9
EVAN
Ineed to get Nate out of my head—whatever the fuck that was last night. It doesn’t matter if he knew or not. He had to knowsomethinglike that had happened. Either that or he chose to stick his head in the sand, because I know he’s not stupid. It might be easier if he was. Even if he didn’t know about what his stepdad did to me, he still blanked me on the boardwalk that day with his friends. How can he explain that away?
He’ll stop trying after a while. That’s if he hasn’t stopped already. Just like last time. It took three unreturned messages and he was gone. It was too easy for him to be tempted by his stepdad’s money and the promise of being a part of some elite club. What the fuck do I have to offer him that his new world can’t give him ten times over?
I work my shift at the warehouse, dodging Bob so he doesn’t ask me about that stupid course again. Leave.
When I get home, Ma’s already in bed and behind her bedroom door, I can hear Stacie on the phone with her friend. I think about going in and telling her to go to sleep,but I don’t like the idea of taking on that role. She doesn’t need me trying to be her dad.
There’s an empty hanger on the back of Ma’s bedroom door and it forces me to stop dead. An empty hanger shouldn’t mean shit. For years, Dad’s work clothes would be on the back of that hanger, waiting for him to get up in the morning and put them on. Even after he stopped being able to go to work regularly, he or my mom left the hanger there—maybe some kind of hope that eventually things would go back to normal. Except they didn’t. He hadn’t been able to work for years before he died, so why the fuck am I thinking about that now? Something twists in my chest and I push it down, opening the door to my own room.
I login to the app I use to meet guys. There are always people online, looking for a hookup, whether it’s 1am or 1pm. It’s sad. The desperation of the married men, up at 1am while their wives are asleep. The loneliness of the single men, desperate for a little human interaction.
Nate’s face comes back to me, staring at me with those big eyes. How immature he is. He wouldn’t know the first thing about being desperate, being lonely. He doesn’t even fucking know how to live in the adult world yet. He’s still wrapped up in his little bubble of college life. Clubs, teams, fraternities, whatever the fuck he belongs to. Nate was always supposed to belong. Well, he does now. He’s where he’s supposed to be.
I tell myself this, but every man who pops up turns me off. I don’t want them. But I don’t want Nate, either. Why did he have to fucking come back? I’d put him out of my head. Told myself he didn’t even exist anymore. But he does. There are glimmers of the old Nate in there. All grown up. Parts of him I don’t know yet, but want to.
I’m fucked.
I lie back on my bed and put my headphones on, trying to get him out of my head. But I can still see Nate’s face in profile. That little bump in his nose from when he broke it trying to jump a car on a homemade ramp. The scar on his top lip you’d only see if you knew to look, from when he snagged it on barbed wire, climbing a fence to get to a box of popsicles they were throwing out of Walmart. And that little scar in his eyebrow, from when he crashed that fucking car and called me to come help him.
His stupid-ass backward cap with the Ivy League logo. The clean polo shirt and neatly trimmed nails, freshly shaven face. It barely hid the Nate I knew last night. I could see him. Sitting next to me on the beach in the dark. All I could see were the scars I remembermyNate getting. The way he smiled. That unique smell I used to feel ashamed of sniffing in the t-shirts he’d sleep in and leave behind at my house.
I can see myself reaching across the gearstick and running my hand up the inside of his thigh. Watching a blush spread across his cheeks as his sweats get tight around his swelling dick.
I think about his lips as I slide my hand into my boxers. My cock is rock hard before I’ve even touched it. Imagining Nate’s breath on my face. The shocked look I bet he gets on his face just before he comes. I bite my lip, so I’m not tempted to say his name as I spill over my hand.
There arevoices floating up from downstairs. The sun floods around the blinds and my t-shirt’s stuck to me with sweat, and,fuck,dried cum.
I slip into the bathroom just as laughtererupts up the stairs. My whole body floods with warmth, my guts churning at the sound of Nate’s voice.
What the fuck is he doing here? Inmyhouse? Laughing with my ma and sister?
I have to stop myself from going down there, but if anyone’ll recognize the smell of dried cum, it’s a frat boy.
I turn the dial on the shower as cold as I can take it. My skin gets red and blotchy under the icy spray and I wash as fast as I can.
When I get downstairs, dressed in a clean t-shirt and sweats, Nate’s still sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of my ma’s half-eaten pancakes in front of him.
“Morning, baby,” Ma says when she sees me. “Want some pancakes?”
I grunt a response before taking the only seat between Stacie and Nate.
“Hey,” Nate says. He squares his shoulders, like he’s expecting a fight, before tucking back into his breakfast. “I just came to say hi to your mom and Stacie.” He looks up again, meeting my eye, his gaze is penetrating now. I know what he’s doing. He wants to show me that I’m wrong about him. That no matter what happened between us, he’s not gonna let them down—not this time.
“Don’t you have tennis practice or frat meetings to be at?”
“Evan!” Ma scolds me from the stove.
Nate smiles, but the confident act is slipping a little. He’s stopped eating and he’s just pushing the pancakes around now. “No. Just a class this afternoon.”
“What did you say you were studying, Nate?” Ma asks. She brings a plate of pancakes over and puts them down in front of me.
“Business and economics.”
“Oh wow. Are you gonna start your own business when you graduate?”
