It was a luxury I hadn’t had in who knows how long: my own bed. Not a hotel, not a friend’s futon, not a hard floor. There were entire years of my life where I’d been happy not to have a place to call home—I had relished the uncertainty, the knowledge that life could take me anywhere, that my home could be with anyone I cared about, anywhere. But more and more I wanted to be somewhere. Somewhere of my own, staying still long enough to develop routines, seeing what one place looked like through more than one cycle of seasons.
And so I’d decided on here, the Pacific Northwest, a place the opposite of where I’d grown up in the desert of New Mexico. Washington was lush, verdant, teeming with evidence of life, where the desert had just been dry and unwelcoming. Unwelcoming to me, at least.
The sun stayed up late at this latitude. Now, still, in late August, the last light wouldn’t sink below the horizon until nearly 9 p.m. Sometimes just after dinner, before the light had fully left the sky, I’d look out the back door window and see the figure of the guy standing there next door.
He was always in the same place, perched on the grass just a little bit in front of his deck, looking up at the trees. Sometimes he took a dog out there with him on a leash, but more often he was just alone, seemingly staring at nothing.
I half wanted to go out and talk to him. Typically I could talk to anyone, but his reaction when the landlord and I had seen him outside was so abrupt, I knew he likely wasn’t looking for a friend. So I left him to himself, instead just slowly growing accustomed to the times of day he’d be outside.
The third night in Fox Hollow I woke up with a start, terrified.
Bang. Bang. BANG.
I shot up in my sleeping bag, my body already shaking with alarm. I thought I’d been dreaming about someone pounding against my door—but I’d just woken up and realized that it wasn’t a dream at all—it was actually happening, and it sounded violent.
I glanced at my phone quickly and saw that it was 2:30 a.m. Who the fuck would be at my door at this hour? No one knew I lived here yet. I’d just moved in.
I swallowed hard and quickly rolled over to grab the cold wood handle of my old little-league baseball bat that I’d propped up against the wall. I took it everywhere with me, and slept with it near me out of habit, since it was the only real form of self-defense I had.
I got up off the floor and slowly crept out into the dark kitchen, looking at the faint light coming in through the screen door, but I didn’t see anyone there. I took a few steps closer.
BANG. It happened again, loud as fucking hell, and I jumped, knocking my knee against the wood of the kitchen table.
“Fuck!” I yelled, dropping the baseball bat with a loud clatter and bringing my knee up to my chest, hugging it against my body.
After a few seconds I heard a strange sound from out back—not the banging, but more of a rustling.
I knew I had to go outside. If I died, I’d lived a good, varied life.
I gingerly put my leg back down to the ground and picked up the bat. I silently moved to the door, and then quick as I could, opened both the screen door and the back door.
I felt the rush of the cool night air, and immediately all I heard was barking.
It was a dog. The dog from next door, crazed and out of control, alternately barking and growling at me. But clearly, it was more afraid of me than I was of it. It had a plastic ball at its side, and I realized all at once that the dog must have somehow been launching the ball against my door. That explained the banging sound.
“Chewy! Chewy!” I heard a voice coming from somewhere else in the yard. Someone was running over to my deck.
It was him. The guy I’d been weirdly keeping tabs on the past three days. He ran over, shirtless and wearing sweatpants, and immediately grabbed the dog by its collar, crouching next to it.
“I am so sorry,” he said, his voice pleading and desperate.
“It’s fine—it’s no big deal—” I said.
“Hey, heyyyy, hey,” he said to the dog, keeping his voice low and velvety. The dog calmed almost immediately when he arrived, transforming into a docile, friendly creature and sitting obediently. He petted the dog slowly and methodically for a few seconds, keeping his eyes steady, and eventually it rolled over onto its back.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, watching him work. “That was like magic.”
He glanced up at me. “Chewy knows me. I’ve had a lot of practice. She’s a rescue dog, and she’s really nervous, and she apparently figured out how to break out the fucking window. I won’t let this happen again.”
“She’s beautiful,” I said, already completely forgetting about the rude awakening and more focused on the man in front of me, the pale skin of his exposed back as he crouched on the floor. “Do you know what kind of dog she is?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We have no clue. She’s a total mutt, brought into the shelter in a box of 3 other puppies a few months ago.” She had scraggly brownish hair, and kind of looked like a brown mop.
When Chewy was completely calm, he got up slowly, and finally his face was within my range of view. He was only a couple inches shorter than me, which was saying a lot, because I was taller than almost everyone.
And fuck. Even in the dark of night, disheveled and half-clothed, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. It was the first time I’d seen him at close range, and it was even more striking than from far away—his face was beautiful in a severe kind of way, with high cheekbones and dark features.
“I’m Adam, by the way,” I said, holding out my hand so that I could do something other than just stare at him.
“I’m Grey,” he said, regarding me with an inquisitive look now that we were face to face. It almost looked like he was studying me for a second, his eyes sliding up and down my body in a way that almost made me shiver. “Wait a minute. Adam? You’re not… Adam Fara from 5*Star, are you?” He shook my hand quickly, then seemed to realize all at once that he was still shirtless. He attempted to put his hands in his pockets and then found that there were none, so instead he raked a hand through his dark hair.
Shit. He knew me from the boy band. I didn’t normally care at all when people recognized me, but for some reason, with him, it was different. I nodded sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. Guilty as charged,” I said with a tight smile.
“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Wow. You are a lot better looking in person, dude.” His hand immediately shot up to his lips, eyes widening. “Uh, I mean—not that you didn’t always look good on TV and stuff, it’s just—wow, you’re taller than I would have thought…. Fuck. I’m gonna shut up now.” He turned away from me slightly, averting his gaze suddenly.
I let out a quick laugh. “It’s really fine. Thanks for the compliment. If it makes you feel any better, you look even better up close than you do through my shitty screen door, too.”
There was a brief lull and crickets’ low chirping rang through the air. I hoped my returning the compliment hadn’t been too awkward—I’d been trying to lessen the tension, not make him clam up even more.
“Interesting name, Grey,” I said finally. “Short for Greyson?”
“Oh,” he said, his voice more timid now. “No. Uh, I got stuck with the winning name of Gerald, but everyone’s always just called me Grey.”
“I like it.”
“It does the job.”
He said nothing for a minute, eyeing me with a wary side-glance, like he wasn’t sure how to act. Truthfully I didn’t know how to act either—I’d spent the past few days wondering about this person, and despite thinking so much about who he might be, I hadn’t considered at all what I might actually say to him.
“So, uh… you just moved in?” he finally asked.
“Yep. I’m new to Fox Hollow,” I said. “Do you like it here?”
“Does anyone?” he said, with a distinct edge to his voice, crossing his arms. “I need to get out of this town.”
Then I heard the faint whistle of a train and moments later, it
came rolling along the tracks, just behind our houses. We stopped talking as it came by, both of us looking through the clearing in the trees at the train cars passing by slowly, and the dog moved to stand behind Grey, as if for protection.
The sound of the train slowly faded into the distance, and I turned to him again.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, before I really considered what I was about to say.
He waited a beat, but then gave a single nod. “What is it?”
“Well, uh… I’ve only been here a few days, but I’ve seen you come outside a lot. Do you come out for any reason in particular?”
“I mean, usually to take Chewy outside,” he said, and she perked her head up at the mention of her name.
“Yeah. But I mean, all the times she isn’t with you.”
He peered over at me. “…Have you been watching out your window or something?” he said, clearly tensing up.
“No, no,” I said, feeling my cheeks get hot, and suddenly glad it was dark outside. “Well, kind of. But not in a bad way. I just… when I eat dinner I look outside sometimes, and I’ve seen you.”
“Oh,” he said, finally relaxing a little and looking out at the trees again.
“I mean, I’ve seen plenty of birds and squirrels and trains too, but you’re more interesting.”
He puffed out a quick laugh at that, but still didn’t smile. “Um, yeah… I do go outside a lot. I guess it calms me? I used to smoke, but I don’t anymore. I miss how it always got me outside, so now I come out anyway, just without a cigarette.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It’s not that great. Really unsatisfying actually, but whatever.”
Grey shivered when a breeze blew through the trees, and tiny goosebumps rose all over his skin. He was thinner than I’d realized, and my immediate instinct was to drape my arms around him, give him some of my warmth. I pushed down the fleeting thought. Just because you already have some weird, nascent impulse of affection for this kid doesn’t mean he returns the feeling. I was so used to spending time with my friends over the past months, people I’d never hesitate to hug or protect, that I had to remember how to act around a total stranger again.
“Congrats on quitting smoking,” I said.
He made a noncommittal grunt. “Yeah. Only started because my ex-boyfriend smoked.”
I cracked a smile. “That is usually how people start. He must have been pretty special.”
Grey hitched up one of his shoulders in a shrug. “He was great in bed. Not much else I can say for him,” he said quickly. “Then the girl I dated afterward hated the smoking, so I quit.” He chewed on his bottom lip, his face falling into a resigned frown. “Now I’m alone and I’m still addicted to the ritual, but I don’t let myself actually do it anymore.”
“That’s admirable,” I said. “I really mean it. Lot of people as young as you wouldn’t have the willpower.”
He laughed, genuine this time, and I realized it was the first time I’d seen him smile, radiant even if it was tinged with bitterness. “I’m not that young,” he said, shaking his head.
I was about to ask him how old he really was—because yeah, he was definitely in his twenties, but to me he looked pretty fucking young—but I had a distinct sense of Grey pulling away, drawing back, like he'd spoken too much about himself and was ready to retreat. Soon after, he turned and suddenly started back toward his house, stepping off of my deck. “C’mon, Chewy,” he said, waving her along. “Goodnight, Adam,” he called back to me, giving me one last glance with his deep-set eyes. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get out anymore. Sorry again.”
“Okay,” I said, “See you around.” I didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to stop talking to him, but it was past 2:30 a.m. and there were no more excuses for us to be outside any longer.
Two
Grey
The bus never came.
Or maybe it was early, or late, or the schedule had changed, but none of that really made a difference because it still meant that I didn’t have a ride and had to walk to work in the rain, cold and windy as all fucking hell already even though it was still August.
And the worst part? I hadn’t even gotten to jerk off in the morning. That was my me time. Who was I without it?
It took me forty minutes to get there, trudging down the two-lane road with no sidewalk and into the adjacent town where the old ice cream shop sat, perched on a corner with nothing else on it but a convenience store. By the time I arrived, my black sneakers were soaked through and I knew Audrey would be waiting for me.
But she’d be fine. She didn’t need me. Audrey would probably be better at running the shop than I was, realistically.
“I’m here,” I said loudly, pushing through the back door of Freezy Sweet. I picked my apron off its hook and draped it over my head.
“You made it!” I heard Audrey call from the front of the shop. “You’re late.”
I grunted in response, tying my apron behind me and pushing out into the front. Audrey was perched as usual with perfect posture on a stool by the register, setting up cash for the day. She had on a full face of makeup like she always did, and beamed at me as I walked in.
“Morning, Grey! I just started setting up,” she said, looking me up and down. “Jeez, you kinda look, like… terrible.”
I glared, wagging a finger at her. “You talk to your manager like that? I could fire you at any moment, dude, never forget that.”
She smirked at me.
“And I know I look like shit,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Thank you kindly for the observation. It’s a style I’ve come to perfect.”
“Did you sleep enough?” she chirped, and I braced myself for what I knew was coming: having my life examined by a girl who had only just graduated high school. “I read this study that says, like, you probably need at least 8 hours—”
I sighed, heavily and dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, I know. What I need is a study that tells me how to actually fall asleep before 4 a.m. Until then, remind me again why the fuck anyone needs to get ice cream at 10 in the morning?”
I could practically feel the dark circles weighing under my eyes. “Have you made coffee yet?”
“I’m off caffeine and sugar this week,” she said, “but there’s plenty in the back for you to make.”
“You’re 18 years old and you’re already off caffeine and sugar? Such a shame,” I said as I turned on the front display case lights, illuminating the artisan ice cream cakes that we sold for $70 a pop: mocha, chai spice, apricot & lavender, and dark chocolate were the flavors of the day. “You’ve still got at least five years before the imminent grip of mortality starts to tug at you, Audrey. You can enjoy a goddamn coffee.”
“Yeah, I know, it really blows, I miss being able to drink Starbucks. And shut up, Grey—‘imminent grip of mortality?’ You’re only 26. We’ve still got our whole lives in front of us. Quitting caffeine and sugar is gonna make my skin glow for next Saturday.”
“Speak for yourself. I know the best years of my life are behind me,” I said. I shot a quick smile at her, because even I realized I was being kind of a fucking downer. “So you got another modeling job?” I asked, changing the subject. I knew Audrey loved talking about her dream career, even if it meant she had to swear off sugar or carbs or any other element of food for the week prior to any gig.
“Yes! Oh my God, I’m so excited. It’s next weekend and I need to look perfect. It’s for a Morning Dreams granola bar ad.”
“Well, you are going to do awesome in that granola bar ad,” I said. “Morning Dreams sales are going to skyrocket overnight, I’m sure of it.”
“D’aww, thank you, Grey. I always love when you compliment me after waxing poetic about mortality.”
“It’s the best way to start the morning, huh?”
Audrey finished with the register and walked to the door between the back room and up front, and kicked a door jam under it to prop it open. “You ready?” she said.
<
br /> “Let me make my coffee before we start actually doing work, will you?”
“Sure thing, boss,” she said, cheerful as ever in the face of my self-indulgent displays of exhaustion.
As I stood in front of the percolating coffee maker, leaning against the counter because I was too tired to stand on my own, the Pity Parade for Grey Foster continued. At least this time the aroma of the coffee made it somewhat more tolerable.
“Seriously dude, why can’t you sleep? What are you up all night doing, writing sad poetry?”
I paused for a beat, not sure if she knew how close to the truth she was. “Usually just reading, to be honest,” I said, because no matter how comfortable I’d gotten around Audrey, I wasn’t going to tell her the rest of the things I did.
I jerk off wishing it was anyone’s hand but my own. I watch old movies and picture myself in them instead of Ingrid Bergman, swept away by Humphrey Bogart. Actually, I picture myself swept away by anyone at all, to anywhere but here.
All a little too maudlin to admit, even for me.
“Sometimes I watch movies too,” I said instead. “Do you know who Fritz Lang is?”
“I know who Lang Lang is. My grandma always listens to his piano music.”
“Yeah, wrong Lang.”
“Reading and watching movies,” she said, skeptical. “Sounds boring. You need a life, Grey.”
“Not much time for one between here and working at the shelter, but otherwise I agree with you, buddy. And, oh shit, I forgot to tell you! Last night the insomnia wasn’t my fault for once. You’re never gonna guess what happened.”
A smile spread over her face. “Oh my God. Story time. Tell me everything!”
Wild Star: Under the Stars Book 3 Page 2
