Coming Home, page 7
part #1 of Finding Shore Series
Warmth spread across his abdomen. He felt covered in it, this new warm coat spreading across his body. Sam laid his hand in it and when he pulled back, his hand was wet and dripping red.
Blood. He was bleeding.
There was blood everywhere.
Sam slid to the ground; El went with him.
They were both coated in blood. Sam couldn’t figure out from which one of them it was coming.
Against the cool wall, Sam realized El had stopped fighting back.
Turning the blood red man, Sam wound his hands around El’s throat. The man gurgled, hands weakly pulling at Sam’s. Sam barely had the strength to keep his fingers tight, but El didn’t have the strength to stop him.
Sam was probably bleeding out. Maybe he’d been shot. He didn’t know for sure.
All he really knew was that he was going to die here. His body was shutting down, desperate to quit, and his vision was starting to blacken out. He was going to die.
But El was going to die, too.
Sam was going to kill the man who threatened his brother, who toyed with the name of Sam’s love.
When El stopped twitching, stopped fighting at all, and Sam could see no breath coming from the man, he let him go. His body slumped against the floor, lifeless.
Sam covered his wound with his hands, giving into the unconsciousness that promised rest.
Sam had protected his family. Dying seemed like a fine price to pay for that.
5
Wes
Wesley hated his goddamn motherfucking stupid tie.
It was light blue with little white stripes and it was the worst fucking thing he’d ever worn. He tugged on the knot, loosening it for the fifteenth time in as many minutes.
He hated this tie and he hated the suit he was wearing because it was the nicest one he had and it was still a size too big and off gray. It was ugly and his tie looked bad and his hair was a frigging rat’s nest and—
Wes hadn’t been on a date in a long time.
It was safe to say he was a little nervous.
The idea of even going on a date made him want to throw up or pass out or do something so entirely unappealing that his date would inevitably leave and the situation, ugly as it was, would be over.
He had been at the restaurant for at least thirty minutes and judging by the amount of odd looks he was getting from the wait staff, he looked as bad as he felt.
Wes wanted this date. He did, he really did. He wanted to be the kind of guy who didn’t pine and wish for things he knew he couldn’t have. He wanted to be the kind of guy who was charming and handsome and took charming, handsome guys out to Italian restaurants that had decent reviews on Yelp. He wanted that kind of life.
So here he was, at the only Italian restaurant in all of Poplar, sweating like a goddamn pig, and waiting for his blind date to start.
He was going to try really hard and he was going to have a nice date, dammit.
If the guy ever got there, that is.
“Wesley Adams?” Wes’s head shot up and he nearly blacked out from the intensity of the movement. The guy standing at his table smiled widely when Wes nodded a bit haphazardly.
“Killer,” the guy said. “I’m Nick Jones.”
Nick Jones. His date.
Shit. His date was here.
Wes jumped up, wincing when his knees knocked the table a little. He blushed and held his hand out, praying it wasn’t too sweaty.
“I’m Wes.”
Nick smiled. It was nice. “Nick.”
Wes gestured towards the seat in front of him and they both sat, still shooting each other awkward smiles.
“This place seems nice,” Nick said, unfolding his napkin across his lap.
Wes scratched at the back of his neck, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard good things.”
“Oh?”
From Yelp. “Yeah from— you know. A friend.”
Nick nodded. “Right, right.”
“I haven’t been here before though. Like, before tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, me either.”
Wes scrambled for something to say. Anything, really. God, when was the last time he spoke to someone he didn’t already know? When was the last time he was charming?
Wes was anything but charming. God damn.
“So—“
“I heard—“
“How are you two doing tonight?”
Their waiter popped up in the space between them, breaking through the uncomfortable silence they had both been trying to fill. Both men turned gratefully towards the new addition to their table.
“Good!” Wes’s voice was a bit too loud but he pretended it wasn’t. “We’re doing good!”
“Good!” the waiter parroted back, smiling. He looked much more at ease than Wes felt. Nick looked fine, too. Was Wes still sweating? He hated his tie.
“What can I start you off with tonight?”
Nick looked at Wes, raising an eyebrow. Wes felt unable to do anything but shrug. He kind of forgot to look at a menu or even think about food.
“I— Well, I was thinking about a glass of red. Whatever you recommend,” Nick said to the waiter.
Wes nodded emphatically. “Yes, sure, same.”
“Perfect,” the waiter grabbed their drink menus and smiled at them. “I’ll be back soon.”
He left and Wes tried not to mourn his departure. It was easier with something else to focus on rather than just how much he was bungling this up.
“I have to admit something,” Nick said, cocking his head. Wes’s heart hammered a little; he was surprised at the idea of it.
“Yeah?” Wes leaned closer, folding his hands on the table.
Nick grinned. “I don’t know a single thing about wine. I don’t even know if I prefer red to white.”
Wes’s laughter bubbled out of him, taking him off guard. He threw his head back, laughing much too loudly for as nice of a place as this was.
“Oh my god,” he said, between fits of the laughter spilling out from his mouth. He was surprised by it, by the genuine harshness of it. “Honestly, me too. Thank god. I would not have been able to hold up a conversation about its undertones or fuck-ever.”
Nick laughed, too. It was a deep, throaty kind of laugh that reminded Wes of autumn nights and hot chocolates. It was surprisingly endearing. “No way. I would’ve sooner died.”
Wes nodded, solemnly. “Amen, man.”
The waiter came back and dropped off their drinks. When he asked for their food order, both men looked at each other, shrugged, and ordered the special.
“You aren’t very finicky,” Nick said, contemplatively. Wes raised an eyebrow and leaned back, grinning. Nick rolled his eyes and continued. “I mean that as a compliment.”
“I just figure that either your taste in food is good or it’s shit and I need to know that right away,” Wes replied.
Nick laughed again. “Fair enough.”
Wes couldn’t help the smile that grew when he saw the way that Nick’s face sort of lit up when he smiled.
He was a pretty handsome guy.
Sure, he was no—
Well, no. Wes wasn’t going to compare him. It wasn’t fair to compare a guy he’d just met to who Wes had previously assumed was the love of his life. That was unfair.
Nick was a cute guy. He had really red, really curly hair that seemed more like a mop of strands than it did a hairstyle and blue eyes that were completely surrounded by laugh lines. His smile seemed natural on his face; all the little lines and dips in his face seemed to be etched into his skin specifically to highlight his smile. His jaw was square and strong and he had just a smattering of a five o’clock shadow that made him look a little more rugged than Wes had expected.
He also was wearing a perfectly fitting tie. Of course.
He was handsome and he seemed like a nice guy, too.
Wes hadn’t expected his first blind date to treat him so well. He was really prepared to not be attracted to the guy at all.
And, more, the longer that Nick spoke, the more he said and revealed about himself, the more attractive he became. He wasn’t just a cute guy— he seemed like he was a good guy. Wes could really do with a guy that was good.
By the time their food had arrived, Wes had forgotten all about the nerves that had plagued him before the date began. He barely wanted them to stop talking long enough to try the, admittedly delicious looking, food which sat before them.
Nick thanked the waiter genuinely; Wes added it to the growing list of things he liked about Nick.
Wes made a mental note to thank Ashley profusely when he got to work the next day. The woman was kind of a godsend.
“I’m not saying that my mom is going to want to meet you right now or anything,” Nick continued on with his story, pushing the pasta around his plate with his fork, “Only that if she knew you existed, she would one hundred percent expect me to dish with her as soon as this date was over.”
Wes whistled, trying to smother the growing grin on his face. “Should we just go ahead and stop by when we’re done with dessert? Or, hey, we could just bring her some, too.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, if she’s going to give you the third degree, she should at least see how cute I am first.”
“I regret even telling you I had a mother.”
“Your mom is going to love me. Absolutely adore me.”
Nick took a bite of his food, shaking his head. He looked a bit like he was hiding a grin as well.
The food was actually pretty good. Not the best he’d ever had, but the Yelp reviews seemed at least honest, if not a little generous. Wes wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell if it was bad, though. He felt a little high from the idea of enjoying a night out.
“What about your family? Are you guys close?”
Wes took a huge bite. He chewed slowly, debating how to answer the question.
Honest answer: Hell fucking no with a side of childhood trauma and a backstory that rivaled a PBS special.
Appropriate answer: Not particularly anymore.
Desired answer: Yes, we have that in common. I, too, love my family.
Wes hated this part of getting to know people.
He swallowed his bite and sighed.
“Not really,” he said, twirling more pasta onto his fork. He lifted it to take another bite. “I mean, when I was a kid, I guess.”
Whether it was because the answer was satisfactory or he could tell he shouldn’t probe any further, Nick just nodded.
“Yeah, I think I’m a bit unusually close to mine. Family is just, like, the most important thing to me.”
Wes’s heart swelled so much he thought he would choke on his pasta.
Family. The one thing that Wes wanted so goddamn badly, the thing that Wes knew was the most important to him, was the most important to this guy. This random guy he’d almost never met.
“I want a big family,” Wes found himself admitting. “I know that’s harder, you know, because—well, you know, but still.”
Nick nodded. “Me, too. Can’t imagine not.”
Wes sat his fork down, taking a swig of his wine. It was good. Or maybe not. He really didn’t know anything about wine.
“My best friend, Tom—do you know Tom Carlisle? He’s such a great guy. Anyway, Tom has this kid called John and he’s so freaking cute.”
Nick curled his hand around his chin. “Yeah?”
“I really love him. I like to think I’m the best babysitter.”
Nick laughed again. It was one of the nicer parts about him, for sure, Wes decided. “I’m sure you are.”
Wes’s chest puffed out a little in mock pride. “For damn sure.”
They stared at each other for a bit too long, both taking slow sips of their wine.
Wes asked about Nick’s work, listening intently. It seemed like everything Nick said or did was endearing. He was the perfect guy to fall for.
Wes hummed around a mouthful of his supper; when his plate was nearly empty, he started talking about his job at the bank so that Nick could take his chance to eat uninterrupted. It was a smooth flow that hadn’t been intentional but made the evening that much more nice for it. Wes was surprised at how effortless it felt to be near Nick.
Even if he didn’t fall for him, Wes hoped they’d be friends. He seemed like a nice guy.
Not to say that Wes didn’t like him—only, it was hard, after all those years of loving or liking or whatever he did with Sam, it was hard to go from that to a crush on a perfect, attainable, attentive guy.
He didn’t feel the way he did when he was around Sam; or even when he thought about Sam. That was something—that was something whole. Something that was out of his control. Now, here, Wes felt like he was in charge of how he felt. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, wasn’t sure what was better. But it was different and he almost didn’t want it.
But more than anything else, Wes wanted to be the kind of guy who liked someone and was liked back. He wanted to want to be around Nick and he wanted to be the kind of person a guy like Nick would want to be around. If he was going to try with anyone, maybe Nick would be the ideal person for that.
“Lost?” Nick sat his fork down, resting his chin on his hand. He smiled a little softly and Wes was taken back by how kind the man looked.
He was attractive, too. Wes hadn’t lost his ability to see handsome in his quasi-depression. No, Nick’s bright looks were all the more attractive when he was leaning in close, a concentrated look of concern playing on his expression.
Wes swallowed around a surge of affection and nerves. He nodded.
“A little. I do that sometimes.”
“It’s okay,” Nick said, leaning back in his chair. He drank the last of his wine. “So long as you come back, I guess.”
Wes didn’t know how to reply. The waiter popped up before it became an issue.
“Dessert, gentlemen?”
Nick made a surprised face and turned to Wes, shrugging. “Up to you!”
Wes contemplated.
On one hand, he wouldn’t mind the date going on a bit longer. He liked learning about Nick and he liked feeling like he was normal and on land. Talking to this guy, who had no idea that he was hung up on a guy who didn’t even have the decency to tell his family he was alive, felt incredible. Wes felt incredible.
On the other hand, dessert meant more wine which meant more of a chance that this date wouldn’t end with just a pleasant hug and a promise to call. Which, sure, Wes could see the appeal—it had been so goddamn long since he’d touched anyone, kissed anyone. And Nick would be one hell of a kisser, Wes was positive of that. It would be a hell of a kiss, at least. But it would also mean that this date wasn’t a one off, that Nick and Wes had some sort of feelings and that could mean Wes getting really attached or falling in love and being left, deserted, ignored; it could end with Wes, a few weeks from now, in a worse off position.
He also couldn’t help the nagging thought in the back of his mind: he’s not him. He’s not him. Was it even fair to have dessert, to have a date, when he couldn’t stop for a second comparing and thinking.
He couldn’t decide. How did anyone decide?
“I’ll bring the menu and let you look it over and decide,” the waiter said, looking from between them. Nick nodded his thanks.
Wesley felt like he was probably sweating.
“Wes, you alright? I’m sure a few calories won’t kill you.”
The joke fell flat. Wes was too distracted to pick it up.
“Here you guys are. I’ll be by to check on you in a few.”
Wes downed the last of his wine. It was fine. It was fine.
“Okay, I’m just going to look at these options while you deal with whatever sort of existential crisis you’re going through,” Nick waved his hand absently, already focused on the menu. “Oh my god, they have mocha tiramisu.”
Wes wanted to go home and never talk to Nick again. He also wanted to make out with him for at least an hour.
Wes shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't need to plan a whole future right now.
Maybe that was his problem after all. Maybe he needed to stop seeing someone and immediately planning a whole life, seeing all their traits and flaws as adorable things that make them special. Wes needed to be able to compartmentalize and take things slowly and learn that people weren’t all good or all bad; they weren’t all in all the time.
Wes needed to separate his hope for the future from his feelings for people.
He had doomed his relationship with Sam the first time he met him.
He’d seen a tall, pretty boy across the street and wanted to kiss him. He’d seen a man who wanted to be good to his family and protect the ones he loved, and Wes had wanted to marry him. He idealized Sam to the point that, even though Sam did hurt him and ignore him, there was hardly a way for Sam not to. Wes probably would have been upset no matter what Sam did, because a real person couldn’t live up to the expectations he’d created in his head.
Wes was doing that to Nick, too. He was giving the man two options: marry him or break his heart. It didn’t have to be both. It didn’t need to be either.
Wes could just enjoy spending time with Nick in the now and not think about a future with a house and a picket fence and a 401K. He could just think about how handsome he looked across the table and how, if they split the tiramisu, they’d both taste like chocolate when they kissed.
Wes had to learn how to live now and take things for the way they were. He couldn't keep jumping into the future before people were ready.
“Let’s get the tiramisu,” Wes said.
Nick jumped. “Jesus! You were quiet for so long.” He put a hand over his chest, shaking his head. “Fucking scary.”
Wes threw his head back, laughing. Nick didn’t say anything about how long he’d been silent or the way he was almost definitely super sweating. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, me too. Because there’s no way in hell I’m splitting my dessert.” He tossed the dessert menu over the table and Wes caught it, surprised. “You’re going to have to order your own, man.”
There was a certain kind of satisfaction that came from a good date. Wesley thought that it couldn’t be replicated or experienced in any other sort of situation.
