“Anyway, the tattoo, it’s… it’s a line drawing of a white ash tree. A couple months ago, when I… when I decided to go to wilderness, I slept under one of these trees for the first few nights,” I said.
I put my hand to my shoulder, touching the tattoo with my palm, knowing it was there, even though I couldn’t see it. I heard Max hum softly, but he let me speak.
“The first few nights sleeping in nature are hard for anyone,” I said. “But the first few days in wilderness, for me, were probably the most gutting thing I’d ever experienced. I didn’t just feel like I was ill-equipped for sleeping in nature, I felt ill-equipped for living, period. I’ve… I have fucked up so many times, Max, and no one knows that better than you do. And part of me, those first few nights, felt like I’d always just be that same fuckup. I cried for an hour or more before falling asleep. Cried because I was uncomfortable, cried because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, cried because I had never felt so alone.”
I pulled in a sharp breath of air, closing my eyes for a moment.
“But as the days passed, and every night I came back to that same white ash, it seemed like my feelings started to matter less and less. It didn’t matter if I felt like shit if I had hiked eleven miles that day. I was too exhausted, and eventually when it got time to sleep, it was lights out as soon as my head hit the terrible little sleeping bag pillow. None of my feelings went away, it’s just… they weren’t winning out over sleep, anymore. And soon, even when I was awake and fully aware in the daytime, the feelings and cravings started to take more and more of a backseat. I felt like I’d discovered an armor within myself that I’d never known was available to me. And… I swear, in the last week of wilderness, sleeping under that tree felt like home. I wasn’t searching for anything—not a person, not a tall glass of something alcoholic—there was no reason to search because I already had everything I needed.”
I took in a long, shaky breath, opening my eyes again. A puffy cloud passed over the sun, briefly giving respite from the sun, before moving out of the way. There was still so much residual adrenaline in me, though, that I barely felt the sun’s heat.
Finally, I looked back at Max. When I met his eyes, he reached out a hand, putting it on my thigh. I didn’t know what I saw in his eyes, but it certainly wasn’t something I’d ever seen before. He wasn’t at all looking at me like he had on the day he’d told me to get out of his life. This was something new.
“Thank you,” was all he said, squeezing my thigh gently. “For telling me this.”
I nodded, swallowing. I took another deep breath. “I’m so not used to it,” I said, shaking my head. “I am used to being open about everything, having my life and myself on display for whoever wants to see them. But this is the first time I’ve ever really felt… protective,” I said. “My experience was the most important thing I’ve ever done. And to me, that’s worth protecting.”
“I understand,” Max said. “Thank you for… for trusting me enough to share it with me.”
“I trust you with anything, Max.”
His hand squeezed again on my thigh. I felt equally overwhelmed and at peace. Max somehow had been making me feel like that a lot over the past twenty-four hours.
“I know I’ve told you so many times that I’m going to get better, and it’s never been true… but this time is actually different. I feel different at my core. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about wilderness sooner, but I wanted to make sure that you would really know that. That you could feel how different things are now.”
“Things definitely feel different,” Max said. “Owen, I could see from the minute I saw you that things were different. You seem… changed. In a good way, of course.”
I puffed out a small laugh, letting some tension go. “You sure it’s in a good way?”
“Of course, you weirdo,” he said, smiling a little.
“How do I seem different?”
Max shrugged, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I don’t know… there’s… I mean, there are the obvious physical differences.”
I cocked my head to one side. “Huh?”
He glanced at me sidelong. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“The tattoo?” I asked.
“No, no, not just the tattoo,” he said. He took his hand away from my thigh and pulled at a thread on his own shorts. “I don’t know. You’re more muscular. I guess from all the exercise. And… your skin is all golden and tan, like you’ve been outside a lot.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, looking down at my arm. “I guess you’re right. God, it didn’t even occur to me, believe it or not.”
“You look really good,” Max said, his voice quiet. “Better than ever.”
A smile crept over my face. “I can’t believe you’d notice something like that,” I said.
“Of course,” he said quietly.
I didn’t know why it meant so much to me, but for some reason, Max’s compliment was the nicest thing I’d heard in weeks.
It meant so much that it almost scared me. Like it meant too much, like Max’s approval was the only approval I cared about at all. For a moment I was silent, unsure what to do with the sudden flow of emotion.
But then I did what I knew how to do best: be a silly idiot. I stood up and flexed my arms like a bodybuilder, putting on a ridiculously over-the-top intense face. Max laughed, and I lowered my voice to a deep growl. “You like my muscles, eh, Max? You think I’m really buff and strong? You don’t wanna mess with me, Max Anderson. I tell you what. I can pin you right to the ground.”
Max was laughing hard now, and for a few moments, I flexed in various poses.
“Stop it! God, you’ve gotta stop,” Max said between fits of laughter. “I get it. You have an amazing body.”
When his eyes traveled along my body, I couldn’t help but bask in it. For some reason, I loved having his eyes on me. Maybe it was just that I’d been away from him for so long, or that I’d thought maybe I’d never get to be around him again. Of course it felt good to have him watching me, admiring me. Nothing could feel better than Max’s praise.
“The girls at the beach will love that,” Max said, squinting.
For some reason, the idea sounded absurd. The last thing I wanted to do at the beach was impress random girls.
“Not for the ladies,” I said in the deep voice. “Just for you, Mr. Anderson.”
“Okay, alright, stop showing off,” Max said with a laugh, drifting his eyes over me one more time before meeting my eyes again. “I haven’t been to the gym in three days, and I already feel insecure enough about it.”
“Oh, shut up,” I said, taking a step closer toward him where he still sat on the bench. I ran my hand along his chest and abs, giving him a squeeze. “You still have the same perfect body you always have.”
He watched my fingers as I ran them along his bicep, still smiling but watching me closely. “Perfect body? Not quite.”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “I’m sure every gay guy who sees you wants to get down on his knees for you right on the spot. Don’t act like you aren’t hot, Max.”
Something flashed in his eyes for a split second—maybe shock, maybe something else—before he puffed out a laugh. “No gay guys have wanted me since before New Year’s. They don’t want some guy who works sixty hours a week, good body or not.”
I took a deep breath, leaning back. “Well then, they’re missing out,” I said. “Just like you’ve been missing out on these… monster muscles,” I said, flexing like an idiot while he burst out laughing again.
“Nobody told me there was a gun show happening at this rest stop,” Megan said as she walked up to us, looking at me like I was an idiot. “Ooh! Nice tattoo, by the way. Owen, it’s beautiful.”
“Why thank you,” I said. “It’s my lucky tree. What did you get at the store?”
She reached down to the overstuffed plastic bag she held in her hand. “Bunch of water bottles, some bottled
coffee in case we get tired, and Starburst. Because we just always need Starburst.”
“All the pink ones are mine,” I said.
“Bullshit,” Max said, “you have to share them with me.”
“You’ll have to keep up pace with me, then,” I said.
“Take all the pink ones you want; red is the true best color,” Megan said as we started to walk back to the car.
“Ew,” Max said, shaking his head. “How does my twin sister have such bad taste? Do we even share the same genes?”
“C’mon,” I said, “we gotta get back on the road. Patrick always gets there first and steals the best bed.”
“I’m sure he’s the only one who needs a nice bed,” Max said. “Isn’t Taran a millionaire? I’m sure he’s used to much nicer beds than the ones at the beach house.”
“Taran’s a millionaire now, but he certainly wasn’t always. He’ll be fine. Me on the other hand… I sleep a full nine hours nowadays, and I need a good bed.”
We piled into the car.
“Only got a couple hours left to go, and they’ll be damn hot ones,” Megan said as she got back in on the driver’s side.
“We’re gonna be hopping straight in the ocean as soon as we get there, anyway,” I said. “We’re having fun tonight, no matter what.”
“Really? You’re not gonna be too tired?” Max asked from the back seat, grinning at me.
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Just because I don’t drink anymore doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Max. I’m still crazy.”
Max was still smiling, still had the same dimple on the right side that he’d had since freshman year. Why hadn’t I noticed that more when I’d been living with him? Was I always either too drunk or too hungover? Or was I just too blind to see it?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“What?” I asked. I’d forgotten what we were even talking about.
“That you’re ‘still crazy,’” he replied.
“All it means is I can still party even when I’m sober. I haven’t forgotten all my best dance moves. Or how to make you streak naked outside on a dare.”
Max laughed, covering his face with his hands. “God, I can’t believe you got me to do that.”
“That’s the secret, Max,” I said, turning back toward the front as Megan pulled back onto the highway. “You’re just as crazy as I am. You just hide it better.”
4
Max
Unlike Owen’s family home, the beach house was exactly as I would have expected. It looked like every quintessential beach home rental that I’d seen in the movies: modest from the front, nice hardwood floors and big windows that looked out to the back. And the back of the house was the real focal point. It looked out over the beach, only a handful of yards of sand separating the house from the ocean waves. A narrow wooden path led to the small embankment of plants and sand, and then the ocean was just beyond, stretching out to infinity, puffy white clouds hovering above.
There were a few people from neighboring houses already on the beach when we arrived, but nothing insane. Nothing like the crowded beaches I’d been to in Long Island. This whole place seemed to move at a slower pace—as we’d driven in, the small town of Pearlview Beach was like a place transported straight here from the 1950s.
I was hot from the long ride with no air conditioning, but the breeze by the beach cooled me nearly instantly, the sea-salt smell filling the air.
After we checked out the back of the house for a few minutes, Megan and I returned to the car and brought our bags inside.
“I told you guys,” Owen said as we came up the stairs. “Patrick stole the best bed. We all get our own rooms, but Patrick got the top floor.”
I made my way down the hallway on the second floor and peeked into one of the three empty rooms.
“Holy shit, Owen, are you kidding me?” I said. “This place is gorgeous.”
Owen came up behind me as I laid my bags on the ground and walked over to the window. Every room had a beach view.
“You make a fair point,” Owen said as he and Megan joined me, looking outside. “I never really realized how good the views are. We always rent one of the same three houses, and this one was always my favorite.”
“Found your rooms?” Ruth said, popping her head into the doorframe. She was already in full vacation regalia, a flowing white sundress and sandals. The afternoon light covered all of us in a faint glow, and for a second I felt like I was in a movie.
“This place is amazing, Ruth,” I said, turning toward her.
“It really is,” Megan said. “Thank you again, so much, for letting us come.”
“It’s absolutely my pleasure,” Ruth said with a warm smile. “Owen’s about ten times happier with you here.”
“What’s the schedule for tonight?” I asked. “Anything we can help with?”
She snorted, looking at Owen. “Isn’t he funny?” she said before turning back to me. “No schedule for tonight, sweetheart. You can relax! This is vacation, not work.”
Ruth caught up with Megan for a few more minutes about the car ride while I unpacked a few things from my bag. Ruth had caught me red-handed asking about the night’s schedule. I wasn’t used to vacations or relaxation at all, and even though we’d only been at the beach for a short while, I already wasn’t sure what to do.
At my own house growing up, there was never really relaxation time. True relaxation only came after my parents fell asleep. In the daytime, Megan and I always had to be “building our skills” somehow—even if we were watching TV, it always had to be an educational channel. There was no downtime; there was always a class we could be studying for.
I didn’t get the impression that Owen grew up that way. He’d already made his way to his own room and was now lounging on the bed.
“Comfy enough?” I asked.
He nodded. “I know you are going to make fun of me for this,” Owen said, “but I’m actually going to take a thirty-minute cat nap.”
“You take naps nowadays?” I asked, incredulous.
“I know. I know, Max,” Owen said, shaking his head. “But it was a hot car ride! And I have a room with an open window and the sea breeze blowing in. How can I pass that up?”
“Owen is a genius, and I think I’m going to do the exact same thing in my room,” Megan said, appearing in the hallway.
Not only was I at the beach, but I was at the beach and fending for myself—I wasn’t a napping type and certainly wasn’t about to fall asleep right now.
“I’m gonna go check out the beach,” I said. “Enjoy your naps, you weirdos.”
“You’re the weirdo for not loving them,” Owen said, giving me a wink before stifling a yawn. He pulled off his shirt again, and I ducked out of the room before I could fixate on his newly formed muscles yet again.
As I headed out toward the water, sand compacting under my feet, I kept remembering the image of Owen’s tattoo. The black lines had been so striking against his tan skin. Owen had always said that he’d never be able to think of what he’d want in a tattoo, and yet he’d so quickly gotten this one.
It was just another symbol of how much he really had changed.
When I’d lived with him, his presence was just a given. I hadn’t paid attention to his clothes or his daily activities, certainly not the way his muscles looked.
But over the past day, I’d been going a little bit nuts. Earlier today Owen had dragged his fingers along my skin, talking about my “perfect” body. It was ridiculous, of course—I worked out, but I wasn’t any model. Having Owen’s hands on me, exploring me, had felt better than it should have, though. If he’d been anyone else—if he’d been some guy I’d met at a bar—I would have thought he was flirting. I probably would have flirted back, too, and had trouble not getting a little hard.
For God’s sake. Flirting, getting hard. What was wrong with me? This was Owen, this was my friend, and he was straight. There was no realm in which Owen and I would be flirti
ng, and certainly no use in getting hard twice in one day because of some weird physical reaction to his proximity.
Part of me felt deeply guilty, and another just thought I was going nuts.
I reached the water as it lapped gently onto the sand. The waves washed under my feet and then back out again, pulling some sand with them every time. I bent to pick up a shiny, silvery shell, examining it before tossing it out into the sea.
I meandered aimlessly, like a caged animal who’d been let out and didn’t know what to do with its newfound freedom. I picked up a few more shells as I walked along the water, and as I was getting ready to toss them out again, I saw Patrick walking up behind me.
“Not joining the nap club?” Patrick asked, coming up to my side.
I shook my head. “Can’t do it. I’m just not a napper.”
“Me either,” he said, looking out over the water and squinting. You could certainly tell that he was Owen’s brother—they had the same bone structure and similar hair color—but after that, the similarities lessened. Owen’s hair was more unruly, and he had a darker set of lashes. Owen’s eyes always looked full of mischief, like he had something special waiting just for you. It was a problem, and was partly why Owen was so good at getting me to do what he wanted. I couldn’t say no when he gave me his signature look. He held a power over me.
But Patrick just looked calm.
“I honestly wish I could take a nap,” I said. “It always seems like other people are so much better at relaxing than I am. I’m sure people would just say I work too hard, usually.”
“I’ve got bad news for you,” Patrick said with a small smile.
“What?”
“You probably do work too hard.”
I sighed, looking out at the water. “I know.”
“I only say that because I learned it the hard way this year. I have the workaholic bug too—spent all my time managing my bar, barely sleeping, having no personal hobbies. But I almost missed out on so many amazing things because of it.”
“Really?”
Summer Secret: Rose Falls Book 5 Page 5