Page 12

Marcos

I’m not so much running as I am sprinting.

My feet pound the pavement, and my heavy breathing is loud in my ears.

It’s hot here, in May, and my punishing speed has sweat dripping down my temples and back.

I run until I feel like I’ll be sick from it, and then I run a little more.

By the time I get back to Max’s and my apartment, my legs are weak and shaky; I feel like I might be in danger of puking.

Chest heaving, I carefully push open the front door and try to breathe myself down.

The police officers who came to follow up with Max are long gone, but I feel like their presence remains.

I hate them, for coming here and tainting what should have been a safe space for him.

For me. Unfairly, I hate them. I hate everyone involved in this shit, and I’m tired of how much space that one night holds in our lives.

Not a single minute has gone by that I haven’t regretted taking him to that fucking party.

Bending over to take off my running shoes, I rest a hand against the wall when the blood rushes to my head. I definitely pushed it too hard on the run. When I peek over at the couch, the TV is muted and only Luke’s dark head is visible. Frowning, I stand up. Where the hell is Max?

“How was your run?” Luke whispers, head leaned against the back of the couch and watching me.

“Hot. Where?—”

Luke lifts a hand and points down to his lap.

Walking over, I look down at Max, stretched lengthwise on the cushions with his head pillowed in Luke’s lap.

Luke’s left hand is gently brushing his hair back from his face, the movement so measured it’s clear he’s been doing it for a while.

There’s a sharp pain in my chest that has nothing to do with being winded as I look down at him.

Luke brings his right hand down to rest on Max’s stomach, fingers splayed. He’s still watching me, eyes wary, as he probably wonders whether I’m about to start yelling like I’d done earlier.

“Sorry,” I mumble. He shrugs.

“I’m sorry, too.”

I nod, because I know he is. Me being wrong about Luke Kelly is just another thing I had to add to my list of ways I’ve let Max down.

Max is doing so much better—finally on the uphill climb after so many days at rock bottom—and a lot of that is because of Luke.

I owe him a thousand apologies, not just one, whispered quietly enough that my best friend can sleep through it.

“What are we going to do?” Luke asks, voice wary and nowhere near as happy as his usual. I stiffen, because I don’t think there’s anything we can do. The only thing that can be done now is to try and move on; forget about everything that happened, or find a way to learn and live with it.

“I don’t know,” I respond truthfully, voice hoarse and throat dry.

Luke rubs his hand idly on Max’s chest, the other still gently combing through his hair.

It’s disgusting how envious I feel in this moment, knowing I will never have something like this.

Never be able to sleep while someone touches me like that.

“I’m staying here for the summer,” Luke whispers, voice dropping even quieter, like he’s simultaneously trying not to disturb Max, but also hesitant of how I’ll react to his words. I frown at him, unsure what he means until he clarifies. “In South Carolina.”

“Oh.” I know next to nothing about Luke, so I’m not even sure where home is for him. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this. “Okay?”

“I might be over here a lot,” he says slowly.

Oh, right. I lift my left shoulder in a careless shrug. Luke might drive me insane, but he makes Max happy. At the end of the day, that’s what truly matters to me.

“Fine. If he wants you to stay here, just stay here.” Luke’s eyebrows rise at that, and I shrug again, unable to help the scowl creeping across my face. “I’m going to go shower unless you need anything?”

Luke shakes his head, eyes dropping down to Max’s face.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen my friend look so relaxed, and something releases in my chest at the sight.

I’ve felt so responsible for him since we moved here, but maybe I can loosen my grip now that Luke is here to help me.

Maybe, I won’t have to be so fucking alone anymore.

Feeling an odd mix of physical exhaustion and high energy, I fill a glass of water at the sink before going into my room to shower.

Chugging the water while I strip, I toss my sweat-damp clothes into the hamper and turn the shower to cold.

I feel jittery, like the endorphin rush from my run is flooding my system like cocaine.

I almost wish I was still running—anything to get this nervous energy expelled.

My phone, resting on the counter next to the sink, buzzes with a text message.

Pausing, I try to think about who might be texting me.

Max is already here, and I don’t have any other friends outside of baseball.

None of them usually message me unless they want something, though, and the season is over.

Stumped, I’m nearly finished washing my hair by the time it hits me.

Nate .

Sticking my head under the water, I rinse as quick as I can, suddenly desperate to check my phone.

We’ve been texting on and off since our impromptu phone sex, but nothing more in-depth than the occasional meme or good luck at your game tonight message.

The more I think about the possibility of it being Nate, the more excited I become.

The sudden need to talk to him thrums through me, making my movements clumsy as I climb from the shower and towel off.

Snatching up my phone, I fight against the way my mouth tries to pull into a smile at the sight of Nate’s name on the lock screen.

Nate

Hey

I have the strangest desire to reach through the phone and hug him.

He couldn’t have texted me a more simple message, but the mere fact that it means he was thinking about me fills me with warmth.

I wish I could see his beautiful face, or hear that smooth, sexy voice.

As it is, texting will have to do and my imagination can fill in the rest.

Marcos

Hi. How are you?

Nate

Good!! Well, kind of lonely to be honest. All my roommates are gone.

My friend Micky just left. We had a Transformers marathon today because neither of us have seen them.

I snort. Of course he did.

Nate

What did you do today?

I start to type the first thing that comes to mind, but end up deleting it.

The truth is, I spent it with Max and eventually Luke, before the police showed up and really fucked up the day.

But that’s not the answer he wants, nor the one I’m willing to give.

As always, I’ll have to give only some of the truth and keep the worst parts to myself.

Marcos

Just hung around with Max and Luke.

Nate

Fun! Tell Max I said hi. I’m going to miss him.

I always get a little bummed when I go home. No more hockey.

But also happy because I get to see the horses.

I bite my lip, desperately trying not to find that admission endearing.

Fuck, but I want to see him so bad . Just for an hour or two, I want to feel like a normal college student who can have meaningless sex without guilt or physical discomfort; who can feel safe enough to trust themself with a stranger.

Marcos

I’m not doing anything tonight, if you wanted to hang out.

Nate

Are you serious?

Yes, holy shit. What do you want to do?

Want me to come pick you up?

We could grab something to eat?

Or you could come here!

I want to go there. I want to go there so badly, I’m dizzy with the sudden desire of it.

I’ve been so fucking stressed and wound up this past year and a half, barely been able to think beyond anything but Max and what happened to him.

Nate feels separate from that—an oasis in the middle of the desert after I’ve been running for so long. I want to stop and drink him in.

Marcos

I can come to your place if you don’t mind.

The responding text is sent so fast, it’s clear he’d already been typing it.

It’s nothing but his address and a smiley face, but it feels like he sent me a dick pic with the immediate direction my thoughts go.

Throwing my phone back onto the counter with little regard for its safety, I towel dry as quickly as I can.

Standing in front of my mostly empty closet, I automatically reach for a black T-shirt before pausing.

I usually dress pretty quietly, not one to draw attention to myself with my clothes, but the night we met I was wearing a white shirt.

Maybe he liked it, and that’s why he came up to me.

Frowning, I grab the white one and tug it on, feeling absolutely ridiculous.

Going back into the bathroom, I run a hand over my jaw, glad that I shaved this morning as my patchy facial hair is one of the least attractive things about me.

Tucking my phone into the pocket of my jeans, I stand and look at myself in the mirror.

There’s nothing particularly exciting about my features.

I’ve got a pretty narrow face, which makes my cheekbones appear sharper and my nose more aquiline, but other than that, there’s no reason to look twice at me.

Heavy dark brows over dark eyes, which Max tells me makes me look “broody” when I scowl, and doesn’t feel very sexy right now.

Does Nate like broody men? I’m going to talk myself out of this if I stand here any longer.

“Pero es lo que hay.” I sigh, shaking my head at myself. Standing in front of a mirror and wishing for a more attractive face is an exercise in futility. I just have to hope that Nate can find at least one thing he likes enough to make all the rest unimportant.