Authors: G.B. Lindsey
He knows where the fear really comes from. Will has moved forward with his life, and Calvin is still in the same place. He looks older, is older. But he may as well have just pushed up from Will’s lap and stumbled away from him, hard and hurting and absolutely green. All he has, all he’s ever had, are kisses and curiosity.
Damn it, he knows he’s made up of more than this. He’s a human being, not a sexual status, and he’s spent years cementing that as truth. But it’s getting hard to recognize all over again. His cheeks flare hot.
“
This’ll be it
,” he whispers. “
If I mess this up again
,
he’ll never give me another chance.
”
And yet, Will might. Whatever else he has become, he still cares too much. But by then it will be poisonous, more regret than devotion.
She kneads the joints of his hand until his fingers relax. “
Are you okay?
”
“
No.
” Ludicrous. What if he’s too inexperienced to even show Will that he’s on board? He can remember the sick ache of that night on the porch as clearly as he can see his mother’s face.
He tries to breathe. He did what he had to do that night, and it’s time to stop blaming himself for it. Needs change. Truths change, and that’s something the child he was could never have understood.
But he’s done too much waiting now, cramming everything down, and it has all burst wide open again. What he feels for Will, he may never be able to articulate, particularly to Will himself.
If he keeps to the safe road and does nothing, the possibilities will remain endless...and endlessly intangible. If he leaps, Will might very well not catch him.
“
He’s made all the moves.
” He looks at his mother for confirmation, but she gives him nothing, only watches him carefully. He closes his eyes, letting the weight of it drop fully into place, a resonant thrum. “
Next move’s mine.
If I don’t make it
,
either way it’s done.
”
Will would take the undeniable hint and step out of his life, this time for good.
* * *
“It’s me.”
The phone clunked a little on Will’s end. “Calvin. Hey.”
“Listen, I wanted to thank you. I didn’t get the chance the other day.”
Will didn’t say anything for a moment. “He been around again?”
“No.” And that was a true relief. The past two days, the house, the entire property, seemed lighter in some way. Like opening the windows after a storm and clearing out the mustiness with rain-scent. “Hasn’t called either.”
Will let out an audible breath. Calvin pictured him sitting in the office in town, relaxing back into a chair. Or maybe he was at home, in his living room or den, perhaps out on his porch. A place Calvin had never seen. The possibility that he never would hurt in all new ways.
“Well,” Will said at last. “It was my pleasure. It was...” He let the sentence go and the silence this time bent awkwardly.
Calvin cleared his throat. “Are you free? Tonight, to come over here? I’ll make you dinner, a real thank-you.” Breathing had become a struggle and he was certain Will could hear it.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Trust me, I want to. For you.” That was too over-the-top. “For what you’ve done for us.”
“Is this a family dinner?”
“I guess, if they come down to the kitchen.” They might, at that. The smell of home-cooked food had always had a way of infiltrating the upper floors. Perfect for calling lots of kids to the table at once. “Do you want it to be?”
A pause, and then a soft, indefinable sound. “Not especially.”
He couldn’t think what to say after that. Something on Will’s end shuffled. Paper, maybe.
“What should I bring?”
“I don’t have any beer. Devon does, but—” Definitely not where Calvin meant to go, in spite of Will’s claimed disinterest. The idea alone was enough to clutter his words. “Better bring some, if you want it. I don’t drink it.”
“Still don’t like the taste?” Will sounded like he was smiling.
Memory rushed in, of a smuggled can of beer and the corner behind the Cabots’ shed with its rakes and weed trimmer inside, the sour scent of fertilizer. The equally sour burst across Calvin’s tongue as he shoved the can back into Will’s hands. It made him grin, and in the next instant compelled such nostalgia that his throat hurt. “Still disgusting.”
Will chuckled, the sound flattened out by the connection. “What time?”
“Seven?”
“Leave the gate open.”
* * *
Will didn’t bring beer, but he did come with home-brewed iced tea, sweet and flavorful like his mother had made years ago on their sun porch. Calvin made red beans and rice from a box, supplemented with chicken sausage, and a salad full of fresh produce from the corner store. It was mindless, perfect for someone with shaky hands and skittering thoughts. He was aware of everything, every motion Will made, every reaction to his own movement. The whole time he was cooking, he expected Devon and Danny to make their way downstairs, and was beyond relieved when they didn’t. He left the pans on the counter when Will suggested eating on the front porch. They managed to miss the majority of the sunset, but the evening stayed comfortable, and it was still too early in the year for mosquitoes.
It turned out that Will’s parents had moved out of town, down the road to Mead into the neighborhood where his mother had grown up. Will went to see them every other weekend for brunch. His parents’ relationship was far more settled than it had been, and Will’s father had taken up the cooking hobby he’d left behind in earlier years. He was now rivaling the best restaurants in Washington, according to Will.
Calvin sat on the porch, wedged deep into Audrey’s old rocking chair, and Will lounged beside him, one leg braced against the railing. The grass, as patchy as it was, rippled like velvet when the breeze blew through it, and the moonlight turned the surface as silver as whitecaps. It felt like the night was trying to give Calvin something it had snatched away from him, a reprieve and an apology.
“I’m not doing a thing to this porch,” Will said without preamble. His voice did not slice the silence so much as flow into it. He ran a hand over the old railing, careful where the wood had splintered. “Fixing it, yes. It’s not what it used to be. But I don’t want to change anything.”
Calvin felt restless and relaxed at the same time, as if he could sit here for hours, and yet still thrumming. Slow-burn energy, Audrey used to call it. The stuff of future endeavors unfolding in the mind like a rich length of cloth. It stretched out, a carpet before him, and he couldn’t make out the pattern yet, but the vibrancy, the color, was there.
Wasn’t sure what he was going to do, only that he had to do it. Anticipation churned, a wakeful pulse. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Will.
“Remember that trig test we had?” It came out a croak, his voice was breaking all over again. “And you knew the damn thing backward and forward, but you still dragged me out here to study so we could laugh at Georgie hiding his cigarettes?”
Will sat up, kicking his legs down with a hollow thump. His shoulders had stiffened, his face barely shying away from a frown. He smoothed the thigh of his jeans as if pressing something out. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” Studying hadn’t been why he pulled Calvin out onto the porch on such a cold night, and they both knew it. Calvin could recall the hooded green of Will’s eyes that evening as clearly as if he’d only just blinked away from it. Bulky sweatshirt, woolen beanie tugged down on Will’s forehead, making him look like he didn’t have any hair. Pale cheeks red from the cold.
He watched Will rub invisible stains from his knee. Will had elegant fingers, a long thumb. Far fewer scars than Calvin would have expected for his line of work, though his nails were uneven. His wrist bones cut sharp shadows under the porch light, and the bracelet wove a lovely plait of brown across his skin.
He just knew Will was moments away from making his excuses and leaving.
He wouldn’t even know where to find Will if he left, and that cut deep. Did he have that place Calvin had imagined, a home he owned? Or did he rent? He hadn’t been back in Elk Ridge long, and though his parents hadn’t seemed the type to pick up and leave the area completely, Will had never been bound by such tethers. Calvin remembered high school as an exercise in inevitable dejection, wondering even at his brightest moments just how long Will would remain within his sphere.
And it turned out Calvin had been the first to uproot.
If Will walked off this porch, if Calvin let him leave, the wound would dig so much deeper than before, and keep right on digging like a sliver beneath his skin. But here was Will, a much older sliver inching through tender tissue, and before Calvin knew it, he snatched out, stuttering his fingers up the back of Will’s hand.
He nearly yanked back. Nearly gave in. But his fingertip hooked in the macramé circling Will’s wrist. Will’s fingers gave a spasm of their own, then held very still.
His heart jerking in his chest, Calvin curled his pinky around Will’s hand.
Will lifted his head like a serpent rearing, and looked Calvin hard in the eye. His pupils had gone large. His throat bobbed, and his gaze darted over Calvin’s face in unsteady flicks.
He had no obligation to Calvin, to any of them, and yet he kept giving, despite clear discomfort. Calvin hated the heaviness bending Will’s frame. The need to lift that load had not faded, regardless of the snapped ties between them. It was time to find out, once and for all, whether it was him Will was leaning away from.
Calvin got up, a chorus of creaking as the old chair complained. His heart thumped painfully against his breastbone. It was hardly graceful, but Will didn’t move, take a cue to vanish and put the night between them. He sat there as if he’d forgotten his muscles worked, and the way his head craned up to follow Calvin fisted fast in his gut. Calvin barely kept himself from taking Will’s face in his hands.
Instead he inched in, bracketed Will’s knees with his own, and eased down to sit squarely on Will’s thighs.
Will’s body tensed. Calvin knew he was terribly wide-eyed, knew Will was thinking about the last time they’d been here, when Calvin had pushed off of his lap and hurried away. The image of Will doing the same was cruel enough to choke him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, close enough to Will’s mouth to taste its heat. His voice shook. “Staying here.”
Will seized his hips. He lifted slightly from the seat, tucking tight to Calvin’s chest, and the shiver from Will’s body to his sent violent flickers of fire down Calvin’s legs, up his spine. He shuddered, curled over Will until he sprawled back in the chair, hands still clamped to Calvin’s waist. Will released a hasty breath.
Calvin took the opportunity and kissed him.
The sound Will made was almost puzzled. He tilted his head but didn’t touch Calvin’s face, letting him guide the movement of their mouths. It was a long while before Calvin realized it wasn’t that Will was letting him do anything. It was that Will had fallen so deeply into it he’d forgotten he could switch their roles.
Calvin’s body hurt, a fierce ache like something too large was pushing out from inside. He got unsteadily to his feet, saw it the instant Will’s eyes trembled into that familiar dread. Calvin grabbed for his hand.
After a second scored by too-quick breathing, Will got to his feet, too.
Their passage inside and up the staircase dulled the ache of arousal. Old boards squeaked. It was comforting, a murmured welcome. But the second Will’s fingers twitched against Calvin’s palm, the flames roared back twice as severe. Calvin froze midway across the landing, then gave in and dragged Will’s mouth down to his, needing to be touched. It was a shock to find the taste of Will already at home over his tongue.
There was no space at all between them, just body heat and clothing chafing. So much more personal than anything else he’d done. Maybe because he knew what he meant to do this time. It was more intimate than his most treasured memories of the childhood boyfriend he had back in his arms, but this, this was no child, not by a long shot.
He couldn’t define this emotion as fear.
They’d reached his room before he thought about the other two people in the house, the mere chance that had kept their passage upstairs unnoticed. By then, Will’s presence was all over him, hovering against his skin like warm air. Calvin nudged half-heartedly at the door when it failed to latch, but Will pushed it the rest of the way and leaned back into him with a sigh. He pressed Calvin easily against the wall. Kissed his mouth with a reverence that took him aback.
“God, Cal.”
Calvin ran his palm unrestrained over Will’s face and neck just for the chance to feel. Everything about Will’s face was clearer, more detailed. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Will gave a tiny moan, like the question hurt him. “Oh, hell, I’m—” His hands slid down to Calvin’s thighs and curved round as if Will would lift him, spread him apart, press forward into the cradle of his hips. He squeezed tight and Calvin felt the shift, the rise, before Will’s grip loosened and he pulled back.
Calvin kissed Will full on the mouth, thrusting deep and deliberate with his tongue—this, at least, he knew he could do well—and Will shuddered so hard Calvin thought they would fall.
Will ducked his head. His breath came fast and uneven. “I haven’t seen anyone since you came back.”
That tremble of Will’s, that reaction, swept Calvin’s skin like fingers.
Will’s hands inched up Cal’s hips—one crept around his nape, fingers hot against Calvin’s scalp. Will’s entire body held him, urging close yet pulling away at the same time.
Calvin bent a knee before he could overthink it and raised his leg tight against Will’s hip. Will’s hand snapped to it instantly, and he juddered forward against Calvin’s pelvis. Calvin sought Will’s mouth again, new and needy and hard. For the longest second on earth, Will rolled up into him. Calvin fell full-bodied into it, his thoughts a tumble belonging to someone else.
He remembered this. He
remembered
...this driven motion, Will’s smell, the way Will’s body hitched, how he himself had backed off, and the look in Will’s lovely eyes when he—