The F Words

by Anyta Sunday

  A harsh sniff left him, and he slid his back down the side of the house until he sat, knees to his chin.

  Couldn’t have him run.

  He rested his forehead on his knees, feeling a breeze tunnel through the gap in his legs. Why did the mere thought of Rory leaving have to hurt so badly? Couldn’t he just be happy with whatever time they had together? Because, no matter what happened in the future, the moments he’d shared with Rory had been special and beautiful and reciprocated.

  A rumble close to a sob waved through him. He wanted to curse his grandpa for ever suggesting he get “real friends”, because look at him. He had—he’d found something even more than that—but getting them didn’t mean they’d stay.

  Was it wrong that he was jealous of a dead guy? Because he was. He hated knowing William could take Rory away from him if he tempted him hard enough. And it was okay to think that if Eric was there he could convince Rory not to leave, he could help him through it, but what if Eric wasn’t around when it happened one day. What then?

  The slapping of shoes over pavement caught his attention. He tensed. This was it. The moment he scared those boys away . . .

  Except what good would it do? He would never be able to anticipate and stop every thing that reminded Rory of William. This was not the way to work through this problem. He let his shoulders sag, and glanced toward the path where they’d come down. It would be so easy.

  And so wrong.

  He closed his eyes and opened them at the sound of clunking feet. When he did, he straightened in surprise. He’d expected to see two teen boys snickering or something. Instead, he saw a brown haired girl zipping up her parka against a chilly wind as she walked away from the porch.

  Just as well he hadn’t pulled the fake gun and stormed to the front of the house. It wasn’t even the Forsters. It was just a girl—maybe a friend or something of Rory’s cousin. Shaking his head, he moved. It was better to get out of here before the boys really came with their—

  Pumpkin.

  Sitting on the edge of the porch. Big, green and shiny, as if it’d been polished.

  He stood there for a few seconds, staring, even though the windows caught the sun, stunning one corner of his eyes, and tried to connect the dots. That girl had dropped off the pumpkin. Why?

  Then, in the distance, but clear enough for him to know, he heard Rory talking to someone.

  Eric shoved himself up the path and looked down the magnolia lined street. Under pink and white petals and standing on a carpet of trodden brown ones was Rory and the girl.

  Shifting positions, Eric studied them. Rory smiled and said something. The girl, as far as he could tell, didn’t look so comfortable. She kept shifting her feet, flicking up petals, and rubbing her hands on the sides of her jeans.

  They chatted for a little while longer before Rory squeezed her shoulder with another smile and walked on. It took him about four steps before he caught sight of Eric. When he did, he paused mid-step and his face lit up, happy to see him. His pace quickened the remaining stretch of the street.

  It looked like Rory was about to wrap his arms around him, but then suddenly remembered where they were. He dropped his lifted arms to his side. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he said, touching the tips of their shoes together.

  Eric shook his head. He couldn’t explain the real reason why he’d come. But what he said was the truth nevertheless. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I couldn’t wait.”

  Rory turned up the path toward the house. “So what do we want to do for dinner—Huh. I shouldn’t have bothered asking.”

  He picked up the pumpkin from the porch, but when he grinned at Eric he must have seen something, because his face fell into suspicion. “What?”

  “Um . . .”

  “Oh God, you saw them leaving it here, didn’t you?”

  Not quite. “I happened to catch who left it, but Rory, it’s not who you think.”

  Rory frowned. “Then . . .?”

  “I don’t know who you were talking to on the street just now, but she’s the one who left it.”

  “Sammy?”

  “Guessing so.”

  “But she . . . why?”

  “That I don’t know. Unless . . .” A thought came to him as he replayed the way Sammy had stood in front of Rory. “You know her, right?”

  Rory keyed the lock and let them inside. “Sure. She’s Lily’s best friend.”

  “Okay, so how does she usually act around you?”

  The pumpkin landed with a thud on the kitchen bench. “She’s a bit shy, but nice. Thoughtful. Why?”

  “Well, I’m probably wrong, but . . . could those pumpkins be meant for you?”

  “Why would she—” He stopped. Eric watched as he puzzled something out. “Oh. Oh. You think?”

  “Did you ever say you were into pumpkin or something?”

  Rory’s face had reddened. He looked from Eric to the bench. “Shit. We ate pumpkin soup when I first got here. Maybe I said something?”

  Eric chuckled. “Come here. You’re too adorable right now.”

  “Adorable? I’m freaked. What’d I do to send her the wrong message? How do I make her . . .”

  “Stop crushing on you?”

  “Gah.” He bowed his head onto Eric’s shoulder. “Stop laughing.”

  But he couldn’t. He tightened his hold on Rory and kissed him just behind his ear.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  Eric shook his head and disentangled himself. “I’m going to leave this one up to you.” He picked up the pumpkin and added, “But at least we don’t have to worry about pee-soaked pumpkin anymore.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Almost a week. That’s how long it took Rory to gather his guts and finally talk to Sammy. He hadn’t been sure what to say, really—still wasn’t—but he didn’t want another Friday and another pumpkin to roll by.

  He needed to nip things in the bud.

  Over the roar of the food processor, Rory didn’t catch Willow speak, until she tugged his long sleeve, almost jerking it off his shoulder.

  Rory turned off the power, the gooey pumpkin mass in the container popping pockets of air.

  “Can I’ve strawberry milk?”

  Glancing across the kitchen bench to the table, he checked to see she’d eaten her sand-witches. Three-quarters done. She really was getting better with her eating habits.

  “One more bite, and you can have a glass.”

  She mumbled and moped to the windows, tinkering from the sleeting rain. “Can we go out there?”

  It’d been raining on and off most of the morning, so they’d holed themselves inside. “Once Sammy comes by with your raincoat and gumboots, we can go out for a little bit. But how would you like to watch a Sesame Street first?”

  After taking one teensy bite more of her sandwich, Rory gave her some milk and set her up in the lounge. Just as he was done, Sammy arrived with a pink coat and rainbow colored gumboots.

  “Just put them over the stool there,” he said as they walked into the kitchen, strategically placing Sammy on the opposite side of the bench from him. It wasn’t planned, but the food processor filled with pumpkin sat in the middle between them.

  He stared at the pumpkin pie mixture. It was easier to make it the second time around. He’d sworn never to do it again—or certainly not so soon—but Eric had mentioned how much he’d enjoyed it over their quiet shared New Years, and, well, Rory just wanted to make it for him again.

  With the scent of cinnamon and his unease in the air, Rory waited for Sammy to put Willow’s boot on the floor. When she looked up at him, eyes shy and smile timid, Rory wasn’t sure he had the heart to talk at all. She was sure to be the type to be easily embarrassed and hurt—

  “Are you okay, Rory?” she asked. “You’re biting your lip and look upset.”

  “I’m not upset.” He shook his head and forced a grin.

  “O-kay.” She gathered her brown hair and swept it over one should
er, looking down at the spice boxes.

  Oh, how was he meant to say anything at all? Maybe ignoring it was the best move . . . except that wouldn’t stop her bringing pumpkins around.

  Fuck. How to handle it?

  “Um,” he said, wiping off a blob of condensed milk that’d dribbled down the side of the food processor. “Sammy, I want to talk to you about these pumpkins . . .”

  The air suddenly thickened around them. The only sound between them was Grover’s voice and Willow’s laugh trailing in from the lounge.

  One glance at Sammy, and he knew for sure Sammy had a little crush.

  She’d tensed, her cheeks paling into a ghost of their normal color. Her gaze was cast to the pumpkin peels he still hadn’t stuffed into the bin.

  Rory felt like his jaw had stiffened—he couldn’t make out what to say. He didn’t want to make her feel belittled or laughed at, and the worst thing he could do was point out he was so much older than her. That stuff didn’t seem to matter growing up. And no teen wanted to be treated like a kid.

  That was the worst.

  He sighed, clamping his thumb and fingers together, spreading the sticky condensed milk. “Want a hot chocolate or something?”

  She didn’t say anything, just shook her head, then glanced toward the exit. Poor girl. She’d want her best friend after this, and Lily wasn’t around.

  “Um, yeah, I have to get back home,” Sammy said, stumbling back.

  “It’s okay, Sammy,” Rory said. “I’m-I’m actually flattered. But,”—she winced at his ‘but’—“I don’t like you like that. I don’t like any girls like that. I’m . . . I’m . . .” And then he admitted it to someone else other than Eric, and though it didn’t slide effortlessly off his tongue, he felt like he’d just taken another step to unlocking himself from his self-imposed prison. “I like guys.”

  Eric was home earlier than usual, and though the place was painted and all its little quirks fixed, it lacked furniture and stuff—little touches that would change it from a house to a real home.

  He moved into the lounge and Yowler greeted him by walking to his food bowls and meowing loudly.

  Reaching into the back of the cupboard, he searched for a new tin. After pulling out three baked bean tins, he shook his head at the kitten.

  “Sorry, mate, looks like I have to nip to the supermarket.”

  He did find some dry food, which was more than sufficient if Yowler was as hungry as his meow made it sound.

  On his way to New World, Eric was tempted to make a detour past Rory’s place and tell him what he’d done today. He could always shop for cat food later . . .

  But even as much as he wanted to skip off in that direction, he was nervous about it too. What would Rory think that he just quit his job like that?

  He glanced toward Rory’s street, and for a second he paused, but then continued toward the supermarket.

  A man he recognized as Yowler’s previous owner stood on the pavement before him, clipping at his rose bushes. Eric was about to scuttle on by, but the bearded man saw him and nodded. “Kitten happy, then?” he asked.

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “Your friend, the one who came for him, he really wanted him back, huh.”

  Eric stared at the pruned tree and the shearers. He nodded.

  “Well, then. I hope the kitten is happy. He must mean a lot for the guy to have paid as much as he did.”

  Eric’s gaze flew up to the bearded man’s face; there was an amused glint in his eyes. “How much would that have been?”

  When the man told him, Eric swore under his breath. His insides jumbled together, the feeling making him light and restless. The sun peeked through the clouds, making him blink—and it felt like it was just for him. A sign.

  He turned on his heel, retreating the way he’d come, and made directly for Rory’s.

  Rory answered the door, and Eric stepped inside and right into a kiss. Rory’s hands went up around his neck, and they were sticky against his skin. The place smelled faintly of baking and spices and Rory tasted like it too. Music—Shearwater, he recognized—played loudly, and the beat seemed in sync with his pounding heart.

  Shutting the door with his foot, Eric walked Rory into the hall wall, pressing their lengths together, and deepening their kiss.

  “Good thing I dropped Willow off already,” Rory said, when given a little space to breathe. “What brought this on?”

  Eric cupped his hands on either of Rory’s stubbly cheeks. “You,” he said, and captured his bottom lip, teasing it with his teeth.

  “I wanted to come here right away, you know. You were who I wanted the moment I got home.”

  And now it made sense.

  Yes, his place lacked furniture, but the reason it hadn’t felt like coming home was because Rory hadn’t been there painting or fixing stuff like he had the last couple of weeks. He hadn’t walked into Rory being snarky with Yowler, or heard him curse and jump around after jamming his thumb, or caught him taking a catnap in his bed. His place just felt so much more alive and warmer with Rory in it.

  Eric pressed his forehead to Rory’s and sighed. He wanted this man; it was as clear to him as the electric guitar, drums, and lyrics coming down the hall and vibrating in the walls.

  He didn’t want to believe the guy would leave him; that he could so easily run from what they had.

  In fact, he wouldn’t believe it.

  Heath and Will were wrong. What he had with Rory was special. He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t.

  God, please don’t.

  Rory’s warm, cinnamon hands crept under his shirt and up to his chest. Eric let out a whimper not when Rory tweaked his nipple, but when he softly spoke in his ear. “I missed you, too.”

  Eric drew away, just enough to look into Rory’s face. And it wasn’t hard to tell him what he’d done today at all. “I quit my job.”

  “Did something happen?” The concern in his eyes made Eric lean in to kiss it away from him.

  “Nah, I just . . . I just couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to and I no longer felt I deserved it. I handed in my resignation, and I just felt great. Until I got home and you weren’t there.”

  A small smile tugged at Rory’s lips and he trailed his fingers lightly over his bare skin to his back. Eric shivered.

  “What are you going to do?” Rory asked.

  Eric closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling Rory compelled in him. He spoke lazily, not caring right now about his next plans. “Go back to Uni. It’s going to be tight, but I could get a loan. I’ll make it work.”

  Rory banged his head against the wall as he nodded, and Eric scooped a hand in between, absently rubbing over Rory’s hair.

  “Guess you’ll be needing some help,” Rory said, “Another person to share flat costs, maybe?”

  Eric stilled and met Rory’s gaze as he nodded.

  Rory shifted, hands coming to brace against Eric’s hips. “This is fucking embarrassing if I’m wrong, but do you want . . . want me to move in?” Rory’s cheeks flushed, and there was a spark in his eyes. They were no longer dead and lifeless like they’d been when they met in the middle of the desert road. Now they mirrored what Eric felt, and it made him want to weep.

  “Yeah, Rory, I want you to move in. I want us to buy furniture together and make the place a home. Our home.” He closed his eyes and breathed in the hope and love around him, feeling it in the way Rory clutched tighter to his sides.

  “It’s not too . . . soon?” Rory asked, his voice a pitch higher.

  When he reopened his eyes, he looked at Rory biting his bottom lip and smiled. “I love you, Rory.”

  Rory dropped his arms to his side, hitting the wall. “You . . . I . . . You do?”

  Eric didn’t want to step back, but didn’t want Rory to feel cornered, either. Reluctantly, he propelled himself away until he met the opposite wall. He nodded to Rory. “I do.”

  “Even though I’ve fucked up so bad?”

  He nodded. “I
love you.”

  He waited, breathing shallow, hope making his gut nauseous. He rested his head back against the wall, needy of its support.

  And then . . .

  And then Rory smiled.

  His heart soared, then banged something fierce when Rory moved to him, and just might have stopped when Rory’s lips landed on his.

  Everything became a blur of sensation as Rory pressed himself against him, only pausing his kiss to slide his hands under his t-shirt and pull it off over his head. He groaned as Rory nibbled kisses down his neck and when he lightly thrust against him, Eric was clutching at Rory’s shirt and pulling it off.

  With music and euphoria singing in his veins, Eric didn’t hear the snip of the front door lock. Only when a gust of air blew over them, did his kiss break and he look to the side.

  Rory must have felt it too, his body froze against his, and then he was shaking. “Fuck.”

  The door had opened, and a girl and an older man stood on the other side of it. The girl shook her head, smirking, and turned to the man. “I thought you said Rory was smarter than me? I never would have gotten caught going at in the hall. Scandalous.” She winked at them, and hauled her suitcase over the threshold.

  Rory didn’t seem to catch the light-hearted joking—the way this girl was trying to break the tension. No, his gaze was rooted on the man’s.

  Suddenly Rory sucked in a gulp of air and he grabbed both their tops from the floor. “Fuck.” He shoved on Eric’s by mistake.

  Rory’s fear pulsated through the air, and Eric grabbed his elbow, steadying him. Holding him back, because he could feel Rory’s instinct to flee. Not wanting to let go, Eric awkwardly climbed into Rory’s top. He came close enough to Rory to whisper, “It’s okay. I’m right here with you.”

  Rory didn’t even look at him. He shook his head. “No, I’ve got to . . . Please go.”

  Eric wondered if it hurt more if Rory asked him to leave at all, or that he asked so gently. It sounded too soft, too serious. As if he were begging Eric to understand why this wasn’t going to work and that he was sorry.