Page 185 of Hurt

Willow was staring at him.

He opened his eyes. “I love you, too.”

From his peripheral, he could see Willow’s eyes well up. She swiped at them and cleared her throat, turning to look out at the lake.

“So, uh…” Willow sniffled. “What are you going to do with the place?”

Kurt smiled.

“Sell it.”

True to his word, Kurt had put the place or sale. The first real estate agent he called had dubiously agreed to come look at the place. The Beckett home was a bit of a local legend. But when they saw the renovations—complete with custom touches that couldn’t be bought in any catalog, it was obvious the home would sell quickly.

It took a week.

The first interested party was a freshly married couple. Straight off their honeymoon, they wanted to purchase the place as a holiday home. A place they could bring their friends to show off. They would hire a decorator who would fill the place with meaningless pieces of abstract art and uncomfortable couches. Willing to pay full asking price, the realtor was already counting her fat commission when Kurt turned it down and accepted the second offer.

It was less money, but they had submitted a letter with their offer. A retired couple who wanted a place their kids and grandkids could come visit—where they would have family gatherings, rope swings into the lake, and summer nights spent catching frogs. It would be filled with laughter and love, messy handprints on the appliances, and marks on the walls to measure height.

Two days before the closing, Willow insisted they have a party. There was no furniture, and the electricity had just been turned on, but she would not be put off. So, on the day before the house was officially handed over to its new owners, they arrived at the place with coolers full of food and drink.

Grant dropped the cooler in the front door and dusted his hands off as he looked around.

“Where should we set up?”

“Ask Willow,” Kurt said with a shrug. “She’s the evil mastermind.”

Roland walked in carrying two coolers, a tote bag of food, and a case of ginger ale. Willow walked in behind him, carrying absolutely nothing.

“Put the food in the kitchen, drinks in the fridge,” she directed.

Kurt watched two of the world's most feared gangsters scurry off to do the bidding of his sister.

Willow wrapped an arm around Kurt’s neck and dragged him out to the porch. They left the doors open, so the warm evening air permeated the house. Eventually, Roland and Grant joined them. There were no chairs, so they ended up sitting on the porch, backs pressed to the handrail and the wall of the house.

“Ah, this was such a good idea,” Willow said as she nestled back against Roland’s chest, sipping a can of beer that hadn’t even had a chance to get cold. “Sometimes, my genius astounds me.”

“Yes,” Kurt replied dryly. “It generates its own gravity.”

Grant laughed as he nursed a ginger ale. He was sitting beside Kurt, their shoulders brushing as they looked out over the lake. Things between them had been better after their night in the rain. Kurt was still a little wary, and sometimes he needed his space. He wasn’t sure he would ever be capable of casually sitting in Grant’s lap, but for now, he was happy. There was a contented peace in his heart that might have something to do with half the beer he’d consumed.

Or maybe it had something to do with the people around him.

The whine of an engine cut through their relaxation, and they all looked over toward the driveway. Noah’s bike kicked up a cloud of dust as it came to a stop beside the cars. Kicking down the stand, he cut the engine and slipped off his helmet. Elijah slid off the back and helped Noah secure their helmets.

Kurt rarely got to see them interact. There were a lot of reasons to keep their relationship secret, good ones, but it didn’t make it any easier. He could see the strain in Noah’s eyes when they were in public—times when he wanted to reach for Elijah or even just stand beside him. Moments that should be normal for two young people in love.

It made times like this precious. Times when they could drop the pretense and just be a couple.

Noah snatched Elijah’s hand, holding it loosely between his fingers as they ascended the porch steps. Elijah looked up at the men on the porch a little sheepishly, his cheeks flaring pink. But he took Noah’s hand obediently, squeezing his fingers.

Kurt resisted the urge to heckle Elijah. He would give him today.

“You still have Sid’s bike?” Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow at the bike cooling off in the driveway.

“Obviously not,” Noah said coolly. “I bought my own.”

Elijah went to grab them drinks, and Noah picked a spot to sit, crossing his legs. Willow was looking at him with a wistful look on her face, and Kurt knew they were both thinking the same thing.