Huh. I stepped out into the cold air, the noise of eighteen thousand fans exiting the arena after a win fading away as I made my way to my car. What were we exactly? Friends. Yes. Friends with benefits. For sure. So, would a friend hire a PI without consulting the other friend to fly to a foreign country to poke around a sickly woman’s care facility?
“Fuck,” I whispered, the knowledge hitting me like a fastball to the bean. I was stepping over bounds. Way over them.
“Cam! Hey, man, can I get a selfie?” a random dude reeking of beer asked. I agreed because I was too rattled not to. The photo took a mere moment. Felt like an ice age before I was free to jog to my car, wearing my Cam Blackburn Presser Smile, then crumpling behind the steering wheel like a puppet cut from its strings. Fuck. Fuck.
“Okay, it’s okay. You just need to handle this properly.” Without thinking, I found my therapist’s number and rang him up. Of course he wasn’t in his office. It was ten-thirty at night. His service picked up, asking if it was an emergency. Sure, to me it was kind of… sort of… not really. I told them no, I just needed an appointment. They were happy to set one up for me bright and early. With a mumbled thanks, I made a note of the time in my training app, then sat there for a long time watching the fans file out of the parking lot. I badly wanted to find Jari. Instead, I drove home, locked the doors, and turned off all the lights. When my houseguest got home, he would see the main house dark. Being a polite guy, he would not come over for coffee, a chat, or a kiss. He’d leave me be. Something I seemed to have real trouble reciprocating. Lying in bed alone that night, I watched the minutes tick off until sleep overtook me around two in the morning. I was going to be one rough patient at eight sharp. Poor Doc G.
“Sorry I look like hammered shit,”I murmured to the team therapist as I nursed a takeout cup of coffee. His office was far too sunny. Very Feng Shui.
“I’ve seen worse,” Doc G replied, sipping from his cup of dark brew I’d picked up for him. Doctor Graham was an older man, slim, with an aura that reminded me of wind chimes. His voice was calming, just like his appearance. Docile, kind, wore sweaters. A Black Fred Rogers, if you will. “This is such good coffee. I think I like it better than that big chain store’s brew. It’s not as pretentious.”
“Yeah, I like things simple,” I said into my cup, the steam rising to tickle my nostrils. “Sorry to pull you in so early.”
“You’re very apologetic this morning, Cam.” He watched me with big brown eyes, just waiting and sipping as he was wont to do.
“Sorry. Shit.” I sighed so hard I made ripples in my coffee. “I’m having trouble avoiding phone booths this morning,” I confessed. He nodded. He knew what that meant. He’d been my therapist for years now. I held nothing back in therapy. What the hell was the point of coming to counseling if you weren’t honest?
“And what do you think has nudged you into superhero mode?”
My coffee was boring, so I glanced over his shoulder at a painting of a botanical garden he had visited in Japan, a few years ago. He’d painted it from memory. It was stunning.
“I have a new houseguest,” I said, then let the rest flow out like the water at the fountain pond in the oil painting. Everything rolled out of me as I explained about Jari, my feelings for him, and my realization that I had not only tied on my cape, but I had leapt into the air faster than a speeding bullet. “So, I called the PI last night around midnight. Caught him at the airport about to board his flight. He was not pleased to be calledoff such a lucrative case. I felt bad about that, so I paid him extra for the time he wasted. Then I felt bad for feeling bad.”
“You’ve had quite the time of things since we last talked,” Doc said, to which I bobbed my head. “What do you think spurred you into leaping in to help Jari when he never asked for your help?”
“Oh, you know, the whole childhood trauma of losing my parents, then moving in with my uncle and Kirby, who was weaker than me, so I always stood up for my cousin, saving him from the bullshit his father flung at him. I couldn’t save my folks, but I could save Kirby and anyone else whom I care about, even if I burn myself mentally into a cinder to do so, even if they don’t ask for help, even if the other person should learn to handle life on their own.” I pulled my attention from the fountain in the painting to find Doc G smiling that therapist smile at me. “Did that cover it all?”
“Quite succinctly. I’m proud of the work that you’ve put in and how far you’ve come, Cam. You realized you were slipping back into old habits and stopped yourself before it consumed you. That’s incredible.”
“I don’t feel incredible. I feel like I should have seen it coming sooner or something.”
“What matters is that you saw your behavior and changed it as we’ve been working on.”
“Yeah, I guess. Kirby reminds me that whenever I bake a cake for someone else I should bake one for myself.” That made me smile just a little.
“Kirby is a very smart man. As are you. So, Jari? You speak very fondly of him.”
“Yeah, Jari. Where do I start?”
“I find that the beginning is the very best place.”
Couldn’t argue that. So, I began there…
Two hours later,I was home trying to figure out a recipe for a chocolate layer cake for myself when a gentle rap at the back door pulled me from baking. Padding to the door as I wiped my hands on my little checkered apron, I saw Jari standing out in the snow.
“Come in,” I said as I hurried to open the door. “Man, that came on fast.”
“Yeah, like in the last ten minutes.” He stepped in, flakes clinging to his cheeks and lashes. I reached up to dust them off. “You smell like chocolate. Can I kiss you?”
“Please.” He stole a peck, a soft little touch of his lips to mine, and then slid into my arms, brow resting on my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“It is now.”
I melted. My arms went around him. We hugged it out for a few minutes then had to break apart as my oven chimed that it was plenty warm already.
“Come in, I’m making a layer cake.” I offered him my hand, which he took. When we arrived at the counter, which was a fright of flour, eggs, and cocoa powder, I looked him right in his pretty eyes. “How do you fold something into a batter?”
A twitch of a smile pulled up his lips. “You just fold it in, David.”
