Michael stood tall and straight as a rod, his hands fisting and unfisting as if he was trying to act calmer than he was. “Um, I realized I left my clothes here. And my laptop.”

Nicky should have slammed the door in Michael’s face. Or told him to wait outside and thrown his shit at him. But Nicky wouldn’t give Michael another ounce of feeling. “Fine.” Crossing his arms, Nicky stepped to the side to let Michael pass. “Grab your stuff.”

“Oh. Come on, Nicky.” Michael tossed up his hands. “I don’t get why you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.” Inside Nicky was fuming, but no way would he let Michael see it. “If you want your stuff, come in and get it.”

Michael’s face twisted into an expression that was concern mixed with something else. Regret?

It better as hell not be pity.

“Fine.” Michael pushed past Nicky and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll get out of your way then.”

For once, Michael’s gait had a jerkiness to it, like he was lifting his feet too high in an effort to march rather than walk. He grabbed the casserole dish first, but tripped on the steps on the way up and fumbled the plate before catching it on a stair.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, though Michael kept his trek up to Nicky’s room.

Nicky waited downstairs, expecting for Michael to return right away. Instead, Michael seemed to take a long time gathering things. Step by step, Nicky eased his way up the stairs. At the top landing, his door was open.

Michael was in that room. Crying? Scowling? Frowning? Nicky wished he could force himself not to look and not to care. Maybe there would be nothing but Michael’s cool exterior when Nicky went in there, but he had to find out. If there was pain on Michael’s face, Nicky had to see it, just to know if Michael could bleed too.

Nicky peered inside to find Michael shirtless. He had tossed Nicky’s shirt in the laundry pile and was holding his own stretched between his arms like he was about to put it on.

His eyes were shadowed, sad. Hesitant in a way Nicky was pretty sure he’d never seen before.

Michael shrugged. “I thought you’d want your clothes back,” he said by way of explanation.

“Right.” Nicky stormed into the room to slap Michael’s laptop shut. “Because God forbid I’d have to go to your place to pick stuff up.”

“I don’t get it.” Michael dropped his arms so the shirt fell away from his body and was scrunched between his twisting hands.

“You don’t get what?”

“I don’t get what you want from me.” Michael’s eyes had never been bluer. Gone was his upright, squared-shoulder posture. He dipped his head like he could find the answer in Nicky’s eyes. “I can’t do this.” For maybe the first time since they met, Michael seemed vulnerable. Like someone Nicky might actually be able to hurt. “Not if I can’t tell other people. I just can’t.”

“Jesus!” Nicky snatched the shirt out of Michael’s hands and tossed it by the laundry. Maybe it was a stupid gesture, but Michael was not leaving. At least not until Nicky had said his piece. “Could you give me a few weeks at least? Maybe a day or two after I just packed my mother’s things and took her to a hospice center?” Nicky advanced a step, wanting to shove Michael but knowing instinctively that if things between them got physical, he’d be saying goodbye to Michael forever. Michael wasn’t the type of guy to push and wrestle in anger. He’d never forgive it if Nicky truly lost his temper.

“Like I don’t know that. I’ve been here all day. Going through all of it with you.”

Nicky dropped his gaze. No Michael hadn’t. Not really. Michael always kept things at arm’s length. Under control. “Oh right. I forgot. Being my
friend
.”

Michael stayed stonily silent for so long that Nicky eventually dragged back his gaze. Shirtless, Michael seemed paler than normal. He only had a little hair on his chest, and his nipples were a rosy shade of pink. Funny, Nicky had never actually seen Michael bare before. Not with the lights on.

“I get that you need time.” Michael crossed his arms, as if maybe he needed to cover up in Nicky’s presence. “But maybe I do too. Have you thought about that?”

Truth was, Nicky did understand. At least his brain did. But his heart was so tied up in knots, he couldn’t quite connect what he felt with what he thought.

“Whatever.” He wished he hadn’t sounded so mean. He hadn’t meant to. Fuck, Michael was the one person he most cared about after his mom. But Nicky couldn’t be angry with her. Not for choosing hospice care, not for all the religious imagery in the house that made him feel like there was no way he could come clean about who he was.

He couldn’t be mad at her for anything, so he threw it—like a flying tornado of fury—at Michael. “Take all the time you need.”

“Oh, will you stop it with the martyr routine?” Michael marched past Nicky to where his laptop sat next to his messenger bag. He shoved it inside.

As much as Nicky wanted to tell him
fuck you
and
leave, why don’t you
, panic welled up inside him at the thought that Michael might really do it.

“Stop.”

Michael paused, hand on his bag’s clasp, face impassive. He waited. Nicky knew there was something he could say to make Michael not leave. But fuck if Nicky knew what it was.

“Have sex with me.” The words were out before Nicky knew he’d said them. They sounded weird, and yet totally right. As much as Nicky was angry and confused, he needed to escape. He wanted to feel a pain besides the dead weight in his gut. Michael could transport him from this place. Hell, he could drag Nicky right out of his head until Nicky didn’t care about anything but coming in Michael’s arms.

“Nicky, I don’t think that’s what you need tonight.” Michael’s body was still, his voice a flat tenor.

Nicky could tell Michael wanted it. Even if Michael wouldn’t admit it to himself.

“Why don’t you let me worry about what I need?” Nicky took a slow step forward, then another. He dragged his shirt over his head, knowing that it would tempt Michael into action. “I have to feel something else tonight. Not sad…” Nicky put his fingertips on Michael’s arm. There was a tan line right above Michael’s biceps. Touching the paler, smoother skin felt like reaching a place he never had. “And I don’t want to feel overwhelmed anymore.”

Michael trembled under Nicky’s touch. The muscles on his lean frame were taut and flat, like a runner’s. His shoulders rolled forward like one push and he’d sprint away.

“I wanna get fucked,” Nicky admitted for the first time in his life. “And I think you want to fuck me. And it doesn’t have to mean anything.” In Nicky’s mind, it would mean everything. Be everything. But he couldn’t push Michael any further tonight. Maybe Michael would take off in the morning. In fact, he might take off right after. But if that happened, at least Nicky would have something of him.

“Like fuck it doesn’t have to mean anything.” The way Michael murmured was angry, but Nicky knew Michael was going to give in.

“Really.” Nicky unfastened his belt and then the button fly of his jeans. He stripped naked right there, with Michael’s attention still on his messenger bag.

When Nicky was naked, he stood like an offering. The cool night air chilled him, raising goose bumps on his shoulders and arms and legs. He waited for Michael to turn and see him, to acknowledge everything Nicky was willing to give.

“Why are you doing this?” Michael rolled his gaze down Nicky’s body before dropping it once again to the bedspread.

“Because you won’t.” Nicky rotated Michael so they were pressed together. Though Nicky had been mostly soft with anxiety up until now, the feel of Michael, long and sinewy against him, had him filling with need.

He reached for Michael’s ass. Pulled him close so they ground together.

“I want it.” He pushed his hips against Michael’s and wrapped his arms around Michael’s neck. He could feel the reluctance in Michael’s tense muscles.

“Come on.” Nicky rubbed Michael’s back, up warm ridges and bone. “It’s okay. Just take it.”