Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
AJ
What in the ever-loving fuck was I doing?
I’d been up there with him a million times before. The house on the lake. The one his grandparents loved but his parents rarely visited, deeming it too rustic and primitive after their rise in fortune. It had been a modest summer getaway cottage for Jackson’s grandparents for years, and his own parents had tried to talk them into selling it numerous times. Instead, they had made it their summer home after they retired, leaving it empty over the winters.
Jackson took on the role of winter caretaker, visiting every once in a while and making sure everything was in order. I knew the Cedar Lake cabin was important to Jackson, and that it held a special place in his heart.
For as long as we’d been friends, Jackson had dragged me along for visits to the house on the lake, to party, to fish, to putt around on the little boat, or to zip around the lake on Jet Skis. If his grandparents weren’t around, sometimes we’d have dates in tow, or pick up women at a local bar. The hot tub sure as shit came in handy on those trips, but mostly it was just the two of us, hanging out, letting go. I never went with Jackson to his parents, but I had met Gram and Gramps Dorso any number of times.
It only took a little more than an hour to get there if there was no traffic, and if one was willing to defy certain roadway signage. The flurries started almost as soon as I was out of the city and settled on the scenic highway that would lead me to the cabin on the lake.
I warred with myself the entire drive, knowing Jackson knew how to take care of himself, confident he would be pissed to see me. I ran my cryptic conversation with Emily over and over in my head. Her detailing how worried she was about him. How he needed me. I’m still not sure how she convinced me to borrow Jamie’s car and head Upstate. And I damn sure hadn’t figured out why I felt compelled to do so.
The whole thing was more confusing because Emily knew Jackson was at Cedar Lake, but I had no idea if she knew about his date. If she did know, why would she send me chasing after him?
I didn’t tell Emily about the message I had seen, of course, especially since I shouldn’t even have known about it. It definitely wasn’t my place to share that information with Emily.
I thought about that message during the entire drive. Jackson had a date with a guy. A secret date, when up until a few months ago, I wouldn’t have believed Jackson and I had secrets from each other about anything.
Obviously, this was the thing that had had Jackson so hung up for all these months. He wanted to go out with guys. He had to know that I, of all people, wouldn’t have a problem with him being gay or bi or whatever. So why hadn’t he just come out and told me? He had to know I wouldn’t care, right? And yet, and yet, the way I felt after reading those messages, the way I’d felt all those months without him, it was like the opposite was true; like I really, really did care. Like it was all that mattered.
I needed to see my best friend, and for both of us to work through our feelings. Still, it had been impulsive to hop in a car and drive Upstate, a fact I realized as I pulled onto the winding, secluded road that would take me to a small cul-de-sac of homes near a picturesque lake.
It’s too late to turn back now I decided even as I understood that I had absolutely no business invading Jackson’s date.
I knew from past experience that most of the homes near Jackson’s grandparents were deserted at this time of year, so I pulled into the neighbor’s driveway, watched the snow fall, and waited. More than once, I thought about getting a hotel room or simply turning around and heading home, but instead, I just sat there and watched the cabin as snow fell around it.
Jackson’s car was in the driveway, and there were lights on in the window I knew to be the living room, but the rest of the house was dark.
As I sat there staring at the quaint cabin that Jackson loved so much, I thought about all the times we had come up there for a change of scenery, or to screw around on the lake, and I realized the days I remembered most, and certainly the ones I remembered most fondly, were the times it had just been the two of us. No different, really, than our time in the city. The women came and went, but Jackson, my best friend, my partner: Jackson was the constant.
I felt like a crazy creeper, having followed him to the lake house, and I was sure he would agree with me. But I didn’t turn around. I sat in that driveway and waited, not entirely sure what for.
At one point I saw motion, a figure I knew to be Jackson, even in silhouette, standing, walking around, and then sitting back down. I could picture him then, knew exactly where he was: on the couch in the small living room, facing the fire, the front door to one side. I imagined I could even picture his face, stressed and nervous, the opposite of the confident partner in crime I knew so well. He appeared to be alone.
It wasn’t very long after that that another car pulled up. I could see the driver in the glow of a cell phone mounted to the dashboard. I couldn’t tell much from my distance other than that it seemed to be a man. He didn’t pull into the driveway, instead stopping on the side of the road and cutting off his lights. I slunk down in my seat, hoping not to get caught.
The man ran his fingers through his hair, then quickly turned the overhead light on in the car before lowering the sun visor. I assumed there was a mirror on the visor because he was still patting his head with a nervous flick when he flipped the visor back up. With the overhead light on, I could see him more clearly. It was difficult to determine his age, but I would have guessed he was around my age, therefore older than Jackson. He sat and stared out the windshield for some time before sitting up straight and watching the snow. He did that for minutes on end before yanking the phone from its holder and staring at it intently. Eventually, he looked up. I instinctively slid down lower and watched him watch the same window I had been staring at for the better part of an hour.
He placed the phone back in its stand, and without turning his headlights on, drove around the cul-de-sac and back out the exit. I watched until, further down the road, some distance from Jackson’s cabin, the lights came on, and he sped away.
My best friend had been stood up, and as I sat there, my emotions were so overwhelming that I couldn’t decipher them.
I was upset, of course, that Jackson hadn’t told me he was into guys. Upset and more than a little surprised, based on the amount of time we’d spent together and the number of times he’d gotten laid. Why hadn’t I known? I should have known how he was feeling. On top of which, I’d managed to get my own feelings so jumbled up that for months I’d been confused about what I wanted, how I was feeling.
The snow turned heavy, and I watched it fall, waiting to see more movement in the cabin, and that’s when I realized something.
I knew exactly what I wanted. I knew exactly how I felt. It had been Jackson all along, from the first time we’d shaken hands, to the nights of endless partying, to sad days and impossible nights where he’d stood by my side. To two consecutive New Year’s Eves, where we’d both gone home alone.
But I hadn’t been alone, had I, because Jackson had always been there.
I left the car in the neighbor’s driveway and bounded up the steps of the perfect little cabin on the lake. The wind whispered and spread the chill from the water, causing the snow to stick to the road. I didn’t think about the trek home or what Jackson would think when he saw me. All I knew was that I had to see him. To really see him; all of him.
And I needed to see myself as well.
I pounded on the door, harder than was necessary, as if I could release all of the nervous tension I felt and transfer it to a door on a cabin by the lake.
I watched his silhouette again as he rose and headed toward me. He opened the door, the anxious and forced smile on his face turning immediately to confusion.
“You?” He blurted out in shock, and for a quick second, his smile was genuine, but it reverted back to a look of confusion, and he shook his head no as if he were answering a question only he could hear. “What are you doing here?”
I tried to answer, I really did. My mouth opened, and the explanation, the justification, the apology was right there.
“I know,” I said instead as I grasped his arms, stepping through the door and so close to him our chests were almost touching.
“I know,” I whispered, and his eyes went wide. It was his turn to open his mouth but say nothing. There were no words, but his eyes, those eyes that held a honey-dappled forest in them, they said all I needed to hear.
It wasn’t a thought I’d ever had. Not the day we'd met, not any of the nights we were out together, not any of the times we’d passed out on my couch after a game or dragged each other home, one or both of us too drunk to make it on our own. Not any of the times I’d cried in his arms or sat next to him in the hospital when we’d been forced by the department to go for a medical check, or any of the times we spent watching my niece. Not any of the times he was so frustrated with his parents and their expectations that he was almost on the verge of tears. Not once when his blinding smile and shocking eyes had lit up my world so completely that it felt like there was no one else in the universe. Like it was just him, and me, joined together forever. Not even the night before, when shock and confusion had clouded all my thoughts.
Not once had I thought to myself I’m going to kiss him now .
My mouth found his, and there was this flash, an explosion all around me, but it was gone in an instant as he pulled away. He looked over my shoulder and out the door before looking at me.
“What the fuck is this? What are you doing here? Was it? Was it you?” He backed up two big steps. I was afraid he would keep going and hit the end table behind him, so I lunged into the room, closing the door as I went and pulling him toward me. I held him flush against me, and my instincts kicked in, my mouth on him again, seeking, answering his questions the only way I knew how because the words just weren’t there.
What was I doing? All I knew was that the nagging feeling I’d had for months, the vague sense that something was wrong, and the even-more-distant notion that I was the only one who could fix it: that feeling was gone.
But the swooping feeling? The sensation I felt when Jackson smiled, or acted like his old self, or joked around with me, that feeling had taken over my entire body until I was lighter and brighter than the snow falling outside. My whole body floated and shimmered and burned. It burned with a passion so hot it was unlike anything I had ever felt with any woman. My dick was absolutely straining against my jeans, and it sought out friction, sought out Jackson until we were grinding together, and I was feeling my best friend's junk, hard and ready and rubbing against mine, for the first time.
I think it startled us both. I paused my assault on his lips, and he pulled away violently again. “Wait! Stop!” He was flushed, his hair a mess, his eyes blown wide, allowing the green to dominate. He looked … beautiful.
“What the fuck are you doing here, AJ? Was it …” the fire went out of him, and he sought out the couch, dropping down in a defeated slump. “Was it you on the app? I just don’t understand.”
I moved to him quickly but cautiously. My lips and my dick still wanted to lead the charge, but instead, I squatted in front of him, keeping my hands at my sides when all I wanted to do was rest them on his thighs to reassure him.
“It wasn’t me, Jax.” He looked at me then in question, wondering, I presumed, how I knew what he was talking about.
“I’m so sorry, Jackson. I saw those messages last night. Last night,” I scoffed. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“He … he messaged after you dropped your phone, and I …” I ran my fingers through my hair, stood, and joined him on the couch. We both sat staring at the fire and not looking at each other. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to … but he messaged you while I had your phone in the cab.” He didn’t respond.
“I’ve been so worried about you, Jax.”
“And you followed me up here?”
“Yes. No. Emily called. Said she was worried about you too.”
“She sent you?”
“I was really worried,” I continued, even though I’d come to realize that wasn’t the whole truth. “I don’t know! I guess hearing her voice, her concern, gave me permission or whatever. I wanted to come. I wanted to …”
“To what? To kiss me?” I peeked at him in time to see him brush a finger over his lips in wonder.
As if he’d just remembered, Jackson jumped up and exclaimed, “I have a date!” He paced to the window to look out. “He’s late, but I have a … a guy coming over.” He moved the curtain. “It’s snowing.”
He stood ramrod straight, looking out into the night, looking for someone else. “I’m so sorry, Jax.” I felt like a broken record. “He’s not coming.”
“Did you turn him away?” His tone was more curious than accusatory.
I stood but stayed where I was, talking to his back. “I’ve been here for a while, sitting in the car. I saw him. He pulled up, with his lights off, and sat for a few minutes. I think he was thinking about it; torn or whatever.”
“He said he was new to all of this too,” Jackson said to the window. “I’ve never … I didn’t … I never thought I was into guys, AJ. I never let myself think about it. But then last year … Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it. For a whole year.” His voice trembled, on the verge of tears.
He turned to me then. “Thinking about hooking up with a guy. And now here you are. You, not him. And you kissed me.” He shook his head no, and a silence fell between us.
“I’m so confused, AJ.”
I stepped to him and gently held his upper arms.
“I am too, Jax. Or I was until …” It was time for the whole truth. A truth I hadn’t even acknowledged in the recesses of my own brain, instead acting on instinct to pound on the door and force my way in. Force the situation.
“I was confused until last night, or this morning, when I decided that I needed to follow you up here. Yes, in part because I’ve been worried for months, but also because ... because it’s not about that guy.” I let go of him to point out the window and down the road. “Or any other guy. It’s about you and me. It’s maybe always been about you and me, and we just didn’t see it.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, Jax? Please, tell me this is what you want.” I was almost as certain of his answer as I was of my own feelings. All of the pieces were coming together to explain what we’d been going through the past year.
But he shook his head no again, and my disappointment was palpable. My heart pounded, and the swoop in my stomach took an evil turn. I wanted to grasp him tighter and convince him otherwise, but this was Jackson, this was my best friend. I would only, could only, do what he wanted.
“No. No. Of course, it’s not.” I turned away. “Why would you want that … with me.” I didn’t get far before he grasped my hand.
“Not what I meant,” Jackson whispered. I turned back to him, freely, willingly.
I had never seen him act shy, but his eyes were on our intertwined hands as if it would hurt for him to look at me. It hurt me to look at him. “You couldn’t? You wouldn’t … How could you possibly want me, AJ? Did you … did you kiss me because you feel sorry for me? Because I got stood up?” He pulled away again, this time to go and stare at the fire. “Sad little rich boy doesn’t even know he’s queer. Can’t even find someone to hook up with. Doesn’t know what he’s doing,” he said to the flames.
Had he not heard what I’d said? Why didn’t he believe me? Maybe he was right, and I had kissed him for the wrong reason? Maybe I’d only stalked him there because I was just trying to help my best friend? I stood in the middle of that room and thought about it.
And I knew in an instant that that was not what was going on. I didn’t mean for it to sound so revelatory, but it surprised me as much as it did him when I spoke my truth. “No. That’s not it at all. I want you. For you. Not because I feel sorry for you, or because you’re suddenly gay or whatever. I want you. I think I’ve always wanted you.” He’d whipped around to look at me, and after I finished my little speech, we stood silently, both of us processing it.
The fire danced behind him, limning him in an ethereal glow. Behind me, the wind howled, and I could picture the pure white snow swirling and bright against the darkness of the night.
“I still don’t understand.” Jackson ventured a small smile, and those eyes of his danced like they housed a thousand emerald-and-amber diamonds.
My smile felt lopsided as I countered, “I fucking don’t either.” We took a cautious step toward each other until we were again face-to-face, grinning at each other like a couple of nervous teens.
“Hi,” he all but whispered. “How was your drive?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the casual pleasantry. The exact thing he would have said if he'd been expecting me to join him for a guys’ weekend at the cabin.
I slowly placed a hand on his upper arm, resting it gently there. “Snowed on and off but didn’t kick in in earnest until I got here. I think we might be snowed in for the night. Did you think to bring food?”
It was his turn to laugh. He waved a hand toward the coffee table. “Snacks for my date. Beer and wine in the fridge. You want a beer? I need a beer. I’m gonna get us ...” He pointed in the direction of the kitchen before maneuvering around me and leaving me standing in front of the fire alone.
He found me sitting on the couch, snacking on meat and cheeses. He handed me a beer and dropped down next to me. I looked at him, but he was staring at the fireplace once again. I kept my gaze on him as he put his beer down, never taking his eyes off the fire. I placed mine next to his.
“We should talk,” I ventured.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
But before I could get out more than a “’course,” he was on me. Like literally on me. In the second it took, he had reached over and straddled me, kicking the table to the point I worried about the beer bottle toppling. I watched it right itself before my eyes came to rest on him hovering above me, his hands gripping the top of the couch on either side of my head, his knees squeezing me tight but his body elevated, not resting in my lap.
“Are you sure, AJ?”
My arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, my lips meeting his like a heat-seeking missile. My tongue began to dance almost immediately, and when Jackson opened his mouth to me, all of the fire and ice that had been engulfing me coalesced and surged to my groin. I caressed his mouth, and he caressed mine, but my body sought more. I clamped my arms around him, and he awkwardly pulled his legs out until he was sitting. I slid forward, and he wrapped his legs around me, clamping me as tightly with his legs as I held him in my arms.
His hands found my hair, and he ran his fingers through it, massaging my scalp and neck. I ran mine up and down his back until that wasn’t enough, and I was pulling and tugging at the shirt underneath the fleece pullover he wore. We didn’t stop kissing for a second, and our bodies gyrated and swayed and quickly found a rhythm that had us grunting and moaning.
At long last I was able to yank Jackson’s shirt up and feel his warm skin against my calloused hands. I worried sometimes that my rough workman’s hands would be unwelcome on a woman’s skin, but Jackson leaned back into my touch with a graceful arch, taking me with him where he held tightly to my hair. The sound he let out, from the mere touch of my hands along his spine, was so debauched I couldn’t describe it.
I was sitting up straight, my throbbing dick practically trying to fight its way out of my jeans, feeling his doing the same. He pulled back, me sitting upright, our laps embracing, my hands wrapped around his shoulders.
“I want …” he began, and I wanted to answer, Anything, everything, me too , but I was too distracted by his eyes. Blown wide, they’d become a shade of luminescent green that was otherworldly. He was flushed, and thanks to me, disheveled, with his shirt and fleece shoved up.
I nodded in response. He took that as permission and jumped off me, offering me a hand to stand up. There was a beat where we just stood there, our denim-clad cocks pointing at each other, our eyes locked. The next second, he had whipped off his tops and was yanking my hoodie off as well.
We got a little stuck on that. “I got it,” I whispered before fighting my way out of the tight, FDNY sweatshirt, taking my T-shirt along with it. He clamped on my hand again and led me upstairs to the guest room I always used when we visited.
He rushed up the stairs, then slowed down as he entered the room. Slowly, still guiding me by the hand, he led me to the side of the bed until I was sitting on the edge. He took a step back and began to unbuckle his belt.
I watched for a moment before I bent down to undo the laces on my boots.
“I don’t understand any of this, AJ. I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“Shhh. Jackson. You better fucking finish what you’re doing before you get all up in your head about this. You know exactly what’s happening. And so do I.” I tugged at one boot and then the other, both of them landing with a loud thunk. “Now come ’ere.”
He’d stopped mid-unzip, so I stood, and we both slowly unzipped our own pants, facing each other. I tugged my jeans and underpants down in one motion, kicking them off as I watched Jackson pull his jeans off. He’d left his boxer briefs on.
I’d seen him in a pair of underwear and even less hundreds of times before. Showered with him in the gym or at the fire hall. I’d shared the hot tub in this very house with him, sometimes with women draped all over us, sometimes just the two of us.
I’d never seen him like this, though. His dick was straining along the crease of his thigh, a wet spot marking the tip. His pale winter skin was flushed, his neck and chest red. His lips were swollen and glistening. And those eyes. Somehow like smooth amber and a verdant forest all at the same time.
I’d also never, not once, shared a bed with him. Not when the women had suggested it or outright requested it, not when we were too drunk to leave one another's homes, not even when I’d cried on his shoulder for hours and hours after Anna’s funeral.
The snow continued to pile up outside. We had all night. An entire night all alone, with nowhere to be but in each other's arms. It was all I wanted. I dropped to the edge of the bed again.
“Come. Here,” I said, and I opened my arms and legs for him, exposing myself to him in a way I never had before. He stepped into my space and ran his hand up and down my arms and shoulders. I was looking up at him, but he didn’t make eye contact, his gaze following his fingers instead as they caressed up and down my arms.
“I may have seen your arms first,” he said from above me as he continued to caress me. I slotted my thumbs into the waistband of his underpants and held them there for a beat, waiting for his reaction. He continued to talk. “You were walking across from the Coffee Station, with a tray full of drinks.” His fingertips brushed my biceps, tracing the muscles, causing shivers to run up and down each arm and creating a little twitch in my dick that felt amazing for a split second before it begged for more.
“That fucking T-shirt just hugged every muscle and looked like it wanted to split itself in half. Your T-shirts always look like that. It’s so fucking sexy.” He looked at me for a quick second like he’d gone too far with that last comment. He just as quickly looked away, up and over my shoulder as if monitoring the snowfall out the bedroom windows was of the utmost importance. I dragged my fingers up his sides before finding my way back to his waistband and continuing the motion as I slowly peeled his boxer briefs off. He hitched a breath and threw his head back, still deftly avoiding eye contact. I kept going until he stepped out of the material, and I tossed them aside.
We continued dragging our hands lightly up and down, mine on his sides, his on my arms, both of us nervous, I think. Both of us wondering what to do next.