Chapter 30
Marty
Ryan’s been in a funk since his visit with his parents. He’s not the smiley, friendly guy I’m used to seeing, the guy who doesn’t give a shit about anything. He’s not eating as much. He’s quieter. Even his kisses don’t feel as sincere. And we definitely haven’t been fucking as much.
Not that I expect him to be a fuck-machine all the time now that we’re boyfriends, but it only plays on my insecurities. I’ve tried to give him his space, not push, but I hate how it’s eating away at him.
It’s the same today, but at least he’s taking some of his frustration out on the build, hammering away like he’s got a grudge against the roof, while Lance and I toss chunks of debris into the dumpster in the driveway.
It’s been a few weeks since we’ve seen Lance and Ty here, so I’m glad they were able to make some time to help this weekend.
Lance chucks a piece cut off a two-by-four into the dumpster, then bows forward. “Oh…I think Ty and I might’ve gone on a little long last night. Really got him to hammer me.”
I cringe. “I really would prefer not to think about the two of you fucking.”
“What’s the point of you being queer if we can’t talk about stuff like this? Like, did you ever think that bottoming in missionary would be such a good core workout?”
I have to laugh because it’s true and not something I would’ve considered before fucking around with Ryan, but now I know how well it works the abs, something I can tell some of the people at the pool notice these days.
“Topping apparently works out the glutes more than you’d think too,” I observe.
“Not something I’d know anything about,” he points out.
He’s mentioned he prefers to bottom, but now I have to ask, “So you two never like…trade off?”
He shrugs. “Nah. He’s very happy to give me that dick, and I’m happy to give him this ass.
Seems to work out. But if he wanted to try, I’d be down to give it a go.
I bet I’d be a good top.” At my cringe, he says, “Okay, you don’t get to ask questions like that and then be grossed out when I answer. ”
He’s got a point there.
“Speaking of knowing too much about each other’s sex lives, you heard from Ash and Colin?”
“Yeah, they’re having a blast in Chicago. They keep going out to this place…Steamworks. Sounds like they enjoy it.”
“I’m sure a lot of people are enjoying watching them enjoy it.”
We share a laugh.
“What about you guys?” he asks. “How’s this new relationship thing going?”
The way he drags out the question, I can tell he’s pressing cautiously, like he knows something’s up. And I doubt I’m hiding it very well. “Why would you ask it like that?”
Lance’s brows tug closer together. “Um…A: you’re one of my best friends and you seem off.
And B: the way you just answered me sounds like you’re hiding a body under these boards.
” He smirks playfully, clearly trying to cheer me up.
Not while Ryan’s still this on edge. “Is this about the stuff with his parents?” he presses.
Ryan talked to Ty and Lance about his conversation with his parents, but I still feel like talking to Lance about this might be betraying his confidence.
“It’s healthy to talk to your friends about stuff that’s bothering you,” he reminds me. “But if we can’t talk about that, I can talk to you about how Ty prefers to fuck me.”
His attempt at cheering me up finally cracks through my armor. “I’ll pass on the latter. And as for Ryan, it’s been rough for him. I honestly don’t know how to cheer him up. He’s in a lot of pain, and it’s hard to see, you know?”
We glance over at Ryan, still hammering away on the roof. Seems like Dax is trying to tell him a joke, but Ryan forces a halfhearted smile. Such a simple thing, but it tears at my fucking soul.
Ryan finishes up on the panel he’s nailing into the frame before moving on to the other side of the roof, out of sight.
Lance turns to me with a sympathetic expression. “He just needs some time.”
I know, but saying that to myself a million times isn’t going to get rid of the anxiety that’s all twisted up inside me.
“He’ll be fine,” I say, surely sounding as fake as Ryan looked when he smiled at Dax. “Anyway, we’re heading over to see my parents after this. You and Ty wanna join us?”
“Aw, we already made plans with my parents tonight, but give me a heads-up next time, and we’ll make sure of it.”
I’m relieved to hear him say that because even though we’ve graduated, I wanna keep hanging with my guys.
Lance and I finish up with the debris in the wheelbarrow, and we’re about to start back to the house to help the other guys when a loud clang fills the air, followed by, “Holy fuck!” from Ryan.
A primal instinct kicks in, and one moment I’m standing next to Lance, and the next I’m running, searching for Ryan. I can’t get a good view of him yet, but I hear him grunting. He’s hurt. The walk around the house, to the ladder, feels like an eternity.
“Ry?” I call out for the tenth time to no response.
I finally reach the ladder and climb up. He’s surrounded by the guys, even Miles, whose face is locked in a concerned expression. And it sure as fuck can’t be good if that guy gives a flying fuck about what happened to my boyfriend.
“Ry?”
The other volunteers move out of the way so I can see him. He’s on his ass, Atlas on his knees at his side. Ry’s face is tense as he grits his teeth. He grips his hand, his thumb red and swollen.
“Okay,” Atlas says, “let’s get you off the roof and get some ice on this. Come on.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ryan says through his teeth before hissing.
And all I care about is making sure he’s okay.
*
Since he can’t use his hand, it takes a little time to get Ryan off the roof, but we manage.
Then Troy takes us to the nearest urgent care, where they assess the damage and tend to his injury—a hairline fracture, which they set in a splint.
I don’t leave his side the entire time, and finally we’re alone again in the patient room, since Troy’s calling Atlas to assure him everything’s okay.
“How’s the pain?” I stand beside the examination table where he sits.
He huffs. “This really was too much drama. I’ve had less care after having ten two-hundred-plus-pound guys stacked on top of me.
” He says that in a particularly frustrated tone before glancing at me.
He assesses my expression, then takes a breath.
“But it’s better. Thank you for caring.” He takes my hand with his good one.
“Sorry, Mart. I’m just frustrated with myself.
I should have been paying attention. I was…
” He trails off, but I know what’s been distressing him.
His eyes bulge. “Wait. What time is it?”
“What?”
“We were supposed to meet up with your family.”
After what happened, it totally slipped my mind, and I haven’t been keeping track of the time. As I’m pulling out my phone, I tell him, “Don’t worry. I’ll call and let them know that’s not happening. I would rather stay at home with you anyway.”
“Don’t do that, Mart. Go hang with your parents. Honestly, I could use some time to myself.”
His words catch me by surprise, and I tense up.
Time to himself?
Since we started messing around, the only times we haven’t been around each other have been when we were working, and even during my shift, I was absorbed with thinking how great it was gonna be when I got off so I could…
well, get off. Sure, we spend time with our friends and family, but outside of that, we’re practically on top of each other.
He must notice how uneasy I am because he says, “I’m not saying I need time away from you. I…”
But I don’t know how else to take it, and my anxiety-prone mind’s already spinning with theories. Have I spent too much time with him? Is he getting bored with me already? Now that he’s seen his parents’ relationship implode, is he thinking we might not work out either and it’s not worth it?
Ryan releases my hand and rests his hand against my cheek, caressing with his thumb. So gentle, so reassuring.
“Hey,” he says, like he’s trying to pull me out of my head. “This is not the part where you get all anxious and insecure thinking I’m gonna break up with you over the shit I’m going through.”
“Why did you have to use the B-word, then?” I spit out.
He sighs. “Because I may not have been your boyfriend for long, but I know how you get all twisted up in that sexy head of yours…and I’m not going to let you have a moment where you think any of this stuff is coming between us. Got it?”
That cuts through my fear before I’ve had a chance to sit with it for long, and I appreciate that he understands my anxiety enough to make sure my mind doesn’t go there. Of course, it will anyway, but it was thoughtful of him to give it his best effort.
Ry moves in quickly for a kiss, and I hadn’t realized just how much I needed one until I feel his lips against mine, releasing me from all that hot tension that rose up after he got injured.
It’s the sort of kiss that makes it easier to remind myself: He’s fine. We’re fine.
The past few days, we haven’t kissed like this. They’ve felt forced, like he was going through the motions, trying to say things are fine when they’re not. But this one offers me assurance that despite wanting some space, he still cares about me.
When he pulls away, he says, “So…this is not an I’m-so-frustrated-and-confused-about-us moment. This is an I care about you. I want you in my life. And I-could-use-a-night-to-sulk moment.”
I get that. But I hate it too. Not for myself, but because he has a reason to sulk. And because there’s nothing I can do to cheer him up.
“We’ll get back to the apartment,” he says, “and then you go spend time with your family. I’ll probably order in, and when you get back, we’ll cuddle the fuck out of each other. How’s that?”
Another assurance that any concern I may have is ridiculous.
“That sounds good,” I lie because really, all I want is to be here for him right now, especially with how worked up I got over his injury.
But maybe he’s right. He does need some space. Since that uncomfortable conversation with his parents, he hasn’t had a chance to sit with it on his own. Maybe it’ll be good for him.
Then why doesn’t that make me feel any better?