Open Net (Cayuga Cougars Book 2)

by V. L. Locey

  “August, do you not care for the sandwich?”

  My daydream shattered and I quickly looked from the pretty curtains on the wide windows to Sal’s father.

  “It’s delicious,” I said as heat climbed up my neck. “I’m just… I come from a small family. Dinner was a lot quieter.”

  “Yeah, these two don’t know how to sit quietly and eat like ladies,” Sal teased.

  A radish slice flew across the table and hit Sal in the middle of the forehead. Victoria laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder triumphantly. Mrs. Castenada scolded her son and daughter and made me another sloppy joe to eat. I tried to politely refuse, but the sandwich ended up on my plate anyway.

  “No point in trying to fight it,” Sal told me. “Just unbutton the top button of your pants and enjoy, Aug.”

  So I did.

  As night moved in, I found myself being pulled into the Castenada family routine. The twins loaded dishes into the dishwasher, Sal swept the floor, and I wiped off the dining room table and the counters. When the kitchen was spotless, we all went into the sunken living room to watch a movie. Seemed the whole Castenada clan love to be scared, so they picked The Grudge to watch. I’d never seen it before. I’m not big on horror flicks. They make me uneasy, I’ll freely admit that. I read a Stephen King book about vampires back when I was a kid and couldn’t sleep for weeks. But I sat through it, trying to look cool but feeling like ants were crawling up my legs. Then this creepy ghost girl appeared in a bathroom mirror. I couldn’t get off the sofa fast enough. My legs got tangled with Sal’s, our bowl of popcorn flying to the floor. Everyone who wasn’t hiding behind their hands laughed. Which meant Sal and his father. Cleaning up my mess kept my red face hidden from the others.

  “Man, you sure do get scared easy,” Sal teased as he held out his hand to me. “Come on, sit back down. I’ll keep you safe.”

  I felt like an idiot as I took my seat. Sal threw a blanket over us, draped his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me close. He took the bowl and set it on an end table.

  “My sister Cora can’t watch scary movies either,” I heard Mr. Castenada saying. I peeked around his son, my face still hot.

  “Aunt Cora is the worst, Aug. You should see her.” Sal started talking, softly, calmly, using his voice to ease my embarrassment as he went on and on about his aunt and how she had to watch Ghostbusters through her fingers. “And really, Ghostbusters isn’t a scary movie at all,” he pointed out, then jumped when something grisly and ghastly appeared on the screen. We all shrieked in unison, so I didn’t feel quite so cowardly from that point on.

  After the horror-fest, the men stayed up to watch some baseball. Mr. Castenada chatted away with us as the game crept into the ninth inning. I was totally at ease here. When midnight arrived, the game ended, so we made our way upstairs.

  Sal went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. There was a small mirror on the dresser, a round one on a stand. I flipped that over just in case any ghost girls wanted to appear in it, stripped down to my underwear, and crawled into the middle of his bed, my back to his headboard and my legs tucked in close to my chest. That was how he found me a couple of minutes later. I watched his eyes flare in surprise.

  “If I have nightmares about creepy girls pulling me into mirrors tonight, it is totally your fault,” I informed him.

  “They don’t make big, tough hockey players the way they used to.”

  I flipped him off, then wiggled downward, letting my eyes close. He silently kicked off his shoes. I heard them thump to the floor one after the other. Then the left side of the bed sank. I smelled his aftershave, then felt his hand brush my shoulder. I peeked up at him and got a soft smile as he ran a hand over my bare arm. Sal stretched out on his side to my right. A moment passed. I listened to myself breathing, the cadence slowing as we lay there saying nothing. My head rested on a pillow. Sal’s magnificent eyes were closed. I touched his side, pulled ever so slightly on him. He scooted closer, never touching me in any way. It was me who touched, arranged, and got us both comfortable.

  “You wondering why I’m not all over you?” he asked, his voice low and sleepy.

  “I was, but then I remembered your parents are on the other side of the wall.” I pushed my fingers under the band of his briefs and let my eyes slowly shut. “By the time we get to the woods up north, we’ll both be hornier than a bull moose.”

  “Hell, I already am.”

  We kissed lightly, just a brush of lips. I fell asleep after he did, and not one scary mirror girl ever showed up.

  Morning came. When I managed to force my eyes open, it was past noon. Sal was not in the room. I felt gritty. Stripping as I walked, I slogged into the bathroom, mind still foggy, and stepped into the shower. The tiles were red, black, and white. The pulsating head felt great on the knotted muscles in my neck. I must have slept in some odd position. It was a fast shower, followed by a toothbrushing and a comb tugged through my hair. I opted not to shave, because I was on vacation. When I entered the kitchen, Sal lifted his head and lowered the book he was reading on his tablet, then got up. The stool he’d been sitting on grated on the tile floor.

  “You have some major hair stuff going on,” he said, then produced a comb from his back pocket. “Want me to tame it down?”

  “I already combed it once, but sure.”

  He strolled over, all long legs in tight denim and a funky loose sweater in a shade of bronze that made his skin glow. I badly wanted to kiss him. So I hooked a finger into the neck of his sweater and gently led him to me. He moaned long and low when my lips met his. He was tense, even though no one was home. I took the floppy ends of his sweater and wrapped him in them, pulling him flush to me. A hot flash of lust burst to light in the pit of my stomach. I nipped at his lower lip. He responded instantly but tentatively. It was all up to me, so I lapped at the seam of his mouth until he met my tongue with the tip of his. Then we kissed deeply, our tongues tangling. When we broke apart, his eyes were hooded and hot.

  “That was nice,” I panted, relishing the crush of him resting against me. I reached up to comb my fingers through his hair, then trace his eyebrow with my thumb. “Think we can sneak back upstairs?”

  He was about to reply when the back door opened and Mrs. Castenada walked in with several cloth bags of food in her hands. Sal rolled his eyes at his mother, then rested his brow against mine.

  “You want to go kick back at the mall for a few hours? Maybe we can grab a movie or something?” he asked while we took the bags from Sal’s mother and hefted them to the counters. She smiled lovingly at her son and then me.

  “I’m up for anything,” I replied as Sal’s mom began emptying her shopping bags.

  “Cool. We’ll see a movie, and then maybe we can head to this awesome little comic shop over in Elmira Heights.”

  Sal grabbed a bag of cookies from inside a bag on the counter, tore into it, shimmied over to me holding the cookies over his head, then pressed his tasty mouth to mine. His kiss tasted like chocolate chips. All the while, Mrs. Castenada was chiding him about how bad foods wouldn’t make him strong and healthy. His HIV was always there. Sometimes I could forget about if for a couple of hours, or even a day, but then something would remind me. Seeing him swallow a cocktail of pills, his dedication to playing basketball and hitting the gym, or his zeal for nutritious foods. Him stealing cookies was super unusual.

  “She worries,” he whispered against my lips.

  “She loves you, just like I do.”

  We shared another kiss and a couple of pilfered cookies, then headed out for a day of doing nothing at all. Shopping, lunch at the food court in the mall, more shopping, a crappy action movie, then a couple of hours at the comic book shop. It was perfect. And just what I needed to help rinse away the disappointment of the Cougars not being champions this year.

  As Sal and Mrs. Castenada worked on dinner, I stepped out onto the back porch and called my parents. They were anxiously awaiting me and my guest. I tried at
least five times in the ten minutes we were talking to tell my mother that it was a guy I was bringing home, but the timing was always wrong. And should I really tell them I was gay over the phone? Our time in Martens Bay was going to be real interesting.

  After the call home, I joined the Castenada family for dinner. Mrs. Castenada served us bowls of corn soup followed by soft tacos stuffed with strips of steak and topped with chunks of tomatoes, hot peppers, onions, lettuce and cheese. For dessert there were candied sweet potatoes that were so good I overate to the point of discomfort.

  “If I lived here, I’d be so big I couldn’t reach down to tie my skates,” I whispered to Sal as we cleaned the kitchen for his mother.

  After clean-up, the family gathered in the living room for more baseball. I saw where Sal got his love of the game. We sat side by side on the couch, his fingers resting on mine.

  Mr. and Mrs. Castenada both stood up when the anthem started. I looked questioningly at Sal. He also shoved himself to his feet, so I did as well. Both the older folks sang loudly. It was obvious that they were super proud to be American citizens. When we all sat back down, Sal wiggled in to my side, his head resting against mine. I turned my head, kissed his temple, and prayed that my old, out-of-touch parents would be half as cool and accepting as the Castenada family was.

  I drove to Manitoba from our rest stop in Minnesota. Not because I didn’t trust Sal behind the wheel of my baby. It was because I wanted the city boy to be able to drink in the beauty of Canada. To say he was captivated would be selling his reactions short.

  “Oh man, look at that sunrise.” His voice cracked and he craned his head around like an owl. I pulled over before he broke his neck and eased the car gently into park alongside a road that appeared to go on forever.

  I parked, and he and I left the car to stretch and enjoy the sunrise. We had driven hard, with only two stops. One was at the border, the other a pull-off for gas, a restroom, and some of those creamy orange sodas Sal can’t pass up. The two of us rested against the front quarter-panel of my car as the sun threw oranges, reds, and dark pinks over the flat Manitoba prairie.

  “The sky and land are endless.”

  “Yeah, it’s something, huh?”

  “How much further until we reach Martens Bay?” he asked as he snapped a few pictures on his cell phone.

  “Oh, about an hour, maybe less,” I replied, folding my arms over my chest. The light jacket felt good. “Don’t be in a rush,” I muttered under my breath as my gaze roamed the flat, familiar landscape that I called home.

  “Aren’t you excited to see your parents?” He stepped away from the car, his camera moving left and then right. “I just love Canada.” He spun and locked his camera on me. “You nervous about going home?”

  My sight touched on him, gently roaming over the soft denim tight to his muscular thighs, the sloppy sweater that hung sinfully off his shoulder, and the dark stubble along his jaw.

  “I’m more nervous about what they’re going to say when they see you.” There. It was out. At least something was.

  “Wait.” He lowered his camera and nailed me with a highly suspicious look. “They don’t know you’re bringing me?”

  “They know I’m bringing a friend. They assume it’s a woman. I mean, they probably assume it’s a woman.”

  “August, are you telling me that your family doesn’t know you’re gay yet?” His face was slack with disbelief. I nodded. His disbelief changed into anger in a blink of those bittersweet chocolate eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? I thought you’d told them when we made the plans to visit them.”

  I looked down the road, my gaze locating a raven sitting on an electric pole. “I know it’s not the best way for them to find out, but I thought if you were there they’d at least have to be polite.”

  The heated string of Spanish expletives startled the raven. It flew off. I wished I could. I stood there, arms folded, letting Sal vent his spleen on me. He had every right. It was pretty shitty to use him as a human shield. When he was done, he stared at me as if he expected me to reply to his long list of complaints and dirty names.

  “I don’t know what you said, but I get that you’re mad.”

  His threw his hands into the air and stomped around, mumbling to himself, for another minute or two. This was the first time I’d ever seen him really pissed. He was kind of sexy with his dander up, but I kept that thought to myself.

  “You totally should be mad.”

  “Thanks. I’m so glad you give me permission to be pissed off.” He stalked back across the two-lane road to point a finger at my nose. “You need to own your shit, August.”

  “You’re right, I do, and I will. I just didn’t know how to tell them that I’m gay.”

  “And bringing home a Latino man who just happens to be HIV positive is your solution? Great! You know how much they’re going to hate me?”

  He pounded down the road, stopped, glowered at me, and then came back with long, powerful strides. He stood there, Manitoba morning settling on his wide shoulders, and tried to look right into my soul.

  “I love you like mad, but you need to be the man you’re supposed to be. Step up. Be proud of being a gay man. It’s time, August.” He cupped my chin in his warm hand so I couldn’t look away. “It’s time.” Then he kissed me. Hard, deep, crushingly. When he pulled away, my lips tingled from the pressure of his kiss.

  “I’m working on it, I swear. This here, with my folks—this is the last hurdle, I promise.”

  “I know,” he said, then tugged me by the back of the neck against his chest. I slid my hands around him, pushed them under his baggy sweater, and pressed my fingers deeply into his hot, firm flesh. “I keep forgetting how young you are, and how far you’ve come in such a short time.” He kissed my neck, his lips tender now. “I still want to kick your ass for not telling them about me, but I get it.”

  We held each other as the sun crept over the flat farmland, beams of golden light arcing out, warming small bugs and song birds as well as us. I dug into my front pocket and handed him the keys. It was the least I could do. I’d need the next sixty minutes to get my shit owned.

  Martens Bay is a small town, about five hundred people, who mostly farm. There’s a lake nearby, pretty big one, Lake Martens, that gives lots of locals a job taking American fishermen out to catch some of the largest northern pike ever to be seen by human eyes. Summer time is short and busy for farmers and outfitters. Winter is long for everyone who doesn’t fly back to the States. Driving through Martens Bay, you have your choice of a bar, a small food store, a hockey rink, and a church. The bar and church are on opposite ends of the four-lane that cuts through the town.

  Sal crept along the rutted driveway leading to the small farm I was raised on. A large barn sat on one side of the dirt lane, an old farm house on the other. Most of the animals had been sold off about four years ago, right about the time I went to college. Dad still kept a couple of steers to fiddle with, but he was retired now, or was supposed to be. My throat was dry. My lips too. I emptied what remained of Sal’s orange soda, belched into my hand, then tried to find my shit so I could own it.

  He slapped my thigh. “You ready for this?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  I threw the passenger door open and got out of the car. Sal did the same. The front door of the house opened. My mom and dad stepped out. I saw them look at me, smiles wide, and then over at Sal. When they glanced back at me, I saw how confused they were. I bounded across mud puddles and up the four steps to wrap my arms around them both at the same time. Mom smelled like pickling spices, Dad like pipe tobacco. Both were tall, lean, and bowed from eking out a living on this old farm.

  “You feel thin,” Mom said after the hug ended.

  “I’m fine, Mom. The team’s trainers are putting some muscle on me. Mom and Dad, this is Sal Castenada, my friend from Elmira. Sal, Bill and Natalie Miles, my parents.”

  I stepped back from my parents, turned, and held out my h
and for Sal. His smile was awkward and adorable. I took his hand and pulled him up to stand beside me on the old, rickety porch. Both my parents seemed to be a little baffled, but we Canadians are too polite to come right out and be blunt. Dad and Sal shook hands.

  “Come on in. I’ll get you boys some food,” Mom said, her arm around my waist.

  I looked over my shoulder at Sal and my father shaking hands. Sal gave me a quick nod, so I allowed my mother to pull me inside. The house was just as I recalled. Kind of dingy, with old curtains, carpeting that was worn flat in spots, and a woodstove in the living room churning out heat. God, it was good to be home. Dad took Sal upstairs to show him the guest room and help with the bags. I followed my mother into the huge kitchen. She quietly tied an apron around her waist, then removed a cast iron skillet from the dish drainer.

  I crept around the kitchen, trying to get a peek at her face. She chatted away casually as the gas range click-click-clicked to life. Telling me about the neighbors, the lake, the girl I’d dated back in school and how, miraculously she was still available. I felt bad, but steered the talk away from girls and locals. Dad and Sal stepped into the kitchen, and talk shifted to safer topics like hockey. Mom cooked away, interjecting things into the conversation as she placed platters filled with scrambled eggs and thick, round slices of bacon on the table.

  I lowered my head when Dad said grace. My eyes met Sal’s over a plate stacked high with dark rye toast. Knowing what had to be said made acting like nothing was wrong hard. I caught my mother giving Sal peculiar looks as she nibbled at her bacon or sipped her strong coffee. After the food was gone, Sal slowly pushed himself to his feet. We all looked up at him.

  “I think I’m going to go grab a nap. We drove straight through. Thank you for the delicious breakfast, Mrs. Miles.” He gave my mother the same kind of smile that always made my heart beat a tad irregularly. Then he climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor.

  I shifted around in my seat, stirred some eggs crumbs around on my plate, then blew out a long, long, long breath.