Life in Fusion (2 page)

Life in fusion
9

went.

Twenty
-
one clicks.

“Watch your heart rates boss,” Gostric said.

“You watch my fucking heart rates, asshole,”

Buck choked out as he rushed down another

dead end cavern. “I’m a kind of busy looking for

something no one has ever laid eyes on before.”

“Sure thing, Captain.”

Seventeen clicks.

“Damn all the gods to hell! I don’t see any…”

Buck froze, grabbing onto the wall before hissing in

pain from the intense heat of the stone.

There was a soft glow coming from an opening

in the cavern wall just ahead. He could feel the grin

spreading across his face as he ran toward it. He

knew he’d found the Halo; he could feel it. This

was one sizeable bounty he intended to collect.

Turning into the room, his mouth fell open at the

sight before his eyes.

“Son of a Nebulon whore,” Buck muttered

under his breath.

“What is it, Captain?” Gostric asked, his voice

crackling into Buck’s ear. “Did you find it? Did you

find the Halo?”

10 Ethan Day

Buck looked up and said, “Hey buddy, we’re

here.”

q q q

The tapping on the keyboard of my laptop came to a halt. I

sat up straight in the back of the taxi.

“Hey buddy,” the cabby repeated, ripping me the rest of the

way out of my head.

“Huh?” I asked, perturbed at being interrupted when I’d been

on such a roll.

I realized the cab was pulling down Tulane Drive toward my

humble little adobe abode. Reality began to slowly seep back

in, along with the knowledge that only hours before, I’d told a

near complete stranger I’d relocate and move in with him in six

months’ time.

Have I gone stark raving mad?

A sudden stab of nostalgia ripped through my gut at the

panicked thought of leaving New Mexico. I’d lived in Albuquerque

all my life—had never imagined living anywhere else. This place

was my home and had always felt that way. I belonged to this city

and it belonged to me.

The taxi pulled into the drive of my two bedroom 1939 Pueblo

style home in the Nob Hill area, not too far from Bateman Park

and the UNM campus. The house sat a few blocks off Central

Avenue, part of the famed Route 66 from back in the day, a

fact that was now more of a charming anecdote used on tourist

brochures.

I saved my word document and shut down my computer

before getting out of the taxi. I hated having to stop writing,

especially when I’d been having one of those moments where

the story seemed to take hold, almost as if possessing me. I tried

telling myself I’d be able to get back there once I made it inside,

but I knew that wasn’t likely. Real life had already worked its way

back in.

Life in fusion
11

I took stock of my home while waiting for the driver to pop

the trunk so I could retrieve my luggage. Surveying the exterior,

it became clear to me that my place was looking kinda rough

around the edges. Despite having been lovingly owned and

restored by my uncle Barry and his lover Steven, both of whom

had passed away years before, the stucco exterior now required

some attention.
If nothing else, a new coat of paint.
I was ashamed of

myself for a good three or four seconds at having allowed it to

happen, before shrugging it off.

“I’ve never been much of a handy man,” I mumbled as the

cab driver set my bags on the pavement next to my feet.

“Me either pal.” He folded his arms as if waiting for something.

“Money!” I said, holding up a hand. “I need to pay you.”

“That’s usually how these things go,” the driver smirked.

“Sorry, I knew that—I did.” I reached back, taking the wallet

out of my back pocket. Fishing out some bills, including a nice

tip, I continued rambling about not having suffered from any

recent head injuries.

The cabbie nodded, though it was obvious he didn’t give a

damn if I’d cracked my head open or not. He retreated to the car,

sneering as he backed out of the driveway.

“The cabbies treat you a whole lot better in Summit City!”

I yelled as the car pulled away from the house, tires squealing.

“Nosy as hell—but
friendly
!”

I now felt like an idiot, standing in my driveway, fist in the air

and screaming at no one. Snatching my bags up, I noticed my

neighbor, Rosa Diaz, stepping out onto her front porch to watch

me. She was wearing the same look of pitied disapproval that

came over her whenever I had the misfortune of stumbling into

her line of sight. It had been unnerving the first time I met her, as

she appeared to be a sweet, motherly type on the outside. Then

again, I never had been the best judge of character. I instantly

plastered on my most neighborly smile as I sauntered toward my

front door, fighting with my luggage.

I never knew exactly what it was about me that garnered

12 Ethan Day

her pity-looks. I did, however, assume it all stemmed from my

mouth. The things that came out of it were certainly part of the

reason. I suspected the fact I was gay was another, so once again

my mouth, or what I liked to put into it, had her concerned.

Rosa was also the neighborhood neatnik—always after me

about repairing something. Her husband had died the year before,

a sweet old man, and while I’d been very sad for her loss, I was

shocked that he’d dared do anything without her permission.

And if I knew one thing for certain, it was that Mrs. Diaz would

have never given him leave…to leave.

“I kept a good eye on your house while you were gone,” she

called out with a wave.

“Thank you.” I walked as fast as I could with my arms full as

I said under my breath, “Not that I asked you to.”

“And that big piece of trim that fell off is still leaning against

the side of your house!” She called out. “Not that I mind, but I

thought I’d bring it up in case you forgot about it.”

“I haven’t Rosa, but thank you so much for the reminder.”

Dropping a bag, I wrestled the keys out of my pocket, cursing

my gay ass for bowing to the peer pressure of my culture and

wearing the tight jeans, merely because they showcased my

unmentionables.

I unlocked the arched front door, one of my favorite

architectural features of the house. It was solid oak, stained

dark, and had one of those peek-a-boo openings covered with

decorative wrought iron that matched the ornate latch and

hinges. Tossing my bags in as quickly as possible, I stepped in and

slammed the door shut behind me. Despite the fact the door had

a latch that locked itself automatically upon closing, I fumbled

to also lock the dead bolt, taking no chances that the outside

world could get to me for the remainder of the day. I leaned back

against it, exhausted.

I let my gaze wander as the familiar scent of leather and wood

filled my nose. It struck me as similar to Wade’s house in a way;

except the smell from the wood in my house carried with it an

Life in fusion
13

aged quality.

The living room and its kiva fireplace with the brick and tile

surround welcomed me. The creamy stucco walls and rough

hewed beams that stretched across the low ceilings mixed

harmoniously with the warm hues of the leather and earth

tone fabrics, providing a coziness that had all the muscles in my

shoulders finally relaxing.

I was home. It felt good, which surprised me considering I

was still experiencing tiny pangs of sadness at having parted ways

with Wade. It wasn’t debilitating, but there none the less, lying

just under the surface of all my other emotions. It was strange,

having that ache slowly ripping through my chest over a man I’d

known for such a short amount of time.

Stupid ass emotions—nothing but trouble
.

His mojo was strong, grasshopper—making me feel like a

bug, being crushed under the weight of it.

I tried shaking him out of my head as I stepped away from the

door and weaved around the bags scattered across the terracotta

tile. I’d genuinely missed my house, which was more modest than

Wade’s mountain lodge and its spectacular views. But my place

felt more like an actual home to me. I could sense it, passing over

the threshold, that this house was lived in.

I slipped off my parka and tossed it across one of the matching

leather club chairs that sat across from a small faux suede sofa.

There were plants everywhere, green and lush, spilling out over

large pots and cascading toward the floor. Daylight cut through

the windows, which were covered in rich, velvety rust colored

panels that pooled onto the floor.

From the front door I could see clear through the house

to the sliding glass doors that led to a small covered patio. The

backyard was nicely landscaped with shade trees, and the stucco

wall that wrapped around the property line made skinny dipping

in the pool possible.

I stepped up into the intimate dining room and walked past

the round mahogany pedestal table I’d rescued from a flea market,

14 Ethan Day

tossing my wallet and keys onto it. The dark stained wood floors

that ran through the bulk of the house creaked under my feet as

I kicked off my shoes.

I pulled my cell out of my pocket and turned on the smart

phone. I frowned, realizing Wade hadn’t called. I knew it was

dumb, since I told him I’d call the instant I made it home, but

the new silly-school-girl side of my altered personality had half

hoped he wouldn’t have been able to wait.

“He did say he thought he loved me.” I nodded at the display

as if that justified my infantile disappointment. I scrolled through

all the numbers, realizing most of the missed calls I’d collected

were from my best friend, Gabe. The rest were from dear ole

Mommy.

Passing through the kitchen I paused at the small refrigerator

from the fifties, and retrieved a bottle of water. It was the second

old-ass fridge I’d been forced to search out since the cutout in the

wall was too small for today’s modern appliances. Everything was

smaller in the hobbit kitchen, as it had become dubbed by Gabe.

I stepped down into the den at the back of the house and

plopped down on the tufted burgundy cushions of the Morris

chair. I leaned back, setting the water down on one arm of the

chair, and my phone down on the other. The built-ins surrounding

the fireplace had been filled to capacity with books of all shapes,

sizes and themes. The den was slightly smaller than the living

room, but had the same tiled floor and dark wood beams. The

walls were covered in dark, solid wood paneling, giving it a more

masculine feel.

People were often surprised by my home, commenting on

how tasteful it was. I assumed they were shocked as I, or what

came out of my mouth, wasn’t usually all that tasteful. I liked to

say that I didn’t want anything in my home to be more colorful

than me, since one’s home should be the last place in which one

needed to compete. In reality, I believed it to be a revolt against

growing up in my parents’ house, which was the antithesis of

what I now craved in terms of design.

Sitting up, I snagged the remote off the coffee table and

Life in fusion
15

turned on the flat screen that hung above the fireplace. I turned

the volume down till it was barely audible, and stretched my

body out in the chair. I scowled listening to my back cracking

and popping.

Either I was getting old, Wade had fucked me out of

alignment, or the stress of the past week had taken more of a toll

than I’d previously allowed myself to imagine.

“I’ll take all of the above.” I closed my eyes for a moment.

“Well, except the old part. I’m much too vibrant a personality to

ever be dimmed by age.”

My mind immediately went back to the Quad, the four ladies

who’d been the best friends of Wade’s mother back in the day.

They’d all but adopted him and Jackie after she died when they

were kids. I reminded myself that getting older was now looking

even worse than I’d ever imagined. “All that sniping.” I opened

my eyes and smiled. “It was fabulous.”

I laughed and reached for the phone. I wondered to myself if

Wade had any idea what they’d done. And if he didn’t know and

I brought it up, would the Quad wind up holding it against me

for the rest of my life, making me miserable whenever possible

for telling on them?

I thought back to that morning, after the shuttle bus had

picked me up at Wade’s house in the mountains. I was supposed

to be on my way to the airport in Denver. I closed my eyes again,

recalling the way I felt in that moment, the exquisite agony of it.

q q q

In the back of the otherwise empty shuttle bus carrying me