by Leta Blake
Casey sat quietly trying to absorb RJ’s words. It wasn’t possible. Was it? “So you think he’s gay?”
“Maybe. Could be bi. He sure had some kind of thing for you back then. Becca and I used to talk about it all the time. Though we haven’t discussed it in years. She’s too busy telling me the gruesome details about her latest lady hookups to gossip about Joel, or you for that matter.”
“Why wouldn’t Joel have told you he was gay? You and Becca were out already.”
“Like you told us?”
Casey groaned. It was a fair point, but he didn’t want to admit it.
“Scared probably. Joel’s dad had some pretty big hang-ups about queers. Joel always told me and Becca to never mention it around him or we’d never be allowed back again. Hell, Becca used to pretend to be Joel’s girlfriend in front of his dad. And he punched Joel sometimes, you know?”
“Wait, what?” Casey tasted bile. “He did?”
“Yeah.”
Casey’s head spun. How had he not known any of this? Not about Becca pretending to be Joel’s girlfriend, and definitely not about Joel’s father being abusive. He’d been Joel’s best friend. They’d hopped the fence for each other. They’d watched YouTube videos in each other’s bedrooms. They’d listened to Gaslight Anthem albums and talked about horror movies.
Why the hell did RJ know something so important and he didn’t?
RJ went on, “His dad didn’t hit him enough for anyone to call Child Protection or whatever, but… Well, I don’t know.” RJ scoffed, annoyance slipping over the line. “It seemed like enough to me. I wanted to call, but it wasn’t my business. Or that’s what my mom said when I told her about that black eye he had that time—remember? You even asked him about it.”
The glaring purple bruise had forced Joel’s eye shut and lasted over a week. Casey’s chest tightened. “He said he fell cleaning out the gutters.”
RJ spoke softly, like he didn’t want to spook Casey. “Joel lies. That’s what I’m telling you. He lies for good reasons, I guess. Well, good reasons to him. But they’re lies all the same.”
“Lies,” Casey echoed, feeling pieces of their past clicking into new and strange positions, making a fresh puzzle, a different map.
“Yeah, tons of lies. Everything from acting like he didn’t want us around to dating girls to where those bruises came from.” RJ sounded desperately sad, and the echo of it filled Casey up. “As for him being queer like us? Well, what other straight boy was hanging out with me and Becca? Not you. Am I right?”
“Not me,” Casey conceded. “But it’s not impossible. It’s not like every friend I’ve ever had in the world is gay.”
“True. Some of the guys in the bands I’ve toured with have been mostly or even all straight. I prefer it that way, actually. It means more hot ass for me.”
“Ha!”
“Opening for The Cure was my best gig ever. I got so much tail. All those old farts went to bed so early, and the band I was playing for at the time was totally straight. I was taking men home in handfuls. It was amazing.”
“You’re a slut.” Casey laughed.
“And proud of it.” RJ laughed with him before he spoke again, a tender sympathy in his tone. “So, you’re really still carrying a torch after all this time?”
Casey’s throat tightened. His instinct was to deny it and make up an excuse to get off the phone, push RJ away along with everyone else. But he had to face it. “Yeah. But I think he hates me.”
“Why the hell would he hate you?”
Casey leaned back against the headrest and studied the pristine ceiling of the car’s interior. The pine scent from the tree sticking out the back enveloped him. “Pretty sure it’s because I didn’t contact him for almost four years after I went to college.”
“Huh. Might not be the coolest thing you’ve ever done, but given your big old unrequited love, I understand why you did it.”
“Yeah. I stopped by Vreeland’s tonight to pick up a Christmas tree for my folks. He wasn’t happy to see me.”
RJ laughed. “Pissy little shit, ain’t he?”
Casey huffed and rolled his eyes. “You know what? He really is.”
“Yep,” RJ agreed and then hummed with a sweet gravelly purr that soothed Casey’s hurt.
Perking up, Casey asked, “Hey, where are you right now? Are you home for Christmas? Maybe we could get together. Hang out. Talk.” He and RJ hadn’t spent a ton of time together over the years, but Casey felt closer to him than anyone he’d met in New York. Which was really pathetic when he thought about it.
“Unfortunately I’m in Boston tonight. Then I’m spending Christmas in Cinci, gigging for a friend’s local band, and after that I’m heading out to London. Going on tour with Pearl Necklace.”
“Never heard of them.” That wasn’t a shock. RJ played guitar for almost any band that would take him on. He’d seen the world that way, though sometimes Casey wondered if he missed making his own music.
“Queer grunge-rock. Doesn’t pay as well as my last gig, but it’s a passion project for me.” RJ laughed with rough joy. It made Casey smile, despite his spinning head. “The lead singer’s my new boyfriend.”
“Oh? Awesome. Well, congratulations. What’s his name?”
“Pan Soldier.”
“No, it’s not.”
RJ cracked up. “No. It’s not. But that’s what he goes by onstage and that’s what he makes me call him in bed. ‘Yeah, Pan! Take it like the soldier you are!’”
Casey snorted. “You sure know how to pick ’em.”
“Don’t I, though?”
Settling into the driver’s seat again, Casey watched as a string of colored lights blinked to life on a trailer across the lake. “Remember back in high school when you lusted after our English Composition teacher? Twitchy Mr. Danvers?”
“Oh, man. Don’t even bring him up,” RJ groaned. “I still get hard when I think about his hot little ass in those tailored tweed pants. Christ.”
“You loved his bow ties.”
“His bow ties gave me life. It’s true. Shit.” RJ moaned again. “Why’d you bring him up, dude? Now you’ve got me riding the old crushes train again.” He sighed wistfully. “I won’t get any sleep tonight for stalking his Facebook and Instagram. He has both, by the way. And he’s as adorable now as he was back then.” RJ chuckled. “I’ve been on this particular ride before.”
Casey laughed. “Does he have a Twitter?”
“Guess I’ll have to find out.”
The front door to Casey’s parents’ house opened, and the golden foyer lamps illuminated his mother’s form. Her white-blond hair shone, and at some point she’d changed into red-and-green silk pajamas. She waved at him from the doorway, and he rolled down the window to shoot her a reassuring thumbs-up and to let her see he was on the phone. “Hey, I should go.”
“You sure? You know I’m here for your Joel-related heartache, buddy.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I just got back to my folks’ place and my mom’s eager for me to bring the tree in.”
“Text anytime. FaceTime, whatever. Whenever. I’ll always be ready to spill tea about our love lives.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
RJ gave a long-suffering sigh. “Show some pride, Casey. Own up to being a human being. Admit you’re sick with the love disease. Accept that Joel is your weak spot.”
“I don’t even know him now.” Casey’s mother gave up and went back inside. He really should go join her, but he wanted to hear RJ deny Casey’s words first.
“He’s Joel. Of course you know him. Now go decorate the tree with your mommy like a good little boy.”
“Safe travels. And hey—thanks. I… You’re a good friend. It’s nice to catch up.”
“Anytime, man. Don’t be a stranger like usual, okay?”
“I won’t.” This time, Casey meant it. Ann would be proud.
Before Casey climbed out of the car, he opened up the Facebook app on hi
s phone and typed in Joel’s name. It brought up the profile Casey had set up four years prior. There he found the same profile shot he’d originally uploaded. A picture of The Millennial Yodels—Joel, RJ, and Becca’s old band—stretched across the top of the page, and the single, solitary post was the one Casey had typed up on Joel’s behalf years ago.
But there was one new picture now. Something Becca had tagged both Casey and Joel in ages ago: an old shot of the band practicing in Joel’s garage, with Casey sitting on the concrete floor staring up at Joel with stars in his eyes.
But Joel himself had posted nothing on his Facebook page at all. Typical. He’d always been a closed book. And now Casey had taken a page from that book and closed himself off too. And he was sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of feeling alone and disconnected.
The idea that Joel might be gay or bi and that he’d actually crushed on Casey in high school? Casey couldn’t process it. How the hell had Joel kept that all locked away?
Probably the same way you did.
Maybe RJ was wrong. Casey closed his eyes, telling himself not to get excited or hopeful. Not even a little. Even if somehow Casey’s greatest wish had come true and Joel liked guys, he’d made his opinion of Casey crystal clear. Whatever he may or may not have felt back then, he clearly didn’t feel it now. No point in wishing for anything where Joel was concerned.
But what if…
Tamping down the flare of hope, Casey put his phone away and stopped torturing himself. Freeing the Christmas tree from his SUV was easy enough. It was maneuvering it into the house that was hard. The short Douglas Fir pine needles tugged and clawed at him, and when he went back out to grab the wreaths, the holly stuck him good. A bright bead of blood welled to the surface of his thumb when he dropped them on the front porch.
Staring at it, Casey thought of Joel’s pinched face glaring at him from down the row of Christmas trees. He stuck the wound into his mouth and sucked the blood away. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small stab from the holly.
But damn if that little prick didn’t hurt like hell.
Best thing to do was stay the hell away from Joel. Don’t think about him—and the incredible possibility that he could be gay too. RJ had to be wrong. No, Casey definitely wouldn’t try to see him again. Definitely wouldn’t look up his current address.
With the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, Casey pulled out his phone.
Chapter Seven
Joel couldn’t say he was surprised so much as annoyed when he stepped out of his trailer the next morning to find a gleaming white SUV parked in the yard next to his own gray Chevy. As for Casey, well, he looked ridiculously gorgeous leaning back against his Lexus, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his pale-yellow button-up shirt were folded to expose his strong forearms, and his long legs were crossed casually at the ankles.
Bruno, traitor that he was, dashed past Joel, bounding excitedly at the prospect of a new friend. Where were his pit bull roots now? Where was the big booming bark that would scare Casey into his car and away from here?
“Sic, Bruno!” Joel called out. “Attack!”
Bruno didn’t know those commands. He was a giant teddy bear. And despite Joel’s best effort to sound like Bruno might be an actual killer, Casey wasn’t perturbed at all. In fact, he squatted down to pet and rub Bruno’s ears while the turncoat dog pranced and slobbered all over Casey’s nicely pressed khaki pants. At least he’d sullied him a little. If only Bruno would jump up and put his muddy paws on Casey’s pristine shirt, then they’d be getting somewhere.
Speaking of Casey’s shirt, it was clear the guy still had no fashion sense. What sane person their age—Casey was almost twenty-two now—dressed like that? He looked like he took fashion advice from his grandpa. And yet he was still so fucking handsome.
Ducking back into the trailer, Joel left Casey to deal with Bruno. He tugged his fleece-lined jean jacket on over his black short-sleeve T-shirt and checked that his wallet was still in the back pocket of his jeans. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror, relieved by what he saw. His dark hair was on point, his skin remarkably clear given his crap diet, and he looked mussed enough that he could easily pretend he didn’t care what Casey thought of his appearance at all.
“His name’s Bruno?” Casey asked with a friendly smile when Joel came back out.
“No, it’s Murder. Which is what he’s going to do to you in a few seconds. Once he stops slobbering all over you.”
“Right.” Casey smiled as he rubbed Bruno’s head and talked to him in that high-pitched voice that everyone used with dogs and babies, except for Joel. Well, he did use it with Bruno when they were alone. But never where other people might hear him. How humiliating for Casey that he didn’t know how ridiculous he sounded. How humiliating for Bruno to have to hear it. And how damn annoying that it was all kind of cute.
He took in the whole of Casey again. The morning sun loved Casey. It reflected the gold flecks in his light brown hair and, damn, all along his exposed forearms. It wasn’t fair how beautiful he was. It wasn’t fair that Casey’s rich boyfriend got to enjoy all that shiny glow and probably took it for granted. Joel’s gut did flip-flops, but he fought against it and made certain his sour expression held.
“So, are you stalking me now?” Joel asked, stomping across his yard and glancing at his cell phone to check the time. He didn’t want to be late. Angel was opening Vreeland’s this morning, which was nice of her given the fact that he’d left her to close on her own the night before. The shit show of texts she’d sent, including the picture of the Blow Mold baby Jesus with Satan’s numbers Sharpie’d on his forehead, had made her irritation beyond clear.
So he didn’t have to rush in to work, but he did need to go by the nursing home to bring his father breakfast first. He stuffed his cell back into his pocket and took a deep breath, preparing for emotional battle before meeting Casey’s eyes. “Well, stalker?”
“No, I’m not. Well, maybe.” Casey grinned sheepishly.
“Maybe? I’d say definitely. How’d you find me?” Not many people knew where he’d moved after selling the house. “Was it Becca?”
“Google.”
“Oh. Right.” Joel rolled his eyes. “I forget my privacy is nil since Congress overturned all those crucial Internet privacy regulations just so they could line some big companies’ pockets. Thanks, ’Merica.”
Casey said nothing, continuing to pet Bruno, who stared up with all the adoration Joel had once felt for Casey. He couldn’t even blame the dog for being smitten. He still was, despite his better judgment.
“Well?” Joel asked again. “Why are you even here?”
Casey rose, muddy paw prints on his pant legs and his formerly pristine shirt wrinkled and covered with dog fluff. Joel wanted to feel some sort of satisfaction in that—he should have felt it—but instead he had to hold back from scolding Bruno for doing what dogs do. Casey bit his lower lip, a gesture that shot into Joel like an arrow straight to his heart, and when he gazed up at Joel from beneath golden lashes, another arrow went straight to his dick. Fuck.
“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Casey said. “I shouldn’t have surprised you that way.”
Joel barked a laugh and gestured at the SUV and Casey standing there beside it. “So, this is better?”
Casey winced. “Right. No. Probably not.”
“Christ.” Joel turned his gaze from Casey’s plump lips and earnest eyes. He shifted to look out at the lake instead, the dark water reflecting the winter-gray sky. “You were always like this. You’d just come over. Like you were allowed. And then you’d just stay.” And he’d liked that about Casey. Always had, and, fuck his own stupid heart, always would. He even liked it now, for fuck’s sake.
“I wanted a chance to talk to you. Face-to-face. Something better, more honest, than last night.”
“You couldn’t have used the phone?”
Casey ignored that. “I barely slept. My mind kept turning over eve
rything you’d said to me. I hated that you… That I made you feel that way, Joel. By ghosting on you, I mean. And I guess I thought face-to-face would be more productive. I thought you’d be less likely to ignore me.” He grinned, and the light caught his eyes. “Plus, I don’t exactly have your number. The Internet didn’t cough that up.”
Joel rubbed a hand over his upper lip. His stomach flipped over. Why was it so damn hard for him to say no to Casey, much less stay mad at him? He really wanted to be mad. But…
Bruno took off across the yard, barking hard at the wild turkey he’d spotted in the woods. Joel let him go without whistling him back. Bruno was a terrible hunter, but at least he’d get some exercise trying to catch the bird before Joel shut him back up in the trailer for the day. He had his dog door for necessities, but typically he was a lazy lump and mainly slept.
“So what do you say? Can we talk?” Casey asked when Bruno’s barks had faded and his clumsy rustling in the woods calmed down.
Joel tilted his head back, studying the steel-colored clouds, and finally shrugged. “C’mon.” He gestured with his head for Casey to follow him. “We can sit at least.”
Casey’s sharp intake of breath as they came around the corner of the trailer and into the shade of a massive oak tree by the lake brought a grim smile to Joel’s face. At least Casey recognized it. That was something.
“Is that…?”
“Yeah. I took it before the construction crew could demolish the entire lot for that new house they’re building.”
“Isn’t that stealing?”
“I figured it belonged to me more than to anyone else. Don’t you agree?” Joel sat and gestured for Casey to join him. “Like the good old days.” The sarcasm wasn’t intentional, and he felt a little guilty when Casey’s smile faded again before he folded his now ridiculously long limbs to sit on the wood-and-iron bench—their bench.
