Beautiful boy (36 page)

I couldn’t move for several minutes. I stared into nothingness as I tried to deal with what I’d heard, what I knew was coming. I fought to remember how to breathe, to suppress the sob that threatened to come loose.

In some tiny part of me, I’d still hoped I was wrong. I still harbored a tiny fantasy that she’d say, “Okay, well, when can we meet him?” That somewhere in there, her love for her son would override her image.

Which was stupid and I knew it.

That didn’t help the feeling growing in my chest, though. It didn’t stop the struggle I was going through to hold in my tears. It didn’t make it any easier to get air into my stubbornly uncooperative lungs.

And it didn’t change the fact that I was now homeless and alone.

Except I wasn’t alone. I still had Mal. I had no idea what to do about him, but I’d find a way not to push him away. He was all I had now.

I glanced over at my mo—at Gladys’s desk and saw the gift I’d given her. I stared at it for a long moment, sorely tempted to take it back. I started breathing harder as the thought hit again that they didn’t want me. That because of my sexual orientation, I wasn’t good enough to be their son anymore.

I’d known I wasn’t good enough. I never had been. But there’d always been the thought that they’d eventually be proud of me—or, at least, accepting—for what I’d accomplished.

I….
God
, was I that unlovable? How could Mal love me if my own parents couldn’t? How long before he realizes I’m not good enough? Just like my parents. Like the Doms I’d had before.

I was sinking into panic, and I fought to get a hold of myself. I had to get out of there. I had my car; it was in my name now. I could go home and pack my stuff into it and… I didn’t know what from there.

I threw one last glance at the gift and left the office, grateful it was in a wing, off to the side of the house. I headed for the door at the end of the hall. I could go around outside, get my car from the valet, and not have to see anyone.

Before I got to the end of the hall, I was intercepted. “Master Kyle!”

I stood stock-still and waited for Anna to catch up. If she—

“I’m so sorry, Master Kyle,” she said, grabbing me in a hug.

I stared down at her in shock for a moment. “Miss Anna?”

She looked up at me. “It’s not right,” she whispered, shaking her head. “What she said. I’m sorry.”

I wrapped my arms around her tightly. “Thank you, Miss Anna. That means more than you can know.”

“Call me, Master Kyle. Let me know you are okay.”

I forced a weak smile on my face. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” I kissed her cheek and carefully extricated myself.

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “You will be fine. I hope your man is a good one.”

I blinked at her, surprised again, then smiled for real. “He is, Miss Anna. Mal is wonderful.”

She smiled then, a wide one. “Good. I still want you to call me when you get settled.”

I cleared my throat and again fought back tears as I answered. “Okay, I will. Take care.” I kissed her again and hurried to the door.

I didn’t remember the drive home—to the loft. It wasn’t my home anymore. I must have done well; I didn’t crash or get a ticket, but I couldn’t have accurately mentioned a single traffic light or stop sign. I didn’t cry; my cheeks were dry. I was somewhere still south of shocked and north of tears, though not for long.

When I stepped into the loft, I turned on the lights, tossing my keys onto the bar. I stared around at the place I’d called home for the last six months. It wasn’t much, but I’d been happy here. I turned slowly, trying to figure out what to do first.

I caught my reflection in the glass window.
Change clothes. I’m not going to do anything in a tux.

I took a breath and closed my eyes. I had two days. I’d call in to work tomorrow and do what I needed to do then. I needed rest. With any luck, I’d be better able to deal with this tomorrow.

After I locked my door, I flipped off the lights and climbed the stairs. I stripped out of my tux quickly, draping it over the railing, then fished my phone out of the pocket and set it on the bedside table. Then, in boxer briefs and nothing else, I slid between the sheets.

I stared at the ceiling. I should call Mal, tell him what happened. He’d come over, and I could admit I wanted him, more than anything in that moment. But I swore I wasn’t going to be some needy, clingy thing. On top of that, he’d probably want to take off work to help me, which, as the boss, he shouldn’t do. He’d also probably tell me to come stay with him, and I didn’t need to do that.

Because I didn’t think he’d really
want
that. He’d offer it because he’s a nice guy, not because he really wanted me there. He’d never mentioned anything like living together. It was true I’d been there over the weekends, but he’d been clear about me going back home afterward.

So, I didn’t need to put him in a position to offer something he didn’t really want to do. I needed time to figure out how to tell him what had happened, time to figure out what to do so he wouldn’t have to. He’d hear it in my voice after a single word, I was sure of it. As I was a crappy liar, I knew better than to call him.

I picked up my phone and unlocked it, then stared at it. After debating for a moment, I typed in a simple true message, hoping he’d accept it.
I’m home. Survived the party. Tired and heading to bed. Love you.

He must have been waiting for me.
Sorry we can’t talk. Rest well, baby. Love you too.

I breathed a sigh of relief and set the phone on my table, then lay down again.

And gave in to the tears.

Mal

SOMETHING WAS
wrong.

I’d been surprised last night with a text and nothing else, expecting him to even call me on the way home. I figured he’d tell me about his horrible parents, their fake friends, and his sweet housekeeper. At least, I’d expected him to
call
to say good night.

Well, okay, he’d been tired. He had texted me, told me he loved me. I could concede that dealing with the type of thing he’d gone to could be exhausting.

But something felt off about the text. Still, that could be explained by his exhaustion.

Texting me this morning with
Good morning, Master
and nothing else… was
not
normal. A good two weeks ago, we’d started calling to say good morning. Sure, we often traded dick pics via text to compare morning wood or the like. But that was almost always in addition to our call. However, there was no pic attached to the message. It was
only
a message, and an almost terse one, at that.

Something was wrong with Kyle.

I didn’t know what to do about it. I sent a simple reply:
Good morning, boy. Everything okay?
and waited.

His reply was pretty quick.
Not really. Think I’m getting sick
.

Well, that might explain the exhaustion. Except Kyle told me he’d been sick only a handful of times in his life. And he was fine yesterday when he left here. Hadn’t been a sniffle or extra degree toward fever to be seen—or heard. Not a single symptom. And it certainly didn’t explain the lack of phone call. It wasn’t like I could get sick over the phone, if he was worried about passing it on. So that wasn’t it.

Normally, I didn’t call him while he was at work. His office frowned on them using their cell phones for personal reasons during the workday, so I usually stuck to text and e-mail.

But this was too out of the ordinary. I hit the option to call instead of message and waited for the ring. But after six, it swapped over to Kyle’s pleasant voice asking me to leave a message. I hung up.

Okay, maybe he didn’t want to pick up at work. I typed out a reply.
What kind of sick? Let me take care of you.

No, that’s okay. Don’t want you to get sick.

This was ridiculous.
If I’m going to catch it, I’ve already got it. I sucked face with you all weekend and I licked your cum off your chest yesterday.
I knew that would get
some
kind of reaction out of him.

I waited.

It was five full minutes later before I got a reply, which was
not
what I expected.
Really, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.

I sighed. I couldn’t force the issue. I didn’t know what to do about it, and it hadn’t escaped my notice that he didn’t tell me what exactly was wrong. “Sick” could be a lot of things.

My guess was something happened with his parents. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d come out to them—or been outed somehow—and was trying to deal with the fallout. If that was it, though, I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t come to me. I loved him; he knew that. I thought I’d made it clear I’d do anything for him.

Call me later?
I replied.

Sure.
That was it. One word.

My stomach twisted. I had no doubt this had nothing to do with any kind of virus or flu. It hurt that he wasn’t willing to tell me what was going on. The only comfort I gave myself was that he wasn’t likely thinking very clearly right now. Whatever happened upset him badly, and he wasn’t ready to tell me. It bothered me, more than a little, but I didn’t know what to do with that.

I briefly considered calling him on the broken rule, but I didn’t want to exacerbate his unstable emotions. Even though submitting helped calm him usually, I had no idea what it would do to remind him of his submission while he was like this.

There had to be something I could do. If nothing else, I could stop by the loft later anyway and try to get him to talk to me then. I didn’t like the idea of forcing my presence on him, but it was a plan, better than nothing.

With that in mind, I forced myself to put the phone down and focus on work.

BY THE
end of the workday, he still hadn’t called. I hung out at the office until I knew he was off to see if he would. He didn’t.

I wasn’t going to play games. I tried to dial again. Yet again, I got his voice mail.

Kyle? What’s up?

I gripped my phone too hard as I waited for the reply.

Nothing. What’s up?

I blinked at the phone, then frowned as I typed out my reply.
Why didn’t you answer the phone?

I swallowed as a thought occurred to me. What if he didn’t want me anymore? What if he had been outed, but told his parents he wasn’t gay and wanted to break it off with me to keep from risking it again?

My heart went into my throat and my stomach dropped out. I suddenly had a
lot
of trouble breathing. I struggled to calm myself as I waited for his reply. I was jumping to a conclusion, but I couldn’t figure out why else he’d evade me like that.

You called? I don’t have any missed calls.

But he still didn’t try to call me. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Yeah. Damned phone companies. Want to talk?

I tried to quiet my brain, but the panic was mounting.
Please say yes, please say yes….

I’m really not feeling good, Master.

I almost dropped the phone. No. I wasn’t buying it. My hands shook as I tried to type out my reply. The Swype wasn’t working; my fingers felt fat. I had to stop, take a deep breath, and try again.
Kyle, why don’t you want to talk to me? Is more going on here? Did—
I had to pause and get control of myself before I kept typing.—
something happen at your parents? Do you want to step back from us?

I almost couldn’t hit Send. I stared at the message for a good two minutes, set the phone on my desk, and paced my office a few more minutes, then picked it back up. Finally, I forced myself to hit Send.

And waited.

His reply was so fast, the relief made me dizzy. I braced myself on my desk when I went to read it.

No! Nonononono!

Well, I wasn’t sure what all that might apply to, but I was sure it was at least in answer to the last question. Still, it wasn’t enough.

I took a deep breath, shut off my computer, and hurried out of my office. The elevators took too long. The traffic pissed me off. The trip to his loft should have taken fifteen minutes, tops. Instead, it took forty-five.

My mood went further south when I didn’t see his car in the lot. If he was sick, where was his car?

I told myself not to jump to conclusions and forced myself to
walk
into the building. The elevator was just as annoyingly slow as the one in my building, but finally I stood in front of his door. Somehow, I knew there would be no answer to the knock. Still, I kept trying, thinking maybe he was stuck in the bathroom. But when he didn’t answer after the second knock, I tried to dial him again.

He still didn’t answer.

Well, he’d been replying to texts.
Hey I’m at your place. Come open the door.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and waited.

But the door didn’t open. My phone buzzed, instead, and I pulled it out.
I had to go out for medicine.

Well, okay. That made sense, if he was really sick, but I still didn’t think he was. Again, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
I would have brought it, baby. I’ll wait for you.

He didn’t reply right away. I figured he was worrying about getting done. I paced the little lobby on his floor. Something tugged at the back of my mind. I was sure he wasn’t sick and that something happened with his parents. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me, though. He seemed to trust me with everything else. I couldn’t imagine him going into deep submission, for example, if he didn’t trust me.

What was I missing?

I glanced at the door again and saw the small windows near the top. His was a thick iron door, like would have been in place if the building really had originally been a warehouse and not built to just look like one. The frame had a deep lip around it. I moved to it and reached up. The door was slightly taller than normal, but by stretching, I managed to get a grip on the frame.