Ozrik
It had been three days since we returned from Newton. Instead of sticking around to review videos or discuss the trip, I’d helped unload the gear into Lex’s garage, told Noah to send whatever we’d recorded to Charles—unedited for a change—then, I took off.
Three days camped out at the Salty Orange, drinking flat fountain soda, sucking on limes, and arguing with Bobby.
Three days, dancing around my mother.
Three days since I’d kissed Gale and sent him fleeing. Where had I gone wrong? I was not used to having that effect on people, nor did I usually care what others thought of me. It wasn’t like I was particularly sentimental.
But Gale was different.
Guilt and regret ate at me the longer I stewed over the encounter.
The list of things I’d done wrong mounted.
I remembered each one in vivid detail. The way I’d purposefully fallen over him in my attempt to escape the Jeep.
The teasing way I’d played with the camera, insisting on taking his picture.
His frantic pleas for me to stop and leave him alone.
And the kiss. I could still taste him on my lips and feel the buzz of him under my skin.
Had I misread him? Gale had been clearly upset, but he hadn’t thrown me off.
“He kissed me back.” I touched my lips.
Did he kiss me back? I wasn’t sure I trusted my memory any longer.
My phone buzzed, pulling me from inside my head. Bobby, who was clearing a nearby table, glanced in my direction, eyeing the phone before giving me a look that warned not to bring the police to his door again.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and drew the phone forward, checking the recent text from my mother. I’d been avoiding her like usual.
Will you be home for dinner?
Stella had changed tactics for the time being.
The day I got home, she went overboard. Since my nerves were shot over Gale, I’d snapped and threatened to have her admitted to the fucking psych ward if she didn’t leave me the fuck alone.
I made her cry, which I hated, but considering she’d only texted three times that day and it was midafternoon, I couldn’t regret my outburst.
My stress-induced reaction, coupled with her tears, compounded my guilt.
Mom’s obsessions grew worse the more I avoided her.
I knew this. I’d figured it out when I was sixteen.
The less time I spent at home, the harder she worked to keep me there.
It was attention-seeking behavior. Giving in wasn’t the answer, but I didn’t know what the answer was for a person like her.
I couldn’t live at home my entire life. I would check myself into the ward at this rate.
Although the mere thought of spending time at home made me squirm, I texted back, Yeah. Around six? How about we order pizza?
She wouldn’t like the suggestion since it meant she couldn’t feed me, but offering to spend time together should, in theory, be more important.
I was right. She agreed to pizza.
I shoved my phone away, buried my face in my hands, and continued to worry over Gale and the line I’d crossed.
His erection was not my imagination. I’d sat on his lap.
I’d felt it dig into my ass. It alone confirmed that his negative reaction toward the kiss was not rooted in a misunderstanding over his sexuality.
“And he kissed me back. I know he kissed me back.”
His lips had parted. His tongue had snuck out and sought mine. He’d gripped my thighs.
“And he didn’t push me off.”
A thought struck. I sat straight as it dawned on me how stupid I’d been.
“Fuuuuck.” I slid down in the faux leather seat with a groan.
The seminary. At one point in his life, Gale had been in the seminary.
He’d willingly given his life to God. Was it possible he’d sworn himself to celibacy?
Catholic priests did that, didn’t they? It wasn’t a thing with all religions, but maybe it was part of his.
Maybe, despite having left the seminary—for reasons I had yet to learn—he’d decided to remain celibate.
Or he was one of those people who didn’t believe in sex before marriage and kissing and being intimate were sacred.
What if I’d pushed him across some sort of invisible spiritual line?
I would bet any money he’d never kissed anyone before.
Had I taken something he wasn’t willing to give?
An erection wasn’t something you could control, and it certainly wasn’t a fucking invitation for me to assume he wanted to get frisky.
I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse about myself, but I did. Gale wasn’t some random guy I’d picked up at the bar or on an app. At no point did he indicate he was seeking more.
At six, I endured dinner with my mother, but once it was over, I escaped the house the second she was distracted. I didn’t know where to put myself, and since I hadn’t told the guys about my encounter with Gale, I had no one to talk to.
I drove aimlessly. Twice, I considered returning to the Salty Orange, but the crowd would be thicker at that time of night, and I wasn’t in the mood to be around people.
At some point, I found myself unconsciously driving along a dirt road that led out of town.
Not a random dirt road, but the one heading in the direction of Gale’s family farm.
At the end of the long driveway, I parked behind Gale’s neon green Jeep, wondering what I was doing and if I should turn around.
A motion sensor light over the detached garage flicked on when I got out of the car, highlighting the mud along the Jeep’s doors and wheel wells from the other day.
If there was damage from his slide into the ditch, I didn’t see it.
At some point, I’d come to a decision. Whether it was the right decision or not, I had no idea, but my conscience wouldn’t let me rest until I did something about my mistake.
The least I could do was apologize for my behavior and ensure the guy was all right.
It was bad enough remembering how upset he’d been, but if there was a chance I’d violated his moral code—or whatever it was called—then I might never forgive myself.
Growing up with my mother, I knew what it was like when a person crossed lines they weren’t invited to cross.
A waning quarter moon climbed the sky, shimmering off what little I could see of the landscape.
A sprinkle of stars showed through a thin veil of clouds overhead.
The warmth from the day still lingered as I scanned the property, taking in the shape of a barn in the distance and fields that ended with a barely visible wall of silhouetted trees.
Without streetlights and traffic, it was quiet and dark.
Peaceful. Crickets chirped, and if I strained, I heard the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.
Lights shone from several windows in the house. Feeling ten kinds of awkward, I approached the front door and knocked. I hadn’t figured out what I would say, but I had to say something.
A man in his late forties answered. He wore a day’s worth of scruff on his chin, and his clothes suited farm life. I assumed the gentleman was Gale and Olivia’s dad, but I couldn’t remember having ever seen him in town. I noted a few similarities, but the twins must have taken after their mother.
The man studied me through the screen door for a beat before propping it open with a sock-covered foot. “You’re Ozrik Devereaux. Am I right?”
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and shifted my weight. Thanks to my mother, everyone in town knew me. It was a burden I carried everywhere I went. “Yes, sir. I was wondering if Gale was around.”
A long pause ensued as the man microscopically analyzed me head to toe. It was hard not to feel judged when I’d been judging myself for three days. Would he find me unworthy? Did this man know what I’d done to his son? Was he outraged? Would he send me packing? I only wanted to apologize.
His expression remained neutral, so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Finally, after what felt like a millennium, he nodded. “I’ll find him for you.”
It took far longer than it should have for Gale to come to the door. As I wondered if maybe I’d been forgotten and was debating a retreat, he appeared. He wore gray joggers, a plain T-shirt, and enough signs of mental distress to fill a psychology textbook.
He didn’t ask what I was doing at his house, nor did he say hello.
He stood a distance from the storm door with a pinch in his brow and faded circles under his eyes from what I assumed was too many restless nights.
Maybe I didn’t know Gale well, but he looked wrecked, and I couldn’t help feeling like it was all my fault.
“Hi.” I tried to smile but didn’t quite pull it off. “I was wondering if we could talk.”
Gale continued to stare. Guarded? Anxious? Afraid? I couldn’t read him.
“About the other day,” I elaborated unnecessarily, “and what happened.”
Still no response.
I blew out my cheeks. “Look, I shouldn’t have kissed you like—”
His hand shot up, halting my words. Tipping his head, he glanced over his shoulder before meeting my gaze again. Wetting his lips—an action I couldn’t help but notice—he spoke for the first time. “Not here. Give me a minute.”
He closed the heavy front door, and I half suspected I wouldn’t see him again, but less than two minutes passed before he emerged from the house wearing running shoes and a University of Oklahoma hoodie.
Gale motioned for me to follow, so I did.
We rounded the house and crossed the yard to a split rail fence.
He didn’t stop and climbed to the other side before trudging through brittle grass as high as my thighs.
The ground underfoot was soft from recent rain, the faintest hint of ozone and earth wafting into the air.
About twenty yards from the fence, in the middle of nowhere in particular, Gale stopped and glanced at the house as though studying our proximity and determining if we were safe. We were well beyond the range of the porch light, and Gale seemed satisfied.