This kind of wealth reminds me of Ezra and his parents living in their Park Avenue penthouse. I’d been so upset with Ez—jealous, angry that he was taking his privilege for granted, when he’d only wanted to share his fears and vulnerabilities with me, and when he’d only needed my support. I had no idea how lucky I was to have him in my life. How much I’d miss him, if he decided he didn’t want me in his anymore. The question I keep trying to avoid—how do I feel about Ezra?—continues to force itself into my mind, even when I try to push it away.
Declan and I pause in the guest bedroom. This house’s wealth is a little intimidating, and I’m almost too afraid to walk around or touch anything, but Declan doesn’t seem smug about it. I drop my backpack on the floor of the guest bedroom, and Declan lingers, leaning against the doorframe.
“I feel bad getting in the way of you and your grandpa spending time together.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. We’ll join him for dinner.”
I nod, sitting on the edge of the bed. I can’t help but have feelings for Declan. It’s complicated, and it isn’t pretty, and—I don’t know, maybe the feelings we have for each other aren’t really healthy—but none of that changes the fact that I want to kiss him right now.
Declan smiles a little, and I realize—he’s doing this on purpose. The asshole knows I want to kiss him. He’s standing there, waiting, challenging me. I stand up, walk up to him, and try to lean in again, just like I did earlier on the train, but he turns his face away.
I ignore the flinch of hurt. “We don’t exactly have to worry about other people here,” I tell him.
“True,” he says, “but I’m not supposed to make out with houseguests. It’s a rule.”
“Really?”
He smirks at me. “Besides,” he tells me, “the payback is kind of fun.”
“Payback?” When he just grins at me, I ask, “When will the punishment be over?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, gaze falling to my mouth again. He pushes away from the doorframe. “Let’s go to the pool.”
Of course there’s a pool. I close the door and change into shorts before I make my way through the house—get lost around the library and kitchen, double back to get to the dining room and down the hall, to where there’s a mudroom and a set of glass doors. I can see Declan swimming in the ice-blue pool. He comes up to the surface, wiping his hair back and out of his face. He looks up at me when I step outside, then does a double take.
Right. My scars. I immediately wish I’d worn a tank, but I’ve never felt the need to hide my scars before. Why should I feel self-conscious about them around Declan?
“Hey,” he says, squinting up at me.
“Hey.”
I sit down on the edge of the pool, putting my feet into the water, and he pulls himself up, sitting beside me and splashing water onto the masonry that surrounds the pool.
“When’d you get the surgery?” he asks, voice low, leaning into me so that our shoulders bump into one another. The drops of water on his skin are cold.
“Almost a year ago,” I whisper.
“Is it okay if I . . . ?” He reaches, brushing his knuckles against my stomach, my ribs. I nod, and he lets his fingers graze over the scars, following the lines. I tense, and he glances up at me through his lashes. I lean in, close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips, and he shoves me—I let out a squeak before I’m in the water, chlorine up my nose and in my eyes. I splutter, bursting out from the water, and Declan’s dying laughing. I splash him, and he laughs again, then shouts when I grab his foot and drag him into the water, too.
We spend hours like that, bullshitting around in the pool, until the sun starts to go down and fireflies dot the grass and the garden. When we get tired, we lie down out on the warm concrete. It’s in a moment like this that I can’t help but think of how much has changed and how quickly—how much I’d hated Declan, and now think I might be in love with him. It’s something I’ve wanted for so long—to have the last name Love, and actually know what it feels like to love and be loved. It’s everything I’d wanted . . . So why does it feel like something’s still missing?
“This is all kind of wild, right?” Declan says. “Five years ago, I never in a million years would’ve thought I could have someone like you over, totally open about everything.” He shrugs, not looking at me. “My dad is hardcore Catholic. I used to hope that he’d decide to change his mind—that he could accept me, because I was his son. And then I’d laugh at myself. Like, how fucking arrogant is that? Expecting my dad to love me more than he loves God.”
I’m not religious. I don’t know how Declan feels. “It’s possible for him to love both you and God, though, right?”
“I hoped so.” He rolls his eyes. “I even tried to write my dad an essay on why it would be okay to accept the fact that I’m into guys. I had this whole thing, explaining that white people once used the Bible as justification for slavery, hoping that’d make him see that—you know, it’s more about interpretation, and the ways people choose to use the Bible as an excuse to treat other people like shit. I hoped that’d change his mind, since my mom’s Black, but it didn’t really do anything. He didn’t even tell me if he read the essay or not. And my mom—I love her, but she just does whatever the fuck my dad wants. He’s so fucking manipulative and abusive, and he convinced her to kick me out of the house, too. That actually hurt more than anything else. The fact that she didn’t even try to fight for me. She just went along with it—let him tell me to leave.”
Declan’s voice cracks a little, and before I can look at his eyes to see if he’s crying, he’s rubbing them furiously, not meeting my gaze.
“I’m sorry, Declan,” I tell him. “I’m so, so fucking sorry.”
He shakes his head and rubs a hand through his wet curls, darker in the water. “Not your fault. And I’m better now anyway, you know? I’m lucky I have my granddad. Not everyone has that.”
A chilly breeze sends us back inside, and as soon as we’re in the mudroom, Tully’s voice calls, letting us know that it’s almost time for dinner.
Shit. I suddenly get nervous that I’m about to have dinner in a mansion. I didn’t really bring fancy shirts or anything, so I put on my least-wrinkled, floral-patterned T-shirt and some shorts and make my way down the hall and to the dining room, where Declan and his grandpa are already waiting. Tully is super into hugs. He gives both of us one and gestures at us to sit and eat.
We sit. There’s baked bread, kale salad with balsamic vinaigrette, pasta with pesto and Parmesan cheese. “I used to cook for fun,” Tully explains. “Now that it’s mostly me here alone, not as much anymore.”
He gives us wine and asks me questions. How’d I meet his grandson? How is St. Catherine’s? Which college do I think I’ll apply to? I hesitate, glancing at Declan, who takes a deep breath and looks away. That’s one thing we haven’t really spoken about. We’re still both applying to Brown. Still going after the same scholarship. I know Declan’s grandpa is retired, and according to Declan is barely getting by on his savings. He’d offered to sell the house to help pay for Declan’s tuition, but Declan wouldn’t let him. I understand that. I probably would’ve done the same thing, too.
Declan clears his throat. “Give Felix a break from the interrogation,” he says.
“I have to know if this boy is good enough for you,” he says, but he gets the hint and starts telling us instead about his life growing up in Dublin, swimming by the lake, falling in love for the first time. “This was many, many years before your grandmother,” he says to Declan. “Her name was Kathleen. I loved her, loved her more than I’ve ever loved before. Yes, even more than your grandmother. Oh, don’t you look at me like that. Kathleen was the love of my life. There’s no shame in saying that. There was a fire there that I’ve never felt again. A fire that I’ll never feel again. But, just because we loved each other, doesn’t mean we were meant to be together. We would fight just as much as we—”
“Please,”
Declan interrupts. “Please, don’t say it.”
“—made love,” his grandfather says, as if Declan hadn’t spoken at all, and ignores him when Declan hides his face in his hands. “We loved each other so much, but we weren’t made to be in a relationship. And just because you love one, doesn’t mean you can’t love another. Isn’t that right?” he asks us, and doesn’t demand an answer when neither of us respond.
By the time we’re finished eating, we’re all pretty drunk and sleepy and ready for bed. Tully gives Declan a kiss and a long hug. He whispers something in Declan’s ear, patting his cheek before he comes to me and gives me a hug, too. He’s warm and smells like pepper.
“Treat my boy right,” he tells me, patting my cheek also with a smile, before he tells us good night, leaving us alone in the dining room.
I notice Declan’s eyes are a little wet. He wipes them with his shoulders.
“You okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. He’s just being a good granddad, you know?”
Declan walks me to my room, down the mahogany hallway, wood panels cold beneath my bare feet. Instead of leaning against the doorframe of the guest bedroom like he had before, he comes inside, sitting on the bed beside me.
“Thanks for inviting me up here,” I tell him. “I think I needed a break from the city without even realizing it. The city, and . . .” I almost say Ezra’s name.
Turns out I don’t need to. “I noticed you two aren’t really talking,” Declan says.
“Yeah. Well, things are awkward.”
“Because you kissed?” he asks, voice low.
I nod, glancing away, feeling guilty. We might not have said we’re dating, and that we’re only seeing each other, but I can tell Declan’s hurt, can tell he feels betrayed. It’s like all I’ve ever done, even before he told me he loved me, is hurt him. “Things aren’t great between us right now.”
“I can’t say I feel bad about it,” Declan tells me. “It’s a little hard, I guess, not to feel jealous.”
“We’re not together,” I say. “Me and Ezra, I mean.”
“No, but he loves you,” Declan says. He watches me, like he’s waiting for me to agree with him—to admit that I have feelings for Ezra, too. But I’m not sure if I can—not sure how I feel. I mean, I love Ezra—of course I love Ezra—but do I love him as a friend, or as something else?
“I think what your grandpa said might’ve been right.”
“You really want to talk about my grandfather right now?” Declan asks.
He’s watching me again. I’ve never seen anyone look at me like that—so unabashedly, so unapologetically, so like he doesn’t give a fuck that I know he wants me, like he’s almost laughing at me, because he knows I want him, too.
“I’m just saying,” I whisper. “I think it’s possible to be in love with more than one person—and that even if you love someone, maybe they’re not really meant for you.”
He isn’t listening, not really. “Is that what you are?” he asks. “Are you in love with me?”
He’s waiting for me. I lean forward, half expecting him to pull away again with another laugh, but the corner of his lip only twitches. I remember what Ezra had said—soft, gentle, not so hard—and I barely breathe against Declan’s lips. He grins at me as I kiss him again, and again, until we’re leaning back onto the bed. Declan ends up on top of me, pulling our shirts off, mouth on my neck, my collarbone, my scars. I didn’t even go this far with Ezra, and my nerves start to pump.
“Slowly,” I tell him, embarrassed when it comes out like a gasp. “We should go more slowly.”
He nods, kissing my scars and neck and mouth again. “Is this your first time?”
“My first time?”
“Having sex.”
I’m surprised. I didn’t even realize he’d been planning to go that far tonight. “I mean, yeah, I’ve never . . .” He nods again, like it isn’t a big deal, but I start to worry. “Have you? Had sex, I mean?”
He pulls up, surprised. “Well, yeah. Me and Ezra . . .”
I look away. “Right.”
“We don’t have to.”
“I just don’t think I’m ready,” I tell him. It’s only been a few days since my first kiss.
“Okay.”
“I mean, I want to, but—”
“Yeah. I do, too.” He sits up, crosses his legs. “Are you nervous because—I mean, I looked up how to have sex with trans guys—”
Jesus Christ. We haven’t even talked about the fact that I identify as a demiboy now. “Yeah, that’s a part of it, but I mean—I’m just not ready.”
“You know, you don’t have to be scared.”
I go blank. I stare at him, and he watches me, still completely unabashedly, unapologetically. “I feel like you’re pressuring me.”
He runs a hand through his hair, brows raised. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
Realization burns through me, alongside anger and hot embarrassment. I can barely get the words out. “Did you invite me up here just to have sex with you?”
“No,” he says, a little loudly. “I wanted to spend time with you, and I thought that maybe you’d want to have sex, so I looked up how to have sex with trans guys, and now we’re here.” He takes a big breath, looking away. “We don’t have to have sex.”
“I know we don’t.”
He gets off the bed, grabbing his shirt from the floor and yanking it back on. “Would you have sex with me if I was Ezra?”
“What?”
“I’m just thinking you’d probably be more interested if I was Ezra.”
I don’t even know if that’s true—but right now, I kind of hate Declan. “Can you leave?”
He freezes. “Okay. Shit. Sorry.” He sits back down on the bed, as far away from me as possible. “I’m really sorry, all right?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if I’d be more interested or not.”
“You love him, though, right?”
“I don’t know.”
But it’s a lie, I know that it is. I love Ezra, of course I love him—I always have, even if I’ve been too afraid to see that. I also know that this, whatever this is between me and Declan, isn’t going to work. It never was going to work. I remember what my dad had said—that it’s easier, sometimes, to run toward the pain and the sort of love that Declan and I have. It isn’t as scary. At least I always knew how this relationship was going to end.
“The only reason you’re not with Ezra right now is because he isn’t talking to you.”
Declan might be right. That’s what I tell him, and he closes his eyes.
“This is all really fucked,” he tells me, leaning forward on his knees. “I really love you. I’ve never fallen for anyone the same way I fell for Lucky. And I didn’t want to believe that I’d lost you, that you’d just disappear from my life when I found out you were Lucky, so I decided to just give this a chance, give this a shot, and . . .”
“It’s not going to work.” I know what he’s going to say, maybe because it’s something I realized even before we decided to try this out, before he invited me to his grandfather’s house, even the day I decided I’d keep speaking to Declan as Lucky. I knew it wouldn’t work.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. I’m sorry. I just hoped that, maybe, if we had sex, I’d feel like you love me as much as I love you—you as Lucky, I mean, maybe even more than Ezra, and . . . It was fucked-up. I’m sorry.”
I flinch. Love you as Lucky. This automatically implies he doesn’t love me as Felix. But I can’t blame him. I can’t be angry at him.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, my voice hoarse. “I fucked with you. Manipulated you. Even when you started to have feelings for me, I just kept going. I shouldn’t have lied to you like that. I’m sorry, Declan. I’m so, so fucking sorry.” I’m starting to cry, which is insanely embarrassing, but there isn’t anything about this entire situation that isn’t embarrassing at this point.
Declan’s n
odding, swallowing, like he’s trying to stop himself from crying also. “What’s crazy is that I think I still love you,” he says, “but I also don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”
The words are like a stab to my chest.
He smiles a little to himself. “I think I hoped you’d come up here, and I’d be able to move past it and forgive you, and we’d have this magical fairy-tale ending.”
I’d hoped we could have that magical fairy-tale ending, too. But no—I realize that’s what I’ve always told myself, but that isn’t what I wanted, not really. I wanted to fall in love, but I didn’t want to risk the kind of love that’d fill me with excitement and joy. I know that love. It’s the kind of love I feel when I think about Ezra—when he laughs one of his loud-as-fuck laughs and when he says stupid shit when he’s high and when he holds me to his chest while we sleep. I love Ezra. I love him so much, it scares me.
“Do you think we can still be friends?” I whisper to Declan. Because, despite it all, it’s hard to forget the guy that I’d spoken to for hours every day and night. I can’t love him in the way I thought I could—but I still care about him.
“God, I have no idea. I love you,” he says, nodding, “but I also fucking hate your guts right now.”
“Then not much has changed.”
He lets out a little laugh. A beat passes, and I know he’s thinking about his answer. “Give me some time, all right?”
“Yeah. All right.”
“Who knows—maybe Brown will end up giving us both scholarships, and we’ll go together.”
There’s no way that would happen. We both know that. “That’d be pretty great.”
He’s nodding. “You know, it’s so completely messed up,” he tells me, “but I also feel a little grateful. I never thought I’d fall in love like that. Now I know it’s possible. Even if it’s not with you—not with Lucky—I know I’ll fall in love again.”
Declan leans forward, waiting for me to push him away—then kisses me on the cheek, pulling back with a smile. He leaves, and the next morning, Tully is waiting to take me back to the train station. I can’t even look at Declan’s grandfather in the eye, and he wears sunglasses so it’s hard to see what he thinks of me right now anyway.
Felix Ever After Page 23
