Something Like Winter

  “So sex was never involved?”

  “No! Christ! Can’t gay people just be friends?”

  “Sorry. It’s just the money thing—”

  The money. Sometimes Tim felt like burning it all just to shut people up. “Yeah, well, what else was Eric supposed to do with it? He didn’t have any kids. Just a sister. She got most of it. I got a small part, which was still a tremendous amount. And the house. She didn’t want it, anyway.”

  His little outburst made the rest of the drive awkward. It only got worse for Tim when he followed Ben into Jace’s apartment. He wished it was a horrible dump, cluttered by empty beer cans and smelling like a dirty litter box. Instead it was respectable and comfortable. Samson was cute, a gray furball who Tim felt gave him knowing looks. As soon as the cat was fed, Tim was eager to get Ben away from there, luring him back to the car with promises of dinner. But he needed to step up his game if Jace was due back tomorrow, and that meant finding somewhere private.

  “Why don’t we avoid the crowds? We’ll go back to my place and I’ll cook for you.”

  Ben’s spidey sense must have tingled. “Eh, I don’t know.”

  “It’ll be cool.” Tim switched lanes without waiting for permission. “You’ll like it there.” As he took the next exit, he wondered if that would be true. He couldn’t imagine anyone but him and Eric in that house; the idea of Ben being part of the scenery seemed somehow surreal. But he had to try.

  * * * * *

  Ben sat on one of the bar stools, glancing around at the large kitchen, unaware that Tim watched him from the doorway. In front of Ben, the countertop held little except decorative bottles of oil. And a container of dry cereal, which had a surprising number of memories surrounding it. Eric loved a bowl of cereal in the morning. Tim always found this amusing. Eric had been such a food connoisseur, but in the mornings he went for artificially colored and heavily sugared cereals, usually with marshmallows. He would always sit where Ben sat now, Tim on the next stool over, as they munched away together.

  “It’s a huge house,” Tim said, startling Ben as he walked into the room. “Too big for me. I plan on selling it and finding a place in Allandale, so don’t go getting used to it.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Allandale is a nice neighborhood, but I don’t know if you’re enough of a hippie to fit in there.”

  True enough. Besides, Tim doubted he could really part with this place. He walked around the kitchen island and leaned against one of the counters.

  Ben considered him. “So Eric lived here alone?”

  “Yeah, when I first met him. It wasn’t long before he asked me to move in. Don’t give me that look! I can see what you’re thinking.”

  “What would you think if anyone told you the same story? You have to admit it sounds fishy.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. You believe me, right?”

  Ben shrugged. “Why not? The world’s a crazy place.”

  “I would have, though.”

  “What?”

  “Slept with Eric.” Tim kept his head held high, not ashamed of this confession. “If it would have made him happy, I would have, but he never even hinted at it.”

  “Did you want to?”

  “I don’t know.” Tim turned around and opened one of the cabinets, grateful for the excuse not to face Ben while he talked. “Sometimes you can’t tell your friends from your lovers, you know what I mean? The line gets kind of blurry. That’s how it was with me and Eric. Maybe if he wasn’t on so many meds he would have wanted something physical. Maybe not.”

  “What was wrong with him?”

  “Cancer. Multiple kinds, multiple places.”

  “Geez.”

  “Yeah.” Tim grabbed a handful of ingredients and turned to set them on the island. “Eric toughed it out until the end. He never complained, never felt sorry for himself. He had so much spirit. That’s why I can’t sell the place yet. I feel like he’s still here.” Tim stared at the tiled surface of the island, thinking how he’d give anything for one more shared breakfast there. When he noticed Ben watching him, he tried to sound chipper. “Anyway, what did you have in mind for dinner?”

  “You don’t know how to cook, do you?”

  Tim glanced down at the ingredients for the first time. Pineapples and pasta? Brown sugar and rice? Tim laughed. “No, I don’t, but I had to get you here somehow. We could do delivery. Or we could get nostalgic and you could cook for me. I’ll even lay myself out on the couch and pretend my ankle is jacked up.”

  “Tim—” Ben’s warning tones matched his expression.

  “Too far? Sorry. I just wanted you to see my home, since it’s so connected to my past.” And because he hoped Ben would be part of its future. “You being here really livens the place up. I wouldn’t mind you visiting more often. Bring Jace along. I’d love to meet him.”

  Ben scrutinized him. Okay, so maybe Tim was laying on the nice guy act a little thick.

  “All right,” Ben said. “I’ll cook, but you have to help. I don’t care how rich you are, everyone should know how to make at least one meal. What have you got here?”

  “Just a bunch of canned stuff.” Most of it had been in the cabinets when Eric was alive. “Uh, you better check the expiration dates. I eat a lot of take-out.”

  Ben was at his side, rustling through the counters. “Canned tomatoes—these are still good. Where are the spices?”

  Tim followed Ben around, discovering cupboards he’d forgotten about, which was refreshing. Eric used to cook with these things, and now Ben would too. Tim liked that.

  “Seriously? No onions?”

  “I think there are green ones in the herb garden out back.” Automatic sprinklers watered those. “Lots of things grow wild out there, if you know what you’re looking for.”

  They raided the garden, tearing leaves off different plants to taste them and laughing about getting poisoned, but they found some familiar flavors and the onions. Ben fired up the oven, put a pan on the flames, and threw in some olive oil. He made Tim wash and slice the onions while he put water to boil on another burner.

  “Toss the onions in and stir them around,” Ben commanded like a drill sergeant. “Now the can of tomatoes and the spices.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Then Ben started stirring the concoction with a wooden spoon. “I learned to cook when taking care of you,” he said.

  “Seriously?”

  Ben nodded, smiling at the memory. “You didn’t notice? For two whole weeks everything you ate was either burnt or undercooked. I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m surprised you survived.”

  “I remember it all tasting good.”

  “Must have been the painkillers.” Ben glanced over at him, his eyes shiny. “I loved taking care of you.”

  “Well, you know where I live, and I’m still needy as hell.”

  “It’s different now,” Ben said.

  “Exactly.” Tim came up close behind him. “So is there a trick to stirring? Let me try.”

  He moved his arms around Ben, who let go of the wooden spoon before Tim could place his hand over his.

  “Seriously?” Ben said. “That tired old move? Stir away.”

  Tim took the spoon and jabbed at the sauce. “I don’t know how.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  Tim moved forward, their bodies in full contact now. “Guide my hand.”

  “So lame!” Ben shook his head, but then he put his hand over Tim’s.

  And it felt so damned wonderful. Ben made a little effort to stir, but Tim let go of the spoon, splaying his fingers and inviting Ben to interweave his own. Ben moved his hand away and rolled to the side to free himself from his embrace. He didn’t look angry though. Instead his skin was flushed.

  “Keep stirring,” he said.

  “I’m not really hungry,” Tim tried.

  “But I am, and you promised me dinner.”

  “I suppose I did.” Tim stirred, but kept his eyes on Ben. “You should come by more often, ma
ybe in the morning. I miss those burnt waffles you used to make.”

  “They were pancakes,” Ben protested, “and I thought you didn’t remember my food being bad!”

  Tim nodded at the pot. “It’s starting to come back to me.”

  Ben laughed and shook his head, pushing Tim aside so he could resume cooking, tasting and adjusting the sauce, and testing the noodles. When he was satisfied he drained the water. “Grab some plates.”

  “Nah, just throw the pasta in the sauce and we’ll eat it here. That’s what I do sometimes with mac and cheese. Eat it straight out of the pot right here at the stove.”

  Ben stared at him. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “You feel sorry for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Misery loves company. Grab a couple forks from that drawer and join me.”

  As it turned out, the food wasn’t much better than the instant food Tim occasionally wolfed down, but the process had been fun. They attacked the pot, occasionally sword fighting with their forks, and snacking away until most of it was gone.

  “I wish it could be like this every day,” Tim said.

  Ben toyed with a few leftover noodles in the pot. “This used to be my dream.”

  “And I ruined it. Do you ever regret it?”

  “What?”

  “The time we had together.”

  Ben snorted. “Are you kidding? Never. Not once.”

  Tim straightened up. “Really? I figured you hated me for what I did.”

  “I never hated you. I just hurt. When we were together—” Ben exhaled. “Don’t let it go to your head, but even when it was bad, it was good.”

  Tim leaned forward, ready for a kiss, but Ben returned his attention to the stray noodles in the pot. So much for Lady and the Tramp. Maybe dessert would work better than pasta. Tim went to the freezer. “I know I have some ice cream in here somewhere.”

  “I really need to get back to Jace’s.”

  “Aw, you can’t leave. You haven’t even done the dishes yet!” Tim winced from Ben’s glare. “Only kidding. Geez! There is a pool here, you know. We could go for a swim, have a couple of beers. You can even crash here.”

  Ben scoffed. “I don’t think so!”

  “Your virtue will remain unchallenged, Princess, you have my word.” Not true. “There are two guest rooms. Take your pick. I’ll even sleep in the car.” Also not true!

  But Ben was adamant. Short of pouncing on him and taking him on the kitchen floor, Tim’s only option was to give in and drive Ben back to Jace’s. He pulled up to the apartment, wondering if he should walk Ben to the door, but of course being close to the lair of the enemy probably wouldn’t help his chances.

  “Thanks for the last couple of days,” Tim said. “I know I went a little overboard, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had someone like you around.”

  Ben shifted in his seat. “I liked it too, but I’m also looking forward to Jace coming home tomorrow.”

  “Hint taken.” Unwillingly. What if Jace being back in town put an end to their little reunion? “I’m serious about meeting him. The man behind the legend and all that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  Where a goodbye kiss should have been was a nervous chuckle. Then Ben was out of the car, released back into the world. If you love somebody, set them free…

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Waiting should always be avoided. Good or bad, confronting the future is better than torturous anticipation or crippling dread. Tim called Ben early the next morning with the intent of talking him into cutting class. There was no answer. He tried again closer to lunch. Still no answer. With Jace due back in the evening, Tim was forced to wait and wonder.

  He didn’t remember how long Jace and Ben had been together. Perhaps he had tuned out that information. Regardless if their relationship had lasted years, months, or even just a few weeks, they would most likely celebrate their reunion in the bedroom.

  The thought alone made Tim seethe with jealousy. He tried not to think about it, giving his full attention first to his classes and now to painting. Tim worked in silence, just him and a canvas, occasionally glancing toward the fading light on the other side of the garage window. He had moved all of his equipment into the garage some time ago. Marcello had a habit of letting himself into the house, occasionally commenting on Tim’s work. His words were encouraging, but still invasive.

  Later, when Tim brought home a one-night stand who turned out to be an art student, the guy had stood there and critiqued one of Tim’s paintings. Like it was any of his business! Of course Tim didn’t admit the work was his own, but that had been the final straw. The paintings were as private as his emotions—not to be shared with just anyone.

  So Tim had cleared out the garage and made it his studio. Usually he found painting therapeutic, but today it only seemed to increase his frustration. Nothing came out like he wanted it to, the canvas growing darker as he added more and more layers of failure. He was trying not to think of Ben, desperately avoiding thoughts of where he was or what he was doing. Or what was being done to him.

  Still the images came unbidden. A hello kiss for Jace when he came in the door. That shy feeling that comes from being apart, especially when the other person means so much to you. Jace picking Ben up. Carrying him down the hall. Laying him on the bed.

  Tim tossed aside the paintbrush. Part of him felt like driving over there, kicking in the door, and begging Ben to run away with him. Despite how pathetic this would make him seem, the idea was tempting.

  Instead he picked up the brush, closed his eyes, and thought of Ben. Not what he was doing at this moment, but who he was, how complete he made Tim feel. When they were in high school, Ben had given Tim the affection he was desperate for while showing him how to be free. Now Ben represented hope, the promise of an end to his solitude. Someone he could share his life with.

  Taking a deep breath, Tim opened his eyes and continued painting.

  * * * * *

  Tim understood why Ben didn’t answer his phone that first day. That he didn’t answer the second day was an ill omen. Tim tried anyway, hoping to get through. On the third day he abandoned all subtlety and called every hour. He cursed himself for not setting up the voicemail before giving Ben the phone. At least then Ben might give into temptation and listen to what he had to say.

  Tim didn’t have a plan. He had nothing.

  He was deep into one of his evening painting sessions when he heard a car pull in the driveway. He shot out the side door in seconds, hoping to see Ben smiling at him through the windshield. Instead he found a huge man getting out of an even bigger Rolls-Royce Phantom.

  “Hello, my handsome prince,” Marcello said theatrically.

  “Hey,” Tim replied, forcing his eyes away from the car. Whenever Marcello came around, he made some excuse to enter the house. Tim understood why. Others visited graves, but he and Marcello were lucky to have this piece of Eric left behind.

  “It’s hotter than Satan’s butt crack out here.” Marcello dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Please tell me you have the air conditioner cranked up to the max.”

  “Of course.” Tim led him inside to the living room before fetching drinks from the kitchen. He always kept a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator for Marcello. Tim popped the cork, grabbing a glass to go with it and a bottle of beer for himself. When he reentered the living room, Marcello was glancing around as if at an exhibition.

  “The parties that used to take place here,” he said as Tim poured his champagne. “You know, I don’t think a single party at my house has ended without someone getting into an argument, but here people behaved respectably. Ah, thank you!”

  Tim raised his bottle in a quick toast, took a swig, and sat in the chair opposite Marcello. “It was Eric. People never argued here because they didn’t want to upset him.”

  “Quite so.” Marcello nodded. ?
??Do you ever think about continuing the tradition?”

  Tim shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

  “I suppose not. Well, speaking of parties, guess who’s turning fifty?”

  “Your nephew?” Tim teased. “I know it can’t be you, because I was at your fiftieth last year.”

  “And that wasn’t my first.” Marcello took a dainty sip of his champagne, the light catching the glass and the rings on his fingers. “I’m having a real bash this year, no expense spared.”

  “If you want me to jump out of the cake, you can forget it.”

  “I’d rather you jump out of those clothes.” Marcello chuckled at the idea, then tutted when Tim didn’t look amused. “You seem tense tonight.”

  Tim sighed. “Sorry. Don’t take this as a hint, but I’m sexually frustrated.”

  “Easily cured,” Marcello said. “I can’t imagine you having trouble attracting bees to the flower. Or if you’re tired of the scene, I’d be happy to send over one of my boys.”

  Tim shook his head. “There’s only one guy who can scratch my itch.”

  “And? Has he never laid eyes on you?”

  Tim smiled at the compliment. “It’s Ben’s boyfriend that’s the problem.”

  Marcello waved a hand dismissively. “That’s only a problem if you get caught.”

  “It’s more than just sex,” Tim said. He took another swig. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I’ve always been in love with the idea of being in love, if that counts.”

  “Seriously.” Over the years, Tim had seen a number of guys on Marcello’s arm, most of them young and gorgeous. And they didn’t seem to be there under duress. At first Tim thought it was the money, and maybe it was for a few of them, but others seemed to genuinely find something about Marcello appealing. “You never seem to have trouble getting what you want.”

  “Success in love comes much as it does in business. Aggression and persistence will get you most of the way, with a little sweet talk to seal the deal.” Marcello appraised him. “In your case, a pair of Speedos should do the trick. My birthday party is at Splashtown this weekend. I won’t be swimming, but I always enjoy the view. I have the whole park reserved for me and my friends.”