Eight
Avery
Kaleb and I get all the kids into their cabins without argument, despite us making the poor decision to hop them up on sugar an hour before we’re expecting them to climb into bed. Even Bradley, who has been notorious the past week for bouncing around between bunks in his, Liam, and Max’s cabin, doesn’t fight us on it.
Guess that’s what happens after a long day in the sun followed by staying up late around the campfire. No sugar rush can fight that level of exhaustion.
After I’m done checking the cabins to the left of the trail, I turn to find Kaleb. I can make out his silhouette heading toward me as he finishes checking on the cabins to the right.
“All good?” he asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket.
He’s looked good all night—plaid flannel and camp tee beneath the caramel colored fabric. A pair of dark washed jeans hug his legs in a way that makes it seem like they were made for him, and after almost two weeks out here, his stubble has grown out into something of a short beard.
All things still noticeable in the moonlight cutting through the trees.
All things I hate myself for noticing.
“Yeah,” I say a little too stiffly, trying to ignore my rolling stomach. “We’re all good.”
“Great.” He pauses, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go double check the fire, but you can head off to bed.”
My brows crash together in confusion. “We flooded it with enough water to drown a fish before taking the kids to their cabins,” I remind him.
He blinks a couple times and shakes his head. “Well, I still gotta clean up around it. Get the food back in the lodge so we don’t attract any animals to the grounds.”
Not bothering to wait for a response, he starts back toward the pit. And that’s when I realize he’s looking for any excuse to get away from me. For whatever reason, I can’t let it happen, though. Can’t stand the thought of him walking away and…fuck, I don’t know.
After the shit just aired during that stupid game, I don’t know fucking anything.
Which is why I close the distance between us before falling in step beside him. “I can help you. I don’t mind.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “But isn’t it kind of my job?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps walking. If possible, at an even quicker pace. But he can’t outrun me, similar to how I can’t outrun all the thoughts and questions racing through my brain, thanks to his candor with the kids.
And it’s those thoughts that cause me to break through the stagnant silence floating between us.
“You did good with them tonight.” When he glances up at me, I add, “With the kids, I mean.”
I catch the faint tic of his jaw. “I certainly hope so. It’s kind of my job.”
The clear echoing of my statement from a moment ago isn’t lost on me, and while his poking fun like that would normally set my blood to boil, this time it forces an awkward laugh out of me.
“No, I just mean…like how you handled everything.”
There’s no hint of understanding on his face before he turns away again, and it frustrates me to hell. I don’t know if he’s pretending to be dense or if I’m really not being clear about what I’m trying to say.
Hell, I’m not even sure I know what I’m trying to get at. Or where I’m hoping this conversation will go. I just know there are so many things I want to ask and know, and I have no idea how to verbalize them without sounding like a complete idiot.
“You know, with the whole…being gay thing.”
God, could I be any more of a fucking imbecile?
The look on his face tells me he’s thinking the exact same thing. It also tells me this is not a conversation he wants to be having right now, especially if the way his lips curve down is anything to go off.
“Yeah,” is all he says, a rough gravel to his tone now, before he looks over at me. “Is it going to be a problem?”
I wish I fucking knew.
There was a roar of disgust inside my head when the truth slipped out earlier, but in the moments since, it’s sunk back into the recesses of my mind. With it gone, I feel like I’m staring at the same infuriating guy I’ve known for three years.
At least, I thought I knew him. Now, I’m not so sure.
“I just…I thought you were straight.”
A sharp scoff comes from him, and he shakes his head before glaring at me. “Why? Because straight is the default?”
The question takes me aback, mostly because I’ve never thought about it in that way. But now since he’s said it, I realize I really have seen it as the standard for everyone I meet. I assume they’re straight.
Same way everyone assumes I am.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
He tosses a hand out, waving me off. “Save it. You wouldn’t be the first, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”
We reach the fire pit then, and we both start gathering the remaining boxes of graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows before heading into the lodge’s kitchen to put them away. And since I’m not sure what to say after his dismissal, awkward silence stifles us the entire time.
But the silence gives me time to think, and right now, thinking is the last thing I should be doing. All my mind can seem to focus on is the fact that Kaleb is gay, and I’m—
Repulsive. Absolutely disgusting!
The voice—the one fraught with shame and outrage that I can never manage to block out—is snarling in my head now, digging its claws in as I watch him lock the back door again. Which is exactly what I should do with these feelings that’ve been rapidly increasing since he walked into Colin’s office my first day here. Lock them up. Immediately. Shove them in a box at the back of my mind and throw away the fucking key.
There’s no other option.
Still, I’m itching to say something—to break this overwhelming silence—as we make our way back toward the cabins. But I can’t think of anything at this point.
Hell, what do you say to someone who was all but outed by his brothers in front of twenty-plus people—and one of them was the guy who did the exact same thing to one of your friends, but on a much larger scale?
Realization smacks me square in the face at the thought, and it’s enough to stop me dead in my tracks. My sudden halt must take Kaleb off guard, because he stops too, annoyance and a tiny amount of concern mixed together in his expression as I blink at him.
“Wait, is this why you’re pissed at me? Why you went to Coach about the photo?” I ask. “Because you’re gay too?”
His brows crash together even more, and if that weren’t enough to alert me of my mistake, then the sharp tone of his voice sure as hell does the job.
“Not that it matters to you, but Keene is bi, not gay. And though you don’t actually give two shits, no, they aren’t the same thing either. Like I pointed out to the kids.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I get a word in edgewise.
“And for the record,” he snarls, closing the space between us and pressing a finger into my chest. “I turned you in because what you did was a piece of shit thing to do. My sexuality has nothing to do with it.”
I’d almost be convinced if it weren’t for the small amount of apprehension lingering in those eyes. It’d be damn near impossible to hide when we’re this close. Even earlier tonight at the fire, as his secret was shared, I caught a glimpse of something similar.
And the alarm, no matter how slight, tells me one thing.
He’s lying.
“Your mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are saying another, LaMothe.”
The tension between us is laced with something a little more potent than it normally is. It’s become this overwhelming urge to just throw him against the nearest hard surface and kiss him until neither of us can breathe, crashing into me with lust-filled waves.
And it only gets worse when he steps in closer, nostrils flared with anger.
“Fuck off, Reynolds. You don’t know shit about me.”
The desire coursing through me spikes with a mixture of anger, bringing my blood to a boiling point. He must realize it too, because the finger against my chest flattens into a palm before he pushes me away. Not enough to cause a stumble, just to garner a bit of space.
But it sets me right the fuck off.
Just not in the way I’d ever expect.
Because, instead of throwing a fist in his face or spewing some hateful words the way my mind is craving to, I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and slam my mouth to his.
A soft yelp comes from him, probably out of shock, and it gives me the opportunity to slip my tongue past his lips. The first brush it makes against his sends a bolt of lust all the way to my cock, and as they tangle together, a deep groan rumbles from within his chest. One I swallow down with hunger, greedy for more.
Because this is it. What I’ve been searching for. What I’ve been dying to have.
What’s been missing all these years because I’ve been too much of a coward to allow myself to have it.
But at this moment, none of that matters. Nothing does except the sweeping press of my lips on his. And, after a few moments of hesitation on his part…the way it feels for him to kiss me back.
My hand at the back of his neck snakes up, curling into the hair at the back of his head to anchor him in place. The other grabs his hip as I back him toward the closest tree, and the second his back collides with it, I press my entire body weight against him. I continue devouring him like my life depends on it in what is sure to be the greatest kiss of my life.
Which is…fucking insane. But it’s the truth.
Even while this—touching another man—is something I’ve been taught is unnatural and disgusting my whole life, something that feels this good can’t be wrong. No matter how many times I’ve been told differently or how foreign the concept might be.
It is wrong! You vile, worthless scum!
But the snarling in my head is quickly drowned out by the feel and taste of him, allowing me to lose myself in the moment and let instinct take over.
I roll my hips into his, eliciting another groan, this time from both of us. And God, if it isn’t fucking amazing. Everything about this is.
The scratch and scrape of his facial hair against my skin.
The firmness of his body, even through his clothes.
The thick ridge of his cock rubbing mine through our jeans.
The way his fingers dig into my hips beneath my hoodie as he truly gives in, kissing me back with the same passionate fury.
His teeth sink into my bottom lip—the bite of pain causing my dick to throb painfully behind my zipper—and when he releases it, the faint taste of blood hits my tongue. It spurs me on and makes me kiss him harder.
We grapple for control over one another, dueling with our tongues and hands while our hips keep bumping and rocking together. I think he’s about to wrap his fists in my hoodie and pull me closer when his palms move up to my pecs. Or maybe spin me around and pin me against the tree instead, pressing against me to the point where there’s not a single air molecule between our bodies.
But he does none of those things, and instead, he flattens them against my chest to push me away for the second time tonight. Enough to not only break our connection but send me stumbling blindly backward.
His chest is heaving like he’s just run a marathon as he glares at me with a mixture of rage and lust. “What the fucking hell, Reynolds?” he seethes.
Shit.
I’m sure he wants an answer, but I’m too busy staring at him in the dim moonlight while I wait for the world to shift back onto its axis. Only it doesn’t. It stays tilted, and the whole thing has me off balance.
I must be out of my goddamn mind. The fresh mountain air, the sun beating down on us from dawn to dusk, and spending every waking moment in the forest must really be fucking with my sanity. It can be the only explanation for what is happening to me. Why I can’t seem to fight the lust running rampant through my system.
“Reynolds?” he says again, and it’s clear from his tone he wants an answer.
Too bad for both of us, I don’t have one.
I lick my lips, and I swear I can still taste his on them. Feel where they just were, their sudden disappearance creating a cooling effect on mine. There’s a burning rawness to them from where his stubble was scraping against my skin too—something I didn’t know I’d enjoy.
Replaying every second of that kiss like it’s my life force isn’t what needs to happen right now, yet it’s all my brain seems capable of. But then I feel it. The voice, crawling its way to the front of my mind. Sinking its talons deep enough, I actually wince when it speaks to me.
You wretched monstrosity. What have you done?
The words echo in my mind, bouncing off the inside of my skull in rapid succession, and soon enough, I’ll be buried by it. Lost beneath piles of self-loathing and regret.
I need to be far, far away from Kaleb when it happens.
So I do the only logical thing.
I turn and flee, disappearing down the path to my cabin at a speed Usain Bolt would be jealous of. I don’t stop until I’m locked safely inside, my back slamming against the wooden door before sliding down it.
And then the shame spiral consumes me.