Read Accidentally in Love Online
Authors: Jane Davitt,Alexa Snow
Tags: #Romance, #M/M Contemporary, #Contemporary, #Gay, #Source: Amazon
Accidentally in Love (25 page)
“No,
you
talk to him,” Tom said, beyond thinking past the next sentence, his mind chaotic, his heart thudding painfully, beating so hard he could hear it in his ears, a wild rush of blood. He shivered convulsively and walked to where his robe hung on the back of the door, needing not to be naked right then, with Cal’s gaze on him. “You talk to him and let me hear it,” he repeated. “He’ll lie to me.”
“The way I’m lying?” Cal demanded. “Shit, I knew that you were insecure, Tom. I thought we’d gotten past that. For the last time, he came up to me at the bar, tried to pick me up, I told him I was with someone—that’d be you before you get any more fucked-up ideas about what I did while I was away—and he pushed a few times, then let it go. He ended up with the guy at the reception desk. I saw them heading off together when I went back to my room.”
“So how do you explain the card?” Tom said, a dull, sick hurt blunting the edge of his anger without giving him any relief from the pain.
Cal frowned, his face showing a good deal of confusion. Tom didn’t buy it. “He must’ve slipped it into my jacket pocket. It was hanging over the back of the chair I was sitting at, one of those high bar stools with a back—”
“I don’t care if you were sitting on a fucking flagpole,” Tom said, anger flaring again. “It wasn’t in your
jacket
, asshole. It was in your pants. Like his hands were, I guess. Did you take him back to your room? Or find a men’s room with a door that locked?”
“You’re pissing me off.” Cal’s expression was stony now. “I picked up a dozen cards from people I met down there. You saw them. Contacts, friends… They get passed out by the handful. I must’ve shuffled his in among them without realizing what it was.” His face softened. “Tom, please. I know how this looks. I swear to you, I’m telling you the truth, all of it. I got a kick out of it when he came over, yes, but you want to know why?” He didn’t wait for Tom to say that he didn’t care why, the words tumbling out of him, his handsome face flushed. “Because I got to tell him I was with you. I was spoken for.” He ran his hand through his hair. “God, it felt amazing. I got this stupid fucking smile on my face that wouldn’t go away, and I wanted you so much I almost called you again just to hear your voice.”
“I wish you had.” Tom was torn between anger and a bleak emptiness.
“Fine,” Cal said, reacting to his tone. “I’ll call if that’s the only thing that will make you happy.”
Maybe they—Cal and Simon—had already talked about this eventuality, and Simon would be ready to lie, Tom thought. He took the phone from Cal’s hand and dialed the cell number listed on the card, then pushed the button on the phone so it was on speaker.
It rang several times before Simon picked up. “Hello?” The voice was rich with confidence. If Tom hadn’t already hated the guy, hearing that one word would have made him.
“Um, hey.” Tom did his best to approximate Cal’s breezy way of speaking. “It’s Cal. From the other night?”
“Hey, yourself.” There was a lot of background noise, like Simon was somewhere public. “Hang on a second—let me—okay, that’s better. Sorry. You know what these places are like.”
Yeah, full of guys who wanted to get fucked and didn’t care who they hurt. “So how’s it going?” Tom didn’t want to say too much and risk tipping Simon off that he wasn’t actually Cal. Sitting on the bed a few feet away, Cal, still naked and beautiful, was watching him silently.
“Great. Especially now that you called. I have to admit I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
“Really?”
“Well, you weren’t exactly receptive.” Simon cleared his throat. “Changed your mind, huh?”
“About what?” Tom said.
“About us hooking up, which I’m definitely still interested in even if you were on the chilly side with me. I’m sure you can make that up to me, though.” There was a world of meaning in the man’s voice. It made Tom shudder with a loathing that he knew intellectually Simon didn’t really deserve. “So how come you’re still in town? I thought you were rushing back to that boyfriend you were pining for. Change of plans?”
Cal took the phone from Tom’s slack hand and walked away with it to the window, his body framed by the long sweep of the dark green curtains. Tom could still hear what Cal said, the terse words of explanation, Simon’s indignant response, the abrupt silence when Cal ended the call, cutting off Simon’s expostulations, but it was all coming from a long way off, echoes in the emptiness.
Flipping the phone shut, Cal half turned and let the phone fall to the floor. It clattered and jumped sideways, then slid under the bed. Cal didn’t move to pick it up, and he didn’t say anything. He just stood there.
It was a long time before Tom could raise his eyes to meet Cal’s.
More than anything else, Cal looked tired. Of course he would be, after his long flight and hurrying to get home to Tom, who’d proceeded to jump to conclusions and accuse him of something he hadn’t done. No wonder he looked tired in addition to sad and angry. “No apology?” Cal said finally.
“I—” Tom couldn’t get past that single, useless word for what felt like a long time. “I thought…that card…”
“Yeah,” Cal said. “I get it, Tom. I really do. I can see why it freaked you out and why you thought I’d cheated on you.” His voice was too flat to be reassuring. “What I don’t get is why you didn’t accept what I had to say. Why my word wasn’t enough for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said. It came out sounding despairing, which was as it should be. “I just remembered how you were, the way you used to be, and—”
“I’m not like that now,” Cal said sharply. “I’ve changed. Because of you. How I felt about you. And I was never a liar, and I never two-timed anyone.”
“Because of me,” Tom repeated, trying to focus on the way Cal had said
felt
not
feel
. “Cal, I’m just not—”
“Not hot enough, not interesting enough, not good enough for a stellar catch like me,” Cal interrupted. “I’ve
heard
it, okay? Too many times. It’s bullshit, and I’m getting fucking sick and tired of you not listening to me when I tell you that.”
Tom opened his mouth to say something. He didn’t know what to say to make things better between them—if the words even existed—so he closed it again. Cal was right, and he was wrong; he’d just fucked up so royally that Cal had every right to be through with him, and really, what else was there to say? “Sorry,” he said and started blindly grabbing some clothes that he could pull on. The sense that he’d destroyed whatever they’d been building, not maliciously or on purpose, just the way a small child might knock into a tower of blocks to see what would happen, rose and crested over his head, leaving him drowning.
He stumbled downstairs and got dressed standing near the front door. He picked up his running shoes and shoved his feet into them. Tom started running as soon as he got to the sidewalk, not caring that his shoes were untied or that his ass hurt because he’d just let the only man who’d ever cared about him fuck him.
Tom knew if he could run far enough or fast enough, he’d reach a place that felt better than this.
He fell twice by the river, his breath coming in sobbing pants, his untied shoes less of a hindrance than the fact that he wasn’t looking where he was going, his eyes blurred with tears. It was getting dark, but it was still light enough for people to see him clearly, their reactions telling him how terrible he looked, his knees bleeding, his hands grazed, and blood streaking his face where he’d wiped at the sweat trickling down his face. He had no water, no money, no phone.
No Cal to go home to.
His body demanded that he stop eventually, and he leaned against a tree, his hands stinging when he put them against the rough bark to brace himself. The run hadn’t helped at all. He couldn’t think past what he’d done and why he’d done it. So fucking insecure. Years of seeing himself as less, as different, couldn’t be wiped away by a few months knowing Cal, warmly appreciative, loving. Or if they could, if they had, it had been all too easy to fall back into old habits.
He hurt for himself, but the memory of the anguish in Cal’s eyes pierced him like steel. Cal had been so proud of himself for changing, and Tom had spoiled it all.
If he’d been wrong to say Cal was more than he deserved before, that wasn’t true now. Cal
did
deserve better, someone who believed in him, trusted him. Someone with the insight to look past the way that Cal had been and see the truth of how he was now.
He thought about asking to borrow a passerby’s phone to call a friend, maybe Derek. However, he couldn’t imagine trying to explain what had happened, let alone what it would be like to approach a stranger looking the way he did. Instead, he sat on the grass long enough to pull his socks into position and tie his shoes. Then he began the long walk home.
It was more because he had no idea what else to do than because he actually wanted to be home. He didn’t want to go back into the house where he’d lived for years, a place he’d always loved and considered home. He didn’t know if Cal would there—he certainly would understand if Cal had chosen to leave, and he didn’t think he’d blame Cal for never wanting to see him again—and whether Cal was there or not, Tom didn’t want to be.
But where else was he supposed to go?
He could feel a blister forming along the side of his right foot near his little toe, and his knees burned and stung. It was cold. He wrapped his arms around himself and walked on, head bowed, so miserable that it was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other instead of giving up, lying down, and waiting for something to end his pain.
The front door to his house was closed but unlocked. It was quiet inside as he shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. “Cal?”
There was no answer. The quality of the silence spoke of emptiness, a cold, blankness instead of the small, homey sounds that Tom had grown accustomed to with Cal around. Cal had music going while he worked. He ran down the stairs, never walked, his feet thudding. Cal filled the house with life, and Tom hadn’t realized until Cal was gone just how much he’d loved that.
The note on the fridge that he found an hour later, after a hot shower that washed him clean and didn’t do anything for the chill inside, was straightforward enough, even in Tom’s dazed state.
Tom
I’m going to stay with friends for a while, the ones who helped me move in. Their number’s on my desk if you need it.
I’m sorry if I had any part in what happened. I don’t know if I can do this if you won’t trust me. I understand that you have concerns based on my past, and I don’t know how to explain that things are different now so you’ll believe me. I don’t want anyone but you, so it wouldn’t matter how hard someone threw himself at me. He’d just be bouncing off.
I think it’d be good to give you some space for a while, so you can think about what you want to do. Don’t say you want to keep trying unless you mean it. Neither of us needs a repeat of this, and I know I don’t want to be part of one of those couples who breaks up and gets back together and breaks up again but nothing ever changes.
I never wanted to be part of a couple at all until you. If we’re going to do this, we should do it right.
So take some time. Think it over. We can talk in a few weeks. Don’t call me until then. I want to know you mean it, whatever you decide.
The note was signed with Cal’s signature, which never looked like anything but a scrawl. There was a stain on the paper, like something had spilled and the attempt to wipe it off had resulted in a smear. Tom put the note back mechanically, using a fridge magnet advertising a local restaurant. He’d never eaten there, despite having read an enthusiastic review of their new menu in the local paper. He’d planned to take Cal for a meal there sometime soon.
The urge to call Cal right away, to beg, grovel, make any promises that Cal needed to hear, was strong. Every time he looked at the note, though—and he couldn’t seem to walk away—the phrase that stuck out was
Don’t call me.
Tom opened the fridge door, Cal’s note fluttering. He got a beer. The shower hadn’t warmed him, and the beer gave him a nagging headache, but sipping it gave him something to do as he sat in front of the TV, staring at happy people whose problems always got wrapped up by the time the credits rolled.
When the bottle was empty and he’d picked the label off, the paper falling in shreds to the floor, he went to bed. He’d do as Cal asked and think about it all, just not tonight.
He was halfway up the stairs when he realized he was crying.
“Jason, shut up already,” Cal said, rubbing his temples.
Jason glared at him over the dinner table. “Excuse me?”
Cal shook his head and sighed. “Sorry. It’s this headache; I can’t seem to get rid of it.”
“Did you take some ibuprofen?” George asked, eating another bite of the beautifully cooked chicken dish he’d been responsible for making.
“Yeah. And I drank more water and had caffeine and tried lying down for half an hour as well.” Cal had been sleeping on the couch in Jason and George’s office for more than a week and had to admit, if only to himself, that it was getting old. The mattress on the couch bed was too thin to be comfortable for anyone who weighed more than eighty pounds, so he’d been sleeping on the folded couch instead. He suspected nine nights of sleeping in strange positions was pushing his spine out of alignment.
“You could try a heating pad on the back of your neck and an ice pack on your forehead,” George suggested. He looked at Jason. “Or is it the other way around? I can never remember.”
“I think it
is
the other way around. Sorry, hon.” Jason patted George’s hand and gave Cal a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you call him?”
“Because I want to make sure he had time to decide what he wants,” Cal said morosely. It had seemed like a great idea when he’d been writing Tom that note. Now he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking.
“Or time to miss you?” Jason said, with a flash of insight that brought no comfort because if Tom
had
missed Cal, wouldn’t he have called by now?
“I just want him back,” Cal said. “God, why is this so
difficult
?” He massaged his temples with his fingers. It didn’t help. “I’ve changed. The way I was before—it wasn’t wrong. I mean, I didn’t break any hearts. It wasn’t enough, though. I see that now. Hell, I saw it when I fell for Tom. Why can’t he accept that I’ve changed? Why is it so easy for him to think I’ve gone back to the way I was when the way I am now makes me happier? I’d have to be insane!”
“You’re ranting,” Jason said kindly. “Eat some more chicken.”
“I can’t.” Cal looked at George. “Sorry, it’s great. I’m just—”
“Lovesick,” George said. “And kind of adorable too, not that that’s any consolation right now. Go lie down for a while with the lights out. I’ll bring you some water and an Excedrin.”
“Thanks.” Cal shuffled to the office and collapsed onto the couch, allowing himself the luxury of a small groan. His head hurt, he was exhausted, and he missed Tom like hell. He was so miserable that he’d cancelled his next job outright and postponed the one after that. It wasn’t the kind of move that would be a benefit to his career. Of course, neither would showing up for work half out of his mind with longing.
George was right. He was lovesick, and there might not be a cure.
For the millionth time in the past few days, he considered calling Tom. It was incredibly unfair to ask the man not to call and yet be irritated with him for respecting that request. Regardless, Cal couldn’t help it.
George returned, a glass of water in his hand, a painkiller in the other. He nudged Cal's knee. “Here, sit up long enough to take this. It’ll help.”
Cal obeyed, then drank all the water before handing the glass back. “Thanks. I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with right now.”
“Who is, under this kind of circumstance? Hell, I don’t think I got out of bed for a month the last time I had a bad breakup.”
“Yeah?” For once, Cal was interested in one of George’s long and sometimes hard-to-believe stories.
“Fact. Okay, I crawled to the bathroom once in a while, but basically I just pulled the covers over my head and cried my pretty eyes red.” George sighed theatrically. “
I
broke up with
him
, you see, and that was fine. Afterward I found out that all the time we’d been together, he’d been screwing every
twink
that walked past, and that changed everything.”
“Why?”
George shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t as over him as I thought I was. I lost it. Destroyed everything of his that was still at my place, left him abusive messages. Oh, I was a
mess
.”
“You still wanted him after all that?” Cal couldn’t help the incredulity, but he tried to look supportive,
“Until I came to my senses, yes.” George held up his hands. “What can I say? As darling Willow said, ‘Love makes you do the wacky.’”
“Who’s Willow?” The conversation was getting away from Cal.
George sucked in a shocked breath. “Willow! From
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
.” Cal shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve never watched it! That is so wrong. I have every season on DVD; we can have a marathon tomorrow. There’s this one episode when
Xander
turns into a hyena—but no, we should start at the beginning.”
“Sure,” Cal said weakly. “Sounds great.”
He’d give Tom until noon to call, and if the phone stayed silent, Cal was prepared to crack and make the first move. He wanted to go home.
After another half hour of feeling sorry for himself, Cal was interrupted—probably a good thing—by Jason pausing in the doorway. “Hey, how you doing?”
“Okay,” Cal said. “You guys going to bed?”
“Yeah. George has an early meeting, so we’re calling it a night. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.”
Cal was debating whether he should get himself something to eat or maybe watch some TV when his cell phone, resting on the desk, started to vibrate. He’d forgotten he’d turned the ringer off, and as he watched, the phone vibrated itself right off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. He leaned over and grabbed it, hoping he’d see Tom’s number on the screen.
No.
Sighing, he answered anyway.
“Cal? It’s a girl!”
It took his brain a few seconds to translate this into something that made sense. “Derek? Congratulations! How’s Marianne?”
“She’s great. She’s kind of crazy, actually. I don’t know if it’s post-birth hormones or what, but she’s kind of hyper, and she’s dying to get as many people in here to see the baby as possible. Do you think you could swing by? Just for a little while? I know it’s late, but she’d love to see you.” Behind Derek, in the background, Cal could hear other voices. They sounded happy, and being surrounded by happy people seemed like exactly what Cal needed.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.” He scribbled the details of how to find them and went in search of his shoes.
Within forty minutes, Cal was on the elevator riding up to the maternity floor. He’d stopped at the gift shop and bought flowers, an obnoxiously pink balloon, and a handful of parenting magazines with shiny covers. He didn’t have any trouble finding the room, and with his hands full, he couldn’t knock. So it was a good thing that the door was open. “Hey, hi,” he called going in. He stopped when he saw Tom standing at the head of the bed near Marianne.
I should have known that he’d here, Cal thought. Marianne and Derek had brought them together once—maybe twice—and it looked as if a third time was the charm, because now that they were in the same room again, Cal wasn’t going to let Tom just walk away.
“Hi,” he said to Tom, who gave him a sidelong glance and muttered something that Cal couldn’t catch. Cal left him for the moment and turned to Marianne. “Hello, beautiful.”
“I look like crap,” Marianne told him, her beaming smile making it a lie even though her hair was limp with sweat and there were shadows under her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, though.”
Cal walked over to the bed, depositing his gifts on the table at the foot of it so that he could give Marianne a gentle hug. “I don’t suppose anything matters but the baby.” The star of the show lay in a see-through cradle on wheels a few feet away from the bed. She was covered in a white blanket, her tiny face screwed up and red. Cal peeked at her cautiously and lowered his voice. “She’s cute. Adorable.” He dredged up a question to ask. “How much does she weigh?”
He was acutely conscious of Tom on the other side of the bed, fiddling with a flower drooping over the side of a clear glass vase. If Marianne looked drained though deeply content, Tom just looked exhausted.
“She’s eight pounds two ounces,” Marianne said proudly. “The labor took from nine this morning, and they thought I’d have to have a C-section for a while, but the little darling moved and dived down just the way she was supposed to. That’s when my water finally broke.”
“Spare him the gory details,” Derek said from the doorway. “She’s perfect,” he added, coming over to shake Cal’s hand with a heartiness that left his fingers feeling crushed. Derek was bubbling over with barely concealed pride and delight. “Have you seen her fingers? Tiny! It’s incredible.”
“You’re all incredible,” Cal said. “Proof of the miracle of life.” Or something. He hardly knew what he was saying, because Tom in the same room was the biggest distraction in the world.
“Well, this miracle of life needs to get some sleep.” Marianne gave a stretch and a yawn. “Why don’t you and Tom go get a coffee or something?”
“I can show you where the cafeteria is—” Derek started to say. Marianne whipped out a hand and smacked him. “
Ow
!”
“I’m sure they can find it on their own.” Marianne put a lot of emphasis on the last word, glaring at her husband.
Cal rolled his eyes. “Wow, you two are subtle.”
“You promised not to do this to me again,” Tom told Marianne. He didn’t sound mad, though. That was something.
“This doesn’t count,” Marianne said.
“No,” Tom said. “You’re wrong. It counts.” He touched her shoulder, then looked directly at Cal for the first time. “What do you say? Coffee?”
“Coffee sounds great.”
Once they were out in the hallway, Cal cleared his throat. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready to talk. Marianne will never know.”
“Don’t underestimate her. She’s probably got a nurse tailing us to report back,” Tom said. “When I turned up without you and she found out why, I almost didn’t get invited to look at the baby.”
“In disgrace, huh?”
“She says I’m an idiot.” Tom shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn’t disagree. I am.”
Cal hated seeing Tom so disconsolate, his recent confidence gone. “Hey, you had your reasons to be…”
“Suspicious? Mistrustful? Paranoid?”
“Unsure of me,” Cal said, correcting him.
They’d reached the stairs leading down to the cafeteria. Tom paused and turned to face Cal instead of walking down them. “No. I had no right to be unsure of you. There’s never been a time when you’ve been anything but honest with me, and you never lied or pretended with any of the men you were with before me. You didn’t deserve what I did to you, and you shouldn’t have to put up with my fucking uncertainty about myself day in and day out. It’s not fair. I should just walk away and let you find someone—”
“If the next word out of your mouth is
better
—”
“Different,” Tom finished. “Someone different. How’s that?”
“Terrible,” Cal said. “It sounds terrible.” He was hopeless at this, and he knew it. He didn’t want to spend the next half hour cautiously working his way around the issue at hand and trying to figure out how Tom felt. He wanted to know now, even if it was bad news. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
“I still don’t get that,” Tom said. “I don’t see what I’ve got that’s worth the hassle I put you through.” He looked completely baffled, but with his hair tousled and his eyes shadowed, Cal was conscious only of the need to hug him. Debates, arguments, discussions… He supposed those things had to happen. At that moment, though, he wanted to get Tom close and hug the sadness out of him.
The hallway wasn’t empty, and the top of the stairs was the worst place for them to have stopped. Cal glanced around and saw an exit sign not far away. “We can’t talk here,” Cal said. ”Come with me.” He grabbed Tom’s hand, relieved when Tom’s fingers curled around his and held on. Cal led an unresisting Tom to the door and through it onto a small balcony, with stairs leading down to the parking lot and up to the next level.
The door closed behind them, and Cal took a deep breath of fresh air untainted by the hospital odors that always made him feel queasy.
“Cal?” Tom reached out hesitantly and ran his finger across Cal’s cheekbone. “You look tired.”
He closed his eyes at the touch of Tom’s hand, the tension that had been building inside him, all of it—sorrow, despair, anger—draining away. “I am,” he heard himself say. “God, Tom, I’m so tired.” Opening his eyes again, he looked at Tom. He never wanted to look at anyone else. “Can I—”
“Yes,” Tom said. “Anything.”
Cal gathered Tom close, one arm around his waist and the other curled around his upper arm. He pressed his face to Tom’s bare neck. The skin was warm there, and Tom smelled so good that Cal wanted to lick him. “I missed you so much.”
Tom groaned, and Cal thought he felt a kiss against his hair, the touch too light for him to be certain. There was nothing tentative about the way Tom was returning his hug, though, and Cal let himself melt against Tom, resenting any space between them, no matter how small.