Chapter Four
TAD NEEDS a sleeping bag.
He has a sleeping bag, of course, shoved in a closet in his Inwood apartment—upcycled materials, mummy shape, rated down to fifteen degrees, green lichen colored, AKA green. That one isn’t doing him any good right here, now, in Las Vegas, where he’s about to leave on a camping trip.
He’s eyeing the vaguely rainbow one. The temperature rating is good—Humboldt-Toiyabe can be cold in November—but it’s big and rectangular and not great for backpacking. He should get the one he already has, even if it’s boring.
The problem is, two people won’t fit inside the one he should get.
Tad’s head spins. He’s still pretty hungover. He shouldn’t be thinking about fitting inside a sleeping bag with Lewis, because Lewis made it clear sex, let alone a relationship, is off the table.
It’s just. He remembers cuddling last night, Lewis’s strong arms around him as they passed out.
Not that a relationship should be on the table for Tad, either. Not when his boyfriend would have to go back into the closet around Tad’s family. I can’t live with you constantly saying you’ll come out when you’re ready , John said during that last sad, horrible conversation. You’re letting both of us down.
The band around Tad’s head tightens. Note to self: thinking about ex is bad for hangover.
Last night when he left the casino, he sat for a while in the Bellagio’s garden, enjoying the peace plants bring him. But a woman started chatting with him, and he couldn’t make himself chat back because, well, that’s how he is.
As he walked back to his hotel, he saw a man with messy brown hair and a smile like a flower opening to the sun. He saw that man go into a honky-tonk bar with a group of women. And he thought… well, he didn’t actually think. He just followed. Drank. Didn’t have the guts to talk to Handsome, who was clearly there for a party with his friends. Nothing new there—Tad’s pathological shyness is especially bad around men he wants. So he drank some more.
Until he encountered Handsome at the mechanical bull. Like kismet. Thought, fuck it. He had enough liquid courage by that point to slut it up.
Tent. Camping. He needs to buy supplies. And tell Walter he’s not flying home in two days, and change his plane ticket, and text his boss. He needs to come up with a reason he’s changing his plans that isn’t I’m going on a camping trip with a dude I drunk married last night.
He needs to buy the sleeping bag that makes sense, but he pulls a card off the shelf for the bigger, rainbow one. Fuck it. He’s already used to disappointing everyone, might as well disappoint himself with his own bad choices too.
“YOU’RE WHAT?”
“Staying here for another week,” Tad repeats. “I’m going to check out some of the hiking.”
His brother looks at him in consternation and confusion. They have the same blue eyes and freckles, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Where Tad is tall and lean, Walter is shorter and bulkier. He was a defensive end on their high school’s football team, because of course he was. Tad was the tongue-tied freak trying not to get cyberbullied and/or beat up, because… of course he was. Walt’s hair is sandier, though it still has that hint of red.
Tad never even wanted to come to Vegas with Walt. But Walt wouldn’t let up, bombarding Tad with texts and calls and Facetimes, and finally Tad agreed just to shut him up. But he was actually looking forward to spending time with Walt. He thought… who knows what he thought. That maybe it would be like when they were kids, and they were close. Then Walt invited his friends—his high school friends, a bunch of dudebros who never left Watertown, New York—and the prospect of spending time with them turned Tad’s stomach.
Walt’s eyes rove over the collection of camping stuff Tad carted up to the room. One bag is still clutched in Tad’s left hand to keep the ring hidden. He should have taken it off.
The hotel is right across the street from Lewis’s. Tad’s mind wanders to Lewis. Is he freaking out? Or is he doing whatever he was supposed to do this morning and not thinking about Tad at all?
“Does this have something to do with where you went last night?” Walt asks.
Tad shrugs. Walt waits. Clearing his throat, Tad says, “I didn’t think you noticed I was gone.”
“I texted!”
Twice. And the first one barely counts because it was just a meme.
“I guess.”
“Is it a plant thing?” Walt says.
Tad hunts for contempt in Walt’s voice. He’s sure it’s there, but Walt’s keeping it low-key. It’s still annoying to have his passion—and career—referred to as a “plant thing.”
Maybe he should go with it. Just agree it’s a plant thing so he can ditch his stuff and go across the street to wait for Lewis.
Before he can open his mouth, Walt’s eyes widen. “Oh shit. Did you hook up?”
Tad’s guts shrivel so fast and hard, his ribs feel bruised from the recoil. Oh god no this wasn’t how Tad wanted to come out to his brother, what’s he going to do, Tad really needs him to bring his stuff back to New York and if Walt’s going to rage at him for being gay—
“You did!”
His mouth bone-dry, Tad rasps, “Walt—look, I don’t know what you think you saw—”
Walt’s hand comes down on Tad’s shoulder, giving it a few bro-y slaps. “Good for you, man. Does she like plants too?”
“Um,” Tad says.
Grinning, Walt says, “I was starting to think you were gay! You haven’t talked about any girls besides Sydney Clark when you were in—what, tenth grade?”
“Ninth,” Tad says. Right, his maybe if I hook up with a girl, that will prove I’m actually straight phase. When he made out with Sydney in her bedroom, she stuck her hand down his pants and found him flaccid. Mortified—and freaking out—he ran to the bathroom, only to walk in on her older brother stepping out of the shower.
And, uh, yeah. That did for his teenage dick what no amount of making out with a girl could seem to.
He forces himself to relax. Walt didn’t see anything. Walt has no idea Tad spent last night fucking another man.
“Glad you got some action.” Walt grins.
“Um, yeah.” Tad squirms. “I better go. I’ll pick my bag up when I get back, okay?”
Walt’s broad grin makes Tad want to flee. “Is she hot?”
An image of how Lewis looked this morning, naked and sex-tousled, sheets tangled around his legs and his lips still swollen from last night, burns through Tad. His gorgeous eyes—calling them brown doesn’t do them justice, because they remind him of the inside of a tree, all those rich, earthy umbers fading from one shade to another. That stubble on his face and the dark hair on his chest. Pert little nipples, the V-cut that Tad distinctly remembers licking.
“Um,” Tad says.
Which apparently answers Walt’s question. Walt claps him on the shoulder again. “The guys are gonna love it. We’ll have a drink or five for you.”
“Great.” Tad gathers his camping supplies and backs out of the room. “And my stuff…?”
“Yeah, I’ll bring it back. When you pick it up, you can tell me all about your camping-slash-sex trip.”
This is fine. It’s fine. Just a little white lie. It’s not like Tad hasn’t been lying by omission for years.
He gets to the door and thinks he’s home free when Walt says, “Hey, Tad—what’s her name?”
Tad blanks. “Lew….” He says, because his brain is coming up empty. Wait! Inspiration. “Louise,” he says.
Yeah, he’s pretty smart. Go him.
On that note, and before Walt asks Tad to describe the super hot, definitely-a-woman-Louise, Tad heaves his stuff out the door. It’s just after eleven, which means he’s going to be sitting in the hotel lobby for two hours, but he doesn’t care. He’d rather do that than spend another second getting interrogated by his brother—who looked heartbreakingly relieved when Tad said he had sex with a woman.