Page 26

Bonus Chapter: Jamie

The one where Jamie overanalyzes a doodle like a teen girl in 2005.

I tug at the edges of an old cardboard box, wrestling it open. A puff of dust explodes in my face, making me cough as I wave a hand uselessly against the layers of history Jeff refuses to let go of.

“Jeff,” I call, shaking dust off my fingers, “where the hell do you want all these vinyl records? They won’t fit on the shelves unless we rearrange half the apartment.”

No answer. Probably buried somewhere in the bedroom.

I sigh and glance around at the chaos. Half-open boxes, rogue bubble wrap, a stack of old surf magazines, and the hoodie Jeff swears he donated three years ago. Messy as it is, it still feels like home—the kind of chaos that makes sense, that fits Jeff in a way nothing else does.

I reach into the box again, fingers brushing something soft. Tugging it free, I find myself holding an old, battered notebook with a frayed cover. Across the front, in Jeff’s unmistakable scrawl, the word Homework is written under a cartoon doodle of a football.

A smile tugs at my lips. I know exactly what this is. Why the hell does he hang on to everything from his past like it’s a relic?

Jeff used to shove everything into this notebook. Half-legible homework, ideas for parks he wanted to visit, and pages of his name scrawled in a dozen different fonts, like he was trying to crack some secret code. As if writing it just right would make the letters fall into place and tell him something about himself he didn’t already know.

I thumb over the football doodle, and suddenly, I’m sixteen again, standing in the crowded high school hallways, scanning for the one face that made my heart spin.

Jeffrey Reed.

He was everything.

Tall, broad-shouldered, all confidence and easy charm. His hair was always a little messy, like he’d just run a hand through it after practice, and his hoodie was usually wrinkled from being stuffed into his backpack. He smelled like spearmint gum and fresh-cut grass. Like the outdoors, like late-night bonfires and the kind of freedom I never wanted to let go of.

And he was a total stud.

Jeff was that guy. The one who made everything look effortless. Star football player without even trying. He could be half-asleep in class and still pull an A on his environmental science project. Teachers loved him. Coaches fought to get him on their rosters. Even my mom, who was suspicious of everyone, trusted him.

And he was funny. So funny.

The kind of funny that wasn’t mean or loud, but effortless. Quick-witted comebacks, harmless pranks, goofy impressions of our teachers, teasing grins that made me forget how to breathe. He made everyone laugh. But when he laughed—really laughed, head tilted back, eyes crinkling—God, I felt like I’d won the lottery getting him to laugh like that.

I think I was always in love with him.

I just didn’t know it yet, how deep my feelings actually went… Because back then, I convinced myself it was normal to feel the way I did. It was normal to idolize your best friend, to want to be around him all the time.

Right?

It was normal to memorize everything about him. The way his jersey clung to his shoulders, the fabric stretching over muscle built from years of football practice. The way his strong hands wrapped around a football like it was second nature, fingers always spinning it absentmindedly in the air. The way his voice softened when he leaned in close, dropping some inside joke meant just for me, like we had our own little world no one else could touch.

It was normal to feel all of that.

Wasn’t it?

To crave his presence. To light up when he looked at me. To ache when he didn’t.

To feel my chest tighten when he slung an arm around some girl in the hallway, flashing that easy smile that made my stomach drop, made me realize I would never be able to actually be with him the way I dreamed.

To wonder, late at night, staring at my ceiling, why it felt different when I thought about him. Why the thought of his hands on my shoulders, his lips against my skin, sent a thrill down my spine. Why he was the first thing I thought about when I woke up. Why I could never, not even once, picture myself wanting someone else the way I wanted him.

Even if I didn’t have the words for it yet.

Even if I didn’t understand what it meant.

And then—

I see a doodle on the notebook I'm holding.

A tiny scribble of my name, Jamie , written in bubble letters. A little smiley face and devil horns curve next to the 'e'. And there's a heart over the 'i' instead of a dot.

My breath catches.

Because sixteen-year-old me would have lost his mind seeing this.

Sixteen-year-old me would have overanalyzed every inch of that stupid doodle, wondering if it meant something. Wondering if Jeff ever thought about me the way I thought about him—obsessively, all-consuming, helplessly. If I was more than just a good time to him. If I was more than just a curious make-out session.

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my ears. I know now that he was quietly struggling with his sexuality as much as I was back then, but we both ended up choosing very different paths after high school.

Well, I mean… Maybe that was putting it lightly. Jeff ran for the hills while I opted for diving right into the pool.

I stare at the notebook, the past pressing down on my chest, until a voice startles me back to the present.

“Hey, baby.”

I jolt, nearly dropping the notebook. Jeff stands behind me, holding two mugs of coffee, looking amused. He sets them on the coffee table and flops onto the couch, surveying the mess like it’s a work of art.

“You find something interesting?” he asks, nodding toward the notebook.

I wave the pages at him. “Did you really take Algebra notes in the same place you doodled football plays?”

He shrugs, all innocence. “Who cares? It was my all-purpose notebook… I had a lot of notebooks. Why?”

I hesitate, then set it aside, my heart still hammering over the doodle of my name. I gesture to the disaster zone around us. “It doesn't matter. You know, Jeff, we’re never going to finish unpacking if we keep getting distracted.”

Jeff grins. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He tugs at the hem of my shirt, playful, easy, before leaning in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. Warm breath drags across my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

“I can distract you just fine without all these boxes, you know.”

I freeze, warmth curling low in my stomach, but Jeff is already pulling back, smug as ever.

“You’re the worst,” I mutter, shaking my head as I grab the coffee he brought me.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nudges my knee with his before settling back against the couch, stretching back.

I take a sip of my coffee, but my mind’s still slipping away again, drifting back to a different time. A time when we had even less space but still managed to make a mess of it.

The first time he ever kissed me. The reason I kept that page of his diary.

It was horrifying, confusing, hot, and sweet… all at the same time. Maybe that’s why it’s one of my favorite memories. We were in that weird in-between age of being teens—too old to be kids but not quite ready to be anything else. It had been one of those nights. The kind where I crashed at Jeff’s place because it was easier than going home. His mom never asked questions, just tossed me a blanket and told us not to stay up too late after we ran off into Jeff’s bedroom. We never listened.

That night, we ordered pizza.

“Olives are disgusting,” I’d said, watching Jeff pluck one off and pop it into his mouth like it wasn’t literal trash.

“You have no taste,” he shot back. “Olives and pepperoni are the ultimate pizza combo.”

I snorted. “Yeah, if you have a death wish. You’re gross.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Just grabbed another slice and kept eating.

As we ate and played our video game, we passed a liter of Sprite back and forth. Somewhere between finishing my third slice and flicking a stray olive at Jeff’s knee, I realized I’d been drinking more than my fair share of the soda. Like… a lot more.

Jeff’s eyes flicked to the bottle, barely a quarter full, then back at me.

“Dude.” His voice went flat. “Are you serious?”

I shrugged, wiping my mouth. “What? I was thirsty.”

“Jamie! You always do this.”

“Do what?” I asked, already grinning because I knew exactly what.

Jeff huffed. “Steal all the Sprite, like a little goblin. And then act innocent about it!”

A fucking goblin . That’s what he called me.

I had just opened my mouth to deny everything when he launched at me. I yelped, tossing the empty soda bottle aside and nearly tipping off the bed as his hands dug into my ribs.

“Jeff—wait—no—”

I squirmed, gasping between helpless laughter as he pinned me down, fingers merciless.

“I should punch you,” he muttered, still tickling, grinning like a menace. “But you’re my best friend, so… I’ll just do this instead.”

I barely heard him over my own breathless cackling, flailing like an idiot until I managed to shove him off just enough to roll us sideways onto the bed. We ended up tangled, both of us gasping for air, his weight heavy against me. And then—

It just happened.

I don’t know who moved first. Maybe neither of us did. Maybe it had been inevitable. One second, we were laughing, breathless and warm, and the next, Jeff’s lips were against mine.

Soft. Hesitant. A little awkward, because neither of us was entirely sure what we were doing.

His breath ghosted against my lips, shallow and unsteady. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it, feel it in my fingertips as they twitched against the sheets. I should’ve said something. Should’ve laughed, shoved him, called him an idiot.

Instead, I pressed back.

A shiver ran through Jeff’s body, and then—God, then —his hands found my face, warm and sure, and suddenly the kiss wasn’t hesitant at all. It was deep and searching, his lips moving against mine like he was trying to figure something out. Like he needed to.

And I let him.

I let him tilt his head and kiss me again, slower this time, like he was testing the weight of it, the feel of it, the way our mouths fit together. I let my fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, even though he was already pressed against me. I let my lips part when he licked into my mouth, our teeth clumsy at first, but then—

Something clicked. Something shifted.

And suddenly, we weren’t awkward anymore. We were just kissing.

Kissing like we had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do. Kissing like the world had shrunk down to just this: the heat of his mouth, the press of his hands, the way his breath hitched when I bit his lower lip just to see what he’d do.

And God, I didn’t know I could feel like this.

Didn’t know that kissing Jeff—making out with Jeff—could make my head feel light, make my body buzz, make me forget everything that wasn’t him.

But I did.

For twenty minutes, I did.

For twenty minutes, we stayed tangled up on his bed with the door shut, fingers gripping, mouths sliding, legs entagling, breathing each other in like we needed it to survive. And when we finally pulled apart, lips swollen, breathing ragged, Jeff looked at me, eyes wide and unreadable.

He swallowed thickly. “Shit.”

I wiped at my mouth, still dazed, still tasting him. “Um…”

Silence stretched between us. Jeff’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and my stomach twisted… I already wanted to kiss him again.

But he was already pulling back, already scrubbing a hand of regret over his face.

“Uh. I—” He cleared his throat, voice rough. “We should probably just—go to sleep.”

My chest went tight.

I nodded. “Okay… Right.”

And that was it.

We didn’t talk about it after that. We didn’t ever talk about it. Not even when it turned into something we did all the damn time behind closed doors.

We just went to bed, lying side by side like nothing had happened.

Even though everything had.

Even though my lips still tingled.

Even though my heart wouldn’t stop hammering.

I’d known how deeply I felt for Jeff long before he kissed me like that. I’d struggled with it. Hated myself for it. Tried to convince myself it wasn’t different, that I wasn’t different. And yet, in a million years, I never thought a moment like that would actually happen.

Because even if Jeff had feelings for me too—feelings deeper than just kissing behind closed doors—why did he treat me like his dirty little secret?

Back in the present, I blink hard, shoving the memory away before it pulls me too deep.

Jeff’s beside me, warm and familiar, sipping his coffee like he’s got all the time in the world. I watch him for a moment, something aching in my chest, something that’s been there for years.

I didn’t understand it then. Didn’t understand why that kiss haunted me, why it made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t have words for. Later, in high school, I would learn exactly why. And that realization? That was worse. Because by then, it was too late. I was already in too deep, already falling, already wanting. And Jeff wasn’t mine to have.

Not in the way I wanted.

Not in a way that was real.

I drag in a breath, shaking the thought loose as Jeff nudges me with his foot.

“You okay over there?”

I manage a smile. “Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking.”

He watches me for a beat longer, then stretches, groaning. “We should take a break. I’ll make pizza rolls.”

“And red wine?” I ask between laughter, hopeful.

Jeff smirks. “Of course. What kind of heathen do you take me for? I mean… pizza rolls without red wine?”

He scoffs dramatically, and my smirk stretches into a full grin. He winks at me before heading for the kitchen, and I watch him go, something warm curling in my chest.

Maybe it had taken years. Maybe it had taken him way too long to figure himself out. But I knew one thing now. Whatever this was between us—it was never a game to Jeff. He truly was the love of my life.

And the fact that he was here ? In Nevada, with me? The fact that it was his dusty, unorganized, chaotic mess of a packing project I was helping with, months after he’d already moved in?

I'm the luckiest damn man in the world.

Because somehow, someway, after falling through my fingers so many times , I finally had him. And this time, he wasn’t going to let me go. I wasn’t going to let him go either.

When I did before, back in LA… that almost broke me. I thought I was finally choosing myself, finally standing up for being treated right, and I didn’t see the mess that Jeff was going through until I tried to say goodbye.

Now, I'm supposed to sit here and eat pizza rolls with the love of my life and pretend like I didn't just drive myself to near-tears walking down memory lane, thinking about how lucky I am.

My heart stumbles in my chest, a little too full, a little too tight.

I quietly get up and pace over to him in the kitchen, catching him off guard with a hug from behind while he’s haphazardly dumping frozen morsels onto a foil-lined baking tray. No grace or precision whatsoever.

“Woah, hey. Don’t disturb the chef…”

“I’d like to do a lot more than just disturb the chef,” I tease, sneaking in a pinch on his right ass cheek.

He yelps and turns around to tickle me until I collapse on the tile floor—because Jeff’s not actually twenty-two, he’s still thirteen.

He challenges me in ways I never knew I needed. He still makes me laugh.

He makes me feel like a kid, in the best way.

Like waking up on a Saturday morning, pouring way too much cereal into the biggest bowl I can find, and settling in for cartoons without a single care in the world.

Like gripping the handlebars of a brand-new bike, wind rushing past me, convinced I’m the fastest thing alive.

Like running barefoot through the grass until my lungs burn. Staying out past dark just to catch the coolest bugs. Believing that life is just one big adventure waiting to happen.

That’s what Jeff makes me feel like.

And I love him for it.