LUKE
In Jack’s carpentry workshop, we fix the table. Well, “we” is a stretch. I fix it, while Sam stares off into the distance. When I ask him for some nails, he hands me a hammer.
I pry the hammer gently from him and set it down on the workshop bench. Across from us is a couple assembling a clock. They argue and bitch with each other, but every second sentence is peppered with a kiss or three. I like and envy them at once.
Sam is staring at the hammer I set down, and blinking from it to my hands, and I want to know what he’s thinking. I’m almost sure he’s caught up about our kiss last night, because he’s been acting strangely ever since I brought it up in his kitchen.
I wish he didn’t want to leave it. Wish I’d never given him the option to pretend like it never happened.
I find some small nails and start hammering.
Maybe I need to give him another nudge.
Or maybe I just need to find my balls and tell him finally that I’m gay.
Jack chooses that moment to come around and check out our progress. He slaps our shoulders as he steps between us. “How’s it going here?”
Sam jerks back to the here and now, and focuses on the table and then me. He has no idea how to answer the question, and I can’t help but smile at him for it. To Jack, I say, “It’s coming along. Might need to sand the edges here a bit, but then I’d say we’re good. You managing to get anything done for your house? Or are we amateurs keeping you too busy?”
Jack gives a half-shrug, but he’s hardly paying attention to me. He’s turned most of his attention to Sam. “So you’re him,” he says.
Sam looks startled. “Huh?”
“Luke’s neighbor. That’s you.”
“That’s me.”
“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”
I tense and Jack must feel it somehow, because he looks to me and gives me a reassuring wink, as if to say not to worry.
I worry anyway, and I’m gripping the hammer like a madman. I should probably put it down.
Sam has lit up at Jack’s words though, and he throws me a smile. “Oh yeah? Is that right?” Then he turns to Jack. “But I have to confess, you’re more of a mystery. He mentions your name when he talks about hanging out with the guys from work, but I only found out today you run a carpentry workshop.”
For a second, a shadow of disappointment comes over Jack, but then he laughs and it’s gone. “Well sometimes you do have to work hard to get this guy to . . . open up about things.” Jack looks at me sharply.
Sam lets out a sweet-natured laugh and as he moves, his earring glints from the lights above us. “Well that’s true. But I have my ways. I could know all I ever want to know and more about you if I wanted to.”
I shrug to Jack; the movement makes the hammer hit against the bench and I almost drop it. “Guess he just didn’t want to know,” I say, gripping it better.
Jack scowls, but his lips twitch. “Be careful, Luke. You don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He points to the hammer, but his gaze holds mine.
“Yeah,” I say. With that, he leaves us.
But I’m distracted for the rest of the workshop.
When we’re finished and the repaired table is fixed into the back of my truck, Sam slips his sunglasses on and snaps on his seatbelt. I turn the ignition and thread my way between the traffic to make a turn at the next intersection.
My hands tighten on the wheel as I look over at him. I have to tell him. I make the turn first and in the quieter street, I find a park. Once we’ve stopped, I clear my throat and begin. “There’s something we need to talk about,” I say, and Sam jerks his head toward me, swallowing hard.
Before I can continue, though, Sam says, “I know.” He sighs.
“You know?” I say, frowning.
“I remember it, Luke.” He blushes and looks out his window to the small park across the street.
Suddenly I understand what he’s talking about. He’s misunderstood me, and a part of me wants to correct him and get on with telling him the truth while I might have the courage, but a bigger part of me wants him to keep talking. I’ve been dying to know what’s been going through his head, and now he’s opening up to me.
So I nod. “Are you okay with it?”
He looks back at me and nods shyly as he pulls on his ear with the ring in it. “Yeah, I mean . . . it . . . Wait. Are you okay with it?”
I want to laugh and cry out Hell yeah! but I temper myself and say, “Yeah, Sam, I am.”
His smile comes with a breath of relief. “Good.” He’s wearing his sunglasses, but they’re not dark enough for me not to see through them. I know he’s looking at my lips right now, and when he blushes, my stomach dips, like it does driving around blind corners fringed by a deep gorge.
I want him to keep looking at me that way but, after a few seconds, he looks out the windshield. I run my hands over the bumpy rubber of the steering wheel. “So—”
My phone buzzes. Dammit. “Just a sec.” I fish for the phone I placed on the dashboard. Sam finds it first and hands it to me.
It’s Mum.
“Hey darling,” she says. “Just ringing to let you know that I’ll be down for that party end of next week. I’m very much looking forward to meeting your boyfriend.”
My throat constricts and I glance at Sam. He’s slipped his sunglasses to his head and is sifting through the crap in my glove box. I know he’s looking for mints, and I open a small hatch in the console and pull one out for him. “Next week. You’re here?”
“That’s what I said, dear. I’m so excited about your suggestion. I can’t wait to get out of this house for a bit.”
Sam finally sees the mint I’m waving at him. He picks it from my hand, and even the gentle brush of his fingers echoes inside.
It takes me a second to focus on the call again.
“. . . You have no idea how happy and relieved it makes me to know you have someone special in your life, Luke. Now,” she pauses and there’s the sound of the sliding door leading from the kitchen to the back veranda, “what should I bring? As a gift I mean. For the both of them. It’s Sam and Jeremy, right?”
I can’t tell her the truth about how things are. She worries too much. It stresses her, and she needs as little of that as possible right now. Also, Sam being in the car presents a little problem as well. “Mum, I trust you’ll choose something nice. But I can’t speak right now. Can I call you later?”
“Alright. You do that. Love you.”
“You too.”
Once I hang up, Sam grins at me, his cheek swollen with a mint. “Is your mum coming to the party?”
I nod and start the truck.
“Great. I can’t wait to meet her.”
And I really can.
* * *
I drop Sam off at his car and then drive back home. I get there before he does and let myself into his place. I want to make us something to eat. It’s a little early for dinner, but I’m already hungry.
I pull out some mince from the fridge. Maybe some Bolognese would be good. Or chili con carne—
The front door slams.
I jerk upright. Jeremy storms past the doorway and down the hall. A moment later his bedroom door shuts so hard the walls rattle.
I dump the mince on the bench and move to his room. Just before I get there, obnoxious metal grinds out from his stereo. I knock on his door and tentatively pop my head in.
Jeremy is quite dramatically flung out over his unmade bed, his head buried in sheets. He punches a fist against the mattress.
“Jeremy?” I ask, and step over a pile of discarded clothes and a pillow to get to his stereo. I turn the volume down and Jeremy tenses, then slow rolls over. His eyes are rimmed with red.
“Hey,” I say and sit at the foot of his bed. “What’s up, Jeremy? Looks like you might be having a rough day.”
“Nothing,” he says, but his nose is blocked and the lie is obvious. “Just left my ball here.” He shuffles to the edge of the bed. “I’ll find it and be outta here.”
He stands up and I reach out, grab his arm and gently coax him back to sitting down. “Sorry, boy, but I know something’s up. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Jeremy sniffs, and nods, and then shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
I wait for it, and then it happens. He sobs, his mouth pouting. For a moment I see the young Jeremy, the one I know so well. But before I can latch on to the familiar, the teenager is back. “It’s just screwed up!”
“What is?”
“My mum,” he mutters back, staring at his hand in his lap. “I mean, Dad’s going bonkers, but Mum . . .”
“Okay,” I say slowly, “what happened? If you talk about it, maybe I can help.”
“You can’t, Luke.”
“Well, okay. But if . . . if . . . I mean,” I scramble for the right words, but I feel lost. “You know you can come to me about anything, right? Anything. I’ll be there and I’ll do my best.”
He shrugs. And then, after a pause, “So what do you do when your mum says she’s got a fucking boyfriend? And that she wants you to meet him and be nice because he wants us to move in with him sometime.”
I try to think of a suitable answer. I wish I had a right answer for Jeremy, but I don’t. “This is a big change for you,” I say. “It’ll take some adjusting, sure . . . but maybe the guy is great. If he makes your mum happy, is that such a bad thing?”
Jeremy stares at his hands as I talk. Then he sniffs and shrugs. “I don’t want another dad in my life.”
I sigh. “What’s bad about having more than two parents wanting to take care of you? You don’t even know what this guy—”
“Greg,” Jeremy supplies.
“You don’t even know what Greg’s like. What if he’s awesome? Maybe he takes you out for trips and comes to your soccer games to cheer you on? Maybe he helps you with your homework when you’re stuck, or helps get your mum to warm up to something you really want. I mean, it could be great.”
“I don’t want him telling me what to do and being more fucking important to my mum than I am.”
I move so I can gently rest my hand on top of his head. “I know your mum and your dad. One thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that you mean more to them than anyone else ever could. And rightly so.”
Jeremy gives a half-laugh that makes his shoulder jerk, but his head remains bowed. “Yeah, but . . . I still don’t want him in my life.”
He pushes to his feet and shuffles to his desk. Keys rattle, and then he shoves them into his pocket. He grabs his ball and hugs it close. “I gotta go meet Steven again,” he says, barely glancing at me before moving to the door.
“Want a ride?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll walk. Maybe it’ll help me think or something.”
I want him to talk with me some more. Open up a little. Let me convince him that more than one dad wouldn’t be so bad. But he’s not going to listen. Standing stiffly, I nod. “Right. Well.” I move to leave his room. “You know where you can find me.”
I hear a muttered, “Yeah, glued to Dad’s hip.” I pause for a second, unsure quite how to respond, and decide on laughing it off and ignoring him.
When he’s left, I sauté onions on the stove. I go over the conversation with him again and again, trying to figure out why it’s making me feel so damn hollow.
I’m mulling over it, the mince browning nicely in the pan, when Sam is suddenly standing next to me.
I start. “Ah. There you are. You must have driven like a granny.”
Sam drops a bag onto the bench and grins at me. “Nah, stopped somewhere first.”
I want to pry some more, but first I have to tell him what happened with Jeremy. When I’ve finished, he lets out a slow breath. “So Carole told him.” He sighs. “It’s a tough change. I haven’t wholly adjusted to it myself.”
Sam leans back against the counter and looks into the distance.
“How do you mean?” I ask, my voice quiet and barely audible over the sizzling of the mince in the pan.
He shrugs. “It’s nice having Jeremy just around the corner. What Carole and I have had the last ten years has worked. I’m going to miss being so close, having things this easy. I like the idea he can just come and go between us if he feels he needs to, you know? But if he moves up to the Heights . . .”
I lay a hand on his upper arm and rub lightly. I don’t care if it’s not the bro-gap we’re meant to have. “We’ll teach him to drive and get him a car, okay? Then he’ll be able to do the same thing.”
He smiles brightly for a moment, but then it fades. “Am I going to be stuck in the same crappy house forever? Maybe I need to move on too. Make a change . . .”
Then move in with me. It doesn’t have to be this place. In fact, better it wasn’t. But just stay with me.
He shakes his head suddenly. “Nah. So long as you’re my neighbor, I’m not going anywhere.”
I stir the mince harder.
Motioning toward the bag he’d dropped on his way in, I ask, “What’s in there?”
Sam grins, but there’s something sly about it too, and for whatever reason, he’s blushing lightly. “Are you up for an all nighter?”
I look at him and raise a brow. “That depends. Does it involve dancing again?”
He barks out a laugh and slaps a hand on my shoulder. Then he inhales the scent rising from our dinner. “That smells great. Thanks for cooking.”
He shuffles behind me to my other side and pulls out two glasses from the cupboard. Over his stretched arm, he winks at me, and it goes straight to my groin. “Promise there’s no dancing involved.” He takes the glasses and fills them with orange juice. “It does, however, involve my bed and a darkened room.”
I almost drop the orange juice he hands me. It jerks and splashes over the rim onto my hand. I suck it up and pretend like I’m not thinking of us all over each other, fucking till dawn.
I quickly drain the juice and go back to stirring dinner. “What’ll we be doing then?”
He moves back to his bag and draws out a few DVDs. “A Star Wars movie marathon.”
“In your bed?” This is coming from Sam? When he isn’t drunk?
He glances at me, blushing for a moment, and then tries to cover it with a shrug. “More comfy to watch for so long in bed than in the lounge.” He looks at my lips and quickly away. “So, you up for it?”
I am a little too up for it, if anything. “Sure.”
“Then it’s settled. We eat, and then jump into bed.”
* * *
I’m slumped against the headboard in Sam’s bed, all my clothes still on and becoming more and more wrinkled. My jeans are cutting into me at the backs of my knees and at the hips after sitting here for the last three hours.
I look over at Sam, whose gaze is fixed on the TV. We’d both started out sitting on the furthest edges of the bed, but after the first movie, Sam had wriggled in closer to the center.
I’m doing all I can to love the feel of the bed’s edge eating my ass cheek. I’m not about to fall off the bed, but I’m as close as I can get to it.
I’m trying to pay attention to the film, but who am I kidding? I’m too hyperaware of Sam and the fact we’re in his bed, and that—oh God—he’s just shrugged out of his jumper.
He’s wearing a T-shirt under it, but still. We’re in bed. He’s stripping. My mind is wandering . . .
I force my gaze back to the screen. I don’t know if I can handle a whole night of this.
When my ass cheek starts to go numb, I shift slightly.
Sam looks over at me, his profile washed in the greens and blues that come from the screen. He bites his lip and says hesitantly, softly, “Come closer, Luke. You’re about to fall off the bed over there.”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say. But it’s the wrong—or right?—thing to say because Sam reaches over and snags my arm, tugging me closer.
He looks bemused and draws a deep breath. “I’m not going to bite.”
Oh, but I wish you would!
A glance over Sam, and the alarm clock on his side table tells me it’s close to midnight. “Maybe I should call it a night,” I say. “I don’t want to crash in your bed.”
Sam’s fingers trail off my arm, leaving behind a shiver. He turns back toward the TV. “Oh. Yeah, that’s cool.”
But I hear the disappointment in his voice. And I hate that. “I want to do the movie all-nighter with you,” I say, trying to make it better. “It’s just . . . you don’t want me drooling on your pillow when I conk out . . .”
He laughs and looks back at me, more relaxed. With a shrug he says, “I don’t mind. The movies are just . . . it’s better doing it together, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. It’s just . . .”
He looks at me, biting his lip, and my fingers itch to grab him into an embrace and kiss him. “I’m not the most comfortable in my jeans,” I say.
“So, um,” Sam says, “take them off and hop under the covers.”
There’s something in the way his eyes light up when he suggests it that has me swallowing. Something is happening here, I’m just not entirely sure what it is, and what my role is supposed to be.
Uncertainly, I swivel my legs off the side of the bed and shimmy out of my jeans.
It’s much more comfortable as I slide between Sam’s sheets in only my boxers and T-shirt. When I glance over at Sam, he has his gaze toward the TV, but his fingers are clenched tightly on top of the duvet.
“I think I, um,” he says, “maybe I’ll do the same?” His voice rises at the end in a question, and I can’t help but laugh at that.
“It’s your bed. You’re the boss.”
He nods and shifts to the edge of the bed where I hear him undo his zip. The mattress moves as Sam lies back on the bed and raises his hips to slide out of his jeans. The move is so beautiful and erotic that I’m hard in three seconds flat. Shit.
I rearrange myself and the sheets so nothing is noticeable and glue my gaze to his wardrobe door like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever freaking seen.
Every one of my senses is screaming to look back at him. To get closer. But somewhere in the back of my mind is a calm, collected voice that’s telling me to be careful. That if I’m not, I’m going to end up hurting really bad.
I want to listen to that voice. I do listen to that voice. But . . . I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to do it.