Chapter 1:
Colors danced on the dark sidewalk from the lights inside the bar. From across the street, Ricky Cegar-Pollock gazed through the coppery glass, a hand still resting on the car he was hesitant to leave. He took a slow inhale of the crisp night air then closed the car door and crossed the street alone.
The insistent bass radiated through the walls of the club and seemed to make the glass of the front door throb like a heartbeat as he touched it. Or...maybe that was Ricky’s pulse gradually picking up pace.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
The bar loomed like a boulder in a field of rye. Friday night bodies swayed and stomped and shouted. A rainbow flag hung from the ceiling, dripping with what looked like beer.
What am I doing here?
Ricky started weaving through them, toward the bar. It was a vantage point to see the people, to see himself clearly. Not a single memory graced his mind of coming here alone. He’d come with friends in college, and later he’d come with his then-boyfriend, Reed.
Reed.
The name left a lump in Ricky’s throat the size of a golf ball. He tugged at his collar when he attempted to swallow it. The T-shirt was a bit snug for his taste but he still hadn’t done the laundry. Reed usually did the laundry.
But no, he wouldn’t think of Reed tonight. That was why he was here.
Briefly, his eyes coasted around as he sat down and fished his wallet out of his pocket. A man in a jean jacket smiled at him from a few seats away.
Before Ricky could return the gesture, his wallet slipped out of his hand and fell open on the ground. Stooping down to retrieve it, he paused. A picture of his daughter had slipped from its pocket.
The picture had been taken around five-and-a-half years ago, Bailey’s first Easter. A tuft of umber fleece was all that marked the thick brown curls she would grow in later years, reminiscent of his own. She was giggling, flinging her little fleshy fists in the air. Her yellow dress was crinkled by the two pairs of hands holding her up, belonging to men Ricky had folded out.
He stood up and sat back in his seat. He had originally folded himself out so it would fit in his wallet but now that Reed had been folded out too, the picture jostled around in the loose pocket.
The man in the jean jacket stood up. Colin was tall, pale and had dark bouncy hair that parted down the middle. This stranger whom Colin had watched enter was a new and welcomed face. He was immediately intrigued, interested, attracted.
He admired the man’s well-defined musculature tugging at the confines of the perfectly-sized shirt. Colin walked over and took the adjacent seat as the man passed an I.D. to the bartender and ordered a drink. He introduced himself and got Ricky’s name in return.
“Nice decorations, huh?” Colin said, gesturing to the tired flag.
Ricky nodded, watching another chain of droplets fall onto the floor beneath it.
“Makes you want to drink,” he said. “I recommend the Tom Collins. Lemony, a bit of sugar—I imagine you're a citrus guy?”
“I don’t really drink that much but I guess I could be a citrus guy.”
Colin laughed. “I promise it’s good. If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you something else.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that,” said Ricky, waving down the bartender.
“You won’t regret it,” chimed Colin. He waited until his acquaintance had tasted the drink before saying “I imagine you don’t come here often?” He traced the rim of his glass.
“You’re right, I don’t.”
“Yes, I would’ve recognized a face like yours. You stand out in a crowd, you know. Your...look.”
“Heh, yeah I haven’t noticed a lot of tee shirts in here.” Ricky plucked at the tight shirt collar then ran a hand down the taut breast.
“It’s not mesh,” Colin admitted, “But that’s not what I meant. You draw a person’s eye.” He drank in Ricky’s appearance.
Ricky’s ears reddened, but it was impossible to tell in the dim light. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmured into his glass.
“So what brings you here?” asked Colin, touching Ricky’s forearm. In the lights of the bar, Colin’s hand was pale lavender against the petals of wild indigos.
Ricky glanced at the hand before responding. “My husband—ex-husband and I are going through a divorce. He has my daughter for the week. So I’m lonely.” Ricky immediately regretted mentioning the divorce but it had slipped to the end of his tongue and fallen out. Regardless, Colin’s hand traveled to his unconsciously-tense bicep.
“Maybe I can help you. You don’t have to be by yourself every night.”
Ricky’s chest and neck warmed up at the proposition. “Perhaps you’re right.” He took his drink and gulped down some confidence.
A smooth, knowing smile crept onto Colin’s lips. “Are you a catcher or a pitcher?” He slipped his hand into Ricky’s lap.
It took Ricky a second to respond, feeling a jolt of excitement at the touch. He liked the casual eroticism that Colin rolled across his knuckles. “I’m a catcher but I can play both positions,” Ricky murmured.
Colin blinked in surprise but slipped his sensual, silky mask back on. “So am I. I think we can make this work. Your place or mine?”
“Yours,” Ricky said quickly. He wasn’t sure he would have the nerve to do it in his marriage bed.
Colin smirked. “I’d like that.”
Ricky stared at the bottom of his glass.
This is stupid. So, so stupid.
The next morning, Ricky woke up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar apartment. Blue light from outside misted into the grey room. He sat up on his elbows and glanced around. Colin was sleeping on the far side of the bed, arms out like a goose preparing for flight. The clothes Ricky had been wearing were in a messy pile near the end of the bed, but it wasn’t much messier than the rest of the room. It seemed like Colin lived entirely in his bedroom even though Ricky had seen a kitchen and a sofa when he had been led through the house last night. It smelled a bit dusty, like an attic, even with the cardboard boxes, piles of wrinkled clothes, hamper, and full trash can giving plenty of evidence to the room being well lived-in.
Ricky crashed back onto his pillow. What have I done? What am I doing?
He thought of his soon-to-be ex-husband—A painful strumming of his heartstrings, a violent slash across the face of a cardiovascular guitar.
He thought about getting up, sneaking out. But who would he go to, and where? What did he have that wasn’t lying in this bed?
Ricky closed his eyes, breathed slowly. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. His brow creased, his eyelids scrunched up. He focused on his breathing some more.
After a few minutes, he shimmied over to Colin and cuddled up under his arm. Absent-mindedly, Ricky’s hand glided over Colin’s smooth chest. He closed his eyes and breathed in his scent. It was a sexy smell: bourbon, with rustic and woodsy touches. But it wasn’t the same.
Colin woke up around fifteen minutes later and stretched the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Ricky. “Hey, sexy,” he said and squeezed Ricky against him.
“Can I talk to you again?” Ricky asked, shifting as Colin sat up.
Ricky had told Colin about the divorce, about his daughter being away from him every other week, about Reed between their “sessions.” It felt good to vent, it felt good to be listened to. “I know we’re getting a divorce and animosity seems to be a given but I don’t want it to be hard on Bailey,” said Ricky, “She’s going to have to switch houses every week, she’ll probably never feel like she has a permanent home...Do you think it’s possible Reed could still live with us? Or, no. I guess that won’t work. But maybe...maybe she could stay in the house twenty-four seven and he and I could switch houses each week…”
Colin watched Ricky’s face as he continued, “I was considering staying at my mom’s house when I was away, but I can’t do that anymore. My father’s living at home again so I can’t even visit. I’ve cut him out of my life, out of Bailey’s life. He didn’t approve of me and Reed, he wouldn’t approve of me and any guy.” Ricky glanced hesitantly at Colin.
“The only reason I would care at all is because now I can’t see my mother. She’s always home, always around him since he got out of prison.”
Colin’s eyes traveled down Ricky’s body.
“But, it’s fine. All it means is that I’ll need to find somewhere else to stay. Maybe I’ll rent somewhere.”
Colin pulled the blanket over his head.
“I don’t know if Reed would agree, though...to living in the house part time. I think he...I think he hates me now.”
Colin re-emerged between Ricky’s legs with a impish smile
“I want to...I thought...I was...going...I…” Ricky’s sentence disassembled as Colin placed a hand on either of his thighs and started...mmhmhmmm...
“Do you want to do something today?” Ricky asked tentatively, looking at Colin as he stared forward at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. “We could go to the park or a movie or something…”
Colin took a long while to respond. “Nah,” he said, “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Or we could go to lunch—could we go to lunch?” Ricky twisted the sheet in his grip.
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
“Well can I at least see you tonight?” Ricky pleaded.
“Yeah, you could come back tonight.”
“Come to my house,” Ricky offered, “I can make dinner. I—We can…”
“Yeah, okay.”
Ricky’s muscles relaxed. “Okay, good. What do you want? I can make anything you want.”
The day crawled along like a snail across asphalt. Ricky couldn’t bear going home to an empty house. He wandered the streets for hours, ignoring the molestation of his now-pulsating feet and the raw blister that had formed from the incessant rubbing of his shoe against skin. His eyes stayed down as he passed the coffee shop where he and Reed had gone for their first few dates, he took a wide berth around the spot in the park where Reed proposed.
He muted the calls from his divorce attorney. I can’t listen to that right now.
Ricky kept walking until an absent-minded glance at his watch told him it was time to start preparing Colin’s steak. He rushed home.
It turned out, Ricky’s haste to get home was unnecessary. After a few forkfuls of medium rare, the urge to be closer caused the seats to drift together before a different kind of hunger crossed their minds and they left for the bedroom. The neglected steaks eventually grew cold.
Time had passed but it was unclear how much. The shutters were dark except for the flaxen tinge of a street lamp across the street and had been that way since before the dinner guest had rung the doorbell.
“You know,” said Colin, petting Ricky’s chest, “you would be so much hotter if you shaved this.” He plucked at a clump of pectoral fleece.
“Reed liked something to hold onto,” said Ricky quietly, eyes focusing on a distant speck on the wall.
Colin raised his eyebrows. “Am I Reed?”
“No…” Ricky sighed. “You’re right.” He revitalized and sat up. “I need to make some changes. I can shave—I’ll shave it.”
Colin smiled. “Good.”
“Do I have to…?” He touched his shortly-cropped beard.
“No, that can stay.”
Ricky’s shoulders slackened a bit and he grinned. “Okay, good.”
Colin kissed him with some tongue. “Come with me.” Colin led them into the adjoining bathroom, grabbing some shaving cream and a razor off the counter, and they did it in the shower.
After ten minutes, they turned the faucet off. Wet feet slapping on the sage ceramic tiles, Ricky reached for a towel. His skin was hot and satiny. Beads of water slipped off his caramel-colored curls as it would a duck’s covert. He was a little out of breath; in the mirror, his newly-smooth chest and his face and neck had adopted a reddish hue.
As Ricky finished drying himself off, Colin gave his ass a pat and took his towel.
“Are you staying the night?” asked Ricky, slipping on and knotting his green robe that was color coordinated with the floor, the countertop, the towels, and the bamboo leaves in the painting on the wall.
“Sure.”
A high-magnitude pulsing within Ricky’s body seemed to calm. “Good, good.” He massaged the tightness out of his neck, watching Colin dry off by sandpapering the towel over the saturated locks of dark, dark brown.
Colin brushed out his disarrayed hair with a comb he picked up off the counter.
As Ricky observed, he found his cheeks aching from a smile that just brushed the sides of his mouth. It felt good to smile, despite the slight discomfort.
Ricky padded over and touched Colin’s shoulder until he turned from the mirror. Colin looked down to see Ricky’s smile. He released an easy smile in return.
Despite Ricky’s issues, the man had a very attractive physiognomy when he was smiling, Colin observed. Ricky started adjusting the part in Colin’s hair with his fingers, smoothing it down in a way that felt a bit unnatural.
“You look so much cuter with your hair like this,” Ricky said.
Maybe this was a new step in their relationship; they could critique each other’s appearances. Ricky had shaved for him, after all. But perhaps not, because Colin pressed his lips together in a peeved sort of way. “Is this how Reed parts his hair?” he asked.
The smile fell off Ricky's face and splattered on the ground. “Oh god,” he said and fell into his hands.
That was confirmation to Colin. He slipped his hand into his hair to fix it as he left the bathroom with the towel around his waist.
“Wait!” Ricky ran after the departing back. The bathrobe slipped off his shoulder in his haste. “Colin, wait!” He slid into Colin’s path and put his palms against the proceeding chest. “This—this is why I need you. You have to help me move on. Please.”
Colin’s eyes traveled from Ricky’s crazy eyes, to the slice of exposed body the robe had cut, then back up to Ricky’s face. This man was a mess. A sexy, sexy mess.
Ricky shriveled into a small, sad, dying creature. “I can’t do it alone.”
Colin pursed his lips as he examined the forlorn puppy. Then he sighed and said, “Okay. I’ll help you.”
A sharp inhale from Ricky before he leaned his head on Colin’s chest. “Thank you.”
Colin felt dormant tears wetten his skin.
The next morning, Ricky woke up with the six o’clock birds in the position he had taken up last night, spooning Colin. Like sipping a topped-up glass of ice tea in the summer, Ricky was refreshed. A cup of coffee and a banana, then for the first time in several weeks, he went into their garage gym and did his morning routine. Between sets, he would slurp down his water and scratch at his chest. The shave irritated like a sunburn and left cerise crosshatching where his fingernails dug in.
After he finished his last set of curls, he glanced at his phone. 7:18 A.M.
Before he took a shower, he crept over to Colin to see if he was stirring. He wasn’t. But after the shower, Ricky crawled back into bed and laid beside him.
With his eyes closed, he wondered how many minutes had passed. When did Colin wake up yesterday? Nine, ten o’clock?
He checked his phone and got up to make himself a protein shake. 7:32 A.M.
Next, he started the laundry. Then the dishes. Then he cleaned the bathroom.
He checked on Colin. Still asleep.
Ricky found a book and slid back into bed. He checked the time. He cracked open the book and began reading a page, but couldn’t digest the words. Two more rereads of the first sentence before his eyes stopped moving on the page. He checked the time. 8:56 A.M.
I should give him more time. It was probably closer to ten when we woke up yesterday.
He opened the book again, then closed the book. Ricky made more coffee. 9:01 A.M.
He probably should give him until nine-thirty at least. 9:02 A.M., 9:03 A.M., 9:04 A.M., 9:05 A.M.—That’s enough.
“Good morning, babe,” Ricky whispered, touching his cheek. “I made coffee. I didn’t know how you liked it so I brought sugar and creamer too.” He set the mug on the bedside table and kissed Colin’s cheek as he mumbled.
“What do you want for breakfast? Do eggs and bacon sound good?”
“What time’s’it?”
“Around nine-fifteen.” Ricky kissed his cheek again and fluffed his hair. “Do you want to go to lunch today, babe?”
Colin pulled a pillow over his face. “Wake me up in a few hours…”
Ricky felt a ship hit the rocks and sink from his chest to his stomach. “Oh,” he said, his smile flickering, “You want me to wake you up at ten-thirty, eleven?”
“No...” he moaned from beneath the pillow, “Noon or one or something…” He splayed his arms out like a migratory bird and stopped moving.
Ricky knelt by the bed for a minute with his jaw shut tight. Then he stood up and left the room.
For what felt like years, he walked around the house looking for things to do. He adjusted some books on the shelf, took a book out, looked at it, put it back. For the first time, he noticed the barely-touched steaks on the kitchen table. He plucked a piece off Colin’s plate and chewed the cold meat as he wrapped some for leftovers and threw away the rest. After a while, the kitchen table and countertops were clean, the fridge was reorganized, the floor was sweeped, the carpet vacuumed.
With the vacuum in tow, he opened the door to his daughter’s room, marked by hundreds of dinosaur stickers and a hand-painted sign that sang, “Bailey’s Room.”
Once he was done vacuuming, he took a rag from his back pocket and started wiping the shelves his six-year-old couldn’t reach. Intent on his work, he pulled away a framed photo to dust underneath it. When he was done, he wiped off the glass then hesitated as he saw the people in the photo. It was from Bailey’s fourth birthday, her face lit up as bright as the candles on the giraffe cake in front of her. Reed was there next to her, handsome as always...so, so handsome…
Ricky sat back on her bed, clutching the photograph. He wanted his daughter back. He wanted his husband back. Reclining onto the quilted comforter of Bailey’s bed, he pulled one of his daughter’s stuffed animals near him and sobbed into it with the cold picture frame pressed into his itchy chest.