Come Home

by Raleigh Ruebins

  I wondered if he could tell how tense I was. I wasn’t stressed in any major way being in bed with him, but lurid thoughts immediately filled my mind. My body felt like it was lighting up being so close to him. I could feel the heat of his body near mine, and I loved every moment of it while wanting so much more.

  I was afraid that if I said anything, it would come out wrong. I was afraid that he’d hear it all over my voice exactly how much I wanted him.

  “Goal-setting is weird,” he finally said, sighing and turning over under the sheets. “It’s like… just writing down my goals makes me think of them more.”

  “That is the intent,” I said.

  He groaned. “Yeah, but now I can’t stop thinking about what a failure my dating life is. Isn’t goal-setting supposed to make me feel better? Not like I’m doomed forever?”

  I laughed softly. “You’re not doomed forever. If anyone is, it’s me.”

  He snorted. “Bullshit. Why?”

  Because I’ve only ever really loved you, and I don’t know if anyone will ever compare.

  “Because I’m too busy,” I said.

  “Nobody’s too busy to date,” he said. “Make Vance take over your duties for one night a week. Come on.”

  “Not gonna happen,” I said.

  “At least you have Seattle,” I said. “I can’t imagine the options. Kinley Island has almost no eligible gay bachelors left, but I’m not leaving the island.”

  “Maybe the love of your life is going to move here this year,” I said. I could picture it in my mind, and it was like a spike to my heart: some young professional moving to the island in search of a quieter life, running into Hunter in a perfect romantic mishap where he accidentally grabbed Hunter’s grocery bag instead of his own. They’d talk, hit it off, and Perfect Guy would be immediately charmed by Hunter, because who wouldn’t?

  And they’d live happily ever after.

  “I do not think the love of my life even exists, let alone is going to ever live in Kinley,” he said.

  I didn’t respond. I couldn’t bear the thought of him hearing any hint of sadness in my voice. Finally he sighed, turned over again in bed, and began to drift off to sleep.

  I knew exactly what the light in this room would look like when the sun came up—how the cluster of pine trees at the side of the window would filter the day in slowly, in waves; how the light wouldn’t be golden but a muted bluish gray thanks to the clouds. I’d seen it so many times when I’d woken up in here. I always woke up long before Hunter. He had never been a morning person.

  The rain on the window, the clicking of the radiator, the distant occasional pop of the wooden floorboards in the humid air.

  Hunter’s breath next to me.

  I was home—and home, for me, had always been this: having everything I needed while knowing that none of it was really mine.

  Hunter was smiling, because he always was, but in my dream, he wasn’t saying anything. That was partly how I knew it wasn’t real. Hunter never really shut up, and I loved him for it.

  I also knew I was dreaming fairly quickly because he was rolling over, placing his body along mine, the warm weight of him settling on me like a heavy blanket. And then we weren’t in bed anymore. It was a field of lush grass, the two of us tucked away behind a low hill, nothing surrounding us but green and the impossibly blue sky.

  And each other, of course.

  When he kissed me there was no hesitation, and we opened up to one another immediately. His slick, hot tongue on mine, his hand digging into my hair.

  “I need you,” I managed to say.

  He just hummed in response, reaching down to palm my aching cock as he dipped to kiss me again, even harder.

  There was no question, in the dream.

  It was all inevitable.

  I started to buck my hips, over and over, up into his outstretched hand, needing release more than I needed to breathe.

  I love you, I thought, over and over, but the only sounds I could make were moans.

  His hands on me were like heaven, warm and firm and irresistible.

  I needed more. So much more. I needed to climb on top of him, needed to be inside him—

  I woke up gasping for air, alone in Hunter’s bed. I’d been right about the light—it was still gray outside and the whole room was cast in a faint blue haze. The clock on his nightstand told me it was six in the morning. Later than I usually woke up.

  I was insistently hard under my shorts, even more so than I’d been in the dream. I sat up slightly, leaning back against the headboard, pulling in long breaths to steady myself.

  I heard the sound of the shower starting up from across the hall.

  God.

  If Hunter was showering, I knew I had at least ten minutes to spare. He always took forever in the shower, and I knew I could come in no time right now.

  My hand was around my cock in a matter of seconds. The touch of my fist was an immediate relief, and I stroked myself rapidly, trying to think about nothing but the sensation.

  But I couldn’t kid myself. The dream permeated my thoughts the second I squeezed my eyes shut.

  As I stroked myself, though, I found that the dream wasn’t enough. I felt so close to release—and I knew I needed to work fast—but I was hovering at the precipice, never quite able to plunge. I thought of dream Hunter, about the way his body had settled over mine, something I wanted badly but knew I’d never get to feel.

  I was so close I could feel it.

  And then the image of Hunter from last night shot through my head. It wasn’t even sexy, really, but sweet instead. The way he smiled at me while we’d been on the couch together. The way he sighed and settled into bed right next to me. How much I loved having him near me again, how I’d thought of him nearly every day the two years we were apart.

  I thought about how his lips had felt against mine in real life. His tongue sliding against mine, hot and wet. His gentle breath. The taste of his lips, and how certain I was that those same lips, wrapped around my cock, would be the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

  I stifled a low groan as I came hard in my hand, spilling over my stomach. I let myself breathe through my orgasm, the heat receding from my hips, finally feeling like I was in some amount of control of myself again. But as the urgency left me, it was replaced almost entirely with a nasty, pervasive guilt.

  I pulled out a fistful of tissues from the box on the nightstand and cleaned up my mess quicker than ever, tossing the tissues into the wastebasket in the corner of the room.

  The sound of the shower cut out.

  Fuck.

  I jumped out of bed, rummaging through my suitcase nearby, quickly stripping and tugging on a new pair of underwear and slacks. I was tugging a dark gray long sleeve over my head when Hunter reappeared in the bedroom door, a towel slung around his waist.

  “Morning!” he said cheerfully, crossing over to his closet.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  He whistled as he searched for clothes.

  “Never thought I’d see you so chipper this early.”

  “I slept like a baby,” he said. “Usually I wake up at least twice, but none at all last night. You must be my good luck charm.”

  My cheeks heated. I was facing the other direction. The last thing I needed was to accidentally glimpse him naked and have that fuel my next dream.

  “Want breakfast?” Hunter asked. “Can’t do pancakes, but I guess you wouldn’t want those anyway. I’ve got eggs that I could easily turn into egg whites.”

  “Got an early meeting with the team,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

  “Of course,” he said, emerging into the room again, thankfully now dressed. He smelled shower-fresh, and a few droplets still clung to his eyelashes. “Want to get lunch together? There’s this great sandwich place that opened last year, and you probably won’t get mobbed if we sit in one of the secluded booths—”

  “I can’t, Hunter,” I said, standing and grabbing my bag. �
��Have a good day at work.”

  I left the house knowing that I’d probably seemed needlessly rude, that Hunter probably wondered why I’d left in such a rush. In truth, my meeting with the team wasn’t until ten in the morning, but I still had the cottage rented until the end of the week, and I had to get out of his house.

  I drove up the hill to the cottage. When I got inside I took my time showering, letting the hot water beat down over my body.

  It did nothing to assuage the guilt, of course.

  I’d still made myself come thinking of my best friend. Years ago, I had sworn off the idea of ever jerking off with Hunter in mind—I’d been tempted a few times, but I knew I was better off never letting my mind go there.

  And the dream still lingered inside me, yet another thing haunting my headspace.

  Sometimes it seemed like all there was for me on Kinley were ghosts, memories, and reminders of what I never had.

  “Welcome to the pad,” Royce said, spreading his arms wide in his cottage. Natalie and Jack were already inside, perched with their laptops on one of the couches. Vance was behind me, carrying in a heavy stack of papers.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place, Royce,” Vance said, looking around. In the few days that we’d been on the island, Royce had turned his cottage into a veritable office: he had somehow gotten two full desktop computers inside, a printer, a scanner, and a mini-golf setup at one side of the room. He also already had a small glass of whiskey in his hand at ten in the morning.

  “Royce, I appreciate that you want to be in Mad Men, but you don’t have to have whiskey for breakfast.”

  “I’ve been up all night,” he said, wagging his eyebrows at me. “So it isn’t so much breakfast as it is… a nightcap. Morningcap, if you will.”

  I shook my head, setting my bags by the long table that held the computers. “How many times do I have to tell you how important sleep is? You’re going to burn yourself out.”

  “I don’t believe in burnout,” he said. “Hey, Bell, check this out.” He reached into a small box at the edge of the desk and pulled out a black and silver pen, holding it out to me.

  “A pen?” I asked.

  “Read it.”

  I read the silver lettering along the edge of the barrel: Royce Dewitt.

  “It’s a pen with your name on it?”

  “Pen with my name on it, baby,” he said, clapping his hands and smiling wide. “Just came in yesterday. That’s a moneymaker, right there. Who wouldn’t want to sign a deal with that?”

  Vance rolled out the long blueprints and zoning maps on the table. Royce also had various snacks laid out: nuts, salami, fruit, cheeses. I popped a few blueberries into my mouth while Natalie and Jack came to gather around.

  “I hope you were also working on the development proposals last night, and not just designing pens and stress balls and bookmarks with your name on them,” I said.

  “I was, indeed,” he said, plopping his own paperwork directly on top of what Vance had laid out. “But the end result is still the same. Money in the bank.” He emphasized the last sentence by slapping his palm against the papers. “This island doesn’t know what’s coming. This is going to be a fucking pivotal moment in our careers.”

  The zoning plans were highly detailed. Royce had clearly spent a lot of time on them, delineating exactly the ideas he had in place for reshaping Hill Street as well as tons of other neighborhoods on the island.

  “This is a lot more ambitious than what we’d talked about,” I said.

  “I know. It’s great, right?” Jack said. “When Royce and I actually walked around town the past couple days, we couldn’t believe it. We’ve been looking at maps of this place for months, but nothing compares to seeing it in person. Everything needs to be knocked down. But that’s a good thing—we can start fresh.”

  “Well,” I said, looking up and seeing four eager sets of eyes on me, “this is all still completely up in the air, of course. Probably for years. The task at hand is the bridge, and this week we need to deal with the first public hearing.”

  “He’s right,” Natalie said, glancing down at her laptop. “We’ve all seen the emails.”

  Over the last twenty-four hours, the general contact email on Alto Ventures’ website had been bombarded with hundreds of angry emails from Kinley residents.

  “Someone who knew me from high school must have decided to spread the news to the island that since we were spearheading the project, they should all send emails to our firm.”

  Royce snorted. “Dumb. Don’t they know this isn’t just Alto? Wonder if they’re sending all these emails to the seven firms interested in investing in this project..”

  “For all I know, they might be,” I said. “Though the rest of the firms have managed to stay relatively quiet about their interest thus far. That’ll all change soon, I’m sure. But all of that doesn’t matter. Right now we need to think about the people on this island.”

  “Like your boyfriend?” Royce joked, popping a handful of peanuts in his mouth and chewing.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Your buddy. What did you call him—our golden ticket to winning over the island? He knows everybody, he’s definitely going to help our case, all that?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I hated hearing Royce talk about Hunter like that. It made me feel emotions I had long since tried to keep out: anger and defensiveness, seeping through my veins like poison.

  Hunter could help us out, but he wasn’t just a pawn. And it was a little disturbing that Royce was thinking that way.

  “Hunter,” I said. “His name’s Hunter Wilson. And I don’t know if I said it like that. Hunter’s my best friend—”

  “Your best friend who you have fun sleepovers with?” he asked, grinning.

  I knew it had been a bad idea to have my team drop things off at Hunter’s last night. I should have relied on Vance.

  “That was for my safety,” I said. “There were people at my house.”

  “Weren’t in the mood to stay in your cottage?” Jack asked.

  “Didn’t know if there’d be people up here, too,” I said. I shuffled through some papers on the desk. “Anyway, the public hearing is coming up fast. And no, sadly, Hunter is not on board with the project yet. We need to discuss our strategy for when things go poorly at the hearing. Especially this first one. It is going to be rough.”

  To say I was dreading the hearing was an understatement. When it had been a far-away, theoretical thing, it had seemed fine. I would just deal with the blowback and go on with my business.

  But now that I’d been on Kinley Island for a while… it felt much more palpable.

  There wasn’t much time to dwell on wondering if I was doing the right thing, though. I was fully committed, and I had to stay strong, even if my own team members sounded like they were discussing taking cows out to slaughter.

  Jack shrugged. “We just do the usual. Tell them we hear their concerns, we will take it into consideration.”

  “It’s nowhere near that simple,” I said.

  Natalie nodded. “These people like a simple life, but they’re not simple people, Jack. They know exactly why they don’t want a bridge to be built. The most pressing concerns from the emails are the water system, ecology, the schools, the influx of traffic, and where exactly the bridge’s terminus would be located. They will bring up these concerns at the hearing, guaranteed.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And there will also be personal attacks. I’m sure of it.”

  “I mean, who cares what they think?” Royce said, shrugging one shoulder.

  I paused, watching him for a moment. “What?”

  “Who cares? So they complain, so they hate you. Everyone has a point at which they’re willing to sell. The bridge itself will only affect… what, a few dozen residents? It’s a drop in the bucket, money-wise. So long as we have this bridge funded, and the county approves it, I think we’ve got this, Bell.”

  “It’s not just abo
ut the bridge itself,” I said, shaking my head. “We need the support of the island. We all know that.”

  “We need the support of a few key players on the island, maybe, sure,” Natalie added. “But Royce is right. The other firms are very keen on the project, and if the county and state are on our side… there’s very little the island residents can do but complain as we hand them million-dollar checks for their land.”

  “That isn’t right, though,” I said. “Even if we could figure out a way to do it legally, it would be an absolute political nightmare, for years, if we didn’t get at least lukewarm support. So what if we build a bridge, and then we’re never able to get developments off the ground because the town won’t budge? Never able to re-zone where we need to because they’ll never agree? If we can’t stand to actually develop once the bridge is there, we won’t make much money off the bridge tolls alone. We can’t be single-minded.”

  “In a way, we can, though,” Royce said. “Like I said, everyone has a price. I don’t even see residents, here in Kinley. I just see dollar amounts. That nice old lady I met in the park the other day? She’d change her tune real quickly if her dinky little hundred-thousand-dollar shack ended up being worth a cool million. Nobody would say no to that kind of development. If we build the bridge, people will see exactly what a goldmine they’re sitting on. Then they’ll change tide quick.”

  My stomach was churning. “Royce, listen to yourself,” I said softly. “You don’t see people, you see dollar signs?”

  Jack laughed from beside him, setting his phone down on the table with a clatter. “Yeah. Sounds like you, Bell,” he said.

  I squinted at him. “I was talking about negotiation deals when I said that, not people’s homes.”

  Jack shrugged. “What is this if not the biggest negotiation deal we’ve ever done?”

  He was right—but all I could think about was Hunter.

  I thought of his house, the one that had been in his family for decades and decades, the one that had always been my definition of “home.”

  I thought of it being leveled in order to build a cold-pressed juice bar, the pine trees in the back of the house sitting in a hacked-up pile on the street.