Page 101 of Something Like Winter
“What?”
“The time we had together.”
Ben snorted. “Are you kidding? Never. Not once.”
Tim straightened up. “Really? I figured you hated me for what I did.”
“I never hated you. I just hurt. When we were together—” Ben exhaled. “Don’t let it go to your head, but even when it was bad, it was good.”
Tim leaned forward, ready for a kiss, but Ben returned his attention to the stray noodles in the pot. So much for Lady and the Tramp. Maybe dessert would work better than pasta. Tim went to the freezer. “I know I have some ice cream in here somewhere.”
“I really need to get back to Jace’s.”
“Aw, you can’t leave. You haven’t even done the dishes yet!” Tim winced from Ben’s glare. “Only kidding. Geez! There is a pool here, you know. We could go for a swim, have a couple of beers. You can even crash here.”
Ben scoffed. “I don’t think so!”
“Your virtue will remain unchallenged, Princess, you have my word.” Not true. “There are two guest rooms. Take your pick. I’ll even sleep in the car.” Also not true!
But Ben was adamant. Short of pouncing on him and taking him on the kitchen floor, Tim’s only option was to give in and drive Ben back to Jace’s. He pulled up to the apartment, wondering if he should walk Ben to the door, but of course being close to the lair of the enemy probably wouldn’t help his chances.
“Thanks for the last couple of days,” Tim said. “I know I went a little overboard, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had someone like you around.”
Ben shifted in his seat. “I liked it too, but I’m also looking forward to Jace coming home tomorrow.”
“Hint taken.” Unwillingly. What if Jace being back in town put an end to their little reunion? “I’m serious about meeting him. The man behind the legend and all that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Where a goodbye kiss should have been was a nervous chuckle. Then Ben was out of the car, released back into the world. If you love somebody, set them free…
Chapter Twenty-three
Waiting should always be avoided. Good or bad, confronting the future is better than torturous anticipation or crippling dread. Tim called Ben early the next morning with the intent of talking him into cutting class. There was no answer. He tried again closer to lunch. Still no answer. With Jace due back in the evening, Tim was forced to wait and wonder.
He didn’t remember how long Jace and Ben had been together. Perhaps he had tuned out that information. Regardless if their relationship had lasted years, months, or even just a few weeks, they would most likely celebrate their reunion in the bedroom.
The thought alone made Tim seethe with jealousy. He tried not to think about it, giving his full attention first to his classes and now to painting. Tim worked in silence, just him and a canvas, occasionally glancing toward the fading light on the other side of the garage window. He had moved all of his equipment into the garage some time ago. Marcello had a habit of letting himself into the house, occasionally commenting on Tim’s work. His words were encouraging, but still invasive.
Later, when Tim brought home a one-night stand who turned out to be an art student, the guy had stood there and critiqued one of Tim’s paintings. Like it was any of his business! Of course Tim didn’t admit the work was his own, but that had been the final straw. The paintings were as private as his emotions—not to be shared with just anyone.
So Tim had cleared out the garage and made it his studio. Usually he found painting therapeutic, but today it only seemed to increase his frustration. Nothing came out like he wanted it to, the canvas growing darker as he added more and more layers of failure. He was trying not to think of Ben, desperately avoiding thoughts of where he was or what he was doing. Or what was being done to him.
Still the images came unbidden. A hello kiss for Jace when he came in the door. That shy feeling that comes from being apart, especially when the other person means so much to you. Jace picking Ben up. Carrying him down the hall. Laying him on the bed.
Tim tossed aside the paintbrush. Part of him felt like driving over there, kicking in the door, and begging Ben to run away with him. Despite how pathetic this would make him seem, the idea was tempting.
Instead he picked up the brush, closed his eyes, and thought of Ben. Not what he was doing at this moment, but who he was, how complete he made Tim feel. When they were in high school, Ben had given Tim the affection he was desperate for while showing him how to be free. Now Ben represented hope, the promise of an end to his solitude. Someone he could share his life with.
Taking a deep breath, Tim opened his eyes and continued painting. * * * * *
Tim understood why Ben didn’t answer his phone that first day. That he didn’t answer the second day was an ill omen. Tim tried anyway, hoping to get through. On the third day he abandoned all subtlety and called every hour. He cursed himself for not setting up the voicemail before giving Ben the phone. At least then Ben might give into temptation and listen to what he had to say.
Tim didn’t have a plan. He had nothing.
