Chapter 4: Unbidden Thoughts

Eddie ground his teeth so hard he could feel the enamel chipping away, and felt powerless to stop himself. "Madam. If you could look here, you would understand why that is not a feasible idea for a wedding gown. This design will not work with an unforgiving fabric, like silk. There are plenty of fabrics available that would work, if you could just…"

"If you can't make a silk gown, just say so," said the bride-to-be, turning up her nose.

"I can make a silk gown, I just would not be able to fit you into it, especially not if you insist on ordering a size smaller than your measurements because of some mythical diet," said Eddie.

The bride-to-be and her mother sat staring in shock. "We do not have to take this," said the mother of the bride. "We drove here, all the way from Denver, and here we are, being insulted! This is some convoluted excuse to make it our fault that you cannot perform a simple request."

Eddie opened his mouth to say something vile in response, but Waylon intercepted.

"Hello, ladies," said Waylon, smiling brightly. "I apologize for my husband."

Both of the women exchanged a quick glance. Waylon was wearing a black dress with a pattern of tiny white flowers, and a matching headband. The two customers were dressed nicely, but Waylon's fashionable ensemble easily outshone them. "I couldn't help overhearing the problem, and I wanted to help you both. Please, if you'll follow me, I have a fabric book that will demonstrate what my husband is failing to explain. You have to forgive him, he's always so passionate about his work."

Waylon led the women to a table, and opened up a book he had organized himself. It contained swatches of fabrics Eddie owned, or could order. Waylon carefully explained, in polite and careful terms, how many people who want silk actually just want a silken look, which is achievable using more forgiving fabrics.

"The dress is exponentially more comfortable, and no one will know it is not pure silk. My husband never puts tags in his creations, so no one will ever know the difference—except you. And you will be thankful, once you start to sweat, and you do not have to worry about ruining the silk. You have much bigger things to worry about at your wedding day than something so easily managed."

The women ate it up. They loved Waylon. The mother of the bride signed a contract, and put a large deposit on the wedding gown. Eddie rejoined them to help with the design process, and answered their questions about the minutia of creating a gown. By the time they exited the shop, they were completely satisfied, and promised to return the next week with the entire wedding party to discuss the bridesmaid dresses and tuxedos.

After the door bell signaled their exit, Eddie turned and stared at Waylon. "You are…"

"Amazing? I know," said Waylon, a smug grin appearing on his face. "Is this how I helped before? You have terrible people skills, you know…"

"I can't believe you...that...that job you just won. It's going to mean the difference in life or death for the shop. And my project...You're an absolute blessing…"

"You should let me help out with more of the business," said Waylon, blushing at the praise. "I don't know how I used to be, but I know how I want to be, moving forward. And I want to help you, however I can."

Eddie's face attempted to smile, but the result was probably more or less a wobbly straight line. The guilt. Oh, the soul crushing guilt. A small voice in his head seemed to whisper that the man's debt had been repaid. Eddie no longer had any reason to punish Waylon, or treat him unkindly.

A voice urged Eddie to come clean—right then and there. He ignored it. Instead, he swept Waylon into a tight hug. "Thank you, darling."

That evening, Waylon was digging through more boxes in the living room. "Hey, these are my documents that you brought to the hospital. I'm taking back my driver's license, unless you have any objections?"

"Oh," said Eddie, pursing his lips as he tried to think of a reason against the proposal. "I suppose that will be fine."

"You suppose?" asked Waylon, grinning at the plastic card. "Hmm. Twenty eight? This barely looks like me."

"You had a different haircut," said Eddie.

"And a different hairline? I don't have a widow's peak…"

"You had taken to styling it different…" said Eddie.

"It doesn't say on here that I am certified to operate a motorcycle?" asked Waylon.

"Is that a problem?"

"Well, Frank and Dennis said that I like to ride motorcycles. They have so many pictures of me in that suit and helmet."

"Ah, yes, well, about that…you only rode the motorcycles for fun and performance, never for transportation, so you did not feel the need to take the official course," said Eddie.

"Hmm, what a waste," said Waylon, tucking the card away in a deep pocket on his black floral dress. "I think it would be cooler if I had the credentials to back up my daredevil antics. I don't feel very much like a daredevil, at all. I think I might be too scared to ride a motorcycle, now."

"Oh, don't push yourself so hard! You have to think of your sprained ankle. Your memory will return one day, and then…" you will hate me, leave me, and know exactly what kind of petty, cruel person I can be. "…you'll be right back to your old self." The pretentious prick that had first walked into the shop.

Waylon hummed in agreement and lifted up another piece of paper. "I took a pottery course?"

"Yes."

"Was I any good?"

"No, I'm afraid you were absolutely horrible. You personally broke and buried all evidence that you ever attended the class."

"But it says here that I passed with ah 'E' for Excellent," said Waylon, frowning.

"It's a course at the rec center, everyone makes an 'E' just for attending," said Eddie.

"Ah," said Waylon, setting the paper aside. "It's so strange, trying to figure out who I am—and who you are. I had some other questions if you didn't mind?"

"What more do you wish to know?" asked Eddie, struggling to keep the worry out of his tone.

"How did you learn to sew?" asked Waylon.

"My mother taught me from a young age," said Eddie. "She was a decorated seamstress. She was very busy supporting our family. I did not see her much when I was small…"

"Was your father also in the business?" asked Waylon.

"My…my father…well," Eddie's mouth had suddenly gone dry and he forced back the most unpleasant memories. "He was perfect. Like I said, we were a family right out of Leave it to Beaver. This house belonged to my mother, before she died. I moved in, and inherited everything in it. I miss her. Dearly," said Eddie, before realizing his admission and clearing his throat.

"Have you and I lived here since we've been together?" asked Waylon. Eddie nodded in response. "But you said there was a fire that destroyed all of our photographs?"

"Ah yes, the shed burnt down. It's where you stored most of your personal things and our photographs," said Eddie, smoothly.

"What shed? I hadn't noticed any other buildings on the property," said Waylon, frowning.

"Obviously you wouldn't see it if it burnt down," said Eddie, feeling irritation rising in his tone. The more lies he told, the more he seemed to keep trapping himself. Waylon's curiosity was dangerous. Eddie frowned and avoided meeting Waylon's gaze.

"I'm sorry for bringing up sensitive subjects. I can tell talking about some of these things is painful for you. I just have no idea about you, other than what I see now," said Waylon.

"What do you see now, then?" asked Eddie, forgetting his agitation. He sat up straighter, striking a statuesque post as Waylon looked him up and down and pursed his lips.

"You are very caring to the dogs. You take good care of me. You are a hard worker. You're prickly with most people—but you are patient with those that you care about. You have a bit of a hoarding problem, but, other than that…I think I was a lucky man, to find someone like you. I'm actually sad that I don't remember how we met."

"Ah, how we met," said Eddie, staring down at his hands. "You walked through the door of my shop, and…well, you made me rather angry with your demands."

Waylon laughed out loud, and Eddie could not stop himself from finding it a most delightful sound. He wanted to hear it more often. It was a nice change to see Waylon smiling and laughing instead of frowning and crying himself to sleep.

"So, no love at first sight?" asked Waylon, grinning.

"Absolutely not," said Eddie, shaking his head. He had a clear picture in that moment of Waylon the first day they had met. His useless, bored expression while Lisa had refused the dresses. The smug grin when he had threatened Eddie with litigation. The angry, frightened expression in his eyes when Eddie had grabbed him by the arm. "You were horrible. I couldn't stand you."

"Ouch. What changed your mind?" asked Waylon. Eddie did not answer for several breaths as he remained absorbed in the vile memories of that terrible day. He seemed to remember that Waylon had asked something and he was shocked back to the present.

"Changed? Oh, well…" Eddie stared at Waylon, sitting on the sofa in his dress. His blond hair was brushed back and held in place by a headband. His soft brown eyes were wide and curious, reminding Eddie of a doe he had once encountered on an early morning walk. In that instant, he found it impossible to reconcile the pushy asshole from the shop that day with the gentle, doe-eyed man sitting in his house. "I suppose you grew on me."

"I should hope so, since we are married now," said Waylon, snickering softly.

"Yes, of course," said Eddie, nodding as he stared down at his hands. It was unnerving to lie to Waylon while staring into those innocent brown eyes. "I may have had the wrong impression of you in the beginning. I realized the mistake and started trying to prove myself to you-to show you the best of myself. And you began to accept me. And it was the best feeling I had experienced in my entire life…" Eddie was shocked when he realized, after he said it, that it was true. It was a relief to be able to tell Waylon something true.

Waylon smiled and put aside the papers. "I'm going to get ready for bed," he said, standing up. He paused before walking into the bathroom, glancing back into the living room where Eddie sat. "I forgot to mention something else I see now."

Eddie felt himself freeze at the strange expression on Waylon's face. His cheeks were flushed, his hands restless, and his eyes canted down to the floor, as though unable to look up.

"You are very tall, and handsome. I find you very attractive." And with that shy admission, Waylon hurried into the bathroom, and shut the door behind himself, probably louder than intended.

Eddie could only stare, baffled. That new complication was definitely not part of his revenge plan.

Another week passed pleasantly. The next Sunday, Waylon insisted that they go into town together to shop. He was wearing a yellow sundress with a boat cut neckline that fell just above his knees, and a pair of grass green flats. Eddie had almost forgotten how strange it was that Waylon was wearing dresses everyday until he saw the reaction of people around the town.

Eddie had already grown to expect and appreciate Waylon's carefully orchestrated outfits. After three weeks, they were no longer strange to Eddie, and he no longer considered them part of any punishment for Waylon, either. Though he thought the Waylon Park he had met that day with Lisa may see it a bit differently.

Eddie detested shopping for food for himself and tended to eat canned or frozen meals. Waylon possessed a knack for finding deals and planning meals in advance. After they had the groceries loaded in the truck, Waylon stood staring at the discount department store located adjacent to the supermarket.

"Eddie," said Waylon, taking a deep breath as though preparing for something serious, "I know that I used to wear dresses, like this. But I feel different lately. I might want to dress differently, now. People…well, they tend to stare."

A family of four very obviously walked out of the supermarket pushing a shopping basket and stopped in their tracks, staring at Waylon. Eddie might have suspected that Waylon had planned it that way, until he noticed all of the other people also double-checking when they passed Waylon—wondering whether it was a woman or a man, most likely. In fact, there were more people stopping to stare than there were people passing without noticing him. Perhaps it was because the particular shade of yellow that day was especially fetching. Eddie thought Waylon looked lovely.

"It never bothered you before," said Eddie, hedging.

"I know. But…I'm sorry if this seems wrong, but, I almost don't care what I used to be. I only care about what I am now. And maybe I don't want to wear dresses anymore. Maybe I want to wear more casual clothes like, pants, and jeans, and…"

Eddie sighed and stared away. Lately, he was feeling more and more guilty about what he was doing to Waylon. Allowing him to wear men's clothing was not even giving up much. So, why was he so disappointed? Could it be that something inside of him truly enjoyed the way Waylon looked in his dresses? The way the cut flattered his figure and showed off his masculine shoulders, or the way the short hem left his shapely lower legs visible.

Eddie could tell that Waylon had been shaving them, though they had never talked about it after he had first mentioned it. The idea of Waylon shaving in the shower filled Eddie with a deep longing he refused to indulge. Finally, Eddie turned and met Waylon's eyes.

"I only want you to be happy. You can dress however you please," said Eddie.

Waylon smiled at the statement, and shook his head. "It's something to think about. I like this dress, so it's fine for today." Waylon chuckled as a look of childish delight spread across Eddie's face as he absorbed Waylon's statement.

"I don't deserve you, darling," said Eddie. It was undeniably the truth. "How do you feel about frozen custard?"

"I…I don't think I've ever had any before…wait, have I?" asked Waylon.

"It's richer than normal ice cream, you'll love it. What flavor do you prefer?"

"Uh…surprise me," said Waylon.

"Wait here. I'll be right back," said Eddie. He rushed into the tiny frozen custard shop next to the market.

They were a small, local operation that only carried three flavors on any given day. Eddie ordered two cones with the flavor of the day and waited patiently for his order. On his way out, Eddie had to push the door open with his shoulder as he carried a cone of custard in each hand. He had only managed a few steps outside when…

"Hey, you crazy bitch! Get off, that's mine!"

Eddie's head whipped around, and he noticed a man in a leather jacket rushing toward where a motorcycle was sitting. Already climbing onto the seat was none other than…

"WAY." Eddie rushed toward the motorcycle, though it was too late. The machine roared to life, and Waylon quickly put up his legs and tried out the controls. The machine lurched forward suddenly, and Eddie's heart stopped in his chest. He watched in horror as the motorcycle accelerated down the road, and directly over a large bump, causing it to go airborne for a fraction of a second.

The custard was forgotten and thrown over Eddie's shoulder as he dashed at full speed in the direction the motorcycle had gone. To his shock and horror, the machine decelerated and came to a complete, though shaky, stop. Eddie sprinted and reached the motorcycle in time to see Waylon turn it off and dismount, laughing.

"Did you see that?" asked Waylon. He could not stop the giggles bubbling forth.

"You bitch, trying to steal my motorcycle, why, I'll…" the motorcycle owner in his leather jacket was tall and intimidating.

"You'll do what?" asked Waylon, standing up taller in his flats and dress. He was no where near as tall as the man but soon Eddie was close behind him, looming over his shoulder. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm a black belt in karate."

"Darling," said Eddie, pulling at Waylon's arm, though he resisted.

"If I can ride a motorcycle without remembering, I can probably still do the karate too! It'll come to me, just how Jackie Chan taught me…"

"Is this some kind of fucking joke?" demanded the angry biker. "Is this a hidden camera show? Jackie Chan doesn't even know karate, he does kung fu."

Eddie pushed Waylon out of the way and leveled a murderous glare at the man. The biker quickly backed down under Eddie's blue gaze.

"There was no harm. Way was merely borrowing it, and he will not do that again. Isn't that right, darling?"

"I won't drive his motorcycle again, but I want to drive a motorcycle again! That was fun! I have never felt so…so alive. That I can remember, that is. You told me I was a daredevil, and I didn't believe you, but…that rush. That adrenaline! Oh, my hands are still shaking…what did he mean about Jackie Chan not knowing karate?"

Eddie rushed to put an arm around Waylon and pulled him close, his arms using enough force to almost crush the other man. "I'm sure it's a very common name, probably a different Jackie Chan. I was so worried about you, darling."

"Really? How did you ever cope then, when I was doing jumps over cars and stuff?" asked Waylon.

"I…I didn't. It killed me every time I had to watch you in danger," said Eddie.

"Then, why did I continue to do it?" asked Waylon. He lifted one of his hands and cupped Eddie's cheek. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

Waylon was close—too close. Both of them were flushed with hearts racing and emotions high. Eddie licked his lips. He was suddenly thinking about something he had never intended. Something common for married people, but not common for two perfect strangers—two enemies.

He wanted Waylon. Somehow, his plan had backfired, and now he was holding Waylon and fighting every cell in his body that wanted to devour him whole, right there in the middle of the Leadville shopping district. The new feeling was completely foreign to Eddie.

"You ever touch my bike again…"

"You should be honored," said Waylon, laughing as he proclaimed, "your bike was ridden by the Wayde Gluskin: Daredevil!"

"No, no, threats won't be necessary," said Eddie, grabbing Waylon's hand and leading him back toward the truck. "We won't be bothering you again. Have a great day."

They walked in silence. The tension was new, and it was uncomfortable. Both men seemed intent on studying the direction the clouds were moving across the sky. It was preferable to dwelling on what exactly was going on between them.

Back at the house, Eddie watched as Waylon attempted to teach the dogs how to shake hands. Stinky was a natural. Sebastian and Biter were not as quick. Once Waylon was out of bacon, he wiped off his hands, and pet the dogs each, equally, before sitting on the couch.

Eddie paced the living room instead of sitting in his usual chair. He carefully claimed a seat beside Waylon on the sofa. He noticed the way Waylon immediately tensed and looked at him.

"Darling…I have been meaning to ask you," said Eddie, trailing off as he searched for the right words.

"Yes?"

"Are you having, well, are you remembering anything about your, uh, life before?" asked Eddie.

"No," said Waylon, frowning. He stared down at his hands which were suddenly restless in his lap. "I mean, I don't know." Waylon paused to take a breath. "Sometimes, I feel…something…for you. And I wonder if I'm not, maybe, remembering, in some way, that we were together. I catch glimpses of why I would have married you."

The short distance between them on the couch was suddenly dangerous. Eddie had to swallow to wet his dry throat as he turned his head and saw Waylon staring at him. "You…" started Eddie, though he quickly dropped the question. Did Waylon mean he had fond feelings? Or was it more friendship? It was pointless to have him clarify in the end. It wouldn't matter in a few weeks, at most.

"Other than…that, nothing?" asked Eddie, feeling his blood pressure increase despite his attempts not to dwell on Waylon's words.

"No," said Waylon. Eddie risked another glance and saw that Waylon was staring at his lap. His cheeks were a rosy flush, and he bit at his bottom lip. It was quite possibly the most alluring thing Eddie had ever seen in his life. Eddie forgot to breathe for a moment too long.

"Well," said Eddie, standing up from the sofa. "Long day at the shop, tomorrow. Three appointments. We should get some sleep."

"Yes," whispered Waylon.

Eddie left him alone in the living room, and returned to his own bed. The dogs followed him as well. He took off his shirt and prepared to sleep, but his thoughts were troubled. There was only one thought ringing through his mind.

Tell him.

Eddie needed to tell Waylon the truth. Soon. Eddie decided that he would make a call to Lisa in the morning. He still had all of Lisa and Waylon's wedding information in his customer files—along with the sizable bill they refused to pay. In the morning, he would make it right.

Just as Eddie had made up his mind, he was distracted by a noise coming from the paper thin wall separating his bedroom from the living room. At first, he worried that Waylon was crying. Eddie had been forced to listen to him cry himself to sleep every night during the first week. Waylon had not cried in some time, and Eddie found himself trying to count the days since Waylon had moved into his home.

A soft moan completely derailed his musings. Eddie's eyes went wide and he stared at the shared wall in horror. What exactly was Waylon doing on the other side of that wall?

Another moan. Shit. Eddie was torn between covering his ears and moving to press his cheek against the wall. His emotions were at war as he held his breath in order to hear better.

A shuffling of cloth. A ragged breath. The creaking of the sofa cushions. A soft gasp. An uncontrollable moan. And then… "Eddie."

All of Eddie's attempts to keep his arousal in check disappeared in that moment. He thrust his hand down his roomy pajama pants. He felt ashamed, but the feeling was overshadowed by the growing need. He had never had consensual sex with a man, and he had not been with a woman in over ten years. How was it that this man in the next room suddenly made him feel helpless to resist the urge to rush to the living room and pleasure him all night long.

He wanted to touch Waylon. He thought about it, as he touched himself. His brain created a picture of Waylon on the couch, nightgown hiked up, on his back with his knees raised. Did he use one hand, or two? Perhaps one to softly fondle his balls, and press lower. Waylon was moaning his name. What would he do if Eddie were to walk into the living room in that moment? Did Waylon want Eddie to touch him? Enter him—to make love to him? Did Eddie want that? The thought alone brought Eddie to the edge, though he a held back. He wanted to savor, listen, and learn.

After a few minutes, Waylon's breathing was heavy, each breath audible through the joint wall. And then: "Nnng."

The only thing Eddie wanted in that moment was to replay that sound; to watch it live. The thought made it necessary for him to hold his hand over his cock to contain the mess. And even as he stroked out the last straggling drops, he wanted more. He wanted to make a mess of Waylon. Would he be there, panting, sullied by his own seed? What would happen if Eddie pretended to get up for a cup of water? Would he find Waylon there, lips parted and eyes glazed.

Eddie was still catching his breath when he heard the couch squeak, followed by footsteps headed toward the bathroom, visible from both rooms. Eddie quickly wiped his hand on his pajama pants and rolled to face the opposite wall. He feigned sleep, though his entire body was tense, and his ears strained to hear even the slightest noise from the hallway.

Waylon's steps paused outside of the bedroom door. Eddie panicked, trying to decide what to do if Waylon attempted to come into his bedroom. He wanted to invite him in. He needed to keep him out. Eddie did not have to make a decision because Waylon whispered in the dark, "Goodnight, Eddie," before walking into the bathroom, and shutting the door.

It took hours for Eddie to fall asleep, constantly debating with himself whether Waylon had been able to hear his own transgressions through the wall.