Honeymoon for One: Gay Romance

The lazy, wonderful looseness in Clay’s limbs evaporated as his phone rang and Sam’s beautiful face appeared on the screen. Clay and Ethan were sitting in the shade of a wide awning in the yard talking about Buffalo winters—which sounded like torture—with Gilly by their feet gnawing on a rubber toy.

Throat dry, Clay answered, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Hiya, love. How’s Jase?” Ethan gave his knee a squeeze and threw Gilly’s toy across the grass, Gilly eagerly bounding after it, Ethan following.

Sam groaned. “Not great. Tooth is fixed up, but they had to give him laughing gas and he spewed all over my feet in the parking lot. He’s feeling pretty crook. I’m going to stay over.”

“Poor bloke. And right, of course. Makes sense to stay with him.” Is that the real reason? Or does she not want to see me now?

“I’m not staying away because of you, Dad.”

He had to laugh. “How do you always read my mind?”

“Years of experience, mate. Although apparently I haven’t been doing such a bang-up job.” She laughed awkwardly. “Didn’t spot this, and I reckon I should have. All teasing about you being madly in love with Adam Gilchrist aside.”

He laughed. “Maybe there was something to it after all. But I didn’t spot it either, if you can believe that.”

She was quiet a moment, and Clay watched Ethan and Gilly playing across the yard, Ethan laughing joyfully and rubbing Gilly’s belly. Then Sam said, “Is that true? You didn’t know you were into blokes until now?”

Tony Taylor’s face flickered through his mind, and his lungs seized. He rasped, “Sounds mental, doesn’t it?” He managed a breath. “I don’t really understand it yet. But I…”

She was quiet before prompting, “What, Dad? Whatever it is, it won’t change anything with us.”

“I fancy Ethan.” His neck prickled, and he gripped the phone so hard he thought it might snap. “Quite a lot.”

“He’s really cute. Seems nice. So he’s part deaf? Not that it matters.”

“Yeah. Hard of hearing is the right phrase.”

“Right, okay. That’s cool. He’s…” She laughed. “Well, he’s very young, isn’t he? You sly dog. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Face hot, Clay shifted in his creaky lawn chair, tearing his gaze away from the way Ethan’s T-shirt lifted up and showed his belly as he stretched his arms overhead in celebration as Gilly jumped and caught the toy on the fly. “He’s twenty-seven. I know, it’s quite a gap. People won’t like it.”

“People can get stuffed. If you’re keen on each other, that’s all that matters.”

“You really think that?” His chest tightened. He loved her so damn much he could hardly stand it sometimes.

“Of course. I want you to be happy. That’s why I’ve been on you so much to try dating. When Mum did a runner with that wanker Bazza and everything changed, you did too. I figured you missed her. Missed the company.”

“I reckon I did a bit, even if… Well, even if there were never fireworks with your mum. I still loved her, of course. Always will.”

“I know. You both deserve to be happy. Properly happy. She was a right bitch for what she did to you, but maybe it was for the best.”

“Oi! Don’t talk about your mum like that. You know better.”

She laughed dryly. “All right. Sorry. Look, you know I love Mum. It was just a real shock when she decided to up and leave. Obviously. I mean, we’ve talked about this a hundred times.”

He sighed. “I know. It was a shock to me too. But it was for the best. It really was.” Thinking of Barb, he tensed. “You haven’t mentioned this to her, have you?”

She huffed, and he could imagine the eye roll. “Sure, Dad. First thing I did was ring Mum and tell her all about it. Who do you take me for? Pete?”

Clay barked out a laugh, and Sam joined him. “And no, haven’t told Pete either. Or Auntie Jen or Nan. Not that Nan would remember it thirty seconds after you told her. Regardless, that’s all up to you. I mean, you’ll have to do it eventually, but it’s been about five minutes. Reckon we can let this settle in for a bit.”

“Yeah. Suppose this business today was a surprise.” He tried to laugh. “To both of us.”

“My head’s spinning, that’s for sure. Need a good drink.”

“Was just thinking it was time to grab a stubby.”

“Surprised you’ve waited this long. It’s past noon and it’s your day off, mate. Speaking of which, when are you working again?”

“Thursday. Doing day trips to the Blue Mountains the rest of the week. Then a couple two-nighters to the Great Ocean Road next week.” The reminder that Ethan would be gone by then lodged in his throat like a stone.

“Look, maybe I should stay with Jase this week. Give you and Ethan some time to yourselves. You reckon?”

“Well…” He blew out a long breath. “Yeah, that would be good, love. You sure?”

“Positive. And it’s not because I’m running away from you.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“All right, the patient’s calling. Love ya, Dad.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

Clay hung up and watched Ethan and Gilly playing tug-of-war with the rubber chicken. Ethan’s face was flushed pink, and Clay wanted to press him back against the grass and kiss him. Then kiss him some more.

And more.

He was glancing around, wondering if the neighbors would be able to see, when Ethan returned, flopping down into the chair next to Clay, a little out of breath. Gilly had followed, butting his head against Ethan’s legs.

“Such a fickle beast,” Clay said. “I’m yesterday’s news.” He reached over and gave Gilly a pat. Gilly was torn between them, tongue wagging, head going back and forth.

Ethan laughed. “He’s awesome.” To Gilly, he added, “Aren’t you? Yes. Such a good boy.” He scratched behind Gilly’s ears while Clay petted his flanks.

“Yeah, he’s a good lad. The best.”

“How’s Sam’s boyfriend doing?”

“Bit crook. Feeling sick to his stomach after the drugs they gave him while they fixed his mouth.” Clay’s pulse jumped. “Sam’s going to stay at his place this week. Give us some time together. Is that good by you?”

Still petting Gilly, Ethan’s white teeth flashed in a smile. “Yeah. That would be great. Assuming you don’t want me to find a hotel?”

“No, I want you right here with me.” The words had come out sounding serious, and the air felt thicker as they looked at each other, some kind of new emotion swelling. Clay cleared his throat and added, “I don’t have to work until Thursday. Can take you sightseeing the next few days.”

“That would be awesome. Actually, I realized I have tickets to the opera tonight. I mean, if you hate opera, it’s totally cool. We don’t have to go.” He laughed anxiously, his gaze dropping as he shrugged. “It’s pretty lame, I guess. Michael fell asleep the one time we went to the Met. But the Opera House is iconic, so he agreed to go.”

Clay enunciated very clearly, “Michael’s a wanker.” He honestly wondered what on earth Ethan had ever seen in him, but reckoned there must have been something.

Ethan looked over at him, laughing. “Yeah. He kind of is. For me, opera’s perfect because there are subtitles, so I can understand what’s going on. Or ballet, since they tell the story through dance. But Michael only ever wanted to go to off-off-off Broadway plays about the most pretentious shit. Like, we saw one that was two naked people cooking dinner and talking about their day. That was it. I’m sure it was a commentary on the meaninglessness of life or something, but it made me even more depressed. Plus I could only make out half of what they were saying.”

“Never been to an opera, but I’d love to go. It’s a beautiful spot on the harbor. You definitely need to see it. We can have dinner first. Find a nice quiet place. And I know a good place to park.”

“Yeah?” Ethan grinned. “Okay. You’re sure you want to drive down? I don’t mind the train.”

“Oh yeah, on a Sunday night it’ll be easy. After you’ve driven a coach through the city during rush hour, anything else is a snap.”

“Cool. It’s Turandot. There’s a really famous song in it. ‘Nessun Dorma’?” Ethan started humming, and then shook his head. “Oh my God, I am butchering it. You’ll know it when you hear it. I’ll leave that to the professionals.”

“For the best,” Clay agreed seriously.

“Hey!” Ethan playfully slapped Clay’s arm, and Clay tickled him back. Then they had to take it inside, because the neighbors were definitely about to get an eyeful.

Sydney was about as sleepy as it ever got as they made their way back later that night. Clay brought the ute to a stop at a red light, pointing out the view of Sydney Tower through two buildings. Ethan leaned down and craned his neck.

“Oh! Awesome.” He sat back up and smiled at Clay, and Clay’s heart swelled. They’d dressed up in trousers and shirts and ties. Ethan’s tie was purple with a faint shimmer, and even in the ute’s cab with only the streetlights and the dash, it brought out his eyes. Ethan was a beauty, he was.

And he’s mine.

Gripping the steering wheel, Clay reminded himself that wasn’t true. That was getting far too ahead of himself. They’d only known each other little more than a week. Only been…involved twenty-four hours. He was barking mad if he thought he and Ethan were a proper couple or something.

“You really liked it?” Ethan asked. “Fair dinkum?”

Clay chuckled. “Fair dinkum, mate. I may be a banana bender from the back of beyond, but I enjoy a little culture.”

Ethan laughed delightedly, and Clay wanted to kiss him, but the light turned. Ethan asked, “Did you say ‘banana bender’? Did I hear right?”

“Yep. It’s an old term for a Queenslander. Not the most flattering.”

“Also sounds super gay.” Ethan grinned, reaching to run his palm over Clay’s thigh.

Gay. The word rumbled around Clay’s brain. The thought of that word fitting him was still foreign. “Never noticed before, but I reckon you’re right.” Ethan’s long fingers stroked lightly back and forth over Clay’s left inner thigh, sending tingles right to, well, his banana. “And I did enjoy the opera. Quite a spectacle. So much color. I don’t know how they hit those notes. Gave me chills down my spine a few times.”

“Yes! Me too. Their voices are so powerful that I can hear them really well. Like, it’s not so much the volume, but the…richness. Does that make sense?”

Clay nodded. “The acoustics are something else as well. And those sets and costumes. I’ve only ever been to the theater once before. Took the kids to Brissie to see Wicked. Enjoyed it, but it never occurred to me to go once I moved down here. It was really good tonight.”

Ethan rubbed Clay’s thigh. “I’m so happy you liked it. The first show I ever saw was some regional production of Rocky Horror. I was a kid and I didn’t understand half the jokes, but I knew I was totally queer.”

Clay went rigid. “Oi! Don’t call yourself that!” Sudden fury thrummed through him like a landmine detonating.

Beside him, Ethan’s eyes were wide. He snatched his hand away from Clay’s thigh. “What?”

“That’s a nasty word!”

Ethan stared at him with mouth gaping. After a few beats of silence, he tightly asked, “Why are you yelling at me?”

Clay felt sick to his stomach, sweat breaking out on his forehead, his skin clammy and breath short. “That’s a nasty word,” he repeated in a lower voice. “Don’t like you saying that about yourself.” He merged onto the highway, his heart thudding too hard in his chest. Why would Ethan say that?

When he glanced over, Ethan was still staring at him, his face creased in a frown and—bugger it all—clear hurt shining in his eyes. Clay quickly said, “I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t mean to get aggro with you.”

After a few moments, Ethan said, “Okay.” He cleared his throat, clearly still leery.

Clay hated himself and made sure he spoke calmly. “I’m sorry. Truly.” He tried to breathe evenly. Why had he flown off the handle like that? Ethan was going to think he was nuts.

After another few beats of silence, Ethan said, “Okay. So, the thing with that word is that a lot of people use it now. Not in a negative way. With pride. Like, you’ve heard the acronym LGBTQ? That’s what the Q stands for. Queer. Well, some people might say it’s ‘questioning,’ which is obviously fine, but in my mind it’s always been queer.” Ethan took a shaky breath. “Anyway. My point is that it’s not a bad word to many people now.”

Hearing that word again, Clay tried not to cringe. “No, I didn’t realize that.” His throat felt like it was full of rocks. His father’s voice suddenly filled his mind as clearly as if he was squeezed into the ute between them.

“Filthy fucking queer.”

“Clay? Are you okay? Shit, maybe you should pull over.” Ethan reached for him again, rubbing his leg. “Breathe.”

Blood rushed in Clay’s ears, and for a moment the red taillights ahead went double. Then he gulped air, the horror receding. He grated out, “I’m all right.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan watching him worriedly, his hand a warm, wonderful pressure on Clay’s leg.

Clay kept his eyes on the road, and they drove in silence for a minute as he concentrated on breathing. Finally, he repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Are we almost there?”

“Not long. No traffic.”

“All right. Just focus on the road.”

So he did, and with Ethan’s hand and kind, patient presence steadying Clay, soon enough they were home. He stopped in the driveway, his voice hoarse when he said, “If you want to hop out before I put it in the garage? It’s tight in there.”

Ethan did, waiting by the pathway. He followed Clay into the house. When the door was shut and the light on, Ethan said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Of course he was. Why shouldn’t he be? It was nonsense. “I’m sorry.”

Ethan was a few feet away, fidgeting with his fingers. “It scared me when you yelled like that.”

Shame punched through Clay. “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He wanted to pull Ethan close, but was that the wrong thing to do? “I’m not often aggro, I swear.” He grimaced. “That sounds like a load of garbage, doesn’t it? That’s what all the blokes who are a terror to their wives say. But I promise. On my kids’ lives, that’s not like me.”

Ethan nodded. “I believe you.”

“Yeah?” Clay was afraid to hope. “I haven’t ruined everything?”

A little smile tugged at Ethan’s pretty mouth. “No.”

“Would you mind if I… If we…” He motioned between them.

The smile was still there. “You want to hug?”

“That would be nice.”

Then Ethan was in his arms, holding Clay so tightly. Clay hadn’t even realized he was shaking until Ethan soothed him, running his hands over Clay’s back and murmuring, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

And damn it, Clay didn’t want him to ever leave. Which he knew was mad. It wasn’t possible, and Clay would have to say goodbye to him within the week. Ethan had said his flight was Saturday, and it was too soon. “Don’t go,” he said before he could stop himself.

Ethan leaned back. “Sorry. Can you say that again?”

This time, Clay only said, “Thank you. For being so good about this. I didn’t realize. About that word.”

“I understand. It’s been reclaimed, I guess? I think some older people have a different reaction to it. It’s like the F-word to them. And I don’t mean ‘fuck.’ I hate saying that word in any context.”

“Got it.” Clay nodded and hugged Ethan tightly again. It felt so damn good to hold Ethan and just breathe. Like everything would be okay as long as Ethan was in his arms.

Not for long. Don’t get too close.

Reluctantly, Clay pulled back. He tried a teasing smile. “And wait, are you calling me old? Cheeky.”

“Never.” Ethan grinned. He popped an eyebrow. “Want to go to bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

They laughed, and some of the tension leeched from Clay’s limbs. They went to the bedroom and took off their fancy clothes, Ethan cracking a few other jokes. Clay’s body hummed, eager for the release of getting off with Ethan again, rutting against him, sucking and stroking hard. Eager for the escape.

Yet when they were finally naked on the mattress, Ethan’s kisses were gentle. He rolled on top of Clay, pushing their hips together, but it was easy and sweet. He seemed to worship every single freckle dotting Clay’s skin. Clay held him close, careful not to knock his hearing aids.

The ceiling fan beat a breeze over their bare skin, sweat gathering where they were pressed together. The tenderness that filled Clay at each press of Ethan’s lips was almost too much to bear, and bloody hell, tears pricked his eyes. What was wrong with him?

When Ethan finally took him in his mouth, Clay almost came right then. But the pleasure simmered and grew. He spread his legs for Ethan, following the silent directions of his hands. Clay’s arse was practically in the air by the end. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Ethan actually licked it, spreading him open.

“Fuck!” Clay shouted.

Between his legs, Ethan grinned up at him with a wonderfully devilish expression that had Clay’s balls drawing up. He tightened his fingers in Ethan’s hair as Ethan licked him again, a long swipe from Clay’s arse to his prick.

“Christ! How does that feel—” Clay gasped at the wet friction over his hole. “Like that?”

Ethan raised his head. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Clay wanted to say never mind and get back to it, but Ethan hated not to hear something, and Clay didn’t want to upset him. He repeated himself, and the warm puff of Ethan’s laughter hit his privates, sending a shiver through him.

Ethan said, “Welcome to the wonderful world of rimming.”

“Whatever it’s called, get back to it, would ya?”

Ethan’s joyous laugh was cut off when he did just that, licking Clay’s arse like it was a lolly. He began stroking Clay’s shaft as well, and when the tip of his tongue pushed inside, Clay came so hard he saw white dots when he threw his head back, the release wringing him out like a washcloth.

His limbs were lead in the most wonderful way as he shook from the aftershocks, Ethan kissing all around him down there, then licking the milky drops from Clay’s belly. The sight and blissful, cared-for sensation made Clay’s spent balls twitch.

It was Ethan’s turn, but Clay wasn’t sure he could even make a fist. He waited to speak until Ethan straightened up, sitting back on his heels, his cock straining nearly as purple as his tie from earlier.

Clay said, “You’ve done me in.” He reached out. “You’ll have to come closer.”

But Ethan only grinned. “It’s okay. This’ll only take a minute, trust me.”

Then he was jerking himself, eyes locked with Clay’s, and wanking had never been so exciting. Clay’s breath was short again as he watched Ethan reach up his free hand to twist his nipples, making them stand up red. Ethan’s muscles were tense, his hand flying. Then he sucked his free index finger, spitting onto it.

He reached behind himself, eyes fluttering closed on a moan as his back arched. Clay realized he was sticking his finger into his arse, and he wished desperately that he could see. Was he just going around the top like he’d done to Clay, just dipping a bit inside?

Or was he going deeper?

“Are you rooting yourself?” he blurted, surprised to hear his own words aloud.

Ethan’s brow creased. “Did you ask if I’m fucking myself?” His hand was still moving behind him, his jaw clenching and the muscles in his neck and arms straining. At Clay’s nod, he smiled. “Uh-huh. Trying to get just the right spot. Have you ever felt it?”

Clay shook his head. He didn’t think so. Had never had anything up there except for once at the doctor’s. What would it be like? And how would it feel to have his finger inside Ethan? Better than that, his cock?

The thought knocked the wind from him. What they were doing was already so intimate—Ethan sitting back on his heels between Clay’s spread legs, their eyes locked as Ethan touched himself freely, with no embarrassment or shame.

Clay’s heart swelled at the thought that Ethan trusted him enough to be so…exposed. Clay needed to touch, and he stretched down so one hand could squeeze Ethan’s thigh.

“It feels amazing,” Ethan moaned. “When I hit the prostate and—” His back bowed, and he spurted long, ropy strands all the way onto Clay’s stomach. Gasping, Ethan kept stroking himself, getting more drops, his finger apparently still inside him and clearly in just the right place.

“Jesus,” Clay mumbled, and Ethan flopped into his arms. Right where he belonged.

Until Saturday, a cruel little voice reminded him. Clay held Ethan and tried his very best to ignore it.

Tony Taylor.

As Clay drifted in the half-space between waking and sleep, nonsensical thoughts starting to take form, the name jolted him, appearing bold and clear.

Stubborn. Unwilling to go away this time.

He opened his eyes, his breath shuddering as dread spiraled. Dozing with his head on Clay’s chest, Clay’s arm anchored around his back, Ethan jerked up, blinking.

“Are you all right?” he asked far too loudly, almost shouting. Clay couldn’t hide his wince, and in the moonlight, Ethan reached for his hearing aids on the side table, inserting them into his ears and turning them on. “Sorry,” he said.

“No worries. Go back to sleep.” Of course now they were both wide awake.

The sheet was tangled around Ethan’s hips as he rolled onto his back. The fact that he was really there—naked in Clay’s bed—seemed like a dream in the hush of night. Ethan gazed at him patiently. “Are you freaking out?”

Clay rolled onto his right side toward Ethan, smoothing his palm over Ethan’s belly, which quivered under his touch. “I don’t think so.”

“Good.” Ethan traced the contours of Clay’s hand with his fingertips. He didn’t say anything else, just waited, watching Clay, silver light glinting in his beautiful eyes.

“Can you hear me all right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Still pressing his hand to Ethan’s stomach, Clay finally said, “Thinking of a man I haven’t in a long time. Decades.”

After a silence, Ethan whispered, “Okay.”

“Strange to be remembering him after all these years. We should go back to sleep.”

Ethan said nothing, just continued tracing little patterns over the back of Clay’s hand and along his fingers, sending a little ripple of warmth through Clay.

“I didn’t even really know him.”

Ethan was quiet. Still waiting. After a few moments as a confusion of memories swirled through Clay’s mind, Ethan asked, “What was his name?”

“Oh, right. Anthony Taylor. Tony. Lived a few houses down from us on Doris Street. In Cloncurry, I mean. It was nothing much, Doris Street. One-story houses, a few trees that made a go of it. The odd empty lot. Lawns that were scrubby and peppered with red dirt, but people made an effort. Kept their fences straight and yards neat. No cars rusting out, or trash. A respectable street.”

Ethan murmured a listening sound and waited.

“Tony worked down the mines. He was probably twenty. I was, I dunno, nine or ten. Didn’t really know him at all, like I said. Jen and I would call out and wave to him if he happened to be working on his car when we rode by on our bikes. He’d be out there without a shirt, leaning over the engine for hours, tinkering away. Had a big green metal toolbox like my dad’s. I wanted one too.”

Taking a deep breath, Clay thought of how Tony’s hands would be stained black with grease when he’d straighten up and wave to them, smudges on his chest sometimes. Tony always gave them a big smile. Once, he’d helped fix the chain on Jen’s bike and given them both lollies from the glovebox of his ute.

Clay cleared his throat. “Tony still lived with his folks. Taylors had a couple other kids in high school. Mrs. Taylor stayed home like my mum, and Mr. Taylor worked down the mines as well.” Clay shook his head. “I dunno why I’m thinking about all this.”

After another silence, Ethan quietly asked, “What happened to Tony?”

Clay’s lungs seized up, and a shudder ran through him. He slipped his hand away from Ethan’s and rolled onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. He tried to laugh it off. “Feel like someone just walked over my grave.”

Of course he knew exactly what had happened to Tony—well, not later, but that night in the lot at the corner of Doris and Alice streets. Maybe not exactly, but he knew enough.

Still looking at the ceiling, Clay could feel Ethan beside him. Ethan propped himself on his elbow, probably so the flow of words from Clay’s mouth would be clearer. Watching Clay, but not touching him. Waiting.

“This is such nonsense, dredging this up.” Clay’s heart hammered, and he felt a fool. But the pressure in his chest only grew until he forced a breath and said, “We were coming home from dinner at Auntie Marg and Uncle Ian’s. They lived near Julia Creek, about an hour and a half down the track.”

“So far to go for dinner.”

Clay had to smile, even though the pressure in his chest hadn’t eased. “In the outback, that’s nothing. Anyway, my parents always played rummy for hours with them, and Jen was sleeping beside me in the backseat. I was trying to stay awake. Hated falling asleep in the car and then having to get up and go into the house and brush my teeth and put on my PJs. And I remember as we got close to our street, I was grateful we were finally home, because my eyes were getting so heavy. Then…”

He took another shallow, sharp breath. He didn’t realize his hands were in fists beside him on the mattress until Ethan tentatively covered the right one with his own hand. Ethan stroked with his thumb, and Clay breathed again, still too shallow, staring at the rectangle of silver moonlight coming through the window and cast on the ceiling at an angle.

“Then I realized something was happening at the corner. There were people there. Young guys. It was a Saturday night, and I thought maybe they were drinking grog. Having a party. There was some kind of commotion, and Mum slowed the car. She always drove home from Auntie Marg and Uncle Ian’s so Dad could drink all the beer he wanted.”

Clay closed his eyes, seeing it all in faded snapshots. “There was someone on the ground, and the others were kicking him. Punching him. Screaming words I couldn’t make out. We could see it all in the headlights.”

Clay took another shallow breath through his mouth, his throat gone dry, eyes still shut. “It was Tony. And Mum slowed and said, ‘What a damned shame. We should…’ But she trailed off like it was a question. She always did that. Waited for Dad’s verdict. And I remember how Dad barked, ‘No,’ with such force Jen startled awake.”

Clay’s heart thumped dully, seeing the headlights slash the darkness, the confusion of thrashing bodies disappearing as Mum turned the corner. “We kept driving toward our house.”

Ethan held onto Clay’s fist, saying nothing.

Clay exhaled. “I couldn’t understand it. I said, ‘It’s Tony from down the street! Why aren’t you stopping?’ And Dad said…”

He couldn’t go on, the lump in his throat too massive and unmovable. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, the pressure in his chest about to crack his ribs. But Ethan was there beside him, his hand on Clay’s, comforting and patient. Steady as a rock.

Clay’s lungs expanded enough to breathe, his voice like gravel. “Dad said, ‘He’s a filthy fucking queer. Brought it on himself.’”

Ethan sucked in a breath then, and Clay opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow. Ethan’s eyes shimmered with tears, and Clay hated the sight. He unclenched his fist, the horrible pressure that had built in his chest releasing as he threaded his fingers with Ethan’s and held on tight.

Clay’s voice was hoarse, but he made himself go on. “And that was that. Tony could have bloody died, and my dad didn’t care. He’d stop on the road and pull out his shotgun if there was a roo or emu that had been hit and was suffering. Tony wasn’t even worth as much as an animal.”

Wordlessly, Ethan kissed Clay’s knuckles and listened.

When Clay caught his breath, he went on. “Not sure how Tony got found out, but I reckon word had spread around town. When we got out of the car, I could still hear his cries and their shouts in the night. The neighbors had to have heard as well. I looked around the street, but there was no sign of anyone coming out to investigate. Not even from the Taylors’. Most of the houses were dark, and I imagined them all hiding in there, listening to his screams.”

Ethan made a pained noise, like a whimper, but didn’t say anything.

“And I didn’t do a thing. Spineless. I just followed my parents into the house. Jen didn’t know what was going on, her eyes big in the moonlight. I remember her opening her mouth to ask, but I shook my head, and she shut up.”

Holding Clay’s hand between them, Ethan squeezed.

“I saw him one more time, the next morning. Jen was helping Mum peel spuds for Sunday dinner. We always had mashed potatoes and roast.”

Clay grabbed onto the snatch of memory. The back door banging shut behind him, Jen griping loudly that she wanted to go out too. How his bike was getting too small for him, and he had to stand up a little or else his legs would cramp. He’d taken a wide loop out of the driveway on the empty road, a bit of grit flying into his eye.

“I rode by the Taylors’ on my bike, and Tony was getting into their ute. Well, his brother was pushing him up into the seat.” Clay had to stop and force an inhalation before he went on.

“His face was so swollen, Tony barely looked human. His dad was behind the wheel with a stone expression. And that was the last time I ever saw Tony. The Taylors stayed there on Doris Street—still lived there as long as my parents did. Might still now if they’re not dead. But all those years, Tony never came back. Not once.”

Still holding Clay’s hand, damp and tight and solid as a rock, Ethan murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

A strange laugh bubbled up in Clay. “And do you know what I did that morning as I passed by Tony Taylor, beaten within an inch of his life, being sent away because he was a ‘filthy queer’? I waved.”

Christ, Clay’s cheeks were wet, and he realized he was crying with a rush of shame. “What’s wrong with me?” He wasn’t sure if he meant then or now.

But it didn’t matter, because Ethan was there, holding him close against his warm, slim body, pressing kisses to Clay’s head. Not judging as he murmured, “I’m sorry,” and “It’s not your fault.”

Clay gasped against Ethan’s throat, clinging to him as the tears flowed. It was as though his brain was back in time, unearthing a series of memories seemingly at random…

A Christmas Day barbecue when his dad let him drink a stubby of XXXX, all of them roasting in the sun in the scrubby yard but wearing the paper crowns from the Christmas crackers, little Jen collecting all the paper slips with jokes on them and reading them out delightedly. “What do you call a three-legged donkey? A wonky donkey!”

Mum driving him and Jen into The Isa and letting them each pick out a record at the music shop, eating lollies in the ute and listening to the radio station dad couldn’t stand.

Chasing Jen down the street with a snakeskin he’d found in the yard, the husk dry and crumbling in his fingers, her shrieks absolute music to his ears.

When the tears stopped and Ethan still held him close and safe, Clay wondered what it felt like to shed your skin and be reborn.