Page 66 of Out of the Storm

Gary’s words cut like a knife.

“Christ, Gare,” Jeff huffed, wincing from the pain. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice so that none of the other patrons would hear him. “Of course you should have kissed me. Iwantedyou to kiss me. But...”

Unable to stand the sadness shimmering in Gary’s eyes, Jeff looked away.

“Gare, can you take us back to the motel?”

“Of course,” Gary said without hesitation. “I only had half a beer.”

After letting everyone else know they were heading back, they left for the motel. And holy hell, was Gary a terrible driver. No wonder he preferred his bike. For the entire ten-minute trip, Gary kept braking both too hard and too frequently, causing the booze in Jeff’s stomach to slosh back and forth with each jolt of the car. All the way, Jeff had to concentrate on keeping the contents of his stomach—those multiple cocktails he’d had—from spilling out onto the floor mat. He felt like a fucking sailor trying to find his sea legs. It seemed like Garyknewhow bad of a driver he was too. Every time he slammed on the brakes or inadvertently sped up too much, he’d say stuff like “Gosh, your brakes are sensitive” or “Boy, it must be obvious that I haven’t driven in a while, huh?” Jeff would have probably found the commentary funny if he hadn’t been busy fighting back the urge to retch.

Once they were back at the motel, Jeff hurried inside, leaving Gary to follow, and ran straight into the bathroom. Collapsing onhis knees in front of the toilet, Jeff emptied the contents of his stomach. God, he’d had way, way too much alcohol.

While Jeff’s head hung over the bowl, he couldn’t keep his mind from returning to the times he’d seen his mother in a similarly sorry state, and shame crept up the back of his neck, making his face burn. Gary was only a few feet away, listening to every horrible sound of Jeff’s failure to control himself. But how else was he supposed to cope with the realization that his and Gary’s relationship might be on the road to nowhere?

After another minute or so, Gary came into the bathroom, although he lingered by the entryway.

“I can’t believe I caused this,” Gary said.

And Jeff’s stomach churned again. Gary was... blaming himself?

Bile started to rise in Jeff’s throat, and before he could even try to swallow it back, he was heaving the last bits of bar nuts and whiskey into the toilet.

When he was finished, he flushed the toilet and then tried to speak.

“It’s . . . not . . . you . . . radio man,” Jeff managed, his throat still raw and tight. “It’s me.”

Gary remarked, “Isn’t that a cliché?”

Good ol’ Gary Graham trying to make him smile. His legs now sore from kneeling, Jeff rocked backward to sit on the tile and pulled his knees close to his chest, some of his nauseating guilt thankfully having been quelled by Gary’s playfulness.

“Yeah, you’re right. Itisyou,” Jeff said, forcing himself to look at Gary. “You’re perfect, Gare. Why’d you have to make me like you?”

Gary snorted. “Makeyou?”

“With your sexy voice and your cute face.” Jeff smiled back, but then he heaved a sigh, resting his forehead on his bent knees. “I kept telling myself not to like you, but here we are.”

“I’m sorry,” Gary said, his voice smaller and more serious and—fuck—not playful in the least.

Jeff felt like such an asshole.

He looked up to see Gary rubbing the back of his neck, shuffling back a step.

“I’ll, uh, be out here if you need me.”

Burying his head in his knees once more, Jeff mumbled a soft, “’Kay.”

For the next hour or so, Jeff stayed in the bathroom, replaying all of his fuckups in his head. He just couldn’t comprehend it. Why would Gary put up with this shit?

Eventually, Jeff couldn’t take sitting on the uncomfortable tile floor anymore, and he stood up and hobbled back to the bedroom. It was pitch-black.

Taking care not to wake Gary, Jeff slowly maneuvered through the room to his bed. Once he was settled, he tried to sleep too, but the whiskey was making him feel like he was trapped on a carousel. Around and around he went. Up and down. Letting out a soft, pained-sounding moan, Jeff rolled to his side, hoping it would help. But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Everything continued to spin. And all the while, Jeff’s thoughts kept returning to how terrible he felt for everything that had happened. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Gary. Ever.

But he had.

He was a selfish bastard, wasn’t he? He’d been the one to initiate that first phone sex session. He’d been the one to pull Gary into the path of this... this tornado.

Over the next few hours, Jeff continued to toss and turn, hoping and praying that by some fucking miracle, he and Gary could make it through the storm.

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