Wilder, Winona - Choosing Love [Coming Out 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) (8 page)

* * * *

Cal
felt empowered after spending so much time with Evan, and listening to his speeches on homosexuality. After believing the garbage his mom and stepfather fed him before disowning him, he now stood proud, knowing he wasn’t abnormal, just different. And that was okay.

Evan continually preached about becoming open with the truth, but Waylon was sternly against it. His best friend had a close-knit relationship with his parents and brothers and didn’t want to risk it like
Cal
had.

Today
Cal
wanted to make the move that Evan had encouraged. He planned to open up about his sexuality and didn’t care if others accepted it or not. What could be worse than being rejected by your own blood? The woman that gave you life?
Cal
accepted himself, and that’s all that mattered in the grand scheme of things.

He approached the hall in front of the locker rooms at the college. One person he wanted to confront was Stephanie. She’d been a royal bitch since Waylon dumped her. He felt the need to tell her that he wasn’t a sexless loser, as she continually referred, but a proud homosexual man. No, he wouldn’t expose his best friend without his consent, but he wanted the truth about himself to be known. No more shame.

“What do you want?” asked Stephanie after he nudged her shoulder.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, what’s that? You were born without a dick?”

He clamped his jaw down hard and inhaled deeply before speaking. “I have a dick. But the reason I haven’t dated since coming to college is because I’m not into girls.”

She stared for a minute, and then an evil smile played on her lips. “Are you telling me that you’re a fag? Please tell me you’re actually offering me this information.”

The weight of his confession bore down on him, not the relief Evan said he’d feel. A hundred eyes seemed to stare, and a thousand fingers seemed to point. What had he done? He just felt so proud to finally know who he was, and accept it. Evan empowered him to the point he believed he could take on the world. But maybe Waylon had a good reason for staying in the dark. Not everyone accepted their alternative lifestyle.

“Did he just say he was a fag?” One of Waylon’s muscle-bound friends moved in closer, along with a dozen others. “Do you want to fuck me, Cal?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He tried to back away, to appear disinterested, veering around Stephanie, but in seconds they’d cornered him. School hours were over, and just the players getting off late from practice filled the lonely hallway. Waylon didn’t attend today because the three of them had a fun evening planned with the fight on TV and pizza. He wished he was there with Waylon and Evan right now.

Someone pushed
Cal
from behind, making him lurch forward into another man. They weren’t in high school, but these guys acted like hate-filled teenagers. They were all grown men who were supposed to be working toward a rewarding career. He stood his ground, standing tall and strong. The sudden rush of fists and feet lashing out at every part of his body wasn’t expected. He wasn’t a small man, but being outnumbered ten to one by a team of football players was a losing battle. A sharp punch to the stomach and a kick to his shin forced him to collapse to the ground. He didn’t cry out. No matter what these heathens thought, he wasn’t a pussy just because he was gay. He bit his tongue and curled into a ball as kick after kick assaulted him. Thankfully, it didn’t take long until blackness claimed him.

Chapter Eight

After two hours of waiting and no answer from
Cal
’s cell phone or any word, the pizza and game were long forgotten.

“Where the fuck could he be?” asked Waylon for the hundredth time.

Evan scowled, guilt flitting across his eyes. He bit his lip and turned away, but Waylon spun him back around.

“You know something I don’t?”

“I’m a bit worried. He may have done something stupid.”

Waylon grabbed both Evan’s shoulders firmly. “Tell me what’s going on!” After the first hour passed and no answer from
Cal
’s cell phone, Waylon began to worry. As each minute passed, a thick blanket of despair lowered over him. He just knew something wasn’t right, and it killed him that he couldn’t contact
Cal
to ease his worry.

“He wanted to own up, to confess who he really is. It’s a part of the healing process.”

“Fuck that! Don’t tell me this has to do with coming out of the closet, Evan.” Evan may have been doing a good thing teaching those free classes every week to young homosexual men, but he went too far now. The world as a whole wasn’t ready to embrace everyone that was different than the masses. Evan threw
Cal
to the sharks by fueling him with empty dreams and hopes.

“He wanted to confront some friends at school that had been bothering him. Shit, this isn’t good.” Evan’s face fell, and he swallowed hard.

“You think?” He pushed Evan back and began pacing, wondering where
Cal
could be. “Do you know where he went?”

“All I know is he stayed at the college after I left.”

In a burst of realization, Waylon knew
Cal
would confront Steph. She’d tormented him way too long. He hated seeing
Cal
’s sweet face contorted with shame after passing her in the hall. She always had a rude comment for him, slowly tearing him down one word at a time. But where Steph was, his friends on the football team were. Those bastards were a hard-ass crew with little tolerance for anyone outside their circle. They worshiped Waylon, but even the status of being Waylon’s best friend wouldn’t save him if he admitted to being gay.

“Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve filled
Cal
’s head so full of your peace and love bullshit that he probably got himself killed!”

Evan covered his ears and walked away. “Don’t fucking blame me. I love him, too!”

“You don’t love him! All you care about is his cock.”

The fist came out of nowhere, knocking Waylon back into the coffee table. He fell back, the glass top shattering into thick bits. “Get up you motherfucker!”

Waylon rolled himself up to his feet and barreled forward like he’d been trained in their tackling exercises. Both men ended up in a heavy heap at the other end of the room, the drywall dented by the weight of their bodies colliding. Waylon straddled Evan, pulling his fist back, but stopping. Evan panted, his hair disheveled. His eyes were beautiful, and he had to admit that he had feelings, deep feelings, for his teacher. That didn’t make him any less angry that he’d put stupid thoughts into
Cal
’s head, but he couldn’t hit him. He dropped his arm.

“I do love him,” Evan whispered. “I love you, too, Waylon. You think I only care about sex? I’ve gone over five years without so much as a date. It’s been lonely. Once I had you both in my life, I guess I was overly excited. That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Waylon ran his hand through Evan’s hair, and then pulled him up to a stand, broken glass falling to the carpet. After brushing themselves off and catching their breath, he tried to focus. “What should we do?”

Mr. Hawke, the intelligent teacher that taught his history class every day, emerged. His face hardened as he picked up the cordless and called information. When he asked for the local hospital, Waylon’s stomach knotted painfully.

“Well?”

“Good news, we’ve found him.” Waylon sighed, slouching forward from the rush of relief. “Bad news, he’s unconscious and badly beat up. The janitor found him and called 911.”

“I’ll kill them all!” He rammed his fist through the drywall, wishing it were the faces of his so-called friends.

“Just stop with the macho bullshit for two minutes. We’ve got to get down there. I’ll drive.”

* * * *

Waylon stepped from behind the drawn, mint green curtains pulled around
Cal
’s bed. He didn’t look angry, though he should be.
Cal
had been a fool. To think he could reform a group of jocks with nice words and honesty was a joke. Waylon had been right. It was safer to keep their private life private. After he entered, Evan followed.

“Hey, babe, how you feeling?” asked Waylon.

“I’ve been better.” His best friend surveyed the tube coming from his arm, the cast on the other arm, and no doubt his face, which probably resembled roadkill. He felt like shit, like a Mack truck had run him over, reversed, and run him over again. His ribs ached where two had been broken. When he chuckled, he winced from the pain.

“Shh. Don’t talk.” Waylon lightly ran his fingertips along his cheek, his eyes watery and red rimmed.

When the nurse came in to check his vitals, he automatically pulled away, but he stopped himself and continued to maintain the intimate contact. “Hi, I’m Waylon.
Cal
’s boyfriend. Will he be okay?”
Cal
wanted to cry. He knew how much courage it took his big, bad boyfriend to admit the fact to a stranger. It was one step in the right direction.

“He got banged up pretty good, but he’s tough.” The nurse winked at
Cal
and patted his hand. After taking his blood pressure and temperature, she turned to Evan. “Are you responsible for him?”

“We both are,” said Waylon with an authoritative tone.

“Well, he’ll need to take it easy for awhile. No lifting. He’ll have to come back in one week for the doctor to check his arm and ribs. These stitches will need to come out then, too.” She bent down and examined the two inch gash over
Cal
’s eyebrow. He’d caught a brief glimpse at himself in the reflective surfaces of the sterile room. He wondered if Waylon would still love him as much with his face marred. Waylon always told him how handsome he was, but now he had little going for him.

“No worries. I’ll take good care of him.” Waylon sat in the chair by the side of the bed after the nurse left. “You’re moving in with me where I can take good care of you.”

“That’s ridiculous," said Evan. "You’ll both move in with me. I have a house that’s paid for. No sense in either of you renting an apartment. We can pool our resources.”
Be a family?

It would never work. Could it?
Cal
glanced back and forth at the two men. They both seemed fine with the idea, which was ridiculous. Waylon and Evan never saw eye to eye, and with his best friend’s jealous streak, it seemed impossible for the three of them to cohabitate. But here they were, agreeing, some unspoken connection passing between all three of them.

* * * *

Three months had passed since
Cal
and Waylon moved in with Evan Hawke. Evan still taught at the college. Waylon attended but dropped off the football team, unwilling to associate with the guys that put
Cal
in the hospital. Most were on probation now and didn’t dare give Waylon a lick of trouble. He behaved and didn’t pick any fights, keeping his word to leave the past alone.

Cal
couldn’t face the place again, but considering the circumstances and the school wanting to avoid any bad media, they allowed Evan to homeschool him for full credit.

“You didn’t finish the assignment, Calvin,” said Evan, peering up from the table and his pile of assignments to mark.

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“I can’t keep giving you special privileges. You have to do the work if you want the credits.”

“Yes, teacher.”
Cal
kissed his forehead as he walked by to join Waylon on the sofa.

Living with two men was easier than he imagined. They got along great. If the dishes were left overnight, no one cared. If they had leftovers for three nights in a row, they just ate it. With so much in common, it was like they were made for each other.

“I’m not kidding, Calvin!” Evan stood up and marched to the sofa, kicking
Cal
’s leg off the new coffee table.

“Why don’t you spank him?” teased Waylon. His best friend lounged in just his boxer briefs, a constant temptation.
Cal
had only been permitted to engage in heavy physical activity a couple weeks ago, and he still felt pent up living with two of the hottest men.

“Now there’s an idea. I’ll teach you not to hand assignments in late.” Evan dropped down on the sofa between them, jostling the cushions. He patted his lap. “Come on. Man up and take your punishment.”