Page 39 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)
Gabriel
Liam is gone when I wake up. That’s to be expected, of course.
The man gets up for work at four a.m., and God knows I'd be hard pressed to wake at that hour, even if a tsunami or earthquake or alien invasion rolled through my bedroom. Still, reaching out only to find a cold, empty bed after falling asleep with someone curled up next to me is never a fun experience. Waking without Liam after last night’s care fest and all of his adorable, vulnerable personal disclosures is even worse somehow.
I let myself revel in the way his scent lingers on my sheets until the need for a new box of tissues and round of drugs drives me out of bed.
Then I pack up any thoughts about the way his pale-blue eyes looked almost like pools of silver moonlight in the dark and how good it felt to curl up in strong arms against a chest large enough to make me feel small.
I'm no longer the Gabriel who pines over handsome, pale, blond-haired men who make me soup. That Gabriel belongs firmly in the past, and I don’t appreciate him reappearing in my life and trying to confuse me.
So I argue with him while I'm in the shower and threaten him while I'm eating breakfast soup and beg him while I'm cleaning up the shreds of used tissues that Cupcake has scattered about for me so I can enjoy a disgusting little scavenger hunt. She’s thoughtful like that.
I remind past me just how devastated I’ve been every time I started to fall in love, only to have someone say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” or “I’m just not looking for anything serious right now,” or “I just don’t think we’d be a good fit long term.
” I remind him of all the nights I spent curled up on the couch with a bucket of ice cream and my head on Blue’s shoulder with a broken heart before climbing into bed alone.
I focus on how devastating it was to lose my grandfather and find myself completely alone in the world.
How pointless and frustrating things like showering and eating and going to work felt when someone I loved deeply and completely was suddenly no longer there.
How the spot in my heart that belongs to him will always feel empty.
If I let myself get used to Liam’s shy laughter and home-cooked meals and lickable body in my ropes and my bed, if I let myself actually fall in love - not infatuated with the idea of romance, not jumping ahead and planning a wedding after three dates, but deeply, truly in love with a man who seems to have been created just for me.
How much would it hurt to lose him? Too much for me to justify taking a chance.
I win my battle with past Gabriel eventually, of course.
I’ve known enough loss in my life to convince myself that remaining independent and single is the right choice.
I’ve seen others lose too. After all, it wasn’t all that long ago that I had to watch the way Ethan fell apart when he learned that the only man he’s ever loved aside from Blue had passed away.
I mean, he hadn’t even seen the guy in a decade, and he still ended up a crying, crumbling-to-pieces mess, unable to function for weeks.
He had Blue to help him pull through, but I know there are still days when he hurts.
Being alone sucks, but ending up too broken to put myself back together would be so much worse.
I tuck the memories of Liam taking care of me away, take enough cold pills to become a semi-functional human, and go about my day.
I don’t ignore his kindness, of course, I’m not rude after all, and I send him a thank you text.
Does that text lead to a string of texts between us over the next few days?
Of course, he’s a sweet guy, and I can’t just leave him sitting on “read” when he tells me it was his pleasure to care for me and asks at least three times a day if there’s anything I need and how I’m feeling every morning, but I’m careful to keep my responses polite and professional.
There’s no harm in that. At least not to anyone other than myself.
It’s not like the guy is secretly pining for me and I’m leading him on somehow.
The night Liam spent in my bed was a Thursday, and when it, thankfully, only takes a couple of days of calling out sick and spending my time lounging in bed like a zombie for me to get over my death cold, Liam and I were able to schedule our first combined rehearsal at the aquatic center for the following Tuesday afternoon.
While I went into that rehearsal believing that I’d done a pretty good job creating routines for each of us that line up nicely, nothing could have prepared me for the way it actually looks.
When we arrived at the center, I set my phone up on a tripod to record our first attempt so we could watch the footage and make adjustments.
There was always a chance we could have felt like everything went well, but we actually looked completely ridiculous.
Thankfully, that’s not what happened. Not even close.
We look like magic together. Our movements are smooth and flowing, and we mirror each other perfectly.
We make small adjustments after the first and second runs, but overall, the whole thing looks like we’ve been working on it for years.
We float through the universe like we’re made from water and air.
Like slipstreams and tides. We move like one body and one soul.
The way his hair and tail fins flutter around him as he flips and glides is exactly the same way my silks wrap and release and flow from my limbs.
We move together and apart and together, and it looks like a fantasy come to life.
Before we even finish our first pass, we’ve drawn a crowd.
Even though Tuesday afternoons are one of the center’s slowest times, there are employees and parents and piles of kids with their faces pressed up against the glass, their little eyes wide and staring up at us like they’ve just seen faeries or dragons appear right before their eyes.
It’s one of the most emotional rehearsals I’ve ever experienced.
I’ve loved performing my entire life. Every show I’ve ever done, big or small, has brought a high I can’t explain, and I’ve been lucky enough that most of them have been amazing experiences.
They’ve been complex and exciting and well-received, and I’ve walked away with a sense of accomplishment I’ve never been able to recreate in any other context.
I’ve learned from each of them as well. In some cases, I’ve learned new performance skills to add to my repertoire, like pole and fire dancing.
Other times, I’ve learned a bit more about scheduling or venue design, or the importance of good music equipment, or set and costume design.
I’ve gained something from every performance I’ve ever taken part in, even if sometimes the things I’ve gained have simply been life or business lessons.
On the rare occasions the events themselves haven’t been spectacular, I’ve still found enjoyment in losing myself to the movement, in working hard to perfect my execution, in creating new partnerships, or in rekindling relationships with old colleagues.
There’s something to appreciate in almost every situation if you look for it, and I’ve always been a glass-half-full kind of guy.
This performance, though…this one is something special and new and once in a lifetime.
The look of wonder and awe on the viewers’ faces, the fact that Liam and I are such a cohesive team without even trying, the way I came up with the concept and design and choreography entirely on my own…
no other performance has ever felt like this.
We watch the first recording while hanging out on the high cement platform in the little locker room cave.
Liam is just as quiet as he usually is, but it’s obvious he thinks we’re creating something astonishing as well.
He grins so wide that I worry his cheeks are going to hurt for a week as he pats my leg and nearly vibrates with excitement.
There are a few stray grey hairs speckled throughout his blond I’ve never noticed before that shine in the bright fluorescent lights, and the water reflecting up into his pale-blue eyes shifts them from nearly silver to azure.
It’s so hard not to lose myself in their depths.
In the way he smiles so often and blushes so quickly and the easy comradery that’s developed between us.
I manage, barely, and I’m every bit the consummate professional as we practice again and again, running through the entire thing half a dozen times as we make small changes and adjust our timing to make specific moves easier for the other.
I’m the same polite professional when we meet a few days later on Saturday morning to rehearse again - and on the Wednesday night after that.
I’m the most polite professional who’s ever existed during the entire three weeks we spend rehearsing time and time again before our opening performance on the first Saturday afternoon in August.