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Alex Manes has been sitting in the same spot for three hours now. He has gone through all the emotions: hope, anxiety, concern, anger, worry… before finally settling on this, this deep disappointment, this overwhelming sadness.
He has sent Michael several texts and has tried calling but the call went straight to voicemail. Half an hour ago he finally caved and texted Isobel to ask her if Michael was okay. Out of the Evans Twins, Isobel might be the more terrifying of the two, but Alex couldn’t even imagine just reaching out to Max out of the blue.
He’s fine. I think he stopped by the Pony on the way back, came the reply in two texts, a few minutes ago. That was about the time when the worry shifted. He figured Michael probably wasn’t coming, but he couldn’t make himself move. It was as if he was stuck, glued to the spot, weighted down by this feeling. An emptiness was growing in him, an overwhelming sense of loss. That was silly, he told himself. He didn’t lose anyone. Guerin wasn’t his to lose to begin with and, moreover, it’s not like he was dead! They could still be friends, even if Michael seemed to have made a choice. That’s right, they could still be friends, Alex told himself, trying very hard to believe in that, pushing the emptiness away.
Finally feeling ready, he pushed himself to his feet. Feeling steady for the first time since Isobel texted him back, he went towards his car only to feel himself sway a little when he heard the sound of gravel crushed under tires.
Damn it.
Sure enough, Michael’s truck pulled up to the Airstream just as Alex reached his car.
“Alex,” Michael said quietly, stepping out onto the gravel. He gave Alex a once over, an unreadable expression on his face. Alex felt so foolish. He was so nervous when he was getting ready earlier today. He had this sudden urge to impress, even though Michael was probably the only person in this town if not in the whole state that saw him at his worst (also, naked, but that’s besides the point). He still took way too long, for a military man, to carefully pick out his clothes and tame his hair. When he was leaving, he stopped in front of his mirror and looked closely at the leather jacket and the maroon sweater and the boots and the hair and he thought he looked good, really good. But now, under Michael’s scanning eye, after waiting in the middle of the junk yard for almost four hours, fully understanding that nothing he could say or do will bring them together, he just felt like an idiot.
“You’re still here,” Michael said quietly. It wasn’t a question and Alex struggled to place his tone. Michael definitely didn’t seem excited to see him.
“Just leaving,” Alex replied, reaching for his car handle. He tried for a smile, struggling and failing to keep the bitterness out of it.
“Wait,” Michael moved as if he was going to reach out for him, but he stopped himself halfway, “you wanted to talk.” Again, not a question and, again, Alex couldn’t place the tone. He took a long shuddering breath.
“It’s okay,” he replied, going for casual, “we don’t have to.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, as if urging him to go on.
“I texted Isobel,” Alex relented after a moment, but Michael’s questioning look remained.
“I was worried, so I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Alex tried to explain. “You weren’t answering.”
“My phone died,” Michael said, his eyes not leaving Alex’s face.
“Right,” Alex wasn’t going to argue that, “well, she mentioned you went to the Wild Pony. So, I guess anything I can say now is a moot point, anyway.”
“Alex,” Michael tried.
“It’s okay, Guerin,” Alex interrupted him, “you don’t owe me anything, you don’t need to explain.”
“I think,” Michael started, “I think I want to.”
Alex didn’t really want to hear it. He didn’t even know the whole story and it already hurt. He didn’t need anymore salt in his wounds, but he couldn’t walk away. He promised he will not walk away, that he’s done running and if Michael wanted to talk, Alex will listen.
“Maybe we should go in,” Michael suggested, awkwardly shifting from one foot to another.
“I don’t think so,” Alex replied. The last thing he wanted was to have this conversation in a closed, cramped space.
“Do you want to sit down?” Michael asked instead.
“Here is fine,” Alex tried not to panic. Michael raised an eyebrow, but Alex wasn’t looking at him. More past him.
Michael looked Alex over for a moment. Alex wasn’t sure what exactly he saw in his eyes but whatever it was, Michael seemed to relent.
“Ok,” he agreed, “ok, here is fine.”
Alex waited for Michael to say something.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Michael said. Alex bit his tongue. He wanted to ask if Michael even thought about showing up, but decided against it.
“The truth is, I didn’t know how to face you. With everything going on, with Noah and,” Michael seemed to choke on the words, “and Caulfield. It’s just a lot.”
Alex’s eyes softened a little, but he didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really anything he could say. He couldn’t make this better for Michael.
“Seeing you…” Michael tried, but it seemed like he was struggling to get the words out.
“Makes it worse?” Alex guessed suddenly, making Michael look up at him in surprise. Alex felt as surprised as Michael looked. He wasn’t sure where this thought came from but it seemed apt. Only earlier that day, Michael was saying something similar to Isobel but hearing it come out of Alex Manes’ mouth, hearing it spoken in that voice, in that tone… Michael felt something clench tight in his chest.
“You were right, you know,” he said instead of answering, “in Caulfield. I was lying.”
He took a deep breath: “I do love you, Alex. I can’t explain it. It’s like you said, like I said: a connection, something cosmic. And it’s still there. After all these years, this connection, it’s still there, I think it will always be there and I do love you.”
And Alex would’ve let the hope bloom inside him if he didn’t hear the ‘but’ coming from a mile away.
“But,” Michael said, looking at him with a plea in his eyes that Alex couldn’t understand, “I can’t let myself feel it. Not right now. It hurts, Alex. This love, it’s all pain right now, it’s been all pain for a very long time, a reminder of so much hurt.”
Alex couldn’t meet Michael’s eyes. His eyes roamed, looking at everything but Michael’s face: the truck behind Michael, the sand at his feet, the sky, coloured orange by the setting sun, Michael’s scuffed boots, his fidgeting hands… his hands… his hand. All healed. Everything clicked then: Max must have healed it, after all these years. The realization dawned on Alex along with a fire that unfurled in the emptiness that has been growing within him since Isobel’s text. This was all the confirmation he needed. He was right. No matter what Alex did he couldn’t erase what his father had done, what happened to Michael, to them. Not because he didn’t love him enough, not because he wasn’t willing to try, not even because he left, and it took him a decade to return. Not because of anything Alex could change or control but because Michael wouldn’t let him. He would never let him, he would never move forward, not with him. The greatest reminder of their relationship, of how it failed, of the greatest pain it had given them, of the reason Alex left, was on Michael’s body for a decade. And Michael kept that reminder. On purpose. He wanted it there, like a wall growing between them and now that it was gone, the wall remained. Alex felt the burning in him grow, filling his lungs and ears, spreading to his toes and fingers until they curled into fists, but all he said was: “Okay.”
“Okay?” Michael asked, sceptical, but Alex didn’t repeat himself. He turned around and reached for the handle again.
“Alex, wait,” Michael reached for him, “is that all you’re going to say?”
And as Michael’s hand reached his arm and tugged him back around, the fire reached Alex’s eyes and he saw red.
“What do you want me to say?” Alex tried keeping his voice from rising, only just succeeding. “What do you want to hear?”
“Anything,” Michael said, dropping Alex’s arm as if he was burned.
“Anything?” Alex said back, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “How about this: Max healed your hand.”
Michael looked surprised at the change of topic but Alex just went on: “All these years, he could’ve healed it but he didn’t because you didn’t let him. Did I get that right?”
He didn’t wait for an answer: “It was a reminder, right? You kept it as a reminder of the pain, a reminder that if you love me, it will hurt. That these feelings you have for me will never bring you anything but pain.”
“No,” Michael said, sounding like a child in a hurry to explain to his parent why he shouldn’t be punished, “it wasn’t about you. It was about humanity, about this place, these people–”
“Oh, come on, Guerin,” Alex shot back in anger, “you expect me to believer that? After everything you told me about how loving me hurts?”
“That’s not,” Michael tried, “it’s not… you’re twisting it!”
“Am I?” Alex challenged, and the anger rang clear in his voice, “then don’t tell me it hurts to love me. Because if you do, because if it does then nothing I say will matter.”
“That’s not true,” Michael tried.
“It is,” Alex shot back, “it is true. Admit it. It doesn’t matter what I say, what I do, it won’t change anything. It doesn’t matter that you never look away because you made up your mind years ago.”
“What does that supposed to mean?” Michael shot back angry. “You left.”
“Yes,” Alex agreed, “I left. I was eighteen, just like you, and I was scared, and I felt like I didn’t have much of a choice. I shouldn’t have but I did because I couldn’t picture what my life would have been like had I stayed! You couldn’t even look at me after what happened. I could choose to go where my father pointed or I could gamble everything and hope you came around. What kind of choice was that? But you… you could choose, and you chose. You didn’t let Max heal your hand. You took it and you built a wall on top of it and that was that.”
“What was I supposed to do? What should I have done?” Michael said, challenge in his voice. “Was I supposed to let Max heal it and just forget about it? Move on and play house with you?”
“It’s not about what you should have done then. It’s what you could have done now,” Alex replied, picking his words carefully. Suddenly, all the fight, all the anger rushed out of him, leaving only pain and emptiness behind. He wanted to tell him, tell Michael that it wasn’t too late. That they both made mistakes but that they weren’t beyond fixing them. Except Michael already made his choice. He didn’t want to fix anything. So instead Alex said, “you talk about pain as if you’re the only one that feels it.”
He wrapped his arms around his middle, as if trying to hold everything together.
“Don’t talk to me about pain,” Alex said, almost a whisper. “I know pain. I know pain because every minute hurts. Every breath hurts.”
Alex wasn’t looking at him, so he didn’t see how Michael’s expression changed into something scared and worried. Michael felt the urge to reach forward but Alex wasn’t done talking.
“Every time I close my eyes all I see is blood and sand. I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t draw a breath. I walk around this town and every corner, every crack in the pavement, every brick is a reminder of a loss. I look in the mirror and I see it all reflecting back to me in my eyes. Every day is like I’m drowning. Like I’m hearing these echoes all around me, like I see the light on the surface, and I’m straining for it. I’m trying to reach it, to break the surface but I can’t. I can’t draw a breath, I’m holding it and it’s burning in my lungs and that’s all I can do. There’s nothing else for me. I can drown, or I can stay there and keep reaching for it. So, don’t talk to me about pain, Michael,” Alex finishes, so quiet, Michael might’ve missed it.
A shiver runs down Michael’s spine at the whisper of his name. His eyes are burning like he’s about to cry. Alex sways dangerously, still not looking at him and Michael reaches for him, wrapping his arms around him, holding him up.
“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers into Alex’s hair but he can’t say what he’s apologizing for, “I’m sorry.”
Alex wraps his arms around Michael in return, feeling Michael’s hold on him tighten and for a moment he actually feels like he can draw a breath, like the pain eases, the fire goes out, the emptiness fills up. But he can’t say that to Michael. Can’t tell him that he makes Alex’s head go quiet if he can’t do the same for Michael. Of course he can’t, because Michael made a choice and he didn’t choose him.
“It’s okay,” Alex whispers back. “It’s okay, Guerin. I’m sorry, too.”
It takes a moment, maybe a minute – Alex isn’t sure – but he finally untangles himself from Michael’s embrace. He steps back to his car, gets in, and drives away.