Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
FALLON
It was just past ten when he was brave enough to roll out of bed, and by the time he had showered, put on clothes that didn’t come from the bottom of his laundry basket, and shoveled a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich in his face, it was nearly noon. And Gage still wasn’t back.
Fallon hadn’t heard him come into his own apartment and couldn’t hear anyone moving around.
It meant Gage either wasn’t home yet or was avoiding him.
He wanted to believe it was the former, but he deserved the latter.
After sleeping with Charlie, Fallon couldn’t face Gage because of the guilt about what he’d done.
About what Gage might think about him if he knew what Fallon had chosen to do with the person who’d hurt both him and Lucas.
And then it got worse after he had taken a piss on the white stick and it came back with a fucking plus sign.
He stopped calling Frankie, stopped spending the night at Fenton’s, and hired a moving company after signing his lease. He could still hear how hurt Frankie had sounded when he told him what he was up to, and the guilt was overwhelming, but he wasn’t ready to face him.
Frankie and Fenton would have opinions. They would try and give him advice.
They’d get in his head one way or the other, and he wouldn’t be able to think straight.
As it was, going off his testosterone and the new surge of hormones coursing through his body was already leaving him a foggy mess.
He was fucking up during photoshoots and doing his best to fix it before he pissed off his clients.
He couldn’t afford to lose work. He had very little savings and no backup career plan. He couldn’t risk his reputation. He just also didn’t know how he could do this and not have it be a fucking thing.
Not everyone knew he was trans, but they’d know something was up if the dude with the short beard and flat chest turned up to a shoot with a round stomach. He didn’t want to have to explain himself.
Fuck. He didn’t want to do this at all.
At least, not right now.
He’d talked to his therapist about it years ago, when Frankie offered to pay for surgery. He’d been freaked-out by the offer and panicked, working himself up so badly he’d thrown up after. He didn’t blame his brother, of course.
Frankie was trying to support him.
But it also took him a long time and several therapy sessions to figure out why he was feeling the way he did.
“Many trans men want to have biological children. I think that’s nature. People of all genders want that.”
“But men don’t have babies,” he’d argued.
She shrugged. “Some men do.”
That put it into a perspective for him he was able to understand. Some men had babies. Just like some men had ovaries and vaginas. Some men had penises and testicles. Some had nothing at all.
He was terrified of the dysphoria it might cause, so he put the whole having-kids thing on the back burner, but Charlie had brought it up more than once, and the thought of procreating with that man had made him sick to his stomach.
By the time Charlie went off the deep end, Fallon was already done with him.
He was looking desperately for a way out that wouldn’t disrupt his life too much, and of course, his ex had no intention of making it easy for him.
But he’d been over him for so, so long by that point.
Every time Charlie touched him, he’d recoil.
Every time Charlie went in for a kiss, he got nauseous.
He couldn’t believe that a few drinks and soft memories and his inhibitions had gone out the fucking window. But then again, the Charlie who showed up to apologize had been the Charlie Fallon had first fallen for, and, well…a tiny part of him missed that man.
The man who would have never spoken to him the way Charlie had started to speak to him. The man who looked at Fallon like he was an equal. The Charlie who never could have raised a hand to anyone.
Of course, the monster he’d become was inside that old Charlie, but a bit of booze and he’d forgotten for fifteen minutes.
The only saving grace was that Charlie left. That he gave up and left with his tail between his legs.
Fallon just hadn’t realized what he was leaving behind.
Taking a breath, he put his hand on his stomach and felt his heart sink. There, at the very bottom, he could feel it was rounder. Not by a lot, but enough. It wouldn’t make his jeans tight yet. But it would soon.
And he was running out of time to figure it out.
Fallon did his best work talking aloud with someone else, pinging ideas off someone else’s brain. That was usually Fenton’s job. Fallon didn’t have friends. He didn’t have the patience to wait for someone new to get used to him—to understand him.
To be patient with him.
Gage had been the first person in his life who didn’t feel like work, but he was too embarrassed to go to him and admit what he’d done. He felt slimy for it. Like a failure. Like he’d given in to every weakness he possessed because it didn’t make fucking sense.
He’d just had the best sex of his life, and then he hopped into bed with his shitty, abusive ex-boyfriend?
What kind of man did that make him?
“Hello?”
Fallon jumped half a foot in the air before realizing who was calling him. He darted out of the bedroom to see Gage poking his head around the front door, smiling a little sheepishly. “You came back.”
“I promised I would. I just got back from the grocery store, if you’re hungry.”
Fallon shook his head. It was still early enough days that his appetite was shit. “I had something. Um…thanks though.”
Gage’s arms flopped down to his sides, and he leaned against the doorframe. “Oh. I mean, that’s fine. Maybe I can cook you dinner.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Dude. It sucks cooking for one. Most of the time, I raid Lucas’s food truck before he closes, just so I don’t have to deal with leftovers. You’d be doing me a favor if you share.”
Fallon knew he was full of shit, but he didn’t mind. He liked it. His fingers began to dance at his sides, and he kept his stimming small and quiet. He knew Gage probably wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t in the mood to be stared at for it.
“I can leave if you want me to,” Gage said after a long, pointed silence. “I don’t want to interrupt your day.”
Fallon quickly shook his head. “No. No, I—I just don’t know what to say. This is kind of weird. I mean, you were so unexpected.”
Gage seemed so uncertain, and Fallon wished he could be better with his words.
“Please don’t look like that,” Fallon said softly. “I didn’t mean…I just…it’s a lot and—”
“Hey, no.” Gage walked all the way in, swinging the door shut behind him, and he didn’t stop until he’d crowded into Fallon’s space.
Normally, he hated that kind of thing, but with Gage, it was grounding.
It was soft. Careful. Possessive, even when he probably didn’t mean to be.
Gage tilted his head low and kept his voice quiet.
“This isn’t on you, okay? I didn’t expect to see you again.
Or, I mean, not for a good long while. I figured it was inevitable since Frankie and Lucas are a thing, but I also thought maybe you were avoiding me. Last night was unexpected for me too.”
Fallon took a deep breath, then reached up and gently grazed Gage’s swollen eye. “Hurts a lot?”
“Nah.”
“I don’t like knowing I hurt you.”
Gage’s lips softened into a smile, and Fallon couldn’t stop staring at them. “You were defending yourself and your home. You were really brave.”
Fallon felt himself shudder. God, why did Gage have to talk like that? Why did Fallon have to react so much to it? He felt all warm and wanting and needy. Was it hormones? Or was it just Gage?
He was thinking the second one, considering the way he’d reacted the night he and Gage were in his apartment.
“Um…” He’d lost his train of thought. “I…okay.”
Gage laughed softly and reached down, taking Fallon’s hand. “Want to come to my place? Or do you have work?”
Work. Work? Oh.
“Yes. But no,” he said, shaking his head and trying to clear some fog. “I have a shoot tonight—a sunset shoot. I have time.”
“Amazing. I have snacks and TV and a really comfy quilt.” Gage didn’t let his hand go.
He tugged Fallon out of the bed, through the door, and over the handful of steps down the hall to the other apartment. The door opened and shut before Fallon even processed that he’d moved spaces, and he was taking off his shoes and walking to the couch when his brain finally caught up with him.
“Here,” Gage said, holding the quilt up. “Get comfy.”
Were there…yeah. There were more pillows than last time. They were soft too. Fallon buried himself in them, pulling them around his body to make a tiny nest, and he gave a happy sigh when Gage threw the quilt on top and he sank down into the cushions.
“Were these here before?”
Gage snorted. “No. Everyone had the same idea when they were bringing me housewarming gifts. I guess they were worried I wasn’t comfortable enough. Or that…I don’t know…I needed something soft after everything.”
“Everything?” Fallon asked.
Gage’s eyes widened, and then he let out a sharp breath. “You don’t know. Right.”
Fallon’s brows dipped. “Um…”
Pulling the corner of the quilt back, Gage slipped under the covers and kind of folded into himself. He was tall and kind of gangly, but he made it work. Resting his cheek against the tops of his knees, he let out a soft sigh.
“I’ll tell you. I don’t mind. But it’s kind of heavy and deals with some…some shit. Bad shit, so if it’s too much for you to hear, just tell me, okay?”
Fallon blinked at him. “What bad shit?”
Gage rolled his gaze up to the ceiling. “Assault. Um…sexual assault.” His voice tripped over the words a bit, like he wasn’t used to saying them. Like he viscerally didn’t want to.
“Someone did that to you?” Fallon asked. His stomach felt all hot suddenly. And it started to twist. He was angry.