13. Ash
thirteen
Ash
I’m not sure what to expect as I follow Dylan toward his home after school. Nerves grip my belly, though I can’t really say why. Being around Dylan always leaves me a bit on edge, but we’ve spent enough time together by now for some of the novelty of having a friend to wear off.
A good chunk of my anxiety is probably a reflection of Dylan himself. Ever since we’d left the school parking lot, he’s been increasingly tense and withdrawn despite his best efforts to hide it behind his usual smile.
I don’t want to pry, but it finally becomes too much for me. “What’s wrong?”
Dylan fixes me with a strained grin. “Nothing. Just thinking about my essay for Mrs. King.” I raise an eyebrow, and he sighs, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “This is the first time since middle school I’ve had a friend over.”
I’m not exactly an expert on normal social relations, but that seems odd even to me. “Why?”
He stares at the sidewalk as though seeking to memorize its arrangement of cracks. “My family can be a bit…much.”
I think of the Ellingtons and their strict rules and smug judgment, then Aunt Claudette and her work communing with the deceased. My memories begin to stray even further backward, but I yank them up short.
“What family isn’t?”
He chuckles weakly. “Fair.” A grin breaks out on his face in a poor attempt to cover up his melancholy. “It shouldn’t matter today anyway. Mom and Tommy both work late and Patrick has soccer practice, so we’ve got the place to ourselves for a couple hours.”
“Cool.” We continue in silence for a few beats while I consider whether to press the issue. I can tell there’s more he’s not telling me. In the end though, I decide to leave it be. Whatever the cause of his strange tension, it’s none of my business. We’re school friends—nothing more.
As if to prove that everything’s fine, Dylan soon has me drawn into a heated debate over the coolest mythical beast.
“Anything other than dragons is a clearly inferior choice,” I argue. “The variety of depictions in media and their continued popularity prove—”
“Aaand, we’re here,” Dylan interjects.
I shoot him a mock glare before turning to regard his home.
This part of Banton’s a bit more run down than where my aunt lives, but it’s clear despite the peeling paint and worn bricks that someone does their best to maintain it.
A couple soccer balls and a beat-up net lay scattered in the patches of trimmed grass, and fresh flowers bloom in pots beside the door.
It feels like Dylan’s waiting for me to speak, so I clear my throat. “It’s, um, nice.”
“Probably doesn’t seem like much after living with your grandparents,” Dylan says quietly. “I bet none of Banton does.”
Yet another reason I should have kept my big mouth shut about my past. “Do I seem like the kind of guy who gives a shit about that?” I don’t give him a chance to answer, striding impatiently across the lawn to the front door. “Now hurry up so we can get our game on.”
The grin he fixes me with is stunning. He unlocks the door and together we step inside.
The place is cozy, only a little bigger than my aunt’s.
Like the outside, it feels like someone tried to add a homey touch to everything.
I can only imagine, however, how cramped it must feel with four people living there.
Dylan guides me to the kitchen first so we can grab some snacks before moving to the living room, most of which is taken up by an enormous couch set before the TV.
I take a seat on the sagging cushions while Dylan powers up his GameCube and grabs two controllers, unwinding their power cords.
Hard to believe such clunky things used to be commonplace.
Despite all the room on the couch, Dylan settles right in beside me, our knees almost touching. I consider scooting over to put some space between us. I probably should.
Instead, I settle back, gripping my controller. “So, what am I crushing you in first?”
Dylan laughs, the warm sound buzzing through my chest. “Dream on! If I can keep up with Patrick after how much time he spends playing these, you don’t have a prayer.”
Turns out Dylan’s right. He trounces me soundly at each game we try. Thank God I’m not all that competitive or I probably would have rage-quit half an hour in. As it is, I bow out after a few rounds and opt for watching him battle his way through an old action game.
I catch myself sneaking glimpses at him as he plays, studying the intense concentration in his hazel eyes and the cute way he nibbles on his bottom lip while focusing. None of that, I chide, forcing my gaze back to the television screen. Dylan’s not Harvey. I won’t let him be.
I’m on the edge of my seat, watching with bated breath as Dylan attempts a particularly difficult boss fight, when I hear a door slam elsewhere in the house.
Beside me, Dylan instantly goes rigid. “Shit,” he breathes, soft enough I probably wasn’t supposed to hear. He glances at me, pasting on a strained smile. “I guess we’ve been going longer than I thought. I’ve gotta call it here so I can start dinner.”
Grisly sound effects announce the death of his character on-screen. Dylan doesn’t even seem to notice. I rise with a slight frown. “All right…” I say, wondering at the strength of his reaction. Does he not want his family to meet me? “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”
I half-expect Dylan to offer further explanation, but he just gives an absent nod, clearly distracted. I follow him past the kitchen toward the front door until he suddenly jerks to a halt. Peering past him, I see a taller, more muscular version of Dylan barring the way.
“Have you been sitting on your ass this whole time?” the guy sneers, glaring at Dylan with open disgust. “When you stopped wasting all your time at that useless job, I thought that meant you’d at least carry more of your weight around here. Guess I was wrong.”
Tommy, I presume. Dylan’s dislike of his brother suddenly makes a lot more sense.
I narrow my eyes, but before I can hop to Dylan’s defense, Dylan says, “Sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll start on dinner in a sec. Just let me show Ash out first.”
Tommy’s eyes widen slightly when they alight on me. He must not have noticed me until now. His surprise doesn’t last long, however. Soon enough, he’s fixed me with the same sneer he had Dylan.
“Ash, huh? You must be that spoiled rich kid everyone’s talking about. Come to slum it up with the rest of us?”
My words catch in my throat. What the hell? I guess the gossip surrounding me extends beyond the halls of Banton High.
“I’m here to hang out with Dylan,” I reply coolly, striving to stay calm.
We stare at each other for a long, drawn-out beat.
Then, Tommy snorts and shakes his head, breaking our linked gazes. “If you’re willingly spending time with my little brother, you must really be desperate.”
Protective anger sears through me. I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “Leave him alone!”
Tommy’s cruel grin possesses none of Dylan’s warmth. “Or what? You going to fight me?” He cracks his knuckles menacingly. “I’d like to see you try.”
I go to move forward, stopping when Dylan inserts himself between us, raising his hands. “Come on, Tommy, let it go. Please. Ash didn’t mean anything by it.”
The hell I didn’t! Still, I’ve never been much of a fighter, and the near panic in Dylan’s voice douses most of my anger. “Sorry,” I mutter, unable to bring myself to look directly at Tommy and see the smugness I’m certain will be there.
Tommy shoves Dylan aside and takes a step toward me. For a moment, I think he’s about to clobber me anyway, apology or not, and I ready myself to dodge a punch.
The punch never comes. “You’re not worth the effort,” Tommy huffs. He turns, vanishing into the kitchen.
A relieved breath escapes my lips as the coiled tension begins to bleed out of me. Dylan hurries forward, and I follow him without a word.
We’re almost at the front door when Tommy calls out behind us, “Next time you invite one of your gay friends over, at least find time to do your chores in between sucking dick.”
I roll my eyes at the low-effort insult and glance at Dylan, expecting to see him shrugging it off just as easily. My gut wrenches when I spy his clenched jaw and the way his hand trembles as he grasps the doorknob. Tommy’s dig must’ve gotten deep under his skin.
We step out onto the narrow front porch. Dylan shuts the door behind us and leans against it, closing his eyes on a long exhale. “Sorry about my brother.”
I shrug, nudging his shoulder. “It’s not your fault your brother’s a douche. To be honest, I kinda expected as much with how you talk about him—or rather, how you avoid talking about him.”
Dylan nods glumly, no trace of his usual good humor. “He wasn’t always this bad. I mean, we’ve never been like best friends or anything, but we still did stuff together sometimes. He got a lot worse after my dad split.”
I fight the impulse to pull him close. That’s a line I don’t dare cross. Still, I can at least listen. “What happened?”
Dylan hesitates, his expression torn, and I mentally kick myself. Good going, dumbass. I’d meant to offer him an outlet, not dredge up buried hurts.
“Never mind,” I say quickly, glancing toward the sidewalk. “I should get going so you can do what you’ve got to do.”
Something in Dylan’s face firms, his uncertainty vanishing. He steps closer, leaving only a few inches separating us. “No, it’s fine. I want to tell you about it.” He bites his lip, my gaze locking on the unconscious gesture. “It’s actually one of the reasons I invited you over.”
Okay…
Unsure what to make of that, I offer a hesitant nod.
Dylan takes a deep breath. My pulse quickens when he doesn’t move, his warm gaze gripping me. “My dad left a couple years ago after I came out. I’m gay.”
My heart stutters to a stop. Oh, shit. I mean, I’ve definitely had my suspicions, but up until this moment, I at least had plausible deniability. Now that the truth’s out there, there’s no hiding it from myself. And I have a sinking feeling I know where this is going.
Seemingly oblivious to my internal freakout, Dylan continues. “Mom’s been really cool about it, and Patrick doesn’t care. But, well…as you heard, Tommy isn’t exactly the pinnacle of acceptance. He blames me for driving Dad away.”
Dylan chuckles self-deprecatingly, and I’m once again overcome by the urge to draw him close and comfort him.
“Not that he’s entirely wrong. I mean, my sexuality’s not the only reason Dad split, but it’s hard not to consider it a factor when he left right after I told him.
It’s not exactly a secret at this point—my friends know, and I’m sure word’s gotten around, even if I don’t advertise it. ”
I swallow as Dylan shifts, closing most of the remaining gap between us. His chest brushes lightly against mine while his nervous breaths ghost over my lips. I’m afraid to ask the question filling my mind, but I know I have to.
“Why…why are you telling me this now?” I croak.
“Because…” Dylan stops, hesitates, clears his throat. “Because I like you, Ash. And I was sort of hoping you might feel the same.”
And there it is. My stomach sinks at the nervous hope contorting Dylan’s handsome face.
Staring into his golden-brown eyes, the urge to kiss him is nearly overpowering.
It was hard enough pretending I didn’t have a crush on him before.
Now that he’s admitted it’s mutual, there’s only one course remaining to me—the one I should’ve taken in the first place.
Planting my hands on Dylan’s chest, I shove him gently away. “I don’t. Sorry.”
My heart cracking at the crestfallen look on his face, I turn and flee into the fading light.