Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) (2 page)

M
usic plays in the background
, a guitar riff and a guy with a loud, high-pitched voice who sounds like he’s trying to scream over the music.

It’s totally not my gig, but for the six to eight hours that I’m at the bar, I don’t have much choice other than to listen to whatever they have playing.

It’s a straight bar, a shabby, rundown place in an alley in Hollywood that’s often filled with the kind of people my mom would have partied with if she were still around. Working here serves its purpose so I stick around.

My shift ended a few minutes ago. I’m chillin’ at a small, two-person table at the end of the bar that we use sometimes for breaks and things like that. Leaning over the back of the chair, I continue sketching long lines and perfect squares in my sketchbook. It’s a simple building, this one, with a plane flying overhead.

There’s a bump against my chair making it move about two inches. “Why do you always turn your chair backward to sit in it?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I roll my eyes at Conner. His short, dark hair is kind of spiky, and he has this happy fucking grin that Conner always has.

We’re the only two people who work here that are under the age of thirty, so we talk to each other more than we talk to everyone else. Not that I talk to anyone much. “Why you always so worried about what I’m doing? Something you wanna tell me?” I tease him, but Conner doesn’t take the bait. He’s straight, but knows I’m gay. Everyone I work with does, because if there’s one thing I won’t do anymore, it’s lie about who I am.

Conner grabs the other chair and turns it around the wrong way. Cocking a brow at him I nod toward it, but he ignores me. “Why are you always drawing buildings? Never a fucking tree, or a bird, or shit like that. Always buildings.”

I flip the books closed. I hate it when people look at my shit. “A tree or a bird? You want me to draw you a tree or a bird? I will.” Really, I won’t. That’s not my thing. For me it’s not about drawing as much as it’s about buildings. I love them—thinking about how they’re put together. There’s something about big-ass buildings of different shapes and designs that calls to me. That’s none of his business, though.

“No, but you can draw me a naked chick with big old titties.”

Conner laughs and I roll my eyes at him. “Crazy motherfucker.”

“You got naked dudes in there? You play it off like you’re drawing the fucking Wells Fargo building or something, but I bet it’s really full of dick and ass.”

And, that’s about enough of him. Conner’s an all right guy but he’s overwhelming as hell sometimes. I’m definitely not talking to him about dick and ass, even though I’m quite fond of both. That conversation needs to be saved for someone who wants my dick in their ass or the other way around.

I stand up. “On that note, I’m out of here. Was waiting for the bus, but it should be there soon.” After picking up my beanie, I slide it on my head and then reach for my sketchbook.

“Don’t run off. I’m giving you shit. What are you doing tonight? Want to go out and have a beer or something?”

There’s not a chance of the drinking thing happening for me. My stomach rolls at the thought. My throat burns like I swallowed acid. “Why would you go somewhere to have a beer when we work at a bar?”

“Because we both know this isn’t the kind of bar we’d want to hang out in.”

Little does he know, I don’t hang out in bars at all. It’s not that I
won’t
be around alcohol, obviously since I work here, but I don’t drink. Not at all. Seen what it can do, and don’t plan on that being something Mom passes down to me. Working here, seeing the regulars with their everyday drinks, reminds me of what I won’t let myself become. “Nah, I’m good,” I finally say, answering Conner’s question.

“You’re such a fucking bastard, Lucas. You never hang out. You think you’re too good?” His question is said with a playful tone, but I know he’s partially serious. Not that he believes I think I’m too good, but this isn’t the first time he’s asked me to do something, yet I haven’t said yes once. “Dude, come out and get drunk with me,” he adds.

There are a lot of things I should be doing with my life that I’m not. My mom had simple wishes for me—stay sober, go to college, make something of my life, don’t be like her, and be happy.

I’m still waiting for most of those wishes to come true. Staying sober is the only one I’ve always known I would make happen. “No. I don’t think I’m too good and I’m not going to go get drunk with you. I have shit to do. I come in at noon tomorrow. Do you work?”

Conner frowns, but doesn’t argue with my decision to head home. “Yeah, I come in at two. I’ll see you later, man.” He holds out his fist and I bump it with my own, even though that’s always felt like such a lame thing to do.

“Cat’cha later,” I tell him before sticking my sketchbook under my arm and making my way to the door. It’s mid-seventies out, and blue skies like it always is in Southern California. I like it when I work early and get off at a decent time. The sunshine and perfect weather is what made Mom move to California in the first place, only we were in a shithole in Riverside County. I think Mom and I thought being anywhere in Southern California would be like fucking Disneyland or something. California was going to be this magical land where all the problems we had in Michigan disappeared.

It was a fucking joke. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changes.

People fuck up. People hurt. People let you down. It’s like the domino effect—one choice from someone else knocks the next person down, and then they slam into the one after them, and so on. After all the pieces crumble, all you can do is pick yourself back up and try to make up for pummeling the person behind you.

Even though she’s gone, I’m still trying to make up for my screw-ups, though probably not as hard as I should.

“Got any change?” a guy asks when I get to the bus stop. I reach my hand in my pocket and give him two quarters, a nickel and three pennies. It’s the only change I have, but I don’t need it as much as he does. I know what it feels like not to have anything.

He says thanks and walks away. As people move around me, going about their day, I wonder if any of them are
him
. It’s fucking ridiculous, and a waste of time to still think about Gabriel all these years later, to picture him in other guys I see strolling down the street.

He was my domino. He knocked me down and disappeared.

I owe him for that. If I ever do see him, it’ll be me doing the slamming—my fist against his face.

“
G
Man
,” Lou calls to me. “Coming out for a drink with the crew? Different place called Pete’s. It’s Friday, so you need to get your ass in gear and start packing up your tools.”

I’m sitting on a beam on the thirty-fifth floor with my iPod blaring, bolting a cleat into the adjacent strut as reinforcement for the new frame. I have a decent view from up here, even though another building is obstructing my line of sight from the very center of town. As usual, the weather is perfect, even though my feet are sweating from these steel-toed construction boots, but I’m used to it by now. “Sounds good. Right behind you.”

As soon as I turn off my tunes, I hear the din of laughter and a few catcalls from down below. Some of these guys act like fucking apes to the women walking by. It might be a long-standing tradition, but it’s a shitty one. Makes them look like assholes and I’m pretty damn sure it makes the ladies feel on edge.

The foreman blows the whistle, signaling the end of the workday and I hear a cheer from the guys. They’re pumped for their weekend off. The single dudes will probably drink beer and watch a ball game, or maybe try to get laid. The married guys will attend some event or another with their kids. I’ll probably do my schoolwork and if I’m lucky, get laid, too. More than likely, I’ll end up on some gay porn site with my dick in my hand, rubbing one out. Same old, same old.

I certainly won’t find a hookup in this straight rundown joint they’re lugging me to, a couple blocks down the road. But it’ll feel good to knock back a couple of beers. Especially since I’m feeling more like myself lately. My body isn’t dragging so much anymore and I’m waking up before the alarm more days than not.

“First round is on me.” As soon as we’re through the door, I head up to the noisy bar. Most of the stools are taken, so I squeeze between two attractive ladies who I can feel are sizing me up. I get this a bit from men and women, if I’m being honest. Probably because I look like the typical California surfer dude with my blond hair and bronze skin. If I wasn’t sporting heavy work boots and a flannel shirt, of course.

Outside of one brick wall, the bar appears inundated with wood badly in need of a good polish. The chairs, tables, and even the booths lining the perimeter need some shine. The only other color in this place comes from the bottles of liquor on display and a blinking beer sign in every corner.

I lift my hand and when the bartender finally turns and heads in my direction, a gasp escapes my throat. My entire body becomes numb—from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet.

The bartender places his forearms on the edge of the bar top so he can lean over to hear me better. “What can I get you?”

He doesn’t fucking recognize me. Maybe it’s not him. No, it’s got to be him. My gaze scans all around his face. The dark curls at his forehead, piercing green eyes, full lips, the small, jagged scar alongside his right eye.

“Are you…” My throat is so damn tight, it’s hard to speak. “Lucas?”

His brows knit together, yet his eyes still stare vacantly at me. In the photos we shared on-line, my hair was buzzed short. I’ve let it grow out since then and it’s blonder from working in the sun. My skin is darker as well and I’ve definitely filled out more. I’m no longer the skinny pimpled-faced kid who was desperate to make an on-line connection in that chat room.

“Who wants to know?” Lucas asks, his voice hooking me like thorns. It’s deep and gravelly, not at all how I imagined it. But better. So much better.

As we stare each other down, I can see his brain working, scrambling to understand where he might know me from. Damn, it’s like I’ve been erased from his memory or something, which fucking sucks.

Some dude behind me complains about the slow service and springs me into action. “Uh, can I get two pitchers of Bud?” I ask and then add, “
Lucas
.”

“How the hell do you know my name?” he asks as he holds up a finger to a waiting customer down the bar. “You been in here before?”

I shake my head. “No, man. I’m…”

And all at once he looks completely thunderstruck. His hand comes up to swipe across his mouth as a line of red washes across his neck and cheeks and ears.

“Gabriel,” he fills in the blank. “Holy fuck, you’re Gabriel.”

I nod vigorously, as I grip the edge of the bar to steady my trembling fingers.

“You came,” I blurt out, sounding like some over-excited kid. “You’re here, in Hollywood.”

“Not because of you,” Lucas bites out, his lip curling into a sneer, his fists tightening at his sides. He’s pissed at me. So fucking pissed. And I get it. Without question. As far as he knows I ditched him for no reason. And I did—ditch him, in a way—but I had a reason.

“I’ll get your order,” he says as I duck my head, shame coloring my cheeks.

As he walks to the middle of the bar, I can’t stop my entire body from shuddering. Lucas is here. Right the fuck in front of me. He’s so damn mad about how things went down. How I left him dangling, my life a complete disaster at the time.

But fuck, he’s beautiful. His ass molds to those faded jeans and his arms are built, like maybe he lifts weights or is used to carrying heavy boxes. His waist is lean and I can just picture those shoulder muscles beneath that tight T-shirt.

I thread my fingers through the front of my long bangs, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden about my appearance. I’ve been wearing a hard hat and sweating my ass off all day. I must look like some perspiring wrecking ball. But what does it matter if he doesn’t even want to talk to me?

He heads back my way clutching two pitchers full of beer, and my heart is thrashing in my chest as I try thinking of something else to say to him. Anything that might sum up what seeing him means to me.

Lucas doesn’t know how constant thoughts of him got me through that stint of treatment. He doesn’t even know I’ve
been
in treatment. Or how I still dreamt of meeting him someday. Hoping we could somehow navigate our way through life together.

He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but I can tell he wants to as his gaze darts everywhere around the periphery of me. His mind must be reeling as well.

“Lucas, I—”

“I’m busy, bro,” he says, voice clipped. When his eyes slide reluctantly up to mine, I nearly melt from his penetrating gaze. So many warring emotions are there. Anger and shock tempered by a hairsbreadth glimpse of fondness and warmth. At least I hope so on those last two. It gives me a flicker of hope, even though what he says next is fucking harsh. “Ain’t got no time for you.”

And then he walks away. I can hear the guys laughing at the center tables behind me, but all I want to do is stand here for hours on end and drink him in.

M
y chest is tight
. My breath comes out in quick, short gasps. I imagine this is what it feels like to have a panic attack, which is fucking ridiculous because not only have I never had one, but all I did is lay eyes on the guy.

Gabriel.

I just saw Gabriel. The urge to hit him is still there, but then there’s something else blended in with the anger. It starts on the edges, singed corners of a burned piece of paper that spreads farther and farther until it burns up. I want to ask him, Why? What happened? Even if he changed his mind about coming out, we could have still spoken. If he wasn’t ready, I wouldn’t have pushed him. Or hell, even if he wanted nothing to do with me, didn’t I deserve more than years of silence? He dropped me like the year we spent talking was nothing.

It was all I could think about, wonder about. Had something happened to him? Did he get tired of all my shit? Hearing about my problems?

When I checked my email after six months in juvie, there’d still been nothing…and that’s when I’d needed him the most. When I’d needed
someone.
So fuck him for not being there. Fuck him for turning up now.

“Luke. You okay, man? You’re pale as fuck.” Conner puts a hand on my shoulder, but I jerk it away. He flinches, hurt briefly flashing in his eyes. Shit. I don’t mean to be an asshole to him, but I can’t force myself to do anything about it either.

“I…I gotta go. I’ll be back in fifteen. I need a break.”

It’s pretty steady for it being so early in the evening, and I shouldn’t be leaving, but I’ll lose my fucking mind if I don’t get a minute away.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you need.” I’m already walking away before Conner gets the last word out. I make my way down the circular bar, all the stools around it filled. My left knee bumps into one of the lower shelves as I round the corner, making bottles clank together.

I ignore it. Ignore everything as I slip out, walking around people and round tables scattered across the room, until I hit the door with a keypad that heads to the back, and the break room. My fingers fucking tremble as I press the code in. Jesus, what is my problem? I’m acting like I’m crazy just because I saw some guy I used to talk to as a kid.
The first person who ever knew I was gay. The guy who I thought was my only real friend.
But he hadn’t been, had he?

My feet keep moving until I lock myself in the Employees Only bathroom. The first thing I do is splash water on my face as though that’s going to change a damn thing. Oh, hey, my face is wet. That means Gabriel didn’t drop me like a bad habit five years ago, and I didn’t lose my shit just now because I saw him.

The water still runs as I grip the edges of the porcelain sink and stare into the small, square mirror above it. I see the anger there, the fire blazing in my own eyes, hiding hurt beneath.

For years I wondered if I’d ever see him, silently knowing that I wouldn’t. I’d told myself it wouldn’t matter if I did. Fuck him. He’s nothing to me, the way I was nothing to him. There hadn’t been a part of me that anticipated this—the tremble in my hands and the memories trying to work their way to the surface of my brain.

I’d trusted him, when I didn’t let myself trust anyone.

I’d depended on his friendship.

I’d needed him, when I didn’t let myself need anyone, and he hadn’t been there.

As though I’m on autopilot, I look away from the mirror. Turn off the water. Lean against the bathroom wall. Slide down it until I’m on my ass, knees up and feet on the floor.

Closing my eyes, I fill my lungs with the sour-smelling air of the bathroom, before slowly letting it out again. I do that a few times with each breath in, telling myself it’s over, in the past. With each breath out, I remind myself I don’t need anyone. Seeing Gabriel doesn’t mean shit.

I push to my feet, pull my beanie out of my back pocket and pull it down on my head before walking out of the bathroom, over letting myself act weak.

My eyes shift, glancing over to where Gabriel had been sitting. He’s not there. For a brief second, I wonder where he went before I remind myself I don’t give a shit.

Apparently he doesn’t either because he doesn’t make an appearance for the rest of the night. Just like when we were kids, he’s gone.

“Are you doing okay?” Conner asks when the bar closes for the night and we’re cleaning up.

“Yep. Thought I saw a ghost, is all.”

He frowns, but I don’t stick around for him to ask any questions. I finish doing what I have to do before clocking out and leaving for the night.

I use the back door, which leads into the alley. As soon as the heavy metal closes behind me, I see him. He’s sitting on the dirty-ass ground in the same position I was in the bathroom earlier.

Gabriel scrambles to his feet, brushing his ass off with his hands. My first thought is that he’s fucking gorgeous. He grew up nice. His hair is blonder, longer in the front. He runs his hands through that chunk of hair and licks his lips like he’s nervous, and all I can think is that I used to wonder if Gabriel would be my first kiss. The first time I kissed a guy at least. I’d been a kid. A stupid fucking kid who tried to pretend I didn’t live in my reality. Like some rich kid from San Diego who I met online would change my life. Like it wouldn’t mean I wasn’t the drunk’s kid. The kid who sold weed, stole, and got into trouble. I pretended Gabriel and I would meet like we were in some lame-ass movie, and we’d kiss and everything would be okay, but the truth is, I can’t count on other people for shit like that. If I want something to be okay, I make it okay myself.

I take a step toward him, then another and another. The anger is back, my chest a boiler room, full of blazing-hot steam. My right hand balls into a fist before I reach him.

My brain is shut off, my vision firmly holding on to the boy I used to want to kiss, but who now makes me see red.

“Lucas…I…”

My arm pulls up, back, and then I let my fist fly. Pain shoots through my hand as my fist connects with his face. Gabriel stumbles backward, his hand jerking up to cover his bleeding lip.

“You done?” he asks, before holding his arms open. “Wanna hit me again? Will that make you feel better?”

My brain stumbles at his response. His lip is swelling. He runs his tongue over it, but doesn’t drop his arms. Doesn’t move. “I don’t know. Maybe I should give it a try and see if it’ll help.” But it won’t help, I know it won’t. “Fuck.” I turn away from him, try to run a hand through my hair but remember I have my beanie on. Dropping my head down, I press the heels of my hands to my forehead. This isn’t how I imagined things going if I ever saw him again. He’s ancient history, a short part of it that I buried deep, a long time ago.

Still, it’s like my insides are shaking. My brain wants to run wild, opening doors to my past that I try to pretend aren’t there.

I let my hands fall to my sides, look up at the sky, and yell, “Fuck!”

Is it like this for everyone?
I wonder. The first person they let in, is it like they permanently have a hold of them? Are they eternally engraved into their worlds?

I knew Gabriel a year—if you can even call it knowing him—but it feels like my past, so many of the things that formed who I am are so damn intertwined with the man standing behind me, it’s a jolt of electricity to my heart and mind. My wiring is going erratic and I can’t get it under control. I don’t even know the first way to try.

G
abriel
,

My mom is working a graveyard shift at the restaurant tonight (did I tell you that? She took a part-time job at a restaurant along with her other job at the bar). That’s what she said, at least. I want to believe her. She’s been clean for two months now, but damn it’s so hard. If I don’t believe, don’t get my hopes up, the disappointment won’t crush me alive when she falls off the wagon.

It’s two in the morning. I thought about walking down to the restaurant to see if she’s there, but if she’s not, and I know it, it will only hurt both of us. It kills her to hurt me. I see it every time it happens, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

I wonder why it’s so much easier to talk to you about stuff like this. I’ve never told anyone else about it. Do you think it’s because we don’t really know each other? Maybe it’s because all we do is talk on the computer, so that makes it less real? It feels real, though.

Anyway, I’m being a downer. I don’t want to talk about that shit. I got suspended from school for a week, did I tell you that? One more “incident” as they call it, and I’m expelled. Mom will go nuts. She’s always telling me I have to do well in school, so I can be better than she is.

So…I’m curious…how old were you when you realized that you liked boys instead of girls? Part of me wonders if I always knew.

Okay, I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you later.

Oh, it might be a couple days between emails for a while. Mom said the Internet is getting shut off again. I’m gonna try and sell some shit to make a little extra cash to get it turned on again. I’ll go to the library to message when I can.

We got this.

Lucas