Chapter 3 #2
He jerked his head toward the house, turning to go inside. “You can stay in the guest room.”
I thought I might cry. He wasn’t turning me away. Not really. He didn’t want to talk, but maybe after he’d rested and got some space… just maybe.
“No talking,” he snapped, pointing a finger in my face as I followed him into the quaint little entry hall of the house I hadn’t set foot in for four years. “Guest room. Bed. No talk.”
“No talk,” I agreed, taking a deep inhale and getting a face full of nostalgia.
The wooden floor boards squeaked with every shift of my weight as I kicked off my shoes, almost like I was being greeted by an old friend.
Dusty portraits of old Garland family figures lined the hall ahead, guiding the way out into the rustic kitchen.
While we were still in middle school, Hudson, Emery, and I used to eat pancakes with Grams on Sunday morning in the gorgeous bay window seating area behind the polished oak island counter.
The whole house felt like peace incarnate.
Safety. A warm hug, as if Grams never really left.
Like Hudson never really left.
My trip down memory lane came to an abrupt halt as I stepped into the kitchen, only to turn the corner and find Hudson shirtless, cuddling an orange tabby cat with white paws in his arms.
“Hissy, this is Tyler,” he cooed to the feline, bringing it close. The cat took an immediate interest in me, stretching out of Hudson’s embrace to sniff. “If you don’t like him, we can kick him out.”
“Hissy?” I mocked, holding out a hand. I got a head nuzzle in response.
That meant I could stay, right?
“His full name is Sir Hissalot,” Hudson said, nonchalant about his ridiculous sense of whimsy that I adored. He set the cat down on the countertop, then opened a drawer, withdrawing a needle and some hefty thread.
He snatched up his tattered shirt, running the needle in and out around the tear loosely, leaving it open but stopping it from tearing further.
I was entranced, watching him work. Fixated on the way his slender muscles contracted with every movement, slightly bigger than the last time I’d been allowed to witness their beauty, but every bit as glorious to behold.
The way those silver barbels in his nipples glittered on either side of the silver chain dangling over his chest, begging to be played with.
The tattooed black feathers on his back peeked around his side beneath his arm, and the dark outline of a tri-pointed star over his heart—his family crest—beckoned, asking to be traced with my fingertips.
The way his silky skin glowed in the soft overhead lighting, accentuating every smooth line that ran down his torso, showing off that subtle V along his hips where his pants hung low on his waist.
Faint scars I didn’t recognize ran just above the band of his jeans. Three jagged lines that dragged along his hip, disappearing at the small of his back. Another single mark peaked around his ribcage on the other side, and two more faint lines streaked over his left forearm.
Whatever the fuck he’d been up to in Bay City, I’d be lying if those scars didn’t add to the perfection of him. My mouth watered just taking him in.
How I missed being allowed to touch that skin. To taste it.
Hudson cleared his throat. My eyes snapped to his, finding him staring with a single brow raised. I quickly stepped behind the edge of the counter, hoping he hadn’t seen the tent growing in my pants.
“Can I help you, Mister Hargraves?” Hudson scoffed, returning his attention to his project.
With a laugh, I shook my head. “You’re the one who immediately took his shirt off after inviting me inside.”
“I was testing you,” he said, not doing a great job of hiding his smile. “You failed.”
Giving him a dramatic sigh, I rolled my eyes. “Out to the curb then?”
Hudson hummed, finishing his last stitch. “I really should. Too tired to throw you like I did Emery, though.”
“You?” My eyes popped wide, and I leaned over the counter toward him. “You threw Emery?”
“Yup.”
“You? Scrawny little Hudson Garland?”
“Hey, I’ve put on some muscle.”
“Oh, I see that.” I jutted my chin toward his naked chest with a chuckle.
“Test failed,” he said again, pointing toward the staircase that led to the bedrooms. “Go.”
“Alright, alright,” I droned, waving him off as I headed toward the stairs.
Even being scolded, I couldn’t recall the last time my heart had been that light.
I’d missed him so fucking much, I thought I might burst into tears right there.
If I’d failed his test simply by taking in his gorgeous shape, then I wanted to set that test on fire, pull him into my arms and hold him until the world crumbled to dust.
But I’d settle for this. For joking and laughing with my best friend again at last.
“Hey… Ty?” Hudson called after me as I ascended the first step.
I turned back, my heart fluttering in my chest. “Yeah?”
“I… um…” He chewed his lip for a moment, hugging himself as he considered his words, those bright eyes glittering at me from across the hall. “Just let me know if you need anything. There’s some old clothes of mine up there you can sleep in.”
“Right,” I said, turning to make my way upstairs. Old clothes of Hudson’s. Clothes that he’d worn. Clothes that smelled like him. Aka torture. “Thanks.”
I was wrong. It wasn’t just the clothes that were torture.
The entire idea had been a masochistic plot, conceived by my subconscious to make me pay in horrific ways for what I had done to Hudson.
The bed sheets smelled like Hudson. The pillows and the silly stuffed animals that lined the trunk at the foot of the bed.
The air in the house and the energy strangling my every cell—all Hudson.
There was no way in hell I was going to sleep. Part of me was tempted to reach into the gray sweats I’d chosen for pajamas, embrace how downright disgustingly lovesick I was, and stroke my cock to the relentless energy of the boy I had destroyed, thinking I was saving him.
Our entire lives, Hudson had been trying to save me.
Trying to rescue me from my own duality.
To pry me away from that perfectly curated heir to the Hargraves legacy I was supposed to be, showing me that the sinful bastard my father had tried to beat to death was worthy of being loved.
Showing me every day that I wasn’t some freak.
Because, despite the way I’d failed him, the way I’d echoed my father’s words as an idiot teenager, Hudson wasn’t a freak. He was all the things I’d been taught to hate.
A queer. A deviant. A witch.
And he was an angel. A raven-winged god wrapped up in ripped denim and black nail polish. If he was everything wicked in this stupid world, then I belonged in the deepest circle of hell, because he was all that I craved.
For four years, the ghost of his wet lips around me both haunted and took me to heaven.
All that time, and when I closed my eyes, I could still see those green eyes shining up at me in the dark.
I could hear those beautiful moans as if he still rested on his knees for me, waiting for me to get it all right.
He took me to the edge, brought down the stars from the sky—and made clear three of the most devastating truths I had ever known.
One, I was gay.
Two, I was madly, hopelessly, and desperately in love with him.
Three, I was dead.
The latter was true either way. I could’ve scooped my angelic savior up in my arms and run, but we would’ve been found. My father always found me. And Hudson would’ve paid the price just to prove a point.
So, in the end, I chose the other road to death. I took the mask that Hudson had begun to break and slipped it back on. I came down his throat one last time, let the stars drift back into space…
And I shoved him to the ground.
I told him we were over.
I told him I could never love a witch, called him a faggot, zipped up my pants and swaggered away.
Before he could see me cry.
So, yeah. I deserved this, and I was a fool to even ask Hudson to let me back into his life.
Giving up on sleep, on everything, I quietly slipped out of the guest room.
I padded across the hall to take a piss, wishing the echoes of my worst memories would go down the toilet too as I flushed.
Hovering over the sink, I gazed into the mirror, wondering what the man staring back at me would look like in another four years.
Would he be happy?
Would he be forgiven?
Turning away from the disappointment in the mirror, I went to collect my things from the guest room. Hudson was sure to be asleep, and I could be quiet enough to sneak out without bothering him.
That night… or any other. For the rest of his life.
I stepped back out of the bathroom, and my resolve shattered as soft sobs echoed down the hall.
I couldn’t leave.
Not when Hudson was crying.