Honeymoon for One: Gay Romance

What did I do wrong?

Sitting a few rows back from the front of the bus on the left side, Ethan could just make out the side of Clay’s face. He stared at Clay’s arm on the steering wheel, the gold watch and reddish hair gleaming in the sunlight through the windshield. It was stupid to have sat so close—at least with Clay out of sight Ethan wasn’t tempted to act like a total stalker the way he was now.

He forced himself to slide over to the window seat and watch the trees go by as they drove south.

What did I do wrong?

The question had haunted Ethan since they’d left Fraser Island and headed south to Surfers Paradise. Clay had barely spoken to him. He hadn’t been rude, and he’d answered when Ethan had asked him questions about things to do in Surfers, but there was a strange chill between them, a tightness to his mouth and shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Honestly, Ethan had been hoping Clay would suggest they hang out after the group had dinner, but Clay’s gaze had danced around nervously, and Ethan hadn’t had the courage to ask him what was wrong.

Ethan wondered if he was feeling sick again, since when they reached the hotel, Clay had disappeared once his duties were done and hadn’t appeared at dinner.

Truthfully, he hoped Clay was sick again, which was a dick move. But if Clay was sick, maybe that meant he wasn’t pissed off at Ethan for something. Ethan had considered asking the front desk for his room number so he could check on him, but had decided it was insanely inappropriate.

Right? It is completely inappropriate. Clay was only being nice to me, and I must’ve freaked him out somehow. Or maybe he just doesn’t like me after all. Maybe he’s sick of having to repeat himself, and he has better things to do than hang out with a friendless loser lusting after him.

The loneliness gnawed at him, an endless black pit. He stared out blindly at the trees and clearings, blinking back tears. He’d fooled himself about Michael and Todd, and apparently his judgment was still completely fucked. He’d been so sure the connection he felt to Clay was real. And even though he’d known it was only temporary and that his crush was one-sided, it had brought him so much peace and joy.

What did I do wrong?

Conflicting emotions tore at Ethan when he thought of the night on Fraser Island writing notes and sharing pizza. After the awfulness of losing his batteries, Clay had somehow made it into one of the happiest days Ethan could remember in a long, long time. He’d had so much fun talking to Clay via pen and paper. He cursed himself again for not remembering to grab the pad when they left, wishing he could see their notes again now.

Why, so you can be even more pathetic?

Still, he wished he had some evidence that he hadn’t imagined it all. Laughing together and goofing around and just…being. It had been magical, and after they’d strolled back along the boardwalk toward their rooms, Ethan’s head buzzing from more beer than he was used to, Clay had squeezed his shoulder, his blunt fingertips brushing the bare skin of Ethan’s neck above the collar of his tee.

Fuck, Ethan had wanted to jump him so badly, but obviously he’d restrained himself, saying goodnight and thank you, watching Clay continue along the lamp-lit boardwalk to his room about twenty feet away. He’d had to dive for his door when he realized he was still standing there like some creeper. And inside, he’d slumped back against the door and jerked himself off faster than he had since he was a teenager, even with all the beer.

He cringed now as he remembered how eager he’d been to see Clay the next morning, but how Clay had kept his head down at breakfast, sharing a table with Shiv, and then had talked to Shiv on the boat back to the mainland. He’d stopped at a drugstore for batteries as promised but had barely met Ethan’s eyes, his smile strained.

They’d stopped at Steve Irwin’s zoo, which had gotten Ethan’s mind off obsessing over Clay’s sudden coolness and of course Michael and Todd’s betrayal. He hadn’t thought about them the whole night on Fraser Island when he was with Clay in their own little world. Without his hearing aids all the sounds had been hushed, and it had somehow made it even more special.

He hadn’t felt so connected to another person in far too long, and now Clay couldn’t seem to look at him. Had he imagined it all? Was he completely delusional? He had been about his relationship with Michael. Maybe it was the same with Clay, and now Clay just wanted to do his job and not have Ethan bugging him.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much, but fuck.

It did.

There was a lot of driving the last couple days of the tour, with not as many stops in between Surfers and Sydney. They stopped in a weirdly Scottish town called Maclean, where the telephone poles were all painted in different tartans.

Clay announced that it was forty-five degrees outside according to the dash thermometer, and Google told Ethan that was one-thirteen Fahrenheit. No one wanted to spend long outside, so they all agreed on a shortened break, Shiv saying something else Ethan missed but seemed to be some kind of joke.

It was like walking into an oven, and Ethan turned to say as much to Clay, hoping they could at least talk about the weather, if nothing else. But Clay was speaking to a couple from England, smiling warmly at them and gesturing toward the little town’s main street, which was just around the corner from where they’d parked.

Ethan stood there about ten seconds as they talked, not able to make any of it out and feeling like he was intruding. He hurried across the street, dabbing at the sweat already wetting his hair, making sure his aids didn’t get wet. It seemed like most of the group were going to a little cafe or the bakery next door, chatting to each other and smiling.

The idea of talking and listening was just too tiring, and Ethan continued down the street, wishing he’d brought his hat. The sun was brutal, and he stopped in the small grocery store for a big bottle of water and a banana. His stomach was tense and acidy, and he didn’t want to eat, but he figured he should get something. He wandered the air-conditioned aisles for ten minutes before braving the heat again and returning to the bus.

Clay had it running, waiting with the AC blasting as the group straggled back. When Ethan climbed aboard, Clay glanced at him and gave him a tight smile before going back to reading something on his phone. He couldn’t have been clearer that he had zero interest in any conversation, so Ethan slumped back into his seat and forced down the banana.

The really fucking sad thing was that part of him wanted to message Todd and ask for his advice. Todd had always been confident and outgoing, dating plenty of guys over the years. But now Todd and Michael were in love, and Ethan was more alone than ever.

He tried to keep his mind busy and away from the cycle of hurt and anger and shame and despair that now included Clay as well as Michael and Todd, but on the long stretches of road toward Port Macquarie it was a challenge. He read the tour notes that Clay had copied for him, which was a double-edged sword. He wanted to be distracted by learning new things, but the notes made him think of Clay.

What did I do wrong?

At least it was the last night before Sydney, and Ethan was relieved there was no organized meal in Port Macquarie. He was so freaking sick of trying to make small talk in noisy restaurants. He just wanted this tour to be over so he could…

What? Be alone in Sydney at an Airbnb? Why did I come on this trip? What was I thinking?

Breathing deeply, Ethan fought to keep his composure as they arrived just before six. Everyone else was going into the hotel, Shiv handing out room keys in the lobby. At least it was a little cooler by the ocean than it had been inland.

Throat dry, Ethan lingered as Clay started unpacking the luggage. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he blurted, “Um, hey.” It was stupid, but he’d really been looking forward to hearing Clay’s deep, sexy voice again once he got his batteries, and now Clay had barely said more than a few overly polite words to him.

Barely glancing over as he hefted out a suitcase, Clay gave him another forced smile and said something Ethan couldn’t make out since Clay’s head was down.

Fuck, take a hint. Leave the guy alone.

But now he had to say something, so Ethan asked, “Is there somewhere good for dinner nearby? Sorry, I didn’t catch everything Shiv said.”

Clay deposited a suitcase on the concrete. He faced Ethan, but his gaze still didn’t settle on him. “Yeah, there’s a nice Thai place a few doors down. A seafood spot too, but it’s a little greasy. Most of the places are along this street.”

“Cool. Thanks. Um… Yeah. Thanks.” Ethan escaped into the lobby, where Shiv was waiting to give him his key. He knew his bags would be taken up, so he just put the key in his pocket and headed back out, avoiding Clay unloading the rest of the luggage as he took a left toward the water, unsettled energy thrumming through him.

He walked along the river that emptied into the sea. The melancholy scent of wood burning wafted on the wind from time to time, plumes of smoke from a wildfire visible in the distance back inland. He kept walking, his mind chewing over how delusional he’d been about Michael and what had happened with Clay—and how Ethan had screwed it up too. Not that it was ever really anything.

There were large painted rocks all along the paved path beside the river, and according to a plaque there had been an art contest some years back. There were all kinds of colorful messages and drawings, and Ethan slowed to read them as he neared the ocean, the wind whipping. He stopped by one that was a family’s handprints with their names scrawled beneath. He wondered how old they all were now, breathing through the painful twist of longing for his own family.

Some were memorials, which made him think of his parents, his throat thick and eyes prickling. Others were inspirational messages about valuing life and being in the moment, which sounded like cheap platitudes. Others were just painted artwork. Then he stopped at a simple painting of black letters on a cream background on the gray rock.

Lewis

Smithy

Taylor

Mulley

“The best antiques are old friends”

Standing there alone, Ethan’s chest was hollow, and he felt like the wind could just sweep him away into nothing. Stupid tears spilled out of his eyes. He hadn’t stayed in touch with high school friends aside from the odd Facebook or Instagram comments and likes. Todd and Michael had been his family, and now they might as well have been strangers.

They were, really. They’d lied to him every day for two years. Maybe longer. Everything he thought he’d known was garbage, and now here he was again, thinking he’d been getting to know Clay only to have the rug pulled out.

Maybe he did get to know me, and he didn’t like what he found. Maybe I can’t blame anyone for not wanting to be around me.

Pulling out his phone, Ethan was suddenly desperate to know if Michael and Todd had contacted him. He tapped open his Facebook messenger, almost dropping his phone onto a painted rock. He’d steadfastly ignored the red number in the corner of the app as it had climbed through the week. It was in the twenties now, and his heart was in his throat as he saw the list of names.

Michael and Todd were at the top. Followed by Uncle Chuck, Clara, and a couple of other people who were primarily Michael’s friends. Ethan didn’t bother scrolling down farther. With trembling fingers, the wind whistling painfully in his hearing aids, he hit Michael’s thread, where there was a string of similar messages.

I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I want to make sure you’re okay. Are you in Cairns now? I hope the flights were all right. Have an amazing time, okay? You deserve it.

Eth, please just let me know you’re okay. You haven’t been reading messages. We’re worried.

Please reply. I hope you’re having a great time like your mom always wanted. I’m sorry for everything, I really am. I didn’t want it to go down like this. I still love you.

Seriously, are you okay? We’re really worried. Can you just let us know you’re alive?

Okay, I know you’re on the tour since I called the office to confirm. I hope it’s incredible. We understand you need space right now, but we’re here thinking of you when you’re ready, baby.

Ethan tasted bile and was afraid he’d vomit. There were similar messages from Todd, just with more use of “dude” and “bro.” But like Michael’s messages, there was a lot of “we” mentioned. As he had so many times, Ethan cycled through the hurt and shame and anger.

The fear was a tremor in him, making his knees shake, and as he stood there by the water, alone as couples and families walked by, it wasn’t just about Michael and Todd.

Why wouldn’t Clay talk to him like he had before? What had Ethan done to mess things up? Had he been hitting on Clay too much? He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t. But maybe he’d made Clay uncomfortable by lusting after him and being way too fucking obvious.

Walking quickly, he made it back to the hotel, forcing himself to stop fucking crying. It was ridiculous that he even cared about what Clay thought of him. They’d just met, and Ethan had clearly expected too much.

He cringed as he thought of how clingy and annoying he’d probably been. Spending time with Clay had been a glorious distraction, and he’d asked far too much of a near-stranger who was just trying to do his job.

He decided to forget dinner, and got into bed even though it was still light out. Guilt nagged, and he opened the message from Uncle Chuck.

Hey, buddy. Are you okay? I talked to Michael, and he told me what happened. Probably not all of it, but enough, I guess. Kara had the baby yesterday—another girl, seven and a half pounds. We named her Lily Emma. Can you just let me know where you are and that you’re okay? I know you’re a grownup, but I still worry.

Ethan quickly replied that he was fine and on the tour, and congratulations, etc., etc. It was strange to think of life back home going on. It all seemed so incredibly far away. The numbness had started to lessen thanks to Clay, and now Ethan just hurt.

What did I do wrong?

After a morning spent seeing a few of Sydney’s sights, they trooped off the bus and gathered outside the hotel entry. They’d had a farewell dinner the night before up Sydney Tower, although Clay hadn’t gone up with them. Some of the other passengers had skipped the final morning, already off to other destinations.

Ethan said his goodbyes, nodding and smiling and wishing well, then hung back as the remaining group members said goodbye to Shiv and Clay, giving them envelopes with tips inside. Ethan had his own folded into his pocket that he’d gotten from the front desk. He’d asked Violet how much passengers usually tipped on tours like this, and she’d said fifty to a hundred dollars. Even though Australia didn’t have much of a tipping culture, apparently tours like this were an exception. Considering Shiv and Clay had taken care of them for ten nights and eleven days, it seemed right to give them a bonus.

Ethan had gone for a hundred. He gave one envelope to Shiv, who thanked him and pumped his hand. The engine of an arriving car drowned out what Shiv said, but Ethan guessed it was pleasantries and nodded and smiled. While Shiv went to help Violet with her luggage, Ethan stood a few feet from Clay, who had his hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze skittering around.

Fuck.

Clearly he made Clay uncomfortable now, and he had to respect that. Maybe it was the gay thing after all, and that he hadn’t hidden his attraction to Clay as well as he’d hoped. Yet Ethan still flushed with regretful longing now to think of sitting there for hours under the glow of the torches that night, passing notes back and forth. He’d felt so…seen. Accepted. And the loss of it was shockingly difficult, no matter how many times he lectured himself on the fact that he and Clay had just met and he shouldn’t be so upset.

Now Ethan was making it even fucking weirder by just standing there while Clay looked at his feet. Closing the distance left between them, Ethan thrust out the envelope and said, “Thank you so much for everything. It was a great tour.”

Lifting his head, Clay eyed the envelope, his cheeks above his beard flushing. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No, mate. I can’t take anything from you.”

Yet Ethan had seen him accept tips from the others. Maybe he should have just been glad to save the money, but it felt like a punch to the gut. “Why?” He should just walk away, but he found himself finally asking it aloud. “What did I do wrong?”

Clay’s face pinched, and he looked pained as he sighed heavily. “Oh, mate. No, it wasn’t anything you did. Sorry if I’ve been…” He waved a hand through the air. “It’s not you. Honestly. And you should keep the money. It just wouldn’t feel right. I’m really sorry for how I’ve been acting.”

Clay sounded so sincere and looked so sorrowful that hope exploded inside Ethan. He grabbed onto it desperately, and the idea popped into his head and came out of his mouth before he could lose his nerve. “Then let me buy you a beer, at least? I saw in the news that there’s a big cricket match on this afternoon.” He glanced toward the hotel, which had a more casual pub attached to it as well as a fancier restaurant. “We could just go in there. You could teach me more about the game.”

“Uh…” Clay shifted uneasily. “I shouldn’t. I’ve got to drop off the coach at the garage, and I’m sure you’ll be off to explore the city.”

Hot, sticky embarrassment sank through him, the hope vanishing. He’d been kidding himself again, delusional as usual. “Right, of course. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, backing up. “I totally get it. Anyway, it was good to meet you. I’ll just…” His baggage was with the porter inside, and he tried not to trip over his own feet.

“Wait!”

Ethan turned back, hoping he’d heard correctly. Clay approached, glancing around as if making sure no one overheard. “The garage is only a couple blocks away. I can come back for a beer. I’m off now.”

He tried to keep his cool, but Ethan’s heart leapt, sweet relief flooding him. He grinned. “Yeah? Cool. I’ll meet you in the pub over there.”

Clay nodded, looking strangely shy. “See you in twenty.”

The next twenty minutes were a freaking eternity. Ethan loitered in the lobby, struggling through a conversation with Stan and Violet, the flurry of sound from check-ins and check-outs echoing off the marble surroundings. He was relieved when their cab showed up, and after a final goodbye, he escaped into the bathroom to get his shit together. His face was stupidly red, and he splashed cold water on his cheeks, careful not to wet his hearing aids.

This isn’t a date for fuck’s sake. He probably just feels sorry for me and is being nice. Again.

Still, eagerness zipped through him. At least he’d be able to leave things with Clay on a better note. It shouldn’t have mattered to him so much—he’d only known the guy eleven days. But it mattered. It did. Clay mattered, and even though Ethan would have to get over this crush sooner rather than later, he’d have a couple more hours to indulge it.

But don’t be creepy. No creepiness. Just two guys having a beer together and watching a confusing sport on TV. It’s nothing more.

He waited for Clay by the pub entrance. When he arrived, he’d changed out of his uniform into plaid shorts that went to his knees and a white T-shirt that showed off his hairy, freckly arms. The sun coming through a skylight made his beard gleam copper around his lips, and Ethan wanted to kiss him so badly he—

Get. It. Together!

He managed to say hi, and they found a table near one of the TVs. Ethan insisted on getting the first round. There didn’t seem to be a server, so he approached the bar and looked at the taps.

One said “XXXX Gold,” so he asked the young woman behind it for two of those since he knew Clay liked it and he’d enjoyed it as well. He hoped he was remembering correctly that it was said “four X” and not “X-X-X-X.” She asked something that was a soft slur of sound, background music drowning it out, along with laughing and conversation from a few people sitting at the bar. Ethan took a guess that she had asked if that was all, and said, “Yes.”

She frowned, looking at him askance, and his heart sank. She asked again, and he still couldn’t hear, so he said, “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.”

Now she was looking at him with confusion and slight suspicion. She leaned closer. “Mumble mumble?”

His cheeks were hot, and they’d garnered the attention of the man sitting on the closest stool. He said loudly, “Mumble schooner or a pint.” Ethan was able to hear his deeper voice more clearly, but he was still completely confused. Schooner? Like a sailboat? Huh? He felt like everyone was staring. He was fairly sure the other word was pint, so he grasped at it and said, “Pint, please,” hoping like hell that was the right answer.

Fortunately it was, and she poured two glasses from the tap. She put them in front of him and said, “Mumble mumble room.”

“Oh, I’ll just pay for it.” He pulled out his wallet and prayed that he’d filled in the correct blanks.

Apparently he had, because she turned to the register and then came back with the bill. He gave her his card, deciding to save the cash, and when she came back she handed him a pen. As he leaned over to sign, she yelled in his ear, “If you want to charge something to your room, you’d just put your name on the line at the bottom, and then it would go on your hotel bill. So you wouldn’t have to pay now.”

Wincing, he sighed. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t an idiot—he simply hadn’t heard her initial question, and he understood how it worked. But he didn’t. She was probably trying to help, but she looked at him like he was stupid. At least tipping wasn’t the norm in Australia so he didn’t have to give her anything extra.

Back at the table, Clay thanked him, and they drank in weird silence. The cricket match hadn’t started yet, and the TV was just showing some talking heads, the sound not on yet. Luckily the background music in the bar didn’t seem as loud in their corner, and Ethan was able to angle his chair so his back was to the main area. He adjusted his hearing aids to filter out the sound behind him.

At the same time Ethan asked, “So, who’s playing?” Clay said something as well. They laughed awkwardly, and Ethan said, “Sorry, what was that?”

“Just asked where you’re staying while you’re here. I think you said you’ve rented a spot.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s an Airbnb. Condo in…Darlinghurst? I think? I should probably check so I know where I’m going, huh?” He flushed to the tips of his ears, nervously adjusting his hearing aids again before pulling out his phone and opening his email.

And seeing two words that leapt out at him: reservation and canceled.

Heart seizing, he jabbed at the email to open it. There it was: a cold-blooded email saying that he’d received a refund for his canceled reservation. Of course he’d heard horror stories of hosts canceling at the last minute for whatever reason, but he’d picked a place with a Superhost and only glowing reviews!

This isn’t happening.

Clay was saying something, but Ethan couldn’t listen. The email was from three days ago, and he despised himself. Why hadn’t he checked? He’d wanted to avoid all contact with Michael and Todd and the real world, but he should have fucking checked on his reservation!

Clay’s hand was firm and warm on his shoulder, his rough thumb resting on the skin above Ethan’s collarbone. Ethan met his worried gaze as Clay said, “Mate, what’s happened? Bad news?”

It felt so good to be touched in just a simple way, and Ethan wanted to fold into Clay’s arms and make everything else disappear. But he couldn’t. He managed to speak, his voice sounding hoarse. “My condo reservation got canceled. I…” He swallowed hard, his mind spinning. “Maybe I can see if I can stay longer at the hotel. It’s Saturday, but hopefully they aren’t full.”

Clay grimaced. He was still holding Ethan’s shoulder. “This’ll be a busy weekend in the city. There’s a big music festival at Darling Harbour.”

“Right. Okay. Well, I’m sure I’ll find something. Somewhere.” He laughed so he couldn’t cry. “I should just go home. Maybe it’s a sign that it’s time to face all that stuff.” He covered his face to keep from breaking down. “I don’t know if I can, though.”

For a few heartbeats, Clay didn’t say anything. Then he blew out a big exhalation that ghosted over Ethan’s cheek. He squeezed his fingers around Ethan’s shoulder. “You can come back to mine. Sam’s away for the weekend, so it’s no bother.”

“I…” The relief was so intense Ethan had to catch his breath. He wouldn’t be alone. “Are you sure?”

After barely looking at him for the last couple of days, now Clay’s blue eyes met Ethan’s squarely. “I’m sure.”