Monster mash, p.19
Monster Mash, page 19
“I need to see him!” I demanded for the fiftieth time at the emergency room desk.
The nurse on the other side, an itherie with a pink wig, frowned at me. “I’m sorry, sir. Like I said, unless you’re his next of kin, I can’t release any information.”
I pushed away from the desk, frustrated. It’d been hours since the ambulance had taken Ezra away, and I still hadn’t gotten an update on his condition. When I found him curled up, hyperventilating, and sobbing on the landing, I was worried at first that he’d gotten hurt. Maybe he’d fallen or gotten shot or any number of terrible things. By the time the EMTs showed, however, I’d been able to deduce it was an anxiety attack. I had no idea what had triggered it, and he hadn’t been in any condition to speak to me.
All I wanted was to hold his hand, to hold him, to tell him everything was okay. I’d fix whatever had upset him if I could.
“Mr. Reyes?”
I spun around at the familiar voice. It was Doctor Federi, Ezra’s psychiatrist. He strode out from deeper in the emergency department, his hands folded behind his back.
“How is he?” I asked, rushing up to him. “They won’t tell me anything.”
“I’ve just come from seeing him. He’s quite calm at the moment, and asking to see you. However…” He stopped me from rushing past him. “He needs to rest. I’d like for him to take a few days off work. I know he’s got quite a bit going on at the moment, but he really needs time to recover. The mind is an organ like any other, and it needs to heal. I’d like to ask for your assistance in this matter, as I’m sure you’re aware Ezra can be…”
“He’s a workaholic,” I said flatly.
The doctor conceded the point with a nod. “I’ve spoken with his assistant, Gary, and Ezra has agreed, however begrudgingly. But he seems to confide in you, and I wanted to make it clear how important his rest was as part of his treatment plan.”
“Of course,” I agreed, nodding. “Whatever he needs.”
Doctor Federi nodded and turned to lead me deeper into the emergency department, eventually bringing me to a small room with a glass front. A privacy curtain had been drawn, but the door was propped open. The doctor said he’d be right outside and ushered me into the dimly lit room.
“Ezra?” I said and tapped on the curtain. “It’s Matteo.”
“You can come in.” His voice sounded slightly thick, but they’d probably given him some medication to help.
I pushed the curtain aside.
He sat on the end of the hospital bed, paler than I’d ever seen him, his red curls a mess. Ezra’s suit was rumpled, and his eyes slightly glazed and puffy. My heart sank at the sight of him. I wanted to go to his side, scoop him up, and beg him to tell me what he needed so I could go get it for him, but I didn’t know if he wanted that, and I didn’t want to make things worse.
“What can I do to help?” I asked quietly.
Ezra stood, his jacket folded over one arm. “You can take me home.”
There was a shortness to his words, almost as if he were angry with me, but I chalked it up to him being exhausted. Anyone would be after what he just went through.
I escorted him from the hospital, staying by his side in case he lost his balance. When we got to the car, I opened the door for him. He didn’t acknowledge it, sliding into the passenger seat and clicking his seatbelt on with a numb expression.
It wasn’t until we were in traffic headed back to his house that he finally spoke.
“You must think I’m pathetic,” he said quietly.
“I don’t. Not at all,” I countered. “I think you’ve worked yourself too hard, and you need to rest.”
Ezra closed his eyes and sighed. “It’s not the job, Matteo. It’s you.”
A cold numbness spread through my chest. I wanted to ask what he meant, but I couldn’t make the words come out.
He turned his head, looking straight at me. “I know about the videos.”
It took everything in me not to stomp my hoof down on the brakes in the middle of traffic. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
How could he know? I’d been so careful. I’d never showed my face, covered anything recognizable in the apartment, even used a voice changer. Nobody knew.
I suppose how he knows isn’t the point. He clearly knows, and now I’ve got to decide what to do with that.
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Do you want me to stop doing them?”
Ezra stared at me, saying nothing.
I glanced over at him. “Tell me and I will. I’ll take them all down and never do another one.”
His jaw flexed. “You’re not going to deny it?”
“Why would I? You want me to defend my decision? Explain it?” I shrugged. “We can have that conversation, but it’s clearly upsetting you, and I don’t want that. Whatever my reasons are, you are more important to me than anything else.”
“Because you love me?”
“Yes.” I looked over at him.
I shouldn’t have said it for the first time over the phone. I had wanted the first time to be in person, maybe accompanied by roses and something chocolate and lots of kisses and cuddles. But something told me he needed to hear it today and that I shouldn’t wait. Maybe that feeling was wrong.
Ezra didn’t say it back, though. He didn’t say anything. Just turned his head and stared out the window at the passing buildings.
When I finally pulled up in front of his house, I put the car in park. “Ezra, listen. I’m not going to deny that I was making videos. I was, and I should have told you about them. I’m sorry I didn’t, and I’m sorry you had to find out however you found out instead of from me. That wasn’t right. I know that I’ve hurt you, and nothing I say will make up for that. Maybe it’s selfish, but I hope you’ll forgive me. I want to do whatever I can to make it right, so I’m going to take them down, and I won’t do another. And when you’re ready, we’ll talk about it.”
“I think I just want to go to bed,” he said, staring at his front door.
“Do you want me to help you in?”
“No.” He clicked his seatbelt and reached to open the door.
“Ezra.”
He paused and looked back at me.
“Will you text me a few times a day just to let me know you’re okay? I’m worried about leaving you here alone.”
He nodded slowly and got out of the car.
I waited out front until I was certain he’d made it through the door, and then waited a few minutes more, just in case he changed his mind. When he didn’t, I pulled away from Ezra’s house with a heavy heart and headed straight home to shut down my accounts.
Tuesday was a disaster. Wednesday wasn’t much better. I barely got out of bed except for the toilet and takeout. Otherwise, I stayed under the blankets and watched a romcom marathon, stuffing my face with eggrolls and pizza.
I texted Matteo when I got up, telling him I was fine. He asked if I needed anything, but I told him no, which wasn’t entirely true. I still wanted that conversation, even if I didn’t fully understand why I wanted to have it.
All week, I went back and forth between thoughts. It was hypocritical of me to be angry with him about making the videos when I was one of the people watching them. And who was he hurting? Nobody. He was just making a little cash on the side. How could I blame him for that?
Still, I couldn’t bring myself around to be okay with the idea, and I didn’t know why.
On Thursday, Adam called and asked if we were still going to the spa on Saturday. I was technically supposed to be off work through the weekend—Doctor Federi’s orders—but I couldn’t afford not to take care of the tux issue. Like hell was I turning down a chance to visit L.A.’s premier spa, either. It might just be what I needed. I confirmed with him that we were going and then called Gary to have him confirm our appointment at the tux place.
As soon as I got off the phone with Gary, it buzzed again, and I opened it to see another text from Matteo.
Matteo: How are you?
Matteo: I miss you.
I stared at the screen, chest aching, not with pain but with longing. I missed him, too. I missed his chuckle, the warmth of his arms around me, that silly snort he sometimes did when he was slightly amused or irritated.
I needed to see him, but I wasn’t sure I was ready yet. The next time we spoke, we’d have to have an uncomfortable conversation, and if that turned out badly… I couldn’t afford it before Saturday, but we had a standing agreement about Sunday.
Ezra: Are we still on for Sunday morning?
Matteo: I’ll be there if you want me.
I typed out a reply three times only to delete it, eventually settling on something simpler.
Ezra: Nine o’clock. Don’t be late.
Then I crawled under the covers and went to sleep.
“This is nice,” Adam said as we relaxed by the serenity pool, drinking cucumber water. “I think I needed this. You definitely did. You’re looking better already.” He smiled over at me.
I could see what Inzo saw in him. He was nice to look at, and when he smiled, his entire face lit up. He had one of those made-for-tv smiles, except his was genuine. Why he’d chosen to become a chef and not a movie star with a face like that, I’d never know.
Our trip to the tux store had gone off without a hitch. Inzo sent one of his production assistants with his measurements, a young manticore named Elvis, and instructions to find a suitable charcoal suit. Meanwhile, I’d talked Adam into ivory. He’d wanted their tuxes to match, but I convinced him they’d look better in the photographs if they contrasted rather than matched.
That was half of my job as a wedding planner, talking down brides and grooms from the edge and helping them shift their vision of what perfect looked like. Statistically speaking, wedding days were the most expensive memories people forgot. If I ever got married—God forbid—I’d always just planned on eloping. No fuss, no trouble.
“True,” I agreed at length. “It’s been a long week.”
Adam hummed in agreement and took another sip from his water. “Speaking of, it’s good to see you’re feeling better. I know we’re not supposed to talk about work, but Matteo brought the samples by, and his lemon cupcakes are to die for, Ezra. Best. Decision. Ever.”
“Glad that worked out for you.” The words came out a little colder than I meant them to, but I had been pointedly avoiding talking about Matteo. I still didn’t know what I was going to say to him tomorrow.
Adam frowned and set his water on the wicker table between us. “So, you promised me details. I’m going to guess from your tone just now when I brought him up that things didn’t go as well as you hoped?”
“No, actually. Everything was amazing. Matteo is sweet, he’s hot, and he’s amazing in bed.”
“But?” He gestured for me to continue. “I’m sensing a but there.”
I removed the sunglasses I had on, shifting in the lounge chair to face him. “If I tell you, you have to swear not to breathe a word to anyone. It must stay between us.”
“Cross my heart.” Adam drew a big X over his chest. “Now, spill the tea.”
I sighed and considered how to put it so neither Matteo nor I sounded like a pair of perverts. There was no good way to say it, though, so I just laid it out as quietly as possible. “He makes videos, Adam. Pornographic videos.”
“So?”
I was taken aback by Adam’s casual answer. “So it’s kind of a big deal when you find out the minotaur you’ve been dating is a cam bull with like hundreds of subscribers who pay him to… Well, they pay him. He didn’t tell me, either. I had to find out in the most awkward way that, not only was he making these videos, I’d been watching them and not even realizing it was him.”
Adam considered his response for an unusually long amount of time. “I’m not dismissing your concern. He should have told you.”
“Thank you.”
“However… I think it’s important to get to the root of the problem.”
I frowned. “The problem is he was making them in the first place.”
“Right, but why does it upset you? You clearly don’t have an ethical objection to consuming porn since you said you’d been watching it. Either you’re saying that making porn is unacceptable, but consuming it isn’t, which would be horribly hypocritical of you, or your objection has more to do with jealousy. That’s more a you problem than a him problem, isn’t it?”
“I…” I started to say something, but quickly snapped my jaw shut.
Fucking hell, he was right. I actually didn’t care that Matteo had made the videos, especially since he’d promised to delete them and then followed through. Most of them had been made before we were together, and I had never stipulated what we were once we did sleep together. Failing to define our relationship had left the door open in a way that I shouldn’t have allowed.
Even if all that was true, however, the actual videos were hot, and I liked them. It didn’t gross me out that he’d made them, or what he was doing in them. What I didn’t like was the idea of other people wanting him, not because Matteo wasn’t sexy as fuck—That would never change—but because I was afraid he’d leave me if he realized there were other options.
“Oh my God,” I muttered, a terrible sick feeling churning in my gut. “It’s my fault. I pushed him away because I was afraid he’d leave me. I’ve almost made my worst fears come true, Adam. I’m such a fecking edjit!”
I jumped up from the lounge chair and yanked the cooling towel from around my head, tossing it back onto the chair before starting back toward the building. It didn’t matter that I was supposed to see Matteo tomorrow. This couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
“Where are you going?” Adam shouted after me.
“I have to fix this!” I yelled back and waved. “Enjoy the spa!”
Saturday was hard. It was always one of the busiest days at Beefcakes, and that Saturday was no exception. The line went out the door most of the day, and we were posting record-breaking sales. Some local food reporter was even supposed to come by to try the food and do a little write up. Those could make or break a little shop like Beefcakes. I should have been ecstatic.
Instead, my heart was barely in it. I worked like a robot, kneading, braiding, buttering, icing, glazing. None of it mattered if Ezra ended things tomorrow morning, which I worried he would.
I had barely slept all week, and it was really starting to wear on me. Even though I had deleted all my channels, I knew nothing was ever gone from the internet. Like I promised, I’d spent every spare moment trying to chase down reposts and places that had picked up the links to videos, sending takedown notice after notice. I’d likely never get them all, but I was trying. I wanted to make things right. I just wished I knew how.
I don’t deserve a third chance with him, I thought. Not after what I put him through. The way he’d looked at me after… I thought my heart would break into pieces. Tomorrow, I was going to have to make one hell of a grand gesture to have a chance, but I still hadn’t figured out exactly what I was going to do.
The swinging doors to the back of the shop opened and Ben came in holding an order slip. “Got a special order for you, cuz.”
I looked up from the strawberry shortcake I was working on and frowned up at the clock. “Don’t think I’ve got time for another one today.”
“Pretty sure you’re gonna want to make time for this one.” He walked over and put it on top of the stack. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively before retreating through the doors for the safety of the front of house.
I sighed and put down the icing tube I was working with, cleaning my hands on my apron. Ben knew better than to put a new order on the top of the stack. They were supposed to go to the bottom. I crossed the kitchen to the order station and picked up the ticket, squinting at the handwriting. It didn’t look like Ben’s, but who else would be writing on the tickets?
And who did I know that even had such impeccable penmanship? The message they wanted on the cake was practically written in calligraphy.
Wait a minute. I stopped trying to read the senseless order form and just stared at the words written in the message box. When my brain registered what they said, my heart nearly stopped.
I love you.
I lifted my head, realizing I was hearing something different from the Latin dance mix that was usually playing on the speakers. In fact, the speakers had been shut off, and the music was coming from somewhere else.
I followed the muffled sound to the kitchen door, where it was a little louder. When I pushed through the doors, I was surprised to find the shop was closed several hours ahead of schedule, though it wasn’t empty. The tables had all been moved to the sides of the dining area, stacked one atop another, and customers lined the edges of the floor. Someone had even turned on the disco light that I never used. The music was coming from an old-fashioned boombox set up on a table in the corner, and it was blaring a dance remix.
But all of that was nothing compared to what was happening in the middle of Beefcakes’ sales floor.
Ezra was there, and he was dancing.
He wore a bright red button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up and half the buttons undone, leaving his sweat dampened chest clearly visible. He’d slicked his hair back in a particularly sexy way. When he said he used to tap dance, I’d been imagining him as much more of an old timey dancer, but what he was doing in the lobby of Beefcakes would have been more at home in a club than at a tap dance recital.
My hand went to my mouth, and I stood there, absolutely stunned, and it took a lot to surprise me. All I could do was watch him move. I’d guessed he was a talented dancer judging by the medals and trophies scattered around the house, but damn.
He finished the song with a flourish and the people crammed into the corners of the room started clapping, but I barely heard them. I was so focused on Ezra that he was all that mattered.
“Ezra…” I ventured closer while he fought to catch his breath. “That was amazing!”
He beamed ear to ear, face sparkling with hard earned sweat. “It felt amazing. I haven’t done that since before I lost my mum. Haven’t felt like it.”
