by Riley Hart
As soon as she was gone, someone else approached. Then another group. Everyone asked where he’d been, how long he planned to stay…and wanted to talk about his dad. I’m so sorry. God, how did Maxwell Sullivan die? It was like he was invincible. How is your mom doing?
Shane sat quietly and nursed his beer, speaking up every once in a while, when someone asked him about the shop or a car.
Van wanted out of there. The more people who spoke to him, the more he wanted to disappear. When Tate Green finished up his hellos and said, “Hey, why don’t you come over and have a drink with us?” Van opened his mouth to reply, but Shane beat him to it.
“Actually, we were just leaving. Van agreed to help me out with something tonight.” Shane slid out of the booth and stood. He nodded toward the door and gave Van a small smile. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”
Grateful for the way out, Van stood too. Actually, Shane really had let him off the hook easily, and Van appreciated the hell out of it. The longer they’d sat there the tighter his skin became. Those people all saw him as Maxwell, who was the last person he wanted to be.
“Oh, well I hope to see you around,” Tate said.
“Sure. You too…and I go by Van now.” Tate had always been a pretty decent guy, even though he looked baffled about the name thing. Van didn’t feel like explaining. As they made their way to the bar to pay, Van said, “Thanks, man. I….”
“Yeah, I hear you. I needed to get out of here too,” Shane replied without Van having finished his sentence. It’s what he had been thinking though.
Van insisted on paying for the beer, and he was surprised that Shane let him. When they stepped into the warm night, he inhaled a deep breath, the scent of clear air and nature filling his senses in a way that didn’t happen in LA.
“It smells good out here,” Van said.
“Smells like home.”
Van looked at him then, wondering even more about him. Was Shane completely happy here? Had he ever wanted anything else? It was okay if he hadn’t; Van just didn’t know and he wanted to. Wanted to know as much about Shane as he could.
“Thanks again for getting me out of there. I have to admit, I don’t want to go back to my mom’s house though.” That place wouldn’t ever be his home. He had some fond memories of Last Chance, but not that house. “You tired of me yet?” he joked.
“Fuck yes,” Shane replied with a smile, before adding, “You trying to go home with me?”
Van shrugged, a nervous excitement ratcheting through him. “If you want to look at it that way. We don’t have to go to your house though. I like your company. I didn’t expect to like much of anything on my trip, but I like this.” Van spent eighteen years holding back. The day he left he made a promise to himself not to do it anymore, and he didn’t plan to start now.
Shane looked at him skeptically. His brows knit together and his forehead wrinkled. He had the urge to reach over and rub them out. Van thought for a moment he was going to say no but then he gave Van a slow nod and said, “Yeah, yeah, okay. I have beer and quiet.”
“Two of my favorite things. Where do you live?”
“Next to my mom,” Shane replied and then watched Van as though he was looking for some sign of pity.
Oh yeah. He’d forgotten Annie said Shane lived on the same property only in a different house. Van pretended he didn’t know.
“You can follow me. I built a second home on the property and have another driveway. Gives me some privacy, at least.”
As he looked at Shane, he thought about the fact that he’d stayed the whole time, that he built himself a life, while also taking care of someone he loved. Pity was the last thing Van felt for him. Respect, yes. Pity, fuck no.
“I’ll follow you out.” As they turned to head for their separate vehicles, Van stopped, and said, “Hey, Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Shane nodded. “You have nothing to thank me for.”
But really, he did.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Shane’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror and saw the headlights were still behind him. Van’s headlights, which meant Maxwell’s headlights and Jesus fucking Christ, how had they gotten to that point?
He’d seen Van’s discomfort grow every time someone different approached him. It had to be hard for him, navigating who this town thought he was compared to the person he’d grown to be, which even Shane wasn’t exactly sure who that was.
He hit his blinker and then slowed down to turn into his driveway. Those same headlights followed, bumping along the gravel road behind him.
Shane pulled up in front of a log house, with the small front porch, and got out of his truck just as Van pulled his smaller car up beside him. He waited for Van to kill the engine and then step out. The flood lights had already come on. Van ran a hand through his curly, dark hair and then made his way toward Shane. “Nice place,” he said and Shane playfully rolled his eyes.
“Ah, come on. Don’t do that. Don’t give the obligatory compliment.”
“What?” Van replied. “That’s not what I’m doing. I like it. I miss places like this. My condo in LA definitely doesn’t look as homey as this.”
They walked forward and stood at the stairs that led up to his porch. “I don’t know if I could handle neighbors that close.”
“You get used to it,” Van replied as Shane opened the door. There was a small lamp on in the living room, which was the first room they walked into. Van stepped inside behind him and looked around as Shane moved to close the door.
His place was small. It was mostly all wood and earth tones. There were two small end tables made locally out of logs, a black couch with a matching LA-Z-Boy, and a built-in bookshelf filled mostly with books about cars, engines, and fixing random shit. Shane wasn’t picky about the shit he fixed, as long as it was something.
“It fits you,” Van said as he ran his fingers along the back of the couch.
“Small town boy who never left?” Shane asked.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No. It’s fine. I’m being a dickhead again.” He wondered what Van’s place was like in Los Angeles. How modern or large it was. “I just wanted something small…something that was my own. I helped build it and drew up most of the plans.” He moved toward the kitchen, Van behind him. “The deck is my real baby. She’s bigger than the house.”
He opened the sliding glass doors and pulled back the screen before hitting the light. He wanted Van to be impressed by it, he realized, which was some fucked-up shit if he was being honest.
Van took the hint and stepped outside. There were four wooden lounge chairs that Shane had made himself. His hot tub, a built-in kitchen area with a small fridge, grill, and counter space. Across the deck was a table, with an umbrella. Part of the space was covered by an Alumawood patio cover.
“What’s that?” Van asked as he pointed to the small building off to the right. There was a path where the deck narrowed to lead to it.
“That’s my…well, I guess my studio, in a way. I play around with woodworking, and shit like that. Gives me something to do.”
“Wow,” Van replied. “That’s really cool.”
“Eh. It’s nothing,” he said, because it really didn’t feel like it was.
“No, it’s not nothing. It’s you.”
They were quiet for a moment. A slight breeze swept over him and it struck Shane again that he was standing there with Maxwell—with Van. That he wore faded jeans and had mussed hair, that Shane suddenly wanted to fist.
“Grab a beer from the fridge and make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna run to the other house real quick.” To check on his mother, but he didn’t need to tell Van that.
“Okay.” Van nodded and Shane thought maybe he understood what Shane was doing.
He grabbed his flashlight and then made his way across the property. The kitchen light was still on and when he opened the door, he saw
his mom sitting at the table.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “I just finished my puzzle.”
“Looks good.” He glanced down at the ocean scenery she’d made. She almost always did scenery puzzles. Maybe it was her way of seeing different places.
“You didn’t stay out very late.”
“I wasn’t really feeling it.” Which was the truth. “Are you good?” he asked.
She sighed. “Yes, and you didn’t have to come check on me. I have a phone and I know you always have yours within reach. I know I had a hard day the other day, but I’m okay, Shane. I promise.”
If he didn’t have Van at his place, he might not have gone to check on her. He’d needed a moment, though. Needed to work through the reality of having Van at his place, and being okay with it.
She stood, walked to the cabinet and got her nighttime meds out. “I’m taking this and going to sleep.” She swallowed the pill, smiled and asked, “Are you okay? You seem a little off.”
He thought about Van in his living room. It was the first time he’d brought a man home, and by man, he meant a gay man. Of all the people. He was thirty years old and it was the first time in his life he’d brought home a man that he had the potential of sticking his dick in…or having a cock inside of him. Not that he had any plans to fuck Van. Their past was too screwy for that, but there was a possibility there, when there never had been before.
It was always hotels, quick bathroom sucks, or heading back to someone else’s place when he made his visits to Portland.
As happy as he’d always been…in that moment, his life felt pretty fucking sad.
“Yeah, Ma. I’m okay. Good night.”
He closed the door, heard her lock it behind him, and then made his way back to his house…and back to his ghost from the past.
When he climbed the stairs to the deck, he saw Van with his elbows on the railing, a bottle of beer in his hand, and his ass toward Shane. His jeans fit across it nicely, and damned if Shane didn’t wish they had a different history and he could walk over there, slip the jeans down his legs, and plunge inside. Maybe spend a few hours with his tongue in Van’s ass until he was drunk off him. But it was impossible to forget who this was.
“Oh, hey,” Van turned and said over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“I think I would live on this deck if this were my place. I forgot how quiet it is out here.”
“Not so quiet in LA?” Shane teased as he plucked a beer out of the fridge.
“Just a little louder.” Van winked at him. “And I like that too. Both have their appeal.”
They were quiet again as they leaned against the railing, nursing their beers.
“Let’s sit down,” Shane told him and the two of them made their way to the chairs. There were stools for their feet as well and Shane put his up. “What did you do when you left?”
“Took a bus to LA. I had some money I’d saved, because that was always my plan—to get the fuck out of here the second I could. I stayed in a hostel when I first got there, then a shelter, finally got a cheap-ass hotel where I could pay weekly and was basically afraid to leave at night.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Van replied. “But it was incredible.”
The tone in his voice surprised Shane. He could hear the fondness for that time and he guessed he understood. “You were free for the first time.”
Van looked at him and grinned. “Exactly.”
Shane got it. Christ if he didn’t feel like he got Van. If he didn’t respect him too.
“I worked two jobs waiting tables. Piled money away. Worked through art school. Kissed lots of boys. That was my favorite part.” Van winked and Shane chuckled.
“I bet.”
“You don’t even know. It was like a whole new world. I didn’t have to pretend to like girls, or not like art and be enthralled with the male body. I went a little crazy at first—fucked in alleys, bathrooms at clubs. Did a lot of X and some stripping, too.”
Shane shook his head. “Holy shit. You’re fucking blowing my mind right now.” He sure as shit couldn’t imagine it. Stripping, drugs, and fucking his way through Los Angeles.
“I don’t regret any of it. It’s hard to explain. I spent my whole life being trapped when no one knew I was trapped. Pretending to be okay when I felt like I was dying inside. I’d put on a façade for so long that I didn’t want to fake anything. Didn’t want to lose any experience. Didn’t want to be that perfect kid whose private life was anything but perfect.”
Shane looked at him then. All those years he was suffering and no one knew. Maybe even suffering more than Shane. “At least with me, I didn’t have to pretend.” And he had someone who loved him.
“Doesn’t make your pain less than mine,” Van replied.
No, he guessed it didn’t. “Let’s not do that. I don’t want to talk about anything depressing.”
“Me either.”
They talked more about Los Angeles. About cars. Music. Movies. And he realized he had a whole lot in common with Van. They laughed and drank, and a couple hours went by before Shane realized it.
His head spun slightly, the snap and crack of electricity zipping under his skin. “I’m a little buzzed.” He rolled his head, keeping it against the back of the seat.
“Me too.” Van did the same. “I wish I could take your picture right now.”
Shane’s nose wrinkled. “Why the fuck would you want to do that?”
“Because the moonlight is shining off you just right. It’d look good in black and white.”
“What do you do?” Shane asked. His mom had told him but he wanted to hear it from Van. Wanted more details too.
“I’m a painter and a photographer. All male…a lot of nude and erotic stuff.”
“Are you shitting me right now?” Shane hadn’t known the nude and erotic part.
Van laughed. “No.”
Holy fuck the man was full of surprises. He’d lived so much life. A whole lot more than Shane had. “Let me see some of your art.”
Van leaned closer and pulled his cell out of his back pocket. “I can pull up one of my galleries.”
He fumbled slightly with his phone before opening a page and then scooting his chair closer to Shane’s. He handed the phone over and the first photograph that popped up was of a man on a bed. His chest touched the mattress. His knees were up under him so his ass was slightly in the air, legs spread, head turned toward the camera.
It was the perfect angle. You could see the arch of his spine, his sexy face, and the curve of his ass cheeks.
Shane’s dick perked up. “Wow. That’s fucking beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Van replied.
Shane scrolled to the next. It was of two men, tangled together—arms and legs and torsos entwining. One man had his face in the other man’s neck, and he had his hand on the first man’s ass.
“I was so afraid of who I was growing up. So ashamed, but Jesus, it’s fucking beautiful, isn’t it? Two male bodies together. Sex. Passion. Love. There’s nothing more beautiful in the whole goddamn world.”
A shiver ran down Shane’s spine. Van’s voice had gotten deeper, huskier as he spoke. “Yeah…yeah, it is. Do you paint the same kind of stuff?” he asked.
“Yes. Only that’s more from my head than a visual.”
His finger shook slightly as he continued to scroll through the images. There was a little of everything—men alone, couples, threesomes and more. Partially clothed men, naked men. Guys who were tied up, others wearing chastity devices. Some of the images were sweet and romantic and others harsher. Kissing, touching, fucking, sucking, and also just men in a room together, without being skin-to-skin.
Shane’s dick began to plump and his mouth went dry, making him finish the rest of another beer. Every photograph he looked through made him wonder more about Van—made his curiosity grow. Which ones were his favorites? What did he like…if he were photographing Sh
ane, what would he want to see?
The last question rubbed raw against his skin. He sure as fuck shouldn’t care how Van would photograph him. It wasn’t as if that would ever happen. Wasn’t as if Shane would want it to. What the fuck did he know about anything like that?
But one thing was obvious, Van had left Last Chance and become a different person. It was in each image he looked through.
And Shane liked what he knew of that person. Not because the photos were beautiful, but because of the things Van said.
Shane cleared his throat. “They’re beautiful.”
“I just take the pictures. It’s the men who are beautiful. It’s amazing how much passion can come through in a photograph. How much you can learn from someone by looking at a picture of them.” Shane felt Van’s breath against his face.
He turned and they were close, so fucking close, and Christ he was fucking sexy…and Shane was horny. It had been a while for him.
Van’s statement played in his brain again, making him ask a question that he likely wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t a little buzzed. A question he was slightly embarrassed about wanting the answer to. “How would you photograph me?”
Van smiled. He had a dimple beneath his lips, and he pushed the dark curls off his forehead. “Just like this.”
Shane frowned. That hadn’t been what he was expecting. “Just like this?”
“Maybe not completely, but you’d be in this chair the way you are now. Your legs would be open the way you have them and you’d be leaning back, relaxed, with your head to the side and all those thoughts in your eyes.”
Shane trembled, fucking trembled as he listened to Van.
“You’d be naked though. Your arms on the arm rest. Your dick would be hard—no, actually, it wouldn’t be. It’d be soft…spent, because you just blew your load. There’d be come on your chest and stomach, but it wouldn’t be yours. It’d be your lover’s.”
Shane’s hand slid down. He cupped his erection, rearranged himself because his dick was so damn hard it hurt. It was crazy and unexpected and maybe a mistake, but in that moment, he wanted to live. Wanted to live the way Van had when he left. “What did he do to me? My lover?” Shane found himself asking, then he waited to see what Van would tell him next.