Summer Secret

by Raleigh Ruebins

  “Fiiine,” Owen said, standing up to give Megan a big hug. “Hope you’re ready for tomorrow, though. Six-hour road trip with me and Max. I’m planning to sing Smash Mouth songs the entire way to the beach.”

  “Feel free,” Megan said, shrugging. “I’ll have just as much fun throwing you out the window. My car has an ejector seat, you know.”

  “God, my mom always used to say that to me,” Owen said, grinning.

  “G’night, guys,” Megan said. “Love you.”

  When Megan was gone across the hallway, Owen yawned, as if on cue. “You’re never gonna believe this, but I’ve been going to bed before ten o’clock every night the past month,” he said.

  “Whoa,” I said. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head. “Totally serious. I’m probably going to turn in soon, too, but you should just stay up here with me.”

  My eyes snapped to his. “Like, in your room?”

  He nodded, leaning back on the bed. As he leaned, the muscles in his arms flexed, and my eyes drifted down toward them. Why was I thinking about Owen’s body like that? He was my friend, and I’d never… examined him like I kept doing today. I forced myself to look back at his eyes, but I wasn’t sure how much better that was. His gaze somehow felt like it was penetrating through me, reminding me that with Owen, I couldn’t hide anything.

  “I know my mom said you could take the pull-out couch, but honestly, fuck that,” Owen said. “That thing is massively uncomfortable, and we’re going on a long road trip tomorrow. Just stay in my bed.”

  I nodded. “Okay, yeah,” I said.

  “It’ll be just like at New Years, except I won’t smell like the bottom of a whiskey barrel this time,” he said, winking.

  Owen and I had shared a bed many times, especially when we had parties and get-togethers at our apartment. Often other people would spend the night and end up in one of our beds, so we would be relegated to sharing a bed with each other. It had never seemed like a big deal at all—we were close, and Owen was never weird about the fact that I was gay and he wasn’t. A bed was just a place to sleep, and he and I were just friends.

  But the one difference was that most of the times we’d shared a bed before, we’d both been drunk. We’d passed out quick, barely even registering that we were next to each other.

  This may have been the first time ever that we’d share a bed while both sober. And I couldn’t quite pinpoint why that felt so different to me.

  I went to brush my teeth, changed into my soft sleep shorts and t-shirt, and headed back to the room. Owen was already under the covers on one side of the bed. As I entered the room, he grinned over at me, patting the empty side of the bed.

  “All yours, honey,” he said, laughing a little.

  I swore I blushed, even though it was a standard, silly Owen joke.

  “Well, thanks, darlin’,” I said, playing along. I quickly got under the covers, the sheets cool other than the faint heat radiating from his side of the bed. He turned off the light, letting out a long sigh.

  “G’night, Max,” he said.

  “Night,” I responded. My mind was running wild with how bizarre, how improbable this all was. Just a week ago, I thought I might never be friends with Owen again. I thought our friendship was better left in the past, that I couldn’t take the hurt of seeing him self-destruct any more.

  But now, it somehow seemed like that version of Owen was gone. I hadn’t seen him do a single self-destructive thing all night. Sure, he had a sadness that I couldn’t explain, but here we were in bed together, sober.

  And being sober next to him had the effect of making me keenly aware of his body. Every time he moved in bed, I perked up. I wondered if he felt weird lying next to me, if he was as aware of everything as I was.

  It was normally very hard for me to fall asleep. I worked sixty- to seventy-hour weeks a lot of the time, and when I got in bed, all that ran through my mind was work. I thought about clients I didn’t like, managers that I needed to set up meetings with, even how badly I needed to clean my desk at work.

  Tonight was the first time in months—maybe years—that none of that was on my mind.

  All I could think of was Owen. I watched his shadowed silhouette in the low light, listened as his breathing slowly became more even and heavy. I knew he was falling asleep. And I started to drift, too, lulled by him, relaxed by the sounds of the frogs and crickets outside. I felt like I was in some special reality, some magical place where my daily life didn’t apply.

  Like it was just me and Owen in the middle of the forest, breathing together, and none of our history together mattered.

  He murmured in his sleep, rustling under the covers, and in my half-asleep state, I sighed, turning my body to the side, facing him.

  “Mmm,” I heard him sigh. And then suddenly there was warmth coming closer to me, as Owen shimmied near, draping an arm around to my back and squeezing. “Missed you,” he said, his voice heavy, and then his even breathing resumed.

  I was fully awake again; my eyes shot open in the dark. He was practically hugging me in his sleep, and suddenly I was so aware of my own body and its proximity to his. If I leaned forward I could have kissed him; if he were a couple inches closer our bodies would be totally pressed together, knees touching, thighs touching, my cock resting right against his.

  It was absurdly fucking nice to just… touch someone, again.

  When I felt my cock beginning to stir under my shorts, my heart began to slam twice as fast and hard in my chest.

  Fuck. This was bad.

  I knew it was normal, that it was possible to have a purely physical reaction to human touch. Hell, I was gay, and I probably had gotten half-hard from a girl’s touch once or twice.

  But lying in bed near my best friend and feeling myself get harder by the second was a different story entirely. I knew it felt wrong, but I also couldn’t stop myself. My whole body felt like it was alight with electricity but also relaxed to the point of being out of my control.

  If I got too hard, would he be able to feel it? Was he that close to me? He was totally asleep, right?

  My mind was in overdrive, but I also felt paralyzed to move.

  It’s not because it’s Owen, I told myself. It’s just the touch of another guy. It’s a normal reaction to being close to anyone. Anyone who smells so good, feels so warm, fits so nicely against you.

  But I still felt somewhere between passing out from the guilt and wildly turned on. My cock was heavy between my legs, and I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like the tip was resting lightly against Owen’s thigh.

  He didn’t wake up, though. In fact, he started to snore, so gently, like he always used to do when he fell asleep next to me on the couch watching TV. This was normal. This was Owen, the Owen I knew.

  Clearly I just hadn’t been taking care of my sexual needs enough. I hadn’t slept with anyone in many months, maybe since before New Year’s. It was normal that my body would respond to the closeness of another man after being deprived for so long.

  Finally I began to relax. I was still hard, but I stopped worrying so much about it as drowsiness claimed me again.

  Everything’s fine, I thought as I drifted, listening again to the sounds of the outdoors, starting to fall into the liminal sleep-wake state again.

  When Owen moved again slightly, his thigh brushing along the length of my cock, I barely even worried about it. I was only half-aware, and the part of me that was aware only liked what I felt.

  Because it was too good to deny. Being close to someone I cared about—that part did make sense to me.

  So I let it happen. I stayed right where I was, cock pressed against Owen’s thigh and all. I fell asleep with his arm around me, and all I dreamed of was being in the forest with him by my side.

  3

  Owen

  “Check out that bus!”

  “What?”

  “Over there, that huge pink bus! How could you miss it?”

  I po
inted over at the right lane of the highway. There was a repurposed school bus that had been painted hot pink, with complex murals adorning its sides. The slogan “Live Your Life!” was written on the side of it as we passed it.

  “My question is, who the hell drives that kind of thing?” Megan said from the driver’s seat of the car. I leaned back, turning to look at Max in the back seat.

  “Max and I would totally drive that thing,” I said, grinning. “Can you imagine? Going down the highway in that, parking it on the beach, living our best lives?”

  Max was clearly trying to suppress a grin. He shook his head. “If I drove a school bus, it would definitely be painted neon green, not neon pink,” he said, looking back out at the highway.

  “Fair enough,” I said, turning back to face the front again. “Mine would be pink.”

  “Do either of you even like driving?”

  “Oh, God no,” I said. Max shook his head.

  “That’s why we have you, though,” Max said, flashing a cheesy smile at his sister.

  We’d been on the road for almost four hours, and the morning was starting to become the afternoon. It was the first time I’d been on a road trip like this in a long while. When I lived in the city, I had pretty much stayed in the city, except for the occasional bus back to Rose Falls. But that wasn’t the same.

  Over the course of the morning, I’d exhausted my usual trip activities: playing license plate games, quizzing Megan and Max on Harry Potter trivia, even though they were far better at it than me, pointing out every stupid bumper sticker I saw.

  Pearlview Beach, Massachusetts was a little over six hours away from Rose Falls, and even though the distance had always seemed interminable to me as a kid, today felt different. I couldn’t believe the trip was already half over. I enjoyed being trapped with Megan and Max in the car, the summer sun shining in. It was as if nothing else mattered or existed, and everything was as it should be within the confines of the car.

  And I didn’t have to think about the fact that apparently Megan hadn’t told Max about my wilderness retreat. I supposed that it made sense—it was my responsibility to tell my friends about the life-changing thing I’d gone through. But I was still a little bit surprised that Megan hadn’t told him.

  And now I had no idea when the right moment would be. It had been hard to tell Megan, but for some reason telling Max seemed even more difficult. I wanted so badly for him to believe me, to truly understand that this time I had actually changed. But I knew Max had heard similar things from me so many times. How could I be sure that he’d believe me this time? How could I know he wouldn’t just roll his eyes and think sure, Owen, maybe this time you won’t break my trust? Maybe this time you’ll get your life in gear and actually figure out what you’re doing with it?

  As we drove, listening to whatever classic rock radio station we could pick up, I glanced at Max in the side mirror. I could see his reflection, watch him looking out at the highway and the passing swaths of green trees. He had an ambiguous expression on his face, something that could have been calm relaxation or just as easily might have been deep thought. Max never had expressed his emotions as much as I had—I pretty much couldn’t help but wear my heart on my sleeve, but he was able to keep things much closer to his chest.

  I wondered what he was thinking about. I wondered if he had been fine sleeping next to me last night or if even that had seemed weird. I had fallen asleep almost instantly after he had gotten in bed next to me—it was like as soon as he was near me, my body could finally rest.

  I didn’t really know how to explain why I had felt so comforted being next to him. I guess I just always had felt that way around Max, like I was a wilting plant and he was cool water.

  I felt my body growing slightly hotter, much hotter, all of a sudden, and I wondered if I was overthinking things.

  “Um, guys,” Megan said, reaching over at the air vents in front of her and turning them every which way. “I think we have a problem.”

  She reached down, fiddling with the knobs for the air conditioning in the car.

  “Oh shit,” I said, feeling the vents in front of me. They were only blowing hot.

  Max leaned forward in between us. “I thought it was getting hotter in here, but I figured it was just me.”

  “Yes, Max, we all know you’re hot as hell,” I joked and noticed that his cheeks were beet red.

  “Well, the air conditioning officially seems to have gone out,” Megan said. “It’s supposed to be about ninety-one degrees outside today, so… I guess we’re about to have a real fun next two hours of this trip.”

  We rolled down each of the windows a few inches, letting the air rush in from the highway.

  “I’m sorry if I start to smell bad, guys,” Megan said, shaking her head. Her hair blew back from her face in the wind.

  “It’s fine, Meg. We still love you, even when you smell like B.O.” She reached over and gave me a playful slap on the shoulder. “My dad knows a guy at Pearlview who has worked on his car a couple times. I’m sure he can check out your air conditioning when we get there.”

  “If we ever get there,” Megan said, reaching down to the center console and shaking her water bottle. It was nearly empty.

  “Let’s stop at the next rest stop,” Max said. “I’m out of water, too, and if we’re gonna be going without air, I’m going to need provisions.”

  In another twenty minutes, we pulled off to a small rest stop that consisted of a tiny convenience store, a row of bathrooms, and plenty of water fountains. Megan beelined for the store, and I pulled off my t-shirt, heading straight for the water. I let it pool in my hands and then splashed some all over my head and chest. When the breeze blew past, it was momentarily perfect, and I turned around to grin at Max. Water beaded down my hair and fell over my skin, and each drop was a small relief.

  As Max approached me, he had a quizzical look on his face, his head cocked to one side.

  “You didn’t tell me,” he said as he walked over to the water fountains, taking off his own shirt. He was fit as ever—Max had always been good about going to the gym at his office. He was one of those weird people who beat stress by exercising, and I had always been jealous and kind of admired him for it.

  I froze when he spoke. Had he somehow found out what I’d been keeping from him? Why was he bringing it up now?

  “I didn’t tell you,” I said cautiously, watching as he covered himself in water like I had.

  “Yeah,” he responded, shaking his wet hair like a dog and then turning toward me. We walked over to a small clearing near the grass, away from the people near the water fountains. Max brought his hand to my back, lightly dragging it along my right shoulder blade. “You didn’t tell me you got this.”

  For a moment I hung in confusion, wondering why Max was rubbing my back and kind of also wishing he would keep doing it because it felt amazing. But then suddenly a light bulb went off in my head. “Oh,” I said. “My tattoo?”

  He was eyeing my shoulder. “You finally did it. You’ve been talking about getting one since the day I met you, but you could never commit. It’s beautiful, Owen.”

  I nodded, swallowing. “Thanks,” I said.

  “When did you get it?”

  “When I got back…” I started, biting my lip, “…uh, I got it a couple weeks ago.”

  “It’s a tree?” Max asked, still gazing at the tattoo, and suddenly I felt hot again, like his eyes were burning into me. “Why a tree?”

  Memories rushed back to me. “It’s kind of a long story, I guess,” I said. I knew I needed to tell Max the truth, but now didn’t exactly feel like the right time. We were in some random rest stop two hours away from the beach, in the middle of nowhere.

  Max gestured over at the convenience store. “Well, it certainly seems like we have time,” he said.

  He was right—the line for the store was shockingly long, snaking out the door. It was prime time for summer vacations, and Megan was still at the back of the
line, chatting with a blue-haired girl she’d seemed to make friends with.

  I swallowed. As the breeze blew past again, my skin became covered in goose bumps, the water droplets cooling me until I felt a chill. I eyed a nearby bench away from the crowds and nodded toward it. “Okay,” I said, “come sit with me.”

  Max followed. We sat at the small bench, and for a moment, I just stared out at the trees in the distance, slightly swaying in the wind. It centered me, like meditation—somehow when I focused on nature, it brought me back to a place of calm, now, reminded me that my own life was small and insignificant. And that felt powerful, sometimes, when I needed it most.

  “Oh jeez,” Max sad, smiling lightly at me. “Everything’s okay, right? You’re not about to tell me you got into some accident with a tree, right?”

  I snorted, shaking my head. “No, everything is fine. More than it’s ever been, really.” I watched Max’s eyes, feeling that same sense of gravity in them that I felt when I looked at the trees: the rich brown felt so calming, his dark lashes like an elixir that made me feel somehow at home, even in the middle of nowhere.

  I could do this. I could tell my best friend that my whole life had changed.

  “I got the tattoo a few weeks ago, the day after I came back from… from wilderness,” I said. I could see the confusion on Max’s face, but he stayed silent, letting me talk. “I wasn’t sure when it was right to tell you, but… I went to wilderness therapy, Max,” I said. “Therapy for addicts. And it kind of changed me more than anything in my life ever has.”

  My heart was pounding now, and I couldn’t look up to meet Max’s eyes. I was so afraid I’d see a shred of doubt in him, so afraid I’d see the same look there as when he told me he wanted me out of his life, months ago. So instead, I kept my eyes on the ground nearby, watching individual blades of grass flutter in the breeze.

  “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.