Aria (22 page)

The next week was uneventful. Sam took nearly every afternoon off from work, and Aiden practiced while Sam was gone. By the time the week was over, they’d settled into a bit of a routine, and Sam began to relax. Aiden, too, seemed more comfortable than he’d been on previous visits.

Sunday came far too soon. Sam would be prepping for trial starting the next morning, so they decided on takeout and a movie. It was a wonderful evening. He sat with Aiden’s head in his lap, Aiden curled up like an oversized cat on the couch, wearing only a pair of sweats. Sam stroked Aiden’s bare skin throughout the movie. By the end, he realized he’d barely been aware of the movie at all. All he could think of was fucking Aiden into the sheets.

Aiden rolled onto his back as the credits rolled. He gazed up at Sam with an evil grin. “Bed?”
“God, I thought you’d never ask,” Sam told him.
“You have no idea how the movie ended, do you?”
“Nah. I’ve been fantasizing about what I’d do to you since they all died in the storm.”
“You’re a callous bastard, Samuel Ryan.”
“No, just horny as hell. I’m not used to having you home. It’s a little like Christmas every day,” Sam admitted.
“Then you’ll have to unwrap me.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I think you said something about bed?”
Aiden grabbed Sam’s arm in response and began to pull him toward the bedroom. Not that Sam needed much encouragement. Five minutes later they were both naked and Sam was sucking happily on Aiden’s hard cock and stretching him with lubed fingers.
“Shit, Sammy,” Aiden groaned as Sam increased the suction. “You’re merciless. Oh… fuck! I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”
“Good,” Sam said as he came up for air. “Then I’ll have to make you come again with me inside of you.” He liked that idea a lot. It was only about nine, so he figured they had plenty of time.
The suggestion was, apparently, all the encouragement Aiden needed. He spilled into Sam’s mouth and hung on to Sam for dear life. Yes, he could definitely get used to this. He thought vaguely about Stacey’s suggestion that he travel with Aiden. Maybe she was right. What harm could it do to ask? Even a few more weeks together each year would be great.
I’ll ask him tomorrow.
He thought of Nick and how they’d spent nearly every night together, occasionally watching TV, mostly reading books or playing Scrabble. Sometimes they ended up having sex, but more often they ended up in bed together just spooning and talking about everything and nothing at all.
Sam realized this was what he’d been missing with Aiden gone so often: spending time hanging out. No plans, no rushing, no thinking about the fact that Aiden would be leaving soon. Not that the sex wasn’t something he missed—he’d spent more than a few nights jacking off, trying to imagine Aiden’s hand on his cock—but it was only part of the mix. In spite of the rocky start to the visit, he’d noticed how Aiden relaxed as the week went on. Things were easier between them. Natural. It was, Sam realized, the way he’d felt with Nick when they’d been together. Comfortable. Reassuring. Warm.
Before long, Sam thrust into Aiden from behind, his body slapping against Aiden’s ass while Aiden stroked himself. It was a heady feeling, having sex like this. The unrestrained, physical sex where Sam let himself go—let himself feel without thinking about it.
“Oh fuck. Nick!” Sam cried out as he came, digging his fingers into Aiden’s hips so he wouldn’t fall over. The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he’d said. Ice crept through his body, starting at his hands and working its way to his chest, where it settled in and clawed at him. In the instant it took him to recover, he felt Aiden tense beneath him.
“Christ. Aiden. I didn’t mean…. I didn’t realize what I—”
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Aiden. No. Wait!” But Aiden was gone, and when Sam went after him, he found the bathroom door locked.

A
IDEN sat on the hard tile floor of the shower, letting the water fall on him, knees pulled against his chest. He wasn’t crying. He was numb. For a moment he’d wondered if he’d imagined that Sam had called him Nick. At least until Sam confirmed it for him.

Fucking hell.
He’d thought things were going better between them since the blowup over Becca. They’d been talking—really talking—about the things that were important to them. Sam’s pride in the firm he and Stacey had built. Sam’s love for his family, about overcoming his fears and coming out to them, knowing he might lose them in the admission. Aiden’s last visit home and the confrontation with his father. The sense of loss he still felt knowing he couldn’t ever go home again. His love of performing and how it made him feel when he was on stage, lost in the music and the role. Had it all been bullshit?
He didn’t mean to say it.
In spite of the rational side of him that believed this, he felt dirty.
Shit.
Sex had been the one thing that had always been good between them, and now…. He’d scrubbed himself three times and he still felt dirty.
“You’re worthless. You disgust me,”
his father had told him when he’d done nothing to deny the rumors of his bisexuality that had made their way to Fenton.
“I always knew you’d let your mother down. You’re lucky I’ll never tell her about this. It would kill her.”
In spite of everything, he’d never once felt any of the guilt his father had wished upon him. He’d never felt anything but confident in his sexuality. Until now. He knew this had nothing to do with his father, but he couldn’t push the thought out of his brain: that there was no real love to be found in his attraction to men, that it was the perversion he’d been taught it was since he was a kid. He’d fallen in love only twice, and each time, he’d only gotten himself hurt.
He heard the knock on the door but he ignored it. He didn’t want to talk to Sam. The wound was far too fresh coming on the heels of what had happened with Becca.
Maybe tomorrow.
He stood up and washed himself one more time, then shut off the water and toweled off.
When Aiden walked back into the bedroom, Sam was sitting up in bed, waiting. “Aiden, I can’t tell you how sorry—”
“Don’t sweat it, Sammy,” he said nonchalantly. “Shit happens. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“But—”
“I’m tired. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” That these were nearly the same words he’d said a little over a week before was not lost on him. Still, it was the truth—he
was
tired. He needed to think about things with a clear head.

S
AM awoke with a headache, having slept right through his alarm. It was nine o’clock and he had a meeting with a client at ten. Aiden was still asleep, no doubt having slept as badly as he had. Sam was in and out of the shower in five minutes. He shaved so quickly he nicked himself several times. Ten minutes later, he was out the door and hailing a cab at the corner—there was no time to walk to the office this morning.

He went about his work in a daze, but not because of lack of sleep. He felt terrible, and he couldn’t figure out what to do to make the situation with Aiden any better.
What can you possibly say to take it back?
The question dogged him all day, and he still had no idea how to answer it.

Late afternoon he caught himself staring at the computer monitor and the photograph he’d saved as wallpaper. A photograph of Aiden at the coast, dressed in a wetsuit, his hair sopping wet. Their trip to the coast felt like an eternity ago.

The intercom buzzed, bringing him back to reality with a start. “Mr. Ryan?”
“What’s up, Peggy?”
“Call for you. Line six. Judge Altman.”
Great.
The last thing he needed now was the bad news about the magistrate job. “Thanks, Peggy.” He picked up the receiver. “Your Honor, always a pleasure.”
“It’s Jacob. But I’ll let it slide, Sam, seeing as I’m calling during business hours.” Sam could hear the smile in the judge’s words. “But since I know you’re busy, I’ll keep it brief. The judges have met to discuss your candidacy for the magistrate position. The decision was nearly unanimous. We’d like to offer you the position.”
Sam took a deep breath to steady himself. “I’m honored.”
“I realize you may need some time to think this over. How long do you think you might need? Two, maybe three weeks?”
“Two weeks would be fine, sir.” Aiden would be going back to Europe in less than two weeks, so Sam would need to make a decision by then, anyhow. “And thank you. I’m honored you’d—”
“You’re the best man for the job, Sam. We’d be lucky to have you.”
“Thank you. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can.”
“I look forward to it,” Judge Altman said. “And if there’s anything I can do to help you make your decision, please give me a call.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Jacob.”
“Jacob,” Sam repeated. “Thank you.” Stunned, he leaned back in his chair. He was thrilled, of course. And yet he had no idea what to do. He hadn’t expected it. He’d pushed the whole thing out of his mind; he’d assumed he wouldn’t be offered the job. And Aiden….
How do you talk to Aiden about this when you’re barely speaking to each other?

H
E LEFT the office around seven. He’d finished what he’d needed to get done, he just hadn’t wanted to go home at six. He was still clueless as to what to say to Aiden.
I’m sorry
didn’t seem to cut it.
I was a complete asshole
might be a start. By the time he got home, it was nearly eight. He’d stopped by a corner deli on the walk home and picked up a bouquet of flowers. Better than walking in empty-handed. Maybe Aiden would take pity on him and they could move on. Maybe.

Aiden was sitting in the living room listening to music. Not the usual jazz or rock, but a string quartet. Mozart, perhaps? Sam was getting better at the “guess the composer” game, but he still needed a lot of practice. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem. I’m sure things were busy today.”
“A little.” A lie, really, but Sam figured it was easier than telling Aiden the truth—that he’d been a complete mess at work. He’d wait until later to tell Aiden about the job. “Becca around?”

“She left about an hour ago. She’s got a date. Some guy from work.”
“Seriously?” Sam wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “I guess it’s natural that she’d date.”
“I guess.” Aiden’s voice sounded flat. Defeated.
“These are for you.” Sam handed Aiden the flowers.
“They’re lovely. Thanks, Sam.” That smile again. The unreadable one. Sam wondered what was going on behind the placid expression. Was Aiden angry?
Of course he is. Wouldn’t you be pissed to hell?
“Look,” Sam said, keenly uncomfortable now, “I’m going to change out of my suit. Back in a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure.”
Sam hesitated, then walked down the hallway to the bedroom. He pulled off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair by the door. That’s when he noticed the suitcases against the wall. For a brief instant, he wondered if Aiden had taken them out of the closet to get to something behind them. But when he lifted the closest one, he realized they were full. Packed. Overcome with fear, he strode back out into the living room and asked, “What’s up with the suitcases?”
“Oh, right,” Aiden said. “I got a call from Chuckie. He told me the rehearsals for
Il Trovatore
are starting a week early. Seems the conductor has a conflict, and they had to shuffle the schedule around. I’ve got a flight around lunchtime tomorrow.”
Sam wasn’t sure why he didn’t feel relieved to hear this.
At least he didn’t say, “I’m moving out.”
“That’s terrible. I was enjoying having you around.”
Aiden stood up and put his arms around Sam, then kissed him lightly on the lips. “I know. I was enjoying it too. My flight leaves first thing in the morning. I was thinking maybe we could go out to dinner tonight. Maybe the Korean place over near Front Street?”
“Aiden, I—”
“Shh, Sammy. No worries. We all do stupid shit sometimes. It was an honest mistake. You were with him a long time.”
Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re not angry with me?”
“I’m a little hurt,” Aiden admitted, “but I’m okay.”
“All right. If you’re sure….”
“I’m sure. Now why don’t you get out of that suit, and we can get some food.”

A
IDEN sat on the airplane the next day, staring out at the thick bank of clouds that blocked the view of the water below. He’d left for the airport far earlier than he needed. He hadn’t wanted to draw out his good-byes with Sam. It was easy to rationalize the entire thing and even easier to rationalize having lied. He’d lied about the change in his rehearsal schedule. He’d lied about being fine with Sam calling him Nick. He hadn’t really lied about understanding how Sam might call him that, though. He knew why Sam had done it.

Because he loved Nick. Because he
still
loves Nick, and there’s no way in fucking hell I’ll ever be able to replace him. I can’t even come close.

There was no denying that he was running away. Then again, he was tired of trying to make things work. It was better to take some time off from the relationship. He’d be back again in less than two months. By then he’d figure out what to do about things. Or maybe Sam would make it easy for him and tell him to move out. He still kept some things at David’s place in London. It wouldn’t be too painful.