Come Home

by Raleigh Ruebins

  Oh Jesus Christ, had he seen my traitor of a cock bulging in my pants? He couldn’t have. It was far too dark, I was in black jeans, and he’d been looking in my eyes, anyway.

  That meant that something else had upset him. And I knew him well enough to know that it could take some coaxing to get him to express any emotion other than enthusiasm for exercise or real estate.

  I sat next to him, ignoring him like I’d ignore a sulking cat. We were silent for a bit, listening to the sounds of the night and the faint sound of laughter and chatter coming from the other side of the shop.

  After a few minutes of Gavin saying nothing, I poked him on the arm. He didn’t react, just clutching his cup and staring out into the night. So I did the only obvious thing and poked him again, but all he did was take a long sip of his shake.

  I sighed, leaning my head against his shoulder in defeat.

  “Fuck, Hunter, don’t do that,” he whispered, sitting up a little straighter.

  “What? Nobody’s around,” I said, staying put.

  Back in school, Gavin had always hated it when I’d leaned against him in public. He hadn’t been out of the closet back then, but I had always been a touchy-feely person with just about everyone. Especially my good friends. When we were at my house on our own, doing homework or playing video games or just relaxing on the couch, Gavin was far more content to let me touch him. He rarely initiated it himself, but he would always reciprocate, putting an arm around me if I leaned on him, squeezing me back if I gave him a hug.

  But that was a million years ago. Gavin was certainly out of the closet now, even if he wasn’t quite as sunshine-and-rainbows as I was. Yet he still seemed uncomfortable.

  “You don’t want people to see?” I asked.

  “That’s not what I… nevermind,” Gavin said, and I felt him sigh.

  I lifted my head up, staying close to him but giving him a little extra space. There was something like hurt in his eyes—a far cry from the relaxed ease I’d seen in him a few minutes ago.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time. It’s just hard not to immediately go back to… how things used to be.”

  His eyes met mine.

  “And, I’m also pretty sure they doubled the usual amount of Kahlua in this shake, because wow,” I said. “I know I’m not exactly normally the most sensible person on the planet, but right now I’m more than a little floaty.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. These are strong,” he agreed.

  “Glad I’m not just being a lightweight, then,” I said.

  “I think we’ve kind of both always been lightweights. Remember prom?”

  I chuckled. “Every time I walk by that spot under the bleachers, I remember prom,” I said. “I swear it still smells like peach schnapps.”

  “Not possible,” he said. “I’m sure plenty of kids at Kinley High still use that area to dab or take shots of vodka up their butts, or whatever it is kids do now.”

  “Nope,” I said. “I never see anybody there. It remains the spot where we puked after prom, at least in my mind. Ten years have gone by, but schnapps is like the cockroach of liquors. It never goes away.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “We can go try to lick the floor and see if it tastes like peach?”

  He finally smiled, pushing his shoulder against mine. “You’re gross, Hunter.”

  “I like to call it open to experimentation.”

  “God, we used to have too much damn fun,” he said.

  “I know. What happened to us?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Adulthood.”

  “Fuck that,” I said. “I might be a teacher at Kinley High instead of a student, but you’re lying to yourself if you don’t think I’d drink with you under the bleachers again.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Okay, yes, on second thought, we probably shouldn’t do shots at my workplace,” I said. “But… I mean it, Gavin. If you visited more, I’d welcome you with open arms every time. Where have you been? Sure, you work a lot, but nobody works for two years straight.”

  Gavin tilted his head to one side. “You’d be surprised.”

  “You only come to visit when you have terrible news for me, huh?” I said.

  I reached out, squeezing his forearm. “I just… thought you’d forgotten about me,” I told him. “Two years, Pepper. I thought you’d never want to see me again.” His arm was taut and muscular under my fingers, and I could so easily picture it pinning me up against a wall—

  Fuck. I was thinking about Gavin like this again? I was either way more drunk or far more of a lightweight than I’d known.

  “Christ,” he said, looking me in the eye. He was intense again, his brow furrowed. “Hunt, I could never forget you. Never.”

  “Well, good,” I said, leaning my head to one side, studying his eyes.

  A comfortable, almost electric silence hung between us for a few moments, Gavin looking at me again without any inhibitions.

  Did that look… mean something? Was I imagining things that didn’t exist?

  We were sitting so close, though.

  Really close.

  I could see the tiny freckles at the top of his cheeks, ones I’d forgotten he even had. I smelled his cologne in the air between us, faintly radiating out from under his buttoned shirt. I wanted to hate it—it was probably some fancy, two-hundred-dollar bottle—but the unfortunate truth was that I fucking loved everything about the way he smelled.

  I loved everything about the way he felt, as I leaned against him.

  And in my drunken, horny, strange state of mind, I didn’t even think twice before reaching up and stroking my fingers along Gavin’s jaw.

  Even his stubble was soft. And he wasn’t flinching away from me, wasn’t closing off or freezing up like before. He was letting me touch him.

  “You didn’t forget me, right?” he asked, his voice low.

  I needed him closer.

  “I forgot how good I feel around you,” I said. “Jesus, Gavin…”

  “What?” he asked, keeping close, not pulling back even a little.

  “I want…”

  I wasn’t able to finish my sentence. I felt like something inside of me was unraveling, and I didn’t know what it was.

  “You can have whatever you want,” he said, his gaze dancing over me, his eyes wild.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  That was all I needed to hear.

  I tilted my neck back a little, closed the small distance between us, and pressed my lips to his. He was incredibly still at first, not moving a muscle as I gently kissed him.

  But then he started to breathe again. He kissed me back, slow and soft. His lips tasted like blackberries. A thousand things were running through my head, but faintly, like I was hearing them from far away. This can’t be real—does he want this, too? How is this even happening?

  But I kept kissing him anyway. And damn if it didn’t feel fucking perfect.

  I hummed softly against his lips, my mind totally gone, lost in sensation and the weight of his body pressed against mine.

  He really did feel as good as I’d imagined.

  “God, fuck, Gavin,” I murmured, pulling back a little to look him in the eye. His pupils were blown wide, his lips slick from our kiss. I was struck by how handsome he was all over again, how different he looked now, despite being the most familiar person I knew. And then, slowly at first but then coming at me like a rocket, the enormity of the situation hit me: I’d just kissed Gavin.

  The enemy.

  My best friend.

  Someone I really wasn’t allowed to be kissing.

  I pulled back further, the air cold between us again. He looked just as dazed as I felt, and I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly a little woozy.

  I’d lost so many friendships through dumb, drunken hookups that shouldn’t have happened. Kinley Island was small, and there were more than a few faces that I had to avoid
nowadays just because I hadn’t been able to keep my cock in my pants, or my lips to myself.

  And I could never, ever let my stupid sexual urges ruin the most important friendship of my entire life.

  I knew better than to think it could ever end well.

  He finally spoke as I ran my hands through my hair. “Hunter, I’m—”

  I shook my head slowly. “It’s… it’s okay,” I said, though I didn’t quite know what I was responding to. My head was spinning.

  Why the hell had I done that?

  I ran a hand through my hair again, a nervous habit that I’m sure was making me look crazy. “Um, I should… probably go find Caleb and my folks,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. The alcohol felt less like a cozy lusty glow now, and more like a sickness.

  “Right,” Gavin agreed, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

  I nodded once, and could only glance at him before turning to head back inside. I was shellshocked as I threaded my way back through Zeke’s. It was stiflingly hot inside, the smell of sugar permeating everything. I usually loved it, but at the current moment it felt like a sticky sauna. The crowd didn’t have the bustling, inviting buzz of fun anymore—I felt claustrophobic and panicky, seasick as I navigated through so many happy people. I saw a pitcher of ice water sitting on the front counter and I stopped to pour myself a cup, chugging it down before pouring another.

  “Mr. Wilson!” I heard from behind me, and I turned to see Rachel Beringer, one of my students.

  Great. Lovely. Exactly what I needed right now. Rachel was one of my best students, diligent and attentive and bound for great things. But I didn’t care how bright she was. Right now, I needed to get away.

  “Hi, Rachel,” I said, trying so hard to plaster a smile on my face and not look like I was about to vomit. “Have you seen my parents, by any chance?”

  “Um, I don’t know what they look like,” she said, staring at me strangely. “Mr. Wilson, are you okay? You look a little sick—”

  “I’m, uh, lactose intolerant,” I said, making it up on the fly. “Terrible condition, really.”

  “Then why did you buy a milkshake?”

  I looked down at the bar where I’d set my cup. “I… like to live dangerously?” I said. Thank God she laughed. If nothing else, I could rely on humor with my students when I had to pretend I had my shit together.

  I guess I kind of did that with everyone.

  “Hunter.”

  Caleb was at my side now, exhaustion on his face. Caleb didn’t go out much, even nowadays, and he looked like he was at the end of his rope, too.

  “Please tell me we can leave now?” I asked.

  He nodded. “They’re finally saying goodbye to Susan. C’mon.”

  “I’ll see you on Monday, Rachel,” I said, giving her a halfhearted wave. She gave me a strange look, but smiled as she waved goodbye.

  “I guarantee you the entirety of the Kinley High student body will be asking me if I still have a hangover on Monday. And I can never eat dairy around them again,” I told Caleb as we wound our way to the front door.

  “Did you lie to a student?”

  “No. Well, yes, but only about lactose intolerance, and only because the alternative was worse,” I said.

  “Alternative to what?”

  “Telling them I was losing it because of Gavin,” I said.

  “I’m losing it because of him, too,” Caleb said, shaking his head. “I love the guy, but if he goes through with that bridge proposal, he’s on my shit list forever.”

  I didn’t bother telling Caleb the real reason I was freaking out. I never lied to him, but there was no way I could handle telling him I’d just kissed Gavin.

  My parents were at the door, extricating themselves from Susan Millred.

  “Where is the traitor, anyway?” Caleb asked, and I shot him a glare.

  “Don’t be such an asshole,” I said. “Gavin’s outside.”

  “I won’t be an asshole if you stop being such a pushover with him,” Caleb said, shaking his head. “You’ve always been too nice to him, but this is different, and you know it.”

  “Too nice?” I asked. “He’s my best friend, Caleb, am I supposed to treat him like shit?”

  “Maybe,” Caleb said. “If he’s treating Kinley Island like shit.”

  “You’re just in a bad mood because you had to be out in public for longer than ten minutes.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You have him wrapped around your finger. He’d do anything for you. So stop coddling him and maybe he’ll get enough sense to quit this bridge bullshit.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked. “You want me to stop talking to him because of this?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “If that’s what it takes, yes,” he said.

  “You’re an idiot,” I said. “And that wouldn’t stop him, anyway.”

  “You’re wrong,” Caleb said. “Grow a spine. Stop trying to protect a grown man.”

  Before I could tell Caleb to fuck off, my parents finally headed our way.

  “We’re free,” my dad said. Susan Millred was leaving the store, and my parents looked like they’d just survived a tornado. “Let’s go home?”

  “Please,” Caleb said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  We pushed through the door, and I steeled myself before seeing Gavin again. The truth was, I did want to make sure he was okay, wanted to apologize for drunkenly kissing him, wanted to reassure him that I would always be his friend and just his friend. That I wouldn’t make things uncomfortable again.

  But I also had Caleb’s words floating through my mind, now.

  I didn’t coddle Gavin, did I? I was nice to him, and of course I wanted the best for him, but… he didn’t care that much about what I thought.

  I felt like my body was about to turn itself inside out as I rounded the corner of the building. I bit my lip, turning the corner.

  The seats were empty.

  I looked around the rest of the building, quickly checking every bench and going back to peer through the windows inside, scanning for his tall frame.

  But Gavin wasn’t there.

  I’d really fucked things up.

  “Hunter? You ready to go?” Mom said from a few paces away. “Where’s Gavin?”

  I turned, shaking my head, feeling as though the ground was spinning beneath me.

  “He left,” I said.

  6

  Gavin

  “Isn’t this place just fantastic, V?”

  Vance and I were standing at the edge of the property I’d purchased for myself by the water, looking up the slightly inclined lawn toward the small farmhouse in the center. The sun was out again—it had been out for three days in a row, the longest string we’d had in weeks.

  My heart was pounding and I was breathing heavily. I’d run my normal six miles this morning, and then for the hell of it I’d run four more, making laps around the coast and into town then back to the water again.

  Trees dotted the property, heavy with branches that seemed as if they hadn’t been trimmed in years, but the house was still visible: wooden and simple, as brown as some patches of grass that surrounded it.

  Vance sort of just grunted back at me. He kicked at an empty old plastic cup that had been collecting dust on the driveway. It rolled down the lawn.

  “It’ll take some work,” I said. “And by the end of the year, of course, it’ll be long-since bulldozed for my new property. But for now, this should work just amazingly well. Look at the view of the water!”

  “The view definitely is nice,” Vance agreed. He was being polite. I knew Vance thought the place was a shithole, but I was trying to look at it as the site of a beautiful future home, not as a dusty old shack.

  I lifted my leg behind me, gripping my ankle and stretching my hamstrings. The muscles were still twitching from my run, the delicious type of burn, the type I’d desperately been seeking the past two days. Nothing got my mind off things like
hard exercise. And I needed my mind to be sharp right now.

  I needed to forget everything that had happened with Hunter two nights ago. And I’d been keeping myself ridiculously busy trying to forget that kiss.

  The biggest and best distraction had thankfully happened this morning: I’d just officially gotten the keys to my new house this morning, and it was ready for me to move in whenever I wanted.

  “Let’s have a look inside,” I said, waving him along. We headed up, and the front door creaked as I pushed it open. The floorboards were dusty, and the whole place needed a deep clean, but all I could see at that moment was potential.

  I had to see potential. Otherwise I might have gone crazy imagining myself trying to live in this place—but I wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, including Vance.

  “It sure as hell isn’t your penthouse,” Vance said, his eyes scanning the dark room. I made my way to the big window in the living room, throwing open the shutters.

  Probably a mistake. When the light poured through, it only drew attention to the cobwebs that hung between the tops of the doorways, the patina of dust on every surface, the yellowing crown molding. Vance stifled a cough as dust motes floated through the air.

  “It’s very different from the penthouse, yes,” I said, knowing I was making the understatement of the century. Back home in Seattle I was on the fifteenth floor of a tall glass building downtown; it was sleek, modern, and everything that Kinley Island wasn’t. The penthouse didn’t speak to me; I didn’t have any special attachments to a modern design. It did the job of being a place to rest my head in between meetings. But the penthouse was always the slightest bit impersonal, too. At times I felt like I was in a very fancy hotel or museum rather than a home.

  But a part of me didn’t really know what a real “home” felt like to begin with. The closest thing I could think of was Hunter’s place growing up—it had always been homey, comforting, cozy. There’d always been something to do. It also wasn’t my own, though. I felt like a visitor there, even if I was a welcome visitor; I was always trying to make sure I wasn’t overstaying my time when I was there.