Gannon (Kennedy Ink. Book 8)

by Jenny Wood

  We promised each other at eight years old, that we’d be best friends forever. I almost ruined that when we hit high school, but lucky for me, I didn’t. Gannon had told me years before that he was gay, and though I’d never known an actual gay person before, it didn’t bother me in the slightest. It didn’t change who he was to me, he was still my best friend. The 80’s movie type of best friends that spans a lifetime, he was that type of best friend. I knew even at ten, that when I stood up to marry Courtney Milliard, that he’d be right at my side. Fortunately for Courtney, that relationship ended the summer after seventh grade, but, no matter who took her place in the metaphorical wedding of my future, I knew that Gannon would be my best man.

  Then, in junior high school, when bodies started changing and puberty hits you like a truck, I got my first crush on a boy. I didn’t think anything of it, I still liked girls, too, but, it opened a whole new world for me. Looking back on it, I wish I would’ve talked to my best friend about it because once we hit high school and I actually acted on my crush on a boy, I nearly lost the other half of me.

  I was a clueless seventeen-year-old kid who didn’t realize that my best friend might’ve liked to talk about the fact that he felt different. He never talked about it, not guys he liked or who his type was, so I didn’t either. I didn’t want him thinking that I was rubbing the fact that I got attention in his face, I mean, he hardly even talked to anyone else, outside of me. Fuck, how wrong I was.

  He went days without speaking to me, ignoring my calls and attempts to catch him out. I felt so lost, so empty without him. There was a huge part of me missing, and I felt that as if I would, a missing limb or some vital organ. I thought back on it often, wondering if I was being dramatic or making it a bigger deal than it was; but even now, if I let myself remember those three days without him, it hurts. Still, it hurts to know that I almost lost him, and it would’ve been all my fault for being a shitty friend.

  I promised myself that no matter what, I’d never do anything to lose him again. I wasn’t sure if I’d survive it if I did. So, when I finally found him coming out of his house with his backpack and a lantern, I snapped. I blew up and yelled at him and it fucked me up when he yelled right back. I’d been so sure that I was the one with a reason to be mad. He was pissed off that I was dating? Why? He never had been before. He let me have it though, and yeah, I more than a little bit, deserved it. When he shoved me, yelled at me and took off on me, I knew I had to fix it. So, I followed him.

  At first, I thought he spotted me and was taking me on a wild goose chase through the forest, but about a mile back into the woods, he’d found an abandoned cabin that I later learned he was fixing up and sleeping in. His home life was less than ideal, with an addict mom and random interlopers coming and going whenever they pleased; he needed a little hideaway, and he’d found it. He stayed there illegally at first, but once we’d gotten jobs and earned a few paychecks, he found out who owned it and begged, borrowed and bartered until the owners were tracked down and agreed to sell it on contract. He was able to get a loan the day after he turned 18, with our boss, Hyde, co-signing for him, and he’d bought the cabin and planned to fix it up. I admired his determination, but that was just one little piece of him that I’d fallen in love with.

  I spent days thinking our friendship was over because of my clueless fuckup. I realized quickly how important Gannon Butler was to me. He was more than just my best friend, he was my soulmate. The one person put on this earth to walk it with me, I was convinced of that. I’d been useless without him.

  Fortunately, I learned a very harsh lesson that day and I was never doing anything to warrant that again. Even if that meant keeping him firmly in the best friend zone.

  As long as I got to keep him in my life, I was happy.

  So, maybe one day, he’ll find someone and settle down, and I’ll be forced to stand up at his metaphorical wedding and be his best man. Maybe someday, he’ll have a slew of baby Gannons and I’ll be forced to be the cool uncle instead of a Papa or a Daddy. And if or when that happens, I’ll be genuinely happy for him as long as he is happy. As his best friend, that is my job.

  Gannon never falls down on his sword, he never wavers when it comes to me. Not in fourth grade, when Caroline Porter spit in my chocolate milk, and Gannon “accidentally” spilled his in her lap. Not when Jamey Guthrie cheated on me in sixth grade and Gannon busted her and called her out at a baseball game in front of half of our school. Not when Brock would harass me and try to take my money or something of mine that he wanted, or even when he got arrested and our family was facing backlash from the family of the woman who overdosed in my parents' basement. And he definitely did not waver when we lost mom, and dad and I couldn’t get out of bed or find the strength or need to live without her.

  Or even now, it would seem, when it is four in the afternoon on a Wednesday and I need a 12-pack and a few minutes to forget. Gannon will give me that. He’ll likely match me beer for beer and he’ll feed me and let me rant about my brother, my guilt and what I do or don’t want to do.

  Then, when I’m all ranted and raved out, he’ll offer me advice - and it’ll be good advice - and I’ll feel better about what I should do.

  So, without wasting time, I hand the carb job to Hudson and hope he has better luck than I did. I tell the guys they can close up whenever they want and that I’ll see them all tomorrow. Then, I take myself home, grab a case of beer and drive the four miles to Gannon’s cabin.

  Pulling up the small drive, the cabin comes into view. It’s gorgeous, like it was made to be in a magazine of secluded lodges or something. I love this place, I’d worked hard with my friend to make it what it is. It feels like coming home to me.

  I should’ve brought more beer.

  Gannon

  With pork chops and wrapped corn on the cob staying warm on the grill, I plug my phone into the cd player and pull up my playlists. Selecting the “shitty day” playlist, I hit ‘shuffle’, just as I see Shade pull up in the driveway. Heading to the kitchen to take the baked potatoes out of the oven, it only takes a minute to hear Shade’s heavy ass boots clomping through the living room.

  “You’re playing the shitty day playlist,” he comments, a twelve-pack under his arm and a frown /firmly in place.

  “I’m also grilling your ass some meat and I got you an apple pie, so, put that beer in the fridge and grab me a cold one. It’s just about ready," I quip. I hear him huff, but he does what I tell him, bringing me a beer and cracking it open before handing it to me.

  “How far did you make it on your ribs?” he asks, using his finger against my arm to turn me sideways so he can get a look at my newly inked skin. I move my arm out of his way so he can see. I’d shed my shirt and the wrapping the minute I got home, not only because it needed to breathe, but it was stinging like a bitch.

  “It’s a burning tree, I thought you were getting a scroll?” Funny, so had I.

  “Changed my mind,” I try to shrug it off, but I felt unnerved now that he’s even seeing it. I’d given Kayson only an idea of what I wanted and he ran the opposite way with it. It’s better than anything I could’ve come up with though, that’s for sure.

  There’s a song that I grew up listening to because Shade’s mom loved this old folk singer, named John Prine. When I was about thirteen, she played a song in the car that spoke of forbidden love. The lyrics were about doing all these beautiful things with someone in secret and then going back home alone when the day together was done. It stuck with me, obviously. One line says; ‘we’ll carve our names on a tree, and then we’ll burn it down so no one in the world will see.’

  So, that’s what Kayson gave me; a burning tree with the one line of the song scribed underneath. If Shade looks really hard, he’ll see our initials, painted in the ash on the ground. I don’t give him much of a chance before I turn and drop my arm back to my side, but it’s there.

  “The detail is insane, you’re keeping it just black and gray? No color?” he
asks, taking a healthy drink of his beer. I pull the potatoes out and put the pie in, so it’ll be hot when we’re ready for it.

  “No color, it looks shadowed and charred as it is. I love it," I explain, “Set the table, I’ll bring the food in.”

  “Got it.”

  “It fucked me up when I unwrapped it. I told him to do what he wanted with it, it’s all freehand. I gave him an idea and you know he does that thing where he asks questions upon questions and you think he’s just being Kayson? Well, this is the result of that," I can’t help but laugh at the gamble he took because I’ve never admitted my feelings for Shade out loud. I’m either really fucking obvious or Kayson’s a damn mind reader.

  “Joker, Finn, and Jody, keep trying to get me into one of their chairs. I think they’re taking bets on who will get to pop my cherry," Shade voices, just as I sat myself down and took a drink. My throat closes up and beer flies from my mouth, shooting everywhere. I’m pretty sure I’m about to die.

  “You gonna’ make it?” Shade cackles, surprised but amused. Shade is actually the odd man out in our circle, though; he doesn’t have a single mark on his gorgeously golden-tanned body.

  “Fuck you, don’t talk about poppin’ cherries. It’s a visual I don’t need," I complain.

  “You know that ship sailed years ago, just ask Sydnee Shepard," he winks, pissing me off with that reminder. Sydnee Shepard took Shade’s virginity because she thought their names sounded good together. That was it. The whole reason she did it, she didn’t even like him.

  “Another visual I didn’t need,” I mumble, forking the steak onto our plates before unwrapping my own potato and corn.

  Honestly, I don’t want to think of Shade with anyone, ever. Not unless it’s me, and I didn’t need those thoughts popping up at the dinner table. I chance another drink, slower this time.

  “Do tits gross you out that much? You can’t even picture it?” I flip him off, but he only laughs harder. Tits don’t actually gross me out, but they also do absolutely nothing for me. I can appreciate a woman's body, it just doesn’t attract me in any way. Imagining him with someone with tits, however, does gross me out.

  “Tell me what happened today, funny man," and just like that, Shade’s shoulders slump on a heavy sigh. I wait as he pushes his chair back and gets up to get another beer. It must be something big if he needs another beer already.

  “I’m gettin’ a shot of whiskey, the Jameson still up here? Yep, nevermind,” he asks, then answers himself, coming back with a bottle of beer and a fifth of whiskey and one shot glass.

  “That bad?” I ask, a bit worried now. Is his dad sick? Is he losing the garage? Did someone die? I sit my fork down and wait somewhat patiently as he takes a shot and chases it with his beer. Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait.

  “Brock’s got a parole hearing coming up. They say that since he’s passed his mandatory eleven, he’s eligible. Dad wants me to speak on his behalf and then suggested that I give him a job at the shop. It’ll look good to the parole board if he’s set up.”

  “Ugh, thank fuck,” I blurt, thanking all that is holy that nobody’s pregnant or dead or dying.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me what to do!” Shade yells impatiently, the desperation clear in his tone.

  “Why are you yelling at me, you ass? Calm down!” I nudge his chair with my foot for emphasis. Shade takes a deep breath and blows it out on a chuckle, his dimpled cheeks taunting me from across the table.

  “I don’t want to do it,” he says, simply.

  “So, don’t do it.”

  “Dad says that mom would want me to,” he looks miserable having admitted that part.

  “That’s fucked up and not even a little bit true,” I tell him without hesitation. “Your mom would do it if it was her, but she wouldn’t expect it of you. She wouldn’t even consider it.”

  “You don’t think she would?” he looks over at me, hope shining bright in his eyes.

  “I know she wouldn’t, Shade," It’s the truth. “For one, she’d never put you in that position, for you to have to go against your brother." It wasn’t ever any secret that Brock belonged in prison or that his little brother thought he deserved to be there. “He killed somebody, man. Not even because the drugs he sold her was shit, but because he saw her overdosing and did nothing to help her. He could’ve called 911, he could’ve given her mouth to mouth. He did nothing to help.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t owe him anything. His fuckup isn’t on you," I remind him.

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you letting it get to you?”

  “I don’t know,” he grunts, finally losing his patience.

  “Well, knock it off,” I retort as if it’s that easy. Shade scoffs, but smiles. Mission accomplished.

  “Is that all it takes? Why didn’t I think of that?” he rolls his eyes as he answers sarcastically. I try one more time to drill it home for him.

  “Nobody will think less of you if you don’t want to help him. It’s not like he’s done anything to help himself since he’s been in," I note. While most people with available resources and nothing but time on their hands might do something productive with their time; like get a degree in something, or at least learn a trade, to gain some experience for when he does get out. Not Brock. Nope. Brock jumped from one thirteen cents an hour job to another. Fighting and fucking up until all he had left was a janitorial job, cleaning up the cafeteria after breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He only kept that job because he does it alone.

  “You’re probably right," Shade agrees. He doesn’t sound all that convinced though, so I tell him what I believe.

  “She’d be proud of you, you know? Your mom would.”

  “Yeah?” his voice crack makes me want to get up and hug him. He wants to believe that so badly, and he should. Gweneth Mayson would be proud as hell of the man he’s become.

  “You’re a good man, Shade Mayson… surely you know that," I nudge his leg with my foot under the table until he looks at me and smiles. I love that smile.

  “You hittin’ on me?” he teases, batting his eyes like a jerk.

  “You wouldn’t be able to handle me, big boy. Now, eat your food," and just like that, the heaviness is gone, and the rest of dinner is spent talking about the garage, our friends, the gym, and just normal everyday stuff. He’s okay now, this is all he’d needed.

  “I’ll clean these up, why don’t you go dig out Boondock Saints and put it in. I’m in the mood for some Irish boys with guns," Shade suggests after we’d both cleared our plates.

  “Just leave ‘em, I’ll clean up later,” I say, thinking some Irish boys sounded pretty damn good right now. It’s been both of our favorite movie since we were fifteen.

  “No, you cooked, I’ll clean. It won’t take but a minute to load the dishwasher," he’s in the kitchen doing just that before I could even insist. He joins me in the living room before the opening credits start.

  “Move over, lemme sit down," his knobby knees push mine out of his way so he can fall over my legs, onto the couch. He wiggles around, pulling pillows from behind his back to get comfortable beside me.

  “Did I give you enough room, elephant ass?” I ask, sarcastically. “Would you like to put your feet up? Can I offer you a blanket? Some fresh grapes or a giant leaf fan, perhaps?” I did not expect him to actually throw his legs over mine and scoot down to get even more comfortable.

  “You know what, yes, now that you mention it, I could use some grapes. I’m parched," I try to shove the asshole’s legs off me, but he digs his heels into my thighs and braces.

  “I will break every bone in your foot if you don’t get them off me right now,” I say, grabbing his foot and adding just the slightest bit of pressure with a twist. I can’t hold my laughter when he starts flailing around like a psycho.

  “You’re going to give me a Charlie horse in my foot and I’m gonna kick your ass,” Shade laughs, trying
to look serious as he grabs my hands. I know his feet and knees are both ticklish as hell. My grip on his foot gets tighter the more he jostles around. Idiot.

  “You think you can take me?” I challenge, loving and hating the visual that created for me.

  “I think we’re gonna find out if you don’t let go!” his laughter is infectious and I can’t help but laugh along with him as I have mercy on him and let him go. It makes me happy to see him smiling after the shitty day he’s had.

  “Jackass,” Shade huffs, out of breath. He gives me a nudge with his foot but then lowers both legs back onto my lap. I clutch his ankles and hold them to me as I lean forward to grab the remote from the table. My hand slides under the hem of his jeans and his fuzzy ankle is really soft. I press play on the movie and within a couple of minutes, I notice him shifting in my lap. I realize my fingers are rubbing over the soft hairs on his ankles, like a caress.

  He doesn’t say anything to stop me, so I don’t. We just sit in the quiet of my cabin and watch Irish brothers with sexy accents, shooting people they deem bad. Before we get to ‘the firefight’, Shade is sound asleep.

  -------------------------------------

  “Why the ringing?!” Shade grouches, his voice muffled by the pillow he’s covering his face with. My back twinges as I try to sit up and fail. My legs are being used as a pillow. “Make it stop!” Shade nudges my hip where his feet are trapped behind my back.

  “What?” I ask, nowhere near awake enough for this. “Is that a phone? My phone? There’s a phone ringing.”

  “Make it stop,” he whines this time. I push myself up to untangle myself from him, adjusting to the bright light coming in through the window. I reach out and grab my phone from the table, where I plugged it up to charge after turning off the “shitty day” playlist to watch a movie.

  “Fuck,” it is my turn to grumble now, as my phone had stopped and then started ringing again in my hand.

  “Hello?” I answer around a yawn.