by McKayla Box
“Are these yours?” I step closer so I can get a better look.
“Maybe.”
“I didn’t know you’re a photographer.”
“I’m not.”
I wave a hand at the images. “What’s this?”
“Pictures.”
That you took?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“But nothing.” I stare at one image, a stunning view of the beach at sunset. “Holy shit, Hayden. This is amazing.”
There are others, too. Lots of pictures of the beach, but some close-ups of flowers, of a small crab scurrying across the sand, of a gull standing on the beach, looking out at the water. A drenched dog in the process of shaking its fur clean, each individual drop of water visible in the frame.
But the ones that pull me in the most are the photos with people. A young girl, her hair as blonde as Willow’s and damp from the ocean, sitting on the beach, sand streaking her cheeks, a gap-toothed smile on her face as she stares out at the water. A younger boy, a toddler, really, with the same white hair, shrieking with delight as a wave washes over his feet.
“These are incredible,” I tell him. I look at a photo of a kid skateboarding, suspended in mid-air as he jumps a bench, a photo of an older woman, her face wrinkled and weathered, as she pushes a shopping cart full of clothing and other belongings down one of the narrow alleys by the beach.
Hayden rubs his arm. “They’re alright.”
“Alright?” I am incredulous. “They look like they belong in a gallery. How long have you been doing this?”
“Taking photos?”
I nod.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve had a camera for as long as I can remember. I was always taking pictures.”
“Did you take classes?” I want to know how he got to be so good.
“No,” he says. “I just saw things I liked and took pictures.”
“Well, you’re really good at it.” I smile at him. “Like, really good.”
He smiles.
“Do you have a favorite?” I ask. “Out of these ones?”
He scans the wall of images, and then points to the ones of the two kids. “Probably these.”
“Those are great.” I glance at the pictures before turning back to face him. “Why those ones? Are they kids you know?”
He shakes his head. “No.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “But they make me think of my brother and sister.”
I remember what he told me, about his mom’s new family, his half-siblings. “Those aren’t them?”
“Nope. I’ve never met them.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I don’t really know what they look like.”
“You’ve never seen pictures or anything?”
“A long time ago. My mom sent me a couple of emails with pictures attached. I changed my account.”
“What about letters? Or social media? I’m sure she posts stuff on Facebook.”
“I sent her letter back. Eventually she got the hint,” he says. “And I don’t follow her on social media.”
“So you just…cut her out of your life?”
“She walked away from me,” he says evenly. “I didn’t leave her. She left me. Us.”
There is something in the way that he says the words that makes him seem vulnerable. That's not something I feel like I've seen from him before and it makes me feel closer to him.
Connected.
Our stories might not be the same, but we both come from broken homes. We both lost a parent to divorce. Hayden purposely cut his mother out of his life, and distance stole mine.
The forged connection does more than evoke empathy, though.
I close the distance between us and look up at him. “I'm sorry.”
He shrugs. “Oh well.”
“Not oh well,” I say. “That shit sucks. And I'm sorry.”
He shrugs again.
I lean into him and pull his head down toward mine. I kiss him softly at first, my lips barely brushing his. I breathe in his scent, savor his taste. His lips are so soft, so gentle, and I kiss him harder, opening my mouth, gently touching my tongue to his. His hands find my waist as he deepens the kiss, then his arms encircle me and he pulls me into him. I can feel him immediately press against me and I push back, rubbing against him.
His body stills, and I feel him pull away just a fraction. “Don't do that unless you mean it,” he murmurs.
I lean him into him. “I mean it.”
He stares down at him. “Serious?”
I pull his face back down to mine and kiss him again.
He lifts me up, his arms encircling me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He spins us around and carries me toward the bed. We bump into the edge of it and he lays me down. I scoot back on my elbows toward the pillows and watch him pull his shirt off, my eyes trained on his tanned chest.
Everything inside of me aches for him.
He crawls onto the bed and hovers over me before dropping his body onto mine. My fingers dig into the muscles in his back and he pushes his hips against mine. I groan and slide my hands to his ass, pulling him into me.
He's kissing my neck and my ear and I want to devour him. His hand slides under my shirt, his fingers warm and strong. I arch my back and he unsnaps my bra, then pulls my shirt off over my head. I tug my bra off and pull him back into me, wanting his skin against mine. I suck in a breath when his body covers me, the heat of his skin like the hottest of flames. I reach for his shorts and push them down. He lifts up again and maneuvers them down until he kicks them free.
I reach for him and it's his turn to groan. His hands find my waist and he takes his time working the rest of my clothes off until we're both naked.
He brings his body back to mine and I can feel him brush against me.
He stares at me. “Are you sure?”
I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him hard, then put my mouth next to his ear. “Positive.”
His body twists away from me for a moment and my hands latch onto his ass, my fingernails digging into his skin. I want him to know how much I want him. I hear the tearing of the foil paper and his arm slides between us as he covers himself. He moves back so he's over me and I reach for him and guide him into me.
I gasp once we're together and hold onto him like I'm falling. His tongue flicks at my ear as he moves his hips against mine. A fire ignites in my stomach and I raise my hips to meet his, and he groans in approval. I'm trying to catch my breath, but it's coming out in ragged gasps as he pushes into me each time. I can't get enough of him.
I throw my head back into the pillows, my eyes closed, aware of every nerve firing inside of me, desire washing over my body like the fiercest waves in the ocean. Hayden must sense this because he moves faster, quicker, and I’m gasping for breath as he moans against my ear and shudders inside of me.
His body shivers and I cling to him as he slows, his body finally coming to rest on top of mine.
I can feel his heart beat against mine as his breath tickles my ear.
Everything is still.
It's quiet.
He finally slides to the side of me, but keeps an arm draped over my stomach. I look at him and his eyes are half-open. “That was...unexpected.”
“Which part?”
He chuckles. “The whole thing. I didn't bring you here for this.”
“I know.”
“I just want to make sure you know that.”
I roll into him and his arms come around me. “I know that.”
We lay like that for a while, his head against mine, his fingers lightly tracing a trail on my arm. I can feel his heartbeat, and the sound is the best sound in the world right now.
I think about what just happened. I'm not sure what brought it on, why I felt so strongly that I wanted—no, needed—to connect with him like that right now. Maybe it was the vulnerability. Maybe it was seeing in him what I sometimes feel in myself.
But whatever it was?
I don't care.
I'm j
ust happy that it happened.
Chapter 30
I almost forget about Ben.
But after Hayden drops me off to an empty house and I sit there and the buzz of how I spent my afternoon and evening wears off, I remember.
I’m supposed to talk to Ben.
I need to talk to him.
I check the time on my phone. It’s not even nine o’clock.
He’ll be awake.
I scribble a quick note for my mom and send her a text, too, offering a lame excuse about needing to do a quick homework assignment with him. It’s Ben; she won’t care.
I don’t bother texting him. The last thing I want to do is give him an excuse to avoid me. Better to just show up and pound on his door and demand he let me in.
Ten minutes later, I’m on his doorstep.
He opens the door seconds after I knock.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” he says.
I step inside and he closes the door behind me. The living room is cleaner than it was last week: the only things on the coffee table are a remote and an empty glass.
I head straight into the living room and sit down on the couch.
“You want anything to drink?”
I shake my head. “All I want is for you to start talking.”
He sits down on the opposite side of the couch. “Fair.”
I fold my arms and wait.
He rubs his face. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about why you told everyone I was your girlfriend?”
“I didn’t tell everyone.”
“Who did you tell? And why?”
“You have to promise you won’t be mad.”
“Too late,” I tell him.
“Madder, then.” He sighs. “I don’t think I could handle that.”
“You don’t get to tell me how I can react,” I say. “You lied about me.”
“I know.” He drops both hands into his lap. “I didn’t think you’d ever find out. Because I didn’t think you’d be moving back here.”
“Why would you tell people that?”
He doesn’t answer.
“What the hell, Ben?” I’m angry now, angrier than I was when I confronted him at school. “This doesn't make any sense. Tell me.”
“It’s hard for me, okay?” He looks up at me, his eyes bright with tears.
I’m taken aback. I don’t understand his demeanor, why this conversation would bring him to tears. “What’s going on?”
A tear slips down his cheek. “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone. And…and you have to promise you won’t repeat it. To anyone.”
He’s starting to freak me out. “Ben, I can't—”
“This isn't about what I told people,” he says. “I know I can't ask you to not tell anyone that. But this is different, and you have to swear to me that you won't say a word.”
I'm confused as hell, but I need him to talk. “Okay.”
He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “Did you know Emily liked me back in middle school?”
I frown, not sure what this has to do with what he’s about to tell me. “No?”
“She did,” he says. “She didn’t tell me, but she was always talking to me and trying to flirt with me. But we were in eighth grade so it wasn’t like many of us were into dating or anything, you know?”
“Okay.”
“But in ninth grade, people starting hooking up. Like, real boyfriend and girlfriend stuff. And I could tell she was still into me.”
“So that freaked you out and you decided to invent a girlfriend?”
“Yes. Not right away, but eventually.”
His explanation makes zero sense. “Why didn’t you just tell her you weren’t interested in her?”
“Because it was more than that,” he says softly. His gaze drifts to the living room window and he stares out it, fixing on the streetlamp just outside of his house.
I sit there, waiting.
“The last thing I wanted was a girlfriend,” he says. “And I knew Emily. She’s the kind of girl who would eventually work up the nerve to ask me out, you know?”
“Okay, but wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell her no instead of lying about us?”
“She wasn’t the only one I told,” he says. “I told my mom. And some guys at a church summer camp.”
I shake my head.
“Just listen,” he pleads. He swallows a couple of times, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I only told them because I didn’t want them to know the truth.”
“The truth? What, that I’m not and never have been your girlfriend?”
“No, the truth about me.” He looks at me, his face ashen. “I’m…I’m gay.”
Chapter 31
I’m at a loss for words.
Ben folds his hands together and looks down at the couch, at the empty space between us.
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t anything to say.” His voice breaks and he clears his throat.
I try to meet his gaze but he won’t look up. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know,” I say gently. “Lots of people are gay, Ben.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier,” he says. “They’re not me.”
“I know, but—”
“They didn’t have a bunch of church kids at some stupid summer camp bullying them because they thought I was looking at some guy in the showers. They didn’t have someone trying to shove a broomstick up their ass when those same kids wanted to ‘give me what I wanted.’” The tears are running freely down his cheeks now.
My own eyes smart and I cover my mouth. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
He angrily swipes at the tears streaking down his face. “And they don’t have a mom who thinks being gay is evil and something to be fixed. It would kill her if she found out what I’m really like. How defective I am.”
“Hey,” I say sharply. “You are not defective.”
“Yes, I am.” He sucks in a breath. “I like guys. I lied about the one person who has ever really been my friend. You.”
As much as I hate that he did it, I can understand why. He was scared and hurting, and telling people he had a girlfriend—especially someone who was thousands of miles away—probably felt like a way to stay safe. To keep the bullies away and to keep unwanted female attention away, and to keep his mom from suspecting he was anything but straight.
He lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe at his face, and that’s when I see it. A zigzag of scars that crisscross his stomach. He must notice me staring, open-mouthed, because he quickly yanks his shirt back down.
“Did you…did you do that to yourself?”
He hesitates, then nods.
My heart shatters. “Ben.” I reach for his hand. “Why?”
He swallows and looks away. “It takes away the pain.”
“Hurting yourself takes away the pain?”
“It…replaces it, I guess. It’s a different kind of pain. And, I don’t know. Doing it reminds me I’m still alive. Even though I feel dead inside—the real me—I’m still here. You know?”
He’s hitting me with so much and I don’t know what to say, how to react. I’m not prepared for this. I thought he was lying because he wanted to pump up his ego, to make himself look cool.
It’s nothing like that at all.
It’s been life or death for him.
And it looks like he’s barely hanging on.
We sit in silence for a minute, me stroking his hand, Ben sniffing every now and then.
“I never meant for you to find out,” he says. “I never thought you were moving back here.”
“I didn’t think I was, either.”
“And so then I just sort of put it off. I thought if I didn’t think about it, I wouldn’t have to deal with it.” He snorts. “That clearly didn’t work.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Now there’s this huge fucking mess and I don’t know how to fix i
t.”
“You could just tell the truth,” I suggest.
He gives me a horrified look. “What? No!”
“Not about you being gay,” I say. “But just that we’re not together. Because we aren’t.”
He winces. “I know. But—”
“I’ll just tell Emily we broke up,” I say. “I’ll tell anyone at school who needs to know.” I pause. “How many other people have you told?”
“At school? No one.”
I give him a skeptical look.
“It’s true,” he says. “I guess Emily could have told Willow and Belle, but I doubt it. I told her about you and me a long time ago, and it only just came back on her radar when she saw you at the pizza place the other night. I doubt I’m the topic of conversation with her group of friends. She’s had boyfriends and stuff. It’s not like she’s saving herself for me.”
A wave of relief washes over me. “So it should be totally easy. I’ll tell her things didn’t work out—our relationship was better long-distance—and everything will be fine.”
“I think I should be the one to tell her,” Ben says.
“Why?” The last thing I want to do is burden Ben with something else. All of the anger I felt toward him is gone. He clearly has far bigger issues he’s dealing with, and if I can help take some of the weight off his shoulders, I want to.
“Because this is my mess to clean up, not yours.”
“I want to help.”
“And I need to do this.” He takes a deep breath. “Please, I fucked it up. Let me put it back together. Since I can’t seem to do anything right.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
I hate to be thinking of myself in that moment but my thoughts immediately go to Hayden. “When?”
“Tonight,” he says. “I’ll text her when you leave.”
I pat his hand. “I think you’ll feel better when you do. I think this has caused a lot of stress, right? Is that why you didn’t come to school last week?”
He nods again.
“So once this is all behind you—behind us—things will be good. Right?”
