Sorry. Max says he’s not tired, so we might watch a movie. I might ask if he wants to watch anime.
Or maybe not.
He might think that’s weird.
Nate
Ask him and find out. My babysitter tucked me into bed, so we’re off to sleep over here. Enjoy your anime.
Turning my phone on silent, I lean over and plug it in. Vas is nothing more than a lump beneath the blankets, the dark in the room near absolute.
“Goodnight, Vas,” I whisper.
“Goodnight, my friend,” he whispers back.
Not quite tired enough to fall asleep, I listen to the soft sound of Vas breathing and think about summer. With less than a month of school left, the year is winding to a close andI feel a little bummed about it. I like my family’s place in Wyoming, and really love visiting my uncle in Montana, but I also love it here. I love my friends and my roommates, and I especially love my hockey team. Going home always feels like a culture shock—taking me days to recalibrate to a way of living that’s at complete odds to what I get used to here. If only I could bring Micky back with me, then maybe it wouldn’t feel so strange. I smile into the pillow, thinking of quiet, nervous Micky being introduced to the organized chaos that is farm living.
Marcos would look good on a horse.
The thought is as abrupt and startling as a slap to the face. This level of lust is madness. I barely know the man, and certainly not well enough to be planning grand vacations to my family home. I need to pull myself together. It was a fling—an enjoyable one, and one I’d repeat again in a heartbeat if he asked me to—but a fling nonetheless. It’s time to move on and forget about it.
Marcos wants to be friends, which means I need to stop obsessing over the man. It’s not his fault I’ve developed an alarming and unexplained attachment to him. I can do friends. Ican. And maybe the distance between South Carolina and home will help curb all these feelings. Probably, by next year, everything that happened between me and Marcos will be nothing more than an enjoyable college memory.
Sometimes, seventeen minutes is all you get.
6
Marcos
I’m not so much runningas I am sprinting. My feet pound the pavement, and my heavy breathing is loud in my ears. It’s hot here, in May, and my punishing speed has sweat dripping down my temples and back. I run until I feel like I’ll be sick from it, and then I run a little more. By the time I get back to Max’s and my apartment, my legs are weak and shaky; I feel like I might be in danger of puking. Chest heaving, I carefully push open the front door and try to breathe myself down.
The police officers who came to follow up with Max are long gone, but I feel like their presence remains. I hate them, for coming here and tainting what should have been a safe space for him. For me. Unfairly, I hate them. I hate everyone involved in this shit, and I’m tired of how much space that one night holds in our lives. Not a single minute has gone by that I haven’t regretted taking him to that fucking party.
Bending over to take off my running shoes, I rest a hand against the wall when the blood rushes to my head. Idefinitely pushed it too hard on the run. When I peek over at the couch, the TV is muted and only Luke’s dark head is visible. Frowning, I stand up. Where the hell is Max?
“How was your run?” Luke whispers, head leaned against the back of the couch and watching me.
“Hot. Where?—”
Luke lifts a hand and points down to his lap. Walking over, I look down at Max, stretched lengthwise on the cushions with his head pillowed in Luke’s lap. Luke’s left hand is gently brushing his hair back from his face, the movement so measured it’s clear he’s been doing it for a while. There’s a sharp pain in my chest that has nothing to do with being winded as I look down at him.
Luke brings his right hand down to rest on Max’s stomach, fingers splayed. He’s still watching me, eyes wary, as he probably wonders whether I’m about to start yelling like I’d done earlier.
“Sorry,” I mumble. He shrugs.
“I’m sorry, too.”
I nod, because I know he is. Me being wrong about Luke Kelly is just another thing I had to add to my list of ways I’ve let Max down. Max is doing so much better—finally on the uphill climb after so many days at rock bottom—and a lot of that is because of Luke. I owe him a thousand apologies, not just one, whispered quietly enough that my best friend can sleep through it.
“What are we going to do?” Luke asks, voice wary and nowhere near as happy as his usual. I stiffen, because I don’t think there’s anything wecando. The only thing that can be done now is to try and move on; forget about everything that happened, or find a way to learn and live with it.
“I don’t know,” I respond truthfully, voice hoarse andthroat dry. Luke rubs his hand idly on Max’s chest, the other still gently combing through his hair. It’s disgusting how envious I feel in this moment, knowing I will never have something like this. Never be able to sleep while someone touches me like that.
“I’m staying here for the summer,” Luke whispers, voice dropping even quieter, like he’s simultaneously trying not to disturb Max, but also hesitant of how I’ll react to his words. I frown at him, unsure what he means until he clarifies. “In South Carolina.”
“Oh.” I know next to nothing about Luke, so I’m not even sure where home is for him. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this. “Okay?”
“I might be over here a lot,” he says slowly.
