Page 89 of Summer Lessons

Terry threw himself into Mason’s arms. “I’m not so good with days,” he confessed, voice almost lost in Mason’s T-shirt. “I… I might not return your texts. I… there’s new people and….”

Mason kissed his temple. “It’s okay,” he said. “If I’m not important enough for you to come back to, that is not your fault. But… but I’ll tell you. If I need us to be more than I need us, to be.”

Terry nodded unhappily, and Mason saw his lips moving as he tried to work out exactly what Mason just said. It was the best he could do. Mason couldn’t say it again, couldn’t rephrase it more simply.

His chest ached so fiercely he couldn’t hardly breathe.

THEY SLEPTthat night on Terry’s queen-size pedestal bed. No box springs. None. Mason woke up at five thirty in the morning and creaked out of bed, trying not to groan about his back.Thirty-six, old man. Oh fuck. Thirty-seven.His birthday had been in early March, when Dane had been at his worst. Mason had put a bright shine on things for his parents during their phone call and taken Terry out with the gift card they’d sent him.

And tried really hard to forget it meant he was dating a guy twelve years his junior.

But this morning, looking around the still-bare walls of Terry’s first apartment, he felt his age settle into his bones. He looked down at where Terry lay sleeping. He’d rolled over and hugged Mason’s pillow, smiling a little, and Mason tried to memorize every line of that smile.

For a little while, I made him happy. Even if that changes and he isn’t happy anymore, I need to remember this. It makes me a better person.

He slid into his clothes and kissed Terry on the cheek.

“Mason?” Those big brown eyes—they sort of slugged Mason in the gut.

“Gotta go get ready for work,” he said, smiling. “You set your phone last night—you should be good.”

Terry grunted. “See you Thursday?”

Oh yeah. Practice. “Or earlier—call me whenever.”

A tiny smile quirked at the corner of his lips. “Text me. I like it when you send me shit.”

Mason grunted and kissed his lips this time. “Then tell me thank you—I’m afraid I’m sending them to my brother half the time.”

Terry frowned. “Some of that shit’s really dirty!”

“You can see why I’d be worried.”

Laughter, low and sleepy, tickled up Mason’s spine.

This could work. Thiswouldwork.

Another kiss, and he left.

HE GOThome and Dane and Carpenter were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. They were looking at each other warily, and both of them had red-rimmed eyes, but they were sitting intimately close, and whatever wordless communication was happening, Mason thought it was better done alone.

He slid past them, and Carpenter’s voice stopped him as he was walking up the stairs. “You driving to work, Mace?”

“Yeah. Want a ride?”

“Sure. I’m coming back here tonight.”

Dane jerked sharply like this took him by surprise, but Carpenter looked determined.

Okay. Fine. They asked no questions about him and Terry; he asked no questions about them. Fair.

Sort of.

“So,” Mason asked as he negotiated the tiny thoroughfare of Sunset. “Sleepover?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You want me to be somewhere else?”