Chapter Seven
Lucas
I don’t know why Hunter has to go everywhere with us. Actually, I do know why. He’s the son my father wishes he had, and Ellis Blake always gets what he wants one way or another.
Both Ellis Blakes, I guess.
Because here we are, driving to a cabin in the mountains for our family vacation, and Hunter is here with us like always.
If I’d asked to take a friend, my father would have told me no.
That it’s different with Hunter because Hunter is family.
In other words, Hunter loves football and is good at it, so that’s all that matters.
I’m in the third row, he and Ellis in front of me.
They’re laughing and talking about something.
I can’t hear the words because my earbuds are in, but Ellis says something that makes Hunter smile—big and wide, showing his white teeth, the bottom row slightly crooked.
My stomach does this weird fluttery thing, like there are wings flapping there and tickling my insides.
I look away quickly, as though they’ll be able to tell.
Like if they take one look at me, they’ll know that despite pretending to hate my brother’s best friend—and maybe I even do—that my heart beats faster around him.
That he makes my pulse race and my palms sweat.
I don’t care that I feel this way about boys, but I care that I feel this way about him. That I always have.
Hunter glances my way, and I immediately turn my head, not wanting to get caught staring at him.
We’re almost there, so I look out the window and listen to music, refusing to let myself glance at Hunter again.
I’ve noticed things have seemed a little different between him and Ellis lately—sitting closer, more touching, looks between them that say they’re sharing a secret.
And I think I know what that secret is because of course Ellis would get Hunter that way.
That somehow they’ll be together, and my father won’t care because Hunter can play football, and it won’t matter there either because Hunter is that good.
I try to push those thoughts from my head, eager to get to the cabin and go take photos.
We arrive a few minutes later, everyone climbing out of the SUV.
The cabin is big, made of dark wood, with a huge wraparound porch and miles and miles of trees and nature around us.
Everyone heads inside, and we immediately scatter to pick our rooms. Once I’m in mine, I start going through my camera bag, getting everything ready to go out and take photos.
When I get back into the living room, the front door is open, Dad standing there with Hunter and Ellis, packs on their backs.
“We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Dad says, as I stand there watching them, wondering why it never even occurred to him that I might want to go.
Mom is the one who sees me first. She hates hiking, so it doesn’t surprise me that she’s staying behind.
“Grab your things, Lucas. You can go with them,” she says.
“Yeah, come on,” Hunter adds.
But they hadn’t thought about me. Hunter is only saying that because Mom did, and he tries to always be nice, perfect. He’s so fucking good at everything.
“No, it’s fine,” I say.
“Come with us,” Hunter insists, again trying to be nice. He’s like that sometimes, and it only upsets me more. When he’s nice to me, it makes that stupid fluttering worse, and I don’t want to feel that for him.
And I want him to have wanted me to go from the start, and that’s scary.
I want Ellis and my father to have wanted me to go for different reasons.
“Hurry, Lucas,” Ellis says.
“Make up your mind,” Dad says, his tone telling me he thinks I’ll ruin their good time. I’ll want to stop and take photos and do all the things he considers a waste of time. I’ll get lost in my head and nature the way boys shouldn’t do—at least not his idea of a boy.
“I’m good.”
Mom squeezes my shoulder. “You should go, honey.”
“I don’t want to.”
Dad, Ellis, and Hunter leave, Hunter throwing a look over his shoulder, and Mom offers, “How about you and I go out and take photos?”
“I’m good. I’ll just chill for a while.”
I’d rather go alone anyway.
*
What kind of person does it make me that I hope Hunter texts me again?
I shouldn’t want to talk to him, shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do, but I hadn’t been lying when I told him I’m an asshole, something I’m proving with my desire to talk to him.
It’s been two days since the game, since I sent him the photo of the sunset.
I’d hoped he would respond to that, and since he didn’t, I’m taking that as a sign to leave him alone.
Unless Hunter messages me, I’ll keep my distance.
I’d planned on it after our night on the roof, but after that shitty game in Dallas, I thought maybe he’d need a distraction, something or someone that had nothing to do with football.
Who knows if it helped or if I was way off base.
That’s not something I would have felt about young Hunter.
I never would have thought he’d need to forget football, but this Hunter is different.
“I’ve never seen you look at your phone as much as you have been the last couple of days.” Isla sits beside me on the couch, dropping her head to my shoulder.
Isla had just started transitioning when we met, and it’s been beautiful to watch her come into her own, to finally be able to live as herself. I feel lucky I’ve gotten to be by her side through some of her journey.
“A trick?” she asks.
I hold up my phone. “No. My dead brother’s boyfriend.”
“How scandalous!” she teases, making me laugh.
“It’s nothing like that.” It can’t be. Even if Hunter wanted to fuck—which he absolutely wouldn’t—how in the hell could I do that? It’s wrong on every level. “I just…want to be his friend, I think. He’s hurting.”
“You’re hurting, babe.” She squeezes my thigh.
“I’m fine.”
“You always think you’re fine, and you’re always worried about everyone else.”
Not if she asked my family. I go for a change of subject. “Wanna have sex?” Sex always helps.
Isla laughs. “No, because I know what you’re trying to do right now.”
“Have an orgasm?” Isla and I hook up sometimes, but it’s just sex for both of us. According to her, it’s one of the only ways I let people in, blah, blah, blah. If that were the case, I’d have let a whole lot of people in.
“No. Distracting me. You forget you told me you used to crush on this guy.”
“Ugh. Why do I talk to you?”
“Because you love me.”
“I was a kid. I don’t feel that way about him anymore.
He was just a cute boy who used to be at my house all the time, so he was my queer awakening.
” I’ve tossed around different labels for most of my adult life—bisexual, pansexual, the latter probably being more spot on—but mostly I just call myself queer. I’m not big on labels.
“I’ve seen him. He’s fucking hot.”
I groan. “So hot. He’s also in love with my brother. My family would lose their shit. The world would lose their shit if we fucked and they found out. Plus, I don’t want him. He’s annoying.” He is annoying. He’s not as perfect-acting as he used to be, but it’s still there.
“Why would the world care?”
“It would be a whole thing—Coach Blake’s remaining son, fucking his favorite son’s boyfriend, after that favorite son died.
It would be weird.” We shouldn’t even be talking about Hunter and me fucking, but Isla can get me to speak about things without me realizing I’m doing it.
“I just…want to be there for him.” Because I think he needs it.
I think he needs it more than he realizes.
“Okay, fine. I believe you. Now, can we watch another episode of Pose? It’s killing me to wait for you.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, we can watch.” The show isn’t running new episodes anymore, but Isla and I started watching it a couple of weeks ago.
We don’t have the time to watch as much as we’d like, and she’s not nearly as patient as I am.
We cuddle on the couch in a way I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with anyone other than Isla.
I don’t know what it is about her that makes it easier for me to let my guard down, to let my mask slip so I can simply be.
The Pulse are playing Vegas tonight, at home, and I’ve forced myself not to look at the score or pay any attention to the game.
I’ve managed to spend most of my life not caring about football, and I don’t plan to start now.
Hunter winning or not has nothing to do with me.
How he plays or what he does isn’t any of my business.
Eventually, Isla leaves, and I go into my darkroom, leaving my phone on the table and working on developing photos.
Most of my work is done digitally now, but I enjoy the manual process and still do it for fun.
There’s something special about film, about being deeper into the process, giving me another creative outlet.
I’m in there for hours, until late into the night, sleep eluding me again.
Or is it me evading sleep? When I grab my phone on the way to my bedroom, I notice a text from Hunter.
My pulse jumps, a reaction I’m not proud of.
Ignore it. Stop talking to him. What’s even the goal here? Is it really being there for him?
All I know is there’s no chance in hell I’m not replying. Honestly, I hadn’t expected him to message me first, or at all. I’d already decided not to reach out to him, and we could go back to not having anything to do with each other the way it’s supposed to be.
Hunter: When did you know you wanted to be a photographer?
My brows draw together, my forehead scrunching up.
Whatever I imagined he’d text, that’s not it.
My mom is the only person in my family who ever really talked to me about my photography.
Actually, that’s not true. Sometimes Ellis would ask.
Despite our complex relationship, he wasn’t a monster; we simply never shared any interests.
I grab a glass of water, turn off the living room lights, and don’t reply until I’m in bed.
Me: I was six, I think… Mom was working on this fundraiser, and people could donate items for an auction. I was helping her.
Hunter: Making a mess of things, you mean. *laughing emoji*
Me: Obviously. Anyway, there was this photograph of a man and a woman.
It wasn’t sexual, or maybe I was too young to understand that.
Their bodies were entwined, and most of the photo was rather dark, but there was this line of light slicing diagonally across it.
I remember falling in love with that photo.
I know that sounds strange, that a six-year-old could fall in love with a photo and understand that it was something special, but I did.
Hunter: It doesn’t surprise me. You were always older than your age.
His words make my stomach flip, make my skin feel tingly and my thoughts spin, though he couldn’t be further from the truth.
Me: I think you’re mistaking me for my brother. He was the responsible one. I’m the one who got drunk at a house party when my parents were gone and puked in my mom’s favorite vase.
An expensive-ass vase at that.
Hunter: Being an old soul and accepting responsibility aren’t the same thing. It’s impossible to know you and not see that you’ve always looked at the world through adult eyes. At least, as long as I’ve known you.
My chest feels inexplicably tight. I’m not sure how to respond, what to even think about it, because deep down, it’s true. I can’t even say if I realized it before Hunter said it, but I’ve never felt right in my own skin, and maybe that’s why.
How is he the one to see it? How is he the only person in my whole fucking life to say those things to me?
I try to play it off like my hands aren’t shaking right now.
Me: No idea what you’re talking about.
Hunter: I don’t think that’s true at all.
Me: I thought I was an asshole.
Hunter: We can all be more than one thing. You excel at both.
An unexpected laugh jumps from my mouth.
Me: Is that a compliment, Hunter King?
It takes me a second to realize how flirty that was. I’ve always been a flirt. It comes naturally to me, but not with him. At least, I shouldn’t be with him. Knowing that doesn’t stop me, though, even if it’s just something else to hate myself for later.
Hunter: Tell me about your first photos.
Evidently, he’s ignoring my flirting, and I’m trying to think of how to respond, when my phone rings. What the fuck? He’s calling me. I sit higher up in bed like that’ll give me any clarity into why in the hell Hunter is calling me.
Don’t answer, don’t answer, and stop doing this.
I answer the call.