We Have Till Dawn

“They removed all the glass and made sure nothing was loose,” I said. “But I’m sure there’s a little ‘I know a guy who knows a guy’ involved.”

“And what, a permit fell off a truck?” he asked skeptically.

I laughed. “Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not in charge. But a brick hasn’t moved in the five years we’ve held this show here.”

“Hmpf.” He wasn’t satisfied but dropped the topic and grabbed my hand. “I will still see you tomorrow night, right?”

“Of course.” I squeezed his hand.

I’d cling for as long as I could, ’cause it was all I had.Anthony and I were dead on our feet once we’d dropped off the equipment at the academy and made it back to his place. All the good bars in his area closed within the hour, so we decided to bundle up and bring a couple six-packs up to the roof.

There were three condos in his brownstone, and Anthony’s place was on the third floor, with the rooftop terrace belonging to only him. That was the kind of gold you could strike when you’d dated someone who’d bought the condo before Park Slope was gentrified. Anthony had bought it from his first love for a fraction of what it was worth after an amicable breakup because the ex, who’d been significantly older, had landed a job in Arizona where he’d been from.

That guy had to be nearing seventy now. I remembered he’d been like thirty years older than Anthony.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

“So have I, but you can go first.” He fiddled with the heater above the wicker sofa.

I didn’t care about the dead leaves and dirt; I just sat my ass down on the creaky sofa and twisted the cap off a beer. The terrace was small, just big enough for a cramped seating area, but it hadn’t stopped Anthony from buying potted trees that sat along the waist-high wall—along with pots of herbs on the edge. All dead. He sucked at keeping them alive, and the lemon tree was never gonna bear any fruit. But bless him for trying, I guess.

“No bullshit,” I told him. “I wanna know what you see in Shawn. Genuinely. He’s the opposite of your type. Lay it on me.”

“Seriously? This again?” He flicked on the heater once it was plugged in and sat down next to me.

Our feet landed on the low table in front of us, and I just waited for him to get to it.

Because yeah, seriously.

“I’m just sayin’,” I said. “You used to shop for men in the geriatric ward.”

He snorted. “Old isn’t actually my type, jackass. I just prefer maturity.”

“Oh! Oh, so that’s why you bagged and tagged Shawn, the diva of his kindergarten, because he’s mature.”

I rolled my eyes.

Anthony didn’t have the fight in him. He blew out a breath that misted in the air. “He’s safe, Nicky. That’s what it boils down to. You and Pop get on my ass about how he takes advantage, but that’s the thing. He’s not capable of taking anything of value from me. I don’t give him money anymore, for the record.”

I side-eyed him and took a swig of my beer.

“We are approaching our expiration date,” he added, “but I’mma let this run its course until he gets bored. He wants constant attention, and I’m tired of it. It isn’t worth the company.”

It was his choice, but it didn’t feel right. Anthony had so much to give. Being with someone just for the company and sticking to “safe…” Fuck, I hated it. Fuck safe.

“So, you don’t even love him,” I said.

He shrugged a little and leaned his head back against the wall. “Whatever it was is pretty much gone.” He lolled his head my way and said, “My turn. Why the fuck are you and Gideon still pretending to have some business arrangement? You’ve clearly lost your shit over the man, and he doesn’t seem to be any different. He’s come to see you here four times. Church rehearsal, choir rehearsal, student recital, and then tonight. I don’t think Shawn’s come to see me that many times in the entire time we’ve dated.”

“I—”

“And the donation? Come on.”

I huffed in frustration and ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know what to say. You’re kinda preaching to the choir, ’cause I want more. He’s the one who’s engaged to a woman who can give him kids.”

“How is that a valid reason in today’s day and age?” he laughed, confused. “There’s adoption, there’s surrogacy. Most of my gay friends today have kids.”

I knew that. It was hard to explain. “I think it’s a bigger-picture thing. His way of clinging to structure is to go the traditional route.”

“Structure,” he repeated. “Hmm.”

Yeah. Structure.

I shivered as an icy wind blew past.

The heater could work better.

“What kind of structure do you have in your relationship?” he asked, patting his pockets. He retrieved his smokes and lighter. “And spare me the details.”