Bishop: A True Lover's Story

Bishop scoffed. “Oh no. He definitely wants Edison. The way he taunts him, teases him, fucks with him, is all classic bullshit that closeted guys do. He’d love to have Edison to work out his inner issues on.”

“Then why’d you leave Edison standing there alone?”

Bishop swallowed roughly. “I told you already.”

Trent pulled the truck into their driveway and put it in park.

“I felt like a fucking fool.”

~

Edison

Edison came to a screeching stop in his driveway. He knew Bishop’s truck wouldn’t be there, but he’d been praying it would. He gathered his things and hurried inside with his cell phone in one hand which he kept checking for missed calls. Edison shoved his jacket off and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then sat at the breakfast bar. He didn’t bother going around the house opening the windows, he didn’t turn on any lights or soft music. He didn’t even bother going to his bedroom to change out of his suit and freshen up. He just needed to take a few moments to calm down first. He knew he could fix this. He and Bishop had had a misunderstanding, that was all.

Edison drank half his bottle down, his throat feeling like he’d been chewing on straw all day. He glanced around his home, the solitude and loneliness already trying to swallow him whole as he thought about Bishop and the fact he was supposed to be in his shower right now. He still can be. Edison picked up his phone and called him. He held his breath until he damn near passed out. It didn’t cross his mind that Bishop wouldn’t pick up. He always answered… always. He hated texting. Never had he not answered Edison’s call, no matter the time. Edison’s hand shook when the automated voice mail message began to play in his ear. He set the phone down on the counter wondering what the hell he’d done.

He sat there until his ass started to go numb. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring out of the patio doors at his beautiful backyard that was already looking like the drawings Bishop had shown him. There were stacks of cinderblocks along the fence that’d been delivered for the inlaid grilling station. Besides unwrapping the new patio set, hooking up the fire pit and stringing the overhead lights, Bishop was almost done. It was so beautiful. His man was beautiful.

God, he wanted Bishop there with him, he needed his touch, needed to hear his voice. Dangit, he wanted to read to him while he was held tightly in strong arms and kissed all over the back of his neck. Edison’s eyes watered. Had he lost all of that already? He’d barely had a chance to enjoy it. No, he wouldn’t accept that. Edison called again. He chewed on his jaw as the rings continued until it went to voicemail once again. Shoot. Was Bishop trying to figure out a way to tell him it was over?

“Please just answer, Bishop. Please.” Edison rubbed his palm over his dry lips. He dialed for what felt like the tenth time and when the voice mail picked up, he left a message. He had to clear his throat a couple of times before his words sounded half-way intelligible. “Um. I was just calling to explain about what happened. I hope you’re not real mad.” Edison rolled his eyes. That was dumb. Of course, Bishop was mad, if he wasn’t then he’d be there. God what could he say? He should’ve practiced first. “Not… I mean, I know you’re mad, but…” Edison’s voice cracked. “I’m really sorry. But, I can explain if you just come over. Can you answer when I—”

The voicemail cut him off before he could finish. “Dangit!” Edison yelled, ending the call. He pushed his thumbs into his eye sockets, trying to relieve the tension building behind them. He was so exhausted he could hardly see straight. Which didn’t much matter because he’d been sitting his dark kitchen for hours. He’d waited and waited for a call back from Bishop but it never came.

His stomach began to growl around nine o’clock and he knew he needed to do something besides sit there in silence to take his mind off the fact that he may have just been dumped. But he didn’t want to cook. Why, when he was no longer used to eating alone? He didn’t want to read because he enjoyed his books better when he had Bishop to read them to. Cleaning his grooming kit wasn’t even going to cut it, because he was sure to start thinking of his pops if he did. Edison brushed his trembling hand over his mouth. Why was it so hard to keep the men he cared about in his life? He got up and went to the cabinet over the stove and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels he kept up there for the rare visits his uncle made to his house.