Too Soon For Love (29 page)

The hesitation was palpable. In the seconds it took Alan to answer, Michael sent up a prayer to a God he wasn’t sure he still believed in.

Please, don’t let it be true.

“There are pictures,” Alan said, his voice so soft Michael had to strain to hear.

“Pictures of …”

“Robby. And Phillip. Pictures of the two of them together.

I’m sorry, Michael. I should have told you.”

“Where? What pictures?”

“On the laptop. I saw them when I took it to my brother’s to get it unlocked for you.”

“Phillip took lots of pictures. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Michael, there’s a letter too.”

“A what?”

“A letter. It came a couple weeks ago. I should have told you but—”

Michael jumped to his feet. The chair rocked backward then crashed to the floor. “What the fuck do you mean? A letter came?

From who? Robby? Where is it? Get it and read it to me.”

“I can’t. It’s at my apartment.”

“You stole my mail? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I didn’t steal it. I’ll bring it back and read it to you—”

“You’re damn straight you will. What the fuck are you doing
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taking my mail?”

“I didn’t--”

A knock on the closed study door had Alan breaking off in mid-sentence. Robby’s voice reached them through the door.

“Michael, is everything all right? Can I come in?”

“I think you better.”

“Michael, wait.”

“Fuck that.” Michael turned to face Robby. “Were you and Phillip fucking?”

Robby said nothing.

“I told him,” Alan said.

“It’s a lie, Michael. He’s making it up.”

“Oh, for sweet Christ sake! You’re busted, man. Just tell him the truth. He’s going to know anyway when I read him the letter.”

“There’s no letter. He’s making it up. He’s just jealous, Michael.

I would never—”

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!” Michael spun away, his hands going to his burning face, and tripped over the chair he’d knocked over. He went sprawling and banged his ribs hard on his way down. It knocked the wind out of him and he lay gasping on the floor, the sound of the chair’s wheels spinning combined with Alan’s and Robby’s exclamations.

Hands reached for him. He struck out, knocking them away.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t either of you touch me.”

Slowly Michael got to his knees, his ribs throbbing and his leg and one shoulder as well. He got to his feet. Alan and Robby were silent. Goddamn it. He wished he could see their faces. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t like what he saw there.

And what would he see? Pity? Scorn?

“Get out,” Michael said. “Just get the fuck out. Both of you.”

“Michael, I know you’re upset—” Alan began.

“Get. Out. And I want that fucking letter.”

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“I can’t leave,” Robby said. “All my shit is here. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“So get your shit and get out. I don’t care where you go. I don’t want you here, either of you.”

He heard them moving toward the door and leaving the room, heard Robby mounting the stairs. Michael righted the chair then sank into it and lowered his head into his hands. He had no intention of moving until they were both gone.

He heard their hushed voices in the hall, but they spoke too softly for him to hear what they said.

Were they talking about him? Maybe. Probably. He could just imagine it.

Poor sonofabitch, his partner was fucking around and the stupid asshole had no clue. No doubt that’s what Alan thought.

And Robby, well, who the fuck knew about him?

Michael heard the front door open then close, heard Robby moving around upstairs then, after maybe ten minutes, heard his footsteps on the stairs again.

“Michael,” Robby said from the doorway. “It’s not true. You need to let me—”

“No. I don’t need to do anything.”
But be left alone.
“Just get out.”

There was a pause. “I loved him too. You weren’t the only one, you know.”

Once more the front door opened and closed.

Spinning the chair around, Michael crossed his arms on the desk. He laid his head down, closed his eyes and thought of the journal. The answers would be in there, he just knew it. But how to get at them? And what was more, did he really want those answers? He just didn’t know.

✧ ✦ ✧

At home Alan took the letter out of his desk drawer, unfolded it and read it for what seemed like the hundredth time. He stared
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at the phone then back down at the letter. Should he call and read the letter over the phone? Probably. Then once it was done they would both hang up and that would be that.

But he didn’t want that to be that. Of course he knew he’d been wrong to keep the existence of the letter from Michael. But damn it, he’d been trying to save him the grief of knowing what his partner had been doing. And he’d do it again, the exact same thing, given the chance.

It was fucking Robby who’d screwed everything all to hell by showing up and putting the moves on Michael.

As Alan reached for the phone, it rang. He jerked his hand back then slowly lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“I want to hear the letter. Can you read it to me now?”

“Michael, can I explain?”

There was silence for a long moment then Michael let out a long breath. “Read me the letter first.”

“Okay.” Alan read, slowly, without interjecting any additional inflection into the text, just reading the words that were there, without editorializing, without comment, though his head spun with them.

“It’s signed, your boy, Robby.”

Michael was silent for so long Alan began to wonder if he was still on the line.

“Michael?”

“I’m here.” Michael sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me about the letter, Alan? You had no right to keep that from me.”

“I guess I was trying to save you some grief. You were already hurting, still missing Phillip so much, still in love with him. I figured if you knew about the affair it would just cause you more hurt and I didn’t want that.”

“Trying to save me, were you? That’s very gallant of you. But it doesn’t change the fact that you were wrong. You treated me too soon FoR Love
241

like a child, just like Phillip’s family does, like I can’t manage my own affairs.” He paused as if realizing the poor choice of words.

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“There are pictures, but I told you that already.”

“Yeah, and we won’t even get into the issue of you rummaging around on Phillip’s computer.” He laughed, a bitter sound. “I was going to copy all the pics to a DVD and give them to Janey and Karen. Thank Christ I didn’t do that. Can you imagine if I had?”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.” Now it was Alan’s turn to sigh. “Honestly, Michael, my intentions were good.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about good intentions. I want that letter, Alan.”

“I can bring it by—”

“No, just mail it.”

“How will you know—?”

“Put a paper-clip on it before you put it in the envelope. That way when I get it, I’ll know what it is.”

“I guess you won’t want me to read the mail anymore.”

“I guess not. I’ll get Jane or somebody to do it. Or maybe I’ll just hire somebody. Somebody I can trust not to try and save me from the truth.”

Oscar was pacing the living room and looking expectantly up at Alan.

“Okay. I’ll get the letter in the mail tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Michael, if you need anything …”

“I won’t.”

“Okay, well. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good-bye, Alan.”

Alan waited for Michael to hang up first. He listened to the hum of the broken connection until the rude beeping of a phone left off the hook began in his ear. He put down the receiver and
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rested his head in his hands.

Christ, but he’d fucked up royally. If he’d ever stood a chance with Michael, that chance was now gone, any connection now permanently and irrevocably broken. And he had no one but himself to blame.

Alan checked his reflection in the mirror one last time. The pale blue t-shirt fit him like a second skin and the vintage wash jeans clung just enough to show off his assets. He’d borrowed some of Tommy’s hair goop and now his usually ordinary hair had been gelled into soft spikes. He looked damn good, if he did say so himself.

Shutting out the light, he made his way into the living room.

Tommy and Oscar were sprawled on the floor, the dog’s head pillowed on his brother’s abdomen. Both man and dog appeared absorbed by the sports bloopers show blaring from the TV.

Alan walked to the set and hit the mute button.

“Hey, dude, we’re watching that. They’re about to start the top five sports bloopers of all time.” Tommy grabbed the remote from the floor beside Oscar and aimed it at the TV.

Alan blocked it with his body. “Are you going to be around tonight?”

“I don’t know.” Tommy paused, finger poised above the mute button. “Why? Where you going?”

“Out for a drink.”

“A drink, huh? With who? You planning on getting laid?”

“Maybe. Hopefully.”

“You going out with laptop guy?”

Alan shook his head and tried to ignore the ache that blossomed in his chest whenever he thought of Michael. “That’s over.”

“Hmm. Seems like it never really got started.” Tommy narrowed his eyes and studied his brother. “So who you going out with?”

“I’m meeting Patrick for a drink, then we’re going clubbing.

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Why? Want to come with?”

“Is Patrick the hottie vet?”

“The same.”

“I don’t want to cramp your style, bro.”

But Alan could see from the way Tommy’s eyes lit up that he did want to come.

“It’s not a date. We’ll each go our own way when we get to the club most likely. You’re welcome to come.” He glanced at the TV.

“Unless you don’t want to miss the number one sports blooper of all time.”

“I’ll catch it on TiVo.” Tommy tossed the remote aside and sat up, dislodging Oscar who rolled over and gave him the hairy eyeball before he settled his chin on his paws and sighed. “Give me ten minutes to get my game on.”

The base pumping from man-sized speakers reverberated in Alan’s chest as he sat at the horseshoe-shaped bar and nursed his beer. Tommy and Patrick gyrated on the nearby dance floor along with a multitude of young men, some shirtless, all gorgeous and sweaty and seeking the exact same thing he was, to get laid.

As Alan watched, Patrick slid his arm around Tommy’s waist and tugged him in for a kiss. The lip-lock went on and on, the two men hardly seeming to notice the bodies bumping and grinding all around them. Well, it looked like somebody would be getting some tonight, even if it wasn’t him.

Alan tipped his beer bottle back and swallowed down the rest of the contents.

He was glad for his brother. Really. Patrick was a great guy and hot too. It was about time his twin hooked up with somebody decent.

Setting his empty bottle on the bar, he lifted a hand to signal for a replacement and froze. His gaze locked with a pair of dark eyes the color of melted chocolate set in a face that could only be called angelic. The owner of that face smiled.

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Alan felt a familiar zing of connection.

Something Michael had said drifted unbidden into Alan’s head.

It’s hard to cruise the hotties in the bars when you can’t make eye contact.

Well, he didn’t have that problem, did he?

Alan banished all thoughts of Michael with a slight shake of his head. He was here to forget Michael Stricker and he’d found just the person to help with that.

The young man with the angel face and compelling eyes must have interpreted Alan’s head shake as a dismissal. He shrugged and turned away.

Nice going, pal.

Alan surrendered his seat at the bar and made his way through the crowd. Someone jostled against him and the guy’s drink sloshed over Alan’s arm and soaked the front of his t-shirt.

“Sorry, man,” the guy apologized. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Alan replied.

The guy leaned in. “Can I buy you a drink, you know, to make up for being such a klutz?”

Alan glanced down the bar in search of his dark-eyed hottie, but the man was nowhere in sight.

He turned his attention to the guy whose drink he now wore.

Lean with a slight build and narrow hips, the guy wore a black t-shirt torn off at the hem to expose several inches of taut, flat belly. His low-rise jeans looked in danger of slipping off at any moment. His dark hair was pulled back in a stubby tail and several days stubble shadowed his jaw.

Alan gave a mental shrug. What the hell?

“Sure.” Alan flashed a smile. “Or I could just suck on my shirt.”

His new friend’s cheeks colored and he laughed. “I am sorry about that. I’d be glad to pay the cleaning bill.”

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“No need. It’s my brother’s shirt anyway.” This small lie elicited another laugh. “By the way, I’m Alan.”

The guy held out his hand. “My name’s Michael. What are you drinking?”

✧ ✦ ✧

Michael knew exactly what he needed to do. It was his first thought upon waking. He had the answer. Not about his life, that was still a fucking mess. But he knew how to fix his manuscript.

He opened his eyes to the unrelenting silence of his bedroom.

What time was it? He had no idea, but it felt late, like middle of the night late. For a moment he lay still, listening. Wind sighed around the house, bare tree branches tapped against his bedroom window, but besides that no sound reached him.

He groped around the top of his nightstand, found the clock and pushed the button on top.

“Eleven-forty-three, p.m.,” the electronic female voice announced.

So, not that late.

He threw back the covers, swung his legs out of bed and sat up. There would be no going back to sleep, he could feel it, that wide awake sensation he got when his insomnia was really kicking up its heels, like he’d just had three cups of coffee.