35. Mac
THIRTY-FIVE
MAC
How many times can I let my parents ruin my life? How many fucking times!
It’s not even my life I’m angry for. It’s Sage’s. It’s his trailer my mother burned. It’s his life she put into danger.
This man who has been by my side since I was ten. This man who only wanted to help his mom. Who works so goddamn hard only to stay at the bottom.
He doesn’t deserve this shit. He’s so much bigger than the park. So goddamn good. I was born into this life, but he was dragged into it. If his dad hadn’t left, if his mom hadn’t drank herself to death, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be standing in front of another thing my parents destroyed.
I should have stayed away. I shouldn’t have come back here. Maybe then he wouldn’t be paying for the sins of my parents.
But no matter how true that might be…I wouldn’t change anything. I wouldn’t give up the past few weeks. I’m too fucking selfish to let him go.
His forehead is still pressed against mine, his hands holding me together when I should be holding him together. He needs me to step up. He needs me to get the fuck over this.
But I can’t. I can’t let it go. Not when I can smell the burnt remains of Sage’s trailer. Not when my thoughts are this punishing. This is damning. I feel like I’m shattering. Like this is the final straw that breaks me completely.
“Mac.” Sage says my name like it matters. Like it carries any meaning at all. Growing up, I hated my name. Hated that I wore something my parents gave me. It felt like a burden even then.
It wasn’t until an angry boy said it that it meant anything at all. But it feels wrong right now. Or maybe it’s the panic that laces the word.
“Mac, look at me,” Sage demands. His forehead disappears from mine, and I mourn the loss. His eyes flick over my face until I finally meet his unwavering gaze.
Those damn bats take flight in my belly, swooping and diving around like they always do when Sage is looking at me like I matter. Like I’m more than fucked-up trailer trash with no future.
Something flashes in his eyes. He goes from meeting my panic with his own to resolution.
“Get in the truck.”
“What?” I ask, my brain unable to grab any comprehension from his command. His smirk makes the bats go apeshit.
Fuck, I’m pathetic. But I don’t have time to dwell on that. I don’t have a second to think or organize my thoughts. Sage’s hand is grabbing mine, fingers locked together. I can’t help but stare down at the contact in awe.
My mom burnt his home to the ground. He shouldn’t want to touch me, let alone do something this intimate. This personal. Not with me. Not when my mom is responsible for his pain.
Fucking hit me, asshole! my mind screams, wanting to at least be good enough for that. Something to take his anger out on. An outlet. But he’s holding my hand and pulling me back to Henry’s truck.
“Wait. Where are we going?” I ask dumbly, walking on legs that don’t feel like mine. He smiles back at me.
“Just get in the truck, Mac,” he tells me again. He walks around the truck to the passenger side, tugging me along. He opens the door and jerks his head, looking at me expectantly.
Rolling his eyes, he demands again, “Get in the fucking truck, asshole.” So I do, climbing in and deflating into the seat.
“Thank you,” he grumbles, closing me inside the truck. He rounds the hood, knocking his knuckles against the metal as he goes. Then he’s climbing into the driver’s seat.
Just as I’m about to question what the hell we’re doing, his mouth is on mine. All my questions drift off in a hazy cloud. It’s just Sage and his mouth. His tongue slips into my mine in such a way I moan into the kiss.
But I have to stop him. He shouldn’t be kissing me. He shouldn’t be trying to comfort me. I owe him so much, so many fucking things. I pull back, and he growls.
“What—” I start, but his hand lands on my crotch, and I freeze.
“Shut the fuck up, Mac.” His hand rubs over my cock through my jeans, firm strokes that have me hardening under his touch. His lips land back on mine, and my brain splits into too many directions.
He works my jeans open with swift fingers, tugging them down past my hips. He pulls my cock out of the hole in my boxers and works me over.
“Fuck. Sage…wa-wait.” Whatever half-assed protest dies on my tongue. He leans over and takes my cock into his mouth. The bench seat of the truck makes this so much easier.
The flat of his tongue presses along the underside of my length. His head bobs up until just the crown is between his lips. My cock is fully erect now, hard and aching when his tongue dips into my slit.
My head falls back against the headrest, eyes falling closed. He takes more of me, gagging when I hit the back of his throat. He doesn’t let that slow him down. No, my man is on a mission. A mission to suck my sanity straight out of my cock. And it’s working.
I grip the holy shit handle above the door and drop my other hand onto the back of his head. He moans when my fingers card through his hair. I grip the strands in a tight fist.
The world is gone. On fire, for all I know. Everything outside of this truck is nothing but a memory. Every fucked-up thought I had, gone. It’s just Sage and his hot, wet mouth.
He slurps me down, bobbing up and down so quickly my closed eyes cross. This is the first time I’ve been in his mouth, and I’m in heaven. Wet, warm, and fucking perfection. What he lacks in experience he more than makes up for with raw enthusiasm.
He gags and splutters on my cock, drool dripping from the sides of his mouth. It drips down my balls and pools under my ass.
What he can’t fit in his mouth he works with his hand. He pumps my base in a tight grip.
“Fuckkk,” I moan so loud anyone outside the truck could hear me. But I give zero fucks. His hums and vibrations work over my dick, sending stars across my eyelids.
“Sage, I’m—” That’s the most I can get out. The only warning I can give before hot ropes of cum are shooting down his throat. I tense, my grip on the holy shit handle tightening.
He swallows, again and again. Trying to swallow it all down. The feel of it drags out my climax.
“Holy shit.” I slump back into the seat, releasing my hold on his hair. When he pulls off me with a wet pop, I fucking die. He smiles at me, sensually running his thumb over his lips. Collecting a drop of my cum and sucking it off his finger.
I have no words. I have no thoughts, actually. My brain is a fried mess in my skull. He sucked out my sanity and my brain, leaving me a heaving mess in Henry’s truck.
He leans back into the driver’s seat, the smug-ass smile still in place. “Better?” he asks.
“Holy shit, baby,” is all I can get out. He laughs, like a dick, and adjusts himself in his dirty jeans.
“Come on, we gotta find the marshal.” He climbs from the truck, leaving me gawking after him. What the hell just happened? I sit for a moment, my softening dick still hanging out of my jeans.
Fuck, I should…I tuck myself away, lifting my hips to correct my jeans.
Sage is walking towards the outcome of my mother’s anger with purposeful steps. His shoulders are back and spine is straight. Like he didn’t just suck me fucking stupid.
When I climb from the truck, I have some issues. My legs are jelly, and I falter when I climb down. Jesus. I scrub my jaw, trying to work sense back into my head.
I quickly, or as quickly as I can, jog to catch up with Sage. I grab his arm, jerking him to a stop.
“What? What was that?” I ask, waving my arm back towards the truck. He laughs and the bats do their thing in my gut.
“You were spiraling. I fixed it.” He shrugs his shoulders and goes to turn around again. But I stop him by stepping into his path.
“But…what?” I ask again, looking into his joyous, brown eyes, his burnt home at my back.
The smell is stronger out here than in the truck. And with the smell, my guilt grows. But I squash that shit down and focus on Sage.
“Did I fix it?” he asks with a cocked brow.
“Yeah, but…” I run my hand through my hair, feeling the sweat our time in the truck caused. “But…fuck, why didn’t I think of that?” I mumble, more to myself than him.
You’re telling me I could have sucked his dick to pull him from his misery?
He shrugs with that arrogant smile. “Guess I’m better at being gay than you.” I grab a fistful of his ash-covered shirt and pull him towards me.
“Fuck you,” I joke before I take his mouth with my own, tasting my cum and something that only belongs to him. Jesus, this guy.
An intrusive cough cuts through this life-affirming moment. Sage groans into the kiss before he steps back. We both glare over at a man.
“Excuse me, but um…one of you Sage Meadows?” he asks, breaking whatever spell Sage had me under.
The fire marshal. A stout man with flaming red cheeks and a beer gut that his shirt is struggling to contain. The man who is about to tell us the news June already broke.
I always knew I was nothing. Worthless. Trash. Even as I kid, I knew I was doomed to be nothing more than my father’s son. My mother’s mistake. I was never meant for anything more.
I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t athletic enough. Barely got myself through school. My high school diploma is nothing more than a participation award.
Most guys around here just grow into versions of their fathers, following in their shallow footsteps. Continuing the cycle that’s kept this park full of people for generations. I was destined to continue that circle.
When I realized I was gay, when kissing girls left me feeling unsettled with a soft cock, I was hit with a wave of unwarranted hope. I wouldn’t end up knocking some girl up. I wouldn’t be trapped here by kids and a girl I have no interest in. I thought, maybe, I was free. The chain was broken.
That hope was quickly doused, dying before it really took root. My father would never accept me, and being gay only opened another reason for his distain. My mom wouldn’t care; she never cared about anything. Too high to think about anything beyond herself.