Chapter 34
ISAK
I’m sitting with Mom in the living room, and the screaming starts up next door.
Goddammit.
I pull out my phone, wondering if I should text Lachlan to come over and hang out. He doesn’t have to stay there.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and I glance at Mom. We don’t get solicitors out here in the sticks. “Are you expecting someone?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. Are you?”
I shake my head, too. I get up and look out the peephole.
A familiar halo of blond hair shines under the porch light, smushed by an Albrecht baseball cap.
Lachlan.
I throw open the door. “Hey,” I say, sounding more breathless than I care to.
He gives me a tight smile. “Hey, Isak. Can we talk?”
My eyebrows rise. “Sure.” I say over my shoulder, “It’s Lachlan. I’m going to,” I wave my hands, “go with him.”
“Sounds fine, Schmoopy. Take your phone.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s always like that,” I tell Lachlan, then wince. Does anyone treat him that way—with true care and affection? With love?
Would he ever let me do it?
I shove on a pair of shoes, grab my phone, and join him on the porch. “Where do you want to go?” I ask.
“Let’s go this way.” We head down the front walk and into the street—no sidewalks where we live. In fact, we’re the only ones on our side of the street on this block.
I glance at him. “I love my mom, but our house is so small that it sometimes feels like there’s no privacy. I mean, I’m not assuming that you wanted to talk about anything private …”
Lachlan kicks at the ground and shoves his hands in his pockets. He lets out a loud breath. “I’m just grateful my nephew isn’t home. And I’m glad I can get away with you.”
“It’ll be okay,” I say. Even though I can’t really promise that.
I notice a snail that’s going to get run over if it keeps up in the direction it’s going. “Hey, buddy,” I whisper, “let’s go this other way.” I pick it up by the shell and deposit it in some nice dirt under the grapevines.
I glance over at Lachlan, who isn’t looking at me. That’s weird.
We keep walking, past more vineyards and into groves of olive trees, periodically punctuated by streetlights.
“I’m scared they’re going to put too much makeup on you for the performance and hide your freckles,” Lachlan blurts.
I lift my eyebrows.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I was looking at your face.”
I grin. “You like my face.”
He smiles back, which makes my stomach swoop. “I do.”
Well. Huh. What?
We reach an old decommissioned railroad track that’s been turned into a bike trail and follow it for a block or so until we get to the bridge leading into town.
It spans a mostly dry river, which has an irrigation ditch to the side that’s below street level.
Lachlan gestures to it. “This is my spot.”
I climb down the half-pipe culvert with him and settle with my back on the curve and my ass at the bottom of the ditch. He sits next to me.
The culvert is partially concreted over, so we aren’t sitting in the dirt. It’s just cold cement. And we’re out of sight from the road.
“I remember coming here with you when we were little,” I say.
“Some kids have a fort or a tree house. I had a ditch.”
“Apparently, you still do.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Well, no. I mean, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again.
I want to grab his shoulders and shake him. “Lach, it’s me. We’ve lived next door our whole lives. You know you can tell me whatever.”
Lachlan swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. Then he seems to steel himself. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Not about my family. About … me. And you. I mean, about us. Well, there is no us. But maybe I want there to be.”
I stare at him. My jaw drops. Did he just say what I think I heard? “Explain,” I demand. Suddenly my hands are shaking, so I shove them into my pockets.
“I guess …” He rubs his eyes with his palms. “I did my best to force myself to be straight. For a while I thought I could do it, because I wasn’t allowed to be anything else.”
My body goes very still, and my eyes sting. I blink furiously. I’m so damned touched he’s finally opening up to me.
“I really fucking tried,” he continues, his voice strong and steady.
“I thought some girls were pretty, and sometimes I wanted to have sex with them, kind of. And I did—have sex—although it never felt quite right. When I thought about guys, I hoped my feelings were more like I wanted to be them rather than be with them. But you …” His eyes level on me.
“You’re different. I couldn’t convince myself I didn’t want you.
So, when we messed around at senior retreat, I told myself it wouldn’t count and I wouldn’t be …
be … gay as long as I never touched you. ”
I don’t hide my wince.
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know. I’m an asshole. I’m sorry. I … My uncle … ” He presses his palms to his cheeks and sighs. “At any rate, I’m sick of being ruled by him. He’s a homophobic prick who hides behind political platitudes. It’s bullshit.”
“I guessed as much.”
“Yeah. It sucks. And he’s always in my head, which sucks, because of course I like what we do.
Well, I liked it. But then we kissed …” He looks me dead in the eyes again.
“I loved that. And … and I’d like to do more of it, if you’re up for it.
” He holds up his hands. “I mean, not that we need to make out all the time. That’s not what I’m asking for at all.
Although I wouldn’t mind. But it’s more …
I really like you, Isak, and I want to hang out with you.
I even rigged it so we’d be in the same cabin at the senior retreat.
So I was wondering if you wanted to see where this could go. If you’d, you know, go out with me.”
Go out with me.
Web page buffering. No data connection. SOS mode.
Lachlan Doyle, the most popular boy in town, student body president, and the guy most likely to be prom king … just asked me out.
Me. Isak Hammond, weird skinny dude who wears skirts and black eyeliner.
And what was that about rigging the cabin?
My first instinct is to laugh, but I hold it in, because Lachlan’s being all sweet and sincere and vulnerable and brave, and the last thing I want to do is to crush that fledging sweetness. But can I trust that he won’t change his mind?
I look into his eyes, noticing again how damned pretty they are, even in the hazy light from the street above. What’s more, he seems to be holding his breath as he waits for my response.
Part of me feels giddy enough to float away. But most of me is wary. There’s no way he’s ready for what he’s suggesting. I furrow my brow and grit my teeth.
“So, can we do this?” Lachlan asks.
“What, exactly, is ‘this’?” My voice sounds strained.
He gestures between us. “This.”
I give him another look—one that hopefully says I’m exasperated and amused at the same time. “I can’t read your mind, Lachlan. Hanging out? Dancing? Kissing?” My voice rises on that last word.
“Well, I’d hope all of that. But I guess I’m asking if you’d try being mine.” Lachlan’s cheeks redden. “You know. On a trial basis.”
“A trial basis,” I echo, crossing my arms. “Of belonging to Lachlan Doyle.”
He gives me this earnest, imploring smile and nods. “Yeah, like boyfriends.”
My heart soars and then sinks. Because I have to turn him down.
“No.” I cross and uncross my outstretched legs.
Lachlan looks stunned, like I punched him. “What?” he asks disbelievingly.
I stare at him.
“Please?”
“No.” My heart clenches, but there is no other answer. This isn’t right. Not for him.
“Why not?” Lachlan seems, well, on the way to devastated. He might even be blinking back tears. So now I feel horrible.
But I need to stay strong and save him from himself. From a choice that could end so badly for him. Or me.
Even though part of me wants to stick it to his asshole bigot uncle … which would coincidentally give me what I want.
My eyes narrow. I’m not going to let him talk me into something with consequences he hasn’t considered. “Because you’ve never dated a guy before.”
He frowns. “So?”
I deserve a medal for how I’m not rolling my eyes or giving in. We’re shadowed in the darkness, although a distant streetlight still makes it easy to see each other. Cars zoom over the bridge above us.
I tilt my head back and look toward the underside of the bridge. “I don’t want to be a trial run for you. What if you don’t like it?” I peek at him.
Lachlan bites his lip. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t want to use you to figure anything out. I’m trying to come up with a way that we can do this where you’re not scared that I’m going to fuck you over. So … do you think you could trust that I’m into you?”
Shit. Can I trust him? I kind of already do.
He continues, “Truth is, I don’t want it to be a test basis. I want to jump in. But I get that you have reservations.”
My tone goes sharp. “I do. For starters, you’ve never fucking touched me except onstage, Lachlan. How am I supposed to be your boyfriend if you’re scared to lay a finger on me? I’ve sucked your dick dozens of times, but you’ve never— Oof.”
I’m suddenly underneath Lachlan, his jean-clad knees straddling my hips. Well, that’s a jump start to my bloodstream, which had already been on high speed due to this whole conversation.
Having Lachlan warm on top of me in the cool night air is wonderful. His heavy, toned body blocks the slight breeze, and his hands fall on either side of my head.
His eyes ask permission.
In response, I angle my face up to his, heart drumming inside my chest.
“What would you want to do?” he asks. “If you could do anything with me, what would it be? For starters?” His finger slides up my neck to my chin, and I ache to be closer. He licks his lips, and I stare at them. The air between us feels charged. Electric. Humming.
Do I turn him down again? Or do I let him in and see where this will go?
There’s only one answer in my heart.
“I really wanna kiss you again,” I finally admit.
“Yeah?” His voice is husky.
“You’re a good kisser. What can I say?”
“All you had to do was ask.” He turns his baseball cap around, pulls me gently to him by the nape, and his lips are on mine.