When One Door Opens (8 page)

A few more steps and they had reached the landing. They walked a short way down the hall to a metal door. A cheap-looking padlock on the door barred access to the roof. Continuing the story, he said, “I was shocked when he showed up while I was in the showers.”

“Did you drop the soap?”

Scowling, Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “Now what? You need a key to access the roof.”

Logan looked at the padlock for a moment before he said, “Close your eyes.” He held up his hand when Caleb started to speak. “Better for you not to know.”

Caleb reluctantly complied. He heard the sound of metal crinkling. After only a few moments, he heard the swish of the door opening. As he opened his eyes, he spied Logan stuffing something into his pocket that looked like part of a can of Coke. Lowering his voice, he asked, “What if someone calls the police?” He didn’t want to be responsible for Logan violating his parole.

“We won’t be up here long enough for it to matter.” He stepped through the door, holding it open for Caleb to follow.

As Caleb moved through the entryway, the smell of early morning air invaded his nostrils. The muggy air coated his throat, smelling faintly of fuel and garbage. Standing under the alcove over the door, he looked out at the city he had not set eyes on directly in nearly three years. The city lights and the moon shining above cast enough of a glow to see the pebbled surface of the roof. According to Mrs. Simon, there was talk about putting in a rooftop garden. He hoped they did, for her sake. The much-taller surrounding buildings made the roof look small and bleak. It needed a bit of color. Looking at the space, Caleb waited for the surge of panic to rise, stealing his breath and his composure. Nothing happened. By now, he should be drowning in fear, but instead he felt calmer inside than he had in years.

Logan wrapped his arms around Caleb from behind and said, “So, you’re in the showers soaping that lean body of yours and the water’s pouring over you. Then what happens?”

Caleb sighed, letting his head rest against Logan’s firm chest. He assumed Logan was only touching him and prompting the sex talk to distract him, but damned if it didn’t feel good. “He walked up to me still fully dressed and asked if I was a fag.”

Logan’s body tensed, and his voice hardened. “This story better have a happy ending.”

The protectiveness in Logan’s voice sent a shiver racing down Caleb’s spine. “He lunged at me, pressing me against the wall and kissing me breathless.”

Logan turned them and pushed forward until Caleb’s back pressed against the door. Hunching a little, he asked, “Like this?”

“It wasn’t long before we both got our happy endings,” Caleb said, looking down and cursing his blushing cheeks. Somehow, they had managed to end up much closer, their chests touching as Logan rested his hand on Caleb’s hip. Logan’s musky scent mixed with freshly cleaned skin enveloped Caleb, giving him the ridiculous urge to bury his nose against Logan’s broad chest. Logan put one finger under Caleb’s chin and tilted his head back to look into his eyes, watching him with a strangely intent expression. Caleb was amazed to see so much heat in his dark eyes.

Caleb licked his lips. “Doesn’t your shift start soon?”

“Let’s go over to the edge for a minute first.” Logan pulled back, taking hold of Caleb’s hand. They worked their way over the uneven surface to the cement railing that bordered the rooftop. The sputtering of a car engine turning over drew Caleb’s eyes to the street below. Even at this hour, the streets weren’t deserted. Looking around, he realized they were directly in view of dozens of apartment buildings. Anyone could pull back the curtain and see him. Putting a hand to his chest, he said, “The air’s too humid. I can’t breathe.”

Logan moved behind him again, placing his arms around Caleb’s waist. “Close your eyes and stop breathing like a crank caller.”

Caleb tried to comply, his fingers digging into the gritty cement railing. He hated this feeling so much. Shame and guilt flowed through him as he realized Logan’s hands on him were the only thing keeping him from bolting toward the door. His legs trembled from the forced inaction.
Breathe
, he commanded his errant lungs.
Breathe.

Logan’s hold on him tightened. “I knew I was a switch hitter by the time I was in junior high, but I never did it with a guy until my senior year of high school. By then, I wanted it so bad, I could barely stand it.”

Caleb’s brain short-circuited at the thought of Logan bubbling over with pent-up sexual desires. It was almost too much to contemplate. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that it didn’t mean anything. Logan used the sex talk to distract him. Oh, God did it work. It was so easy to imagine Logan as a lanky teen, not yet filling out his tall frame. His dark hair grown out, framing his almost-black eyes.

“I was at a party, buzzed but not drunk yet, and I went looking for an open bathroom.”

Rubbing the corded muscles of Logan’s biceps, Caleb wondered if it bothered him to talk about his past drinking. He had zero experience with alcohol. He had always been too afraid of the idea of losing control over himself.

“I walked in on a guy pissing and saddled right next to him, too impatient to wait. I caught him looking at my dick and the guy freaked out, like I was going to hit him or something,” he said, sounding indignant even after all these years. “After we got through the ‘No way, I’m not gay—whoa, nice dick, bud!’ shit, we jacked each other off, coming on a pink fluffy towel.”

Caleb snorted. “I bet it even had a lacy hem.”

“The whole room smelled like dried flowers and perfume. I’m lucky I didn’t end up a cross-dresser.”

“Now there’s an image I didn’t need.”

Logan cuffed the back of his head. “With that hair of yours, you’ll have straight boys pinching your ass, thinking you’re a chick.”

“I’m not built like a chick,” Caleb grumbled, running a hand through his blond hair. “I tried cutting it myself once, but Marco said I looked like an escaped mental patient.”

After a pause, Logan said, “It’s weird wanting to kick somebody’s ass without ever meeting them.”

Caleb blinked, realizing he hadn’t painted a pretty picture of Marco. His head was all twisted up about the man. It was ridiculous to resent Marco for moving to Florida when Caleb had been the one to encourage him to apply to the management position. He had even convinced his uncle to write a glowing letter of recommendation. Marco deserved the position, and Caleb had been happy for him when he got the promotion. Mostly. Marco spent his last two weeks on the job clucking like a momma hen, while Caleb refused to talk about it. Thanks to caller ID, there were three unheard messages on his voice mail. Caleb sighed. “He’s a stubborn—albeit gorgeous—ass, but he’s a good person. I was lucky to have him as long as I did and to call him my friend.”

Logan grunted and headed for the door.

Caleb grabbed Logan’s hand before he could escape. “Thank you.” At Logan’s questioning look, he clarified, “Three years is a long time not to see the smog-covered stars.”

Squeezing Caleb’s fingers, Logan said, “You’ll be sucking up exhaust fumes and dodging taxis in no time.”

When Logan said it, Caleb could almost make himself believe it.

C
ALEB
opened his closet and frowned at the contents. Stacks of neatly folded but worn-looking T-shirts and sweats lined the wooden shelves. The only hanging clothes were a faded green hoodie and a Cubs pullover. Months ago, he had badgered Marco into accepting his nicer clothes for his two teenage sons, who at fourteen and fifteen were already nearly six feet tall. It felt good to have the reminders of his old life gone and be able to help Marco’s family. He had kept the comfortable clothes he had lived in during college and tossed his ragged collection of ill-fitting jeans. He had thought about replacing some of the items since he had put on a bit of weight and muscle. He even went online to buy them, and much to his amusement, he found that new jeans looked more distressed than the ones he had tossed. He had gotten as far as the checkout before closing the browser. Why bother replacing them? He didn’t have anybody to impress. Except today of course. When Logan’s parole officer was supposed to stop by for a visit. Caleb sighed, closing the closet door. It was too late to do anything about his lack of wardrobe.

Through the peephole, Caleb spied a man with a salt and pepper beard and square-rimmed glasses. Giving himself a mental reminder not to act like a freak, Caleb took a deep breath. He wiped his clammy hands against his sweatpants before unlocking the door and opening it.

Caleb shook hands with Logan’s parole officer as they exchanged greetings. Stepping back, he said, “P-please come in Mr. Dabb.”

Dabb wore khaki shorts and a polo shirt, which shouldn’t have been surprising considering the heat, but it was.
I can see the man’s toes
, Caleb thought absurdly. Dragging his eyes from the man’s sandals, he asked, “Would you like some water or lemonade?”

The lines around Dabb’s eyes and sprinkling of gray in his dark hair and beard put him likely in his mid-forties. He had the kind of face that got better with age; his body was compact and fit looking. His blue-gray eyes seemed to be taking in the details of the room when he spoke. “Lemonade would be great.”

Caleb gestured for Dabb to have a seat on the couch while he headed for the kitchen. He pulled out a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and filled two glasses. He then added frozen lemonade cubes from the freezer. He had frozen a raspberry in the middle of each ice cube, which was seriously overdoing it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had spent an embarrassing amount of time this morning deciding which raspberries to select.

“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, Mr. Klass,” Dabb said as he settled onto the couch with a weary sigh. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“You can call me Caleb and I’m happy to help Logan however I can.” He brought the glasses into the main room, handing Dabb the lemonade before sitting on the couch as well.

Dabb took a small sip from the glass. “Oh, wow. The real kind.” He took a deeper drink. “God, that’s good.” He put the glass on a coaster on the coffee table and opened his briefcase. “Let’s take care of the preliminaries.” He took out a file folder and a pad of paper. “I’d like your permission to ask you a few questions. If you’re not comfortable answering at any time, just let me know.”

“O-okay.”

Dabb clicked open a pen, his hand poised over the pad of paper. “Are you on disability?”

Caleb took a deep drink from his glass to give himself more time, the lemonade tart and sweet on his tongue. His mother had been forced to go on disability, and he swore he wouldn’t follow in her footsteps. “No, I have my own internet-based business. I offer services such as website creation, copywriting and editing of web pages, and interactive features such as surveys, basic flash animations, and customer ordering systems.”

“You don’t need to meet with clients?”

Caleb paused, wondering how much Logan and his uncle had told the man. He knew his aversion to having strangers in his home bordered on social phobia. He didn’t know why he cared what Dabb thought of him, but he did. “It’s mostly handled through e-mail or on the phone. Whatever can’t be sent to me electronically is sent to my PO box. I generally deal with small businesses that want a site that will get noticed without a lot of cost or difficulty maintaining. I also have a number of steady customers that have me maintain their sites on a weekly or monthly basis.”

“It sounds like a lot of work.”

Caleb smiled weakly. “More like a lot of little work. I charge by the hour and negotiate with the client on an estimated time to complete the job. The Internet boom isn’t what it used to be, but more and more businesses are creating sites so customers can easily find information about them or to advertise promotions.”

Dabb clicked the pen several times. “Will Logan be required to pick up alcohol for you?”

“No, I don’t drink alcohol. And the grocery store knows not to add anything to the order without hearing from me directly.” He had learned his lesson the hard way. His uncle had been furious when he found out the first man he hired had been slipping in booze and charging it to Caleb’s account. Caleb had been more dismayed at the thought of having to invite a new stranger into his apartment. Screwed up priorities? Yep.

“That’s good. Logan’s continued success with AA is a condition of his parole.” Dabb scribbled some more in his notebook before continuing. “I’ve expressed concerns with… your uncle about the appropriateness of Logan helping you in this capacity.”

Caleb heard the same reproach in Dabb’s voice toward his uncle that he had heard in Logan’s. He felt the ridiculous urge to stamp his feet and declare he wasn’t a child in need of protection. The irony didn’t make him any less annoyed.

Dabb must have seen some of that in Caleb’s face, because he raised a bushy eyebrow. “There are qualified individuals who could help you with your situation.” His voice softened, sounding less formal. “If money’s an issue, there are programs designed to help.”

“I don’t want a nurse.” The gravel in his voice startled even him. He cleared his throat. “I know there are people better trained to deal with panic attacks and Logan is more likely to be shocked or even horrified by it.” He paused, needing to take a deep breath. Talking about this with Dabb made him feel as if his ribs were being compressed by a python. He shifted in his seat and told himself he was getting enough air. “I absolutely hate the idea of it happening in front of him.” He wasn’t sure he could face Logan after he had seen how pathetic the panic made him. “Every time I’m able to open that door and let him in, it’s a tiny victory.” He wasn’t comfortable talking to Dabb about Logan helping him leave the apartment. He hadn’t even mentioned it to his uncle, who’d been trying to get him to see a therapist for years. It was too new and too fragile.

Dabb sat silently for a dozen heartbeats, looking at Caleb with those hawk eyes of his as if peeling away at the skin to get to the tasty meat. When he spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion, listing off the details without needing to look at the file in his hands. “A girl sat next to Logan at the bar and started flirting with him. He was too wasted to pay her much mind until her boyfriend showed up.” He paused, his eyes asking if it was okay to continue. Caleb nodded his assent, not trusting himself to speak.