Chapter 13
Title: Chapter 13
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Beginnings story cont'd
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters of course
Link to all chapters unavez18.livejournal.com/2044.html
In a matter of weeks, Eric's house became an even larger scale mess than his condo had ever been. He walked around in a fog, dumping clothing and towels wherever he peeled them off from his body, leaving dishes on the kitchen counter or the coffee table or the bedroom floor. He ate through the last of the groceries Sam had bought him, as Sam had still been doing all of his shopping, and once that ran out he went back to beer runs. The depression hit him hard, even harder than it had after losing his career to shattered bone, because this time it was his heart that had shattered, and no cast or medication or physical therapy could fix it. He left the curtains drawn and spent whole days in bed, wondering what the fuck he was going to do in his huge house, all alone, without anything to really live for. Eric was not a crier, but on more than one occasion he felt moisture gathering in his eyes, forcing him to shut them quickly and hide his head in a pillow to stop the onslaught.
Gliding across the ice with the puck in his control, knowing exactly where he was going and what he was aiming for had been, up until his injury, the most amazing high of his life. And yet somehow, Sam had been more; he’d been real, he’d been caring, he’d been generous, and he’d been loving. He’d been everything Eric had never had, and now that he was gone, Eric knew there was no chance anything could ever replace him.
He thought about calling Sam, about begging him to come back, but he knew from the calmness with which Sam had spoken to him on their last night together that it was over; he’d screwed up one too many times. Sam was a rational and sane adult and he had made a rational and sane decision. As humiliated as Eric felt he would be if people found out he was gay, he wasn’t self-centered enough to ignore the fact that Sam was probably just as humiliated by having to keep their life together a secret. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Sam’s love; but if Sam loved him, and if he loved Sam, he knew he couldn’t continue to live a lie. If they truly loved each other, then they’d have to start thinking about building a future together, and there could be no future in a shut-tight closet. Sam deserved more than that.
*
He had no intention of getting out of bed the morning that Joan appeared at the door. But she knocked for a straight five minutes before calling twice, and when he finally answered the phone she announced matter-of-factly that she could see his car and she knew he was inside.
Eric stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping on a soggy towel that lay across the landing. He opened the door and squinted into the sunlight, which he hadn’t seen for some time, while Joan quickly invited herself in.
“Hi, Eric,” she said, happily hugging him. “Jesus, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, Joan,” he responded, startled by the ragged sound of his own voice as he hadn’t heard it out loud for several days.
“What are sisters for?” she teased, then glanced disdainfully around at the mess that surrounded them. “Heard of housekeeping?”
“Been busy,” Eric mumbled.
“I doubt that,” she repiled.
“What are you doing here?” He didn't bother to hide the edge from his voice. Eric-the-asshole was evidently back.
“When you told me about your new place, you sounded so excited. I just wanted to see it for myself.”
“Well, see it, here it is.” He was suddenly exhausted. The brief exchange was the most social interaction he’d had in almost three weeks, and without another word he turned and started to head back up the stairs to bed.
She followed after him. “What’s up with you? You sounded so great on the phone last time we talked.”
“Tired,” he muttered, sinking down onto the bed, and Joan did the same.
“Wow, so every room is a disaster,” she noted, pushing a day old beer bottle off the edge of the bed with her foot. “Someone might mistake you for a frat boy in this mess.”
“So you’re telling me you drove all the way down here to comment on my housekeeping skills?” Eric grumbled.
Joan paused. “Been thinking about moving back into the area,” she finally said, but her voice had lost some of its cheerful buoyancy.
“Oh? I thought Rick had said . . .”
“We’re getting a divorce,” she interrupted, laying her head down on a pillow, and as she did Eric couldn’t help but think about the fact that it was Sam’s pillow.
“Shit, Joan, I’m sorry,” he said, lying down on his side next to her.
He didn’t know what else to say, as they’d never really had a close enough relationship to justify advising each other on their love lives. She’d tried to be there for him when he’d first suffered the break, but he’d pushed her away, and she hadn’t pressed. He’d known though, even back then, that her relationship was on the rocks, which probably had something to do with how easily she’d given up.
“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s kinda been heading that way for a while, I just tried to keep it together for the kid, you know? But now I figure maybe it’s better to get it over with when he’s too young to remember rather than let him suffer through it when he’s older.”
Eric nodded.
She reached out and gave his head a gentle rub with her knuckles. “So what’s up with you? You seem like you’re in a funk.”
He attempted a shrug with the shoulder that was not against the bed, which was the injured one, and winced in pain.
“Maybe you should try not to be so apathetic there.” She laughed at his discomfort. “But really, what is it?”
“I broke my arm and my shoulder in four places and lost my career, Joan. How’d you expect me to be?”
“I know that.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “But when I’ve talked to you before today you’ve sounded . . . I dunno . . . cheerful or something. And now you look and smell like you haven’t seen a shower in quite a few days, and your house feels like a dungeon. Were you just faking it on the phone or what?”
Eric sighed against the pillow, which hadn’t been washed in some time and was now starting to show it. “Fine. I was seeing someone, and now I’m not,” he finally admitted.
“Eric!” Joan snapped, leaning up on her elbow. “You were in a relationship and you didn’t tell me? Why the hell not?!”
“It’s over now,” he shot back. “What difference does it make?”
“Well, what happened?”
Eric had to resist the urge to shrug again. “I messed up. I let h-” he closed his eyes, cutting himself off. “It’s just over, Joan,” he mumbled. “Can we go back to talking about your crumbling marriage now?”
Joan did not seem disturbed by his comment. Probably because she’d caught wind of something else. “Eric,” she said gently. “I’m going to ask you something, and before I do I just want you to know it doesn’t matter what you say because we’re family.”
Blood rushed into Eric’s face, making it hard to hear her over the pounding in his ears.
“Eric, are you gay?”
“What? No, no . . . why . . .why would you think that?” Defensiveness had always been his first resort, and it had served him well enough in the past. But no one in his family had ever asked him directly before. And no one had ever asked him in that tone of voice that said I already know, and it’s okay. Or if they had, he'd been too afraid to hear.
“Well,” she began slowly. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, and I’ve never once heard you brag about your sexual exploits with women. And let’s face it, you’re just not that much of a gentleman to be keeping such things to yourself out of respect.”
He tried to summon more denials, but Joan was staring at him like he was transparent, like she could read every thought in his brain, like she already knew every sexual thing he had done with Sam in that bed. He wasn’t a crier, but all the same drops of liquid fell from his eyes, creating dark circles on the beige sheets. He studied the puddles curiously as if he was not quite sure where they’d come from.
Joan took the hem of her sleeve to his face and soaked up the tears gently. “Tell me about . . . him?” she asked.
Eric closed his eyes. There was no point in denying it now; tears were as good an admission as any. And besides, all he could think about, all he could see in the darkness of his closed lids was Sam. All he wanted was Sam.
**********
Sam had been expecting the call. Actually, he’d been expecting it much earlier than the three weeks out it took to receive it. He’d spent those three weeks trying his best to convince himself that he hadn’t really been in love; that he’d merely allowed himself to be fooled by lust. He told himself all he’d been to Eric was a fuck buddy-a glorified fuck buddy who also did his laundry and bought him groceries and washed his hair and massaged him when he was tense. He was expecting the call, but he also expected it to be for nothing more than sex, and he had no intention of responding to another one of Eric’s booty calls ever again.
But for all his efforts, he wasn’t able to make himself bitter enough not to miss Eric. He missed the way his skin creased in to the deep lines of his dimples when he smiled brightly. He missed the way his eyes lit up when he found something humorous long before he laughed. He missed the way Eric had teased him, in and out of the bedroom, and he missed the way he’d felt when he had been needed.
So when the phone rang the first time, he had to battle between the two halves of himself; between the half that was angry enough to want to rip up every memory he had of Eric like old photographs from a demolished relationship-not that he and Eric had any of those, of course-and the half that still craved some impossible miracle that would allow him to hold Eric in his arms once again. His more logical resolve to cut his losses won out the first time, and the second. But then when the phone rang for the third time he gave in, unable to keep his emotions in check.
Eric’s voice sounded strange on the phone, and he tried not to let it affect him, but the heartbreaking tone got to him anyways. And though he firmly told himself he was not going to reopen the still-raw wound, when Eric suggested a coffee date to “talk”, he caved, as it was far less likely that a public encounter could lead to anything in the bedroom.
He prepared several easy letdown speeches in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and washed his face and carefully dressed himself in what he considered his most neutral outfit. At the very least, he hoped the meeting would give him a sense that he had the upper hand again, so long as he could stay firm and turn Eric down. Mark had never asked for him back; in fact he’d seemed relieved when his cheating ways had been discovered, as it had allowed them to both finally stop living a charade. With Eric, Sam was determined to be the one who came out on top, although he wasn’t sure if that victory would be enough to fill the hollow void left in his heart.
*
He spotted Eric as he entered, waiting at a table by the windowed wall of the coffee shop. His face was thinner again, and Sam sighed inwardly, knowing Eric probably hadn’t bothered to buy any real food after the last round of groceries had run out. But he had shaved and dressed himself nicely, which meant he was at least trying to make a good impression.
“Hey,” Sam said, sliding quietly into the chair across from him. “How are you?”
“Fine, fine,” Eric responded quickly, but his eyes and his body language said otherwise. He was clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly while chewing at the corner of his lip.
“So . . . you said you wanted to talk?” Sam continued.
Eric drew in an uneven breath. “Sam . . .” he began.
Just then the door to the coffee shop jangled open and a petite woman with curly brown hair entered and approached them. “Eric!” she said happily. “I’m glad you’re still here. I wanted to ask you something before leaving town.”
She stopped in front of them. Eric was still taking deep, nervous breaths, and Sam steeled himself for another one of his famously catastrophic attempts at playing off their association.
“Sam,” Eric finally said. “This is my sister, Joan. Joan, this is Sam.”
“So nice to meet you!” Joan smiled and extended her hand. “Eric’s told me so much about you.”
Sam glanced at Eric, who had gone slightly green. He took Joan's hand and shook it briefly. “He has?”
She nodded, then looked over at Eric expectantly. “Eric?” she prompted.
Eric sunk his head down into his hands. “Joan, this is ridiculous. I’m no good at acting. I can’t act natural when you planned this whole thing. I’m sorry.”
Joan pursed her lips and pulled up a chair, plopping herself down unceremoniously. “Well lucky for you, I have a plan B, then.”
Now Sam’s head was literally whirling in confusion as he kept darting his eyes over to Eric, attempting to get an explanation. Eric would not look up.
“Well, Sam,” Joan continued. “I hope you won’t mind me intruding into your business but sometimes Eric could use a little help.”
Sam had to suppress a bark of laughter.
“He’s completely crazy about you, he’s been miserable since you split up, he knows he was an asshole and he really wants to work on that so he’s hoping you’ll give him another chance.”
Sam felt his mouth drop open.
“Well, okay then, I hope to see you again Sam. Gotta get back to my kiddo.” She stood up and leaned over to give Eric a kiss. “See ya, Eric,” and with that she spun around and was gone.
They sat in silence for a minute while Eric furiously rubbed his head into his hands. Finally he peeked through his fingers to glance at Sam’s still-stunned expression.
“You came out to your sister?” Sam asked, the surprise in his voice turning the question into a shocked whisper.
“Well, she kind of figured it out herself,” Eric mumbled, finally dropping one of his hands from his face and laying it down on the table
“And you asked her to come here and meet me so . . . so I’d see you were starting to come out and give you a second chance?”
“She kind of figured that out on her own, too,” Eric replied.
Sam chuckled. “Are you trying to win me back or what? Maybe you should try to take a little credit.”
“Well, I let her talk me into it,” Eric said, a slight smile poking through his worried features.
Sam shook his head with a grin but then let his mouth straighten out into a more serious expression, remembering his resolution to stay firm.
Eric let out a sad sigh. He stretched out the hand that had been lying on the table and placed it on top of Sam’s. “Sammy, I know I screwed up. And I know you deserve better than me. But I miss you so much, and if you give me another chance I swear I’ll do better . . .” he trailed off when he noticed Sam grinning again.
“You’re holding my hand, in public,” Sam informed him. The unexpected touch had immediately sent waves of longing pulsing through him, and he could tell his resolve had started to weaken.
Eric retracted his hand like he’d touched a live wire. Then, “Shit, shit, no, I didn’t mean to pull away like that . . . hold on, give me a sec . . .” and he gingerly placed his hand down again, not quite holding Sam’s but close enough to be touching, though his face clearly showed he was uncomfortable with that as well.
“You don’t have to hold my hand, Eric.” Sam rolled his eyes. “It was never really about that. I cared more about what you thought about us than what you thought the world would think of us. I wasn’t asking you to confront the world-- just yourself.”
Eric nodded. “Okay, then . . . what I think is . . . that I want you in my life . . . I mean, I want to be with you. Can you give me another chance? Please, Sammy.”
Two men in suits passed by and Eric withdrew his hand from its near-touch rapidly. He caught Sam’s eyes following the jerked reaction and paled.
Sam suddenly found himself thinking about the way Mark had been when they’d been out together, always ready to lay a possessive hand across his shoulders or call him “sweetheart.” He knew without a doubt that Eric would never be that kind of man, yet somehow all of Mark’s pleasantries and public affection had never made up for the way he had made him feel insecure in his own skin once they were behind closed doors. And Eric, for all his flaws, had been nearly the opposite. When they were alone together he had made Sam feel like he was his entire world-and perhaps he had been-and now Sam missed him even more bitterly than before. But he still didn’t know if that was enough to risk his battered heart on again.
Eric was studying Sam in his silence, his face still twisted in guilt from his reaction to the passersby. “Move in with me,” he blurted out.
Sam was startled from his thoughts, and Eric was evidently startled as well because he threw a hand over his mouth. “Shit, I wasn’t going to say that . . . I mean, I wasn’t going to say that now . . . shit . . . it’s just that the house is so big for just me, and I thought, I mean it was something to think about . . .”
Eric had flamed red with embarrassment, and Sam knew from experience that beneath his shirt the blush had probably spread down his chest as well. For his own part, air was scarcely making its way into his lungs, but he had to temper the dizzying excitement with cold, hard reality.
“If we moved in together, people would figure it out,” he said as flatly as he could.
Eric nodded. “Yeah, yeah . . . I know. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, Sam . . . and look, I’m not sure when . . . or if . . . I’ll feel comfortable being uh, open, about my private life in the work world, especially since I’ll be working in sports, and I don’t really see how that’s anyone’s business . . .” he stopped his rambling and drew in a breath as he noticed Sam’s unimpressed expression. “But I was thinking, maybe I could start being more . . .more . . . honest with my friends and family . . . if you’ll help me.”
“You don’t have any friends, and Joan’s your only family,” Sam responded slowly.
“Fine, then, with your friends and family.”
Sam drew in his breath sharply as his heart began to do strange, acrobatic leaps in his chest.
“Sam?” Eric asked, his face still red from his earlier embarrassment, or perhaps just from emotion. “Can we get out of here please?”
*********
Next Chapter 14
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Beginnings story cont'd
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters of course
Link to all chapters unavez18.livejournal.com/2044.html
In a matter of weeks, Eric's house became an even larger scale mess than his condo had ever been. He walked around in a fog, dumping clothing and towels wherever he peeled them off from his body, leaving dishes on the kitchen counter or the coffee table or the bedroom floor. He ate through the last of the groceries Sam had bought him, as Sam had still been doing all of his shopping, and once that ran out he went back to beer runs. The depression hit him hard, even harder than it had after losing his career to shattered bone, because this time it was his heart that had shattered, and no cast or medication or physical therapy could fix it. He left the curtains drawn and spent whole days in bed, wondering what the fuck he was going to do in his huge house, all alone, without anything to really live for. Eric was not a crier, but on more than one occasion he felt moisture gathering in his eyes, forcing him to shut them quickly and hide his head in a pillow to stop the onslaught.
Gliding across the ice with the puck in his control, knowing exactly where he was going and what he was aiming for had been, up until his injury, the most amazing high of his life. And yet somehow, Sam had been more; he’d been real, he’d been caring, he’d been generous, and he’d been loving. He’d been everything Eric had never had, and now that he was gone, Eric knew there was no chance anything could ever replace him.
He thought about calling Sam, about begging him to come back, but he knew from the calmness with which Sam had spoken to him on their last night together that it was over; he’d screwed up one too many times. Sam was a rational and sane adult and he had made a rational and sane decision. As humiliated as Eric felt he would be if people found out he was gay, he wasn’t self-centered enough to ignore the fact that Sam was probably just as humiliated by having to keep their life together a secret. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Sam’s love; but if Sam loved him, and if he loved Sam, he knew he couldn’t continue to live a lie. If they truly loved each other, then they’d have to start thinking about building a future together, and there could be no future in a shut-tight closet. Sam deserved more than that.
*
He had no intention of getting out of bed the morning that Joan appeared at the door. But she knocked for a straight five minutes before calling twice, and when he finally answered the phone she announced matter-of-factly that she could see his car and she knew he was inside.
Eric stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping on a soggy towel that lay across the landing. He opened the door and squinted into the sunlight, which he hadn’t seen for some time, while Joan quickly invited herself in.
“Hi, Eric,” she said, happily hugging him. “Jesus, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, Joan,” he responded, startled by the ragged sound of his own voice as he hadn’t heard it out loud for several days.
“What are sisters for?” she teased, then glanced disdainfully around at the mess that surrounded them. “Heard of housekeeping?”
“Been busy,” Eric mumbled.
“I doubt that,” she repiled.
“What are you doing here?” He didn't bother to hide the edge from his voice. Eric-the-asshole was evidently back.
“When you told me about your new place, you sounded so excited. I just wanted to see it for myself.”
“Well, see it, here it is.” He was suddenly exhausted. The brief exchange was the most social interaction he’d had in almost three weeks, and without another word he turned and started to head back up the stairs to bed.
She followed after him. “What’s up with you? You sounded so great on the phone last time we talked.”
“Tired,” he muttered, sinking down onto the bed, and Joan did the same.
“Wow, so every room is a disaster,” she noted, pushing a day old beer bottle off the edge of the bed with her foot. “Someone might mistake you for a frat boy in this mess.”
“So you’re telling me you drove all the way down here to comment on my housekeeping skills?” Eric grumbled.
Joan paused. “Been thinking about moving back into the area,” she finally said, but her voice had lost some of its cheerful buoyancy.
“Oh? I thought Rick had said . . .”
“We’re getting a divorce,” she interrupted, laying her head down on a pillow, and as she did Eric couldn’t help but think about the fact that it was Sam’s pillow.
“Shit, Joan, I’m sorry,” he said, lying down on his side next to her.
He didn’t know what else to say, as they’d never really had a close enough relationship to justify advising each other on their love lives. She’d tried to be there for him when he’d first suffered the break, but he’d pushed her away, and she hadn’t pressed. He’d known though, even back then, that her relationship was on the rocks, which probably had something to do with how easily she’d given up.
“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s kinda been heading that way for a while, I just tried to keep it together for the kid, you know? But now I figure maybe it’s better to get it over with when he’s too young to remember rather than let him suffer through it when he’s older.”
Eric nodded.
She reached out and gave his head a gentle rub with her knuckles. “So what’s up with you? You seem like you’re in a funk.”
He attempted a shrug with the shoulder that was not against the bed, which was the injured one, and winced in pain.
“Maybe you should try not to be so apathetic there.” She laughed at his discomfort. “But really, what is it?”
“I broke my arm and my shoulder in four places and lost my career, Joan. How’d you expect me to be?”
“I know that.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “But when I’ve talked to you before today you’ve sounded . . . I dunno . . . cheerful or something. And now you look and smell like you haven’t seen a shower in quite a few days, and your house feels like a dungeon. Were you just faking it on the phone or what?”
Eric sighed against the pillow, which hadn’t been washed in some time and was now starting to show it. “Fine. I was seeing someone, and now I’m not,” he finally admitted.
“Eric!” Joan snapped, leaning up on her elbow. “You were in a relationship and you didn’t tell me? Why the hell not?!”
“It’s over now,” he shot back. “What difference does it make?”
“Well, what happened?”
Eric had to resist the urge to shrug again. “I messed up. I let h-” he closed his eyes, cutting himself off. “It’s just over, Joan,” he mumbled. “Can we go back to talking about your crumbling marriage now?”
Joan did not seem disturbed by his comment. Probably because she’d caught wind of something else. “Eric,” she said gently. “I’m going to ask you something, and before I do I just want you to know it doesn’t matter what you say because we’re family.”
Blood rushed into Eric’s face, making it hard to hear her over the pounding in his ears.
“Eric, are you gay?”
“What? No, no . . . why . . .why would you think that?” Defensiveness had always been his first resort, and it had served him well enough in the past. But no one in his family had ever asked him directly before. And no one had ever asked him in that tone of voice that said I already know, and it’s okay. Or if they had, he'd been too afraid to hear.
“Well,” she began slowly. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, and I’ve never once heard you brag about your sexual exploits with women. And let’s face it, you’re just not that much of a gentleman to be keeping such things to yourself out of respect.”
He tried to summon more denials, but Joan was staring at him like he was transparent, like she could read every thought in his brain, like she already knew every sexual thing he had done with Sam in that bed. He wasn’t a crier, but all the same drops of liquid fell from his eyes, creating dark circles on the beige sheets. He studied the puddles curiously as if he was not quite sure where they’d come from.
Joan took the hem of her sleeve to his face and soaked up the tears gently. “Tell me about . . . him?” she asked.
Eric closed his eyes. There was no point in denying it now; tears were as good an admission as any. And besides, all he could think about, all he could see in the darkness of his closed lids was Sam. All he wanted was Sam.
**********
Sam had been expecting the call. Actually, he’d been expecting it much earlier than the three weeks out it took to receive it. He’d spent those three weeks trying his best to convince himself that he hadn’t really been in love; that he’d merely allowed himself to be fooled by lust. He told himself all he’d been to Eric was a fuck buddy-a glorified fuck buddy who also did his laundry and bought him groceries and washed his hair and massaged him when he was tense. He was expecting the call, but he also expected it to be for nothing more than sex, and he had no intention of responding to another one of Eric’s booty calls ever again.
But for all his efforts, he wasn’t able to make himself bitter enough not to miss Eric. He missed the way his skin creased in to the deep lines of his dimples when he smiled brightly. He missed the way his eyes lit up when he found something humorous long before he laughed. He missed the way Eric had teased him, in and out of the bedroom, and he missed the way he’d felt when he had been needed.
So when the phone rang the first time, he had to battle between the two halves of himself; between the half that was angry enough to want to rip up every memory he had of Eric like old photographs from a demolished relationship-not that he and Eric had any of those, of course-and the half that still craved some impossible miracle that would allow him to hold Eric in his arms once again. His more logical resolve to cut his losses won out the first time, and the second. But then when the phone rang for the third time he gave in, unable to keep his emotions in check.
Eric’s voice sounded strange on the phone, and he tried not to let it affect him, but the heartbreaking tone got to him anyways. And though he firmly told himself he was not going to reopen the still-raw wound, when Eric suggested a coffee date to “talk”, he caved, as it was far less likely that a public encounter could lead to anything in the bedroom.
He prepared several easy letdown speeches in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and washed his face and carefully dressed himself in what he considered his most neutral outfit. At the very least, he hoped the meeting would give him a sense that he had the upper hand again, so long as he could stay firm and turn Eric down. Mark had never asked for him back; in fact he’d seemed relieved when his cheating ways had been discovered, as it had allowed them to both finally stop living a charade. With Eric, Sam was determined to be the one who came out on top, although he wasn’t sure if that victory would be enough to fill the hollow void left in his heart.
*
He spotted Eric as he entered, waiting at a table by the windowed wall of the coffee shop. His face was thinner again, and Sam sighed inwardly, knowing Eric probably hadn’t bothered to buy any real food after the last round of groceries had run out. But he had shaved and dressed himself nicely, which meant he was at least trying to make a good impression.
“Hey,” Sam said, sliding quietly into the chair across from him. “How are you?”
“Fine, fine,” Eric responded quickly, but his eyes and his body language said otherwise. He was clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly while chewing at the corner of his lip.
“So . . . you said you wanted to talk?” Sam continued.
Eric drew in an uneven breath. “Sam . . .” he began.
Just then the door to the coffee shop jangled open and a petite woman with curly brown hair entered and approached them. “Eric!” she said happily. “I’m glad you’re still here. I wanted to ask you something before leaving town.”
She stopped in front of them. Eric was still taking deep, nervous breaths, and Sam steeled himself for another one of his famously catastrophic attempts at playing off their association.
“Sam,” Eric finally said. “This is my sister, Joan. Joan, this is Sam.”
“So nice to meet you!” Joan smiled and extended her hand. “Eric’s told me so much about you.”
Sam glanced at Eric, who had gone slightly green. He took Joan's hand and shook it briefly. “He has?”
She nodded, then looked over at Eric expectantly. “Eric?” she prompted.
Eric sunk his head down into his hands. “Joan, this is ridiculous. I’m no good at acting. I can’t act natural when you planned this whole thing. I’m sorry.”
Joan pursed her lips and pulled up a chair, plopping herself down unceremoniously. “Well lucky for you, I have a plan B, then.”
Now Sam’s head was literally whirling in confusion as he kept darting his eyes over to Eric, attempting to get an explanation. Eric would not look up.
“Well, Sam,” Joan continued. “I hope you won’t mind me intruding into your business but sometimes Eric could use a little help.”
Sam had to suppress a bark of laughter.
“He’s completely crazy about you, he’s been miserable since you split up, he knows he was an asshole and he really wants to work on that so he’s hoping you’ll give him another chance.”
Sam felt his mouth drop open.
“Well, okay then, I hope to see you again Sam. Gotta get back to my kiddo.” She stood up and leaned over to give Eric a kiss. “See ya, Eric,” and with that she spun around and was gone.
They sat in silence for a minute while Eric furiously rubbed his head into his hands. Finally he peeked through his fingers to glance at Sam’s still-stunned expression.
“You came out to your sister?” Sam asked, the surprise in his voice turning the question into a shocked whisper.
“Well, she kind of figured it out herself,” Eric mumbled, finally dropping one of his hands from his face and laying it down on the table
“And you asked her to come here and meet me so . . . so I’d see you were starting to come out and give you a second chance?”
“She kind of figured that out on her own, too,” Eric replied.
Sam chuckled. “Are you trying to win me back or what? Maybe you should try to take a little credit.”
“Well, I let her talk me into it,” Eric said, a slight smile poking through his worried features.
Sam shook his head with a grin but then let his mouth straighten out into a more serious expression, remembering his resolution to stay firm.
Eric let out a sad sigh. He stretched out the hand that had been lying on the table and placed it on top of Sam’s. “Sammy, I know I screwed up. And I know you deserve better than me. But I miss you so much, and if you give me another chance I swear I’ll do better . . .” he trailed off when he noticed Sam grinning again.
“You’re holding my hand, in public,” Sam informed him. The unexpected touch had immediately sent waves of longing pulsing through him, and he could tell his resolve had started to weaken.
Eric retracted his hand like he’d touched a live wire. Then, “Shit, shit, no, I didn’t mean to pull away like that . . . hold on, give me a sec . . .” and he gingerly placed his hand down again, not quite holding Sam’s but close enough to be touching, though his face clearly showed he was uncomfortable with that as well.
“You don’t have to hold my hand, Eric.” Sam rolled his eyes. “It was never really about that. I cared more about what you thought about us than what you thought the world would think of us. I wasn’t asking you to confront the world-- just yourself.”
Eric nodded. “Okay, then . . . what I think is . . . that I want you in my life . . . I mean, I want to be with you. Can you give me another chance? Please, Sammy.”
Two men in suits passed by and Eric withdrew his hand from its near-touch rapidly. He caught Sam’s eyes following the jerked reaction and paled.
Sam suddenly found himself thinking about the way Mark had been when they’d been out together, always ready to lay a possessive hand across his shoulders or call him “sweetheart.” He knew without a doubt that Eric would never be that kind of man, yet somehow all of Mark’s pleasantries and public affection had never made up for the way he had made him feel insecure in his own skin once they were behind closed doors. And Eric, for all his flaws, had been nearly the opposite. When they were alone together he had made Sam feel like he was his entire world-and perhaps he had been-and now Sam missed him even more bitterly than before. But he still didn’t know if that was enough to risk his battered heart on again.
Eric was studying Sam in his silence, his face still twisted in guilt from his reaction to the passersby. “Move in with me,” he blurted out.
Sam was startled from his thoughts, and Eric was evidently startled as well because he threw a hand over his mouth. “Shit, I wasn’t going to say that . . . I mean, I wasn’t going to say that now . . . shit . . . it’s just that the house is so big for just me, and I thought, I mean it was something to think about . . .”
Eric had flamed red with embarrassment, and Sam knew from experience that beneath his shirt the blush had probably spread down his chest as well. For his own part, air was scarcely making its way into his lungs, but he had to temper the dizzying excitement with cold, hard reality.
“If we moved in together, people would figure it out,” he said as flatly as he could.
Eric nodded. “Yeah, yeah . . . I know. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, Sam . . . and look, I’m not sure when . . . or if . . . I’ll feel comfortable being uh, open, about my private life in the work world, especially since I’ll be working in sports, and I don’t really see how that’s anyone’s business . . .” he stopped his rambling and drew in a breath as he noticed Sam’s unimpressed expression. “But I was thinking, maybe I could start being more . . .more . . . honest with my friends and family . . . if you’ll help me.”
“You don’t have any friends, and Joan’s your only family,” Sam responded slowly.
“Fine, then, with your friends and family.”
Sam drew in his breath sharply as his heart began to do strange, acrobatic leaps in his chest.
“Sam?” Eric asked, his face still red from his earlier embarrassment, or perhaps just from emotion. “Can we get out of here please?”
*********
Next Chapter 14