Return to Carlsbad

By Gabriella West

Three months past his breakup, Aaron is adrift, the only thing sustaining him being his weekly therapy sessions with Marc. But Marc's feelings for Aaron have changed, and this unlikely couple must transition to a new and risky adventure: falling in love at breakneck speed while trying hopelessly to pace themselves.

Cautious and introverted, Marc has issues of his own, for both his marriage and his only other relationship with a man ended suddenly with a great loss. When Aaron asks Marc to drive him to a school reunion in his coastal SoCal hometown of Carlsbad, which harbors darkly painful memories, the new relationship hangs by a thread.

Book 3 of the Elsie Street Trilogy, set in contemporary San Francisco, offers both closure and the hope of lasting happiness to its struggling characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriella West
• Release date: Oct 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463286708

Gabriella West

Gabriella West was born in Santa Barbara in 1967. In 1969, her parents moved to Dublin, Ireland, and she grew up in Ireland, studying English and Italian at Trinity College, Dublin. She graduated and left Ireland in 1988.She earned an MA degree in Creative Writing at San Francisco State University in 1995.She has published nine LGBTQ-themed novels: The Leaving, Time of Grace, Elsie Street, The Pull of Yesterday, and A Knight's Tale: Kenilworth. The follow-up, A Knight's Tale: Montargis, was published March 2018. Return to Carlsbad, the last book in the Elsie Street contemporary gay romance trilogy, was released October 2018. The Knight's Return (2022) completes the Knight's Tale series.Gabriella West lives in San Francisco, CA.

Book preview

Return to Carlsbad

(Elsie Street, Book 3)

Gabriella West

Copyright © Gabriella West 2018

v. 1.2

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Afterword

Other Books by Gabriella West

One

San Francisco, 2011

It was mid-May now and his sore knee was feeling a whole lot better in the balmy air. Aaron ascended the thickly carpeted stairs to his therapist’s office at 6pm without noticing any twinges. He felt a nervous fluttering in his belly, a weird worry that Marc would not be there. Marc had never failed him, of course. With other therapists in the past, he’d gotten calls to rearrange the session, or on a few shitty occasions over the years he’d shown up and they hadn’t been there. But Marc was there every Friday without fail. After three months of therapy, Aaron had come to count on it.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Marc’s door opened. They took each other in. The guy was definitely thinner, Aaron thought. His wide cheekbones were more prominent. He’d been so solid at their first meeting and Aaron had always thought of him as heavy, bulky. But now... He wondered what was up as he checked Marc out behind his lashes, noting the lean lines of his body in his fitted shirt and dark corduroy pants approvingly.

Have you been working out? he asked.

Marc reddened slightly. Biking, he said tersely. I like to do it in spring. Helps with... things.

Aaron could hear the pleasant bubbling of the fountain in the other room. He wished he’d been waiting in there like he usually did. Something was off, he thought.

I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time? he mumbled.

Marc seemed to wince. No. Come in, Aaron. He pushed the door ajar and Aaron walked into the comfortable, familiar room.

His heart had fallen at Marc’s tone. At their last meeting there’d been something off with the guy, too. Aaron had been talking about the abuse, and he’d looked up to see Marc’s hand clenching into a fist on the desk. There had been this awkward, breathless pause. Then Marc had said quietly, Go on. And he had. He’d described in greater detail than he had for Dave the way his mother’s boyfriend had seduced him when he was twelve. Almost thirteen, he said hurriedly, because now twelve seemed like a crazy age and the full import of it hit him every time he went over it. He remembered how in his teens he’d defiantly stressed to therapists that he had been into it, he’d wanted to do it, he’d been curious. But he knew now, under Marc’s compassionate gaze, that that wasn’t the whole truth. He’d had to force himself to talk and, every now and then, force himself to look up. But Marc, too, seemed to be steeling himself to get through the session. He hadn’t said as much as Aaron expected. He’d wanted to feel cleansed, purged, the way other heavy conversations with Marc had made him feel. Marc had helped him so much with the breakup. But this thing...

Triggered him somehow. Aaron sat silently now, his hands in his lap, his black leather messenger bag hanging off the chair.

Marc took a seat behind his desk. Sometimes he sat closer to Aaron, but not this time. He picked up a piece of paper he’d been writing on. It looked like a list.

Oh, shit. He’s dumping me.

Have I done something wrong? Aaron said, his voice louder than usual.

Marc seemed to bite his lip. Aaron, no. It’s just, I wanted to give you this before we started.

He handed it over. It was a list of three therapists’ names, along with phone numbers and email addresses. Two men and a woman.

They’re all good. I’ve referred patients to them before, Marc said. His tone was brisk.

But... I don’t understand.

I know. Marc nodded. I’m sorry, I should have told you at the end of the last session. I don’t feel I’m helping you the way I should be.

But you are!

He almost shouted this. He never shouted. He began to take deep breaths. A panic attack was coming on.

Please, Marc. Don’t do this—

He could see Marc’s face redden, as if with the effort to contain his feelings. Let me explain.

Aaron nodded.

Do you know the way you ask me if I want to go for coffee at the end of every session? Marc asked.

Yes. OK, I’ll stop that! Aaron said quickly.

Aaron, please. Let me talk. Marc held up a hand.

He waited.

Every time you ask, and I know this has sort of become a joke between us, I’m torn. I can’t maintain a professional facade with you anymore. It’s the first time it’s happened to me, but I think it happens to all therapists at one time or another. It’s OK. It’s not your fault and not really mine, but I’ve let you come too close to me. Let me be clear: I’m very, very tempted to say yes every time you ask me out for coffee. And that’s wrong.

Aaron looked down at his Converse sneakers. The man sounded distraught.

It wasn’t a game, he said softly.

He glanced up. Marc was looking at him through glassy eyes. Was he blinking away tears?

It’s not goodbye, Aaron, Marc said. I mean, it is if you want it to be. Or, we can move on to another level. Be friends. I can help you as a friend, and, you know, whatever else. And you can see another professional who will keep it professional. His tone wavered slightly and he cast rueful eyes down to his almost empty desk. It’s my fault entirely. I know you’re just being yourself, mildly flirtatious, and that’s appropriate, but I’ve had a couple tragedies in my personal life in the last five years and I’m just a little more... vulnerable, I guess? I noticed early on that I was attracted to you. But I thought I was doing you some good, too.

You were.

But now... Marc ran his hand through his cropped light-brown hair. It had been shaggy and wavier when they first met, Aaron thought. He’d seemed like a straight guy then, a tolerant straight ally. But it had been a pose. This new Marc was more intense, almost too raw. It was a little too much. Threatening.

Now? Aaron prompted, his tone almost casual.

Yeah, well, after our last session I just sat here for an hour in a daze. Marc’s tone was heavy.

Oh.

I knew I hadn’t been much help. We should have discussed your abuse earlier in the sessions. I can see why you didn’t want to. And I didn’t really want to, either, so I didn’t press you.

Aaron nodded.

There was an awkward silence.

I felt such rage, Marc admitted. Towards that man, Patrick, was that his name?

Aaron nodded.

It scared me. I called my own therapist and we had a long talk. He said I should get off the case. Counter-transference, you know. Marc gave a twisted smile. I felt I’d failed. Failed you and failed myself.

His words trailed off. He shifted uncomfortably.

Aaron felt a strange, warm feeling in his chest. He suddenly wanted to blurt out some crazy thing.

Are you falling in love with me? he asked. Even though all the signs had been there, some part of him still couldn’t believe it.

Marc, his eyes cast down, nodded slowly.

Aaron jumped up, feeling his knee throb. He was filled with a whirl of emotions that he could not name.

Marc, for Christ’s sake, he said. Snap out of it!

Uh, I’m not Nicolas Cage, Marc pointed out with a faint smile. "I’m blanking on the name of that movie. Moon-something?"

Aaron just stood there looking at him. Finally, he forced out:

I’m messed up. I don’t have good boundaries. You really shouldn’t step into this with me. I’m not even capable of love.

Marc looked hurt, shocked, stunned at this pronouncement. He shook his head slightly.

You must know how damaged I am, Aaron repeated.

Marc leaned back in his chair. His gaze had taken on a soft, curious quality.

I don’t see you as you see yourself.

Well, love is blind. Right? Aaron’s tone was harsh, but Marc, for some reason, seemed intrigued by the cliché rather than offended or shut down.

We don’t have to use that word. You asked me a direct question. I fall for people quickly, that’s something you should know about me. Marc shrugged. "If you think you’re damaged, I’m quite stupid in these matters. I’ve only had two relationships in my life."

I’m not a good candidate for a relationship, Aaron whispered. His pale face had turned red and he was sweating.

But he could see that the more he told Marc, the more curious the man got.

I understand. We can move incredibly slowly. Friends first. Nothing more than that, if you don’t want to proceed.

Aaron shook his head. It’s not that simple, Marc.

No?

You’re putting all this energy into someone you probably aren’t compatible with. He forced the words out through a growing sense of panic.

Aaron, Marc said earnestly, I would never stalk you, or push you into... I don’t expect anything going forward, but I can’t go on being your therapist. It feels wrong when you pay me, for example. Don’t pay me for this session.

Looking down, Aaron nodded.

When Marc was a stodgy straight guy, when he’d seen him that way, he’d opened up to him, he’d wanted to be close to him. But now, it was as if there was a sharp needle piercing his heart.

This sucks, Marc, he said, stuffing the piece of paper into his bag. You’ve let me down.

He wanted out. He glanced at the door.

Marc picked up a pencil and began to play with it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Marc’s long fingers manipulate the pencil. He remembered something.

Did you say you painted? he asked curiously.

Marc nodded, not meeting his eyes, all his attention on the pencil. Some therapist trick, Aaron thought. It was effective, because he was calming down.

You’ll have to show me them sometime.

The pencil dropped gently on the desk. Marc looked at it for a moment, as if deciding.

How about tonight? he responded. My car’s parked around the corner.

When Aaron hesitated, Marc said, Just friends for now. No sex expected.

Aaron noticed his own pang of disappointment with detachment. Of course, the minute the guy says no sex, you want it, he chided himself. Idiot.

He gave a pleasant smile. Right. Yeah. I haven’t had sex since Dave left. A few months. How long’s it been for you?

Marc paused, still at his desk. He got up unhurriedly and gathered his things. Ages, he replied, eyes averted.

Oh. What’s ages mean to you?

Marc’s face had stiffened and when he glanced at Aaron, Aaron was shocked to see a look of pain in his eyes.

Two years, if you must know, he said with an effort. Something bad happened to someone I was seeing, and I stopped. Just stopped.

You can do celibacy, Aaron mused.

Marc came to his side. Their hands touched briefly as Marc walked past him. Aaron noted the zing.

I can. Sometimes it’s easier. I don’t like casual sex, so porn is good enough for me.

Hmm, Aaron said, leaving the room and glancing at it for what might be the last time. I’m the opposite, but that’s OK. Maybe I’m changing.

Marc pushed the door closed and the lock clicked. They stood looking at each other. The carpeted hallway was softly lit. He couldn’t read Marc’s expression now.

We always hugged after, Aaron said softly.

Do you want a hug, Aaron?

Well, sure. I’m sorry I was so rude in there.

You weren’t rude, Marc answered. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Aaron. They embraced briefly. Aaron pressed his face into the guy’s neck, feeling the pulse of his throat, the faint sweaty smell of his skin from his ride earlier.

He felt Marc’s heart beating too and then his own, and then the slight stiffening they both developed at this contact. He looked anxiously into Marc’s eyes and the man looked down. Just a little; Marc was only an inch or two taller. His eyes seemed tender. It was so strange, Aaron thought, that they both had the same rich, dark brown irises.

Are you Jewish? he asked suddenly. I’m part Jewish on my mom’s side. It’s just, your coloring...

Marc swallowed. Yeah. As a matter of fact... my father... He trailed off.

Oh, is your dad still alive?

Very much so. He’s a math professor at UC San Diego. Marc’s lips were set in a grim line.

Doesn’t approve of his queer therapist son? Aaron jested.

Again, pain flickered across Marc’s face. No, not really. He’s been unpleasant about all my life decisions, actually. Even my marriage, which you would have thought...

Oh, you were married? To a woman?

I got married right out of college, yeah, Marc said. Does it matter to you? It’s a turn-off to some guys, I get the impression.

No. Since they still lingered there and Aaron was feeling fond of him, and sorry for him, he impulsively stepped forward, tilted his head up slightly, and kissed Marc on the lips.

He pulled back, his heart pounding.

Marc looked shocked, pleased, and then he carefully schooled his features. Whoa, he said.

Aaron smiled. Sorry. I’m a piece of work.

Yes, you are. Marc shook his head, took a deep breath as if considering what to do next, and then... turned away. He headed down the stairs and Aaron followed, watching his long back, his muscular ass.

He’s gotta be a top, right? Aaron thought. But the straight marriage was a good clue that he was. He wondered about this ex of Marc’s. Something told him that she was gone now, no longer alive. One of the tragedies Marc had mentioned. One of the two relationships.

This was going to be hard. Marc cared about him, had enormous restraint, but had also propelled them forward into a place that Aaron found uncomfortable to be.

The closer they got emotionally, the harder it was going to be to fuck, Aaron told himself clinically. Which meant they needed to do it soon. It wasn’t impossible, he supposed. It was just that he was probably going to ruin everything before it started. This wasn’t a good way to start a relationship. He had made Marc feel out of control, like a bad therapist. He’d lost his therapist, his steady Friday night date, only to gain... he wasn’t sure.

At the door to the street they paused, looking up into the blue sky.

Pretty evening, Marc said, his voice suddenly relaxed.

They exchanged a look. Aaron felt his heart speed up as Marc smiled. He looked young and sexy when he let his earnest expression relax.

Oh, wait, aren’t you on a bike? Aaron said.

No, I took the car today. I went for a ride at lunchtime along Marina Green, though.

Marc seemed to want to say something more. Aaron looked at him enquiringly.

I couldn’t kiss you up there, he said, gesturing to the stairs. I wanted to.

Rain check, Aaron said, glancing up at the blue sky. Marc’s eyes twinkled.

You will call one of the other therapists, won’t you? Promise me? he asked.

Of course! Aaron said lightly. He would have promised anything at that moment.

Come home and have a meal with me. Then I’ll take you back.

Aaron grinned. You cook, too?

Sure, there are things I’m pretty good at. Marc shrugged. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?

Aaron shook his head. Nope.

His heart felt giddy.

Where do you live anyway, Marc? he asked as they walked down a quiet street parallel to Union.

Potrero Hill, just a one-bedroom basement apartment. How about you?

Bernal Heights, Aaron replied. They were close enough to be kissing cousins, he thought, remembering an odd phrase his mother had used.

I have my own home, he said. It was kind of foolish to blurt it out like that, and he might have already told Marc—he couldn’t remember.

I rent, Marc said easily, pressing the button on his key fob. A car beeped in the distance. Instead of Dave’s old Toyota, Aaron soon found himself looking at a shiny, new-looking dark blue Honda Civic with a bike locked to the rack.

I know, it’s not sexy, Marc said. It’s a couple years old.

Dave had a Toyota.

Did he? Marc seemed unaffected by mentions of Dave, which Aaron found interesting.

A really old junker. Circa 1998 or something, Aaron hastened to add.

Those were good years. Marc seemed amused. Aaron heard the passenger-side door lock click, so he opened it and carefully maneuvered himself in. He saw Marc watching him, beside him now in the driver’s seat.

It’s my knee, he said, doing up his seatbelt.

I get it, Marc said, starting the engine. If you want to push the seat back, go ahead. There’s usually no one riding with me, so...

Aaron pushed a lever and felt the ease in his leg as he stretched it out. He leaned back against the well-upholstered seat and watched Marc’s tanned hand on the gear shift.

You seem to like watching my hands, Marc said.

Busted. Yeah, it’s something I do.

With guys, right? Marc’s tone was teasing.

Only with guys, Aaron agreed. He felt comfortable with Marc. Marc kept pitching the conversation to a level he liked. He felt like Marc understood him. Dangerous.

It’s weird we’re both SoCal boys, he said almost drowsily as they drove down Van Ness. He saw the bus line that he would regularly ride after the appointment and smiled to himself as they passed the slow-moving vehicle.

Well, I wouldn’t call myself a boy, but yeah. I grew up near San Diego. Dad still lives in La Jolla.

That explains it, Aaron thought. The familiarity. La Jolla was a wealthy enclave by the ocean, its waters brimming with marine life. His family had taken trips there once or twice, though never since his father died.

I was a swimmer, not a surfer, Marc continued.

I was a skateboarder.

What’s your home town?

Carlsbad, Aaron said. Most people don’t know where it is.

He saw Marc smile slightly. Right. Lisa—my wife—and I went camping there once. Beautiful beach with some awesome cliffs, I recall.

He didn’t answer. His memories were just too complicated.

A kid with bleached blond hair offered to sell us drugs, Marc mused. Maybe a friend of yours?

Aaron bit his lip. I didn’t have many friends. And I never sold drugs, just bought them.

Lisa and I were twenty-one that summer, so you would have been fifteen or so...

Aaron shifted uneasily. Gee, now that you put it that way, I really sound like jailbait.

I wasn’t into that, Marc said quickly. Aaron noticed him flushing.

A lot of guys were. He had tensed up, and Marc looked sorry.

I can’t help being six years older, Marc said almost to himself.

I thought it was more. When we first met, I mean.

I know, I look older...

They were driving through the Mission now. He’d taken this route with Dave as well,