Page 16 of Brought By the Storm

Chapter Nine

Carrington

Eric’s friend, Mateo, had just arrived with food in what he called a ‘cooler.’ He and Eric were unloading and trying to find space in Eric’s already overfilled refrigerator. Unlike Eric, Mateo was a man I would have guessed to be gay. He was flirty and made big gestures as he spoke. I was certain Stefan would take an immediate dislike to him. Instead, Mateo had made Stefan chuckle a few times whilst they bantered in the kitchen. Sometimes Mateo would put his hand on Stefan’s arm whilst emphasizing a point, and Stefan didn’t appear inclined to rebuff him. I found it odd that he seemed to trust Mateo more than Eric, as the former struck me as someone who’d be inclined to gossip. I hoped Eric and Stefan remained vigilant about what they shared.

Once the kitchen was in order, I was shocked to hear Stefan offer to help Eric and Mateo with the clean-up outdoors. It made me feel guilty enough to volunteer as well, but Stefan insisted I stay inside to keep my mother company. Of course, his real motive was to ensure I was safe behind the walls of Eric’s home…and I would be away from my newfound crush.

When they opened the patio doors to venture outside, a whoosh of heavy, damp air sucked in. I couldn’t imagine that it was healthy for the three of them, fit as they might be, to be working in those conditions. I sat on a chair that faced the French doors to the patio, watching them picking up branches, cutting larger limbs and trying to buttress the now sagging fence. Before long, a sweating Stefan and Mateo removed their shirts and tucked them in their waistbands. I had been feeling a heightened awareness of male sensuality since meeting Eric, and observed the naked torsos in a way I would never have imagined just a few days earlier—wondering if they would arouse me. Though I could appreciate that both men were in amazing shape, their pumped-up chests and bulging arms weren’t enticing. I just couldn’t imagine wanting to be held by them, and their faces—though striking—were too hard and masculine for kissing.

Eric continued working at a punishing pace, sopping wet in his white Henley shirt. His shyness allowed him to undo no more than a couple of buttons which bared a small part of his smooth, tanned chest. His rolled-up sleeves revealed hairless, toned and bronzed forearms. The cotton fabric clung to him and had become translucent, making him seem sexier than if the shirt had been removed. His carved pecs and nipples were thwarting the shirt’s attempts at modesty. Eric had on a pair of tight work jeans that hugged his ass and thighs, and I couldn’t help but marvel at his form. He had some meat in the seat, as they say—two perfect globes defying the laws of gravity. Watching his lithe body move was making me excited. I forgot my mother was nearby until she made her presence known.

“Stefan seems to be getting on better with them,” she commented, approaching the back of my chair.

I pushed forward into a more upright position, hoping it would position my misbehaving member into a less obvious state. I was glad she was behind the chair as opposed to facing me. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, it seems he’s less concerned now about Eric’s friend than he was before meeting him.”

“Maybe it’s all the attention Eric’s friend is giving him. I think he’s smitten.”

I turned to her in surprise. “Who? Eric’s friend or Stefan?”

My mother smiled. “Indeed.”

I didn’t want to betray Stefan’s secret. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m sure Stefan is just being polite.”

“Is he? I haven’t noticed him go out of his way to be polite to others in the past. In fact, I would say he’s been somewhat rude to Eric, wouldn’t you?”

I was becoming anxious. If my mother suspected Stefan was gay, was she going to wonder what that meant for me—his longtime friend? “I think he just didn’t know if he could trust Eric.”

My mother sat in the chair next to mine, still looking out at the three working men. “But he can already trust Mateo?”

Now I was becoming agitated by her line of questioning that felt like she was saying something without saying it. “What are you suggesting, Mother?”

She pursed her lips and sat silent for a moment. “Do you not know? I find it hard to believe you’ve been mates since childhood, but you weren’t aware that Stefan likes men?”

I was shocked. “Pardon? How do you know this? I just found out last night!”

Now it was her turn to look surprised. “Oh. I’m glad I never said anything. It was his truth to tell you.”

“But, how did you know? He’s dated girls for as long as I’ve known him.”

My mother looked at me now with sad eyes. “My dear boy, you really have been oblivious, haven’t you? I used to wonder if there was a mean streak in you, that you let him pine for you and you played daft. Or maybe it was just you loving the attention. But I saw the hurt in his eyes when you would talk about a girl you were dating or when you’d mock him in jest. I used to wish, for his sake, he’d meet someone and fall in love so he could forget about you.”

“Forget about me?” I whispered. “No. Close friends don’t forget about each other. But he did tell me last night that he fell out of love with me. I suppose anyone gives up after years of disappointment.” I sighed. “So, you’re okay with Stefan being homosexual?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not my life to live nor mine to judge.”

“That sounds more like tolerating someone rather than embracing them,” I mumbled.

“I have mixed feelings when it comes to Stefan. I have affection for him because he loves you and keeps you safe. I also worried becausehe was in love with you.Unrequited romantic love can lead to unhappy outcomes—for both parties. I didn’t want to see him pained, but I was more afraid that he could hurt you. In general, though, I’ve never cared about whether someone is gay. You know your uncle, my brother Charles, is gay. We were always close and I couldn’t understand why people felt it was their prerogative to tell him whom he could love. People claim it’s about the Bible, but I think it’s just an excuse to hate others who aren’t like you. Most of those people disobey many other passages of the Bible and think nothing of it. I guess that’s why I never go to church—even if our country’s people want to condemn me for that. Their hypocrisy angers me, but more than that, it bores me. Maybe it’s my Scandinavian blood.”

“But Father went to church. He opposed gay marriage,” I reminded her.

“In public, yes. When he was president, there wasn’t majority support for same-sex marriage. In private, he thought the opposition was absurd and primitive. I refused to compromise my principles that way. As I said, hypocrisy bores me.”

We paused and I thought about her comments regarding my uncle. “Mother, I remember when you were close to Uncle Charles. Why haven’t you been these last few years?”

Her eyes welled a bit. “We had a falling out. He was angry that I didn’t speak out for gay rights as First Lady, and he resented your father for coddling the far-right. I tried to explain that Yastarus is always one step away from realigning to Russia, that we had to choose our battles and try to unify the conservatives and the progressives. Charles believed that blood should have trumped my nationalist sentiments—that fundamental human rights should have been my priority. I never spoke out against gays, as you may recall. But he’s right—I didn’t advocate for them either. Now that a small majority of our people support same-sex marriage, it may seem to you like our inaction was cowardice. But back then, it could have been a cultural wedge the far-right used to tip us back to a federal semi-presidential republic, which is just a political label for a dictatorship. I didn’t see how that was a long-term win for anyone’s rights—including Charles’.”

“But I’m on record as supporting same-sex marriage, and you were quoted as supporting my advocacy. Why hasn’t that mended fences between you and Uncle Charles?”