Split (24 page)

I frowned.

“Boone told me. This Nathan guy, you live with him?”

I took another mouthful of the wine.

“So you guys are like,
monogamous
and everything?”

That word. That awful, awful word.

I shrugged. “Dunno.”

Nick choked on the smoke.” What do you mean, you don’t know? Are you guys fucking other people or not?”

Mr. Smart-ass.

I sank the rest of my wine and rose.

There were some drawings taped to the brick wall. I wanted to get a closer look. “You made these?” I asked, hoping to stray away from the subject of my degrading sex life, or lack of it.

“No.” There was a subtle tension in his voice. “Quit poking around my stuff,” he added. “Sit down, O’Reilly, and I promise not to ask any more dumb questions.”

The drawings were nothing but circles and lines. One of them looked like a face, but I wasn’t sure. “Who’s Spencer?” I asked, reading the name at the far corner of the paper.

“Nobody.”

Nick’s breath had warmed my ear.

And I turned around to find him standing less than two inches from me.

I hurt to taste him.

“Wow.” He inhaled, skimming his nose along my neck. “I remember that smell.”

His T-shirt grazed my shirt.

His breath caressed my nose.

I tensed, trying to keep control.

Carefully, Nick moved in closer, and when I felt his own desire, pressed hard against my lower stomach, a small moan escaped me. I leaned into him, pushing my face into his chest, getting high off the scent of his clothes. “Nick,” I pleaded again. “Oh God, please.
Please.
”

His body tensed, and his mouth scorched my ear. “Don’t, O’Reilly. No need to beg.”

I turned my face to his voice, dying to catch his mouth with my lips. He clasped my arm, and slowly, he raised it over my head. Then the other. Nick held me tightly, trapping my body between him and the wall. My knees bent. His lips skimmed my skin, moving up my neck, pausing on my chin, heating my flesh with a paralyzing lust.

But he teased.

His mouth touched mine, but never fully quenched it. His fingers held me prisoner, yet it was his feverish blue gaze that bound me to him. His hips pushed into mine, and at the feel of his erection grinding up against mine, I shivered and cried out, mad with need.

His fingers released my wrists, but before I could plunge mine into his hair or jeans, he had slipped my shirt over my head and was working at my belt. “Help me with this—” The belt was stuck, and our fingers tore at it. “Fucking thing,” cursed Nick under his breath. “This thing a chastity belt or what?”

I gently pushed his fingers away and yanked at the belt, then the zipper. Nick’s warm fingers didn’t hesitate for a minute. They dove inside my briefs and freed my swollen cock from its confinement.

At the touch of his fingers, I nearly came.

Slowly, Nick got to his knees, sliding his warm hands down my bare chest, and I leaned back on the wall, but refrained from closing my eyes.

No. I wanted to see.

His mouth steamed my skin. His velvet tongue glided along my erection—his desire obscene and raw.

There is no excuse on his tongue. There is no apology in Nick’s sexuality.

As his ardor heightened and his lips raced along my erection, I became aware of every nerve under my skin—every breath moving my chest.

Every bloody minute I have ever wasted.

Our eyes met.

A surge of pleasure burned my loins, and I tried to pull away, afraid to soil his perfect lips, but his fingers dug into my ass to bind me to his mouth, and I touched his face as I came, letting the nirvana chill thunder through me, until it had left me limp. Spent of everything.

I leaned back, trying to steady my legs, and I caught the thing, Escoffier, watching me. “Your dog.”

Nick rose, running his tongue along his swollen lips. “Don’t worry about him. He likes you. Come here.”

I fell into his hands.

Nick smiled. “Let me see those wicked green eyes.” I looked up and playfully batted my eyelashes. His gaze clouded over, and he bent to me, cupping his fingers around my face. Again, his lips only grazed mine, but I would not be teased any longer. I drove my hands into his hair, and pulled him in. “Kiss me, Nick. And don’t stop.”

I needed everything. His tongue, fingers, cock inside me.

We tumbled to the mattress that serves as his bed, and as pants and underwear flew about, I gasped for a breath, but never could tear my mouth from his.

“Wait.” He pulled away from me, and I watched him fumble through a small box. “Rubber.” His voice was thick with lust.

I traced my fingers along the small of his back, my eyes roaming over his naked body. There is no sense in trying to be good, hoping to find myself back in God’s grace, when Nick’s skin makes heaven seem like a flooded trailer park.

“Got it.” He ripped at the package with his teeth and dropped it in my hand.

I carefully eased the condom out, and with trembling fingers, rolled it down the most perfect cock I have seen. It is smaller than I had imagined, and a bit crooked, but if I could stare at it all day, I would.

His mouth found mine again, and as our tongues tangled and tasted each other, his fingers crawled around my inner thigh. “Can I?” he asked softly, gliding his index down my ass cheek.

“Yes.”

His finger hurried a little, as if I could change my mind. “Can I?”

“Yes, Nick,” I moaned.

I had never heard myself saying yes this much.

Without a word, nor a whisper, Nick made love to me. He fucked me slow and deep until we had both exhausted our bodies, and for purely mechanical reasons, had to release the other’s limbs.

We lay quietly for a long time, waiting for our hearts to slow and our bodies to recover.

Nick turned to me and smiled. “Sleep?”

I thought of Nathan. I had left a note on the kitchen counter, letting him know I might be spending the night with Aunt Fran, but that I would call.

I glanced over at my pants, debating on that phone call.

“No?” asked Nick, peering into my eyes.

I nodded. “Yes. Sleep.”

“Come closer.”

I cradled myself against his smooth chest, with my cheek against his rune, and listened to the sound of his heart.

“Good night,” he whispered.

The dog jumped up on the mattress, making a nest of blankets at my feet.

“Good night.”

I closed my eyes, listening to the two of them breathe in sync.

*

This morning, Nick was gone.

I haven’t heard from him since then.

But really, Bump, did you think I would?

Nathan has asked me to give him an answer before the end of the month.

I could give it to him now, and I should, but I cannot make myself care enough. I have no desire for confrontation; as a matter of fact, I have no desire for anything but Nick’s skin.

I stumble through my days, with barely enough concentration to find a matching pair of socks.

Nick hasn’t called.

And Aunt Fran is leaving me.

I was in that dreaded hospital room this morning, watching Aunt Fran challenge time with every painful breath.

“Call Nicolas,” she insisted from under the oxygen mask. “Don’t let the cloak of insecurity fall over his eyes.”

Her sickness has blown poetry into my life. Her every word opens a closing door.

“I don’t want to pu-push him,” I argued weakly.

“Call him. Call
Nicolas
.”

Aunt Fran can’t understand. It doesn’t work that way.

Right?

“Don’t go to Milan.” Her eyes scorched my face. “I don’t—” She paused, struggling to suck in one salvaging breath.

I cringed, clutching the bed’s metal post. “Aunt Frannie, don’t talk, please.”

She rolled her head on the pillow, and her gaze shrouded with fever and urgency. “Listen,” she shot under a shallow breath.
“Listen to me.”

When I was a boy, I believed in the notion of restorative karma. Do good, and you shall be rewarded. After all, what is love but a warm look, a comforting touch, a word of praise? All those things Aunt Frannie has bestowed upon me when no one would? Francine St-Jacques has walked a line few people have. She has had gusto. Courage. Her straightforwardness has laid a foundation inside me, something solid I have been able to fall back on through the lonely, confusing years.

Many times, we have disagreed, but never about the important things.

In a world full of wannabes, posers, and fast-talking happiness pushers, Aunt Fran has been the only real deal.

I can’t let her go.

I don’t want to.

I’m not ready. I need more time. There’s so many things I still need to learn from her.

And so many more I would like to teach her sometimes cynical heart.

“I’m so proud of you, Derek.”

Why? What have I done but sink in my own troubled waters?

“Do you remember the man…” Her voice was barely a whisper, but she pressed on. “The man at the Dragon Hair counter, that day?”

I remembered.

The taste of sugar and oil filled my mouth, and I could almost smell the roasted peanuts.

“You
are
the sorcerer, my love.” Aunt Fran held her fingers out, and I cupped them, letting the moment drown my mind in sorrow.

“You’ve remained unscathed, untouched by the ugly.” She closed her eyes. “You’ve blessed my life, Derek O’Reilly. I wish you could have been my son.”

A sob curled at the edge of my lips, but I shook my head, fighting it back, afraid I would collapse and steal this powerful, lucid instant from her. “Aunt Frannie—” But I could not speak.

“I won’t leave you, Derek.” Her eyes blazed. “I’ll watch over you. You and Nicolas.”

I fell on her hollowed belly, letting her fingers comb my hair. “Don’t, Aunt Frannie. Don’t go-go.”

Her hand caressed my neck, and I heard the disease, that treacherous bastard of a disease, howling inside her chest.

“I’m so-so alone, Aunt Frannie. So alone.”

“No.” Her hand paused.

I lifted my blurry gaze to meet hers.

She tried to smile through her own tears. “No, honey. You’re not alone. No.
No
. You never were. You have Nicolas. You hear me?” She closed her eyes. “You have Nicolas.”

They believe she might make it through the weekend.

I’ll be with her when it comes.

That murderous thief.

*

Nick and I were together again.

Yesterday.

In his bed.

“Don’t squirm so much.”

In that parallel universe disguised as a loft on Du Port Street.

“It tickles.”

“Be still.”

Nick’s mouth, softer than cashmere, moved across my stomach. His eyes, like two giant Ulysses butterflies, fluttered above my skin, spying on me. “Feels nice, no?”

I closed my eyes. “Yes.”

Nick says sex breathes and lives at the edges of our erogenous zones, and he was demonstrating the power of his theory. When his lips skimmed my inner thigh, I let out a small groan.

“No,” he whispered, “no sounds.”

Silence is key.

One must hear every heartbeat, every breath.

“Sorry,” I said.

Nick flashed a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re not ready.” He stretched out next to me, nestling his face into the fold of neck. “You’re still too grounded in what your cock wants.”

I laughed. “Oh yeah?”

He kissed my ear. “Yeah.” His fingers folded themselves around mine. “I don’t know, something feels tense in there.” He gently pushed his finger into my stomach.

My body stiffened against my will. “Sorry,” I said weakly.

“Would you stop apologizing? It’s nasty for your health.”

I smiled against his silky hair and held his fingers more strongly.

Nick pulled away a little, glancing over at me. “I’m serious, O’Reilly.”

The smile faded from my lips. “Sor—” I stopped.

“Look at me.” Nick’s eyes burnt my face. His blue stare leafed through the most hidden pages of my heart. He squinted.“Why did you beat yourself up that day?”

I nibbled on my lip.

“Why?” he insisted, looking around the bed as if he could find the culprit, hiding somewhere near.

I shrugged. “Doesn’t ma-matter.”

“Don’t say that.” He sat up, stealing the warmth off my skin.

“Please, Nick. I wanna leave it alone. It feels so much better when I leave it alone.”

Nick fell back on the pillow and turned his piercing eyes to me. “I’ve been thinking about you and all my fucking sauces have been splitting. O’Reilly, everything you don’t say speaks to something gentle in me. Something I thought I’d choked.”

I wrapped myself around his beautiful chest, remembering what it had felt like to wake up with my head on his lap, and the winter sky rolling pass my eyes. “Nathan wants me to go to Milan with him.”

“Of course.” Nick’s fingers curled around a strand of my hair and he lifted it to the pale light filtering through the room. “O’Reilly,” he murmured. “He’d be fuckin’ crazy not to want you there. Every day. Every night.” Against my arm, his heart thumped. “He’d be stupid not to want to wake up to your wicked green eyes. Those eyes that make him feel like he’s paid his dues. Like he’s finally finished with living off God’s fucking redemption crumbs.”

I held my breath.

Nick tensed. “Are you gonna go?”

I couldn’t speak.

“Well? Are you?”

I chewed on my lip.

“O’Reilly. Hello? You’re gonna marry Nathan and go to fuckin’ Milan? You’re gonna play boy toy, maybe let the jerk dress you up and take you out to see a show when he isn’t too busy tappin’ every loose ass in Italy?”

When Nick makes a point, it makes a hole in the paper.

My pulse flew into a rage. “No, Nick. I won’t go. I won’t marry him, because I love—”

“Don’t, O’Reilly. Not now. Don’t say it now.” Nick’s eyes darkened. “Not right now.”

“But I—”

“Look, I need to take care of something. Something important. I’m gonna be out of town for a few days.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just kiss me.” His heart had begun pounding. “You gotta bear with me, O’Reilly. Can you bear with me?”

Bear with him?

If Nick would ask me to meet him on the other side of an erupting volcano, and I had just been decapitated, my body would still find a way to his.

“O’Reilly,” he murmured into my hair. “Don’t go to Milan. Please. I’ll make it worth your while. But you gotta gimme some time. This is big.”

*

Like glass, Nathan’s fragile idealism has shattered.

I spend my days sweeping up the broken pieces, yet I sense that I’ve neglected one, and its ragged edge will soon slice my skin.

“You were in there for thirty minutes.”

Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the washroom.

I sit on the toilet lid and watch the wall.

“What were you doing in there anyway?”

Nathan’s moue of disdain snatched a chuckle out of me.

“What’s so funny?”

My eyes strayed to the television.

“Derek?”

It was golf. Again.

“Babe, do you know where my Raffaello shirt is?”

I can’t glimpse Nathan’s love for me through the thickness of our faults.

“So, are we going to Oliver’s on Christmas Eve or not?”

Oliver?

Is he a friend of ours, or a restaurant?

“Derek, I told my mother we would drive up to the cabin on the twenty-sixth. Should I cancel the holidays?”

The holidays can probably do without us.

“Der, if you don’t talk to me in the next two minutes, I’m gonna put my fist through a wall.”

If I could get a refund on my thoughts, I would gladly turn them in.

“I live with an apparition. You know that, don’t you? I fuck a ghost.”

“Hanging on the doorknob.”

“What?”

“Your shirt.”

Nathan’s eyes swept my face. His features hardened. “The bedroom?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated, watching me suspiciously, and slowly walked backward to our bedroom.

My attention strayed to the sky. Crimson clouds streaked the horizon.

Nick.

My beautiful wreck.

“Found it.” Nathan’s cold lips wet my cheek. “Can we look at the Hotel Saint-James pamphlet—”

“Nathan—”

“Der, I know you’re feeling overwhelmed with your auntie.”

“Nathan. I want you to look at me.” I sat on the couch with my back to the world outside our window and my face turned upward to the man I have been kissing, holding, and sucking off for the last two years. “Please.”

Nathan’s eyebrows met. He smiled, but his arms had folded over his chest. “What do you mean?”

“Do you see me?”

“Derek.”

“Nathan.”

He sat by me and sighed. “Are you having a nervous breakdown?”

Where have all the shades of gray gone?

“I don’t want to get married, Nate. I don’t want to be—”

“Sadistic?”

“I’m sor-sorry—”

“No, Derek. You’re a haunted house. That’s what you are.” His gaze drifted for a moment. “You know, sometimes when I’ve been chasing a deal down for too long, I get sick of the sale. The fresh ink on the contract reminds me of what I could have been doing with my goddamn days.”

“Nathan, I need to be on my own.”

His dark eyes set themselves on my mouth. “Oh God, I’m obsessed with you.”

“I know.”

He hid his hands in his face. “Fuck.”

I reached out.

He flinched, then rose. “We’re not breaking up yet. No one splits over a trip to Milan.”

*

Francine St-Jacques went slowly, as though creeping to a strange, open door.

“It’s over.” Johan’s hand rested on my shoulder. “She’s gone.”

Mom’s whimpering caused my jaw to harden.

“Leave me.” I slapped Johan’s hand off my shoulder. My fists clenched. “Go.”

Their quiet footsteps unnerved me.

I waited, staring into the one face that has known me.

Me.

The authentic me.

The boy.

The man.

I watched her lips, praying for one final word out of them.

I stayed by her side, until I could smell the end on her.

When I stepped out of her room, I found everyone waiting.

Nathan took a shy step toward me. “Derek—”

I flinched. “Go home.”

He shrank back and retreated to the corner of the lobby. I watched him hesitate by the door, as if he might actually listen to me, but he sat in one of the lobby chairs instead.

Why would he start considering any of my needs now?

“Derek—” Boone reached out for me. “I’m sorry.”