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“Here’s an example. He built a pyramid in the basement. All plywood and duct tape. Big ol’ thing he hung from the ceiling with a chain he stole off my swing set.”

I search his eyes. “Fun?”

“Fun,” he echoes. “Sure. And then one day he called me down there and told me to sit under it in a chair. Said it would transport me to another dimension.”

My skin prickles.

“No shit?”

“No shit.” Paul looks back at the water. “And I sat there for hours until Mom came home, trying to disappear for him.”

The yard goes very quiet. Even the pool seems to hold still.

Paul’s eyes meet mine again, hazy with smoke, wet at the corners. He gives me a reassuring smile. “Anyway, we didn’t have a lot of sleepovers at my place.”

And suddenly I understand him a little more. Why he hides. Why secrets and straight backs and maintenance are so important to him.

Maybe a dad isn’t always a plus.

I sit up. Fast enough that Paul looks over.

The silence has gotten too tight. Too full of basement pyramids and little-boy Paul trying to vanish in a chair because his father asked him to.

I ask the question I’ve been pushing down all day.

“Do you…” My throat sticks. I clear it. “Any regrets about earlier?”

Paul’s eyes go wide.

Excellent transition, Clint.

Get down there.

My cock twitches at the memory, and I hate myself for that. I shift, pretending it’s because the ground is uncomfortable, which is ridiculous because there is nothing hidden right now and we both know exactly how male bodies work.

Paul nods slowly, like a decision has just been made somewhere deep inside him.

“I regret how we got there,” he says. His voice is careful but not polished. He looks at me then. “I don’t regret that it happened.”

The words move through me strangely. The weed slows them down, turns each one over in my head before letting it land. I regret how we got there. I don’t regret that it happened.

My response takes too long.

The pool brushes warm against my calves. Our shoulders are touching. The night holds its breath around us.

Finally, I nod. “Same.”

It comes out softer than I expected. Not a promise or expectation. Definitely not an invitation, and we both seem to know that.

Paul kicks once at the water and doesn’t smile.

Neither do I, but my shoulder stays where it is.

And maybe that’s the most danger either of us can tolerate at the end of one fucked-up, dangerous day.

Chapter thirty-four

All I Want