Chapter 12
NOW
WHEN the door opened, Jonah looked down. Then down some more.
Then he remembered to take off his sunglasses so he didn’t look so intimidating and crouched down a little too. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly, his heart beating double-time in his chest. It was no wonder Emerson had assumed… the kid really did look just like him. Same hair, same eyes. But there was no way, and it was still no excuse. His stomach twisted. “Is your mom home?”
The kid nodded his head with a shy smile and disappeared back into the house, leaving the door open behind him.
“Who’s at the door, baby?” Jonah heard from inside the house. “Let’s go see, come on.”
Once you got past the hair color, Deanna Carlisle hadn’t changed much since high school. She was still tall and beautiful, with a friendly, open face and sparkling blue eyes. “Jonah!” she exclaimed. There was never any doubt that her surprise and delight were genuine. She put the little boy down and stepped forward to hug him.
Jonah let her; he hadn’t had nearly enough hugs in the past week, and it was good to see an old friend again. “God, you did grow up just right, didn’t you?” she teased, running her hands over his back before releasing him. “Have you got time to come in?”
“If you don’t mind,” he said a little hesitantly, flicking his eyes toward the kid.
“Don’t be silly.” Stepping back from the door, she motioned him into the house. When she knelt, the little boy ran into her arms. “Gareth, come say hi to Jonah.”
“Hi,” Gareth said shyly, sticking out his little baby hand.
“Hey.” Jonah smiled. Gareth’s hand almost fit around his index finger. “Nice to meet you.”
“Gareth, baby, why don’t you see if you can find your blocks? Mommy and Jonah have some catching up to do.”
She put him down, and the kid scampered off in the direction of the living room.
“You want a drink? I think my dad has beer,” Deanna said enticingly.
Jonah shook his head slowly. “Trying to quit.”
“You’re cute. Coffee, then.” She flicked on the coffee pot, then motioned to the kitchen table. “I have to admit, I was expecting to hear from you a little earlier. Emerson promised me we’d go out for drinks.”
Jonah scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, Emerson and I are kind of not speaking to each other right now.”
Deanna raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Seriously? Come on, you guys were thick as thieves. What happened?”
“Oh, you know, nothing serious. Except that he thinks I have a secret family.” He looked pointedly toward the door where Gareth had disappeared.
“Oh my God—I never even thought.” Deanna put her hand over her mouth. “He must be pretty mad at you, huh?”
“Other way around, actually. Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t have blamed him, but…,” he trailed off.
Smiling slightly, Deanna shrugged. “Well, I can’t say I blame him either. I have a type, you know? I can see why it might have caused a little rift, but why didn’t you just tell him the truth?”
This was the part that hurt to talk about. “I already told him the truth months ago.”
Leaning back in her chair, she hit him with a speculative look. She wasn’t angry—she was too laid-back for that—but she was definitely curious. “You never struck me as the kiss and tell type, Jonah.”
He took a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of an important conversation when you start a relationship with someone.”
Deanna’s mouth dropped open. “You and—oh my God. Emerson’s gay?” She paused. “Actually, that explains why he never seemed to like me that much. So, not so much a rift as a lover’s tiff, then, I guess.”
“I moved out without saying goodbye,” Jonah admitted after a minute. “‘Tiff’ might not be a strong enough word.”
“This is why you’re skipping the beer?” Deanna said perceptively.
“I think I had enough this week.”
With a reassuring smile, she put her hand over his on the table and gave a quick squeeze before getting up to pour the coffee. “How serious is it?”
“The fight or my drinking problem?” Jonah asked drily.
“The relationship, smartass.” She set a mug in front of him. “Though I’m curious about the rest as well.”
He wrapped both hands around the warm mug, staring into its depths. “The drinking was situational. And my sister threw out my last six-pack to help me along with kicking that habit.”
“Hmm, I knew I liked her.” Deanna finished adding sugar to her mug—she didn’t use quite as much as Emerson, but it was a close thing—and licked the spoon. “Keep going, you’re not off the hook yet.”
Jonah took a slow sip, buying himself some time to think. “Everything else is pretty serious. You must have heard Emerson’s dad died last June?”
“Yeah, a heart attack,” she said sympathetically. “I’m sorry. He was a great guy.”
“He was,” Jonah reflected. “Emerson was kind of a mess. I was in San Francisco at the time—he was supposed to come visit, but obviously that didn’t happen. So I came home instead.”
“Go on.”
“I stayed as long as I could—I’d booked some time off for his trip—but I had a job and other responsibilities back in San Fran, and I was supposed to start school in August, so I had to go back. Emerson’s mom figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea for him to tag along, get out of the house for a week or so. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Well, if anyone could make him feel better, it’d be you.”
That brought a lump to his throat, and it was another few sips before he could continue. Even then, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say or even how much he wanted to share. “I was—kind of a big chicken about it. I left it ’til the last minute in case things didn’t work out, but when he left we were….”
“It’s alright,” Deanna supplied when he didn’t continue. “I mean, I am dying for details, but I get that it’s private, and you’re not really in the mood to talk about specifics.”
“Thanks. Anyway, when I said Emerson was a mess—I don’t know exactly what happened while I was gone, but I know he did some things he regrets.” Even saying that much felt like a betrayal of Emerson’s confidence, but honestly, Jonah needed someone to talk to, and turnabout was fair play. “And I think it maybe made him a little, uh, neurotic.”
“He always was kind of highly-strung.”
Jonah huffed. “That’s one way of putting it. Anyway, after he saw you at the store, he came home looking for a fight. It took him a while to get to the point—he kept just hinting sideways that I was a father and hadn’t told him about it, even though he should have known I’d never slept with you. Basically he insinuated that I was a liar.
“I thought he’d finally put his insecurities behind him, you know? I was never anything but patient. Everything was going well. I mean, okay, we were fighting about whether I should move in—I was subletting one of the rooms from one of Emerson’s housemates for the summer—but other than that it was perfect. I can’t believe he thought I would do something like that.”
Deanna squeezed his hand again. “I’m sorry, Jonah. In his defense, Gareth does look just like you.”
“And he has my middle name.” He was curious about that.
She ducked her head and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “When he was born—well, let’s just say his real dad didn’t exactly step up. I wished you were his father. And I liked the name. I never thought it’d cause you any trouble.”
Suddenly he found himself blinking hard, fighting off unexpected tears. “Hey—no. Dee. I’m kind of insanely flattered. This isn’t your fault.”
Deanna laughed a little wetly and wiped at her eyes. “Sorry. The first year was kind of hard. I wouldn’t trade him for the world, but it’s definitely not the life I thought I wanted.” She shook her head. “But we were talking about you.”
“Yeah—I’ve been sort of monopolizing the conversation, haven’t I?” he asked, chagrined.
“I don’t mind. It’s obviously weighing on you pretty heavily.”
“This is the first time I’ve left the house all week.”
She gave him one of those incredibly perceptive looks. “You’re searching for a reason to forgive him.”
If Emerson had apologized at any time, Jonah knew he would have forgiven him on the spot. He wasn’t capable of holding a grudge. But he wasn’t sure Emerson would apologize. He wasn’t even sure Emerson knew why Jonah was so upset. “I’ve never been this miserable in my life.” Oh, hell, while he was at it, he might as well tell her the rest. “I… it’s not like I’m completely blameless either.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” Deanna said gently.
“No, Dee. I think I scared him.” Jonah looked at his hands. They were big, just like the rest of him. Jonah had never hit anyone in his life—he’d avoided fights before he hit puberty because he was small for his age and didn’t want to get beat up, and afterward, when he was taller than everyone else, no one ever bothered him. He had a slow fuse; it just wasn’t in his nature to get angry.
When he’d stared down Emerson that day in his bedroom demanding that Emerson move, though, he’d been very aware of his size. He could have moved Emerson out of the way easily—and he knew Emerson knew it too.
Jonah hated that he’d done that, but he’d been desperate. At first the realization that Emerson was accusing him of hiding a child had been ridiculous, but when his incredulity faded, it was like being punched in the gut. It hadn’t taken much for the deep hurt to turn to anger. He didn’t want Emerson to see him like that—to see how upset he was. He’d needed to get away, to clear his head, and when Emerson hadn’t let him leave, he’d purposely intimidated him. It wasn’t something he could ever take back. It killed him to think that now he’d given Emerson a reason not to trust him.
“Jonah, you wouldn’t hurt a fly. Anyone who knows you knows that.”
“But I could. It’d be so easy.”
“But you wouldn’t,” Deanna emphasized. “I may not have known all the facts about you in high school, but even then I knew you’d throw yourself under a bus for Emerson. That if it ever came down to a choice between the two of us, you wouldn’t hesitate.”
“You were a good friend too,” Jonah said hoarsely.
“I’m still a pretty good friend,” she said with a small smile. “Now, pie or cookies?”
“Cookies!” said Gareth from the doorway.
Jonah started and looked up as Gareth flung himself across the kitchen and into Deanna’s lap.
“I… pie or cookies?” he asked.
“Super-secret mom remedy for broken hearts,” she told him, swinging Gareth up and giving him a noisy kiss where his T-shirt rode up. “Though it’ll work better if you actually talk to him.”
Talk to Emerson. Jonah didn’t know if he was ready to do that.
“Mommy’s cookies are the best,” Gareth said from his place of honor.
“Well, I guess I won’t argue with the expert,” he said finally. Either one of them. “Cookies it is.”
§
THEN
LATER, Jonah would say that he knew something was wrong long before Emerson failed to get off the plane. He was nervous—of course he was nervous; he hadn’t seen his best friend in two years—and the coffee wasn’t helping. He finally threw it away when he was halfway done and sat there in the arrivals area with his netbook balanced on his knee, jiggling in time with the tapping of his foot. He refreshed the flight status page about seven times a minute despite the fact that it was flashing on the airport television screen not twenty feet away.
An hour passed.
Maybe he missed his flight, Jonah thought hopefully, checking the next incoming flight from Austin. It would land in another twenty minutes. Maybe he got bumped for someone with a family emergency. That would be just like Emerson, to give up his seat to someone who needed it more. Maybe—
In the corner of the screen, Google Talk blinked with an incoming message from Natalie.
Jonah’s stomach sank. Emerson wasn’t coming.
He clicked on the message to answer it. “Natalie?” He frowned at her image on the computer screen, sickly pale with serious, sad eyes. Oh, God, Emerson. “Natalie, what’s going on?”
Natalie rubbed the corner of her eye like she always did when she was pretending not to cry. “You’d better come home.”
Jonah was on a plane less than an hour later.
With the netbook still on his knee as they sat on the runway waiting for clearance, he fired off a few e-mails—his landlord, Katie, his supervisor at the library—letting them know he might be out of touch for longer than he anticipated and that he would be out of state. His fingers hesitated for a few moments over the phrase “death in the family,” but he’d known John and the Blackburn family since he was ten—if that didn’t make them family, neither would blood. Then they were taxiing, and he folded the little computer up and shoved it into its case, the only piece of luggage he had.
At least he wouldn’t get held up at the baggage claim.
§
“EM? HAVE you had anything to eat today, hun?” Emerson looked up to see his mother’s sister standing in the door to his bedroom. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry and filled with compassion.
Emerson, who was not feeling particularly talkative, simply shrugged in response to her question.
“Honey, you really should think about eating something.”
Emerson simply stared at his knees.
After his aunt had brought them home from the hospital, Emerson had suddenly been overcome by the scent of disinfectant and death on his clothes. He had jumped into the shower and begun to clean himself with single-minded intent. He wasn’t sure how long he had stayed in the shower, but he had been there for some time, scrubbing himself down, attempting to remove all trace of the smell.
Once clean enough to satisfy himself, he had returned to his bedroom to stare at his closet for a long moment, contemplating clothes. In the end, it was a no-brainer to pull out his favorite worn jeans and the T-shirt of Jonah’s he had kept so long ago. After pulling it on, he had stood there a moment, rubbing the soft green fabric beneath his hand. Then, he pulled on one of his zip-up sweaters and sat down on his bed.
He had curled himself into a tight ball and had been unable to move since. He had neither the energy nor the inclination to uncurl himself from his protective huddle.
His aunt sighed.
“Alright. I won’t push it right now, but you’re eating something tomorrow, just so you know.” Then she ran a tender hand over his head before she left him alone again.
A great, empty ache had filled his chest and hollowed him out. He didn’t know what to do now, to do next. He felt crippled by grief. He felt all at once that his whole body would cave in on the yawning ache inside him, and yet that all the pieces of him would float away and bring him to nothingness if he were not careful. He wished Jonah were here. Jonah, who could hold him and comfort him, who would fill the empty spaces and keep the pieces together.
Jonah.
Jonah, who was in San Francisco… where Emerson was supposed to be right now.
Oh. Oh, he had forgotten about his trip, hadn’t even sent Jonah a message. Jonah must be so worried by now that Emerson hadn’t shown up.
Slowly, his limbs filled with lethargy, though his mind was quick enough, he scooped up his laptop and opened it to contact Jonah. He wasn’t on Skype, so Emerson opened a new e-mail. He stared at it for a long time, watching the cursor blink on the blank white page. He didn’t know what to write, how to explain. There were certain things he just couldn’t bring himself to write, not yet.
Finally, his fingers shakily tapped out, “Still at home. I need you,” before they failed him. He could write no more, it seemed. He hit “send.”
His laptop stayed open on the bed, waiting to tell him should Jonah respond. The computer stayed silent, and Emerson waited. His eyes still hurt, swollen and itchy from the tears, yet he didn’t cry again. He had no more energy to cry. He had energy for nothing. He simply sat and waited. He waited to stop hurting. He waited to have energy. He waited for Jonah to contact him.
He could hear a knock at the front door. Someone, probably his aunt, answered. There was talking, and Emerson could see her, in his mind’s eye, talking to a neighbor or maybe a salesperson, trying to explain that the family was in no condition to talk to anyone, friend or stranger. A fresh wave of grief interrupted his musings, and he lost track of the noises downstairs.
There was a knock on his bedroom door, and then it was opening, and then Jonah was there. Jonah was standing in his bedroom, looking serious and wan, but still like Jonah. His Jonah.
Emerson stared, frozen with shock. Then Jonah took one hesitant step toward him, and Emerson was unfrozen. He was unfolding his limbs and stretching out and reaching—
Jonah wrapped both arms around him and held him tight. One large palm curved around Emerson’s waist, while the other was around his shoulder. Emerson felt safe for the first time since his father had first turned pale.
“Jonah,” Emerson gasped, only to be answered by a soft, soothing shush and Jonah murmuring his name. Emerson broke. Huge, gulping sobs climbed their way up his throat and forced themselves out of his mouth. He gasped and shuddered in Jonah’s arms as the tears came unrestrained. He could not stop them now, not now that Jonah was here to keep him safe.
§
NATALIE met him at the airport, still ashen pale and too quiet, and she was the same girl Jonah had taught how to swing a bat and climb a tree, only taller and more grown up, as if he needed something else to be sad about. He caught her up in a fierce hug as soon as he saw her, not saying anything, and it was a long time before he was able to let go.
Then she pulled away and put her hand on his arm and gave him one of those brave smiles their mom was so good at, and Jonah knew it was time to go.
“Do you want to drive?” she asked.
“Do you want to live?” Jonah asked back, and could have punched himself for it. “No, you—I haven’t driven in years, Nat.”
“’Kay.”
Mom and Dad must have got a new car while he was gone—he vaguely remembered Mom mentioning something about it during some phone conversation or other, but he hadn’t really been paying attention—because he nearly walked past it in the parking lot. He got a quick flash of that brave smile again as Natalie unlocked the doors with the key fob, and then he was sliding in, smacking his head on the side of the roof and nearly breaking his knees on the dash before he found the lever to move the seat back.
By the time they made it into Hudson Bend, Jonah’s nerves were completely frayed. Natalie signaled to turn down into Emerson’s neighborhood, but Jonah put his hand over hers on the gearshift. “Don’t,” he said. “I’ll walk from here. I could use the air.”
Natalie didn’t argue, just threw the car into park long enough for him to get out.
It was only a ten-minute walk, but despite the four-hour flight and the hour-long drive, Jonah knew he wasn’t ready yet to face the situation inside the house. Not that he would ever be ready. He could hardly think of facing Mrs. Blackburn and Kierstyn, never mind Emerson, but he wasn’t going to back out now.
It was no time at all before he found himself ringing the doorbell, and he almost fell over in relief when Emerson’s Aunt Brenda answered the door. She apparently hadn’t heard much about his flight from Austin and surrounding area, because she didn’t look surprised. Instead, all she said was, “He’s in his room,” and it wasn’t like Jonah was ever going to forget where that was. He toed off his shoes and left them on the rack and made his way up the too-quiet stairway in the too-quiet house until he was standing in front of Emerson’s door.
Then there was nothing left to do but go in.
He knocked once on the door—but that was stupid; he’d never knocked on Emerson’s door in his life. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and stood there in the doorway with his heart caught in his throat.
For a half a second he couldn’t move, and then, somehow, he was on the bed on the other side of the room with Emerson crushed desperately against his chest.
Jonah didn’t know how long it was before Emerson finally, finally cried himself out and fell asleep, or how long he’d been staring at him since, but at some point afterward the bedroom door creaked open. Slowly, Jonah looked up, raising the first finger of his left hand to his lips as Kierstyn appeared in the doorway, looking even worse than Emerson, hair a wreck, eyes swollen and red, skin deathly pale. From the expression on her face, she hadn’t quite forgiven Jonah yet for leaving either.
Well, it wasn’t like Jonah was going to hold that against her now, of all times. He squeezed over closer to Emerson and nodded his head at the empty space beside him.
Kierstyn only hesitated for a second. Then she let the door latch softly closed behind her and crawled up on the bed beside him. “You made Emerson cry, a lot. Just so you know, I’m still mad at you,” she whispered without looking at him.
“That’s alright,” Jonah said quietly, distracted again by Emerson’s steady, even breathing. “I deserve it.”
“’S’long as we’re agreed,” Kierstyn mumbled into his ribcage. Then she, too, went quiet.
§
SOME time later Jonah tiptoed his way out of Emerson’s bedroom, having successfully extricated himself from both sleeping Blackburns without waking anyone. He closed the door gently behind him and stood outside in the quiet hallway for a long moment, catching his breath.
Aunt Brenda was nowhere to be found—probably in the master bedroom with her sister, Jonah thought—so for the time being, it seemed that he had the run of the house. Finding himself in the kitchen and at a loss for something to do, he ran some hot water in the sink and washed the dishes, careful to keep them from clanking against the side of the sink. Putting them away was easy—he knew the cupboards here better than his own in San Francisco, and nothing had moved. Then he washed the counter tops and swept the floor and got out the Windex to peel the dead bugs from the window above the sink.
He tidied the living room next—the vacuum would have to wait; he didn’t want to risk waking anyone. Then the main floor bathroom, which was far enough away from the bedrooms upstairs that no one would be disturbed by the sound of the running water as he rinsed out the tub. Finally there was nothing left to do, so he went back into the kitchen and cleaned out the refrigerator until a jar of pickled eggs, John’s favorite, brought him up short, and he had to take a minute to stop and clench his jaw.
Jonah put the jar back in the fridge, all the way on the bottom where no one would find it unless they were looking.
After that he reorganized the pantry, which was a suitable distraction until he found a bag of soup noodles and a packet of yeast. Two hours later he was taking a loaf of fresh bread out of the oven and sealing up the seventh or so Tupperware container of chicken noodle soup, everything but the loaf pan and the Dutch oven already washed and put away as if he’d never been there.
Then the phone rang, and Jonah dropped the ladle onto the tile floor with a loud clatter. “Shit.” He didn’t know why Brenda hadn’t just turned the ringer off—
He managed to pick up on the second ring. “Hello?”
There was a pause. “Jonah?”
He sighed, bending to pick up the ladle and put it in the sink. “Hi, Mom.”
Another pause, and Jonah was sure she was going to ask him when he was coming home, but when she finally spoke again, what she said was, “How’s Emerson, sweetheart?”
Jonah made sure the burner was off before retreating to the living room, farther away from the stairs. “Sleeping, for now. He took it pretty hard.”
“Of course,” his mom answered. Then, hesitantly, “Honey, do you need anything?”
What Jonah needed was for Emerson to be okay, but he wasn’t likely to get that, at least not anytime soon. But tangential to that thought—“I need to talk to you and Dad and Natalie, but that can wait. This is more important for now.” After all he’d put his family through, he was not going to come out to them on the phone, even if Natalie probably already knew anyway.
“Call me when you need a ride, baby,” his mom said. “We miss you.”
Jonah swallowed. “I miss you too. I’ll call you later.”
They hung up just in time for the door to crack open. Jonah felt his shoulders go tense as Emerson’s brother Harper pushed open the front door and stood in the entryway just like everyone else seemed to be doing that day. Of course, it was almost ten o’clock at night, and he’d probably been traveling for hours.
“Hey,” Jonah said, well aware of how painfully awkward the situation was and that it wasn’t likely to be improving anytime soon. “I heard about your dad. Obviously. I’m sorry.”
Harper just gave a short nod and ran his hand through his hair before finally making a move to take his shoes off. “Where is everyone?” He looked a lot less intimidating than Jonah remembered, although of course he’d hardly seen Harper in years and years.
“Emerson and Kierstyn are asleep in his room. I think your aunt Brenda is with your mom, though I don’t know if they’re awake.”
Harper continued to stand there stupidly, nodding, until Jonah finally broke down and said, “You want a drink?”
“Yes, please,” Harper answered, and followed him into the kitchen.
Just because Jonah wasn’t old enough to drink didn’t mean he didn’t know where the liquor cabinet was, and this was certainly no time for beer. He poured two generous measures of scotch over ice cubes and set them on the kitchen table, where Harper parked himself without actually using his eyes.
“We all thought he was doing better,” Harper said at length, curling both hands around the glass and staring down into the amber liquid.
Jonah didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut.
“We all thought—” and here Harper interrupted himself by raising his nose into the air and sniffing deeply several times. Then his stomach growled loudly, and he said, “God, did you bake?”
“I really suck at this,” Jonah admitted in a rush. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Jesus.” Harper got up from the table and located the bread apparently using the power of his nose, then cut himself a generous slice. He ate it standing at the counter, not bothering with niceties like butter or cheese. “Emerson should keep you.”
Again, Jonah could think of no appropriate response. Instead he said, “There’s soup in the fridge? If you’re hungry.”
Which was how Emerson found them, twenty minutes later, slurping their soup in what was otherwise a companionable silence.
“There’s a bowl for you in the microwave,” Jonah said in a voice that was less if you’re hungry and more and if you don’t eat it on your own I’ll spoon-feed it to you; I know what you’re like.
Emerson blinked at him owlishly—he must have forgotten to put his contacts in, or pick up his glasses—and hit the power button to reheat it. “When did you get in?” he asked Harper, taking the seat between the two of them at the table.
“Couple minutes ago.” Harper passed him the basket of bread. Maybe Harper wasn’t such a dickwad after all. “Jonah fed me.”
Emerson paused with a thick slice of bread halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t hear the fire alarm.”
Jonah gave him a crooked, slightly broken smile. “Smartass.”
“You’re making too much noise,” Kierstyn complained from the doorway, and Jonah kicked out the chair on his other side so she could sit down. She took two slices of bread from the basket and slathered them in margarine, then made them into a sandwich like she’d done when she was a child and convinced that she liked neither sandwich meat nor cheese.
Jonah said, “Sorry,” and then Mrs. Blackburn and Aunt Brenda came downstairs, too, and he heated up the rest of the soup and got an extra chair from the dining room so they could all sit together.
“Thanks,” Emerson said quietly twenty minutes later, slipping out to join him on the front steps.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Jonah replied, knocking their shoulders together. “Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”
“If you’re free. I know you haven’t seen your family in years.”
Seriously? Jonah turned his head just enough to spit Emerson with a penetrating look. “And they can do without me for a couple more days.”
Emerson opened his mouth again, and Jonah said, casually, before anything really stupid could come out of it, “If you thank me again, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
It didn’t quite get a smile, but considering the circumstances, Jonah would take what he could get.
A minute or so later Natalie pulled up in the driveway, and Jonah pulled Emerson up and into a hug before he could talk himself out of it. “Go back to bed,” he advised. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Natalie gave him a sideways look when he got in the car, but Jonah just closed the door and buckled up and let out a long breath. “Can we talk about it when we get home?” he said at length.
“Whatever, Jonah, you are the least subtle person on the planet,” Natalie told him, throwing the car into reverse. “You can tell me whenever you want.”
He tilted his head back against the seat. “Thanks.”
§
BALANCING the tray of coffees and the bag of pastries in one hand, Jonah reached for the doorknob with the other.
Behind him, Natalie said, “You’re not going to knock?”
“I haven’t knocked since I was thirteen,” Jonah pointed out, finding the door unlocked. Yesterday didn’t count. He kicked his shoes off onto the mat and held the door open long enough for Natalie to follow him inside. “Careful of that board”—there was a small step up to the main part of the room—“you only need to stub your toe on that once, and you’ll never forget it.”
Natalie didn’t comment on that, following him into the living room silently, but when they didn’t meet anyone in the kitchen either, she asked, “Are you sure they’re even awake?”
“Kierstyn’s bedroom light was on,” Jonah said absently, taking a plate from a cupboard for the pastries and arranging them neatly before setting them on the table. “And she makes a lot of noise in the morning. Besides, Emerson slept most of yesterday afternoon.”
He didn’t need to turn around to know exactly which look she was giving him. It was the same look she had given him this morning when he’d come to breakfast in a T-shirt that was two years old and, it had to be said, a little small in some key areas. “Gee, I wonder who you’re trying to impress,” she’d said, and Jonah had closed his eyes and begged, “God, not today, Natalie.”
She’d let it drop after that. It wasn’t like Jonah had any choice apparel-wise; he hadn’t exactly packed for this trip.
Unfortunately for both of them, Mrs. Blackburn was the next person into the kitchen that morning, though she didn’t look particularly surprised to see Jonah, at least. “Oh, good morning,” she said, obviously on autopilot since there was nothing remotely good about this morning. Her eyes were horribly damp and red, though she managed a small smile. “And you brought breakfast.” At that she swallowed hard and wiped beneath her eyes with her third finger.
If Jonah was feeling awkward, he couldn’t even imagine how poor Natalie felt. “It was nothing,” he said modestly. “The bakery was on the way.” Then, steeling himself, he said, “Natalie’s just come for the keys to the store, and then she’ll be off.”
Mrs. Blackburn faltered. “Oh—but we told everyone—”
“Can’t have the produce going bad,” Natalie said with forced cheer. “And there’s supposed to be a delivery today. I called in some favors. We’ll take care of it, Mrs. B.”
Mrs. Blackburn let out a big sob before she got control of herself and fell upon Natalie in an excruciatingly awkward hug. Natalie endured it like a trooper, and when Mrs. Blackburn pulled away to find the keys to the store, she was composed again.
Natalie took the keys and hightailed it to the door, but not before Jonah could mouth a heartfelt “thank you.”
“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Blackburn managed a few moments later, her back turned to the process of selecting one of the coffees Jonah had brought. “You’ve been a godsend, and I know Emerson missed you.”
“I should never have left,” Jonah admitted softly, and almost swallowed his tongue when he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him.
“Well, you’re here now, and that’s what matters,” she said with a brave sniffle, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Emerson, Jonah brought breakfast.”
Still fighting down the urge to blush—pretending fiercely to himself it was from the motherly kiss and not his stupid, ill-timed confession, which Emerson had no doubt overheard—Jonah added, “And coffee—the big one is yours.” Three creams, five sugars, and it was a wonder that Emerson hadn’t developed diabetes or at the very least an unattractive paunch. Not that Jonah could talk; he liked his almost as sweet.
Emerson gave him a bleary stare from behind his glasses, his expression inscrutable. Maybe it was too early for him to work out exactly what it was that Jonah had meant. “Thanks,” he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Jonah suppressed the urge to shudder. “Sure.”
Emerson took a seat at the table, his gaze seeming to stare through the wooden top, though he did manage to choke down half of a chocolate croissant. Jonah watched him for a few minutes until he was satisfied that Emerson wasn’t going to starve himself, then let his eyes and thoughts drift.
Emerson’s dad had redone the kitchen when they had been in tenth grade, and they had been conscripted for the weekend to work pulling out the old cabinets and peeling away the old linoleum so that new tile could be laid. By the time they had finished at the end of the day they’d been too tired and sweaty even to walk as far as the lake for a swim. Instead they’d laid on their backs in the grass until they fell asleep, only to be woken hours later with sunburns and empty stomachs. Emerson’s mom had given them cold fried chicken and her special potato salad, and they’d had a watermelon seed-spitting contest until the setting sun made it impossible to determine a winner, and they called it a tie.
“Jonah.”
Jonah looked over at him, at where he was sitting, rigid and uncomfortable, at the kitchen table, and wondered when the hell they’d gotten so old. Emerson’s mom was gone, and so was the last half of the chocolate croissant. He blinked in recognition.
Emerson sounded a hair away from losing it. “Take me away from here. Please.”
Jonah let out a long, shuddering breath. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
They hadn’t walked much of anywhere together since before Jonah had got his driver’s license in eleventh grade, and Jonah found that the mindless locomotion was soothing, falling into step just ahead of Emerson with an ease that spoke of long years of friendship. He’d thought he had no particular destination in mind, content simply to be with his friend under the hot Texas sun, but then he heard the resounding crack of a baseball hitting wood and realized he’d directed them to the ball diamond they’d played on as kids.
Jonah bought a couple of Sno Cones from the canteen, blue raspberry for him and cherry for Emerson, and then they picked out a spot on the rusting metal bleachers, the sun-borrowed heat burning for a moment even through the fabric of Jonah’s jeans.
If they attracted a few stares—and they did; Jonah had been gone for almost two years, and news of Emerson’s father had traveled fast—Emerson, at least, seemed not to notice, and the few scattered parents and friends apparently knew enough not to approach him in his grief. The red team, it seemed, was up by several runs, as evidenced by the fact that their coach called them into the dugout before the green team got three outs, some kind of mercy rule like they hadn’t had in Jonah’s time. Back then the bleachers had been almost brand-new, a vibrant ultramarine, and the concessions stand had smelled of fresh paint as well as popcorn and hotdogs. But the summer sun still held the same relentless Texas heat, and the field had recently been mowed, the smell of the fresh-cut grass bringing back memories.
§
BEFORE
THE batter swung the bat hard and connected with the ball, sending it into deep left center. Jonah cursed under his breath, watching the advancement of the runners helplessly. The ball went well over the fielder’s head, landing somewhere behind him and to his left. If he hurried, he might make the throw in time to beat the runner, who had been on second, home. Then Jonah would have a chance to make a play.
But the fielder looked between the ball and Jonah dubiously and threw it in to the second baseman, where the batter was already waiting, and a few seconds later the runner crossed the plate with a triumphant grin to cheers from the stands, just like the three before him. It was near the end of the second game of a double-header, and there was only Emerson to pitch—it was obvious he was getting tired, and Jonah didn’t blame him.
Behind Jonah, he heard one of the away team’s older fans—probably someone’s grandmother—lean over and say, in a voice that may have been intended to be soft but which carried across the flat, dusty diamond as easily as if she’d used a megaphone, “They won’t throw him the ball because they know he won’t catch it.”
Flinching, Jonah ducked his head in shame and kicked at the dirt, feeling sick. It had been two years since he’d played on a team, and it was true that he was rusty, but he always played well in practices. But he was short and scrawny and awkward, and people took it for granted that he wasn’t good at sports. It was difficult to have confidence when nobody wanted to give him a chance to prove himself.
The next batter stepped up to the plate, and Jonah raised his head again to meet Emerson’s eyes where he was standing on the pitcher’s mound. They were narrowed into slits behind his lenses, and he looked like he’d swallowed a mouthful of vinegar. “Time out,” he said loudly, and Jonah’s heart hammered in his chest as Emerson waved the other players in from the outfield.
The boy who’d fielded the ball, Tim, glared defiantly, and Emerson hadn’t even said anything yet. “Tim, do you want to win this game or not?”
Tim scoffed. “We’re down four runs in the bottom of the seventh, Emerson. I’d like not to be an embarrassment.”
“Glad to hear it,” Emerson said acidly. Jonah stared determinedly at the dirt. “Is your arm bothering you?”
“What?” Tim answered. “No.”
“So there’s no reason you couldn’t throw the ball where it would do some good? Home plate, for example, where it would have prevented another run?”
The second baseman spoke up. “He was trying to make the easier out, Emerson.”
“Does he need glasses?” Emerson asked rhetorically. “Because he can borrow mine. The batter was already on the base.”
Jonah kind of wanted the ground to open and swallow him up, preferably erasing any evidence that he had ever lived, or at least this conversation, from history.
Tim and Eric, the second baseman, gave Jonah guilty sideways looks. “Look, Sarah Waters and Allie Sparks are in the bleachers, okay? We look stupid when he doesn’t catch it.”
Jonah flinched again, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Emerson, and he saw that his friend’s face had gone hard. “You’ll look a lot stupider when I bench you and put Jonah’s sister in instead! At least she knows how to play on a team, and she’s not going to let some girl”—here Emerson’s lip curled up—“distract her from the game! Jonah is perfectly capable of catching the ball. I see him do it every time one of the batters misses. Maybe you just need to work on your aim.”
Jonah felt his ears heat at the praise, but he took care to make sure the other boys didn’t notice his pleasure. The last thing he needed was for Emerson to be accused of favoritism.
“Now,” Emerson said, while Tim and Eric were still busy staring furiously at a spot over his shoulder, “can we play some baseball here, people?”
§
THEN
EMERSON looked better, Jonah decided as they walked back to his house. They’d been at the diamond most of the day watching the kids play, eating hotdogs, and just generally existing in the same small pocket of space. Emerson’s face had got a bit of color back, and he’d eaten some lunch, and if there was a red slash of sunburn spreading over the tips of his ears and nose, for once, Jonah wasn’t going to complain about it. Apparently neither one of them could be trusted to remember sunscreen at a time like this, and that was fine.
They had just come into view of Emerson’s house when Emerson pulled up short, presumably at the sight of the black Trans Am hugging the curb at the end of the driveway. Emerson said, “Oh, no.”
Jonah looked from him to the car and back again. “Friend of yours?” he asked warily.
“It’s Zack,” Emerson explained, looking pained. “Hayley must have told him when he got back from seeing his parents.”
“Well, it’s good that he wanted to check that you were okay?” Jonah hazarded.
“Yes, no, Zack is great, absolutely, it’s just.” Emerson finally met his gaze. “He kind of hates you.”
Oh, well. That wasn’t so bad. Jonah was mostly just glad it wasn’t an ex-boyfriend—or current one. Wait a second—“Wait, why does he hate me? What did I do?” Everyone liked Jonah, and aside from the attempted ass-grabbing, he was mostly okay with that. He was just gregarious. People couldn’t help it.
“He’s just.” Emerson looked a little panicky now. “He’s kind of protective. Um. A lot.” He scratched the back of his neck, then winced, and Jonah realized that that was burnt too. Damn it, he was going to have to be more careful. Next time they would sit in the shade. Too bad he hadn’t brought that 100 SPF. “And when I first met him, you were, you know….”
Gone, Jonah realized, and not speaking to Emerson at the time. Well, he could see how that would color Zack’s opinion. But hating him for it seemed kind of extreme. Unless…. “Exactly how badly did you take that?”
Emerson flushed under about forty new freckles and looked away, so, pretty badly, then. Jonah didn’t know whether to feel guilty about it or pleased that Emerson cared about him so much. He didn’t have any time to decide, however, because at that moment the door to the house opened and a guy Jonah decided must be Zack jogged out of it, making a beeline for Emerson.
“Hey, Emma.” They—well, hugged wasn’t exactly the word; it was a lot manlier than the hugging Emerson usually did. “Hayley told me what happened. I came as soon as I could. I’m sorry, man.”
Emerson nodded, pulling back, and wiped at his eyes once, and then Zack took a step back and looked over at Jonah.
This was probably going to be ridiculous, but Jonah stuck out his hand anyway. “Hi, I’m Jonah. You must be Zack.”
Zack gave him a flinty-eyed stare and let his hand hang there in the air for a moment, but eventually he reached out and attempted to crush Jonah’s fingers. He was just lucky his hand was proportional to the rest of him, or he might have had to go to the hospital. “Pleasure,” Zack said, tone indicating clearly that it was anything but.
“Um, while this macho display is good for my ego, I am choking on the testosterone,” Emerson broke in.
Zack let go of Jonah’s hand, looking thoroughly unchastened. Jonah pointedly did not shake his hand out in spite of the throbbing.
A rumble sounded in the distance, and Jonah looked up to see the blue sky rapidly clouding over. “I should get home,” Jonah said regretfully. With Natalie at work, he’d have to walk, and it was definitely going to rain. He didn’t exactly want to leave, but it wasn’t like Emerson was going to be alone. “Call you tomorrow? I should probably spend some time with my parents after the bombshell I dropped on them yesterday.”
Emerson blanched under his sunburn, and Zack gave him a narrow-eyed look that told Jonah his opinion was being rapidly re-evaluated. “You told them…?”
Jonah shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “No time like the present. See you tomorrow?” he asked, meaning, “Will you be okay if I leave you with this guy?”
“Yeah,” Emerson said finally. He’d been doing so well all day, but all of a sudden it seemed like you could have knocked him over with a feather. “Yeah, sure.”
“Alright then. It was nice to meet you, Zack,” he said as sincerely as possible. He waved goodbye just as the gathering clouds blocked out the sun.
“Zack could drive you,” Emerson offered as he was walking away.
Jonah smirked a little as he turned around. Emerson looked embarrassed, Zack thoroughly unimpressed. “No, he couldn’t,” he said, watching Zack shrug at Emerson unconcernedly. “See you tomorrow.”
§
THEY hadn’t even made it to the church yet, and already Emerson wanted to fall apart. Aunt Brenda had volunteered to drive the family out to the church, and so he was sitting in an uncomfortable suit in the back seat of her car. Kierstyn, by reason of being the smallest, had been elected to take the middle seat. She was pressed firmly against his side, and Emerson tried not to think about anything else but the comforting warmth of her body. If he didn’t, he might recall what it was that they were doing today.
They rode in a silence that was broken only when Aunt Brenda announced, “Here we are.” It was a long moment before Emerson reached for the door handle. By the time he and Kierstyn pulled themselves from the car, his mother and Harper were already standing at its bumper, staring at the church.
They walked in together as a family, and Emerson wished he could take more comfort from that fact. They were not a whole anymore, not without Dad.
Emerson blinked hard and shied away from those thoughts.
He followed his mother and Harper down the aisle to the front pew, and when Kierstyn snaked her hand into his own, he didn’t argue. He simply squeezed her hand back.
Back stiff, and heart aching, Emerson kept his mind carefully blank and held Kierstyn’s hand tight. He didn’t notice the other attendees arriving. In fact he hardly noticed when the pastor began the ceremony.
Emerson didn’t take notice of the proceedings until Kierstyn untangled their fingers and went to the altar. There, looking sweet and pretty in her black dress, she carefully and deliberately recited the words to Frost’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” Hearing his little sister recite his father’s favorite poem made Emerson want to cry again.
He zoned out again when the pastor started up once more and didn’t come back to himself until it was Harper talking.
“I wish I knew all the right words to say to encompass the man that our father was. Unfortunately, I don’t, and I probably won’t do the man justice, but I’m here to try.”
Emerson sat and listened, his chest aching to hear Harper try to give a eulogy for their father.
“My father was a man who loved his children more than anything else. My whole life, his love for me was never in question. No matter what we did or what we told him, he never stopped loving us. And we tested that. I tested it when I moved across the country for college and forgot to phone regularly. Kierstyn’s not old enough to have given Dad a proper test—I think that takes teenage hormones—but all the little everyday tests didn’t pass Dad by. He even forgave her when she quit ballet and cut off her pigtails.” There was tittering in the pews at that, and Harper gave a small smile.
“Emerson… Emerson perhaps gave it the biggest test when he came out, but Dad… Dad took that the same way he took everything. In fact, the day he passed he had breakfast with Emerson, and Em says Dad was just as nosy about his love life as always.”
There were more titters about that, but not as loud as the ones before. Not everyone at the funeral had been entirely accepting when they had heard that Emerson was gay, and the awkward laughter was proof of that. Emerson suddenly felt a pang of great love for Harper, who didn’t flinch away from telling the truth.
“We’ll miss you, Dad,” were Harper’s final words before he folded his paper and stepped away from the altar.
Then his Uncle Ed who lived in Tulsa got up and commemorated his baby brother. Ed’s eulogy was for a boy who hadn’t existed for forty years and a man who hadn’t in twenty. Emerson felt awkward listening to an uncle he barely knew talk about a man that he didn’t.
His awkwardness increased when it was Uncle Ed who said, “In order to commemorate his father, John’s middle child elected to say good-bye in the way he does best. Emerson created this slide show of his father’s memory. The music is, I believe, an original composition by some friends of his, created for today.”
They played the slide show. The song had been written by Greg and Zack. Zack had been working the melody out on his piano for weeks, and after John’s death had enrolled Greg into helping him create the lyrics. The song was for Emerson, and he found he couldn’t both listen to his father’s elegy and watch the photos of his life. He looked away.
Then the service was done, and they were moving outside and watching the casket being lowered. His mother was pushing him forward, and Emerson was scooping up earth and tossing it in the grave.
The priest ended with an invitation to the wake at the Blackburn home, and Emerson walked back to his aunt’s car. Just as suddenly, they were back in the driveway, and then Emerson was standing in his house, waiting for people to arrive with food and more condolences. He stood by the kitchen counter, staring into a glass of water.
“Hey.”
Emerson looked up, and there was Jonah, tall and handsome as ever. He was beautiful in his black suit.
“Hi,” Emerson said back. It was apparently all the permission Jonah needed to walk right up and wrap his long arms around Emerson. Emerson was engulfed, but it didn’t feel stifling. He just felt precious and cherished, safe. Jonah was good at that. Emerson allowed himself the luxury of placing his head down on Jonah’s shoulder and soaking up all the love and attention that he could.
They stayed in the kitchen with Jonah holding him close and Emerson’s fingers curled in the fabric of his coat until Brenda came walking in carrying a casserole, with guests carrying more food on her heels.
Jonah released him then, and if Emerson hadn’t been so tired, he might have blushed at being caught in such an intimate pose.
“Oh.” Brenda didn’t look that surprised to have found them alone together. “Boys, why don’t you find someplace else to hide—this kitchen is about to get busy.” She gave them a soft smile, which they both attempted to return, before she went back to organizing food.
Jonah followed Emerson through the living room and into the den, then to a far corner where they could sit on a love seat that was out of the way and far from popular traffic.
“You need anything, Em?” Jonah asked softly. Emerson shook his head. No. He didn’t need anything that Jonah could give him.
Emerson shifted on his seat. He felt stiff and uncomfortable. He didn’t even know how to just sit anymore, it seemed.
“Hey, settle down,” Jonah murmured. He wrapped an arm around Emerson’s shoulders and pulled him in close. Emerson didn’t argue as he was settled against the back rest, leaning into Jonah’s comforting presence.
His mind was still moving, but at least his limbs weren’t. “Jonah?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Emerson?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t thank me again.”
“Oh. I just wanted you to know….”
“Yeah. I know. Just so long as you do too.”
“Yeah.”
Silence reigned. Emerson let it consume him.
Kierstyn found them first. She crept into the room as though she was sneaking away from or to something. Kierstyn didn’t hesitate to climb onto the couch next to Emerson, and Emerson never thought to deny her. She was so somber; he had never seen her like this before.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the last person to find them.
Sedate guests in dark colors kept wandering into the den and spotting Emerson and Kierstyn, insisting on offering condolences. They kept coming and coming, even after Kierstyn had fallen asleep curled against the armrest. Emerson hated them for their pity and their I’m sorrys. Mostly he hated them for making Jonah so uncomfortable that, upon arrival of the first guest, he had coughed, embarrassed, before lifting his arm up and away. Emerson’s shoulder felt cold without Jonah’s warm weight. He kept shifting his back and rolling his shoulders uncomfortably, anxiously, until Jonah grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together.
“Hey, quit twitching.”
“I’m sorry. I just….”
“Hey, I know. It’s just… you’re starting to look like you’ve got a rash or something.”
Emerson turned to look at his best friend and found that Jonah was giving him an attempt at his usual mocking smirk.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want all these lovely people to get any ideas.” Jonah arched a brow.
The smile was genuine if small. “You’re always so thoughtful.”
“Yup.”
Emerson opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a call of “Emerson! There you are. I’ve been looking for you. I just wanted to say….” He turned to the newcomer, nodding to her in all the appropriate places, acting as if he actually cared what she said.
Jonah stayed all afternoon and into the evening. He didn’t move from his spot except to head to the bathroom. He didn’t even leave to find food, though that might have been possible only because food was brought to them. Jonah just stayed with him, their hands locked together, all day long. Emerson wasn’t sure he had ever loved him more.
§
“IF YOU try to do up my seatbelt for me, I’m changing seats,” Emerson threatened as Jonah finished putting his carryon in the overhead compartment.
“Oh.” Jonah thought about wheeling Emerson’s suitcase through the airport, and bringing him his sugared-up coffee, and keeping track of his boarding pass and ID, and never letting him out of sight for longer than it took to take a leak in privacy, and decided he might’ve been a bit of a mother hen. “Sorry?”
Emerson sighed and sat back in his seat. “It’s fine. I know you’re just looking out for me. But I’m not going to break. I am a mostly functional member of society. Promise.” Emerson gave a little tremulous smile.
“I know.” Truth told, Emerson was doing a much better job of keeping his shit together than Jonah was, and Jonah wasn’t the one whose dad had just died. But Jonah was trying to make up for two years of absentee friendship and be supportive to someone who was grieving, and he had less of a clue how to do the latter than the former, which was to say he had no fucking idea. Compounding this was the further complication that he happened to be in love with Emerson as well. Basic chivalry had seemed a good start originally, but then, Emerson wasn’t a girl.
Jonah was more than just aware of that fact.
He sat down in the aisle seat—no one had claimed the window yet; Jonah was hoping it stayed empty—and tucked a paperback he’d nicked off his dad into the seatback in front of him. “Nervous?” he asked.
Emerson shook his head. “I’m okay. Excited.” Emerson chewed his lip. “Worried about leaving my mom alone, but I guess that’ll happen when I go back to school anyway.” Then Emerson turned to him and asked with an obvious attempt to change the subject, “What about you? You’re the one with a book release in less than two months. Aren’t you nervous?”
Sure he was, but he was a lot more nervous about having Emerson in his apartment for a week and trying to keep his hands to himself. “I—believe it or not, no.”
“I can’t believe I haven’t even read it yet,” muttered Emerson.
Jonah tensed.
“Not that—I’m not complaining,” Emerson assured him. “Just, I thought I was going to have my hands on it a week ago, and now I’m going to be hanging out with you for a week, so I’m not going to have time until I head back home.”
“You know I’d have given it to you if I could,” Jonah said gently. Emerson only ever babbled like that if he was nervous, and his leg was bouncing. “Are you sure you don’t want some Gravol or something?”
“Yes!” Emerson assured him. “I’m fine. I keep telling you—” and then the plane started pulling away from the boarding area, and his face went white.
“Are you going to do up your seatbelt now?”
He did, his hands trembling slightly in the process. When he pulled them away from the belt it was to curl them around his chest, hugging himself.
The plane turned to orient itself to the runway, and Emerson started jiggling his leg double-time. It was making Jonah nervous, and Jonah hadn’t been nervous on a flight since his family’s vacation to Disney World when he was eight. Before he could think about it, he reached out with his right hand and pressed down on Emerson’s knee.
Oh. That had been a mistake, because the denim underneath Jonah’s hand was warm from Emerson’s skin, and Emerson had gone still like he was waiting for something, only he couldn’t be, and Jonah—couldn’t take his hand away. It was like it was permanently magnetized to Emerson’s leg.
“Sorry,” Emerson said, sounding a little off. In the background, Jonah heard the pitch of the engines increase and managed to shake himself enough to pull his hand away.
He cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”
Somehow, Jonah made it through takeoff with Emerson white-knuckling the armrests beside him and breathing hard like someone was—well, like he was having a lot better time than he really was. For a second Jonah wondered, somewhat wildly, if he could calm Emerson down by blowing him in the restroom, and then he spent the next half an hour deeply regretting that moment’s indiscretion, because he could not stop thinking about it. The second the fasten seatbelts sign went off, he muttered an excuse about needing a piss to Emerson and made a beeline for the bathroom.
No sooner had he slid the latch closed behind him than he had his jeans down around his knees and one hand curled tightly around his dick.
What would Emerson be like, he wondered as he frantically scrabbled for tissues with his left hand. Would he be shy? Wanton? Some intoxicating mixture of the two? Would his skin pebble into goose bumps under Jonah’s touch? Would he shiver? How would he taste?
Jonah gave himself a rough experimental stroke, knowing he wouldn’t last long. Emerson would take some coaxing, he decided. Jonah knew he hadn’t always had the best luck with sex, however little they talked about it—which was to say only when Emerson had had too much to drink. So he’d be nervous. Jonah would have to convince him that it was good for him, that he wanted—God. Everything that he wanted. Which was a lot.
What kind of noises would he make? Jonah wondered. Little quiet gasps and snuffles of pleasure? Would he hiss in satisfaction when Jonah licked at the head of his cock like he was currently dying to do? Or maybe—Jonah clenched his jaw at another long, hard stroke—maybe he wouldn’t contain himself. Maybe he’d be loud. God, that would be hot. Jonah hoped he was a screamer….
Jonah barely managed to catch the mess before it sprayed all over the bathroom and his jeans, shuddering with aftershocks so strong, they made him dizzy. Jesus Christ, if this was what it was like to jerk off thinking about Emerson, actual sex would probably kill him, but what a way to go.
Making sure there was no physical evidence of his activities, Jonah washed his hands thoroughly and flushed before leaving the bathroom. There wasn’t even a line-up yet. That was just embarrassing.
Jonah plopped back down in his seat, trying very hard to act like a normal human being and not someone who’d just frantically jerked off in an airplane bathroom while fantasizing about sucking his best friend off. For all the attention Emerson was paying to anything that was not hyperventilating and trying to dent the plastic with his fingernails, Jonah might as well have come out of the bathroom naked with his dick still hard. “Emerson. Come on, man, breathe. It’s another four hours to San Francisco.”
“Oh, God,” Emerson said.
“Come on, the movie’s going to start soon,” Jonah coaxed. “You can use my headphones. I kept them from my last flight.” He fished them out of the seat pocket and plugged them into Emerson’s armrest, flipping through the channels until he found something that sounded classical and soothing. “Here.” He hooked the speakers over Emerson’s ears, more challenging than it sounded when he was limited to one side.
Emerson managed a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
“Relax,” Jonah commanded, and he automatically put his hand on Emerson’s knee again, God damn it. For a second he could only stare down at the hand like it had betrayed him; then he snapped out of it. “Sleep if you can, ’cause I’m going to keep you very busy all week.”
If Jonah hadn’t known better, he would have said Emerson flushed at the words.