Chapter 17
seventeen
The text came through on Emerson’s phone minutes before he was about to fall asleep the following night.
Emerson always kept his phone on and face up next to the baby monitor on his bedside table.
In case something happened to Daisy, in case something happened to Jay.
It lit up the darkness now, and he reached across the bed with tired arms to grab it.
hey, Luca said. Emerson smiled.
They didn’t text often, being that they were almost always in the same place. Their most common interaction was Emerson texting him reminders of things to tell or ask Liv when Luca made runs to the IGA for him. They’d certainly never texted at this time of night, from their respective bedrooms.
A small thrill rushed through Emerson’s bloodstream. Was this a you up text? Emerson had never received one of those, but he was aware of their existence.
Except then Luca’s next text, sent seconds later, only said:
sorry
this was dumb
Almost frantically, before Luca could erase evidence of this conversation, Emerson typed back.
What was dumb?
A second that felt like a year. And then:
just, something kinda good happened
with my book
And I just wanted to tell someone about it but now i’m regretting my choices
sorry
Emerson bit his lip on a smile. This guy. So fucking smooth every day of the year except when he attempted to talk about the thing that obviously meant the most to him.
Like hell he’d regret his choices.
Come up here, Emerson sent.
His phone, and his room, returned to darkness. Emerson strained his ears, blood still thrumming, to hear any sounds of movement from downstairs. Only when he heard the quiet thump of feet on the stairs did he sit up. He leaned against the headboard, tried to keep the smile tamped down on his face.
Luca knocked so quietly at the door.
“Come in.”
He slunk in equally quietly, leaning back against the door after he’d closed it behind him. He wore basketball shorts, a threadbare t-shirt.
“Sorry,” he whispered. He ran a hand over his head. “It really is dumb.”
Emerson laughed. Patted the bed beside him. “Come here.”
Reluctantly, Luca did. Emerson held up the sheets, made sure Luca got fully into bed with him so he couldn’t scamper away.
Both his shorts and his t-shirt were ratty, but Emerson was pretty sure Luca had never looked hotter.
Every single time Emerson saw Luca, he couldn’t believe how hot he was.
Made less and less sense that he was here, in Emerson’s bed.
“So?” he prompted. “What happened?”
Luca had been sitting next to him against the headboard, but with a sigh, he sank fully under the covers.
“So when you’re trying to get an agent, you have to send your book around, right? But you don’t just send out your book; you have to send what’s called a query letter first. Where you’re like, here is this thing I’ve spent years of my life on, condensed into a paragraph.”
“Okay.” Emerson slid back under the covers too, but he kept himself propped on an elbow, looking down at Luca as Luca stared straight at the ceiling.
“Writing and sending out query letters is like, the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done. It’s all so cheesy and forced. But that’s the game. You have to sell yourself on a pitch first before anyone will talk to you.”
“How many query letters have you sent?” Emerson asked after a pause. It was clear Luca hated talking about this. His jaw was clenched, face unreadable.
He was silent another moment more, either trying to calculate the amount or deciding what to say.
“A lot,” he eventually said. “Too many.” Another pause.
“Most of the time you don’t hear anything at all.
Sometimes you get a straightforward rejection; other times there are like, standard lines they all say to soften the blow.
But if they’re interested, they’ll either ask for you to send them a partial of the manuscript, or the whole thing. ”
“Okay. I’m following so far.”
Luca blew out a breath. “I stopped sending out queries like, many months ago. I still check my writing email just to see—”
“You have a writing email? Like a separate email for this stuff?”
“Yeah. That way a query rejection won’t, like, bam, hit me out of nowhere when I’m just like, double checking when my next dentist appointment is.”
“What is it? The email address I mean.”
Luca shifted under the sheets.
“Why?”
“I’m just curious.”
“Ljywrites. At gmail.”
“LJY?”
“Luca James Yaeger. It’s a horrible email.”
James. Luca’s middle name was James.
“Why do you look so delighted by this?”
Luca was slanting a skeptical look Emerson’s way. Luca was looking at him, for the first time since he’d entered the room. Emerson tried to school his smile.
“It’s just interesting to me! I’ve never known a real life writer. This is all fascinating.”
“I’m not—” Luca huffed out a breath and returned his gaze to the ceiling. “Anyway, I normally only check my email once a week, on Sundays when I update my spreadsheets, like I was telling you the other weekend. But I couldn’t sleep tonight, and I’m weak, so I logged in. And I had a request.”
“For a partial or the whole thing?”
“The whole thing. They call it a full request. And it’ll come to nothing, I know, but it’s a really nice feeling, getting a full request, and I haven’t gotten one in like, a really long time.
But the thing that’s kind of cool—” Luca huffed another breath.
Emerson had never seen him look so annoyed.
Emerson wanted to kiss him so badly that it was killing him.
Luca suddenly flopped onto his side, away from Emerson, so he could talk at the wall.
“The thing that’s kind of cool is that I’ve been writing kind of a lot, since I got here.
And so the manuscript I got to send this guy tonight, it’s—I don’t know, I feel like it’s better.
It’s stronger. And it’s possible this guy won’t even read it, but I guess I’m—glad.
That maybe at least one person will get to see this version of it, when I’d kind of stopped thinking that was even a possibility. ”
Emerson inched himself closer until his arm was around Luca’s stomach, his lips just brushing the back of Luca’s neck. Luca shivered, and Emerson tucked himself even closer.
“Tell me about the guy. The agent who asked for it.”
“He’s pretty new. At least, he was when I queried him.
Only had a few clients.” Emerson ran his hand underneath Luca’s t-shirt.
Luca shivered again. “But sometimes that can be—fuck. That can be a good thing. Because they’re—” Emerson kissed Luca’s neck, open mouthed and wet; pinched a nipple under his shirt.
“They’re hungry,” Luca rasped out. “More willing to take a chance, sometimes. Fuck, Emerson.”
“Tell me something.” Emerson rolled his hips against Luca’s ass. “Tell me one thing about your book.”
Luca ground back against him.
“It’s called Drift,” he said. “Takes place in a world where there’s only driftwood left, at least pretty much. Driftwood and the sea.”
Emerson scooted back, pushed on Luca’s shoulder until Luca was on his back. And then he crawled on top of him, and he kissed him. Luca kissed back, hands reaching up to grip the back of Emerson’s head.
Emerson broke the kiss to say, “Missed you.”
Luca stared back at him, his breathing erratic. He swallowed before he said, “Missed you too. But—Daisy’s—”
Emerson kissed him again. “We can be quiet, right?”
“Yeah.” Luca’s thumb brushed against Emerson’s jaw. “We can be quiet.”
And then they were kissing again, and Luca was pushing his pelvis up into him, and Emerson was pushing back.
The barriers between them were thin—Luca’s basketball shorts; Emerson only in briefs—and it felt so good, so fast. Emerson loved that Luca had told him about this.
He loved that Luca had been writing a lot here.
He loved that he now knew his book’s name.
“Fuck.” Luca’s nails were scratching up Emerson’s back. They were so close, bodies plastered together. “You feel so good.”
“So good,” Emerson agreed, latching his mouth onto Luca’s neck. It was rough, the stubble burning Emerson’s lips, and Emerson couldn’t get enough. He moved on to Luca’s ear, sucking it between his teeth.
“Fuck,” Luca said again, voice a strained whisper. “Emerson, fuck. Get your lube.”
Emerson didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed it as quickly as he could, dropping it into Luca’s hand before returning to kissing his mouth.
Luca reached between them. Broke away from the kiss to say, “Give me just a little bit of space, babe,” and then he was pushing down Emerson’s briefs, pushing down his own shorts and underwear, just enough to free them both.
Emerson barely had time to process the babe—he couldn’t tell if it had been a term of endearment or a joke—before Luca’s lubed hand was wrapping around them both.
“Oh,” Emerson said, dumbly. “Damn.”
“Mmhmm,” Luca agreed, his free hand bringing Emerson’s head back down to his. And then they were kissing, and moving together, Luca’s hand helping them stay in sync.
“Luca,” Emerson breathed. “Fuck, Luca, I’m almost there.”
“I know,” Luca said. “Me too. Wait just a second, babe. Can you hold off just a second—fuck. Fuck, Emerson.”
“Luca. You’re so—fuck. I can’t—”
Luca smashed their mouths together, and Emerson let go. He could feel Luca let go a second later, their open mouths catching each other’s groans.
“Shit,” Emerson couldn’t help but whisper, even as the last throes were rattling through him. “Luca, that was so hot.”
Luca laughed into his mouth, a broken laugh interrupted by gasps.
“I know. Jesus, Emerson.”
Emerson finally let his head loll to the side, half on his pillow, half on Luca’s shoulder. He kissed Luca’s neck.
“Congratulations,” he said, and Luca’s quiet laughter died down. His arms wrapped around Emerson’s back, his fingers tracing sticky patterns around his skin.
“Thank you,” Luca said after a full minute. Emerson smiled, proud of him for accepting it.
“I should go wash my hands now,” Luca added after a moment. “And I don’t know, maybe burn this shirt.”
Emerson laughed, rubbing his forehead against Luca’s shoulder. The shirt had taken the brunt of their release, but—
“Don’t,” he said. “It’s sexy as hell.”
“It’s barely holding itself together.”
“I know. That’s why it’s so sexy.”
“Sorry to tell you the buckets of cum it just collected might tip the balance of its structural integrity.”
Emerson laughed again. “Gross.”
“I know. Come on, let me take this thing off my body and wash my hands.”
“Will you come back?”
The question had tumbled off Emerson’s lips without thought. Only the silence that followed made Emerson realize it had sounded too needy. He pushed himself off of Luca’s chest, tumbling back onto the bed. Hoping he was performing being a super casual guy at least semi-well.
“I mean—”
“I’ll bring you back a towel,” Luca answered, before leaving the room.
Emerson didn’t move the whole time Luca was gone. Just laid there, in whatever weird position he’d collapsed into, half on his side, half on his back, staring at his dark room. Wondering what Luca had meant. If he was going to stay, or was just bringing back a towel.
Realizing he felt almost ridiculously happy, either way.
He had felt lighter, these last couple weeks.
Even with the fate of the farm hanging over his head.
Whatever this thing with Luca was, it had given him more energy.
The wildflower field was almost ready, the simple dais he was building for Ben and Alexei almost done; the old barn was finally resembling a place he wouldn’t be embarrassed for strangers to walk into.
He had more patience with Daisy, more brain space at the end of the day for planning out the next one, and the days after that. He felt—
He hadn’t been able to explain exactly how he’d been feeling.
It was only then, somehow, in that moment. That he realized maybe it was just happiness.
Luca returned with a damp washcloth. He toweled down Emerson’s stomach, his dick, lifted a leg to wipe between his thighs.
Pushed gently at Emerson’s shoulder so he’d lean forward a bit more and Luca could get to his back.
Emerson went willingly, wherever Luca’s hands guided him, a ragdoll.
It was kind, attempting to clean Emerson himself, when Luca could have easily just handed him the washcloth.
It was kind, that Luca worked so damn hard on this farm for zero money.
Or maybe it was only dumb of him, but Emerson was no longer going to question it.
Luca had called him babe.
A small giggle escaped Emerson’s mouth. It was high pitched and weird, and Emerson was too tired and happy to care.
“What?” Luca asked, laughter in his own voice.
“Nothing,” Emerson said. And then, “Tickles.”
“Sorry.” Luca kissed his temple. “I should go.”
For the first time since Luca had entered his bedroom, Emerson frowned. But he didn’t object.
“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. “Night, Luca.”
“Night, Emerson.”
He was so sleepy and content that he expected to fall asleep immediately. But something needled in his brain, keeping him awake.
After a few minutes, he picked up his phone.
I would read your book any time, you know
partial or full
any version
whatever you wanted to give me
Emerson stared at his screen for many long minutes after hitting send on the final message.
He had, perhaps, gone too hard.
But another thirty seconds later, a message popped up on his screen.
thank you
And then—a heart.
Emerson knew it wasn’t a yes. He knew he’d likely never see a page of Luca James Yaeger’s book. Drift.
But he knew it was the most Luca could give him. It felt sincere.
Emerson smiled at his phone until he fell asleep.