Page 22 of Tossing the Caber

“I know I don’t look it, but that was magic’s doing, not nature.”

Laurel gestures to demand Beacon’s silence. “You weren’t born a woman. No one is. We’re all born asbabies.”

Gritting his teeth against the urge to snap, Beacon says, “You know what I meant.”

Laurel rolls his eyes. “You weren’t born male?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

Beacon waits for what’s next, but nothing comes.

“You favor men,” he says, almost like an accusation. Needing to do something with his nervous energy, Beacon works on the buttons of his white long-sleeved shirt, the arms of which are rolled to his elbows due to the heat.

“And you are a man, as we just established.”

“Yes, but men have?—”

“Penises? Is this about— I’m sorry, you look so scandalized. You’re worried I’ll react poorly to learning you don’t have a prick?”

Beacon frowns. “When you put it like that…”

“It sounds fucking dumb.”

“Ah… yes, it does.”

“So you know why I’m upset, then. You could have told me then and there knowing I would find out eventually, but you chose to run instead, leaving me to wonder what I did wrong.”

Grimacing, Beacon admits, “I didn’t intend for you to…”

“Take it personally?”

He shrugs.

“Well, I did. And now that I know, I’m even more cross.”

Beacon’s face goes hot. He doesn’t want to take off his kilt during a conversation about his lower body, but the sweaty shirt has already cleared his elbows. He has no choice but to shake the cuffs off his wrists, fully exposing his well-muscled chest, dusted with red hair. “I’m sorry you weren’t warned.”

“You still think that’s what I’m angry about? Beacon, I couldn’t care less about what you’ve got under your kilt. I’m upset that you didn’t trust me; you didn’t even give me the chance to prove myself.” Laurel wrings his hands in front of his stomach, obscuring the precious spatter of green freckles above his navel. “I spent two days worried—including ourwedding—all because I thought you liked me until you saw a more mature example of my work.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you what I was lacking.”

“I don’t see it as a lack, which you would have known if you’d given me the chance.”

“I’m sorry.”

They both fall silent, half-dressed and staring at each other from across the room. Suddenly, Beacon is overcome by theurge to sweep Laurel into his arms, to embrace him like they’re proper lovers rather than two men thrust together by expectations beyond their control. Not for the first time, fear keeps him rooted to the spot.

“Beacon…”

He should say something. Heshould.

But he doesn’t.

Laurel sighs. “I need to wash. I’m disgusting.” He doesn’t break their locked gaze when Beacon nods, still waiting for words Beacon just doesn’t know how to produce. Finally, Laurel adds, “You should join me.” It’s bravery Beacon doesn’t have, breaking the stalemate that’s been cutting Beacon off from the intimacy he’s begun to crave.

“Are you sure?” Beacon chokes out.