They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. It must be true. God knows it could only be insanity that made me agree to this vacation. Why else would I spend the next thirty-one days with Jason and Ben knowing it’ll result in nothing but heartache? I love them both so much it hurts. Watching them together is like feeling my heart slowly shatter over and over again, and yet I can’t stand to stay away from them either.
So here I am, on an airplane with them two days after Thanksgiving, bound for a tropical resort, Christmas be damned. We’d debated flying first class, but we were already spending a fair amount on this month-long vacation, so we settled for business class instead. Still not enough leg room for my six-foot-one body, but the drinks are free, so I’m not complaining.
“I’m so excited,” Ben says. “Can you believe we’re actually going to Fantasy Island?” He’s sitting between Jason and I on the airplane, having volunteered for the middle seat. Even now, almost two years after his miraculous appearance in Jason’s life, Ben comes across all innocence and bright-eyed enthusiasm. He’d sent off for a paper brochure from the resort because he said reading it on his phone was “dumb.” Watching him flip through it, I wonder if he’ll ever become as jaded as the rest of us.
I hope not.
“They have nine restaurants,” Ben tells us as he studies the brochure. “Two golf courses, plus miniature golf. Oh my gosh, I love miniature golf! A bunch of tennis courts. That’s boring. Four pools, one with a swim-up bar. Dylan will like that. A lazy river. I love lazy rivers! A zipline course, and parasailing. I’m working up my nerve for those. Birdwatching and dolphin-watching cruises. We have to do both of those. Scuba diving. Nope, that’s way too scary. Snorkeling. That’s less scary. Kayaks and canoes, plus stand-up paddle surfing.” He frowns. “I don’t even know what that is. A full gym. Yuck. I’m not going there. And a full-service salon and spa.”
“Definitely going there,” I say. Although unlike Ben, I’ll have to spend a fair amount of time at the gym as well. My current role is a recurring part on the HBO series Lords of Dragon Beach, often described as Baywatch meets Sons of Anarchy. I’m thirty-one years old. My metabolism still keeps me thin, thank God, and given my tall, lanky frame, I’ll never have huge, bulging muscles like the rest of the Dragon Beach cast, no matter how many weights I lift. I aim for strong, wiry, and toned. My character, dubiously named Houston McCormick, is scripted for five of each season’s ten episodes, and somehow, the writers always find an excuse for me to be shirtless.
I’ve never been so aware of my abs.
Ben laughs and holds the brochure up for me to read. “Look, this line is right out of the TV show. ‘A place where all your fantasies come true.’”
“I still can’t believe they can call it Fantasy Island, if it was a TV show first,” I answer. “Isn’t that a copyright violation or something?”
Jason shrugs. He took the window seat, and he sits with his forehead against the pane. He hasn’t cut his hair in a while, and the sun shines through his dark blond waves and highlights the faint freckles across his nose. “Fantasy Island Vacation Resort. I assume it’s owned by the same company that made the show. MGM or whoever.”
“Columbia Pictures,” Ben says. When I turn to him in surprise, he shrugs. “What? It says it during the opening credits.”
Jason and I smile at each other over his head, like parents amused by their child.
Ben turns to me. “So, what’s your fantasy, Dylan?”
Doesn’t he know better than to ask me loaded questions?
“Being sandwiched between you and Scarlett Johansson—all of us naked, of course—in a giant bowl of lime Jell-o.”
Ben blushes, just like I knew he would. Jason calls him Snow White sometimes, and it’s an apt description. Ben has blue eyes, and hair even thicker and darker than mine, so black it reflects shades of purple. He’s not as pale as he used to be, but it’s still easy to see the heat rise up his cheeks.
I lean close enough to kiss him. I can’t help but think how sweet it would be to do just that. “You’re wondering if you’re in front of me or behind me in this fantasy, aren’t you?”
Ben grins and ducks his head. Jason turns away from the window long enough to glare at me. “Dylan’s fantasy is to fuck every single person on this island before the month is out.”
I laugh. “That’s not a fantasy, honey. That’s a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.”
Jason rolls his eyes at me at and goes back to staring out the window. Annoyed, because I never change? Hurt, because of our shared past? Or simply bemused, because he and Ben have something I’ll never be privy to, and he knows it’s far better than what I have?
I wish I knew.
“I don’t understand the premise of this TV show anyway,” I say. “People could go to this island to live out their fantasies, and yet it wasn’t all porn?”
Ben’s stunned. “You haven’t seen it?”
“It went off the air years before I was born.”
“There’s a reboot,” Jason offers. “And Blumhouse made a movie.”
“Still haven’t seen it.”
“It’s all about being careful what you wish for,” Ben tells me. “Like one couple thought they wanted to go to a time and place with old-fashioned, traditional values, so Mr. Roarke sends them to this colonial village. They love it at first, but then they realize they’re in Salem, and the rules are super strict. They can’t even dance or play music. And then this little boy gets a fever, and the woman gives him an aspirin out of her purse, and she gets accused of witchcraft, so she has to run from the mob so they don’t burn her alive at the stake.”
“Jesus,” I say, shocked. “That’s not a fantasy. That’s a nightmare.”
“Mr. Roarke liked scaring the shit out of people,” Jason says. “It’s melodramatic, but it gets pretty dark at times, too.”
“That’s what I’m in for?” I ask. “Dark melodrama?”
Jason laughs. “Something like that.”
“You still haven’t given me a serious answer,” Ben says to me. “If this were really Fantasy Island, like on the TV show, what would your fantasy be?”
It’s a good question. Sometimes, I wish I’d realized how much I needed Jason before he’d stopped needing me, but to claim Jason for myself would have meant leaving Ben trapped in his magical prison forever. As much as I wish things had gone differently, I can’t look in Ben’s sweet, guileless face and wish him gone.
In all actuality, my fantasy would be to stop being myself and become either one of them, for the rest of my life. I’ve spent untold hours wondering which would be better—to be Ben, and have Jason’s undying devotion? Or to be Jason, and have Ben’s sweet, pure heart? Being either one of them would be a thousand times better than being me.
Jason speaks up before I can formulate another smartass answer in lieu of the truth.
“If this were really a place where somebody’s greatest dreams could come true,” Jason says, “Dylan’s would have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with his career.” He stares at me in that way he’s always had, with an expression that tells me he knows me front to back. I’m an old, ratty script he’s read a hundred times. He knows every line of dialog.
And every gaping plot hole, one of which he’s just remembered.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Four weeks at Fantasy Island, missing casting calls? Only if there’s something else to be gained.”
“The next season of Lords of Dragon Beach starts filming in January. I’m tired of being the palest guy on the set.”
“There’s no way you agreed to a whole month on this island just so you can work on your tan,” Jason says. “You could have done that in California.”
See? He could always see right through me.
Except when it had mattered the most.
“You’re right,” I admit. “I have an ulterior motive.” I pull out my phone and show them a picture. “This is who I’m looking for. I hear he likes to winter here. So if you see him, do me a favor and let me know.”
Ben eyes the picture, shock and disdain warring on his face. “Oh my gosh, Dylan. He’s twice your age. And…” He frowns and pats the air around his stomach, too sweet to say the word “fat.”
“Dylan’s not out to seduce him,” Jason explains. “Although I’m sure he’d be willing, if he thought it would help.”
“I don’t understand,” Ben says.
“That’s JP Frederick,” Jason tells him. “He’s one of the most in-demand directors in Hollywood right now.”
“Exactly,” I say, putting away my phone. “Rumor has it, he’s been asked to direct two Marvel films over the next six years.”
And Jason’s right. There’s nothing I won’t do to land a role in that universe. I’ll beg. I’ll bargain. I’ll suck his cock. I’ll let him fuck me every conceivable way, if that’s what it takes, although admittedly, I hope it doesn’t go that far. I never have learned to bottom with any kind of grace. With any luck, a few drinks and a round of golf will suffice.
“What about you?” I ask Ben. “If this is really Fantasy Island, then what’s your fantasy?”
“Oh, I don’t have one. I already got my biggest wish ever. I know better than to tempt fate.”
Jason elbows Ben and nods toward me. “Maybe you should wish for Scarecrow over there to grow a heart.”
Ben frowns at him. “You’re thinking of the Tin Man. Scarecrow needed a brain.”
Jason grins at me. “Dylan needs both.”
“Boy, you crack yourself up, don’t you?” I ask.
But to my surprise, Ben doesn’t laugh. “Dylan already has a heart and a brain,” he says to Jason. “What he needs is—”
“A clue?” Jason says.
“A drink,” I tell him, looking around for the flight attendant.
Ben scowls at us both. “Fine. Don’t listen to me.” He elbows me, harder than he needs to. “Let me out. I need to use the bathroom.”
I do as he says, letting him slip past me before reclaiming my seat. Jason’s gone back to staring out the window. “Hey, JayWalk.”
He smiles. I haven’t called him that in a while. “What?”
“Ben knows this isn’t really a magical island, right? I mean, it isn’t even all-inclusive.”
“Of course he knows it isn’t magical. You know Ben. He’s just…” He waves his hand, trying to find a word.
“Fanciful?” I offer. “Romantic?”
He smiles, his love for Ben written all over his face. “Adorable.”
And there it goes again, my heart shattering into a thousand little pieces.
The Commonwealth of the Bahamas is comprised of more than seven hundred islands, cays, and islets. One of these, roughly nine square miles in size, is our destination.
After a brief layover in Miami, we board a smaller plane and take to the skies again. I’m on my third drink by then and feeling damned good. Ben’s frowning at me. Jason doesn’t bother being annoyed.
We have to clear customs before leaving the airport. All three of us hold our breath when it’s Ben’s turn. His ID and passport are fake, but they’re the best money can buy—I should know, I’m the one who paid for them—and the customs agent barely bats an eye as she waves Ben through.
From the airport, we’re shuttled to a seaside dock. On the bright side, we get to surrender our luggage, with assurances it’ll be delivered to our rooms after we check in. I’m happy I don’t have to lug mine the rest of the way. Jason and Ben can tease me about having an extra-large suitcase, plus a garment bag, but I don’t expect them to understand. After all, Jason lives in jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies, but when it comes to fashion, I have higher standards. I prefer a more tailored, upscale look, and like it or not, that means luggage, and lots of it. I thought I did well packing only one garment bag instead of two, even though it means I’ll have to iron most of my shirts before I wear them.
We’re herded onto a small, enclosed water taxi that smells like sweat with an underlying taint of vomit. We find three empty seats and sit shoulder-to-shoulder with two dozen other travelers, all bound for Fantasy Island Vacation Resort. The sea’s bumpy, the boat cramped and stuffy. I’d much rather be on the deck, but it seems to be reserved for the crew and the few people who are already seasick.
“I hate to complain,” Ben says quietly, “but this isn’t feeling very magical right now.”
For Ben, who’s always cheerful no matter what, this simple statement borders on mutiny. “Hey,” Jason says, “even on the show, guests had to fly on that tiny little pontoon plane to get there, right?”
“True. But somehow, it seemed a lot more romantic.”
I want to touch his cheek. Maybe kiss him and promise him he’ll have plenty of romance this month. Mostly, I just want to see him smile again, but of course it’s not my place, and Jason’s already on it, whispering in Ben’s ear. Whatever he says makes Ben grin and shift in his seat, trying to hide an erection.
One more little crack in my heart.
We eventually dock and emerge from the water taxi. As soon as the sun hits his face, Ben’s lack of faith disappears and his smile returns.
“Oh my gosh. Jason, look!” He bounces on his toes in excitement, pointing. “It really does look like Fantasy Island.”
I’ve never seen the show, but based on Ben’s gushing, the resort has gone to great lengths to replicate the set of the old TV show. We disembark onto a dock, then through a thatched hut, although Ben assures me this one’s twice as big as Mr. Roarke’s. Ahead of us, the gates to Fantasy Island Vacation Resort loom. Women in red and white flowered dresses line the sidewalk along the way, offering trays of fruity drinks.
“What is it?” Ben asks as we each take one.
“A mango daiquiri,” the woman tells him.
“Oh, that sounds yummy.” He takes a sip, and his eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh, this is so good, isn’t it? I think this is my new favorite thing.”
Despite his enthusiasm, he won’t finish it. Sometimes I think his time in the globe messed with his metabolism. He eats like a horse, but never gains weight. He only sleeps about five hours a night, and he’s a serious lightweight when it comes to alcohol. Half a daiquiri will make him loopy. A full one will put him right to sleep.
Not to worry though. A double-shot, double-pump caramel latte will have him awake and ready to go again in no time.
We’re in no hurry to get inside. The weather’s a perfect seventy-six degrees, the sun warm on our faces. In addition to the hotel, there’s an elaborate garden and a sprawling white house, just like Mr. Roarke’s, according to Ben. The building’s utilitarian in nature, housing an urgent care and pharmacy in one half, and island security in the other, but that doesn’t diminish Ben’s excitement. He oohs and aahs, and I hold his drink while he takes a billion pictures with his phone. Thirty minutes later, we make it through the front door of the towering hotel, where it soon becomes clear the drinks are only to distract us from the enormous line for check-in. We opt to lounge in the boxy pink lobby chairs instead, biding our time until the line subsides.
Jason—known to most of the world as Jadon Walker Buttermore, or JayWalk to his fangirls—is in the middle of a career reboot. After our last movie together, which did well at the box office, for a horror “requel,” he landed a supporting role in a romantic comedy starring Jennifer Lopez. That led to a spot on Dancing with the Stars, where he was eliminated early, much to his relief. More recently and most importantly, he played the quirky sidekick in a Netflix treasure-hunting action movie that, last time I looked, had almost three hundred million views. He’s already signed for a sequel which begins shooting in February. I’ve never seen him so happy, but I know that has more to do with Ben than with his career.
I’m no JayWalk, but Dylan Thomas Frasier has his fangirls too. Or at least, Houston McCormick does. Between the two of us, we soon have a small line of people asking for autographs and taking pictures. Jason’s better at this than he used to be. In the past, he hated this kind of attention. Now, he takes it in stride, although he’s careful to keep Ben out of the limelight and is clearly relieved when the autograph session ends. I, on the other hand, soak it up. I sign anything anybody puts in front of me, including one woman’s cleavage. I take selfies with a dozen different people. I ask anybody who’s halfway attractive and appears single how long they’re staying. By the time the fans are gone, I’ve finished my drink. Ben nudges me and hands me the second half of his, squinting at me as if he can’t quite focus. As predicted, half a daiquiri, and I know it’s a good thing he’s sitting down, or he’d be swaying on his feet.
“You okay?” I ask him.
He blinks at me. “Jus’ a lil sleepy.”
Jason’s right. Ben’s adorable.
I leave them and hunt down the hotel’s coffee station, where I fill a medium-sized cup and add cream and five packets of sugar. The smile Ben gives me when I hand it over is worth the few minutes it cost me.
“No caramel latte, but it’s still caffeine with plenty of sugar.”
“Thanks, Dylan.”
“Anything for you, honey.”
Jason ignores the entire exchange. He never bats an eye when I flirt with Ben. Then again, why would he? Ben’s one hundred percent, head-over-heels in love with Jason. Besides, Jason’s my oldest, dearest friend. I’d never do anything to hurt him, even if Ben was willing.
Which he isn’t.
I never flirt much with Jason anymore either, because I know it makes Ben uneasy. The last thing I want to do is cause trouble between the two of them, or between them and me. Sometimes I wish somebody had told me, on that first night in Jason’s new house back in Idaho, that it would be the last night I ever had with him.
Would I have done things differently?
Would I have pulled my ignorant head out of my selfish ass sooner?
I’ll never know. And now, I’ll never share his bed again. If they were any other gay couple, I might have a chance of being invited for a threesome. I’ve thought about it more times than I can count, but I also know it’s the type of thing that’s best left to the imagination. Ben would be too shy. Jason would be too possessive. And at the end of the day, I’d still be a third wheel, deeply in love with both of them, but never part of the love they have for each other.
I do what anybody in my position would do.
I finish the daiquiri and go in search of another.
Ellie Thomas
