Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Honey, you haven’t touched your food. Are you feeling okay?”

Fitch looked up from his plate of Chicken Parmesan and met his mother’s concerned gaze across the table. “Yeah, Ma, I’m good.”

“Did I burn it?” Her brow creased.

“It’s perfect, like always.” He stuffed a forkful into his mouth.

“Leave the boy alone, Margie,” his dad said with a pat to her hand. “He’s probably still lost in work, right, son? I used to do the same thing.”

He took the excuse offered and nodded. His mother didn’t seem to buy it, but she didn’t question him when he took another bite.

The truth was he hadn’t thought about work since seeing Ansel. He’d been walking in a haze. The only things on his mind were the haunting green eyes he missed so much. He’d spent the afternoon holding his mom’s hand while his dad got checked out by the doctor. The news that his father wasn’t suffering from something serious should have made the queasy, empty feeling in his chest go away. But his dad’s problems were treatable and the hollowness in Fitch remained.

The only other option wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

He swallowed without tasting the chicken.

There was no denying it. He missed Ansel. He missed his voice, his scent, the feel of his body as he moved. He missed his dancer’s laugh, his smart-ass remarks, and killer smirk. Reality was dull compared to the dream he’d been living. It had lost all its shine.

If he hadn’t been constantly surrounded by curious eyes since Sunday morning, he probably would have broken down and cried like a baby. But he’d never shed a tear for a lost relationship before and he didn’t want to start now.

Later, he was in the kitchen helping his mother load the dishwasher.

“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” she asked.

He scraped the food he hadn’t been able to finish off his plate and rinsed it in the sink. “I just didn’t have much of an appetite today. It’s nothing you have to worry about. How’s Pop?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, young man.”

He stacked the cups in the machine. “Ma, I’m fine.”

“Is it relationship trouble?” Her question made him pause. He looked up to see her smug smile. “I knew it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad.”

He sighed. Knowing his mother, she wouldn’t let him leave until she was satisfied. “Okay, I was seeing someone. Now I’m not.” He shrugged and went back to filling the dishwasher.

“Oh, honey, what happened?”

“It just didn’t work out. We were too different, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Nonsense.”

He added the soap and closed the door to start the cycle before meeting his mother’s expectant gaze. “I guess the relationship wasn’t as serious as I’d thought.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“A couple weeks.”

“Fitch—” his mother began.

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”

“Oh, stop, I don’t care about that.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t need to know every girl you go out with. You’re a grown man.”

He didn’t reply so she continued, “So, I take it she was seeing other people?”

He rubbed a palm over his face. The truth was a sharp-edged stone behind his teeth.
He
,
not she.
But the time for that confession had long passed and saying it now wouldn’t bring anything but confusion. “Ma, it doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

She was quiet for a minute and he thought she might be done questioning him. But when she was finished putting the leftovers away she turned and said, “Did I ever tell you about the time I cheated on your father?”

“What?” He glanced toward the living room to make sure his father was out of hearing range.

“Calm down, it was a long time ago. We’d only gone on three dates. It was the way things were back then, free love and all that. I wasn’t always a mother, honey. I had a life before marriage and children.”

He tried to picture his dowdy mother decked out in hippie flowers and rainbows but couldn’t manage it. “I don’t need to know this crap, Ma.”

“My point is, you are so much like your father. He is the committed sort too, always has been. But I was a wild child back then. If he hadn’t given me a reason to change, who knows where we’d all be today. If you think this person is the one, don’t give up so easily. People can surprise you.” She rubbed his shoulder and left the kitchen. Through the archway leading to the living room, he watched her lean down and kiss his father on the cheek. The love that transformed his father’s face was pure and timeless. When the old man reached up and pulled her down to his lap, she giggled like she was twenty years younger.

Fitch had always thought of his parents as the perfect couple, but he’d never really paid attention to the hard work they put into the relationship. His mother’s words repeated in his mind.

People can change.

The question was, who should do the changing?

* * *

Ansel handed over the cash and took the bottle of whiskey from the cashier. Ange’s voice had haunted him the entire day, whispering softly in the back of his mind, making him question everything. He’d avoided going back to the apartment because she was leaving and he couldn’t bring himself to face that special sort of pain. Typical. He was always trying to escape something, wasn’t he? But it was late now and he didn’t want to get drunk on the street again. As soon as he unlocked the door, he knew Ange was gone. The air felt different, colder. He shivered as he crossed to the kitchen table and sat with his bottle.

With a twist of the top, the stringent sweet and smoky scent of failure and loss filled his senses. But before he could take his first sip, he spotted Ange’s apartment keys on the table.

Their sharp edges dug into his fingers when he clutched them. Just like the air, the metal was cold. He shivered again and wished for a blanket or a coat...or a friend.

But Ange was gone. The boys were still pissed at him and he’d lost all connection with his brother.

Maybe it wasn’t the apartment that was cold. Maybe it was him.

Could loneliness turn your bones to ice? Could regret make your heart freeze?

There was a note in Ange’s handwriting where the keys had been.

Love yourself first
, it read.

And next to it was a brochure for Alcoholics Anonymous.

He stared at the words until they blurred.

Love yourself first.
Like it was that easy. Like he could just forget what a mess he was and forgive all the terrible things he’d done. Like he could ignore the people he’d hurt.

Thunder shook the windowpanes, and drops of rain splattered on the glass, a fitting soundtrack to the turmoil of his life. He was sick of it. So much drama, heartache, so much fucking pain. He was ready for it to end. He closed his eyes and Ray’s weather-beaten face appeared in his mind’s eye.

There had been no outward sign of the depression that took Ray away from them. He wondered if Ray had felt like this—done. Finished. Ready to give up.

And if Ansel didn’t do something to change his life, would he eventually end up like his hero? Would Z’s prediction come true?

The idea frightened him more than anything else.

His stomach knotted at the certainty of that future. He’d tried with Fitch. He’d tried to be the type of person who might get a happy ending, but at the first obstacle he’d fallen back into his old habits. He’d failed. Failing had hurt so much. He didn’t know if he was capable of trying again. But he knew for sure that if he didn’t try, he might as well drink every last drop of alcohol in the apartment and jump off the roof because he’d be a walking corpse anyway.

He didn’t want to end up like Ray. He didn’t want to be a disaster his friends kept having to clean up until they finally had enough of the mess and left him to wither.

There had to be more to life. And even if he didn’t get his happy ending, at least he could say he’d tried. That he’d fought.

He wouldn’t just give up.

If there was one thing he’d learned in his life it was to keep moving forward. This was his crossroads. His one chance for redemption.

He’d picked up the brochure and started to read.

They said the first step was admitting you had a problem. He’d lost Fitch. He’d lost the apartment. He’d lost his budding relationship with his brother. He’d lost his roommate and he’d lost the boys’ trust.

Not all of it was caused by drinking, but some of it was. Ange was right.

He needed help.

Ever since he left home he’d turned to alcohol to numb the pain. If he were honest, he’d started before that. He used to raid his parents’ liquor cabinet after every berating, every beating. It had become his escape. A way to deal with the shit life handed him.

But being drunk hadn’t helped in a long time. Friday night was the most recent example of the trouble it could cause. The drink had propelled a painful situation into a disaster that hurt his friends. He’d had so many other options. He could have called them and told them how upset he was. He could have surrounded himself in their accepting warmth. Instead, he’d sucked down the poison like he’d always done before. Now he was homeless again.

Homeless.
Fuck.

He thought he was through with the streets. Ray would be so fucking disappointed—all the guy ever wanted was for him and Ange to be safe, to have a roof over their heads. And he’d done it too. He’d made Ray proud. Then he went and screwed everything up.

Well, he’d just have to start again.

This time, sober.

It was dark in the apartment when he finally rose from the table with trembling legs and crossed to the sink. Only the streetlights outside provided illumination through the dirty windows to color the room in a sickening green hue.

The open bottle of whiskey was still clenched in his fist like an extension of his arm. A piece of him. A heavy burden he’d been carrying for far too long.

His chest hurt, his stomach ached, his head pounded and fear shook him so hard he had to steady himself with a hand to the cold Formica countertop. He was forced to breathe through his mouth because if he didn’t, the tempting scent of the bottle’s contents might make him change his mind. Already his mouth was watering for a taste, like Pavlov’s fucking dog. But he’d made his decision. So, with more strength than he’d thought he had, he lifted the whiskey and began pouring it down the drain. Every glug-glug-glug was a pull on his soul, like part of him was slithering down the pipes, sliding away into the darkness. But it didn’t make him feel any lighter.

There was still a great weight on his shoulders. His arm began to shake and he had to force himself to close his eyes and not watch because it felt like he was ripping off his skin.

When the last drop of amber liquid disappeared, he rinsed the bottle and shoved it into the trash. The simple task had been more of a challenge than walking in heels ever was. He was left sweating and shaking like a leaf, filled with the desire to turn back time. Or transform into a slug and follow the alcohol into hell.

He stared at the shiny metal drain for endless minutes, trying to catch his breath, to regain some resolution, because he wasn’t done.

There were more bottles tucked away in the apartment. And if he didn’t get rid of it all tonight, he’d never have enough willpower to stay away from them. So, with a haggard breath, he kicked off his heels and began the exhausting work of taking his life back.

* * *

Eighteen hours later he was standing outside a nondescript building waiting for the urge to puke to pass. He was shaky and sweaty and his head was pounding, but the determination he’d found the night before hadn’t diminished.

If anything, his obvious withdrawal was a sign that he really did have a problem.

According to the woman he’d spoken to on the phone, the AA meetings were held on the first floor. It was large room with metal folding chairs arranged facing a podium. A table was set up near the entrance with soda, water and coffee. Ansel hovered near the door until a lady came up behind him with a plate full of homemade cookies.

“Hey, sweetie, first time?” she asked.

He tucked his hair behind his ear. “What gave it away?”

She smiled and held up the plate. “Cookie? Chocolate chip, no nuts.”

“Thanks.” He took the offering, even though he wouldn’t be able to eat it without throwing up, and shuffled farther into the room.

“I’m Susan.”

“Ansel.”

Susan set the plate on the table and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Don’t worry, no one will make you talk today if you don’t want to.”

Ansel nodded. “That’s good. I’m not sure what I would say.”

“No one ever knows until they stand up and start speaking. My first time, I was so nervous my hands shook. But I stood there, opened my mouth, and let it all out. It was like an exorcism, you know? All the demons just poured out and after, I was cleansed. I grew up Catholic and our priest used to tell us that confession was good for the soul. I’d always thought it was a bunch of bullshit, pardon my French, but after the first time here I really did feel better. You will too, one day.”

She touched his arm and gave him a warm, welcoming smile. “Come on, you can sit by me.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Hey, sis, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Fitch held open his front door for Meg.

“Ma called.” She dropped her laptop bag on a dining room chair and crossed to the refrigerator.

“And that explains this unexpected and rare visit because?” Fitch closed the door and followed his sister into the kitchen.

“She thinks you’re suffering from a broken heart.” Meg laughed and stuck her head in the cooler. “She made me promise to come over and comfort you.” She found a bottle of beer, twisted the top off and took a healthy swallow. “So, here I am, comforting.”

He tried to hide his wince. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough.

“Oh my God.” Meg set her beer on the counter. “Seriously? But you’ve never fallen in love before. I didn’t even know you were dating someone. Who is she?”

“No one.”

“Bullshit.”

“It doesn’t matter, he ended it.”

Far too late, he realized what he’d let slip. Meg wasn’t quite as slow and her eyes widened.

“He?”

He escaped into the living room. He didn’t correct himself. He didn’t deny it. Denying his relationship with Ansel felt like a betrayal. How crazy was that, after everything? He couldn’t bring himself to lie about it. He could, however, avoid, avoid, avoid.

He flipped on the television and sat on the couch. As if he could concentrate on anything else with Meg hovering. She’d followed and was now standing over him.

“What? Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re gay? How could you hide that from me this whole time? You didn’t even tell me when I came out? That’s harsh.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Yeah, right. I saw your face, Fitch. I can’t believe you’d lie to me. After everything you said seven years ago?”

“Christ, Meg.” He covered his face and groaned. “I’m not lying. I’d never lie to you.”

She sat on the couch, one foot tucked under, facing him. “Really? You’re not gay?”

He knew he wasn’t, technically, but he had slept with a man, more than once. And he’d wanted to continue to do so into the foreseeable future. The end of his homosexual relationship had not been his choice. But how could he explain it to Meg? He looked over at her. She bit her lip, confusion and worry wrinkling her brow. It was a very similar expression to the one she’d worn when she’d sat him down and made her own confession.

He sighed. “No. But I’m not strictly straight either.”

The wrinkle on her forehead deepened. “Are you bi? Pan? Fluid?”

He smoothed down his thighs and stretched his neck. “The person I was seeing is—” Oh fuck. Was he really going to say it?

Yes. It might be too late, but finally saying it aloud felt right. Like he was coming clean and shedding the doubt and confusion that had held him back.

“He’s...a man.”

He pushed out the breath he’d been holding and clutched his knees.

Meg blinked at him. “You’ve been dating a man?”

He nodded.

“But you’re not gay?” A skeptical eyebrow flicked up to her hairline.

“I know, it sounds like I’m in denial when you say it like that.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not gay. I’ve never found guys attractive, ever. I don’t think I’m bi, because I still don’t find guys attractive, except for him. He’s...special.” Fitch pushed fingers through his hair. “But it doesn’t matter anymore, he ended it.”

“Is he the one who texted you at dinner?”

The memory made one side of his mouth curl up and he didn’t bother to hide it from his sister. “Yes.”

“And the reason you’ve been mopey lately?”

This time he pressed his lips together. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Meg nodded and adjusted so she sat facing the television. “Heartbreak sucks.”

“That it does.” He sighed.

“Can I ask, why did he break it off? What did you do? If it was because you wouldn’t be out of the closet with him, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Fitch winced. Had his reluctance played a part in the disaster their relationship had become? Had he somehow made Ansel feel unworthy? “He said I deserved better.”

“Do you?”

For some reason her question, more than anything else, just kneed him in the balls. His chest ached with the emptiness he’d been hiding from since Ansel had shut the door in his face. He couldn’t catch his breath as he shook his head, staring at the floor between his feet.

He remembered the vulnerability in Ansel’s green eyes their first night together, the way he memorized poems and spoke about his friends, the laughter in his voice when they talked, how amazed he’d been when his brother came back into his life. All of these things, they didn’t fit the image of the guy with a bruised eye and defeated shoulders. And suddenly it clicked—Ansel had been running away again.

“Fuck.” His voice full of the pain he’d been holding back. He’d made a mistake. He didn’t deserve better. There was no one more amazing, more vibrant, more alluring, more fun, than Ansel Becke. And he’d walked away from all that wonderful energy without looking back.

Without fighting.

He’d been a coward. A stupid, blind, jealous coward.

No, he didn’t deserve better. But Ansel did.

* * *

“Where are you going to live?” Ange sipped her coffee.

They’d found a middle ground for their traditional Saturday breakfast, halfway between her new place and their old one. It was a semi-gourmet breakfast spot that boasted a design-your-own-omelet station. Ansel had ordered a sausage and mushroom omelet. It was time to break old habits. Eating something new at brunch every Saturday was an easy way to start.

“I’m not sure. I’ll be sleeping on Z’s couch for the first few nights, but beyond that I’ll have to play it by ear.” Z was still giving him the cold shoulder, but had made it clear that Ansel would be staying at his place until he got his shit together because that’s what real family did. They helped, even when they were mad.

Ange’s lips thinned as she twisted the paper of her straw into a ball. God, he’d missed her. He never appreciated how nice it was to see her every day. Nor had he realized all the little things she’d done around the apartment. Without her, the space felt empty and unfinished. Hell, his soul felt empty these days.

“Promise you’ll call me before you resort to sleeping under a bridge somewhere. We don’t have a lot of room, but I’d rather share a bed than think of you on the streets again.” She didn’t meet his eyes and he knew she was feeling terrible for moving out.

“I don’t blame you for leaving. And I’m not going to end up like Ray. I know I have people in my corner. I might, occasionally, forget I can lean on you, but I know you’ll always be there to pick me up.”

She reached over the table and rested her hand over his. “You can count on it.”

Their food arrived and his omelet turned out to be damn good. And to think if he’d ordered the same as always, he would never have known.

Change wasn’t always easy, but it could lead to great things. Or at least that was what Susan had said in her confession during the AA meeting yesterday. Eating something new wasn’t quite so earth-shattering as staying away from booze, but it was still new. And change was something he needed to learn to embrace so he could transform his life through sobriety.

He’d remained dry since everything fell to shit one week ago. Daily AA meetings helped. He still craved the oblivion that alcohol provided, but he was clear-headed now. Being detached from life hadn’t solved any of his problems, it just created new ones. Not just for himself, but for his friends too—the people he cherished. He wouldn’t do that to them again. They’d earned better treatment.

“So what are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?” he asked.

“My shift doesn’t start until six, why?”

He placed his fork on the table while smoothing down the paper napkin. “There is a...well.” He cleared his throat and started again. “I’m going to speak at my meeting today and I was wondering if, maybe, you’d come to support me.” He snapped his eyes up to catch her reaction.

She breathed through parted lips and brought a hand to her heart. “You’ve been going to AA meetings?”

He tilted his head and lowered his eyes. “Ever since you left. Thank you for the pamphlet.”

“Oh, Ansel. I’m so proud of you.” She touched his hand again and her smile was so wide it reached her shining eyes.

“You were right. I need help.” He clutched Ray’s tags in a loose fist. “So, will you come with me?”

Incredibly, her grin grew. “Are you kidding? Of course I will.”

They finished their meals, chatting about Ange’s work and his plans for finding a new place. They paid and started down to the station to catch the train.

“What will you do about all of your furniture?” Ange asked.

“You won’t believe it. Mr. Policek actually offered to let me keep stuff in the basement until I find a place.”

“Seriously? I thought the guy hated you.”

“I know, me too. Turns out he’s actually got a tiny heart beating in his chest. He saw me tossing stuff on the sidewalk and I guess my sad story was enough to melt the ice inside.”

“Too bad he didn’t find enough heart to let you stay.”

“I burned that bridge, no one’s fault but my own. He was right to kick me out. I’m just sorry you got caught in the middle.”

They made their way to the West Village, Ange smiling the whole way. She held his hand and gave him encouraging squeezes. They arrived at the meeting just as everyone was starting to take their seats. Ansel led Ange to his usual spot, near Susan. He made the appropriate introductions and sat back to wait for his turn.

About half an hour later, Susan nodded at him and he walked to the podium. He gripped the edge of the wood and looked out at all the faces in the room. He’d heard most of their stories, felt their pain, gotten to know bits of their personal struggles.

He puffed out a breath and looked at Ange. “My name is Ansel and I’m an alcoholic.”