Written in Scars(8)

“Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for asking me.”

“What do you want to drink?”

“I’ll get them. Another beer?”

“No,” Sam said, getting to his feet. “I dragged you all the way back here. The least I owe you is a drink. Besides, you gave me a copy of your book too. So, what’s it to be?”

“Whatever you’ve got, I’ll have the same.”

Slipping into the booth, he watched Sam walk away; admiring his build, his good shoulders and the high curve of his arse. He had to stop that. The boy had been crying. He didn’t need an old man leching over him.

What the problem was, Logan couldn’t imagine. They barely knew each other. Of all the people to call in a crisis. He wondered who he’d reach out to if he had trouble? Probably no one. He had no one close. Not emotionally. He got on well enough with his family, but they weren’t the kind of people to discuss their problems. They just got on with things. When he told his parents he was divorcing Laura and why, he got the impression they’d rather not have known. Nothing unkind was ever said but their silence spoke volumes about their disappointment.

Strangely he had a stronger connection to his ex-wife than anyone. When he confessed his sexually to Laura, it was no surprise to her. She said it was a relief he’d finally accepted a fact she came to terms with years before.

Logan had never been good at talking about his feelings.

Now here he was, a shoulder to cry on for a younger man.

A man he found devastating attractive.

Just how am I going to deal with all this?

Sam returned with the beers. He took off the leather jacket before sliding into the booth. Logan noticed his long, well-muscled forearms, lightly dusted with hair, and the bulge of his biceps; more athletically built than gym-crafted. Sam took a nervous sip of beer. Foam gathered on the bristles of his beard until he licked it away. He raised his eyes to Logan before casting them shyly back to the table.

Logan reached over and put a hand on top of Sam’s arm, gently, no real pressure.

“I’m glad you called me,” he said. “I mean it. We only met for a few minutes at the studio, but I won’t deny it; I felt a strong connection to you. An attraction, for sure, but something more than that. Something deeper. I think you felt it too.”

Sam nodded.

Relieved, Logan continued. “Tell me what’s upset you. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. If that’s what you want.”

Sam, chewing his lip, nodded. He blinked rapidly, seeming to hold back tears, before reaching for his beer and taking a long draught. “I … I don’t know what made me call you. Maybe it’s what you said; there was a connection between us.” He sighed.

Logan took a slow sip of beer, waiting.

Sam told him about the scene he discovered at home. About his husband and the strangers, the drugs, the uncaring attitude. He didn’t cry as the sorry tale unfolded but fiddled with his wedding ring throughout. It seemed to Logan like an unconscious gesture.

Logan listened quietly, without comment or judgement. Johan must be the biggest arsehole in the world. Selfish and self-centred; an ungrateful pig. Married to a wonderful guy like Sam, he got his kicks having drugged-up sex with strangers. The man was an idiot. A complete loser.

“Is this kind of thing out of character?” Logan asked at last. “Picking guys up? Taking drugs?”

“I wish it were,” Sam said sadly. “It never used to be. Things were pretty great in the beginning. I always thought so anyway. We had four good years before it went wrong. Johan had some kind of mid-twenties crisis. He wanted to sleep around and get high. I thought it was a phase. I know other couples who are open to stuff like that, so I agreed. I thought he’d grow out of it after a while. That the novelty would wear off. How stupid was I? It didn’t wear off, it became an even bigger addiction. Hook-up apps, late night parties; the drugs went hand in hand with all that. Soon, he couldn’t separate them. Couldn’t have one without the other.”

“Why do you put up with it?”

“We’re married. That means something. At least to me it does. I’m not sure it means much to Johan anymore. I thought I could change him, help him get better. He OD’d at a party last year. The men he was with dragged him out into the street, so he wouldn’t die on their property. Can you believe that? He called these people friends. It seemed to be the shock he needed. He stopped going out after that, kicked the drugs. Or so I thought.” Sam took another drink. The glass was almost empty. “He’s been using again for a while. I kidded myself he wasn’t, but the signs were all there. I didn’t want to see them. I wanted to believe we were fine. What an idiot.”

“No,” Logan said softly. “Your husband is the idiot. If you ask me, he should be committed.”

Sam laughed bitterly. “I blamed myself. Thought it was my fault he wanted to sleep with all those other men. That I was lacking in something and couldn’t give him what he wanted.”

“If he’s an addict, nothing will ever satisfy him. Not even the chemsex. It will never be enough.”

Sam sat back and wiped his eyes on the palm of his hands. He sighed, long and low. “Thank you. For listening. I haven’t told anyone all this before. There’s a friend at work, Alison, she knows some of it, but not everything. Another friend, Mark, knows a little too, but I’ve been too embarrassed to share it all. But it feels good talking to you.”