Chapter 7
Wes
Therhythmofthewindshield wipers swishing back and forth makes me drowsy. The road is slick as I wind through the mountains, so I have to be careful. I flip on the radio and tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I sing along toSo Easy to Fall in Loveby Olivia Dean.
This is the first new car I’ve ever owned. Generally, I could only afford beat-up pieces of shit. With this new job, I got myself aNissan Leaf EV. Dennis will be so proud of me for going electric.
I’ve been driving for about two hours now, as I make my way home to Cannon Beach. Is it still home if I have a new condo in Eugene? I’d like to think so. One is the home I live in, while the other is a home I can always come back to, filled with love and friendship.
Currently, my place in Eugene is filled with stress, thanks to Jared ‘Jett’ Cordier.Asshole.God, why does he have to live in the same building as me?
One minute, he’s brushing me off, and the next, he’s trying to compare dick sizes as we go for a run. Then he felt me up and made me come. After that, he dick-measured again in the meeting the other day.
Whiplash.
That’s what I feel whenever I’m around Jett. Fucking whiplash. And that’s what I’m going to call him from now on, if he calls me Wilson once more.
And here I was thinking something tragic had happened to him. Nice to know he’s just an asshole who does whatever he wants.
Still… I fucking came when he touched me. A dude. Talk about a first. I’ve been wrapping my head around that craziness for the past week. Not to mention how many times I’ve masturbated to visions of that night. It’s almost embarrassing. I can’t get over how I reacted to him with so little effort and resistance.
Yeah, I need my family and friends to ground me, which is why I’m heading home for the weekend. I need my feet firmly planted on the earth again. No one knows I’m coming, so I can surprise them.
An hour later, I pull into the small driveway of my childhood home.
A bit of homesickness hits me when I look at the one-story cottage home built in the late 1940s. It’s painted in olive green with white trim and a bright red door. It’s only about 900 square feet, with only two bedrooms, but when I turned thirteen, my granddad converted the storage loft above the kitchen into a room for me. Is it a room when there’s only a ladder to reach it and no walls? It was to me. It wasn’t quiet, but I loved having my own space after sharing a room with my mother for years.
The place may need some TLC, but the best part is the beach, which is only five blocks away and where I trained almost daily.
I climb out of the car into the drizzling day and head for the front door. Everyone should be home, except for Mom, since she works most Saturdays. Grandma works as a seamstress for the community, making curtains, dresses, and stuff. Grandad has his own mechanic shop, but he’s semi-retired. He can’t really retire since he’s the main breadwinner.
Now that I’m working, I’ve started sending them money to help out. It’s the least I can do.
I open the front door and walk into a cramped home filled with warm wood, white shiplap walls, and mismatched furniture. I like to call it ‘boho-coastal-poor’. Grandma made all the decorative floral pillows and curtains for the house, and she has shelves and shelves covered in old books, sea glass bottles, and seashells. The house smells of bacon and apple pie.
I’m hit with memories of family game nights, learning to cook with Grandma, reading to Mom, and talking with Granddad whenever I needed to discuss ‘man’ stuff.
Fuck, I miss this house. While we struggled a lot, it was never without love.
I was the first in my family to graduate from college, let alone get my doctorate. It was a big deal. In fact, sitting on the living room coffee table is a large, framed photo of me in my cap and gown.
“Hello?” Grandma calls out.
“What’s up, G-Ma?”
“Wes, is that you?”
“The one and only.”
I greet her in the kitchen, lift her, and give her a little spin off her feet.
“Put me down, Wes,” she giggles. “I’m too old to be spun around like that. Now, I’m dizzy.”
I grin, setting her back on the floor, and plop onto a kitchen chair. “I thought I’d make a surprise visit.” I reach for an apple, sitting in a bowl on the kitchen table, and take a large bite. “Are Granddad and Mom home?”
She fixes some stray gray hairs that have fallen out of her braid. “Your grandfather is on his way home from the shop. There was a transmission problem with a car. Your mother is working. She’s going to be so happy to see you, Wes. She misses you.”
“And I miss her… all of you.”
