Page 1
1
recently
i think a soulmate
is someone
who will make you
be the most you
that you can possibly be.
~ frxgileveins
I’m so damn nervous .
And I can’t stop fidgeting. It’s my first airplane flight since my last knee surgery five months ago, and my doctor cleared me, but I didn’t think I’d be so uneasy. Here I am though, my fingers drumming against my thigh, an inch above the scars hidden under an old pair of sweatpants with the IFU Football logo printed down the side, and a million thoughts are torpedoing through my brain. The plane banks right, a stretch of evening sun streaking through the window. It swells this pretty orange color, and I try to breathe and focus on that, but I’m still thinking.
A lot . Too much. Nerves popping, even though I don’t fully know why.
To make matters worse, I’m cramped in this miniature-sized airplane seat, my ass locked in the middle, with my knees wedged against the tray table, and my shoulders squashed so I don’t spread over the armrest onto the girl on my right.
Carter’s on my other side, in the aisle seat, and he apparently has no problems taking up all the space. He never has a problem taking up all the space. His legs are spread, stretching into what is clearly my designated seat zone, his knee rubbing against mine at every bump and jolt. And he’s talking, big and loud, twisted to chat with Dorian who’s across the aisle. They’re both laughing, Dorian at a more normal volume, but Carter belts out a laugh so loud that heads turn the entire length of the plane.
He doesn’t seem to notice.
That’s just Carter.
Big. Loud. Kinda chaotic.
I dunno why that makes me want to smile.
We hit another rumble of turbulence, another rub of his leg, and the soft blond hair on the side of his knee sticks out, picking up static electricity when it rasps against my sweatpants. Every time he knocks into me, the inseam grazes against my inner thigh, this little spark of lightning echoing in my balls. Is it weird I keep thinking about that?
I shift my leg an inch away, but he just closes the distance mindlessly again, still twisted back to talk to D. I don’t even know what they’re talking about—I’m too in my head. But D’s nodding and in the seat next to him, Rory’s sucked into his eReader, his hair a deep red under the cabin lights, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip like he’s reading something… interesting?
Suddenly Carter twists back around to look at me.
“I’m so fucking stoked ,” he says, amber eyes lighting like he’s just won a year of free hot wings. He’s said that at least twenty times since we got in the Uber this morning, and every single time he says it, his eyes shine brighter, that lopsided dimple he has on one cheek indenting with his smile. He’s all big energy in his bro-a-saurus t-shirt and with his dirty blonde, slightly curly hair swept back by his hand a million times. “It’s like we’re already there. Can’t you feel it?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound convincing. I am trying to be excited. I’m just… thinking. “I’m pumped.”
His dimple disappears. “You don’t gotta lie, bro.”
“I’m not lying,” I say. “I am excited. Just ready to get off this plane.”
“Fair enough.” His eyes flick over me, and we lurch to the right, my knee banging into the seat in front of me, a jab of pain lacing deep into my thigh. I grit down on my molars, my hand tightening into a fist that I keep hidden by my side. Being cramped up like this isn’t helping.
“You shoulda sat here.” He tips his chin toward my knee. “I kept telling you that.”
“Nah. This is my assigned seat.” I release my clenched fingers as the pain switches to a dull throb.
His brows rise. “Are you? Because we could still switch. In fact, if you weren’t a giant ball of muscle, I’d probably try to pick you up and make you switch.”
I shrug. “I’m good, really.”
Why do I get the sense that he doesn't believe me?
I guess it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he didn’t.
I’ve kinda been a mess recently. And that’s an understatement.
Six months ago, everything in my life changed. In one second, one unexpected hit.
I used to be one guy. And I knew who that was too—quarterback for Indigo Falls University, heading to the NFL draft, solid and confident. Maybe edging on cocky sometimes, although I didn’t know that then. I just thought that everything I’d worked for was coming straight at me, like it was meant to be. I was meant to be. I was sure, I was confident. I understood what the point of life was, and I was at the goddamn center of it.
Then at one of the first games of the season, Brody Hazlemacher slammed into me, and it all went to shit. Just like that. A broken tibia and fibula, ripped through my ACL, a complete fucking of my knee down to my ankle.
And then no more football. No more early morning practices, with all those endorphins bouncing around me. No more stepping onto the field, my cleats on the turf, that energy and excitement. No more playing for IFU, which I fucking loved . No more NFL draft. No more certainty, no more confidence.
No more me .
Now I’m just trying to sort out what happens next. What do you do after your entire life plan suddenly explodes? Everything you worked for is like a pebble tossed into the ocean and dragged out to sea—just gone .
And there’s nothing. Just this weight of disappointment and these moments of darkness, that come in waves. Where it just feels like everything is so bleak.
Fuck, I need to stop thinking.
I scrub at the side of my neck, breathing through the pressure that clumps in my chest. That pressure’s been getting hotter and tighter lately, crawling up my throat, leaving this taste that…. Shit, I can’t freak out here. Not trapped in this little seat with people all around me. I need to?—
Carter tips closer, his eyes moving around my face. “It’s all gonna be fine, Theo. Just wait and see. I think you’re gonna love it there.” He softens that big voice of his, the way he does sometimes when it’s just me and him. And I’m suddenly looking straight at him, my eyes on his, my heart thudding in my throat.
I swallow thickly. That spark of lightning is back, tickling around my shoulders and up the nape of my neck.
Is that weird? Should I be feeling that when my best friend’s looking at me?
Probably not.
Ignore it.
His eyes stay on mine. The smell of the pretzel snack he ate earlier wafts toward me along with the beachy scent of his deodorant. I don’t know why I kinda like that.
“Give me a fact, bro,” he says.
I blink at him. It’s this thing we do. I’m kinda obsessed with Naked Earth , this show about animals. I was just rewatching the one about African Elephants when we were waiting to board. I guess it relaxes me. I used to watch it before every game. And then I watched it all the time after my surgeries.
Carter was there for a lot of the ‘after’. My parents were so fucking disappointed that it was impossible to be around them. They didn’t say anything, tried to be supportive, but I could see the disappointment in their expression every time they looked at me. I could feel it in me.
Carter never looked at me like that.
“Theo?” he asks, in that soft ‘just us’ voice.
Find a fact, Theo .
“Butterflies can taste with their feet,” I say. “That's how they know where to lay their eggs.”
“Really? That’s badass.” He glances as his left foot, shoved out into the aisle. “But now my feet seem ridiculously boring. How cool would it be to taste with your feet?”
“Are you sure you’d want to taste the flavor of the insides of your shoes?”
“Good point.” He looks back at me, then brightens. “Although, we’d probably have flavored shoe inserts if that was the case.”
My lips lift, despite everything else. Despite that big, black hole that feels like it’s edging right on the sides of my vision. “Flavored shoe inserts. That’s pretty brilliant, dude.”
“I know, right!” His dimple pops. “Like hazelnut.”
“Peppermint,” I offer.
He grins. “Birthday cake surprise!”
“Cookie dough.”
“Neapolitan ice cream.”
“Ohhh, yesss.” His lashes flutter, his head tipping back as he groans. “Or… Cinnamon roooolllls . It would be amazing. I’m so fucking jealous of butterflies now, you don’t even know.” He knocks his knee softly against mine. “Feel better?”
I look down at the hair on his leg again, still sticking out with static. “Yeah.”
There was a time I didn’t need to feel better. When I felt pretty fucking awesome all the time.
He grins as the plane banks again, a light roll of turbulence vibrating us. “I told you it’s gonna be fine. Just think about where we’re going.”
Clua .
I had to look it up when he first mentioned it, insisting that the four of us—him, Dorian, Rory, and I—head there instead of South Padre or Cancún. It’s this tiny island off the coast of Mexico. Beach and sun and sand.
Five days of being away from snow-covered Indigo Falls. It’s our last spring break together before graduation. The four of us have been friends since freshman year, getting placed in the same dorm, all of us coming from pretty different worlds. Real friends. Different majors, different activities—none of them into football. But it didn’t seem to matter.
And yeah, I’m trying to be excited. I’m trying to be happy, like I used to be. And in order to do that, I have this… plan .
“We’re gonna do all the things.” Carter rattles activities off, a million different ones he’s researched, that big energy humming in his voice. I can’t keep up. I just watch him as he talks, his excitement billowing out, his words getting louder. All that big energy.
“Mangoes,” he’s saying, “I’m gonna eat alllll the mangoes.” His smile falls, his brows rising again as he looks at me. “And maybe get laid?”
My heart stops. “Uh, yeah. Sounds like that would probably be…” Shit, what do I say? “Nice.”
Nice ?
He grins. “It’s been a while for you?”
I clear my throat, rubbing at the side of my neck. “Yeah, sure.”
I play it off.
I always play it off.
Okay, so… technically it’s been longer than “a while.”
It’s been never .
None of the guys know that. On the outside, I’m this big, jocky guy, decently built from football with dark brown hair and some pretty intense blue eyes. I look like someone who would chase a ball bunny around every weekend. People assume that’s exactly what I do, and I never gave any impression otherwise. But the reality is very different.
I’m a virgin. Completely.
In part because, well, the ball bunny I’d pick wouldn’t be what’s expected. I’ve known I’m gay for a while, but I’ve never acted on it.
I shift in the cramped seat, the back of my t-shirt getting sweaty. My grinning best friend is next to me. I want to keep him as my friend. Carter’s a person I can’t picture my life without. Like I really can’t do it. And when you tell a friend you’re gay, you really don’t know what’s going to happen.
And the plan…
I thought maybe… while we’re in Clua, to try and get all this darkness out of my head, to try and get back to that easy, confident guy I used to be, I could…
I swallow, nerves popping.
But here goes…. I want to… suck a dick.
I’ve imagined it so many times. Every time I jack off. Sometimes in my dreams. What a big, beefy cock would feel like sliding into my mouth, along my tongue, warm and slippery with pre-cum. Do all guys taste the same? Would he grip his fingers into my hair?
Would I like it?
It’s the ultimate fantasy for me. So much that I’ve jacked off while sucking on a dildo, shoving it to the very back of my throat, squeezing my eyes shut, pretending my moans were another man’s. His enormous, brawny?—
Shit. Why am I thinking about this here?
I stifle a groan, my dick stirring and armpits heating. The cool air from the miniature air blower overhead isn’t strong enough.
But here’s the thing—thinking about it takes me out of my dark and depressing head. It gives me something to focus on. A goal. Just like I used to have with the NFL.
I sigh, my knee tightening again, that brace of pain shooting up and down the full length of my leg.
And I’m suddenly conscious that I’m sitting here, fantasizing about sucking cock and getting hard from it, while Carter is staring at me.
I glance over at him, licking my lips. “Who knows what’s going to happen?”
“It’s been a while for me too.” He says, a little roughly, and I don’t know—there’s something distant in his eyes. Something slightly darker than usual. His square jaw is clenched, faintly covered by a trace of yesterday's stubble. Shit, he didn’t notice anything, did he?
Little rivers of panic light down my back as I glance down at where I’m starting to sport a pretty obvious boner. I shift in my seat, trying to keep it hidden.
But his eyes are settled on my face, never glancing down. “You know what you need?”
Yes, a dick .
“No,” I say.
He can’t know the truth.
He’d freak the fuck out. That’s what friends do when you spring stuff like that on them.
That’s what happened last time, at least. And I’m never going through that shit again. No question. I will not lose Carter. If I tell him, then I’ll plan it out. Be careful about it. Make sure that there’s no way I would lose him.
His eyes narrow. “What are you thinking about?”
I snort an uneasy laugh. “Nothing, really.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I still. “No.”
He clears his throat. “Are you sure?”
A beat passes, and I don’t know. I mean… we’re not thinking the same thing. He’s clearly not thinking about a plan to suck dick.. But I’m not sure what he’s thinking either. The whole moment is getting my brain in a twist.
“I’ll give you a hint.” He lowers his voice, rasping in the few inches between us. “It starts with a song.”
“Oh, shit.” I shake my head, but relief floods me. “No, Car?—?”
“ Happy birthday, ” he whispers, then leans in and gives me a big, wet kiss on the cheek before he pulls himself up using the seat in front of him, the woman sitting there giving him a death glare. But he’s vibrating with too much excitement to notice, his arms spreading, his voice loud. “Hey, it’s my friend’s birthday. Think we could all sing to him? His name’s Theo.”
Dorian laughs. Rory closes his eReader. They know how this goes.
It’s not my fucking birthday.
This is Carter . This is all him, and he does stuff like this all sorts of different places that we go. But he somehow gets the entire plane into a rendition of “Happy Birthday”. And then onto “Blank Space,” telling everyone it’s my favorite freaking song. But of course, it’s Carter who knows all the words by heart.
Okay, I guess I know all the words too.
It’s probably twenty minutes later before the flight attendant tells everyone to sit, after Carter almost knocks over the drink cart with a wild swing of his arms, but by then, I’m laughing , in a way I haven't in a long time.
We used to laugh like this. I remember Carter and me—and Rory and Dorian—laughing so hard that we were crying, none of us able to get out words. Back in freshman year, we were high on nothing but energy drinks and video games and ourselves. Back when anything seemed possible.
And now the plane is loud with voices and energy, like Carter is spilling out everywhere. I don’t know how he does stuff like this.
Just by being himself, I guess. Sometimes he’s so fucking much . So big and energetic. But there’s something kinda amazing about him too.
So, I just say it, standing up, hunched over the bulkhead.
“You're kinda amazing,” I say, grabbing onto his shoulder halfway through another song, and he stops singing, blinking at me. Then he smiles one of those big dimple-inducing smiles and starts to say something when the plane intercom dings in the middle of the chaos.
We’re about to land.
Five days in Clua with Carter. And the guys.
And I don’t plan to come home in the virginified state I’m in now.
I need to take the jump. I need to get myself out of this fucked up darkness. We settle into our seats, Carter’s elbow knocking against my funny bone as he roots around for his seatbelt.
I wonder what he’ll be like .
That first guy, I mean. I don’t think he’ll be like me—not some jock-virgin who doesn’t have a clue who he is anymore.
He’ll be someone who gets himself. Who knows himself.
I still my thumb when I realize it’s been tapping against my thigh and glance over at Carter.
He has a dick .
Ohhh shit, don’t think that. I mean, it’s true. I know it’s true because we live together and there might have been a sighting here or there.
But this is not where my brain should be going.
Carter’s eyes flick to my face after he finally gets his seatbelt clicked. His bottom lip is glossy, like he just licked it. Soft, pink lips that are already breaking into a smile.
Jesus, why am I looking ?
The plane tilts down, our descent starting.
Carter’s chest moves. “Are you ready, bro?”
Am I?
No.
Maybe.
I want to be.
“Uh, sure,” I say.