Page 25 of Out of the Storm

And Jeff went home to be alone.

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Later that night, once Jeff had finished scrubbing the stink of rotting trash from his skin, he mixed himself a whiskey sour and climbed into bed to listen to WKBR. Throwing back a third of his cocktail in one swig, Jeff’s stomach clenched, not from the burn of the liquor, but from the knowledge that he needed to figure out some other way to cope with the lonely nights and painful memories of Don. Otherwise, he’d end up fucking up what was left of his life.

Blowing out a breath, he set the tumbler on the nightstand and turned his focus to the radio. While Gary relayed some of the local news, Jeff lay back on the mattress and let himself become lost in his crush’s soothing voice. Over the next few minutes, he let his mind wander, not even really irritated by the last terrible song that Gary threw on the program, and then, once it was nearly eleven, Jeff’s stomach started to churn from unease. Because soon,Tell Me S’morewould be over, and then Jeff would have to switch off the radio and face those haunting memories.

“Okay, folks, we’re near the end of our program here. I wanted to leave you all with one more interesting factoid, only this time, Ithought I’d stray from the food-related commentary to talk about one of the most beloved singers ever to walk this earth—Bing Crosby!”

Turning his face toward the clock radio, Jeff arched a curious eyebrow.

“Now, I’m not sure how many of you know this, but Bing Crosby was born Larry Lillis Crosby on the third of May in...”

Uh, what the fuck? Bing’s birth name was Harry, not Larry. Why the hell would Gary stray from bullshit food facts to talk about one of Jeff’s favorite singers only to mess up one of the most basic facts about him?

While Gary was still blathering away, Jeff pushed himself up on his elbows, and his eyes found the phone on the other side of the room. Did GarywantJeff to correct him? Did Gary... want Jeff tocall? Jeff’s entire body thrummed excitedly from the thought.

By the time Jeff’s feet hit the floor, Gary’s program had come to a close. He reached back to switch off the radio and then went to retrieve the phone. Even with the telephone wire being fairly long, Jeff couldn’t make it reach the bed, and so, he set the phone base on the shaggy brown carpet and proceeded to toss his blanket and pillow beside it.

Sitting cross-legged, Jeff called Gary’s number. It rang twice.

“Hello?”

Jeff let out a huff and said, “You were trying to make me call you.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” Gary asked, a playful hitch in his voice.

“Billy.”

“Oh! Billy! I waswonderingif you’d call.”

“Bing’s real name was Harry, not Larry.”

“Really?!” God, Gary was so obviously full of shit. “Shucks, I had no idea.”

Scoffing in a manner that probably sounded a little irate, though hopefully a little playful too, Jeff said, “You knew.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“You’re a real bastard.”

Gary laughed one of those maddeningly cute laughs of his. “Gee, well, now that we’re on the phone, we might as well keep talking, right?”

Now unable to stifle a smile, Jeff reclined back to rest his head on his pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chest, forgetting his earlier worries.

“Guess so.”

“Good,” Gary said. “So, what’s your favorite Crosby song? Don’t tell me it’s ‘White Christmas.’”

“No, it’s, uh, ‘A Man and His Dream.’”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Just...” Great, something he’d probably never be able to put into words. “I like the sentiment.”

“Do you have a lifelong dream, then?”

“Not really.” Fucking liar, that was what he was. He had the most pathetic, most predictable dream possible: to fall in love and buy an overpriced house in the suburbs. “What about you?”

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