Chapter Ten
Illias
“They have deeply corrupted themselves, as in the days of Gibeah: therefore he will remember their iniquity, he will visit their sins.”
Illias knew exactly what to expect when he went over to his mom’s house for their weekly Friday brunch and saw Henry’s truck still sitting in the driveway; tense conversation and the looming threat of another argument.
Logically, Illias knew he couldn’t avoid Henry forever.
At some point there would be expectation to at least be civil towards him.
Especially considering there was no chance of Illias’ mom divorcing Henry, considering it was against Catholic beliefs.
Illias could only hope that he didn’t have to deal with Henry on a routine basis.
Preparing for the worse, Illias headed towards the house.
As he got closer, he saw his mom sitting on the front porch reading.
She lifted her head and smiled, crow’s feet crinkling and dimples showing.
For a split second, Illias saw the female version of himself looking back at him.
His mom patted the cushion next to her as he stepped onto the porch. “How have you been, baby?”
He sat down carefully, cautious of how much weight the old swing could take. “I’ve been okay. Work’s been keeping me busy.”
“I used to hate working nights, you get that from your father.” She marked the page she had been reading. “He was always a night owl, you know.”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” he joked lightly, knowing that even after all these years his father’s memory was still a sensitive topic.
He passed away not long after Illias was born.
Freak workplace accident, at least that’s what he was told growing up.
His mom didn’t like talking about it so Illias never pressed.
However, at the mention of his father, Illias searched her expression for anything that told him why she brought him up.
Her face was nearly unreadable, but Illias could tell there was something bothering her.
She wouldn’t tell him directly what it was, she would beat around the bush instead.
She hated being the bearer of bad news. It took her two days to tell him that his fifth-grade science project for the fair got knocked over in the fridge when she put in leftovers.
“Mom.” He grabbed her hand so that she would focus on him. “If something’s wrong, if—” A lump grew in his throat, thick and tacky. He tried to swallow but it refused to budge. “If something’s wrong with you—”
“Oh, honey, no.” She shifted to face him. “Nothing like that. I’m doing just fine. Right as rain, so don’t go worrying yourself sick, okay?” she assured, holding his hand.
“So, what’s going on?” Dread clung to the nape of his neck with a cold hand. “Why did you bring up Dad? And why is Henry here?”
“Well, since you and Henry’s fight a while back, there’s been a lot of talking between me and him.” She rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. “A lot of hard, heart-to-heart type talks.”
Illias resisted the urge to scoff at the idea of Henry actually having a meaningful conversation.
“And he wanted to apologize to you.”
Illias’ jaw dropped. His mom patted his hand before standing up and saying she was going to send Henry out while she did breakfast. Illias nodded, feeling like that was the only appropriate response, and leaned against the back of the swing.
Henry wants to…apologize? Illias’ stomach knotted.
He was actually getting an apology from the man that belittled and mocked him for years.
No fucking way, he thought, unable to accept it.
That man has never been sorry once in my entire life.
“Hey,” Henry’s gruff voice greeted.
Illias lifted his head, fixing Henry with a sour glare.
He sighed and sat in the faded blue rocking chair next to the door. “You have every right to be mad.”
“I know I do,” Illias scoffed, looking out at the yard. “You’re a fucking prick.”
“Can we please have a civil discussion?”
“A civil discussion?” Illias’ head snapped up to look at Henry, arms braced against his knees and head bowed. “After what you said to me?”
“Please,” Henry repeated the singular word in a watery voice. “I can’t take Lauren being mad at me any longer. She won’t even sleep in our bed anymore. I—”
“You what?” Illias crossed his arms. “Think apologizing will magically make her fall in love with you again?”
“No, but I think it’s a start.” Henry looked up, his eyes tired and red.
Illias couldn’t stop the sharp bark of a laugh that punched from him. “A start? A fucking start?” Another bitter laugh escaped him. “I don’t need your pathetic excuse of an apology, Henry. Never did. Never will. You are a shit husband and an even shittier father.”
“You’re right—”
“I know I’m fucking right!” Illias snapped.
Anger flared in his chest, hot and volatile.
“Do you really think that a measly little I’m sorry is enough to change the fact that for years you put me through Hell?
Did you forget that you made me feel like a stranger in my own home?
Or that you told me, on more than one occasion, that I’m a disappointment, despite me trying my fucking best to make you proud?
Oh, I know, maybe you forgot that you converted my mom and forced me to go to Sunday School where I was taught to hate myself because of the fact I’m gay.
” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I don’t know what you said to Mom to get her to think that you're worth a second chance, but I’m not going to sit here and listen to you throw yourself a pity party. ”
Illias stood and headed towards the stairs, no longer caring about brunch. He would make it up to his mom later.
“Illias, please just wait a minute,” Henry pleaded, halting Illias mid-step. “I know I haven’t done right by you or Lauren. And I’ll never be able to change what I’ve already done. But I want to try to make things right between us.”
“You’ll never be able to make things right, Henry. Make your peace with that,” Illias bit out, then headed towards his car. Eyes wetter than he wanted to admit.
His conversation with Henry left a hollow ache in the center of Illias’ chest. Anger burned at the edges, but he wasn’t sure who the anger was directed towards.
Henry for waiting too long to apologize, or himself for not accepting it.
Henry didn’t deserve forgiveness or a second chance.
Some part of Illias knew it would’ve been the good Catholic son thing to do, then again, he never was a good Catholic son.
Illias did his best not to think about it, throwing himself into work instead.
He flirted with anybody that showed him the slightest interest. Cheap, powerful, overwhelming cologne crowded out memories from earlier.
Perverted promises attempted to replace Henry’s voice.
It wasn’t enough though. Illias could still feel that burning, empty ache lingering like a stain.
He wondered how late Revived Faith was open.
If Cantrell would be there, sitting in the pews.
Waiting. Illias pictured the scene. Candlelight casting a soft orangey hue over Cantrell’s gentle, aged features.
His smile would be warm as he invited Illias to sit and talk.
Illias wouldn’t be able to resist. He never could.
There was something about Cantrell that made talking easier.
Illias didn’t understand why, but he did know one thing: he desperately wanted to see Cantrell again.
A whistle at the end of the bar caught Illias’ attention.
He glanced over his shoulder to see a man motioning him over.
Illias finished pulling the beer for the customer in front of him then walked over.
Illias’ heart dropped to his stomach. The man looked almost identical to Cantrell, though Illias admired the way his shirt hugged his broad shoulders and biceps.
Cantrell wasn’t necessarily a wisp of a man, but this man had him beat in the muscles department by a long shot.
“Well look at you. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Illias made a show of dragging his eyes down and up the man, drinking him in. “What can I get started for you, sir?”
The man leaned against the bar. “Whatever gets you in bed with me.”
“I’ve got just the drink.” Illias winked.
He walked over to the liquor counter and swayed his hips just enough to draw attention to his ass.
He knew his ass looked good in the jeans he wore, despite how baggy they were everywhere else.
He made a show of bending and jutting his ass out until he finished the drink.
Illias turned, pulling the test straw from the cup and locking eyes with the man.
Illias licked up the straw before wrapping his lips around the tip and releasing the taster onto his tongue.
The man’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Illias knew he had the man, hook, line, and sinker.
Illias tossed the straw and sauntered over.
“A Sex in the Driveway.” He pushed the glass across the bar. “Extra hard,” he whispered with an over-the-top wink.
Caught up in eye-fucking the man, Illias missed Jasmine coming behind the counter. She smacked his ass as she walked past and said, “Someone’s getting busy.”
He jumped, heat rushing to his face. “Jasmine,” he hissed in her direction.
“Do you need to get back to work?” the man asked with a charming smile. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble and get spanked again.”
“What if I liked being spanked?” he retorted without thinking.
“Then I think I might have to take you over my knee myself.”
Built up lust ran rampant through him. The man bore such a striking resemblance to Cantrell that Illias considered sneaking off with him and pretending he was. After all, the priest had said Illias couldn’t touch himself, not that others couldn’t touch him.
“Illias, quit trying to fuck the nice man at the counter,” Jasmine scolded, flicking her bar rag at him as she passed by again. “I need your help on the floor.”
“Illias,” the man repeated. “Pretty name for a pretty face.”
“And what’s your name?”
“Sam. You’ll be screaming it later.”
“Oh, I do hope so.” He bit his lip. “I’ll be back.”
Illias grabbed a small notepad and headed out onto the floor.
The bar was more crowded than normal, making it difficult to navigate.
He apologized as he squeezed between patrons and dodged pool sticks.
Focused on not running into anyone or anything, he didn’t notice someone coming up behind him.
A startled gasp escaped him when hands grabbed his waist.
“I couldn’t wait for you to come back to the bar.” Sam’s breath was hot across Illias’ ear. “You looked too good out here.”
“I look a lot better bent over,” he responded on impulse.
“I bet you fucking do. Bathroom, two minutes.”
Illias watched Sam disappear into the bathroom across the bar.
Maybe if he didn’t look so much like Cantrell, maybe if Illias was a stronger man, then he wouldn’t actually consider following.
But Sam looked like Cantrell and Illias wasn’t stronger than the lust that rampaged through his body after three mere days of denial.
Before he talked himself out of it, he made a beeline for the bathroom.
The minute the door closed, Sam pushed Illias against the wall and caught his lips in a rough kiss.
He groaned into Sam’s mouth, tangling his fingers in silver hair.
Illias arched his hips off the wall, pressing against Sam’s.
Sam pulled away and dropped his head; his lips grazed the shell of Illias’ ear. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea,” he breathed, eyes fluttering close in bliss as Sam’s lips pressed hot, wet kisses to his neck.
Sam pressed himself fully against Illias, sliding a knee between his legs. “I have an idea.”
Sam’s hands were rough and demanding. His grip was tight on Illias’ hips.
He pressed his hands against Sam’s chest in a nonverbal warning, but he didn’t pay attention.
Or didn’t care. Illias wondered if Cantrell was this demanding.
If he would pay attention to the small cues and pull back.
Illias wished he was with Cantrell instead.
Wished he was being pressed against an oil-soaked pew instead of a filthy bathroom wall coated in graffiti.
“Ow, shit,” Illias swore, pushing Sam. “Dude, what the fuck?”
“What? Was that too much?” There was a hint of concern in Sam’s voice showing that he wasn’t an actual dick like Illias had made him out to be.
“No—I mean—fuck! Whatever,” Illias groaned and turned towards the mirror, examining the spot that Sam bit. “This was a fucking mistake,” he mumbled to himself, fearing the red mark wouldn’t fade by Sunday. “I’ve got to go back to work.”
“So soon? We just got started.”
Sam reached towards Illias and he leaned away. Okay maybe he is a dick, he thought, trying not to glare. “Look, I’m sorry but I really do have to get back to work.”
“Can I at least get your number?” Sam asked, reaching for his back pocket instead of Illias.
Illias mustered a half-hearted flirty smile. “Sure.”
He typed a number into Sam’s phone and handed it back before slipping out of the bathroom. On his way back towards the bar, Illias ran directly into someone. He took a step back to apologize but the words fell silent on his lips when he realized who was in front of him.