Page 59 of Street of Dreams
Jake stared at the text message on his phone, filled with equal parts of trepidation and longing. He touched the screen with his fingers, as if feeling Mac through his words. The last two and a half weeks without Mac had been pure hell and the worst he’d ever endured. A constant dull ache in the center of his chest reminded him every moment of the day that Mac was no longer in his life. Nights were a crapshoot. The blackness brought visions across his closed eyes as vivid as if he were watching a movie. He hated the dreams as much as he loved them. Sometimes they were pure nirvana, where Jake and Mac lived in a world where they were free to love one another openly. A life where Bruce King didn’t exist. And then there were the nightmares. The horrific dreams where Bruce caught them together and made good on his promise.
The phone in his hand dinged again and brought his attention back to the text message.
MAC: I need to see you. Please. It’s important.
Mac had probably sent 50 messages since the last day they’d seen each other in the hospital. Jake hadn’t answered any of them. Life would be so much more manageable if they had a clean break. Then he could keep the brick wall securely stationed around his heart, shut off his brain and go through life like a fucking zombie. It was easier that way, instead of feeling the burning emptiness. But with each text, each voicemail, and each message Mac sent through the twins, those bricks crumbled and let the searing pain inside to scorch his wounded heart. Each time, he fought like hell to repair that wall. Glue those bricks back together and seal up his emotions and the physical pain brought on by the loss of the only man he ever loved.
His phone lit up again.
MAC: I have to talk to you. Just this once.
Unlike the other messages, this one held an urgency. Mac had never pushed to meet before. The other messages were always about how much Mac missed and loved him and hoped he was OK.
The mortar that held the block wall in place around Jake’s heart disintegrated into a heap of dust all at once, and he typed the word “OK” into the little reply box. He needed to find out what Mac wanted, even though a little voice in his head was screaming at him for giving in.
Meeting Mac put them both in danger, but he couldn’t help being selfish. Just this once. One last goodbye, where his head wasn’t clouded with medication, and he wasn’t busted up in the hospital full of broken bones and contusions. That wasn’t the way he wanted Mac to remember him. And he didn’t want the tormented rejected expression on Mac’s face to be his last memory either. This last meeting would bring them both closure.
J + M. Jake traced the initials carved in the weathered wood with his finger, remembering the day he branded them there with his knife. He wondered if others sat here the way he and Mac had, or if theirs was the only illicit secret that the bench held.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
At the sound of Mac’s voice, Jake’s head snapped up. The moonlight highlighted and accentuated all of Mac’s features, making him exceptionally handsome. Had his hair always been so red, like a fiery halo? His complexion so glowing? His eyes as green as the grass? But Mac looked different now. His eyes were harder. Instead of the carefree happy gleam, they now knew pain, and Jake knew he was responsible for that pain.
He flicked his cigarette to the ground and stood. “God, it’s so fucking good to see you.”
Slowly, they both smiled at one another. Softly at first, with only the corners of their mouths curling upwards, then growing wider until their smiles crinkled the corners of their eyes.
Mac opened his arms and took a step forward to give Jake a hug, but Jake stepped back, warily.
“Really, Jake?”
Those two words were all it took for Jake’s defenses to fall, and he wrapped his arms around Mac so fucking tightly that he could barely breathe. He inhaled the scent of this man and never wanted to let go. At that moment, he didn’t care if anyone saw them or if his old man put a bullet into both their heads right now. They’d die in each other’s arms, and he’d find happiness one last time. He stepped back, hands still clamped on Mac’s shoulders, fighting the tightness in his throat. “Are you all right? You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you?”
“Besides having my heart crushed, I’m still standing.”
“Don’t do that.” Jake exhaled a frustrated breath. “Do you think I want this death sentence? I’m fucking miserable without you.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Is this why you wanted me to come here? To try to change my mind? How the fuck can I make you understand how serious this is?”
“No. I get it. I just needed . . . something happened, and I need to tell you about it.”
Jake’s blood ran cold, then turned boiling hot. He clenched his jaw so tightly that he swore he was going to break a tooth. A volcano went off in his belly, shooting hot rage into his brain. “You met someone? Two and a half fucking weeks and you already got someone else?”
Mac looked deeply into Jake’s eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no one else.”
“What, then?”
Mac looked at the asphalt and pressed his lips together. “I got an offer for a record deal.” He slowly lifted his eyes. “They want me to join a tour opening for the opening band. The Third Rail is the headliner. I leave in ten days.”
“For how long?”
“Six months.”
Part of Jake was ecstatic that Mac received a record deal, but a bigger part of him didn’t want Mac to go. Even though they weren’t together and couldn’t see each other, knowing that Mac was ten minutes away maintained some kind of connection and assurance. He took a deep breath and tried to calm the thoughts swirling in his head and in his heart. “OK. I don’t think anything will be different in six months, but I’ll still be here when you get back.”
Mac shook his head. “I’m not coming back. This is my ticket out of South Side.”
Jake felt as if the ground opened up and swallowed him, leaving his heart beating on the asphalt. “You’re leaving for good?”
“Come with me.”
Jake knew he should be happy for Mac, but he was a selfish prick. Bitterness crept into his gut, then quickly turned to guilt as he wished Mac never received the offer. He felt like a piece of shit. He had nothing to offer Mac, not even a relationship behind closed doors. Not even himself. He reached for his smokes with shaking fingers. Turning the pack nervously in his hands, he swallowed to steady his voice, but the word barely came out. “Don’t.”
“Don’t . . . what?”
Mac was baiting Jake to finish his sentence. Offer a life together. But there was no offer to be given. If he asked Mac to stay, the only thing in store for them were dangerous consequences. The record deal and leaving South Side was the best thing that could happen to Mac. And the worst thing that could happen to Jake. If anyone deserved great things to happen to them, it was Mac, and he wasn’t going to stand in his way. “Go. This is your chance. Blow this town and never fucking look back.”
