Russell
I wandered up from the basement, my head fuzzy. The night had gone exactly like I had expected, with everyone joking around and drinking beer until it was well past midnight.
When I was a kid, the three of them were all mysterious and cool. I never got to hang out, but I was always nearby, wishing I could. I’d hear them laughing from the basement or catch a glimpse of them all walking out to Blake’s old beat-up car, and it was like catching a glimpse of an enticing, secret world.
In a family of boys who liked sports and roughhousing and getting dirty, my deeply buried secrets always made me feel like an outsider. And the hot jock and cool troublemaker that my brother picked as best friends only ever heightened that sense.
Except now, I wasn’t that awkward kid. I was actually figuring myself out, and part of that was realizing I wanted to be with Casey and Blake. It was weirdly like the opposite of how it used to be, like now I had my own secret world that Peyton didn’t know anything about.
And when I tried to think about that, the hangover I’d earned last night got worse.
I pushed open the door to the kitchen and saw Casey and Blake both up. Blake was in a tank that showed off his broad, hairy chest, and unsurprisingly, Casey was mixing ingredients in a bowl.
Casey yawned. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and when he stirred, his old T-shirt rose up, and I saw the hint of his happy trail sticking out.
Fuck, how were they always so hot?
“Coffee’s on. You hungover?” Casey asked.
I laughed and slumped down at the counter. “Yup.”
Blake stood up and got me a mug. “Should have told you to drink more water,” he grumbled.
They both had bleary eyes and messed-up hair, and Blake had a thicker stubble on his face than I’d ever seen before, but they looked happy. And remembering the night before, laughing until my cheeks hurt and messing around and just having fun with them and Peyton, a warm, bubbly feeling whooshed through me.
If only I had been able to go upstairs and sleep in the same bed as Casey and Blake, it would have been a perfect night.
With a quick glance through the living room, I jumped to my feet, then surprised Casey with a kiss. He pulled the bowl of ingredients back with a laugh, and I turned and brushed my lips against Blake’s, then took the coffee from him.
“Thanks,” I said and plopped into my seat at the counter.
“You keep doing that, you’re going to make me spill my batter,” Casey said.
Blake barked a laugh. “Gross.”
I thought about what he said, then caught on. “Ew,” I laughed, then waved the mixing bowl away. “That’s not a hangover-friendly joke.”
We all stared at each other, then broke out laughing again. It was fun to act immature and goofy with them, comfortable enough to just be braindead together.
The second Peyton left, I decided, I was going to tell them how I really felt. I’d talked to River more after the woodworking class, and he’d helped me process my feelings. A relationship between the three of us could really work, if we gave it a chance. It was unconventional, and it would definitely come with its own challenges, but who cared? My heart believed we could really be happy together, and my head was starting to catch up and believe it, too.
It would be a mistake to never say how I felt aloud, even if it did risk changing the nice thing we had going on now.
With an impatient sigh, I pushed those feelings aside and focused on drinking my coffee. The three of us talked and played with our phones, and after a while, Casey taught me the right way to flip pancakes, so I got to help out while he fried the bacon. The rhythm of it was easy and natural, like we could have stayed there all day, and my hazy headache slowly lifted.
“I smell bacon,” Peyton said, entering the kitchen. My brother had the same groggy expression as the rest of us, and his slippers kicked against the floor as he crossed over.
I flipped the last pancake onto the plate. “I think breakfast is done now.” I noticed something tucked under his arm and nodded to it. “What’s that?”
Peyton held up the box. “Old pictures. When I moved into my new apartment this summer, I found them. Want to take a look?”
Casey reached out and grabbed the box from his hand. “Me first.”
“He’s pulling out all the ones that he thinks are embarrassing,” Blake told the rest of us.
Peyton laughed. “I know what he’s doing,” he said, then reached in and grabbed one of the photos from the box, handing it to me. “Check this out.”
A high-school version of Casey store there in skinny jeans and a trucker hat, pointing at the camera like he was trying to be cool, but looking hopelessly awkward. Without his beard, his face had sharper, prettier angles to it, which I had almost forgotten about.
