My brother beat it out of town as soon as he graduated high school, trying to get away from the guy who broke his heart by treating him like some dirty little secret. Back then, no one in this town was gay, not publicly anyway, and since the only guy Chase confided in made him feel like dirt, he left the second he had his diploma in hand. But if he knew Blake liked men too, if he had someone he could talk to, chances are he would’ve stuck around. And if he’d stuck around, I wouldn’t have scheduled a vacation just to see him since he wouldn’t come home, forcing him to get on a plane that would never reach its destination.
Blake may not have been the one that drove Chase from town, but maybe, just maybe, my brother would’ve found the kind of support I couldn’t give him if we’d known Blake might understand his struggle.
So no, Blake may not have broken my brother’s heart, but he could’ve helped save Chase’s life if he’d just been honest. That’s what I don’t know how to forgive.
Now, Blake’s happy with his new boyfriend—boyfriends—while Chase is dead. The worst part is he was so absorbed with hispartnershe wasn’t there for me. Their little sexual revolution was coming to life while I was dying inside, and the only person around to pick me up was our friend Deacon.
The guy doesn’t feed me a bunch of bullshit about things not being my fault, it’ll get better over time, blah, blah, blah. He’s just…there. And while I don’t buy into his belief that a good fuck is the cure for everything, I appreciate that he doesn’t try to tell me the right way to grieve or avoid me like the plague.
So yeah, I may have originally been pissed at Blake for the wrong reason, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have a reason to be pissed.
“I don’t know shit, except that Blake’s not the guy I thought he was.” I see Axel’s shoulders slump from the corner of my eye, which is focused on the clean-shaven brunette striding to the other end of the bar.Why isn’t this day over, yet?
Axel drifts over to his new customer, momentarily blocking him from my view. Then he fills a glass of iced tea—who the fuck drinks iced tea in the winter—and sets it on the counter before punching his order into the register thing behind the bar.
When the chocolatey eyes of my jailer meet mine, I lift my beer in a mock toast. His soft smile turns to a scowl, which damn near makes me smile with pride. Damn he’s cold.Frosty. I chuckle at my witty joke as he averts his gaze, which gives me the chance to study him.
Now that my head isn’t pounding between my skull, I can see that he’s not just attractive, he’s sort of beautiful. Stunning really, in an ethereal way, with creamy fair skin underneath that silky brown hair, and cheeks that are pink from his contempt of me.
What the actual fuck?
Did I really just think of a man as stunning? That’s not like me at all. I mean, for Chase’s sake I’ve taught myself how to recognize what makes a guy attractive, so acknowledging a guy is hot isn’t a totally foreign concept. Especially when that guy has features that are more delicate than rugged, which appeals to my cis nature. Usually, someone has to point him out first though, and never, not once, have I used the term stunning to describe a guy.
I don’t know why my mind conjured up that term looking at my jailer, who’s gaze has wandered back to me, but at least the guy’s glowering at me. That makes me unreasonably proud, and I cast him a smirk that matches the sincerity of my toast. His eyes narrow to slits—God, that attitude—and I have to fight my smirk from turning into something a littlemore… inviting.
Under different circumstances I’d meet that attitude head on.
Sassiness has always been my weakness. In chicks anyway. I loved the challenge of trying to melt the seemingly untouchable woman with some time between the sheets. Sex came second only to snowboarding, and the high I got from both was a feeling I lived for. I always figured I’d never get tired of either, but just like riding, sex is the furthest thing from my mind right now.
Deacon says a good fuck will wake up my libido, though I’m not sure it’s asleep. It feels like it’s gone. Nonexistent, just like my desire to ride.
I can connect the dots between Chase’s death and my lack of interest in riding, but as for the lack of interest in sex… I got nothing. Given my anger, if nothing else you’d think I’d be up for a good hate fuck, but no. I can’t muster the energy to even think about fucking much less go through with the act.
It makes sense I didn’t have interest in much of anything the first few weeks after Chase died, and it makes sense that I don’t want to get on a board now. But I’ve still got no desire to bury my sorrows in someone else’s body, which is pretty out of character for me. That’s why Deacon’s theory is that I need a jumpstart, but if I do what he says one of us will be proven right, and I’m not sure I’m ready to know the answer. I’m scared I might feel something, though I’m just as scared I won’t.
Not knowing seems like the safest option. That’s why I’ve been content to just exist in this drunken limbo where I’m blissfully unaware of reality, but because of Carter's intervention, I’ll be forced to find out how I feel sooner rather than later, as far as riding goes.
Eventually, he’ll convince Hayden to put me on the mountain just like he convinced the judge to make me fulfill my hours there. I can stall for a while—I have a feeling if I act impatient to get on the slopes it’spractically guaranteed Hayden will keep me off them—and as long as I don’t bitch about the cleaning stuff, I figure I can buy at least a few weeks before Carter finds out I’m not riding. Maybe by then I’ll be ready to find out if I can even face the mountain.
Yeah,right. It’s been over four months and I’m no closer to getting on a board now than I was then. That’s not going to change in the next few weeks. I don’t care what they say about time healing all wounds, no amount of time will change the fact that the last time I rode was with Chase, and if I ride again that’s gone forever.
Damn Carter for pulling strings in the name of my career. Chase is dead, and it’s my fault—nothing else matters. That’s why, even though my new babysitter is hot, and riling him up gives me some hint of pleasure—twisted though it may be—I’m gonna stay on my barstool. Even twisted pleasure is something I don’t deserve.
I manage to zone out a bit on the basketball game playing on the TV behind the bar, though it’s impossible to ignore my jailer completely since his seat across the way is still in my field of vision, and we’re the only two people here in the lull between lunch and dinner.
A mop of brown hair makes it difficult to see his face as he scrolls through his phone, though I’m aware he looks up periodically. I can feel his eyes on me, heating my blood.Judging me, I’m sure. Screw that. I’m done for the day, so he doesn’t get an opinion on how I spend my free time. I signal for another beer, ignoring the look Axel shoots me that warns this is the last one.
I’m not sure how long I get lost in the TV—I don’t even know who’s playing, much less the score—but at some point, I register movement across the room.
Hayden drops a few bills on the counter as he rises from his stool, waving away Axel's offer to make change. His eyes wander to me onelast time, and I lift my beer with a cheeky smirk. He spins on his heels and bolts out the door.
I win this round.
Chapter six
Hayden
“Thank you so much for taking David out today,” his wife gushes as one of our instructors leads him out the door. “He’s been looking forward to it for months.”
