The Idiot (Carver Brothers #2)

CHAPTER 1

Murphy

Each time I think I’ve made progress on this orchard, all I have to do is look in any direction to prove me wrong. The rows upon rows of trees, inundated with ripening apples, are a daunting sight. I’m one man trying to do the work of two.

There’s certainly no time for self-pity. I’m the last man in the Malone family and this is Malone Orchard. Sighing, I climb up onto the tractor. The carburetor sputters as I turn it over.

Not now. Please, not now.

Just make it through the season. I’ll work on you all winter. I promise.

It answers with a chuff and then a rumble, coughing to life. Stepping on the clutch with a grateful heart, I drive further down the path between the trees than I would like. I can just carry my picking bags a little farther until I catch up to where I park it and the wagon. The less I have to start the old beast, the better.

My cousin Danny sure picked a great week to take off to a music festival with his girlfriend. Not that I’d be much better off if he were here. I’m thankful he helps out, but not all relatives are created equal. If Dad were still alive, we’d have been done with this pass already. That man was a force to be reckoned with.

Mom would be out here if she weren’t at work, but I’m glad she got stuck on day shifts at the hospital this month. She’s got no business being on a ladder with her bad hip, and she’s on her feet enough as it is in the ER. No fifty-five-year-old should have to have two jobs, anyway. I need to buckle down, so she doesn’t try picking up my slack when she gets home.

I told Dad before he died that I could handle this. I hope he’s not looking down, seeing how I barely manage it most days.

God, I miss him. I miss his affability and the wonder that was his work ethic. It’s been three years, and I still feel like I’m a sullen toddler trying to fill a giant’s shoes. He must have been exhausted every single day of his life. How in the hell did he do all of this?

Jumping down from the tractor, my knee lets out a pop, and a discomforting twinge shoots up my leg. I don’t know why I thought enlisting in the Army for a term after high school would be like a vacation from the orchard. Point and shoot. Stop the bad guys. Who needs to run? Only cowards run.

Boy, was I wrong. It was like the damn Boston Marathon every morning. Thirty miles a week for four years—I’m lucky I have any cartilage left.

My enlistment got me out of Wenatchee for a while and broadened my horizons, but I don’t miss it. One deployment is enough to make anyone kiss the grass where they came from.

Hitting the play button on my music app, the ethereal intro of ABBA’s ‘Chiquitita’ brings a sense of serenity. That’s at least one bonus to working solo today—I can indulge in my favorite band rather than be forced to listen to Danny’s grunge metal.

Grabbing up my picking bag out of the apple wagon, I head back toward where I left off. The breeze filtering through the trees cools the warmth on my skin left by the August sun. Honeybees float around, minding their own business, alighting on the apples, performing nature’s miracles. No matter how many aches and pains I have, no matter how few hours in the day to do what I want, I certainly can’t complain about a lack of peacefulness.

Maybe I’m a simple man. Maybe it’s because, through my service, I’ve seen some of the world. Or maybe I’m just sentimental over fond memories of my youth, but it’s so damn beautiful here there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather grow old. It’s perfection on earth if you ask me.

I think I needed this—a day to myself. I’ve been in such a rut lately that Mom is starting to notice, which only makes the rut feel deeper. I’m not supposed to make her worry. I’m supposed to make her life easier now that Dad is gone. It’s been difficult to accomplish that with this sense of unrest that has been looming over me for months.

Auggie nudges his nose against my leg. His brown eyes are full of concern as his shaggy tail swishes back and forth. Fantastic. I’m even depressing my dog.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, giving the place behind his ears a scratch.

Staring down at him, I know my problem wasn’t needing a day alone. His moon eyes, so full of affection, too closely resemble a sight that’s haunted me for months.

That couple. That damn couple at Rouge the last time I went to Seattle. Why am I thinking about them again?

Moving my ladder over to the next tree, I remind myself it’s probably because it’s been three months since I’ve been back there. It’s not for lack of need that I’ve neglected my Grindr profile and my trips to the city. I want to be touched. Boy, do I ever, but I don’t think that’s enough anymore. I’m afraid that couple ruined my escape for me.

They were so… in love, I could taste it, taste it until I choked on it. I’ve witnessed the makings of casual hookups countless times at that club and others. Heck, I’ve contributed to my share of them. Dancing, grinding, flirting—those are things I’ve become accustomed to seeing each time I walk into Rouge. But that couple… they were off script. Their body language ensnared me. I couldn’t look away.

They sat at the bar with their backs to it, so they were facing the dance floor where their friends were partying it up. And there they stayed all night. The dark-haired one leaned his head on the other guy’s shoulder like it was a reliable resting place, an extension of his own body. Talking, laughing, affectionate looks—their evident bond was captivating. All night, they either held hands or casually traced the back of the other’s neck as though it wasn’t a conscious thought, but a need to feel ‘their person.’

Rubbing my chest, I wish I could snuff out the ache around my heart each time I remember them and the loving way they gazed at each other. I think my problem is that I want a ‘person.’

Auggie lets out a whine. Oh, brother. I’m standing here lost in thought over strangers. Maybe I’ve finally watched too many soap operas with Mom if I’m daydreaming about romance.

I don’t care if soap operas aren’t high-brow entertainment—I’m still catching the next episode of Breathless with her tonight when she gets home. It’s our thing, and that show is a damn masterpiece. I’ll crawl into bed with Auggie afterward and do all this over again tomorrow. That’s my life, and it’s worked out fine for me for years.

Right. Then why am I torturing myself with things that don’t grow on trees?

Even if I wanted to find ‘my person,’ this is Wenatchee, and I live in the damned country. Every acquaintance of mine is another orchard owner—straight orchard owners. I know this. I decided years ago that my love of the land was greater than my need to find a soulmate. I’m not leaving. This is my home. I’ve got no right to lament the fact that the only warm body to have ever shared my bed is Auggie. It’s my own doing. Scratching itches has worked my entire life.

Until that damned couple.

They’re starting to take up permanent residence in my mind lately, and I wish to hell they’d travel on. I don’t need the temptation. Everything was fine before I saw them. How many times have I caught myself out here staring off into space, dreaming about fairytales because of them? I’ve never done shit like that.

An engine revs in the distance, giving my pulse a jolt. I know exactly who it is before I even squint through the sunlight and make out Jesse’s pickup bounding down the path between the row of trees. Auggie jumps up, barking excitedly at the hell on wheels. How Jesse Carver ever passed his driver’s test is a mystery.

He’s… coming at us pretty fast.

Shit. Is he going to stop?

Ah, hell. I can see his stupid grin from here. The crazy son of a bitch. If he hits my picking wagon, I’m going to give him a beatdown to top all beatdowns.

I’m about to yell every curse word I know when he slams on the brakes. His truck spins, The Dukes of Hazzard style, peeling up the grass as his tires slide to a stop beside me.

Exhaling a slow breath through my nostrils, I bite the inside of my lip as he flashes me a shit-eating grin. Only Jesse can make me want to laugh and cause bodily harm at the same time.

“Hop in, Maloney Baloney! Let’s get some lunch,” he calls, his tawny arm hanging out his window where he pats the door.

With his blue eyes twinkling with mischief, it sometimes amazes me we’re the same age. While that maneuver was impressive, I refuse to share in his pride over it. Guaranteed, someone’s field is fucked up with tire tracks right now because he was probably practicing to show it off to me. Why that brings me a perverse pleasure that has me wanting to crack up is some secret of the universe that no therapist could probably ever understand.

We have a good cop/bad cop relationship. I’m the Abbott to his Costello, and it’s never deterred him. The more I stonewall him and school my features over one of his shenanigans, the harder he tries to get a reaction. We’re thirty years old. I thought we’d have grown out of this dynamic by now, but it only seems to grow stronger with each passing year.

“I think you took ten dog years off Auggie’s life,” I deadpan.

“What? No way!” Turning his head, he looks down at the mutt in question who’s come to greet him by way of propping his paws up on the door.

Jesse never lets anyone touch his precious truck out of fear of scratching it. If Auggie weren’t my dog, I suspect he’d get scolded to get down.

“You weren’t scared. Were you, Auggie Doggie? No. You’re a killer!” he coos, scratching him behind his ears.

“Auggie, down,” I warn.

He knows better than to jump on vehicles but seems to forget all obedience whenever Jesse’s around. Jesse’s good at sucking you into the vortex of his high-on-life, no-consequences attitude. I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re friends because as much as I shouldn’t stop to take a break, the enticing offer to get in his truck and escape my obligations for a while is difficult to resist.

“Danny took the week off. Thanks, but I can’t.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve got to eat. Don’t tell me I drove all the way over here to get turned down.”

Scoffing, I shake my head and busy myself picking the low-hanging fruit. “You only live ten minutes away. And I’ve got too much work to do. I don’t have an entire clan at my disposal like you and your family do. One-man operation here. These apples aren’t going to pick themselves.”

“I’ll help you after lunch. We’ll breeze through these bitches in no time. Come on. Come on, come on, come on!”

I’m glad he can’t see my face. I can feel my beard shifting over my stupid smile at his juvenile tactics. Sometimes I wonder if he’d try that playing cute crap if he knew I was gay.

Probably not. The thought has my stomach twisting into a knot.

I’ve grown immune over the years to the what-ifs where Jesse is concerned, having struck the question from my mind long ago. Keeping a loyal best friend that can make me laugh so hard I risk pissing myself seemed like a better option than being a friendless, single hermit who lives in the country with his mother. It’s not like there’s ever been an LGBTQ+ community in rural Wenatchee for me to have any dating options, so it’s never been worth it to me to tell him.

I considered it briefly after I came back from my military enlistment, but we were already twenty-two by then, and Jesse had discovered strip clubs while I was away. I figured the window of opportunity for open-mindedness had closed.

We’ve known each other since we were seven. How the fuck do you drop a bomb like that on someone who’s thought you were straight their entire life and is about as hetero as it gets? I’d like to think we’re close enough that he’d be accepting of my secret, but I’m too afraid it’d make things between us… awkward. I can’t imagine a life with Jesse being awkward around me.

“Baloney,” he whines again. “Please?”

Ugh. I’m such a sucker.

Staring at the row of loaded trees, knowing I’ll get the benefit of his antics for a few hours after lunch while he helps me pick tips the scales. The rascal is a hard worker if nothing else, and time always flies when we’re together.

“Fine,” I pretend to act put out. “Auggie, home,” I order.

He snorts in protest, but starts trotting to the house as Jesse beams in victory. I walk around to the truck’s passenger side, brushing at a smudge on my white tank top and buttoning my work shirt over my chest. I’m still lumbering inside—my ass isn't even on the seat yet—and Jesse starts driving, turf flying behind us. I manage to get my door shut without falling out, but cock a brow at him.

“Hungry, are we?”

“I don’t want to miss them!”

“Miss who?”

“Pete and his ‘guest.’”

Why he makes air quotes, I have no clue. I should have figured his extra squirrelly-ness meant Pete was home for the weekend. He always ups his fuckery game whenever his brother’s in town.

“We’re meeting your brother for lunch? You could have at least let me go in the house to clean up.”

His mischievous laugh clashes with the squeal of Van Halen’s guitar on the radio as he pulls out onto the road. “Oh, big bro is so beyond noticing germs today. Let’s just say he’s… preoccupied.”

I wasn’t referring to his brother’s OCD, but rather the fact that Pete is always impeccably put together, and I look like I just came from a lumberjack sauna. Wiping the sweat from my brow on my sleeve will have to do.

We hit a pothole, making the lace G-string on Jesse’s rearview sway back and forth. It’s blue. The last one was pink. Must be a new one. Not that I’m surprised. It’s honestly a perfect complement to the swimsuit model mini calendar stuck to his dash. I am in a moving box of testosterone. Maybe I can’t do this today, after all. The Van Halen’s got to go, at the very least.

“Are you going to speak in riddles the entire time?” I ask, adjusting his radio dial.

“Please not country,” he moans, my question forgotten. If he knew what I truly wanted to listen to, he’d really be protesting.

“Delores runs better on rock,” he adds, patting the dash.

The relationship he has with this vehicle should be disturbing. I have to remind him often that it’s not a person.

Delores suddenly lurches forward, her engine revving. My torso is pressed back into the seat from the force as the scenery flashes by in quick succession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s them!” he squawks, pointing at a black sedan up ahead that turns out of his parents’ orchard. “Ha! Watch this. He’s going to be so pissed off.”

Gripping the oh-shit handle, I brace myself as we speed dangerously close to what looks like his brother’s Lexus. I can see the top of a blonde head belonging to a man in the passenger seat.

Great. We’re not just going to kill Pete, but someone else as well. I am so glad I stopped working for this.

“What if something runs out in front of him and he has to slam on the brakes? I don’t feel like spending the rest of the season in traction just so you can fuck with your brother.”

“You’re a war veteran. Nothing should scare you, least of all me and Delores.”

“It’s not Delores I’m worried about. It’s acts of nature. You don’t fuck with nature. Need I remind you of the badger incident?”

“No,” he sulks. “You know I’ve asked you not to talk about that.”

His adamant reply and the childlike fear in his expression have me chuckling, relieving some of the tension from my body. A hand connects with my shoulder in a quick slap.

“You fucker.” He laughs. “I miss you.”

That… shouldn’t make me feel all warm inside. I see his stupid mug all the time, and when I don’t, we text. Usually nothing of substance, but I’ve always taken a perverse pride in being the person Jesse wants to tell about his day and share his absurd thoughts.

“You saw me Wednesday night,” I remind him, turning my gaze to the passing scenery as we head into town, still on Pete’s ass.

“No, I mean it’s picking season. We don’t get to hang out as often.”

“I’m sure you sat at home all by your lonesome, bored out of your mind without me. Besides, we text every day.”

“Fine!” He cackles. “I’m needy. Rub it in. I just have to make sure you don’t run off and join the foreign legion or something. As your best friend, it’s my job to make sure you don’t do anything stupid again.”

Him and my military service. I don’t get it. By the way he acted, you’d think I died when I left. We’ve always been thick as thieves, but when I got out eight years ago, I swear he as much as put a tracking device on me. It’d be flattering if… he was someone else, someone like me.

Delores screeches to a halt. I lurch forward, gripping the dash. My stomach is about to squeeze out through my throat. I venture there’s only a foot of space between us and Pete’s bumper where we’ve pulled over to the curb in town.

“Nothing stupid, huh? What do you call this?”

“A surprise!” He beams, popping the shifter into park. “You’re gonna love it.”

Ah, hell. The fuck I am. I know that look.

“As much as that time you surprised me with a fishing trip, and it was an outdoor nudist expo?”

“Better,” he chirps, wrenching open his door.

The lack of eye contact tells me that’s some bullshit. He has no clue how predictable he is, or he just doesn’t care.

“Or last spring when you said we were going to check out that new bar in Sunnyslope, but you made me climb the water tower to show me Deputy Greer was schtupping Molly Hornes in the back of his squad car?”

His lips part, but no rebuttal comes out.

Good. Maybe I won this round.

Nope. Now he’s grinning. That means I’m fucked.

Holding up an index finger, he assures me, “Just as good as that.”

Doubtful. Highly doubtful, but what do I do? I get out of Delores and follow after my best friend for whatever nonsense he’s up to, just like I have since we were kids.

“Wonderful,” I mutter under my breath.

I like his brother Pete. He’s always been cool with me, but it’s disappointing learning my lunch invite now means I won’t have Jesse’s full attention or the private moments when he’s not trying to be a clown. He’s got this sick obsession with pissing off his brother that always makes me feel juvenile by association.

“Are you practicing applying for the ambulance service, or was there a bee in the truck?” Pete asks, slamming the door of his Lexus.

“Just wanted to spend some quality time with you before you head back to Portland.”

I throw Pete a nod, hoping it’ll de-escalate the situation. It took balls for him to leave Wenatchee and make it on his own. This is apple country, after all. While city life and corporate offices have never been my dream, I’m both envious and impressed that he bucked local convention. “Hey, Pete.”

“Hi Murphy. How’s your mother doing?”

“Good. They’ve got her on day shift at the hospital.”

“Hi, I’m Cameron.” A younger blonde man waves shyly and approaches the back of the car.

“Murphy Malone. Friend of Jesse’s,” I offer, extending my hand.

Jesse slaps his palms together, rubbing them in quick succession. “So, what’s on the agenda? A little sightseeing? The museum?”

“I didn’t know you were so interested in local attractions,” Pete grouses.

“Hey, I’m here for Cameron. We can’t let him go home from his first trip to Wenatchee without showing him a good time.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine. I just wanted to find an apple cookie jar for my mom,” Cameron laughs bashfully.

Pete rolls his eyes at Jesse and squeezes through the tight space between the vehicles to get to the sidewalk, though not without throwing a dirty look at his brother. As he converses with his friend, I level a questioning look at mine as if to say what-the-fuck-are-we-doing-here? Clearly, this wasn’t a unanimously planned outing, judging by the way Pete takes off down the sidewalk with his buddy.

Jesse just beams and waggles his brows, planting a hand on Delores’ hood to jump over the bumper onto the sidewalk. He starts after the pair, frantically waving me on to follow. I’m starting to think I might not be getting lunch, after all.

“I can’t help but feel that we weren’t exactly invited,” I advise once I catch up to him.

“You noticed too?”

“It wasn’t hard to miss.”

Pete and Cameron dart into a local gift shop up ahead of us. Before I can make inquiries about the lunch I was promised, Jesse picks up his pace to catch the door. Fucking hell. Is he ever going to give up tormenting Pete like when we were kids? His need for attention isn’t healthy at this age. Usually, it amuses me, but my foul mood must have followed me into town.

Stepping inside, I find Pete and Cameron perusing ceramic cookie jars… or trying to. Jesse has invaded their personal space, leveraging himself between them. Chatting up Cameron, he looks like an overzealous salesman while Pete gives his profile a death glare.

That guilty juvenile feeling creeps over me again. I can’t keep doing this—spending my limited free time with Jesse like his sidekick. Maybe if my extracurricular activities didn’t all revolve around him and bingeing Breathless with my mother, I’d get out of this rut. I’m thirty, for crying out loud. That’s too old to be climbing water towers and too young to be hooked on soap operas.

My only other option is my trips to Seattle every few months, but the thought of returning has lost its appeal. Physical satisfaction from another human being is nice when I need to be touched, but ever since Dad died, it hasn't felt like enough. Seeing Mom alone has had my stupid heart imagining visions of my own future on the orchard… visions of me alone. I’d like someone other than Auggie in my bed at night, someone to touch me during the daylight hours, and not even sexually.

Fuck. That couple ruined me.

Wandering around the shop, my gaze idly canvasses the merchandise. Mom’s birthday is coming up. I could pick her up one of these fancy pie dishes and some new paring knives. My sister said she’d make the trip down with my nephews and her husband to celebrate. That I’m even considering now taking her up on her offer to introduce me to a gay co-worker of hers tells me just how deep these new hopes have taken root.

Damn it. I’m lovesick, just… without the love part.

I’m grateful my family has always known my truth, but I never considered that at some point I’d start looking like a hopeless bachelor to them. It must be more obvious than I think if Danielle is trying to set me up.

Should I try it?

No.

Fuck that.

If I was to actually consider finding a guy who’s interested in a relationship, I’d like to meet one on my terms, not through an introduction with a random guy because he also happens to be into guys. I know Danielle meant well, but we’d need more common interests than that. She works at an insurance agency’s corporate office. How interesting can he be?

Rounding the aisle, I nearly run into Jesse in the next row over. His fingers are gripping the end of the shelf. His head is peeking around it, his gaze fixated on something like he’s on a covert mission.

I follow his line of sight and spot Pete and Cameron by the cashier. Is this what we’re going to do all afternoon?

“Jesse, this is without a doubt the most epic surprise you’ve ever concocted,” I drawl, “but are we about done here? I’ve got shit to do.”

“How is this not fascinating to you?” he whispers.

“It’s Velma’s Gift Shop. I’m not big on knickknacks.”

“No. My brother, in the wild, socializing, being polite to another human being.”

“He’s always polite to me.”

“You don’t count,” he scoffs. “You’re like a stepbrother. He’s polite by association because he probably thinks it bothers me that he’s nice to you, but not me.”

Hearing that I don’t count stings for some reason, even though I understand his petulant ‘baby brother’ logic and know he’s joking. Staring at the back of his head, his close-cut brown hair, I’m suddenly annoyed. Truly annoyed. Maybe I wouldn’t have wasted so much time engaging in meaningless hookups if it wasn’t for him. I never go any farther than a weekend trip to Seattle because… well, damned if I know why. I just feel like I can’t leave him.

He was so sad when I left for the Army, it made me feel guilty, like I was abandoning him. He wrote to me all the time, telling me his asinine stories, and making me miss him and home.

When Dad died, he was there, helping me through it unspoken, with his distracting personality, showing up at random to help me out on the orchard whenever he could. He made getting through having the weight of the world being dumped on my shoulders a hell of a lot more tolerable than it would have been otherwise. It wormed him even deeper into my heart, making me realize he’d always be an important part of my life—something I couldn’t fathom doing without.

He knows me. Maybe not every single detail about me, but he knows me better than anyone else does, and vice versa. I’m not bragging or anything, but sometimes I don’t know what he’d do without me. The thought of what trouble he’d truly get up to if I wasn’t watching over him scares me. Just like that couple at Rouge, my need to have Jesse in my life is as strong as their need to touch each other. He’s as necessary as air.

If only there was a gay version of him in Wenatchee, one I could joke with the way we do. I could keep an eye on dumbass here and maybe have a chance at not dying as a bachelor. The best of both worlds.

Taking in the way his jeans hug his perky ass from how he’s leering around the corner, I know that’s a lie. Almost the best of both worlds. I doubt the world created two Jesse Carvers. It’s not his fault he’s not gay just as much as it isn’t my fault that I am.

‘Stepbrother.’

The fucking idiot. I am not a stepbrother, and apparently, I’m going to need more than a straight stepbrother if I’m going to spend the rest of my life in Wenatchee without being the most depressing man in the county.

“People with OCD are capable of socializing. You know this, right?” I challenge.

“Shit. They’re leaving. Come on.”

Sighing, I follow after him. Maybe I should take a vacation, a real one, not just a weekend getaway to Seattle. I could go somewhere that has an established gay community. Maybe I could meet someone willing to visit Wenatchee now and then. I could visit them in the winter, and we could see if something grows between us.

What would I tell Jesse, though, about me being gone that long?

Pushing through the shop door, I find him on the sidewalk, rocking back on his heels, hands stuffed in his jeans.

“So, what’s next? A walk in the park, or do you want to catch a matinee?” he suggests to Pete and Cameron.

“I was going to take Cam to lunch,” Pete informs him.

‘Cam?’ I thought he said his name was Cameron. Must be a nickname. I’ve never met any of Pete’s friends from the city, but Cam seems nice. He’s got kind eyes. A cute face. He keeps smiling at Pete like he’s a superhero. No wonder Jesse’s jealous. Hell, I’m even jealous.

“Oh, that sounds great!” Jesse enthuses. “I’m starving. How about you, Murph?”

His elbow jabs me in the ribs. Now I’m not just a stepbrother, I’m a marionette who’s supposed to nod. He fucking owes me for this shit. I’m going to make him buy me a case of beer and force him to watch an entire season of ‘Alaskan Outdoor Man.’ He can’t stand it and has no clue that I have a crush on the main character, Silas.

Pete frowns at his suggestion. His hand reaches for Cam’s. He’s… intertwining their fingers. Am I seeing things?

“I was going to take him to lunch… alone,” he clarifies.

Whoa. What the hell?

Pete is straight, or… at least I’ve always thought so.

A blush spreads across Cam’s cheekbones, but I recognize the adoring smile on his face that he flashes Pete. It’s like I’m back in Rouge, watching that couple all over again.

Wow.

They’re a couple.

I’ll be damned.

Wait. Does Jesse know?

My pulse kicks, glancing over at him. I’ve never seen him around a gay couple. We don’t know any.

The devilry dissolves from his face. He looks speechless, like he’s fresh out of teasing, but also realizes his brother just threw down a warning not to infringe any further on their day.

Swallowing, he nods dumbly. “Uh, o-okay, sure.”

It’s the most maturity I’ve seen him exhibit in a while. Is he cool with Pete dating a guy? His life’s mission is to annoy his brother. Now would be an opportune time to do so. Unless…

Fuck. Is he freaking out?

“It was nice to meet you, Jesse,” Cam says, extending his hand.

Jesse snaps out of his bewilderment and returns Cam’s handshake. “Y-yeah. You, too. Have a safe trip.”

“Pete, nice to see you again,” I offer, doing my best to blanket Jesse’s awkwardness.

“Yeah, Murphy. You, too. Good luck with… him.” Pete gestures, pointing his thumb at my dumbstruck friend.

They load into Pete’s car, leaving me holding my breath for Jesse’s reaction. He’s gaping at them in dumbfounded wonder and doesn’t stop even as they pull away.

“Uh, are you… alright?” I hedge, silently dreading the answer.

What if he’s not? What if this is the day I find out just how accepting my best friend is now that the question has presented itself so close to home for him?

Spinning around to face me, his eyes are wide. “Did you see that? I knew it! I called it the second he brought Cam home.”

He knew? Then what the hell was this about? Confirmation?

“Um… they’re a couple, I take it?”

“Yeah. I still can’t believe it. Remember, I told you that Pete got pissed when I tried to take his phone last weekend when I thought he was texting a woman?”

“Vaguely.”

Throwing up his hands, he gestures wildly. “He tackled me into Mom’s rose bushes. You had to pull a thorn out of my back. I swear, you never listen to me.”

It was the first time I touched a man’s flesh in three months. Of course, I remember. Rolling my eyes, I start toward Sully’s Bar and Grille to hide the flush taking over my cheeks. I try not to make a habit of touching him, but the big baby wouldn’t quit his crying. Smallest thorn ever.

“I was saving the brain cells for more important memories,” I call over my shoulder.

“Yeah, well, that was the woman. He must have been talking to Cam, and then bam! He shows up with him here yesterday morning and says it’s his ‘buddy,’ but you should have seen them. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other all day yesterday, and then he tried to make this whole nonchalant deal about sharing the same room with him.”

I’m not liking where this could be headed. I want someone to not be able to take their eyes off me. I want someone to share my room with. If I’m lucky enough to find someone like that, how the fuck am I supposed to keep my best friend if this is how he’ll react? Does it weird him out? He doesn’t sound disgusted, but why the dramatics? Granted, everything about him is dramatic and is usually amusing, but I had hoped this would be one topic where he drew the line at his over-the-top reactions.

“Are we eating or what?” I ask, stopping outside of Sully’s and angling my chin. “You promised me lunch.”

“How can you think of food right now?” he wails, holding his hands aloft. “This is like the most monumental news of my life. My brother is gay!”

I can’t breathe. Like, seriously, can’t fucking breathe. My stomach just took a dive, making the thought of getting lunch now the last thing I want. I yank the door to Sully’s open, though, and force out words. “Let’s get a burger.”

Walking in, the dim lighting in the bar blankets me, making me hope no one can see that I’m seconds away from hyperventilating. There are a few local farmers at some tables eating lunch. Why do I feel like a fraud, as though I’m bare-ass naked? They don’t know, and I don’t care what they’d think if they did.

I used to think that was the problem—that I’d become some local spectacle if anyone besides my family knew about my sexuality. I’ve always respected Pete, but that level of respect just skyrocketed. He just held hands with a guy downtown and the world didn’t end. I don’t give a fuck what anyone would think, anyone but one person. As always, everything hinges on Jesse.

“Man, I can’t believe it,” he elaborates, taking the bar stool next to mine without even looking at me. “He never said anything. He dated that Lauren chick for a few years. They even got engaged. Remember her? Fuck me eyes and long legs?”

I grunt in acknowledgment at his vulgar description of Pete’s ex. Mentioning Pete’s dating history further highlights his ignorance.

“Bisexual,” I mutter, scanning the menu even though I know it by heart.

“What?”

“Outside… you said Pete was gay, but he’s dated women before, so… so maybe he’s bisexual,” I rationalize.

“Oh, yeah. I guess,” he replies absently, and then holds the sides of his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the bar. “Man, I still can’t wrap my head around it. I mean, me and Miranda were teasing him yesterday, but I was just giving him shit. You know? I didn’t expect him to actually be gay.”

And he claimed I don’t listen to anything he says. His ignorance isn’t his fault. We basically live under a rock, but it’s starting to grate on my nerves knowing how south this thing is going.

“Bi,” I emphasize, pointing at the beer we drink when the bartender comes over.

“What?”

“Bisexual,” I clarify again, looking him in the eyes as if to challenge him, even though he’s got no clue of the silent storm brewing inside of me. He said he was giving his brother shit. There are some things you just don’t give people shit about. Even a terrorizer like him has to know that.

“Oh, my gosh! I legit just got confirmation like five minutes ago and am still trying to absorb this giant thing I didn’t know about my own brother, and you expect me to know all the terminology? What are you? An expert?”

I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t. I can’t baby him forever.

“No, but I’m gay.” The words launch out of my mouth like a weapon before I can even second-guess if I want them to. Breathe, Murph. Holy shit. Just breathe. “So,” I continue, trying to keep my hands from trembling, “I know the difference.”

I hold my breath again. He blinks and blinks. It’s quite possible that I’m having a heart attack. And then… he laughs.

Why the fuck is he laughing?

“What?” He prods when he notices me gaping at him as he cracks up and brings his pint to his lips.

He thinks I’m joking? I finally told him, and he freaking thinks I’m joking. This isn’t how I imagined it.

There's an awful feeling in my gut. I think it’s sadness, ten times bigger than that sensation of emptiness I felt when I saw that couple. This could change our friendship forever, but in spite of the sadness, I feel like relief is in my grasp. I want to tell him. I want my best friend to know me, even if it alters the threading of our relationship.

“Jesse… I am,” I clarify. “I’m gay.”

The hand with his drink in it pauses mid-air. He’s still smirking and lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh that makes my windpipe feel like it’s closing up again, but I hold his gaze.

Shaking his head, he mumbles, “Hilarious,” and takes another swig. “Make fun of me because my brother’s dating a dude. Who’s mature now?”

The blockhead. Fuck my life.

Leaning my forearms on the bar, I try again. “I’m not making fun of you or them. They looked… happy. Really happy.” It feels so good to vocalize my opinions, I can’t stop. “I think it’s great,” I add, wistfully. Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I glance over at him to see if I have his attention yet.

I do. He looks confused as hell, but he’s paying attention.

Here goes nothing—and possibly everything.

“I think it’s really cool. It probably took a lot of guts for Pete to grab his hand like that in the middle of downtown, right in front of us. I know because… because I’ve never even been able to tell my best friend.”

His mouth parts, and he stares… and stares, frozen. He heard me. It registered, but… how does he feel about it?

“Are you going to say something?”

“Gay as in…”

When he trails off and glances down at his hands, I follow his gaze. He looks at his fist and then at the index finger on his other hand, like he’s confused. Before I can figure out what he’s doing, he extends his other index finger and jabs the tip into his other one.

“What are you doing? What the fuck is that? Finger fighting?”

“No. It’s… sword fighting,” he says earnestly, continuing slowly jabbing them together as though he doesn’t even realize he’s still doing it.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ve fried his brain. Smacking his hands down, my face goes up in flames as I glance around to see if we have an audience.

“Knock that off. Will you?”

Scoffing, his cheeks tint a shade of pink at being scolded. “You’re the one that said it. I’m just trying to understand. Gay as in… gay how?”

Jesus, am I going to have to draw him diagrams?

“Gay as in… I like men,” I whisper.

“But you can’t like men,” he protests at full volume. “You go to the titty bar with me!”

Pinching my eyes shut, I rub my lids. How can I be best friends with a guy who calls it a ‘titty bar’ and has a woman’s thong hanging in his truck?

Extending my palm with my fingers together, I flash him ‘knife hand,’ a standard Army tactic used for dispensing orders to people who catch on slowly. I try to keep my voice patient as I emphasize, “I go because you ask me to.”

“But…but the girls. You look at the girls.”

Okay, so knife hand doesn’t always work. I need a drink. Picking up my pint, I take a healthy chug, feeling every second of his bewildered gaze on my profile.

The bartender stops by, so I request two burgers, one with seven extra pickles. I know how many fucking pickles he eats, and he didn’t know I like dick. No wonder he looks dazed. I’m as aggravated with myself as I was with him a moment ago. I should have told him years ago.

“No,” I clarify when the bartender leaves. “You look at the girls. There’re men there, too.”

“Oh, my God,” he gasps, cupping his hand over his mouth. “Seriously?”

I nod, because fuck if I’m repeating myself again. He’s still here, though. That gives me hope.

“Like since when?”

“Since… forever.” I shrug, hoping the power of persuasion makes him think it’s no big deal.

“Forever forever?”

Turning my head, I squint at him. “Is there any other kind of forever?”

He sputters like the usual sarcastic part of his brain is still in there firing and wants to laugh at my dig. His face says the gears are still turning, though.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” He huffs. “How come nobody says anything?” He adds, louder, throwing both hands up.

Excited Jesse has one volume—look at me.

“Because of this.” I gesture to him, heaving a breath. “Listen to you. You’re freaking out.”

“I am not,” he pouts.

I flash him a challenging side-eye. He presses his lips tighter together, refusing to admit I'm right. The stubborn ass.

This is awkward already. I fucking knew it’d be awkward.

Great. What happens now?

He’s gone quiet on me. What on earth is the hamster wheel in his brain spinning about now?

“Melissa Freewell—” he blurts excitedly, making me flinch.

No. He’s not…

If he’s going to run through the list of every woman he thinks I messed around with, I’m going to ask the bartender for an ice pick to stab into my eardrums.

Shaking my head, I stare at the game on the TV above the bar. “I dropped her off at home. She had a headache, and you were preoccupied with Tara Gibbons.”

Silence. Good. Maybe it sunk in.

“Elaine McCutchen!”

Seriously? Are we playing proof of gay?

“No.”

“Deana Forester.”

“Nope.”

I wait for another name, another accusation that I must just be fucking with him or… ‘confused.’ I don’t know what he thinks, to be honest. My head is starting to throb, though. I’m torn between feeling like I’m on trial and drowning in guilt over letting him think otherwise for so long.

“So, have you ever…”

“What?” I ask, glancing over when he doesn’t finish his question.

Wrong move. He’s doing the finger-fighting thing again.

“Would you fucking knock that off? Jesus!”

I smack his hands again before dropping my forehead into my palm. Maybe he does need a diagram. For fuck’s sake. I should have planned this and done it in private.

Why is he quiet again?

Glancing over, I find a subdued version of my vivacious best friend. There’s a desperate curiosity in his eyes as he bites his lip and stares at me patiently. Jesse’s never patient. Shit. He’s… trying, actually trying to understand, at least. I have to give him credit for that. This could be so much worse.

But… he wants to know if I’ve fucked. That’s what he apparently needs to hear for it to sink in that I’m serious and not just going through some unexpected life change?

Why does it feel like I cheated on him?

That’s ridiculous.

Looking back at the TV, I shrug. “Yeah.”

“With who?” he chirps. “Do I know them?”

His excitement is surprising for once. He wants to know, as in, he’s actually taking an interest in my secret life. That’s… promising, I guess.

“No. Nobody you know.”

“Oh, come on!” He swats my arm. A breath of relief floods out of my lungs at that touch. He knows I’m gay, and he touched me like we’re still friends. “I know everyone in Wenatchee,” he rationalizes.

Fuck. And that’s why I feel like I cheated.

“No one from Wenatchee,” I murmur.

“When can you possibly have time to…” Stopping, he sucks in a sharp intake of breath. “Wait a minute! When you go to Ellensburg? Is that why you go on your rodeo trips? Are you dating a cowboy?”

Christ on a cracker. I really should have thought this through. I’m not a liar. I never lie to him, except… when I do.

“I haven’t been to a rodeo since I was twenty-two,” I confess, afraid to look at him now.

“What? But you go to Ellensburg to see your cousin Dylan every few months. Is he gay too?” Another gasp, making me want to shrink in my stool as he pieces my lies together. “Wait. He’s married. No way. Are he and his wife swingers?”

Okay, maybe he’s not piecing it together. Now, I really feel like a dick.

He hates the rodeo. He only went once when we were kids and wasn’t impressed. It’s the one place I could never get him to return to when we were younger, the one place I knew he’d never tag along in my adulthood.

“Dylan moved to Rhode Island like four years ago,” I throw out casually, hoping it will lessen the blow. “I said I go to the rodeo in Ellensburg with him as my alibi, so you wouldn’t insist on coming along.”

“Wh— Then where have you been going all those weekends away?”

“Seattle.” I shrug, but feel like I owe him a further explanation for years of deceit. “To clubs—gay clubs.”

“Oh, holy crap,” he groans miserably, rubbing his temples. “It’s like I don't even know you. Our entire friendship has been a lie.”

The bartender drops our plates down in front of us. The clatter compounds the pounding in my head. I feel like a criminal for lying to him repeatedly. I know he has a flair for the dramatic, but his comment is a sucker punch.

“You know me,” I assure him. “You just didn’t know one thing because I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“I can handle it,” he insists petulantly.

I give him a doubtful look, which sends his hands up in defense. “I can! My brother is gay; of course, I can handle it.”

“Bi,” I remind him, hating how testy I sound.

“Bi. Sorry. My brother is bi. See? Everything’s fine.”

I study him like I’m searching for cracks in porcelain. Is he holding his breath like he’s waiting for my verdict? And here I thought I was the one who was worried about losing something. Maybe I didn’t give Jesse enough credit because it kind of looks like he doesn’t want to lose me, either.

Nodding, I try to smile, but it’s only a flicker of one after everything that just went down. Still, it seems to be enough to reassure him. He lets out a breath and smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

Damn. Maybe everything will be okay, after all.

Nodding awkwardly, I pick up my burger. We eat in companionable silence for a while until the silence stretches. He flashes me little quirks of his mouth now and then when I glance over. Each one has my heart sinking and my cheeks heating. This feels like the start of the weirdness that I worried about my entire life.

By the time we make it back to the orchard, my chest is heavy like it hurts to breathe. He hasn’t said a fucking word other than commenting on lunch being good.

I knew this would happen. I fucking knew it. Everything is… broken. I just broke our friendship by finally admitting who I am. Maybe he was right. Our entire friendship was a lie.

When he pops Delores into park near my apple wagon, he flashes me another of those awkward smiles. Everything hurts. I didn’t know something other than an injury could hurt this badly. I’m mad at him for not getting it and sad that it’s partly my fault for not making him understand years ago. I waited too fucking long. I let him believe I was someone else for so many years that he can’t flip a switch and see that I’m still me. It feels like a limb has been ripped from my body, knowing that we’ve come to the end of an era.

Nodding, I open my door. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Do you want to hang out this weekend?” he asks, making me freeze when my feet touch the soil.

Does he mean it, or is it a pleasantry that won’t come to fruition? My pulse skips in hope, though, making me smile.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay. Cool. I’ll call you.”

Shutting the door, I watch as he turns around at the speed of a normal human being. And then I watch as he drives down the orchard lane to the road. My heart sinks the further away he gets.

Surrounded by my apple trees, alone, I realize it’s sometimes the unspoken things that speak the loudest. He said he was going to help me pick after lunch.

He’s not going to fucking call.