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Around the break of dawn, I gave up on sleeping. I slipped out of the bed, tip-toed out of the room, and passed down the hallway by several doors from which I could hear our guys snoring. Once I was downstairs, I poured myself a big glass of water to kill the rising hangover and searched for snacks in the kitchen cabinets.
I carried my junk food to the big, decorative fireplace and built up an equally decorative fire. The house was too large to depend on the fireplace for warmth, so it was connected to Northwood’s heating system. Even so, it was nice to feel the lick of warmth when the dry logs caught fire and crackled merrily. Aside from the atmospheric lights in the kitchen, the fire was all the difference between light and dark, so I moved a recliner to face the fireplace and sank into its soft, faux leather seat. It creaked under me as I shifted and struggled to find a comfortable pose. It wasn’t the quality of the recliner but the feelings that raged through me that made me shifty and uneasy.
I tossed Cheetos into my mouth, aware that it was yet another bad decision coming from my brilliant mind.
I squeezed my eyes shut and allowed a wave of euphoria to pass through me. It was as unexpected as my behavior last night. Yet as it thundered through my chest, a sense of deep longing rose to the surface in its wake.
The truth was, I wanted to talk about this. And the only person I could ever talk to about serious things was off-limits. But I wanted my best friend to listen to my ramblings and help me make sense of them.
“Tyler?” The voice startled me. I glanced over my shoulder and found Asher Sullivan standing at the foot of the stairs. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I said, my voice sore. “Why are you up so early?”
“Thirsty,” Asher said apologetically. He gestured at the kitchen island. As he moved toward the sink, he kept looking at me, head cocked. “You?”
“Can’t sleep,” I said.
The new guy nodded. He had arrived here last August, following in his stepbrother’s footsteps, and had a rocky start to his hockey career. He was good, but he was still searching for his style, shifting between cautious and reckless as unpredictably as if it was a very clever strategy. Coach Murray had seen him play on a few occasions before bringing him on, which left Jordan stunned upon hearing the news. The big guy had been worried about a family member joining the team and having to protect his stepbrother, but so far, it looked like Asher was perfectly capable of protecting himself. In fact, Jordan’s attempts at restraining Asher had backfired miserably. The two were never on the same page. It was a can of worms I was in no place to open.
Asher drank water, then hesitated, and seemed to finally make a choice near the stairs. Instead of returning to his warm bed and sleeping in, he walked toward the fireplace. “That thing works?”
“I really hope so,” I said and laughed darkly.
He let out a soft chuckle. Silence gathered between us. I thrust the bowl of Cheetos to Asher and he shrugged, then took a handful. “And Sebastian?”
My heart lurched. “What about him?” Fear that somehow he knew what I’d done warred with hope that I might have someone to talk to. I understood less than nothing.
“How’s he coping with all that mess?” Asher asked.
I popped a few Cheetos into my mouth, crunched them between my teeth, and gazed at the fire. A deep sigh welled in me, but I held it down. “He’ll get there. Slowly.” And I slowed him down further by making him question the only solid relationship he has in his life. The thought rose in me unexpectedly and made perfect sense. Guilt followed it. And notably, not a trace of regret. I managed to separate the two feelings very neatly. “I’m not totally sure how to help him through it.”
Asher pressed his lips tightly, his gaze darting to the fire. He was a handsome guy. The flames lit his face with soft, warm hues, and his eyes sparkled. I examined my feelings, using him in a way. There was no mistaking the fact that Asher was attractive. He was sullen and broody like Sebastian could be at times. His skin was clear and smooth, his hair somehow always perfect even at dawn when it was a messy mop on his head, and his physique was that of a true athlete. And yet, I felt nothing.
He breathed in, his bare torso rising. I wondered what it would feel like to touch his rounded pecs but discovered that I didn’t care. Yet in the same breath, my mind flickered back to Sebastian, and a hole of despair opened in my chest. Sudden fear climbed through my body. Would I ever get another shot? Imagining that last night had been the only chance felt terrible.
Asher’s slow exhale pulled me back to the present. “I’m really not the best person to offer relationship advice.”
“Struggling?” I asked conversationally. I didn’t want to pry.
He gave a little eye-roll as if to say I couldn’t imagine the scope of it. It felt about right. I thought the same thing. My heart tripped as I poked through my consciousness and the memory of the kiss. “What do you think it was like for Beckett when he fell for Caden?” The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was asking.
Asher shook his head. “I imagine he just fell for him and didn’t think all too much about the rest.” He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know if any of that matters at all.”
“Maybe a lifetime of thinking he was straight matters a tiny bit,” I said and laughed dryly. I had an urge to cover my face. I was straight. I had been straight my whole life. And yet, my dick had never been harder than when I kissed my best friend. And my heart had never been fuller than when we talked about being soulmates.
“Right,” Asher agreed. “Maybe just a little. But…he wasn’t straight.” Almost as though it made him sad, he added, “Straight guys don’t fall for other guys.”
I wanted to tell him how wrong he was, but I didn’t know where to begin. “I…don’t know if that’s true,” I said. I couldn’t trust anything I thought I knew.
Asher shrugged. “I knew I was gay when I was eleven. Thinking back, there were clues even when I was six. But I’m not sure it’s the same for everyone.”
“I never even thought about it,” I murmured, then wanted to bite my tongue off. Heat flushed my face, but Asher didn’t wince. He didn’t squirm, he didn’t get excited for gossip, and he didn’t fuss.
He simply nodded. “If you want to talk about anything, I know how to keep a secret. Gay boys usually learn to keep their mouths shut early.”
I glanced at him, hoping that the brief eye contact could convey my gratitude. I looked away because it felt like I was naked, exposed, and completely vulnerable. “I’m sorry that that’s how it is.”
He shrugged. “I was lucky. Mom’s cool. Stepdad’s even cooler. I didn’t have any issues.”
