CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Beau
Beau is magic. He makes everything okay. ~ Love, Kenny
What in the fuck was I doing? There hadn’t been a doubt in my mind that I was going to go home with the man I’d been dancing with. It had been my plan, what I needed, to fuck Ashton Carmichael out of my damn thoughts.
But that hadn’t happened, had it?
He’d called…he’d called, and now I was going running.
I was lucky the plan had been to hook up tonight, because I never had more than one drink if I was going home with someone I didn’t know. I liked to be in my right mind when I was letting someone inside me. So I’d been able to go to Sawyer’s, who lived close to the bar, and borrow his car since my truck was at home. I didn’t figure Ash was in a position to want to be around a driver he didn’t know.
“Funny you should mention dick, because mine’s broken. I couldn’t even get hard tonight. She wasn’t impressed.”
He’d tried to hook up with someone…he’d tried, and he couldn’t perform. I knew how something like that had to affect him—Ash being so damn proud and having used sex to lie to himself…maybe for his whole life.
“Fuck,” I groaned as I approached Bishop Street. I saw him sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall, looking down, with his arms on his bent knees. The set of his body screamed sorrow. How long had Ash been feeling this way? How long had he been lying to himself?
I pulled the car up to the side of the road and rolled the window down. “Ashton.”
“Sorry, wrong number,” he replied without looking up.
“Not sure that works in this situation.”
“Ashton who?” he tried again.
“Get in the car, Ash.”
“Not sure I can.”
Sighing, I got out, walked over, and held my hand out to him. He looked up at me, his hat—my hat—backward on his head, enabling me to see the pain in his eyes, the confusion…the loneliness…the fear.
“Stop wearing your hat like me. You’ve always tried to be like me.”
“Because you created backward caps?” I teased.
“No, but I’ve always worn mine that way. You didn’t start until senior year.”
“You remember that?” Jesus, how could he remember something so small? Something like when I started wearing baseball caps a certain way.
“Um…no…?” His brows knitted together as he attempted to lie. “We can pretend it was a lucky guess.”
I wrestled with my emotions, wondering what that could mean, because now wasn’t the time for me to think about the fact that Ashton Carmichael remembered inconsequential details about me. This was bigger than me. It was about him. “Okay. Lucky guess, then. Take my hand. I’m not carrying your drunk ass to the car.”
Okay, so I knew this was fucking crazy, but I swear to God, it was like it happened in slow motion. His fingers twitched, hand slid, arm moved, lifted, and then Ash clasped his hand with mine. His skin was warm, so fucking warm, the pads of his fingers rough, and damned if I didn’t feel a jolt of lightning shoot up my arm.
See? Crazy. Why did Ashton always make me so crazy? It didn’t matter if he was annoying the shit out of me or just touching my hand. He made me feel.
Ignoring it, I pulled him to his feet. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but I twined my fingers with his, didn’t let go as I made a move to walk to the car. Ash’s feet were rooted to the concrete, and when I realized he wasn’t going to budge, I stopped, looked back at him. “What?”
“Thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to cock block.”
“It’s fine.” I tried to walk again, but he still didn’t move.
“Don’t pretend like it’s nothing. You make sacrifices for people. You’re a good man, Beau. Just say ‘you’re welcome.’ I’m not getting into the car until you say ‘you’re welcome.’”
I chuckled. Leave it to Ash to throw a temper tantrum to get his way when I was trying to help him. But I guess if he was going to throw one, he picked a sweet reason to. “Well…he was really hot.”
“Hey! I’m really hot.”
Yeah, he was, but I wasn’t going to sleep with him. “Get in the car, Drunky McDrunkerson, before I leave your ass here.”
For once in his life, Ash listened without argument or sarcasm. I helped him into the car and then headed toward his house.
We were quiet the whole drive, Ash with his head against the window. When we pulled up in front of his house, I got out and automatically went to his side to help him. He was already opening the door when I arrived. “I can do it,” he said, a slight terseness to his voice.
“Okay.”
I’d done my job, gotten him home, and knew I didn’t have to go inside, yet I followed him to the porch, waited as he unlocked the door and went inside. There was a tightness in my chest, my thoughts swirling around, battering my brain. I wanted answers. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to be there for him. I wanted to run because somehow I knew that once Ash opened up, nothing would be the same.
“You must think I’m a fucking disaster, huh? I guess I am. I lost my career, and I still can’t keep my shit together.”
“It’s okay if you’re attracted to men, Ash. It’s okay…”
His eyes blazed with a fury of fire, his hands fisting before he unclenched his right one and shoved it through his hair, clearly having forgotten about his cap. “I need a drink.”
“Don’t,” I told him. That wouldn’t help. I had a feeling he’d been using that to help for a long time.
“You’re not my daddy, Campbell.”
I rolled my eyes, following him to the kitchen. “Grow the fuck up, Ash. You drink when you’re uncomfortable…to hide whatever the fuck is going on in that head of yours. Grow up and face it.”
He whipped around toward me. “Fuck you! We can’t all be as goddamned perfect as you!”
“Do you think it’s easy for me? That it was ever fucking easy for me? It wasn’t. Nothing has been. My whole goddamn life has been about other people, and fine, that’s my choice and I wouldn’t change it, but it wasn’t my choice to be a gay man, and I learned to be proud about that.”
“Did you ever think I don’t want to be?” His voice was softer, and when he spoke again, broken. “Did you ever fucking think I don’t want to be gay, Beau? I wouldn’t have had a career if I’d been gay, and who the fuck am I if I’m not Ashton Carmichael, football player!” He gripped the back of the couch, veins pulsing along the length of his arms. “Who the fuck am I, Beau?”
He took off the hat and threw it, chaos in his movements. My heart ached for him, bled for him.
“I’m tired… I’m so fucking tired.” And then he turned, walked down the hallway and into his room. I didn’t know what to do, so I followed. He stood facing the bed, his back to the door, his head down. His spine curled, weighed down by the truth he’d denied his whole life.
“You’re the same Ashton Carmichael. You’re the one who always beat me at everything, because you’re good and you work damn hard. You’re the one who makes people laugh. The one who excelled at football and is a better player than anyone I’ve ever seen.” I took a step toward him, then another and another. “You’re the guy who played in college and made it to the pros. You’re the guy who helped me teach Kenny how to play and who loves my mom’s chocolate éclairs. The guy who would do anything to make someone else smile, who makes it impossible to be in a bad mood around you.” Another step, and another and another. “The guy who kissed me at the end of a dock and made me admit to myself that I was gay.”
He sucked in a sharp breath at that.
“Nothing has changed, Ash. Being gay doesn’t change who you are, just who you love. You’re a good man, better than I ever let you know you are.” Which was the truth. I’d never been truly fair to Ash, had I? If I’d been better to him, maybe he would have felt more comfortable being honest with himself, or me, all those years ago.
“Did my kiss really make you realize you’re gay? It was that good?”
I chuckled. Leave it to Ash to focus on that. “Yes, you cocky motherfucker. It was. I was so damn angry at you because of it too.”
He turned, faced me, a slight flush on his cheeks, his eyes dewy with unshed tears.
“Maybe you’re bisexual,” I told him.
“I’m not bi, Campbell. I’m gay. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be straight…trying to be bi, because at least then I had a choice. I’ve spent years in denial, telling myself that I did find women attractive, that I didn’t find men attractive, that I didn’t crave the feel of a man beneath me, but I did, I always have, and no amount of drinking and fucking women will make it go away.”
He ran his hands through his dark hair, fisted it, tugged. “I don’t know how to do this, Campbell. I don’t know how to be gay.” And when his knees weakened and he fell to the ground, I tried to catch him, went with him, wrapped my arms around him, held him as he cried.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m here. I got you, Ash.” I ran my fingers through his hair, down his back. Closed my eyes as he clutched the back of my shirt, dug his nails into my skin, pulled himself closer as though he was trying to climb inside me.
I didn’t know how long we sat there, how long he cried and how long I held him. Ashton Carmichael…one of my childhood friends, maybe my first real crush, the boy who drove me crazy and challenged me even when he didn’t realize it…the guy I’d always thought was the most confident person I knew, and even though I knew it wasn’t logical, I felt like I’d failed him.
“I can’t believe I just snotted all over you. This better be our secret, Campbell.” Ash sat back and leaned against the bed.
“You can trust me.”
“I know.”
A lone tear fell from his left eye, and I had to fist my hands not to reach out and wipe it away.
“Well, I’m sober now…and tired,” he said.
“You should get some sleep.” I went to move, to stand, but Ash reached out, his hand tightening around my wrist. “Do you want me to stay?” When he cocked his head, I added, “I’m not trying to get in your pants, Ash.”
“Remember? My dick is broken anyway. And I didn’t think you were trying. I just appreciate that you didn’t make me ask. You’ve always been able to read me.”
I trembled. Fucking Ashton Carmichael. He was going to wreck me, ruin me. I knew it as well as I knew my own name. I probably had always known it.
This time, it was Ash who stood and held out a hand for me. I took it and let him help me up. He went into the bathroom as I took off my shoes. I heard water, assumed he was washing his hands, his face, maybe brushing his teeth. When the door opened, he said, “You can go next.” He was still wearing jeans and a tee, so after I took a leak and washed my hands, I kept mine on as well. I went straight for the beanbag chair. It was silly. I could easily sleep on the couch or in one of the other rooms, but I wanted to be close to him in case he needed me. At least that was what I was telling myself.
“Don’t be stupid. You can sleep with me.”
Aaaaand…he truly was trying to kill me. “That might be a problem, because despite your recent issues, my dick is in fully functioning order.”
“Fucker.” He grinned.
“I’m serious. It’s a double bed. Can you upgrade to the master bedroom at some point?”
“Get in the bed, Campbell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hey, my dick just perked up a bit. I guess it is working.”
I groaned. Did he know what he was doing to me? “You’re going to kill me.”
“You like me, Cranky Campbell. I think you always have. I was your first crush.”
I knew what he was doing. He was trying to turn it into a joke, make light of it all because things were easier for Ash to deal with that way. So I walked over, turned out the light, and crawled into bed with him. He was on top of the blanket, so I did the same. We lay there, quiet, shoulder to shoulder in the dark for an eternity when he said, “You were mine too.”
“Your what?”
“First crush.”
Yep. He was going to kill me. I was so fucked. “Go to sleep, Ash.”
“Guess I’m not the only one who pretends things aren’t happening.”
“I’m ignoring you,” I replied because he was obviously right.
“Then why do you keep replying?”
I opened my mouth…then closed it again. Ashton Carmichael would be the death of me.
“Night, Beau.”
“Night, Ash.”
“See? Still not ignoring me.”
I bit my tongue, kept quiet until his breathing evened out and I knew he was asleep. I wondered what in the hell I was going to do.