Waiting for Clark (3 page)

The girls moved on, replaced by a few other groups wanting pictures of me. Bryce very carefully worked the opposite end of the booth, taking money for T-shirts and pins. He kept Tony and Charles between us at all times.

I raised an eyebrow at him.
A bit obvious, aren’t you?

So the fuck what?
I could practically hear his deep, rumbly reply as he rolled his eyes. He had the best voice in the world— even at eighteen, it had been radio-DJ deep, with great enunciation, and age had only made it better. I’m a sucker for clear consonants and low tones. I used to volunteer to do all the data entry on our group projects just so Bryce would have to read to me. Even long lists of numbers sounded sexy as hell coming from his mouth.

“Hey what’s this?” I asked during a lull, making my way to a machine set up at the corner of the booth. They hadn’t brought any of the large pinball and upright video games from the bar, but they had brought a couple of classic table-top machines.

“Dude, that’s Bryce’s baby. Be gentle,” Tony said.

The warning only made me inspect the small cabinet more closely— it looked like an old black-and-white TV in a cabinet turned on its end. Triangles floated on a tablet-sized screen ringed in gold and blue dots. A controller sat in front of the machine with a little “Ask for Assistance” sign in Bryce’s blocky handwriting.

“Is this a Vectrex?” I kept my tone appropriately reverent, the way car guys might inquire about a rare Mustang. The vector-based gaming console from the early ’80s was indeed rare— they’d been sold for less than two years, having never caught on. Now they were cult favorites for the classic-games crowd.

“Yep.” Bryce finally left his post at the far end of the booth and came to stand next to me. “It wasn’t working when I bought it, but a little tinkering took care of that.”

Knowing Bryce, a “little tinkering” meant a complete rebuild down to the circuit board. “Can I play?”

“Sure.” He moved so I could reach the controller. With no chairs on this side of the booth, we had to squat down to see the screen to play. “I’ve got the perfect game for you.”

My chest went a bit tight as he carefully searched an ancient box and removed a game cartridge and screen overlay. He wasn’t just letting me play his machine. He wanted me to have a good experience— and that was totally Bryce in a nutshell, taking care of people even when he least wanted to.

“Thanks,” I said, watching as he swapped overlays— thin films that went over the screen and altered the graphics— and popped in a cartridge labeled “Cosmic Chasm.” If only the gulf between us was as easy to fix as swapping screen overlays from “awkward” to “the way things used to be” and waiting for the friendship program to load.

“No problem. Got this Vectrex and all the cartridges right before my dad passed, but it just sat until recently. Needs a good workout.”

How about you?
I wanted to ask.
You just sit around? Had a good workout recently?
But that type of flirty banter had never been my style. Instead, I said the other, less-dirty thought on my mind. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

Bryce shrugged and continued fiddling with the controllers. “He was sick a long time. Guess it was his time. But thanks for the plant. And the note.”

I’d been in the process of relocating from Oxford to Boston when Bryce’s father had passed. Flying back for the funeral had been a bit beyond me, but a “Sorry, Dude” on his Facebook page seemed horribly inadequate. Instead, I’d typed up a memory from freshman year, recalling all those times his dad had taken us out to dinner. I’d been a hick from Pine Bottom, just outside of Bend, and burgers at a sit-down place was my parents’ idea of a big annual treat. Bryce’s dad had taught me how to behave in a fancy restaurant— what silverware to use, how to treat the wait staff with effortless grace, what to order. I’d treasured those meals we’d shared, and not simply because it meant more time with Bryce. Later in life, when I’d had to attend fancy receptions at Oxford and MIT and meals with prospective employers, I’d been profoundly grateful for the tutelage.

“He was a good man,” I said as Bryce passed me the controller.
He raised a good son.
“He was so proud of you, you know? He’d be proud of the bar too.”

“Maybe. Don’t know if he’d be thrilled by all the love his machines are getting,” Bryce said. Bryce’s father had collected classic pinball machines. The tinny, cheerful music of the Vectrex couldn’t drown out the sorrow in Bryce’s words. He’d been very close to his dad— would have lived at home for college if his dad had let him— and I knew the loss must have gutted him. I wished I had more than a handful of memories to offer him as comfort.

“I can’t wait to see the games. See the bar, I mean.”

Bryce frowned. “How long are you in town for? Figured you were just passing through on your way to Bend to see your folks.” There was a heavy message of
move along
under his words.

“I’m in town for a bit,” I said cautiously, not sure how much to spring on him now.

“Oh.” He drew the word out long enough for me to blow up a string of mines on-screen. Long enough for me to figure out he’d rather I do another three years at Oxford than be back in Portland for more than a few hours.
Tough, buddy. You’re going to have to deal.

“Couple of days at least.”

His eyes narrowed. “Where are you staying?”

I’d been afraid of him asking that question too early in the day. “Well… ah…”

“I told him he could have my room,” Tony said, coming over to put a hand on Bryce’s shoulder. Bryce promptly shrugged it off, but Tony continued, “Since I’ve been sleeping at Karen’s so much anyway, it didn’t seem right to make the college guy have to pay for a hotel.”

Bryce stared at me with such focus that it was a wonder I wasn’t incinerated into dust. Good thing he didn’t actually have superpowers, otherwise I was pretty sure he’d be using them for evil right about then.

“You didn’t think about asking me?” he said finally to Tony, voice straining to stay level.

“Your house is huge.” Tony shrugged. “And Clark is one of the Nerd Army.”

Ever since freshman year, Tony had been big on his “Nerd Army” —a group of science and math majors who shared the same dorm freshman year and ate meals together in the dining hall. Tony was the self-appointed general, conducting missions such as impromptu D&D tournaments and outings to comic book shops. He’d known Bryce from high school, and I got conscripted for service by virtue of being Bryce’s roommate.

“I can get a hotel,” I spoke up, saying exactly what I’d said on the phone to Tony, but more forcefully now. While I wasn’t above angling for more time with Bryce, I’d also been raised with manners beyond “crash at the house of the guy who least wants to see you.”

“No you won’t,” Tony and Bryce said at the same time, Bryce much wearier.

“You sure?” I asked, trying to not seem too eager.

“I’ve got Tony until Karen takes him off my hands for good. Charles is back now. Last year Angela and Derek both crashed for different periods,” Bryce said with more of that resigned weariness.

“Derek as in my ex, Derek?” My voice wasn’t anywhere near as deep as Bryce’s to begin with, but it went up into cartoon-heroine range at the thought of Derek staying in Bryce’s house.

“Also in the Nerd Army.” Tony held up a finger, like reading off a point of order at a meeting. “He should be around sometime this weekend too. You guys can catch up.”

That
so
wasn’t happening. Derek was an okay guy, but we’d broken up sophomore year when I’d had to face the fact that Derek was a really poor fill-in for Bryce. But then Bryce went and got a boyfriend before I could get up the courage to tell him I wanted more than being best friends. Derek had distracted me from my goal once before, and it wasn’t happening again. And if Derek had done more than “crash” at Bryce’s house, I was going to need to clang some of Bryce’s heavy weights together.

Preferably around both of their heads.

“Hope he does stop by. He left a bunch of books in the room I’m in now and some Star Wars sheets,” Charles volunteered, coming over to the games table.

Yup. That was totally Derek. Decor by Think Geek. And I could have kissed Charles, sticky gray makeup and all, for the revelation that Derek had had his own room— as in not Bryce’s. There was no guarantee they hadn’t hooked up in the past five years, but at least they hadn’t lived
together
together
.

“There’s an after-party at the bar when the dealer room closes at eight,” Tony said, ever our cruise director. “I’ll show you my room after that.”

“I could use pizza
now.
” Charles leaned heavily on the table with the games.

Creeeeeaaaaak.
The table let out a mighty groan and buckled, one of the legs folding in.

“Frak.” Bryce sprang into action, shouldering the weight of the table to keep the games from sliding to the floor. I saved his Vectrex from pitching off while Tony clicked the table leg back into place.

Riiiiiiip.
Bryce stood again, but his costume stuck on the table edge.

“
Fuck.
” No more wimpy curses from the Dark Knight. His sleeve was slashed open and blood welled up from a narrow cut on his arm.

“Owie.” A kid walking by pointed to Bryce’s arm.

“Heck. Anyone have a Band-Aid?” Bryce asked.

“They might have one up at the front in guest services. I could check,” Tony offered.

“I’ve got a first-aid kit,” I said. “It’s in my backpack in the trunk of my rental car. And a sewing kit. I can fix your costume.”

“Well aren’t you prepared?” Bryce dabbed at the cut with some napkins and winced.

“Come on.” I tapped his good arm. “The guys can watch the booth. I’ll fix you up.”

Bryce gave me a look like he’d rather hike naked up Mount Hood in January than be alone with me even for a fast trip to the parking garage.

“Here. Take my vendor badge so you can get back in the exhibitor entrance.” Tony handed me his pass, which dangled from a lanyard with the Comic Con logo. He gave me his classic lopsided grin with a little “go on” gesture. He couldn’t be more obvious about wanting to thrust Bryce and I back together— first the room, now this. Heck, knowing the nerd yenta, Tony had probably loosened the table screws.

Bryce didn’t make any small talk on the long trek back to my rental car. But that wasn’t all that out of character. He wasn’t the most talkative guy on a good day. He was much more about action and getting stuff done and making sure people had what they needed than about things like conversation. It was one of the ways we fit so well together— we never talked over each other and we knew how to occupy the same space in companionable silence.

I’d had a lot of friends over the years and more than a few boyfriends, but no one whose quiet I enjoyed quite like Bryce’s. Of course, the quiet was usually much warmer than the Arctic breeze currently wafting off Bryce.

“This is me.” I unlocked the tiny red economy car I’d picked up at the airport. I grabbed the bag from my trunk, then opened the passenger door. “Sit here. I’ll clean you up.”

The cut was in an awkward area on the back of Bryce’s arm. No way could he bandage it himself even if he took up yoga instead of spending all that time in the weight room. Still he made a face as he sat down.

“I know, I know.” I made a clucking noise as I dug out my first-aid kit. “You’d rather not have my hands on you. You’ve made that clear enough. Just grit your teeth for a few moments, okay?”

“I never said that.” Bryce watched nervously as I unwrapped the alcohol swabs. “And I’m clean by the way. Tested recently.”

“Good to know.” I was more the germaphobe of the two of us, but I was also the one with the sex life less likely to warrant frequent testing. Back in college, Bryce had plenty of hookups while I tended to stick to a series of boyfriends. And yeah, for a stranger I totally would have dug out the little non-latex gloves that came in the kit, but I wasn’t missing the chance to touch Bryce’s skin, even incidentally.

“You want to take your shirt off?” I asked, totally out of practicality.

“No. It’s a jumpsuit with a molded chest piece. Pain in the neck to get on and off.” He leaned back, the horns of his mask scraping the car’s ceiling. He wrenched off the mask with a groan, tossing it on the seat next to him.

And there he was. Shaggy dark hair, several weeks past needing a trim, darkly stubbled jaw that, knowing his ability to grow a beard, meant only a few days without a razor, and gorgeous eyes more gold than brown, especially when happy or turned-on. Right now, he was neither, so they were more of a copper-kettle shade. And regardless of precise color, he looked none too happy with my perusal.

“This is going to sting,” I warned as I took his arm and swabbed the cut with the wipe. “Oh hey! What’s this? Ink?” I spied a geometric pattern teasing at the gap in the fabric.

“Yeah.” Bryce winced as I cleaned the cut, but pulled away when I tried to move the fabric for a better look at his ink. “Stop it. It’s no big deal.”

“You never used to have tattoos,” I said.

“Yeah, well, a lot’s changed in five years, Clark. Didn’t expect I’d stay the same forever, did you?”

Yeah, I kind of had. In my head, he’d stayed twenty-one, a good-natured guy as game for a World of Warcraft pick-up raid as a homework project. I didn’t know this Bryce— the one with extra muscles and tattoos and a huge chip on his shoulder. I didn’t know the business owner or the guy who’d inherited a huge old house and populated it with stray friends.

But I wanted to.

And I desperately wanted to discover every one of his tattoos. With my tongue.

But I’d lost my chance at that years ago and another chance didn’t seem to be on the horizon. Instead, I gently applied antibiotic cream to his cut and affixed the Band-Aid.

“I’m going to have to stitch your sleeve while it’s on if you can’t take it off.” I retrieved a pre-threaded needle from the tiny sewing kit.

“Do your worst.” He leaned back in the seat, arm dangling towards me. His clipped tone said what we both already knew— I’d done my worst already by leaving. No needle was ever going to be as sharp as the pain of walking away from that kiss.