Chapter 17 Buried Bullshit
So my worry about getting sick of Lane as soon as I’d fucked him turned out to be unfounded.
It’s more like the opposite. His scent is locked into my sheets at this point, and I inhale deeply with tonight already on my mind. I can’t wait to have him in my bed again, writhing and moaning while I work my cock deep inside his body.
Everything has played out the way I hoped and expected, but somehow, reality is even more thrilling than I imagined.
I planned to just have fun with him for a while, get him in my bed to prove I could—to prove to him he wanted it.
And yes, as I expected, his willingness to submit to me is the sweetest drug I’ve ever tried, but our secret meetings have unearthed something within me—something that makes me feel like I’m losing my finely tuned control.
It’s not just the sex. It’s the glances, the soft touches, and the dreamy look in his eyes when I scratch him behind the ear.
I always follow my plans, and my plans this summer are about having fun and relieving my boredom, so why not allow myself to touch Lane in any way I want? Why not allow myself to long for him and think about him every hour of the day?
I just want to have him in my arms and make him moan. Is that too much to ask?
I don’t know. Maybe. It feels dangerous on all sorts of levels, but it’s not like I’m going to stop touching him or looking at him or thinking about him because of that. Maybe I’m a fool for it, but it can’t be helped.
I’m just about ready to barge into Oliver’s room, scoop Lane into my arms, and carry him to my bed.
I’d break my own rules if I did—that’s the only reason I don’t.
Well, that, and the fear of Oliver’s rage.
It’s not like I care about my little brother’s opinion, but he holds the power to banish Lane from my sight, and I don’t want that.
I want him here, within reach. Every night.
That doesn’t mean I’m above a little fun, though.
Later that day, I go downstairs to find Lane by the kitchen island, drinking soda through a straw. Oliver is cooking by the stove, back turned. He seems occupied enough.
Without thinking, I line up with Lane’s back and push down the collar of his T-shirt, exposing the bruises there—the marks I’ve left on his skin.
Lane yelps, and Oliver spins around, glaring as soon as he sets eyes on me.
“What’s going on? Haven’t I fucking told you to leave him alone?”
“He had a bug in his hair,” I say with an innocent half-shrug. “I just waved it away.”
“A bug?” Oliver says skeptically.
“Yeah, this big wasp thing. A dangerous one.”
“You’re a fucking dangerous one,” Oliver growls.
I smirk at that, but Oliver just gets more and more riled up.
“I’m serious, Mason! Keep your fucking hands off him.”
“Or what?”
“Hey,” Lane says quickly. “It’s fine—he really was just helping me with the bug. It was this big.” He measures it with his fingers.
“Sure,” Oliver says, voice drawn out with doubt. “Next time, ask me to do it.”
“Okay.” Lane scuttles off to the bathroom, looking a little uncomfortable. I don’t blame him; I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a family-argument crossfire either. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop, though. Oliver is so much fun to tease.
“Jealous I got to touch your little friend, Ollie?”
“If I had a say in it, you’d never get to touch him again.” Oliver turns back to the stove, trying to pretend I’m not here. I’m not so easy to ignore, though.
“You’re not beating the unrequited love allegations, little brother.”
“And you’re not beating the creep allegations!” Oliver retorts, casting me a glare.
“Ouch.” I chuckle and clutch my chest in mock hurt.
Maybe I shouldn’t tease Lane like that unless we’re alone. It’s going to be hard to avoid touching him whenever I feel like it, though. Lately, I feel like it all the time.
Oliver continues to cook whatever he’s cooking. It looks like he’s breading chicken. Hmm. A pretty elaborate meal for a teenager.
“Roleplaying Logan, are you?” I ask.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He always used to cook for us.”
“Yeah, and?”
As always when the subject of our former stepdad comes up, Oliver gets that clipped sort of tone: a mix of anger and hurt he’s unable to hide.
“And didn’t he used to teach you?” I ask.
“I fail to see what your point is,” Oliver mutters.
I don’t know why I say it. I guess I just want to disarm my little brother. Besides that, I want him to understand.
“I miss him too, you know.”
Oliver stiffens. He quits breading the chicken and stares straight ahead. “It’s shit that happens when parents get divorced.”
“He didn’t have to move. He could’ve stayed in town. At the very least, he could’ve stayed in contact with us.”
Oliver glares at me over his shoulder again, but this time, his eyes are red-rimmed. “What do you care, anyway?”
I care more than you think. More than I let on. I could say it, but what good would it do? Logan is gone from our lives and has been for years.
When he broke up with our mom, he didn’t just disappear from our home; he disappeared from the city, the state. He even changed his number. He abandoned us. No matter the reason, he made my little brother cry himself to sleep for months, and I’ll never forgive him for that.
Oliver needs to learn to stop hoping. To stop idolizing him. I don’t know how to help him move on, though. I try by way of jokes, but they don’t really land, probably because of his dislike of me.
“Getting all ready for college?” I ask.
Oliver slides the breaded chicken into the oven, ignoring me.
“Engineering?” I continue. “Really?”
That gets his attention at least. “What’s wrong with engineering?”
I shrug and stretch the sore muscles of my chest. “Nothing. Just doesn’t strike me as something you’d be into.”
“Well, maybe I’ve changed.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re doing what he’d approve of.”
Oliver spins around. “Shut up! You don’t…” He clenches his fist, shaking. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.”
I think I know him better than he knows himself, but before I have time to say it, the door to the bathroom opens, signaling Lane’s return.
Oliver and I both know better than to subject Lane to our arguments, so I make my way to the gym to work out my aggression, clearing my mind of Logan, Oliver, our mom, and all the buried bullshit in our shattered family.