Rafe runs a hand through his hair like he’s at the end of his patience, but at least he isn’t looking at me like I’m a child molester anymore. He just sighs and doesn’t say anything.
“He’s pretty pissed, though, man. That he can’t come to YA anymore.” And hurt. That was clear beneath everything Anders said. He’d finally found someplace where he could feel comfortable, and now he’d been rejected from there, too.
“Yeah, all the kids are pissed. I’m pissed. Of
course
I wish Anders could still come. I wish we didn’t need permission from a guardian—it cuts so many youth off from service, or forces them to weigh their desire for an inclusive space against the potential cost of coming out to their family. I wish I could do more for all of them in a thousand ways.”
“Then couldn’t you just make an exception? He could just tell his dad he was somewhere else?”
“You don’t understand how serious this is. It’s all so fucking precarious. The slightest whiff of something suspicious, something not aboveboard, and YA could get shut down in an instant. One of the kids says something at school about how we’re letting someone hang around adults unsupervised and a teacher overhears? Disaster. I heard fucking
Mikal
telling Dorothy that Anders was hanging out at your
house
, Colin! Who knows who else he might’ve said it in front of? It doesn’t matter if it’s not true, it just matters what people will believe. You
cannot
be alone with a minor. End of story. It’s for the volunteers’ sake too. You just… you can’t leave yourself open to any accusations. Not any more than YA can. And it can’t be Anders’ responsibility, okay? He’s a kid, he’s hurt, he’s confused, and looking for comfort. I know it feels like the worst fucking thing in the world, but you have to be the one who draws the line.”
He’s ranting at this point, and I never know what to do when he gets this way—furious about a system that he thinks is unjust but unwilling to sacrifice what good is in place to break out of it. I’m not sure if he’s angrier at himself for following the rules or the rules themselves.
“YA is
everything
to me, Colin. Javi built it from nothing. And those kids… they’re—they’ve been what I wake up for in the mornings. For years. Helping with them—giving them something I didn’t ever have—it’s—Colin, it’s the only decent thing I’ve ever done. I can’t fucking lose that.”
Rafe looks wrecked and it’s my fault. It doesn’t matter what my intentions were. I fucked up. Most of all, I hate that Rafe is disappointed in me. So I just stand like an idiot in the middle of my living room.
Rafe walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. With his expression tense, the fine lines around his eyes are more visible and the crease between his brows is deep. His lower lip is rough, like he’s been biting at it.
“You can’t do that again. Okay? You can’t be alone with any of the kids outside of the workshops. No matter how much you want to help. I… believe me, I get it. But it’s too easy for everything to go wrong. Please.” He looks so tired. “Please, babe.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” I say. “I thought… I thought I was helping. I wanted—I just hated seeing him so upset.” And, yeah, there was the fact that he came to me. That, despite having made a mess of this stuff in my own life, he actually thought maybe I’d have some answers. It felt so good to have someone see me that way. And it’s quite a contrast to how Rafe’s looking at me now. With fondness, maybe, but mostly like I’m a liability. A fuckup. Like he gave me something precious and I smashed it.
Like I can’t be trusted with anything real.
After sitting in strained silence for an hour, watching a movie about some dude in a small town who turns out to be part of the mafia or something, I’m ready to scream. It would’ve been easier if Rafe had just left, but apparently he didn’t get the memo that it’s awkward to hang out after fighting with someone.
And then, yeah, my stupid breathing thing starts. I’m just about to get up and go into the kitchen to quietly freak out when I notice that Rafe’s watching me. It feels like I’m cheating because I know he can’t just sit there and not try and help me. My fucked-up-ness is his damned kryptonite.
He lets out a big sigh and then his hand is on the back of my neck and I close my eyes and try to concentrate on his touch.
“We’re okay,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
“Yeah? Well, it feels like shit.”
Rafe sighs. “Yeah. Look, I can’t condone what you did—it’s too dangerous. But I like why you did it. I like that you were trying to help. You’re fucking fierce. I like that.”
“Thought you liked sweet,” I mutter.
“Mmm. Oh, Colin. You’re sweet as hell.”
“Yeah right.”
“Kiss me,” he says softly, a peace offering.
I huff and grudgingly peck him on the lips. He snorts and pulls me closer, kissing me deeper.
“There, see?” he murmurs. “Sweet.”
I push off his chest and roll my eyes at him.
Rafe’s expression turns serious and he moves in and kisses me again. He kisses me like he really does think I’m sweet. As if he has nothing else to do but kiss me.
“I missed you this week,” he says, kissing my neck.
“Oh, now you want to be sweet too, huh?”
He puts on a who-me? expression. “I missed being here with you.” He kisses my shoulder. “I missed eating dinner with you and falling asleep with you.” He kisses my chin. “I like it here.”
“So you’re just using me for my house.”
Rafe nods. “Yeah, and your cat.”
“Damn cat,” I mutter, looking over at her, and one of Shelby’s little ears perks up like she knows we’re talking about her.
In bed, we kiss until we’re both desperate and pulling at each other’s clothes, as if we can ease the tension with our bodies. Rafe strips his underwear off and we both grab for our dicks at the same time. We kiss hard and deep, and it pushes my head into the pillow so there’s only softness beneath me and Rafe’s hardness on top of me.
I press my hips up into his, wanting somehow to be on top of him and underneath him, inside him and around him all at the same time. Rafe groans, sliding his other hand under my thigh to grab my ass, and squeezes, holding us tightly together. He pushes my hand off of us and I call him bossy and he grins, slowing his strokes and kissing me silent, our bodies rocking together as his hand controls our pleasure.
I tug on his hair and he moans into my mouth and strokes us harder. When my balls start to tighten, I squirm beneath him, trying to get just a little more pressure, a little more contact. I gasp into his mouth and he smiles and slows down his strokes again, bringing me away from the edge.
“Damn it!”
Rafe’s eyes are heavy-lidded with lust and nothing I do makes him move any faster than he wants to. He kisses my neck, then bites where it meets my shoulder, which always makes me tighten up, my stomach and my ass clenching.
“Rafe, come on.” I pull at him, but he kisses me before I can say anything else. Then he rolls us so I’m on top of him and sucks on his fingers, getting them slick. I start breathing heavy, and Rafe smiles that wicked half smile and raises an eyebrow. I nod and he slides his fingers inside me. My whole body clenches up on top of him, and his dick jerks against mine in his hand.
He groans and starts moving his fingers slowly inside me. I lean down, begging him with my kiss not to stop. He lets go of our erections for a moment to cup my cheek.
“So sweet,” he says against my lips, and I can smell us on his hand.
“Oh god, shut up,” I gasp, and I thrust against him. Then, “C’mon.”
“Mmm.”
Rafe fists us again, stroking in time with the movement of his fingers inside me. He starts to thrust his hips into mine, his breath coming short. He rubs that place inside me that makes my whole body spark and I cry out, clutching at his shoulders.
“You going to come for me, Colin?” Rafe’s voice is rough with arousal.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
“You’re so gorgeous when you come,” he says in my ear.
“Ungh.”
He tightens his hand on our dicks and spreads his fingers inside me, a fingertip still pressing on that spot. Pleasure races up my spine and my orgasm starts deep inside and explodes through me, every stroke of Rafe’s hand on us dragging out the pleasure. I shoot between us and he kisses me, catching my cries with his mouth. He keeps stroking even after I’m a shuddering mess, little aftershocks sparking from my balls to the tip of my dick, and I reach between us and grab his erection and then he’s coming too, groaning into my neck as his heat hits my stomach and his hips slam up into mine.
“Mmm.” Rafe kisses me softly, gently moving his fingers inside me, making me shudder against him. He kisses my cheeks, and I bury my face in his hair, going limp against him. Our come is smeared between us, but I relax into him and he wraps me in his arms.
Finally, I start to feel slimy, so I get a warm washcloth and clean us up. Rafe slides under the covers, but stays sitting up.
“Can I stay?” he asks a little tentatively, the ghost of the earlier tension rearing its head.
“Yeah, course,” I say, getting into bed. Then I add, “You can always stay,” and Rafe gives me a sleepy smile, confidence back in place. He pulls me to him and the feeling of all that skin against mine is intoxicating. I touch him the way he sometimes touches me, pretty sure he’s okay with it. I rub up and down his spine, and he hums contentedly, then rolls onto his back so I’m lying with my cheek against his shoulder, his arm around me. I slide my hand into his hair and absently untangle it as my mind wanders.
“Colin?” Rafe says softly.
“Hmm.”
“My sister invited you to Thanksgiving at her house.”
He rubs circles on my back before I notice I’ve tensed up.
“Oh, um, well, that’s nice of her. I always go to Pop’s, though. He’d be pissed if I didn’t show.”
“Yeah, I told her you probably had plans with your family. But I wanted to pass along the invitation.” Rafe kisses the top of my head, but then he shifts so he can look at me. “I’d really like it if you’d come to dinner with my family.”
His voice is soft and even, but I can hear how serious he is.
“Yeah, sorry, but Pop—”
“I know. I don’t mean on Thursday. Look, I know you’re not ready to tell your family. I get that you’re not comfortable going out with me in public. But my family already knows about us. You met Luz. I just…. It doesn’t have to happen right now. But I need to know that we exist outside these walls.”
“Rafe, I….” But I have absolutely nothing to say to that.
“Just think about it. Okay?” He kisses me and settles me back against him. He falls asleep in a few minutes, but I lie awake for a long time, my fingers in Rafe’s hair, wishing real-life shit was as easy to untangle as the knots there.
I LIKE
the city on holidays even though I don’t care about Thanksgiving. Fewer people around and everyone’s less rude, like they remember we’re all someone’s family. A few older ladies at the bus stop actually nod to me when I walk by on my way to Pop’s.
The Eagles are playing this afternoon, but I’m going over in time for the early game, which is Detroit and Chicago. I grab more beer on my way, but when I get to Pop’s, it’s clear I didn’t need to bother. The whole refrigerator is a tetris of cases, cans, and bottles.
After he invited me for dinner, Rafe explained that his family doesn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. For them, it’s just mandatory family time, and they cook a huge traditional Mexican meal at Gabriela’s, since her place is the biggest. When I told him it sounded nice, he said I could still come.
But we both knew I wouldn’t.
After sitting on Pop’s couch for a few hours drinking beer, I’m starting to have second thoughts. I’m starving and there’s no food. The Bears are playing like shit. And Brian keeps throwing drained beer cans at the TV in anger, so the entire living room reeks.
When I crack open my fifth beer, I realize I’m pretty drunk. My decreased tolerance is a reminder that I haven’t been drinking much lately because I’ve been spending so much time with Rafe.
It’s like sliding into a warm and comfortable hole, though. My arms and legs feel heavy, like doing anything but sitting on this couch would be impossible, and my head’s fuzzy.
And apparently my fuzzy head only wants to think about Rafe. Like, why, exactly, did I come here, to this sad place, when I could be with Rafe, eating delicious food and seeing him interact with his family? But then Brian grins at me and holds out a couple stale crackers he found in the kitchen, and I know I have to be here.
Halfway through the Eagles game, Daniel calls. While Sam chats with him, I find myself wondering where he is for Thanksgiving. Maybe I do wish I were with Rafe instead of being here, but at least I have somewhere to be. I don’t like to think of Daniel alone in Whereverthefuck, Michigan. Sam holds the phone out to me, but I shake my head.
I drunk text Rafe,
I wish I were with u
.
He texts back almost immediately:
You can still come if you want. Lots of food.
My stomach growls.
U wdnt like me now
, I write. Rafe’s made it really clear he doesn’t want to be around me when I drink.
I always like you
, Rafe texts, and I can’t help but smile. Then a minute later, he writes,
Be safe. I can drive you home, if you need.
I walked
, I send. Then,
Thanks
.
Liza shows up an hour later with half a turkey—really, you never know with Liza; she said she had it because of something to do with work, but she’s a florist, so I have no idea. I barely taste it, though. I keep looking around at all of them—Pop, Brian, Sam, Liza—and asking myself what the worst-case scenario is. Like, what exactly might I lose that’s worth not being able to make Rafe happy by agreeing to go to dinner with his family. Or take him out to dinner. Fuck, the guy was practically begging me to go on a date with him and I said no. I’m the worst… whatever on the planet.
Brian and Pop are drunk too; Sam and Liza are tipsy. When I’m coming out of the bathroom, Pop and I nearly collide in the kitchen. He pats me on the back, practically knocking himself off balance in the process.