by Marie Sexton
“I’ll be there.”
“Are you planning on inviting Cherie?”
He shook his head at me, as if I’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good weekend?”
Chapter 11
HE POUNDED on my door at seven thirty on Friday morning. Of course I was still in bed.
“Jesus Christ,” I groaned as I let him in. “When I said early, I didn’t mean at the buttcrack of fucking dawn.” I’m not good at being cheery before nine o’clock.
He didn’t quite laugh but was obviously amused. His eyes crinkled at the sides a bit, and he smacked me playfully on the back of the head. “What are you talking about? The sun’s been up for almost two hours now.”
“Oh man, I hate morning people.” I went into the kitchen and started making coffee. “For the record, ‘early’ means ‘before lunch.’”
That actually made him laugh. I had now heard him laugh exactly two times. And yes, I was counting.
We went out for breakfast first and then started getting our gear together.
“Make sure you pack plenty of warm clothes,” I told him.
“What do I need warm clothes for? It’s summer.”
“We’re gonna be camping at over ten thousand feet. It’ll be cold when the sun goes down, believe me.”
“Where exactly is the campground?” Matt asked suspiciously.
I laughed. “I said we were going camping, but we’re going somewhere better than any campground.”
By eleven o’clock, we were on our way. He followed my directions into the national forest, then onto a dirt road, and from there, onto a rocky four-wheel-drive track, our ears popping as we climbed in elevation. The narrow trail switchbacked up the side of the mountain. The ground rose sharply up on our left and dropped just as quickly on the right.
Matt glanced around us with obvious skepticism. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
I grinned over at him. “Trust me.”
I showed him where to pull off the side of the road—there was just enough room to get the Jeep off the trail—and we started unloading. He still looked skeptical.
“We’ll probably have to make two trips,” I said as I handed him the cooler.
“How far are we walking?”
“Not far. It’s sort of steep, though, so don’t try to carry too much at once. The shitty part is carrying it back up here on Sunday.”
He followed me down the hill through bushes and trees. There wasn’t much of a path, but I didn’t need one. We went down about a hundred yards to where the ground leveled off, and then turned right until we reached a small clearing.
Not many people knew about our spot. My family had been coming here since I was a kid, and the location was a secret we guarded jealously. We had teased Brian that we knew he was going to marry Lizzy when he finally brought her for the first time.
We had a large firepit with rocks Brian and I had collected piled about a foot high around it. We had benches, made by my father and grandfather from old logs. Some families have second homes. This was ours.
I dropped my gear and just stood there, soaking it in. One of the large rocky abutments like the one Matt and I had climbed the day we met loomed to our right. To our left, the river. Well, in Colorado, it’s a river. In most of the rest of the country, it would probably be called a stream. My grandpa called it a creek (he pronounced it “crick”). It’s about fifteen feet to the opposite bank, only two or three feet deep but rushing fast over its rocky bed. In places, you could cross on the giant rocks without getting your feet wet as long as you didn’t slip on the wet stone. The sun blazed through the trees. The water splashed off the rocks, creating hundreds of tiny prisms over the river. Our side of the stream was mostly evergreens, but directly across from us stood a grove of aspens, leaves rustling in the breeze.
I stood and let the feeling of that place fill me. I’ve often wondered if this was what religious people feel when they pray. It’s a feeling of reverence and awe, serenity and belonging. The light breeze, the smell of the forest, the rushing water, the whispering leaves—they seem to fill me, like my soul is opening up and being swept clean. It’s the only thing in my life I could call spiritual.
Behind me, Matt said, “Jared, this is amazing.”
“It’s my favorite place in the world.” I knew that sounded childish, but it was true.
“You were right. It’s definitely better than any campground.”
We set up camp, then spent some time hiking and biking, and cooked hot dogs over the fire for dinner. As the sun went down, we built the fire up higher and started adding layers of warmer clothes. We never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Finally, long after sunset, we let the fire die down to crackling crimson coals and leaned back in our chairs, staring up at the billions of stars that could never be seen in town. The moon was barely a sliver, and the Milky Way was a bright luminescent stripe above us.
Matt’s voice in the dark said, “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“Thanks for coming.”
We finally headed into the tent. We’d debated bringing two, but they were all large tents, and in the end, space in the Jeep was limited, so we’d agreed to share one.
“This is always the worst part,” I said as I stripped down to my boxers. “The trick is to get undressed and into your bag as fast as possible.”
“Are you crazy?” he asked. “It’s so cold.”
“You’ll be warmer in your bag without your clothes,” I told him as I climbed into my bag. “That way, it’s just your body warming the bag, and the bag warming you. The layers of clothes get in the way. Of course, it’s hell when you have to pee in the night. But you’ll be warmer. Trust me.” I was all zipped up now, starting to feel toasty and already getting drowsy. “You can leave your thermals on if you want.” I yawned. “Weren’t you a Boy Scout?”
“No. We never stayed anywhere long enough.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “I think this is just a ploy to get me naked.”
I laughed. “You’re right. In fact, it’s going to be so cold tonight, our only hope for survival is for you to share my bag.”
He laughed a little at that too, but then he pulled his shirt off, and it was all I could do not to stare. His body was amazing, just as I’d always imagined: strong and lean and heavily muscled. There was no hair on his chest but a little around his navel. From there, a narrow trail led south, disappearing into the waistband of his sweats. I could picture all too clearly the thick black hair that trail led to. Suddenly the idea of him sharing my bag, although it had been a joke, was foremost in my mind. I couldn’t help but imagine having his smooth skin against mine, letting my fingers follow that trail to the thicker hair below. My body was reacting in a way that would have horrified him, and I was glad I was hidden by my sleeping bag.
I closed my eyes while he undressed the rest of the way. No need to torment myself any more than I already had. He climbed into his bag and zipped it up, and then the lantern went off.
It was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Jared?”
“Hmmm?”
“Good night.”
I had embarrassingly erotic dreams about him all night and woke up crazy horny in the morning. He was already up, and I took advantage of the empty tent to alleviate my predicament as quickly and quietly as I could. Once I was up and dressed and made it outside, I was happy to find he’d made coffee. He gave me the pseudo-grin as he handed me a cup of it.
“What’s so funny?” I asked him.
“You talk in your sleep.”
Oh shit. Of course, I knew I sometimes talked while dreaming. And I remembered all too clearly what I’d been dreaming about. I tried to sound casual as I asked, “What did I say?” I was hoping like hell it hadn’t been about him.
“You said, ‘Let me follow it,’ and I asked, ‘Follow what?’, and you said, ‘The trail.’”
I turned away so he couldn’t see me blush. “I was dreamin
g about mountain biking.”
Chapter 12
WE SPENT several weeks riding easy trails while he got the hang of mountain riding. He was in good shape, and what he lacked in skill, he made up for in endurance. Finally, in early August, we decided to try one of the more challenging trails.
The day was sweltering hot, without even a breeze to cool us off. My T-shirt clung to my sweating back. The ground was baked to hard dust, the stream crossings dried to bare trickles. It seemed like we were the only things moving in the entire forest. All the little critters were smart enough to stay in their cool, comfortable burrows.
We were halfway up the trail when he crashed behind me. By the time I stopped my bike and turned around, he was flat on his back on the dusty trail. Any worries that he might be injured were alleviated by the giant smile on his face. Not the pseudo-smile but a true, genuine, ear-to-ear grin. It was the first time I’d seen it, and it was like the sun finally emerging from behind the clouds.
“Holy shit, that hurt.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll live.” He sat up with a groan. “I think I’m getting old.” He eyed the huge scrape down the front of his shin. “Hey, look at that,” he said in amazement. “I’m bleeding.” I think the smile got bigger.
“It’s not a successful ride if you don’t bleed.”
“Oh really? Did you get that out of the Masochist Biking Club handbook?”
“Sure did. It’s rule number three.”
I took advantage of the break to try to get my hair back into a ponytail. Curls were escaping all over the place and falling in my face.
Matt stood up and inspected the damage to his leg. “The blood’s running down into my shoe.”
“Rub some dirt on it.”
“What?” He laughed, still wearing that gorgeous smile and looking at me like I was crazy.
“Rub some dirt on it. It’ll help stop the bleeding.”
“Is that out of the masochist handbook too?”
“I think it’s a baseball thing.”
“Okay, but if I end up with a raging infection and have to amputate my leg, I’m holding you responsible.”
“I’ll pay for your prosthetic.”
We made it to the top and stood looking down at the valley below us. He turned to me with that brilliant smile—that made twice I’d seen it, and it took my breath away. “The bike was definitely a good idea.”
We spent the rest of the summer together. I couldn’t remember ever being happier. It was nice to have a friend to hang out with. At times I couldn’t help but wish that it was more, but it was never enough to dampen my enthusiasm for spending time with him. Finally, I wasn’t alone. It was the best feeling in the world.
We went camping and mountain biking and geocaching. We went out to dinner or had dinner with Brian and Lizzy or just sat on my couch drinking beer and watching bad TV. Some nights we even cooked dinner at my house, and then he’d help me do the dishes afterward. It felt strangely domestic.
One afternoon I found an old Battleship game in the closet, and we spent several days challenging each other until he caught me cheating. In my family, cheating was always part of the fun, but my blatant disregard for the rules appalled him. He wouldn’t play again after that.
Most of his evenings and days off, he spent with me. I knew he occasionally went to Cherie’s house after leaving mine, but true to his word, he didn’t seem interested in pursuing anything else with her. He never mentioned her at all. The couple of times I halfheartedly suggested he invite her to join us, he looked at me like I had suggested the unthinkable. I didn’t mind.
Chapter 13
“I BROUGHT stuff to make nachos,” Matt said as he came in from the kitchen and handed me a beer.
“You’re making nachos?”
He gave me the pseudo-grin. “I thought you were making nachos.” I threw my bottle cap at him. He ignored it and looked over at the TV. “Preseason football? What’s the point?”
“It’s better than no football at all.”
“You know,” he said teasingly, “I don’t think gay guys are supposed to like football.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. But so far, nobody’s come by to revoke my ‘Gay Guys’ membership card.”
He laughed and then turned back to the TV. “The Cowboys and the Broncos? Damn, I might actually have to cheer for your Broncs on this one.”
I laughed. “Really? I’m amazed.”
“I always root against the Cowboys just to piss my dad off.”
“I forgot he was a Dallas fan. I’ll have to cheer against them from now on too, just on general principle.”
“Only one more week,” he said, and I knew exactly what he meant. We were counting down the days until regular season started. He was the first person I’d ever met, not counting my father and Brian, who was as excited about pro football as I was. He grinned at me. “And the week after that, we’ll be watching my Chiefs kicking ass all over your Broncos.”
As division rivals, our teams would play each other twice during the season. “We’ll see.”
“Loser buys dinner for a week.”
“Deal.”
He held up his beer, like a toast, but winced a little as he did.
“Are you still sore from that bike crash last week?”
“Yes. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except now I can’t sleep right. This morning I woke up with a huge knot in my shoulder. I think it’s a sign of impending old age.”
I said, without really thinking about it, “I can help you with that, you know.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, which meant he was almost laughing. “With old age?”
“No, smartass, with your shoulder.”
“How?”
He sat forward on the edge of the couch, so it was easy for me to get up and sit on the back of it behind him. “Take off your shirt.”
“What?” He twisted around and stared at me in horror like I had just suggested he strip naked and dance for quarters.
“Settle down.” I smacked him on the back of the head. “I’m good at this. I used to do it for my mom. She’d get knots in her shoulder from painting for hours at a time.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Look, you don’t need to feel weird about it or anything.” He looked skeptical. “I’m not making a pass at you, I swear.”
“Okay.” Maybe a little less skeptical now.
“It hurts, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So stop being freaked out and take off your shirt, you big baby. This will help. Trust me.”
There’s nothing like calling a big tough guy a baby to get him to do what you want. He thought about it for a second, then shrugged a little. “Okay.” He pulled his shirt off and turned back to the TV. “Nothing below the belt.” He said it so I knew it was at least halfway a joke, and I laughed.
“I promise.”
He was still sitting forward on the couch, not leaning back against me, which made it easier. His back was broad and muscular. It was certainly nothing like rubbing my mom’s small, lax shoulders, and I quickly started to appreciate how strong a person’s hands would have to be to do this for a living.
He was tense at first, but as I worked, he started to relax. His head fell forward, and he made a low rumbling sound almost like purring as I worked at the knot, carefully avoiding the huge bruise on the other side from our last bike ride. There was an old scar midway down his back, from his left side to just past his backbone. I’d seen it before but never asked him about it. I brushed one finger over it and felt him shudder a little.
“What happened?”
“I was climbing through a barbed-wire fence on my grandpa’s ranch.” He stopped short, and I thought he was done, but a second later he started talking again. “I was just a kid. It was Easter, and my mom had me dressed up in my nice clothes. I wasn’t supposed to go into the pasture, but I wanted to see the horses. I figured she wouldn’t ever
know, but I kind of tripped going through the fence and got caught on the wire. Ripped a huge hole in my new shirt and got blood all over my pants. I thought for sure my dad was going to tan my ass for that one.”
“He didn’t?”
“No. My mom sure was mad, but for some reason, my dad just laughed.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He was quiet for a second and then said quietly, “It was a long time ago.” And I knew by the way he said it that he didn’t want to talk about his dad anymore.
“Brian and I once knocked over the entire rack of bulk nails at the shop. Hundreds of loose nails, all different sizes, all over the floor. Maybe thousands, I don’t know. A fucking lot of nails, I know that much.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“Dad was pissed as hell, but my parents were always big on the idea of punishment fitting the crime.”
“So what happened?”
“We spent the next five hours picking them all up and sorting them back into the correct boxes. Customers would come in and see us and start to help, and my dad would say, ‘They made that bed of nails themselves, they can clean it up themselves too.’”
Matt laughed a little, and I kept rubbing. His skin was darker than mine and, except for the scar, completely flawless.
“Your grandpa has a ranch?”
“Had, past tense. It belonged to my mom’s parents, but they’re gone now, and the ranch went to my uncle, and he sold it. I had so much fun there as a kid with my cousins. But we didn’t go there often. My mom’s family never liked my dad much.” It seemed we kept coming back to his dad tonight without really meaning to. “For two years, we lived less than thirty miles away from them, and I got to see them almost every weekend. But then we moved again. We never stayed anywhere very long. The longest we stayed in one place was three years, ninth grade through my junior year. And then we moved again two weeks into my senior year. I hated it.”
“Is that why you didn’t join the military?”