Chapter Two Mateo #2
“You wanted to bring a blanket, but we’re not going to sit on it here,” I say stupidly, so many rocks beneath my feet now that we’ve walked past everyone else.
“No, there’s—I know of another spot, if you’re okay with that.”
“I’m okay with that.”
It’s an understatement, of course. A longer walk hasn’t helped me figure out how to want less time with him.
Jamie nods and navigates the uneven shore as we put the rest of the world behind us.
There are gorgeous houses to our left, set at least a hundred feet above us on top of a brush-covered hillside, and the Pacific Ocean to our right.
I’m still trying to figure out where we’re headed when Jamie brings us to what looks like a narrow path toward someone’s backyard.
He must clock my hesitation, a small smile thrown my way. “We’re not going that far. Nobody living up there will have any idea we’re here.”
“Is trespassing a regular hobby of yours, or do you save it for taco night?”
Jamie pauses, not quite looking at me and not quite focused on anything else, and then he takes a sip from the water I’d forgotten he still held.
When he offers it to me, I don’t think about whether I could taste him there—or whether it’s something that crossed his mind either—waving it away instead.
I’m impatient now, eager for the rest of the night to begin, and we’re working our way up the hill when he finally responds.
“This has been here for years, but it’s been a long time since I’ve bothered to find it in the dark,” he says. “And I’ve never brought anyone here—not like this.”
I want to ask what he means by that, but then he slows me with a whisper and leads me further.
It feels like a moment that should demand he hold on to me, but when I catch his subtle struggle through a step or two, I wonder if I have it backward.
Jamie conceals his effort smoothly, practiced at it for reasons I don’t know and don’t like, but he was right that we wouldn’t have to walk far.
The two of us are closer to the rocks below us than to the house above, and I forget his unsteadiness when I see a bench nestled into the hillside, out of sight of anyone who might wander through either place.
I forget my unsteadiness too, looking over my shoulder at waves that don’t care about us before I face Jamie again.
“The privacy here. It’s so—”
He starts to reach for me, then pulls back, conflict all over his face. “It is. Yeah.”
“Then it seems like the perfect place to sit with you.”
When he doesn’t move, and doesn’t try to touch me again, I worry he may have changed his mind, probably as aware as I am that there are so many safer places we could go.
Naive or desperate or eager, I claim a seat before he can lead us back down the hillside, unfolding the blanket as I blink up at him.
Jamie is caught up in thoughts that may have nothing to do with me, but I want him here, and I’m not exactly sure how to tell him that.
He turns slowly and watches the ocean, and I give him as much time as I can, interrupting only when the quiet hurts.
“I’m sorry you don’t get to invite more people to dinner,” I start, my voice low enough that I’ve barely disturbed the dark. “I’m sorry for all the strings attached to your fun. And I’m sorry for calling you pretty when it has nothing to do with why I’m here.”
That gets his attention, the corner of Jamie’s mouth curling into a near smile when he finally comes closer.
He crouches next to the bench to tuck the water bottle behind one of the legs, and I frown at the way he winces before he straightens again.
We both know I saw it, but he shakes his head and makes me forget all over again.
“You don’t think I’m pretty?”
“That's definitely not what I said.”
“I brought you here, but I don’t know what happens next,” Jamie admits. “This wasn’t—you just wanted dinner.”
Still unwilling to say too much of the wrong thing, I shrug. “What happened next all the other times you were here? What did you do the nights you sat on this bench alone?”
“I let go of everything. I shut out all the noise. I pretended my time here didn’t count—that the rest of my life could leave me alone long enough for me to catch my fucking breath.”
I adjust the blanket to make room for him beneath it. “Then that’s what we’ll do now.”
Jamie doesn’t accept the invitation as quickly as I wish he would, but he gets there after another few seconds, and I feel his warmth immediately.
Our view of the ocean is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, which should be a stupid thought to have when I’ve lived near the coast my entire life, except that I can’t remember a night when I’ve been treated to such an intimate show.
It’s almost sacred, but I don’t say so out loud.
I’m not sure how much time passes, nor do I care when I'm satisfied a sweep of the beach won’t disturb our privacy or get us in trouble, but as much as I think I’m content to sit in this silence forever, I don’t realize how much I’ve missed Jamie’s voice until I hear it again.
“I don’t want to mislead you. About my life.
Whatever it sounds like, it’s not—” He shakes his head and stares at the water.
“I’m very, very fortunate, and I know that.
There have been some really incredible highs, and running away from those to sit here by myself probably makes no sense.
And the lows—it’s not fair of me to complain. ”
“Not fair to whom?” I ask.
“Anyone who’s had it worse.”
“Was that another lesson from everyone who’s told you you’re arrogant and selfish?”
Jamie glances at me before he returns to something he knows. “They’re not all wrong.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re all right, either,” I say, cautious when I let my leg fall against his beneath the blanket, a touch that could be explained away easily, if he notices it at all.
“You know, in a lot of sports, there are timeouts, and they don’t only give those to the teams who are behind. Everyone gets them. Even the winners.”
It’s true, what I’ve said, but it leaves us with another stretch of silence that my heart won’t let me hate.
I hope he believes me, even if I’m one voice against a lifetime of others, and while it might mean nothing, I take the fact that he hasn’t moved away from me as a good sign.
It’s made even better when he slides his hand over his blanketed lap and lands against the edge of mine, the contact far from significant and still enough to make me wish I could have a hundred others just like it.
He taps me with his pinky, and I only have 99 more to go. “In your life, do you think you’ve won more or lost more?”
“Won more,” I say easily. “But I don’t think—you mentioned incredible highs and all the noise, but my life is a lot quieter than that.
Maybe not always literally, but we’re more or less back to the start, right?
You’re the one nobody seems to get right.
I’m the one they’ve always figured out from the first hello. ”
That has him turning toward me again, his cap failing to fully hide the sharp crease between his brows when it’s lit up by the moon. I want to take the hat from him entirely, but when his mouth opens and closes and opens again, I’m caught up in the sweep of his tongue and the words that follow.
“I’m not sure I’ve figured out a damn thing about you, and I’m scared of what’ll happen if I leave this bench without trying.”
“Try, then,” I murmur. “I’m right here.”
Even hushed, I think I must’ve been too loud, and Jamie’s gone again when he sighs and tucks himself further into my hoodie. I’m not surprised when he carries us back a moment or two, and I’m willing to follow him there. It’s become clear most people don’t.
“You like your boring life, though. You don’t want all the highs and lows.”
“I think I learned to be afraid of the highs and lows,” I admit. It’s too honest, but everything about where we’re sitting calls for it, and I keep going. “I’d need someone who’s used to it to take my hand and tell me they won’t let go.”
“Would you believe them?” he asks. “Kinda seems like people let go all the time, no matter what they’ve said.”
“I always want to believe.”
“Do you have someone holding your hand now? At home, where it’s quiet?”
“Nobody is holding my hand anywhere,” I say. “Even here, where it’s quiet.”
It’s an easy hint to take, maybe especially because of everything else we’ve said and the places our bodies still touch. Jamie’s faux arrogance and very real insecurities keep him from doing anything about it, and he aims a sad laugh at an ocean that’s heard it all before.
“All of this would be easier if you could go back to writing me off as pretty.”
“Even when I called you pretty, I don’t think I wrote you off.”
“No?”
“I’d rather not make everyone else’s mistake,” I murmur.
Jamie takes a long, slow breath. Then he reaches up to remove his hat, and the time between each of my heartbeats disappears altogether.
He bends to set it down next to the water bottle, and I only get a glimpse of his hair when he combs his fingers through it as he sits up again.
The movement itself is something I’m strangely sure I’ve seen from him before, but I only get a second to appreciate it before he’s tugging my hood over his head.
If I had the words to stop him from hiding, I’d use them.
I’m still not sure whether he knows he’s queer—or whether my own queerness is part of what he wants to figure out—but asking outright feels like it would send at least one of us tumbling toward the sand, and I’m not ready to move from where I am.
And while it hasn’t been true for most of my time with Jamie, in this exact moment, I’m glad we're facing the sky instead of each other.
“Holy shit, did you see that?” he hisses.
“A shooting star,” I breathe. “God, I haven’t seen one in years. Maybe since I was a kid.”
“We’re supposed to make a wish.”
I turn toward him with a smile. “Do yours usually come true?”