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I race back into the kitchen, my whole body on fire, turn the cold water on full tilt, and run my hands under it, trying to cool myself down.

Wade's arrival this afternoon was unexpected but something my ASD brain can process and manage. Catching a close-up of his wet, glistening body? Uh, yeah. That's another thing entirely. God, I hope I didn't gawk at him like an idiot or say anything stupid. Everything that isn't him standing naked in my bathroom doorway is now a blur.

My fingers start going numb, so I turn the tap off, dry my hands, and busy myself plating our dinner.

Wade showing up on my doorstep, unannounced, disheveled, and absolutely stinking, has caught me off guard. I'm a creature of habit, and I like routines. I've carved out a simple, quiet, some might say slightly boring life for myself in the mountains where things, for the most part, run according to plan.

Monday to Friday, nine to five, I work as a Program Coordinator at the Thickehead Veterans Recovery Center.

I have weekly Sunday dinners with my folks.

A daily chat thread with my brothers that allows me to stay updated on their latest adventures.

Book club at the library two towns over every first Tuesday of the month.

Rufus lets out a loud meow, like he can read my thoughts and is pissed he's not included in them. "I could never forget you." I crouch down and run my hand through his soft, dense reddish-brown fur. Rufus is a rescue Abyssinian and officially the most beautiful cat ever in the history of everything. I give him a scratch under his chin. "You know you're my number one."

Rufus's ears prick, hearing Wade's footsteps before I do, and he rubs himself against my leg, stretches out his neck, and gives me a sly look as if saying I may be your number one feline, but let's be real about who your number one human is.

"Can I help with anything?" Wade asks.

He's dressed now, leaning against the wall in a clean white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, his wavy dark hair still damp. But the memory of his hard muscles, glistening chest, and long floppy cock isn't going to leave my brain anytime soon, especially since he practically headbutted—or, rather, more accurately, butted into my head—with that thing.

"No, no. I've got it." I leave Rufus. He saunters over to his scratching post while I grab the bowls from the counter and join Wade as he eases himself into the dining nook. I'm trying not to stare in an obvious way, but it's jarring seeing someone who used to be spritely and agile moving so slowly.

"Hope mac and cheese is okay," I say, sliding a bowl in front of him.

He runs a hand through his thick beard—that's also new—and gives a firm nod. "Mac and cheese is perfect."

"Cool."

We start eating, and after a few bites, our eyes meet.

"Is it weird that I'm here?"

"Yes. No. I mean, yes, it's a little weird. But it's good. I'm glad to see you. I've missed you."

He finishes chewing, his rich forest-green eyes not leaving me. "I've missed you, too."

Another surge of warmth throbs through me, but I push it away, just like I've been pushing unwanted thoughts away ever since I realized I was in love with Wade the summer before high school.

For most of our childhood, I couldn't believe he picked me as his friend.

Most people gravitated toward my brothers, Bodhi and Kynan.

We're triplets.

They're identical.

I'm the dizygotic one, different in looks, personality, and in every other way possible.

They're outgoing, charismatic, and even though they're my brothers, I can admit they're stunningly gorgeous, like modern-day descendants of the Greek gods with their sculpted bodies and angular faces, while lucky me inherited all the nerdy, lacks confidence in pretty much most social situations genes.

Living in their shadow has actually suited me just fine. I'm not a spotlight kind of guy. But Wade was the first—actually, the only—one who ever chose to be friends with me over them.

After he and I came out to each other, something shifted. Or at least it did for me. We'd still spend every spare moment together hiking or fishing or swimming, but there was an undercurrent brewing between us, something I could feel but never find words for.

So I kept my mouth shut about my feelings all through high school, and then at graduation, when I finally opened my mouth, I said the two stupidest words of all.

"We shouldn't."

I didn't mean we shouldn't kiss—because I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's what we were on the verge of doing—I meant we shouldn't do it right there. I wanted the first time to be special, romantic, not with the backdrop of my brothers taking cringey videos of themselves twirling in their gowns like idiots.

After graduation, Wade relocated to Georgia to begin his military training, and I went to the local college to study business administration, and despite remaining connected, we never spoke of it again.

I take him in discreetly.

He's chewing slowly, like he's mulling something over, tiny lines appearing around his eyes.

He's got a lot going on.

It's been almost a year since that horrible accident, but full recovery is going to take years, and he might never regain full movement.

I see it every day at work, veterans learning to navigate life with new physical challenges. I wonder if he'll ever be able to go hiking through the mountains or swim in the lake or any of the stuff we used to.

After Wade finished four months of rehabilitation in Colorado, I assumed he'd return home.

But he didn't.

He stayed with some military buddies in San Diego where, according to him, he did nothing but bum around and sit on the beach, drowning his sorrows.

When he ran out of money, he moved in with his mom and her new husband in Scottsdale.

Our last text was three days ago when he wrote something about not wanting to overstay his welcome. Next thing I know, he's knocking on my front door, asking if he can crash. And shower.

"How's your mom and Dale?"

"They're good. Mom's happy, which is all I want for her. It's been fourteen years since Dad died, and it's time she moved on. Dale's a good guy. He treats her well."

"Was he okay with you staying there?" I've only met Dale a few times before they moved from the mountains to the desert, and he seemed nice, but you never know.

"He was. When I got there, he was midway through converting their carport into an Airbnb studio. I helped him finish it, and he said I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. It's his second marriage, but since he doesn't have any kids, I think he's digging being a stepdad."

"That's sweet of him."

"It is." Wade sighs, dropping his spoon into his bowl with a loud clunk. "I just felt like a burden. And a total deadbeat loser with no money, no job, no actual prospects."

"Hey. You are not a loser." His defeated eyes meet mine, and he simply shrugs, like he doesn't even have it in him to fight me on it. "What about Hattie?" I ask. "Does she know you're back?"

Hattie is his sister-in-law. She runs the diner that's been in Wade's family for generations.

"No." He shakes his head and picks up his spoon again. "It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to leave."

"She'll be happy to see you. Not to mention Sofie and Jax."

His eyes brighten at the mention of his niece and nephew. "I'll pop in to see them soon."

We eat in silence for a while.

"So, why hitchhiking?"

"I'm broke. Took a little longer than I expected."

"That would explain the smell."

A small smile. "Yeah. It does."

"What are your plans?"

He shrugs again. "To make a plan."

"Well, you're welcome here as long as you like."

"I won't stay long."

My heart sinks. "Why not? Where are you going to go?"

"Don't know. I just don't want to be a burd?—"

"You won't be," I cut him off because he's being ridiculous, and he has the good sense not to argue. We may not have lived in the same town for a few years, but that doesn't change the fact that we are and will always be besties.

If anything, maybe the time apart has done some good. It's helped me see that nothing is going to ever happen between us and that I need to move on. And I have.

Kinda.

Sort of.

Okay, maybe not really.

But I'm sure me not dating or having any sort of a love life has more to do with the fact I'm on the spectrum, like things to be a certain way, and lack any confidence when it comes to guys, and nothing to do with my feelings for Wade that stubbornly refuse to budge out of my heart.

After dinner, we wash up. Well, I insist on washing up since Wade doesn't clean or dry dishes the way I like—I have a long and complicated relationship with suds—so he keeps me company and lets me do my thing.

There isn't a whole lot to catch up on since we message and video chat a couple of times a week. But I've been really worried about him. He's so down on himself, and as much as I've tried to help, nothing has cut through. Nothing can cut through until he decides to do something. But at least if he's living with me, I can keep a closer eye on him. All I have to do is figure out a way to make him stay.

We move to the back porch, and we're watching the night sky fill with stars when an idea pops into my head. I have to tread carefully, though. I know Wade. If I tell him he should join one of the outpatient programs we have at the center, he'll balk. Him and his damn pride. No, it needs to be his decision.

"Wanna have lunch tomorrow?" I ask lightly.

"Sure. But aren't you working?"

"I am. You can come by. There's a great cafe on-site."

Our eyes meet. His narrow slightly, and I get paranoid, freaking out that he's boring into my brain and picking up on my plan. Surely I'm not that obvious.

"Yeah, okay," he says, and I sigh in relief. "I should visit Hattie in the morning. She'll have my balls on a platter if she finds out I'm in town and haven't seen her."

I chuckle. "Of course."

"But I can drop by after that."

"Awesome."

The first step in my plan to keep Wade here is underway.