When Noah pulled up at Mr Barese’s shop, he turned the engine off. All the roller doors were down, and it seemed all of Ten Mile Creek was quiet. “Thanks for the lift, and um, thanks for today.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you, for today, as well.” One corner of his lip curled up. “For, you know, hearing me out when you had every right to tell me to piss off.”

“I probably should have told you to piss off.” I smiled when his gaze shot to mine. “But then we wouldn’t be doing the unofficial boyfriend thing, right?”

He chuckled. “Right.”

“And anyway, you’re not all bad.”

“Thanks,” he said with a snort. Then he sighed. “Did your dad really sell your lawnmower?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Okay.”

“If he,” Noah frowned. “If he becomes difficult, promise me you’ll call me. I’ll come get you.”

Having someone worry about me was new. It was different to how Mr Barese cared. Strange, a little restricting even, but nice. “I’ll be fine.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” Then I said, “So, this is my last week on probation. Do you still need to do your workplace visit? I have my last drugs and alcohol meeting on Thursday. I could call in and see you then?”

“I don’t mind seeing you more than once.” He smirked. “But I can hold out till Thursday.”

I took my bag of groceries and opened the door. “I’ll text you later. I ain’t real fast at it, so you’ll need to be patient.”

He smiled warmly. “You’ll do great.”

I got out, certain I was grinning like a fool. I waved him off and shoved my bag of groceries down the front of my jacket. I let myself into the workshop and wheeled my bike out, locked the workshop up, and went home. I was still in a good mood when I walked inside, and not even my poor excuse for a father could piss me off.

“Hey, boy,” he said from Pops’ recliner. He tried to sound cheerful, which was his way of assuming all was well. At least the fire was going. “Don’t happen to have any smokes on ya?”

I dumped the bag of groceries on the kitchen table, gave Pops a tight smile, and fished one pack of cigarettes out. I walked into him, calmly handed the unopened packet to him, and walked back into the kitchen. Pops patted my arm but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

I took out the packet of sausages. “I got some snags for dinner. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great,” Pops said.

“Sausages again?” my dad replied from the living room. I could smell the cigarette he was smoking. Inside.

I took a breath and tried to channel my inner calm. “Maybe I’d have more money for steak if I didn’t have to save for a new lawnmower.”

No reply.

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“And I told you before. Don’t smoke in the house.”

“You giving me shit, boy?” His tone was louder, angrier.

I didn’t have it in me to care, but Pops’ shoulders sagged like he knew we were about to fight. So I bit back my attitude and spoke nicely. “Can you please smoke outside while I cook dinner?”

There was a beat of silence, then the recliner creaked and his footsteps stomped past. I held my breath, waiting for him to walk in and for hell to erupt. But it didn’t. He walked out the front to have his cigarette outside.

I could suddenly breathe, and Pops sank into a chair at the table. “You okay?” I asked him.

He nodded. “Yeah.” Then he brightened some. “How was your course today?”

“Good.” I checked over my shoulder to make sure my father was still outside. “Went well. The guy running it said he can help me with the quiz at the end, and then Noah said he can drive me to get my licence right after.”

Pops smiled proudly. “I’m proud of you, CJ.”

And there it was. Recognition that I would never get from my father. “Thanks, Pops.”

“Want me to help?” he asked.

“Nah. You can tell me what you did today while I peel some potatoes.”

So even though my father was technically living with us, Pops and I carried on like he wasn’t. It made it bearable.

After dinner when Pops and Dad were both in bed, I stoked up the fire, turned off the TV, and got ready for bed. I fished out my phone, plugged it into the charger, and climbed into bed. I opened the messages like Noah had shown me and repeated my lame text.

Hi

My phone vibrated just a few seconds later. Hi. How was your night?

I had to read it out slowly.

Good

I felt slow and stupid but I wanted to learn how to do this.

Did you cook the sausages for dinner?

That took me a while to sound out. Yep.

Is Pops keeping warm?

I realised then that he was asking me questions that I only had to give short, easy answers to in return. Not in a patronising way but in a helpful way. Yep. He is good.

God, I sucked at this. I sounded like I was four years old.

You in bed?

I blinked. Was he implying something or just asking? Yep. You? I tapped my finger, waiting on his reply.

Yep. I didn’t sleep much last night.

I sounded each word out. It took a little while but I was adamant to do this. I wanted to type out that he should’ve spoken to me instead of assuming bad things about me and maybe he would’ve slept better, but there was no way I could type that out. So I hit the Call button.

“Hey,” he answered. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Can’t talk loud though.”

“That’s okay. I can hear you just fine. Did you want to talk about something?”

“Well, yeah. I couldn’t type everything I wanted to say. It’d take too long and I’d get it wrong. It’s just easier to talk.”

“What did you want to say?”

“You said you didn’t sleep well. I was going to say you should talk to me next time. Ask me instead of assuming the worst.”

“I am sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“Will you ever let me live that down?”

“Dunno. Jury’s still out.”

He snorted. “I can make it up to you. Next weekend.”

“Oh really?” That sounded promising in a sexual way. “How?”

“Pizza. Oh, hey! That reminds me. You were supposed to buy pizza tonight.”

I snorted quietly. “You’ll have to take a raincheck.”

“I will. Until next weekend.”

“Deal.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Not mowing the lawn.”

He made an unhappy sound. “Did you talk to your dad about it?”

“Not really. Told him to smoke outside, again. Thought he was gonna clip me up the back of the head.”

“Did he hit you?” he sounded alarmed.

“Nah. He just never said a word and went outside for his smoke.”

“Man, I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

“Me too.” I sighed and scrubbed my hand over my face. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Groceries. Laundry. Super exciting stuff.”

“Yeah, same. Well, laundry. Need to get firewood. Nothing too exciting either.”

“When will I see you next?” he asked. “Thursday seems so far away.”

I smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. “It’s just five days.”

“Five days is forever.”

“I have to work Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

“Could you tell your dad you need to come into town on Tuesday for something?”

“I don’t actually need to lie to him. I don’t have to tell him nothin’. I’ll just get home when I get home.”

“I don’t want to cause you any problems with your father.”

“You’re the least of my problems when it comes to my father.” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Families, huh? Sometimes I reckon we’re better off without ’em.”

He didn’t answer for a while. “Mmm.”

Shit. I’d forgotten about his family. Me and my stupid mouth. “I didn’t mean . . . Noah, I didn’t . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

Shit, shit, shit. “Noah. I didn’t think, sorry.”

“It’s okay, CJ. Honestly.”

I didn’t know what to say. It clearly wasn’t okay because his silence said more than words ever could. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I might not always get things right. But things with me are pretty cut and dry, and I guess I ain’t real complicated. I might not have had a boyfriend before, but I like it. I like having you in my life, and I just thought you should know.”

“Oh.” He hummed quietly. “I like having you in my life too.”

“I’m closer to you than I’ve ever been to anyone in my entire life.” I swallowed hard. “And I don’t mean to sound sappy or nothin’ but I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Thank you, too, CJ,” he murmured. “For taking a chance on me. For not bailing when I called you a meth-cooking dealer.”

I snorted. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“I shouldn’t have reminded you.”

I smiled at the ceiling. “So I was thinking maybe I could buy pizza on Tuesday night.”

He made a happy sound. “Sounds good. I’ll be home by five thirty. We can watch a movie and I can drive you home.”

That sounded utterly perfect. “See you then.”

“Sleep well, CJ.” His voice was low and lovely.

“You too.”

He ended the call and I made sure the phone was on silent before I put it down the side of my bed. I couldn’t deny it; he made me happy. He made my heart skip and stutter. He made my belly tight, full of butterflies and nerves. But he made me smile and feel warm all over, and he made me feel special and wanted. Someone else on the planet actually liked me, knew the wrongs I’d done and things I’d endured, and he shared his past with me. He wanted to know more of me. He wanted me. Not just physically, but he wanted me, CJ Davis. I’d never thought, not for one minute, that I’d find that with anyone. I never expected to be with anyone. I was gay in a family, a world, where that wasn’t even a consideration. I just assumed I’d never have nothing more than a few quick fucks or hand jobs in the backroom of HQ.

I was never supposed to have dinner dates and movies, and conversations and hand-holding, or those hugs that mended parts of me long broken.

Sleep well, he’d said. I closed my eyes and his voice played through my memory like a warm blanket, like comfort and happiness.

I dreamed of him, of things just out of my reach but close enough to taste. Of a shared heartache, of laughter and kisses, of romance and other absurd things I never knew I wanted.

Longed for.

Craved.

* * *

I knocked on Noah’s back door at five thirty-two. Not that I was counting. Except I really was. I’d spent Sunday doing chores around the house. Monday was busy at work. I had to service the Burkes’ Ford Territory and Mr Barese finished up the monthly accounts. I texted Noah every night when I was alone in my room. Always starting with my usual Hi and he would answer with questions I could answer with short replies.

By Tuesday, I was itching to see him. I shoved a casserole in the oven for Pops and Dad to be ready by the time they’d want dinner. I drove my bike to the shop and caught the last bus to town. It really would have been easier if I’d ridden my bike, but with just a few days of probation to go, I couldn’t risk getting caught by the cops.

There was a shuffling behind the door before it opened, then Noah was there, pulling his jeans up. I caught a glimpse of black briefs, but his otherwise naked torso was kind of distracting. He grinned. If he was happy to see me or laughing at my expression, I wasn’t sure. He snatched up a folded shirt off the top of the dryer and pulled it over his head. “I just got in,” he said as I stepped inside.

By the time I’d gathered my wits enough to speak, he had his shirt on. “Answer the door naked all the time?”

He laughed. “I can’t wait to get out of my work clothes every day.”

“I’m not complaining.”

His smile turned smug. He stepped in close, his face just an inch from mine, and his damn scent of deodorant or aftershave washed over me. His blue eyes were full of spark and daring. “Ready to beg for a kiss yet?”

“Are you?” I slid my hands along his waist and pulled us together. His nostrils flared and his eyes darkened. “God, you smell good.”

Now he smiled. “I should kiss you for that.”

“I won’t beg you.”

“Not yet. But you will.” He ghosted his lips over mine but it wasn’t a real kiss.

My heart was hammering and I wanted him to kiss me, but this game of who would break first and who would beg was too much fun. “I don’t think so.” I pushed him against the washing machine, pressing our hips together, and ran my nose along his ear. “You will beg me.”

He made a bitten back groan sound that lit something inside me, and I was powerless to fight it. I crushed my mouth to his and he raked his hands through my hair, pouring gasoline on a fire I could barely contain. He held my mouth to his; our tongues tasted and teased until we were both breathless and panting for air.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, his chest heaving.

I moved back a step. “For the record, I didn’t beg. But you made that sound.” I waved my hand toward his throat and chest.

“What sound?”

“That groany-growl sound.” I took another step back. I needed to palm myself but didn’t want to do it in front of him.

“I didn’t make a groany-growl sound.”

“Oh yes you did.”

He tilted his head. “You liked it.” It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. He smirked at me. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed, took my hand, and led me into the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Ah, sure.” The distraction was welcome, but it meant he had to let go of my hand. He passed me a bottle of water, and after we’d both had a drink and a minute to clear our heads, he held his hand out back out.

I took it, not knowing why he was offering, and not caring. I just wanted to touch some part of him. He threaded our fingers and gave me a smile that made me blush. “Never thought I’d like this,” I admitted quietly.

“Holding hands?”

I nodded. I’d told him before it wasn’t something I’d done much of⁠—or any of, to be honest. “Yeah.”

He squeezed my hand. “I like it too.”

“I want to say it’s nice, but it’s more than that.”

“It’s human touch and comfort. And reassurance.”

My gaze shot to his. He knew exactly what I meant. “Yeah.” Then I looked to our joined hands between us. “I’m glad you’re good with words because I’m not.”

“You don’t need to be. I get you.”

My eyes found his again, and my heart squeezed. “You do. I dunno how, but you do.”

“We’re not that different,” he murmured, bringing our hands up to his lips. He looked at my grease-and-oil ingrained fingernails and smiled.

“Thank you for telling me about your family and about your life,” I said. I was probably ruining the mood between us but I needed him to know . . . “It means a lot that you shared that part of you with me. I mean, you know all the horrible shit about me and I’m glad you told me. I know I’m not good at this whole being-with-someone thing and this probably just made you feel like shit for bringing this up⁠—”

He smirked. “Thank you for listening. It’s not something I tell a lot of people, but I’m glad you know. I told you we’re not that different. And you know what?”

“What?”

“You’re cute when you rant.”

I baulked and blushed, though I pretended I couldn’t feel my cheeks heat. “Well, I’m not very good at talking about this kind of thing. You’re the one that’s good with words, not me.”

He ran his thumb over the back of my hand and smiled. His voice was soft and smooth, and it made my belly flip. “You’re doing just fine.”

I chuckled, trying to laugh off my embarrassment. Or his compliment—if that’s what that was. He took pity on me and changed the subject. “So, I was thinking, this Thursday before your last ever drugs and alcohol meeting, we could get you a bank account set up.”

“Uh, sure. Maybe.”

“I just figured it’s my last chance to spend time with you on company time. Well, government department time.”

“Are you trying to rort the system?” I raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

“Only for personal gain.”

I chuckled. “Then I guess I can’t argue.” Truthfully, spending more time with him wasn’t exactly a hardship.

“How about we order that pizza. I’m starving.”

“That depends. Do you like olives?”

He looked horrified. “Good Lord, no. They’re little black circles of nastiness.”

Now I laughed. “Thank God. For a second there, I thought I was going to have to call this whole unofficial-boyfriend thing off.”

“Olives are a deal breaker. Duly noted.” Noah led me into the lounge room and pulled me onto the sofa with him. “Now, about movies.” He eyed me cautiously. “How do you feel about Arnold Schwarzenegger?”

“This is a test, isn’t it?”

He fought a smile. “Yes.”

“Loved Predator and The Expendables. Twins was embarrassing, but Kindergarten Cop was okay.”

He cracked up and planted a sound kiss on my lips. “Correct answer. I was thinking Predator. How does that sound?”

Pizza, a movie, and hand-holding. “Perfect.”

* * *

My dad never said much when I got home, but he gave me a strange look, which I ignored. I was pretty fucking happy when I walked through the door, and if he thought my smile was suspect, he never said. I just stoked up the fire, said goodnight, and went to bed.

Wednesday was quiet at work, but I helped Mrs Barese in her yard and she needed a few things at the store so I walked up and grabbed them for her. I swept out the shop, cleaned tools, did a stocktake on engine and transmission oils, and made the whole place as tidy as a mechanic workshop could be. Quiet, but productive. It felt good.

I was still buzzing on cloud nine when I got home. I couldn’t deny it; Noah made me happy. I wanted to tell everyone, I wanted to scream it through the street, but I couldn’t tell a soul. Not even Pops. I wanted him to know I was happy, that things were finally looking good for me, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to come out. Especially with my old man in the house.

“Thought I’d make some burgers for dinner,” I announced. Dad was in Pops’ recliner, again, and Pops followed me into the kitchen. “We’ve got bread, rissoles, and beetroot, cheese and eggs. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good, CJ,” Pops said with a smile.

Dad didn’t answer. I didn’t really expect him to, and I didn’t really care if he wanted it or not. That’s what I was making. He could eat it or make himself something else.

“Work was good today?” Pops asked. He must have assumed my smile and good mood was because I’d had a good day.

“Yep. Got lots done.”

“When are you going to town next?” he asked.

“Tomorrow. Got my last meeting tomorrow arvo.” I got the rissoles out of the fridge and put them on the counter. “Why? Wassup?”

“Need more of my tablets, that’s all.”

“No problem. If you give me your script, I can pick them up.” Then I whispered, “I need a phone bill or electricity bill or something. Have you seen the last one we got?”

He nodded. “I’ll get it for ya later,” he mouthed the words so my dad wouldn’t hear.

“Thanks.” He didn’t ask what I needed it for, and I loved that he was all for me trying to improve the way I did things. I checked that Dad was still watching the TV, then whispered to Pops, “Noah reckons I should get a bank account. Helps with ID and stuff. He reckons I might be able to apply for some government assistance.” I rubbed my thumb against my fingers, the universal sign for ‘money.’

“Worth looking into,” he whispered.

Then my dad was in the doorway. “What are you two whisperin’ about?”

He startled me. “Oh, nothing.”

He stared right at me. “You got yourself a girlfriend or something? Walkin’ around smiling like the cat that got the cream. You gettin’ some action, boy?”

I rolled my eyes. “Nuh.”

“You can’t lie for shit.”

I expected him to smile, but he didn’t. He had that mean look about him, like his anger was just waiting for one wrong word, one wrong look. He had an energy rolling off him, black and seething, bristling and strained, just waiting to snap.

It was an aura I knew all too well.

“I’m making burgers for dinner,” I said, aiming for cheerful though probably missing the mark.

He walked in, bumping my shoulder as he stalked in, then opened the fridge door with so much oomph everything in the fridge rattled. He grabbed out a beer and stomped out of the kitchen. He did it to intimidate and to remind us all of the pecking order in the house. I hated it, and I hated it more because it worked.

I glared after him, then mouthed to Pops, “I hate him.”

Pops nodded sympathetically. “I know.”

He drank another beer as I cooked dinner, then another while he ate, then another as I cleaned up. Then after dinner, because the mood in the house was so tense, Pops went in for a shower so I mumbled something about working on my bike and went out to the shed. Despite the cold and drizzling rain, it was still better than being cooped up with him. The house was too damn small for the kind of energy he was putting off.

Anyways, I’d seen how nights like this ended. He’d drink until there was nothing left, and then he’d cuss and stomp, maybe throw a few things, because it was someone else’s fault he’d run out of beer.

Usually mine.

But apparently steering clear of him wasn’t enough. When I heard the back door slam, I knew he was coming. I was crouching down beside my bike and I sighed. Fuck.

“Hey, boy!” he barked.

I didn’t even have to look up. He sounded drunk and pissed off. I didn’t need to see him to confirm it.

“Said, hey, boy!” he slurred. “Answer when I’m talkin’ to you.”

I never stood up. I kept wiping down the cylinder head. “What do you want?”

“Some fuckin’ respect’s what I want, boy. You gettin’ too big for ya boots.”

I rose to my full height. If this is how it was gonna be, then I wouldn’t let him tower over me. If he wanted dominance, he could fuck off. “My boots fit me just fine.”

“You wanna be a smartarse?” His jaw bulged. His eyes were flat, dulled by beer and self-loathing. “You think you’re too good for your old man?”

I threw the dirty rag onto my banged-up toolbox. “I don’t think anything. Just tryin’ to get by, ya know?”

He lifted his chin and clenched his fist. I could have placated him or tried to make a joke, but I was done with that bullshit. I was done with him. I took my cigarettes out of my pocket, put one between my lips, and he watched as I lit it up. I didn’t look at him. I certainly wasn’t offering him one.

“Gimme one.”

I looked at him then. “What?”

“I said, give me a fuckin’ cigarette.”

“Please.” I took a drag. “Or how about, ‘Hey, CJ, can I have a smoke please?’”

His glare narrowed. “You want a smack in the mouth?”

I took another drag of my cigarette and stared at him. I knew he was about to snap, but I didn’t give a shit. My blood ran hot and my skin felt cold, and I knew this was about to get physical. I blew the smoke out at him and never said a word.

He grabbed my shirt and I shoved his hand away. He was drunk and unsteady on his feet, and I was fucking done with his shit. I wasn’t backing down. He stumbled back, then came at me again, swinging his fist at my face. I ducked back but he caught the corner of my eye. It wasn’t hard enough to knock me down, but it was gonna leave a mark.

While he was off-balance, I shoved him with both hands, hard.

He fell back, tripped over his own feet and fell on his arse in the driveway. He snarled at me and scrambled to his feet, still unsteady, and it took him a second too long because, before he could charge at me again, he wobbled and I shoved him again, sending him sprawling backwards. I stood over him, my fist shaking. I ain’t ever hit anyone, but I’d happily make him my first. “Stay the fuck down,” I spat at him.

He groaned, drunk, but he knew when he was beat. I was pretty sure he’d get even with me at some point, but I’d take my chances then too.

“I’m done with your shit,” I said, pointing at him. “You can’t come back here and just expect to sit around doin’ nothing. Get a fucking job. Buy me a new goddamn lawn mower to replace the one you stole from me. You want cigarettes? Fucking have them.” I took my cigarettes out of my pocket and threw them at him, hitting him in the chest. “And stop smoking in the fucking house.”

I stormed off and half expected him to get up and tackle me to the ground. But he never did. I thought he might wait till I was asleep and come into my room and smack me around, but he didn’t. And it was probably worse that he didn’t. Because it meant another eruption was waiting, a worse one, more than likely, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be around for that.

* * *

“I’m here to see Noah,” I said to the lady behind the reception desk. I’m pretty sure her name was Sheryl. I’d come here often enough over the last two years to hear her say it when she answered the phone.

“CJ?” she asked.

I nodded and gave her a smile, but she kept looking at the bruise on my cheekbone. Great. Someone else that assumed the worst of me.

She walked off down a hallway and I waited in a chair in reception. She came back out a minute later with Noah behind her, and he stopped when he saw me. His eyes grew tight, and he waved his hand back down the hall. “This way.”

I followed him, and as soon as we were in his office, he shut the door. “What happened?”

“My old man wanted a cigarette.”

He flinched. “Just say the word, CJ, and I’ll have Terrell throw his arse back in jail.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about him.” I looked at the door, and not knowing just how soundproof his office was, I whispered, “It’s real good to see you.”

He finally smiled. “You too. Real good.” Then he frowned at my cheekbone. “Does it hurt?”

“Nope. He caught me with his knuckle. He was drunk and falling over, so I pushed him on his arse and told him to get a fucking job.”

Noah’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”

I sighed. “Yeah, well, I’m not expecting him to let me get away with it, but at least he knows how I feel.”

“You don’t have to stay there,” he said quietly, seriously. “You have options, CJ. You never have to stay where you don’t feel safe.”

“I won’t leave Pops.”

“You don’t have to. Bring him.”

“Where to?”

“My place.”

Now it was my eyes that went wide, but I quickly shook it off. “Noah.”

“I’m being serious. It doesn’t have to be permanent. Just somewhere safe and he won’t know where you are.”

I ignored his offer, not ready for the meaning behind it. I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket. “I brought a phone bill and my birth certificate. I wasn’t sure what you needed for a bank account.”

Noah nodded slowly, resigned that any talk about my father was finished with. “Then let’s go get it sorted.”

Half an hour later, we were sitting in the bank, and after I scribbled my signature where I was told to, the lady handed me an ATM card. “All done. You just need to activate your card and pick a PIN.”

I looked at Noah, and he smiled. “A four-digit number for when you want to use your card or take money out.”

The lady looked at me like I was seven kinds of stupid. I’d never had a bank account before. How would I know how these things worked? I inserted it into the machine like she showed me and had to pick four numbers I’d remember. Then I saw the little letters under the numbers. No, I weren’t too good with spelling but I could spell that.

I smiled and slowly punched in the numbers 6624.

N-O-A-H

I sat back, still smiling proudly.

“Will you remember it?” Noah asked.

“I won’t ever forget it.” He gave me a confused look, so I explained. “It spells Noah.”

He barked out a laugh. “You’re not supposed to tell people.” Then he realised what I’d said and a slow, gorgeous smile spread across his face. “Really?”

I nodded, and my God, I thought he was going to kiss me in the middle of the bank. But the lady handed me a bunch of papers I’d never read. “All done!”

We walked out without speaking, and by the time we got to his car, he was grinning. “Really? Did you really pick my name?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

He paused and looked right at me. “You know, that just might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

That made something wonderful bloom in my chest. “Really?”

“Yep.” But then he ruined the moment by checking his watch. “We need to get to your drug and alcohol meeting.” And just like that, my heart sank.

He drove me there and pulled the key from the ignition. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m coming with you.”

“What for?”

“I want to support you. It’s your last one.”

“Are you even allowed to do that?” I asked.

“As your boyfriend, probably not. But as your parole officer, I sure can.” I was about to object, but then he said, “I’m really proud of you, CJ. You’ve never missed a meeting. Even though you’ve never done drugs, you keep doing the right thing by showing up.”

“Didn’t really have much choice, did I?”

He shrugged. “Still. You should be proud. I’ll even buy you dinner afterwards. How does that sound?”

“Dinner and a movie on your couch?”

He grinned. “Hell yes.”

“Deal.”

* * *

The meeting was as they always were. A group of eight people sat around with Maryanne leading conversation and discussions. Noah had introduced himself to her before we got started and he stood to the back of the room, leaning against a desk, just watching and listening. No one seemed to even notice him, much less care that he was there. And I wasn’t gonna say anything—I mean, I hadn’t in two years, so why start now? But then near the end of the meeting, Maryanne singled me out. “It’s CJ’s last meeting with us today,” she announced. “He’s been coming for two years, never missed a meeting.” She glanced quickly at Noah before smiling back at me. “He’s been a quiet member of our group.”

Which was her way of saying ‘he’s never contributed or joined in.’ Which was true, but I’d told her from the very beginning, I ain’t ever did no drugs. She just chose not to believe me. And given she’d brought me to the centre of attention, I figured why the hell not finally say something.

I sat up straighter in my seat and cleared my throat. “Well, I ain’t ever said anything before because I don’t really have much to say. You guys come here to talk about your problems and that’s great and all, and I can really see some improvements and you all should be proud. But I ain’t ever taken drugs, and I rarely drink. I’ve been made to come to these meetings because I got busted stealing prescription meds from a chemist. I didn’t know, but what I took was the ingredients for cookin’ up meth or something.” I shrugged. “But I didn’t know because I don’t read too good and I was trying to get my Pops’ medication because he don’t breathe too well without it, and normally I pay for it, but my old man stole my money.” I looked right at Maryanne and pointed to the bruise on my cheekbone. “He’s the one who gave me this, so before you just assume I’m a meth-head gettin’ in bar fights, you might wanna ask if everything’s okay at home. Because sometimes it’s not.”

Okay, so saying something turned into word vomit. I stood up and wiped my hands down my thighs. Maryanne sat there, stunned and hopefully thinking about how she’d treated me over the last two years. “Are we done? Because I’m done.”

Maryanne blinked and nodded. “Uh, yes, of course.”

I looked around at the others, who were all staring at me. “Good luck.” And with that, I turned and walked towards the door. Noah was standing there, not leaning on the desk anymore, with wide, disbelieving eyes and a smile that squeezed my already thumping heart.

I pushed open the door and gulped back fresh air as I walked outside. God, my hands were shaking, and I had no idea what the hell made me say all that.

“CJ! Wait up!” Noah called out behind me. I stopped walking and turned and he ran to catch up but he didn’t stop when he got to me. He almost tackled me in a hug. “Holy shit,” he murmured into my ear. Then he pulled back, keeping his hands on my shoulder. “I can’t believe you just said all that.”

“Neither can I.”

He was grinning. “How does it feel?”

“I don’t know. Good, I think.” I held up my hands. “I’m shaking.”

He laughed and pulled me against him again. I didn’t even care that it was in public because it felt so damn good⁠—I was starting to think his hugs were magical. I could literally feel the weight of my troubles get lighter every time he did it.

I slid my arms around him and hugged him back, and to any passers-by, they’d know this wasn’t a man-hug. There was no back-slapping, no awkwardness; it wasn’t brief. We were joined from thigh to head with our arms wound tight around each other. This wasn’t really a hug. It was an embrace, a moment between two men. My first-ever public display of affection, with anyone, let alone a guy. It was getting kinda late but it wasn’t dark, and yet I just couldn’t bring myself to care.

I needed him and he was there. That’s all that mattered.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said softly. Then he pulled back and gave me a smile. “You ready for our date?”

“Date?”

“Well, yeah. Dinner and a movie, maybe a little making out. Pretty sure that’s a date.”

I took a deep breath and tried not to smile too hard. “Something else to add to my list of firsts.”