The Second Time

 

 

Summer 2004

 

THE FIRE crackled invitingly, even after all the hours it had been lit. Orange sparks spat up into the night, occasionally spilling out of the hexagon of driftwood onto the sand, and long sticks thrust out of the blaze—earlier in the night, they had held fat sausage links, then s’mores. Evan and his friends had opted to chance being caught with the contraband fire on the beach after deciding the reward outweighed the risk.

Evan inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to the heady, full night sky. This was summer. This. The feeling of being warm and full, fire heat on his face, vodka in his belly burning warmth there too. The sea air, no breeze, not in Virginia in August. Sand between his toes.

Soft lips on his own.

Evan startled, and the group around him laughed.

“Thought you were sleeping,” Cassie Williams told him, pushing at his shoulder so Evan lost his balance and fell back on his elbows. He joined in the laughter, even though he didn’t share their amusement.

Cassie was nice, of course. He’d known her since preschool, maybe earlier. Who knew around here. It wasn’t the first time she’d kissed him. Once, in second grade, it had been after he’d fallen and scraped his knee. For the past few weeks, Cassie had been hitting on him again, and every time he’d neatly deflected, trying to turn her attention to someone who’d maybe return it. Evan wasn’t going to.

“Not sleeping,” Evan said. His voice came out a deep rumble. Since his voice had broken, it had been like that, deeper than the other guys’, something else that made him stand out. He’d hit his growth spurt twice now, once at fourteen and again the previous year, just after his seventeenth birthday. He’d be eighteen in a few weeks, right after the start of the new school year. Evan would be the first one in this group to have his eighteenth birthday.

Two of his friends stumbled out from behind one of the high sand dunes, their hair in disarray, clothes more than a little disheveled. Evan joined in the hoots and catcalls, grateful for the distraction.

“Evan!”

That voice was familiar, and Evan dropped his head back, knowing he couldn’t ignore it.

“Evan, you fuck!”

Evan laughed and let his head roll to the side. Grinning, Scott stood in his board shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, hands balled on his hips.

“What?”

“We’re playing football.”

“Scott, it’s almost midnight. How the fuck do you plan on playing football?”

Scott pointed straight up at the moon. Which, admittedly, was giving off a lot of light in the clear night sky. Scott’s skin glowed, pearlescent in the moonlight. It reflected off his Irish pale skin and lit up his blue eyes like he was magical.

Evan pulled himself to his feet with a heaving sigh. He hadn’t been able to say no to Scott for a long time now.

One by one, the others abandoned the fire pit and wandered over to where Scott and Andy had drawn wobbly lines in the sand to designate a playing area. Someone had brought a foam football or found one in the trunk of the car, and Scott was tossing it back and forth with Andy as they galloped the length of the makeshift field.

“Evan,” Scott said as Evan stretched out the kinks in his neck. “My team?”

It was a question but not one, not really. Like there was any question that Evan King would play on the same team as Scott Sparrow.

Evan nodded and kicked off his flip-flops, pushed his fingers through his hair, and cracked his knuckles. It looked like there was about ten of them playing, including a few of the girls. They split down the middle, their friends quickly choosing their allegiance to either Scott or Andy.

Scott hustled Evan together with the rest of their teammates: Katie, who played hockey and was strong and hella fast, Drew, and Tony. They would do well, Evan decided.

“Jamie is their weak spot,” Scott said as he casually threw his arm around Evan’s shoulder and pulled him into the huddle. “We already agreed no tackles, so don’t push it. Karen will fight dirty, so don’t engage her unless you have to.”

“Got it, Captain,” Katie said with a salute. Scott laughed and pushed her shoulder.

Everyone knew Scott and Katie hooked up. It wasn’t a big deal. They weren’t dating, and Katie made no claims on Scott—his time or his affection. Though there was affection there, in spades, both claimed they had no interest in a relationship.

Evan tried very hard not to be jealous.

The game got silly quickly, and Evan led the laughter. Scott was more gymnast than football player, vaulting over people one-armed, tackling Evan to the sand even though they were on the same team and neither of them had a ball.

“You’re such a douchebag,” Evan huffed as he hauled himself up, brushing sand from his ass. Scott just reached a hand out to be pulled up, and Evan indulged him.

They huddled together with the rest of the group, Scott moving their teammates around so Evan shifted to quarterback. It was a less familiar position for him, but Evan knew this play, knew the magic Scott was going to pull out of his bag of tricks. He was a competitive little shit and, even for a midnight beach game, wouldn’t want to lose.

“Ready?” Scott asked, and they broke with whoops and cheers, then settled easily into positions.

Karen, on the other team, called the start of play, and Evan jogged back a few feet with the ball, faked to the left, then passed the ball to Katie, who’d run behind him.

It was slick, too quick and too dark for the other team to notice what they’d done. Evan jogged alongside her as Katie took off along the outermost left edge of the field, then passed to Scott as she made contact with him. He vaulted over Marcus, playfully shoved Josh, then dove into a touchdown that was totally unnecessary.

Scott danced like an idiot in celebration, and Evan threw his head back and laughed to the moon.

 

 

THE LIGHT in his basement wasn’t the best for painting. Because of the way his mom’s house was built on a hill, the basement opened out onto the backyard, so there was some natural light down there. Years ago he’d convinced his mom to let him convert it from her personal minigym—which she’d never used—to Evan’s studio.

He’d been serious about art for about four years. For a long time, he’d sucked. But wasn’t that always the way of it? First you sucked, then you practiced, then you got good.

Evan cocked his head to the side, appraising his current piece.

Thundering footsteps interrupted his contemplation.

“When your mom said you were painting the walls, this isn’t what I imagined,” Scott said, pausing on the bottom step and grinning at Evan.

“Couldn’t find a canvas big enough,” Evan said. He didn’t mind the interruption, not when it was Scott.

“Is it a… what is it?”

Evan laughed. “It’s a painting.”

“Mural?”

He made a noncommittal noise. “It’s a painting on a wall. And it isn’t finished.”

“Well, duh,” Scott said sarcastically. He bounced down from the bottom step and walked over to stand just behind Evan, so close Evan could feel Scott’s heat at his back, his breath on his neck.

Evan stood very, very still.

“Why don’t you ever show people stuff like this?” Scott asked softly. His whole demeanor had changed. He was quiet now, soft. Gentle.

“Because I don’t want to,” Evan said mildly.

“Yeah, but, Ev….”

“Scott.”

“This is incredible.”

“It’s not finished.”

“Okay,” Scott said, apparently not ready or willing to push. “Okay. Did you forget?”

“Probably.”

“We were supposed to go meet people at the mall.”

“Oh. Which people?”

Scott pushed his shoulder and laughed. “Girls. And some guys. We were going to grab a milk shake and then maybe a movie.”

“How incredibly wholesome.”

“Then Andy got some weed to smoke out the back of the parking lot after, when it’s not so hot.”

“Oh, thank God,” Evan said dramatically. “I was starting to worry about you.”

Scott pushed his shoulder again and plucked at the denim shirt Evan was wearing. It was covered in paint.

“Come on. Go change. We’re running late already.”

Evan didn’t want to put the paints down, not when he’d finally found a rhythm with this piece that felt good, organic and inspiring at the same time. It fizzed through him and made his fingers twitch for another brush, thick and heavy in his hand or delicate and fine. Blue or gold.

“Evan.”

“Okay,” he said, turning away from the painting. It would be good to take a break from it, to see it again in a different light. Literally. “Can you pack this away for me?”

Scott knew how to preserve the paints so they wouldn’t crust over. He knew the Kings didn’t have a lot of money to spend on things like paint.

“Sure. I’ll meet you back upstairs.”

Evan nodded and took the back staircase, the one that went from the basement to the second floor, where his bedroom was. It was the same room that had been his own his whole life, his single-child status meaning it had never been shared.

In recent years, some of his older posters had been taken down, and over Thanksgiving weekend the previous year, Evan and his mom had repainted the whole room a neutral cream color. They’d upgraded his bed too, which had been desperately needed. Evan was tall, and the old single bed was way too small. These days he had a queen-size, covered in navy-plaid sheets, with drawers underneath to hide the things he didn’t want his mother to find.

Instead of the posters, Evan had hung some of his favorite pieces on the walls. He wasn’t particularly fond of his own work, or displaying it, but these had particular significance. The hazy charcoal portrait of his six-year-old self and his mother—the photo taken long before he’d met Scott. A pencil sketch of their house in a tiny frame. The big, bold canvas of red and gold that was Scott. Not the shape of Scott, not a picture of him, but the only attempt Evan had made to try to capture his best friend’s essence. Bold and bright and imperfectly perfect.

Evan skimmed his fingers over the acrylic as he walked past it to the closet, then quickly changed.

 

 

TEN MINUTES later, they were in Scott’s Honda, a gift from his parents for his birthday. Scott was a summer baby, so almost a whole year younger than Evan.

That was only the start of their differences.

Scott’s family was still in one piece. His parents were still married, after twenty-five years, and he had an older brother who was in college and a younger sister who was not a brat anymore. Scott’s mom worked at the hospital, doing something with blood that always turned Evan’s stomach when she talked about it, and his dad worked in insurance. Scott’s mom had helped Evan’s mom get a job at the hospital too, and she’d worked there as a receptionist for almost ten years now. Evan knew it was the sort of kindness that would be repaid for a long time.

In the crudest terms, Scott’s family was rich, and Evan’s mom wasn’t. The only thing that she’d been left with when his dad abandoned them was the house, and thank God, or they’d likely be living in a tiny apartment somewhere. It wasn’t much, and it was a money pit, and Evan had been working weekends and summers since he was fourteen to help out around the house.

And Scott had never made it awkward.

Scott was good at everything—at school, football, and he was a pretty decent singer. He was attractive in both conventional and unconventional ways. His dark brown hair was too long on top; it flopped into his eyes, meaning he had to push it out of the way all the time. Evan sometimes thought that was on purpose. His eyes were bright, bright blue. There was a dent in his chin, and when he smiled, deep dimples appeared in his cheeks.

Scott had a habit of drinking cherry slushies, which stained his mouth dark red, and Evan knew, from paying slightly too close attention, that Scott’s bottom lip was plumper than the top. Especially in the middle.

The Sparrow family didn’t flaunt their wealth, not like some of the other families in town. They didn’t drive ostentatious cars or go on family vacations to Europe. But their kids always had new, clean clothes and brand-name sneakers. The Sparrow kids all had college funds and inheritances, which were tied up until they graduated.

Evan wasn’t jealous; jealousy was the wrong word. He looked into Scott’s family with a strange sort of longing. It wasn’t just that he came from a single-mom, only-child family and they had a lot: siblings and cousins and grandparents. It was that they all had one another. There was so much love to go around.

Scott sang along with the radio at the top of his voice, windows down even though the car had air-conditioning, letting the summer spill inside. The mall was a good choice in this heat; out-of-towners flocked to the beach, where they’d sizzle and burn. The locals hid in the cool malls and movie theaters or their own backyards. For a week or two more, then school would start and the beaches would be safe again.

Evan laughed at Scott and joined in on the choruses. He noticed that he still had acrylic paint on his cargo shorts. There was cerulean blue matted in his leg hair, and that was going to hurt like a bitch when he scrubbed it out.

They swung into the parking lot at the mall, in one of the few spaces that would be in the shade for the rest of the afternoon. Scott treated this victory like any other—a stupid, butt-wriggling dance that always made Evan laugh.

“Come on. The others will be there by now.”

Scott rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically as he hauled himself out of the car and slammed the door, pressing the button on his key to lock it. He threw his arm around Evan’s shoulders as they walked into the blessedly air-conditioned building, taking the shortcut through JCPenney to the food court.

“You’re too tall now,” Scott complained after Evan ducked out from the hug, sick of stooping as they walked along.

“I grew almost three inches this summer.”

Scott leered.

“In height, you asshole,” Evan added with a laugh. “My bones hurt.”

“Really? Is that a thing?”

“Apparently so. My mom asked someone at work, and they said to just take Tylenol for it. There’s not a lot anyone can do.”

“That sucks.”

The burger bar in the mall was independently owned, rather than being part of a chain. Kids from school liked it because of the big booths, meaning they could make out without being seen from the main thoroughfare in the mall.

Evan liked it because they made a chocolate milk shake with chocolate ice cream, which had real chocolate in it rather than just weird chocolate flavorings. There was something almost childishly reassuring about good chocolate milk shake.

“Two, please,” Scott said when Evan recounted his order to the waitress. “What? I’m in the mood for chocolate milk shake.”

“Why don’t you just share one?” Andy teased.

“Gay,” Cassie sang, drawing out the word.

Scott was too much of a gentleman to tell a girl to fuck off, even when Cassie was being obnoxious, and Evan was used to shrugging off those kinds of insults. Scott’s mom nicknamed him “Teflon,” because nothing ever stuck to him. It had taken him years to get the joke.

“Because Cap has the appetite of a walrus, and I want my milk shake,” Evan said easily.

Scott laughed and pushed his shoulder, and it was fine.

 

 

THE MOVIE was terrible, and Scott spent most of it making out with Katie McCarren. Evan excused himself to the bathroom halfway through and took a new seat, on the end of the row, when he returned. That way he didn’t have to watch or listen to his best friend slobbering into some girl’s mouth.

Evan skipped the joint the rest of his friends indulged in after the movie, not liking the woolly feeling it put in his head, not when he wanted to go back to his painting when he got home. If he got high, he’d just spend the evening watching TV and eating Doritos, and though there was merit in that plan, he had better things to do.

“How are you getting to school on Monday?” Scott asked as he pulled up in front of Evan’s house. Evan wasn’t convinced Scott was okay to drive, but he’d insisted, and Evan hadn’t been in the mood to push.

“I’ll walk. Like I always do.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“It’s fine, Scott,” Evan sighed. “Seriously.”

“I’ll pick you up,” Scott insisted. “Be ready for seven thirty, or I’ll come in and drag you out of bed myself.”

“Fine.”

 

 

IT WAS seven thirty-five when Scott pulled up, blasting his horn, apparently not caring that Evan had neighbors. Neighbors who had kids.

He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, then jogged out of the house. His mom was working but not until later. Evan would be on his own for dinner.

“Get in, loser. We’re going shopping,” Scott called out the open window.

Evan laughed as he opened the door and shoved his backpack between his feet. “You are such a geek. I have no idea why people think you’re cool.”

“I am cool,” Scott said as he pulled away from the house. “I am.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“Are you ready?” Scott asked as he stopped at the red light at the end of Evan’s street. “Last year of high school, yo.”

“I think so. Doesn’t matter, either way it’s gonna happen.”

“True. How long do you reckon it’ll be until some teacher starts reminding us about GPAs and college applications?”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Ten bucks says it’s five.”

“You’re on.”

Evan only lived a few blocks from the high school. He’d been in this area long enough to know all the cut-throughs, the paths down the side of his neighbors’ garages that no one minded him walking, ducking under fences that led onto the football field. It almost took longer to drive around than it did for Evan to walk.

The parking lot was already starting to get busy when Scott pulled in. There wasn’t any assigned parking for staff or students, though school tradition said the teachers parked close to the school building. It had become cool to park as far away from the teachers as possible, at the back of the lot under the cover of trees. That meant you could smoke in peace, smoke pretty much whatever you wanted, and no one would notice or care.

Evan and Scott had the same homeroom class, one toward the back of the school building. The first day of the new school year was always crazy, people swarming everywhere, kids who didn’t know their way around standing wide-eyed, stunned into silence. Evan kept his head down and didn’t offer to help.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Andy called as he strolled over on long legs. Scott’s nickname was inevitable; with the surname Sparrow and his position as captain of the school football team, it had arrived and then stuck firmly the previous year.

“Andy,” Scott said, saluting.

“When are tryouts, then?”

“Are you serious? I haven’t even gotten to my locker yet.”

Andy sighed dramatically. “Come on. You’re supposed to have all of this organized and ready to go. People are going to be asking me all day, and I want to have an answer.”

“I really don’t know,” Scott said, stopping at the locker bank where he and Evan had shared side-by-side lockers for the past two years.

All of the padlocks got reset at the beginning of the year to a 0000 code; setting it took concentration, and Evan tuned out of the conversation as he adjusted the number to 0808—Scott’s birthday.

“I’ll talk to Coach, set up some dates,” Scott was saying as Evan unloaded a few textbooks and paperbacks he needed to return to the library into his locker. It was empty from when he’d cleared it out at the end of last year, so since he didn’t have anything to pull out, he slammed it shut and leaned against it.

“Okay.”

Scott threw his arm around Evan’s neck, pulling him down into a rough hug as they started up the hall toward their first class.

“Get off me, asshole,” Evan laughed. He pushed Scott away, then punched him on the arm so Scott knew he didn’t really mind.

“Sure I can’t convince you to try out this year?” Scott asked.

They turned the corner and both paused at the bottom of the school’s main set of stairs. This was how Evan worked out—four flights of stairs up to homeroom every morning. Not that he was unfit. Far from it.

“I don’t want to play for a team, no,” Evan said. He swung his arm into the second strap of his backpack and settled it over his shoulders.

“You’re good, though, man,” Scott complained. “And we’re good together.”

“Gay,” Andy muttered from behind them.

“Fuck off,” Scott said easily. “Seriously, though. We’d win with you.”

“You’ll win without me,” Evan said.

“Well, yeah. But we’ll win by more points with you.” Scott shot him a devilish grin.

“It stops being fun when people get all competitive.”

Evan had had this argument with Scott too many times before. He liked sports, didn’t even mind the competition from time to time. But people turned mean on a football field or the basketball court, and it always managed to rub him the wrong way. It wasn’t fun when someone was screaming at him to stop being such a girl, or calling him a pussy if he pulled out of a rough tackle. Or a faggot if he didn’t throw hard enough, run fast enough, be butch enough.

“The competition is what makes it fun,” Scott argued.

“For you.”

“You’re not going to win this one, Cap,” Andy said. “Leave him to his pretty pictures.”

Evan stopped abruptly, causing Andy to stumble behind him on the stairs. He frowned down, and Andy put his hands up, a gesture of surrender.

“Your beautiful pieces of incredible art,” Andy amended.

“That’s better,” Evan grumbled.

He was sure there was some irony in his situation. He didn’t get picked on for being artistic or needing reading glasses or being, as his mom put it, a “sensitive soul.” He got away with all these things because he was only a few days away from his eighteenth birthday and already six foot two and around a hundred and sixty pounds of fairly solid muscle.

Genetics, inevitably, played a part in this. From what he knew of his father, the man had been a Marine and built like one. His father had left when Evan was around three years old, and Evan remembered him only in the vaguest of terms. His parents had been married for five years in total, and for four of those, Evan’s dad had been out of the service. According to his mom, Mitchell King had never adjusted to civilian life and had chosen to rejoin the military when Evan was still a toddler. His mom kept the house, on the agreement that Mitchell didn’t pay child support. In the long run, it was probably a good deal.

Even though he’d inherited his father’s build, Evan’s features and temperament were all his mother. His skin was quick to tan like hers, and his hair lightened to almost white in the sun. She didn’t like it when he wore it too short. Evan guessed it was because it made him look too much like the Marines that reminded her of Mitchell, so he kept it long, tucking around his ears in softly curling strands.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Andy was out of breath, and Scott was teasing him mercilessly about it.

“You won’t get back on the team if you don’t get your fitness up,” Scott said, jumping up the last few steps as if to prove his point. He wriggled his butt as he danced toward the open classroom door, and Evan couldn’t help but smile after him.

 

 

EVAN HAD gained first-name terms with his art teacher the previous year when it became clear to everyone that he had both talent and passion when it came to his artwork. Jocelyn “Joss” Martinez had called on Evan to help run a few art clubs over the summer for children in neighboring communities, and he loved working with her.

She was short, with acorn-colored skin and hair that burst out from her head in dense, immense spirals. Joss, or Ms. Martinez, as he would have to relearn to address her, dyed a few of those spirals blonde or amber, meaning her explosion of hair was as multicolored as the rest of her.

Today she wore a long skirt in deep red, and a yellow shirt that should have clashed but somehow worked. Ms. Martinez was the sort of person who pulled off fashion effortlessly, and Evan couldn’t help but admire her style.

The art classrooms were at the back of the school. Ms. Martinez had been involved in their renovation a few years previously, moving the space from the dark, dingy basement to the current location, where light spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The view wasn’t too bad either. They looked out over a small copse of trees that lined the edge of the school property and, in the other direction, the sports fields. In the summer, noise from games drifted over to them, though Evan had never found it distracting.

This year Evan had taken an additional class to start building his portfolio. This would become a key component of his college applications, and Joss had promised to help him ensure it was as strong as it could possibly be.

He found her, ten minutes before class was due to start, sitting on top of her desk with a sketchbook in her lap, doodling something outside one of the huge windows.

“Hey, Evan,” she said with a broad smile. “How are you?”

“Good.” He nodded. Over the summer, he would have greeted her with a hug. That seemed inappropriate now.

“Glad to be back?”

“Glad to be back in here,” he amended, and she nodded.

“This is your last year of high school. You need to enjoy it. Experience the experience.”

“I’ll try. Do we have assigned seats?”

“Yes, but I gave you a good one.” She pulled an elastic from her wrist and tied her mane of hair into a knot on top of her head, sticking the pencil through the middle. “Um, let me check. There’s a printout around here somewhere….”

Evan dumped his backpack on one of the tables and walked over to the printer, where he found the seating chart sitting on top of the class schedule.

“This it?”

“Evan, what am I going to do without you?” she said with a laugh. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“See, right there. Good light.”

Evan nodded, pleased. It was good light, and he’d do good work from that spot.

The classroom didn’t yet smell like acrylic and charcoal and pencil, but it would soon enough. The school had been deep cleaned over the summer, and nothing smelled like it was supposed to for the first week back. It wouldn’t take long for the gym to smell like sweat and the cafeteria to smell like grease and the art rooms to smell like home.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s good, thank you,” Evan said as he started to unpack his backpack, shuffling things around to suit his particular way of working. He was precise, if nothing else. “Busy at work. As always.”

“Aren’t we all. Are you going to work this year? I only ask because I’ve been offered a place teaching on Saturday mornings, which I really can’t do, and I thought of you. It’s adults, not children.”

Evan cocked his head. “Where is it?”

“At the community center. They want an art teacher for four hours—nine till one—to do a few sessions. Senior citizens and then vulnerable adults. If you’re interested, I’ll pass them your number, and you can get in contact. One of my friends works there. She said she’d be happy for you to take over since I can’t do it.”

“Sounds good. It’ll look good on my college applications too.”

Joss grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

“Okay. Give her my number. I’ll talk to my mom about it.”

She smiled and winked at him as the door opened and a few of Evan’s classmates started to filter into the room. He turned to his corner and went back to his things, frowning as his thoughts started to wander in another direction.

 

 

PEOPLE DIDN’T know Evan was gay. Evan wasn’t really certain of the fact himself. He’d toyed with the idea of bisexuality, but that didn’t seem to fit the feelings he was only starting to admit to when no one was around.

For a long time, he’d used the word weird to describe himself, both privately and publicly. He’d dated girls, taken them to school dances and kissed them chastely at the end of the night. He’d walked them home and delivered them safely back to their fathers, whom he referred to as “sir.” Fathers of teenage girls trusted Evan King to behave appropriately around their daughters.

Evan sometimes wondered if those fathers suspected things about his sexuality that Evan hadn’t discussed with another living soul. There wasn’t a neon sign above his head that flashed Gay.

He thought he didn’t look gay, didn’t act gay, then forced himself to consider what sort of prejudices made up that line of thinking. Evan watched a lot of Queer as Folk and studied those characters in a way he thought other people his age probably didn’t. Not all of the characters on that show looked gay. Some of them did. Some of them acted gay too, but not all of them. Some of the gay men looked and acted like straight men.

Evan thought he was probably one of those gay men. The ones who didn’t look gay on the outside. Even if what he felt, underneath it all, was pretty fucking gay.

People didn’t know Evan had a crush on his best friend. At least he didn’t think they knew. He hoped they didn’t know. Evan lay on his bed, the TV turned to something stupid on MTV. His door was locked, and his mom was on a late shift, so she wouldn’t finish until much later in the evening. He was safe.

There was porn on the Internet, sure, but Evan was still unsure of looking for it. He preferred the images that flashed before his eyes when he threw an arm over his face, blocking out all the light.

Boys his age looked in the showers after gym. He knew it and didn’t really mind when they looked at him. He had broad shoulders and a strong chest that had hair on it. He had pubes he trimmed to what he decided was an acceptable length. His cock was uncircumcised, and he knew some of the other guys tried to get a better look at that, since it was fairly unusual around here. He’d been born at home, in a rush, and his mom had never taken him anywhere to get it fixed. Or so he guessed. He’d never bothered to ask.

Evan’s foreskin was incredibly sensitive, so he was glad no one had cut it off. One of his favorite things was pulling it back, all the way, really slowly, then pushing it back up over the head of his cock again. When his precome started to dribble out, it slicked the way, making that slow, intense glide of skin on skin one of the most pleasurable things Evan had ever felt.

He was eighteen. He masturbated a lot.

The sheets under his back had grown warm as he lay there pushing and pulling on his foreskin and thinking about the prank someone—not him—had pulled on Scott today. They had replaced his regular shower gel with something that produced a shit-ton of bubbles, meaning when Scott lathered up his hair, the stuff had practically exploded all over his body. Evan thought baking soda was involved, but he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was one minute Scott had been singing to himself, the next minute he’d been yelling as the stuff foamed all over his naked body.

Another blob of thick precome pulsed out of the end of Evan’s cock.

Scott wasn’t ashamed of his body. Nor should he be; as far as Evan was concerned, Scott was perfect. His body was slim and lithe, a runner’s body, with dark hairs on his pale skin. Scott didn’t have hair on his chest yet, and he definitely didn’t trim his pubes. He had big balls. Evan almost wished he didn’t know this.

His current fantasies didn’t have any particular theme. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with Scott, how their bodies would react to each other. Evan thought he might want to know how Scott’s dick tasted. He was willing to bet it would be hard and thick on his tongue, maybe a little salty. Evan had tasted his own come before. He’d be okay if Scott leaked in his mouth.

He thought about standing, having Scott on his knees, looking up with his big blue eyes from under those dark, gorgeous lashes. Evan thought about taking his hard cock and rubbing it over the perfect pink bow of Scott’s lips. He thought about Scott’s tongue darting out to lick those lips, taking Evan’s taste into his mouth. He thought about Scott’s tongue wrapping around the head of his cock.

Evan came.

 

 

“SO, GUESS what?” Scott asked in a low voice, swinging his tall lab stool onto its back two legs.

“What?”

Evan was busy contemplating how his best friend could look good in plastic safety goggles. No one looked good in plastic safety goggles. No one except Scott.

“My parents are going away for a weekend at the end of the month. Up to my mom’s cousin’s place in Connecticut. Some retreat thing, I dunno. Anyway, they’re taking Lacey with them, and Tom will be back at college. I asked, and they said I could have a party.”

“Are you serious?”

The Sparrows weren’t particularly strict with their children, more a consequence of their liberal attitude than lack of time to worry about it, like Evan’s mom. But letting their seventeen-year-old host a party was a push, even for them.

“Well, Old Man Collins next door will be checking in on us.” Scott rolled his eyes. “But I can buy him with a bottle of whiskey and the promise to walk Betsy for him when it gets cold.”

“Sounds awesome. Who are you inviting?”

“Not everyone,” Scott said emphatically. “I don’t want people to trash the place. I was thinking of leaving it late, then inviting people last-minute.”

“Then people might already have plans,” Evan said.

“I know. Maybe I’ll tell a few people—you know, the ones who won’t blab—and leave the rest to chance.”

“That could work.”

Their teacher, Mr. Schunard, started his rounds to check on how their experiments were going, and Scott fell back to all four chair legs and subtly adjusted the flame on their Bunsen burner. Evan checked the thermometer and made a note on his chart.

Scott looked behind them and turned back to Evan with a grin.

“I’m going to get Tom to buy us beer before he goes back to school. His classes won’t start for a few more weeks yet.”

“Where are you going to hide it, though?”

“Your place? Your mom never goes into the basement, and it’s colder down there too. Do you still have that massive freezer?”

Evan laughed and shook his head. “You’ve really thought of everything.”

“Freezer, Ev.”

“Yeah. It’s there.”

“Awesome. I’ll come pick the beer up after my folks have gone. You should stay over that night. You can have Tom’s room.”

“Yeah,” Evan said, thinking. “That might be okay.”

“I’ll mention it to Katie later.”

“Are the two of you…?” Evan left the question unasked, not meeting Scott’s eyes as he waited for a reply.

Scott huffed a laugh. “Not recently.”

“What is it with you and girls who could kick your ass?”

“I dunno, man. You’ve got to love the ones who have that spark, you know?”

“Yeah,” Evan murmured, not knowing at all. “Sure.”

 

 

EVAN STOOD in the middle of his room, debating whether to dress in anything other than his summer staple of board shorts and T-shirt. Most of his clothes were out, rather than in the closet, the thought making him snort with dry humor. At least something is.

It was a party. He rubbed at his unshaven jaw and decided to make some kind of an effort. His mom had bought him an Abercrombie shirt for his birthday—white, with very thin blue stripes. It fit across his broad chest well, and he hadn’t had a chance to wear it in public yet.

Fuck it. That’ll do.

He left on the khaki shorts he’d dressed in that morning. They were clean, and he wasn’t entirely sure of the cleanliness of any of his other clothes. Since Scott had offered him a room for the night, he shoved a spare T-shirt, boxer briefs, and his toothbrush into a backpack and shouldered it.

“Leaving now, Mom,” he called as he jogged down the stairs.

“In here.”

He paused, wincing at the door that led to the garage. He turned slowly and went into the family room, where his mom was stretched out on the couch watching some terrible soap opera.

“Are you drinking tonight?” she asked as he went around the couch and sat on the arm of the single chair.

“Yeah. Probably.”

There was no point in lying to her.

“Okay. Know your limits, please? If you’re starting to feel sick, go throw up. It’ll make you feel better. Then drink some water. You’re taking your bike?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And staying at Scott’s?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. If you want to come home, call me and I’ll come get you.” She surveyed him through narrowed eyes. “Or ride home. Don’t, for heaven’s sake, Evan, get in a car with someone who’s drunk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come here.”

He leaned down and let her hug him. She wasn’t strict, not really, preferring to know what he was getting up to and lecturing him on being safe rather than being blindly ignorant of her teenage son’s activities. Evan loved her something fierce.

“You have condoms?” she asked, and Evan felt his face heat.

“Leaving now, Mom,” he said as he walked to the door, hating that she laughed after him.

“Have fun! Be good! Be safe! Make good choices!”

“Yes, Mom!” he called back and let the garage door slam to end their conversation.

Most kids in his area had bikes. They were close enough to the beach to cycle there, meaning they didn’t have to rely on parents for rides. It meant the sort of precious teenage freedom that didn’t exist everywhere.

Scott’s family lived in a nicer part of town. It took around fifteen minutes to cycle over there, depending on how much effort Evan put into pushing himself to build up speed. He’d been riding these streets since he was a little kid and his mom had finally let him make the journey on his own. Back in those days, he had to take the same route every time and call his mom when he arrived. Mrs. Sparrow was good at reminding him to do that. Just in case he got lost or an accident happened.

Scott’s house was as familiar as his own. As a kid, he’d never really given much thought to how Scott had a nicer house than the one he and his mom lived in. The Sparrows had more kids, so it made sense that they’d need more space to put them all.

Evan hopped off his bike as he approached the garage and left it leaning against the wall. There was no need to lock it up, not in this neighborhood.

“Scott?” he called as he went around the back of the house. Someone had set up all the lounge chairs around the pool, but no one else seemed to be there yet.

He found Scott in the kitchen, surrounded by a huge crate of oranges, a knife, several bottles of vodka, and a family-sized bottle of Sprite.

“We’re making orange crushes,” Scott said.

“Seriously? Do you know how to make orange crushes?”

“Nope. But they put the ingredients on the menu at Waterman’s. How hard can it be?”

Scott was wearing his “trust me” face. Evan knew the expression well. It had gotten him into plenty of trouble over the years. Scott was wearing a pair of shorts almost identical to the ones Evan had pulled on, and a denim shirt rolled up at the elbows and unbuttoned most of the way down his chest. His feet were bare, and as Evan watched, he lifted one and used the heel to scratch at an itch on his calf.

“You look nice, by the way,” Scott added.

“Thanks,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. “Okay. So we have to squeeze all of those to start with, right? Does your mom have a juicer?”

Scott gave him a blank look. “A what?”

“A fucking orange juicer, Scott. Seriously.”

“Maybe? I don’t know!”

It took nearly half an hour to find the food processor with a juicer attachment, set it up, and try to figure out how to work it without removing one of their fingers.

“What?” Scott said, pushing at Evan’s shoulder.

“Read the fucking instructions!” Evan practically yelled at him. His patience, usually an infinite thing, seemed to have taken a leave of absence. “They put instructions in the box for a reason, Cap.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Scott teased, his eyes sparkling, the dimples in his cheeks flashing. “I thought you were an artist. Artists don’t need instructions.”

“We do to operate machinery,” Evan said.

“Aw, come on.” Scott hip-checked him, then pulled him back into a hug. “We can do this.”

Evan sighed. “Look. That little thing there needs to line up with the slot there. Then it has to click into place before the Go button will work.”

“Are you sure? Insert slot A into tab B?”

“You have a dirty fucking mind.”

Scott laughed again, then screwed up his face in concentration as he affixed the juicer attachment, which was really too fiddly for a basic kitchen appliance.

“There?”

“Move your fingers.”

Evan pressed the button, and the machine whirred to life. Scott whooped and started to dance around the kitchen.

“Don’t celebrate too soon,” Evan said, unable to stop the grin spreading over his face. “Now we actually need to juice the fucking things.”

“Let me put some music on.” Scott went into the family room to put a CD into the sound system that hooked up to most rooms in the house. A few minutes later, the familiar opening track of By The Way filled the kitchen.

Evan had introduced Scott to the Chilis when they were younger, and Scott’s dad had scored them tickets when they played Atlanta a few years back. To Evan, it had always felt like the band was their band, the one that cemented their friendship as they progressed into adulthood.

“Good choice,” Evan said as Scott sauntered back in.

“Thanks.”

“You wanna cut or juice?”

Scott looked between the big pile of oranges and the juicer, frowning a little.

“Juice.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

After a few songs, they found their rhythm. Evan could halve the oranges fairly quickly, and Scott had to transfer the juice to the enormous punch bowls at regular intervals, so it wasn’t surprising Evan finished first.

“You tricked me into this,” Scott grouched as he licked sticky orange juice from his wrist.

“I gave you a choice!”

“Yeah, yeah. How much vodka do you think we should put in?”

“On the understanding that everyone is going to try and spike it? Not much?”

“And keep the rest of the vodka for ourselves,” Scott said, throwing a juiced orange half to Evan. “You’re a genius.”

“I try,” Evan said, turning the orange inside out to scrape the stringy flesh from the skin with his teeth.

People started to show up around eight. For a few hours, it was just Evan and Scott, kicking back next to the pool with beers neither of them were used to drinking. Scott had set up the stereo system with half a dozen CDs, and they played on rotation, meaning all they had to move for was to get more chips.

Andy arrived first, fresh from his shift at a pizza place on the boardwalk.

“Hey,” he called, walking around the side of the house like most friends knew to. “I brought leftovers.”

He had a stack of pizza boxes in his arms, at least eight of them, and Scott grinned.

“Awesome. Thanks, man. What do I owe you?” He took half the boxes and nodded for Andy to head into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. I mentioned to Mrs. Spinelli that we were having a party, and she wouldn’t let me leave until I took some snacks.”

“She gave you eight large pizzas as snacks?” Evan asked.

“You don’t know Mrs. Spinelli,” Andy said darkly. “It’s a miracle I haven’t gained twenty pounds since I started working there. She tries to feed me constantly.”

Scott dumped his stack on the counter and pulled the top one down. Sausage and mushroom.

“Here,” Scott said, offering Evan the box.

“Thanks.” Evan took a slice and folded it in half to take a big bite.

They left the pizza boxes in the kitchen, and Evan found a spot in the huge family room, content to sit and watch TV for a while.

“You wanna come socialize?” Scott said.

“Not really.”

“You’re so weird sometimes,” Scott said with a laugh, but it was affectionate, and Evan was weird, so he didn’t take offense.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m going to go… do host stuff.”

“Good plan.”

“I’ll find you later.”

 

 

LATER EVAN was outside, feeling the effects of the beer and the orange crush. He thought he didn’t like drinking all that much and wondered what that would mean when he started college. His head felt a little fuzzy, but the cool air was helping. For some reason, Scott hadn’t packed away the loungers next to the pool, and Evan decided they were a great place to hide from the hoards inside.

“People are looking for you,” Scott said, stepping between the loungers. “I thought you were out here hooking up with someone.”

Evan snorted. “No. I’m not doing that.”

He stretched on the lounger, cracking his knees and toes. His MP3 player still played music from the headphones—the John Mayer song Evan didn’t publicly admit to liking.

“Mind if I sit down?” Scott asked.

“It’s your house, dude.”

“You might want to be on your own,” he said as he straddled the lounger to Evan’s left. “I can respect that.”

“Are you drunk?” Evan asked in a rush.

“Don’t think so. Maybe a bit buzzed. Why?”

“Dunno. Just asking.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re being weird, Ev. Even for you.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, ’m fine.”

“Cassie Williams was looking for you.”

“Shit. Who invited her?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said as he swung his legs up and reclined back. “I don’t mind Cassie.”

“I thought your type was more… blonde.”

Scott snorted. “I don’t have a type. And you’re a fine one to talk. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were….”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Evan dropped it. He didn’t really want that sentence finished anyway.

“All the orange crushes have gone,” Scott continued. “I think we got the recipe pretty damn close.”

“That, or there’s enough alcohol in them that no one cares.”

“True,” Scott said easily. “Damn, it’s clear tonight.”

Evan hummed and tilted his head back to look at the night sky. It was dark enough now that the universe seemed infinite, the stars bright points of possibility against an inky dark sky. The moon had waned into almost nothing. It was darker, much darker, than that night they’d played football at the beach.

“I love it when it’s like this,” Evan said softly.

“Really? I can’t wait to get away.”

“I know.”

“It’s nothing personal.”

“I know that too. You want to explore.”

“Yeah,” Scott said with a long, heavy sigh. “Just look at it, Evan.” He extended an arm up to the sky and waved demonstratively.

“You want to go into space?” Evan teased.

“Maybe.” Scott’s voice was familiarly defiant. “I could.”

“I think you need to be at least passing science to have any chance of being an astronaut.”

“Fuck you,” he said easily, with a soft laugh. “I need to find a career option that means I can travel.”

“Where would you go,” Evan said, resurrecting an old game from their childhood, “if you could go anywhere right now?”

“Right now? Hmm.” Scott’s fingers tapped on the side of his thighs in time with the music coming from the house. He seemed in no rush to get back to the party and his friends, and Evan was strangely relieved at his best friend’s loyalty. “Maybe Greece. Athens. Or the Greek islands.”

“Good choice.”

“Your turn.”

I wouldn’t go anywhere, a little voice whispered in the back of Evan’s head. I’d stay right here next to you.

“Greece sounds good.”

“Cheat,” Scott said immediately, indignantly. “You have to pick somewhere new.”

“Okay,” he agreed with a laugh. “Maybe… Australia.”

“Need to leave it until the beginning of the year. That’s when the best surfing is.”

“You don’t surf, though.”

“I would if I was in Australia,” Scott said emphatically. “I’d learn. From one of those hotties in the tiny bathing suits.”

Evan’s head was immediately filled with images of ripped torsos, flat chests, sandy hair, tiny, tiny Speedos. Not what Scott was talking about, he was sure.

“I’ll add it to the list,” Evan said with a smile.

For a few minutes, they were quiet together, a peaceful calm that neither of them needed to fill with chatter. They’d been like this forever, enjoying both the madness that life threw Scott’s way and the calm that Evan seemed to summon. Noise from the party spilled outside—laughter and shrieks, the rhythmic thumping bass of whatever music someone had put on. By the pool, it had turned almost chilly. Fall wasn’t far away now.

“Are you coming back in?” Scott asked, stretching again.

Evan wasn’t ready yet, but he nodded anyway and started to gather the headphones on the red MP3 player Scott had bought him for his birthday.

“Put any decent music on that thing yet?” Scott teased, throwing his arm around Evan’s shoulders as they walked back up to the house.

“Fuck off,” Evan mumbled.

The ground was uneven here. They’d managed to stray from the main path that looped around the Sparrows’ yard. It wasn’t really that surprising, then, when Evan stumbled over something sticking out of the lawn, stubbing his toe on a rock, most likely.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, hopping over and leaning against the edge of the deck.

“You okay?” Scott asked as he followed, steadying his upper arm as Evan rotated his ankle, feeling the twinge in it.

“Yeah. Stupid,” Evan grouched. It didn’t really even hurt that much. His pride was more wounded than his foot.

“Are you sure?” Scott said. His voice was suddenly soft, and his thumb moved, very slowly, back and forth over Evan’s bicep.

The next breath Evan took caught in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow. Scott stepped in closer again, a frown creasing his forehead.

His eyes are so fucking blue, Evan mused, the thought confirming that he was maybe a bit more drunk than he first thought. He’d had two—no, three—orange crushes and a beer.

Probably drunk.

But still… so blue.

“Evan,” Scott said.

“Yeah?”

“Are you… okay?”

Plump bottom lip. Not cherry-slushie colored tonight. No, just the regular soft pink of his mouth that Evan definitely hadn’t spent too long studying over the past, fuck it, since forever.

“Yeah.”

A smile flickered over Scott’s face, and those dimples reappeared, twisting the soft curve of his cheek. Scott flicked his tongue over his bottom lip, and Evan immediately focused his gaze there, too buzzed on orange crushes to use his well-worn defenses and keep his eyes on a more sensible place.

Scott did it again, the movement surely more purposeful this time. Dark pink tongue tracing sweet, pretty lips.

Oh fuck.

Evan was so, so screwed.

“Evan,” Scott said again, and everything seemed to slow down, time turning liquid as he leaned in and pressed those pretty, plump lips to Evan’s.

The slowing of time—Evan was convinced it was happening—seemed to be messing with his reactions, because normally he jerked away when someone kissed him like this, so totally unexpected. But now he stopped breathing and just let it happen, feeling everything, too much and not enough all at once.

Then Scott leaned up, nudging his nose against Evan’s, and he was aware of Scott’s hand still gripping his bicep, and this angle was weird, and he should definitely do something about that.

Something seemed to involve wrapping both hands around Scott’s waist and pulling him closer, closer, until their hips bumped together and Scott’s other hand came up to tangle in Evan’s hair. Their mouths seemed to know how to move in tandem, an organized give and take, even with the chaos that was burning through Evan’s brain, his synapses, his blood.

Scott flicked his tongue out again, and this time it landed on Evan’s bottom lip, drawing it into Scott’s mouth. This was better, infinitely better, and Evan shifted his position again so he could lean back against the deck, pulling Scott with him. They ended up almost in each other’s arms. Close to it.

Making out.

With his best friend.

Whom Evan had had a crush on since forever.

Scott’s tongue tasted like fresh orange juice and a little like vodka and a lot like something Evan could only attribute to intoxicating lips, the sort of sweetness that drew people into this very human trait of sticking tongues into each other’s mouths. Scott’s waist was warm, his shirt slightly rough under Evan’s hands, and Evan had to—he needed to—find out what Scott felt like underneath.

As their heads tilted to try a new angle, a new way to taste and explore with lips and tongues and teeth—oh fuck, teeth—Evan pushed his hands under the denim of Scott’s shirt and wrapped them around his perfect slim waist.

Scott made a little sound in the back of his throat, and the hand that was in Evan’s hair slipped down, cupping the back of his neck and holding him in place so Scott could kiss him deeper.

Was there more than this? Evan wasn’t really sure if there was. Sometimes kissing led other places; he was a teenager, he knew that. But he was pretty sure he could stay like this, kissing like this, for as long as….

Oh.

Scott pulled away, pressing his lips to the corner of Evan’s mouth, then his jaw, then up his neck once, twice—fuck me—and finally to the shell of his ear.

“We should move,” he said, voice rough in a way Evan hadn’t ever heard before.

“Oh.”

“Inside,” Scott said with the sort of inflection that was hard to misinterpret.

“Okay.”

Scott pulled back a little, the devastatingly handsome smile that Evan loved gracing his now kiss-swollen lips. He brought his hand around, rubbed his thumb over Evan’s tender lips, and kissed them again.

“Come on,” he said softly, quickly squeezing Evan’s hand before leading the way.

Evan followed. How could he do anything but?

People were still in the kitchen, plenty of people, actually. Evan didn’t remember this many people being invited. It looked like since he’d been outside, the numbers at the party had doubled, tripled maybe, and the place was now buzzing with activity. Scott was quickly lost in the crowd as he navigated through the groups of people, and Evan let him go, for a minute at least.

There were bottles of water in the fridge; Mrs. Sparrow always made sure of it over the summer. Evan grabbed two, twisted the top off the first, and drank deeply.

He’d just made out with his best friend. The one who didn’t know Evan was gay.

His heart felt like it was thrumming, too fast, too hard for a normal person.

Evan thought he might throw up, and he pressed one hand to his stomach, dumping the unopened water bottle on the counter and rolling the other over his forehead. Someone asked if he was okay, some girl he’d never spoken to before, and he nodded, smiling at her for show.

After a moment, the sickness settled, and he took another swig of the water, then followed the path he’d watched Scott take through the house and toward the family room.

Scott was there, sitting on the arm of a sofa with Katie on his lap. As Evan watched, Scott threw his head back and laughed, tilting it to one side when Katie pressed a kiss just under his ear. Then another, slightly closer to his Adam’s apple. Then another, and Evan turned away.

The clock in the hall said it was eleven thirty. His mom would be asleep by now, probably sleeping deeply, ready for her 4:00 a.m. start in the morning.

While grinning at people, Evan started weaving his way through the different groups that had assembled around the house until he made it to the garage door. He dumped the unopened bottle of water on the shelf next to the door. Someone would put it back in the fridge at some point. The other he tossed in the recycling.

Then he grabbed his bike, turned on the lights fixed to the front and back, and wheeled it back onto the street.

Within fifteen minutes, he’d be home, and then he could process this. The tears were already stinging, and Evan knew, he knew what this had been. Pity. Or an experiment. Or a drunken mistake that both of them could draw a line through.

The fizzing euphoria had been replaced with the low ache of pain, and Evan didn’t know enough about either psychology or biology to understand how something so incredibly perfect could turn sour so quickly.

He wouldn’t mention the kiss again.

It would be his, the one perfect kiss with his first crush, and as long as he kept it secret, no one could challenge it or poison the memory. It was his. Theirs. His and Scott’s.

Cold air stung his cheeks and lungs as Evan cycled home.

Summer was over.

The Fourth Time

 

 

March 2014

 

“WINE.” LACEY suddenly sat upright.

“Pass me your glass, then,” Evan said, already reaching for the bottle.

“No.” She slapped his hand away. “For the tables. We forgot the fucking wine.”

Evan sighed and topped off his glass anyway. “Okay. Do you have preferences for wine, Lacey?”

“Not really,” she admitted and held her hand out for the bottle, then emptied it into her glass. “Oops.”

“Is that the second bottle?”

“Yeah. I like this stuff. What is this stuff?”

“I have no idea. Whatever I picked up at the liquor store on the way over here.” Evan swirled the rosé in his glass and took a hearty swig. “You want rosé for your wedding?”

“Yeah,” she said. A dreamy expression had taken over her face, and Evan wasn’t sure how much the wine could be blamed for that. “I like rosé.”

“I think we’ve established that.” Evan giggled. Oh hell. He’d had too much to drink.

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks, darling. You’re not my type.”

He hauled himself back up to sitting and put his wineglass down on the coffee table. There were seven weeks left until Lacey’s wedding, though there was still plenty left to do. The “to-do list” was supposed to have been what they were addressing this evening. Instead they’d gossiped and drunk two bottles of wine. That was more like what they normally did on a Friday night when Anthony was out of town.

“So,” Evan said. “Wine. I’ll put it on the list. Do you actually want to go and pick wine or just find something that’ll go with the menu?”

“You pick.”

“Nu-uh. I’m not going to choose and get it wrong. We could always ask the caterers to suggest something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Lacey said, pointing at him emphatically. “I’ll call them.”

She reached for her phone, and Evan put a gentle hand on her wrist. “It’s almost eleven, Lace. Call them in the morning.”

“Is it?” she shrieked. “No way. When did that happen?”

“Somewhere between the first and second bottles of wine,” Evan mumbled, reaching for his glass.

“I didn’t eat dinner either. That’s why I’m drunk.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m going to make something. You want a grilled cheese? I’m in the mood for grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“I can help,” Evan said. “Can’t have you setting yourself on fire this close to the wedding.”

Lacey grunted and hauled herself to her feet. She was wearing sky-blue pajamas with fluffy bunny slippers and one of Anthony’s football jerseys. Evan pushed at her shoulder affectionately as they wandered through Anthony’s huge, gorgeous house, wineglasses in hand, to the kitchen.

“So, we’ve got everything sorted for the rehearsal dinner now? I want to make sure I don’t need to think about that anymore.”

“You don’t need to think about that at all,” Evan said as he pulled a skillet from the drawer next to the stove. “I’ve got that covered with Morgan.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. Morgan’s got your bachelorette party covered too—”

“Wait, you’re not involved?”

“No,” Evan said. “Girls only.”

Lacey had taken a seat at the kitchen island, clearly willing to let Evan make her snack for her. He didn’t mind, not really, and moved around her to take butter and cheese from the fridge and a loaf of bread from the pantry.

“But you have to come!” Lacey wailed. “You’re my gay best friend. You’re an honorary girl.”

“Geez thanks, Lace,” Evan said sardonically. “Just what every gay man wants to hear. While you’re busy emasculating me, do you want my balls too?”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, waving his words away. “You know what I mean. You have to come.”

“I really don’t,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll end up carrying you all home on my own, and you know what? I don’t want to be the one responsible for you.”

“Scott won’t be there.”

“I know that, Lacey.”

“So you don’t need to worry. It’ll be nice to have you at one wedding-related event where you’re not all on edge about seeing him.”

Evan decided to ignore her and cut thick slices of cheddar and provolone to layer between the bread. It didn’t take long to assemble the first two sandwiches—there would almost certainly be more than two—and set them into the sizzling skillet.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to contact him ahead of time?” Lacey asked. “It would be good for the two of you to clear the air.”

“There’s no air to clear,” he said mildly. “I don’t have any beef with your brother, Lacey.”

“It’s been years since you last talked to him.”

“Which is enough time for everything that happened to be water under the bridge. I’m not going to cause a scene. Or be rude, or whatever it is you’re worried about. I’ll be polite to him. But Scott isn’t part of my life anymore, hasn’t been for a long time. But you’re important to me.”

“Love you.”

“I know you do,” he said, smirking as he flipped the sandwiches over. “I’ll behave. I promise.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really not sure about those centerpieces,” she started, and Evan tipped his head back, groaning loudly.

“No. The centerpieces are fine,” he insisted, flipping the first sandwich onto a heavy wooden chopping board before slicing it diagonally and sliding it onto a plate. Without asking, he went to the fridge and brought back a bottle of ketchup. Lacey was weird like that.

“But it might be too much, too many roses.”

“It’s a wedding, Lace. A wedding. There’s no such thing as too many roses at a wedding.”

“Okay, but the colors—”

“I helped with the colors,” he said darkly, cutting her off. “Don’t go there.”

Lacey took a big, crunchy bite of her sandwich and wisely stopped talking. Evan ate his while working on the next two, only aware of how hungry he’d been as he ate.

“When’s the dress fitting again?”

“The last one is Wednesday next week. Are you going to come?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah. My mom will just cry again, and I’m not sure I can deal with that.”

Evan chuckled. “Okay. I can move some things around.”

“If you have meetings—”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

By the time the second sandwiches were done cooking, Lacey had polished off the first and gone riffling through the pantry to find chips. They split a bag while eating the next two in companionable silence.

“Can you believe I’m getting married in less than eight weeks?” Lacey asked, leaning her chin on her hand as she stared out at the heavy moon.

“I can’t believe you found someone willing to marry you.”

“Asshole,” Lacey said with a laugh.

“You’re sure about this?” Evan said, feeling the need to ask. Again.

Anthony was six years older than Lacey, a sailor in the US Navy based in Norfolk. He was sweet and kind, and his family had serious money. But Lacey was only twenty-three and such a dreamer it almost hurt Evan’s heart. She loved so clearly, so openly, and he’d already watched her be hurt once before.

“I’m sure,” she said seriously. “And, I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just divorce him.”

Evan laughed at that. “You romantic.”

“He’s the one, Ev. Have you ever looked at someone before and just felt it? That ‘he’s the one’ feeling?”

“No,” Evan lied.

“You will one day,” she insisted. “I promise.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”

“Oh no.” Evan shook his head emphatically. “Nope. Your grandma Sparrow doesn’t need to see me on the arm of another man. She hates me enough as it is.”

“She doesn’t hate you! And it would serve the miserable old hag right for being so narrow-minded.”

“I don’t want her causing a fuss on your wedding day. Plus, I don’t have anyone to bring. So I’ll be playing the role of your devastatingly handsome gay best friend for the day.”

“Not just for the day.”

“You’re such a brat, Lacey.”

But he smiled.

 

 

THE LAST weekend in April was perfect for a Virginia wedding. Evan woke, like he did most mornings, to the sound of gulls and soft sunlight streaming in through the open window.

He was alone, and that was usual too. The house he’d picked up after a foreclosure was farther down the beach from where he’d grown up. He’d crept into North Carolina; the distance from his hometown meant he could now step out of his front door and feel sand beneath his feet in minutes. It was a fair trade.

This home was small, a step up from a trailer, not really a whole house. It was his, though, and that was the most important thing.

Evan rolled over and glanced at the clock. He’d become an early riser over the past few years, preferring to appreciate the sunlight in the mornings rather than staying up late, straining his eyes with artificial lights as he worked. It was a little after six, meaning he could get a few hours work in before he needed to leave for the Sparrow house.

As was his habit, Evan rolled out of bed wearing the boxers he’d slept in and wandered through to the kitchen to set his coffeemaker to brew. The house was a low, squat one-bed-one-bath that had needed a fair amount of work when he’d moved in. It had taken months to bring the building up to code, and now it was his pride and joy.

These days there was no mold in the bathroom, and with some of his stepfather’s help he’d fixed the water pressure, meaning he could take a steaming hot shower while the coffee brewed. The tiles in here were dark blue, and he’d laid most of them, as well as the grooved wood floors that ran through the whole house. He’d even helped install the new sink unit and toilet.

Evan ran his hand over his jaw, decided he wasn’t going to shave, and shampooed his hair. Lacey had helped him pick out his outfit for the day, so he didn’t need to worry about that until later. When he was done in the shower, Evan pulled on loose cutoff sweatpants and a tank, grabbed a mug of coffee, then went through to his studio.

In the other houses along this street, the room he used as a studio was a dining room. Evan had no use for a dining room—he’d fixed a breakfast bar in the kitchen to do that job—but the studio was definitely a necessity.

Before he’d even graduated from ECU he’d started freelancing. It wasn’t so unusual; a lot of his fellow students with a major in art and design had done the same thing. It had been one of his housemates, MJ, who had put Evan in touch with Casey, who was an agent. Within a few months, Evan had started work.

His projects were varied, purposefully so. He’d inked comic books and illustrated children’s storybooks, worked on concept art for big-budget Hollywood animations and Nickelodeon cartoons, and digitally inked teeny-tiny webcomics for almost no money because he was passionate about the story the artist was telling.

In the summer Evan would take his face paints down to the beach and spend hours turning kids into superheroes and zoo animals and princesses. Sometimes he’d take a sketchbook and easel instead and do one portrait after another until his shoulder seized up. The fact that face paints and portraits brought in more money than the work his agent sent his way was neither here nor there. Evan was an artist, a paid one, and he knew how rarely his colleagues and peers got to make that statement.

Over the winter, he’d taken one commission after another, working with whatever medium the project required, just to keep the heat on and food in his fridge. Now, as they crept toward summer, the regularity of seasonal work would keep things a little more secure.

Due to the variety of his projects, the studio often looked like chaos. He could have huge pieces of paper tacked to the walls, ready for another splodge of paint that looked like it could maybe be the right color. He’d painted the whole back of the door with blackboard paint so he could jot notes to himself without interrupting the flow of his work. Those little scraps of paper he’d used before always got lost, often the ideas with them.

Evan took a deep breath. It smelled like home in here, like freshly brewed coffee and acrylics and paper and charcoal.

He set the coffee on his side table, pulled down a fresh piece of paper, and started to sketch.

 

 

IT WAS only because his alarm went off, startling Evan out of his focus, that he even realized how much time had passed. The morning of the wedding really was too late to be working on a gift for the bride, but he’d been busy, and it had slipped his mind. Fortunately Evan had been invited along on the wedding dress shopping trip and had a photo on his phone for reference. The other details he made up.

The first few efforts lay abandoned to one side. Evan stretched his neck from one side to the other, appraising his sketch. He’d decided on a portrait of Lacey in her wedding dress, drawn from the back, which was probably unusual for a wedding portrait. She had her chin on one shoulder, a bouquet (and he knew what that would look like too) dangling from her fingers. The back of the dress Lacey had chosen was incredibly beautiful, with a deep scooped back edged with fine lace and a full tulle skirt.

He’d caught it all with pencils and shading, improvising on the hairstyle and filling in with as much detail as possible while still leaving the form of the drawing fairly rough. It was meant to capture a moment, an emotion, rather than any specifics. After all, what girl got a portrait of her in her wedding dress before she even put it on?

Evan checked the time and leaned in to correct the shading on the bridge of Lacey’s nose, then reached for his can of hairspray and gently covered the drawing in a fine layer. He’d bought a frame weeks ago for this very purpose and would carefully assemble it all before he left the house. It would take about an hour to drive back up the coast, and he wanted to leave plenty of time.

When Evan got back to the bedroom, he noticed his phone was flashing with several missed calls, all from Lacey.

Frowning, he hit the button to call her back and started to riffle through his drawers for clean, decent underwear.

“Hey,” he said when she answered. “Everything okay?”

“Oh thank God,” Lacey said in a rush. “What have you been doing?”

“Working,” he said absently. “What’s wrong?”

“They’ve fucked up the tables, Evan,” Lacey said, sniffling, on the edge of tears. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Fucked up how?” he asked. He wasn’t ready to panic just yet. Lacey had a tendency to be dramatic at the best of times, and this was her wedding day. He didn’t doubt her normal drama was about to be increased.

“All the flowers,” she wailed. “The bouquets are fine, but the house looks like a three-year-old put it together. You’re the only one I trust to fix it.”

“Okay. I can be there in an hour and a half. Can you wait until then?”

“But the wedding’s at eleven!”

“And it’s only eight,” he said, hopping into tight black boxer briefs. “Are the girls there yet?”

“No, they don’t turn up until nine.”

“Okay. Go back upstairs.”

“How do you—”

“Go back upstairs, Lace,” he repeated. “Take a shower if you didn’t already. Shave your legs or whatever. Calm down. I just need to get dressed, and then I’ll be out of here in less than ten minutes.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ev.”

“I know.” He went to hang up when Lacey said his name again. “Hmm?”

“In case I don’t get to say it today, thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“Of course I did,” he said fondly. “You’re my best friend.”

She blew a kiss down the phone and hung up.

Evan was smiling as he set the phone down and went to the mirror to fix his hair. He still wasn’t sure exactly when he’d become so close to Lacey. When he’d moved back after college, that was for sure. She had always been around, a part of his life, so it didn’t seem weird when they’d started hanging out. Lacey hadn’t been interested in college. Very few people knew she was dyslexic. Evan certainly hadn’t. After spending years in a school system that didn’t really cater to her needs, she’d jumped the education ship as soon as she could and started training to be a dance teacher.

These days she worked for a small studio in the city, putting her dance training to use by teaching the next generation of tiny dancers. After watching her struggle for so long, Evan couldn’t help but be proud of her achievement.

Evan pulled on the dark gray pants he’d owned for years, meaning they fit him well and were comfortable as hell, and a white shirt. Lacey had agreed when he said he wanted to wear a tweed vest and bow tie instead of anything more formal. Informal was one of the words on her wedding mood board, after all. He had tan leather brogues to complete the look, which he decided would definitely be pulled out again at some point. Sure, it was a little hipsterish, but who cared?

The frame for his sketch was still in its bag in his closet, right where he’d left it, thank God. Evan quickly brushed his teeth, fiddled with his hair, and wrestled the sketch into the frame before jogging out of the house to his car.

Traffic was on his side, and after breaking only a few speeding laws, Evan pulled up at the Sparrow house. He’d been friends with Lacey long enough now that he didn’t associate the place with his childhood friendship with Scott. It had been weird at first, but not for a long time now.

There would be assigned parking for the ceremony later, but for now, Evan left the car on the drive, grabbed the framed sketch and two Starbucks Frappuccinos, and left his sunglasses on his face as he rang the doorbell.

He wasn’t expecting Scott to answer.

“Hi,” Evan said, coughing on the cold drink as Scott gaped at him. “Sorry. I’m early. Lacey called me with some decorating disaster.”

“Shit, sorry,” Scott said, opening the door wider to let Evan in. He was still wearing pajama pants, riding low on his hips, and his hair was sleep-tousled and messy. He looked adorable. “Lacey is upstairs.”

“I’ll, uh….”

Evan gestured to the stairs and pushed his sunglasses onto his head as he trudged up them. That was not how he wanted this day to go.

“Evan, thank fuck,” Lacey said as he wandered into the master bedroom. She was wrapped in a soft white robe that was embroidered with bride on the back.

“Lacey. Language,” Mrs. Sparrow—Annie—said as she leaned in to kiss Evan’s cheek. “I don’t care if it is your wedding day.”

“Hey, Annie.” Evan handed Lacey her Frap. “Here.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she said.

“This is for you.” He held the frame out. There hadn’t been time to wrap it.

“Oh, Evan,” Lacey said as she took it, her coffee already set aside. Her eyes started to fill with tears. “Oh my God, Ev. Mom, look at this.”

“Don’t spoil your makeup,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her head as Lacey passed the frame to her mother.

“It’s beautiful,” she sniffed. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for you, princess,” he said. It had become an affectionate nickname during the wedding-planning process.

“You even got my hair right! How did you get my hair right?”

It was loosely curled, with tiny flowers sewn in a circle crown on top of her head.

“Lucky guess?”

“You’re the best friend ever,” she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging tight.

“Now you’re here, I’m going to go check in with the caterers,” Annie said.

“I thought I was here to fix tables.”

“Oh, we did that,” Lacey said, waving his concerns away as she set the framed sketch carefully on the dressing table.

“You,” Evan growled, “are a menace.”

She ducked out of the way when he went to grab her, dashing to the other side of the bedroom and cowering behind the bed.

“Where are the other girls?” Evan asked, leaning back against the dresser and shaking his head as he reached for Lacey’s drink and took a slurp.

She made an indignant noise and edged slowly back around the bed. “In my room, on the hair, makeup, and nails production line.”

“Jeez. I ran into your brother downstairs.”

“Tom is here already?” Lacey asked, snatching the drink from Evan’s hand.

He shrugged and reached for his own.

“Your other brother,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Wasn’t quite expecting that.”

“Oops,” Lacey said. “Was he shitty with you?”

“No. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.”

She snorted inelegantly. “That’s probably about right. Are you going to be okay today? Are you ever going to tell me what went down between the two of you?”

“Yes and no, in that order,” he said. “I’m going to go check on the bridesmaids.”

“Okay.”

There really was a production line going on. Lacey had six bridesmaids, which was part of the reason Evan had politely declined the offer to join the wedding party. It was already plenty full.

Anthony had two brothers who were acting as groomsmen, plus Lacey’s two brothers, which meant he only had space for two of his own friends in the party. Evan would just unbalance things, and he really didn’t want to be part of the attention of the day. Nor did he particularly want to line up next to Scott for all the pictures that would be on the walls of the Sparrow house for the rest of their lives.

“Hey, girlies,” Evan drawled, leaning against the doorframe and slurping his coffee.

“Hey, Evan,” they chorused back to him, making him laugh. “How’s it going?”

They looked content enough, even if the six of them, plus the girls from the salon, made the room more than a little cramped. The six identical ocean blue dresses were hanging from Lacey’s wardrobe doors, with six identical bouquets lined up underneath.

“I’m going to go check on things downstairs,” he said. “I’ll see you all later.”

Large groups of people still weren’t really his thing. Evan preferred to melt into the background rather than standing out in a crowd.

Evan wandered through the house and out to the backyard, where the wedding would take place. The decorators had set up an arch of white roses on a small plinth underneath one of the huge beech trees Evan remembered climbing with Scott as a kid. There was plenty of space in this yard; they’d spent weeks exploring it as children, and Evan retained that sense of childish familiarity for the space.

When they’d learned of Lacey’s wedding plans, old Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham from the house next door had insisted that she use their yard too. Earlier in the week the tall fence panels that separated the two yards had been taken down, and the marquee for the reception was now erected in the Cunningham’s yard.

The whole area was covered in roses and twinkly fairy lights, which would be turned on after dark. The white folding chairs were already set up for the ceremony, and Evan wandered through the two yards, taking it all in. He’d been involved with planning this wedding almost since the very beginning. It felt strange for the big day to finally be here.

The day was still starting to warm up, but by lunchtime, Evan knew he’d be grateful for his more relaxed outfit and the ability to roll his shirtsleeves to his elbows.

“Evan,” someone called, and Evan turned.

Thomas Sparrow really did look like his younger brother. Evan laughed and walked back up to envelop Tom in a bear hug.

“You look good, dude,” Tom said, squeezing the air out of Evan’s lungs.

“You scrub up pretty good yourself. How have you been?”

Tom worked in DC with his wife, Ashley. Not too far away, but far enough that Evan didn’t see him all that often. He’d already changed into his suit for the day—dark blue with a white shirt, to blend with the Navy officer’s uniforms Anthony and his friends would be wearing.

“I’m good,” Tom said. “Have you seen my sister yet?”

“Yeah. She called me here early with some very avoidable disaster,” he said, arching his eyebrow and giving Tom a knowing smile.

“Sounds like my sister.”

“Ah, I don’t mind. Is everything ready?”

“I assume so. I just got here with Ash.”

“Sorry I missed her at the rehearsal dinner.”

Tom leaned back against the deck, and Evan decided there was no way Tom could know that Evan had kissed Scott in that very same spot, almost eight years ago.

“She was busy throwing up.” Tom looked around for possible eavesdroppers, then lowered his voice. “She’s pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

“Congratulations,” Evan said with a laugh. “That’s fantastic. When?”

“Middle of November. We haven’t told anyone yet. We didn’t want to steal Lacey’s spotlight, and it’s still early days.”

“Sure. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I just wanted to tell someone,” Tom said, beaming. “And I can’t tell family, you know? Gossip travels so fucking fast.”

“My lips are sealed. You’re going to be amazing parents.”

“Thanks.” Tom nodded. “Okay. I’m going to go find my wife.”

“I’ll go check on the bride.”

“Good plan.”

Evan let Tom pull him into another tight hug before he headed back upstairs, sure that Lacey would have found something for him to do by now.

 

 

THE CEREMONY was beautiful, of course. Evan sat in the second row and didn’t pretend to hide his proud tears as Lacey became Mrs. Lacey Sparrow-Williams. If he spent as much time watching one particular groomsman as he did following the ceremony, then no one needed to know.

Not that anyone could fail to notice how incredible Scott looked in his suit. It fit him perfectly—tight over his broad shoulders, the white carnation tucked into his lapel drawing the eye to his perfect flat chest.

Scott still wore his hair a little too long, though these days it was carefully styled back from his face rather than landing in an inelegant flop. When he turned, Evan got to confirm his suspicions that those dress pants were cut fucking perfectly over the swell of Scott’s high, tight ass.

Evan might hate the guy, but he couldn’t deny that he was still completely, utterly fucking gone for him.

After the ceremony, they were all ushered through to the marquee for lunch, and Evan took his place at a table of people he thankfully liked. That was another perk of helping Lacey with the wedding planning. He wasn’t stuck at the back with her racist old aunt and a bunch of bratty flower girls.

Day melted into evening, with the smallest changes transforming the marquee from elegant reception venue to a space dedicated to partying. The tables were cleared to the edges, revealing a wide dance floor. The space the waiters had used for prep during dinner was turned into a generously stocked open bar. There was wine. The fairy lights came on, and then it was perfect.

As soon as the DJ started playing old Motown hits, Evan took his cue and found Lacey for a dance. She had been busy with family and bridesmaids for most of the day, but he’d helped organize this show, and he wanted a dance.

Evan twirled Lacey around, making her laugh, then pulled her back into his arms. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, and he felt a strange sort of protective urge toward her. Like a sister.

Someone tapped Evan’s shoulder lightly.

“May I cut in?” Anthony asked.

“Sure,” Lacey said, stepping back with a wicked grin.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Evan wrapped his arm around Anthony’s waist and grabbed his hand, turning them in a quick two-step.

Anthony was still laughing when Evan handed him back to his wife, and Evan offered him a quick salute.

“At ease, Captain,” Anthony said. Evan felt his face fall, just a little.

Captain.

He turned, and Scott was watching him from the bar. He’d felt something, someone’s eyes on him as he’d danced with the groom, though when you were a guy dancing with another guy, especially one in uniform, that was to be expected.

Evan nodded to the newlyweds and made his way back to the single glass of wine he’d been nursing all night.

Scott cut him off halfway between the dance floor and his table. “Buy you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar, Cap,” Evan said, using the nickname without thinking. It seemed to shock Scott as much as Evan.

“Shit, haven’t heard that in a while.”

Scott wasn’t going to let it go, then. Evan shrugged and gave him a twisted sort of smile. “I guess I could take a top-up.”

Scott nodded. He’d loosened his tie and lost the jacket at some point in the evening, and his hair had gone from tidy to elegantly messy. Evan wondered if he’d ever stop looking at this man and seeing something more. More than he should. More than anyone else ever seemed to.

Evan followed him to the bar in a companionable sort of silence and grabbed one of the bottles of rosé to pour his own glass, then added a few ice cubes. He didn’t want to get drunk tonight. He was driving home.

“You want to go for a walk?” Scott asked. He’d helped himself to a beer, twisting the top with his bare hand.

Evan nodded. “Sure,” he said, his voice sounding thick. There was no way to back out of the offer without being the asshole.

They walked out of the tent with a weird sort of silence looming over them. Evan kept his eyes on his feet, not wanting to look up and accidentally make eye contact with someone who would get the significance of this.

Scott seemed to know where he was going, so Evan followed. Wasn’t that the way it had always been, back in the day? Scott led, Evan followed. If nothing else, Evan was glad he’d grown a backbone in the past ten years.

They went from the Cunninghams’ yard back to the Sparrows’. Both were now lit up with those tiny, twinkly fairy lights, turning a suburban backyard into a magical wonderland. The moon was bright in the night sky, and the stars twinkled too, just a bit farther away.

Scott stopped in front of the old pool house and took a seat on the top step of the porch. After a second, Evan joined him.

“Is this an argument?” Evan asked after taking a sip of his wine. Liquid courage.

“What? No.”

“Okay. I just wanted to be prepared if it was.”

“It’s not an argument, Evan.”

“Good.”

“So, how have you been?”

Evan shot Scott an incredulous look, but he was staring at the bottle in his hands and didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m good,” Evan said slowly. “I bought a house down in North Carolina. Just outside Nags Head.”

“Oh, nice.”

“I mean, it’s tiny, like, really small. But it has space for my studio, and it’s not like there’s anyone else there with me, so it’s fine really.”

That was his way of telling Scott he wasn’t in a relationship. For a moment, he wondered if Scott had picked up on that.

“So, you didn’t bring a date.”

“No. Neither did you.”

Scott hummed noncommittally. Evan thought that this conversation was like pulling teeth.

“You’re still in Chicago?” Evan asked. Small talk was better than awkward silence. The music from the marquee drifted over to them. Otis Redding. Try a little tenderness.

“Yeah. I just moved, actually. It’s a new apartment complex. It’s closer to work than my old place, so that’s good.”

“Sorry, I don’t even know what you do.”

Scott gave him a funny look and the lopsided smile Evan had fallen for at fifteen fucking years old.

“I work for a financial services company. I’m an investments expert.”

“Okay. What does that mean?”

Scott barked a laugh. “Mostly I track the performance of different funds and make sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to. Then I refer that against our investment portfolio and decide on whether or not we’re going to make any changes.”

“Oh. Do they pay you well for that?”

“Well enough, yeah.”

“I’m sorry. It sounds crazy to me. But then I never did have a head for numbers.”

“No,” Scott said, and Evan still couldn’t interpret his tone. Did he sound almost… sad? Wistful? Something?

“Okay, this is weird. I’m going to go back to the party,” Evan said as he started to stand.

“No, please,” Scott said, grabbing Evan’s wrist and dragging him back down. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to jump right into—I thought we should—”

“Should what? It’s been years, Scott. We’ve both moved on with our lives. It’s fine. You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” he said. “I really do.”

For a moment, Evan felt like he was fighting tears. This was so fucking stupid. If there had been an easier way to avoid Scott, he would have. He’d been doing just fine so far. Damn Lacey and her stupid wedding.

“Okay,” Evan said, sighing and keeping his eyes closed as he sat back down. “Okay.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Scott mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I wanted to apologize,” he repeated, louder this time. “I was a total asshole to you, and you never deserved that. I never got to say sorry—and I don’t blame you for not returning my calls, but—”

“Wait, you never called.”

“I did,” Scott said ruefully. “A lot. I left you voice mails too.”

“I never got them.” Evan frowned, trying to remember back. “I went back to college, and I… shit. I lost my phone. Just for a few days. Then it turned up down the back of the couch. The battery had died, and Cael….”

“Your boyfriend.”

“At the time, yeah. We didn’t even make it to spring break the next year. He got all weird and possessive, and we broke it off.”

“Huh.”

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with him.”

“No, you’re not,” Evan said with a harsh laugh.

“I get that you don’t want to forgive and forget what happened,” Scott said, his voice laced with a mixture of anger and hurt. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. But I wanted to say sorry for the way I treated you. I did want to make it up, to clear the air and stuff, but I was told to give you space and you’d come round. But you never came round, and I guess the next time we were both at home, it was pretty obvious you didn’t want to see me.”

“I was so fucking mad at you,” Evan said softly. “You were the one person I thought I could trust, and….”

“I really am sorry.”

“Okay,” Evan said, nodding. “Thank you. For saying that.”

“Can we maybe—” Scott started, and Evan cut him off before he could go any further.

“I’m still gay, Scott. I’m even more open about that than I was the last time we spoke. You know those guys who are gay but say they don’t ‘flaunt’ it? Well, fuck them. I flaunt it. I dance in gay bars on podiums, and I march in parades with a big fucking flag, wearing pink sparkly shorts. I am what I fucking am, and I’m not sorry, and I’m not going to hide that. Not for you, not for anyone.”

“I’m so, so jealous of you. Did you ever consider that?” Scott said, his voice little more than a pained hiss.

“You’re… what?”

“I’m bisexual,” he said with a humorless laugh. “And for my whole life, I’ve been too fucking scared to do anything about it. I see guys like you all the time, in Boystown, and I wish it was that easy for me. To know who I am and be out and proud about it. But you’re now one of only three people on the fucking planet who knows and… and….”

“And we’re back at the same argument again!” Evan exclaimed. “It’s the same thing, Scott. You seem to think my life is just sunshine and rainbows, and it really isn’t. If you want to come out, that’s your thing, it’s your life, your story. I can’t do it for you.”

“I’m not saying you should. I knew you had a crush on me, by the way.”

Evan recoiled, stung. “Yeah,” he snapped. “For close to five years of my life. And you were my best friend, and I wasn’t out, so I didn’t do anything about it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I had too much respect for you. And our friendship.”

“Did you ever think I wouldn’t mind if you had? Done something about it, I mean.”

“No,” Evan said icily. “I didn’t ever think that my straight best friend would be okay with his also supposedly straight best friend making a move on him.”

“Well, I would have been.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” Evan said, standing and leaving the wineglass. There was too much emotion running through his veins, making it feel like he was boiling over from the inside. He’d go in, find Lacey and hug her, then grab his shitty car and drive back to his shitty house and cry.

He got half a dozen steps away before Scott caught up with him, calling his name.

“I can’t, Scott,” Evan said as Scott jogged around and put both his hands on Evan’s chest. “I can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott whispered, and he trailed one of those hands up to cup Evan’s jaw, gently thumbing away the tears that were pooling on his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Here.”

In hindsight, Evan thought he should have expected the kiss.

Scott’s hand was still on his face, and Evan felt something twist and shiver down his spine as Scott’s full bottom lip pulled his own into Scott’s mouth. It was different from before, insistent and knowing and fire-spitting fast—suddenly something existing where only moments before there was nothing.

Evan’s hands were gripping Scott’s shoulders before he knew what he was doing, not pushing Scott away, not pulling him in deeper either. Maybe the lack of pushing away was really the same as pulling him in.

Evan whimpered.

Scott’s other hand was suddenly in his hair, and Evan tilted his head, giving permission for Scott to take the kiss deeper and lick into his mouth. It was just the same as last time, strangely familiar to be in this position with this man again, despite all the years they’d been apart.

“Evan,” Scott murmured as he kissed over Evan’s jaw, then nuzzled into his neck. “Fuck, Evan.”

“What….” Evan gasped and shook his head. “What are you trying to do to me?”

“I want to know. I want to know what we could be, if we gave it a chance.”

“No more fucking riddles. You want to fuck me?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. His eyes were dilated, lips red, but he didn’t look drunk. “If that’s what you want too, then yeah.”

Evan nodded. How could he do anything but? This was what he’d been waiting for since he was a fucking teenager. It didn’t matter that all his instincts were saying this was a bad idea, that he was only going to get hurt again. All he could see was Scott Sparrow, captain of his high school football team, the kid who could melt Evan’s stomach with that crooked smile.

“You should know I live about an hour away from here. It gives you plenty of time to figure out that this is probably a bad idea.”

“Shit. I’m staying with my parents.”

“I know. And I’m not fucking you in your mom’s house, Scott. Contrary to popular belief, I do have some boundaries.”

Scott laughed softly and pressed his forehead to Evan’s. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night?”

Scott skimmed his fingers up into Evan’s hair and frowned. “Not now?”

“You have a chance to think this over. Make sure it’s not going to be a mistake.”

“It won’t be,” Scott said, running his fingers through Evan’s hair and tugging lightly. “Plus, this way Lacey won’t know where I am.” He grinned wickedly.

“Oh, she will,” Evan said with a laugh. “She’s known I had a crush on you for a long time now.”

“Are you serious?” Scott said, pulling away sharply.

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“I guess not.”

Evan looked at him for a long moment, taking in all the things that had changed as Scott had mellowed and grown. He looked good. Better than Evan had allowed himself to remember. Scott’s smile was perfect, warm and sweet, and Evan wanted to kiss him so fucking bad.

“I’m going to go,” he said, shocking himself.

“Really?”

“Yeah. If I stay… I might break my resolution of not fucking you in your parents’ house.”

Scott’s laugh was a bright bark. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Around seven?”

“Make it six. I’ll show you around before dinner then.”

Scott nodded, and his tongue very slowly swept over his bottom lip. Evan watched its movement and stayed very, very still. He waited with more patience than he knew he had. Then finally Scott leaned in and kissed him again. Closed mouths, soft lips, a sweet promise.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Scott whispered.

The drive home was characterized by a straining erection that would not, despite all of Evan’s willing, go away. It was weird for Evan to walk back into his house feeling like his whole world had changed, so why hadn’t his home? The tingling sting on his lips had long since faded, but he was still hoping for bruises on his skin from where Scott had been gripping him so tight. Maybe.

In his bedroom, he furtively dragged the curtains closed and stripped out of clothes that had already been pulled loose, then flopped, facedown on the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. It took far too long for him to fall asleep.

 

 

EVAN WOKE the next morning later than he was used to. He hadn’t plugged in his phone to charge while he slept, so it was dead when he reached for it to check the time.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, groping for the cord to plug it in.

He had to get up to use the bathroom anyway. Stumbling through the too-bright hallways, Evan stubbed his toe on shoes he’d kicked off and not put away the night before, and after he’d peed, decided to just jump straight into the shower.

The night before replayed in his head as Evan ran his hands over his body, taking small pleasures in the soapy slick of skin on skin, even if it was his own. He’d been like this for too long now, used to taking pleasure from his own hand and nothing else. The thought of finally sharing himself with someone, with Scott, was a little intoxicating.

Evan masturbated to a mildly satisfying climax, pinching his nipple with one hand while he stroked hard and fast with the other. His eyes shut against the hot water, visions of Scott danced just out of reach.

After the evidence of his exploits was washed away, Evan shut off the shower and dried quickly, then padded through to the bedroom, feeling far more awake. His phone, now charged enough to tell him the time, announced it was later than he thought. Much later.

“Shit.”

It was almost eleven.

It wasn’t like Evan had lots planned for today, but now he had to go to the store and find something to make for dinner. He could be sure there was nothing suitable in the kitchen already.

Judging by the brightness against his curtains and nothing else, Evan decided it was probably hot outside, and dressed in loose cargo shorts and a white T-shirt. He rooted through his closet to find flip-flops, then grabbed his sunglasses from the dresser and his car keys from where they were still hidden in the pocket of his pants from last night.

It took longer to drive to Whole Foods than Walmart, but with the windows down and some Mariah Carey on the radio, Evan decided it was worth it. His stomach was churning, and he pressed his hand against it, not sure if he was hungry or nervous, or if this was some kind of physical reaction to what had happened last night. Nervous, he decided as it gave another plaintive growl. But it wouldn’t hurt to grab a pastry and some coffee.

There was a drive-through Starbucks not far from the store, so he swung by and grabbed his usual order. It was enough, though the injection of caffeine made it feel like his heart was trembling.

Maybe it was.

He wandered the aisles of the supermarket, sipping absently at the drink and not really tasting it. He didn’t feel the need to cook something to impress Scott. It wasn’t a date, after all.

Evan stopped dead right in front of a display of peppers.

Was it a date?

Was he about to have a date with Scott?

Shit.

That changed everything.

It wasn’t like he could call and ask Scott what he was expecting…. Well, dinner and sex, they’d pretty much agreed on that already. But did dinner and sex equate a date?

Shit.

It definitely did.

He had condoms in his nightstand; he’d checked that before he left the house. Checking the supply of condoms wasn’t exactly unusual for him, though. Evan was no angel, and he preferred fucking in the comfort of his own home rather than in a club or alley or, heaven forbid, someone else’s dirty house.

Evan was startled out of his thoughts by someone loudly clearing their throat, and he stumbled away from the produce section with his neck hot with embarrassment.

He had a good idea what food was in his cupboards, so it didn’t take long to do a sweep of the supermarket and collect the things he needed to make one of the few fancy meals he was confident preparing.

 

 

THERE WAS a light knock at the door, and Evan almost startled. He took a deep breath, turned the heat down on the stove, and went to the door.

Scott looked incredible. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a lighter blue denim shirt, most of the buttons undone, exposing his firm chest. With his pale skin and dark hair, he looked dreamy, and when he gave Evan one of those familiar lopsided smiles, Evan felt his stomach flip over.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“Here, come in.”

Scott grinned and brought his hand out from behind his back with a flourish, presenting Evan with a bunch of yellow tulips. Evan laughed, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Thank you,” he murmured, then tipped his head to the side in invitation. “Let me put these in some water. Then we can go out. I thought I could show you the area.”

“That would be good.”

Evan grabbed a vase from under the sink and filled it with cold water, then dumped the flowers in it without unwrapping them. He could do that later. The chicken and potatoes would continue to cook while they were out; all he needed to do was let them roast. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the drawer next to his microwave.

“You still smoke?” he asked.

“Sure,” Scott said with a shrug.

Evan nodded and grabbed a small bag of weed, plus his tobacco pouch and skins. When he turned, Scott was far closer than he’d anticipated, and Evan almost stumbled.

Almost.

“Hey,” Scott said, his voice a soft drawl.

“Hey.”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Evan nodded, tucking the weed into the back pocket of his jeans. “Sure.”

Scott was slow and thorough about it, wrapping his hand around the back of Evan’s neck and pressing their lips together, firm and sweet. Evan kissed him back, not wanting to be the passive partner. Not this time.

After a few seconds, he broke away and rubbed the pad of his thumb over Scott’s full bottom lip.

“Come on,” he said softly.

Scott had his mom’s car—Evan recognized it but didn’t say anything. He guessed at least one of the Sparrows knew where Scott was tonight, and he wasn’t ready yet to decide how he felt about that.

They hopped into his car, and Evan immediately headed for the coast. There wasn’t a beach here, not the same as back home, but they could drive along the long road that wound its way through dense forest and wide nothingness with the sea breeze filtering in through the open window.

It felt like they could talk forever. It wasn’t just all the things they’d missed in each other’s lives over the past few years. It was more than that. Probably the core of what made them friends in the first place.

Evan teased Scott about being a Bears fan now, about the weather up north, about his clean-cut, gym bunny physique.

Scott retaliated with small-town jibes, about how Evan had crossed state borders too, about him being a traitor now.

There was no pressure, no obligation for them to act a certain way, to feel anything other than the peaceful sweetness of spending time with the right person.

It was early enough in the year for the light to start fading while they were still out. Evan pulled up to a spot he came to fairly regularly. It was a little higher up, and they could get out and walk almost to the edge of the cliff face.

“This is nice,” Scott said as they settled down, looking out at the wide expanse of the Atlantic.

“Hmm.”

Evan quickly rolled a joint and lit it, then inhaled deeply before passing it off. The sweet smoke hit his lungs, and he savored the taste of it before letting it go slowly.

“How long have you lived here now?” Scott asked.

“I bought the house about eight months ago.”

“Were you living with your mom before that?”

“No,” Evan said, feeling himself start to relax as the smoke took hold. “I had a roommate for a while, out in Suffolk. It wasn’t ideal, but the room was cheap, and he didn’t mind about me leaving my work all over the place. How about you?”

Scott huffed a laugh. “Pretty much the same, actually. Though I still rent. I have my own place.”

“Nice.”

Scott nodded. “It is.”

They fell into another companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the waves and passing the joint back and forth. When it was almost burned out, Scott took one final pull on it and stubbed it out on a rock, then straddled Evan’s thighs.

They’d done this before, and Evan grinned, holding on to Scott’s waist as he tilted his head and exhaled into Evan’s mouth as Evan breathed in.

The smoke felt softer like this somehow, and sweeter still. Evan tipped his head to blow it away, then slid his hands down to cup Scott’s ass and leaned in for a kiss.

There was so much promise in tonight. It felt like the culmination of years of watching and waiting and wanting, and yet Evan still wanted to take his time. Not to rush. So when Scott licked his way into Evan’s mouth, Evan pulled away and rubbed their noses together.

“Come on. Or the food will burn.”

They’d taken the scenic route out here, but it only took five minutes and a shortcut to get back to the house. The chicken looked pretty good when Evan poked at it. He wriggled his ass after Scott let out a low wolf whistle and straightened up, laughing.

“Can you deal with wine?” he asked.

“Sure. Any preference?”

“There’s a bottle of white in the fridge.”

Evan had made this dish before—chicken breasts still on the bone with skin on, cooked with lemon and garlic. Roast potatoes. Then the dish was served with slices of pear and blue cheese and piles of buttery green beans. It was easy to prepare but looked impressive, which was what mattered on a date. Or a nondate. Or whatever this was.

“Wine,” Scott said, passing Evan a glass.

“Thanks. I don’t have a dining table—I turned the dining room into my studio. So we’ll just eat in here.”

Scott nodded and went to the drawers, took out matching silverware, and set them on the breakfast bar. It didn’t take long for Evan to plate up the food, not bothering too much about presentation, considering who was going to be eating it.

“This looks amazing,” Scott said when Evan slid a plate in front of him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Evan hopped up onto the barstool and raised his wineglass to clink against Scott’s. “I don’t get the opportunity to cook for people very often. It’s nice.”

“When you cook like this, you can do it for me anytime,” Scott said. He took a sip of the wine, then dug into the potatoes.

Evan grinned at his enthusiasm, then started on his own meal.

 

 

IT WAS almost like nothing had changed. Almost.

Time meant little now that they were back together again, and even the promise of something sexual later didn’t affect the easy mood. Evan had known this man almost his whole life.

They finished the first bottle of wine during dinner and opened a second to drink while sitting out on the porch, smoking another joint. Evan sat here often enough smoking, and none of his neighbors had ever noticed, so he guessed they wouldn’t now.

“I can’t believe Lacey is married,” Scott said, leaning against the porch frame and tipping his head back. The sunset reflected off his handsome features, and Evan felt a tug in his belly he’d grown used to ignoring. It was still there, that bone-deep affection. Lust. Love.

“I can.”

“It’s weird that you two are, what? BFFs?”

Evan laughed. “You abandoned the both of us. We bonded.”

“Aw, don’t put it like that. Seriously, how did you get to be friends?”

“We always were, Scott. I came back after college, and it was weird. Everyone I knew had moved away. And the ones who were left weren’t exactly the sort of people I wanted to hang out with. I was in a bar on the Boardwalk with a few people who were annoying the living hell out of me, and Lacey was in there too. Not drinking, just hanging out with her girlfriends. We got to talking and exchanged numbers…. I suppose the rest is history.”

“She didn’t tell me for a really long time.”

“What, that we’re friends?”

“Yeah. I think she was expecting me to be mad at her.”

“Were you?”

Scott scoffed. “No. I was jealous.”

“Really?” Evan asked. He reached for his lighter and relit the blunt.

“Yeah. It was shit, not talking to you. Then I find out my baby sister is your new best friend? It sucked.”

“You could have just called me.”

“Would you have answered?”

Evan huffed a laugh. “I guess not.”

“There you go.”

Evan stretched out his legs, appreciating the last of the warmth of the day, and passed the joint over.

“Finish it, if you like.”

Scott inhaled deeply, just once, then scuffed the end out on the edge of the porch. When he looked up again, Evan caught his eyes and his heart stuttered.

In this light, Scott’s Irish pale skin seemed to glow amber, his eyes shockingly blue. The dark stubble on his jaw suited him, made him look rugged and exceptionally handsome. For too long Evan had been forced to hide this, to bury it in a box and hide the box somewhere his mind couldn’t dwell on it.

“Do you want to come back inside?” Evan blurted.

Scott smiled, lazy and knowing. “Sure.” He rolled to his feet and extended a hand. For a split second, Evan just stared at it. Then when Scott chuckled, Evan grabbed it and allowed Scott to haul him to his feet.

Once they were inside, Evan locked the front door, not caring if it was presumptuous. Scott seemed to know, or at least sense Evan’s hesitation, and put his hand on Evan’s lower back.

“You okay?”

There really wasn’t a good answer to that. Evan grabbed Scott’s hand, leaning in to press their mouths together.

“You’re nervous,” Scott said, his voice softly teasing.

“Uh… yeah.”

“If it helps, I really want this. I’ve spent far too long thinking about it. It’s about time we figured it out.”

Evan felt himself smile and stepped in close, wrapping his arms around Scott’s neck to bring them together for another slow kiss. Scott took Evan’s hips in his hands, gripping tight enough that Evan felt so very secure, and brought their bodies even closer together.

Scott broke away and started pressing little kisses to Evan’s jaw. The move was enough to make Evan shudder, and he reached down, took Scott’s hand, and linked their fingers together. It only took a little tug to get Scott following him to the bedroom.

“It’s not much,” Evan said, feeling embarrassed as Scott shut the door behind them.

“What are you talking about?”

Evan shrugged, feeling his face heat. “This place.”

“It’s you, Evan,” Scott said. “And you don’t need to impress me. Fuck what I think.”

The bedroom was small. So small, in fact, that all he could fit in the room was his bed and a chest of drawers. He used the hallway closet as hanging space. His bed was tucked under the window and looked out over the back of the property, to where his backyard melted into woodland. At night it was so quiet he could hear for miles.

“Come here,” Scott said softly, and Evan fell into his arms.

They knew something about kissing each other now. It wasn’t natural yet, and they were still figuring things out, but this environment seemed to encourage a different kind of touching. Evan pushed his palms over Scott’s chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his hands and how they twitched when Evan touched.

For the next hour or so, they made out like the horny teenagers they’d never gotten to be together. No clothes came off, hands stayed above the waist, and Evan regretted so hard and so deep he thought he might be bleeding from it. Scott’s lips were perfect, a painful reminder of everything he’d ever wanted and not dared to reach for.

“I haven’t been with a guy before,” Scott said, slightly breathless as he rubbed his cheek against the stubble on Evan’s jaw.

“You’re with one now,” Evan said lightly. His heart was hammering in his chest.

“I know. I want this so fucking bad. I might need you to help me. Y’know. Make it feel good for you.”

“Just do what feels good.”

Scott reached down between them and pressed his hand over Evan’s erection. Evan groaned, the reflex noise breaking into a laugh.

“Just for the record, that feels good,” Evan murmured.

“Good.”

When Scott leaned back to unbutton his shirt and shrug it off his shoulders, Evan wanted to whimper at both the sight and the sudden loss of contact. Scott was different now. He had hairs on his chest, dark ones that Evan wanted to run his fingers through. Scott’s body was broad and strong, though he had a little chub around his middle. His arms and shoulders were tight and toned, suggesting he lifted weights. Evan wanted to touch everything.

Instead he started to strip out of his own clothes, fumbling as he went, since he didn’t want to take his eyes off Scott and his slow striptease.

“Fucking hell, Evan.”

“What?”

Scott shook his head. “You look incredible. How did that weedy kid I knew grow up into….”

“Finish that sentence,” Evan teased.

“You’re hot,” Scott said, a blush crawling over his cheeks.

“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself, Captain.”

Scott laughed, a low, throaty chuckle, and reached for Evan again. Evan let himself be drawn into another deep kiss, his tongue licking into Scott’s mouth, fucking him softly.

“Can I… can I suck you?” Scott gasped as he pulled away.

“Yeah. Did I say that too quickly? Fuck it. Yeah.”

“You’re so funny,” Scott said and lowered his mouth to Evan’s chest, kissing down it slowly. Together they fumbled with Evan’s belt and jeans, pushing them down his thighs and laughing as Evan kicked them away.

Evan was expecting sex with Scott to be sloppy and inexpert. After all, Scott had admitted to having not been with a guy before. Maybe he’d watched a lot of porn, though, because the way his mouth felt on Evan’s dick was insane.

If anything, Scott was too gentle, letting his mouth quietly explore. He licked up and down Evan’s shaft a few times, then took it into his mouth and sucked, seemingly pleased when Evan’s hips bucked up off the bed.

Evan curled his fists into the sheets, trying not to demand more of Scott than what he could give.

“Can I fuck you?” Scott asked, his breath hot and wet against Evan’s neck.

“Fuck. Yeah.”

“Sure?”

“Very.”

“You need lube, right?” Scott said.

It had grown dark now, and his handsome face was almost hidden in shadow. Evan wanted to turn on a light to be able to see him again.

“You watch porn?”

“Sometimes,” Scott admitted. He grinned and leaned down, took one of Evan’s nipples between his teeth, and tugged lightly.

“Fuck,” Evan gasped, his back arching off the bed.

“Learned that one from porn,” Scott laughed. “Gimme the damn lube.”

Evan wasn’t sure what to expect. His fingers twitched against the sheets as Scott poured lube onto his fingers, then rubbed it around, testing the feel of it. Evan spread his legs, feeling slutty and loving it. If he couldn’t be wild and sexual now, he never would be. He wanted to feel like this for Scott.

Scott reached down between Evan’s legs and groped around, testing Evan’s responses as he prodded and petted and finally, finally tickled his index finger over Evan’s hole.

“Fucking hell,” Evan gasped, his back arching off the bed and hand going to his own cock, squeezing it at the base instinctively.

“You like that, hmm?” Scott said softly. He kissed Evan’s hip bone, then his belly, then licked at the head of his cock. “You want my fingers?”

“Fuck. Yeah.”

“Good,” Scott growled and pushed the tip of his index finger against Evan’s hole until it relented and pulled him inside.

There was more lube, and more fingers, and Evan let himself go and feel and not think at all. When he dared to open his eyes, Scott was right there, looking back at him, or maybe watching his own fingers as they moved smoothly in and out of Evan’s body.

“Tell me what to do, Evan,” Scott begged.

“Just this. More of this is good.”

“Evan.”

Evan took a deep breath and summoned his self-control. “Here,” he said, passing Scott a condom.

“Sure?”

“Oh, Lord. Very.”

Scott wiped his fingers on the top of his thigh and carefully rolled the condom on. Evan had watched him, entranced at the sight of Scott’s gorgeous, thick dick being covered by the clear latex, and then Evan pulled himself together and poured lube on his fingers.

“This okay?” Evan asked as he slicked up Scott’s cock.

“Jesus.”

Evan chuckled, loving the rush of affection, and placed his spare hand on Scott’s side. His hand on Scott’s dick was good leverage; Evan lifted his hips and drew Scott forward.

“Go slow,” Evan said, rubbing the blunt head of Scott’s cock over his hole. “But I won’t break.”

“Okay.”

“Now.”

Scott gave a tiny thrust forward, and the head of his cock easily slid inside. Evan arched his back, his body zinging with the sudden intrusion, and placed his now slick hand on Scott’s hip.

“Fuck. More, Scott. Don’t stop.”

It took a few moments to figure out each other, to understand angles and where Scott’s hands needed to go and for Evan to draw his legs up to give Scott more space. Then Scott thrust again and bottomed out at Evan’s deepest point.

“I can’t believe I’m inside you,” Scott murmured, his lips pressed so tightly to the skin under Evan’s ear it was hard for Evan to understand the words.

“You feel so good.”

“Show me how to find your sweet spot.”

Evan smiled to himself and arched his back, turning his face away so Scott wouldn’t see the grin and misunderstand. Scott kept rocking back and forth, a coaxing rhythm that made Evan want to scream Fuck me already.

“Next time you push in, lift your hips,” Evan said. He lifted one of his legs, curling the ankle just under one of Scott’s delicious asscheeks.

Scott hummed and drew back, his cock sliding easily out, then thrust in again, equally slow.

“Again,” Evan said.

This time Scott found the right angle, and the head of his cock rubbed against Evan’s prostate. Evan curled both hands around Scott’s strong back and held on tight, unable to find the words to say “Yes” or “There” or “Please” or “More.”

Maybe because they’d known each other nearly their whole lives, or because Evan had loved Scott almost as long, it felt right in a way sex had never felt before. He kept his eyes closed, content, knowing exactly who he was making love with and not needing anything else beyond this dark room and Scott’s sure touch.

“Still okay?” Scott asked, his voice a breathless whisper.

“Yeah,” Evan gasped. “Incredible.”

Scott kissed over Evan’s jaw until their lips met again, and when Scott flicked his tongue into Evan’s mouth, he thought it might be the end.

“Hard,” Evan managed to say. “Fuck me hard and fast.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna come. Wanna scream for you.”

“Oh Jesus,” Scott muttered, dropping his head back to the curve of Evan’s neck as his hips started a snapping, bruising rhythm.

Evan didn’t quite manage a scream. His orgasm was more a punch to the gut, the pleasure radiating outward as his body coiled and released with the power of it.

Scott watched Evan as he trembled through it, then dropped his head to Evan’s shoulder and groaned, low and deep from his chest. He dropped to his elbows, breathing hard as his dick twitched with the remains of his orgasm, still buried deep in Evan’s body. Evan skimmed his fingers back and forth over Scott’s back, appreciating the sheen of sweat that glided his path.

With a soft kiss to Evan’s jaw, Scott pulled out and hobbled off to the bathroom to clean up and get rid of the condom.

“Holy shit,” Evan breathed to the dark room.

It took a few more minutes for his body to start responding to his brain’s commands. Scott was still in the bathroom, and Evan really, really couldn’t be bothered to move. He grabbed his discarded boxers, used them to wipe the mess off his belly and ass and thighs, then threw them in the direction of the laundry basket.

When Scott got back, Evan was jelly-limbed and almost asleep.

“You want me to leave?”

“No.”

He felt rather than saw Scott’s smile.

“Got a spare pair of boxers?”

“Top drawer,” Evan said around a huge yawn, gesturing absently in the direction of his dresser. A moment later, Scott crawled back between the sheets.

There was still so much left to say, to figure out between them. But this wasn’t the time. Evan rolled onto his side and tucked his head under Scott’s chin, his arm curled protectively over Scott’s side. Anchoring them together.

Scott pressed a kiss to the top of Evan’s head, wrapped his arms tightly around Evan’s shoulder, and like this, they fell asleep.

 

 

EVAN WOKE earlier than he usually did, which was saying something. There was a warm, comfortable weight at his back, and Scott was snoring softly. He stretched, testing the soreness in his body. Not that he’d admit it to Scott, but this was the first time Evan had been fucked in a while. The right person just hadn’t come along, and he was twenty-eight now. It felt like he was done with random hookups. He was too old for that shit.

Being with Scott wasn’t at all like he’d imagined. Evan shifted minutely, finding Scott’s thigh with his ass and pressing their naked skin together. When they’d actually gotten around to fucking, Scott had been better and worse than Evan had imagined. Real-life Scott laughed. He teased and explored, his fingers unsure but curious. This Scott, the one asleep next to him, still snoring, wanted to make Evan feel good and learned how incredibly quickly.

Evan shifted again, and it seemed to be this that finally nudged Scott awake.

Shit.

Scott grunted and groaned, rolling onto his side and throwing an arm around Evan’s waist. For a second, Evan considered pretending to still be asleep, but he couldn’t think of any good reason to do so. Instead he grabbed Scott’s hand and brought it to his chest.

Saying nothing, Scott kissed his shoulder and apparently drifted back to sleep again. Evan couldn’t blame him. It really was early.

Closing his eyes, Evan let himself daydream.

It wasn’t the first time they’d woken up together. It was the thirtieth. Or maybe more. Now Evan knew those little, snuffly grunts and would wait for them, the evidence of Scott’s waking, then let himself be pulled into those strong arms. Maybe they didn’t make love last night, so they would this morning, slow and easy as the sun rose, not kissing because morning breath was gross. Scott would kiss Evan’s shoulder instead, his neck and his ear as he moved in Evan slowly from behind.

After, they’d share a shower, get up and go for a diner breakfast, because they’d earned it, waking up with so much activity. Scott would hold Evan’s hand across the table and order his coffee black and extra hot, and Evan would look into his eyes and realize he was so, so in love.

In his bed, in the real world, Scott shuffled closer, pressing his chest to Evan’s back, and Evan wanted to cry.

“Morning,” Scott croaked.

“Morning.”

Evan skimmed his fingers up Scott’s arm, displacing the hairs there, then smoothed them back down again. In response, maybe a thank-you, Scott kissed the bony curve of Evan’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked. “About last night. And everything.”

“Yeah. It was good.”

Scott huffed a silent laugh against the back of Evan’s neck, sending a tiny shiver down Evan’s spine.

“For me too.”

Evan knew where this could go, if he let it…. To vague promises to try to make this work—it wasn’t such a long distance, really; they could give it a go, if they both wanted it.

They did both want it, but there was more than miles between Evan’s life and Scott’s.

Evan could tell Scott everything he’d been daydreaming of—the two of them together, out and proud and belonging to each other.

Instead he shuffled to the edge of the bed and shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder, even as his heart was sinking.

“Breakfast?”

“Sure.”

This was easier. Evan pulled on boxers and padded through to the kitchen barefoot, pleased that he’d at least put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher the night before. It meant the kitchen was relatively clean for making breakfast.

“Hey, you mind if I take a shower?” Scott asked, sticking his head around the kitchen door.

“Yeah, of course. There’s clean towels in the cupboard outside the bathroom door.”

“Got it.”

When he heard the bathroom door close and the familiar noise of the hot water tank rumbling to life, Evan put his head down on the cool kitchen counter, gripping the edge until his fingers hurt.

“I fucked Scott Sparrow last night,” he murmured to himself, wondering if this, at last, would make it real. “Scott Sparrow fucked me.”

It had been too long, too fucking long since they had last seen each other, been friends, knew the things that made them important to each other. The pain of losing Scott as his best friend had never gone away. He’d never gotten over the very real pain and grief of realizing his best friend since childhood had become another person in college, one who wasn’t compatible with the person Evan had grown into.

Going back and finishing his degree without the security blanket of being Scott’s best friend had been more difficult than Evan had anticipated, even considering how much they’d grown apart in their freshman year. All of Evan’s little successes and failures were things he’d wanted to share with the person who knew him best. More than once he’d reached for his phone, thinking he’d call Scott and clear the air. Then he remembered those biting words and gave up on the idea as childish. Evan could handle a lot of things. Internalized toxic homophobia wasn’t one of them.

He pulled a box of pancake mix from the cupboard and started the familiar, methodical task of making the batter.

Apparently Scott didn’t take long in the shower. That, or he hadn’t figured how to get the hot water to work and had given up after scrubbing himself down with cold water. Evan had done the same thing many times before he finally got the hang of the shower dials.

By the time Scott appeared back in the kitchen, dressed in his jeans and nothing else, if how low-slung they were on his hips was anything to go by, Evan had a stack of pancakes almost ready and was working on preparing fruit.

“Amazing,” Scott said. “Can I help with anything?”

“Can you pour some juice? There’s fresh stuff in the fridge.”

“No problem.”

Evan fixed their plates and took them over to the bar, then sat in the same seat from their meal the previous night. Scott slid a glass of juice over and grinned at the size of his pancakes.

“Hungry?” he asked, laughing as Evan shoveled a huge bite of pancake and strawberry into his mouth.

“Starving.”

“This looks great. Thanks.”

Evan swallowed and took a sip of his juice. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you always make breakfast for your one-night stands?” Scott joked, wincing when it fell flat.

“No. I usually kick them out after they’ve showered, or don’t let them stay in the first place, or go to the diner across town.”

“Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say.”

“Is that what this is?” Evan asked lightly. “A one-night stand?”

“No,” Scott said. He speared a blueberry on his fork and ate it contemplatively. “Not for me, anyway.”

“What is it for you?”

Scott huffed a laugh. “Me discovering what would have happened if I’d grown a pair ten years ago, I suppose.”

“Shit. Was it really that long?”

“It really was.”

“I wonder if the rest of our lives will fly by that fast.”

Scott hummed in agreement. “I know. I guess you do a lot of growing up between eighteen and twenty-eight.”

Evan was quiet for a while, eating his pancakes methodically. So much had changed in the past ten years. And yet, maybe some things were just the same.

After breakfast Scott helped to finish stacking the dishwasher and went back into the bedroom to find the rest of his clothes while Evan turned it on and filled the sink to scrub the pans. It seemed like Scott wasn’t planning on hanging around this morning, and Evan wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

“I took the liberty of putting my number in your phone.”

Evan turned his back to the sink and laughed, taking it from Scott’s outstretched hand. “That’s passcode locked, you asshole.”

“To your birthdate.”

Scott looked gorgeously disheveled in yesterday’s outfit, his hair still wet from the shower and a day’s growth of stubble on his jaw. It suited him. Scott had a way of looking good in his own skin that Evan had always been jealous of.

“You’re going back to Chicago.”

It wasn’t a question, but Scott nodded anyway.

“I have to. My flight is later this afternoon, and I need to get the car back to my mom.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Evan shook his head, choosing to look at the floor rather than the beautiful man in front of him.

Scott stepped in close, gripped Evan’s chin, and tilted it up so he could press their lips together. The kiss was slow and sweet, careful and knowing now. They knew each other a little better than they ever had before.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Scott said, resting his forehead against Evan’s. “I don’t have any answers right now. But this isn’t the end.”

“Okay.”

The next kiss felt like Scott was sealing some unspoken deal, and Evan shuddered, his fingers twitching to pull Scott in close again, to take his mouth and kiss and kiss until Scott promised to come back. Evan needed that promise.

Scott pulled away with a tiny pained noise and silently let himself out of the house.

Evan took one deep, calming breath, ignoring the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. He tried not to listen to the car pulling away from the front of his house. And failed.

The First Time

 

 

Spring 1994

 

“MOM!” EVAN yelled as he ran into the house. “Mom, Mom, Moooooomm!”

“Yes, darling,” she said, appearing from the kitchen with an apron around her waist, floury hands, and an exasperated expression.

Evan skidded to a stop and frowned. “What are you making?”

“You had a question for me?”

“Oh. Yeah. Can I go to Scott’s?”

Evan’s mom turned around and walked back into the kitchen. He followed her, hoping the floury hands meant she’d been making cookies. On the counter, a pie was cooling. Even better.

“Who’s Scott?”

“Is that peach pie?” he asked hopefully.

“Evan King,” she admonished. “One thing at a time. Who is Scott?”

“He’s my best friend,” Evan said.

“Uh-huh. Andy was your best friend last week.”

“He’s my second best friend now.”

“Is that so,” she said in a way that wasn’t a question.

Without waiting to be asked, Evan went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. He’d been playing outside and knew his mom wouldn’t let him have pie unless he washed up.

“Scott has a whole bunch of action figures,” Evan said, drying his hands on his shorts. There wasn’t a towel anywhere he could see. “And he let me play Hulk even though Hulk is his favorite too. He’s got loads of them. Wolverine and Punisher and Iron Man and Spider-Man and Captain America and—”

“Would you like some pie, Evan?”

“Yes, please. Then can I go to Scott’s? His mom said it was okay.”

“Where does Scott live?” she asked as she cut a nice-sized piece of pie—it was peach—and put it in his favorite dish.

“Dunno.”

“Okay. Where did you meet him? At the playground?”

“Yep.” Evan hopped up onto one of the tall stools in the kitchen so he could eat. “The one I’m allowed to go to. He said I could go home with him and his mom then, but I said I had to ask you first.”

“Good boy,” she said and ruffled his hair. “Tell you what, when you go over to the playground tomorrow, I’ll walk with you and see if Scott’s mom is there. Then we can arrange for you to go over some time.”

Evan nodded, his mouth full of pie. “Okay.”

“I have to go to work tonight, sweetie, so Mrs. Lipinski will be watching you for a few hours.”

Evan groaned loudly. “Mrs. Lip-ski smells like beets.”

“She does not smell like beets,” his mom said. “And it’s Lipinski. Lip-in-ski.”

“Uh-huh. Can I have some more pie, please?”

“After your dinner. I’ll put some in a bowl for you in the fridge, okay? You can get it yourself once you’ve eaten.”

“Okay, Momma. I wish you didn’t have to go to work tonight.”

“I know, kiddo,” she said with a sigh and kissed the top of Evan’s head. “Me too. Go on and play while I get this place cleaned up.”

He hummed in agreement and slid down from the stool to land in a crouch, then took off for the family room at a run. This was where his mom kept all the best drawing supplies. He was allowed to keep some in his room for when he played quietly upstairs, but mostly they were here so they could work on things together.

Evan liked drawing most of all. He liked drawing the Avengers and the Fantastic Four and Batman and Joker. Batman was the best because you could draw the Bat Signal in the sky and the whole of Gotham City and the Batmobile.

When Evan’s mom came to kiss him good-bye before she went to work, he was stretched out on his stomach, coloring the city sky, and he remembered to tell her he loved her before she left the house.

His mom worked at night, sometimes at a bar and sometimes at a convenience store. During the days, when he was at school, she worked at the convenience store again and sometimes at a restaurant, but not always. She was always there when he finished school, waiting to walk him home, even though Evan said he was old enough to walk home on his own now. His mom didn’t listen. She was always there.

 

 

“EVAN. EVAN.”

“What?”

“Time to get up for school, buddy.”

Evan groaned and rolled over. “Sun’s not even up yet,” he grumbled.

He heard his mom go over to the window and pull back the curtains, letting the sun in.

“Well, look at that. Mr. Sunshine has his hat on. It’s gonna be a beautiful day. Come on, up you get!”

Evan rolled onto his back and cracked an eye open, pouting at his mom. “I don’t think I feel too good, Momma.”

“Really? Did you forget what today is?”

Evan struggled through the morning fog in his head. “Monday?”

“Scott starts at your school today. He’s transferring for second grade. Remember?”

“Oh!” Evan said brightly, sitting up in bed.

“Feeling better?” his mom asked slyly.

“I think I was just sleepy still,” Evan said and gave her a big smile. “Can I wear my Hulk T-shirt to school today?”

His mom had bought him the Hulk T-shirt when they went shopping in Target for his back-to-school clothes. Evan hated shopping for back-to-school clothes. He hated shopping for anything, but his mom always took him to the shops to make sure his clothes fit. She said he was growing like a weed, and she didn’t know what size he was in anything anymore. They’d bought jeans and smart pants and T-shirts and sweaters, enough to last him until Christmas at least. Evan had seen the Hulk T-shirt last of all and reminded his mom how good he’d been while she was holding things up against him to see if they’d fit.

“You want to wear it for your first day at school?”

Evan nodded. “Please.”

She gave him a resigned sort of laugh, one that said she wasn’t going to argue. “Okay. I’ll put it out with your jeans. Get dressed, please, and come downstairs for breakfast.”

Normally Evan did not like mornings, and he did not like Mondays, and he especially didn’t like having to go back to school after a whole summer at the playground and at Scott’s house. He was going to see Scott at school for the first time, though, and wanted to be there in time to show Scott where things were.

All summer Evan’s mom had let him choose whatever he wanted to wear. Normally, for school, his clothes were set out on his blow-up chair for him to get dressed. Maybe this year, now that he was in second grade, he’d be allowed to pick his own things for school.

There was a dark red T-shirt on the chair as well as the Hulk T-shirt. Evan put the red one away, not wanting his mom to change her mind, and quickly got dressed in the new jeans, which were still too stiff, and his favorite sneakers, which were green and had lights in the heel that flashed when you jumped real hard.

When he got downstairs there was a stack of pancakes and a cup of fruit waiting on the counter. Evan scrambled up and took a big bite of the pancakes, wondering if he could not eat the fruit cup.

“Don’t forget your fruit cup,” Evan’s mom said, and Evan wondered again if she could read his mind. “Would you like tuna in your sandwich today or bologna?”

“Tuna please,” Evan said around his giant mouthful of pancake.

His mom nodded and started fixing his lunch: sandwich, juice, an apple for recess, some goldfish crackers, and a cookie. It was a good lunch. Evan thought he would maybe share it with Scott.

“Almost ready? You were a slowpoke this morning. We need to leave soon.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“Okay.”

They walked to Evan’s school, Ocean View Elementary, which was a few blocks over from where Evan lived. The building was made of red bricks, which made for good games of firefighter, pretending that the school was the firehouse. There was a playground with monkey bars, which Evan was good at now, and a field where they could run around and play kickball.

Evan didn’t hold his mom’s hand as they walked anymore. He was in second grade now. The whole summer he’d walked past the school on his way to Scott’s house and back; now it was suddenly alive again. By the time they arrived, kids were already running around the playground and screaming, and Evan quickly spotted Andy and Benji and Dean Simpson, who had a cast on his arm. No Scott. Not yet.

“I’m going to go in and meet your teacher,” Evan’s mom said. “Can you show me where your new classroom is, please?”

Evan was pretty sure she knew her way around. The school wasn’t all that big, and they had all had a day with their new teacher at the end of last semester. Maybe she’d forgotten, though, and she’d asked Evan for his help, so Evan nodded and slipped his hand into hers.

“This way, Mom.”

Evan’s second grade teacher was Ms. Hopkinson. She had blonde hair that came down to her shoulders, and she smiled a lot and smelled like candy. Today she was wearing navy blue slacks and a white shirt and had a red bow in her hair. Evan liked Ms. Hopkinson. She had a kind face.

“Hey, Evan,” Ms. Hopkinson said as he showed his mom into the classroom. There were a few other parents here with his classmates, so it wasn’t so bad.

“Hey, Ms. Hopkinson. This is my mom.”

“Stacey King,” his mom said, offering her hand to Ms. Hopkinson, who shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Did you have a good summer, Evan?”

“Yep. I got a new best friend. His name is Scott, and he starts here today.”

“Is that Scott Sparrow, by any chance?”

Evan nodded eagerly. “Is he in your class too?”

“Sure is.”

Evan wanted to do a happy dance but held it in.

“Should I keep them together or split them up?” Ms. Hopkinson asked Evan’s mom with a laugh.

“Scott is a great kid. I’m happy for them to sit together, as long as they’re not causing trouble.”

“They’re seven-year-old boys,” Ms. Hopkinson said. “They’re trouble most of the time.”

“Stacey,” someone called from the doorway, and Evan turned at the same time as his mom to see Mrs. Sparrow standing with Scott stuck to her side.

“Is this Scott?” Ms. Hopkinson asked, and Evan nodded. “You wanna show him around?”

“Sure,” Evan said enthusiastically.

“One second,” his mom said, grabbing hold of his T-shirt as Evan made to run over. She planted a kiss on his head and whispered to him, “Have a great first day of school. I’ll be here to pick you up later.”

“’Kay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom,” he mumbled.

“Go on,” she said.

Scott’s mom kissed him before she left too, on the cheek this time, and Evan didn’t make fun of him for it.

“This school is good,” Evan said, leading Scott to the hallway where they could hang up their outdoor jackets and schoolbags. “You get your own peg.”

They were in alphabetical order, so Scott’s peg wasn’t next to Evan’s. That was okay. After Scott had put his schoolbag away, Evan showed him the stack of brightly colored drawers where they could keep their pencil cases and lunch bags.

“Are you okay?” Evan asked. Scott was frowning, and he hadn’t spoken much since he arrived. This wasn’t the Scott Evan had known from the summer.

“Don’t want to go to this school,” Scott sniffed. “I wanna go to my school.”

“How come you’re not allowed anymore?”

“It was a school just for boys. Now there is stupid Lacey, we gotta go someplace she can go when she starts school. And Tom was bein’ bullied at my school by some stupid jerks in his grade. He switched too.”

“Oh.”

“All my friends go to my school.”

Something twisted uncomfortably in Evan’s belly. “But I go to this school. And a lot of other nice people. There won’t be stupid jerks here who are mean to your brother. I promise it.”

He drew a cross over his chest. Scott nodded and seemed to brighten up.

“There’s tons of good stuff to do at recess. We’ve got monkey bars.”

“I’m good at monkey bars,” Scott said slowly.

“Me too. Should we do that at recess today?”

Scott nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

The bell rang, startling them both, and Scott looked over at Evan and grinned widely. Evan thought second grade might be the best one yet.

 

 

EVAN WINCED and shuddered as his mouth filled with dirt, and he blinked back tears. Someone kicked him in the shin, and he let out a sharp cry, which meant the kid with his hand in Evan’s curly hair could shove his face back into the dirt again.

“Hey. Hey!”

The bigger boys scattered, and Evan heard a number of feet running toward him.

“Evan?”

His scalp hurt from where the older boy had been tugging on his hair, so when another person touched his head, ever so gently, Evan winced.

“Go get Ms. Hopkinson,” Scott said. Someone else ran away, and Evan finally rolled over onto his back with his eyes closed.

“You okay, buddy?” Scott said gently.

With his hand on Evan’s shoulder, Scott helped him to sit up. Evan knew his face was streaked with tears, and he felt himself flush with embarrassment and shame. No one knew he got beat up. Not his momma or his teacher or Andy or anyone.

Evan spat into the grass, trying to clear the dirt from his mouth.

“Here,” Scott said, pressing a juice box into his hand. “Swirl some of this around your mouth and spit.”

It felt like there was mud between his teeth, and Evan wanted to cry again. He did as he was told, punching the straw into the little silver circle and pulling the apple juice into his mouth, flushing the taste away.

“Who were those jerks?” Scott asked.

“Just some kids in the third grade,” Evan mumbled.

“They mean to you?”

Evan hesitated, then nodded.

“A lot?”

“Some.”

Scott scrambled to his feet and looked down at Evan, face flashing with anger. “You said kids at this school were nice!” he yelled. “You said!”

Evan sniffed, and without his permission, another tear rolled down his cheek. “I didn’t want you to go back to your old school,” he said. He coughed, then took another mouthful of juice. He could still taste mud on his tongue.

“Not like my mom would let me anyway,” Scott said. He still sounded angry. “Why were they beating you up, Evan?”

“’Cos I don’t have a dad,” Evan whispered. “That makes me a pansy.”

“That’s not true.” Scott dropped to his knees again, pressing his balled fists against his thighs. “That’s not true. I know a lot of kids who don’t have a dad. They’re not pansies, and neither are you.”

Evan used his shirtsleeve to wipe his eyes. His face felt sore, and he was pretty sure his knees were bleeding. He looked up and saw Ms. Hopkinson walking quickly across the playground, Andy at her side. She was wearing a red skirt today with a pink shirt and shoes that made clicky noises when she walked. He didn’t want to be seen crying in front of a girl, even a grown-up girl, so he scrambled to his feet, wincing when his knee and his side sparked with pain.

“Evan,” Ms. Hopkinson said. “What on earth happened?”

“Some big kids were kicking at him, Ms. Hopkinson,” Scott said, standing just in front of Evan, like a shield.

“So Andrew told me. Do you know who they were?”

“No, ma’am,” Evan said quietly.

“Yes, you do,” Scott said hotly. “Tell her their names, Evan.”

“I don’t wanna be a tattletale.”

Ms. Hopkinson sighed deeply. “Come on, boys. Let’s go back inside. You look like you could do with a visit to the nurse to get your knees cleaned up, Evan.”

Evan nodded, dropped his chin, and trudged after his teacher back toward the school building.

 

 

THAT AFTERNOON, when his mom came to pick him up, Ms. Hopkinson called her into the classroom. There were still a few other kids milling around, so Ms. Hopkinson waited for them to leave before shutting the door to the classroom and inviting his mom to sit down.

“Evan, do you want to tell us what happened today?” Ms. Hopkinson asked.

“No,” he mumbled, looking down at his scraped knuckles.

“Evan?” his mom said. She sounded worried.

“Today I was asked to see to Evan after he’d been in a disagreement with some other children,” Ms. Hopkinson said. “By the time I arrived, there were no other children around. Just Evan and Scott.”

Evan sniffed and said nothing.

“Evan, was it Scott who was hitting you?” Ms. Hopkinson asked.

“No!” Evan said, sitting bolt upright. “No, Scott wouldn’t hit. He’s nice.”

“Not Andy either?”

“No. Other kids.”

Ms. Hopkinson sighed softly. “And you’re not going to tell me their names?”

“I dunno who they are,” he mumbled, rounding his shoulders again and looking back down at his hands.

“I’m going to keep a closer eye on Evan at recess,” Ms. Hopkinson said to Evan’s mom. “For the next couple of weeks at least. I think Scott is being a positive influence on Evan at school. He seems to be integrating with the other children a lot better than he used to. He’s also less dependent on Andy, though I’m a little concerned that he might be switching that dependency to another boy instead.”

“They became very close over the summer,” Evan’s mom said.

“And I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Ms. Hopkinson continued. “Scott is a nice boy, and he’s definitely encouraging Evan to come out of his shell. You have a sweet, bright child, Ms. King. We don’t take bullying lightly at Ocean View Elementary, and you have my word that I’ll do my best to get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you,” Evan’s mom said. She smoothed her hand over the top of Evan’s head. “Come on, Evan. Let’s get you home.”

Evan stood, then remembered he still had things in his drawer. “I have spelling homework tonight,” he said.

“Go on and get it, then,” his mom said.

He nodded and rushed over to his drawer, which was yellow. His favorite color. Inside was the list of spelling words he had to learn, ready for their test on Friday, and a folded piece of construction paper. Evan frowned, not remembering putting that in his drawer. He crouched down and unfolded it.

It was a drawing of two boys, one with a Hulk T-shirt and sunny yellow hair and the other with dark hair and blue eyes. Underneath, someone had written “Evan and Scott.” Evan smiled, and for the first time since recess, he felt something bright and hot and wonderful in his chest.

He quickly folded the drawing and slipped it into his backpack alongside the spelling list. When he got back to his mom, he slipped his hand into hers, sure things would work out okay.

Outside, the sun was shining.

“And sometimes,” Evan said as he walked home, hand in hand with his mom, “sometimes Mr. Sparrow takes Scott and Tom to see a ball game. Tom is Scott’s big brother. Did I tell you that already?”

“You did,” his mom said, smiling.

“Oh. Can we go to a ball game sometime?”

“Maybe we could go catch a game at the high school? How about that?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay. I’ll call the school, see when the next game is.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, Evan?”

“Can Scott sleep over at our house one time? We could get pizza and a movie from Blockbuster and popcorn.”

She squeezed his hand as they waited for a break in the cars to cross the street. “I’m sure he can if his mom says that’s okay. Would you like me to call Mrs. Sparrow?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Lots of phone calls today,” she teased. “Hey, Evan.”

“Yeah?”

“See that?”

Evan squinted. “Is it the ice cream truck?”

“I think so. You want ice cream?”

“Yeah!”

“Come on,” she said and winked at him. “Race you there.”

Evan got an ice cream with sprinkles, and his mom ordered the same thing, with strawberry sauce. Evan liked it when he matched with his mom. They were two peas in a pod, or so she said. If she wasn’t a girl and a grown-up, Evan thought she could have been his best friend.

 

 

ON SATURDAY, the day after Evan had gotten ten out of ten on his spelling test, Evan’s mom was working, so Evan was allowed to go over to Scott’s house for the whole afternoon. He couldn’t decide if it was a treat for doing so well on his test (Scott had gotten nine out of ten, so his mom was pretty pleased too) or if his mom was finally taking Evan’s protestations about Mrs. Lipinski seriously.

Evan’s mom had walked him halfway to Scott’s house because it was on the way to where she was working for the afternoon. Evan was allowed to walk the rest of the way on his own. It was a nice afternoon, sunny but not too hot, and the pain and humiliation of being beat up earlier in the week was long since forgotten. The jibe about not having a dad might take a little longer to forget, but Evan was determined not to think about it.

The Sparrows’ house was really super nice. It was on the fancy side of the neighborhood, where there were bigger gaps between the houses and most of them had pools. Evan’s house did not have a pool. They had to go along to the community pool to swim, and Evan’s mom worked most of the nice days, so he didn’t get to go all that often.

The house was white with a black front door and a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. If he stretched on his tiptoes, Evan could just about reach the doorbell.

“Hey, Mrs. Sparrow,” Evan said as she opened the door. Mrs. Sparrow was tall and had her curly hair pulled into a long braid. She was wearing dungarees and had a pink-lipped smile.

“Hey, Evan. How are you today?”

“Good, thank you,” he said, remembering to mind his manners. “Is Scott around?”

“Sure is. He’s in the backyard, waiting for you. Go on through.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sparrow,” Evan called as he took off into the house.

Evan had been here a lot of times before, so he knew how to get through the house to the kitchen, then into the big backyard. Scott was scrambling around in the dirt, looking like he might be building something.

“Hey!” Scott called, straightening up and brushing his hands off on his knees. “You came.”

“Yep. My mom called your mom this morning, and I can stay until she comes to pick me up after work.”

“Cool. I’m making a fort.”

“Like a real fort?”

“Yeah.”

Evan walked over to the space Scott had cleared under the tree. He had a pile of things to use for the fort: a big cardboard box, a piece of wood that looked like it had come from a broken fence, a bunch of sticks, some string, and a roll of Christmas-patterned parcel tape.

“How are you gonna do it?” Evan asked. He shrugged his backpack off and set it down next to the tree, then planted his hands on his hips.

“See that branch there? I’m gonna use that as the roof. We need to flatten the box out and attach it to the wall with the tape, see? And then the fence is the door.”

Evan nodded, the fort taking shape in his imagination as Scott described it.

“What’s the string for?”

“To tie the box to the branch? I dunno yet. I thought it might come in useful.”

“We might need another box. To make a wall on that side.” Evan pointed to where the fort would be open to intruders.

“I hadn’t thought of that. We might have another one in the garage. I’ll go check.”

“No! Later. Let’s start it now.”

Scott beamed. “Okay.”

 

 

AN HOUR or so later, they were muddy, frustrated, and the proud owners of a slightly haphazard fort. There had been a few moments where Evan had worried they were fighting, especially when Scott got frustrated because he couldn’t get the box to stick to the wall with the stupid Christmas tape. But it was okay—he was annoyed at the stuff, not at Evan.

“Boys!” Scott’s mom yelled from the kitchen door. “I’ve got lemonade and sandwiches here if you’re hungry.”

Scott looked at Evan, shrugged, and they immediately raced back up to the house.

Scott’s backyard was big, so Evan was out of breath by the time they reached the kitchen. His mom didn’t look mad that they were all dirty. She just smiled and shook her head as she picked up Lacey from the floor and bounced her on her hip.

“Can you both wash your hands, please? Scott, show Evan where the washroom is.”

The Sparrows had a washroom downstairs, a tiny space that Evan and Scott crowded into together to scrub the worst of the dirt from their hands and arms. Scott caught sight of himself in the mirror over the sink and started to laugh.

“What?” Evan asked.

“I got dirt on my face.”

“I told ya.”

 

 

AFTER THEIR snack, Scott’s mom offered to come out and help them finish the hard bits of the fort. She was clever, finding some hooks from her sewing box and making some kind of rigging to hold the roof in place. She was tall too, meaning she could reach up and make sure the fort was supported from the higher branches of the tree.

“We need a door, Mom,” Scott said as they all looked at the structure, three pairs of hands planted solidly on their own hips.

“Hmm,” she said, tipping her head to the side. “Wait here.”

She went into the garage, the back door that Scott told Evan he and his brother weren’t allowed in, since it contained all of his dad’s tools and hunting stuff. After a few minutes, Scott’s mom came back with a big piece of camo net.

“How about this?” she said. “If we throw it over the whole fort, it’ll be disguised, but you can still see out through the holes.”

“That’s pretty awesome, Mrs. Sparrow,” Evan said.

“Thank you, Evan.”

It took a bit of wrangling to get the net to sit right, and then Mrs. Sparrow held up one corner to allow them space to crawl in.

“I’ll leave you boys to it,” she said with a grin and dropped the net back down.

It was darker inside the fort. It had enough space for Evan and Scott to sit side by side with their legs stretched out and was tall enough that they could stand up if they hunched over. All in all, it was an excellent fort.

“I think we should get married, Evan,” Scott said decisively.

Evan looked up from where he was patting down the mud to make a more solid floor, and frowned. “Huh?”

“Ms. Hopkinson says people get married when they like each other best of all, and I like you best of all, so we should get married.”

It took Evan a moment to think on that. “Don’t boys usually marry girls?”

Scott shrugged. “I dunno. Do you wanna marry me or not?”

“Sure,” Evan said. “Do we hafta live together now?”

“Not until we’re grown-ups,” Scott said, sounding more sure of himself now. “For now we still live with our moms.”

Evan was a little relieved. He did like Scott best of all too, but he didn’t want to not live with his mom anymore.

“Okay. What do we need to do?”

“Well, I say I want to marry you, and you say you want to marry me, then we kiss, and then we eat cake.”

This sounded entirely reasonable to Evan. “Okay. I wanna marry you, Scott.”

“I wanna marry you, Evan.”

Evan blinked twice, and Scott leaned forward and kissed him, smack on the mouth. For a moment, Evan startled. He hadn’t ever kissed anyone on the mouth before, besides his mom. Scott was already pulling away, though, so Evan made quick work of leaning in and bumping his mouth against Scott’s again.

Scott tasted like lemonade and a little like dirt.

“Do we go get cake now?” Evan asked, brightening at the thought.

“Yeah! Chocolate cake,” Scott said as he scrambled to his feet. He held his hand out to Evan, who took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. “Come on,” Scott said.

They raced back up to the house, not letting go of each other’s hands.

The Third Time

 

 

Christmas 2006

 

EVAN WATCHED, childishly pleased, as tiny flecks of snow started to fall from a sky that had seemed heady and heavy all afternoon. It had grown dark just after he’d eaten lunch—a warming chicken soup made with big chunks of root vegetables. The perfect thing for a cold winter afternoon.

His mom had the day off work and was spending the rest of the day doing last-minute Christmas shopping with her new boyfriend. Mark was a doctor at the hospital, and their friendship had grown into something more over a number of years. Evan liked Mark. He treated Evan’s mom well, didn’t try to parent Evan, and hadn’t pushed when Evan’s mom had said she wanted to keep living in her own house for now.

The fact that Mark was a doctor, a freaking doctor, didn’t cause any harm.

Evan had driven home from East Carolina University the previous afternoon, the radio playing holiday music all the way. This year he’d stayed in the house he rented with a couple of friends for the few days it took to finish the work he needed to hand in after the holiday. Bringing no work home with him meant he could enjoy the time off, to catch up with people, and spend quality time with the friends he missed.

Each time he made the trip home, Evan marveled at how much could change while it all stayed so perfectly the same. This town was as it had always been, the families he’d grown up with still living in the same homes, the same restaurants serving the same food. It was reassuring, in a way. No matter how much his life changed, there was something here waiting to remind him of where he was from.

Evan had come out to his mom over spring break.

 

“Mom… I need to tell you something.”

He’d been living away from home for six months now—how could it only be six months? The freedom college had given him was stunning. The ability to reconstruct himself, to be whoever he wanted, to shape a new personality. This one was far closer to the Evan he felt he truly was, the one he kept hidden underneath.

“I’m gay.”

“Oh, Evan.” She sighed, squeezing the hand that was clutched between both of hers, and then she reached up to brush his hair back from his face. “Oh, baby. I know. I love you so much. You know that?”

He’d broken at her words, falling forward to cling to her slim shoulders, weeping into her neck like he was still a child. She’d brushed her fingers through his hair, making soft cooing noises and letting him cry it out. This had always been a safe space, the safest, in his mother’s arms.

Later, over dinner (out, at her insistence), he’d told her about Cael.

Cael was in his second year at ECU, studying environmental science and philosophy. He had cool sandy skin and warm brown eyes and dark, dark hair that he’d inherited from his Puerto Rican mother. He was passionate and intelligent and sweet, thinking nothing of bringing Evan flowers when they went on dates. Evan didn’t know what type of flowers were his favorite, so Cael brought different ones each time. Helping Evan decide.

He showed her pictures he’d taken of the two of them together. Mostly laughing, mostly being sweet and lighthearted and in love.

Evan admitted he was probably falling in love with the first boyfriend he’d ever had. And his mother was happy for him.

“Did you know?” Evan asked as they split dessert. Cheesecake—her favorite.

“Did I know what, honey?”

“That I’m gay. Did you ever guess?”

She shrugged easily, carefully separating crust from smooth, creamy filling. “I suspected. But I didn’t want to put any pressure on you if you weren’t ready to tell me. This is about you, not me, so it wasn’t my place to pry.”

“But… you’re my mom. I thought you knew.”

“Evan.” She smiled at him. “There was no way anyone could misinterpret the way you used to look at Scott. It went past friendship.”

He dropped his fork to the plate with a clatter. “What do you mean?”

“You loved him, Ev,” she said simply.

“He’s my best friend.”

She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

 

That had haunted him, the thought that maybe someone else had looked at his relationship with Scott and seen more. More than friendship, more than the incredible bond they’d cultivated over a decade or more. Not that it mattered anymore. He was safely out of high school, keeping his secret for the last year of his formal education.

Scott had gone to the University of Wisconsin-Madison on a partial academic scholarship. The business and finance degree he was studying for—now that was something Evan had no doubt Scott would excel at. The last time they’d spoken, Scott had been enthusing over a class he was taking about the business of running a charity.

Evan stretched his feet out toward the open fire his mom had lit in the family room. It wasn’t too chilly in here, and the warmth was welcome on his socked feet. Although he’d bought gifts for the important people in his life, his mom had been nagging him for months for a piece of his she could hang in the house. According to Evan’s mom, he was the next big thing in the art world, and she needed examples so she could show off to her friends.

So he was working on a simple charcoal sketch for her. Most of this year his studies had been nudes—male nudes—and although she’d probably appreciate one of those, he decided it wasn’t an appropriate Christmas present. Instead he was working from an old photograph of the two of them. Evan guessed he was around four years old, and one of his mom’s friends had taken the picture at a birthday party. He could remember it in the vaguest terms—laughter and cake and a huge bouncy castle.

The picture showed Evan and his mom cheek to cheek, both with their lips puckered as they blew a kiss to the camera. He’d gone through three photo albums before he found it, the perfect image to recreate. The photographer, whoever she’d been, had zoomed in close enough that none of the background was visible. Just Evan, blond-haired and chubby cheeked, looking too much like his mother.

It worked well in charcoals. Since he’d only brought the bare minimum in supplies home with him, it had to be charcoal and a page from his sketchpad.

Working like this, sitting on the floor with his feet stretched out in front of him, had given Evan a crick in his back, and he reached up until he felt his spine pop. The mug of hot chocolate had grown cold at his hip, and he decided not to drink the thick, marshmallowy mess.

He checked his phone, noted that there wasn’t any message from Cael, and decided he wasn’t surprised. Cael’s family made more of a big deal of the holiday than Evan’s did. He’d spend far longer bouncing from one family party to another. It sounded nice, but Evan had grown to appreciate the calm quiet of Christmases at home with his mom.

A key rattled in the front door, and Evan was halfway to his feet when he heard his mom call out.

“Honey, can you come help with these groceries?”

“Let me find shoes,” he called back, sliding the half-finished drawing under the couch where his mom wouldn’t see it.

There were heavy boots next to the door, and he needed them. The snow had decided to fall in earnest now, covering the front yard in at least an inch of sparkling white.

“You know the stores are only closed for one day, right?” he teased, hauling two bags into his arms and carefully making his way back to the house. “I don’t think we’re about to suffer a national shortage of canned pineapple.”

“Shut up, Evan,” his mom grouched. “I need that for the ham.”

Evan laughed, loving her, and went back for the last of the bags.

By the time he got back to the kitchen, boots kicked off again, his mom was unpacking the bags and lining things up on the counter. Evan picked up a bottle of red wine and turned it over in his hand to read the back.

“And you can put that down. Don’t think I don’t know how old you are, Evan King.”

“I was just looking,” he said innocently. “Are you going to make mulled wine?”

“I’m going to try to.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She stepped back, surveying the entirely full counter with hands braced on her hips.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I forgot raisins.”

“What the hell were you going to do with raisins?” Evan laughed.

“Bake them into something? I don’t know. Stop sassing me.”

Evan laughed harder and pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too. Oh, I ran into Linda McCarren at the store. She asked if you were going to Katie’s party.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” His mom started peeling off her outside layers, gloves and hat and scarf and jacket, then bundled them away in the hallway closet. “Why didn’t you mention it? You know I don’t mind if you go.”

Evan sighed and set the wine back down on the counter, leaning back against it. “I don’t know.”

“Is it because you’re worried about what people are going to say?”

“No,” Evan said petulantly, looking at the scuffed linoleum floor.

“Listen to me, Evan King.” This was her “scary mom” voice, the one Evan had been pretty terrified of most of his life. “These are your friends. Your friends. You don’t have to hide from them. They’re not going to care.”

“But what if they do?”

She marched over and pulled him into a ferocious hug. “Then call me, and I’ll come get you. No one is going to make my son feel unwelcome because of who he loves. You’re a wonderful, brave man. And you’re going to that party. You understand me?”

“But—”

“No buts.”

“I came home to spend time with you,” he protested, making sure the words came out quick enough that she couldn’t argue. “Not to get home and immediately go out and spend time with other people.”

“I’ve got you for all of Christmas,” she said and reached up to take his cheeks in her hands. “Go and see your friends. Scott will be there.”

Evan gave a soft laugh and relented, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. “Okay.”

“Good.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Wear that nice flannel shirt. The green one. It brings out your eyes.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Evan said, teasing her.

“That doesn’t mean you should stop making an effort.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy. You can help me put all of this away.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She went to swat him around the head for his sass, but Evan was expecting it and ducked out of the way, grabbing a tub of ice cream to take to the freezer.

 

 

BY SEVEN, the snow had stopped falling, and most of what had stuck had turned to thick sludge. Evan hated driving when the roads were so slick, not that he had much of a choice. Katie’s parents lived on the other side of town, and there was no way Evan was going to cycle when it was so cold out.

He’d dressed, as he’d been told to, in a long-sleeved white tee and his green flannel shirt, dark blue jeans and his boots, and had styled his hair so it fell back from his face. He wasn’t particularly fashionable, not like Scott, who always looked like he was ready to walk an MTV red carpet.

Katie’s family owned a big, shiny new house that also looked like something that belonged on MTV Cribs. Evan had been here only once before, for the party she’d thrown after prom. The memories that alcohol hadn’t stolen from that night were a little patchy, though he still remembered where he needed to get to.

From the outside, things were pretty quiet. A few cars were parked on the drive, several more lining the street, and apart from all the lights both inside and outside the house making it look lit up like a Christmas tree, things seemed calm.

Of course, that changed once Evan got inside.

Music was playing, not the obnoxious rotation of overly cheery seasonal pop hits he’d grown accustomed to, but the dirty hip-hop he only now remembered Katie loved. The family room looked packed, though a quick scan of the crowd didn’t reveal Katie’s familiar blonde head, so he went to the kitchen instead.

“Evan!”

He turned quickly, only just managing to catch the armful of girl.

“Hi,” he laughed, hugging Katie tightly and breathing in her cinnamon-sweet smell. “How are you?”

“Awesome. It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Katie slipped her hand in Evan’s and walked with him through to the kitchen.

“You got half the neighborhood here?” he teased.

Katie rolled her eyes. “I know. It’s mostly my brother’s friends, though. He’s back from college too, and apparently they’re doing the whole reunion thing.”

“Is that not what we’re doing?”

“Huh.” She stopped short. “I guess so.” After a second, she shrugged and tugged Evan’s hand to make him follow. “Most of us are downstairs. Andy is here. Did you see him yet?”

“I only just arrived.”

“Let me get you a drink.”

“I’m driving,” Evan said, holding up both hands.

Katie pouted. “One beer? Or someone made mulled cider if you’d prefer that.”

“I’ll take a cider.”

She poured him a glass of the rich, spicy hot cider that was being kept warm in a huge soup pot on the stove. Evan wrapped his hands around it, appreciating the warmth, then followed her downstairs.

It was almost a relief to see a room full of people he knew.

There was hugging and backslapping and a lot of laughing, and Evan was forced to admit his mother had been right. These were his friends, and his sexuality apparently made no difference to them. It was a relief.

Despite trying very hard not to look, Evan couldn’t help but notice Scott wasn’t in the basement room that Katie’s parents had turned into a cozy den. He tried not to hide his disappointment and took a seat on a low, squashy sofa, strangely pleased when Katie deposited herself on his lap. He accepted her with a laugh, wrapping his arm around her waist. It was different now he was out. There wasn’t the same pressure to act “straight” while trying not to lead girls on, just in case they got the wrong idea.

About half an hour later, someone tapped Evan’s shoulder while he was refilling his glass of cider—that Katie had promised him wasn’t alcoholic. He turned sharply, then felt his face flush as he laughed.

“Evan fucking King.”

“Hey, Captain.”

Evan set his glass down so he could accept Scott’s ferocious hug. His best friend was wearing a worn black leather jacket, which smelled of the cold, and a thick wool scarf around his neck. His cheeks were cold too, suggesting he’d only just arrived, and Evan settled into the hug. They weren’t likely to break it any time soon.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Scott said. His voice sounded a little gruff.

“I missed you too.” Evan pulled away first, immediately missing the warmth of Scott’s chest against his own. “How are you?”

“Good, man. I just got here.”

“Well yeah. I guessed that.”

“Back in town, I meant,” Scott said with a laugh. “My mom isn’t expecting me until tomorrow, so she won’t be mad that I’m not at home.”

“Jeez. Where have you been?”

“Well, I spent the past couple of days driving back from fucking Wisconsin.”

Evan gave a sympathetic wince. “Should have gone to ECU like some sensible people you know.”

Scott just punched his arm.

“Want a beer?” Evan offered.

“Fuck, yeah.”

He fixed both their drinks and led Scott back down to the basement. Evan couldn’t help but stare and feel more than a little possessive as his friends went through the same hug-and-back-slap routine Evan had experienced. After Scott finally shed his jacket and added it to the pile growing in a corner of the room, he took a seat next to Evan and clinked his beer bottle to Evan’s glass.

“So. How the fuck have you been, man? You worked all fucking summer.”

“Yeah.” He made the word an apology and winced. “Sorry. I needed the money.”

Scott nodded. “I ended up working in a pizza joint on the boardwalk.”

“Andy get you a job?”

“Yes,” Scott laughed. “The tips were pretty good, though, even if I did go home every night feeling like I was covered in grease.”

“Well, at least you weren’t covered in kids.”

“You worked at a summer camp, right?”

Evan nodded and took another sip of the cider. It was amazing. Katie had always been good at mixing drinks. “Yeah. Just outside Fredericksburg, way out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Like you said, though, it paid well, so I can’t complain.”

Katie came over and plopped down on Scott’s lap. Evan had to bite back a grimace of jealousy, remembering vividly the last time he’d seen the two of them together like this. The fact that Katie seemed to like sitting on other people’s laps didn’t matter.

Whatever.

“What were you doing at camp?” she asked. Her lips were painted dark red for the holidays, matching her nails and the turtleneck she was wearing over a short black skirt. “Just herding kids, or….”

“No, I got a job as an art teacher,” Evan said. “It was all right, actually. You remember Ms. Martinez? She recommended me.”

“Oh, awesome,” Katie said.

It had been, Evan supposed. They’d given him his own classroom that looked out over the lake, plus a seemingly endless supply of art materials. The camp’s administration was fairly laid-back, so he could set his own curriculum for the summer. The younger kids went home with macaroni landscapes and pinecone mobiles, the older kids with their first attempts at painting landscapes.

Evan had time in between his classes to work on his portfolio, concentrating on capturing the fine expanse of nature around him. He would always be more comfortable with abstract work, or portraits if he was going for realism, but the opportunity to capture some of his home state had been too good to miss.

“I think I’d take kids over another year at the pizza place,” Scott mused.

“You say that now. The reality is far different to what you’re thinking.”

“Oh?”

Evan rolled his eyes. “I had groups of up to twenty kids that I was supervising on my own. The time they spent with me was time their regular counselors got to nap. Or call home, whatever. It was their downtime. So I didn’t have any help. There’s always a few kids who don’t want to do whatever I set them. Then there’s the overachievers who are frustrated they can’t draw like fucking da Vinci when they’ve never put in any effort to being good, and my personal favorite—the ones you have to watch carefully because otherwise you’ll find them in the corner eating paste.”

Scott threw his head back and laughed. “Shit, man. How long were you there?”

“Ten weeks!”

“Wow,” Katie said sympathetically.

“Yeah. It was fine, though, I suppose.”

“Are you going to do it again next summer?”

Evan nodded. “They’ve already asked me to go back. I probably will. They pay really well. I work on the weekends teaching a few watercolor classes at a seniors’ center close to campus. Both jobs combined should keep me out of having to work retail or in fast food for the rest of my college career.”

“Damn,” Scott said. “Wish I could do that.”

“Your parents are paying your way through your whole degree, asshole,” Evan said, punching him in the arm.

“Yeah, but I still don’t know what I actually want to do with my life.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Katie told him. “At least you know now what you don’t want to do, right, Evan?”

“It’s such a shame,” Evan said, mocking him. “You had such a glittering career as a pizza delivery boy ahead of you.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Douche.”

It was like no time at all had passed.

 

 

AFTER A couple of hours, the party downstairs started to gravitate up. Scott’s former football teammates seemed very interested in Katie’s brother’s female friends, and the girls, for their part, seemed fairly interested in Katie’s brother. It was a win-win situation.

In a bigger crowd of people, especially ones he didn’t know, Evan felt himself closing in again. He was a little tired, it was getting late, and his instinct was to lope off without anyone noticing. But Scott was there.

“Hey,” Scott said, leaning in to murmur close to Evan’s ear. “I’ve got some weed. You want to smoke? I already checked with Katie, and she said it was fine, just to take it back downstairs and crack a window.”

Evan snorted. “Okay. Sure.”

It was far more comforting to be back in the gloomy coziness of the basement. The open window let in a curl of cold air that cut invitingly through the muggy heat of the room. It took a few minutes for Scott to assemble the joint. Evan walked around the room, looking at the various family photos that hung on the walls. Apparently this was where Katie’s parents hid all the annual school pictures of their kids. He rounded back to the couch when Scott lit the joint.

“So,” Scott said, leaning back on a sofa and kicking his feet up onto the table in front of them. “What have you been up to this year? I heard you came out.”

Evan huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

“You could have told me first.”

“What…. What?”

“You heard me,” Scott said. He looked over, and Evan’s stomach twisted at the hurt expression on his face. “It would have been nice to hear it from you, rather than my mom.”

“Scott… we kissed. I kissed you. I thought you knew.”

“No.” Scott took another long drag on the blunt. “I kissed you. Then you ran away.”

“I walked back into the house to see you making out with Katie fucking McCarren,” Evan said, the words bursting out of him like they’d been contained for too long. They probably had.

“That definitely didn’t happen.”

“It fucking did,” Evan said. He shifted on the couch so he could look over at Scott properly. “I went and got water. Then you were in your family room with her on your lap.”

“Jesus,” Scott said with a sigh. “I barely remember that.”

“Yeah, well.” Evan sighed as he slumped back in his chair. “That was a long time ago now.”

“She was asking me if there was anywhere she could go hook up with someone,” Scott said. He looked up at the low ceiling. “I told her to take Tom’s room, since I was pretty sure you weren’t going to be sleeping in there. I didn’t tell her that. I just told her to take the room.”

“You were…. What were you thinking?”

“I dunno.” Scott shrugged. “I just wanted to find some space with you. Where we weren’t likely to get walked in on. Then I spent thirty minutes tearing my fucking house apart trying to find you before someone said you’d left. I thought I’d fucked it all up. Our friendship, everything. Then when we saw each other at school, it was like nothing happened.”

“We were stupid.”

“Yeah. Anyway. Long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Evan said, thinking maybe it wasn’t so long ago after all.

“So, you seeing anyone?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Evan took the blunt as Scott passed it over and inhaled deeply. “His name’s Cael. He’s a second year at ECU.”

“Oh. What’s he like?”

Evan wriggled to get his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, flipped it open, then pulled up a picture of the two of them together.

“He’s pr—good looking.”

“Were you going to call my boyfriend pretty?” Evan asked, teasing now.

“No,” Scott mumbled.

“He is pretty,” Evan mused.

“Where’s he from?”

“Jacksonville,” Evan said with a laugh. “His mom’s from Puerto Rico, though.”

“Hmm.”

“So, what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“Not anymore,” Scott said, stretching his toes until they cracked.

“So you were.”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, tell me.”

“Just a girl I met on campus,” he said, being evasive in a way Evan had never attributed to his best friend before. Normally Scott was an open book. “Her name’s Rachel. She, uh… I…. Fuck.”

“What?”

“She got pregnant,” Scott said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I got her pregnant. Back earlier in the year.”

“Shit, Scott,” Evan said. “Did she…?”

“Get rid of it? Yeah. She told me first, just to see if I had an opinion, I suppose. I said I’d support her whatever she decided. That’s what you’re supposed to say, right? That it’s her body, her decision.”

“Yeah,” Evan said softly.

“I sort of wanted her to keep it, though. I know how stupid that is. We only hooked up a couple of times. I didn’t really know her, not as a person. She was just a girl I hooked up with. But it was like there was this whole world of possibility existing there between the two of us. Even if it only lasted a couple of weeks. I was going to be a father.”

“You still will be, one day,” Evan told him. “I’m sure of it. You’ll be an amazing dad. But a family made when both parents are still teenagers, first-year college students? It wouldn’t have worked, Cap.”

Scott smiled. “No one’s called me that in ages.”

“Cap?”

“Yeah.”

“It suits you,” Evan said with a grin.

Scott huffed a laugh. “I’m not a captain anymore.”

“Do you still play?”

“Football? Nah. Just the, you know, intramural games. I still wanted to play after I got injured last year, but I was nowhere near good enough to get back up to the sort of level to play for the college.”

They fell quiet for a moment, and then Evan sighed.

“You want some of this?” Scott offered, holding the joint out to Evan.

“Nah. My lungs hurt.”

“Shit. I smoked way too much weed this year. You get good shit in Wisconsin.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s cheaper than booze too. Doesn’t make you sick. No hangover.”

“I’ve definitely had a weed hangover before.”

“That’s because you don’t smoke the good stuff,” Scott said, leaning back and exhaling heavily.

“Don’t tell me you’re turning into a stoner,” Evan laughed.

“Nah. I only do it every few months. Probably ’cos I know I’d get really into it if I let myself, and I don’t want to turn into one of those guys.”

Evan snorted. “Sure you aren’t already?”

“Hmm. You’re sobering up.”

“I told you my lungs hurt.”

Scott narrowed his eyes for a moment, then moved decisively.

They’d taken the huge couch, each backed into a comfortable corner. Scott straddled Evan’s thighs, one of his strong legs either side of Evan’s, boxing him in. Either the weed or the late hour was making Evan’s head fuzzy, and he frowned, moving too slowly to do anything to stop Scott’s advance.

“What are you doing?” Evan asked.

“Here,” Scott said. He sat back on his heels and took a long, long drag on the joint. He held it in his lungs for a moment, then grabbed Evan’s chin, leaned forward, and exhaled into Evan’s open mouth.

Evan pulled the smoke in, breathing deeply, and couldn’t help but focus on Scott’s ocean blue eyes. When he let the smoke go, Scott was still gripping his chin, and Evan blinked, not daring to move.

“Fucking hell, Evan,” Scott said and leaned in for a kiss.

Evan was stunned into place as Scott’s lips moved decisively yet so, so slowly over his own mouth. After a second, his body jolted into action, and he wrapped his hands around Scott’s waist, leaning up into the kiss and slipping his tongue between Scott’s lips.

Scott tasted like weed and tobacco and beer, and Evan wanted so much, so badly, it was a deep twist in his gut that almost made him cry out with the shock of it. Scott leaned over and stubbed out the joint in the ashtray on the coffee table, then pushed both of his hands into Evan’s hair.

Evan jolted his hips up, desperate for more contact, and Scott moaned as he ground back down to meet Evan’s inelegant thrusts.

It took Scott tugging at his sweater for Evan’s brain to finally catch up with him. He couldn’t do this. He had… fuck. Cael. A boyfriend.

“Scott. Stop. Stop.”

“Hmm?” Scott hummed, pressing tiny kisses up the side of Evan’s neck.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“What, some asshole at college?”

“Please don’t.”

Scott sat back on his heels again and frowned. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Scott said.

Evan rubbed his hands over his face. He was rock hard in his jeans, his whole body straining for Scott. He wanted so desperately to touch and kiss and take whatever it was Scott wanted to share with him.

“I need to go,” Evan said. His chest felt tight, his whole body aching with something more than the physical.

“You’re running away again.”

Scott sounded more annoyed than Evan had ever heard before. He was usually fiery and passionate, but never angry.

“I’m removing myself from a situation I can’t be in right now,” Evan corrected. He shuffled out from under Scott’s lap and went to the corner of the room where his jacket had been piled.

“This is such bullshit,” Scott said. He knelt on the sofa, scowling as Evan layered up in his jacket and scarf. “If you want to do this, then fine, we’ll do it. Don’t just walk away, though.”

“I need… fuck, I need time, Scott.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a boyfriend!” he exploded. Evan knew this was totally out of character for him too. In their whole lives, he’d never yelled at Scott. Not like this.

“And what are you planning on doing about that?”

“I don’t know,” Evan said. The fight drained out of him in an instant, and he felt himself physically slump. “I don’t know, Scott, which is why I need to leave. Before I do something I regret.”

“Would you regret me?”

Despite everything, Evan smiled. “You’re so fucking conceited.”

Scott laughed, and then he sobered again. “Please, Evan. I want to find out what would happen. What if.”

“Not right now.”

“When are you going back to school?”

Evan sighed. “The second week in January.”

“Okay. You won’t go without letting me see you again? Promise?”

“Promise.”

Scott held out his hand, pinky finger extended. Evan walked over and hooked his own finger around Scott’s. For a second, they just looked at each other. It was only in that moment that Evan realized quite how much he’d missed his best friend.

Using nothing but their linked fingers as leverage, Scott leaned up and brushed his lips over the corner of Evan’s mouth.

“Happy Christmas, Evan.”

“Happy Christmas.”

 

 

AND IT was.

Sort of.

Evan’s mom loved the sketch he framed for her, crying over it for at least half an hour. Christmases of his childhood had never been particularly extravagant affairs. His mom didn’t have much money, and they didn’t have any family who lived close enough to celebrate with.

Instead they had their own traditions. On Christmas Eve, they went out and bought a tree, a real one in a pot so it could be planted out in the backyard after. Some of them took, others died, but they had a little copse of conifers now. These days Evan’s mom let him drink mulled wine instead of hot cider while they decorated, and a ham roasted in the oven.

This was his family. His whole life it had been Evan and his mom against the world, and that was just how they liked it.

Mark had been invited for Christmas dinner, and he’d accepted, which Evan was strangely pleased about. Evan liked Mark. He was a bit of a lone wolf; like Evan, he was an only child with only one parent in his life. Mark’s father lived in a care facility outside Charlotte and was delighted that Mark finally had a sweetheart to spend the holidays with. Mark had spent Thanksgiving with his father and would drive down again to spend a few more days with him after Christmas was over.

When Evan’s mom and Mark fell asleep on the couch late on Christmas afternoon, Evan went to his room to call Cael. Not that his mom would have minded if he’d made the call from somewhere else, but he wanted a little privacy for this.

His bedroom was warm, and Evan fell back onto his bed and stretched out before calling Cael. He answered on the second ring.

“Hang on, babe. I’m going to go upstairs.”

“Okay,” Evan said, smiling.

The sound of Cael’s footsteps came through the phone, then a slamming door.

“Shit. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Evan laughed. “How are things there?”

“Insane. I swear there’s forty people in this house right now. How are you?”

“Good. I’m one of three. And the other two are asleep.”

Cael groaned. “Seriously? I want a Christmas like yours.”

“You say that now…. You’d get bored, I’m sure.”

“I’m sharing a room with two brothers and a cousin,” Cael said, sounding grumpy. “I’m excited about getting back to my horrible roommate. Can you imagine?”

Evan laughed. “It must be crowded.”

“It’s hell. Anyway. Tell me what’s happening there.”

Evan felt a rush of guilt. There was no other word for it.

“I ran into Scott. My friend from when I was a kid, remember?”

“The one you had a massive crush on?”

He couldn’t read Cael’s tone, not at all. “Yeah,” he said as his stomach churned. “That one.”

“Huh. How is he?”

“Good, thanks.”

“What happened, Evan? Just tell me.”

Evan blinked back tears. “He kissed me.”

“He kissed you?”

“Yeah.”

“So you weren’t an active participant in this kiss?”

“Cael, please don’t.”

“Don’t what? You just told me you kissed another guy. How the fuck did you expect me to react?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know.”

“Do you want to be with him?”

“No,” Evan lied. He hoped Cael couldn’t hear it. The lie. “He goes to college in fucking Wisconsin. It’s not like I have all these opportunities to cheat on you with him, Cael. It was one kiss, and I broke it off. I didn’t ask him for it, and….”

“And what?”

“I wanted you to know, so you wouldn’t think I was hiding it from you. If it had meant something, I wouldn’t have said anything.” He took a deep breath. “Are you going to break up with me?”

“I don’t know,” Cael said, and suddenly his voice was very small, almost broken. “You kissed someone else.”

“Someone else kissed me.”

“I need to think about it.”

“Okay.” Evan closed his eyes and dug the heel of his free hand into an eye socket. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want this. You know how much I care about you, right?”

Cael made a choked noise. “Why did you have to do this today?” he whined. “Of all fucking days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. Look, Evan, I need to go.”

“No,” Evan croaked. “Not like this.”

“I have family waiting for me. I’ll talk to you when we get back to school, yeah?”

“I can call you before then.”

“No…. I want to think about things.”

Evan nodded and sniffed. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Evan.”

Cael hung up before Evan had the chance to say anything else.

He flipped the phone shut, rolled onto his front, and buried his face in the pillow. He wanted to be under Cael right now, making out slowly and touching each other everywhere, too scared to take clothes off in case a roommate decided to return home early. He wanted to walk into ECU’s GLBT society holding Cael’s hand, feeling smug that he’d found someone on this campus, someone who thought he was worthy of dating.

But more than all of that….

He wanted to spend more time discovering what Scott’s tongue tasted like. He wanted Scott’s waist between his palms, Scott’s hair between his fingers. Evan wanted to know what would happen if they had an empty house and a few precious hours with the sure knowledge no one was going to interrupt them.

While he was sniffing and wallowing in a self-indulgent sulk, Evan’s phone buzzed in his hand. He checked the readout and then laughed to himself at the irony of it all.

Evan flipped the phone open again and hit the button to open Scott’s message.

 

Hi. What are you up to

Nothing much. Everyone here is asleep. You?

My brother is a dick and my sister is a demon.

 

Evan laughed, feeling the weight in his chest start to loosen. Before he could respond, another message came through.

 

Wanna go for a drive? I can come pick you up.

 

Evan’s hands seemed to move independently of what his brain was telling them to do.

 

Sure.

 

He quickly changed, pulling on a thick sweater over his T-shirt and finding his heavy boots. He didn’t want to think too much about what he was doing… of what Scott wanted from him.

He tried to make as much noise as possible as he went back downstairs, and it seemed to work. His mom was stirring when he went into the family room and sat down to lace his boots.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m going to go out with Scott for a bit. That okay?”

“Sure, honey,” his mom said sleepily.

“If I stay over there, I’ll let you know.”

His mom reached out her hand and squeezed his. “If you’re with Scott, I’m not worried.”

Evan swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Happy Christmas, Mom.”

A car beeped outside, and Evan rushed to his feet, made sure he had his house key, wallet, phone, and the last wrapped gift from under the tree tucked into his jacket pocket before slamming the door shut behind him.

Scott had left the engine running and the heat on high, so it was almost stifling when Evan let himself into the passenger seat.

“Hi,” he said, grinning at his best friend.

“Fuck, it’s cold.”

Evan pulled the door closed and rubbed his hands together. Scott was wearing leather gloves, but Evan hadn’t bothered.

“Happy Christmas.”

“Ugh. I’m so over the holiday season.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I love my family, but man, when they all get together….”

“Your grandma gets drunk and disorderly, and your grandfather—”

“Is a racist dick, yeah. You remember.”

Evan laughed. Scott was winding his way through the familiar streets of their hometown. It was almost eerie like this—dark streets, the houses lit up with brightly colored fairy lights, snow on the ground and on the roofs. Hardly any other cars passed them as they took the long loop around to their old high school.

“You been back here since we left?” Scott asked as he pulled over. The whole building was cloaked in darkness, and it seemed smaller somehow, from when Evan was here last.

“Yeah, actually. I stopped in to see Ms. Martinez when I was back for Thanksgiving.”

Scott’s family had spent that holiday as they always did, at his uncle’s cabin in the mountains. Evan had been there a few times when he was a kid, and “cabin” didn’t really do the place justice. It was more of a luxury hunting lodge with space to sleep about twenty people.

“You know there used to be rumors you were fucking her,” Scott said absently. He was still looking out the window, his reflection in it revealing his pinched expression.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You two were always close. And she gave you those ‘special projects.’”

Evan laughed. “Well, no. That was very not true.”

“You don’t sound mad.”

He shrugged. “Jocelyn is a friend. I suppose people are always looking for a scandal. And I guess rumors like that helped keep me in the closet for the last couple of years of high school.”

“That mattered to you?”

“I couldn’t have come out, Scott. Even with you there to protect me and the fact that I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks of me. It would have been hell.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know what people are like now,” he said softly. “It’s not always easy.”

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I know.”

They were silent for a while then, looking out at the abandoned field where Scott had led his team to so many football victories. It hadn’t been that long ago, not in the grand scheme of things, but it seemed like a lifetime had passed.

Without saying anything else, Scott turned the engine over and took them out toward the beach, which was absolutely deserted.

“You wanna go jump in the ocean?” Scott asked with the twinkle in his eye that had gotten Evan in so much trouble during his formative years.

“Oh, hell no,” Evan laughed. “No way.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Your mom is a nurse, Scott. Hypothermia isn’t fun. Just ask her.”

He laughed at that. “It’s warm in here. We’d dry off real quick.”

“I am not jumping in the ocean in the middle of winter.”

“You’re no fun.”

They kept driving, looping round to pass Katie’s house, and Andy’s, and Cassie Williams’. When they stopped in front of Scott’s house, Evan reached into his jacket and pulled out the wrapped present.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it at Scott.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Scott murmured, then grinned. He reached into the backseat of the car and pulled out a slim package.

Evan laughed. “Ditto.”

He watched Scott tear into the paper, then lift the lid on the small cardboard box.

“It’s Saint Christopher,” Evan said as Scott ran his fingers over the small pendant. “You know, the patron saint of travelers? I know you want to travel, so….”

Evan had found the pendant and chain at a small jewelry store when he’d been wandering around the city after class one afternoon. It hadn’t been particularly expensive, but Evan had been drawn to the pendant and the explanation on a small card next to it.

“It’s amazing. Thank you. Open yours.”

“Okay,” Evan said with a smile, feeling his face heat.

There were actually two things within the paper, one a CD jewel case with “Evan’s Mix 2006” written on the outside with Sharpie. The other was a slightly battered paperback.

“This is going to sound so gay,” Scott muttered, making Evan laugh. “It’s Walt Whitman poetry. I asked someone and… anyway. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Thank you.”

Had his best friend really given him a collection of words by one of America’s most celebrated homosexual icons?

“And, you know. I’m sure your taste in music still sucks.”

“Asshole,” Evan said, punching him on the arm.

“Come on. I’m sure my mom will want to fuss over you.”

Evan carefully tucked the two gifts inside his jacket, not wanting them to get damaged. These things he would keep.

 

 

THEY GOT drunk on leftover mulled wine and whiskey, sitting on the floor in Scott’s family room and laughing at the rest of the family as they played a very controversial game of Monopoly. Scott and Evan had arrived too late to join in the game, which was already well underway by the time they got back to the house.

Lacey was quietly cheating, clearly succeeding because she was the only one not drinking. Evan watched as she helped herself to not $200 for passing Go, but more like $600. He snorted into his glass and decided whiskey and ginger ale was a fantastic combination.

“Is Lacey cheating?” Scott whispered into Evan’s ear, his breath hot and wet against Evan’s neck.

“Yes,” Evan said and collapsed into giggles.

Lacey looked over and scowled at them both, which only seemed to make the giggling worse, then winked and raised a finger to her lips.

Shh.

“I should go,” Evan said, tipping his head back to rest on the cushion of the sofa behind him.

“Nuh-uh,” Scott replied. “I can’t drive you. None of them can drive you. Lacey doesn’t have her license yet.”

Evan sighed.

“Stay, honey,” Scott’s mom called over. “I’m sure your mom won’t mind.”

“Thanks, Annie. I’ll text her.”

Evan turned his phone over in his hand a few times, then sent off a quick message to his mom. She was heading to bed anyway, knowing she’d need to be up early the following morning for her shift at the hospital. Mark too. The prospect of spending the next day alone wasn’t particularly enchanting, so staying was probably the better option.

“She says it’s fine,” Evan said with a grin.

“I’m sure we’ve got a sleeping bag around here somewhere,” Tom teased.

“Uh, fuck that.” Scott yawned, then slapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Grandma.”

He earned himself a scowl for that and gave her a convincingly contrite smile.

“Coming to bed?” Scott asked softly. Evan nodded, hauled himself to his feet, and waved good night to the rest of the Sparrow family.

He and Scott had slept together in the same bed for sleepovers from the age of seven until somewhere around eighth grade. Evan remembered one particular night and the following morning in the vivid way bad memories always seem to stick.

Scott’s dad had offered to take Evan to a ball game since he had a spare ticket and Tom was away on some camping trip. They’d gotten back late, and since Evan’s mom was working strange shifts and he didn’t want to wake her up, he’d stayed at Scott’s house.

His attraction to men was still woolly and unsure, but he was coming to the conclusion that women did very little for him, sexually at least. For a while, he’d thought his attraction to Scott had more to do with proximity than anything else. They showered together after gym, had been skinny-dipping more times than he could count, had generally grown up around each other’s bodies, and had a lack of shame. It was just boys being boys, right?

The next morning, Evan had woken earlier than normal with a strange sense of unease. He stretched, then felt a growing sense of horror settle over him. He’d come in his pants. And his whole groin was still pressed up tight to Scott’s thigh.

Scott was still asleep, or Evan thought he was, at least. But still… the inappropriateness was incredible, along with a hefty dose of shame and disgust. He’d humped his best friend in his sleep.

Evan had stumbled out of bed and to the family bathroom, praying he wouldn’t run into Scott’s parents or siblings on the way. There he’d washed himself and pulled his underwear off, balled them up, and stuffed them in the pocket of the basketball shorts he’d been wearing as pajamas.

It had taken a level of subterfuge he wasn’t familiar with to dispose of those underpants deep in a trash bag that was almost full and ready to be taken out.

After that it had been impossible for Evan to let himself sleep side by side with Scott again. Their families seemed to accept Evan’s protestations that they were too tall now to share a bed, and Scott had never said a thing.

Evan had never told him, convinced there was a special place in hell reserved for those who violated their best friends while those friends were asleep. If not hell, he was pretty sure there was a place for him in jail.

He pretended to be asleep already when Scott came back from the bathroom. It wasn’t difficult. The wine and whiskey were already giving him a headache, and his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“You asleep?”

“I was, you asshole.”

He hoped this was enough to make Scott shut up. The bed dipped, and Scott slid in next to him, rolling onto his side so he was facing Evan’s back.

“You remember when we used to do this when we were kids?” Scott whispered.

“I was just thinking about that.”

Evan begged, prayed to whatever God was listening that Scott wasn’t going to bring up the wet dream hump incident.

“Heh.”

“I don’t generally have sleepovers with my friends anymore,” Evan said, aiming for teasing, though it ended up coming out bitter.

“Just your boyfriend, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

He waited, letting the silence and the night settle between them.

“I told him you kissed me,” Evan said, when enough time had passed he was sure Scott was sleeping.

“What did he say?”

Scott was clearly very much awake.

“He was mad. I don’t blame him. I’m mad at me too.”

“Don’t be. Let him be mad at me. I don’t care.”

Evan sighed heavily and shuffled onto his back. “It’s complicated.”

“It sounds it. How many men have you been with?”

Evan’s face flushed, and he was glad it was dark so Scott couldn’t see. He wasn’t embarrassed about his sexual history. That didn’t mean he wanted to discuss it, though.

“Five.”

“How many women?”

He laughed. “None.”

“Then how can you be sure?”

“How many men have you been with?” he retorted.

“None. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then you’re sure you’re greedy?”

“I’m not sure what I am.”

Just because he might be bisexual doesn’t mean he wants you.

He did kiss you, though.

And he doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Evan shut the voices in his head up by rolling onto his side, away from Scott and the conversation he didn’t want to have.

“Are you mad at me?” Scott whispered into the darkness.

“No. I’m just tired.”

“Oh. Okay. Good night, Evan.”

Evan only hummed in response.

 

 

THE NEXT morning was more awkward than almost all of the morning-after hookups he’d had. Scott was still asleep when Evan woke up and gathered his clothes. He dressed in the bathroom before going downstairs and hoping he could call his mom for a ride home before she started work.

His plan was thwarted by the Sparrow house’s open-plan ground floor, meaning the moment he stepped into the hallway, Lacey called out to him from the kitchen.

“How are you awake?” he grouched as he took his shoes from where they’d been left by the closet and walked through to the kitchen. Lacey sat with a mug of coffee and a magazine, slowly flicking through it.

She shrugged. “It’s nearly eight, Evan. And I’m the only one who wasn’t getting drunk last night. I reckon the others will sleep awhile longer yet.”

Evan looked at her and squinted. Lacey was a few weeks away from her sixteenth birthday now, though in the time he’d been away she’d aged about ten years, or so it seemed. All her baby fat was gone, and she had developed the perfectly disinterested demeanor of a teenage girl. And she was drinking coffee. When did Lacey start drinking coffee?

“There’s more in the pot,” she said, flicking another page in her magazine over without looking up. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

By the time he’d poured his liquid wake-up serum and tied his shoes, there were footsteps on the stairs, and Evan internally cursed himself for not just getting the hell out of there.

“Morning,” Scott croaked as he stumbled into the kitchen.

He stole Lacey’s coffee and swigged from it, more to annoy her than because he wanted it. Evan was sure of that.

“Asshole,” she snapped.

“Uh-huh. You leaving?” he asked Evan.

“Yeah.”

“Gimme five minutes. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Fuck off. Stay there.”

The local radio station was still blasting out Christmas songs, a mix of carols and pop tunes, and Evan grinned as Scott belted along a harmonious accompaniment to Mariah Carey. The world seemed more alive than it had the day before. Kids were out playing in their yards, and the sky wasn’t quite so dark with snow.

Evan’s neighborhood was hosting some kind of touch football game, probably organized by the kids from the high school. They were playing in the street, though it hadn’t been shut off, and they all moved to the side to let Scott’s car through.

“Your mom’s at work, right?” Scott asked as they walked up to the house, barely listening to the kids as they started their game again farther down the street now.

“She must have left already, yeah. Her car’s gone.”

Scott stopped Evan as he went to unlock the front door, a familiar hand gripping his arm.

“Empty house, huh?” he said, flirty smile, twinkling eyes.

“Don’t, Scott.”

“Why are you so scared of me?” Scott demanded. He stepped back, just half a pace, the distance enough for him to look at Evan and scowl.

“What?”

“You’re all out and proud, but you keep turning your back on me. I thought I was your best friend, Evan.”

Evan shook his head. “I have a boyfriend. You don’t have to stop being my friend, Scott, but there’s someone else in my life now.”

“Bullshit!” Scott exclaimed. “We’ve been close since we were kids, and now we have the possibility to do this, to find out what’s maybe been there all along.”

“I’m not going to be the guy you experiment with,” Evan snapped. “If you want that, go to a gay bar. Fuck, you can go online and find someone. I’m not prepared to ruin my relationship and our friendship just because you’re confused.”

“I’m not confused.”

“Oh yeah?” Evan demanded. “Really? So you’ll go home to your mom and tell her you’re questioning your sexuality?”

Scott blanched at that, almost physically recoiling at Evan’s challenge.

“See, that’s the thing,” Evan said, poking his finger at Scott’s chest. “You want to play. To kiss a bit, maybe touch each other, but do you want to be out and proud? No. You don’t want people to know that you want those things. And I’m not prepared to be someone’s dirty little secret.”

“I’m not asking you to be that.”

“No? Sure fucking sounds that way to me.”

“This is easy for you!” Scott yelled.

It was cold out here, on Evan’s mom’s porch, and neighbors were far enough away to hopefully not overhear this conversation. Evan shivered and felt a new wave of annoyance trickle down his spine.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“You came out, and no one cared, Evan. No one. You’re artistic and sensitive and sweet, and people just accepted that you’re gay. No one cares. I can’t have that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you trying to say that because I’m an artist coming out was easy for me? Fuck you, Scott. Fuck you.”

“I’m not saying it was easy. I’m saying people weren’t surprised. You never had a reputation for fucking around. You weren’t a player. You were a nice guy who was friends with girls and didn’t date them. I fucked around. I still fucking do. If I came out….” He broke off and shook his head.

“What? So you’re bisexual. That’s a thing, you know.”

“No, it’s not. Bisexuals are confused or in denial.”

“Bullshit. The world isn’t black and white, Scott. There’s a whole world of gray out there. Stop being such a closed-minded asshole.”

“If I came out and said I was bi, I’d be a laughingstock.”

“And if you care about something like that, you’re an idiot. So don’t come out, then. Just admit it to yourself and you’ll be a hell of a lot happier. I guarantee it.”

“You don’t understand,” Scott muttered, turning away and pushing his hand through his dark hair. Evan watched the motion and hated himself for still wanting his friend. Still wishing there was more.

“No, listen to me,” Evan demanded. He was suddenly angry. “I didn’t have an easy time coming to terms with my sexuality like you seem to think. The past couple of years haven’t been a cake walk for me. I spent that last year of high school terrified that someone would figure it out and tell everyone. I thought it was fucking obvious that I was… that I had a fucking huge crush on you. People called us ‘gay’ all the time.”

“That’s stupid kids throwing around stupid insults,” Scott said. He sounded tired.

“Yeah, but when you are gay and you haven’t told anyone, stupid insults fucking hurt.”

“You’ve never gone off on me like this before.”

“Because you’ve never fucking needed me to before!” Evan yelled. He never yelled. “You’ve had this privileged life, Scott, where everything has been so fucking easy for you. You got two parents and a brother and a sister and grandparents, and pretty much whatever you wanted you got. Fucking scholarship into college because you had a fucking tutor to make sure you got the best grades in high school. Well, this ain’t something that you can just get given on a plate. You want it, it’s gonna be fucking difficult. It’s gonna hurt. People are gonna be disappointed in you. That’s what it is!”

Evan took a deep breath, pacing from one side of the porch back to the other. Scott stood, a pained expression on his face, silently watching Evan stalk back and forth like a caged animal.

“Look, you know I’m not going to judge you either way. I stayed in the closet for a long time, until I was ready to come out on my terms, under the right circumstances for me. I’m not going to force you out. That fucking sucks. But I can’t be the one to ‘help you figure it out.’ I’m a fag, Scott. I’m a big cock-sucking queer. And I’m not interested in being with anyone who can’t say the same.”

“I thought you were my friend,” Scott said, his voice small, hurting.

“I am,” Evan said, taking a deep breath. “But I can’t give you what you’re asking of me.”

“Even though we feel the same way about each other?”

“Maybe because of that.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to just let me walk away.”

Evan let out a startled laugh.

“What?”

“You’re so arrogant,” Evan said, though he didn’t mean it as an insult. Not really. “You were the biggest thing in my life for a really fucking long time, Scott. But things move on. We’ve only just started our second year of college, and we’re already different people. We grew up.”

“Grew apart.”

“Yeah.”

Scott shook his head. “Are we breaking up?” he asked, looking at his feet, letting his words fall in a breathless laugh.

“I want you to have,” Evan started, before swallowing around a painful lump in his throat, “amazing things. I hope you figure this out.”

“Me too.”

“Don’t,” Evan said and screwed his eyes shut. “I can’t….”

“I get it. I won’t.”

I won’t be in contact. I won’t make this worse.

“Take care, Evan.”

They turned away from each other at the same time. Evan managed to get just inside the front door before he slid to the floor, the tears coming easy now. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just made the worst mistake of his whole life.

Happy fucking Christmas.