by MC Lee
“I’m sorry about Saturday night. I was a dick.”
Noah’s smile was only a little strained. “Hey, you’re dealing with a lot. I have no right to judge—”
“You called bullshit. You were right.” I pulled in a deep breath and made a conscious decision to be the friend he deserved. Even if that meant sharing things I’d never told anybody else. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anybody on my side. I’ve forgotten how to trust. It’s my own shit that gets in the way. I know you’re just trying to help.”
I didn’t promise him I was going to change, that I’d seen the light, that I was a reformed character. It was a lie we’d both see through. But I was glad he didn’t think too badly of my cowardice.
My eyes held his, and for a long moment we just looked at each other. I wasn’t sure who moved first, or if we moved together, but the space between us melted away as his soft lips found mine, or mine found his.
He tasted of spearmint gum, and when he probed my mouth tentatively with his tongue, I opened to him with a stifled groan. He reached up to cup the back of my head and hold me still as his tongue played against mine. I hadn’t realized how far I’d leaned into his touch until he pulled back with a sigh.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked.
I didn’t answer with words. I just gathered my books together and shoved them into my backpack. Noah hurried to do the same, and when the table was cleared, he stood up and silently led the way out.
Luck was on our side as we slipped out the back door and dashed toward the parking lot. We didn’t see anybody who might stop us or ask awkward questions. Neither of us spoke as Noah drove the Jeep out of school and turned north toward his house.
I kept my eyes glued on the passing landscape, not knowing what to say to break the intense silence. Everything that jumped into my head seemed trite and unnecessary. Noah maybe felt the same, because he didn’t say anything either.
Ten minutes later, we pulled into his driveway and he cut the engine. I climbed out and followed him into the cool marble foyer, jumping when he tossed his keys into a bowl on top of a beautiful Japanese chest of drawers, the clatter jangling my taut nerves. My breath caught when Noah slipped his hand in mind and tugged me toward the staircase, but I let myself be pulled along behind him until we reached his room, stepped inside, and shut the door firmly, the noise echoing through the empty house.
He looked into my eyes and then inclined his head. “You want to do this, Emmett?”
My throat felt suddenly dry as I nodded wordlessly. Noah knew more about me than anybody on earth right now, and he still wanted me. I couldn’t put into words how much that meant.
“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” I whispered.
His answer was to gently push me up against the door and lean forward slowly, his lips unerringly finding mine. I let myself relax and get lost in the softness, in the clean taste of mint and the hard press of his body against mine. I groaned when he eased back a step, but it was only so he could grab the bottom of my T-shirt and pull it up over my head before dropping it on the floor and swooping back in for a kiss.
While he plundered my mouth, I felt his hands smooth meandering paths all over my chest, making my skin tingle. Without breaking our kiss, I tugged at his polo shirt and eased it up over his shoulders, pulling back from his mouth only long enough to rip the shirt off him and drop it onto the floor beside my own.
His warm skin felt incredible against mine, and I ran my hands up and down the muscles on his back, relishing the way he moaned into my mouth and tried to meld our bodies even closer. I stumbled after him when he pulled my arm, steering me toward his bed, and we tumbled down onto it and rewrapped ourselves around each other in a tangle of intertwined arms and legs.
I could feel his arousal when he rolled on top of me, pressing our groins together with a twitch of his hips. I hadn’t felt another person’s hand on my prick for months, and I arched off the bed with a muffled groan when Noah popped open the top button of my jeans and worked his hand down between us. His fingers closed around me, and he shifted sideways so he could grasp me more firmly. As he worked me with confident strokes, he thrust himself against my hip bone, bringing us both off in rush of stuttering breath and grunted profanities.
He dropped his head onto my chest with a loud sigh, and we lay together, sweaty, sated, our shallow breathing slowly returning to normal. I could have stayed like this indefinitely—the warm sun slanting through the window and creeping slowly up my legs, Noah’s hand still cupped around my softening dick, the house an oasis of quiet calm. But when Noah moved, I let him go.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, and I was relieved when he reached for my hand and laced our fingers together.
“Your dad doesn’t know you’re gay, does he?”
His voice was tentative, but it was a question I couldn’t avoid.
“No. Jamie was the only one I actually told. Although I’m pretty sure my mom figured it out.”
“The kids at school know.”
I made an enormous effort and dragged myself into a sitting position. I looked down to find his head tipped back and his eyes on me.
“I never told any of them. But I never denied it when they asked. Word got around.”
Noah hadn’t let my hand go, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It didn’t get back to your dad?”
I inclined my head and studied Noah’s expression, wondering all over again at his innocence. “None of the kids who talk to him would snitch. And the kind of kids who might tell are not the ones who would ever talk to a townie.” I shrugged. “That’s just the way it is in Whitmore.”
I watched as Noah pondered the information. “I can’t tell if you want us to hide.”
I closed my eyes briefly, glad he was talking about “us” as though we were a thing. “I’m not asking you to lie for me.” I smiled sheepishly. “Not about this, anyway. I don’t give a rat’s ass who knows about us at school.”
“But you won’t tell your dad?” he said.
I shook my head. “Why bother? He’ll have a meltdown, and then he’ll just forget. He has enough to deal with.”
I hoped like hell Noah wouldn’t press me. If he insisted on being totally out, I didn’t know what I’d do. Dad wasn’t the most tolerant of people at the best of times, and I wasn’t sure what Mrs. Sweeney would say if she found out—but I didn’t hold out much hope that she would embrace the experience.
Noah looked as though he wanted to say something more, but then he just smiled ruefully. “You have enough shit to put up with. I’ll do whatever you want.” He tugged my arm, and I toppled down onto him, laughing as I went.
“We should probably try to sneak back to school before last period,” he said. “Shower?”
I dropped a kiss onto his upturned lips and pressed our joined hands against my reawakening cock. “Why don’t we get a little messier first?”
I HAD never been a boyfriend before, and I didn’t know how to be one now. Sure, Cal and I had screwed like proverbial rabbits, but we’d never considered ourselves in a relationship. It was just sex as an extension of friendship. We convinced ourselves that it was nobody’s business but our own—and neither of us took much convincing. We didn’t want to run the gauntlet of smirking faces and casual name-calling, to be the faggots on the football team, to tough out the taunts every time we walked into the locker room.
When we stopped the thing between us, exhausted by how hard it was to be ourselves, I’d occasionally hooked up with random boys, but with none of the ties that go along with something serious or permanent. And since Jamie had died, I’d been as celibate as a monk, too heartsick with loss and too exhausted from caring for Dad. Not the best record for learning what it meant to incorporate somebody else into my life.
I didn’t know what to say or do, whether it was okay to sit next to Noah in the classes we shared or save a seat for him in the cafeteria. I definitely knew holding h
ands in the hallways and smooching beside our lockers was a no-no. It was fine for the straights, but nobody at Whitmore High was progressive enough to accept the same behavior from the gay kids, despite our budding Gay-Straight Alliance that met every Tuesday after school, whose earnest meetings I studiously avoided.
I didn’t know how to be a boyfriend—but Noah did. He knew when it was acceptable to fling an arm around my neck as we walked between classes, when it was okay to smile at me across the classroom, how close we could sit on the cafeteria bench seats without provoking jeers He knew how to deflect Foster’s crass comments and change the subject when it got too uncomfortably intrusive. He knew what to wear, what to say, how to just be.
Nobody gave him shit about being gay. Nobody called him names under their breath or got up and moved away from him in class. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was rich and gay, or Noah and gay. And in the end, I didn’t care. Being with him made my life easier in so many different ways. I was no longer late for school nine times out of ten. I had a place in the lunchroom that made my former tablemates wide-eyed with envy. My schoolwork improved, my grades started to slowly climb, and people who had avoided me because I was such a dick, now went out of their way to include me.
It was as close to normal as I’d felt in a very long time.
Chapter Fourteen
THE DAY of Jamie’s funeral had been surreal.
It felt like the whole neighborhood had gathered in the small Catholic church of St. Jude’s to watch the show. Nobody, not a single person who attended, had commented on the bruise that purpled my cheek. It didn’t bother me. For one thing I hadn’t expected them to—we just weren’t that kind of people—but, more importantly, it was a badge I was proud to wear.
The day of the service, Dad had been roused out of his catatonic state long enough to take one look at me and roar, “For God’s sake, clean yourself up! Show some fucking respect.”
I’d dug my heels in. “This is how Jamie knew me. Fuck you, I’m not cutting my hair.”
His fist had flashed out, catching me unprepared. He’d been so morose and sluggish, I’d made the stupid mistake of thinking he was harmless. I’m not sure what would have happened if Frank and the rest of Dad’s friends hadn’t stepped in to hold him back.
“This isn’t the time to fight amongst yourselves,” Frank said sharply. “Emmett, think of your poor mother.”
It was a low blow, and typical of these men. They didn’t give a damn one way or the other for their own wives, they treated their kids with barely disguised contempt, and yet they felt they knew better than I did what my family was going through.
Mom was sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by the wives and girlfriends, her expression washed clean of all pain. I’d seen one of the women hand her a pill when they’d arrived early in the morning and watched as she slipped into an almost serene state of oblivion.
In the end I’d compromised, scraping my long hair into a ponytail, grimly satisfied that the bruise Dad had raised was more noticeable with my hair out of the way, though all that pettiness drained away when the hearse pulled up outside the house and I realized with shame and dread that Jamie had finally come home.
I thought of that now as I knocked on Mrs. Sweeney’s door, my hands busily tucking my hair into an elastic band to keep it out of the way for the work I was about to do for her.
When she opened the door and looked at me, she started in surprise, and I instantly knew what she’d seen.
“You look so much like your brother,” she said, confirming my guess.
I smiled as she stood aside to let me in. “Getting his head shaved was one of the things he hated about the Army. He was a vain bast—idiot.”
I managed to change the swearword just in time, although Mrs. Sweeney frowned, knowing what I’d been about to say. She was old school and hated bad language, and I had to work hard to watch my mouth when I was around her.
“Well, he had good reason,” she said, letting my near-slip pass. “The Callaghan boys were always very easy on the eye.”
I felt my cheeks warm as I blushed to the roots of my hair.
“I often spoke to your mother about the beautiful grandchildren she’d have one day. I guess it’s up to you now to make that dream come true.”
I was glad she’d turned away to lead me into the kitchen and didn’t see the way her words made me flinch.
“Have you heard from her?” Mrs. Sweeney asked.
“The usual,” I mumbled.
I hadn’t been exactly honest with her when Mom up and left, although she knew more than most. I’d maintained the fiction that Mom was getting her head together and that she’d return to us when she felt stronger. Mrs. Sweeney wasn’t a stupid woman, and as the months passed with no sign of Mom’s return, I felt sure she would call bullshit. But she chose to believe my story, maybe because she couldn’t conceive of anything else. She belonged to a generation that had toughed it out, no matter how bad things got, and I suspected she considered Mom’s desertion weak and spineless. I pretended Mom called in on a regular basis, checking on me and Dad, though the truth was I hadn’t spoken to her once since she’d left.
“Well, tell her I was asking about her,” Mrs. Sweeney said. “Are you sure you have the time to help? I could always call a plumber—”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I like to help out. It’s the least I can do.”
She’d called an hour earlier asking if I could take a look at her kitchen sink, which was draining sluggishly. I’d been only too glad to come over. With everything she did for me, it was one small way I could repay her endless kindness, and I was always happy to help when I could.
Mr. Sweeney’s old toolbox was sitting on the kitchen table, filled with good quality tools for every imaginable household job. I selected a couple, and after running the tap and fiddling with the plug, I pulled open the door under the sink.
“Let me get you a towel or something,” Mrs. Sweeney said.
While she disappeared upstairs, I emptied the cupboard of cleaning supplies, a box of rat poison, and a pink plastic bowl, and by the time she came back and laid a threadbare bath towel on the floor for me to lie on, I had already loosened the P trap and located the blockage.
“It’s at times like this I miss Ed the most,” Mrs. Sweeney said, her voice muffled but distinct. “Are you still seeing your girlfriend?”
I mumbled something I hoped sounded like assent.
“It’s nice for a boy your age to date. Just don’t get too serious. You’re way too young to settle down.”
“No chance, Mrs. S.”
“There’s plenty of time for all that,” Mrs. Sweeney continued blithely.
I let her chatter on, adding a few grunts at what I hoped were appropriate places. When I’d finished and the sink drained freely, I found a glass of warm, oversweet lemonade pressed into my hand.
“Can I do anything else for you?” I asked.
She cupped my cheek, her bony fingers warm and rough. “You’re such a good boy, Emmett.”
I smiled, even though I didn’t agree with her. Jamie and I had been pretty mean back in the day, sniggering behind her back when she used to visit Mom, secretly agreeing with Dad when he called her a nosy bitch. I was embarrassed now at what a dick I’d been, especially after everything she had done for me.
“Just let me know if you need anything,” I said.
“When are you taking your young lady out again?”
I was already halfway out the door, but I stopped and turned my head.
“I’m not sure. It depends on how Dad’s doing.”
I was hoping she wouldn’t keep talking about my “girlfriend.” I was trying my best to avoid an outright lie, but she wasn’t making it easy.
“Did you meet her at school?” she asked. “What’s her name?”
Shit!
I managed to pull up a smile. “I don’t want to jinx it, Mrs. S. I’ll tell you everything if we manage to make it through
the next couple of months.”
“Just treat her right, Emmett,” Mrs. Sweeney said. A shadow crossed her face before she added, “You’ve seen enough to know how things can go wrong.”
“That’s never going to happen to me,” I said fervently. “You can take that to the bank.”
I’D STOPPED going to pep rallies months ago, right about the time I realized there wasn’t much in my life I wanted to cheer about. But hanging out with Noah had mellowed me, and on Thursday afternoon I found myself sitting in the bleachers and watching Whitmore High’s football team trot onto the field to raucous applause.
Even over the loud cheers and stamping feet, I could hear Hannah shouting for her brother. I turned my head to pinpoint her, only to find she was making her way through the crowd toward me. She plopped herself down on the bench beside me, ignoring the muttered complaints of the kids who had to move to make way for her.
“How’s it going, Emmett?” she asked breezily.
“Pretty okay. You?”
She gave an airy wave. “Hunky-dory. When are you coming back to our house? My parents ask Noah all the time.”
My gut tightened, and I had to force myself to relax. “Soon, I hope.”
She sent me a curious sidelong glance that did nothing to ease my tension. “You’re not like Noah’s other boyfriends.”
I swallowed. “No? What were they like?”
She considered the question for a moment. “I don’t know. Not as serious as you. Not as… unhappy.” She frowned. “Not unhappy exactly. Maybe stressed out. Noah doesn’t talk about you the way he talked about them.”
“How does he talk about me?” I wasn’t sure, even as I asked the question, that I wanted to hear the answer. I’d already learned that Hannah didn’t mince words.
“Like you’re an adult,” she said promptly. “You guys never do any of the fun things he used to do with his old boyfriends. You never go out or anything. I suppose it’s because you’re poor.”