Chapter 25
ZACH
Zach’s apartment felt cavernous—an impressive feat for a four-hundred-square-foot studio. Apparently, all it took to turn the place into a yawning void was a broken heart. Now, there was a tip they didn’t include in interior design blogs.
On his first morning back from Montana, trudging in after a sleepless night of sitting around a deserted airport, he had beelined for the bed before slamming into an invisible wall.
The covers were still messed up from their last night together, when Miles had been curled up next to him.
Close enough to touch, to hold, to kiss.
To pretend he was Zach’s, if only for a few fleeting moments.
Could Zach destroy the only evidence that it hadn’t all been a dream?
Despite how tired he was, he busied himself with unpacking, gingerly leaning the family photograph on the bookshelf where he’d set the horseshoe only a few weeks ago.
His heavy eyelids drooped as he emptied the rest of his bag and took a shower.
He moved sluggishly, each task taking twice as long as it should have. He needed sleep.
After acknowledging the ridiculousness of the situation, he grabbed an extra blanket from the tiny linen closet and tried to stretch out on the couch. His feet stuck out, and the worn cushions sagged, but exhaustion pulled him under before he could really register the discomfort.
With each subsequent day, the couch seemed more and more acceptable, and the absurdity of treating a huge chunk of his living space as a museum exhibit faded away.
He skirted around the edges of the bed, staring at it, brushing his fingertips across Miles’s pillow, analyzing the nonexistent depression in the sheets.
One day, while feeling brave, he carefully pulled Miles’s forgotten sleeping shirt from under the comforter and burrowed his face into it.
The faint echo of the familiar ocean scent was fading.
Unlike Zach’s feelings.
It didn’t help matters that his traitorous heart still kicked up every time he reached his building, like it hadn’t gotten the message. Like some part of him still expected to find Miles pacing outside his door.
He wouldn’t.
Miles was busy at the farm, and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t come looking for Zach.
Not after the way Zach had ended things.
Not after the hurt bleeding through Miles’s frantic texts.
And especially not after Zach got drunk, sent back a rambling apology he barely remembered, and then blocked his number.
Zach had to accept that it was over and stop searching for Miles’s face everywhere he went. Which was between his apartment and the campus, where he now spent most of his free time.
Despite shuffling around like a zombie on Xanax—Joel’s words—he passed the class. More than that, as his professor had grudgingly pointed out while returning their papers, he’d gotten the highest grade on the final.
He hadn’t suddenly developed a keen interest in PR.
No, he was mostly glad for the distraction studying provided him.
Every hour spent doing research was an hour he didn’t waste going over every single detail of his time with Miles—the hungry way he’d looked at Zach before kissing him, the slight sheen of sweat covering his muscular body, the warmth of his unexpectedly gentle touches.
Fuck, Zach would become the best student on campus just to keep those images at bay.
Thankfully, there was no break between the summer sessions, and by the following Monday, he was sitting in a near-identical classroom, half listening to Joel blather on about his weekend, waiting for the Consumer Behavior class to start.
It was an interesting topic, and Zach tried to pay attention as they went over the syllabus, but his mind kept slipping.
He’d expected someone from his family to have reached out by now, if only to tell him he was officially disowned or to yell at him.
Something. He might not have picked up if they called, but he wished they would.
The silence was worse, as if they’d already given up on him, as if he wasn’t worth the energy it took to dial his number and tell him he was a disappointment.
Would he go the rest of his life without ever hearing his parents’ voices?
And his brothers… He’d harbored some kind of secret hope they might accept him.
Silly, he knew. They were each a product of their environment, and he couldn’t blame them.
Not really. Besides, as long as he didn’t reach out, he could continue clinging to the idea that they still loved him, somewhere deep inside.
It was possible. Unlikely, but possible.
A loud clap snapped Zach out of his thoughts. Joel sat on top of his desk in the empty classroom, swinging his legs and grinning.
“Finally, something worked. I was this close to getting a bullhorn.”
“How long...” Zach drifted off. Losing track of time was a little disconcerting.
He hoped it wouldn’t become a regular thing, or he would definitely get dragged to the school’s mental health services.
Which might not be the worst idea. More than half the time, he’d felt as though he were watching himself from afar, suspended in a floating, timeless state of being.
“Mmm, I wanna mess with you and say it’s been six hours, but I don’t want you to freak out and snap. It’s only been a couple of minutes since class ended.” Joel hopped off the desk. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Are we going somewhere?”
“My man, you clearly need a drink. Or five. Maybe you’ll finally spill about what the hell happened back in the old country.”
Zach snorted. “I don’t think the forty-first state qualifies as the old country.”
Joel waved him off and led them out, heading in the direction of their favorite college bar. Zach considered protesting, but going home to the vast void of his apartment didn’t sound much better than drinking at two in the afternoon on a Monday.
“Tell me everything,” Joel demanded as soon as they settled into a booth, cold bottles of German beer with a name Zach couldn’t begin to pronounce in their hands.
“Do you wanna hear about how I came out to my mom during the town barbecue and how, to no one’s surprise, the woman who named her children Zachariah, Jeremiah, and Abraham wasn’t cool with having a gay son?”
Joel winced mid-sip.
“Or do you wanna hear about how I had the most intense, life-ruiningly amazing sex of my life with the man I’ve been in love with since forever, even though I absolutely knew that I had to leave him behind before he fucked up his whole future for me?”
Joel’s wince turned into a gape. “Ah, shit.” He scrambled for a napkin to wipe away the beer that missed his mouth entirely. “Damn, dude. That was quite the trip, huh?”
Zach nodded and brought the bottle to his lips. The lager was too hoppy for his taste, but Joel was buying, and Zach wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He took a big swig, hoping to drain it quickly and move on to something more palatable.
“I thought you’d fess up to another hot-as-fuck kiss or something. Shit. And, whoa, Zachariah? I had no idea.”
“Forget I said anything.” Zach pointed a finger toward his friend. “It’s Zach to anyone who wasn’t directly involved in my birth.”
Joel giggled and pumped his eyebrows. He’d never let this go.
Over the next hour, they sampled more European beers with complicated names, and Zach filled Joel in on most of what went down, keeping certain details to himself.
Stepping back to look at the big picture, it was hard to believe the entire saga—from Miles’s arrival to sitting across the table and baring his heart to his club-hopping buddy—had taken less than a month.
The longest month of Zach’s life. The happiest month. The saddest month.
The most important month.
“Let me get this straight.” Joel flashed a smile at the server who’d dropped off two fresh bottles, then narrowed his eyes at Zach. “You think Miles actually wanted something real? Like, not experimenting, figuring himself out, whatever?”
“I don’t know,” Zach admitted, swirling his thumbs around the condensation on the bottle.
“I don’t think he was experimenting. That’s not who Miles is.
And I think—” He pressed his lips together to keep the emotions at bay.
“I think he was about to say something when I interrupted him. Something serious.”
“When you ambushed him with sex, you mean.”
“Fuck off,” Zach muttered. Yeah, he’d played a little dirty. He had to. If Miles had said whatever was making his eyes twinkle and glitter that night, Zach wouldn’t have been able to walk away. Not ever.
So he did what had to be done.
Joel snorted and lifted his bottle in a mock toast. “Using sex as a weapon is a time-honored tradition.”
Zach huffed out a laugh, but it died quickly. Joel took a few long pulls, the teasing smile slipping from his face as he studied Zach more carefully, trying to see beyond the facade.
“To summarize, this guy you’re obsessed with probably feels the same way, and your brilliant strategy is to…disappear from his life?” His words had a bite to them, his tone acerbic and almost accusatory.
Zach’s stomach dipped. “It’s not like that.”
Except it absolutely was.
He avoided Joel’s gaze and concentrated on ripping the damp cardboard coaster apart with his nails. “I told you how my mom reacted,” he finally said. “It fucking hurt. I didn’t want Miles to go through that.”
“I get it,” Joel murmured. The uncharacteristic sympathy softened the sharpness around his eyes. “But don’t you think he deserved to make his own choice?”
Zach shook his head, jaw clenching. “No. I know him. He’d make the wrong choice and ruin his life.”
“Maybe it’s not wrong for him.”
The quiet words had the same effect as a bomb. For a moment, the bar noise faded, and Zach’s vision blurred around the edges. His heart pounded, a frantic rhythm rattling inside his chest. He couldn’t let himself consider Joel’s implication. Not after the decision had already been made.
All he could do was live with the consequences.
When it felt like he couldn’t take the silence anymore, Zach cleared his throat and nudged the subject to something lighter. Thankfully, Joel played along, and they spent the next hour gossiping about their classmates, careful to avoid any topic that might steer them back to the earlier heaviness.
By the time the bar started filling up for happy hour, they were ready to head out. Joel gave him a long hug goodbye. They’d be seeing each other in class in less than two days, but Zach appreciated the gesture. More than that, he needed it.
Afterward, he walked home pleasantly buzzed, gliding along the sidewalk.
For the first time in a week, he let himself be cautiously optimistic.
The hurt was still there, would always be there to some extent, but slivers of hope pressed through the cracks.
He could put himself back together. He could function.
He could have small joys, even if the big one was beyond him.
And maybe, one day, he could be okay.
He almost believed himself.
Until his phone vibrated, flashing Mom across the screen.