Angel Box Set

Chapter 2-2

The phone clamoured. Jay refused to move, waiting for the answering machine to kick in, grateful he used one to vet calls. Despite not wanting to talk to anyone, he strained to listen. The voice…Not Dean’s. Good thing.

He still didn’t pick up, sat frozen in front of his computer screen. Talk required too much effort. Amazing how avoiding someone tired a person. Dean’s calls bordered on harassment. Jay welcomed what appeared to be a sudden ceasefire, the end to a volley of texts, voice mail, messages on the machine, and all those things in any combination, two, three times a day, every day this week. Dean’s last message lasted the entire two minutes the contraption permitted, during which he apologised, expressing the importance of Jay allowing him to explain. What did Dean believe he could say? The man was an arse-wipe, to use his sister’s favourite expression—had wiped out a long-standing friendship in less than a minute.

Jay accepted some blame. Snapping, poking at Dean, quoting stupid things, even hissing, as good as spitting, spittle spraying with utter rage…Not Jay’s way. Stupid. Dean reacted badly to threats. Still, this was a straw and camel’s back incident—for a time there in the garage Jay believed Dean would object. He should have told the dickhead…What was his name? Martin? Mark? Michael? All Dean needed to do was tell the cretin to shut the f**k up. He could have used milder phrases, told him and the other men to stop clowning around. Jay would have accepted Dean walking away, anything. Instead, he’d laughed along with them.

At Jay’s expense.

Not that Dean made it seem easy. Jay read the clues, Dean’s anger transparent. Even his not doing a thing, Jay would have forgiven, to a point. Sure, throwing hateful words and sarcastic comments hadn’t helped but…Seriously? A kiss? Was Dean’s ego so big he needed to prove his ability even if it meant kissing another man?

If only I hadn’t whimpered.

Had Dean heard?

Jay groaned, sinking forward. Head on the desk, he closed his eyes. Darkness enveloped him—pleasant, muffling the world, offering an illusion of safety. For a few seconds.

The memory of the kiss lingered. When yanked off his feet, he’d believed Dean would shake him, if not hit. In the aftermath, he’d have preferred physical pain. Dean shook him, all right…at his core.

Before, the single memory he’d endured consisted of a warm press of lips, Dean flinching back, soft blue eyes opening wide, expression startled, a self-deprecating laugh. “s**t, I thought you were your sister. What are you doing going around looking like a tart?”

Not amusing since Dean implied Jay’s sister went around with the come-hither fashion sense of a cheap stereotype. Three years before, April gave Dean a worse ticking off than any Jay could remember for implying her appearance made her a streetwalker. Also for trying to kiss her without invitation even if, as he claimed, he acted in fun; even though he failed and made a laughing stock out of himself—a fact she perpetuated by passing around the details.

Jay agreed with her—except for the gossip. Good thing he was out of the closet, for it irked Jay a little to think April never contemplated how spreading the story affected him. By the time she asked whether he minded, she’d already told at least one or two friends. Half-c****d, as always. Unable to tell her Dean devastated him with a kiss Jay had never let on how her actions added to his upset.

Dean’s lips against his, Jay enveloped by all his hardness and heat. Weeks passed before he acknowledged it would never happen again…until now, three years later, it had. Notions ran through his mind of a wrapped gift revealing an empty box; a flower wilting the moment he picked it, a promise given by a person incapable of keeping it.

Why had Dean kissed him, and why like that? Drawing on his desire, pulling at his mouth, sucking his breath out along with all his emotions, reminding Jay of all he’d ever felt.

If only Dean had sucked out everything, pulled every particle of feeling from his being, instead of breathing something back in—like air on the embers of a fire leaving Jay to burn, to melt. If only humans were able to install their own firewalls.

The memory of the kiss brought pain and desperation as well as desire long suppressed in prayer and false hope. To ignore his emotions was a pointless workout. Jay loved Dean. He even knew why. He didn’t want to. Loving Dean did him no good. Life was unfair. Accepted. Understood. Jay didn’t need the universe to prove the concept daily. His adolescent need should have worn off.

As children, Dean trailed after April while Jay lingered in the shadows, wishing Dean would become aware of him, hoping he wouldn’t, dismayed, and relieved Dean had no clue Jay viewed him the way Dean regarded Jay’s sister. No one else noticed. Not even April for a long time. Not until they grew and Jay’s desires deepened did April observe him as if she knew. He lived with the dread of confrontation, knowing the moment would come because April…was April. She never left things alone. The only way was to underplay his emotions, so he pretended indifference, at times believing the lie. He attributed his feelings as those he would experience for any stunning man. Even April was unable to deny Dean was gorgeous. The sole issue April made about Jay being gay was by being patronising in the unique way only April knew how—assuring Jay he would meet the right someone one day.

Jay folded his lips together taking them into his mouth, pressing with his teeth. April meant well, but he didn’t need telling. He despised Dean leaving for college, relieved when he left.

“It was better when you weren’t here.”

Jay spoke aloud, accepting this as the truth. As much as he loved having Dean back in his life, as great as he had missed the man, Dean’s leaving enabled Jay to get on with his life.

Now…Dean had made an arse of himself but worse, he’d made an arse of Jay. The accidental kiss—the first one—Jay forgave. The memory of the second kiss made Jay’s stomach roil, his head hurt, his heart gallop. When he focused on the memory, he failed to catch his breath and grew hard. Whatever his head told him, his anatomy declined to notice.

Still, Jay wanted to forgive Dean. No—he wanted to rewind to a time where there was nothing to excuse, to a moment where he imagined finding someone one day, still able to smile at Dean, to share a celebratory toast to their friendship and mean it. Maybe Dean would have found someone, too, and maybe Jay would have been pleased for him. Maybe they could have remained good friends.

Now, Jay wanted to strangle him. He wanted Dean to live a life where women and men both shunned him, and his d**k fell off from disuse or disease. Yes, that—the d**k falling off thing!

Jay raised his head, licking his lips, swallowing. He sat up and blinked, familiar surroundings, now alien. This was unhealthy. He must clear his head. He needed air. Any place where Dean couldn’t interfere while Jay learned to accept Dean might as well tattoo t**t on his forehead.