Chapter 6 TARAN #2
Did I hope we could think of a way to keep it up after I left for school in Tennessee?
Yeah, of course I did. Diego was the best thing in my life, which was saying a lot for a guy from a shitty no-prospects small town with an athletic scholarship to a great university.
I didn’t realize it in time, because I was a dumb kid, but I knew I wanted him around…
forever. The way he talked, though, he’d be off to get famous in NYC; he never said I’d be dragging him down, but I knew it.
So I had to ask, “How is that your fault?””
“Because I never told you that was what I wanted. Not until you were leaving.” He patted the table for emphasis.
I opened my mouth to argue. Then shut it. “I mean, I don’t remember…”
“I didn’t,” he insisted. “If I had, you would’ve been tortured, and you’d fucking remember.”
Slowly, I nodded. I would’ve had to try and calculate the incalculable damage, anyhow. Which would’ve been hard, but, “Tortured is a strong word.”
“Conflicted, then.” He rolled his eyes. “Should you have thought of it? Maybe. But you had a lot of other shit going on, and you were a kid, and you didn’t. But I thought of it all the time, so I should’ve said something. And I was too fucking scared.”
“You were never scared of anything.”
“Yeah?” His smile went crooked again. “Then why didn’t I tell you I wanted you to claim me in front of the whole fucking school?”
I shook my head, heart in my throat. He hadn’t said it in those words, but I’d known it since the wedding. Since he made the offhand joke about wishing I’d asked him to prom, and I realized it wasn’t a joke at all. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”
“Taran.” He leaned both elbows on the table and rubbed his temples. “Stop. Please.”
I nodded and took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. Time to reset.
Again, I tried to see it from his point of view, tried to imagine his life back then and all its moving parts.
His dad being all mercurial, going through phases and wishing he had a football star for a son.
His brother equally unreliable, selling shitty weed and fake shrooms out of his bedroom and making sure all our teachers had a preconceived idea about Diego before he even set foot in the school.
His friends—well, I didn’t know any of them that well, but he used to tell me funny stories, and they all seemed pretty supportive and cool.
His mother was kind of a missing piece. She lived somewhere downstate, that much I knew, but she’d left years before I met Diego.
He never seemed resentful of her, just didn’t talk about her that much.
I had the vague feeling they’d been on good terms, even.
But she’d left, was the bottom line. She’d left and either hadn’t invited or hadn’t been allowed to take her kids with her.
And Diego had been left with his shitty dad and brother to pretty much raise himself.
That had to leave a mark, right? I had to wonder. “It must’ve hurt when I left. You must’ve thought I never looked back.”
“Does anyone like being left?” He sighed again.
“Some less than others.”
“Yeah.” At first he frowned, catching my gaze and holding it.
Then his eyes widened, as if he’d suddenly realized what I meant, and his cheeks pinked up.
“Oh. Oh, fuck. Okay, maybe you didn’t know for sure you were queer until you were sixteen, but I didn’t know I had abandonment issues until two seconds ago. So who’s the real dumbass here?”
I went around the counter, stepped up behind him, and put my arms around his waist.
He leaned back into me, covering my hands on his belly with his own. “Someday I’m gonna forgive the kid I was for being so fucking scared. You should forgive yours for being so fucking clueless.”
I kissed his ear. “And cowardly.”
“You and me both.” Yet another sigh, and he tilted his face so he could see me out of the corner of his eye.
“What would’ve happened, if I’d told you?
What if—” He pulled away, swiveling the stool around to face me.
“You remember the field at the park? You brought that blanket and drove out into the grass on that really clear night?”
I took his hands in mine. A sense of relief coiled in my belly, relief that we were finally talking about this. “Early attempts at being romantic.”
“It was incredibly fucking romantic.” He snorted. “And you fell asleep on my chest, and I almost…”
When he didn’t pick the thread back up, I admitted, “I didn’t fall asleep.”
He frowned. “Yeah, you did. I have a really clear memory of just holding you like that.”
That made me chuckle. “Yeah, because I pretended to be asleep so you’d hold me.”
Diego’s eyes widened. “Shut up.”
I shrugged, grinning like an idiot. “I didn’t know how to ask for it. I didn’t even know I wanted it until we ended up on that blanket.”
He closed his eyes. “I hate you so much.” And yet, it sounded like a compliment.
I laughed again and leaned down to kiss him. He kissed me back, then swatted my ass as I went back around the counter.
I went back to making our eggs, feeling a lot better about the conversation. “So, what if you’d said something that night?”
“Right,” Diego said. “What if I said I didn’t want to sneak around anymore?”
“I don’t know. I can’t know, not really.
I want to say I would’ve taken a week or two to freak the fuck out, but then I would’ve just…
made it happen.” I wanted to be the guy he thought I was, the guy he wished I was, back then.
I wasn’t sure about the past, but I knew I had it in me now.
“But that’s with hindsight. With the full knowledge of how bad I was gonna miss you over the next few years, and how full of shit I was when I was telling myself you were better off without me. ”
“Did you really?”
“I was positive you were going to go be famous on Broadway, and the last thing you needed was an idiot like me holding you back.”
“And I was positive you were happy to get rid of everything in that shitty town—including me—and start your fabulous new college football life.”
“Those are the stories we told each other.” I opened a few cupboards before he directed me to the one with the frying pans. “Except I never said I wanted to get rid of you.”
“And I never said you were holding me back.” He smiled, slow and sweet. “We filled in those blanks for ourselves.”
“Yep.” Thanks, teenage self-esteem issues. “I was going through it, and I was too young and stupid to understand that everyone else was too. Or that I might be contributing to them going through it.”
Truly, I had somehow managed to convince myself that, even though I was aware ghosting Diego was shitty of me and I owed him a huge apology, he was happier without me.
Without my secrets and lies, without my stupid football bullshit, without the weight of me slowing him down as he burst out of Stanley County like a fucking firecracker.
But if I really believed that, why had the thought of him filled me with regret for eight fucking years?
We both took a second in silence as I cooked.
And then, as I was pushing the eggs onto slices of bread, Diego said firmly, “Stop acting like you have something to prove to me. I want to feel like you’re here because you like me, not because you want to make up for some old shit that was a wash anyhow. ”
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “You know that’s not why I’m here. Mustard?”
“Fuck yeah.” Then he backtracked, “Even if I know it, I wanna feel it, too.”
It was a fair ask. “I’m on it. And if you catch me doing or saying anything that makes you feel like I’m just trying to perform for you, call my ass out.”
“Oh, I will.”
“But I swear, the only trial I’ve had these past three weeks is the way you refuse to see me two days in a row.” I finished making the sandwiches as I spoke.
“Well, I saw you yesterday. And I’m seeing you today.”
I slid his food across the counter to him. “And what are your plans for the day?”
He cocked his head slightly, gaze dropping to take me in, then sliding back up. “You.”
My blood flow diverted instantly. Those eyes, man. All he had to do was look at me. “Good.” I cleared my throat, which felt tight of a sudden. “You wanna go for a hike, hit the museums, do some—?”
“I want to take you back to bed and keep you there until we’re too hungry and tired to fuck anymore.” He shot me a pointed look and picked up his sandwich.
My skin tightened; even my nipples got hard. The eyes were one thing, but the mouth on him… Phew.
Made me want to pin him down and make him scream. Which was funny, seeing as he seemed to enjoy being bossy in bed, so far. But sometimes, especially when he was running his mouth, for either dirty or bratty reasons, I got this urge… “Sold.”
We ate in silence for a few seconds, except for Diego’s appreciative hums. And then I asked, “So, if I’m not jumping through hoops or proving anything, how come I’m not your boyfriend?”
He glared at me over his sandwich.
I held up both hands in surrender. “I’m just saying.”
He was clearly trying not to smile, but his eyes gave him away. “Cute.”
I raised my eyebrows. I was joking about the timing but serious about wanting to be his.
His smile broke through. “I’ll think about it. You sure you don’t have any serious conversations you need to have with me before you jump in headfirst like that?”
I hesitated.
And he caught it. “Oh god. What?”
“Last night, when you were exhausted, you kept, uh, offering sex. Did you feel like you had to, for some reason, or was it just the thing where you default to the familiar?”
He winced and took a huge bite of his sandwich.
I wondered if I’d just blown all the goodwill I’d racked up. Then remembered that I was supposed to be honest, not trying too hard.
After chewing thoughtfully for a while, he sighed and said, “I guess I feel a certain type of way when you’re being really… kind. And I’m not sure how to react to it, so I just offer to fuck, yeah.”