Page 49 of His Every Move

Eli laughed at that, scratching Lucky’s head. “Thanks for coming with, by the way. I know it was last minute. I’m just used to always going with someone to things. It would usually be my sister. She loved Broadway, but, well, yeah.”

“I’ll gladly join you on anything. Besides, I don’t think you should be alone these days.”

He dropped his gaze to the wineglass in his hand. “Yeah… you’re right.”

“You mentioned your sister. You two close?”

“Pfft, hell no. We used to be. She used to be my best friend. Older than me by only a year, so we were pretty much always together.”

“What happened?”

“A man happened. She started dating this crazy, controlling douchebag. My sister—she always had the biggest heart—but she also had terrible judgment in character and would always end up with the worst kind of people. She fell in with this guy, a gang leader, and she completely changed. And—forget it, it’s too fucked-up to even say.” There was a tightness in his voice that made my heart crack.

Why was his life so full of people who wanted to hurt him?

It made me unreasonably angry.

“What happened?” I asked.

“It was the first time meeting him. At a Christmas Eve party. My parents were cooking the pig, the eggnog was flowing, the Christmas songs were blasting. It was great. Until he realized I was gay, that’s when shit hit the fan. He started telling my sister to ‘get the fag out before he did it himself.’ And he was clearly carrying a concealed gun because his hand would float over his hip when he said that.”

My fists clenched. Red filtered through my vision. “Seriously? What did your sister do?”

“She tried to get him to shut up at first. I could tell she was uncomfortable. But he wouldn’t stop. And then my mom was getting scared. I was about to leave, but my sister and her boyfriend left first. I haven’t talked to her since. It’s been almost seven years now.” He swirled his wine and chugged a heavy gulp.

“Fuck,” I said. “Toxic masculinity is a fucking plague.”

“It really is. What was he so scared of? That he’d catch the gay by talking to me? That I’d suddenly snap and lunge for his dick with my mouth? Like… what the fuck?”

“I think it comes from a deep unhappiness and an insecurity. They see someone like you living their fully authentic life, and they become reminded about all the shit they’re suppressing, all the joy they’re missing out on, just to play that typical ‘masculine’ role.” I shook my head, the anger still bubbling inside me. “Either that, or he’s a closet case and was upset he was fantasizing about being with you and not your sister.”

“We do look kind of similar.”

I laughed at that, although there was an obvious gloom in the air now.

“How ‘bout you? I want to know more about your family situation. I know you had difficulties with your parents…” Eli asked. He gently nudged Lucky off his lap and moved to sit on the couch directly next to me. The cushion sunk and pushed my leg against his.

Hah. My family situation. “Difficulties, that’s funny. It’s a fucking shitshow.”

“Really? Damn, sorry.”

I wasn’t entirely used to talking about my parents like this. My close friends, the few that I had, all knew about my family life, and it was never discussed with any of the random guys I’d dated over the years. None of them ever wanted to get that deep.

So bringing it up with Elijah felt odd but also rewarding. Like I was giving him a piece of me in the same way he had just done. “My dad basically lost everything we owned with his gambling. We moved into my grandma’s two-bedroom apartment in Jersey. I slept on the shittiest pull-out bed in the living room from when I was eight to about fifteen. I think my back is permanently fucked because of it.” Memories of those days flashed into my mind like footage from a grainy video recording. Details weren’t easy to make out, but general scenes were.

My mom and grandmother getting into a shouting match on my birthday. A wine bottle shattering. My mom’s hand bleeding buckets onto the floor. More shouting.

My dad turning his anger out on me after he had a terrible night on the poker table, smacking me repeatedly with a sandal until I was black and blue because I was a wild teenager who had the audacity to ask him if I could hang out with a friend.

My best friend at the time, Michael, taking me into his home. He was my knight in shining armor, my first true support, and my first-ever obsession. I started to excel in school, gained weight, didn’t smell like shit all the time because I had a washer and dryer that actually worked. I remembered how his father being a detective was what pushed me into my career.

Michael… He was someone I couldn’t talk about. What had happened to us, to him—it still hurt far too much. Like saying his name would sink a serrated knife straight down my throat.

“Now my dad’s dead and my mom is who the fuck knows where

Elijah’s expression softened. “Shit. I’m sorry, Benji.”

I took a slow sip of my wine, using the moment to gather myself. “Don’t be. He made his bed. It’s not like we ever had a great relationship to begin with.” I let out a humorless chuckle. “Pretty sure the last words he ever said to me were something along the lines of ‘you’re a fucking disgrace’ before he lost everything in one last, desperate gamble.”

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