Chapter 37
ISAK
I really like you, Isak, and I want to hang out with you. I was wondering if you wanted to see where this could go. If you’d, you know, go out with me.
Rehearsal starts in about an hour, and I didn’t sleep last night. Lachlan’s words played in my head on an endless loop. For so long, I thought all I’d ever get from him was a silver-painted rock and a key to the janitor’s closet. Instead, I got a blow job and a secret boyfriend.
I kept touching my lips over and over again, feeling his kisses on them, and I jerked off twice to the vision of him sucking my dick.
How did we get from me telling him to stay away to us being together? Whatever “together” means. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m mostly sure he doesn’t, either. All I know is, I like him. I don’t want to hide that fact … although I understand why we have to.
Cool your jets, Isak. Take it one step at a time. He hasn’t even been your boyfriend for a day.
I fall out of bed, get ready quickly, and grab some breakfast. Lachlan must see me walk out my front door, and we meet at my truck.
Would it be normal to kiss my boyfriend good morning? Probably, except how many prying eyes are on us?
“Hey,” I say with a smile.
“Hey.” He’s … not as cheerful.
We get in, and I start the engine. “Shit. Did something happen?” I whisper.
“No—” he starts to say. Then he changes his mind and is honest. His openness relaxes my shoulders at the same time his words put me on edge, a weird contradiction. He rubs both hands down his face. “I mean, last night was the usual.”
I cringe, and he notices. “Sorry. I, uh, heard. As you know.” I start for school.
“I should be the one apologizing for my family.”
“No. You most definitely do not need to apologize for them. You have nothing to do with their behavior.”
I glance at Lachlan and see his dubious expression. “It’s not just that,” he says. “My mom said she wants to come to the show.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Would that be so bad?”
“I’m … embarrassed that she’d see me sing. And, god, she said she was going to bring my uncle with her.”
I suck in a breath. “Okay, yeah, we have to keep them away. Even if you had a good relationship, it’s hard to perform in front of people you know.”
“Ugh. I’m starting to understand how you feel about opening yourself up to criticism. Like the critics are poking something super vulnerable.”
We drive a ways. “Are you worried about your mom seeing you kiss me?” I ask. “In the show, I mean.”
He shrugs. That shrug hurts my soul. But then he explains, “It’s not only that I’m kissing you but that I’m showing any kind of emotion.
Billy goes through a lot—he loses friends and places he loves, then develops this relationship with Forest—and I don’t think I’ve ever opened up to her about how I feel about anything.
At least, not since I was really young.”
“Okay, well, that’s marginally better and horrifically worse.”
My heart breaks for him. If he has to hide himself, emotionally and physically, no wonder he’s so sad. Lachlan wants to be loved—not just beloved on campus—and the more he wants it, the more it eludes him.
Except I’m not going to let it elude him anymore. I’m planning on being there for him. Besides my mom, I never really had someone to care for, until him. Now that I have him, even in this embryo of a relationship, I want to make him feel wonderful.
“I wish you could be open,” I whisper. “But you know you’re safe with me.”
I wince. I want my promise to be more than lip service, because given how many times the world has been cruel to him, the only way to make him believe that I’m a safe place is to be that safe place. He needs actions, not words.
Lachlan reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You have no idea how safe I feel with you. You’re the only one who sees … sees me. Ever.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I see you.”
We drive across the river in silence, but after a minute, Lachlan chuckles. “I can’t handle it being quiet in here. The extrovert in me needs to talk.”
“Then let’s talk. What makes you laugh?”
His relief is palpable. “Cat videos. And those videos where people do really ill-advised stunts.”
“Same.”
“Not the same thing, but I also really, really like rug-washing videos.”
“The ones you get suckered into watching while doomscrolling?”
“I search for them on Ad/VICE. I love watching people transform something so gross into something pristine.”
Shit. I get it. Can I rug-wash his life? “Yeah.”
And also, can I please kiss him before I explode?
I check the clock on the dash. We have time. I pull into the parking lot of a strip mall where the stores don’t open until ten.
“What are you doing?” Lach asks.
I look at him. “Can I …” My ears are hot.
“Can you what?” Lachlan says with the most adorable smile.
I lean into him and bring my palms to his cheeks, signaling what I want to do. He inhales and nods. And so I kiss him.
I love how he feels and smells and tastes—okay, the taste is mostly toothpaste. I love his warmth and the firmness of his body against mine. It seems like the only way I can express what I want to tell him is without words—but by using my mouth.
We breathe into each other. “Okay, that’s better,” he whispers.
“Yeah.”
We kiss a while longer, but not too long, because we need to get to rehearsal—and we also need to not wind ourselves up too much, I remind myself. Much to my displeasure. After one final kiss, I put the truck back into gear.
“I didn’t sleep much last night,” Lachlan comments as we pass Manny’s Deli.
“Me, neither.”
“What do you do when you have insomnia?”
“Jerk off,” I admit.
“Yeah, okay. Same.”
And now I’m thinking about Lachlan jerking off. The thought is not a bad one. I clear my throat. “Sometimes I do it to thoughts of my hot neighbor.”
“Me, too. Like maybe last night,” he mutters. We both laugh.
“Only thing better was when my hot neighbor used to leave his curtains open,” I say. “Then I really got a show.”
He grins. “Did you know I’ve watched you, too?”
My lips part, and I shake my head.
“So hot,” he whispers. He drags a finger down my cheek. “I loved the few times I caught you walking around naked.”
“Voyeur.”
“I guess.”
“I’m in no position to judge,” I say. “But I stopped looking when I felt too”—sorry for you—“guilty.” I stop at a light. “Can I bring up something you might not be ready for?”
“Sure.” His voice sounds wary even if the word is confident.
“Can I tell my mom we’re together? She’s not going to say anything to anyone.”
“Your mom?” Lachlan sputters.
I shrug. “I tell her most things. Heck, she knew I had a crush on you before I told her.”
“She did? You do?” Lach sounds flabbergasted. Given his family, that doesn’t surprise me.
“Yeah.”
We drive another block. “I can’t imagine telling anyone,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur. “Not yet, at least.”
“I can’t imagine not. Lachlan, you’re in my life. I’m proud of you. I’m proud to be with you. I want to share that with other people I care about.” I see the pained look on his face and stop. It’s wrong to push him. “Sorry. Okay. I get it. It’s too soon.”
“I know you’ve waited months already.”
“Yeah.” I smile at him. “But I’ll still keep it quiet.”
Lachlan grimaces. “This can’t be all about my needs. It’s okay if you tell your mom. As long as she keeps it quiet.”
“She will.”
He lets out a loud exhale. “Okay. Yeah, that’s fine.”
I squeeze his hand. He’s brave.
“Zanita’s going to figure it out, isn’t she?” he asks.
“Probably.” I bite my lip. “I don’t want to lie to her.”
Lachlan stares at his hands. “See if you can hold off.”
“I’ll tell her it’s method acting.”
“Sorry,” he whispers.
So I still have a secret that I can (mostly) only share with Lachlan.
During rehearsal, we keep giving each other looks.
We used to do that already, but it’s gotten worse.
And if I get caught, I’m not going to have a good excuse for why I can’t keep my eyes off him.
Not that I had that great of an excuse before.
One thing is different today. When we get to the kiss in act two, Lachlan puts his thumb on my lip as usual, then moves it away at the last minute.
Oh my god.
He’s kissing me in front of everyone, but they don’t know. After weeks of rehearsals, they’ve gotten used to this part, most of the other actors not even paying attention to us unless their lines are coming up.
We’re together, I want to shout. But, of course, I don’t.
We do a successful run through the entire show, and Ms. Laurent cuts the rehearsal short.
She sits on the stage, her legs dangling over the edge, and points to a stack of colorful posters next to her.
“I’m going to issue each of you five of these, and you need to ask local businesses to post them in their windows or on their bulletin boards.
Make sure you talk to someone who has the authority to put them up.
If they don’t seem like they will, bring the posters back.
I want to make sure they all go up. You can have a souvenir later. ”
“Yes, Ms. Laurent,” we all say, and she hands out the posters. We get this spiel every time, and the army of students going around the town with them will get people into seats.
I glance over at Lachlan, who’s staring at the posters like they’re evil.
He’s conflicted, I bet. He wants to be proud of what he’s doing but is scared that his family will actually show up—even though they never go to his games or anything else.
Still, advertising the show is going to make it more likely that they’ll see him kiss me on the stage.
Even what’s supposedly a fake kiss can be too much for a bigot.
“We should do this now,” I say to Lachlan. “Before everyone else hits up all the likely spots. What do you say?”
He looks around. This is something he’d ordinarily be great at—he’s such a people person.
“Come on,” I say. “We’ll go to places your family doesn’t go.” If they already know he’s in the show, it may not make a difference, but the suggestion seems to settle his nerves a bit.
“Yeah, okay.” Lachlan exhales loudly and follows me out to my truck. I drive to the shopping mall that’s farther from our homes than the one that my mom usually goes to, since we often run into his grandma in the other one. Lachlan brightens up.
We go to a florist shop first. “May I help you?” the clerk asks.
I hold up a poster. “Hi, we’re Royce High students and the leads in Browser History, a musical that’s going to be playing in a few weeks. May we please put a poster up in your window to advertise?”
“Oh, that’s so cool! But I’ll have to ask my manager.”
I nod. “Okay. We can wait.”
Lachlan looks at me. “Do you think they’ll okay it?”
I shrug. Most places are usually cool about it, but you never know.
The clerk texts on her phone for a minute and then looks up. “She says it’s fine.” Then she gets a better look at Lachlan. “Hey, aren’t you the mayor’s grandson?”
Lachlan shoves his hands in his pockets, his posture gone rigid. “Uh, he’s my great-uncle.”
Shit.
She smiles. “Cool. We’ll be sure to come to the show. Go ahead and post the flyer in the window.”
He gives her a tight smile in return. “We’d love to see you there.” We tape the poster next to flyers for the flower festival and a fun run.
“One down, nine to go.”
At the next place, Lachlan takes over, and he’s more charming than I am, of course. We get nine done in eleven stores, which feels like a record—the pet food shop, a gym, a notary public and copy shop, a hardware store, a Mexican restaurant, and others all let us put up the poster.
Finally, we walk into a coffee shop, and my stomach rumbles. “Next stop, food,” I say.
“Manny’s?” he asks hopefully.
“Sounds good. Although have you ever tried the filet mignon sandwich from the Butcher Block?”
Lachlan frowns. “Who would make a sandwich out of something so fancy. Isn’t that, like, the most expensive cut?”
“It’s pricey, yeah. But the sandwich is out of this world. It has blue cheese, and it melts in your mouth.”
He tilts his head. “Hmm. I’m not the biggest fan of blue cheese, although I don’t hate it.”
“We should have a sandwich contest, since sandwiches are the food of the gods. See who knows the best place to go.”
“It’s a date. Although you’ll have to drive.”
A date. Lachlan Doyle just asked me out on a date. A sandwich date.
And yes, I know we’re “going out” and “boyfriends,” but I didn’t know how this was going to play out in the real world.
My throat is hoarse when I say, “Sounds good.”
As we leave the coffee shop, of course Lachlan smiles at everyone and tells them to have a nice day, and of course they all smile back at him, because his friendliness is the best sort of infectious. They look at me, likely wondering what the hell I’m doing hanging out with him.
What they don’t know is that he’s mine.