Page 52 of Fear of Flying

God, Zach wasn’t the one-night-stand type of guy—he’d been a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Not that he’d been saving himself or anything like that, but he had planned on his first time not being just casual sex. Hot tears almost burned as they started slipping out and down his cheeks.

Had everything been a big fucking lie? Had he lost his virginity to some guy who couldn’t have cared less about him? Who had lied and told him everything he’d ever wanted to hear and more just to get him into bed?

No! He shook his head violently, as if to rid it of the thoughts. He wouldn’t let himself believe that. There had been something there. There had to have been. A sob wracked his chest, and he let out a pitiful whimper. Clearly, it hadn’t been love. But there had been something.

Jen: And that’s fine! I’m not mad. Just like hella jealous. But maybe you just shoot me a quick text?

Another sob hit him, the accompanying wail sounding far too loud in the small space of the car.

Jen: Also, here’s your friendly reminder that Superman says flying is statistically the safest form of travel!

Yeah, Drew had said that too. It’d been one of the things that’d made Zach feel a bit more comfortable, capable of conversing with a stranger he’d be stuck in an enclosed space for hours with. Because he’d used the same line on him as his best friend had.

But nothing about flying felt even remotely safe now.

Jen: Remember to breathe, alright? Like, this goes for kissing too. Not sure if you realize, you know, you’re supposed to pause to breathe (and maybe text your best friend who is definitely not freaking out).

Jen: Okay, maybe Mr. Great Ass has cured you of your fear of flying?

Tears were dropping down from his chin and hitting the phone screen and his thumb, and he could barely focus enough to read the words. They hurt too much.

Jen: Okay. Serious time, Zach. I just called your phone, expecting to get sent to voicemail straight off, but it rang through. Which means your phone is ON and NOT 30,000 FT IN THE AIR WITH NO SIGNAL. Hot hunk or not, you need to call me STAT. I need to know if I should call the fucking police or not.

Fuck. Fuck, he hadn’t—he’d been working so hard on holding himself together that he hadn’t let Jen or his mom know. Immediately, he tapped on her number on the screen to call. She answered on the first ring.

“ZACH!! Are you alive? Are you okay? Where the hell are you?!”

“Ohio,” he managed to croak out.

“Ohio, okay,” she said slowly, like she was taking a few beats to change gears, obviously reading his tone. Like she always did. “We’re driving. Okay.”

God, it helped to hear her voice—not a lot, but it helped—and if he responded right now, he’d start crying all over again. He wasn’t sure why he was stalling, though—him crying on this call was a foregone conclusion.

“Za-ach,” she admonished, like always, taking up two whole syllables to say his name. “And you just... forgot to text the two most important women in your life? You know, let them know you’re alive, just being—”

“J-Jen...” His voice broke, and he tried to hold in the sob that was threatening.

“Oh god, Zach, what happened?” Her tone shifted in an instant, and the care and love he heard destroyed the last of his fragile resolve.

Zach cried into the phone for he didn’t know how long while Jen murmured softly—telling him he’d be okay and he was loved and he wasn’t alone. She didn’t even know what was wrong yet, might not even have had time to guess what was wrong. He sobbed and sniffled and whimpered, and she just kept talking. He wanted to believe her, wanted to hear her telling him he’d be okay and believe it, but he honestly didn’t think he’d be okay ever again.

The only thing he was certain of was that he didn’t deserve a friend as good as Jen.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Drew

Drew tried not to fidget with his legal pad or his pen, but he couldn’t stop himself from the slight and hopefully imperceptible twist of his chair in the conference room at Vanderwall, Stockton, and Peters as they waited for Mr. Davidson to arrive. However, given how perceptive the other Mr. Davidson seemed to be, watching Drew quietly from where he sat in the next chair over, Drew wouldn’t be surprised if he’d started timing the minuscule twists. They were slightly rhythmic, maybe once every few seconds?

Dammit, he needed to stop. This wasn’t him. Absolutely, one hundred percent not him. He hadn’t been nervous in front of clients since his second year in practice. He should have come into work yesterday—having most of Wednesday and all of Thursday alone with his thoughts had been far too much time.

Mr. Davidson turned his head and gave Drew a smile, almost as if he had been timing his chair twisting. That, or he was hinting at something else. And Drew hoped desperately it wasn’t the fact that ever since he’d come home, it was as though—god, as ridiculous as it sounded—it was as though he was having trouble... shoving the gay back in the closet.

Before, it’d been a mask that was so easy to slip on and wear throughout the day. Actually, he wasn’t sure he’d ever taken it off, not really. Not until Zach. There hadn’t ever really been a reason to. Maybe occasionally, when he was at his parents’ house, but not always—it was usually easier to not remind anyone of the issue. Even at home, even alone, it was only every once in a while would he let himself explore what it meant to be... himself.

Drew clenched his jaw tight and did his best to push the thoughts from his mind. He was at work, for fuck’s sake. What was wrong with him? Yet his mind instantaneously jumped to a ridiculously sharp image of a gorgeous man with dark hair and amazing blue eyes. God, he couldn’t think of him. He needed to focus on work.

“Someone special on your mind, son?”