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Marcus Lopés

LGTBQIA2S+ Author, Blogger, Runner

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friendship

People Who Change Our Lives

November 28, 2018 by Marcus 2 Comments

I’ve learned to take nothing for granted. Each day brings new lessons, new insights … if we are open to life speaking to us. We are vulnerable, delicate and easily bruise. Among the billions of other humans inhabiting the planet, we’re hoping to make a mark, stand out from the crowd, leave a legacy to the generations that follow. And we meet people who change our lives.

This past Halloween, I spent the afternoon at the Princess Margaret Cancer Centre visiting a friend. My friend is strong. She’s fighting hard to live, to get back to the people and things she loves. She’s not naïve, though. She admits that, right now, she’s not in a good state. Her breathing is laboured, and just repositioning herself in the bed leaves her winded.

I see the pain etched in her face, hear it in her voice. She’s in a fight for her life.

Serve a Greater Good

The visit with my friend reminded me of an expression I heard a long time ago. It went something like this: People come in and out of your life, to serve a greater good.

My friend only recently came into my life (in the last two years). And, no doubt, to serve a greater good.

Seeking to live a healthier lifestyle (in January 2018, I gave up alcohol, started paying closer attention to what I eat, and began exercising more), she shared her story. How she lost 80 lbs. Her breast cancer diagnosis. Through my ‘difficult’ period of change, she’s been an inspiration. Her knowledge, life experience and encouragement helped me get to, and stay, where I am.

At the end of the visit, I sat down on the edge of the bed and hugged her. I said, “Thank you. For being who you are, for inspiring me to do better and be better every day.”

Yes, there are people who change our lives.

Now my friend knows: she changed my life.

Is there someone in your life who’s had a major impact on your journey? Who are they? And have you told them lately what they mean to you? Click Reply or leave a comment in the section below. I’d love to hear from you.

Filed Under: Writing Life Tagged With: courage, friends, friendship, gratitude, inspiration, life lessons, writing

Façade

June 1, 2018 by Marcus Leave a Comment

“Who are you?” Ryan asked with an edge.

“I’m Toby,” the olive-skinned man said, holding out his hand.

Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets. “And how did you say you knew Mitch?”

“He was…” Toby clasped his hands behind his back. “We were friends.”

“He never mentioned you.” Ryan, drawing in a deep breath, tried to tamp down the frustration rumbling in his contralto voice.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Toby said quickly. “That would have complicated things.”

Ryan bristled. “It would have complicated what?”

“Well…” Toby gave a nervous laugh. “The truth is … Mitch and I were more than friends.”

It was the last thing he expected to do, but it felt like he had no control as his fist flew through the air and struck the side of Toby’s Romanesque nose. Ryan could feel all eyes on him as a hush fell over the room. He flexed his right hand, which was starting to throb, as he watched Toby pick himself up off the floor.

“Man, you’ve got a good right hook,” Toby said cheekily. It was somewhat muffled as his hand covered his mouth as he pinched his nose to stop the bleeding.

A tall brunette appeared with a handful of tissues, handing them to Toby while his acorn-brown eyes were locked on Ryan. “What’s going on?”

“Get him out of here, Sam,” Ryan said through gritted teeth.

“He only stayed with you because he was sick,” Toby spat. “Had he lived —”

Ryan raised his balled fist, but when Sam put himself between the two men, he let his arm drop to his side.

Sam turned to the guy. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but I’d go if I were you.”

Toby, still applying pressure to his nose, stared a moment longer at Ryan before slinking away.

Slowly, a low chatter began to rise in the room as people resumed their earlier conversations.

Sam took a step forward and grabbed Ryan by the arm. “What was that all about?”

Ryan, blinking magnificently, didn’t say a word. He jerked his arm free and then made a beeline for the exit. Outside, he made his way around to the side of the funeral home and sat down on a stone bench. It didn’t make sense. None of it. He and Mitch had been together since they met, during the first semester of their graduate studies. They told each other everything — who had hurt them, what they feared the most, how they hoped to change the world. They were best friends, confidants … the only thing that broke down the chaos of their worlds and made them feel alive. They’d been happy together. At least that was what he now needed to believe. The hand pressing down on his shoulder made him lift his head.

“Here,” Sam said, holding out a bag of ice. “That hand looks like it’s swelling.” He sat down beside Ryan. “Where did you learn to throw a punch like that?”

They laughed.

Sam wrapped his arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what,” Ryan said dryly. “The fact that Mitch might have been cheating on me, and I just met his lover at his funeral?”

“Whoa!” Sam removed his arm, then straddled the bench so he could study his friend. “That guy said he was Mitch’s lover?”

“And you know what the worst part is?” Ryan turned to look at Sam. “I believe him.”

“Ryan —”

“I like to tell myself that Mitch and I had the perfect relationship.” Ryan gave a nervous laugh. “A year before his diagnosis, something happened. I don’t really know what, but we were always at each other’s throats. We didn’t really talk, didn’t have sex … didn’t do much together. And I think we were both afraid to admit that we’d fallen out of love. We were together yet absent to each other. And maybe he was prepared to call it quits until he found out he had cancer. That scared him. It scared me. Maybe that made staying easier.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, cupping his hand to Ryan’s shoulder. “I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. We wanted everyone to believe that everything was perfect. I didn’t want to admit that our relationship of fifteen years had fallen apart.” Tears banked in his eyes. “And you know, despite everything, Mitch is the only man I ever really loved.”

Sam stood. “Come on. I think we should get that hand of yours looked at.”

Ryan, slow to stand, levelled his gaze at Sam. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Keep doing what?”

“Saving the day,” Ryan said. “I mean, fifteen years ago I picked Mitch over you. I’ve never felt like I’ve deserved your friendship, yet you’ve been a rock all these years.”

Sam chuckled. “And yet you still haven’t figured it out.”

They walked in silence towards the silver Passat parked in front of the funeral home entrance. Ryan pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them at Sam. “I think it’s broken.”

“Are you talking about your hand or you?” Sam didn’t wait for an answer and climbed into the car.

The ride to the hospital was quiet, Ryan staring absently out the window the entire time. He’s right, he thought when Sam shifted the car into park. I’m broken. Maybe I’ve always been broken. He’d barely unbuckled his seatbelt when the passenger side door swung open. Sam helped him out of the car and they stood there, their gazes locked, looking at each other in a way they’d never done before. For the first time in years, Ryan felt something stir inside of him. No, he’s not still…

Ryan stepped out of the way to let Sam close the door, eying the man who’d always seemed to be there for him when it mattered. They headed for the emergency entrance, but just before going inside Ryan cut in front of Sam and blocked his path. “You mean … all these years —”

“Today’s not the day to talk about this,” Sam said.

“But I —”

“You’ve only ever seen what you’ve wanted to see. And that’s okay.” Sam smiled and tapped Ryan on the arm. “Let’s get your hand looked at.”

Ryan followed Sam through the sliding glass doors. Maybe it was the pain, becoming more intense, that had him questioning everything he thought he knew. He wanted to believe that he had truly loved Mitch and what they’d lived was real. Now he wasn’t sure about anything.

All he knew was that when the time was right, and if he got a second chance at love, he wouldn’t be the same fool twice.

Filed Under: Short Stories Tagged With: betrayal, change, facade, friendship, lies, loss, love, relationships, secrets, separation, short story, truth, unrequited love, writing

Shelter

April 27, 2018 by Marcus Leave a Comment

“Unbelievable. Fucking … unbelievable!”

The contralto, from-the-stomach grunt thundered on all sides, but Zach Logan didn’t flinch. The deep moodiness of Adele’s voice, streaming through his earphones, had transported him to another world.

“Ten freakin’ percent probability of precipitation!”

Wedged into the corner of the bus shelter and updating his Facebook status, Zach turned up the volume.

“Can you fucking believe this?”

Zach killed the music and lifted his head. He wanted to but did not — could not — move. All he could do was watch as a guy with a scruffy beard wrung out his longish dark hair, huffing with each movement.

“For Christ’s sake!”

Zach, hypnotized by the hard, pink nipples showing through the man’s shirt, suddenly felt the quiet awakening of an ache he hadn’t felt in months. Then came the piercing scream that made his heart pound in his chest. He levelled his gaze at the stranger’s wild apple-green eyes. “Are you all right?”

The guy, rocking back and forth, stopped and looked up. “Sorry. It’s just…” He sighed. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary … can’t they get it right?”

Zach shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“They say warm and sunny, we get wet and cool,” he snapped. “They say rain and windy, we get a goddamn heatwave. And today…” His fingers curled into fists. “I left my umbrella at home this morning because they said there was a freakin’ ten percent chance of rain. Look!” He thrust his right fist towards the glass roof of the bus shelter. “It’s a freakin’ hurricane!”

Zach stared into the intent and probing eyes, the excitement beginning to build again. Then he saw the blackness in them and knew something wasn’t right. But what was he supposed to do? Call the police? They didn’t know each other, and Zach wasn’t sure he cared enough to intervene. He’d heard too many stories about people trying to diffuse a volatile situation and ending up dead. Most of those stories came from his over-protective mother, who didn’t want her little boy talking to strangers. He wasn’t a boy anymore, and his mother was long dead. With someone before him in need, or who at least looked like they were in need, shouldn’t he try to help? “I don’t think it’s an exact science.”

“Science?”

“I mean —”

“It’s not science at all. It’s goddamn voodoo!”

Zach burst out laughing but stopped when he saw the guy’s fiery eyes were trained on him. Then his body went rigid. He remembered the conversation he’d overheard between two of his colleagues about the recent spike in escapes from East 9th Campus, the city’s mental health facility. The last escapee — a tall, dark-haired male — had claimed temporary insanity in the killing of his father. And he hadn’t been caught yet, either. Zach swallowed hard. Is that him? Let it not be him.

Maybe the guy acted ‘crazy,’ but he didn’t look the part. With his face twisted in knots, he looked like a lot of people sprinting through the rain and annoyed at how far off the forecast had been. Even Zach had been caught off guard by the abrupt change in weather. Listening to Junction Morning Live before heading to work, the meteorologist had called for clear, sunny skies. A perfect summer day. That all changed just after lunch when the dark clouds blanketed the city. About ten minutes into his walk home, the threatening skies unleashed their wrath. He whipped out his pocket umbrella, which the fierce winds immediately ripped from his hand and carried off down the street.

Zach checked the time. He’d been holed up in the bus shelter for more than twenty minutes and the rain showed no signs of letting up. He raised his head, and he again found himself staring at the man, who looked critically at him — like he was the enemy that needed to be annihilated. He glimpsed the headlights of the car as it swerved onto the street. It was a taxi with its rooftop light illuminated. Zach moved to the bus shelter entrance to flag it down and bolted for the vehicle when it pulled up to the curb. This was his moment to escape the stranger whose worth he’d been quietly questioning. He was about to open the back door when he spun around. “Can I drop you somewhere?”

“Really?” The word rippled with shock and doubt, and was then swallowed up by the rain pelting the asphalt.

Zach, his wet clothes cool against his skin, didn’t wait for an answer and barrelled into the taxi. He felt resistance as he went to pull the door closed and looked up. Those mesmerizing eyes stared down at him. He slid across the seat. The guy scrambled into the vehicle and offered up an address on Seventh Avenue.

As the cab navigated the city streets, Zach stole sidelong glances of the Adonis slouched back in the seat and staring out the window. What’s he thinking about? Is he all right? Do I really care? He licked his lips, a new vision coming to him. They were stripped down to their underwear and holding each other in a clenching embrace. There was that ache again, gnawing at him.

The car swerved onto Seventh Avenue and came to an abrupt stop in front of a grey stone building. The man edged forward and, after a brief struggle, yanked his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Don’t worry about it.” Zach smiled, trying to dispel the shock and doubt twisted into the guy’s face.

There was a long silence as they stared searchingly at each other.

“Thanks,” was the grunt-like reply, followed by the bang of the door closing.

Ten minutes later Zach, in the front hall of his Hanson Road home, peeled off his wet clothes as he thought about what had just happened and tried to decode its meaning. He felt nauseous. No, that wasn’t it. He was disappointed in himself. He’d wanted to ask the guy’s name but didn’t have the courage. Why? Knowing his name would have forged a bond, made Zach care about his situation and his worth.

Zach wasn’t ready for that.

*          *          *

The computer screen went black, and Zach reached for his grey satchel as he stood. He pushed in his desk chair and stared blindly at the monitor. It didn’t take long for him to be lost in thought of the dark-haired beauty he’d met eight days ago. That was because the guy was all Zach thought about. In his mind, they’d already become the perfect couple with an enduring and unbreakable bond. They confided in each other their dreams and deepest fears. They laughed a lot. They argued, but never held a grudge. At night, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, smiling at how they’d both been saved to a new life sublime. And for Zach, something even more precious. He came to believe in love again.

The sudden outburst of gruff voices and laughter brought Zach back to the present. He slung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and left his office.

“Zach…”

Zach spun around and smirked as Daniel McAndrew strutted towards him. Daniel’s bravado and confidence were all a part of his showmanship. And Zach didn’t buy it. He knew Daniel was a self-conscious, eager-to-please underling working hard to climb the corporate ladder. They both were. Only Zach wasn’t trying so hard. “What’s up, Daniel?”

“It’s Friday,” Daniel said askance and stopped a foot away from Zach. “We’re all heading to Frankie’s for drinks. It’s tradition.”

“Can’t tonight,” Zach said, glancing at his watch. “I have plans.”

“Big date, eh?” Daniel cupped his hand to Zach’s shoulder. “Good for you, man. You’ve got to tell me all about it Monday.”

Zach rolled his eyes as Daniel moved off. That was Daniel looking after his own interests, keeping his eye on the competition. They weren’t best friends, although Daniel made it sound like they were. And Zach wasn’t interested in playing Daniel’s game. God, he’s an asshole, he thought and headed for the elevator.

There were no plans to speak of, no ‘big date.’ Nothing concrete, anyway. But every day Zach left the office, he hoped to run into that guy on his walk home. And if he did, he’d finally ask his name. No more living off crestfallen fantasies. No more living in the past.

Five minutes later, Zach was outside and zigzagging across the plaza towards Main Street. He walked briskly down the sidewalk, dodging around the other pedestrians, like he was on a mission. He was on a mission, sort of. His brief encounter with Daniel had slowed him down, and that wasn’t good. He couldn’t be late. He had to be where he was eight days ago at the exact same time. He was tempting fate, trying to change his life.

He turned onto First Street and the infamous bus shelter came into view. Stay calm. Stay calm. Someone was there, but he was too far away to tell if it was a man or a woman. He kept moving, and soon he realized it was a man. Not just any man. It was him, although he’d changed. The guy’s brown hair was shaved short on the sides, and long and wavy on top. The scruffy beard was gone. And when their eyes met, Zach’s throat constricted. He’d never forget those probing eyes.

“Hi,” the man said.

“Hey…” Zach cleared his throat. “Hello.”

“Evan,” he said, holding out his hand.

Zach gripped the hand, its smooth, velvety feel making him almost swoon. “Zach.”

“I don’t think you expected to see me again,” Evan said at the release of the handshake, the hint of a smirk on his face.

Zach didn’t say anything, just shrugged.

“I’m not sure I’d have remained so calm if I was the one who’d come face-to-face with a crazy man.” Evan’s smirk stretched into a generous smile. “I’m sorry … about what happened. Not exactly my best day.”

Zach opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Really, he didn’t know what to say.

“I wouldn’t know what to say, either. You probably thought I was crazy.” Evan reached into his pocket, pulled out a ten-dollar bill and held it out.

“What’s that for?” Zach asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“That day … the taxi.”

Zach shook his head. “It’s not necessary, really.” He saw the doubt gleam in those eyes, but it quickly ebbed.

“Are you sure?” After a short silence, Evan put the bill away. “Thanks. Not just for the cab fare. Thanks for being nice on a day when it was … a game-changer.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Zach said.

“It was … to me. I mean…” Evan gave a nervous laugh and dropped his head.

Zach shivered at the raw emotion in Evan’s voice. He had to say something, and wanted it to be meaningful. All he came up with was, “You don’t need to explain, not to me.”

Evan looked up. “It’s just been so frustrating lately. You know how the saying goes, something about paving a new road if you don’t like the one you’re on. I don’t know who said it but —”

“Dolly Parton,” Zach interrupted.

“Really?” Evan rolled his shoulders. “Huh.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cut in like that.”

A bus roared up to the curb, and the two men stepped back as the doors opened and a woman got off. Seconds later, the bus groaned as it started to roll away.

“And your new road?” Zach asked cautiously.

“Oh, well…” Evan flicked his eyebrows. “I guess it’s still under construction. I’ve been applying for jobs but I haven’t received one callback. I have a job. I’m a server at The Stables, I just … I have a master’s degree in modern thought and literature. I’m twenty-nine, and I feel like I should be doing something more with my life. Is that crazy? I don’t have any friends. Well, I do, but they’ve all moved to Toronto or Vancouver. I can’t seem to fucking escape Junction. And my mother, God love her, keeps pestering me about settling down and starting a family. It’s not like she doesn’t know that I’m gay. I freakin’ came out to her when I was twenty.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Christ, I don’t know why I’m telling you this or why you’d care. We don’t know each other. But that day … the weather, I don’t know … I’d just reached my breaking point.” He blinked magnificently “Maybe you believe in fate. I don’t know what I believe, but running into you…” He sighed. “I was on my way to Welland Bridge.”

Zach saw the glint of shame on Evan’s smooth face and, one more time, was at a loss for words. Welland Bridge made his body go rigid. Welland Bridge, or Jumpers’ Central as the locals called it, attracted people from all over Southern Ontario and Upstate New York. People who struggled to fit in. People who desperately needed help but had no lifeline. People who thought plunging into the rocky, fast-flowing Moldova River was their only choice. Area residents were always on the lookout for jumpers, eager to prevent the long traffic delays caused every time someone decided to leap. It was mid-July, and the Junction Gazette kept a running tally of the successful jumps since the beginning of the year. The count, up from two days ago, stood at eighteen.

“Now I know you’re thinking this guy must be crazy,” Evan said cheekily, “but I’m not. Crazy, that is. If I’d made it to the bridge, I probably wouldn’t have jumped. I don’t like heights. But that day I was just so … fucking miserable.”

“And now?”

Evan shrugged. “And now what?”

“Are you still miserable?”

“I’m taking it day by day,” Evan said soberly, then checked the time. “Look, I didn’t mean to ramble on. I just wanted to thank you for being kind to me. It’s made me believe that, maybe, there are good people in this world after all.” He wiped away the tear that rolled down his face, then turned to walk away.

“Evan…” Zach waited for Evan to face him again before continuing. “You’re right. We don’t know each other, but fate, if you believe in it, brought us together. How about grabbing a drink? If it sounds crazy —”

“Why?”

“Why —”

“Why would you want to have a drink with me?” Evan asked with an edge.

Zach scrunched his eyebrows. “It might be nice to get to know each other.”

“I said too much,” Evan said quickly. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Wow. I was just trying to be nice.”

“No one’s ever nice to guys like me.”

“I’m starting to see why. It’s hard to be nice to a prick.” Zach started off down the street, turning back once and throwing Evan a look of disbelief.

God, I’m such an idiot, Zach thought when he reached the corner and waited to cross the street. He’d let himself be swept up in some silly fantasy, idolizing a guy he’d met on the street. Was that really how he thought he’d meet his future husband? Was he that desperate for love? The light turned green and Zach stepped off the curb. When he reached the other side of the street, he felt a hand in the centre of his back. He cranked his head to the right, saw Evan, and kept walking.

“Zach…” Evan grabbed Zach’s arm and pulled him off to the side. “I’m sorry. I’m a prick. A world-class prick, actually. You caught me off guard and I didn’t know how to react. I’m not used to —”

“Not used to what?” Zach asked, his voice flat.

“I don’t know.” Evan rubbed his eye. “Someone being interested in me.”

“You’re kidding, right? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

If Zach had a type, Evan hit all the buttons. Tall. Dark-haired. Fit and lean, but not one of those muscle jocks who spent all his time at the gym. A gentle demeanour, for the most part. And most importantly, a tri-cornered smile that had that ache burning inside him.

“I have issues,” Evan said. “You can see that. No one wants to be with a guy who’s —”

“Maybe going through a rough patch?” Zach broke in, placing his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Some days suck. That’s life. And we get through them, like you said, day by day.”

“It’s more than that.”

“So, tell me about it over a drink,” Zach said, his hand falling away. “And maybe, at the very least, we’ve both made a new friend.”

“I probably shouldn’t drink.”

Zach pointed at the Starbucks sign down the street. “Then let’s grab a coffee.”

They stared intently at each other for a moment, then headed to the Starbucks.

Waiting in line, Zach turned to Evan, who flashed him that heart-stopping smile. God, he felt silly when his manhood went hard as steel and slipped his hands into his pockets to conceal it.

They both ordered lattes and, when the drinks were ready, sat at a table in the corner.

“Tell me about your ‘issues,’” Zach said playfully and winked.

“We could be here a while,” Evan said dryly.

“I’m in no rush.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Evan smiled mischievously. “I was sixteen when I was first diagnosed…”

Sipping his drink, Zach listened as Evan spoke, never interrupting. He sat there, his gaze locked on those penetrating eyes, at one point reaching out and placing his hand on top of Evan’s. Then came the shock. He couldn’t believe how intense — despite the details Evan shared of his life and struggles — the ache had become.

What am I doing? This is crazy? But he was hooked, by a stranger no less who’d stirred something inside of him. He couldn’t help but wonder — and hope — if this was the moment he’d finally step out from the shadows of his past.

Or maybe, in the most unexpected way, he’d found his shelter.

Filed Under: Short Stories Tagged With: amwriting, change, communication, contemporary, desperation, fiction, fridayfiction, friendship, grief, lgbt, lgbtq, love, mental health, relationships, self-acceptance, self-love, short stories, shortstory, strangers, suicide, unconditional love, writing

When Love Falls

January 5, 2018 by Marcus Leave a Comment

“I know it sounds crazy,” Sam said, his gaze locked on the duck confit he’d barely touched.

“Sounds crazy?” Nancy asked, the contempt rippling through her usually silvery voice. “It is crazy. And stupid.”

“But what am I supposed to do? I mean, I don’t want —”

“Don’t say it,” Nancy broke in. “Don’t you dare say you don’t want to lose him.”

“I don’t…” Sam looked up, tears banking in his round brown eyes. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“Give me strength, Lord … give me strength.” Nancy turned to her right and swatted at the dark-haired man seated next to her. “Isaac, please … a little help here.”

“Look, Sam…” Isaac rolled his muscular shoulders and didn’t look right at Sam but in his direction. “It’s not that you’ll lose Mark. You’ve already lost him. Deep down, you know it’s true.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but the words clung to the back of his throat. As much as he wanted to protest, he couldn’t. Isaac and Nancy, his friends since university, had always been honest with him … even when it hurt. But he wasn’t ready to give up, to walk out on the man who’d shown him the pathway to love.

“Maybe I should just … give it a try,” Sam said weakly.

“It’s not love,” Nancy said with disgust.

“I’m with Nancy on this.” Isaac finally looked Sam square in the eyes. “It can’t possibly work. And you won’t be happy.”

“If Ron came home,” Nancy said after draining her gin and tonic, “and said he wanted his mistress to move in with us…” She sat back in her chair and threw Sam a knowing look. “He’d be out on his fine ass like that.” She snapped her fingers.

Sam rubbed his eye. “Mark says —”

“He’ll say anything to get you on his side,” Nancy said bluntly. “He’s playing you.”

“He’s not playing me,” Sam spat.

“He’s not…” Nancy’s voice pitched high and, with disbelief blazing in her azure blue eyes, she stood. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.” She slapped Isaac’s arm. “You better have talked some sense into him by the time I get back.”

When Nancy was gone, Isaac shifted into the chair she’d vacated to sit directly across from Sam. “We’re your friends, Sam, and we care about you. We can’t tell you want to do, but…” He reached across the table and briefly held his hand to Sam’s. “Mark cheated on you, and as much as you try to pretend like you’re not fazed by it, you are. I see it. I see the dead in your eyes. And the solution isn’t to let the other man move in.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Sam said, unable to stop the tears streaking down his face.

“Take a stand,” Isaac said. “Put yourself first because you deserve better.”

Nancy, back at the table, slid onto the bench next to Sam and held his hand. Then she trained her gaze at Isaac. “He’d never be in this mess if you had —”

“Don’t go there, Nancy,” Isaac cut in.

“I’m just saying that the two of you…” She pointed to the two men. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Isaac … just tell him.”

Sam pulled his hand out of Nancy’s loose grasp and rubbed his forehead. “What’s she talking about now?”

“Nothing,” Isaac grunted.

“No, no, this has to stop.” Nancy leaned back, her eyes locked on Sam as she pointed at Isaac. “He loves you. He’s always been in love with you.”

“Fuck you, Nancy. Fuck you!” Isaac pushed back his chair and bolted from the table.

Sam turned to Nancy. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Whenever something goes wrong, who do you call first?” Nancy raised an eyebrow. “When your car broke down last month, you called Isaac. When you broke your leg last year, you called Isaac to pick you up from the hospital. When your mother died, who did you call to drive you to the airport?” She made a play for his hand and held it tightly. “And he came … every time to support you. No matter what, no matter, no questions asked. Why didn’t you ever call Mark?”

Sam dropped his head.

Nancy squeezed Sam’s hand, let go and stood. “When you wake up from this nightmare, you’ll see that you deserve better. And you won’t get any better than Isaac. I’m going to find him and sweet-talk my way back into his good graces.” She winked and moved off.

Sam sat there, still, as Nancy’s words reverberated through his thoughts. He loves you. He’s always been in love with you. But that’s crazy. Isaac and me, we’re just… Sam’s body went rigid. Nancy was right. Every time he was in trouble, Isaac had bailed him out. Always. An acidic taste edged its way up his throat. That was a sign of a shift and he knew it. God, I’m such a fool! He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands. His world had just imploded, and he wasn’t sure — when the dust had settled and all the shrapnel had been removed — if he’d survive.

“Sam…”

Sam, slow to uncover his face, recognized that husky voice. He levelled his gaze on the black-haired beauty standing on the other side of the table. “Mark … what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” Mark said, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sam said, surprised by the confidence surging in his voice.

“I love —”

“You don’t love me. If you did, I’d be enough. And your kind of love I can do without.” Sam stood and started to walk away.

“Sam, don’t —”

Sam surprisingly found himself flipping Mark the bird.

Maybe he’d survive this after all.

Filed Under: Short Stories Tagged With: amwriting, betrayal, brokenheart, fiction, flashfiction, friendship, gayfiction, indieauthors, love, mmromance, read, romance, shortstory, story

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