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“A dog,” Matty said. He started working on a sketch with a blunt pencil, his tongue poking between his teeth.
“Very cool. Mine’s…I don’t know what.”
“Abstract,” Matty said, glancing over. “I don’t like abstract art, but yours might be pretty when it’s done.”
Emil’s cheeks burned a little. “You don’t pull punches, do you?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Matty admitted. “But I don’t really care about that.”
Emil choked on a laugh. “Good to know. Well…I’m happy to see you. I really didn’t want to do this by myself.”
Matty looked up, narrowing his eyes. “Why didn’t you ask Renzo? I know he likes you. And he doesn’t work because school’s on vacation. Why did you ask a girl? Is she your girlfriend?”
“She’s my best friend,” Emil said, then hesitated because he wasn’t sure it was his place to explain to Matty his arrangement with Renzo. “I would have asked your brother, but I didn’t want to bother him. I’m not sure if he’s ready for a date like this.”
Matty began to paint the outline of his dog, sighing quietly to himself. He muttered a few things Emil didn’t understand, and then he looked up. “He’s sad. He’s sad a lot.”
“I can tell. But dating and getting hurt can make dating in the future really complicated,” he said.
“Did you get hurt?”
Emil shook his head. “Not like that. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”
“Renzo’s a good boyfriend. John said he was a bad husband, but he’s a bad, bad liar.” Matty’s voice had a sharp edge to it that Emil recognized in himself. He remembered that feeling of fresh hurt. Of not being able to think about his mother without his anger burning like acid against the back of his tongue.
Emil finally nodded. “I’ve known some not-so-great people too.”
Matty stared at him for a long beat. “Are you good?”
“I’m trying,” Emil confessed.
Matty sighed. “Well. Nobody’s perfect.”
Emil blinked, then laughed. “You’re right. That’s a pretty good philosophy.”
Smiling, Matty nodded, then turned back to his mug. “Can you be quiet for a little while? I need to concentrate.”
“You got it,” Emil said, and for the first time in so long he couldn’t remember, the silence was comforting.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Renzo plated the burgers,then turned off the fan above the stove, waiting for the last bits of smoke from the cast iron to filter out the window. The kitchen was chilly from the last storm that had swept over them, but it felt oddly refreshing as he stood with his arms braced against the sink, staring out across the lawn at the empty house.
Emil hadn’t been there since the fire, not even to clean up the ashes. Snow had blanketed the ground, so Renzo couldn’t see the remnants of what he’d burned, but if he blinked, he could see Emil’s face through the flames. He remembered the pain in the man’s eyes and the way he trembled a little as the last vestiges of his mom burned to ashes on the stolen wood.
They hadn’t spoken since the night Emil played Santa, but every evening, he crawled into bed with the ghost of Emil’s skin against his lips. Somehow, when Emil kissed his hand by the skating rink with Christmas music blaring on old speakers above them, it had been more intimate than when Renzo had Emil beneath him in his bed.
Not that he didn’t want a repeat of that, but the idea of having more scared the absolute shit out of him. He knew it wasn’t realistic to run from every man who made him want all because his ex was a terrible man, and he also knew it wasn’t fair to assume that every person who wanted him was a narcissistic monster.
But it was hard to let that go.
No one had made him want to try harder than Emil did, but the risk felt like a giant canyon that stood between him and happiness, and he had no idea how to begin crossing it.
Passing a hand down his face, he reached forward and slammed the window shut before setting the plates at the table and then walking to the base of the stairs. “Dinner!”
There was a beat, and then Matty called back, “I have to wash my hands!”
“Actually wash your hands, and no screwing around with one more game!” Renzo called back, then walked to the fridge to get drinks before sitting down. He tapped his fingers on the table, counting the seconds, and three minutes went by before he heard Matty’s feet on the stairs.
