Chapter 22
GUS
Graduating from Smithton had taken me six long years.
And in the end, it felt like being on a roller coaster—fast-paced with wicked twists and turns.
The rush of adrenaline that came with good news and celebratory accomplishments was offset by potentially angsty situations, like having my folks in town for two days, the near constant temptation of alcohol, and the very real fear of the unknown.
Life as I knew it was ending, something new was on the horizon, but it was opaque. I would have given my left nut for a hit of anything that might take the edge off and slow the pace to a more manageable speed.
Truthfully, it wasn’t so bad. My mom voiced her displeasure at a decision she was sure I’d regret by the holidays if not sooner.
“You’re teaching teenagers, darlin’. They’re monsters. You’ve set yourself up for a constant headache and a prescription for lorazepam. Bless your heart, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Mom twittered, patting my cheek and opening her arms.
Dad pulled me aside after the ceremony and congratulated me, stuffing a thick envelope I was sure was filled with a stack of hundred dollar bills in my hand.
“We’re proud of you, Gus. Your mom might give you a hard time, but she wants the best for you.
And your brothers are damn impressed that you had the balls to fight for what you want. Get out there and make it count, son.”
I convinced Rafe to join the dinner my parents hosted at the fanciest restaurant in Smithton, a steak joint with red leather booths, fine linen tablecloths, and framed photos of British hunting scenes on the walls.
The Langleys took the place over and instructed the chef to set a menu that a gaggle of hungry hockey players might enjoy.
Most of the team came, and some had dates or their parents with them…or both. Coach showed up with his wife. Ty brought his mom, dad, and Walker. Regan brought Cassie—and yeah, Brady didn’t like that. He sat with Pritchard and LeMieux and drank way too much champagne.
“I wouldn’t worry about him.” Ty snickered. “Those boys have another year with Coach. We’re celebrating, they’re commiserating.”
Rafe sat at a table with Celine. His parents couldn’t afford to make the trip, and he wouldn’t accept my offer of a plane ticket. He’d see them this summer, and his mom had saved to watch him skate at the championships.
In a twist, my mom was a huge figure skating fan and wanted to know everything about their postgraduation plans and training regimes.
“How adorable are they?” Mom gushed, her cheeks flush from wine and good food. “A boyfriend girlfriend team to watch!”
“They’re not a couple,” I corrected.
She didn’t hear, and it was just as well.
It was bad enough that I couldn’t take my eyes off Rafe. Seriously. I was sure someone would notice my occasional longing stares, but drinking Coke instead of snorting it while shooting kamikazes was a bigger topic.
Brady stuck his face in my glass. “Is there rum in here? I can’t tell.”
“Is this better?” I shook it, and didn’t feel bad at his dramatic gripe about bubbles going up his nose.
I’d become an expert at switching glasses or emptying them. Diversion was my new superpower.
The only person besides Rafe who seemed to be on to me was Ty. He never asked. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something, but the timing still wasn’t right. I had to get through graduation and the parties, and fuck…it wasn’t easy.
The hardest part was having to draw the line at hosting at our place. My parties had been the stuff of legends. Multiple kegs, a ridiculous amount of booze, loud music, and party favors. The more the merrier.
It was how the Langleys entertained. When I was growing up, the Cristal was always flowing and everyone had a drink in hand. Not a Solo cup, but you get the idea. I came by my propensity to bring the fun naturally, and it felt strange to put up barriers.
It was necessary, though. My excuses were so paper thin, they were embarrassing. Depending on who asked, “My landlord won’t let me. He’s already threatened to charge me for undo wear and tear on the house.” Or… “My folks are in town, and it’s not gonna work…sorry.”
Yeah, I lied through my teeth. My landlords loved me. They lived in Florida half the year and as long as I paid rent on time, they didn’t care what I did. And my parents never stayed in town for a whole forty-eight hours. Ever.
The larger population of Smithton students hoping for one last hurrah Langley-style might have been disappointed, but they found other party venues.
My closest friends, on the other hand, were suspicious.
They shared knowing glances that made me think I’d been the topic of some interesting conversations lately.
But I didn’t sweat it. People could think what they wanted. They always did. Besides, I had enough on my hands dealing with reality.
It came for me in the form of empty moving boxes stacked like Jenga blocks in the living room.
Rafe didn’t explain what they were doing there, and I didn’t ask. They slowly disappeared, and returned to sit in the foyer, taped and labeled, “Bedroom,” “Kitchen,” “Books.”
I ignored them and Rafe ignored me ignoring them, and honestly, it worked just fine. Ignorance really was bliss.
Until the day he put the first box into the trunk of his car.
It was a Tuesday afternoon in early June—a perfect pre-summer day. Most Smithton students had gone home, and the wave of tourists hadn’t arrived yet. It was quiet and pleasantly warm, not a single mosquito in sight.
I’d just checked out a two-bedroom condo in the Bluffs.
It was a nice place with lots of natural light, high ceilings, new appliances, and hardwood flooring.
It was larger than I needed, but every apartment I’d looked at closer to campus shared thin walls with college students, and that wasn’t where I needed to be.
This was better. Rafe would like it, I’d mused on the way home.
I wanted to show it to him, get his opinion, and… that was not smart.
Rafe had packed his things.
Rafe was shoving a box into his crappy car.
Rafe was leaving.
I parked my truck at the curb, wordlessly helped him with a heavy box, and asked, “How do you feel about cats?”
Rafe’s glasses slipped on his nose as he wiped his brow. He didn’t wear them often enough in my opinion, and he looked hot as fuck. “I like them. My mom has a tabby named Cecil. He’s pretty cute.”
“Cecil? What kind of a name is that for a cat? Aren’t all cats supposed to be called Fluffy, Whiskers, or Mr. Jones?”
He chuckled. “I don’t think that’s a rule. Mr. Jones?”
“My mom named our cat after a Counting Crows’ song from the nineties. Smartest fucking cat you’ve ever met. Dead now, but…” And just like that, I ran out of words. My Adam’s apple slid precariously in my throat as I finally acknowledged the inevitable. “You’re packed. Does that mean…”
“Tomorrow,” he rasped.
“Ah.”
“I’m picking Celine up bright and early. She wants to visit her family, too. It’s a long drive, and I can use the company.”
I nodded, unsure what to say. I checked my watch. “We have approximately eight hours to do…everything. Where should we start? My opinion…you need to sample all your favorite foods. Things you can’t get anywhere else, like pizza and french fries.”
Rafe bit his lip. “They have pizza and fries everywhere, Gus.”
I scoffed. “Not from Vincento’s or Bear Depot, they don’t. Those are one-of-a-kind establishments, my friend. You’ll probably be full from the pig-out session, so after, we can walk the lakeside path near campus and maybe skip some stones before we come back here to fuck like bunnies. Thoughts?”
His nostrils flared as he inclined his head. “Sounds perfect.”
Don’t ask me why, but it felt like a date. A real date.
We walked through town, popping into the bookstore, sniffing candles in Misty’s shop, and stopping at the bakery to sample the avocado brownie the owner had let his friend Jackson highlight this month. For the record, it was nasty.
We ended up at Vincento’s, sharing greasy pizza in a corner booth.
We talked about a movie we’d watched a week ago, fantasy books, and a rumor that a popular band had agreed to play at The Tavern next year.
Apparently, the drummer went to Smithton and there was a philanthropic component, which we both agreed was cool.
I wondered if Rafe knew how hard it was for me not to say, “You’ll have to come for it. You can stay at my place.”
Afterward, we drove to the lake and collected rocks to skip along the surface.
Twilight slowly faded, painting the sky in shades of blue, navy, and indigo.
I gave Rafe my Bears sweatshirt when he shivered.
It was so big, he had to roll the sleeves to get a good grip on the stones.
I wanted to tell him to keep it, but I was afraid that would lead to topics we’d done a great job avoiding.
I didn’t want to be the one to fuck that up.
In the end it was Rafe…
He stood facing the lake, his gaze focused on the rippling water while I pretended to be engrossed by the little kids playing tag with their parents nearby.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I replied, absently rolling a stone between my fingers.
“Do you think you’ll be busy in August? If I’m in the area and…I call you…” Rafe inhaled deeply and released his breath on a jagged exhale. “Will you be here?”
I squinted, wishing I could see more clearly. He was sharp angles in shadows, but his eyes were bright and earnest.
“Of course.”
“Good.” He sighed in relief. “I was afraid you were going to say we shouldn’t see each other again.”
Fuck, I couldn’t look at him. “We shouldn’t.”
He didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. “I was thinking the same thing, but…the idea of not knowing you hurts. I don’t know how to go from this to…nothing.”
Me either.
I dropped the rock I’d picked up and moved behind Rafe, wrapping my arms around him fiercely. “You’re gonna fly, baby. You’ve got wings, the air is just right, and good things are going to happen for you.”
Rafe stiffened, emotion thick in his tone. “What about you?”
Silence.
I waited till I was sure my voice wouldn’t hitch to reply. “To be determined. I have a job and I’ll still get to play hockey, so it’s looking up.”
“I wasn’t talking about hockey or skating. I just wondered if you think there’s a way to still be us.”
Oh.
“You want me to be honest?” I asked softly.
“Yes.”
“Then…no. I’m your Smithton distraction, Rafe. We don’t translate in the real world.”
“That’s all we are? A distraction?”
“No, we’re friends.”
He shrugged me off and stepped aside. “So we’ll be friends?”
“I’d like that.”
“You’re lying,” he deadpanned.
“Yeah, I fucking know I am. Jesus, Rafe.” I raked a hand through my hair and closed my eyes briefly. “I would give anything to be with you. Anything. But the timing is all wrong, and we both know it. You deserve more than me.”
“I don’t want more. I want you…just the way you are.”
It was nice to hear.
Except I knew it wasn’t enough.
“You have me. But you have some badass shit to do, baby. I’ll be cheering you on.” I smiled wanly and reached for his hand. I kissed his wrist, his finger, his forehead, his nose, his chin, and finally his mouth.
We stood entwined on the shore holding each other, unwilling or maybe even a little afraid to let go.
Later, we took our time, undressing as if slow motion might stretch the minutes and hours. We came together with a sweetness I’d never associated with sex. Every touch had meaning. Every lick, suck, push, and pull were lines in a poem I wished I knew how to write.
I swallowed his sighs, breathed him in, fused our lips, and put everything I couldn’t say aloud into the kiss.
I want you, I need you, and…I love you.
I love you so fucking much.
Love.
I’d never loved anyone. Never thought about love in any great detail. I’d figured I’d meet someone eventually and my life would unfurl on a vaguely traditional path. A wife, kids…or a husband and kids. Love was just out there…somewhere in the future.
No one had warned me that sometimes it came at you like a thunderbolt out of the fucking blue when you least expected it. Or that it could turn your life upside down and make you question everything you thought you’d known about yourself.
No one told you that it could hurt.
I held Rafe through the night with a desperation that bordered on painful. I memorized the weight of him, the smell of his shampoo, and the hitch in his breathing.
In the morning, I made him coffee in a to-go carafe, carried the last of his bags to the car, and swallowed around the grapefruit in my throat as I opened his door. We didn’t say a word. And if the embrace went on for longer than necessary, so what?
We kissed, said another good-bye…and he was gone.
It was over. And I was fucking broken.