Page 7

CHAPTER 6

BACK DIMPLES

CHUCK

Chuck had learned early on to time his arrival at Dr. Mahoney’s office so he wouldn’t have to wait on one of the overstuffed couches that crowded the waiting room. It was drizzling out, so he took a moment on the front stoop to brush the water from his hair and shoulders before ducking inside. The door to her private office was already open, and he slipped inside, letting the door click shut behind him before exchanging a warm greeting with his psychiatrist.

“Good to see you, Chuck,” Dr. Mahoney gave him a sincere smile, her teeth bright against the golden brown of her cheeks. She wore her black hair pulled back into a thick ponytail, and favored simple, but professional clothing. “It’s been a while.”

Chuck simply nodded back.

He’d first seen Dr. Mahoney when, two years after graduating from Southeastern, the post-breakup blues in the wake of a three year relationship just hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t known much about dating, but he knew enough to know it wasn’t normal to not be able to get out of bed for a whole month following a breakup. He’d already been seeing a therapist at the time—a depression diagnosis his senior year of college had brought a lot of clarity to what had long been an inexplicable part of his character.

He’d always been warm and happy and everyone’s friend. He was the guy who brought people together. He was the funny one. So there was no explanation for why some days he felt like he was drowning in a heavy, gray fog, like his body was wrapped up in a sopping quilt that never dried.

How could he feel so happy and full when he was also capable of feeling like he was barely clinging to life?

The meds Dr. Mahoney had prescribed saved him. Truly, between the medication and therapy, he’d dragged himself up and built a functional adult life. Sure, there were still lows—lows were a part of life. But, unlike before, it was never bad enough to send him careening off the rails.

Chuck settled into the soft beige chair, rolling his shoulders in an effort to loosen some of the soreness from his early morning training.

She reached for a green folder and flipped it open, scanning the contents. “What brings you in today?”

Chuck tucked one of his long legs up and under himself. “I want to talk to you about switching up my meds.”

She looked up, not bothering to hide her surprise. “I thought you were doing well?”

“I am, I just…” Chuck shrugged. “The side effects are getting to me.”

“Which ones?”

He felt himself flush. “The sexual side effects. I can’t,” he paused to wet his lips. “I can’t come. Half of the time I can barely get hard.”

When the options had been either hovering on the edge of a breakdown or potential side effects that could impact his sexual gratification, Chuck hadn’t thought twice about the choice. He’d needed to function more than he needed to get off.

But now? Things had changed. Now he was out to the people who mattered most to him and he was reaching his mid-thirties. He was so ready to build something lasting with someone that it felt like a strong hand squeezing his chest.

Chuck was tired of explaining to his partners that he might not get hard. That it wasn’t them, it was him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying whatever they were doing, or that their touch didn’t feel good. It was just that there was a numbness that came with the peace in his head. And no matter the circumstances, no matter how much he longed for release, his body had other plans.

Dr. Mahoney nodded. “That’s a completely valid concern. And how are you feeling otherwise?”

“Otherwise I’m good.”

“Are you still seeing Doctor Anderson?”

“Yeah. Once every two weeks.” Chuck had been with the same therapist for years now, and was happy with the relationship he’d built with the kind-eyed, white haired man.

“That’s good.” She took a moment, like she was deep in thought. “So,” she began, looking up at him with a serious expression on her face. “There are two ways we can address this. We can reduce your dose and stick with what has worked, or we could try a different medication that has a track record of not having anorgasmia as a side effect.”

“Anorgasmia?”

“The physical inability to reach orgasm,” she clarified.

“That one,” Chuck immediately jumped in. “I want to try the new meds.”

Dr. Mahoney nodded, watching him so closely Chuck felt his skin itch. “There’s no guarantee,” she cautioned. “This new medication will come with its own set of side effects. All we can do is try.” Her pen scratched against paper, the sound bright in the quiet room. “We’ll titrate over the next few months, and then we can aim to make the switch at the end of June. As we’re reducing your dosage, pay attention to how you feel. You may find a sweet spot that works for you in the process. And make sure to schedule extra appointments with Dr. Anderson. You’ve been on the same medication for a long time now, so brace yourself for a potentially tough transition.”

Chuck nodded, making a mental note to call his therapist and get on the books for extra sessions. He couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t a part of him that was nervous. The idea of rocking the boat and risking upsetting the balance that had worked for so long scared him.

But the promise of being just a little more normal, of not having to walk into every intimate moment with a glaring reminder that his life was ruled by depression?

The possibility was worth everything.

Chuck scooted forward, planting both of his feet on the ground. “So, when do we start?”

“I’ll write you a plan and send it over by the end of the week.”

* * *

It was still mostly dark out when Chuck pulled up to the Southeastern outdoor pool.

He was used to starting his days in the dark. As a lifelong swimmer, starting his days before the sunrise was a constant, and during the season, the Southeastern team practiced early in the mornings. Chuck had a routine: feed the cats, eat a bowl of cereal, make a cup of coffee, and take his meds.

This morning he’d started on his reduced dose. He’d done some additional reading over the weekend on this new medication—an NDRI instead of the SSRI he’d been prescribed since his initial diagnosis. The side effects were nothing new: dry mouth, nausea, headaches, and insomnia were on there. As long as I can finally come, he thought to himself.

He grabbed his mesh bag of gear and the towel he always kept tossed over his back seat and made his way through the neatly pruned crepe myrtle hedge to the black iron fence that surrounded the pool. He was unlocking the gate when bright headlight beams cut across the fence.

Chuck pushed the gate open, turning to watch Tommy climb out of his car and walk toward him with the kind of lumbering bleariness of someone who was out of bed earlier than usual.

“Morning,” Chuck said, unable to stop himself from appreciating how handsome his friend looked.

Tommy’s response was a nod and a grunt as he walked past Chuck and into the pool.

Chuck led them over to the lawn chairs lined up at one end of the pool. He dropped his bag and made quick work of losing his shorts and t-shirt, leaving him in a black Speedo. It was muscle memory to start twisting his body, warming up his back and arms as he watched Tommy.

Tommy was in boardshorts that stretched tight against his thick thighs. When he took off his shirt his tan skin was on display. Chuck wasn’t sure how he always managed to have that golden glow to his skin when he spent most of his time in a suit, but ever since he’d known Tommy he’d had the look of a guy who spent his summers on the lake.

“Do you have goggles or a cap?” Chuck asked, breaking the quiet.

Tommy shook his head.

Chuck had expected as much and packed extras for him. He tossed a red cap and a pair of goggles onto the lounge in front of him before stretching his own white and green Southeastern cap back and over his head to cover his wild hair.

“How?” Tommy asked, looking down at the cap.

“Come here.”

Tommy shuffled over, and Chuck used both his hands to tilt Tommy’s head down. His hair was soft this morning, free from product, and Chuck noticed the cowlick right on the crown of his head sticking up like a ruffled feather.

He made quick work of getting the cap on Tommy’s head, tucking stray pieces of hair away until his head was fully covered.

Tommy looked up, and Chuck didn’t have time to stop the loud laugh that burst from him.

Tommy scowled. “What?”

Chuck couldn’t stop laughing. “I never knew your head was so small! You look like one of those action figures with the crazy built upper bodies and the tiny little heads.”

“What the fuck, man,” Tommy protested, but he was cracking up too, hands covering his face as laughter shook his body. “Why do you think I keep my hair longer up top?”

“Okay, pinhead.” Chuck grabbed the two kickboards he’d packed and threw them over to the edge of the pool. “Get your ass in the water.”

Tommy didn’t hesitate, throwing himself into the pool with a splash that almost reached their stuff. Chuck followed.

He gave himself a moment underwater, letting the peace and quiet sink into him before he surfaced.

Tommy’s hands were rubbing the surface of the cap. “This shit feels weird.”

“It’ll keep your pretty hair from getting ruined by the chlorine.”

Tommy’s dimples popped with his wide grin. “Aw, you think I’m pretty?”

Chuck felt his cheeks heat as he stood, the four foot depth reaching just above his waist. He couldn’t tell Tommy that he thought he was the most handsome man he’d ever seen. “Put your goggles on,” he instructed, shoving aside the feelings for his friend that had been a constant during the past ten years of his life, “and then let’s start with you swimming the length of the pool. It’s only twenty-five meters, and it’s this depth all the way across. Just do a basic freestyle, and I’ll swim next to you and see what we’re working with.”

To Tommy’s credit, he was an athlete used to taking instructions. Once the goggles were snug on his face, he dove forward and started to swim.

Chuck had probably swam with Tommy hundreds of times over the years. He could keep his head above water just fine, but he was the kind of person who looked like they were having to use all of their strength to keep themselves afloat. Lots of arms flailing and frantic, clumsy kicking.

Tommy was moving forward, at least. It was slow, but he was going somewhere. His breathing was irregular, head lifting up out of the water and moving side to side with every stroke. His arms were doing too much and his legs weren’t doing enough.

It took a painfully long time for him to reach the opposite end of the pool. Chuck swam slowly, just behind him, putting together a checklist in his head of which drills would make the most sense to start with.

Tommy let out a loud, breathless “Fuuuuuck” that stretched out to contain about fifteen syllables the second he touched the wall. His wet chest heaved, brown-pink nipples hard as his mouth hung open. He panted, trying to catch his breath. “Why is that so fucking hard?”

Chuck planted his feet against the smooth cement on the bottom of the pool and stood up. “You’re working way too hard,” he offered.

“If I don’t do that I’m going to sink, man,” Tommy protested, wiping a hand across his wet face before taking the goggles off. “This body? It’s as hard and heavy as a rock.”

Chuck definitely didn’t need words like hard and heavy thrown out there when his skin was already prickling from being this close to his half-naked friend. Redirect, Chuck . He cleared his throat. “Can you float?”

Tommy’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “Do you think I’d be flailing like a drowning raccoon if I could float?”

Chuck’s laugh was loud in the delicate quiet of the early morning, the sun brightening half of the sky to a beautiful, pale purple color that reminded Chuck of faded bruises or the lavender flowers that his mom used to grow in their backyard.

But the way Tommy’s own face transformed, that full, unguarded smile stretching his mouth wide and flashing his teeth while his brown eyes crinkled in the corners like rumpled sheets, that was maybe the most beautiful thing Chuck had ever seen.

“Come here,” Chuck said, and he hadn’t meant for his voice to go all soft and raspy, but fuck he couldn’t help it.

There was something else in Tommy’s expression as he moved through the water towards him, but Chuck focused on his hand, which he rested, palm up, just under the surface of the water between them.

“I want you to lay back and rest your head on my hand,” he explained. “I’ll keep you from sinking. I promise.”

Tommy looked between Chuck’s hand and his face, and then shrugged. “I trust you,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clumsily, Tommy maneuvered his muscular body so his head tipped back into Chuck’s palm. It left Tommy awkwardly tilted back, with the rest of his body under the water.

“Can you hear me?” Chuck asked, as he firmed up his grip on the back of Tommy’s head. When he nodded, Chuck went on. “I want you to push off of the bottom of the pool like you’re going to float on your back on the surface.”

Tommy complied, but his chin tucked and his body folded in half like a book, immediately sinking. Chuck scrambled and managed to scoop one of his arms under Tommy’s broad thighs, cradling him like a baby, but keeping his face above the water.

Tommy looked up at Chuck, unimpressed but still adorable in his swim cap with his goggles pushed up above his forehead. “So, maybe I need to take back what I said about trusting you.”

Chuck shook his head. “You need to keep your head back. Imagine you’re trying to look at the sky: not above you, but the horizon back behind you.”

“And that’s going to help me float?”

“Yep.”

Tommy sighed. “Alright. Put me down and let’s do this fucking thing.”

This time, Tommy did as Chuck had instructed, craning his head back as he pushed up from the bottom. And, just as Chuck had predicted, the rest of his body rose to hover right at the surface of the pool.

Chuck smiled, lowering his hand just a little bit so Tommy could feel the way the water held him. The way his bulky body was resting on the surface of the water.

“Holy shit,” Tommy breathed, and Chuck could see the moment he relaxed. It was a moment Chuck could remember living through a million times, something he still experienced every time he surrendered himself to the water and trusted it would hold him.

Chuck let him lay there for a few seconds before tapping Tommy softly on the back of the head.

Tommy surfaced, and looked over at Chuck like he’d just changed his life. “Dude,” he said, grinning and obviously proud.

“Told you so,” Chuck said, ducking on instinct when Tommy splashed him. “Now that that’s done, go grab us those two kick boards.”

Minutes later Tommy held the kick board in front of himself with two hands while his legs kicked behind him.

They needed to fix Tommy’s breathing before anything else.

Chuck patiently explained that Tommy needed to keep his face down in the water while he swam, and then rotate his head to the side without lifting when he needed to breathe. That he needed to keep his opposite ear in the water.

They did a few laps like that, with Chuck making little adjustments as they went. Tommy was a good student, taking every suggestion and applying it like he really cared about getting better at swimming and winning his ridiculous race.

Once Chuck felt confident Tommy was getting the hang of it, he grabbed his own kick board and they started out on a 200 meter kick with both arms resting on the kick board so all of the work was focused on their legs. Tommy had big legs, built legs even, but Chuck knew from experience how little that strength translated from the weight room to conditioning in the pool.

“I still can’t believe you know Wade Johnson,” Tommy said, a little breathless as they finished their first length and turned around at the wall.

“He’s my friend,” Chuck said, still amused by the fact that Wade was someone Tommy fanboyed over. “I had no idea he was a celebrity. I mean, I knew he played pro hockey, but didn’t realize what a big deal he was.”

Tommy let out an amused breath. “He’s a huge deal where I’m from. I had his poster on my wall in high school.” He went quiet, and Chuck glanced over at him, catching the way he swept his tongue over his lower lip. “He told me a little bit about his life. About being bi.”

Chuck wasn’t sure how to react. “Yeah?”

“It was interesting. Made me think.”

“About what?”

“Alex.”

Chuck was lost. “Alex?”

“Alexander the Great,” Tommy clarified, like that should have been obvious. “You know, I think he was bisexual. Of course, they didn’t use that term back then, but based on what I’ve read, some scholars say a lot of men back in ancient Greece were a little more…open minded about who they were intimate with.”

Of all of the things Chuck had been expecting, the revelation that an ancient historical figure was bisexual was not where he’d thought Tommy was going. But now that it was out there he couldn’t say he wasn’t curious. “What do the other scholars say?”

“That men in ancient Greece were just really good friends.”

Chuck laughed, throwing his head back even as they kept on kicking, the sounds of their splashing feet fading into the background.

“But back to Alex,” Tommy went on. “He had a male lover—his best friend, Hephaestion, and when he died Alex apparently lost his shit. Threw himself over his body and cried for a whole day. His men had to drag him away.”

“That’s fucking sad, man.”

Tommy made a low humming sound. “Yeah, but I just thought it was cool, you know. That dudes have been loving each other for a really long time.”

Chuck pressed his lips together, trying to contain his amusement. But he lost the fight a second later as a loud, sputtering laugh burst from him.

“What?” Tommy asked.

“That was both the sweetest and dumbest shit I’ve ever heard you say,” Chuck managed to get out, his smile so wide that his cheeks ached.

“So.” Tommy’s voice shifted to a lower register. “That big guy you took home from the bar.”

Chuck swallowed, his mind flashing to standing in his living room with his pants around his ankles and having his dick sucked. “Yeah?”

“Is he your type?”

He had to look at Tommy, to see for himself what kind of question he was asking. But as he looked at Tommy’s face, he saw the solid set of his jaw and the honest interest in his eyes, like maybe he was actually curious about what kind of man Chuck wanted.

“I don’t really have a type,” Chuck admitted, turning back to look at the icy blue of the water in front of them. “It’s more about personality for me.”

Tommy’s brows furrowed. “But what do you think is hot?”

Well, that made Chuck’s mouth dry. Really fucking dry. He definitely couldn’t look at Tommy now, not if he was going to answer honestly. “Competence. Kindness. Honesty. Muscles.”

“Muscles?”

Chuck flexed his fingers where he gripped the foam board. “Yeah. Like a solid back and defined pecs and all the normal shit guys are into. Bulk, you know, and,” he decided right then he could let out another little bit of truth, “back dimples are hot as fuck.”

“Oh shit!” Tommy’s mouth pulled up into a grin. “I’ve got those!” He jerked his chin back over his shoulder, like Chuck didn’t know that Tommy’s back dimples like the back of his own hand, like he hadn’t noticed them years before and thought about how it would feel to place his thumbs over them as he wrapped his hands around Tommy’s torso.

It was beyond time for a subject change. “How are your legs feeling?”

“They fucking burn.”

“Swimming is actually a workout, you know,” Chuck teased.

“You think I don’t know that? You’ve got the nicest body of the whole group. Better than Keaton’s—all that lawyering is making him soft.”

Thank fuck they were reaching the end of the pool. Thank fuck it was their final lap. Because Chuck could feel his neck heating and itchiness under his skin spreading at the thought of Tommy noticing him, paying attention to his body and categorizing it as nice .

He let out a breath of relief when the front of his kick board nudged the wall, and then tossed it up on the side. “Put your board up here,” he told Tommy. “Let’s put in a few more laps doing basic freestyle. Focus on the changes to your breathing and how you were moving your head. You should breathe every other stroke—no reason to not have enough air. Do the first two laps at about 50% effort, and then for the final two try to up it to 100%.”

Chuck hopped up to sit on the edge of the pool as Tommy took off. His stroke still wasn’t good, and it definitely wasn’t pretty, but he looked a little bit better. At least his head wasn’t coming up out of the water every time.

He let his eyes linger on the rolling muscles of Tommy’s back as they shifted with each stroke. Chuck’s gaze traced his arms, and any attention to the technicalities of swimming was lost as he watched the water glittering against Tommy’s golden skin.

It was a rare indulgence, but fuck , Tommy had said Chuck had a nice body and talked about ancient Greek warriors being in love. He was only so strong.

A hand stretched out under the water, reaching between where Chuck’s legs dangled to touch the wall, and Tommy broke through the surface, shoulders rising and falling with every audible breath. Chuck watched as he tore the goggles from his face, revealing the deep purple indentions that circled his eyes.

His breathing was labored as he looked up at Chuck. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Chuck laughed and kicked his leg out, the water making the movement sluggish as he nudged his foot against Tommy’s hard hip.

Tommy just smiled up at him. “Thank you,” he said. “For doing this. You’re the best.”

“It’s no problem, man,” he said, but the gratitude still lit up something hot in his chest.

Tommy moved to climb out of the water, all of his muscles straining and wet as he pushed himself from the pool. “Dinner and Spartacus on Thursday?”

“Sure. Burgers?”

Tommy was already nodding. “I’ll make sweet potato fries.”

Chuck groaned. Tommy made the best sweet potato fries in the world. “You sure know the way to a man’s heart,” he teased, and Tommy just smiled back at him as he wrapped himself up in his towel.

Tommy was good in that way, always showing up and doing the little things that mattered.

Chuck hadn’t ever met anyone else like Tommy. It was something he wanted to look for in a partner. His heart hungered for that kind of care, to be with someone who knew him well enough to do those seemingly small, important things.

Maybe now that he was out, he could find someone like that, since the man who already was the best at it wasn’t an option.

Not for Chuck, at least.