Page 38 of Regret Me Not

Pierce would get his address and send him Legos for Christmas every year, even if that was the only time ever after they talked to each other after Pierce left on the twenty-fourth.

That was a promise he made himself. Legos for Hal Lombard, forever. It was a deal.

Hal was concentrating on putting details on the tree, though. Teeny-tiny corner pieces in red, blue, and yellow served as Christmas tree lights. Pierce was very impressed.

Pierce, clumsy this year but still able, wrapped the Keurig and the two giant teddy bears and the big boxes with glee. He wanted to give Hal something else, he thought as he arranged the gifts on the floor near the end table, where the Christmas tree would go.

“What do massage therapistsneed?” he asked himself.

Hal didn’t even look up. “We need a certificate,” he said promptly. “From a reputable school or apprentice program, and about 500 hours of practice. In some states it’s 1100. Who knows.”

Pierce grimaced cheerfully—you couldn’t say his boy wasn’t focused. “I mean materially. Is there a kind of massage oil you like? Do you need a folding table? Whatthingsdo you need to be a massage therapist?”

Hal shrugged. “A sturdy table—the kind that can hold up to 500 pounds but wheels in on its own. Massage oil. An internship. It’s pretty simple, but it takes dedication. And, you know, not being a dick with people’s bodies. I mean, I took a couple summer classes and have about 300 hours, but it’s not close yet.”

“Okay,” Pierce said, thinking hard. “Okay.”

“So, what do you think? Should I add non-Lego touches? Ribbon? Cotton balls? Tinsel?”

Pierce looked at it critically. “I think non-Lego touches would be awesome. Come on, raid the stash pile—let’s see what you can do.”

“Yeah, well, thank God for tape. Okay—here we go.”

Pierce finished stacking his gifts and sat down at the laptop desk while Hal worked away, industrious and absorbed. Some of the fury of their lovemaking the night before had abated, but the underlying tension, that continual need, was gnawing away at Pierce’s stomach.

He was going toneedHal again that night. He was going toneedhim in the morning. Pierce had been mildly paranoid about becoming addicted to pain pills when he’d been released from the hospital—he’d had no idea his most frightening addiction would be the body of the pushy aqua instructor who had just sort of bossed his way into Pierce’s life.

How did you recover from that?

He started searching the internet for massage tables, not even batting an eyelash at the prices. He could do it. Heshoulddo it. He should buy Hal a massage table, so when he decided not to take his parents’ prefab life, he could have a head start into the life of his own.

Two things stopped him from just pushing the button.

The first was that delivery wouldn’t be until after he left for Sasha’s. He imagined Hal, sad and alone—and possibly hungover—the day after Christmas, getting the massage table from the lover who’d wandered into his life and then wandered out again.

He imagined him trying to set a world record for bingeing on greyhounds. He imagined the headline “College Student Dies of Alcohol Poisoning After Receiving a Really Expensive Gift from a Thoughtless Bastard.”

Imagined smashing his own head against his keyboard until the computer didn’t go anymore.

But that was only the first thing.

The second thing was that, even if Hal got it and loved it—took it and became a world-class massage therapist who catered to the stars and owed it all to Pierce and his fabulous gift and the faith he had such a short time to impart—it wouldn’t be enough.

It would feel like a real expensive tip to a therapist—and that’s not what Pierce wanted to give him at all.

“Ta-da!”

Pierce had no idea how long he was lost in an agony of indecision, but he turned around, and Hal stood holding the Lego Christmas tree out in front of him with all the aplomb of an excited twelve-year-old.

Pierce’s heart almost throbbed right out of his chest.

“Let me get a picture,” he said, his smile hurting his cheeks. “C’mon, stand right there—” He motioned to the light, and Hal moved to the optimum spot, a proud smile on his face.

Pierce took the picture, and then another one, and then three more, before Hal snatched the camera out of his hand.

“Jesus, nobody needs that many pictures of me!”

“I do,” Pierce defended grumpily. “It’s important.”