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ONE

T his summer sucks. And not even the fun kind of sucking, just the sucking kind of sucking. I know my mom and dad are tired of my crankiness, but I just can’t help myself.

Summer break was supposed to be awesome, filled with sunshine, surfing, and sex. But unfortunately, none of the fun activities that start with an S are happening for me, since the bane of my existence, better known as the love of my life, ditched me.

Okay, he had to leave to go on tour with a world-famous rock band to kick off his own rock star career, so Jace isn’t really ditching me, he’s following his lifelong dream.

I’m full-on supporting it, I am . I just hate that the planned summer full of surfing and sex with my boyfriend isn’t happening. Even though I can hardly call him my boyfriend anymore. He’s so much more than that. I still was kinda looking forward to it, so it’s safe to say that it just sucks.

I could try to go surfing again, so I would have at least one of the fun activities we had planned, but every time I get onto a board it’s just not doing it for me. The juju is gone. Instead of it making me happy like it usually does, surfing has turned into another point of depression.

Because it sort of became our thing.

For him and me.

Just for us, together with the sun, the sand, and the sea. It has become my happy place, the best place, but it’s tainted now that he’s gone and it’s been too damn long since I had that feeling, that magic, even though I try. I try so hard.

It’s just not the same without my Jace.

Right now, there’s only the sun beating down on me while I’m helping my dad fix the car of their neighbor, Manuel Monroe.

Even though she’s Miss Coco Monroe today, since she’s out in full drag, lounging on her porch with her husband and a pitcher of margaritas.

They’ve been steadily working through it like it’s an Olympic event, and after one too many of said margaritas, they give me a standing ovation when I take my shirt off since it’s so damn hot out, and they whistle and cheer like I’m headlining their own private Magic Mike show every time I bend over.

Honestly, I’m not really not liking it. It makes my summer break suck a little less.

My dad just shakes his head every time, but I catch the smile he’s trying to hide. Especially when my mom joins in with the neighbors, hooting and hollering whenever he’s the one bending over or wiping sweat off his forehead with his shirt.

Never said my folks were sane to begin with.

“Are you sure you want nothing stronger to drink?” Manuel asks when we’re finally done and my dad is putting away his tools.

Manuel lost his wig somewhere around margarita number three, so I guess it’s safe to call him a he again even though he‘s still got his fake lashes on, which he loves to bat at me.

He’s fun. His husband too. Ever since they moved in a couple of months ago, they’ve become good friends with my parents—Mom especially.

Manuel and his husband love to dress up, and she’s all for it, constantly joking that she finally has someone to go shopping with after living with four brutes for over two decades.

“Ah, sorry, I’d love to, but I can’t,” I say as I open the bottle of water he handed me earlier, claiming a seat at the big wooden table on their porch. “I still have one percent of body fat to lose if I want to be at my peak.” I tap my flat, still shirtless stomach.

Manuel pouts at my abs, then pokes a manicured finger at the slight bump beneath the yellow sundress he’s wearing. “You know that’s not fair to say to us common folk, right?”

I chuckle, leaning back and enjoying the breeze now that the sun has finally set.“Aww, you know I don’t mean it like that, right? It’s all about speed and agility. The leaner I get, the quicker I get. The quicker I get, the better I get. It’s science, really.”

“Science, my gorgeous gay ass. It feels like you’re calling me fat.” He elbows his husband. His stage name is Gigi Gl’amour, though during the week he’s just Bob. “Is he calling me fat?”

“Honey,” Bob says with an eye roll, “he’s not calling you fat, but you’ve been complaining for months now that you want to lose five pounds.

And for that to work, you need to take it easy on those margaritas.

Pure vodka and champagne are your best options really.

Less sugar and all.” He eyes Manuel’s midsection with a knowing look, lips pursed and glossy.

Manuel tsks dramatically. “Oh no, I’ll never .” He swaps Bob’s full glass with his own empty one. “I’d rather have more, thank you very fucking much.”

“You know they’re super high in calories, right?” I butt in, grinning. “You’d be better off mixing something with soda water. Or just not drinking at all.”

Manuel squints at me, then jabs a finger between me and Bob. “Why are you two ganging up on me? Normally I’d be all over that—like yes please —but I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“Why not?” Bob cocks his head. “Are you feeling insecure about your body? I don’t mind a little cushion, honey. You know I don’t.”

“Oh, screw you,” Manuel grumbles, bending over to grab Patrick, one of Jace’s ducks who now are permanent residents at my parents’ place.

“You like me, don’t you?” he coos at the animal, pecking a kiss on his smooth head, leaving a pink smear of lipstick behind.

“He’s just as bald as you ,” he snaps back at Bob, who rubs his hairless head consciously.

Patrick only blinks. He’s a happy duck, that one.

His sister Patrice is the wild one, often escaping the pond at my parents’ backyard and floating around in Manuel’s pool, much to my neighbors’ disgust. They love them anyway, even if the duckies shit on their deck and yard from time to time.

I don’t know anyone else who has ducks, but I’m under the impression that these two are pretty docile.

They make good pets, and they love to cuddle and play, especially Patrick.

“Aww, of course we like you, Manu. You’re still the cute one.” Bob kisses his husband on the cheek as I nod fervently in agreement. “See? Muscle man over there thinks you’re pretty, too.” He gestures to me.

I press my lips together in a mock-innocent grin. “Sure… I guess? For an old dude at least.”

Manuel gasps and pushes Patrick to Bob. “Oh, he’s going to get it. Hold my duck!”

“That’s not your duck. That’s my duck,” I respond as I try my best not to laugh.

“I don’t care!” Manuel points his finger in my face. “I’m perfectly fine at twenty-nine, thank you very fucking much.”

Bob coughs something that sounds like thirty- nine, but shuts up when he receives the glare of hell.

“Did you use a Discman back in the day? Or that other thing, what’s its name, a cassette tape?

” I tease Manuel, grinning, feeling lighter than I have all day.

“I’ve heard of those mythical things, but never saw one before.

Is it true you have to rewind it by pressing a button for a while so it kinda scrolls back?

Or that you had to use a pencil to fix it when the tape got loose? ”

“I believe he has one in a box upstairs in the attic.” Bob points his empty glass to the house. “You know, in the box with memorabilia from his early teens .”

We both laugh as Manuel grumbles something about getting more of those damn high calorie drinks and makes his way inside. His spot is quickly filled by my now freshly showered dad.

I eye the bag of potato chips he’s holding, my stomach rumbling, and of course he’s being a dick about it as he munches on them while giving me a broad grin, his white smile in stark contrast to his deep-tanned skin. Bastard.

Yeah, another part about why my summer sucks.

I’m on a rigorous diet that Coach drafted with my trainers, dietitians and physical therapists before the summer break hit.

The last months have been a never-ending loop of protein-enriched smoothies, quinoa-filled salads, and mountains of broccoli with chicken and rice.

I’ve had dreams about those meals and woke up sweating.

However, I have to keep this up, because in a week, I’ll go back to college for the two-week training camp before the semester starts, and this will be my last college training camp.

So this has to be the year, my senior year, my last chance at bringing the trophy home.

It’s my last shot to show the world what I can do on that field, and I have to give it my all.

I have to make sure I secure a spot in the NFL, to make sure I can fulfill my dream as well.

Yeah, I want to be the best that I can be, to hit my peak and stay there. So I know I complain about it—sometimes a bit too much—but I’m committed to this, I want this; I need this.

I need to succeed more than my next breath.

I might need it more than I need to see Jace.

So here we are. No beers on the beach with my brothers for me. No burgers on the grill with them either. Unless the burgers are low fat, on a whole wheat bun, and topped with a lot of veggies.

Just like the two on the plate my amazing mom is handing me right now. Manuel fired up the grill to thank us for helping him out, but Mom being Mom, she took over the cooking. Stuff like that happens when you run a diner most of your life.

And thank fuck for that, because this looks amazing, which I tell her.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. At least good food still brings a smile to your face.” She gives me a sad smile like she does constantly since Jace left, and I scoff as I take a quick picture of the delicious smelling food and send it to my boyfriend in question.