Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 2
Letting Go
I
N MY
head, he would always be young and strong.
Staring at my father in that moment, though, all I could
see were the lines of fatigue around his pale eyes, the hands
that were as white as the bones I could just make out
beneath his skin. Glancing around the little room didn‟t
help, either. Everything was white and gray. Even the dull
greens and hospital pinks seemed colorless.
“David?”
My head jerked up and to the side, my gaze connecting
with Dr. Birk‟s. He was smiling at me the way he had been
doing since I was six. Sitting there, staring up at him, the
chair almost felt that big again. I almost felt that small.
My father was dying, and at twenty years old, I had
never felt like more of a child.
“Yes?” I asked wearily, the sound of my voice bitter and
gritty even to me.
Dr. Birk softened his expression further. “I asked if you
had any questions.”
“No.” I shook my head. I hadn‟t heard a word he‟d said,
but I wasn‟t interested in listening to him repeat it. Chances
were I‟d just end up reading it all off the chart later anyway.
“No questions.”
I rose slowly, already turning to try to help Dad off the
exam table, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Just
another minute.” Dr. Birk had a look on his face like he
wanted to talk. Sitting back down, I felt cold, but my neck
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 3
was sweating. “It‟s time we start thinking about palliative
care.” His eyes darted to my father‟s stone form. “Making
your father more comfortable.”
The doctor‟s smile was so kind and wide now. I knew
this had to be really bad. Everything in me was numb as I
watched him scrawl a few words on his prescription pad
before tearing off the top sheet and passing it to me. My eyes
moved over the looping script a few times before I fully
processed it. When I did, my hand fell to my lap and I looked
up with my mouth hanging open.
My father was a lawyer. A former judge. There was no
way.
“You can‟t—”
Dr. Birk was already shaking his head, expecting my
response. “It‟s an option that‟s worth investigating, and
Hank and I have already discussed it,” he said, gesturing
with his head toward my father.
My gaze flitted up to where my dad sat, his eyes trained
away from mine and his mouth tight. Only the slightest nod
gave away his acknowledgement. A twisting of his hands in
his lap betrayed his shame.
I couldn‟t believe he was considering this.
Gulping, I thought back on how lost in a miasma of
drugs and pain he‟d been these past few months. As I
returned my attention to Dr. Birk, my opposition was already
wavering. “Is this in addition to everything else, or…?”
With a carefully controlled expression, Dr. Birk set
down his charts and leaned back. “If you‟re open to the idea,
I would reevaluate the rest of his medications. The
painkillers, specifically.”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 4
I glanced at the piece of paper in my hand again as if it
held the answers. Only, like everything else in the fragile
world I had constructed, it was silent. But it was something.
Folding it carefully, I nodded, my eyes still cast down.
“Good,” Dr. Birk said. He was rearranging the
paperwork spread out across the desk behind him,
muttering to himself, pausing just long enough to say, “I
think you‟re making the right decision.”
All I could do was hope that he was right.
“C
OME
on, Dad,” I begged. With my chin resting on the
knuckles of my interlaced hands, I stared at him, waiting.
“I told you,” he muttered gruffly. “I‟m not hungry.”
He never was.
His tray sat in front of him, barely touched, and his
attention was more focused on the television than it was on
me. I‟d long ago given up trying to get Dad up and out of his
chair long enough to get him to the dining room, feeling the
silent pang of it when I‟d let yet another of Mom‟s old rituals
go. But as two bachelors, there didn‟t seem to be much point
to trying to keep that sort of thing up any longer.
Idly, I picked up his fork and started pushing things
around on his plate, spearing a hunk of chicken and lifting it
tentatively.
“For Christ‟s sake, son.” My father‟s voice surprised me,
cracking the way it was. The way his hand batted mine away
shocked me even more. “I‟m not an invalid, damn it!”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 5
I wanted to tell him to stop acting like one, then. I
wanted to shove that chicken in his mouth and hold his jaw
until he chewed.
I wanted him to stop wasting away before my eyes.
Instead, I just sat there, dropping the fork and letting
my head fall back into my hands. With my eyes closed, I
fought for calm. There wasn‟t time for this game, and he
knew it. I still had hours of studying in front of me, and as I
took in a shuddering inhale, it felt like the walls of my own
willpower were shaking just as badly, threatening to
collapse.
I went to class and studied. I worked. I took care of my
dad. Sometimes, if I had time, I jerked off before passing out.
My overburdened skeleton of a life was falling in on me.
But then I heard the scraping of metal on porcelain, and
my eyes opened to the sight of my father chewing
disgustedly.
And the walls stayed standing for another day.
T
HE
first thing I noticed about the clinic was the smell. Or
the lack of one. Sure, there was that faint whisper of
sweetness on the air, but it wasn‟t anything like the cloying
stench of the basement parties I had always begged out of,
knowing the consequences I could face if I partook. There
was still that same hint of fear that clung to the place,
though. Or maybe it clung to me.
I couldn‟t believe I was doing this.
Standing in the entryway, my body was frozen, my
hands sweating and my eyes sweeping over everything,
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 6
trying to take it all in, when what I really wanted to do was
leave. Despite my preconceptions, the front room of the
dispensary was neat. Inviting, even. A cross between an art
gallery and a deli, it was all done in warm reds and polished
wood, vivid paintings and glass. Lots and lots of glass.
Lots and lots of green.
“Can I help you?”
I startled, my heart pounding as my head jerked up to
meet smiling brown eyes, soft lips, and loose curls of dark
hair that reached just to the bottom of a lightly stubbled
chin. The man behind the counter was slim and young. And
he looked carefree.
I‟d never felt heavier than I did as he stared at me.
His smile faltered but then shifted into something wryer
and vaguely comical as he intoned, “Helloooo?”
My nervous hands dug into my pockets, the letter from
Dr. Birk curling and crumpling as I worried it compulsively.
My throat was dry, and I didn‟t know where to begin. In a
panic, I started scanning the room again, searching for
something to ground me. My eyes paused at last, focusing
blankly on the huge green leaf on the guy‟s T-shirt, the clay
beads on a hemp rope around his throat.
And it was just too much.
The short bark of laughter that bubbled up through my
lips shocked me out of my stupor, and with a sudden
melting of my posture, I pulled my hand from my pocket,
taking the letter with me as I dragged the back of my wrist
across my brow. “Yeah,” I managed, still choking on the
sounds of mirth that masked the crackling tension tearing
up the inside of me. “Apparently, I need some pot.”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 7
The guy‟s face lit up. “Excellent, man.” He gestured
toward the paper I was holding as I started to approach the
counter. “That your doctor‟s note? Sure beats the ones you
used to get for getting out of gym class, huh?” He was still
smirking when I handed it over, and I could feel the blood
draining from my face as he held the still-folded letter to his
forehead. “Lemme guess… migraine?”
My anger was white and sharp, but my voice wouldn‟t
work. I stood there sputtering while he opened it up,
watching his eyes widen. “Oh, fuck,” he mumbled, darting
his gaze from the typed sheet to me and then back again. I
knew what he was looking at—the C-word that made every
casual conversation into some messed up pity party. “Shit,
Henry, I‟m sorry. I mean—”
“David,” I corrected him. My hands were clenched in
fists on the glass countertop, and I couldn‟t seem to meet his
eyes. Quietly and too fast, I tried to explain. “I‟m David
Mackenzie. Hank—Henry Mackenzie‟s my dad. My dad‟s the
one with cancer. I‟m just….”
I didn‟t even know what I was anymore.
“It‟s cool. I mean, it‟s not cool. It‟s awful. Fuck. I‟m
sorry.”
“No. Just…. Just….” I looked up, silently pleading with
him not to force this conversation any further.
“Okay. Yeah,” he agreed. “Lemme just, um… I need your
license. And I need to call and verify this.”
“Of course.” Digging in my wallet, I found my ID and
passed it over to him
“Okay.” He paused as he took it from me, uncertain and
wavering, but then he finally seemed to decide something
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 8
and moved down to the other end of the counter to pick up
the phone there.
Uncertain of what to do with myself, I wandered, staring
in repulsed fascination at all the displays. There were vials
full of pale green leaves, pipes in wood and ceramic and
metal, glass bowls that I could guess the purpose of but
which I‟d never seen in person before. When I‟d looked my
fill, I stepped away and sank down into one of the couches
set up in the main portion of the room. Despite all my
anxiety, it was strangely comfortable there, the images on
the walls soothing. With weary eyes, I took in paintings of
women that I knew intellectually were beautiful, but all I
could see was the sickness and the sadness in their eyes.
When your father‟s dying, everyone looks sick and sad.
Or if they don‟t, they look obscenely full of life.
It feels wrong to see people so full of life.
People like the guy who was trying to help me score my
dad medicinal marijuana.
My eyes drifted over toward his form. Leaning with his
elbows on the counter, he‟d tucked his hair behind his ear
and he had the phone cradled against his face. Unlike with
the women on the walls, my realization that he was beautiful
was way more than intellectual. It was visceral. He was all
lean lines and casual poise. He was everything I wasn‟t, and
I couldn‟t help envying him yet again.
Almost as much as I couldn‟t help wanting to touch
him.
My tongue darted out to lick my lips as I gave myself
another minute to stare at him. I rationalized with myself
that I wasn‟t exactly ogling because I had no intentions. It
had been years since I‟d made a move on a guy—back before
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 9
my mom had walked out and before my dad had gotten sick.
My couple of fumbled kisses behind the high school gym
hadn‟t given me enough experience to approach anyone, and
the tangled mess that was my life now didn‟t give me room
to.
Fuck if I didn‟t want to, though.
Just as I was imagining how good it would feel to give in
to something like that—to touch and be touched and to feel a
little less alone with everything—he looked up. Only instead
of reflecting back all the longing I felt, he broke into a wide
grin, waggling his eyebrows knowingly before blowing me the
most flippant kiss.
As my chest tightened, I stood and turned, closing my
eyes as soon as they were hidden from his view. So many
times, I‟d wanted to just say “fuck it” to everything going on
around me and to all the responsibilities crushing in on me.
But rarely had I wanted to more than I did right then. I
wanted to be the guy who flirted that easily. I wanted to be
the guy who responded to flirting instead of freaking out and
hiding from it like an idiot.
I wanted to be anybody in the world except me.
The sound of a throat clearing behind me pulled my
mind from the death-spiral it was heading into, and I
whipped around to find the guy standing back by my end of
the counter again, his eyes downcast and a contrite
expression on his face. When he spoke this time, it was all
professional tones and choked decorum. And while I‟d hated
his carefree swagger a minute earlier, I hated this even more.
I was barely listening as he told me how much I could
buy and started explaining some of my options. Shaking my
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 10
head, I interrupted. “What‟s easiest? Or cheapest? Or most
effective?”
He regarded me evenly for a minute. “Your dad ever
smoke before?”
I‟d always assumed not, but after the way he and the
doctor had seemed to have this all worked out between
them, I realized I didn‟t even know anymore. “I‟m not sure.”
“Well, look.” He pulled two bottles out from under the
case and put his hand on one. “This is the cheapest, but it‟s
harsh as fuck.” Sliding the other bottle forward, he
countered, “This is a little more, but it‟s mellower, you
know?”
I stared at it, feeling foolish and naive. “No. Not really.”
“It‟ll be easier on your old man. That‟s what I‟m saying.
They should both be equally effective, more or less. They‟re
both pretty basic. Nothing fancy.”
I nodded. “Okay. The, um… the mellower one, then.”
He wordlessly measured the little buds out into what
looked like a normal prescription bottle, sealing it and
slipping it into a nondescript paper bag before gazing at me
appraisingly, like he was trying to figure something. Finally,
he broke down and asked, “Listen, I don‟t want to be
insulting or anything, but do you have any idea what you‟re
doing?”
It felt like he‟d hit me in the chest. “Is it that obvious?” I
croaked. I didn‟t. Not on any level.
Waiting for the inevitable expression of pity, I steeled
myself for his reaction, but it never came. Not the way I
expected it to, anyway. Instead, he nodded knowingly and
grabbed another package from beneath the counter. Levelly,
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 11
he opened the little pack up and pulled out a thin paper
rectangle. “See?” he asked. “You just put a little line of the
stuff in the center. Make sure it‟s kind of crumbled, and
you‟ll probably want to mix it with some tobacco, especially if
it‟s just him. You want a little roll of cardboard in the end to
use as a mouthpiece, then roll it nice and tight, like this.” As
he explained, he demonstrated with an imaginary bit of
weed, rolling the paper and licking the edge of it with a soft,
pink flash of tongue before twisting off the end. “Have him
hold the smoke in his lungs as long as he can. Probably best
to do it outside, just in case. Or maybe in a garage?”
I nodded. I couldn‟t even imagine having the house
smell like pot. I couldn‟t imagine Dad‟s old lawyer buddies
stopping by to sit with him and realizing what was going on.
Or worse, thinking there was something going on with me.
It didn‟t escape me just how fucked I would be if I got
caught with this stuff.
“Okay,” I said, but I hesitated. “No, um, pipes or…
anything?”
“You could,” he offered. “But I‟d start him with this. It‟s
less of an investment and less of a risk to have lying around
the house. And it‟s easier while he‟s trying it out or getting
started or whatever. If it takes, then we can talk about other
options.”
At my silent acquiescence, he slipped the rolling papers
in the bag, too, and rang everything up. My throat was dry
as I counted out the bills I‟d made a special trip to the ATM
for and passed them across the counter.
As he passed the package and my license back across
the counter to me, he smiled weakly. “So, um, good luck,
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 12
man. David. And I‟m… sorry. About your dad.” He shuffled
awkwardly. “And earlier.”
“It‟s okay.” Somehow, now, it was. I made it all the way
to the door before I realized how much better I felt, knowing
at least what to do. And I knew he hadn‟t needed to take the
time to show me or to go over everything with me. I stopped
and turned to find him standing there still, one hand in his
pocket and the other one scratching the back of his head as
he sighed.
Without thinking, I called back to him, “Hey. Um….” I
paused, realizing I didn‟t know his name.
“Zev,” he supplied, looking up and dropping his hand
from his hair as his expression turned more guarded.
I softened mine the best I could, trying my damnedest
not to be an asshole. At least not this time. “Zev,” I repeated,
nodding. “Just… thanks. Thank you. For everything.”
Zev‟s smile became more genuine, his posture more
open. More like the guy who‟d greeted me when I‟d first
walked in. “You‟re welcome,” he replied.
There was something strangely comforting about the
way he said it, but I couldn‟t quite seem to acknowledge it as
I turned and opened the door. It wasn‟t until I was all the
way back to my car that I realized what was odd.
I realized it when I caught my reflection in the mirror
and stopped, staring at myself for the longest time.
I couldn‟t remember the last time I‟d smiled.
“H
AND
rolls, huh?” my dad asked. There was a hint of a grin
on his face as he sat there in a lawn chair in the garage,
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 13
staring at the little cigarette I‟d made for him. I‟d followed
Zev‟s instructions meticulously, remembering the entire time
the way his tongue had flicked out between his lips, and now
my body was itching, something restless crawling through
my skin that I knew I‟d need to take some time tonight to
satisfy.
For now, though, I trained my attention on the way my
father was holding that little white cylinder to his lips, the
lighter clicking in his hand. More steadily than I would have
expected, he brought the flame up to the end of the joint and
breathed in. He closed his eyes and kept the smoke in his
lungs, finally exhaling in a long, slow stream.
I swallowed hard as I watched him. “Have you… you
know, before?”
My father nodded and opened his eyes. At least he had
the decency to look chagrined. “A couple of times. In college.”
We lapsed back into a strained silence. As I sat there
while my father smoked, I couldn‟t help wondering what I
would remember of my college days—if they would only be
noteworthy for being the ones I spent watching my father
die.
Afterward, we went back inside and I tried to bury
myself in my textbook, but focus wasn‟t easy to come by. In
the background, I could hear my father laughing over the
incessant drone of the television. And at some point, he
called out to me, asking me what was for dinner. I almost felt
bad that all I could offer him was pizza.
Returning to my studies after watching my dad put
down an entire slice, there was something lighter to my
posture. My brain was still buzzing, though, the low pulse of
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 14
blood beneath my skin more insistent now that my muscles
and my worries weren‟t so tight.
Later, lying in bed in the dark, I let that pulse grow,
releasing the control I usually put so much effort into
containing as my hand slid down to wrap lightly around my
cock. As I pushed up into my lonely fist, I did it with the
image of a stubbled face, full lips, and a soft, pink tongue in
my mind.
And to the fantasy of that tongue on my flesh, I came.
E
VERYTHING
about the dispensary was the same, but the
second time I pushed through its door, I felt like a different
man. Zev was behind the counter again, and instead of
freaking out when he looked at me, I met his low, easy smile
with one of my own. And it felt so good to be able to do so.
“Well, somebody looks happy,” Zev said as he crossed
his arms over his chest and stood.
My grin just widened as I leaned to put my elbows on
the counter, gazing up at him smugly. I knew I looked like a
thirteen-year-old girl, tracing patterns on the glass and
practically batting my lashes at the hot guy I hadn‟t been
able to stop thinking about, but I didn‟t care. “I am,” I
confirmed. “My dad ate an entire sandwich yesterday.”
Zev laughed warmly and stepped closer. If the glass
walls of the display hadn‟t been between us, I would have
fallen into his crotch.
“I guess there‟s something to be said for the munchies,”
he said knowingly, and even my own lack of experience on
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 15
the matter didn‟t stop me from agreeing. “Everything else
good too?”
I nodded and glanced down at the counter. Because in
this mood, if I kept looking at his face, I was going to do
something I still wasn‟t entirely ready to. My fantasies had
been my constant companions these past weeks, and it felt
good to want something—to focus on more than just what I
had to do.
And I wasn‟t prepared to have them dashed yet.
“Yeah,” I said gruffly. “The doc took him off some other
meds, and even though he‟s stoned, he‟s still more with it
than he has been in a while. He feels better. It‟s just… it‟s….”
My throat tightened, and I had to rub my eyes to check that
the blurriness wasn‟t about to spill over. I wanted to say it
was a miracle, but that wasn‟t the sort of thing I set much
store by.
“That‟s great, David.” I heard the way his voice lowered
as he spoke. I heard the way my name sounded on his lips.
But mostly, I felt the warmth of his hand as it briefly
gripped mine. I felt it everywhere.
His touch retreated before I could even really appreciate
it, my head whipping up to find his face closer than I‟d
realized, and I was paralyzed, thinking how if I was a
different person, it would be so easy to just reach forward.
To touch him. I was still me, though, and before I‟d really
thought about what I‟d like to do, I was already stepping
back. Apparently, twenty years of keeping a certain distance
wasn‟t something you could change on a dime. I caught his
surprised eyes as I felt myself rocking back on my heels, and
I smiled apologetically. Only I wasn‟t sure if he knew what I
was sorry for.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 16
I wasn‟t sure if I knew, really.
“So,” I said, clearing my throat.
He nodded and shifted from one foot to the other. “More
of the same this time, then?”
With a deep exhale, I relaxed. “Yeah. More of the same.”
I definitely wanted more.
“W
AIT
, he did what?”
I was laughing so hard my side hurt. “He made a bong.
Like, whittled it, while I was in class.”
“That‟s fantastic. I can totally see it.”
“Right? Apparently he Googled it when he was bored one
day and just went at it.”
“Dude.”
As we talked, Zev measured out another little pile of
weed for me, packaging it up with the sort of casual
efficiency that was his hallmark. “So what are you up to
today?”
His head remained down, his eyes on the register as he
typed in the numbers to ring me up, and I didn‟t miss the
way he was avoiding looking at me. In three months of these
encounters, we had never gone off script before. We talked
about my dad and about pot. We never talked about our
lives outside this place. And while I still fantasized of more, I
couldn‟t pretend I was entirely sorry about that.
“I, um—”
The sound of the door opening interrupted me, and I
exhaled half-gratefully when I looked over my shoulder to see
a woman walk in. I turned back to Zev to pass him his
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 17
money, but as he took it, his hand brushed mine. His voice
lowered, and he looked up at me through his eyelashes. “You
can stay, if you want. For a little while.”
I swallowed, my skin still warm where he had touched
it, and my body suddenly flushed. He placed my change on
the counter and tipped his head subtly toward the couches
with a low shrug of invitation before turning to the other
customer. Paralyzed by indecision and not a small amount of
fear, I stood there watching him help her. In his smiles and
movements, he behaved much the same toward her as he
did to me. And yet there was something less about it. There
was less of him in the interaction.
His light brown eyes flickered up to meet mine, and
something in them melted me. Gripping the bag with my
father‟s medication, I crossed the room and sank down into
the first seat of the couch, staring straight forward while he
finished up the transaction. Realistically, there was no harm
in staying a little longer. While I had studying to do, my next
class wasn‟t for an hour and a half. I had time.
I just didn‟t have anything of interest to say.
The lady gave me a funny look on her way out, and I
glanced back toward the register just in time to see Zev
standing with his back to me, his hands coming up behind
his body to settle on the counter as he pushed himself up to
sit atop it. In one more quick, deft move, he turned to swing
his legs over the side and drop down onto the floor on my
side of the display. It was so easy for him. So graceful.
It was the first time I‟d seen him without the counter in
the way.
I couldn‟t even manage to close my mouth as he loped
over toward me, the chain hanging off of his pocket swinging,
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 18
his unlaced Chucks coming up to rest on the coffee table as
he threw himself down on the couch beside me. “So,” he
said, grinning up at me as if nothing at all had happened.
Nothing but the breaking of the fourth wall.
“So….”
“So what else is going on?”
I stared at his shoes. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on.”
His shoulder nudged mine, and my mouth went dry. I
could feel the stirrings of an erection I really didn‟t need right
now, my whole body tightening at how close he was and how
warm his arm felt against mine. My mind searched
desperately for something to say. Anything. “Um….”
I had nothing.
He pulled back, shifting to put his spine to the arm of
the couch as his knee came up between us, and I could
physically feel the inches he‟d put between us.
Disappointment filled my stomach, but my clearing mind
was thankful for the space. My burning lungs were grateful
too. At the edge of my vision, I could see him rolling his eyes
as he rested one elbow on his thigh and pulled out the
pocket watch that was attached to the chain. “You said
you‟re going to school, right?”
I nodded. It was getting easier to breathe.
“Okay. So what kinds of classes are you taking?”
My gaze shifted to my hands, and I started picking at
my nails. “Um, I‟m pre-med. And I‟m a junior.” I hazarded a
look at him before directing my eyes back down again. But
what I‟d caught of his expression was amused. Encouraging.
“So mostly biology now. One English course for my general
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 19
education requirements. And the MCATs are coming up in
the spring.”
Just talking about it all made my pulse speed up. Zev
was just nodding calmly. “I took a bunch of bio. Back in the
day,” he added with a halfhearted smile.
And it was only then that it fully struck me that I knew
nothing about him. I might not have been crazy about letting
on how little there was to know about my life, but I suddenly
needed to know everything about his. Fighting to keep my
curiosity from my voice, I asked, “„In the day‟?”
“Yeah,” he said, staring down at the watch. “I was going
to go into botany. Plants, you know?” His eyes darted up
toward mine. “But then I had to drop out.”
“Oh.”
“But that‟s all in the past, right?”
“Sure.” Only it wasn‟t. Or I didn‟t know how far in the
past it was, and staring at him then, I felt incredibly young. I
hesitated for a minute, but then I finally managed to speak
again. “Can I ask how old you are?”
Zev laughed. “You can ask anything you want to. I can
always decline to respond, though.” At his non-answer, my
cheeks flamed, and I found myself biting roughly at my nail.
“Nah, I‟m shitting you,” he broke in, nudging me with the
foot he had resting on the couch. “Twenty-four.”
“Oh.” I couldn‟t keep the low smile off my face. I wasn‟t
that young.
If I was being honest, my smile was because I wasn‟t too
young.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 20
There were other questions brimming just beneath the
surface—questions about my lonely nights and his change of
plans. Questions about how he‟d ended up here.
But just in time, he picked up a magazine off the coffee
table and started leafing through it, pausing after a second
to hold up a picture. “I fucking love this band,” he said,
near-reverentially.
I couldn‟t have planned it better if I‟d wanted to. I might
not have had time for television or movies, but music…
music was the only thing that kept me sane while I was
studying. Music I was passionate about.
“Dude,” I said, smiling and grabbing for the page. “Me
too.”
And then, freed from so many of my hesitations, we
settled back into the couch. And we talked until I had to go.
T
IME
kept rolling by, but instead of an inexorable, stale
march toward some grim eventuality, it was… more. Rather
than stopping by every couple of weeks like my father‟s
prescription mandated, I found myself at the dispensary,
sprawled out comfortably on a leather sofa or leaning over
the counter, every Wednesday. And then every Monday,
Wednesday, and Friday. Every time I walked through the
door, Zev‟s eyes would meet mine across the length of the
shop, and he‟d shoot me the kind of smile I swore I never
saw him turn on anybody else.
We talked about music and medicine. In little ways, we
started to open up about the rest of our lives, and once in a
while, I let my guard down enough to show him exactly how
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 21
sad and terrified I was. I revealed how colorless my life so
often seemed and how tightly I had to hold onto my control
to keep from going mad.
Only, there, within the safety of that one little room, it
felt like I didn‟t have to hold on to anything. I felt like I could
let myself go.
Eventually, Zev started talking about the things he did
beyond those walls, too, speaking about concerts he went to
and the bass guitar he liked to practice when he was feeling
down or alone.
And when I relieved the pressure at night, wrapping my
hand around myself and stroking long and slow, it was no
longer just to the image of his lips. It was also to the memory
of his smile. It was to the feeling of his hand on mine.
I
N THE
waiting room, my leg kept bouncing up and down to
the beat of the music streaming through my earbuds. I was
in a good zone, the pages flipping fast and my pile of notes
accumulating on the table beside me. I was so focused that I
didn‟t even notice the nurse who was trying to get my
attention. Apparently, I hadn‟t noticed that I was humming,
either.
Pulling out my headphones, I looked up at the nurse
with a sheepish grin. It struck me as I started bagging up my
stuff that there had been something off about her
expression—that she hadn‟t been laughing the way she
usually did when she caught me in a really deep studying
session.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 22
This was the first doctor‟s visit in ages that I hadn‟t
been dreading. Dad had put on ten pounds in the last few
months, and he‟d all but stopped taking any of the extra
pain meds he used to dip into all the time. He didn‟t look
good, mind you, but he looked better. Lots better.
So I wasn‟t prepared for her to lead me to Dr. Birk‟s
office instead of to my father‟s exam room.
“David. Son.”
Fuck.
I was already numb as I sat down in the chair across
the desk from him. All I had to do was look at him, and I
knew.
“But he was getting better,” I croaked. “He… it was….”
Dr. Birk wore that comforting smile, but even he was
having a hard time keeping his expression calm. “I‟m sorry.
The tumor—”
I couldn‟t hear. Not through the roaring in my ears.
More insistently, I said, “He was getting better.”
His mouth softened. “He‟s feeling much better. But the
cancer has spread.” He gave me a moment to soak that in,
but it didn‟t matter. Instead of absorbing, I sank. With the
way my lungs were collapsing, I was drowning. “I‟m not going
to lie, David. Things are going to get worse, and it‟s going to
happen fast now.” His face was grim. “You should prepare
yourself.”
My fingers were white around the arms of the chair, as I
looked up at him, lost. “How do you prepare yourself for your
father to die?”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 23
Z
EV
wasn‟t prepared. Not at all.
As I pushed through the door, I couldn‟t meet his eyes
or his smile. I didn‟t see the way both seemed to fall as I
strode up to the counter and rested my elbows on its glass
surface, my head falling immediately into my hands. I was
cold.
The past two days, I‟d been cold.
“David?”
“The usual,” I ground out. There wouldn‟t be any reason
for me to come here before long, and that knowledge sank to
the bottom of my stomach with my grief and my anger. The
only good thing I had left, and I couldn‟t have it for much
longer.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Can I have my pot please?”
“No.” The forcefulness behind his voice surprised me for
long enough to make me glance up. His eyes were warm, and
they were sad. Everyone was so fucking sad. I could feel his
hand as he reached up, and for the first time, he touched my
face. “Not until you tell me.”
The tenderness of the action burned, as if all the strings
I had so tightly tied around the remnants of my sanity would
snap. Instinctively, I retreated, and I watched Zev‟s face grow
hard.
And I couldn‟t have that. I couldn‟t.
Someone had left a stool there by the counter, and I fell
into it, burying my face in my folded arms over the glass.
“He‟s dying,” I mumbled. “None of it‟s working. None of it.”
This time, when he touched me, I didn‟t pull away. I
didn‟t have the will to. His hand settled on my shoulder, on
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 24
the back of my neck. Skin to skin. It wasn‟t sexual, even. It
was comforting.
It was so comforting, I managed to hold myself together,
even when it felt like I might shatter. I felt like there was
another band around my ribs, born of his touch as he
loosened the strings. I felt like I could breathe.
“When did you find out?”
“Monday.”
“Fuck,” he cursed harshly. “Why didn‟t—”
“I‟ve been trying,” I mumbled, but too much was falling
loose now. “I tried to keep it together. With school and my
job, and I‟m trying not to show him…. He doesn‟t need to
know.” I finally lifted my head from my arms, but I couldn‟t
quite look up yet, my forehead coming to rest in my
upturned palm as Zev‟s hand stroked down to my elbow.
“You can‟t…,” he started, but his voice was tight. “What
are you…?”
“I don‟t know what to do,” I confessed. I was so clueless.
“Do you still have classes today?”
I nodded. “One more. I have to go.”
“I know.” Zev always knew. He knew school was driving
me crazy, but he knew it was the only thing keeping me from
drifting away. I needed something to do. “Can you keep it
together?”
Rubbing the heel of my hand against the skin beneath
my eyes, I managed to mumble, “I think so.” I had to.
His hand was on my face again, the pad of his fingers
pressing lightly at my jaw. When I met his eyes, they were
glassy and soft. “You‟re so strong.”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 25
“I‟m not.”
“You are,” he insisted as he forced a sad smile and
stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You can do this.”
“Okay.”
I started to push away from the counter, standing, but
his hand on mine stopped me. He let me go quickly, but only
to grab a business card from the stack beside the register,
scribbling on it hastily before pressing it into my palm.
“Tonight,” he started, and I heard a thin nervousness
creep into his voice. “Some friends of mine are coming over.
To hang out. Maybe hit a bar or something. You should
come.”
So many times I‟d wanted him to ask me to see him
outside of this place. After putting myself on the line time
after time after time when I kept showing up here just to
hang out, I needed him to ask for more. But not like this. Not
with his friends.
Not as a friend.
For all that I‟d refused to pursue it, I wanted—no,
needed—more.
“I can‟t,” I said automatically, pulling away in every way.
“My father….”
“No, David,” he insisted. His hand darted out to reach
for me again, but I evaded. I did look up at him, though. His
voice was strangled as he curled his hand into a fist, pulling
it back to his side like he‟d been burned. “You. Not your
father. You. What do you do for you?”
“I can‟t—”
“You can. You have to.” With every word, I cringed,
wanting to make myself as small as I sometimes felt as I
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 26
started backing toward the door. He seemed to sense that he
was pushing too far, and he held his hands up in front of
him. “I‟m just… I‟m watching you let this destroy you, and if
you don‟t get out and do something to take care of
yourself…. As your friend….”
I shook my head violently. “I don‟t need a friend.” I did,
so badly.
“You do. Listen, I‟m just offering—”
I cut him off, needing to get out. “I‟ll think about it.”
Before I‟d even finished speaking, I was heading to the exit.
Softly, just barely audible over the sound of the traffic
outside as I yanked open the door, I heard him call, “I hope
you do.”
But I was so far past already gone.
M
Y EYES
skimmed over the page for the fifth time, starting
over again as I realized I hadn‟t really read a word. I kept
fidgeting, and every time the clock chimed, I felt myself
getting more restless to the point where I thought I was going
to go out of my skull.
“Would you please stop doing that?” Dad‟s tone was
unveiled in its annoyance, and I looked up to find his
bloodshot eyes fixated on my bouncing leg.
I turned away from him dismissively, unable to fight the
anger that was bubbling up through all the nervous energy.
“You‟re stoned.”
“Of course I am,” he agreed. I heard him crunch down
on another chip and turn up the television, even though I‟d
already asked him to turn it down. Even the fact that he was
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 27
eating wasn‟t making me feel better anymore. Instead, I was
just resentful, the unfairness of everything finally reaching a
point where it was ready to boil over.
It was petty. It was ridiculous.
And I couldn‟t take it anymore.
The sound of the book slamming shut echoed in the
room, and I was on my feet before I‟d even made the decision
to get up. As my dad gaped up at me from his permanent
place on that damn recliner, my resolve wavered, but then
he laughed. It was a lazy thing, a low sound, and it was the
propellant to my flame.
“I‟m going out,” I declared, crossing the room, uncertain
where I was heading. I knew where I wanted to go. But all
that mattered was I had to be anywhere but here. My gaze
darted back to my dad as I said, “I might be late.”
He waved his hand, his eyes already back on the
television. “You‟re twenty. You do what you want to do.”
I didn‟t. I never did.
My hands were shaking as I wrapped them around the
steering wheel of my car, and I had to try the ignition twice
before the engine turned over. As soon as I was out on the
main street, I cranked the stereo up and the windows down,
waiting until then to start letting everything out. My fist beat
against the dash, my throat rough with screaming along to
the lyrics, and it felt like my chest was cracking open.
Over and over in my head, I told myself I was just going
for a drive. Just getting some distance and some air. But I
knew where I was going, and as the streets began to narrow,
everything pointing toward the address I‟d mapped out on
my phone less than five minutes after Zev had given it to me,
I could feel the shakiness of nerves and excitement.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 28
Of doing something for me.
Zev‟s apartment was in a denser, more run-down part of
town, his building one of dozens, all three-stories tall,
windows alight with life that made something inside me
ache. Finding a parking spot about half a block away, I sat
in my car, just staring at the dirty red brick through the
dimness. A full fifteen minutes passed that way with my
hands never loosening their grip on the wheel.
My eyes were finally drawn from their intense study by
signs of movement as a streetlight cast a long shadow across
the alleyway near where I was parked. Shifting my focus, I
watched a guy about my age shift a six-pack from one hand
to the other before stepping into the entryway of an adjacent
building. And I wanted it to be me. I wanted to be the guy
going to a party or to a friend‟s house. I wanted to be the guy
who didn‟t worry about every single thing.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was stepping out of
the car and striding toward Zev‟s building, my finger
hovering over the button with his last name.
The instant I pressed it, I heard the crackle of static,
and I nearly ran, my pulse thundering wildly and my palms
hot and damp. Still, I held my ground, waiting for the hiss
and pop, and then I heard the voice I knew so well, even
garbled as it was by the intercom.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Zev. It‟s me. Um, David.”
A loud buzz erupted from the door, and I lurched for it,
climbing two flights of stairs on pure adrenaline. And at the
top of those stairs, I met the sight that made all the
shakiness leave me.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 29
“Hey, man,” Zev said, grinning widely as he stepped
through his door. He looked the same as ever, still in a T-
shirt and jeans, the ever-present beaded hemp cord around
his neck. Only everything was different. Outside of the clinic
and outside our normal roles, I scarcely knew how to
approach him, but it ended up not mattering anyway.
Stepping right up to me, he pulled me into a quick, tight hug
that had my breath catching and my skin on fire. I knew it
was just a man-hug. Brief. Efficient. But it was more contact
than I‟d had with a human being in years.
I didn‟t have time to collect myself before he was
releasing me and clapping my shoulder as he shoved me
toward the door. “Glad you made it. After this afternoon, I
thought you were gonna flake.”
“I almost did,” I admitted.
His hand lingered on my arm for just a second too long,
and I could feel the contact in the way the hairs stood up on
my skin and in the way my throat went dry. “Well, I‟m glad
you changed your mind, then.”
Still distracted by the ghost of his touch, I was about to
say, “Me too,” but the words were stolen from my lungs by
sounds of laughter from within.
Zev rolled his eyes and continued to urge me forward.
“Brace yourself,” he warned me.
I wasn‟t braced enough.
The inside of Zev‟s apartment was a broke-bachelor
cliché, all dim lights and well-used couches drawn up in a
circle around a big coffee table. There was an old TV sitting
in the corner, but no one was paying it any attention.
Instead, all eyes were focused on me. And there were a lot of
eyes. About a dozen people, mostly guys, were loosely
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 30
sprawled out on the couches, on the floor—a couple were
even sitting on a table. The air was heavy with sweet smoke
and something spicy, music rumbled lowly from a huge set
of speakers, and there were beer bottles and impromptu ash
trays everywhere.
“Dude, close the door.”
My eyes snapped to a guy in the corner, blond and
handsome and just a little bit older than me. He was smiling
at Zev, making my trepidation grow along with my envy. My
feet were still half-turned toward the door, all my old
instincts kicking in and reminding me that this was not the
sort of party that nice guys ended up at. I had always been
that guy. The one who played by the rules.
But then I thought about exactly how far that had
gotten me.
Zev‟s hand settled on my shoulder again, and I
straightened beneath his touch as he closed the door and
told the guy who‟d spoken to fuck off. Gesturing more
broadly, he introduced me to all the skeptical faces spread
around the room. “This is my friend, David.” The long list of
names he rattled off was a blur to me, even though I tried to
keep up. Just as my eyes were glazing over, Zev leaned in,
his breath warm near my ear as he whispered, “Loosen up.
There‟s not gonna be a test at the end.”
I laughed nervously and turned to look at him, but he
was so close I couldn‟t bring myself to meet his eyes. He
smelled good, warm and masculine, and I wanted to cross a
line. I wanted to touch him. Only he touched me first.
“C‟mon.” Grabbing my hand, Zev led me forward into
the room, sinking down onto a cushion on the ground and
gesturing for me to take the one beside him. I did, flexing my
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 31
fingers and swiping the heel of my hand across my jeans,
only it didn‟t help. In the heat of my palm, I could still feel
the way his hand had curled around mine.
We‟d only been sitting there for a minute, making stilted
small talk, when someone to my right tapped my shoulder. I
turned around to find a girl holding out a small brass pipe
and wearing a bemused smile.
“Oh.” I took the pipe gingerly. “Thanks.” Unsure about
what to do and with my nerves flaring, I glanced over at Zev,
only to find him already reaching for my shaking hands.
“You don‟t have to. If you don‟t want to.”
“Um,” I said, hesitating. It went against every instinct I
had, but I‟d made my choice when I‟d left the house in a
huff. I‟d made it again when I‟d walked in the door. Slowly, I
forced out the words, “Maybe… maybe I could try?”
Zev searched my face, his fingers brushing mine as he
took the pipe. As he lifted it to his lips, he held my eyes. “You
sure?”
All I could manage to do was nod. I figured he was going
to show me what to do as he pulled a lighter out of his shirt
pocket and flicked it to make a soft flame. “Can I try
something?” he asked.
“Sure.”
The back of my neck was sweating, and I felt hot all over
as he placed the end of the pipe against his mouth and
sucked the little flame into the bowl. With his eyes closed, he
shifted the pipe to his other hand. When he looked at me
again, his expression was intense, and my mouth went dry
as he approached me. So slowly, he placed his free hand on
my cheek, leaning in until he was so close I could smell him
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 32
again. There was the unmistakable scent of pot on him now,
mixing with everything else, and it made my head spin.
Nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of his
lips pressing against mine, warm and soft and yet hard, the
stubble on his chin scratching my skin. I was so keyed up,
so needing this, and when his thumb stroked my chin, I
loosened up, letting my mouth open slightly to him in
preparation for the kiss I‟d been wanting for months.
Only it didn‟t quite come the way I‟d hoped it would.
“Breathe in,” he choked out.
Suddenly grasping his meaning, my eyes flew open, and
I inhaled deeply as he filled my mouth with smoke, lingering
against my lips even when his lungs were empty and mine
were full and burning. His hand slipped down to my chin,
closing my mouth. For a few seconds, I did everything I could
to keep myself from choking or spitting the deep gasp of
smoke back out into the air, concentrating only on the fact
that his lips were still pressed to mine.
And I still couldn‟t figure out if that made this the kiss
that I‟d been so desperately hoping for or just a way to get
me high.
The first hint of a cough finally pushed us apart, and as
I let go, the smoke all came spilling out of me, my head
suddenly dizzy and my lungs spasming as they tried to push
everything out. With watery eyes, I met Zev‟s soft ones, his
hand sliding down to my neck. I found myself reaching out
for him without fully knowing what I was doing, just needing
something to hold onto. And wanting to hold onto him.
“Okay?” he asked after a minute of sputtering and
wheezing. He was rubbing my back now, his face still close
to mine as I choked out the last few thin coughs. I nodded
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 33
the best I could, finally realizing how tightly I was clinging to
his shirt and slowly letting go. As I did, I let my hand slide a
little ways down his chest, though, feeling it warm and alive
beneath my palm. It felt good.
Then I noticed all the staring faces trained on us. I
heard the low sounds of laughter.
With a flush, I pulled back, but Zev didn‟t retreat at all,
just leaning in closer until his breath was in my ear again.
“Don‟t worry about them. For your first time, you did
awesome.”
I nodded weakly and settled back against the wall. I
watched intently as Zev passed the pipe on to the next
person before sliding back down beside me. Things were
already a little bit floaty, tension seeping from my body with
the last vestiges of the spasms in my lungs.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I don‟t know.” I shook my head to try to figure out what
I was feeling, but I still couldn‟t quite put the ungrounded
sensation into words.
“Well, for what it‟s worth, my first hit was off a water
bong, and I choked so bad I almost puked.”
A laugh bubbled up out of my throat unbidden. “So it
could be worse.”
“It could totally, totally be worse.”
I stared straight ahead for a while, taking in the scene
and watching as everybody continued with whatever they
were doing, paying me and Zev little mind. He was still
talking about other bad stories he‟d heard about people‟s
first times, but I couldn‟t completely focus. Every time I
looked at him, all I could think about was the sensation of
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 34
his lips, the taste of his breath, and the feeling of his hand
on my skin. And I couldn‟t get past the fact that I didn‟t even
know if we‟d had our first kiss.
The pipe came around again a while later, the tap on my
shoulder jarring me the same as it had before. I had no
sense of how long it had been. Time was soft. Glowing. This
time, I took the metal piece without hesitation.
I didn‟t hesitate to bring it toward Zev‟s lips, either.
“Will you?” I asked quietly. I was too close. Way too
close for friends. Not as close as I wanted to be.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. As he sucked the smoke into his
lungs again, he kept his eyes on me, watching my reaction.
This time, I was the one to press my lips against his,
caressing them softly for a stolen second before he let the
breath all go. I took it, holding it in better than I had the first
time, my focus drawn by the way he kissed the very corner of
my mouth before pulling away. I exhaled with the same
sensation of fire, but without the wracking coughs, only
choking slightly as I let the smoke spill out.
And there was something overwhelming about the still-
lingering fire in my lungs, born of smoke and the fire in my
hands and body, born of finally touching someone. I
surprised myself with the force of my laughter, tears leaking
from my eyes as I let myself slump back again. Only as I fell
into the wall, I did it with a slant to my spine, leaning until I
could feel the warmth of Zev‟s arm against my shoulder.
“C‟mere.”
He touched my face lightly, urging me to relax my neck,
and as I did, I felt my head come to rest against him. My
mind was spinning, my heart beating so fast, and it didn‟t
escape me that I was letting him take the weight from me,
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 35
physically and emotionally. And even if there was never
anything more than just that small touch, that small
unburdening, I knew that I would always be grateful for this
moment.
My eyes closed, and I sank more deeply into his side,
letting time and the world rush past, listening to the music
and to the sound of his breath. I scarcely knew what was
going on when Zev nudged me, his shoulder shifting until I
had to lift my head, and stared up at him blearily. He looked
like he was waiting for something, some response, only I
didn‟t know the question, and he looked so sexy with his
rumpled hair and his smirk that I couldn‟t even begin to
think what it was.
“Do you wanna go?”
“Go?” The idea didn‟t compute.
“Yeah.” He gestured up, and I was surprised to see
people getting up and moving, a general tide pulling toward
the door.
But I had just gotten there. And everything was warm
and comfortable, and Zev felt good.
“Where?” I asked, sitting up more fully, even though I
didn‟t want to.
“O‟Shea‟s. Little pub down the way.”
My stomach dropped. A bar. He‟d mentioned a bar
before, hadn‟t he? With a little rush of panic, I turned my
eyes back up to his, beckoning him closer before mouthing,
“I can‟t get in.”
He knew that. He saw my driver‟s license every time I
went to get my father‟s drugs.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 36
He searched my face for a second. “No fake ID or
anything?”
I shook my head, worried and suddenly feeling like an
idiot. Maybe he‟d want to go anyway, and there was no way I
should be driving home like this. The warm fog was parting,
cold realization about exactly why I‟d never done anything
this stupid before dawning on me.
Of course Zev would want to hang out with his friends.
It had been a mistake to come.
I was just starting to try to drag myself to my feet when
he got my attention again, grabbing my hand and pulling me
back down. “Relax,” he said quietly. “It‟s not a problem.”
Part of me thought I heard as much relief in his voice as
I felt in my own chest when I settled against the wall again.
Keeping his hand on mine, Zev called out someone‟s
name, and the guy who‟d originally yelled at us when I had
first arrived turned, his face painted with a smug smile.
“Hey,” Zev said. “I‟m kinda tired. I think we‟re just gonna
stay here.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” the guy said, smirking. I thought I
caught him winking at me, but I couldn‟t be sure.
“Fuck off,” Zev said, laughing dismissively. He didn‟t
move from where he was sitting, though. He didn‟t put any
distance between his body and mine.
Now that my hopes were back up again, I didn‟t know if
I could handle another inch.
It took forever, but after a series of interminable
goodbyes and more than a little ribbing, the others
eventually all left. The implication in everyone‟s teasing was
clear, and I was both terrified and desperately hoping they
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 37
were right. I hoped he wasn‟t just staying because he felt
obligated.
The sound of the door closing seemed to resonate in the
space over the music and over my own thundering heart.
“Listen,” I croaked. “I‟m sorry. If you wanted to go with
them….” My voice trailed off at the feeling of his thumb
rubbing slow circles into the back of my palm. It was soft
and warm. It was electrifying.
He laughed quietly and slumped down, visibly relaxing
as he lay on the floor with his head on the cushion he‟d been
sitting on. Tugging my hand, he urged me to lie down, too,
and I followed, swallowing hard when I found myself on my
back beside him, staring at his face and feeling the heat of
his body all along mine. Still tracing his fingers over my
palm, he murmured, “Believe me. I‟m exactly where I want to
be.”
“Me too.”
“Good.”
The moment was too intense, and I looked away, staring
at the ceiling for a minute to try to clear my head. Between
the tingling from the pot and the contact high, things were
swimming disconcertingly, and I felt maddeningly out of
control.
And it was such a relief not to be in control.
A short bark of laughter erupted from my lungs, and I
impulsively tugged Zev‟s hand to my mouth, kissing his
knuckles once before letting our hands fall. Before I had time
to doubt what I‟d just done, he squeezed my fingers more
tightly, threading them and letting them rest between us.
We were quiet for a few minutes, lying there and
existing. On some level, it was as if the whole world was as
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 38
small as our intertwined hands and as vast as the universe.
It was as if I was always meant to be here, even though I
knew this was just a brief moment‟s respite.
Zev‟s thoughts seemed to have taken a similar turn,
stroking his thumb across my knuckles as he quietly said, “I
really am glad you came.”
Hearing the tentativeness in his voice, I winced,
remembering what I had done to make him doubt me. “I am
too. I‟m sorry I was so awful this afternoon. I just….”
“It‟s cool. I, um… I get it. I really do.”
Somehow, it felt like he did. “Thanks,” I said quietly.
“How are you holding up?”
I turned my head again to gaze at him, smiling at how
beautiful he was in profile as he stared upward aimlessly. I
waited until his eyes met mine before asking genuinely, “How
does it seem like I‟m holding up?”
A flicker of a smile played across his lips. “I don‟t know.
You‟re here, and you‟re half-stoned. So I guess things could
be worse.”
“Much worse,” I agreed as I squeezed his hand lightly
before turning my eyes upward again. “They could be better,
though, too.” I hesitated before continuing, “I flipped out on
my dad a little today.”
“It happens. Even though he‟s sick, he‟s still your dad.”
“I know, but I just… I feel like….” Guilt washed over me
as I remembered exactly how I‟d left—how angry and
resentful I‟d been. “He‟s the one dying, right? So how can I
be mad at him? He‟s going to die, and I‟m sitting there like a
little shit feeling sorry for myself because I have to take care
of him.”
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| 39
“Hey,” Zev interrupted. “It‟s okay. You‟re allowed to. You
give up a lot when you choose to do the right thing.
Sometimes you give up….” He seemed to be searching for
words, and when I looked over at him, his face was tight and
closed. “You give up everything.” He opened his eyes to look
at me again, and as he did, his expression softened. “And
you‟re allowed to be angry about that. Especially when lots of
people your age are out there, being carefree. Hanging out at
friend‟s houses, drinking or getting high.”
My mouth cracked into a smile. “Like this?”
“Like this,” he agreed, grinning back at me. Letting go of
my hand, he shifted onto his side, and I gulped, feeling the
loss of his touch acutely. I couldn‟t mourn it too much,
though. Not with the way he was looking at me. “Sometimes
you need this.”
“I did,” I admitted. God, how I did. Rolling over onto my
side, I was facing him straight-on, and neither of us was
looking away this time. Tentatively, I moved to stroke the
side of his hand again, my chest expanding when he didn‟t
flinch. Instead, he just let me touch him. With a roughness
to my voice that I couldn‟t seem to help, born of arousal and
smoke and hope, I said, “Sometimes, I feel like I‟m going to
snap. Like I‟m barely keeping it together.”
“You are,” he insisted quietly. “You are.” Staring at me
intently, he paused before continuing, “You're fine…. You‟re
perfect.”
Our eyes held, and our faces were so close. When I
couldn‟t take it anymore, I broke the connection, but only to
dart my gaze down to his lips and back again. Slowly, Zev
pulled his hand away, only to slide his fingertips down my
cheek. “Tell me I‟m not reading this wrong,” he said as his
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| 40
thumb settled on my chin, his eyes drifting lower toward my
mouth.
“You‟re not,” I breathed.
“Thank God.”
Just like earlier, his lips were warm and full, but now
there was no doubt as to what this was. In the softest
motion, he brushed his mouth against mine, kissing so
lightly, but it still hit me deeply. My body, already so keyed
up, felt like it would explode, my skin on fire with the
sensation of that small touch. It was addictive and powerful.
Necessary. In a rush, needing more, I exhaled hard and
reached up to touch his face, keeping him against me as I
pressed back, letting my lips part and breathing a low moan
when he responded in kind. When he sucked gently at my
bottom lip, I thought I might come from that sensation alone,
it felt so good, and all the disadvantages of being a twenty-
year-old virgin suddenly hit me all over again.
“Zev,” I whispered, still kissing him even as I was trying
to talk. I could feel his tongue against my lips, the soft
fleshiness of it making me grow harder in my jeans as I
allowed it in to slide against mine. He tasted of smoke and
warmth and everything I imagined sex might taste like, and
sliding his hand down my neck and to the small of my back,
he pulled me closer until I was flush against him. The
pressure of his hip against my overeager erection forced an
embarrassingly loud groan out of me, and my hand
tightened, my grip sliding down to the warm skin of his neck.
It was only when he ground his hips lightly into mine,
the hard line of his cock against mine making me throb
almost painfully, that I remembered there was something
important I had to tell him. My nerves resurged as I forced
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| 41
myself to pull away, breathing hard as I pressed my forehead
against his and curled my hand into a fist in his shirt.
“Fuck,” I cursed. I was so turned on, still pressed
against him, and I was an idiot for feeling like I had to tell
him this—for not just enjoying what I could get.
“It‟s okay,” he breathed, but I could feel his frustration
and hear his worry. “Hey,” he said, lifting my face so we
could see each other clearly. His lips were parted, his eyes
heavy-lidded as he regarded me. “We don‟t have to. It‟s
okay.”
I shook my head fiercely. “I want to. God, I want to.
Just… I….” Closing my eyes, I fought for the words. “I
haven‟t really done this before.”
His eyes widened, his body instinctively pulling back,
and I felt my whole chest deflate. “Shit. Like….”
My tone was pleading, my hand gripping his shirt tightly
to try to keep him from leaving me completely. “Just, with
everything… with my dad and all… I haven‟t… but I want
to.”
Zev‟s whole face softened, and his retreat stopped. “Oh,
like, at all? Not just… you know… with another guy?”
I laughed, relief flooding me as I leaned in to press my
lips against his again. “No, not at all.” My voice lowered as I
kept speaking. “Even though I‟ve always wanted to. I‟ve
always wanted to touch a man.” I kissed my way to his ear
and felt him relaxing back against me. “Even though I‟ve
wanted you since the first time I saw you.”
The next thing I knew, I was on my back, Zev over me,
kissing me hard with his hand on my hip and his cock
digging into my thigh. “I would have taken you in the back
room that day if you‟d let me.”
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| 42
“Fuck,” I hissed. While my arousal had fallen off with
my rising anxiety, it roared back to life with the pressure of
his body on mine—his hand and hips and lips.
“I did all the stuff that usually works,” he said gruffly. “I
thought you were straight. Or not interested.” Moving to my
neck, he sucked at the skin, forcing my eyes closed as my
hands clutched at him. Every place he touched me sent
another dizzying jolt through my body and straight to my
cock, everything overwhelming and amazing. I wondered how
people survived this. How they could kiss and touch like this
without igniting, when it already felt like I was burning
dangerously hot.
I groaned loudly and dared to place my hand on his hip,
tugging him closer and asking for something, only I didn‟t
even know what. As his cock slid against mine through our
jeans, pleasure surged through me. It was something like
what I felt when I touched myself, but better, and I thrust up
into him to chase it.
He bit down on the place where my shoulder met my
neck, making me gasp, and he laughed as he licked it. “You
like that, don‟t you?”
“Yes.”
Sucking and kissing his way back up to my ear, he took
the lobe into his mouth. “I bet you‟d like it even more if I
sucked on something else.” At the words, his hand slipped
between us to palm my cock over my pants, and my eyes
nearly rolled back in my head. “Will you let me? Will you let
me taste you?”
My hips came off the floor. “God, yes.”
He didn‟t need any further encouragement as he moved
to kiss my mouth thoroughly while wrapping his hand more
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| 43
fully around me. When he started moving down my body, I
thought I would crack out of my skin, all the untouched
parts of me crying out, and I was already so on edge. I knew
there was no way I could last.
And as he pulled up my shirt and pressed his lips over
the obvious line of my arousal through my jeans, I wanted it
to last forever. I never wanted him to stop touching me.
“God, Zev,” I whispered.
His hand was already on the button to my jeans, and
everything was swimming. As he opened my pants, he looked
up at me, smirking slightly as he asked, “Has anyone ever?”
“No. I—fuck.”
He pulled me out in one swift motion. His hand was hot
and different than my own, the unexpected nature of his
touch exquisite against my skin. “Perfect,” he breathed.
I could see the bead of fluid at the tip, and I cringed,
uncertain if my eagerness just belied my lack of experience.
Nothing could have prepared me for the experience of Zev
reaching down, his tongue darting out to lick over the slit
before sliding his lips all along the length of me, down to the
base where he buried his nose against my sac.
I was babbling incoherently by the time he made his
way back up to the head, his mouth opening, but he paused
just before sliding me inside. “Please,” I hissed. “God, Zev,
please.”
At first, he sucked just the tip in, but even that was
almost too much. As he slid further down, all I knew was wet
heat. Suction.
“God, nothing‟s ever…. Oh.” My hands, which had been
clenched in fists at my side, came up without my will, my
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whole body going into overdrive with the instincts to pull and
thrust. His mouth was exquisite, impossibly better than
anything I had ever known. It was better than anything I‟d
imagined.
And it was going to be over so fast.
I had the presence of mind to slip my fingers into his
hair, sliding it back behind his ear for just a few seconds so I
could better watch the way he slid his mouth up and down
the length of me, those full lips gripping me so perfectly.
And that was it.
“I‟m going to—” I couldn‟t even finish the sentence
before the warmth became a heat that became blinding, a
bright white climb to a pinnacle that was higher than I had
ever imagined. For hours it felt like, I hovered, flying high
before I plummeted in a spectacular rush. The first spasm
almost tore me in two as I let go, pulsing hot inside his
mouth. I pried my eyes open long enough to watch him
swallow as I emptied, coming seemingly endlessly.
Watching me intently, he took it all, sucking and sliding
his tongue over me as it started to abate, easing me down
before softly letting me go. With a single kiss to the spent tip
of me, he smiled and climbed back up my body, laughing as
I twitched and pulled his lips to mine. Novice that I was, it
didn‟t occur to me that he would taste like me, but somehow
that was all right. As he opened his mouth, I slid my tongue
inside, spasming again at the knowledge that he‟d let me
come inside him.
“That was amazing,” I panted into his mouth. I was
nervous about what came next, but the lingering fog and the
taste against my tongue made me determined. Without
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| 45
preamble, I put my hand to him, sliding until I found the line
of his erection through his jeans.
He grunted, and I could feel him twitch as he kissed me
again before pulling back. “That feels good.”
His praise went straight to my head, and I stroked a
couple more times just like that before starting to fumble
with his fly. Once it was undone, I reached my hand in,
moaning at the feeling of silky, hot flesh. He helped me get
his pants over his hips, letting them bunch around his
knees, and I stole a glance down to see the flushed line of his
cock resting in the palm of my hand. I‟d never touched
another man like this before, and it was erotic and enticing.
It was also intimidating.
I felt my face heat as I experimentally slid my fist along
the length of him, inhaling sharply at his low groan. “I don‟t
know how—I‟ve never.”
He shook his head and kissed me. “You‟re doing great.”
Wrapping his hand around mine, he guided me to touch him
faster, a little lighter than I liked it, but as my palm slipped
over the slick head, his approving grunt was all the
encouragement I needed. He groaned, “Just like that,” and
began moving his hips in time with my hand.
“Do you want…?” The idea of putting him in my mouth
was intriguing, but my own insecurities about gagging or not
doing it right gave me pause.
“Next time,” he panted. “You feel too good.”
The sounds of his pleasure and the promise of more
emboldened me, and I slid another hand down to touch his
hip, his ass. I reached lower to brush his balls, and he jerked
wildly, sliding far enough forward for the head of his dick to
brush my bare stomach, a thin line of fluid stringing
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| 46
between my skin and his body. Just the sight of it made my
softening erection pulse against my abdomen.
Wanting to push him over—wanting to make this as
amazing for him as it was for me—I spoke quietly, “You feel
so good in my hand,” before lifting my head to put my mouth
to the flesh of his neck, sucking and licking like he had
done. He cursed when I bit down, and less than a minute
later, I felt him swelling in my hand, his groans increasing.
When the first warm splash hit my stomach, it was to
the sound of him choking on my name, his whole body
tensing. He was shaking by the time the last of his come had
made a slowly sliding pool on my skin, and he opened his
eyes wide to take in the sight of it.
“Fuck, that looks hot,” he breathed.
It was weird and gross. And hot. “I know,” I agreed as I
felt the cooling liquid drip with the motion of my breath. Zev
caught it, sliding a single finger through the line that was
threatening to spill. On a whim, I caught his wrist, nervous
but curious. His eyes were wide, and his lips parted as I
brought his hand to my lips, sucking his finger into my
mouth to the knuckle.
His come was salty and bitter, much like my own the
one time I‟d tried tasting it. But because it was his, it was
also better.
Even better was the way he pushed his finger in and out
before withdrawing it, sliding it wetly along my bottom lip
before pressing his mouth to mine and devouring my tongue.
Still, I couldn‟t help laughing when the pool on my stomach
began to move again. Zev stared at me quizzically, but then
he grinned and laughed, too, and it all felt so right. It all felt
so good.
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| 47
He sat up after a minute, pulling his jeans back up
before reaching over to the coffee table for some tissues and
helping me clean myself up. After we were both dressed
again, he flopped down beside me on the floor, and I didn‟t
hesitate to touch him this time, sliding my arm around his
waist and pressing my face against his neck.
“I needed this,” I said.
He stroked my hair. “I know.”
“Thank you.” Lifting my head, I gazed into his eyes. “Not
just for this, I mean, obviously,” I said, blushing and
gesturing between our bodies. “For everything.”
Slipping his fingers through the strands of hair that
threatened to fall into my eyes, he replied quietly, “Anytime.
Always.”
N
O MATTER
how I shifted, I couldn‟t seem to get comfortable.
Rolling over onto my side, I reached for a blanket, but met
instead with warm skin.
My eyes snapped open, taking in the bright sunlight
streaming through the gaps in the curtains, the bottles and
ashtrays, the pipe still sitting in a little bowl. Most of all, I
took in Zev. He was sleeping soundly, all his features even
more beautiful in the dim, golden light, and as I shifted to try
to sit up, he curled around me, slipping his arm across my
waist.
And for a minute, none of the rest of it mattered. Not my
fuzzy head or the hard floor. Not the evidence of everything
that had happened the night before or the way my body was
already itching for more. I‟d never woken up with anyone
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| 48
before, and the warmth that flowed through me was
shocking in its intensity. I was so content.
I should have known it couldn‟t last.
As I blinked and rubbed the fog from them, my eyes
settled again on the window. For the longest time, I just
stared at it, trying to make the connection that was so close
but which eluded me. Letting my gaze linger on the edges of
the dark blue curtains, I blinked again, and then it struck
me.
Sunlight.
I sat up too quickly, sliding out from under Zev‟s arm
with a single rough motion, my head swimming, and for a
few seconds I saw dizzy stars. Cursing and stumbling, I
looked for my shoes and my phone, pulling on the former
and feeling my pulse race as I checked the latter. I couldn‟t
decide if the lack of messages was a good thing or a bad
thing. I just knew I had to get home.
Zev moaned quietly and rolled over, and I spared him
one last glance. My chest tightened as I stared at him.
What I would have given to stay with him. To have
breakfast and kiss him awake and maybe strip him back
down. Maybe, finally, taste him.
But my reprieve was over.
I let myself out as quietly as possible, stumbling across
the street to my car. I pulled out so quickly that I nearly
clipped the bumper of the truck in front of me, but I didn‟t
pause. Driving mechanically, I could scarcely think beyond
the dread that was settling in my stomach.
At the house, I pulled into the driveway with a screech
of rubber, slamming on the brakes and jerking the door open
before the car had even stopped. Tearing through the door, I
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breathed out a long exhale when I found my father‟s chair
empty, rushing past it and down the hall.
I only made it a couple steps before I saw it, though.
Falling to my knees, I gagged.
In my head, he would always be young and strong. But
today my father was a broken pile of bones and skin,
crumpled on the floor in the hall.
I couldn‟t breathe as I shook him, my stomach roiling
and my hands shaking. Already suspecting the worst, my
fingers flew to his throat, probing. It wasn‟t until I felt the
low, steady rhythm there that I finally pulled in a choking
inhale, collapsing in on myself and letting my head fall into
my hands. Tears of relief and grief mingled until even I
couldn‟t tell the difference.
At the sound of my whispered, “Dad,” he finally stirred,
snorting roughly. I swiped the back of my hand across my
cheeks and threw myself at him, hugging him tightly until he
coughed.
“David?”
“I‟m so sorry, Dad. I‟m so, so sorry. I swear I‟ll never…
never again.” I couldn‟t even process how completely I‟d
failed him.
I couldn‟t handle the fact that I‟d abandoned him. That
he‟d fallen and laid here the whole night. That I could be so
selfish.
I could never be so selfish again.
Sitting by his bed later that morning, I just stared at his
sleeping face.
And then I buried all the hope that had grown in my
heart.
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| 50
W
ITHIN
a week, my father had stopped even letting me get
him out to the living room. Within two, the nurse from
hospice had all but moved in and Dr. Birk was making home
visits.
Dad never even finished the last of the marijuana I‟d
gotten from Zev‟s clinic. I never went back for more. I never
went to his place again, either.
By the end, I wasn‟t even going to classes or my job. Dr.
Birk assured me he‟d contacted my professors and my boss,
but I didn‟t care.
The last night, Dr. Birk gave me the sad smile I knew so
well, and I let myself go numb. Holding my father‟s limp
hand, I prayed, even though I didn‟t know what I was
praying for. Dad never opened his eyes, and there were no
last words. Eventually I fell asleep there in my chair.
And by the time I woke, he was gone.
T
HE
day we laid my father to rest, I woke to a cold, gray
morning. In a white shirt and my only suit, I made my way
woodenly to the front of a church we never went to. I shook
hands and let people hug me, but none of it seemed to soak
through the steel armor I‟d been curled up inside of for days
now.
When it was my turn to speak, I remembered my father
the best I could. I talked about the man who had raised me
and who had remained strong when everything about him
had grown so weak. I talked about him as he was.
Letting Go |
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| 51
I talked about him as the man I wanted to be.
As I stood there, my eyes scanned the full pews, never
stopping as I took in the faces of my father‟s friends and
colleagues. It didn‟t escape my attention that my mother was
nowhere in attendance. With no way to contact her, it didn‟t
surprise me, though.
Only one face had the power to make me pause.
He stood at the back of the church, for once dressed not
in a T-shirt and jeans, and above the line of his tie, I couldn‟t
make out any sign of the braided hemp rope. His eyes were
glossy, and he was staring at me as if he could see exactly
how broken I was inside the shell of myself that was on
display for everyone else.
At the cemetery, I felt him, and I turned toward him
even as the minister was beginning the first prayer. His eyes
connected with mine. My hand twitching at my side, I
mouthed just the word, “Please,” and he was there. As they
lowered the casket down, I held onto his warm palm so
tightly.
And Zev never let me fall.
Not when the endless stream of people shuffled by, each
stopping to hug me or to shake my other hand. Not when the
gravediggers came to start filling the hole with dirt after
everyone else was gone.
“Come on,” Zev whispered. Meeting his gaze, I found
only concern, and without hesitation I followed him. “Will
you let me get you home?”
At my nod, he stopped before the cemetery gate to tell
the distant cousin I‟d arrived with that he‟d take care of me.
And when he spoke those words, that promise, I let go of the
first tears of the day.
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| 52
I came back to myself when we pulled into the driveway
at my house. Neither of us moved to get out, and I felt the
heavy weight of expectation. I felt everything I hadn‟t said in
these last few weeks.
“I‟m sorry,” I finally croaked. My voice could barely
contain the sob that was desperate to get out. “I‟m sorry I
didn‟t call. Or come back. I wanted to, but….”
“No, David. No.” He‟d already gotten his seatbelt
undone, and as he reached across the space between the
seats, I gave myself over to everything, leaning into him and
shaking as I cried against his shoulder. His arms wrapped
around me the best they could in the awkward space. “Don‟t
worry about that now. It‟s fine. It‟s fine.”
“I‟m sorry.”
I was so sorry. For everything.
When the sobs finally eased, I lifted my head to look up
into his wet, red eyes, and I pressed my lips once, chastely,
to his before fumbling with my seatbelt. As I reached for the
door, I asked, “Will you come in? I… I don‟t want to be
alone.”
“Of course.”
Everything was just how I had left it that morning, the
shades all drawn and things strewn everywhere. In that dark
space, I stood, shaking, while Zev hovered near my side,
reaching out to take my hand.
“You‟re freezing,” he hissed when he touched me, and I
shrugged. The cold went so deep, I scarcely even noticed it
anymore. “Come on.” I let him lead me, answering his
questions when he asked me where things were. Eventually,
I found myself in the bathroom, still shivering and leaning
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| 53
against the counter as he started up the shower. Tentatively,
his hands went to my tie. “Can I?”
I nodded. There was nothing sexual about the way he
undressed me, but it still made me hard. Bile rose up in my
throat along with my guilt as I remembered the last time he
had touched me. And yet, I wanted to feel it again. I wanted
to feel good instead of lonely and scared and in pain.
I wanted to feel as cared for as I did when he slipped my
boxers off and placed one soft kiss to the skin beside my hip.
He rose and held the curtain aside, urging me to get in,
but I caught his wrist before I did. My face flushed,
uncertain how to ask. “Will you?”
“Get in.”
I did, but I kept the curtain open just enough to watch
him as he stripped down. It only occurred to me as he
stepped into the shower that it was the first time we‟d been
naked together—that it was the first time I‟d been naked
with anyone, and yet I felt less exposed than I had earlier,
crying in his arms in the car.
For the longest time, we just stood there beneath the
spray, his body behind mine and his arms wrapped around
me. I let some more tears mix with the water from the
shower, but it wasn‟t with the same intensity now that I‟d
loosened my control. Eventually, he pulled back and began
to wash me. Even that made me want to cry, the tenderness
so raw after everything else had broken me down.
When the water began to cool, Zev rinsed away the
lingering traces of soap left on my body, and I felt his hand
brush my erection, making me twitch. I clenched my jaw to
keep from giving in to the sensation completely, gritting out
Letting Go |
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| 54
a low, “What about you?” as he reached for the shower
controls.
“I‟m good,” he insisted. I didn‟t argue.
He dried me off first, batting away my hands when I
tried to take the towel from him. At my grumbling, he
chuckled and turned a sly smile on me, and my heart melted
just a little to see him grin. His face looked all wrong when
he frowned.
Draping the towel over my shoulders, he reached for a
clean one and rubbed it over his own body while I watched.
My eyes were drawn to the droplets of water glistening on his
skin, to the way the sprinkling of dark hair across his chest
and down his stomach curled when wet. And my own
arousal pulsed when I saw that he was just as hard as I was.
When he started moving to pick up his clothes, I
stopped him. “Don‟t,” I whispered. “Please.”
His eyes were warm, his pupils wide as he stood back
up and stared at me, his throat bobbing as he agreed.
“Okay.”
I led him this time, entwining our hands and letting the
towel fall. Naked and unashamed, we made our way to my
bedroom. I wanted to apologize for the mess, the piles of
textbooks and notes, the laundry I had given up on days ago,
but he didn‟t give me the chance. He stood beside my bed,
gazing at me without expectation, and I knew that all I had
to do was ask.
With a single nervous shudder, I stepped forward,
eliminating any distance between us. Our bodies brushed,
chests and hips, and I could feel the warmth of skin all along
the length of me. Leaning just a little farther, I tentatively
lifted my hand to his neck, tilting my head to fit to the space
Letting Go |
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| 55
left by his and pressed my lips shakily to the corner of his
mouth. I kissed his chin and his cheek, and when I returned
to his lips, I found them parted, his mouth open to mine and
his tongue warm and pliant as I sought it out.
“Please,” I whispered. I slid my hand down his chest to
rest above his heart. Even though I knew he wouldn‟t deny
me, I felt my own pulse racing. “I need… I need to feel
something.”
He swallowed hard before placing his palms on my hips
to hold me against him. “Whatever you need,” he assured
me. “Only….”
My stomach fell. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head and kissed me again, but I
could feel the subtle shift. I could taste his doubt.
Pulling back, I rested my brow on his cheek and closed
my eyes. “I need to feel alive,” I breathed. When I looked at
him again, his face was willfully blank, and I rubbed his jaw
with my thumb, struggling to hold myself back when I
wanted to feel him. But he had to know. “You make me feel
alive, Zev. You always have. Since that first day. You made
me smile for the first time in months.”
Pressing my lips to his again, I tried to show him with
my kiss and with my touch what I was trying so unartfully to
say. “I want you. Just you.”
His grip on my hips tightened, pulling me flush against
his body, and when I felt his own hot flesh sliding against
mine, I groaned.
“I‟ve never—” I started.
“Let me show you.”
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| 56
We fell onto my bed in a tumble of naked limbs and
need, his body settling atop my own as he kissed me over
and over. My hands found purchase in his hair and on his
shoulder, slowly moving down to his hip as he slid back and
forth against me. I hadn‟t touched myself in a week, and I
felt things building quickly, my lips trying to find a protest,
but somehow he seemed to know.
“Do you have…?”
I nodded. “Nightstand.”
He retreated just long enough to pull open the drawer
and retrieve the things we‟d need. The lube I had experience
with from my own experimentation with myself, but the
condom was something new. There were a couple of different
kinds, and he raised an eyebrow at me as he held up a
purple-wrapped one.
I shrugged and blushed, even though it seemed like all
the blood in my body had drained to my cock. “Student
health center. You take what you can get.”
He laughed, a warm sound that resonated in the room,
pushing some of the numbness and hurt away.
“Resourceful,” he said wryly. Tearing it open, he withdrew
the latex circle, and I was only so surprised when he brought
it to my body, giving me a couple of slow strokes before
rolling it down.
When I was fully sheathed, I gulped and touched his leg.
“You‟re sure? This is….”
Chuckling again, he kissed me softly before sitting back
on his knees beside me, his fingertips drifting gently over my
thigh. “Shouldn‟t I be asking you that?”
“I mean….” My cheeks heated as I found the word.
“Bottoming?”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 57
“Yeah. Either is good for me, but you know what I
mean.” His mouth twisted downward, and I saw that same
hint of doubt cross his face. “You only get one first time.
You‟re sure you want it now? After…. And with me?”
I sat up enough to touch his jaw, pulling him back to
kiss his mouth. “I‟m sure about you.”
“Okay,” he said, gulping and pushing me to lie back
down. Grabbing the lube again, he flipped open the cap and
drizzled a line down his finger, shifting to straddle my hips
before reaching behind his body. It took me a minute to
realize what he was doing, but as I relaxed back down into
the bed, I could see his finger disappearing inside his body. I
groaned as I watched, my hand settling on his hip as he
stretched himself for me.
Holding his gaze, I whispered, “Next time, I want to do
that.”
He grunted and sank slightly, his cock twitching. “It‟s a
date,” he said roughly, pushing into himself a few more
times before extracting his hand and reaching for the tissues
beside my bed. As he wiped his fingers off, I fumbled for the
lube, spreading a little across my palm and then sliding it
over my dick in long strokes. I let go quickly, though, already
certain that I would come too soon and not wanting to do
anything to make it worse.
Settling over me with his knees on either side of my
hips, Zev took my hands in his and pressed them to the
mattress above my head. “Last chance,” he said, low and
gruff as he slid against my cock.
Staring into his eyes, I asked him quietly, “Make love to
me.”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 58
Pulling one hand back to align me with his body, he
slowly started to sink down, breathing as he did, “Always.”
I gasped his name and clung to his hand as my neck
arched backward, my every nerve on fire with the all-
consuming pleasure of hot sliding and of being inside
another man. So slowly, he took me in, stilling when his
thighs met my hips and cursing quietly when he felt me flex
within him.
“Fuck, Zev,” I hissed. It was too good—tight and hot—
and the sensation as he began to pull back up left me
breathless. “I can‟t…. Oh!”
Somehow, I did. I held on to my control, but with relish
this time. I never wanted the feeling of being inside of him to
end.
Falling forward onto his forearm, he continued moving
up and down on me in short strokes, moaning with every
one. The sound of his pleasure was another blow to my
restraint, and I felt my need barreling down on me. But then
his mouth was on mine, a deep, heady kiss that I directed as
much of my attention to as I could.
“Touch me,” he begged before tugging my lip between
his teeth.
He was hot and hard in my hand, slick inside my palm,
and I raced over his length in strokes that matched his own
movements.
“Yes. Just like that.”
As he began to move more quickly, I made the mistake
of looking down, groaning deeply at the sight of my body
moving in and out of his, the long line of his cock, flushed
and glistening in my hand. Grunting, I threw my head back
and felt myself give in. “I‟m… oh… too good.”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 59
“Let go,” he urged.
My orgasm hit me just a few seconds later, hot, intense
and blinding as I released into him, crying his name.
Nothing—not even his mouth—had ever felt like this, and I
surrendered to it completely. Lost inside the pleasure of it, I
was only dimly aware of his hand wrapping around mine,
coaxing a few more rough strokes until he, too, was shooting
hot come, long lines of it spattering across my chest.
He collapsed onto me, and I wrapped my arms around
him, squeezing so tightly. Like I could bind him to me.
Like I could always feel like this.
“Stay,” I whispered. “Please stay.”
I
WOKE
to the dim light of early morning, my eyes opening
without the sense of loneliness and dread that had
accompanied my every waking for the past few weeks. My
body felt warm and satiated, my nakedness proof of the
memory of what had transpired the previous day.
But then I rolled over to find the sheets empty and cold.
And I remembered everything else that had happened. I
remembered the silence of getting ready for a funeral and the
final words that could never begin to summarize what my
father had meant to me.
Pulling on only a pair of boxers, I made my way out into
the quiet house that I‟d been the sole inhabitant of for days
now. I hoped Zev would still be there, but after the way that I
had left him, I knew it‟d serve me right if he had gone.
I remembered how, still deep inside of him, I had asked
him to stay.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 60
So when I heard movement in the kitchen, the clattering
of pans and the faint sounds of sizzling, my heart rose up
into my throat, and I turned the corner with misty eyes,
slumping against the wall with my chest expanding almost
painfully at what I saw.
Wearing a plain, white undershirt and black boxer
briefs, Zev stood at the stove, humming quietly to himself
and stirring something in a frying pan. His hair was all
rumpled, the dark curls everywhere, and his jaw was
shadowed by a day‟s worth of beard. He looked beautiful.
And he looked like he belonged there.
“You‟re still here,” I heard myself say, still clinging to the
wall.
Zev jumped, but then beamed, only tempering his
expression when his eyes met my damp ones. “Of course.”
Unfrozen, I crossed the room in a few strides. While I
was still tentative, my hands knew where they fit on his body
now, and I pulled him to me quickly, burying my face against
his neck. “Thank you,” I whispered.
His arms closed around me, and I felt his lips press to
my cheek. “You‟re welcome.” He let me cling to him for a
minute, but then he pulled away, returning to the stove and
pushing me toward the little table by the window. “Go. Sit.”
I couldn‟t resist kissing his mouth before I obeyed. Once
I sat, he wouldn‟t let me get up again. He brought me coffee
and juice and pressed his lips to mine with each offering,
finally turning off the burners on the stove and bringing two
plates of eggs and potatoes and toast. “It‟s all I could find,”
he said sheepishly as he set the plates down.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 61
I rolled my eyes at him, digging in without ceremony. “I
haven‟t exactly been keeping up with the grocery shopping.
This is the best thing I‟ve eaten all week, probably.”
His brow furrowed. “No crazy old ladies with
casseroles?”
“No.” Swallowing, I looked up at him to find his face
troubled. “What?”
“I just wish I‟d known. It wasn‟t until I saw it in the
paper….”
Training my eyes down, I felt the guilt rising up again.
My hand reached out uncertainly to stroke his. “I should
have told you. I‟m sorry.”
“It‟s okay,” he said, squeezing my fingers before pulling
his hands away. “When I didn‟t hear from you, I figured it
was something with your family. But I didn‟t know if maybe
I‟d pushed you or done something wrong, so….”
I shook my head. “It was all me. I just needed—”
“Really,” he interrupted. “It‟s okay.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. I didn‟t like the air
that had settled over us. I didn‟t like the way he wouldn‟t
meet my eyes.
Finally, I put down my fork, saying quietly, “I wanted to
see you. I really did. But I felt so guilty. My dad fell while I
was at your place, and he went downhill so fast. I wished… I
wanted….”
The feeling of his lips, soft and warm against mine,
distracted me from the spiraling thoughts I couldn‟t seem to
find the words for. “I wanted to see you too,” he replied as he
released me, resting his hand on my bare thigh as he
returned to his plate.
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 62
A hint of a smile moved across my face as his words
sunk in, the silence less tense now that he was touching me.
My eyes darted from my breakfast to his face as I ate, and I
noticed that even as he was caressing my leg with his
thumb, he was strangely fidgety.
“So,” he said after a few more bites. “I couldn‟t help
snooping around your room a little while you were passed
out.”
I grinned shyly. “Sorry. I haven‟t been sleeping well.”
“Well, you slept like a baby last night.” His smirk spoke
volumes.
“I can‟t imagine why.”
“I can.” He directed his eyes back down to his plate, a
more contemplative expression replacing the playful one as
he teased at his eggs with his fork. “I just… I noticed your
notes were all a few weeks old.”
“Oh.” It was my turn to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, um, I
guess I‟m on a… a little leave of absence? When things got
bad with my dad….” The truth that had kept me up at night
the past few days found its way to my lips. “I actually… I
don‟t know if I‟ll go back. I don‟t know if I can—”
“What?!” Zev‟s voice was so incredulous, his hand
gripping my leg so tightly that I looked up. “What do you
mean?”
“I just… I don‟t…. None of it seems important right
now.” My dad had always been my biggest supporter—the
one who most wanted me to succeed and most praised
everything that I had done. “I feel… lost.”
“You can‟t,” Zev swore. “Not now. Not if you can
possibly….” He shook his head, and I sensed the
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 63
determination in his voice. The fire. “You‟ll regret it if you
do.”
With our gazes fixed on each other, the silence hung
between us for just a moment too long.
“I did,” he finally breathed, and I watched with a hot
lump in my throat as his whole face fell.
“Zev…?” I put my hand over his, holding it tightly. There
was something more there. Something important.
“When my mom died. I did.”
My eyes widened, my brain scrambling for words. Only
there weren‟t any. How could there be?
He kept talking over my dumbstruck silence. “There
were other things. We were broke, and I had to work to keep
us afloat when she got sick. But the thing is, I know.”
Staring up at me again, he turned his palm over to interlace
our hands, stroking mine distractedly with his thumb. “I
know how it feels when it seems like nothing else matters,
but it does. If I could go back…. If….”
He paused and then continued. “And I know that being
a doctor means so much to you. This stuff will pass, you
know? I mean, it‟ll never stop hurting, but if you give
everything up now, one day you‟ll wake up and realize you
have no idea who you are.”
My voice was gruff, but somehow, at that, I found it. “I
know who you are.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, you do. But sometimes, I feel
like I‟m still figuring it out.” Shaking his head, he squeezed
my hand. “But that‟s not what this is about. If there‟s any
way you can, you should keep going.”
Letting Go |
Jeanette Grey
| 64
“There‟s just so much….” I admitted. And there was.
There were my father‟s medical bills and the house I needed
to sell. The will and the estate. And the grief.
There was the pit of anger and pain in my stomach
every time I thought about him, lying dying in that bed.
“There are,” Zev said slowly. I watched as a sly smile
crept across his lips. “But maybe you could let me help you.
Let me take care of you a bit. ‟Til you‟re back on your feet.”
He hesitated. “Or maybe longer.”
The feeling of warmth inside my chest bloomed
suddenly and fiercely, but it was still tempered by all the
instincts I‟d accumulated over these past few trying years.
“I‟m not good at letting people take care of me,” I confessed.
“Well,” he said, leaning over the table to touch my face
and brush his lips across my jaw. “Maybe you could try.”
It was hard to kiss him with how broadly I was smiling.
It felt strange, letting go like that. It felt good.
“Maybe I could,” I agreed.
After all, I figured. There had to be a first time for
everything.
About the Author
After brief, unsatisfying careers in advertising, teaching,
computers, and homemaking,
J
EANETTE
G
REY
has returned
to her two first loves: romance and writing. For her, there is
no story without a love story, and there is no better way to
show the connection between two (or more!) people than
through physical touch and intimacy. Her favorite parts of a
romance are the transcendent moment when a person
discovers that he is loved and that terrifying moment right
before it when he isn‟t sure.
When she isn‟t writing, Jeanette enjoys making pottery,
playing board games, and spending time with her husband
and her pet frog. She lives, loves, and writes in North
Carolina.
Visit her web site at
or follow her on Twitter at
Copyright
Letting Go ©Copyright Jeanette Grey, 2011
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Catt Ford
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
June 2011
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-031-8
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