17. Reid
SEVENTEEN
REID
I loved my ex-wife.
That always surprised people when I said it, like divorce had to come with bitterness or regret. But I loved her. Tessa and I met in high school, followed each other to college, got married just after graduation. We were together for five years as husband and wife, more than a decade in all.
She knew I was bisexual. I told her early. She didn’t flinch. Never used it against me. Never acted like it made me less committed to her. It wasn’t a secret.
It just wasn’t enough.
We weren’t a match in the ways that mattered most when you’re building a life together.
We tried. But she wanted something different, and I couldn’t pretend forever.
We never cheated. Never screamed at each other across a courtroom.
But we stopped trying to fit. Instead of dragging each other through a lifetime of compromises neither of us wanted to make, we let go.
Since then, I kept things simple. Hookups. One and done. Or maybe two and done, if I felt generous. That was safer. Cleaner. But then Ari happened.
He was bratty. Bold. Blushed when he got flustered, especially when I got close.
Beautiful in the moments when he didn’t know I was watching—like he forgot he was supposed to keep his armor up.
And when he kissed me back, hands in my shirt, tongue in my mouth, a little breathless and greedy?
Damn. He ticked every box I didn’t even know I still had.
I knocked on the front door of the little house he shared with his mom. Liz answered, pulling her purse strap onto her shoulder and smiling when she saw me.
“Hey, Reid. Are you here to pick up my son?”
Ari’s mom was warm and smart and sharper than people gave her credit for. I liked her. And I felt a little sick to my stomach about it, considering what her son and I had been doing when she wasn’t around.
I smiled. “Yeah. Thought I’d get him out of the house a bit.”
She laughed. “Good luck with that. He didn’t roll out of bed till noon yesterday.”
Ari’s voice called from inside. “I heard that!”
Liz patted my arm on the way out. “He’s all yours. I’m off to the clinic.”
All yours.
The words hit somewhere low in my chest, warm and a little dangerous. I gave her a smile and watched her go, trying not to read into it. Trying not to think about how true it felt—how much I wanted it to be true, even if I had no business wanting it.
A second later, Ari emerged from the hallway. Tousled curls, a clingy T-shirt, and jeans that hung low on his hips. He blinked at me like he was still shaking off sleep, but the smirk came fast.
“You bringing me coffee or kidnapping me?”
“Neither,” I said. “Figured we’d do something useful with all that brat energy today.”
He rolled his eyes but grabbed his keys off the side table. “Fine. But if this ends in manual labor, I want a milkshake.”
The drive out of town ran quiet for a while, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of wind through the open windows.
July sun poured gold over the hills, setting every patch of wild grass aglow.
Briar Creek didn’t have much in the way of sprawl—just a few blocks of Main Street charm, then farmland and scrub.
Bright flags flapped from porch railings, red, white, and blue buntings already strung up in anticipation of the Fourth of July celebrations.
Ari tapped his fingers against his thigh. “It’s weird being back.”
I glanced over. “Weird how?”
“I thought I’d feel done with this place,” he said. “Outgrow it. But now that I’m here, it’s like…”
He trailed off, searching for the words.
“Like the town’s still under your skin?” I offered.
He looked at me. “Yeah. That.”
I nodded. “Briar Creek has a way of hanging on.”
The boy went quiet again, just for a second, then said, “I used to tell myself I would stay in the city, get a six-figure income…” He trailed off.
“But you came back.”
“Yeah. And I don’t know if that means I messed up… or if I didn’t try hard enough… or not at all.”
“Maybe it means you’re still figuring things out,” I said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Ari let out a breath. Then he looked out the window, voice quieter when he spoke again. “I thought if I threw myself into something—made myself useful—it might help.”
I glanced over, before facing ahead again.
“I finished the banners,” he said. “Even remembered to sign my name this time.”
“That’s a damn shame.”
He looked over. “Why?”
“Because now we can’t pass them off as priceless anonymous town heirlooms.”
That earned a smile. Not the flashy kind. The real one.
By the time we turned down the old service road, Ari’s smile had faded but not entirely disappeared.
Dust kicked up behind the truck, settling in sunlit waves along the path.
The training grounds came into view—concrete tower, old water tanks, weeds clawing up chain-link fencing.
I kept going, pulling behind the far lot.
Gravel popped beneath the tires as I eased the truck to a stop in the middle of the open space. To the left, an old trailer leaned into the slope like it had given up years ago. A few rusted barrels were half-sunk in the dirt. Beyond that: nothing but quiet and space. No eyes. No distractions.
I shut off the engine.
Ari blinked. “We hiking from here?”
I tossed him the keys. He caught them—barely. Fumbled, but didn’t drop them.
“You’re driving.”
He stared at the keys like they might explode. “Funny.”
“Not a joke.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I said, softer this time. “That’s why we’re here.”
His fingers tightened around the keys.
He didn’t move. Just looked down at the keys and then up at me, something flickering in his eyes.
“My dad was supposed to teach me,” he said after a moment.
“When I was six, I told everyone I wanted a bright orange Chevelle with racing stripes. Dad said he’d help me find one when I was old enough.
Then he left, and I guess I never wanted to learn without him. ”
The silence that followed didn’t need to be filled. It just needed to be respected.
“And when Sage offered to teach me at seventeen,” he continued, voice rougher now, “I just said no. He didn’t ask why. He figured I didn’t care.”
“You did, though.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. He nodded once. Small. Sharp.
“You don’t have to stay stuck in that place,” I said, voice low. “Let me be the one to show you it doesn’t have to hurt to move forward.”
Ari’s throat worked like he was trying to swallow whatever cracked behind his ribs. His hand hovered at his side. Then, slowly, I lifted mine and gently curled his fingers around the keys.
“I’m right here.”
He looked up. Lips parted. Eyes bright. Then he rolled them and muttered, “You’re corny as hell, old man.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Watch your mouth, boy.”
But he moved. Slid out of the passenger seat, boots hitting the gravel. I stepped out and waited for him. For a moment, we just stood there, sun beating down, a light breeze tugging at his curls.
Then he made his way around the front, slow and reluctant but not turning back.
I held the driver’s side door for him. Ari climbed in behind the wheel, stiff as hell, like the seat might bite.
“Big moment,” I said, and closed the door behind him.
I circled around and got into the passenger seat. Ari sat there like the air was made of glass, hands resting on the wheel, the keys clutched in his lap.
Not gonna lie, he looked good in the driver’s seat.
Nervous. But good.
"Okay," I said, turning slightly toward him. "First things first—seat adjustment."
He shifted the seat forward a notch. Still not enough. I tapped the back of his thigh. “You’re not five-foot-ten in heels, boy. Move it up more.”
“Bossy,” he muttered, adjusting it again.
“Functional. Unless you want to look like one of those toddlers behind the wheel in a viral video.”
He snorted and finally settled in.
We went through the basics: clutch, brake, gas. The stick between us. My hand brushed his once or twice as I pointed things out—definitely not accidental. He was trying hard to focus, but his mouth kept twitching like he wanted to smart off and couldn’t decide how badly.
“Is this your idea of a date?” he asked, twisting toward me.
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s my idea of you learning something useful. Unless you’d rather me teach you how to beg instead.”
His breath caught. Then he scowled. “You’re a menace.”
“And you like it.”
He sat stiffly behind the wheel, knuckles white on the gearshift. The key was still in his lap.
“Clutch in,” I said, nodding to the pedals. “All the way down. Then turn the key.”
Ari slid the key into the ignition, movements clipped and tense, and turned it. The engine sputtered to life on the first try—miracle enough to make him glance at me like I’d slipped it into gear for him.
I hadn’t. Yet.
“Okay,” I said. “Foot still on the clutch. Now gently into first gear.”
He wiggled the stick around like it had personally offended him, then found first. Not graceful, but it worked.
“Now,” I said slowly, “you’re gonna ease off the clutch while giving it just a little gas.”
He nodded, brow furrowed. Tried.
The truck lurched. The engine choked out and died.
He exhaled sharply. “Shit.”
“Try again,” I said, voice low but calm. “Clutch in. Key again.”
Second start. Same result—engine coughed and stalled before we even rolled an inch.
Ari muttered, “I swear to God, if I stall again I’m walking home.”
“You walk home,” I said smoothly, “I’m spanking you in front of the parade tomorrow.”
His foot slipped off the clutch entirely.
I bit back a laugh and barely managed to say, “Relax, baby. You’ve got this.”
He glared at the wheel like it owed him money. “Pretty sure this stick shift’s been sent by Satan.”
“Then tame it.” I nudged his thigh with my knuckles.
Third attempt.