It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Today we have a snippet from Shadow and Light, Arizona Raptors #3, written with RJ Scott.
Our word prompt this week is “Surface” and in this excerpt we see a bit of what’s bothering Apollo as be finally begins to open up to his best friend, Adler.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
“I need you to talk to me.” I reached for the phone, he held it up even higher. Given he was six foot seven or ten or something crazy and I was five foot eight on tiptoes I never won this game. I’d quit trying when we were thirteen and Alder had shot up a foot overnight. I was still the skinny, short boy who preferred doting over kittens and baby dolls instead of shooting hockey pucks down the marble hallways of the Lockhart home in Palm Beach where the family wintered. “You’ve been super surly of late and watching way too much Madonna.”
“Okay, first off there is no such thing as too much Madonna.” I waved a finger under his nose. “Secondly, how would you know if I’m surly or sad or happy when you’re never here anymore?!” Alder lowered my phone, his jaw slack, his eyes wide. I bit down on my lower lip. “Sorry, no, forget that. I didn’t mean that. I’m just…this needs to be cleaned up.”
Eyes averted, I slid from the stool, wiggled my feet into my slippers, and picked up the cold pan of crusty lasagna from the surface of the counter. Alder slipped in between me and the ruined food, blocking me with ease just as he would someone going after a puck. I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, looking left then right, anywhere but up at him.
“Apollo, what’s going on with you? I thought you were happy for me and Layton.”
Ack, sweet Jesus and Mary. He knew just what to say to make me feel like homogenized shit. I drew in a deep breath, tipped my head back a bit, and gazed at the redhead that was my brother in every aspect aside from sharing the same blood. A brother from another mother. And father.
“I am happy for you. I am!” I insisted when his eyebrows knitted. “I am really happy for you, honestly. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m not happy with me anymore.” I thumped my chest. “I’m just…” I searched for the right word to fit my mood. “Stagnant. Lonely. Unneeded. Unwanted.”
“Whoa, just whoa. You are most certainly needed and wanted, please don’t ever think that you’re not. Who else would put up with my stupid shit on a daily basis?”
“Layton,” I whispered as Griffin Dunne and Madonna exchanged witty banter.
Copyright 2020 ©by V.L. Locey
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