Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

fastening the small pack around his waist, and didn't see the sharp glance George cut him.
    How many different ways did the man plan to push him? George made no reply as he stood and yanked his shirt off the limb, jerking it over his head and punching his arms through the sleeves. Turning abruptly, he crashed through the stiff screen of waxy leaves, grabbing at roots and weeds as he scrambled up the embankment. As soon as he reached the smooth concrete path he broke into a trot, picking up speed with every step. Oliver soon caught up even though George pushed their pace, but wisely kept his mouth shut, yet his silence felt pregnant.
    George spied Oliver's car close to the gate as they slowed to a stroll at the entrance to the gardens. "I'm parked near the street. See ya later." At the flash of a raised brow, he added, "I'll call you. I need to get some sleep."
    "Drop by my car for a minute." Oliver grabbed his shirt with one hand and pointed the remote fob on his keys with the other. The trunk lid popped, and George reluctantly looked inside. The trunk was spotless, except for a box wrapped in bright red paper. The bow was hot pink. "No, Oliver, I don't want a present." George shook his head, his heart sinking. Ever since mentioning that all rehab programs recommended a person in recovery avoid relationships for at least a year after getting clean, he'd had the feeling Oliver had been counting the days along with him for more than moral support.
    "Open it." Oliver pushed the small package into his hands, a challenge in his eyes.
    With a sense of satisfaction which surprised him, George noted Oliver's usually perfectly groomed waves were mussed. "Damn it, Evans, you don't need to buy me stuff. I need to throw some clothes into the washing machine and grab some sleep."
    Oliver's lips took an obstinate line. "I have a washer and dryer, you know. Why do you insist on dragging your clothes to that nasty community laundry room and spending money to wash when you don't need to?"
    George had felt this moment coming for a couple of weeks. Committing to an openly gay relationship scared the hell out of him. Telling his wife he preferred men was one thing, but holding hands while walking down the streets of a small town was something else altogether. He knew that was what Oliver was pushing for, and George wasn't ready.
    "Okay. Go sleep, then bring your laundry over tonight. I'll make us dinner."
    Using Oliver's washer and dryer implied a level of domesticity George didn't want to think about. "Adam has a ball game. Connie invited me this morning."
    Oliver's light brows went up, and when George didn't speak, he saw the flash of pain in the other man's eyes, and tried to explain. "If I show up at one of my kid's games with any man that's not my fucking father, Connie would come unglued, Oliver. The whole idea is for us to try and support Adam together. I don't see how rubbing her nose in the fact I lied to her for years is going to help."
    "Just open the fucking present, dipshit," Oliver said mildly.
    Reluctantly, George ripped off the paper, tossing it and the obnoxious pink bow into a handy trash bin. The cardboard box didn't offer a clue about the contents, but George was grateful it was too heavy to hold something stupid like matching rings. Prying open the lid, he moved pale pink tissue paper aside with a shake of his head. His eyes opened wide when he saw the polished metal top engraved with the famous Leica script logo. Running his nail over the M and 3 imprinted near the hot shoe that was the mount for a flash, he said, "Wow, you bought me a vintage Leica? This is incredible, Oliver." He slid his hand around the solid shape of the camera he knew had been manufactured before either of them had been born.
    When he lifted the gift from the tissue paper, he got why pink was such a theme. Someone had replaced the usual black Vulcanite covering around the camera body with pink snakeskin. Pink. Snakeskin. George stared in confusion.
    "I did the restoration on the cover myself," Oliver was saying proudly. "Do you like it?"
    "Uh, sure. I guess I don't get why you chose pink on purpose." George chuckled. This had to be a gag gift. The camera was probably broken. A conversation piece, George decided.
    "George, you're gay. I know it, your ex-wife knows it, the son you adopted knows it. Embrace it. Stop straddling the fucking fence. Those splinters in your ass are killing me. It's as if you came out but keep holding onto the idea