The next day, Preston lingered at the grocery store after his shift was over for the day.

What the hell was he supposed to do with his life now?

Normally, this was when he’d be hurrying out to get to Joe’s and secure his spot at the bar top with the others. Luke would be setting things up for a busy night. Paul might or might not be there, but if he was, he’d be tossing bottles around and showing off and generally managing to be helpful and a nuisance at the same time.

The others would be coming in as well. Travis and Lance. Hank would be chatting with them, and then ducking into the kitchen to yell at people, and then coming back out again. Seth might even be in one of the booths, doing his homework, with or without some of his friends and his girlfriend.

But Preston couldn’t go.

It was like being in high school and being told he couldn’t have lunch with the cool kids. He’d never experienced that in actual high school, but he suddenly felt like he understood all of those teen movies about the poor misfit.

He knew that it wasn’t something Luke was happy about. This wasn’t Luke being petty. But it was hard not to feel like he was being shoved out nonetheless.

Some of his coworkers even commented on it. Preston tended to keep to himself during work. He couldn’t afford to get into a fight and lose his job. It’d happened a couple of times before. But they all knew that at closing time, Preston lit out and headed to Joe’s.

“Nowhere to go tonight?” one of them asked.

Preston shrugged. “Nah.”

“Well, have a good night, then.” His coworkers looked awkward, like they weren’t sure how to handle this break from the norm.

Preston clocked out and went from the back into the store itself to get some groceries. Usually he got a burger at the bar—Luke let Preston and the others eat at half price, since they were there every night, and ended up eating there because Hank’s food was just too good to be resisted. But if he wasn’t going to be spending time at the bar anymore, he’d need to remember what it was like to actually cook for himself.

Luke had texted him earlier, letting him know that he’d signed Preston up, and that an email would arrive soon with the time and location of the anger management meetings. Preston was going to have to complete a certain amount of activities and goals, and attend a certain number of meetings, before he could get a certificate saying he’d “passed” the course, but he was apparently—according to Luke—encouraged to keep attending even after he’d passed.

Preston had no intention of doing anything like that. The moment he got his certificate, he was out of there and back at Joe’s where he belonged.

He wandered kind of aimlessly, not sure what he should get. He stocked up on some essentials like orange juice and bread, then wondered if maybe he should just indulge and get some boxed mac and cheese or something…

Preston turned the corner and saw another man up on his tiptoes, trying to reach a box up on the highest shelf.

“Here, let me get that for you.”

Preston was used to being one of the biggest of his friends—along with Travis—and getting the guy the box he was reaching for was automatic.

“Thanks.” The guy turned to smile at him, and Preston did a double-take.

He was a little on the short side, although not as small as Lance. His eyes were arresting—at first they looked just dark, brown maybe, but when Preston took a moment to really examine them, he saw that they were gray-green when they caught the light. It was kind of fun, seeing that odd contradiction in their color.

The rest of the guy was pretty damn good looking, too. Sandy hair that flopped into his eyes, a face that was soft and angular at the same time, and a sort of loose, relaxed posture to his limbs. Preston vaguely wondered why he hadn’t seen him around before. Most of the town ended up at Joe’s at one point or another.

“Hey.” Preston felt his usual flirtatious smile spreading over his face. “Sorry for asking, but are you new in town? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Ah, yup, small town, isn’t it?” the guy laughed. “I’ve been here for a few years. I’m just a bit of a hermit.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Preston blurted out before he could stop himself.

The guy laughed again, blushing—which was a good sign. There were few things more embarrassing than hitting on a guy who turned out to be straight.

“I’m Brad,” the guy said, holding out his hand.

“Preston.”

They shook, and Preston thought he saw a kind of knowing gleam enter Brad’s eyes momentarily, but then he dismissed it.

“So, the hermit’s emerging from his lair to gather supplies and then hurrying back inside again?” Preston joked.

Brad chuckled. “Something like that. You grew up here, then?”

“Hell yeah.” Preston shrugged. “I know most people don’t brag about growing up in a small town, but I’ve always liked it. Although I’m not sure you can call it a small town anymore, y’know.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing like it was when I first moved here,” Brad admitted. “There’s so many new people moving in all the time. It’s kind of sad and kind of nice at the same time.”

Preston nodded. He understood that double feeling—grateful for some things, like being able to order takeout, and having grocery stores that were open late, but also upset that the places he knew were disappearing and some people were getting shoved out, and that sense of community was fading.

“What brought you here, then?”

“My mom moved out here, and I ended up following to be close to her.” Brad shrugged.

Preston opened his mouth to suggest that Brad come by Joe’s sometime, but then remembered that he wasn’t allowed at Joe’s for the time being. “Well, glad I finally met you, hermit or not. Hopefully I’ll get to see you around a lot more.” He let his eyes drag over Brad’s form, taking in the elegant lankiness of Brad’s frame, the wonderful contradictions in the way he seemed to look and hold himself.

Brad blushed a little again. “Yeah.”

“You could—I mean, I don’t know if you’re busy, but my friends and I like to play football on Saturdays,” Preston said, taking the chance. “We usually need another guy.”

Brad smiled at him, looking taken aback, but in a good way. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll think about it.”

Preston grinned. The guy was kind of quiet, but he seemed receptive.

“I should, um…” Brad gestured at his basket of food. “I should check out.”

“Oh, right, me too.”

They ended up walking to the register together. He asked where Brad originally was from, and Brad told him Chicago—Preston mentioned he had some friends who worked in the city, and that whole subject kept them occupied until they paid and exited the store.

Brad was easygoing, and a little shy, completely unlike the guys Preston usually hooked up with. He was intrigued, he had to admit.

Preston decided to take a chance. He hadn’t done anything like this in … well, ever. He’d never dared to ask anyone out on a proper date, or do anything other than hook up with someone. Not since he’d realized what a goddamn mess he was.

But something about Brad just made him want to go gentle and slow.

“Hey,” he said, pausing. “Did you drive here?”

Brad shook his head. “No, I can walk; I live just a couple of blocks down.”

“Would you mind if I walked you home?”

To his surprise, Brad looked furtively around. “Um, maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea.”

Preston frowned. “What do you mean?”

Sure, he had a reputation for starting fights at Joe’s, and he knew that a couple of people, including Eric, had been warned off of Preston before because of his temper. But surely his penchant for starting fights wasn’t so bad that some random person had heard of him and didn’t feel safe walking home with him.

“It’s just…” Brad cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, not out to family yet. And this is still a small enough town … people talk.”

Preston stared at him.

He hadn’t ever really thought about the whole coming out thing. Sure, it had to happen, since it was still “straight until proven otherwise.” But all of his friends were gay, and they’d been hooking up and dating and pining after one another since high school. It was just sort of accepted.

And the town could hardly ostracize half the men who lived in it. There’d been times when people were awful, yeah. Preston had gotten into some fights, along with Travis, over some prejudiced things that people had said.

But the idea of his family not knowing who he was, or of any of their families not knowing … it was almost unfathomable to him. Even his dad had known, and his relationship with his dad had not been anything close to genial.

“You’re worried about being outed to your family if I walk you home?” he asked, still a little incredulous.

Brad nodded, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. It’s just … it hasn’t happened yet, and I’m not comfortable with it…”

“I mean, you walking home with a guy doesn’t necessarily mean you’re romantically involved,” Preston pointed out.

“I’d rather not risk it.”

Preston couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes as irritation rose up in him, making his skin feel tight. “Talk about some paranoia.”

Brad raised an eyebrow. “You know, I was wondering if everything I heard about you was true. I’m guessing it was.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I was Hank’s roommate until he moved in with Eric,” Brad replied.

Preston could’ve smacked himself. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I knew your name was familiar.” He should’ve realized—he should’ve remembered the name of Hank’s ex-roommate. Hank even hung out with the guy still, all the time, and talked about him; how had Preston not put the pieces together?

“He’s told me all about you,” Brad went on, folding his arms. “How you’re aggressive, always picking fights; how you got kicked out of the damn bar because you couldn’t keep from causing problems.”

“At least I’m not ashamed of who I am,” Preston shot back. “I mean, Jesus, I get there are some places where you have to hide it, but really? Here? Sometimes I swear half the town’s gay. You’re making it harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

“And I could say the same thing to you. What are you, five? Picking fights, answering every problem with a fist to the face? What kind of behavior is that? Stop acting like a child, and maybe your friends won’t have to play parent and discipline you like one.”

Preston really, really had the urge to hit him, and he could tell that Brad had noticed. It felt almost like Brad was reading his every thought and intention, and it unsettled him, to say the least.

“Have it your way,” he growled. “Maybe who I am isn’t the best, but at least I own who I am, and I don’t pretend to be anything else. What kind of life are you leading if you’re not being yourself? If you can’t spend time with someone that you want to spend time with because of some stupid rules you’ve imposed on yourself?”

“And what kind of life are you leading? How’s that getting kicked out thing working for you? Enjoying that?” Brad shot back.

Preston knew he had to get out of there before he got nasty and said something that he really couldn’t take back. But it was so hard to think when all he wanted to do was just…

Brad seemed to understand that this was going to get bad, because he took a step back and put his hands up in a kind of surrendering gesture. “Look, I’m going home, okay? I’m not dealing with this any longer.”

He turned and started walking off. Preston wanted to follow him—wanted to tell him that hey, this wasn’t over, not by a long shot—but he wasn’t quite that stupid. Brad was disengaging. He was walking away. Preston was in deep enough trouble with Luke; he didn’t need to get into a fight in front of his place of work, too.

He took a deep breath, but it didn’t really settle the restless anger inside of him.

Good riddance, anyway. He’d never seen Brad before. His chances of seeing the guy again were probably nil.

Ignoring the angry, lonely ache in his chest, Preston turned and walked in the opposite direction.