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So long as I didn’t let myself care about anyone and anything outside the bubble of reality Asher and I had created, I could keep him to myself. He was, after all, the fulfillment of every dream I had ever had. Not that I had let myself believe those dreams could come true.
I remembered, when I woke up next to him one early morning, how I had been desperate to leave the house that we had shared in high school. I remembered how moving in with him and living those few years together had been the kind of torture I had never encountered again in my life. I remembered how he had visited me in my dreams and haunted my waking hours even when he was nowhere near me.
And now, you are mine, I thought, looking at his face. He was fast asleep in my left arm, sleeping on his side, facing me. His tousled curls were pointing in every direction and his eyebrows weren’t frowning in a deep sulk when he was asleep.
Asher Sullivan was a beautiful guy. He inherited his mother’s looks as much as I resembled my father in certain areas. The fact that our parents were married and served as stepparents in this criss-cross sort of way almost didn’t bother me, so long as I kept my walls in place.
How much longer can we live behind a force field? I didn’t have an answer to that. The days were passing almost too quickly for my liking. We were facing impossible obstacles everywhere I looked. There was always danger lurking outside our rooms. Yet there were dangers back at Northwood, too. No, I didn’t doubt we would be accepted for our sexuality. Asher was out and it was only a matter of time before my sexuality was brought up in a conversation. The Arctic Titans celebrated their diversity. I remembered the music that blasted from the basement on the night Sebastian and Tyler came out. Well, stumbled out of the closet, they called it. I’d joined the party late, but not too late to see that my teammates were the sort of people this world desperately needed.
And yet, I had never admitted to anyone that I was into guys, too. “Why hide it?” they would ask. “Why keep it a secret when you know nobody here cares?”
“Because it’s my stepbrother I want. Only him.” And how would that answer work out for anyone? So I’d kept quiet. I hadn’t told Beckett or anyone else, even when everyone around me seemed to be discovering new appetites.
I only have eyes for you, baby boy, I thought, caressing his cheek softly with the back of my finger.
As our days at the lakehouse passed, I discovered that our parents were too focused on themselves to notice. It was equally strange to admit it as it was liberating. Of course, they had their own lives and their own struggles. When there was nothing to suspect, they had no reason to snoop around. I kept telling myself that they wouldn’t discover the truth so long as we didn’t betray ourselves. If we didn’t give them all the clues, they would never know to look for them.
Now, what did that say about this whole situation? That Asher and I getting together was so unlikely that it was practically unimaginable. And why? That part was simple. They still saw us as a family first. Brothers.
I shuddered.
Asher opened his big, dazzling eyes and lifted his head off the pillow. “Huh?”
“Hush,” I whispered. “It’s nothing.”
He dropped his head on my chest and dozed off. Last night, we had met on the balcony when Eileen and Dad had gone to bed. We watched the spot where we had wrestled that first time and where Asher had gotten hard for me. Over two weeks had passed since that night and yet they felt like a blur. Like a single day and a single night. Like one endless dusk and dawn. All this sneaking around was exciting and devastating in equal parts, so Asher and I retreated to his room and lay in his bed and talked. Some nights, it felt so easy to talk to him. It felt so easy to share our individual dreams and discover that they had aligned. Or to revisit the past with a new context.
That one time Asher had stormed off from the lake after I’d playfully dunked him underwater? In defending himself, he had apparently flailed and brushed his hand against my body and the contact had turned him on so much that he couldn’t stay near me. I’d always thought he was just angry that I dared to touch him.
Other times, words were totally unnecessary. We spoke with our fingers, our sighs and gasps, our lips on each other’s nipples.
We ranged from slow, deep thrusts that made us feel like one being in two bodies to hard and vindictive power-fucking that threatened to break the bed. Having to press my hand over his mouth to keep him from waking our parents was an act equally horrific as it was arousing.
As the sun rose higher and poured into the room, I turned my beautiful lover onto his back and pulled my arm out from under his naked body. Even when we didn’t fool around, I loved feeling all of him against me. Clothes were a barrier neither of us wanted.
I searched for my underwear under the bed, pulled them on, and stalked out of his room while he slept, but not before I pressed my lips against his brow for a long moment.
Back in my room, I gathered my clean clothes and carried them to the bathroom. I showered with cool water that cleared my mind and then descended the stairs quietly to find Dad examining the contents of the fridge.
“Hey buddy,” he said in a quiet yet cheerful tone. “Up already?”
“It’s nearly seven,” I pointed out, my voice a deep rumble.
“It’s summer,” Dad said.
After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat on one of the stools by the kitchen island and folded my arms on the counter.
“How about pancakes?” Dad asked.
I looked at him and wondered what was wrong. He wore a short stubble, a few shades darker than how he normally let it get. Then there was the way he stood like something hurt. His back? His neck?
I pushed those thoughts aside. “Can’t we have something healthy?” I asked, my voice a little lighter even though it was still groggy with sleep.
“Can’t you be a kid for a while longer?” Dad asked. “For your old man?” We exchanged a look that was melancholic and playful in equal parts. “You used to love my pancakes. I remember you waking me up half an hour too early on school days to make sure we had enough time for pancakes.” As though he hadn’t heard my words, he was pulling up a mixing bowl and getting the ingredients he needed. He was the master of fluffiness, or so he called himself.
“I’m afraid I can’t reverse time, Dad,” I said softly.
He was already whisking the mixture in the bowl when he shook his head. “When did it all get so complicated?”
