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“He did fucking what?”
Jesus. I really should have left the gun part out. “It’s fine. He thought there was someone suspicious in the house. I can understand that.” I couldn’t understand pointing a gun in someone’s face, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “I would have done the same. And he kept the safety on, so he wasn’t going to shoot me.” I was a terrible liar. I hoped she couldn’t hear the lie in my voice.
“I’m so sorry, love. If I had known he was going to be there, I would have let him know you were using the cabin. He just popped up. I would have let you know to expect him as well.”
“It’s fine,” I said again. “I wish I knew he had a problem with gay guys, though.”
“So you heard that, huh?” Cass sighed. “Tristan, I didn’t know he was homophobic. I never would have expected that from him. I told him I wouldn’t tolerate that shit from him, and if he had a problem, he needed to leave. Not you.”
That made me feel happy and sad simultaneously. I didn’t want to be the reason the relationship with her brother was crap. “No, don’t do that. Don’t beat him up for it. He’s your brother and—”
“Family or not, he shouldn’t judge you because of your sexual orientation. Momma and Pop didn’t raise him that way. I won’t have it. You’re my family too. You deserve respect.”
I blinked back tears. I loved that she fought for me against her family, but I wish it weren’t necessary.
“Don’t worry, Cass. I told him I would stay upstairs if he stayed downstairs. As much as I would love to leave, I don’t have anywhere to stay in the city, and I felt like I was finally getting myself together this morning. I found this lake, and it was so calming. It was exactly what I needed to start my healing. I don’t want to leave that just yet. But I don’t want to be uncomfortable here either.”
“Aw, babe. I’m sorry he said that. He needs to apologize and make it right.”
“Nope, I told him fuck his apology. I’m good.”
Cass chuckled on the other end of the phone. “Well, can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Look, give it a week. By week’s end, if you don’t feel comfortable, then leave. Momma and Pop will understand, especially when I tell them what he said.”
“Please don’t tell them. It’s already bad enough that you’re pissed at him. I would hate for Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell to be angry with him too.”
“Just so you know, I’m telling them you called them Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell.” That got a genuine laugh out of me. After they found out my parents disowned me, they told me I could call them Momma and Pop like Cass and Lucas because I was their second son. That had meant a lot to me, and I tried to remember when I was around them, but they intimidated me, so it was hard to do sometimes. “Okay, I won’t tell them. But he’s going to be on my shit list until he sets it right with you. I don’t care how much you don’t want to hear it. He needs to make the effort.”
“Well, he better hurry up because you’re cursing an awful lot. I don’t like that.” The tinkle of laughter was music to my ears. I didn’t want her to be upset with her brother. It wasn’t worth it. You can’t change every bigot’s mind.
We talked a bit more about inconsequential things and then hung up. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about Lucas, but I didn’t want to leave just yet. I was getting better. My mind was clearing, and I was getting a feel for my book. My heart still ached, but the pain was dulled. Not by a lot, but enough for me to notice. I needed that.
I grabbed the composition notebook I was making my outline in, left the room, and sat in one of the fluffy arm chairs in the loft space, bringing my knees up to balance the book on them. I probably should have gone to a harder surface, but I wanted to be relaxed and comfortable while I thought and made notes. I could have used my laptop, but I enjoyed the sound of the pencil scratching across the paper. It was comforting.
I didn’t hear Lucas downstairs, but I knew he hadn’t left. His suitcases were still by the door. I didn’t know where he was and didn’t really give a fuck. I wouldn’t give him any more thought as I got myself together. He wasn’t worth it.
We were able to coexist for a week without a single word exchanged. I still went on my morning runs to the lake, although on two of the days, I was too sore, so I drove. On one of those days, I brought my composition book and was able to calm my mind enough to flesh out my characters—their likes, dislikes, quirks, personalities, and most of all, their appearances. That was always my favorite part of writing, envisioning what my characters looked like as if they were real people.
And I guess they were because I found myself describing the CIA agent that was my main character just like Lucas—tall, dark-skinned, huge body that was fit and divine, soulful eyes, gorgeous lips, and the most chiseled jaw I had ever seen. Just because he was a dick didn’t mean I couldn’t admire a good-looking man. It still pissed me off that he had a problem with me being gay, but I wasn’t going to try to change his mind. I knew who I was. I was a good person, and I deserved respect. I wasn’t going to try to convince him he was an asshole. I was sure he could figure that out all on his own.
I crossed out the description and decided to return to that character later. But I kept seeing Lucas’ face as the hero in my novel. I swore to myself, packed up my things, and went back to the cabin. I didn’t write any more that day, afraid of what my brain would conjure up.
I caught brief glimpses of him, though. If I was leaving the kitchen and he was coming out of his room, he would turn around and go back to his room. Or if he was coming inside when I was leaving the house, he would give me a wide berth, seemingly afraid to touch me. I would roll my eyes and keep it moving. No need to interrupt my day for his bigoted ass.
When I woke up after being there for ten days, I realized I hadn’t cooked my Early Morning Special in a while. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just hashbrowns, turkey bacon, eggs, and whatever fruit I had on hand. I only called it that because the restaurant my parents took me to every Sunday had that on their menu, and I always ordered it. I was in the mood for it today.
I looked at my phone and saw it was 9:37 a.m. Perfect. Not too early, not too late. I went to take a quick shower and brushed my teeth, then threw on a pair of sweatpants—no underwear and no shirt. I was lounging around today, not planning on a run, so I figured I didn’t need to get dressed. I grabbed my phone and my AirPods and left the room.
Trotting down the stairs, I headed straight to the refrigerator to make sure I had everything. Luckily, I did, but I noticed I needed to go grocery shopping soon. If I were here alone, I would have been fine for another week, but with Lucas being here, food was going faster than I would have liked. As a runner, I ate a lot because I burned many calories on my long runs. I didn’t know what Lucas did, but he inhaled food like he was a Dyson. Shit was annoying.
I popped in my AirPods and turned on my 90s R&B playlist. Don’t judge me. That was the best time for R&B. Dancing to the music, I got out all my cooking supplies and decided to skip the scrambled eggs and make an omelet. I put the turkey bacon in a pan and started to cook it while I chopped onions and green peppers, then added shredded cheese to a bowl and whisked the eggs. Adding another pan to the stove, I oiled it, and while it was heating, I added the hashbrowns to my bacon pan. I really didn’t want to use a lot of dishes. Some would call it lazy. I called it efficient.
Pan sufficiently heated, I added the eggs. When I saw that the bacon and hashbrowns needed to be turned, I realized I didn’t take out a spatula. Before I could turn to get one, my skin prickled, and I felt heat go down my spine. I felt his eyes on me, and it made me shiver. What the hell? I didn’t even like him.
Angry at my body’s response to him, I said to Lucas without turning around, “Are you just gonna stare at my ass all morning, or do you want breakfast?” Why the fuck did I offer him breakfast? I. Did. Not. Like. Him.
I turned around in time to see his eyes snap up to my face. Hewasstaring at my ass. I suppressed another shiver and assessed him. There was no reason for a man to look that good in a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants. But damn, he looked good. My face flamed, afraid he would notice I was checking him out. I wasn’t. He didn’t like gay men. But my body still reacted to him.
To hide my blush, I went over to the utensil drawer and grabbed a spatula. Thankfully, my bacon or hashbrowns didn’t burn. I was also thankful I added way more bacon than I usually ate because I didn’t plan on making him breakfast. I flipped the omelet and added my cheese and veggies before I closed it and flipped it again. After a minute or two, I slid it onto my plate. I cut it in half and put one half on the plate I took down for him.
