Gabriel had expected his hands to shake with fear as he opened the car door. Instead, he sank into the mud of Art’s front yard with his head held high and a smile on his face.

After all these years wanting to get out, he felt like it was coming true. Sure, he wasn’t exactly following his dream, but that didn’t matter for today.

No more staying awake wondering if the space heater would catch fire tonight. No more frustrations about cooking on a hotplate. Hell, no more nights listening to the siding rattle against the shed.

And, most importantly, no more wondering if Art and Chad were drunk enough and angry enough to do something really stupid.

Chad’s truck wasn’t there, so he wasn’t, either. That made Gabriel feel even better about his chances of getting out of here without confrontation.

Once he got himself unstuck from the infernal, ever-present mud, he squelched his way to the relatively dry land of the path to his shed. At least he’d taken the trouble to fill the path with gravel, so the frequent storms in the summer didn’t leave him swimming in mud as he tried to get to and from his car.

If Art was hungover or napping and didn’t notice him and Orion moving his shit out, so much the better. He’d approach him after all his stuff was out and tell him that he was gone.

No more rent, and no more verbal punching bag.

“You got the keys?”

“Yep.” Gabriel dangled them between himself and Orion.

“Does he have a copy?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said again. “Why?”

“I’ll go in first. Just in case.”

Gabriel cast Orion a fond look, but Orion didn’t notice. He was already in work mode, his eyes scanning the house and the yard for any sign of movement. Orion was hot when he was acting like this. Gabriel barely refrained from distracting him.

There was no sign of Art inside, either. As he gathered his clothes into plastic garbage bags—the most convenient containers he owned—Gabriel slowly relaxed.

By the time they’d hauled them to the car, then his few mementos, books, and fresh foods, Gabriel wasn’t so sure it was a good thing.

“We should go inside afterward, just to… make sure.”

“Yep.” Orion cast Gabriel a look that told him he’d already thought of the worst possibilities.

“And the tow truck? God, I hope my car isn’t finally fucked.”

“Here in fifteen minutes. If anyone can get it working, it’s this guy. Don’t worry about it yet. We’ve got time for another couple rounds of stuff.”

Gabriel let his breath out and nodded. He just had to take care of gathering the rest of his possessions. Orion was handling the big stuff. This time, with Orion’s help, Gabriel gathered up his little touches of home—the throw blankets, wall art, everything personal to him.

The shed was looking more and more like a shell, or the world’s least effective bomb shelter. It was nearly empty now. After the last day at Orion’s house, it looked both intimately familiar and, strangely, barely habitable.

How had he lived here for going on three years without a word of complaint?

None of the appliances were worth taking, and he had no furniture to speak of. The more Gabriel looked around, the worse it looked to him, and the more he appreciated Orion never breathing a word of criticism or even comment.

He must have felt so bad for me. Gabriel straightened up after one last check of the place for anything even remotely important to him. “That’s it,” he said and shook his head, not letting Orion take the last heavy box from him.

He was all the more determined to prove that he could pull his own weight. He had savings now. With a good job in the city, he probably could have made it work. What the hell had been keeping him here? Routine?

That was gone now, his life heaving under him like a dock in a storm.

“Let’s drop this in the car and go have a word with Art, then,” Orion said. His tone was light, but Gabriel could tell he was worried that Art hadn’t made an appearance, either. They’d been here for a good forty minutes already.

Gabriel slammed the car door after the last box, then looked over at his own car.

“I told them to bring it straight to Peggy’s auto shop. Connor’s working today. I bet he can get it fixed up for you in a day or two.” Orion rested his hand on his shoulder. “He’s cool.”

“Isn’t he the guy who was always in trouble in school?” Gabriel furrowed his brows. Connor would have been a year or two ahead of them in school—maybe three—but they’d heard tales of his reputation when they were freshmen.

Orion gave him a crooked smile. “People sure do change around here.”

That was a good point. Gabriel chuckled under his breath and nodded. “You’re telling me.”

Orion looked at the house, and then his gaze sharpened, and his joking attitude dropped away. He even edged in front of Gabriel, all business.

It was hard to see around the solid wall of muscle that was his… boyfriend? Lover? Then, Orion saw it: the front door was ajar.

Orion gestured for him to wait and walked slowly toward the porch.

There was no need for caution. Art sloped outside in his ragged cotton bathrobe, sweatpants, and an old t-shirt. Everything clung to him just enough that even Gabriel was reasonably certain he couldn’t stash a gun anywhere.

Orion gestured Gabriel closer as he stepped onto the porch.

“Hey,” Art greeted, rubbing his eyes. He looked like he’d just woken up—or maybe like he hadn’t slept at all. He had dark circles under his eyes.

Gabriel didn’t have much sympathy. “Hey,” he said, approaching slowly until he stood by Orion’s side, balanced almost on the edge of the porch steps. He barely wanted to be up here at all, but he wanted to be on equal footing.

“Guess you’re moving?” Art sounded unsurprised, his voice flat. He didn’t seem pissed off at the world today, though. It was a stark contrast to the guy he became when Chad was around.

“Yep. You couldn’t bring your problem to me before accusing me of shit, with Chad at your side?” Gabriel felt Orion’s hand rest on his back lightly, reminding him to keep his cool. He took a breath and let it out, then shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you lie about me.”

“You really don’t have…” Art glanced between them. “A rich city boyfriend?”

“That’s irrelevant,” Gabriel told Art sharply. “Chad’s a jealous asshole. You should know that, even if you are friends.”

Art shrugged slightly and nodded. “Maybe sometimes he is. But he told me you’re hiding money, and laughing behind our backs about… you know. Us. Country folk. Now that you’re too good for us. And then he said—well, that straight guy would go and break your heart when he skedaddled out of town again. I was pissed off at you for not seeing that. I was just… angry at everything.” He trailed off and sighed, seemingly knowing that wasn’t good enough.

“Dating a man who happens to live in Houston right now isn’t exactly running off to the Upper East Side,” Orion spoke up, his tone dry.

Art snorted. “Yeah. I know.” He looked strangely sheepish. “I thought about it, and I guess it didn’t make sense.”

Gabriel reeled for a moment. He hadn’t expected an apology, or even acknowledgment that Art had fucked up. “Oh. Yeah. You were angry, but you were a dick.”

Art rubbed his face and sheltered his eyes from the light for a moment, then sighed. “Guess I deserved a tongue-lashing.”

“The rest of the family will do that for me,” Gabriel told him, his lips quirking into a slight smile. Aunt May would be in touch with her sister, Art’s mom, the moment she heard what had happened. The family pulled together when shit happened—and they weren’t going to spare Art’s feelings.

“Yeah,” Art groaned. He’d clearly already thought about it. “I… It was late, I was drunk, and Chad’s a great liar. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Or tried to scare money out of you.”

The words sent a chill down Gabriel’s spine. He wasn’t going to forget it in a hurry—faking like he had been getting ready for a coffee date with a friend, casually strolling out to the car with his sketchbook and books like usual, while the two of them played with their guns and talked loudly about how much artisanal coffee must cost.

He hadn’t even told Orion what had happened in those few minutes on the line, and he didn’t know how much Orion had heard. But Orion hadn’t pushed him—he never pushed, and Gabriel loved him for it.

“Yeah, that was fucked up,” Gabriel agreed. “And so was all the shit you talked about me behind my back. I heard what you said about me.”

Art’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment now as he looked down at the porch. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So, I’m gone. I don’t hate you, but man, you stabbed me in the back. We can’t be friends, you know?”

Art nodded once.

“I left all the shit you bought in there,” Gabriel jerked his thumb toward the shed. “See you around, Art.”

As Gabriel watched the tow truck giving his car a lift to the town’s auto shop, he shook his head. Thanksgiving was gonna be awkward, but at last, he was out of there.

Hitting the road with Orion a minute later, heading for the farmhouse, felt as much like freedom as all his daydreams of taking off for the city ever had.

But those words stuck in his head, playing on the fears he’d tried to stifle for the last few weeks. Orion had never once said when he was leaving town, and when they’d talked about it earlier, he’d danced around the question.

Was he about to get his heart broken? And did he care?

It felt like the very earth was moving under the foundations of Gabriel’s life, leaving him unsure and unsteady about everything.

Well, not everything. There was one exception: when he looked at Orion, his heart raced like the last five years had never been.

But was a new, tender shoot hardy enough to stand up to the spring storms? Gabriel knew all too well that it often wasn’t.

As they pulled up to the sprawling, rented farmhouse, Gabriel glanced in the rear-view mirror at the possessions—his entire life—scattered and sprawling on Orion’s back seat.

Orion switched off the engine and clapped once, making him jump. “Here we are. Home sweet home, and we beat the storm.”

“Did we?” Gabriel murmured, half to himself, but Orion was already climbing out of the car, shielding his eyes to look up at the dark gray sky.

Gabriel watched him for a moment before he unbuckled, mentally preparing for the task of unloading everything they’d thrown into the car.

No, we didn’t. Not yet.