Chapter 3 #2
“Compromise?” The idea felt ludicrous. But then the idea of kissing Gabriel had been ludicrous before last night. “How would we even do that? We can’t share the name, not anymore.”
“I know.” Tate patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “But you guys are both super smart, and I know you’ll figure something out. Something,” he added with a pointed glance towards Gabriel’s truck, “that you’re both happy with.”
Sean wanted to tell him that was impossible. There was going to be one winner and one loser here. Sean had always assumed that he’d be the former and Gabe would just have to come around to the new state of things.
But Tate’s words exposed not just the guilt he’d been feeling, but the fundamental assumptions he’d been making, and how they made him sound.
It hit him like a hard smack to the side of the head: he was always complaining that Gabe was a stubborn asshole, but when he believed that Gabe would have to give in, did that make him any different?
Didn’t it actually make him worse?
Tate patted him again. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
He had, in a way. Milo would not only have disapproved of how ridiculous Sean was being, he’d have been ashamed.
Could he and Gabriel compromise? The very thought seemed laughable, but how else could they get out of this and not hate each other in the end?
Because no matter how much they complained about each other, how vehemently Sean had bitched about Gabe and vice versa, he knew they’d never really hated each other.
But they would, if this kept going. If there was a winner and a loser.
“I think I need to go,” Sean said slowly. He reached up and tugged the knot out of his apron. The stupid, petty-as-fuck stained apron that he’d put on because he’d wanted to put Gabriel in his place. Shame him into giving in.
If it had worked, Sean never would’ve been able to live with himself.
He pulled the apron, and without a second thought, chucked into the trash.
Tate chuckled under his breath. “It’s about time,” he said.
“Yeah,” Sean said. “It really is.”
Gabriel was just locking up his truck when Sean found him, barely illuminated by a circle of one of the motion sensor lights scattered around the edge of the property. So far, the lights had kept the thefts and vandalisms to a minimum, but he knew Tony was still worried.
“Hey,” Sean said.
Gabriel glanced up, and then looked away. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I want to talk.”
Gabriel shrugged. “We already tried that.”
“No,” Sean said bluntly. “We really didn’t.”
“I’m not sure I’m following,” Gabriel said. “Is talking some kind of sexy metaphor that I’m not aware of?”
“No,” Sean said. “You said you wanted to know why I didn’t want to change the name. I guess if I’m asking you to change your name, you should at least know why.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I’ve only been begging you for years.”
“I know.” Sean hesitated, trying to tone down the defensiveness in his tone. “It’s just that I don’t talk about it . . . about him . . . much.”
At all, actually. Ever.
And maybe that was kind of fucked up too, now that Sean thought about it.
“Him?” Gabriel looked shocked. “What . . . no,” he said. “I think I need a drink for this.” He turned abruptly and headed in the direction of the Funky Cup, which was only a few blocks over.
“Wait,” Sean said, scrambling to reach him. Gabriel’s legs were just so freaking long. “Wait, I still need to lock up . . .”
Gabriel turned. “So go lock up, then,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Are you really sure we should drink around each other again after . . .” Sean took a deep breath. “After last night?”
“You stopped thinking about it?” Gabriel wondered.
“Last night?” Sean swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn’t squeak when he said the word, but it did anyway. “The kiss?”
“Yeah,” Gabriel said.
Sean stared at him for a moment. He was illuminated under one of those viciously bright lights. They washed everyone and everything under them out, but Gabriel was still, unbelievably, handsome. It’s because you’re just so horny. You want him so goddamn bad, that’s all.
“No,” he admitted. “No, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“Me either,” Gabriel said. “So I figure that whether we drink or not, it won’t matter.”
It was such a Gabriel thing to say. “It might happen again,” Sean hedged.
“Yeah.” Gabriel smiled wide. “I kinda hoped it might.”
“Okay,” Sean said. “But only after we . . . you know . . . talk. Actually talk.”
“Sure thing,” Gabe said. “See you in a few.” He turned away and walked off, slowly retreating from the circle of light into the darkness.
Sean took a deep breath, and as he headed over to his own truck, hoped against all better judgment that he wasn’t making a mistake.
If they did kiss again, if they did more, he was going to have to make sure he was clear. This was just sex. They were, what did they call it again? Friends with benefits. And it would have to absolutely stay separate from whatever discussions they had over the truck names.
He was going to have to make sure Gabriel understood exactly and precisely what he wasn’t going to be giving: maybe his body, but never his heart.
When he got to the Funky Cup, he stopped by the bar, but before he could order, Jackson glanced over at him. “Oh, Sean, it’s you,” he said. “Gabe said he’d meet you outside and that he already grabbed some drinks.”
Sean was a little afraid that Gabriel had gotten him another manhattan.
It might be easier to tell him about Milo if he had one of those in his hand, but tonight, he knew he wanted his edges sharp.
When he walked outside, he saw that Gabriel had claimed a bench next to the smaller fire pit.
It was a Wednesday, and a slower night at the bar, so other than a small trio laughing over by the other, much larger fire pit, they were alone.
“Hey,” Gabriel said as he sat down. “I got you a beer.”
Sean accepted it gratefully. As much as they’d argued over the last two years, they still knew each other pretty well. And maybe Gabriel had been paying better attention than he’d given him credit for.
“Thanks,” Sean said. Noticed that Gabriel had another manhattan in his hand. He raised an eyebrow. “Need something stronger for yourself?”
Gabriel shrugged. “You gonna be telling me about a he, so yeah, probably.”
“He was a lot more than just a he,” Sean said, fingers tightening on the bottle. “He was my husband.”
The shock written on Gabriel’s features was obvious; he’d clearly had no idea. “He was your . . . wait, he . . . was your husband?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Sean nodded. “His name was Milo and he died four and a half years ago, now.”
“Oh god, I am so sorry,” Gabriel said, and he sounded absolutely wretched.
As sympathetic as anyone had ever sounded.
If Sean had needed any additional evidence to prove that Gabriel wasn’t a bad guy, this was it right here.
But Sean discovered that he hadn’t really needed it.
He’d already known that Gabe was decent.
He’d never have kissed him otherwise. No matter how much he wanted him.
“That was why I left Portland,” Sean said.
“We’d always talked about starting a food truck—I worked at this little cafe, I’d started there when I was getting my MBA, and I enjoyed it.
A lot more than my business classes, actually.
Milo hated his job, and we’d fantasize sometimes, about buying some run-down food truck and renovating it and building a business from the ground up.
” Sean sipped his beer, more to wet his suddenly dry throat than a need to drink.
This was the hard part to talk about, even still.
“A drunk driver plowed into him when he was on his bicycle heading home to me. I got a big settlement. Life insurance. Money from the man who’d killed Milo.
I didn’t touch it for awhile. Couldn’t even imagine doing anything without him.
Kept thinking that I wanted my guy back more than I wanted the money.
But then . . . I guess, time happens, right?
I started to live again, but I still felt so stuck in Portland.
My therapist, he suggested I try somewhere new.
That I use the money to fulfill the dream we’d always shared.
So I did. I came to Los Angeles. I bought the food truck. And then I met you.”
“Oh, god,” Gabriel repeated, staring at him with wide eyes.
Sean’s fingers picked at the edge of the label on his beer. “On a Roll was always what Milo wanted to call the truck. He thought it was funny. He loved stupid puns. And,” he added with a wry smile, “it is pretty lame, if you think about it.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to change the name,” Gabriel said on a groan.
He threw back the whole drink, and Sean watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“And I was such a fucking asshole about it. Especially that . . . that first day. Well, and later, too.” Clearly he’d been thinking about the meatball missile too—but then how could he not, when Sean had gone out of his way to remind him about it?
“It’s alright,” Sean said, and discovered that .
. . yes, it really was okay. He wasn’t just saying the words; he meant them.
“I just thought, you said you wanted to know, and I realized that you should know why. Not because it gives me any stronger right to the name, but because it was unfair of me to believe that you should just change your name because I thought you should.”
“And because you have a dead husband,” Gabriel said. His eyes widened and he slapped a hand over his mouth. “God, just . . . kill me now,” he added. Then his eyes grew impossibly bigger.
Sean laughed. “No. And seriously, don’t worry about it. Why do you think I don’t tell people? Because of shit just like that. I don’t want to be treated like I’m fragile, like I’m about to break at any moment.”
“So . . . nobody knows?” Gabriel sounded like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You didn’t tell anyone?”