by Leta Blake
If he were smart, he’d beat the shit out of Casey and kill this thing between them once and for all, instead of letting him stay. But that was another thing he’d never do, just like he’d never kiss Casey or let him glimpse how he really felt.
Because a queer wasn’t something he could ever be. Even if Casey let him. Even if the world allowed it. His dad had made it more than clear with his fists that Joel couldn’t ever be a queer and live. Not ever.
“I want to stay here to listen when the band comes,” Casey said, his amber eyes flashing and his jaw setting stubbornly. Joel knew that look. It meant Casey Stevens was about to get what he wanted, and Joel Vreeland wasn’t going to stop him. “And I don’t care if you’re an asshole about it.”
Joel’s lips twitched as Casey sank down to the cold concrete floor of the garage to sit with his legs crossed. His tight jaw dared Joel to do something. Defiantly, Casey opened up his sketchbook, revealing the doodles and small, fake ads that he made up for fun. His talent wasn’t huge with a pen, but Joel had seen what Casey could do with the digital art apps on his iPad, and it was good stuff. He caught Casey’s eye and raised a brow.
“Not leaving,” Casey said again, his pouty mouth thinning.
Joel shrugged, elated and scared at the same time. “Fine. Be stubborn.” His heart beat faster, and his palms started to sweat.
Casey broke into a smile, and damn if that didn’t make Joel’s stomach churn with strange, messy excitement. He might puke if Casey didn’t stop looking kissably obstinate like that. Joel concentrated on strumming the chords of the band’s new song “King’s Pride,” and Casey sang along quietly. Casey’s tenor was sweet like honey, and Joel held himself back from putting the guitar aside, sliding down to his knees, and grabbing hold of Casey’s cheeks to kiss him.
He cleared his throat and schooled his mind again. Kissing Casey was a super queer thing to want to do. Really damn queer. Why couldn’t he just stop imagining it and wishing Casey wanted it too?
Then the dark thoughts descended. The ones he tried to ignore almost as much as he tried to ignore the kissing thoughts. What if someone else saw Casey’s special beauty one day? What if that someone was a girl? How would he ever survive if Casey fell in love with someone? Held hands with her in front of him? Kissed her?
He’d curl up and die, that’s what, if he were being honest.
Sitting up and rubbing his face, Joel groaned. Honest about his feelings for Casey Stevens was something he’d never planned to be, and with Casey suddenly returned, he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter Four
Casey couldn’t believe what a dickwad Joel had turned into. Yeah, he’d always been cranky like his old man, and he’d been a jerk sometimes, but that was when they were kids. They were adults now. Grown men. And Casey hadn’t expected Joel to treat him like a stranger. Not that he’d thought Joel would give him a giant bear hug, pat him on the back, and welcome him home either. But a few minutes of his time? The chance to make amends and reconnect? He’d thought he’d at least get that.
Should have known better. Casey berated himself for hoping and tried to banish the knot of pain that tightened in his gut.
But, if he was honest with himself—something Ann was teaching him how to be—maybe he deserved the reception he’d received. Friends grew apart, true enough, but most did it naturally. He couldn’t claim that the end of his friendship with Joel had been natural at all. No, Casey had turned his back on Knoxville and everyone in it after he came out as gay to his parents and headed off to NYU still shaking with the fright.
Frankly, he’d been too scared to look back. He’d always thought if Joel really knew how he felt and the things he wanted to do with him, he’d be disgusted. Joel was straight after all, and most straight guys in Knoxville didn’t have a very open mind about gay sex.
So maybe that was it. Joel was disgusted. Joel had probably heard through the grapevine about Casey being a big ol’ queer who enjoyed sticking his dick up tight, sweet man-butt. Maybe that idea grossed Joel out so much he couldn’t even be polite to Casey. Maybe he hated him now. That was probably what this cold shoulder was all about. Casey’s heart ached.
Casey couldn’t be too surprised. Homophobia was a real thing, after all, and he’d experienced it before. Though he hadn’t expected it of Joel, who’d always been cool with both RJ and Becca being gay. What could have changed? Had he found religion? Been saved? Gone conservative?
Casey’s chest went tight the way it always did when shame clawed into him. He closed his eyes and breathed through it, trying to listen to his inner Ann-voice. What would she say about Joel? She’d probably suggest that Casey not jump to conclusions, and then she’d ask if this kind of cold, distant behavior was normal for Joel.
And, yeah, Casey would have to say that it absolutely was. Even if he didn’t want it to be. There hadn’t been a single time Casey could think of when he hadn’t been initially rebuffed by Joel when they were kids. But if he persisted, Joel always came around.
Maybe instead of Joel turning into a giant homophobe, he was doing what he always did: playing the straight-guy friendship version of hard-to-get. Like back in the day when Joel used to tell Casey he should leave the garage before Becca and RJ showed up for band practice, but then was secretly happy when Casey stubbornly stayed anyway. Casey hadn’t missed those subtle smiles or the flash of amused satisfaction in Joel’s eyes when Casey had just stayed and been his friend, no matter how Joel grumbled about it.
Casey stalked up and down the rows of Christmas trees. At the end of one identical line, he glanced back toward the store. Joel had initially disappeared somewhere deeper inside, but he was visible now through the well-lit windows, instructing a teenage girl wearing a black sweater with white skulls, helping her arrange some fir and holly wreaths. The girl frowned and sucked on her finger like the holly had pricked her.
Joel motioned with his hands. He no longer wore the thick fleece-lined jean jacket he’d had on when Casey pulled up. He’d taken it off, revealing a white short-sleeve shirt and jeans that clung to his ass. His arms bore tattoos that hadn’t been there the last time Casey had seen them bare.
Casey couldn’t make out the details of the tats, but they were all black and most were in script, clearly words of some sort, except for one on his right forearm that was bright red. An upside-down heart—depending on which direction a person looked at it. It would be right-side up to Joel and upside-down to others.
Swallowing hard, Casey shook his head and turned back to the rows of Christmas trees. Dejection seeped into him from the cold soles of his tennis shoes up to the top of his head. He walked more slowly back down the next row. He looked more carefully at the trees this time.
They were all of good stock. Many tall enough to choose for home. He could stuff one in the back of the SUV, leave some cash half-tucked beneath a poinsettia pot, and get going. It might be better to cut his losses and forestall further humiliation. Or, hell, he could always go to Costco like his mom had asked. The employees there might not give him a big ol’ hug either, but they wouldn’t make him feel like a total piece of shit by just walking away like he wasn’t worth their time.
Instead, Casey sat on a wrought-iron garden bench decked out with glowing, colored twinkle lights, and counted his breaths. Each exhale was released in giant, white puffs. It was a trick Ann had taught him during his first winter in the city: he could endure any amount of loneliness or pain for five good puffs of frigid air. And then he could do it again.
“Still here?” Joel asked, voice terse, shattering Casey’s concentration. His eyes were hot, though, as he stood at the other end of the row of trees, hands stuffed into his re-donned jean jacket’s pockets and one dark, thick brow arched questioningly.
“So many to choose from.” Casey stood and dusted off his ass. His cashmere trench coat didn’t provide the same warmth that Joel’s denim and fleece probably did, but he shoved his hands into his pockets all the same, mi
rroring Joel’s stance. “I gave up. Maybe you could help me out? You know, with your tree expertise?”
Joel stared at him.
He should just take the hint and leave. What compelled him to stay here and stare down Joel’s dark glare when he obviously wasn’t wanted? But he was still Casey Stevens, still that boy in Joel’s garage at heart. And he wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted. Not unless Joel actually outright told him to go. “Mom said it was up to me to choose. But, I mean, what’s the difference between Scotch Pine and Douglas Fir anyway?”
Joel shifted to his other foot and shrugged. “It’s just a matter of what kind of needle you prefer. The longer Scotch Pine or the shorter Douglas Fir.”
“Why would someone prefer one over another?”
“Some people think the Scotch Pine is prettier and has a nicer color, but the ornaments slip off the long needles. Others say the Douglas Fir has a stronger pine scent, though it isn’t as attractive. But the short needles hold the ornaments better. It’s all a matter of what you want.”
Casey smiled. A matter of what he wanted? He wanted Joel to talk more. He wanted to break through to him and be friends again. The length of needles was as good a place as any to start. “What do you like?”
Joel stared at him, his pale cheeks flushing before he broke eye contact. “It doesn’t matter what I like. You should ask your mom what she wants.” He started to turn away.
“Hey!” The word burst out of him before Casey could stop it.
Joel turned back, brows lifted in surprise.
“Want to hang out while I’m in town?”
Joel cocked his head. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Joel’s expression fluttered through a dozen different shades of irritable shock and flabbergasted surprise. None of which matched Casey’s own disbelief that he was actually standing here talking to Joel again, asking him out—in a way—and he wasn’t going to let him get free without answering.
Casey strode closer until they stood face-to-face, surprised to find that Joel was a few inches shorter than him now.
Joel’s chin lifted, eyes intense as he held Casey’s gaze. “Why?”
Casey decided not to mention Joel’s muscles or tattoos. And he definitely was not going to mention how tough (and hot) Joel looked these days with his unshaven five-o’clock shadow and his callused hands. All he could spit out around the tightness in his chest and the dizzy rush in his veins was, “I’ve missed you, man.”
Joel tossed his hands up incredulously. “Are you serious?”
Casey swallowed hard, trying to get a grip. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Joel scoffed. It sounded nothing like the rough giggle that used to send shivers up Casey’s spine. “Are you kidding me right now? You haven’t contacted me in almost four years.” He pierced Casey with a glare. “Now you want to ‘hang out’?” He snorted. “I repeat, why?”
“Because we were friends…” Casey trailed off. What had he been hoping for? A Christmas miracle where Joel was gay too and had been pining for him as well? He was insane.
“Ha! Before you left, I sure as hell thought we were friends. But after? Not so much,” Joel snapped. “Do you need me to remind you why? Or do you think you can remember on your own?”
Casey’s head spun. He’d never been unkind to Joel. He’d only ever wanted Joel to like him. He’d only ever wanted Joel. He’d left Knoxville and turned his back on their friendship so Joel would never know how much. So why are you here now, idiot?
“Forget it.” Joel shook his head.
“No.” Casey stepped even closer. The scent of pine and fir filled his nose, and he wanted to drag Joel close and hold him against his body. He wanted to find out what he smelled like now, what he tasted like.
Joel frowned and shrugged. “No what?”
“No, I mean… I remember how I left and… Joel, what I did, ghosting like that? It’s not how friends should treat each other.”
“Glad we sorted that out.” Joel said, shoving his hands into his jean jacket pockets and shrugging. “Now grab your tree and get out of here, man.”
Casey could practically feel the heat coming off Joel’s body. “You’re treating me like a stranger or, worse, like someone you hate.” Casey tried to calm his voice. He sounded shrill even to himself. “I know I didn’t keep in touch these last few years, not like I should have, but is this really how you want it to be?”
Joel blew a hank of dark hair off his cheekbone and swallowed audibly. He darted a glance back toward the store’s big, bright windows and eyed the goth girl he’d been counseling on the wreaths earlier. She appeared to be drawing a tattoo with a black Sharpie on one of the shepherds’ arms in the Blow Mold Nativity scene. Joel shook his head and sighed. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Well?” Casey pressed. In addition to the inches he’d grown in the last few years in New York, he’d also grown an even stronger spine. He couldn’t have survived the city if he hadn’t. And Ann had helped with that, too.
“No, this isn’t how I want it to be,” Joel admitted. His voice was drained of rage for the moment. “But I don’t know why you came here.”
“Why wouldn’t I come here?” Casey gestured around at the trees and the store. “My mom asked me to get a tree and some wreaths. I always came here before.”
Joel’s eyes hardened again. “I mean, yeah, sure. Come on over to Vreeland’s if you want a tree, or a Christmas cactus, or some icicle lights for the outside of your folks’ big, honking, new house, but otherwise…?” He licked his lips and sputtered, gesturing with his hands like Casey was a nuisance. “We were friends a long time ago. Now, I got nothing for you, man.”
Casey reached out, his fingers so close to touching Joel’s jacket, but he fell short. “Look, my mom said to go to Costco, but I came here instead.”
“And?”
“Can’t you see what I’m getting at?”
Joel shook his head. “No. I can’t.”
“I’m not here for a tree, Joel.” Casey shoved his hands through his hair; frustration and another stunted emotion stuck like shrapnel in his chest. “I mean, yeah, I need a tree. For my mom. But I came here to see you. I thought we…” He swallowed, his heart squeezing. He felt light-headed. “I hoped maybe…”
“Yeah?” Joel’s eyebrow went up again, and this time there was a glimmer of something less angry in his eyes. “You hoped what?”
“That we could hang, I guess. Like I said.”
“Hang. You guess.” Joel shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wow. What are we? Fifteen? Or are you slumming it?”
“Slumming it?”
Everything was pear-shaped. Casey had walked into some upside-down world where it was an insult to want to rekindle an old friendship. Where was the exit and how did he get out?
“Sure. Slumming it. You know, piss Daddy Stevens off by rubbing elbows with a proletariat like me. Isn’t that what you used to get off on?”
“I don’t understand.” Casey scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “You actually think… I mean, are you really angry that I’ve missed you? That I wanted to hang out with you while I’m in town for Christmas? That’s crazy!” Casey threw his arms wide. “What’s your problem, dude? Yeah, I should have stayed in touch, but this shit happens when people go to college.” He knew that wasn’t necessarily true—that he’d cut Joel out of his life to protect himself from heartbreak—but he couldn’t exactly admit that to Joel now if he wanted to revive their friendship. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” Joel’s dark eyes didn’t look at all like mud anymore. They were cold and hard as stone. “I don’t want anything from you.” He stepped close enough to stab his finger against Casey’s chest. “Go to Costco and buy your mom a tree. Take it back to your fancy, giant house. Decorate it in gold-dipped fucking glass balls for all I care. Go back to New York. Become a hotshot lawyer, or whatever you’re going to be, and get on
with your life. Me? I don’t fit in with you, Casey. I never have, and I never will.”
He brushed past, stormed toward the parking lot, and climbed into a beaten down old, gray Chevy. The goth girl from inside came running out after him, shouting for him to wait as he started the truck and drove away, but it was too late. She and Casey stared after Joel until his taillights disappeared around the bend.
“Well, crap. I guess I have to close up then,” she said, shoulders slumping. “I hate when he does that.”
“Sorry.”
“Why?” she asked, snapping her gum and shoving her black hair behind her ear. “Is it your fault he left?”
“I think so. Yeah.”
Her blue eyes sharpened, and she smiled with a gleam of interest. “Really? What did you say to him?”
“Nothing much. I asked if he wanted to hang out. We used to be friends, but…apparently we aren’t anymore.”
She laughed. “Don’t sweat it, dude. Mr. Frosty Pants doesn’t like anyone, really. Or at least he likes to pretend he doesn’t.” She shoved up the sleeves of her sweater, revealing what appeared to be a drawing or a tat of a bat wearing a Santa hat on her left forearm. For her sake, Casey hoped it was just a drawing. “I’m sorry if he was rude to you. Normally he’s pretty great with customers. He saves his assholery for his employees and friends.”
“Maybe I rank as a friend after all.”
“Maybe.” She eyed him speculatively. “Does he have a good reason to be mad at you?”
“I left for three and a half years and never got in touch.”
“Huh. Never pegged him for being sensitive about niceties and shit like that, but, then again, I don’t actually know him that well.” She lifted her chin higher and nodded once, a smirk twisting her lips. “That’s it. I’m putting 666 on the baby Jesus’s forehead, and I’m gonna get that selfie. He owes me for making me close without him.” Without another word, she stomped back into Vreeland’s, leaving Casey alone amongst the Christmas trees.
