Chapter 21 Ivan
Something odd happened in the shop.
I don't know exactly what, but something shifted between us. One moment Jay was showing me the Triumph, his hands gesturing as he explained the wiring, and then, I stepped closer. I put my hand on his chest and he pulled away from me.
Not dramatically, not like I'd hurt him, but definitely away. Deliberately. And there was a weird look in his eyes—something raw and scared—that disappeared before I could figure out what I was seeing.
I don't understand what happened. Or why he jerked away. Or even if he did, and I'm imagining things. I was just trying to tell him that he mattered. That he was more than he thought he was. I wasn't trying to—hell, I don't know what I was trying to do. Maybe that's the problem and he knows it.
Now we're back on the motorcycle, and I'm pressed against his back with my arms wrapped around his waist, and I can't stop thinking about the moment in the shop.
The way my hand felt on his chest—the warmth of him through his shirt, the solid muscle underneath.
The way his heart was pounding under my palm, fast and hard. Like he was terrified.
Why was his heart beating so fast?
Is he scared of me? Or is he going through some kind of withdrawal?
Fuck, I don't know what's happening.
I keep holding on tight and he keeps driving. The houses thin out, replaced by trees and open fields. I press closer to his back. He's warm and solid in front of me, and I can feel the shift of his muscles as he guides the bike through the turns.
I've never been this physically close to anyone for this long. At the Reyes house, there are hugs, sure. Rosalyn pulls me into her arms whenever I come through the door after work. Mitchell claps me on the shoulder. Caleb sometimes climbs onto my lap when we're watching TV.
But this is different. This is sustained contact, intimate in a way. My chest pressed against his back, my arms around his body, my thighs along his hips. Every breath, every heartbeat, I can feel it. We're connected from shoulders to knees, moving together, breathing together.
I don't want it to stop.
I don't want to arrive wherever we're going because that means separating our bodies, putting space between us again. I want to stay like this forever, wrapped around Jay, feeling the rumble of the engine underneath us and the wind whipping past.
What am I feeling?
I've never thought much about attraction.
Never had time for it, never had space in my life for it.
At the group homes, you didn't think about that kind of thing—you thought about surviving the day, avoiding the bullies, getting enough food.
And then with the Reyes family, I was so focused on building a future, on getting through school and trade school and my licensing exams, that relationships seemed like a luxury I couldn't afford.
Something for later, when I had my life together.
But this physical pull toward Jay, this awareness of his body, this desperate need to stay close—it's not something I can ignore or push aside.
It demands attention.
I don't know what to do.
Jay slows the bike as we reach a turnoff, a narrow dirt road that climbs even higher into the hills.
He navigates it carefully, the bike bumping over rocks and ruts, and I tighten my grip on his waist, my hands splayed across his stomach.
I can feel the muscles there tense and relax with each movement.
Then we round a final curve and suddenly the world opens up before us like a revelation.
"Wow," I breathe.
We're on a ridge overlooking a valley. The view stretches for miles—rolling hills covered in green and gold, patches of dark forest, a river winding through the landscape like a silver thread, glinting in the afternoon sun.
The sky is huge and impossibly blue above us, scattered with white clouds. It's achingly beautiful.
Jay cuts the engine and we sit there for a moment in sudden silence, looking out at the view. The quiet is almost shocking after the rumble of the motorcycle. I can hear birds calling, and the sound of my own breathing loud in my ears.
I don't let go of him. I should—we've stopped, there's no reason to hold on anymore—but I don't. My arms stay wrapped around his waist, my chest stays pressed to his back. I rest my chin on his shoulder and just breathe him in.
"This is my spot," Jay says quietly. "I come here when things get bad. When I need to think, or not think. Just get away from everything. Escape."
"I can see why."
I feel the deep breath he takes, feel his ribs expand against my arms. "I've never brought anyone here before."
He's sharing something private, something that's just his, something sacred. And he's giving it to me.
"Thank you," I say into his neck.
Slowly, reluctantly, I loosen my arms and climb off the bike.
My legs are shaky, from the ride, I tell myself, just from the ride and the adrenaline, and I walk to the edge of the ridge, looking out at the valley.
The world feels bigger up here. Cleaner.
Like all the complications fall away and there's just us.
Jay comes to stand beside me. Close, but not quite touching. The space between us feels charged, electric. I'm hyperaware of it, of how easy it would be to close that gap, to reach out and—
And what? What the fuck am I thinking? Grab his hand? Slide my arm around his waist?
"I used to imagine what your life was like," I say, still looking at the view because I can't look at him right now.
"During all those years when I was searching.
I'd make up stories in my head to fill the silence.
Maybe you were happy. You had a good job, a nice apartment, maybe even a girlfriend.
" The word feels strange in my mouth and I don't like it.
"People who cared about you. A life that made sense. "
"Sorry to disappoint."
"That's not what I meant." I turn to look at him, to make him understand. "I mean—I imagined your life, but I couldn't imagine you in it. The real you. I just had this idea, this image in my head of who you might be, but it wasn't—"
"What?"
"Wasn't this. You alone on a motorcycle here.
" I gesture at the view, at the ridge, at him.
"You're different than I imagined. And yet the same.
And I can't—" I stop, frustrated with my inability to articulate what I'm feeling.
"I can't reconcile the boy I remember with the man standing in front of me. "
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No. It's just—" I take a breath. "I can't stop looking at you."
The words come out before I can think about how they sound. Jay goes very still beside me, every muscle in his body tensing.
"I mean—" I try to recover, but I don't know how. How do I explain this without explaining everything? "It's just been so long. You're here, and you're real, and I keep expecting to wake up and find out it was a dream. That I'm still in my room at the Reyes house, still searching, still hoping."
"It's not a dream. I'm right here."
"I know you are." I turn back to the view because I can't look at him anymore, not without saying something I shouldn't, not without reaching out and touching him the way I want to.
"It's just a lot. That's all. Finding you after all this time.
Being here with you. Seeing you as—" I stop myself before I say it.
As a man.
We stand in silence for a while. The wind ruffles our hair. It's peaceful here. Quiet. The kind of place where secrets feel safe, where you could say anything and the wind would carry it away before it became real.
"I'm glad you have this place," I say.
"Did you—I mean, back then, when we were kids—" He stops, starts again. "Did you ever think about what would happen? When we found each other again? Did you imagine it?"
"All the time." The answer comes immediately.
"What did you imagine?"
I think about it. All those nights lying awake in the dark, reciting his information, dreaming about the day I'd finally find him. What did I imagine?
"I imagined you'd be okay," I say slowly.
"That was the main thing. I just needed you to be okay, to be alive and safe somewhere.
And I imagined—I don't know. That we'd pick up where we left off.
That it would feel like no time had passed at all.
That we'd fall back into the rhythm we had before, like stepping into old, comfortable clothes. "
"Does it?" He's looking at me now. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face. "Feel like no time has passed?"
"In some ways, yeah." I turn to look at him, meet those dark eyes that have haunted my dreams. "But in other ways, we're different people now.
We've both changed. You're not the fourteen-year-old boy I remember, and I'm not twelve anymore.
And I'm still figuring out who you are now. Who we are now."
"Who we are," Jay repeats, almost sadly.
"Or what we are to each other now. Because we're not—" I struggle to find the words. "We're not foster brothers anymore. Not really. That's not what this feels like."
"What do you mean?"
I don't know how to answer that. How do I explain this pull I feel toward him, this need to be close, this awareness of his body? How do I explain that holding him on the motorcycle felt like the most natural thing in the world? That I wanted to never let go?
Jay just looks at me, and there's something raw in his eyes that makes my breath catch in my throat. I don't understand it, but I sure as hell feel it.
"We should sit," Jay says abruptly. "There's a spot over here, if you want. Where I usually sit when I come up here."
He leads me to a flat rock near the edge of the ridge, big enough for both of us. We sit down side by side. The contact sends a little jolt through me, and I don't move away. I lean into it instead, press my shoulder more firmly against his.
Jay doesn't move away either.
"What are you most afraid of?" I ask, the question coming from somewhere deep inside me. "Right now, in your life? What keeps you up at night?"
Jay is quiet for a long moment. I watch his profile, the way he's staring out at the view, the way his jaw tightens and relaxes. The way his throat works when he swallows. He's thinking, weighing his words, deciding how honest to be.
"I'm scared," he says finally. "All the time. I act like I'm not. I put on this mask of being fine, but I'm terrified. Every day."
"Of what?"
"Of being alone my whole fucking life. Of being hurt. Of—" He stops, shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Of a lot of things, I guess."
"Like what?" I press gently. "Tell me. I want to know."
He turns to look at me, and his eyes are serious and full of pain.
"Losing you again. I just got you back. And I keep thinking, what happens when this weekend is over?
What happens when you go home to your real life?
Do we just go back to how things were? Do we pretend this didn't happen?
Do you go back to the Reyes house and I go back to my motel room and we try to stay in touch with phone calls that get further and further apart until eventually we just stop talking at all? "
"No. I didn't spend years looking for you just to let you go again."
"But your life is back there. Your family, your job, everything you've built. The Reyes family who loves you. I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking anything." I shift on the rock so I'm facing him fully, my knee pressing against his thigh.
"I don't know what this is. I don't know what we are or what we're going to be.
But I know I'm not walking away. I know I'm not losing you again.
We'll figure out the logistics, all of it.
We'll visit each other. I'll drive down here every weekend if I have to. Or you can come to me."
"You really mean that?" He sounds so hopeful it breaks my heart.
"Of course, I mean it. Every word."
I want to touch him. I want to reach out and put my hand on his face, feel the stubble on his jaw, trace the line of his cheekbone with my fingertips. I want to lean in and—
Jesus Christ! Here I am wanting to kiss him again.
Am I gay?
I don't know. I don't understand what's happening to me. This is Jay, my foster brother. He's not—I'm not—
But my heart is pounding. And I can't stop looking at his mouth, at the curve of his lips, at the small scar on his bottom lip from where it split in the bar fight.
What would it feel like to—
No. I can't think like that. I shouldn't. It's wrong. It has to be wrong.
But I can't stop.
"We should probably head back soon," Jay says. "It's getting late. The sun's going down. You probably want to shower, or rest, or eat something."
"You're probably right," I say, even though I don't want to leave. Even though I want to stay on this ridge forever, watching the sun set, sitting close to Jay.
We stand up and brush off our jeans. The moment is broken, whatever it was. But the feeling lingers, doesn't go away just because we're moving. It stays with me, under my skin, in my heart.
We walk back to the bike in silence. I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. When he starts the engine and pulls onto the road, I press my face against his shoulder and close my eyes and just allow myself to feel.
The way our bodies move together as the bike curves through the turns. The wind and the engine and the beating of my own heart.
I don't know what I'm feeling or what it means or what I'm supposed to do about it. All I know is that being close to Jay feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
And the thought of letting go, of putting space between us, is killing me.