by Eli Easton
“Inevitable.” Stan waved a drunken hand. “Like a car wreck.”
“Nothing’s inevitable, man. You got choices.”
Stan just grunted. He rolled his head to look at me. I stared out the windshield, but I could feel his gaze on my face. I wondered how long he’d want to sit here. It was just past midnight. It was warm enough in the truck, but boring. I wondered if Micah and Sloane were still up. Maybe they’d be up for cards or something if I didn’t get back too late.
“Hey, if you wanna sober up before you go home, we can hit the McDonald's off 30 and get some coffee,” I suggested, itching to keep moving.
Stan didn’t say anything. He just stared at me with a bit of a frown on his brow.
“Coffee,” I said decisively. I started the truck.
“Turn it off,” Stan said firmly.
I turned the ignition back off. Tick tick went the engine. The silence was… weird. “You don’t want coffee?” I asked him.
Stan’s hand strayed to his belt. “I’m fuckin’ horny. Been buggin’ me for days. What I want is to get off. So why don’t you suck my cock?” He pulled open his belt.
All the air went out of the cab of the truck in an instant. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. It was like someone had thrown cold water in my face.
“What did you say to me?” I meant to say it loud and pushy, but my throat was frozen with shock and it came out as a whisper.
“Come on, man.” He fished out his dick. He had a semi at least, though he mostly kept it covered with his hand.
I looked out the front windshield, blinking hard. My hands hurt, and I realized I had them both locked on the steering wheel so tightly they were white.
“Why…? Why would you say that to me?” I managed, unable to believe this was happening.
“Come on, Hank. Know you’ve thought about it.”
Something inside of me withered up and died. I shook my head.
“Bullshit. I seen you lookin’. And that one time you stayed over and touched it when you thought I was asleep, like you just accidentally brushed against it.”
“I—what? It was an accident!”
Stan sneered. “If it was an accident, why do you even remember it?”
“Fuck you!” I shouted, my eyes hot.
“Come on! I’m drunk off my ass, horny as hell, and there’s no pussy to be found. This is your chance, H-man. I won’t tell a soul.” He uncovered his dick, stroked it.
There was something in his tone, something in his face, like he wanted me to do it, and at the same time, he would hate me if I did. Of course he would. I’d hate myself.
“Go to hell,” I said, low and quiet. I opened up the driver side door.
“Where you goin’?”
“I’m walking home!”
“Come on, Hank! I can’t drive like this!”
“Then sleep it off!” I slammed the door and started down the road.
Stan didn’t come after me. I left the parked truck behind, storming back toward Matt’s. When I reached an intersection in the middle of frosty fields, I stopped, shivering.
Fuck, it had to be at least five miles back to Matt’s place. And it was so cold the snow crunched under my feet when I slipped onto the shoulder of the road. I’d been so pissed off when I left the truck, the anger had pulsed red hot, keeping me warm. But that anger was fermenting into something bleak and gray and sour, something that just made me colder.
I pulled out my phone.
“Hank?” came Micah’s sleepy voice. “What’s up?”
“Can you come get me?” I asked, feeling twelve years old again, needing my big brother to rescue me.
But all Micah said was, “Text me an address.”
Micah found me waiting at the intersection in the middle of nowhere. By the time he got there, I’d alternated between pissed and hurt and depressed and bewildered a dozen times. But most of the fight had been leached out of me by the cold.
I got into the car. The heat was cranked up, and it felt like heaven. “Thanks,” I said.
“What happened?” Micah asked, making no move to drive the car.
I didn’t want to tell him. It was humiliating. I wasn’t even sure why. It should just be stupid, but it wasn’t.
“Hank?” Micah pressed.
I took a deep breath. “Stan got drunk at a party. He asked me to suck his dick.”
It was terrible saying it out loud. The embarrassment and anger sparked again like twin mirrors of shame.
“And then what happened?”
“What do you mean ‘and then what happened’? I told him to go fuck himself and got out of the truck. What do you think?”
Micah studied me. “I think you’re really upset about it. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get it! Stan thinks I’m gay! He said he always thought I wanted it.”
Micah looked a little bewildered and a little sad. He spoke quietly. “Hank… don’t you like Stan that way? Because… I’m not trying to piss you off, but I always thought you had a serious crush on the dude.”
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. I was so tightly coiled I thought I was about to snap, like in Plato’s chariot analogy, my ego and my id both thrashing around in confusion.
“Hank?”
Micah’s hand rubbed my shoulder. I didn’t know if I wanted to hug him or punch him, but I felt betrayed. Only the person betraying me wasn’t Micah.
“I tried so hard. I tried so fucking hard. And still, when people look at me they see ‘gay’.” My voice was rough, but there was no way I was going to cry. I swallowed the tightness in my throat.
“That’s not what people see.” Micah leaned over the console to give me a one-armed hug. “Come on, bro. Stan’s an asshole anyway. Sorry, I know he’s your friend, but he’s always been a Grade A douchebag, and he always will be. You’re so much better than that.”
Micah and I had argued the point before, pretty much all through high school. But for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to defend Stan. If I was honest, I hadn’t felt comfortable with him all day. Like his jokes weren’t funny anymore and his attitude was small-minded and grating. Something had shifted inside me, and I was seeing Stan through a new glass. It wasn’t a flattering view. How had I been so blind?
Maybe I had been infatuated with him. I always thought I wanted to be Stan—tough, strong, popular, masculine. But I couldn’t deny in my own head that I’d wanted to touch him sometimes too, even if I thought I’d done a good job of dismissing the urge. Talk about conflicting interests. God, I was so fucked up.
“As for me, I’m your brother, remember?” Micah smiled. “When you were twelve-years-old, you kept a folder of Lance Bass photos under your mattress and jerked off to them. Hello. I had the room next door. You can’t hide that shit from me.”
“I did not—!”
Micah rolled his eyes.
“Like you didn’t do weird sex shit when you were twelve!” I huffed.
“Holden.” Micah rubbed my shoulder and held my gaze. “You know I don’t care if you’re gay or bi or whatever. Mom and Dad don’t care.”
“I know they don’t care! But I’m not like them. I care.”
He sighed. “It’s just… you never date girls either. I want you to be happy, that’s all.”
“So I’m picky! I’m not all into ‘free love’ like you are.”
Micah shook his head and pulled onto the road.
I should have let it go, let silence be golden, and all that shit. Ignorance is the better part of sanity or something. But I was me, so I couldn’t let it sit. “Is that why you’ve been pushing Sloane on me? You honestly think I’m gay?”
Micah sighed. “I might have thought it would be…broadening for you to be around him, that’s all. But don’t worry. I get it. You’re not interested in Sloane. Good.”
“Good? Why good?”
“No reason,” said Micah.
~10~
Sloane
THE NEXT morning, Lilith made an an
nouncement over breakfast.
“So, Sloane, it’s tradition that we go out on Christmas Eve. To a show, if we can find one, or a service or something.”
“What are our choices this year?” Hank asked, getting right to the point.
I hadn’t heard him come in the night before, but it had apparently been late. He looked sleep-ruffled sitting at the kitchen counter, which was weird considering that neither his buzz cut nor his beard were long enough to get messy. But there was a slight pillow crease on his cheek, the half-awake bleariness to his blue eyes, and that wrinkled and tissue-thin T-shirt he’d apparently slept in. It made me picture pulling him back upstairs by the hand and crawling into bed with him to snooze against that big chest. Well, we’d snooze for at least the first few minutes anyway. Before I ate him for breakfast.
I looked down at my farm-fresh eggs and bacon, mentally slapping myself in the face. Snap out of it! That talk with Lilith last night had done nothing for my self-control.
Hank went to the cupboard and dug out a box of Frosted Flakes and poured himself a bowl. Lilith gave the sugary bowl a hairy eyeball but didn’t say anything. It suddenly hit me that, at college, Hank ate Wheaties and turned down the treats that were always around the frat house. I’d seen Wheaties in the cupboard here, but no, Hank was eating Frosted Flakes.
That might also explain the secret hoard of kombucha at school, even though he turned up his nose whenever his mother offered it here. Oh, Hank.
“What?” he asked, noticing me staring at him.
“Not a thing,” I said with a calm smile.
“So Christmas Eve… we’re found something really fun, I think,” Lilith said brightly. “There’s a gay-friendly tavern in Lancaster called Tally Ho. And they have a Christmas Eve drag show. Looks like a hoot.”
Hank’s bowl clattered to the counter, milk splashing everywhere. “You’re shitting me.”
“I found it online,” Micah said, calmly eating his eggs. “Beats the hell out of another year at the American Music Theater.”
I raised my brow at Micah. He mouthed don’t ask.
“Or, there’s a big band playing at the Lititz Senior Center,” said Lilith coolly.
“Oh, come on!” Hank exclaimed.
I did my best not to laugh and stayed out of it.
“Your father and I have never been to a drag show. And Micah checked the place out. I wouldn’t say it’s kid-friendly, but they definitely get all types there for their Christmas Eve show. It’s not just a gay venue.”
“Yeah, it’s straight-friendly,” Micah grinned.
Hank looked at me, his eyes narrowing. I shrugged. Wasn’t my idea.
“Plus, there’s booze and dancing,” Micah said. “Of course, you two aren’t legal, but us adults are going to party hard with those three dollar eggnogs.”
“I think Sloane would enjoy seeing some of the local gay scene, and it’d be a nice change up for us. Come on, bug bear.” Karma reached over and tugged on Hank’s ear.
“Okay, okay!” Hank winced over his tortured earlobe, but he really didn’t look that put out.
“Fun!” said Lilith, smiling at Kar over her cup of coffee.
The rest of that day, I kept expecting Stan to show up, or for Hank to take off, but that didn’t happen. We all helped with farm chores after breakfast. Grinch and I watched Hank and Micah milk cows. I had to avert my gaze lest the sight of Hank’s large, beefy hands and tattooed arms working those teats gave me the most inappropriate boner ever. Micah offered to show me how to milk, but I elected to sweep the feeding aisle instead and run away from my incipient perv-dom. Run!
After that, there was an impromptu game of touch football in the yard, in the snow, which was apparently another Springfield tradition. Even Karma played, though Hank went easy on the two of us. I managed to run fast, though, and scored a couple of points by passing the tree with the laundry line hooks. Whoo-hoo. The dogs had a blast.
Then we ate more pie, among other things.
Then, Hank dragged me into the living room where he had a boxed set of PBS Masterpiece Mystery’s Cadfael.
“You can’t jerk off in here, though,” Hank said loudly as he put in the first DVD.
“Shut up!” I laughed-slashed-screamed, picking up a throw pillow in preparation for smothering. But Hank just grinned and didn’t say it again.
He flopped down beside me on the couch, closer than I would have expected, and when Micah strolled in a minute later and sat down on the other side of me, also close, I felt a twinge of weirdness.
Not that I would mind being in a Springfield sandwich, as long as after we’d all climaxed, I never had to face anyone again, in my life, ever. But I figured I was putting a sexual spin on things that weren’t there, and made myself stop it and watch the show. I might have glanced down at Hank’s thick thighs now and then. I might have casually put a pillow in my lap after doing so.
We played cards that night, and being Micah’s partner in Euchre was brutal. Micah and Hank were fucking bloodthirsty. Karma was Hank’s partner, and he seemed as overwhelmed as I was. We eventually gave up and left the two brothers to duke it out over a game of War. I finally managed to get a few minutes alone with Lilith.
I’d been thinking a lot about what she’d told me, about her cancer and how it had affected Hank. I’d taken a class that covered some basics of disease pathology that past semester. I had an idea—possibly a lame idea. I was embarrassed to mention it. And it was unrealistic too, given that Christmas was only a few days away. But I told Lilith about it, and she liked it a lot. She said she thought she could get some stuff together.
I went to bed early, Micah and Hank still waging to the death with Kings and Queens. Grinch stood by my bed looking forlorn until I relented and lifted him up.
“All right, you can sleep on my bed, but only if you’ll be the little spoon,” I told him.
Grinch licked his chops, yawned, and lay down on his side with his back facing me as if he understood. Three gorgeous men in the house and I was sleeping with the dog. Merry Christmas.
* * *
Sloane
Christmas Eve morning I got up early and made crepes. I wanted to give Lilith a break from cooking, and I wanted to share something from my family tradition. The past few years my mom had made crepes for special occasions with a method she’d learned from one of our neighbors in Paris. At Christmas, we’d taken to buying a seasonal preserve offered for only a few weeks at the little artisanal food market down the street. It was a mixed berry and nut confiture with holiday spices. We’d load that into the freshly made crepes with a little soft cheese and top them with fresh whipped cream.
Even though I’d told Lilith I wanted to make breakfast for everyone, she got up with me and put on a pot of coffee. She sat in her robe at the counter, watching me and chatting. I had to improvise with the ingredients, but much less than I’d supposed. Lilith canned her own berry jam during the summers and a jar of that stuff—mixed blueberry and raspberry—looked wonderful. She had a decent spice rack for me to add a little holiday seasoning. They also had fresh eggs and raw cream for a whipped cream topping and a soft goat cheese for inside.
I didn’t think Hank appreciated the quality of food his parents were dedicated to. After eating on campus for four months, I certainly did.
“Neither of my boys ever took to the kitchen.” Lilith sipped her coffee and watched me with an attitude of happy comfort.
“It’s fun to cook when I can make something special. I’m not much for the tedious, every day routine, unfortunately.”
“You learn tricks to make it easier. You have to when you’ve got two growing boys and a farmer for a husband.”
I whisked my flour-egg-milk-butter batter and smiled at her. “You have a beautiful family.”
“Thank you. I’m very lucky. And Micah and Hank are of an age where it’ll be growing soon, I hope.”
I wondered if there was any hidden agenda in that line, but if there was, her placid expression
hid it well.
“It would be nice to have some women around, I bet. You’ve been outgunned for so long.”
Lilith shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t have a lot in common with most girls. I don’t like to shop, I haven’t painted my nails in twenty years, and I’m a horror in a beauty salon.”
“It’s hard to imagine either Micah or Hank bringing home someone like that.” I thought about the girls I’d seen Micah with since I met him. His type was a lot more outdoorsy and earthy. One brunette had had dreads and didn’t shave. She was pretty enough to get away with it, and I’d been surprised that she and Micah hadn’t lasted past a few weeks. They seemed like a good match.
“True. Honestly, Kar and I just hope we genuinely like whoever our boys bring home. And, of course, babies would be good at some point. When we’re much older.”
I flipped my first crepe, and Lilith sat up, her eyes bright. “Oh, Sloane, that’s so… French. Show me again!”
Micah and Hank were both woken up by Lilith for the crepe-fest, which I felt a little guilty about. But one look at the crepes with their berry filling and whipped cream topping had them wide awake and shoving their way to the table.
“What’s this?” Micah asked, looking at his mom questioningly.
“Sloane made us crepes. Isn’t that sweet!”
“What are they, almond flour? Coconut meal?” Hank prodded one light crepe with his fork.
“No. Sloane is treating us to one of his family recipes, so your dad ran out and got some flour last night. It’s Christmas, so even he and I are allowing ourselves a little holiday from our diet.”
“Oh my God,” Hank groaned, taking a bite. “Sloane. Sloane!”
I laughed. Lilith glared at Hank. “Wait til we’re all seated please! You’d think we raised you in a barn.”
“We were raised in a barn,” Hank quipped, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the barn visible from the kitchen window.
“You were raised near a barn. It’s not the same thing,” Kar said happily. “But may I second the ‘Sloane! Sloane!’ Thank you for making this. What a treat.”
