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PROLOGUE

JUNE 2017

Chuck McCormac was the perfect amount of buzzed as he led his friend Tommy through the crowd at The Grove. Their local outdoor bar was packed with people, and it took longer than usual to reach the bathrooms.

He pulled open the door and nudged Tommy through with a firm hand on his back. His fingers lingered for just a second too long, brushing against the crisp cotton of Tommy’s pale blue button-up. A little fleck of blue paint in the corner of Chuck’s thumb nail caught his attention— shit . He’d deal with that later.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

Tommy walked up to the wide mirror, tilting his chin down while frowning at his reflection. He patted the flattened brown hair that had to be held down by something stronger than the pomade he usually styled it with.

Chuck came up beside him, his arm brushing against his shorter friend’s shoulder. Shaking his head, he tried to imagine the time and effort Tommy must have put into getting his hair to lay back like that.

Tommy’s hair didn’t look awful . It was just long enough up top to cooperate with the slicked back style, but it didn’t match the rest of what Tommy had going on. It didn’t work with the deep laugh lines at the corners of his hazel brown eyes or the classically handsome structure of his face. It didn’t work with the hint of chestnut stubble that gave off the illusion of roughness even though he knew that Tommy was a man who trended toward refinement. It didn’t fit with the playful, easy smile that was a constant on his face.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” Chuck reached a hand up and ran his fingers over the completely crisped strands. “But you’re giving me greased-up Jersey mobster.”

“Fuck, man.” Tommy studied himself in the mirror, scrunching his nose and turning his head from side to side. “How does Keaton pull it off?”

Chuck snorted a laugh. Tommy was the kind of guy who moved through the world like he owned it, so it was always endearing to see a glimpse of insecurity under the bravado. “Keaton is the textbook definition of Southern, old family wealth. Just be yourself, T. You’re perfect the way you are.”

Chuck swallowed. It was the truth—Tommy was, in his mind, as perfect as a man could be, but that didn’t mean it was the thing he should throw out there on a Saturday night in a bar bathroom.

Brown eyes met his in the mirror. There was a vulnerability there on Tommy’s face, like maybe the man in tailored suits with a well-paying job didn’t know he was perfect. But then his expression shifted, his mouth twisting into a teasing smile as his chestnut-brown brows arched. “So you think I should lean into it? The sad divorcé thing?”

“Seems like you’ve already committed to it,” Chuck teased. “Lean forward,” he instructed, softly cuffing the back of his neck. Tommy obeyed, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink. Turning on the tap, Chuck cupped his hands and scooped up handfuls of warm water onto Tommy’s head. Carefully, he started to loosen the product, running his fingers through the thick hair.

For a moment it was quiet between them as some 80’s ballad scratched over the speakers.

“I thought I was good at it, you know?”

Chuck looked down at Tommy’s slumped shoulders. “At what?”

“At loving her.”

Chuck’s heart sank. It had been a year since Courtney had left him, and for some reason Tommy just couldn’t move on. Chuck had never been married and had almost no experience with long-term relationships, but even he could tell that Tommy’s fixation on his past marriage wasn’t doing him any favors.

Tommy was a good man. One of the best. Sure, he was a workaholic who had a tendency to showboat in new social settings, but he was loyal and consistent and, sometimes, when it was just the two of them, Tommy was softer. A little bit sweeter. Chuck cherished every second he got to spend in Tommy’s company.

He just wanted to see him find his groove again.

“You’ve gotta move on, T. She’s moved on, and it’s time for you to do the same. For your own sake.” The product was mostly rinsed out, leaving only soft, damp hair between his fingertips. It’s so soft , he caught himself noticing. “Alright, shake your hair out a bit.”

Tommy shook his head from side to side before starting to swing it around in circles. Without stopping his wild head swings, he put his hands on his knees and started popping his ass out like he was dancing.

Chuck started to laugh, reaching a hand out and grabbing Tommy’s arm to stop him. “You’re going to eat shit if you keep that up.”

Tommy straightened, stumbling a bit before bracing himself against the sink, his exposed forearms tan under a smattering of dark hairs. He looked up at Chuck with another glimpse of that vulnerability Chuck wasn’t used to seeing from him. “I’m over it,” he said quietly. “I swear I am. Courtney’s settled in her new place in Boston. She’s happy to be closer to her family. We’ve texted. Things are as fine as they can be.” He exhaled, training his gaze up toward the ceiling like he was gathering himself. “It’s just nights like tonight, you know? Seeing everyone with their people. Seeing David so fucking happy. It just makes me miss having somebody , you know?”

Chuck swallowed against the familiar ache of loneliness. He thought about their friend David and his new girlfriend, Sage. Chuck had spent enough time with the new couple to see that what they had together was special. The start of the kind of relationship Chuck craved, but didn’t think he’d ever have. Catching Tommy’s eye again, he nodded. “I know.”

Just then the song changed, the opening lines of guitar sending a delighted laugh bubbling from Chuck’s lips.

Tommy’s face transformed into a smile so wide the deep laugh lines that carved into his golden cheeks and radiated out from his eyes made an appearance.

Just like they’d done a million times in the fifteen years they’d known each other, Chuck and Tommy started dancing. Chuck swayed his head back and forth and shimmied his shoulders as he lifted an imaginary microphone up to his mouth.

Stacy, can I come over after school? He sang, without holding anything back.

Tommy lifted his own imaginary mic as he echoed, slightly out of tune but not lacking in enthusiasm: After school.

The song went on, Chuck throwing his head back as he led them into the chorus, perfectly hitting the off-beat claps.

Stacy’s Mom was one of those songs no one would ever admit to liking, but as soon as it came on, everyone knew all of the words and sang along.

Stacy’s mom has got it going on.

She’s all I want and I’ve waited for so long.

Stacy can’t you see you’re just not the girl for me.

I know it might be wrong, but I’m in love with Stacy’s mom.

Chuck’s face ached from smiling. He danced like a fool, throwing his arms out and circling the large bathroom like he was an airplane even as he kept singing. Tommy stood in the middle, gyrating his hips with a mocking scowl on his face as he pointed to an imaginary crowd in the mirror.

This was the Tommy he knew. The one who couldn’t hold a tune to save his life but didn’t let it hold him back from singing. The one who could never say no to acting like a fool. The one who laughed like it was easier than breathing.

The bridge came, and Chuck hit the harmony as Tommy wavered his way through the melody.

They came together like they were sharing the imaginary mic for the quiet: Stacy’s mom, has got it going on . Chuck’s breath caught in his chest as Tommy’s rough cheek brushed against his.

The bathroom door swung open.

Their voices cut off as a younger guy gave them a confused look before skirting around them to go to the row of urinals against the wall. Chuck tried to stifle his laugh, wrapping his hands around his middle, but loud puffs of air still burst out of him.

Beside him, Tommy’s face was contorted and flushed red as he failed to contain his own amusement. His hair was already starting to dry, returning to the usual boyish flop that reminded Chuck of a leading man from a 90’s rom com. The yellow light reflected the glitter of sweat on his forehead, smooth except for the beginning of a groove running straight across it.

He remembered the first time he’d met Tommy when they were freshman at Southeastern University. Chuck, who was a swimmer, had become tight with his roommate, David Hughes, who was on the basketball team. He’d dragged Chuck to a party with the rest of the freshmen basketball players, including Tommy.

Tommy had shown up to the party wearing two layered polo shirts with popped collars and a backwards hat, and was never seen without a puka shell necklace. He’d looked every inch of an obnoxious jock, saying things like “tight” and “sick,” quoting Animal House , and bragging about his future in business.

But after a few nights out and a couple of shared meals in the dining hall, Chuck had seen right through it. Under all of the noise and bravado was a guy who just wanted to be one of the boys. A guy who, like David, thrived on the comfort of close friendships. And once you were in with a guy like Tommy, you were in . Then he’d relax, letting out the parts of himself he probably didn’t think were as desirable.

Now, Tommy tilted toward him, tipping until his forehead came to rest on Chuck’s shoulder. He could feel Tommy’s body quake as he lost the battle to hold in his laughter.

Chuck closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t enjoy the proximity of Tommy’s body as much as he did. He shouldn’t store those little moments away, deep in a vault inside of him. He knew the tighter he clung to false hope, the more devastating the crash would be when reality set back in, reminding him that his feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated.

He knew better.

He’d been a gay man in the closet long enough to know that he had no interest in living out that particular cliché. But years had passed and the crush persisted. It was innocent enough, something that reared up in the little moments when he was lonely. The moments when Tommy was over at his house, laid out on Chuck’s couch like it was his home.

The gay guy and the straight best friend.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to touch that shit with a ten-foot pole.