Chapter Twenty-Four
Alex
“Oh, you’re back already?” my mom asks, her light footsteps coming down the stairs behind me.
“Yeah, Nico’s break was just an hour.” I quickly find a place in the fridge for the leftover tacos Nico and I didn’t eat at lunch, and then I close the fridge and turn around just as my mom stops on the other side of the island in the kitchen.
She’s wearing what looks like her hiking clothes, complete with a pair of loose-fitting gray hiking pants and a long-sleeve tech shirt.
The smell of bug repellant plus sunscreen hits my nose, and I narrow my eyes and motion at her clothes with a grimace.
“Are you going hiking? It’s still pouring rain.
I think it’s supposed to rain all afternoon.
And I don’t think you have to worry about bugs or the sun . . .”
She grins and rests her hands on the counter.
“Aunt Tammy managed to find a spot for her RV at the campgrounds at Platte River and decided to stay the week. She invited me to stay with her, since Bruce had to head back home for work. I don’t have anything lined up for this week, so it seems like as good a week as any to take off.
You don’t mind, do you? I’ll be close by if you need anything.
She’s coming to pick me up in a few minutes, so I can leave you the truck. ”
“Okay, yeah. But the rain . . . ?”
She waves me off dismissively, like a little rain can’t possibly stop her and Tammy from adventuring.
I guess it never really has before, though this isn’t just “a little rain.” Then she starts listing all the leftovers still in the fridge from the weekend, ending with what almost sounds like a threat that Nico and I had better clean everything out by the time she gets back (although she’s not entirely sure when that will be), or else . . . !
While she talks, she moves around the island toward me, and when she’s finished, she stops in front of me, setting her hands on my shoulders.
Her eyes study mine intently, and I see the concern in them, an extension of our conversation that morning.
I blink and look down, overcome by an emotion that feels like guilt or shame, even though I’m not sure what it’s really about.
She immediately pulls me in for a hug. No words, no more helpful advice or suggestions or explanations.
No long-winded, one-sided discussion telling me again to just “talk to him, sweetie.”
She knows I know.
And so, she just hugs me.
I let myself hug her back, taking comfort in the embrace. And because I haven’t really said the actual words to her yet, I feel like I can’t let her leave without finally being honest with her. Completely honest, so there’s no more wondering or uncertainty anymore. No more vague “my heart hurts.”
My eyes screw shut. I’m not sure why I’m scared, since I’m about ninety-six percent sure she already knows anyway, but I still hold her tighter as I start talking.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.” I muffle the words into her hair, as though that will soften the blow. “I . . . I’m . . . I’m bisexual. And I, um . . . Nico . . . I really like him. I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner and sorry I—”
She shakes her head and squeezes me harder.
“Shh, I don’t want to hear any apologies because there’s nothing to be sorry for.
” She pulls back, and her hands find my cheeks.
I can barely look her in the eye, but I manage to hold her gaze for a few seconds.
She’s smiling softly, and she studies me, her expression filled with so much love and acceptance.
Then she brings me back in for another hug, squeezing me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“Mom . . .” I huff out on a forced breath.
“Shh, you’re fine. You’re not dying. Let your mama hug you.” She laughs into me and sniffles at the same time, then places a kiss on my temple. “I love you so much, Alex. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. You got it?”
I nod, clinging to her now as I try not to cry. I’m not doing a great job of it, but that’s okay, I guess. She kisses my temple again and then leans back to look at me. Her thumbs come up and gently brush the tears from my cheeks, even though she’s got tears of her own still.
“So . . . do I need to give you another talk about safe sex?”
“God, no, Mom, we’re not—”
“Because you know, you still need to think about—”
There’s a loud knock at the door, cutting her off. Thank god. She stares at me for an extra second, and I quickly shake my head again, my face on fire. “No talk needed, Mom. Hurry up now, you don’t want to make Tammy wait.”
She gives me a half smile and a small nod, blinking back more of her own tears. “Yeah, okay,” she says quietly, and her hands slip down to my shoulders and squeeze me gently. “Can you grab my suitcase from my room? I’ve gotta get my backpack and trekking poles from the garage.”
I nod and, before she can say anything else, spin around and jog toward the stairs, now aware of just how much and how unsteadily my heart is racing.
“Tell me one more time why you’re forcing me to watch this?
” Nico leans forward, picks a single kernel of popcorn from the bowl, and tosses it in his mouth before settling back up against me, his head resting on my shoulder.
On the TV screen in front of us, the camera’s focus shifts from a ringing phone hanging on the wall to the two teens walking slowly down the hallway toward it—the opening scene of The Ring.
I shift so my arm is around his shoulders. “Because it’s a modern classic and one of the best horror films ever,” I argue. “I can’t believe we haven’t watched it together before.”
“I can. Remember when you made me watch that one movie with you when we were like twelve, and I didn’t sleep for like two weeks. What was it?”
“Ohhhhhh, yeah. Hereditary.” I laugh and shake my head a little. “That movie is sick. Still one of my favorites. We were, uh, kinda young to watch it, though. I’m surprised my mom let me rent it.”
“Did she even know?”
I shrug, because I don’t really remember, and Nico scoffs but settles into me more, his hand sliding slowly across my stomach to my opposite hip. This closeness is just incredible, and I lean my head to rest on top of his, savoring every second of it.
The movie goes on, with plenty of jump-scares that Nico either cackles at or actually reacts to, tensing and holding me tighter.
I love it—both seeing him happy and having him be so close.
We finish off the bowl of popcorn about halfway through, and as the end credits start to roll, Nico finally shifts a bit, pulling his legs up onto the couch and then stretching out and lying down facing the TV with his head in my lap.
He’s quiet as I gently stroke his hair, my fingers sliding through his dark curls, and when I lean forward to grab the remote so I can turn off the TV a few minutes later, he mumbles something about being comfortable and not wanting to move.
And I totally agree.
We stay like that for a while, only the sounds of rain and an occasional rumble of thunder from somewhere far off breaking the silence. I close my eyes and just . . . be.
I like this. Actually, no, I love this. I love how perfectly he fits against me—whether we’re hugging, spooning in bed, cuddling on the couch, or like this, with his head in my lap. And I love how much he trusts me, how there’s not even an ounce of tension in him right now.
“Nico?”
“Hmm?” His voice is heavy, the single syllable drawn out, as though he’s right on the brink of sleep.
I stroke his hair again, letting my fingers drift down to brush along the smooth skin of his neck, and he breathes in a little deeper.
I don’t really know what I wanted to say.
Maybe I just wanted to hear his voice. So I let my fingers wander along his neck to his shoulder and then back.
And I ask softly, “Are you still comfortable?”
“Mmm, very.”
My heart soars. “Good.”
It’s probably another fifteen minutes or more before he moves, and then he just rolls over onto his back, his eyes half closed, and tilts his head to rest on my stomach. I love that even more, because then I can see his beautiful face.
He must notice me studying him, or maybe he sees my smile, because he blinks lazily and then asks, “What?” His eyes close again, and he cuddles up into me more as I gently trace my fingertips along his forehead, brushing back his hair.
“I just . . . I feel so lucky to have this. With you,” I say, my voice quiet and thick with emotion.
Nico blinks his eyes back open and looks up at me, his expression soft and sleepy.
As he holds my gaze, I touch his forehead, my heart full and my chest warm.
Something flickers in his expression, some deep emotion that’s gone faster than I can interpret it, and he finally looks away again, yawns, and closes his eyes.
“Ready to head to bed?” I ask.
He nods weakly and then pushes up onto one arm, scooting closer to me in the process.
I hold my breath as he stops, his lips now only inches from mine.
His eyes dart down to my mouth, and then his cheeks redden, which just makes him look even more beautiful.
I let out a slow breath and then dip down to brush my lips against his perfectly pink cheek.
“You head on up. I’ll be there in just a couple minutes.”
I kiss his cheek one more time, and we both stand. Then he disappears up the stairs while I spend a few minutes tidying everything up. After the front and back doors are locked and all the lights are out, I head up after him.
The door to my bedroom is halfway open, light spilling out into the otherwise dark hallway, and I pause in the doorway to drink in the sight in front of me.
Nico’s leaning over across the bed, pulling the comforter back, the thin cotton of his gray sleep shorts stretched just enough to show off his ass—his tight, perfectly shaped ass that I’ve been admiring much too openly for the last week or so.