Page 61 of Your Only Fan
Ezra
Should I go after him?
Why? Because he’s crying? So what? It’s not like that changes anything. It’s not like it explains anything. Or like it justifies what he did.
He still spent a year pretending I didn’t exist in class when he’s been my biggest fan. He still hid his face from me and used me for three months.
And then, just like that, he was willing to let me go without ever explaining or letting me know. If I hadn’t seen his tattoos, I’d be none the wiser now.
So no. I don’t run after him.
Idowatch him go, though.
I watch the slump of his shoulders, his dipped head, the slow steps he’s taking. It’s hard not to watch him leave. Not to focus on his broad shoulders, his wide hips, or his bubble ass that I’ve spent many-a-night with.
When he’s finally out of view, out of the airport, I manage to take a breath. Was I holding it? I didn’t even know.
I look at the departures board and find my connecting flight for Lisbon.
The gate information is flashing.Now Boarding on Gate 2.
It’s a two-hour flight to New Jersey, an hour layover, and ten hours across the Atlantic. Thirteen hours to complete, debauched freedom.
And yet my feet won’t take me toward it. My feet aren’t moving at all. Instead, my head goes through Isaac’s words, over and over and over again.
I can’t go on this cruise. It doesn’t feel right. I’d probably depress everyone, anyway. Anddepressing gay pornwas not a popular search term last time I checked.
I pick my suitcases up off the floor, and with one last look at the board, I turn around and go back outside, getting in the first cab I find.
“Where to, sir?” the guy asks me from the front seat.
For a moment, I see Isaac. Curly hair, glasses, a soft five o’clock shadow, and the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
But when I blink, he’s not there. It’s just a guy. Who actually looks nothing like Isaac, if his white curls are anything to go by.
I open my mouth to answer him, but instead of giving him my address, I give him another.
He drives off and I lean back on the seat window-watching as my town goes by. I might not have grown up here, but it definitely feels like my hometown. It’s been more of a home to me than any other place.
And even though it seems to be mocking me as of late, it’s still mine. It still invites me back in, accepting me—and the cab I’m in—back into its bosom.
It’s only half an hour later that I’m standing in front of the wooden door and waiting for it to open.
My knee starts bouncing in anticipation. I just need to let it out. Let it all out.
A vision of ginger and brawn appears at the door, and I attempt to smile as a greeting but it comes out as lame as I feel.
“Ezra, what are you doing here?” Harry asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a hot cruise right now?”
“Is this a bad time?” I ask.
Maybe this is a mistake. It’s Harry and Freddy’s time to be together in their new apartment.
“Of course not. Come in,” he replies and steps aside to let me through. “Are you okay?”
He shuts the door, and just then Freddy appears from the kitchen door, holding a bowl of freshly popped corn and wearing a big smile.
“Ezra! What a surprise!” He attacks me with both arms, but when I only half-return it, he frowns. “What’s up?”
