Bombora (23 page)

“Yeah, I’m sure he is,” says Nate in a flat voice, and I think that’s probably about as much as I’m going to get out of him tonight before he starts to feel I’m pushing too hard. But that’s okay. I think we’re as much on the same page now as we’ll ever be, even considering the unusual circumstances that have brought us together this time around.

D
ETERMINED
not to leave Nate in the lurch, I broach the subject with Phel as we’re out surfing the next day, waiting until we’re both tired and sunburned and loading up the Land Rover for home. Phelan looks so happy, his thick hair madly tousled from the sea, and he beams at me in a way I’ve never seen, but reminds me why we’re friends all the same. Nate begged off from the excursion, claiming a headache like a put-upon housewife trying to escape her marital duty. I wish he could see Phel like this, excited and carefree and alive. Maybe this should give me pause, because Phel has always been a bit subdued from the Paxil, kind of like a muffled bell; but it’s so
nice
to see him full of life like this. I can’t help but imagine this is what he was like before his dreams came crashing down around his ears. In a way, I’m enchanted by it, dazzled even. We could be meeting for the first time. There’s no way Nate couldn’t like this person as much as I do.

“You seem a lot better, man,” I tell him, sure my grin must match his own as we load his surfboard into the back of the Rover and slam the hatch closed. At his smile of confusion, I add, “Happy. It’s a good look on you.”

“I guess I have a lot to be happy about,” he answers with a shrug. “I’m almost at the end of my program, and for the first time in a while, I feel like things are finally back to the way they were. It’s a great feeling.”

“Did you get in touch with your family or something?” He swore never to talk to his ex-boyfriend again, but for a while he spoke really wistfully about convincing his parents to come around, getting them to show the same level of respect and acceptance as his sister, Aurelia. That’s another relationship he hoped to patch up, since he knew estrangement from the rest of the family would take its toll on her too. Perhaps he’s made headway in this regard, but a swift shake of his head disabuses me of the notion.

“No,” he answers. “I’ve kind of given up on them…. Maybe if they make the first move in contacting me, I’ll consider it, but right now I’m concentrating on myself, on feeling like I’m in control. Doing things I never would have done before, standing up to my fears.”

“Like what?”

Much to my surprise, Phel shrugs tentatively, nothing more than a lift of one reddish-bronze shoulder. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

The words make my stomach clench unpleasantly; I have no idea why. I immediately want to blame it on some bad food I might have eaten at breakfast, but remember all I had was a couple of slices of toast and some jam. Some other reason, then. Frowning, I answer, “You have? Where the heck did you find time to start dating?”

Phel grimaces as though something I’ve said offends him deeply.
“I didn’t say ‘dating’, Hugh, I said ‘seeing’. There’s a distinct difference.”

Touchy. “Okay, so you’re ‘seeing’ someone. Did you meet this person at Palermo?”

Another shrug. “Sort of. I don’t want to rehash all of it,” he says. Plastering that look of happiness back on his face, he comes around to the other side of the truck to clap me on the shoulder. His hand moves down to squeeze my arm reassuringly. “But trust me, I feel great. I’m really happy you’re here to share that with me.”

“Of course, Phel. I’m happy too.” Man, he’s like a kid in a candy store. Right now, I could ask him to do just about anything and he’d probably giggle, while here I am fretting over a casual suggestion that he spend some time with my brother. My weird response to this information about his love life makes me feel like the aged aunt who’s a bit stingy with her change and won’t spring for the gum tape or something. “Speaking of sharing stuff,” I begin, “I’ve been doing some thinking lately—a lot of thinking, actually.”

“You?” he quips, and I scowl.

Trying to hide my expression as we go around the car to our respective doors, I ask, “Who taught you sarcasm, man? Nate? Or this new lover boy of yours?”

The jibe makes his face darken slightly as he climbs into the passenger seat and shuts the door, using a bit more force than is necessary. I wince, because—hey. It’s not like Land Rovers come cheap. “Why the hell would I have learned it from Nate?” He sounds so baffled and bitter at the suggestion that I begin to see shades of what Nate was talking about. His hesitation to chummy up to Phel makes sense when both of them seem to flit from good mood to foul in the span of a blink.

I close my own door a bit more gently, twisting my body so I can prop my knee up on the seat under me. It’s not the most comfortable position, but comfort is a pipe dream once you exceed six feet tall. I need to look at him, and the cramped space of the car isn’t ideal for that. “It was just a joke,” I inform him with a roll of the eyes, “but it actually ties in to what I wanted to ask you. Nate and I had a chat a couple days ago and, well, I thought it might be a good idea if the two of you started spending some time together. I’ve been so busy with the book that I haven’t had much time for either of you. No offense—because this applies to all three of us—but we aren’t exactly known for our vast and diverse social circle. I feel shitty about ditching you guys, and I’d be really happy if you got to know each other a bit better instead. The best friend and the brother should get along, right?”

To my surprise, Phel doesn’t get upset, not like the time he and Nate first met, but he does level me with a look that’s both disbelieving and pissy. “Hugh, your brother and I have absolutely nothing in common. I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but I think that’s a horrible idea. We’d kill each other after ten minutes.”

Gesturing wildly, I feel my voice go up a couple of decibels before I can stop myself. “But that’s what he said to me, and I don’t get it, man! I don’t think that’s the case at all. Sure, maybe it doesn’t look like you have a lot in common at first glance, but Nate has
really
diverse interests, and….” I waver, but only just. “You’re both kind of going through the same things right now. Being separated from your families and all that. And you both like the Rangers.”

Phel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Luckily he doesn’t bother to acknowledge the weakness of my last argument. “Except that we’re at totally opposite ends of the issue. It’s not the same at all. Nate
hurt
people. You have no idea what that’s like, Hugh, to look at him and know the full extent of the damage he’s caused. None. All I see there is someone who didn’t give a shit about anything except getting his dick wet, okay? At the expense of his family and someone he claimed to love.”

Once again I open my mouth, prepared to argue, but Phel cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, Hugh. I’m going to be finished my program really soon, and after that I won’t even be around. This whole discussion is moot.”

I try to keep myself from physically recoiling from the news, and fail. “What do you mean, you’re not going to be around? I-I thought—”

“What? That I’d be in rehab forever?”

“Of course not,” I snap. “But I figured you’d at least be sticking around Cardiff after.” Hesitating, because what I’m about to say next still isn’t a fully formed thought, even for me. I say, “I was going to suggest you move in with me, man. After you leave Palermo.” Afterwards I need something to distract me from the sudden train wreck of this conversation, and swivel back toward the steering wheel and start the ignition.

As we begin the drive back to my house, Phel is silent. But then he offers, “I’m really touched you would think of me. I just… when I came here, I never gave too much thought to sticking around after. The idea was to try and get myself sorted out, and then get on with my life.”

The statement, though not meant to offend, pisses me off. “And what, you don’t have a life here? Nothing worth sticking around for?” I shoot a glare at him. “What about this guy you’ve been seeing, huh? You were just planning on walking away from that too?”

Phelan furrows his brow and gives a little snort. “I’d hardly allow for some guy I’m just fucking to alter my plans,” he retorts. Then, more gently, “The fact that you’d prefer for me to stay has much greater bearing, Hugh.”

“Then stay!” Hell, my hands are so tight around the steering wheel, my knuckles are starting to cramp. “From the sounds of it, you hated the Midwest. California suits you.”

Head tilted, Phel considers. “California isn’t without its own problems.”

I grunt. “Such as?” At his silence, I growl lightly to myself. “Jesus, Phel. We should be past this crap about keeping secrets from each other, but obviously there’s still plenty of stuff you don’t trust me with.” This is wildly hypocritical of me to say, since I’ve never told Phel about my own time at Palermo, but all that bullshit is in the past anyway—I don’t keep stuff from him regarding what’s going on in the here and now, not unless it’s something sensitive about Nate I’m expected to keep to myself. I do the same for Phel, obviously, because his business is his own, but I’m—different. Or so I thought. Apparently that was a huge assumption on my part.

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” he tells me bluntly. “Of course I trust you. But there’s a difference between trusting someone with information and being ready to share it. There are things I don’t even talk to my therapist about, and supposedly I can tell her anything.”

“You can tell me anything too,” I remind him petulantly, feeling as left out as the last kid picked for the team. “I’m your best friend, for crying out loud. It’s not like I’m going to sit here and judge you.”

I can feel Phelan’s eyes on me from the passenger side of the car. “How can I expect you not to judge me negatively when there are things I still judge myself for?”

Since he doesn’t seem prepared to offer anything further, I catch myself sighing, again, and feeling like if I keep at it enough, I’ll start to sound like a dying moose. “Well, will you at least
think
about it? I mean, you haven’t made any definite plans yet, right?”

Phel hesitates. “No, I haven’t.”

“Okay, then. Just think about it. You can do that, can’t you?” I refuse to beg Phel to stay, but it’s surprisingly hard not to. Any more of this stonewalling act, and I just might. This development is one I never could have banked on, even more than finding out Nate wouldn’t be going back home. But the thought of the three of us sharing a living space, however unexpected, isn’t unattractive. Even the—minor—issue of Phel and Nate’s unspoken drama seems easily enough resolved if I wear them down, and so I find myself offering up my home a second time in as many days. “My house is yours, Phel. I’d want you to stick around where you know people, not move off someplace where you’re alone again. Besides, you need someone who’ll keep you from calling your ex in a moment of weakness, right?”

I’d hoped this little quip would brighten the mood, but instead it makes his jaw tighten until I see a muscle ticking frantically in his cheek, and he glares out the window with his arms folded. Oh, well… okay. Not the right thing to say, then, and so much for the earlier good mood. Phel is silent again for a really long time, staring out at the passing scenery until we’re practically on my doorstep, the tension so thick I can picture myself choking on it. Not even the group of half-dressed young surfers we pass on the way is enough to get him to perk up, and Phel has always had time to admire a strong set of shoulders.

I expect that to be the end of the conversation, but before we pull into my driveway, he bunches his fist in the fabric of his shorts. “I’ll think about it,” he tells me, still not looking in my direction. “But I make no promises.”

The lingering note of hesitation at the end of Phelan’s sentence is, I know, as far as I’m likely to get with him today. He might have a bit of a soft spot for me, and from this conversation I know he still does, but at the end of the day he’s a stubborn bastard rivaled only by Nate. It might not look like it, but this could be a small victory if I keep working at it, not pushing, just coaxing him round. Phel would forever deny being anything like a scared animal, but that’s how he’s always seemed to me. Wounded and weary, but nothing’s irreparable.

I park the car and turn off the ignition. We sit there in the quiet for a few minutes, listening to the engine tick. “Don’t promise anything,” I tell him gently, and he sighs, probably able to guess what I’m about to say. “Just stay.”

Phel

H
IS
hands are bound to the iron rails of the headboard, sweaty skin tanned and sweet against the glistening satin of my neckties, one red and one blue. I no longer have an office job to go to, so they’ve no purpose now but this. Long fingers grasp and twist around the metal, clenching and releasing as he gasps and murmurs my name in prayer, lashes on those beautiful green eyes fluttering, lips sucked and bitten raw red. I want to answer those pleas with an
Amen
or a wry
Hallelujah
, but all I can manage is a long, low note of surrender at the sparks building at the base of my spine, fire coiling with each slick slide of his cock into my body. Gentle nudges of his pelvis lift into the aching rhythm of my hips as I raise and lower myself on his length, my hands braced against his ribs for balance, skimming the abundance of freckles scattered across his shoulders and chest and belly like I’m mapping constellations and he’s the whole fathomless sky.