09
STEFAN
I really didn’t want to just invite myself inside, but seeing as I was just here earlier today, surely Ryan can’t be too tied up with anything. And his front door is unlocked, so he ought to be here.
“Hello?” I call out again, standing in his foyer, my hand still resting on the doorknob of his front door. “Ryan? You there?”
Applause and laughter erupt to my right. I turn my face to the TV, distracted by the sound. It’s a game show or something, from the looks of it.
Then a door slams to my left.
I snap my head that way. It was his bedroom door.
“Ryan?” I step inside a little more, letting the front door shut, then slowly come down the hallway. “That you?”
When I’m by his door, I hear shuffling and grunting on the other side.
I know this might be a bit irrational, but the first thought I have is: some criminal broke in and he’s strangling Ryan to death. That’s literally what it sounds like.
What the fuck do I think this is? Clue? Was it Ms. White in the bedroom with the rope?
I may never know why I was so bold today, but I put a hand to the doorknob and give it a turn, letting myself into his bedroom. I’ve seen him naked. We’ve changed in front of each other tons of times. There’s nothing that won’t shock me.
“Ryan—?” I call out as I gently push the door open.
Ryan freezes by his bed.
He’s naked.
Except for a pair of socks with blue stirrups … and a jockstrap, which my eyes go straight to.
He’s tenting the jockstrap. It is a teepee. A white jock teepee.
I gape. “Holy shit.”
“Fucking knock!” shouts Ryan, grabbing something off the bed to shield his tented crotch from my view, despite my having already clearly seen it.
The thing he grabbed is a pair of baseball pants, which does not make the what-the-fuckness of this situation any better.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Uh …”
“Get out of my room, dude!”
“Your, uh … front door was unlocked.”
“Get out!”
I grant his wish and close his door, moving back to the living room and chewing on my lip, a handful of thoughts racing across my brain about what I just saw.
Literally zero explanations come to mind as to why he was half dressed in baseball gear. He was obviously caught and trying to get out of the gear as fast as possible.
Zero ideas. Nada. Totally blank.
I pull off my cap and run a hand through my hair, wondering what the hell I should do. When I spot his phone sitting on the kitchen counter, I realize now why he never answered. Of course I assumed that if he was by his phone and saw me calling, he would have picked up right away.
I don’t think it’s arrogant to presume that. I just know.
So I figured I’d pay his house a visit and make my little proposal before I lost my nerve. I know it’s asking a lot of him, but really, I’m a bit out of options here. Parker’s married with twins on the way, and I don’t want to impose myself on his family when I’m trying to help them renovate a bathroom. None of the other guys live here anymore, or else I’ve lost contact with them since high school. I can’t trust myself at a hotel with a bar on the first floor, and it’s going to be a quick money-drainer to live in a hotel for however long before I figure out a more permanent living situation. I’m basically sitting out here all on my own with no one to count on.
Except Ryan Caulfield, who magically reappeared in my life last night.
I’m not a big believer in fate, but really, when the fates drop you a bomb in the form of your former childhood best friend, you have to at least perk an ear.
We were so close as kids, it would have been nothing to just drop by his house at any hour and burst into his room, even if he was in the middle of changing, or sleeping, or even jerking off.
Yeah, I’ve caught him doing that. Twice.
I hear movement near his bedroom door, so I just turn toward it and wait for him to sheepishly stumble out, red-faced, and ask what the hell I’m doing here. If I’m lucky, I’ll get his signature scowl he loves making. I almost look forward to it.
The door pops open. He steps out in the same clothes he was wearing this morning: a pair of baggy jeans and a blue polo that looks like it’s been through a couple circles of Hell.
Instead of coming up to me, Ryan stops by the kitchen to grab his phone from the counter. He glances down at it, then nods and, still not looking my way, mumbles, “Two missed calls.”
“And a text.” I shove my hands in my pockets and watch him carefully. “Figured you would have answered if—”
“I was busy,” he cuts me off, his voice low and his face tense.
I nod. “Sure. Yeah.” I glance back at his bedroom, then return my gaze to him. I try to make conversation. After all, I have to be friendly with Ryan if I plan to smooth things over. “Doing a little baseball photo shoot or some shit?”
He shuts his eyes, looking mortified. “Stefan …”
Really, though. What the hell was he doing? The more I think about it, the less it makes sense. “You put on the uniform every now and then and drive to the batting cages for old times’ sake?”
“Stop.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just stop.”
“I thought you were through with baseball.” My words carry an edge to them—an eight-year-old, unfinished-business edge. “You mean you still got all your baseball things? You got bats and balls and a catcher’s mitt in the garage, too?”
“No. I donated it all to charity. Bats, balls, everything.”
I smirk at him. “Well, except your uniform, obviously.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Stefan …”
“I kinda worried whether you donated your actual balls, too.”
He faces me, his hazel eyes flashing with annoyance. “Why are you even here, Stefan? What do you want?”
The way he stands there looking stiff and bothered and ready to pick a fight, it puts me in a headspace that’s too much like the very one I was escaping at my house. He’s itching for a fight because I clearly interrupted his private little baseball role play—or whatever the hell that was.
This was a mistake. I should have stayed at the damned hotel. “Nah. Never mind. Sorry if I disturbed you.” I turn to go.
“Stefan …”
“It’s cool.” I open his front door and step through it, letting myself out.
I’m by the bed to my truck closing the cap back up when Ryan calls out from behind me, having followed me to the driveway. “Stefan. Wait.”
I turn around and lift an eyebrow, waiting.
He doesn’t seem to know what he wants to say. His lips part, and he searches for the words, but nothing comes out. Then his eyes drift to the opened bed of my truck where all my boxes and bags are. The look on his face changes, and then he turns to me and finds his words at last. “Are you living out of your truck?”
I shrug. “Well, I just might be until I figure a few things out.”
Ryan wrinkles his brow. “What do you mean?”
“I moved out of my parents’ house.”
He bites his lip, then crosses his arms. After a bit, he meets my eyes again. “Your dad?”
I grind my teeth and avert my eyes.
He joins me by the side of the truck and stares at my things a bit longer. “So … you came here to …?”
“Look, I know it’s asking a lot,” I start, “and we sort of just reconnected last night. Well, this morning, more accurately. And we’ve had nothing to do with each other’s lives ever since …”
I shut my eyes and kick myself. The last thing I need to do is dig up all the bad blood between us when I’m trying to ask him for a favor. A big favor.
“I don’t want to put you out or nothing,” I go on, opening my eyes again. “It’d just be for a few days. Only if it’s cool with you. I’ll just keep to myself, get my shit together. I’ll even take the couch.”
A little light returns to Ryan’s eyes, and then he smirks. “Your whiny ass is going to be satisfied sleeping on my couch? Really?”
There’s the Ryan I know. “A couch is a couch,” I answer frankly, straight-faced. “It’s more than I have right now, and—”
And I can’t trust myself on my own. I can’t trust that I won’t just end up beaten-up and drunk by a dumpster again. I need someone around me who gives a shit what happens to me.
I’m just lucky and unlucky enough that the one person who fits that description is Ryan Caulfield.
He looks back at his front door, slaps a hand to the back of his head to scratch something, then finally gives me a nod. “Alright.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Alright?”
“Deal.” He gives me another quick nod. “You can stay here ‘til you get your shit together. I … I have a spare room.”
Spare room. He hesitated. But I neither point it out nor question. I’ll take what I can get. “I appreciate it, Caulfield.”
“Ryan.” The smile he gives me is tightlipped and stiff. “I … I haven’t been called by just my last name since the days I could call you my teammate.”
I nod stiffly. “I won’t be in your way.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m renovating my buddy Parker’s bathroom. You remember him? From Little League and the Morris football team?”
“Sure, yeah,” he mumbles. “Parker.”
“Anyway, I’ll be there most days. You’ll be …” I gesture at him, the words slow to come. “Counseling. School stuff. Your stuff.”
“Just let me help get your things,” he finally offers, cutting off my rambling. “Is … this all you have?”
“Not too much, I know.”
“No problem. You can keep it all inside. I have room.”
I nod, then give the side of my truck a slap. “When I sold my condo up in Frisco, I just brought my clothes, my truck, and my dick. Got rid of my other stuff.”
“Yeah, at least you didn’t leave your dick behind,” he mutters with half a laugh.
I smirk. He’s making an effort, so I probably should too. “Of course, I needed five boxes alone just to bring that. You should’ve seen the movers. Two of them threw out their backs trying to carry the damned thing.”
Ryan snorts. “I see your ego is healthier than ever.”
“Yep. Ego took a couple boxes as well.” I smirk appreciatively at him. “Anyway, anything else I brought back is trapped up in my parents’ attic.”
He rubs his hands together. “Alrighty. I’ll get whatever you need me to. Just tell me what to grab and I’m on it.”
Always helping me. Always serving. Always wanting to do something for me.
“This one,” I say, patting the tiniest box. “Don’t want you to break your back or nothing.”
He sneers at me. “I haven’t gotten that soft.”
“Oh, I know. You did catch that ball in the parking lot earlier.”
“Palm still stings from that.” He eyes me quickly. “Hey, it’s been a while, alright? Cut me some slack.”
I stare at him, sobered up at once. “It’s been a while,” I agree, the words carrying more weight than I think he intended.
Then we carry load after load into his house, the thick silence between us saying more than either of us possibly could.