Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARCUS
I’m sitting on the porch, trying to relax as I listen to the gulls and watch the rhythmic movement of the ocean.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to just chill out, my knee bouncing.
Jeremy was headed out the door to his interview by the time I finished my shower and got dressed this morning, so we haven’t really talked, which is unfortunate because I’m feeling itchy and out of control.
I’m not angry with Jeremy but my gut instinct is to run.
I don’t regret what we did. Not even a little bit. I meant what I told myself last night: I’m done denying my feelings.
But that doesn’t make accepting them any easier.
I grit my teeth and press my fingertips into the rough driftwood boards, trying to ground myself. All these messy emotions are churning in my stomach, roiling and turbulent like the ocean last night. I can’t seem to wrap my head around everything that happened.
There were multiple orgasms.
I had his dick in my mouth.
I held his hand.
I took care of him.
I wanted to protect him.
And the craziest part? It felt natural. Perfect, actually.
Fuck, I don’t think I’m straight.
Maybe that’s why I push women away. But Norah is a woman, and I’ve always liked her.
So what the heck? I guess I’m bi? What do I do with that? Even if I like women, no one has ever made me feel like Jeremy has. Is it because he’s a guy or because he’s Jeremy?
Does it even matter?
Either way, given my current predicament with my father, it’s not like I can come out anytime soon. A relationship with Jeremy is just the kind of “dirt” that Ryan would love to dig up—especially if I’m going to play along and marry Sabrina Pine.
My mind is utter chaos.
I pull out my phone and look up bars in Cannon Beach. Not that drinking will solve anything, but it would certainly take the edge off. But as I scroll the list, I realize nothing is open yet except for breweries.
I pause when the map highlights a cannabis store.
I haven’t been high in a really long time. Not since high school, in fact, when my dad’s boring-ass investment parties drove all the young rich kids to smoke in our pool house in lieu of the monotonous conversations our parents were having.
Maybe that’s what I need.
I grab my jacket, toe on my boots, and make my way into town. The weather is nicer today at least, sunshine warming my back so much that I eventually take off my coat and tie it around my waist.
The cannabis store is nestled between a candy shop and an upscale clothing store. The building looks like a residential house painted a light green color with a sign that reads, High As a Kite, accompanied by a picture of Haystack Rock, a kite in the shape of a cannabis leaf flying above it.
Cannabis wasn’t legal when I was a kid, so this is a whole new experience for me, and let me tell you, the inside of this shop is much cleaner than my ex-dealer’s living room.
The place has a very faint skunky aroma, and the long-haired guy I talk to, Teddy, is definitely stoned, but he spouts off a wealth of information about different strains of weed.
“Look, Teddy, I just need something to help me chill out.”
“Of course you do. I know exactly what you need.” He produces a small pouch of gummies from under the counter and passes them to me.
“Edibles? I’ve only ever smoked.”
“My man, you’re gonna love this stuff. I can tell you’re really uptight.” He winks at me, and I give him a dark look. His eyes widen slightly, like he realizes I took offense. “In a good way!”
“Thank you?”
“I just mean, it’ll loosen everything up.” He taps the little package for emphasis, his dopey grin widening. “You’ll be as happy as an oyster.”
“Don’t you mean a clam?” He tilts his head at me like I said something stupid, so I let it go and pay the man. “Thanks, Teddy.”
“Anytime, guy. Come on back if you need more.”
I nod absently, then leave the shop. I study the package as I walk along the sidewalk and realize I forgot to ask him about dosage, but it can’t be that complicated.
I stop to sit on a bench in front of the bookstore and study the back of the package. “Ten milligrams per gummy . . .”
I tear open the package and take one out. It looks like a normal gummy candy, pink and coated in sugar. I pop it into my mouth, chewing slowly. It’s sweet like strawberries with a slightly bitter aftertaste.
“Not bad.”
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up, hoping it’s Jeremy. But it’s not.
Sebastian
Where do we keep the insurance paperwork? One of our regulars broke a bathroom sink.
I sigh, my knee bouncing. “For fuck’s sake . . .”
Maybe you should ban this kid. If it’s who I think it is, he seems to cause a lot of paperwork.
Sebastian
You didn’t answer my question.
I blow out a breath and text him the location. Just relax. When does this stuff start working anyway?
My phone buzzes again.
Dad
Are you coming tonight?
Coming? Coming to what? I ask him as much.
Dad
The fundraiser, Marcus.
Right. Shit.
I can’t. I’m sick.
I mute the conversation before he can respond. I just want everyone to leave me alone. I close my eyes again, but my phone buzzes again. “For fuck’s sake!”
Charlie
Fi isn’t answering her phone. I’m worried.
My heart rate kicks up again. My knee bounces faster. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. My thumbs are shaking as I answer.
Give her some space, sis. She’ll come around.
I blow out another breath and close my eyes again.
My phone buzzes. Again.
Tristan
There’s a weirdo in a business suit creeping around the pub. He tried to talk to me. Should I be worried?
“Oh my God,” I growl, running my hands aggressively through my hair.
Does he look like an older version of me or a blond serial killer?
Tristan
The first one.
That’s my dad. Ignore him. And if he talks to you, tell him I’m sick. Also, why are you working?
Tristan
It’s quieter on holidays. I get more done.
I groan and shove my phone in my pocket.
A large crow lands on the ground next to my foot, pecking at a piece of discarded food, and I jump in surprise, more adrenaline flooding my system. It stares at me with its beady black eyes and lets out an indignant caw.
“Fuck this.” I dig my fingers into the cannabis package, fish out another gummy, and pop it in my mouth.
JEREMY
Pretty sure I aced that meeting. Flash is quite a character with very eccentric tastes, so I think it’ll be a really good portfolio piece. Not to mention the money doesn’t suck.
Marcus is gone when I get home. Since his truck is still here, I assume he’s probably in town or out on the beach.
I walk to the window and search for him, but I only see strangers along the sandy expanse.
With a shrug, I walk to the couch and flick on the TV, pulling up Heartstopper.
It’s my comfort show because it’s how high school should be as a gay boy: full of queer friends, sweet first kisses, and cute rugby players falling for the moody nerd boy.
Nothing like my high school experience, which was all fear and bullies and a constant struggle to just exist.
Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Trey, I’m not sure I would have survived.
I don’t even notice when I doze off until my phone buzzes incessantly, waking me. It’s a text from Marcus.
Well, actually, it’s like the tenth.
Brawny Man
Is your meeting done yet? I’m bored.
Brawny Man
Do you think crows understand English?
Brawny Man
Are you mad at me?
Brawny Man
Are you back yet?
Brawny Man
I’m sorry we didn’t talk this morning.
Brawny Man
I’m just scared. But I really like you and I really like what we did. I want to do more.
Brawny Man
I tried to unsend that last message, but I can’t remember how to, so ignore it please.
Brawny Man
I’m going to walk back on the beach. Do you want to meet me?
Brawny Man
I think a crow is following me, and I can’t remember where the stairs are, but the sand feels nice.
Brawny Man
Jeremy? Please answer. I’m sorry.
“What the fuck?” I stare at the string of gibberish. “Is he drunk?”
I stand from the couch and walk outside, running down the steps. My bare feet sink into the soft sand, which is surprisingly warm thanks to the hours of sunlight from the day. I should put my shoes on to better protect my foot but fuck it. I need to find him.
Once I reach the packed wet sand, I roll up my pants and look around. Marcus isn’t hard to spot. He’s not even that far from the beach house. He’s sitting in the sand by the water’s edge, his dark hair a tangled mess.
He doesn’t hear me approach. His cheeks are flushed beneath his stubble, and his jeans are pushed up his calves, his long, muscular legs peppered with dark hair that makes my mouth water.
He’s on his knees, brow furrowed in concentration, and he seems to be building a sandcastle, though he’s terrible at it.
Finally, he glances up, his deep brown eyes connecting with mine, and I stop when I see the look on his face—something resembling adoration or reverence. It makes my heart ache.
I prop a hand on my hip while I study him. “Having fun, big guy?”
He gives me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face. It’s almost childlike in its exuberance. I grin back at him.
He taps his chin with his finger like he’s thinking.
His demeanor is shockingly uncharacteristic of the broody man I’ve come to know.
“Yes and no. Yes, because I love the sand, but also no, because I got lost.” He looks back at his sand .
. . creation—I wouldn’t call it a castle—and tries to smooth out one of the walls, which has crumbled under his shaky hand.
I frown. “You have a phone, Marcus. How did you get lost?”
He looks puzzled for a minute, still concentrating on fixing the damage. He reaches over and takes a shell from a pile next to his knee and places it against the damp sand.
“Marcus?”
“What?” He looks up quickly, his hair falling over his eyes.
“How did you get lost? Why didn’t you use your Maps app or go back to the road?”
“Oh, I guess I didn’t think to do that.”