Kade would relent and open his door, but another song came on and Kade turned the volume up even more.
Dejected, Henry moved back to the living room, where he slid into his flip-flops and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He took his drink out to the kitchen and poured the contents down the drain, then rinsed the glass out and set it upside down on the counter. He took a tea towel from the refrigerator handle and went back into the living room, where he wiped away the spilled liquor and the damp ring his glass had left on the coffee table.
Last, he picked up the cloth he’d used to clean up his come and took it into the hallway, where he knew the stacking washer and dryer were located in a closet. He tossed the towel into the washing machine.
Finally, he headed toward the door.
He stepped out, feeling confused and depressed, and started down the stairs.
And then he stopped.
Another emotion took over—rage.
He’d been used. He thought of Kade as someone he’d grown up with and someone who, in his own way, he loved, the sex stuff aside. Kade had no right to use him like some kind of receptacle for his come and then just turn on him.
It was wrong.
And Henry would not stand for it.
He marched back up the stairs. He didn’t give himself time to think but went directly to Kade’s bedroom door. He tried the handle. It figured—Kade had locked the door. Henry kicked it.
“Listen, I am not something to be used and tossed aside. I am—or was—your friend. I don’t know what your problem is, but the next time you need somebody to suck you off, call somebody who gives a shit. Because I don’t—not anymore. You showed your true colors, man, and they’re ugly.
“I won’t say ‘don’t bother to call’ because I know you won’t.” Henry kicked the door again, surprised at how good it felt. “Fucker,” he whispered as he strode away.
He hurried out of the apartment, out of the building, and maybe, just maybe, out of the life of his best friend.
As he got into the courtyard, his emotions shifted again, and he wondered if he had done the wrong thing. He choked back a sob and angrily forced down his sorrow, taking deep breaths until he was calm, or at least relatively so. He wondered if he should go back in and apologize.
No. He would be damned. Even if Kade couldn’t handle the whole gay thing, and Henry supposed that most likely was his problem, he didn’t know how he could help.
He had his own life to get on track. All he could do was hope Kade would see the error of his ways before he caused anybody else any more pain.
Henry walked slowly back to his house on Sheridan Road, cars and bicyclists passing him, unaware of his inner turmoil.
When he got inside, Maxine was seated at the kitchen table, a sweating glass of iced tea before her. She looked exhausted, and her very curls seemed to droop. She was barefoot and had pulled out one of the other kitchen chairs to rest her feet on.
“You look like you just lost your best friend!” she exclaimed, concern framing her words.
Henry didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to tell her how exactly right she was. Instead, he pulled out a chair and wordlessly sat down at the table with her. She shoved her tea toward him, and Henry took a gulp, tasting the mint she always put in when she brewed it.
“What’s the matter, honey? You can tell Maxine.”
Henry wasn’t ready. First of all, he’d need to come out to Maxine, which he was fairly certain wouldn’t be a problem, but the time just didn’t seem right, not when he was feeling so shaken.
Fortunately or not, he had another issue at the ready he could bring up with her. “You know where I was today?”
She grinned. “Robbing a bank? Selling your wares down in the city?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Getting a mani-pedi.”
“No. You seem to have me confused with Mom. At least on the last part.”
“Where, then?”
“Applying for a job.”
Maxine pulled her iced tea back toward her and
Dejected, Henry moved back to the living room, where he slid into his flip-flops and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He took his drink out to the kitchen and poured the contents down the drain, then rinsed the glass out and set it upside down on the counter. He took a tea towel from the refrigerator handle and went back into the living room, where he wiped away the spilled liquor and the damp ring his glass had left on the coffee table.
Last, he picked up the cloth he’d used to clean up his come and took it into the hallway, where he knew the stacking washer and dryer were located in a closet. He tossed the towel into the washing machine.
Finally, he headed toward the door.
He stepped out, feeling confused and depressed, and started down the stairs.
And then he stopped.
Another emotion took over—rage.
He’d been used. He thought of Kade as someone he’d grown up with and someone who, in his own way, he loved, the sex stuff aside. Kade had no right to use him like some kind of receptacle for his come and then just turn on him.
It was wrong.
And Henry would not stand for it.
He marched back up the stairs. He didn’t give himself time to think but went directly to Kade’s bedroom door. He tried the handle. It figured—Kade had locked the door. Henry kicked it.
“Listen, I am not something to be used and tossed aside. I am—or was—your friend. I don’t know what your problem is, but the next time you need somebody to suck you off, call somebody who gives a shit. Because I don’t—not anymore. You showed your true colors, man, and they’re ugly.
“I won’t say ‘don’t bother to call’ because I know you won’t.” Henry kicked the door again, surprised at how good it felt. “Fucker,” he whispered as he strode away.
He hurried out of the apartment, out of the building, and maybe, just maybe, out of the life of his best friend.
As he got into the courtyard, his emotions shifted again, and he wondered if he had done the wrong thing. He choked back a sob and angrily forced down his sorrow, taking deep breaths until he was calm, or at least relatively so. He wondered if he should go back in and apologize.
No. He would be damned. Even if Kade couldn’t handle the whole gay thing, and Henry supposed that most likely was his problem, he didn’t know how he could help.
He had his own life to get on track. All he could do was hope Kade would see the error of his ways before he caused anybody else any more pain.
Henry walked slowly back to his house on Sheridan Road, cars and bicyclists passing him, unaware of his inner turmoil.
When he got inside, Maxine was seated at the kitchen table, a sweating glass of iced tea before her. She looked exhausted, and her very curls seemed to droop. She was barefoot and had pulled out one of the other kitchen chairs to rest her feet on.
“You look like you just lost your best friend!” she exclaimed, concern framing her words.
Henry didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to tell her how exactly right she was. Instead, he pulled out a chair and wordlessly sat down at the table with her. She shoved her tea toward him, and Henry took a gulp, tasting the mint she always put in when she brewed it.
“What’s the matter, honey? You can tell Maxine.”
Henry wasn’t ready. First of all, he’d need to come out to Maxine, which he was fairly certain wouldn’t be a problem, but the time just didn’t seem right, not when he was feeling so shaken.
Fortunately or not, he had another issue at the ready he could bring up with her. “You know where I was today?”
She grinned. “Robbing a bank? Selling your wares down in the city?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Getting a mani-pedi.”
“No. You seem to have me confused with Mom. At least on the last part.”
“Where, then?”
“Applying for a job.”
Maxine pulled her iced tea back toward her and
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