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Was he teasing me? Was I missing signals and a chance for sex? I wasn’t experienced or clever enough to read between the lines or take the bait with a wise remark without making a mistake. I was about to turn around so he could wash my back when he fell forward and into my arms. “Hey, hey. Are you okay?” I had to literally hold him up because his body went limp. “Hey, you with me?”
The water fell onto his back and sprayed my face while we stood there. I was unsure what was happening. Had he collapsed, or was this an odd attempt at making a sexual move? I gently moved his limp head against my chest and moved him out of the way of the faucet so I could turn the water off. He was out cold.
I bent over and lifted his naked body into my arms and carried him like a bride, laying him on the bed and hurrying back to get towels for both of us. I rushed drying off by the bed while watching for signs of consciousness. He had slipped into the same state as when I’d found him and I was concerned his injury may be more serious than either of us had originally thought.
I toweled him off and covered him with a sheet. Staring at his peaceful face I was surprised by my desire for him. At that moment in time, he was all alone and had no one. His predicament had to be overwhelming and perhaps the stress wasn’t helping him recover. He didn’t knowwherehe was,whohe was, or had any other details about his life. That in itself convinced me to be there for him. Who else would be?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Hayes
Iopened my eyes and found Bo asleep in a chair beside me. That had been his station the past few days since I’d woken from whatever crisis I was dealing with. His chin rested on his chest while his hands were folded in his lap. He looked peaceful as he gently snored.
The room was lit by candles due to the power still being out since I had arrived at his cabin five nights ago. I wasn’t exactly sure the location of Parris Island or if this was his full-time living situation. He seemed content considering the space was bare bones and quite rustic. He’d told me the building had been his grandfather’s fishing shack back in the day and that he was proud to have inherited the place.
I’d figured out by then that the vertical lines of light I’d noticed when I first woke were from the small gaps between the siding on his walls. Over time and with shrinking wood, the planks had given up their protection from daylight, or in my case, moonlight, allowing the soft glow through the old boards. The shelter was rustic and old with little protection from the elements but as I’d gotten to know more about him, it fit his casual personality and he showed no signs of embarrassment. Heck, even he referred to the building as a shack.
He’d managed to make the space homey considering the lack of insulation or modern comforts most houses came with. The comforter set on the bed looked new and was of a tasteful design for the basic cabin decor. I wondered if the set had been chosen by a woman since I doubted he was a gay man. He was organized and clean, and I felt cozy with him by my side.
I continued staring at him, wondering about his life and how he’d found himself here. He’d obviously made a home for himself but hadn’t mentioned anyone that he shared his life with. I wanted to let him know I was awake but the desire to sit quietly and just look at him was too much.
Bo was a specimen of manhood and I took the time to study his body. Even asleep and slumped over, his abdomen was tight and lean. He had a naturally fit body often associated with a young man barely out of his teens. He’d mentioned he was twenty and he looked it, however he could have passed for twenty five or sixteen.
His movements were graceful and athletic. The strength his body exhibited while in motion was because he had perfectly proportioned muscles without appearing like he overworked any part of his body. I was drawn to his biceps and wide chest and how they appeared larger because of his extremely trim waist. In my mind, he was nearly a perfect example of what an attractive man would look like if God took all the best parts from men and created one excellent example of his design.
Even his little snorts while he slept were cute. He was in a deep sleep and oblivious to the fact I was enthralled by my rescuer or that I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
* * *
Two Days Ago
Even though a bit wobbly, I’d gotten out of bed on the second day with his support. We sat on the front porch in faded Adirondack chairs and watched debris float by on the river. According to him, the river was higher and further on his land than usual. The shack was about fifty yards from the river and was nestled amongst tall trees and thick shrubs, making it only possible to see from the water directly in front of his property.
“This belonged to your grandfather?” I asked, turning toward him and studying his face.
His profile was masculine. He had a sturdy jaw with high cheekbones. His shaggy, naturally bleached-blond hair was too long in my opinion but still looked like he’d spent hours styling it. I could easily imagine him walking down a beach with a surfboard under his arm and a dog with a frisbee in its mouth running alongside him. He had the surfer boy look down to perfection. He didn’t strike me as the sort of man to fuss over his looks. Perhaps it was this devil-may-care persona I found so alluring.
“He died before I was born, so Memaw kept it until she died as well,” he stated, joining me in the subtle art of appraising one another.
“Do you have any other family?” I asked. He was quiet and not forthcoming with an answer. He stared off into the distance making me feel like I’d overstepped.
“Not anymore,” he said softly. “I’m by myself now that Memaw passed.”
His admission made me sad but I decided not to push. “Memaw?” I asked. “That means grandmother, right?”
He perked up. “Hey, look at you remembering something,” he pointed out, smiling at my progress and quickly changing the topic. “Maybe you are Carolina born and bred after all.”
I glanced toward the river and wondered if I had a memaw anywhere. “What about grandfather,” I asked. “What would you call him?”
“That’d be your Pop-pop,” he said, chuckling and taking a swig of his ever-present Mellow Yellow.
I reached my hand out to him. “Let me try that,” I demanded, curling my fingers to hurry him along in giving me the can. “Is this soda?” I asked, holding it to my lips and waiting for an answer.
“Only the best soda pop ever invented,” he responded. “Fit for queens and kings,” he added.
I took a test sip and swallowed. “Gross!” I snapped. “What the hell is that flavor?”
“I call it heaven,” he said, grabbing the can from me. “More for me, son.”
His mannerisms were pure guy. There was zero chance he was gay like I instinctively knew I was, with or without my memory. Every move and every gesture was exclusively associated with masculine men. I couldn’t recall other people I knew with his traits, but I sure as hell knew I liked them.
