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The walk back to the house was quicker than he wanted. Even after dawdling to stare at the shop windows and stopping for a soda at the grocery store. Back at the house, he slipped his key into the door and stepped into the entry way. Almost instantly, he was attacked by a slightly shorter-than-him brunette. He smacked into the wall, causing one of the pictures of Jesus to shudder on its hook.
“Dylan, you’re home!”
“Uh, hi. Nice to see you too, Sarah,” he reached up to awkwardly ruffle her hair. “Can I breathe please?”
“Oh, of course!” She laughed, letting go of him. “I was going to come looking for you. There are only so many places you could be hiding in Tynan,” she rolled her eyes. “But Mom said you’d come home when you were ready. Have you unpacked yet?”
“Dude,” he squeezed her shoulders, “take a breath. You’re going mile-a-minute.”
She grinned. “Sorry. I’m just so excited that you’re here.”
He raised an eyebrow and leaned in close to whisper, “Let me share a secret with you; you’re the only one.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you about it after,” he rolled his eyes, “Family Night.”
“It’s not that bad,” Sarah promised. “Mom holds us captive through, like, one game of Scrabble.”
“There are five of us.”
“Dad has to work late tonight.”
“So much for mandatory.” Dylan rolled his eyes.
“So,” she changed the subject, “have you unpacked yet? I could help.”
“No thanks,” he shook his head, “I don’t want to get too comfortable.”
“Did you at least look around your room? I’m totally jealous. It’s my favorite. I’ve been begging Mom for months to let me switch, but she said no; that the guests should get the nice room.”
“What’s so great about it?”
“Come on.” She took his hand started pulling him towards the hall. Once inside, she flipped on the light and crossed to the large curtains that hung across the wall, throwing them open.
“The view isn’t that great,” she sat down in the window seat, “but the benches are comfy. I used nap in here when I was little.
“No offence, kiddo, but you’re still little.” He poked her softly on the nose. “The room is fine. I don’t plan on being here long enough to get too comfortable, okay?”
She frowned again. “Dylan, we know why you’re here.”
He glanced up, taking a seat across from her on the end of the bed. “Do you now?”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I know that Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha love you or whatever, but you’re kind of all over the place.”
“Really?” Dylan smirked. “What do you know about it, Sarah?”
“I know you’re apparently drinking a lot. And doing drugs.”
“It’s not a problem,” he stated. “It’s just bad for Dad’s image. But I’m going to clean up and go home.”
“I’ve watched Intervention. I don’t think it’s that easy.”
“What the hell is Intervention?”
“Kids, dinner!” Zoe called before Sarah could reply.
“C’mon. She made manicotti.” Sarah got up from the bench. Dylan followed her out, his hands shoved into his pockets.
The food, admittedly, smelled delicious. Zoe was just placing the steaming pan in the center of the table. Already there were some steamed veggies, and a salad. There was a pitcher of lemonade and a basket of rolls as well. Dylan was ushered into the chair beside Sarah.
Pete, named for Dylan’s Dad, wandered in. A pair of large headphones hung around his neck. He slid into the seat across from Dylan.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Dylan returned his nod of hello.
“So, you see all of town yet?”
“Basically. I ended up at the library.”
Pete nodded. “It’s the only decently air-conditioned hang out in town. The Rec Center isn’t bad, but with school still in session, no one will be there until next week. You play basketball?”
“Only when forced.”
Pete smirked, reaching for the spatula to start serving himself. Zoe entered just in time to smack his hand.
“Grace first, young man.”
Her son held in a sigh. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “Well, we’re all here. Can we get this going? I’ve got a club meeting at eight.”
“That late?” Zoe gave him a look that said she obviously disapproved.
“We’re meeting at Uncle Joe’s,” he explained. “Maria has to close tonight, but she gets a break then, so we’re going to get some ice cream.” He slid a look at Dylan. “Uncle Joe’s is the drive-in place down the street. It’s only open in the summer.”
“I got the gist,” he said.
“Dylan, why don’t you start us in saying the blessing,”
“How about I don’t?”
“It’s his first night, Mom,” Sarah rolled her eyes; something she was apparently very adept at. “Can I do it?”
Zoe pursed her lips before she nodded. “Sure.
The three of the Donaldson Clan clasped their hands together and bowed their heads. Dylan kept his hands in his lap. It had always been his way. While other people were perfectly welcome to say their blessings, he’d have no part in it. He waited patiently for them to finish, Sarah said some nice words about welcoming him to their table and bless the food in Jesus’s name, blah-blah-blah. They all uttered an amen. He cleared his throat to cover that he didn’t say it with them, then waited some more while they all began serving up their plates.
“You want to come to my meeting tonight?” Pete asked, “I could introduce you to some people. If you’re here in the fall you’ll be going to school with us.”
Dylan looked at him, the shock crossing his face in a short blur, “I really don’t want to be here that long.”
Pete shrugged. “Just sayin’, Cuz.”
“I still need to unpack.” Dylan stabbed his fork into the helping of manicotti placed in front of him. “I should probably do that before I do anything else.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “If you change your mind, I’ll walk over there about five minutes before.”
Dylan gave a small nod before taking a bite of his pasta. Damn, it was really good. He mentally cursed himself. Zoe may have been an uber-Christian, but that didn’t stop her from being a great cook. He listened to them chatter and politely answered questions tossed his way by his cousins. He was very aware of Zoe’s scrutinizing eyes and ears. He was very careful about what he told them at the dinner table. After he had cleared his plate, and even had seconds, he was ushered into the living room for the game of Scrabble.
“Does your no cursing apply to Scrabble as well? The one word I can lay down starts with a C and ends with a T,” Dylan mused, fiddling with his letters.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” Zoe glared at him. He grinned, and slowly laid down his C, followed by an A, which hooked onto an N, in the word SNICKER and then laid down a T.
“Oh, what do you know, I did have something else.”
“Can’t has an apostrophe,” Sarah pointed out.
“C-A-N-T, cant,” Pete said boredly, shuffling his letters around. “A sarcastic expression of enthusiasm for good doing; the secret language of the underworld; vocabulary of a class, party, or profession; the sing-song speech of beggars.”
“You sound like an SAT prep book,” Dylan scoffed, taking three more letters out of the faux velvet bag.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Peter shuffled his letters around some more before laying down PEANUT, attached to the end of Dylan’s word. “Your turn, Mom.”
“Must be pretty handy with this game. You must kick some ass,” Dylan pointed out.
His cousin smiled as Zoe snapped her fingers and pointed out to the hall.
“Quarter—”
“In the swear jar,” Dylan finished for her. “I won’t argue that an ass, short for jackass, is not only the head of the Democratic party, but a euphemism enjoyed even by some of our greatest presidents. I’ll stick a five in there when I pass by it again, okay?”
She pursed her lips again as she stared down at her tiles.
“You know, if you keep screwing up your face, it’s going to stay that way.”
“Shush,” she warned. Then she laid down BEAU attached to CANT.
Fifteen minutes later, Dylan sighed. There were still a handful of tiles in the bag. He was starting to get antsy about getting out of the house again. “How do you people stand to play this game sober?”
Peter patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, man.”
Dylan sighed, looking up at the clock, decorated with cherubic angels. Seven o’clock. He stared at the board while rubbing at his wrists under the rubber bracelets. His foot started tapping impatiently. Sarah gently reached over to place her hand on his knee to get him to stop. The urge to binge had never struck him so hard as the torture of playing a game with the Donaldson family. He was just thinking about how bearable even just half a tab of E would make the game when Pete announced he’d taken the last letter from the bag.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Dylan sighed, then grimaced. “I know. A quarter.”
“Perhaps a quarter isn’t enough for your extreme cursing habit?” Zoe mused, laying down her next word.
Dylan’s jaw tightened, willing his relatives to lay their tiles faster so he could escape. He began to scratch under his bracelets impatiently. A minute later, he realized Pete was staring at him quite hard. He looked down and saw he’d nearly ripped open his own wrist. The Donaldson clan may have been unbearable, but they weren’t enough to kill himself over. He pressed his wrist into his thigh. Finally, after what felt an excruciatingly long time, Pete laid the final word: Zap. He got up from the table.
“I need some air. I’ll be back later.” He stepped back from the table.
“Wait,” Pete called, “you sure you don’t want to go to Uncle Joe’s with me? I’ll leave in a few minutes.”
“No, it’s cool,” Dylan declined. “Maybe some other time.”
“Remember your curfew,” Zoe warned. The retort fell on deaf ears though, as Dylan was already outside and to the sidewalk.
He wasn’t sure where to go. He just knew he needed to get out of the house. He found himself wandering to the little grocery store. The cashier looked up momentarily from the register. They gave him a brief smile, then went back to their magazine. He walked to the back of the store. He found himself staring at a large display of alcohol. He bit his lip, wanting nothing more than to crack open one of the bottles and drink it down. Any of them would do.
He jumped a little as a voice sounded in his ear, “If you’re looking for a good deal, go to the Corner Store. Bertha never cards, and they’re cheaper too.” There was a clunk as the hand attached to the voice dropped a case of Mountain Dew, from the display next to the beer, into the cart.
Dylan turned to look him–and damn! He was lean, wearing a plain t-shirt, paired with a pair of too-large jeans that hung on his hips with aid a large belt. He had on chunky skate shoes, and his hair curled at the ends, beginning to go shaggy.
“Thanks for the tip,” he said, finding his voice.
“You look familiar,” the man pondered. “Do I know you?”
“Maybe,” Dylan remained vague. The man laughed.
“What’s your name?”
“Dylan Montgomery,” He held out his hand. “My Dad’s a senator. Maybe you’ve seen me on TV.”
“I’m Tyler Norse, and no that’s not it.” He shook his head. “You used to live here? Visit maybe? ...Dylan?” He let the name roll off his tongue. Dylan shivered, liking the sound of it a little too much.
“I’ve visited a few times,” Dylan finally admitted.
“Ah, whatever. So, what’s a fine piece of ass like you doing in a hick town like this?” Tyler started to walk away. Dylan, inexplicably, followed after him.
“I caused some trouble so my parents decided it would be best if I got out of the city. I’m staying with my Aunt and Uncle. Just for the summer.”
“Zoe and Milton, right? Auntie Z and Uncle Milt as I’ve always thought them.” Dylan looked a little surprised at Tyler’s knowledge, so he continued, “They enjoy spouting on about how their brother-in-law is a senator. They’re assholes like that.” He paused. “Uh, no offense.”
“I’m not overly fond of them myself.” He tugged on the sleeves of his jacket. He looked up as a crack of thunder sounded outside. “Shit, is it raining?”
“It started a few minutes ago.” Tyler reached past him to grab a bag of chips. To anyone looking on, it was an innocent gesture, but between the two of them, electricity flared. Tyler pressed against the younger man’s back and Dylan couldn’t suppress the groan. The bag of chips was dropped into Tyler’s cart as they parted.
“I can tell just by looking at you. You’ve got no problem finding guys in New York, do you?”
“Hardly,” he breathed. Then added hopefully, “But I think I just found my first guy in this hick town.”
“You ever been fucked in the rain on the back of a pickup?” Tyler suggested, a smirk lingering across his lips.
“No, but I’m open to new experiences.”
Tyler couldn’t help but grin. “You want to wait outside while I check out?”
Dylan nodded and disappeared toward the front of the store. Tyler navigated toward some basics from the pharmaceutical aisle. After taking his sweet time checking out, chatting to the cashier about the weather, he finally made his way out.
Dylan waited patiently under the store eaves, avoiding the rain. He looked wistful, staring over the quiet damp that shimmered in the headlight of passing vehicles.
“You’re not cold, are you?” Tyler asked, opening the door to his truck and tucking his packages into the second-row seat.
“No, it feels nice. You want help?” He reached to take the case of soda from Tyler. “I’m not just pretty you know.”
They slid the rest of the packages into the back and then climbed into the cab together. Tyler turned over the ignition and pulled the truck out of the small parking lot.
They didn’t really chat as he drove, but Tyler sung along with the radio. Dylan considered whether he had made a mistake as he noticed the truck was headed toward the outskirts of town. Dylan had to hold back a gulp when Tyler shifted into park in a little grove of trees, looking out over a creek. He’d been in some shady situations, but he’d never thought of a tiny place like Tynan as dangerous before.
“I’d take you home,” Tyler explained, reading the expression on Dylan’s face, “but my sister and I don’t discuss things like sex. And I’m not sure she’d appreciate my bringing home a boy. Especially a cute little twink like you.”
“Whatever. So, are you really going to fuck me in the rain?” Dylan forced a shrug and an air of disinterest. His heart was beating double-time, still unsure of his survival rate.
“If it’s what you want,” Tyler agreed. He cut the ignition and the headlights. It wasn’t terribly dark yet, but it was getting there. Rain washed over the windshield. Tyler unclipped the seatbelt to slide across the bench seat toward him. He was glad that Dylan didn’t have any qualms about letting him kiss him. Dylan leaned into it, letting his fingers twist into Tyler’s hair. Wrapping his arm around Dylan’s waist, Tyler was reminded just how tiny the truck cab was.
“Take your clothes off in here.” Tyler pulled away. “I wouldn’t want them to get all wet.” He set to shrugging out of his own jacket and kicking off his sneakers and socks.
“Isn’t that going to get cold?” Dylan asked. The hesitation at the possibility of being murdered was suddenly replaced with the inane fear of getting a summer cold.
“I don’t know. Is it?” Tyler pulled his shirt over his head before turning to watch Dylan slowly begin to undress. His boots clunked on the floor of the truck. He peeled off damp socks, shoving them inside of the boot tops. He started to pull off his shirt, but got caught in to the tangle of chains around his neck.
“Here,” Tyler scooted close again, pushing Dylan’s hands away from the clasps, “let me help.” He took his time removing the necklaces. He tucked them safely away in the empty ashtray. Then he lifted Dylan’s fingers to kiss the tips and tug his few rings off with his teeth. He popped them into the slot as well. He rubbed his thumbs over the smooth underside of his wrist, usually covered by the rubber bracelets that slid down his arm.
“Keep these on.” He pressed his lips to his wrist before letting go to slide his jeans over his hips. He reached into the backseat to start fishing around in the bags for the lube and condoms he’d picked up.
“You came prepared?”
“I took a gamble that you were serious,” Tyler teased and pushed him lightly towards the door. “C’mon, finish up and we’ll go outside.”
A few moments later, they got their first decent looks at one another. Dylan wasn’t shy, and Tyler groaned taking in the view. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he appreciated him for an extra moment. Droplets of rain seemed to cling to his skin, traveling down the expanse to the south.
“Come on,” Tyler nodded him toward the tailgate. It wasn’t raining very hard, but it was already quite damp and slippery.
“This mud feels gross,” Dylan shivered. He let Tyler lift him by the hips up onto the end of the open tailgate. His hands rubbed against the teen’s thighs and he leaned forward for another kiss which Dylan gladly accepted. It wasn’t long before Tyler was overpowering him; not that he was putting up a fight. The truck shifted and creaked as he got up onto the truck bed and Tyler straddled his hips.
“You gonna fuck me or what?” Dylan asked, leaning up on his elbows. Tyler answered with a smile and set to work.