Chapter 19
19
GAVIN
I was seven when my dad first yelled at me—I mean really yelled at me, and all because I’d forgotten to take the garbage out. It had sent a shockwave of fear rippling through me, keeping me frozen as he screamed in my face about responsibility.
But Beck was there when it was over. I found him playing quietly in his front yard, and when he smiled at me and waved me over to join him, everything was okay.
I was nine when my dad first called me a weak little sissy. I’d just burned my hand on the stove and was crying. Beck was there, and he came over to me and gave me a hug, and then my dad yelled at both of us. Said only weak little sissy boys cried at such a small thing, and why were Beck and I always touching like that? I didn’t understand what was wrong with getting a hug, but we made sure not to do it again around him. Didn’t stop him from calling us all sorts of names over the years, though.
But he wasn’t always mad at me. When he was happy, he was kind of nice to me. When he was nice, he would tell me how much he loved me, that when he got mad, it was only because he wanted me to be a tough man someday, and that’s how he was helping me become one.
He was my dad. I believed him.
I was eleven when my dad first threw something at me. I was at home just watching TV when he came home early from work and started yelling about laziness and privileges. I interrupted him, because I was confused since I always watched TV after school, so he picked up the remote and threw it at my head.
He didn’t miss.
Beck came over an hour later and asked me how I got the bump on my forehead. I lied and told him I slipped on the stairs and bumped my head on the railing. He shrugged and said, “Okay. Be careful next time, silly.” And everything was okay.
I was fourteen when my dad took his belt to my back, screaming that no son of his would be gay.
But Beck wasn’t there when it was over, and nothing was ever okay again.
I glanced sidelong at Beck, whose fingers had been flexing against the steering wheel for the past ten minutes. A muscle was jumping in his jaw and his mouth was drawn down in a frown. I had no idea what he was thinking, if he was sick and tired of taking care of me, if he wanted to get rid of me. When he was facing off with my dad, he’d looked ready to beat him into nothing.
Part of me wished he had.
Seeing my dad again after two years was completely jarring. Utterly terrifying. A horrible, horrible moment. I was so afraid that he would try and take me away from Beck.
I was even more afraid that Beck would let him.
But he didn’t. He stood in front of me and stayed in front of me until my father left.
He’d protected me, just like he’d tried to do when we were fourteen. Only this time, he was much, much bigger than my dad.
He kept coming to my aid, over and over and over again, kept putting me before himself, kept giving me so much of his kindness that it felt like I was drowning in it.
All I’d done since he brought me home was give him shit. I fought him at every turn because I was too afraid to let him back in. It would destroy me if I did and he left again. Completely. I thought it might be worse than death if that happened.
Everything I did to try and make him hate me wasn’t working. All I was doing was hurting him, over and over again. All I’d ever done was hurt him. The last ten years were a shattered symmetry of our first eight years. The other side of the coin that I flipped. I didn’t know how to make it right, and I wasn’t sure that was even remotely possible.
All I was sure of was that I didn’t want to hurt him anymore.
But I also didn’t know how to shut off this need to rebel against any attempts he made to help me. I didn’t know how to cut out years of trying to protect myself from a man that only knew how to hate.
I went along with it when my dad told me that a man loving another man was unnatural. Disgusting. The worst thing you could do.
He was my dad. He was always right.
Except, it never felt right to think those things. But I didn’t tell him that.
He said I would never be accepted by anyone if I chose to live that way. He said men were meant to be with women, and anything else was just wrong. He said if he ever caught me doing that again, he would kick me out and leave me with nothing. He told me that it was just me and him and we needed to watch out for each other.
I was fourteen. I didn’t have anyone except for him, and the thought of having nothing—no home, no family, no security—was terrifying. I couldn’t even imagine what a life like that even looked like, and the unknown of that kept me by my father’s side. Kept me quiet. I’d already lost Beck. I didn’t want to lose everything else.
After he punished me for kissing Beck, he told me he knew I was just confused, that Beck had put ideas in my head, that he was a rotten influence, his mother was a wino whore, and it was a good thing they were gone.
I didn’t agree. But I didn’t tell him that.
Back then, I hadn’t really understood what I was feeling for Beck. All I knew was that I loved him more than anyone in the entire world, that I never wanted to be anywhere but by his side. He was my best friend. We did everything together. Told each other everything. And as we got older, those feelings only grew and grew and grew until I thought maybe I’d burst.
But then he left. He left me.
I didn’t see him for a whole summer.
I rarely, if ever, let myself think about those three months. It was three miserable months of missing the boy who’d stolen half my heart and never returned, until the half he left me with became shriveled and blackened with a bitter rage. Three months of my dad constantly filling my head with all the information he “should have told me as soon as I could understand.”
Three months turned into six, turned into a year, turned into five years. Eight.
The balance in my life had forever been skewed toward hate and anger. Without Beck’s love and friendship, I was left sinking deeper into a hostile darkness that poisoned my heart.
I didn’t know what I was. All I knew was that I felt things for Beck that were more than just a friendly love. All I knew was that every time I looked at him, he made my entire body heat up—and I wanted to do more than just look. He was the only person I’d ever felt anything for. Anything at all.
And I was so mad that other people didn’t have to hide who they were. Any time I saw a queer person just being themselves, it incited a rage so profound I couldn’t control it.
Somewhere along the line, I began to hate my dad for making me this way. But I still did what he said. Lived how he wanted me to. My fear was greater than my anger. By many, many miles.
So I pushed Beck away with nasty looks and awful words. Being on the same wrestling team during the last two years of high school and then all four years of college was fucking torture. I had to be around him constantly, I had to watch him laugh and joke around with our teammates as a horrible jealousy burned through my veins. I had to see him, touch him, smell him. I had to watch him grow and grow and grow until he was even taller than me. I had to wonder if he would hold me instead, had we still been together. I had to push aside or shove down every wayward thought that crept into my mind. I could hardly stand to look at him because he made my stomach feel like it was incessantly flipping.
And my bitterness only grew. I fed it every day with every time I looked at him and didn’t get to touch him or talk to him or hold him. It grew until it was all I was. I wasn’t even a real person anymore, I was just anger and resentment and jealousy.
Because all I wanted was to have him back, and I couldn’t.
“You okay?”
I looked over at Beck, who was glancing between me and the road. I let my eyes travel over his short curls, his birthmark, the light stubble on his face. Then down to the gray hoodie that didn’t do much to hide his muscles. By the time I made my way back to his face, something inside me had calmed.
“I’m fine,” I said, facing forward again.
“Do you still want me to take you to the…the shelter?” His tone was wary. Sad.
I answered him honestly. “No.”
His hand came into view, and I watched as he set it on my thigh.
I couldn’t breathe.
“It’s okay if you’re not fine,” he said softly, giving my thigh a little squeeze. He was so warm, and the weight of his comfort felt so good I wanted him to crush me with it. I wanted to place my hand over his and force him to keep it there forever.
I wanted to open my door and throw myself from the car.
He took his hand away before I could do any of those things and said, “Gavin, I’m so sorry?—”
“Stop apologizing to me!” I burst out, beyond frustrated that he kept trying to take the blame for things that weren’t his fault. I leaned forward while turning to face him, putting one hand on the dashboard and one on the back of my seat. “I swear to fucking god, Beck, if you say you’re sorry one more fucking time, I’ll—I’ll—” Fuck, I had nothing. I wouldn’t do anything to him. With a growl, I said, “Just stop apologizing all the time! I’m sorry! I’m fucking sorry! I’m sorry for every single thing I’ve ever said or done to you! I’m sorry I’m such a coward, I’m sorry I didn’t even have the courage to treat you how you deserved, and I’m sorry I’m so fucked up that all I do is fight you without even knowing why! I’m sorry I just keep hurting you over and over again, and I’m sorry I’m such a pathetic piece of shit that I have to hide behind you! I’m sorry you even met me, because all I’ve ever done is cause you pain, and I don’t know how to stop! I’m sorry for everything ! So don’t you apologize to me ever again, Beck, because you haven’t done a goddamn thing wrong!”
I was screaming now, so loud my ears were ringing, and my face was wet. Beck was a little blurry through all the tears, and my breaths were as ragged as my soul. I was so lost in my own emotions that I didn’t notice Beck had pulled the car off the road and put it in park. He was quietly staring at me, his eyes darting over my entire body, my face, taking every wretched part of me in.
God, I was pathetic.
I sniffled and used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe the tears away, then sat back in my seat as Beck just continued to look at me.
“Can we go?” I muttered, about to just get the fuck out of the car. I wished I’d never opened my mouth.
“No,” he finally said, his voice rough and deep. I glanced over at him, and the way he was fucking staring at me, like I’d just ripped his heart out, was too much.
Even when I was apologizing, I hurt him.
“Fuck this,” I snapped, grabbing the door handle and popping the release.
Beck was leaning over the console and me in two seconds flat, pulling it shut again.
“You can’t get your fucking cast wet,” he growled, and he was so in my space now, his arm against my chest as he held the door shut, his face right there . His eyes were like the final color that glowed on the horizon just before the sun fully set and it all turned to black.
The last vestiges of twilight.
“You can’t just say that shit and leave,” he said hoarsely, not moving out of my space, not letting go of the door. My heart was hammering against my ribcage, and I was pretty sure he could feel it. “You can’t do that. Ten years I’ve waited to hear something— anything —from you that let me know you were still in there. Ten fucking years , Gavin.” His breath hitched, and I wanted to crush him into my arms and shove him away all at once. “You have no idea how much I wanted you to tell me it was all an act, that there was a reason for all of the bullshit. I waited and waited for you to come back to me, for you to give me any kind of sign that you hadn’t just disappeared.” His eyes were so bright and intense as they bored into mine that I couldn’t breathe. “I’m gonna apologize one last time, okay? And you need to hear this.” He let go of the door and brushed the hair back from my forehead, his palm firm against my skull, and kept it there. I felt like I was being burned alive as I stared into his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner that your dad was hurting you. That he kept hurting you after that day. I’m so fucking sorry. I should have known, I should have tried harder to get you to talk to me, but I didn’t, and the guilt of that…I will feel that guilt for the rest of my fucking life.” He leaned in, and for a long, long second, I thought he was going to kiss me, that this was it, this was when?—
He pressed his forehead against mine and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. “I forgive you,” he whispered. “For all of it. I just hope you can forgive me one day.”
There was nothing to forgive.
My throat was practically closed at this point, and swallowing hurt like hell. I felt sick to my stomach and impossibly giddy all at once, and I needed to touch him. To make sure he was real.
I placed a trembling hand on his arm, and he pulled back, blue eyes searching mine.
“You can shave my beard,” I whispered.
He made a sound in the back of his throat, and then he sat back and laughed.
Really laughed. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed, and the sound of it set my soul on fire. I wanted to kiss him so bad, and that realization scared the absolute shit out of me.
Beck slapped the steering wheel, his laughter ebbing, and turned that big, bright smile on me. My heart stuttered in my chest, and I couldn’t look away from it.
“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “We can do that, princess.”
There was a lightness in the car that hadn’t been there before, and as Beck put it back in drive and took us home, I wondered what it would feel like to always have this.
It felt dangerous to wonder that.
“Can you hold still? You’ve already made me nick you like five times. I don’t understand why you’re moving around so damn much. I’m almost done,” Beck said, exasperated with me.
I was trying to hold fucking still, but he was right in my face. The chair I was sitting on wasn’t comfortable, and his body was so close to mine, brushing against me as he worked. He kept using soft, gentle touches to move my face when he needed to, and it had me thinking about how he might move other parts of me with the same kind of tenderness. Or roughness.
I was hard as fucking steel in my— his —pants, and I couldn’t get it to go away. All I’d been wearing lately were stretchy sweatpants because of the cast, so my state of arousal was no goddamn secret. I just kept my hands over my lap and hoped he didn’t notice.
“Okay,” he murmured, drawing the razor down the left side of my face and then wiping the spot with a wet washcloth. “Done.” He turned on the faucet and rinsed the razor, put it in a hard plastic container, then put that in his pocket.
“I’ve never actually tried to kill myself, you know,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that. I just…didn’t want to be here anymore.” I felt like I needed to clear that up. I’d noticed he’d taken all the knives out of the kitchen. Anything with a point was missing.
He stilled, his eyes flashing back to mine. “I didn’t know that, actually,” he said, and there was a sadness in his voice that sliced through me. “ Didn’t ?” he asked, catching my use of the past tense.
“Yeah. Didn’t ,” I said. I grabbed my crutches, stood up, and went to walk out the door, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“You don’t want to check my work? Make sure I didn’t shave a dick on your face?”
I huffed. “No, I’m good,” I said. I wanted to get me and my hard dick the fuck out of here. I wanted to take care of my situation, but I’d already taken a shower today and I felt like it would be suspicious if I took another one.
Right?
Beck let go of my arm and said, “Okay. You hungry?”
Why the fuck was he always trying to feed me?
“No,” I said, crutching my way out of the bathroom and down the hall to the family room. I had just sat down on the couch when I realized I still had a towel around my neck, and it was probably covered in hair. Gross.
I pushed myself back up and made my way down the hall toward the bedroom so I could throw it in the hamper. I glanced into the bathroom as I passed, but Beck wasn’t in there. I still wanted to take a fucking shower.
The bedroom door was open—Beck usually kept it open because he knew it was annoying for me to have to keep opening and closing doors. I turned to go in and stopped dead in my tracks.
Beck had his back to me as he rifled through the dresser, and my eyes greedily took in every inch of his naked body.
He was utter perfection with his tall, broad, muscular physique that radiated strength and was a testament to a lifetime of self-discipline. He wasn’t bulky, but he was well-muscled with incredible definition and, as I looked, his glutes flexed with his slight movements. My mouth dried up as a wave of unbearable heat crashed through me.
The controlled power he exuded was mesmerizing, and he moved with an effortless, fluid kind of grace that seemed out of place for a man as big as he was. But it wasn’t out of place. Beck had spent his entire life training, honing his body as a weapon. He was solid, but quick. He could take down any opponent, was the fastest fighter I’d ever known in person.
When he stepped to the right, I caught a glimpse of his cock and balls between his legs, and a strangled sound erupted from my throat.
Beck whipped around, holding a piece of clothing to his crotch, surprised eyes flashing to mine. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were in the family room,” he said.
I couldn’t stop myself from devouring his sculpted chest with my eyes. His tight stomach. Dark blond hair covered his pecs and sternum, and a thin line of it trailed between his abs, over his belly button and down to his groin.
I wanted to touch him so badly that my hands started to shake. Heat was curling through my stomach, sinking to my throbbing cock and settling in my balls.
“Gavin,” he said, sounding wary. Because I was just standing here, staring at him. Ogling him. And I couldn’t stop. I was starving for Beck after being denied any kind of taste of him for so fucking long. After spending all these weeks with him, wanting him and wanting him and too afraid to do anything about it, too afraid of rejection, too afraid of myself.
I wanted him to move that piece of clothing. I wanted to see every part of him. I wanted to touch every part of him. I wanted all the things I’d wondered about for years.
But I was a coward.
“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.
I was frozen in place, my mind a mess, and I was shaking so badly that I thought I’d fall over.
Beck took a step toward me, still covering his groin, and I wanted him to move his hand, to let me see everything.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?” His eyes flitted down to my groin, to the obvious erection tenting my pants, and my cheeks began to burn. When he raised his eyes back to mine, there was a hunger there that rivaled my own. An intensity that I wanted him to put into words, into actions.
Because I couldn’t.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” I whispered.
I didn’t move. I kept standing there, staring. Like I was waiting for something.
I startled when the front door slammed and Anya’s loud yell rang through the house. “Beckers! Gavitron! Where are you guys?”
Panic bolted through me, and I tried to turn so quickly that I lost my balance and teetered sideways, crashing into the door.
“Hey—” Beck started toward me, and then he was grabbing me from behind, stabilizing me with his hands on my waist, and all I could think was that I wished I was naked, too, so I could feel his skin against mine.
“You guys!” Anya called, and there were footsteps down the hall.
“Anya, wait for me in the kitchen, I’ll be there in a minute!” Beck shouted.
The footsteps stopped. “Ugh,” I heard her say. “I don’t even want to know.”
My heart was racing as Beck’s fingers pressed into me, and I could feel the heat of him from behind.
“Gavin,” he murmured, and his voice was right beside my ear. So close, pouring into me and spiraling in wicked waves along my nerve-endings.
I wanted to lean back into his warmth, wanted to strip myself bare until there was nothing but him and me.
Instead, I shoved at his hands as well as I could with the crutches still under my arms. “Let go,” I said. My voice was shaking.
Beck’s fingers flexed into my ribcage, then slid away. I took a deep breath, then went to the bathroom to take a goddamn shower after all, wishing I had the courage to be a different man.