Summer Sweat
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: M M Romance; Romance; Westerns; Gay; Lgbt; Contemporary
Description: Ex-football player and town sweetheart Harrison prepares for another hot summer tending to the Strong farm. All he wants to do is work hard, care for the animals, and enjoy the peace and quiet of the Spruce, Texas countryside. But when a down-on-his-luck, cocky young troublemaker is hired on as extra help for the summer — and Harrison is personally tasked with teaching him the ropes — these two men fight, butt heads, and discover more reasons to sweat than just the blistering heat. M/M age-gap Enemies-to-lovers Small-town
Publisher: Frozenfyre Publishing

A Spruce, Texas Romance

BY

AMAZON BESTSELLING AUTHOR
DARYL BANNER

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SUMMER SWEAT

Copyright © 2022 by Daryl Banner
Published by Frozenfyre Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Model
Michael Abatantiono

Cover Photographer
Golden Czermak / FuriousFotog

Cover & Interior Design
Daryl Banner

SPRUCE, TEXAS ROMANCE

*

Football Sundae

Born Again Sinner

Heteroflexible

Wrangled

Rebel At Spruce High

Summer Sweat

*

(And more to come…)

Contents

FOREWORD

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue 1

Epilogue 2

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FOREWORD

If this is your first time visiting Spruce, Texas, I’m happy as all get-out that you’re giving this southern series a shot! There’s five books before this one, but they can each be read separately.

And if you’re well familiar with Spruce and know your way around, well shoot, welcome back!!

I was born and raised in a small Texas town, and was thus surrounded on all sides by farmlands. While I have experiences of my own that shaped a lot of this story, I still did my due research to ensure that the “farm life” elements are as accurate as possible. Though, of course, being that this is a fictional story that centers far more heavily on the romance and emotional connection between the characters, creative liberties are taken to hopefully ensure an exciting read, a plot that moves, and an ending that will leave your cheeks achin’ from a big-ass grin on your face.

These two men are about to make your heart race all over the place. And if you’re lucky, they just might steal it along the way.

As always, happy reading, my friend!

XXOO

Daryl

PROLOGUE

The tall gambrel ceiling of the horse barn stretches overhead in long planks of dark, durable oak. The morning sunlight peeks in through the high-set windows, creating long fingers of golden-white glass and revealing dust particles dancing in the air like tiny orbiting planets. Far below, two naked men lie side-by-side, one awake, one asleep, slick with sweat from head to toe.

That’s me … and him.

Straw is caught in our hair and glued to our chests and arms. Ghosts of our kisses last night swim in my ears, taunting me. The way he moans is so unexpectedly sweet, it drives me wild. And my reply each time, in the form of whimpers I can’t suppress when his mouth is on me, making a snack out of every inch of my body.

But it’s all over now. Just our heavy breathing lingers. And the sweat dripping off of our bodies. And my tortured thoughts as I lie here awake.

And the long planks of dark, durable oak staring down on us.

I just let him inside of me—this cocky new farmhand I barely know. After all of the fighting. After the words I shouted at him—at this know-it-all, eighteen-year-old rookie.

I should have been stronger that one day and not let him kiss me. I should not have given in to his eyes, to his lips … to my own pounding heart. Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?

It all started when he first stepped foot on this farm one hot summer day, ready to work hard, eager to prove himself …

Determined to ruin me.

Chapter 1
Harrison

I crouch by the fence and bring a hand to the side of Peepers’ wooly face, who scowls back at me with two beady, charcoal eyes. Peepers is our rogue ewe who keeps getting out of her enclosure like a regular Houdini. In other words, she’s a total pain in my ass.

“But I love you anyway,” I tell her, “even if you cause me so much grief that I’m going gray in my eyebrows.”

She snorts and pulls her head away, heading off to the rest of the flock. I rise and lean against the fence with a sigh. My arms ache and my hands are something raw after a hard day, but the love I feel in my heart for this place makes all the effort worth it. Hmm, it’s already about time to shear the sheep again, I realize, gnawing on the inside of my cheek as I observe the flock.

The years sure fly by fast in Spruce, Texas. Seems like it was just yesterday that I was at my ten-year high school reunion.

It’s the start of yet another hot, blistering summer, and I’ve got a smile on my face. I know it may seem strange, but there is just something about the hard, thankless labor of working on Gary Strong’s farm that makes me feel complete. It’s humble, honest work. And it never ends.

And there’s just something about getting lost in that humble, honest, never-ending work that fills my heart right up to the top, giving me the chance to forget about everything else.

Like how dang quiet my place gets at night.

So quiet, I swear I can hear chickens farting in the coop across the field.

And I’m pretty sure something has made a home beneath my floorboards. I just hope it’s of the cute and cuddly variety and not the lethal, bitey kind.

“Harrison!” yells Fred, a fellow farmhand. His bald head is always sunburned like a cherry, and he’s tall, lanky, and fifty-something. “Can I get some help luggin’ these?”

I’m not sure if it’s my football build (which has grown bigger over the years) or just that I never say no, but I’m always the guy everyone calls on for help—especially involving physical stuff. Though I’m technically not the foreman, I pretty much act as one, with everyone coming to me when a problem arises, and with the owner Gary himself carrying out certain orders through me to the rest of the farmhands. Guess that’s what I’ve earned for having put twelve long years into this place: an assumed seniority.

I think it’s important to make yourself useful in life. There are so many purposes to fulfill, ones that don’t seem so significant at first. Like hoisting bags of feed. Brushing a horse’s flank. Patching up a fence. Hell, that fence could be the difference between our beloved Peepers remaining a fluffy pain in my ass, or becoming road kill. I much prefer the former.

I’ve got a sack of chicken feed over my shoulder, following Fred to the coop, when I catch sight of an unfamiliar face making his way to the bunkhouse. I watch him, curious. He looks like a sturdy teenager in jeans and sneakers, complete with a cowboy hat and plaid shirt. One arm is bulged from the effort of carrying a duffel bag at his side. Even completely clothed, I can tell from his confident, energetic walk that the kid’s got muscle and strength, which are two things we can never have enough of running this place. Is this the new guy Gary wants to bring on for the summer? Whether he’s a recruit from Fairview or a local, I hope he’s not just here to solicit a new brand of horseshoe or peddle insurance.

Then he stops by the door to the bunkhouse, drops his huge bag to the ground with a thud, and wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist.

Wait a sec. Is that—?

No fucking way.

“Watch out!” Fred shouts.

I don’t turn quick enough. My waist collides into the fence of the chicken coop, bending me in half. The sack of feed on my shoulder slides straight off and slams to the ground with a loud and dusty crash, sending nearby chickens scattering in a frenzy of feathers and angry clucking.

I stare at the dust cloud in shock as it settles. It takes a minute before I regain my breath. “C-Count the chickens, Fred. Tell me I didn’t turn one into a poultry pancake.”

“You didn’t. It’s alright, Harrison. Phew!” He starts to let out a laugh, then swallows it as he notices the look on my face. “Are ya alright there, pal? You look like you seen a Jimmiwanga.”

I won’t ask what that is. “I’m fine.” I turn back and look at the bunkhouse, but he’s gone inside already.

And now my whole fuckin’ day’s wrecked.

Next thing I know, I’ve burst into Gary’s office like a tornado blowing down a barnyard door. “Tell me it isn’t true,” I demand.

Gary Strong, a tall and slender man with a gray handlebar mustache and the calmest, coolest blue eyes you can imagine, squints at me from his desk. “Hmm?”

“Hoyt?” I bark, pointing at the window through which the bunkhouse is visible across the field. “Hoyt Nowak? He was the ‘promising young man’ you just hired as our summer help?”

Gary slowly folds his arms and leans back in his chair, staring at me in an amused silence, a twinkle in his eyes.

But the last thing I am is amused. “What’s going on? Is this some kind of joke? Sir, with all due respect—”

“Funny, that sayin’,” Gary cuts me off in a soft, tickled voice. “Y’know people always only ever say ‘with all due respect’ just before sayin’ somethin’ disrespectful, insulting, or just straight-up outta line. And you ain’t any one of those three things, Harrison.”

“Sir …”

“So I don’t recommend you say what you was ‘bout to say.” He tilts his head, rekindling that same twinkle in his eyes. “I like you, Harrison. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know. And I do reckon you’re gonna need to use a lot of it this summer.”

I don’t like where he’s going with this. I shake my head. “No. Absolutely not. No, no, no.”

“Hoyt is the extra help this place needs. A good pair a’ hands is a good pair a’ hands. He’s gonna need some serious guidance, I know that much, but I think you’re just the—”

“I know how dirty he did Toby,” I cut him off—and I hate how it feels to cut off Gary. “I heard an earful and then some from Tanner to have enough of an idea what a guy like Hoyt is all about. He’s nothin’ good. That cocky little shit is just gonna make all of our lives hell, I’m telling you.”

“He’s had a tough time this past month. You heard about him havin’ just crashed and totaled his truck, haven’t you? Came out of that whole ordeal without a scratch on him, lucky tiger he is.”

“Probably his own fault,” I mutter back. “Heard he was out drinking with his friends.”

“I don’t listen to rumors n’ hearsay, and you shouldn’t either. So he’s stayin’ onsite with the rest of the farmhands. No way to commute. He’s got lots to prove. Friends are all off to university in the fall, leavin’ him behind, since he wasn’t accepted. Boy doesn’t understand UT is likely a pipedream now. Barely got two quarters to rub together. No car. No other prospects. He needs this work.”

I roll my eyes. “Why am I getting his whole sob story?”

After a moment, Gary rises from his chair and strolls over to the window. He stares out of it thoughtfully. “Do you remember twelve years ago?”

“What about twelve years ago?”

“When I hired you.”

I shrug. “Of course I do.”

“I don’t think you do, son. Comin’ straight out of high school yourself, where you stood in my nephew’s ‘Spruce Juice’ shadow out on that football field for four long years, you had all the cock in your walk, ready to prove yourself to be just as big and just as important as Tanner, every day, in and out.” Gary eyes me. “And you did everything wrong. You broke a tractor. Damn near ruined a whole crop. Almost lost one of my horses … or was it two?”

I’m grinding my teeth. “Sir …”

“I think you see my point already, Harrison.” He glances at me. “Give him a chance. I gave you one, didn’t I? He’s had a hard time of it. This is exactly the kinda thing he needs to focus himself.”

Gary is just like his brother Paul, Tanner’s dad: far too much compassion in his heart. “I’m tellin’ you, sir, some people—people who are like Hoyt Nowak—they just take and take and never give back. He will take advantage of every last scrap of kindness you’re showing him right now, I’m tellin’ you. This is a mistake to hire him. You’ll regret it.”

To that, Gary just smiles. “I ain’t ever regretted a thing in my life so far, and I don’t plan on startin’ now.”

“He’s gonna do you dirty, staining the Strong name.”

“So look after him, Harrison, n’ make sure he don’t.”

“I’m not a babysitter.”

From the doorway behind me comes another voice. “What’s this ‘bout a babysitter?”

I turn. Hoyt stands at the door holding his cowboy hat at his chest. His hair is casually swept to the side, yet still looks perfectly in place, like some kind of annoying sandy-blond Ken doll. All of his quarterback muscles in his lean, long build show through his fitted plaid shirt and tight, stylish gray jeans—which frankly look too damned clean to be stepping a toe on this farm.

Gary turns away from the window and smiles at him. “Good afternoon, Hoyt. Did you find your bunk?”

Hoyt fidgets. “Yeah, about that. All of ‘em are taken.”

“Oh, did I not mention that? A sleeping space was set up for you right off the kitchen, in the back mudroom. Should have a cot and a trunk for your things.” Gary faces me with a soft smile. “Will you be so kind as to show Hoyt to his living space, Harrison?”

I stare down the boy, my fingertips prickling with annoyance.

Hoyt only stares vacantly back. Even his blank face somehow carries a smug air of undeserved confidence.

I’m about to wipe that look right off of him. “This way,” I tell the boy in half a growl, then brush past him as I head out into the hot and punishing afternoon sun.

Chapter 2
Hoyt

I don’t know what it is about this Harrison guy, but he’s sure got a chip on his shoulder about something.

And that is one very big-ass shoulder to have a chip on.

When you look at Harrison’s face, all you expect is a bucketful of sweetness and corny jokes. He’s got a handsome smile, full lips, and thick blunt eyebrows. A power in his big doe eyes that always seems sincere, like he can never tell a lie. Smooth, russet brown skin with warm, rosy-bronze undertones. Short, tight curls of dark hair on top, buzzed and faded down the sides perfectly. All of that is married to a tall muscular build even I envy, earned from all of his hard hours spent on this farm, no doubt.

But I can’t appreciate any of it, because all that this block of muscle is giving me is attitude. Did I interrupt his spa hour?

“Hope you got the right clothes for the job,” he mutters as we make our way back to the bunkhouse, “because those fancy jeans and little sneakers aren’t gonna cut it.”

He’s already rubbing me the wrong way. “Of course I got the right shoes. I ain’t a moron.” Wait. Do I have the right shoes? “I’m ready to work, and I’m ready to work hard.”

“You start at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow, first thing. And I expect you to know things already, so today, you’re learning the lay of the land. There’s lots of land, too, so better keep up,” he says over his shoulder, “because I don’t got time to repeat myself.”

What’s with this guy? “You don’t gotta repeat anything. I’m hearin’ you loud and clear.”

He snorts to himself.

I know who he is through my old football coach, but never got to know him all that well. My first impression is he’s a lot more of a hard ass than I expected—and that’s not a pun to do with his actual ass, which looks about as firm as a damned mound of granite as he walks ahead of me, leading the way. His every footfall is heavy and certain. He looks a second away from emitting steam from his nostrils, like a bull readying himself to charge. And I haven’t seen his blunt, pulled-together eyebrows relax once since the moment we met in Gary’s office.

Where’s the sweet, loveable teddy bear I always heard about through Coach Strong?

The bunkhouse door swings open. Inside, I face a living room area to the left, complete with a couch, poker table, some potted plants by the window, and a mounted TV over an old jukebox. Up ahead past the dining table, a staircase leads up to a narrow loft with a row of bunk beds. Underneath the loft is a door to the communal bathroom, plus a door to a walk-in storage closet. To the right is the kitchen, past which leads off to the mudroom.

And it’s to that mudroom Harrison takes me, kicking open the door and presenting it with a gesture of his hand. “Here you go, your bunk of sorts.”

My ‘bunk of sorts’ is a cot pressed against the wall next to an old stacked washing machine and dryer, all cramped up in this mudroom that can’t be more than six or seven feet wide, complete with a screened window and door. A trunk is squished against the foot of the bed, where I reckon my things are supposed to go.

I give him a look. “This cot been checked for bed bugs? Looks like it was fished out of a dumpster behind Mort’s furniture store.”

“If it isn’t to your liking, you can always commute.”

I can still hear the hissing of the engine after the crash, the noise of groaning metal, my heart racing up my throat. “That’s … not an option,” I say, coming out of the memory.

“Guess it isn’t, huh? That’s what you get for being careless.”

I stare at him. “Careless …?”

“Yeah. Wrecking your truck. I heard the story.”

“Okay, now, wait a sec here,” I start, lifting a finger. “I wasn’t goin’ around bein’ careless with my old rusty beaut. There was a dumb dog in the road I was swervin’ to avoid …”

“A dog?”

“Yeah, damn near jumped out of nowhere. Me sacrificing my truck saved that stupid canine’s life.”

He gnaws on the inside of his cheek, studying me, squinting. I know the guy probably doesn’t believe me. I don’t really care. It’s the truth, and while that dog might be alive because of me, I’m now short a truck—and a means to get around Spruce other than on my own two feet.

Harrison finally grunts. “Probably Whitney’s dog again,” he mumbles half to himself. “She’s been unable to keep that dog in one place since he was a pup, always running off here and there.”

“I dunno whose dog it was, but they’re alive ‘cause of me, and I think I’m owed a thanks.” I shrug. “At the very least, I mean.”

Harrison turns his eyes onto me. “So what’re you expecting? A medal of honor? Look, we’re already falling behind. I gotta show you everything today—and what chores you’ll do tomorrow.”

“Chores?”

“Of course, chores. Feeding sheep. Cleaning the pig pen and the barn. Chickens. Horses. Cows …”

“I, uh … what?”

“That’s just the start. You’ll also be helping with maintenance, shoveling manure … Oh yeah, I hope you’re ready to get nice and accustomed to the aroma of animal feces …”

“Okay, okay, hold up now …”

“What’s that look on your face? Panic? What exactly did you think you came here for, boy? A vacation? Look, if it doesn’t sound like your cup of tea,” he goes on while I gawk at him, “we’re happy to find someone else for the job. Maybe a guy or gal who actually has farm experience—someone whose hand I won’t have to hold.”

I shut my mouth, which I didn’t realize was hanging open. He really is testing me—to my very last nerve. And it’s just the first day. Hell, it’s the first ten minutes of the first day.

Can I really last a whole summer of this?

But if there’s any virtue Coach Strong instilled in me over my years in football, it’s perseverance. When there’s a goal set, my ass doesn’t quit until it’s done. You can bet your bottom dollar I won’t give Harrison exactly what he wants: for me to go running from this place with my tail tucked.

I lift my chin. “You don’t gotta hold my hand, sir.”

Harrison stares me down harder. “You sure about that?”

“Dead sure.”

“You gonna cry any more about your living arrangements? I wasn’t kidding about having a whole stack of applicants on Gary’s desk I can thumb through and find a less pretty face than yours to take your cozy spot here.”

I flinch. “Did you just call me ‘pretty’ …?”

“Someone who doesn’t whine. Someone who’s ready to get pig shit under their fingernails.”

What’s this guy’s obsession with animal poop? “I ain’t whining.”

“Trust me, I can find someone,” he goes right on, maintaining that permanent scowl on his face, thick eyebrows pulled together with tension. “Just say the word.”

I throw my bag to the ground. “This is fine with me.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Dumpster cot, screen door and all.”

Harrison gives me a hard onceover. Finally he nods. “Alright. I’ll be outside waiting while you get that stuff of yours put away. Get something more durable on those feet. Boots, if you got them. Animals don’t care what you look like, just as long as you keep them fed and happy.” He leans in. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you today. You have a lot to learn.”

I nod. “Got the message loud and clear.”

With that, he pushes through the screen door and heads into the blinding sun, letting the door slap itself shut with the wind. A fly buzzes around the screened window, as if trying to find its way out. Sorry, bug, but it looks like you’re stuck here, same as me. I stare down at the cot, my eyes zeroing in on a suspicious stain.

Harrison isn’t gonna make this easy, that much is for sure.

But what other choice do I have? No one’s hiring. For the first summer in as long as I can remember, there’s no money to be made anywhere in Spruce. Any option of driving to Fairview for a job went out the window the same day I almost flew out the window of my own truck when it crashed. I need money, I need a lot of it, and I can’t afford to be picky.

If I don’t make this work, I’ve got nothing.

Chapter 3
Hoyt

One minute, I’m at the side of the pig pen, staring at a bunch of oinking little monsters and plugging my nose.

Then my clumsy ass is sloshing through sticky mud, trying to get the stubborn oinkers into their enclosure.

“C’mon!” Harrison eggs me on. “Put some back into it!”

One of the pigs comes out of nowhere, zipping between my legs with a squeal of delight. I lose my balance, cry, “Holy shit!!” and fall backwards into the mud, earning an outburst of laughter from the nearby farmhands—none of whom lend a damned hand.

“C’mon, boy, get back up!” calls Harrison. “Up, up! Charlotte and Wilbur are getting away, look!”

I glare at him from the ground. “Charlotte’s the dang spider in the kid’s book! Why is there a pig named Charlotte??”

He shrugs. “Ask Gary. He’s the one with the sense of humor.”

A woman leaning against the fence nudges him. She’s maybe thirty or so with long, knotted brown hair twisted up underneath her hat, tangles of it hanging over her face, tanned complexion, long-limbed and sharp-eyed. “Why you got the poor boy playin’ with the pigs on his first day? You know one of us can do this work in half the time.” Her name’s Emmalea, but she goes by Lea.

“He’s gotta learn. This is how I learned. Dive right in, head-on. Now c’mon, get on up!” he calls out, and I swear he’s suppressing a laugh. “You got more pigs to round up! They’re waiting!”

I can’t give in. I can’t show that he’s getting to me. “Bring ‘em on,” I snap back. I get to my feet—only to be knocked right back on my ass by another pig who charges out of nowhere, oinking with unrelenting joy. Everyone bursts into laughter again.

I guess this is just a mere morsel of the hell that awaits me.

Harrison’s little “tour” has quickly become a crash course in how to humiliate myself in front of a bunch of strangers I’m going to be living and working with for the rest of the summer.

Then Harrison shows me the sheep, who are apparently due for a shearing soon. “See that big ol’ gal in the back?” His big arm flexes taut as he points across the enclosure. My eyes glue to his huge bicep, stunned. “You gotta watch out for her. Peepers. And I ain’t joking, because she will—” Seriously, does this dude bench-press cows to get those sick guns? They’re the size of my thighs. “—first thing in the morning, which I’ll show you. Fences are the most important—” I bet he can find a way to tie a watermelon into a knot with those suckers.

Then: “Hey, are you paying attention?”

I snap out of it. “Of course. Fences are important, blah, blah.”

“Yeah, because the lives of fluffy villains like Peepers depend on it,” he says, pointing again—and again, my eyes snap to his arm. “You’ll shear a few. And if we—”

Why am I tempted to grab that bicep like a sandwich? I bet it feels like a slab of goddamned granite.

“Hoyt?”

I nod. “Yeah, sure, I’m shearing the villainous sheep, got it.”

Harrison huffs at me, annoyed, then pushes away from the fence and saunters off. “C’mon, then. Horses are next. And I hope you’re retaining all of this, because tomorrow, it’s all on you.”

His arms aren’t the only thing big on him. His ass, too, like he’s got two steel globes squeezed in his jeans. The guy has to do a hundred squats a day, easy. Not to mention his thighs, which are each as big as my damned head. Why am I imagining him locking those suckers around me in a head scissor suddenly? I’d be choked out in seconds.

Better make sure it’s only pigs I’m wrestling in the mud and not him. I can take on his attitude all day long, but not sure I hold a candle to his actual strength.

And especially those thighs.

We finally arrive at the horse barn, which I’ve actually been pretty excited about—until I’m shown what I’m going to have to do to keep this enormous place “clean n’ pristine” according to Harrison’s high-ass standards, thus sucking out all the curiosity and fascination I had a second ago.

I keep feeling like some funky smell is following me no matter where the hell we go. Was it actually pig shit I fell in and not mud back at the pig pen? I can’t solve the mystery.

Harrison shows me how to clean the barn by pitching in himself, which surprises me after he kinda let the pigs have their way with me. I follow his lead, eyeing him as we work. Whenever he gets down to business, he has this serious look on his face, with his eyebrows tense and pulled together, his eyes sharp as needles, and his lips pursed with intense concentration. I don’t know what it is about him that keeps pulling my attention. Maybe I just don’t get why he’s being so hard on me. He’s a pretty handsome guy. If he’d just ease up on me, I feel like we could actually be friends.

Instead, Harrison is the killer of all things happy or fun.

Coach Tanner was so wrong about him.

He takes me to the outdoor paddock, an enclosure where the horses graze, play with each other, and enjoy the fresh air. “For a so-called ‘farm’,” I mutter after Harrison gives a tiringly long and wordy speech about horse hygiene, “y’all sure do deal with a lot of stinky-ass animals. Like, why’s this place called a farm and Coach Strong’s place a ranch? You both keep animals. I thought—”

“It’s not about having or not having animals. It’s what you do with them, what you raise them for.” He sighs impatiently. “Hoyt, remind me again why you even applied for this job?”

“But you plant and harvest crops on a farm, too. So where are the cornfields or rows of vegetables and stuff? You haven’t shown me any of that. I thought I was gonna be riding badass machines all day, harvesting wheat and grain, gettin’ a good tan, watchin’ some huge scary contraption chop it all up …”

He rolls his eyes. “You seriously think I’m gonna let a kid like you play with our big-boy machines on your first day?”

“This was supposed to be just a tour,” I remind him.

“And you’re supposed to be an actual farmhand. But instead, I got a high schooler who doesn’t know a hoe from a rake.”

“What did you just call me??” I snap. Harrison squints at me questioningly. “Just kidding. ‘Hoe’. You … You said ‘hoe’. I was just pretending you called me a—”

“Yeah, juvenile humor, I get it.”

I stare at him, annoyed.

The guy has no sense of humor.

As we leave the horses and head over to the cows, I snort at his back. “I’m not a high schooler anymore, by the way. I’m a high school grad now, free from that place. And if I had my truck, I’d be burning my way around town makin’ bank. I’m a grown-ass man.”

“Making bank? A grown-ass—?” He blows air out of his lips. “You’re just lucky, that’s it.”

“Lucky?”

“Yeah. Got out of totaling your truck without even a scratch on you.” He squints at my head. “Well, other than that little nick on your forehead.”

“That nick was already there. Football injury.” I consider him for a second, then nudge his side with an elbow. “You know how it is. Weren’t you some big deal back in your days, old man?”

That stops him. “Old man??”

“Yeah, a big deal. Or was it just Coach ‘Spruce Juice’ Strong?”

He lets out a cackle I didn’t realize he was capable of. “Old man?? Boy, I’m thirty. You’re the baby at just eighteen.”

Now that has me snarling. “I ain’t a baby.”

“Oh, we’ll see after tomorrow.” He comes up to me, shadow towering over my face. “Tending a farm is hard work. The hardest you will ever know. And you’re already whining about stinky pigs, begging me to see vegetables. I doubt you’ll even last a day.”

I take a step forward, nearly putting my face to his. “Try me.”

He doesn’t back down. “I’m gonna do more than ‘try’ you. You will watch and you will learn every little thing I say or do. Your eyes are on me at all times. Your ears, open. I don’t want a lick of sass from you. Got it? I have the power to kick your tight, whiny tushie right off this farm if I want.”

He breathes in my face, hot and pointed, his eyes shining with conviction. All that handsomeness is almost too much to bear this close up, but I hold my ground and send all that fire right back to him through my own eyes.

The corner of my mouth curls up defiantly. “That’s odd.”

Harrison quirks one eyebrow ever so subtly. “Odd …?”

“Yeah. What you just said. I find it odd. Because what I heard is that Mr. Gary Strong has no other options for extra workers. Fairview’s got no one. Applicants are run dry. From the sound of it, I’m pretty much the only option you’ve got.”

The tiniest bead of sweat dances down the side of Harrison’s face, like a crack in his resolve making itself known.

“And unlike you,” I go on, feeling bigger by the second, “Gary actually believes in me. I think it’s his opinion I need. Not yours. It’s him I’m trying to impress. Not you.” I lift my chin smugly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere … old man.”

His nostrils flare. I watch the gears turn in his eyes, searching for a comeback, for a snide remark, anything.

A victory has never felt so sweet as it does now.

Until the tiniest smirk teases his lips. “Hmm … Maybe you’re right.” He takes a step back, appraising me. “You are a big, mature, grown-ass man now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You bet I am.”

“I bet you are. You’re a big, grown-ass man … ready to take on big, grown-ass challenges.” He nods, as if admiring me. “Let’s go. Still got the cattle left to show you, then we’ll call it a day.” He turns and heads off.

I’m left to follow him.

With a sudden, suspicious feeling of reluctance.

When we arrive at the cows, he gives me a long lecture about milk. The guy talks a mile a minute—I’m convinced he does it on purpose just to confuse me—but all I do is stroll along, my eyes jumping from cow to cow, naming them in my head. Betsy. Boopy. Boobie. Milky. Milko. Madam Milks-a-lot …

“—when it comes time to artificially inseminate them.”

I stop in my tracks and face him. “Say what?”

“And when that day comes, we’ll get a nice long glove on you, right up to your elbow, and uuup your long arm goes, straight up the cow’s—”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on.”

“What?” He faces me, innocent-eyed. “It’s part of the job, too. Better to learn it sooner than later.”

“My arm …?” I can barely say it. “… goes up the cow’s—?”

“Sure does.”

“You want me to … to fist-fuck a cow?”

He gives me a hearty slap on the back. “Don’t worry, Hoyt. You’ll get exactly what you want: big, grown-ass man stuff to do. And what’s manlier than impregnating a cow?”

I stare ahead at whichever cow I just named. Madam Milks-a-lot. She stares back at me, chewing on whatever is in her mouth, sad-faced and silent.

It’s official.

I hate Harrison.

The day—and my miserable tour—comes to an end. As I head for the bunkhouse, Harrison walks in another direction. I learn he doesn’t live with the others. “I stay in a small guesthouse. Straight across the yard from your mudroom, in fact. Don’t worry,” he adds tauntingly, “I’ll keep an eye on you. We start first thing in the morning, so you’d better get plenty of rest. Trust me, you’ll need every minute of it.” With an amused smirk, he takes off, marching his juggernaut self the other way.

I stare after him. I’m sore in places I didn’t even know I could be. I’m starving. I’m exhausted.

I’m still thinking about my arm halfway up a cow’s butthole.

Can I really do this?

In the evening, I’m last in the bathroom to take my shower, which is one of the most refreshing experiences I’ve ever known—even though I come out of it still feeling like I got crap stuck under my fingernails and in my hair. Then I join a table full of my other housemates for dinner, which Emmalea cooked. Apparently a few of them take turns cooking the meals. I scarf down my plate like I haven’t eaten in a week. The whole time, I get looks from the others. Hateful looks. Guarded looks. Downright irritated looks. Even while they’re seemingly busy chatting, I keep feeling their eyes on me like I’ve unknowingly insulted all their mothers.

Finally, I snap. “Someone got a problem with me?”

The table falls silent.

“Well?” I ask, mouth full. “Someone think I don’t belong here? Wanna laugh at me some more for not being able to wrestle a pig down on my first day? Is that why you all keep lookin’ at me?”

An older man next to me blinks, his chewing stopped.

A bearded fellow on my other side squints at me uncertainly.

It’s Emmalea, dead across the table, who replies. “I don’t think anyone here has a problem with you, Hoyt. Long as you put in the work, do your share, you’re welcome to a seat at this table.”

Someone else, a skinny man with sunburned skin, deep crow’s feet, salt-and-pepper hair, and a mustache that’s a minute away from swallowing his face, mutters, “Also maybe, uh, chew with your mouth closed. You sound like a Gabbanabba.”

I swallow my bite. “I sound like a say what …?”

“Ignore him,” says Emmalea. “Eat and relax. Fred likes to make up words. He’s half-senile.”

“Four eighths,” he corrects her, then sips from his beer.

“Four eighths is the same as—Never mind.” She lifts her fork like a baton. “Anyone got somethin’ else they wanna voice to the rookie? Get off their chest? Or can we all go back to eatin’ and pretendin’ like we aren’t noticing Miguel’s out-of-control hair?”

Miguel—whose long, straight black hair covers half of his face like a curtain—glances up from his plate. “Haven’t made it to the barber,” he says. “Cale and Edison are always so freakin’ busy this time of year. I’m not gonna bother them.”

Emmalea snorts. “Honey, I’ll cut your dang hair for free.”

“Lea, sweetie,” he sings back in a dainty voice, “I wouldn’t let you near my head with a pair of kiddy scissors.”

Just like that, the spotlight’s off me as everyone starts arguing and taking sides about Miguel’s hair, with Lea waving her knife around. I keep to myself after that, still not quite convinced that everyone at the table doesn’t have some bone to pick with me.

Long before I’m ready to sleep, I’m in the mudroom sitting on my creaky cot, with the night sky, stars, and big moon visible through the screen door. I lean against the wall and stare at it, my foot propped up on the washing machine door, annoyed at my phone. The service out here sucks. I asked the group earlier if Gary has Wi-Fi, and everyone just laughed, Emmalea included.

I’ve got more than just a view of the moon and stars through the screen door; I can also see a nearby small cabin with a porch. Is that where Harrison stays? There’s a light on in one of the front windows, but I don’t see any movement.

Maybe he’s got Wi-Fi.

After some mental preparation, I push myself off the bed and slip through the screen door. It’s just a hundred or so feet between the bunkhouse and Harrison’s cabin, so he sure wasn’t kidding when he joked about keeping an eye on me—assuming that was a joke. If I ever overslept, you’d better bet he’ll be banging on the screen door with a fist and scaring the shit out of me.

I reach his porch and knock on the front door. As I wait, I notice a particularly stylish rocking chair on the porch joined by a small, unique-looking table. I can’t imagine finding any table like that at Mort’s, let alone anywhere else in Spruce. And the rocking chair, too, which has an artful look about it, with a tall back that has cool, detailed, crisscrossed etchings in the middle. I wonder if Harrison has some secret spot in Fairview where he does his shopping, or else inherited these from Gary Strong himself.

I sigh and give the door another knock, then start slowly pacing along his porch. After a while, I approach the rocking chair, studying it again. I have an old rocking chair on my patio, but it’s nothing compared to the artistry of this one. I take a seat in it. Damn, it’s comfy, too. As I gently rock, my eyes dance up to find a string of lights tracing the roof of the porch. A wind chime, which is perfectly still on account of the complete lack of wind, hangs in front of me, made of an assortment of dangling shells.

I squint at it as I wait.

Seriously, this rocking chair is ridiculous. Its arms feel like a hug. The back cradles my head and body perfectly. I damned well could fall asleep in it right now if I just close my eyes and relax. I’d be tempted to do just that if this wasn’t a certain someone’s porch.

There’s a distant crash joined by a grunt.

I lift my head from the rocking chair and turn. Where did that come from? I hear another forceful grunt following by a smacking noise, then another, then another. I get up and descend the porch steps, then come around the side of the cabin, following the noise.

I arrive at the backyard, where I come to a stop. There’s a back porch too, uncovered, and all over the yard in front of it are a bunch of workbenches, two-by-fours, wood, knickknacks, metal, paint, finishings, tools, and all sorts of other stuff. And nearest to the back door, I see an unfinished table, something that looks like a cabinet, a stack of drawers, and some other large furniture piece I can’t identify.

And at the center workbench is Harrison in just a pair of jeans and a tight, oil-and-grease-stained tank top, hammering wood. All of him and his work lit by a bright work light.

His muscles flex and contract with every slam. His giant arms, sweat-glistened, powerful. His face, scowling with determination and focus.

My eyes are glued, unblinking and wide. Did Harrison make all of this? Does he make furniture? Did he make that rocking chair I just half fell asleep in? I’m genuinely caught off-guard, watching with a mixture of curiosity and bafflement as Harrison works.

Then he stops and sets down his hammer. In one inexplicably demonstrative act of slow-motion, Harrison takes hold of his tank top and peels it off his body, revealing a mountain of warm brown muscle and sweat, chiseled in every place that muscle can possibly be chiseled. He’s painted all over his chest and arms with tattoos I didn’t realize existed until now. He wipes his forehead off with his tank, then chucks it at a chair behind him without even looking before resuming his work.

My heart is racing as I stare at that glorious bronze statue of a man that is Harrison. Each time he hammers, he proves the way he commits to his tasks, with every fiber of muscle in his body, and with every burning ember of his heart and soul.

No matter how beautiful a work of his seems to the casual passerby, he keeps tweaking it and working it over with expert care and the highest of standards.

Even I can admit how beautiful it is, his dedication to his work. And just when I thought I knew the guy …

He stops suddenly, looks up, then turns my way.

I’m already hiding behind the side of the cabin again, my body flat against the wall, holding my breath. After a minute, I hear him resume his work.

My heartbeat is so damned volatile right now, I feel like a full-on fucking band of drummers going ballistic in my ribcage as I peel away and hurry back across the yard. I slip into the mudroom and drop onto my squeaky cot, then stare ahead at the wall.

No matter how many times I blink, all I see is Harrison, his sweaty muscles gleaming in the work light.

His strength.

His art.

His commitment to achieving perfection.

And all I hear is the relentless drumming of my own heart.

Chapter 4
Harrison

Today, I have one goal, and one goal only.

I’m going to make Hoyt Nowak’s life on this farm so damned miserable, he’ll have no choice but to quit.

I bang a fist against the screen door at dawn’s shiny ass crack.

Hoyt, in just a pair of boxers with his bed sheets kicked off of him, sits up faster than if his ball hairs just caught fire. He blinks a dozen times before he finally sees me. “Rise n’ shine,” I taunt him. “Meet me at the barn. Got horses to saddle and a barn to clean.” He’s still wiping the sleep out of his eyes when I walk away.

After going over all the different parts of a saddle and how to properly put one on a horse, I let him try. As expected, it’s a total disaster. “Nope,” I shout out at him, arms folded, waiting. “Nope, not that either,” I say after he makes the wrong correction. “You want one of us to fall off the horse the second we get moving? You got our lives in your hands, boy, treat them with respect.”

Hoyt scowls, then tries again.

The sun is punishing.

The day stretches on like it enjoys the torture I’m dishing out.

“The barn’s got to be cleaned,” I tell him. “I showed you how to do it yesterday.”

Hoyt gawks. “I gotta clean this whole place by myself??”

“Fred will be by in an hour once he finishes up in the fields, but he’ll expect the stalls to be mucked out by then, at the very least. Hey, this is all part of the job. Muck buckets and shovels are where they were yesterday. Better get to it.”

His jaw tightens. “Yes, sir.” He heads off without complaint.

Half an hour later, I’m busy collecting eggs from the chicken coop, just within eyesight of the barn, when Emmalea gallops by on her horse and comes to a stop at the fence. “How’s the rookie doin’?” she asks. “Have you killed him yet?”

“Failing to impress me is how he’s doing,” I answer.

“You’re so … how do I put this? …” She lets out a dry laugh. “You’re so dang distrustful of new people, you wouldn’t trust a bee with its own hive. Can’t you just be a tad nicer?”

“Lea, you don’t know Hoyt the way I know him.”

“Judgin’ from what I heard, you don’t know him at all.” When I give her a look, she shrugs. “All you know about him is what you heard through Mr. Gary’s nephew and the Spruce grapevine, and ain’t neither of those reliable sources.”

“They’re reliable enough for me.”

“Well, you do you. But the boy’s got a place at our table, even if you only let him sit at it for half a minute this morning. Barely ate any breakfast, poor thing.”

“Not my fault he slept in,” I point out.

To that, she just clicks her tongue, and off she goes with the horse, leaving me with my chickens. I gaze at the barn, wondering how far Hoyt’s come.

Am I being too hard on him?

Then I think about the years of torment he put Toby through, the cocky expression on his face when he first showed up here, and how boys like that never learn their lessons. I don’t care what he says; Hoyt Nowak is used to getting away with everything.

He won’t pull the wool over these eyes.

It’s another hour or so later when I check up on him. “Well?” he asks, gesturing at the barn, out of breath and soaked through his clothes with sweat. “This to your liking?”

I inspect each stall, walking past them one by one. The whole time, I sneak glances at Hoyt. His face is flushed, and his neck and arms are slick with sweat. I see the look of pride in his eyes. Or is it defiance? Does he actually welcome taking on these challenges I keep throwing at him? Maybe he’s used to the physical abuse from football, and the rewards and praise he gets for accomplishing his tasks. Maybe he can take a lot more than I give him credit for.

That still won’t stop me. “You didn’t change all the bedding in this one. Back there in the corner. See it?”

Hoyt comes right up to the stall, standing next to me. He curls his lip with frustration. “Really? That tiny lil’ bit …?”

“Yes, really,” I say, leaning toward his face. “That tiny lil’ bit.”

“The horses don’t even use the damned stalls unless they’re injured or sick, right? Why is it such a big deal if—”

“Because I said so.”

When Hoyt turns his eyes onto me, he looks like he’s trying to summon fire from his nostrils. I feel the heat of his every breath on my cheeks. I’m sure exhaustion is mounting in his very bones. I’m pretty sure no one in all of Spruce has been this hard on him his whole privileged life, and that’s exactly why I need to be: the former hotshot of Spruce High won’t learn anything otherwise if everyone keeps forgiving his handsome face and pretty-boy eyes, giving him every benefit of every doubt because of his cheekbones and charm, and letting just about anything slide on account of his football stardom—which don’t mean a lick of anything here.

Finally Hoyt swallows all his anger, his eyes hardening. “You got it, boss.” He trudges back into the stall without another word. I walk away with my chin up, leaving him to it.

The stress test won’t end any time soon for Hoyt Nowak. And I won’t let it end.

Not unless it ends with him saying he quits.

It’s around four in the afternoon when I’m leaning against the fence of the pig pen, watching over Hoyt, and I can’t leave him be. “C’mon, I showed you better than that,” I call out at him while he’s cleaning out the trough. “Even Wilbur and Charlotte think you’re slacking. See how they’re looking at you from the shade, your new best pals? You want them to eat out of a filthy trough?”

Hoyt wipes his face—forgetting his hand was covered in mud and God-knows. He clenches his teeth in disgust when he realizes it, his freshly-smudged face reddening. “I swear …”

“What was that?” I egg him on. “You got something to say?”

He balls up his fists so tightly, they start to shake.

“C’mon, Hoyt, don’t let down your pig buddies. Dirty trough means dirty food. This is how diseases are born.”

“You’re the disease.”

I heard him clearly. Still, I smirk at him. “Wanna say that to my face, rookie?”

He rises at once and marches across the mud and dirt. “Okay, Harrison. Tell me what it is. Just go ahead and tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

He comes to a stop right in front of me. His chest rises and falls with his anger. “Tell me what it is you hate so damned much about me. Did I kick your cat yesterday without knowing it? Did I fart on your pillow? Is it my hair? Do you hate my perfect hair?”

I scrunch up my face. “Say what?”

“You hate me. Actually, you despise me. I want to know why.”

I cross my arms. I’m enjoying this too much. “Hate is a very strong word and, frankly, an unhealthy emotion to practice.”

“Hate ain’t an emotion,” he growls back. “It’s an action. Every time you smirk at me, taking pleasure out of what you’re puttin’ me through. Every scowl. Every scoff. So go on and tell me. Why’re you treatin’ me like the shit that I just wiped across my face?”

“Oh, is that what that is?” I tilt my head, inspecting it. “I was wondering. Smells pretty bad.”

Then he shoves me—painting two big, muddy handprints on my chest—and I fall back against the fence.

Wow, he’s sure got a lot more strength in those arms than I realized.

And he just got physical. “Hey, now …” I warn him, slipping away from the fence to circle him.

He circles me, too, like a lion claiming territory. “I know I’m the rookie here,” he says through clenched teeth, “and I can take a lil’ roughin’ up and tough love or whatever—hell, even a bit of attitude I might understand, sure—but not this. Not how you’ve been treatin’ me today.”

“Put your hands on me again, and I’ll fold you in half,” I warn him, lifting a finger.

He swats my finger away, continuing to circle me, fury in his dark, smoldering eyes. “I deserve some damned dignity.”

“Dignity? You’ve got a space to sleep, food to eat every day and night, and a job that’s gonna pay you more than you’re worth. You want to know what a lack of dignity looks like? Maybe you should sleep out here with all the pigs and eat from their trough. Then you’ll realize why I stress cleanliness and thoroughness and—”

“Bullshit. You’re just being hard on me ‘cause you like it.” He puts his hands to my chest and shoves again.

I shove him right back. “I told you, put your hands on me one more time and I’ll—”

He grabs my shirt.

I grab his tight shirt right back with both my hands.

Threads pop. I damn near rip his top right off his sweaty chest as I grapple with the boy. We’re both out of words. All we have is our hands, the hot breath pumping out of our flared nostrils, and white-hot anger in our eyes.

Then his shirt tears completely and he falls to the mud.

I lose my balance, scraps of his shirt in my fist, and fall back.

The next second, he’s on top of me, his angry face in front of mine. There’s no sense or reason to our angry grappling as we roll over once, twice, three times in the sticky mud. Both our hats flew off at some point, and now I’ve got mud in my ears and hair as I try to find something to cling to. All he’s got is his sweaty, bare torso, and there isn’t anywhere to grab hold of but his arms, chiseled chest, or ridiculously slender waist. We roll over again.

Our fighting slows. Or is it just an illusion? The only thing I know is my hands all over his body, and what it feels like to touch him—and for him to touch me. I never thought this was something that would happen. I never thought—

I slam onto my back.

His toned, muscled chest is pressed to my face as he scrambles to grab a better hold of me. What is he doing exactly? What is he trying to accomplish?

I growl against his sweaty skin, just as unsuccessful in finding a place on his body to grab hold of. His arms are slippery. His back, too. My hand, desperate to find some leverage to use in flipping him over, dares to slide lower down his back.

Lower.

Then my fingers find the waistband of his underwear, poking out from his low-hanging jeans. Then I touch denim. Then a belt loop, and finally the firm, tight embrace of his ass cheek.

We’re still struggling.

His breaths are crashing in my ear as he tries to figure out what to do with me.

Still blinded by his sweaty skin pressed to my face, I squeeze his ass with all my might, trying to flip him over. I squeeze harder. Then harder.

Why does anger and excitement feel like the same thing?

His thigh slides up between my legs in his effort to grab hold of me. It slips right into my crotch, then begins to knead me, like some kind of angry massage. I can’t manage to get his muscular thigh out from between my legs. It keeps rubbing, pumping, and thrusting as Hoyt tries to resist me flipping him over.

My hand still squeezing his ass, his muscular thigh grinding into my crotch, I can’t escape the prison of his efforts.

My dick starts stiffening up.

It’s out of my control. This whole situation. This fight. His wet, toned chest on my face. His ass cupped by my squeezing hand. His thigh pressing firmly onto my quickly swelling, exposed crotch.

For some reason, I grow even angrier.

With renewed energy, I give one huge thrust of my arms, and the boy flips over and slams to his back. He squints against the sudden sunlight pouring over his grimy face as I tower over him, straddling his stomach between my powerful legs. He lets out one feeble whimper of frustration as I grab hold of his wrists and pin them to the mud above his head.

Hoyt’s face is flushed and sweaty, cheeks caked with mud, as he glares up at me, breathing heavily, lips snarling.

Everything is slow and focused again. His eyes, burning me. His teeth, slightly bared as he sucks in breath after breath. And his nostrils are flared with his efforts.

But he’s stopped fighting back.

I have him pinned, sitting on him, holding his wrists to the mud, my sweaty face above his, looking down on him as if from a mountaintop, victorious.

Has he given in?

His eyes were full of anger before, but I can’t say that’s what’s in them anymore. As he works to catch his breath, all I see in his eyes is a strange mixture of adrenaline, excitement, frustration, and curiosity. Is he surprised by my strength? Or is he surprised that he’s run out of it himself?

Or is it something else …?

I don’t know what’s on my face, but all I can do is stare down at him and continue to catch my breath, his body caught between my thighs, held down by my weight.

My heartbeat is in my ears.

He still says nothing.

He does nothing.

I continue staring down at him, at a loss.

Suddenly, I don’t know what either of us are doing.

I get off of Hoyt and rise to my feet. He still doesn’t move. He just stares up at me blankly, his hands still over his head where I had them pinned, tatters of his torn shirt all around him. His chest rises and falls with his every breath. He squints against the sun, but never looks away from me, stinging me with his eyes.

Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he getting up?

Why isn’t he trying to fight me?

It’s over, that’s why, I tell myself. I won, and he’s accepted it, and it’s all over now.

Finally, I clear my throat. “Finish up with … the trough and … and then you’re …” I can’t catch my breath. My heart won’t stop racing. “Then you’re done for the day.”

He doesn’t say anything back. He only stares, breathing hard, a sweaty, sticky, filthy mess. It’s like he’s waiting for me to say something else. To do something else. But what would I say? What would I do?

I walk away, leaving him with the pigs.

Chapter 5
Harrison

For fuck’s sake, what’s come over me?

I get out of the shower and dry off, then sit on my bed in just my towel and stare at the window, dumbfounded.

What is it about that damned kid?

I lost my cool out there. I’ve never lost my cool before, not like that. Not since high school when Tanner and I would bicker over the dumbest things, then wrestle it out in the locker room or on the field, nearly killing each other, until our coach or some of our teammates would separate us.

But we were like brothers. We grew up together. Hoyt isn’t a brother at all. I barely know anything about him, other than he’s an intolerable, spoiled jock who has no business taking advantage of and getting handouts from respectable people like Gary Strong.

I can still feel my heartbeat in my fingertips.

I can still feel the firmness of his body smashing against mine.

His warm, sweaty chest pressed against my face.

His hands grabbing hold of me wherever he could.

And my fingers, cupping the entirety of one firm ass cheek in his tight jeans.

His jagged breath in my ear, against my face—hot and angry, like his eyes, like his snarling lips, like his nose as it scrunched up with determination to overpower me.

He wasn’t just a kid when we wrestled in the mud.

He was my equal somehow. Just two men facing off, like lions in the wild, like feral dogs over a bone, like players from rival football teams vying for the ball.

I can’t let him get to me like this.

There’s a knock at my front door, visible from the bed. I look up to find Gary through the screen. “Hey there, Harrison,” he says in his light, smoky voice. “Mind if I—?”

Fuck. Someone saw what happened and reported it to Gary.

Or else Hoyt himself went crying to him like a baby.

Now he’s here to talk to me.

I’m in deep shit.

I’m off the bed and pulling open the door at once. “Hey, Gary. Uh, look, I’m sorry about Hoyt, but today he was—”

“My brother’s comin’ over for dinner tonight, and I wanted to invite everyone to the main house,” he goes on, steamrolling over my words. “Y’know, what with Nadine busy organizin’ her things n’ preparing to take office at the end of June, she’s apparently working late again, leaving Paul by himself. So I called him over, and I think he’d love y’all’s company.”

I stare at him, my breath held.

So … he doesn’t know?

“Okay,” I finally manage to say. “Okay, so, uh, I guess I’ll get some clothes on and come on over in a few.”

“An hour at most, food will be ready. I already told Lea, so the others know.” Gary smiles, his mustache spreading and his eyes twinkling. “Well, guess I’ll leave you to it.” He turns to go, then stops. “Oh, and great work today with the new kid. Already got a good earful from him.”

I freeze again. “Uh … a good earful …?”

“Says he’s learnin’ just ‘bout everything there’s to learn, more than he expected to. Guess you’re a good teacher, huh? We might make a farmer outta him yet.” Gary chuckles at that, then sees his way out. I’m left standing at the door, still in a towel, staring after him in a daze.

I put on one of my nicer button-up shirts, a light blue plaid, with some jeans and boots. I usually don’t make too much of a fuss over how I look for a simple Strong dinner, but no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get calm.

It’s like Hoyt’s still got a grasp of me with his hands.

Hands that are stronger than they look.

Is it too late to cancel dinner?

When I arrive at the main house, which is just a brisk walk across the field from the bunkhouse, I stand on Gary’s giant porch and listen to the commotion of everyone laughing and chatting inside. Judging from the shiny Chevy Silverado in the driveway, I guess Tanner’s dad is already here.

Footsteps clack on the steps of the porch behind me. I turn.

It’s Hoyt. He’s in those stylish gray jeans he wore on his first day and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s got a small cut across his nose, which I’m not sure if I’m responsible for, or if it was from cleaning the horse barn. But I can tell from his tensed face he doesn’t have any good thoughts in that head of his with regard to me.

Regardless, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, lifts his chin, and greets me without looking my way. “Harrison.”

“Hoyt,” I return just as coolly.

He looks like he’s about to pass by and head inside, but then he stops, hesitating. I watch him gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

I lift an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Nah,” he says, but he doesn’t move, staring at the door. The noise inside fills our ears. Emmalea’s distinctive cackle rings out, followed by laughter from the rest of the crew.

I don’t know if I should address earlier. Am I even still angry about it? Is he? “Look, about earlier, with the pigs …”

“It was nothing,” he cuts me off, still staring at the front door. “It was an old shirt anyway, the one you tore off of me.”

I frown at him. He’s not making this easy, and I can’t read a damned thing from his face. He’s like stone. “So if you aren’t upset about that, why do you look like you’re about to wet yourself?”

He stiffens up. “I … I haven’t had … some fancy dinner before. Don’t really know Coach Tanner’s father, either. Never met him.”

“Really? Four years at Spruce High and you never—?” I let out a snort. “Look, just relax. There isn’t anything ‘fancy’ about that dinner in there.”

“I know the Strongs, though. They’re loaded. And now Mrs. Strong’s the mayor. And don’t they own that high-end restaurant in Fairview everyone goes to for prom? I have … I have no idea what to expect in there.”

I take a breath, then face him fully. “Look at me. Listen.”

Hoyt glances my way. His soft eyes fall on mine.

I still see the guy I was squaring off with in the pig pen. The one I straddled just hours ago, pinning his wrists to the mud. I see the reluctant curiosity in his eyes, curiosity that almost looks like excitement … or terror. Hoyt says so much with his eyes.

Why doesn’t he talk more with his words? Why do I have to keep staring into his eyes to get a glimpse of what’s in his mind?

“Well?” he says, copping an attitude. “I’m looking. Listening.”

I frown. Okay, maybe he’s a better speaker with his eyes. “Paul Strong is about as unpretentious as you can get,” I tell him. “He’s not fancy. He’s the nicest, calmest, down-to-earth guy. Nothing like his wife.” I just realized how that sounds. “I mean, nothin’ against Nadine, she’s great, but … she can be a handful. The only thing is, Paul and Gary can sometimes … try to show each other up, so … you might hear a little bit of a friendly, brotherly pissing match between them. Everyone pretends not to notice. Gary’s wife keeps out of it. Just enjoy the food and the atmosphere, because this kind of dinner doesn’t happen but once or twice a season, and it’s a damned luxury compared to the daily meals you’ll be getting  used to at the bunkhouse.”

Hoyt nods slowly. “Alright.”

“You done pissin’ your pants, then?”

He eyes me. “Can you stop sayin’ that? It isn’t funny. And I …” He sighs with frustration, his face red. “Never mind.” He pushes through the front door without further comment, leaving me standing out here, confused.

What? Did I say something wrong?

I don’t have time to deal with Hoyt and his moods, I decide, then head in myself, putting all thoughts of him behind me.

The main house is fairly big, but spread out, traditional style, and single story. The entryway opens to a den on the left, a dining area on the right that leads to the kitchen, and an archway ahead that opens to the main living room, off which a long hallway leads to the bedrooms, bathrooms, and a screened-in sun room built off of the back door. Everyone is gathered in the living room, and even though there’s less than a dozen of us here tonight, the noise level suggests there’s well over thirty. Half that noise comes from Emmalea, who more than lets loose when she drinks, and seems to find anything anyone says to be cackle-worthy hilarious. I spot Mr. Paul Strong by the fireplace talking with his brother Gary, beers fisted in their hands. No doubt the verbal pissing matches have started already between them, though you’d never know, considering how kind-natured the brothers are. Paul is essentially a carbon copy of Gary, minus the mustache, plus a pair of glasses and a couple inches in height.

Hoyt is standing off by the couch, not taking part in any of the chatting, and no one even seems to notice him. He pulls his phone out after a while and starts thumbing through it, bored.

The energy tonight feels weird as hell.

I don’t know what to do about it.

It only gets worse when dinner is underway. Everyone crowds the dinner table somehow, despite having plenty enough room to fit all of us. Gary and Paul sit across from each other at either head of the table, which only intensifies the strain as they converse and continue to one-up the other. Even Gary’s wife Maribel, sitting right next to him, keeps eyeing her husband with concern.

I’m right in the middle of the table, minding my own plate.

And of course Hoyt is sitting right next to me, squeezed to my side like a tight sleeve. Why’d he have to choose the seat next to mine? Each time he cuts his meat, his arm see-saws into my ribcage. And twice now when he reaches to take a sip from his glass, he elbows me. Whether or not it’s an accident, it’s annoying.

“Bet you and Nadine are just over the moon,” Gary is in the middle of saying to his brother with that same twinkle in his eyes, shaking his head. “I mean, now that Tanner and his husband Billy brought those two sweet boys into the family.”

“Well, I don’t quite have Marcus n’ Josh callin’ us grandma and grandpa just yet, but they’ll come along, Nadine will see to it,” says Paul while chuckling jovially. “The bigger surprise is my youngest Jimmy and his fiancé. Did you hear they finally set a date?”

Gary’s wife Maribel gasps. “Oh, have they? I wondered if those two would ever! Nadine kept chewin’ my ear off about them the last time she was over, bless her heart. When is it?”

“This Christmas.” Paul’s posture stiffens right up with pride. “Of course, he and Bobby’ve been busy setting up their new gym complex. It opens in just a few more weeks, as I understand it. Big ol’ grand opening, cutting the ribbon, all of that. Isn’t that nice?”

Gary smiles, genuinely happy for his brother and younger nephew, though I can tell from his fidgety fingers that he’s trying to think of some amazing update or news he can one-up Paul with, but seems unable to come up with a single thing.

I swear, they have the politest brotherly rivalry I know.

That’s when my ears catch another conversation happening with the rest of the table, but I quickly realize it isn’t a polite one. “Hey, I thought Tanner cranks out winners at Spruce High,” a guy shouts down the table at Paul, interrupting him and his brother. He’s someone who has worked on Gary’s farm for a good three or so years, with a permanent five o’clock shadow and heavy bags under his eyes, maybe forty or so years old. Everyone calls him Rust. “So what happened with this new one, huh?”

It takes me a sec to realize what and who he’s talking about.

Hoyt, oblivious, continues feverishly trying to saw off a bite of steak with his knife, elbowing me over and over in the effort.

“Hey, now,” shouts Emmalea with half a laugh. By this point, the woman is several drinks in. “Don’t go dissin’ Tanner now!”

Rust lifts his hands, including fork and knife. “I’m just sayin’! I was kinda expecting a ‘superman’, from the way Tanner’s team is always talked up. Didn’t expect us to get a guy who don’t know jack shit about jack shit.” He snorts, shooting Hoyt a look. “Can’t even saddle a horse properly. Who the hell in Spruce don’t know how to saddle a dang horse, am I right?”

“Rust, I’m warnin’ you,” says Emmalea, though she’s so drunk, even she looks like she’s holding back laughter.

As Rust continues making snide remarks and dominating the table suddenly, like he’s auditioning to be a stand-up comedian and we’re his audience, Hoyt keeps sawing bite after bite off his steak, eating, unawares. I stare at the side of his face and wonder if he really isn’t paying attention, or just plain ignoring everyone.

But Rust won’t let him ignore it for long. “Hey, you, rookie,” he shouts. “Earth to rookie. Is all a’ that true?”

It’s now that Hoyt—his cheeks full—pokes his head up. His eyes dart around the table, which has fallen eerily silent. “Huh …?” he grunts through half-chewed steak and potatoes.

“You heard me. Did you really push around a nerdy gay kid at Spruce High?” Rust points at Hoyt with his fork. “You. Talkin’ to you. Earth to fuckin’ rookie.”

Hoyt stares at him. He makes no effort to chew or swallow; he just squints at Rust with his mouth so full, his lips don’t close.

“We here at this farm,” Rust goes on, “are people of character. We don’t tolerate nothin’ like that. And I know the Strongs don’t, either. So I think it’s perfectly reasonable to ask if it’s true.”

“Hey, hey, now,” says Gary, a soft lilt of worry in his voice. “This isn’t the time nor the place for any a’ that. We’re all havin’ a nice dinner here.”

But the table stays silent, as if waiting for Hoyt’s response. Hoyt finally turns his eyes back to his plate, finishes chewing, swallows, then patiently says, “It wasn’t about him being gay.”

“What’s that?” Rust leans forward. “Not about him bein’ gay?”

“Gentlemen …” says Gary once again.

Hoyt clears his throat, but keeps his head down. “There’s no excuse for how I acted. No excuse for how I treated him. I’m sure I’ll be … payin’ for it the rest of my life, no doubt. But I sure as shit never pushed him around for bein’ gay. It was never about that.”

Rust squints at him, suspicious.

Hoyt, still looking down at his plate, lets out a sigh. “I know it’s cliché and all that, but … I wish I could do it all over again. Maybe there’d be a different outcome.”

“Such as what?” barks Rust. “You not being the most useless, waste-of-time helper we ever had?”

Fred, sitting next to Rust, sighs and nudges him. “C’mon, Rust, now Mr. Gary said to stop. We’re tryin’ to have a nice meal.”

“So how’s we supposed to trust your ass around here?” asks Rust anyway, pushing on. “You’ve got the Strong name to uphold ‘round here, y’know. Wasn’t Tanner Strong your coach?”

Hoyt gives one nervous glance down the table at Paul, clears his throat, then says, “I’m not the guy I was back in high school.”

Rust explodes into laughter. “Are you kiddin’ me? ‘I’m not the guy I was back in …’ Boy, high school was what, a damn month ago for you?” His obnoxious guffawing causes two others at the table to start laughing. Emmalea rolls her eyes.

To all of the laughter, Hoyt just shrugs. “I ain’t proud of how I was. I don’t have any excuse for it other than I was an idiot and got lots of growin’ up to do.”

“Sure as shit you do,” barks Rust, still guffawing. “Sorry, Mr. Gary, I know you’re givin’ me eyes right now, but this’ll be the last of it, and once I say it, I’ll be done: I don’t think you belong here, Hoyt. But I love bein’ proven wrong, so go on, do what you do. But when it comes time that you leave, I ain’t gonna say to nobody ‘told ya so’. But told ya so.” He grabs his beer and kicks it back.

After a moment of pinching the bridge of her nose, Emmalea glances over at Paul and Gary. “Sorry ‘bout all this.”

Gary gives her a calm gesture of his hand. “I appreciate that, Lea. Don’t any of you worry about Hoyt.” He eyes him across the table. “I’ve got faith in you, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought you into the team. I’m sure you’re doin’ my nephew proud.”

Rust’s moody, doubtful eyes flick over to Hoyt.

Hoyt visibly gathers his thoughts. “Well, guess I’d … probably do him more proud if I could manage to saddle a horse correctly.” He glances at Rust, then nods at the others. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it right. But you might need to give me a little more time. Coach Strong always said I was a quick learner, but kinda thick in the head.” He taps his forehead with his fork.

Emmalea chuckles. One or two others snort with amusement, but that’s about it. Hoyt scoops another big bite of steak past his lips and says nothing else. I’m not sure anyone knows whether or not his comment was intended as funny. Paul mentions something about Nadine, and then the conversation of the table turns to her upcoming mayoral debut and how that can positively affect the farming community. Meanwhile, I study the side of Hoyt’s face, watching as he continues to eat his meal in silence, his eyes glassy and far away, lost in a cloud of thoughts.

He doesn’t talk again.

I don’t need a window into his brain. I know he’s upset, even if he isn’t showing a bit of it. He might even be furious. Or hurt. Or possibly filled with a mountain of regret, reflecting on his whole senior year at Spruce High.

I hate that I’m even feeling the tiniest pinch of sympathy for him. He deserves to feel ashamed, doesn’t he? If he wants people respecting him around here, he’s going to have to put in the same amount of work any of us have had to do.

Yeah, Gary, I remember how it was for me twelve years ago when I was Hoyt’s age, working my ass off on this farm. Sure, I was a cocky football player, too, having to prove myself. I was rough around the edges, like him. I needed time and plenty of training.

But I was nothing like Hoyt when it comes to character. I’m still nothing like Hoyt.

He deserves whatever shame he’s feeling right now.

When dinner’s over, most of the others hang around to chat with Gary and Paul. I say my quick goodbyes, mention some lame ass reason for needing to get my rest, then see my way out. I cross the field in the dark, the sun having set during dinner. On any other night, I just might take my time going home, so as to enjoy all the stars above my head. But I have no room in my heart to appreciate a damned thing tonight.

The moment I’m back in my cabin, I peel off my shirt, pitch it at a chair by the window, then drop onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling, mulling over everything. Tonight should’ve been fun. It should’ve been lighthearted and relaxing. I might’ve even had a few drinks, laughed with Tanner’s dad, and shared some jokes to the table about Peepers needing more than just a good shearing.

But all of my thoughts were Hoyt fucking Nowak.

As was the topic of conversation the whole damned dinner.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand. I give it a peek. Tanner. I honestly don’t know if I have the energy right now to chat with him, especially since I’ve got precisely nothing nice to say about his so-called “star athlete”.

But my phone keeps buzzing anyway, persistent.

He’s more than texting. He’s calling now.

Fuck me.

I swipe my phone off the nightstand. “Hey, Tanner!” I greet him in my cheery, strained, nothing’s-wrong demeanor.

He senses it right away. “Harry, my man. Are you alright?”

I cringe. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“My dad said you left the dinner kinda early. Just texted him asking how it was going. Is it about Hoyt? Is he working out fine? He mentioned something about some tension at the table …?”

I shut my eyes and shake my head. “Look, man …”

“I told you he’s a team player. He’ll get the job done. I know he’s a little headstrong, but who isn’t? All you’ve gotta do is show him somethin’ once, and he’ll—”

“I gotta be honest,” I cut him off. “I don’t know if he’s gonna work out. He’s rubbing everyone the wrong way. Everyone. He’s on my last nerve. His reputation is eating him alive. Word gets ‘round even out here. I swear I’m tryin’ to give him a chance, but—”

“Bull crap you are!” he spits back in a burst of noise to my ear. “You’re doin’ what the rest of them are doin’! You’re judging him, holding his past against him, not forgiving him.”

I suppress a growl. “He’s not the angel you think he is.”

“I didn’t say he was an angel. He’ll need some tough love. Just put him to the test, get some dirt and grass on his ass, he’ll come around. You gotta have faith in him, buddy. No one else does. And I thought, of all people—”

“Seriously, Tanner …”

“—that you’d be the one with an open enough heart to stand up for him. Y’know how Spruce can be: full of love, but that love sometimes comes with all kinds of teeth.”

I roll my eyes and drop back on the bed, phone tucked against my neck as I stare up at the ceiling. “So what are you saying I am? His goddamned mouth guard?”

“Be his example. Be his role model. Be his big bro.”

“I ain’t his daddy, Tanner. Next you’ll ask me to put the guy in a diaper and have him suckle my titties.” I hear him guffawing like a hyena on the other end. I can’t help but crack a smile. “Shut up, man, seriously. He isn’t gonna last another day. He barely made it through his first.”

“Holy fucking hell … ‘suckle my titties’ …” He’s still laughing maniacally at that. “Dude, I gotta tell Billy what you just said. Hey, Billy, babe! Can you hear me? … Billy?” He sighs. “Hmm, actually, I think Billy’s gettin’ ready for bed. And with Marcus and Josh at a friend’s house tonight, we, uh … kinda gotta take advantage of the situation, if you get what I’m sayin’.”

He means sex. Yes, I get it. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m just over here hating my life.”

“Hey, with a couple of kids of our own now, I can sympathize with you havin’ one of your own to look after. A big kid. To suckle your big titties.” Tanner snorts again. “Hah, just kiddin’. Oh, now I can’t stop picturin’ Hoyt in a diaper with you cradling him and—”

“Just go and fuck your husband already.” I hang up on him, cutting  off his laughter, then fling my phone aside.

Silence fills my ears.

Long, lonely, empty silence.

Truth is, it isn’t a diaper I’m imagining on Hoyt. It’s those tight jeans of his, through which I grabbed his ass as we grappled in the pig pen, fighting for dominance. Those jeans, the feel of my fingers rubbing against that denim, rough yet soft, supple, and easy to dig my fingers into.

I shut my eyes tight, trying not to imagine it.

But it only makes me imagine it in more vivid detail.

The more I try to push Hoyt’s cocky face out of my mind, the more he’s there, smirking at me. Wrestling in the sticky muck. The feel of his wet, slippery chest against my face. His toned muscles I kept trying to grab hold of, but they kept slipping out of my grasp from all of the sweat. His hot breaths crashing in my ears …

The feel of his thigh when it came up between my legs. The way it so expertly nudged, kneaded, and massaged my cock right through the denim, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like Hoyt was aiming there. Intending to tease me. To tell me he knows about me. To drive me fucking insane.

Does he know …?

I can’t stand another second of my cruel imagination. I fling myself off the bed, grab a box of tissues, snatch my lube out of the drawer, then sit in my chair by the window. I pull the string with more force than intended, sending the curtains down to cover the shameful act in which I’m about to engage. I pull down my pants to my knees along with my underwear. I’m rock hard, throbbing and as ready as I’ve ever been. I squirt lube onto my palm, then gently wrap my dick with my slippery, cold fingers.

The lube doesn’t stay cold for long.

I give myself ten excruciatingly slow, warm-up strokes. Then I increase the pace. My other hand still grips the box of tissues as I speed up, and that grip tightens the faster I go. The box caves in, succumbing to my curling fingers.

I close my eyes and lean my head back.

Hoyt is grappling me all over again. Turning me over and over in the mud. Except this time, in my mind, it never ends. We keep rolling around in that filth, our hands clinging to one another’s bodies, grabbing hold of whatever we can reach.

Each other’s arms.

Each other’s asses.

Each other’s dicks.

I pounce on him, lay him back, and straddle his chest. His eyes are hungry with need as he stares up at me, helpless, as I’ve got his wrists pinned to the mud above his head again.

That’s when he lost all the fight in him, when I had the boy pinned, just like that. He just stared up at me in wonder, heavily breathing, and gave up struggling. Why did he stop fighting back?

Did he like it …?

I jerk even faster. I jerk so fast, I don’t even know what it is I’m masturbating to anymore. Is it his helplessness? Is it the almost sweet way he looked up at me when I had him pinned? Or the anger in his eyes as we wrestled? Or is it how much of his perfectly-toned body I became unintentionally familiar with while we grappled each other?

I’m gonna spill over the edge. I can feel it. It’s coming.

There’s a knock at my door. “Hello? … Harrison?”

And the doorknob turns.

Chapter 6
Hoyt

I step inside and glance to the left. I see a tidy desk with a pair of boots neatly sitting in front of it. Past the desk, a nook with a kitchenette next to it, perfectly clean, not a single dirty dish left out. Alright, this guy’s a neat freak, kinda like me. “Hello?” I call out for the tenth time. He wasn’t in the back with his woodwork, so unless the guy’s checking on animals in the dark for some reason, he should be in here. But he’s not on the bed in front of me—the bed with perfectly clean, unstained sheets and not even a pillow out of place. I close the door behind me and glance to the right.

And there’s Harrison, standing next to an arm chair, wearing just a pair of jeans—unbuttoned—showing his big muscled, tatted torso. He’s wearing a stunned, gawping expression.

He’s out of breath. He’s staring at me.

Did I mention his jeans are unbuttoned?

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to just barge in, but I knocked tons of times, you didn’t answer, and—”

“So you just came in anyway?” he finishes for me, annoyed.

The look on his face suggests even he isn’t someone I can talk to. He hates me, just like everyone else. “Alright. I … thought we could … maybe talk about today, but …” I sigh. “Never mind. Sorry for bothering you.” I open the door to see myself out.

He’s there in a flash, shutting it.

I look up at him, surprised.

“Well, you’re here,” he says. “You went and let yourself in. So now that you got my attention, what do you wanna talk about?”

He’s so close to me suddenly. I can literally feel heat coming off of him. He smells clean, yet I’m picking up a strangely enticing, musky aroma I can’t quite pin. It’s like sex, sweat, and spice, with a hint of heat.

My heart’s hammering in my chest. Just seconds ago, I knew what I came here to say. Now, I can’t gather a single thought.

Why is Harrison always in a mood …?

I peel my eyes off of him and glance at the rest of the place. “I didn’t realize your cabin was, like … a single room, pretty much.” I back away from him and stroll over to the foot of his bed, then glance back at him. “Why don’t you stay in the bunkhouse with the others? You get some kind of special seniority or somethin’?”

Harrison rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I say that much already?”

He’s so testy. I glance around his place again. “Everything’s so organized. So … in its place.” I notice a perfect line of neatly-hung clothes in his closet, the door of which is half open. “You’re a total neat freak. No judgment. Believe it or not, I’m one, too.”

He lets out a sigh. “What do you want, Hoyt? You should be spending time with your coworkers, winning them over, or—”

“I’ll take that as a joke,” I say, “as I’m pretty sure they already know exactly what to think of me.”

“So go to sleep, then. You still got chores in the morning.”

“Why are you trying to get rid of me so fast? I said I came here to talk.” I shrug. “Besides, can’t catch a wink even if I tried. Some of the others are drunk and loud, playing cards and watching TV. Rust is my new best friend and is loud about it—note my sarcasm.” I saunter over to the desk. “Gets fucking lonely in that mudroom, to be honest. You’d think there was just a small bit of space up in that loft area where the bunks are, just a small area to squeeze my cot in. I wouldn’t be a bother to anyone.”

“Better off in the mudroom,” he says. “Trust me. You’re apart from the others. Gives you some privacy. No one gets any. They’re all in each other’s space. You’ll come to appreciate that.” He gives me a look. “Especially if you’re the neat freak you say you are.”

I snort. “So you think squeezing me in the grimy mudroom next to a pair of old laundry machines is better? Hey, I’m not complainin’,” I quickly add when I see the look on Harrison’s face. “I’m just saying, it gets … lonely.”

“It’s just been one dang night.”

“One dang night’s enough to know it’s a lonely mudroom.”

“Hey, look, if it really sucks that bad, you can stay home and commute. That was always an option.”

I shoot him a look. “You know that’s not an option.”

“Isn’t it? You could see if your mom or stepdad can give you a ride back and forth at four in the morning. But since it’s roughly twenty minutes either way, the daily commute’s gonna take away almost an hour of your time. Trust me, you’ll come to cherish and worship every hour left of your day after you realize how much of it you’ve gotta sacrifice for those animals out there.”

I sigh. He just doesn’t get it.

“So are we good?” he asks. “Think you can manage another night in the mudroom without crying yourself to sleep?”

I drop my gaze to the desk, gnawing on my lip.

Obviously that’s not what I came here to talk about. Or whine about. Or whatever the hell Harrison thinks I’m doing.

Maybe it was a dumb idea to come here at all.

“So what is it?” asks Harrison. “You miss your friends? Your old teammates? Your partners in crime? They’re still around. They can stop by the bunkhouse sometime to visit you. There. Problem solved. No more loneliness.”

Staring at this desk makes me think of all the time spent in the Spruce High library studying for tests I knew I’d bomb. Julio, one of my teammates and best buddies, could ace a test even after spending a whole night up with his girlfriend Stacey, and he got into UT. Then there’s Benji, who against all odds also got into UT. The second we graduated, it’s like I don’t exist anymore to them. They’re busy being excited, looking forward to rooming together, getting hyped up for the experience. Benji’s already talking about a fraternity he’s going to join. I’m already just a faded memory, like prom, like a half-remembered teacher’s face … like that one huge touchdown that saved our school from a humiliating defeat, but all you remember is a vague good feeling and nothing else.

My friends are having a blast all summer together. They’re pretty much packed and ready to leave this town in the dust.

Ready to leave me in the dust.

I’m going to be a loser still stuck in his hometown when he’s forty-five, with a lame job, no real friends, no significant other, no kids, still living at home … a once-football-champ who peaked in high school and fizzled out like a firework.

A total cliché.

A total fucking nobody.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look over. Harrison has come to my side, concern on his face. “Hey. Look. I’m not being tough on you because I hate you or anything. Out here on the farm, you got to put everything into your work. It’s important you learn—”

“All my friends are leaving me.”

He blinks. “So …?”

“So they’re heading off to college, and I just lost my truck. I don’t qualify for any scholarships based on my scores alone. Hell, I can’t afford the tuition even with financial aid.”

He drops his hand from my shoulder. “Well, you can still—”

“I’m stuck on this fucking farm, that’s my problem. Stuck here with people who hate me. All I wanna do is grow and be somethin’ better than I used to be, but how am I supposed to do that here? What am I gonna become if I can’t go to college? How am I gonna make something of myself?”

Harrison turns and leans against his desk, crossing his arms. “I didn’t go to college. I make enough out of myself here. It isn’t the end of the world, Hoyt. You can’t possibly predict what’ll come out of your life. You’re young. You’ve got time to figure it out.”

My eyes slide to the waist of his jeans. He buttoned them up, but they’re just low enough to show off his Adonis belt, pointing like a flashing, fleshy arrow to what he keeps stuffed in those jeans.

I’m suddenly annoyed. “Why the hell don’t you put a damned shirt on?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“It’s distracting.”

I’ve apparently confused him. “I’m winding down in my own damned house. I don’t have to wear anything if I don’t want.”

He’s so damned stubborn. “What are all those tattoos anyway? You got, like, a zillion of ‘em.”

“You got a problem with my tats?”

“No. I got a problem with you.” I turn and face him. “I see all your little tricks, Harrison. I know what you’re really doing.”

His eyes flash. “The hell you mean …?”

I press a finger to his chest. “You’re giving me the bitch work, that’s what. You’re doing this just to punish me. Not to teach me. Not so I learn to ‘put everything in my work’. That’s bullshit.”

“It isn’t bullshit. It’s—”

“You think you’re sticking up for Toby? You don’t even know him. And who exactly do you think helped get his boyfriend and him back together when they had a falling out?” I jab a finger at my chest now. “Me. That was me. We’re cool now. Hell, Toby texts me with updates, tellin’ me how his new beachside life is like.” Or, well, he used to. Now it seems like he’s too busy. Not that I’ll tell that part to Harrison. “Even his moody boyfriend likes me. Can’t explain it, but he does. They moved on. They forgave me.” I glare at him. “The only person who still seems hung up on my past is you.”

Harrison scoffs and shakes his head. “Hoyt, you’re such a …” He pushes away from the desk and towers over me. “You act like the whole world owes you. I see that entitled look in your eyes. But you gotta put in the work first before you get respect. It’s a rule that’s true anywhere, no matter who you are. And right now, you’re not putting in anything but crocodile tears.”

“Crocodile—??” I sputter indignantly. “I just had fucking pig shit on my face!”

“Oh, now I get it. You want me to write you a doctor’s note? Excuse you from work tomorrow?”

I don’t know where my anger comes from, but it’s like a fire that’s quickly burning out of control with no sign of a fire truck. “I was captain of the football team! I had my flaws, but I made my coach proud. I won’t be … turned into some fuckin’ worker grunt nobody now, just because you have a childish vendetta against me, for something that has nothing to do with you. This is humiliating work for the sake of humiliation, and you know it.”

“It’s not humiliating work. It’s honest work—and tough work. Maybe football wasn’t so much of a challenge for you,” he goes on, despite my eyes filling with anger and my nostrils emitting flames. “I know your type. Football came easy. Athletic guy like you, hard-bodied, capable. Victories came out of thin air. Girls cheered you on. Guys revered you. Things fall into your lap. But now in the real world, getting into a good college is a challenge. Adult friendships are a challenge. And this farm? This farm is your challenge.”

“Victories didn’t fall into my lap,” I mutter, annoyed.

He gets right in my face. “Take this as a life lesson from a dude who’s lived it himself. You have got to work hard for things that truly matter. For real rewards in life. I am not Tanner Strong. I won’t just hand it to you.”

I step back. The only noise in the cabin is our breathing. Deep inhales. Deep exhales. The tension is so sharp, I could cut all my fingers on it just by tightening them into fists.

“You’re not Coach Strong,” I agree, my voice low.

“I’m not.”

“Coach Strong knows how to lead,” I go on, taking joy in his expression changing fast. “He knows how to get the best out of his boys. He knows how to push us in a way … in a way that makes us feel strong, capable, and … and needed.”

Harrison’s face collapses. His left eye starts twitching as his thick eyebrows pull together.

“Yeah,” I go on, nodding with conviction and anger. “You’re nothin’ like Coach Strong. I was a fool for ever thinking this was a good idea. You don’t want me on your team. No one here does.”

He lets out a strained sigh, baring his teeth. “Hoyt …”

“Nah. Y’know what? Fuck this.” I throw my hands up. “Do all of the work your damned self. I’m not putting up with any more of this. And I especially ain’t puttin’ up with another second of you.”

I turn, yank open the door, and let it slam at my back. I march across the yard, then throw open the screen door to the mudroom and grab my bag out from under the cot. With anger, I stuff all my belongings from the trunk into my duffel, then sling it over a shoulder and march right out of the house.

I stand at the foot of the long-ass driveway with my phone out, only to realize I can’t call my parents. It’s more humiliating somehow, the idea of asking my mom or stepdad to come pick me up. I call Julio, but he doesn’t answer. I shoot Benji a hopeful text, asking what he’s up to. Then I stare at my phone for ten minutes.

The text is finally read.

But no response comes.

Well, screw them, too. I stuff my phone into a pocket and start walking. Won’t be the first time I took an hour-long, shameful trek home on foot.

Chapter 7
Harrison

The sun is extra scalding over my head today.

Scorching, even.

And the work is so exhausting, I can feel it down to my bones.

I usually assign someone to the pig pens, but nearly everyone is working in the crop fields, seems like, and I just don’t have the stomach to boss anyone around today. So I deal with cleaning out the trough myself, sloshing through the sticky mud on my own.

Each time I walk across the pen, my heart races with the memory of what happened between us in the middle of it.

I can’t stop thinking about him.

And I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him.

Should I have said something to stop him from leaving? Is this on me?

I watched last night from the window of the cabin as he left with his bag over a shoulder, disappearing into the dark. I doubt he walked all the way home, since it’s a long way and isn’t safe on the dark country roads. He probably called one of his friends—who allegedly have nothing to do with him anymore. That was probably just another of his tricks to get me to feel sympathy for him.

That’s what guys like him do: trick you into pitying them so they get their way. He’s got all of Spruce on marionette strings.

But not me.

So if I believe all of that, why do I still feel so fucking bad …?

After tending to the sheep and noticing yet another weak spot in the damned fence, I head to the toolshed for some supplies.

It’s just on the other side of the door that I find Gary, who has a drill gun in either of his hands. He looks up when I enter. “Ah, Harrison, just the guy I was lookin’ for. Which one you reckon is the stronger one? I’m thinkin’ the DeWalt.”

“You’re thinking right,” I affirm with a smile.

He nods, sets them both down on the workbench, then faces me. “So just one single day, huh?”

I didn’t want to have this conversation yet. I wipe the back of my neck. “Sir …”

“No, no, I’m not comin’ at you.” Gary chuckles lightly, as if the idea of ever raising his voice is such an absurd concept. “I’m just a bit surprised is all.”

“He didn’t want to be here anyway.”

“I expected at least a week before you ran him off runnin’.” He chuckles again, shakes his head, then eyes me. “But a single day? You sure aren’t makin’ this easy on me.”

“He rubbed everyone the wrong way. He was full of attitude. He …” I lose my steam. There’s something about the thoughtful, patient twinkle in Gary’s eye that pulls the plug out of my anger. “He could put his back into something, I’ll give him that,” I finally concede, “but it doesn’t make up for everything else.”

“Well, puttin’ your back in is somethin’ good, especially when you got stamina, youth, n’ too much confidence on your side.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Too much confidence …?”

“It sure did you wonders back in the day.” He chuckles.

I stare at him. Gary seems to take delight in my expression as he casually picks up the drill gun, then starts fishing screws out of a bin, squinting as he inspects each one.

I sigh. “Sir, I’m pretty sure that in a town blowing up with able-bodied young men and women, there’s bound to be someone who can do the work. What about that tough, wild-ass girl Tyrone and Omar adopted? Kelsey? Doesn’t she need something to do?”

Gary chuckles at that. “Last I spoke to the Kings, I got the fast impression she’s spending her whole summer helping her friend Toby get settled in his beachside home in Dreamwood. A summer on the beach doesn’t sound so bad, does it?” He chuckles again.

I sigh. “I refuse to believe Hoyt Nowak is the only dang option, or else the whole town of Spruce is screwed.”

“Of course he isn’t the only option.” He inspects a screw, then shakes his head and tosses it back, looking for another. “I’ll have a new guy here tomorrow mornin’. Friend of a friend’s son.”

I blink. “Really?”

“Recent graduate from Spruce High, like Hoyt, but a few years ago. Young, obedient as far as I can tell, very willing to work. A bit eccentric, but we like that ‘round here, keeps things interesting.”

I squint at him, dubious. “Eccentric …?”

“Might be a budding engineer, this one. Has experience at the Spruce Cinema 5 workin’ on projectors. Our machines are a whole other species of monster, I know that, but it’s a start.” He gives me a hearty pat on the back, then adds, “Try not to run this one out too quickly, will ya?” Then Gary heads off with his drill gun and screws, leaving me in the shed with my thoughts.

That night, I lie in my bed in silence and stare at the ceiling. No sleep comes. Ghosts of all the angry words Hoyt and I shared bounce off the walls.

It makes me wonder if echoes live forever.

Then I’m on my porch, sitting in a rocking chair I made once just to challenge myself, studying the mudroom across the yard. It looks so silent. So empty.

So cold.

I’m glad he’s gone.

It’s for the best, isn’t it? Now, things can go back to normal. I can work in peace, just like I used to. I don’t have to stress over how Hoyt might look at me. Or whether he might lose his temper and tackle me again.

Or shove me with his hands.

Or put his pretty face in front of mine.

Or scowl in that annoying way that makes him look just as handsome as he does infuriatingly arrogant.

It was confusing with Hoyt here. He got in the way of me just minding my business and keeping to myself. He made my life feel like it was falling apart in just a single day.

Yeah, I’m glad he’s gone.

Reassured, I shut off the porch light, then go to bed. Tonight, I am determined to get the best damned sleep I’ve gotten in ages. Lights out, eight full hours, ready to rise with the sun.

Midnight comes.

Still awake.

One in the morning. I roll over with a huff.

I blink my eyes open and glance at the clock. 2:32 AM.

I kick off the sheets and stare up at the ceiling, then close my eyes and let out a sigh.

Hoyt’s face hovers above mine, smirking down on me.

I’m glad you’re gone.

I roll over and stare at the clock. 3:13 AM.

This fucking sucks.

When morning comes, I’m already wide awake and dressed. I’ve run on an empty tank before. It doesn’t stop me from doing my duties and taking care of the animals and crops.

This morning, I meet Hoyt’s replacement.

It’s in front of the bunkhouse that I find him. He’s as tall as me, but with less than half the weight. Skinny as a pole, pale, and slouched. Medium-length, dusty-brown hair that curls at his ears. An oddly cute face, but his eyes are sunken in and blank, giving the instant impression that there’s nothing much going on behind them. His name is Timothy Hewitt, son of the computer science teacher at Spruce High, but apparently he goes by Turtle.

In other words, Hoyt was replaced by a Turtle.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” I say as I bring him into the bunkhouse—and to the mudroom, where I present a very recently vacated cot that I just a few days ago presented to someone else.

A knot I didn’t realize was there twists tighter in my stomach.

“Cool,” says Turtle, complaint-free.

“I’ll give you some time to put your things away in the trunk,” I tell him, “right there at the foot of the bed, and then you and I can meet just outside, where we’ll begin our—”

He lifts the lid of the trunk, tosses his bag into it, then lets the lid slap shut. “Ready.”

I blink. “Uh … Alright, then. Let’s go.”

I show him the chickens. He watches and listens, hands in his pockets, eyes dead, hair blowing in the wind. I show him the horse barn and explain how he’ll be responsible for cleaning it. He leans over one of the waist-high gates to see inside the stall, then nods. We go to the sheep where I introduce him to the flock, including our beloved troublemaker Peepers, whom Turtle greets with a grunt and a nod of his head. He’s apparently not much of a talker.

“Ever shorn a sheep before?” I ask, trying to stimulate a little conversation as we head from their enclosure toward the pig pen.

“Nah.”

“They’re ready to shear, but Gary wants to hold off ‘til next week for some reason. Some sheep owners do it just once a year, usually in the spring or early summer, but others do it twice. You want them to have their—” Is he even listening? “—fleece for the winter to keep them warm, even though down here in south Texas, it doesn’t exactly get dangerously cold, but still cold enough to—” He’s always just staring ahead into dead space. “Anyway, I made a small repair to the fence yesterday, but it’s still important to make sure—” It’s like the last two brain cells inside his maybe-stoned-as-balls mind are all he has left to form sentences with. “Y’know, just in case. Always err on the side of safety.”

“Yup,” says Turtle, his magnificent contribution to our chat.

I’m running on less than empty today.

Man, I need a drink.

Even after our day, when all the farmhands and myself are gathered in the bunkhouse for dinner, Turtle just sits in his place and eats quietly. When Fred asks him about something to do with the movie theater, Turtle answers him so succinctly, you’d think he was trying to use as few words as possible. Even Emmalea gives him strange looks, like she’s trying to figure him out, and offering none of her usual warmth.

Then Miguel mentions something to do with the tractor, and a switch must flip on in Turtle’s head, because quite suddenly he’s got a hundred things to say.

Even if those hundred things are said in a dull, listless drone and make little to no sense.

“Well, well,” says Emmalea, lightening up her suspicious gaze. “So you’ve got a knack for machinery. Gary said somethin’ about that. Any other hidden talents we oughta know about?”

Turtle turns to her. “I can play the uke.”

“You … can play the what?”

“Ukulele. I write ditties. I can sing you one if you want.”

Everyone stares at him, dumbfounded.

Myself included.

Sing ...?

And five minutes later, there’s Turtle sitting in an armchair with a ukulele in his lap, singing a humble tune and plucking away with impressive finesse. Baffled, all of us watch and listen as he serenades us. It isn’t exactly impressive more than it is just entirely unexpected, what with his standoffish demeanor and oddness.

But even as I watch and listen to his music from a chair at the table, where the rest of my dinner sits ignored and getting cold, I can’t help but feel something’s missing. After the song’s over and everyone bursts into applause, I just stare on ahead, empty, sullen, and bothered about something I won’t name.

Or rather, someone I won’t name.

Chapter 8
Hoyt

Well, my day was a shit show of fucking fantastic shittiness.

“Are you sure you don’t need another busboy, Mr. Tucker?” I asked after a long, tiresome walk down to Biggie’s Bites.

He sighed, his big dark mustache wiggling. “Sorry, son!”

“Are you sure you couldn’t use maybe someone to greet your customers at the door, Mr. Love?” I asked after a walk to Country Lovin’ under the hot sun, the aroma of crepes intoxicating me.

The man just shook his head. “Shoulda come weeks ago, bud.”

“Maybe you could use someone to sweep your floors? There’s a pile of popcorn by the bathrooms, I’m lookin’ at it right now!” I exclaim after a walk to the movie theater. By this point, my shirt is drenched and my face is red. “You can pay me the minimum wage. Or less! Hell I’ll sign a waiver, whatever you need, let’s do it.”

Mr. Lemon winces. “Sorry, Hoyt, but hours are already thin. I can’t take on another employee.”

I’m kinda tired of being apologized to.

Same response comes from Patsy’s Pastries & Pies. And the antique shop on 4th and Apricot. And Gran’s Home Kitchen, which honestly I thought closed two years ago. Tumbleweeds won’t hire anyone under twenty-one after some stupid alcohol fiasco. Hell, I even begged to get a job at the Spruce Arcade, and I’m pretty sure the owner has a crush on Toby or something, because he just gave me the stink eye and said no. Real professional, there.

“You shouldn’t’ve left,” says my mom, finding me sitting on the slab of pavement outside our back door, which we call our sad excuse for a patio. It’s late evening now, and I’m in my interview clothes with the tie loosened, too tired to bother changing.

“I had to leave,” I mutter, miserable, as I rub a sore spot on my calf. Or is it sore from my time on the farm? “I’m gonna find a job.”

“No one’s hiring, Hoyt, I told you. That’s just how it is.”

I tuck my knees to my chest, irritated. “G-Man insisted there would be an opening at the movies. Either he was stoned as usual or he lied, ‘cause there ain’t no openings.”

My mom just sighs. “Just go back out to the Strong farm and apologize. I’m sure it isn’t too late. I’ll drive you.”

I’m not apologizing. No fucking way. “Least my little sister seems happy I’m here,” I remark. “Only one who missed me, apparently.”

“You were gone a day, Hoyt. Besides, you’re gonna see Gemma for her birthday next month. She wasn’t gonna miss you long.”

“Maybe the Wells Fargo on Wicker is hiring. I can be a banker, can’t I?” I wrinkle my nose. “Or do I need some stupid degree for that? It’s just countin’ other people’s money all day, isn’t it?”

She lets out another sigh. “Dinner’ll be ready in five. Think it over, Hoyt, I can still drive you in the morning.” She slips back into the house as I glower at the dead, scorched grass.

I’m not going back to that farm.

Of course, it isn’t the end of it. “Who’s going to pay for college now?” asks my stepdad during dinner in his soft, dreary voice. “If you’re going to community, it’s still gonna cost an arm and a leg.”

“I’m not going to community in Fairview. I’m going to UT with my friends, like I’m supposed to.”

“You can’t. Not with your grades. Not with our money.”

Everyone assumes I’m just saving up for community college in Fairview, even if I insisted to everyone and their uncles that I’m going to UT no matter what. “I will make it work. I’ll find money. Score a scholarship for losers like me. I’ll get two summer jobs.”

“Hoyt, you can’t even get one.”

I can barely stand to listen to it any more. “I’m gettin’ one.”

“Or consider your other options. Defer for a bit, perhaps. Take some time off to build up your account. Ain’t no shame in bussing tables for a couple years.” Even when my mom nudges him, tired of hearing about it herself, he shrugs. “I’m just saying. He had it good with the Strongs. And it’s in all of our best interests to have a good relationship with them, now with Mrs. Strong as mayor. I’d say you should ask about that new Strong gym opening up soon, but I’m sure their staff’s already filled.” He lets out a long sigh.

Gemma smiles at me from across the table: my ten-year-old little sister with blonde pigtails. She was born mere months before my dad passed away. I was eight. Her smile turns goofy, and suddenly I find myself smiling back. I make a funny face, and she giggles. Neither of our parents notice, caught up suddenly in a discussion about something that happened to my stepdad at work.

If it wasn’t for my little sister, I’m not sure I’d still be living in this house at all.

I’m brushing my teeth later on when my sister comes around the corner. “Are you a farmer yet?” she asks coyly.

I give her a funny look. “Best dang farmer in all here Spruce, ya betch’ya I am,” I announce, toothpaste in my mouth, waving my toothbrush around. She giggles at me. I spit into the sink, then squint at her. “What’re you doin’ up? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

She shakes her head. “It’s summer, silly.”

“Oh, right, right. The summer freedoms. No bedtime, even for a little ten-year-old.”

“I’m not that little anymore!” she protests.

Y’know. All barely four feet of her.

I clean off my toothbrush and set it into the cup by the sink. “Y’know, it’s important to get a good night’s rest, otherwise you sleep in all day like a lazy bump on a log. Are you a lazy bump on a log, Miss Gemma?”

She pouts at me. “I ain’t a bump!”

I swear, she looks just like me when she does that expression. In other words, I taught her well. “Of course, it’s also summer time,” I reason, shrugging. “So maybe it’s okay to be … a little bit bad …?”

Her face lights up. “Yes!”

“How ‘bout we play ghost stories out on the tire?”

“Yes!!”

Can I get one more exclamation point out of her? “Are you sure you can handle my ghost stories? They get pretty messed up, y’know. Maybe too much for a little ten-year-old’s ears.”

She glares at me. “I’m not little!!!”

There it is. “Alright, Gems. Let’s go.”

The next hour is spent sitting on the rubber tire in our yard in the dark with flashlights pointed at our faces, stars and a crescent moon over our heads, and the pair of us coming up with the funniest, lamest, or scariest ghost stories possible. Sometimes it’s a joint effort, us both imagining it, and other times one of us takes the spotlight. We invented this silly game one Halloween when Gemma was sick and couldn’t go trick-or-treating, so I had to come up with a way to keep her entertained (and keep her from crying and feeling sad on my birthday, which happens to also be Halloween). I skipped going to a party with my friends, just to stay and keep her happy. We’ve been playing this game ever since, and clearly don’t need Halloween as an excuse to play it.

After the last story, we seem to run out of steam, then just sit on the tire together and point our flashlights up at the sky, as if it helps illuminate the stars. “Think the aliens up there in space are seeing our flashlights?” I ask, nudging my sister as I blink mine on and off. “Do you know Morse? Wanna flash ‘em a little message?”

She bites her lip and stares at the sky, flicking her flashlight on and off. She doesn’t answer.

I gaze at her. “Hmm. Are you … gettin’ too old to play ghost stories?” I start clicking mine on and off in sync with hers.

She stops and sets hers down. “I miss Toby.”

I stop, too. That’s unexpected. “Oh. Are you, like, uh … thinking about him or something?”

“He was nice. I want to be an actor someday. I think I’m gonna be an actor, just like him.” She starts picking at her flashlight, her brow furrowed.

“Hmm. Well … he isn’t gonna be around anymore, y’know. He moved away, lives a happy little seaside life on the beach now with his boyfriend.”

“I know.”

“Hey, why are you sad?” I flick her arm playfully. She ignores it. I frown. “Gems …?”

“You liked him, too, didn’t you?”

The more I try to put him and what happened behind me, the more everyone keeps pushing it back in my face. Still, my sister is different. “Of course I did.”

She stares at her flashlight. “But didn’t you … like-like him?”

I open my mouth, then stare at her, all my words sucked out. Finally, in a voice barely strong enough to startle a butterfly, I get out: “What do … you mean …?”

“It’s okay if you did. And maybe you’re sad about it because he went away with another boy.” She taps her flashlight against the tire, continuing to fidget with it. “But I think you’ll find someone who’s all yours. Someone who likes you back. Someone you can—”

“Gemma, what’re you talkin’ about?” I let out a sudden laugh. “You’re, like … You’ve gone and lost your mind or something. Did someone say something to you, or …?”

“No, nobody said anything.” She lets go of her flashlight and hugs herself. She still isn’t looking at me.

I look away, all the air having fled my lungs.

What is she expecting me to believe? That she thought this all up herself? Who’s been talking to her? What did they say? My foot bounces in place and my mind races. Obviously people said stuff to her at school. That’s the only reason she’s saying all of this.

The truth is, Toby is the only guy I ever kissed.

And it wasn’t a kiss I asked for, nor was it given. I stole it. It was a thief’s kiss. I forced it out of him. I didn’t deserve it.

But when our lips touched, everything inside me made sense, even just for one fraction of a second. I instantly wanted more. As he pulled away in shock, my heart ripped in half. Maybe a teensy, tiny part of me hoped I would kiss him again, just to see if it really was as amazing as it seemed, just to see if it wasn’t some chance thing that I liked it so much. It was, after all, a pretty messed-up day. I’d just pissed my pants in the middle of a classroom—thanks to Toby—but that’s a whole other story. The kiss is all I remember.

Now that he’s gone, all chances of another kiss are gone, too.

“I like the beach,” says Gemma.

I look at her. She isn’t the little girl I used to play dolls with. Is it just the seemingly small act of graduating high school that has me questioning everything? Suddenly I’m not sitting next to a girl I used to read bedtime stories to. I’m sitting next to a girl who is just a month away from turning eleven, a few years from being a teenager, and a few more from being old enough to drive a car. Sooner than I realize, she’s going to find someone of her own to kiss, too—someone she’ll be messed up about.

“Me, too,” I say back.

She finally looks up at me. “Maybe we can go someday. To see Toby again. I wanna see dolphins and jellyfish. I like animals.”

I smile. “Well, y’know, we’ve got an awful lot of animals at the farm,” I tell her. “Cows. Pigs. Chickens. A sheep named Peepers …”

“Peepers?”

“Yep. But not all the animals are named.”

Her eyes grow double. “They aren’t named?? How cruel!”

“Well, I might not’ve met ‘em all yet.” Her shock makes me let out a laugh. “But hey, who knows, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they all got names. The pigs do. There’s Wilbur. And also Charlotte …”

“Charlotte?? But that’s the spider!” she protests.

“Dang it, that’s what I was sayin’!” I shout back, and the both of us crack up laughing. Our laughter rings across the dark yard and into the night. I’m sure even the aliens above can hear us.

And when it settles, our laughter ended, tears in our eyes, she looks at me. “You gotta go back. To the farm. You gotta name all the animals because I said so.”

I turn to my sister. I throw an arm around her, pull her close, then the two of us resume watching the night stars in silence.

Chapter 9
Harrison

Turtle is fucking weird.

There, I said it.

He talks to the animals. That wouldn’t be so odd if it weren’t for the fact that he acts like they talk back to him.

He sings songs to them, too. I catch him with the sheep, and he is singing to them about his “banana blues”, whatever the hell that is, while he adds hay for the sheep. Then later, I catch Turtle in the middle of singing a tune at the pig pen, where he looks like the happiest guy in the world cleaning out the trough. Fred comes by the coop a while later, lifts an eyebrow, and asks, “The hell’s he doin’?” I just shrug and say, “Serenading the chickens, I guess.”

There’s one thing I’ll say: Turtle is surprisingly fast. He wraps up his morning’s chores far quicker than I expected for a first day. I guess he really was listening during yesterday’s tour. “Sure, yeah, take a break in the bunkhouse. Lunch is soon anyway,” I reason. Turtle just nods, then hums to himself as he heads off.

I’m double-checking the chickens when I spot a car pull up in front of the main house across the field. I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the sunlight. Someone gets out of the car.

My heart stops. Is that—?

I abandon my task at once and head across the field under the blaring sun. The car has already driven away by the time I reach the front porch, ascend the steps, and let myself in.

I stop at the opened door of Gary’s office. Hoyt is in a plaid shirt tucked into a pair of what looks like his nicest jeans with a belt and a pair of boots. His hair is combed and perfectly in place. His shirt is buttoned up all the way to the top, too. I can imagine the anxiety he felt standing in front of his mirror this morning, making sure he looks sharp and ready for some serious groveling.

And that’s exactly what he’s doing. “I made a mistake, sir,” he is in the middle of telling Gary. “I really, really need this job. I left the team high and dry the other day, I know, and there just ain’t any excuse for that. I’ve … just had a bit of trouble adjustin’ is all.”

His outfit and demeanor does make an impression, even I have to admit. He looks squeaky clean, professional, and ready to work.

But it excuses nothing. “Well, well, isn’t this great,” I cut in.

Hoyt and Gary look my way.

A storm cloud rushes past Hoyt’s eyes at the sight of me. “I ain’t talkin’ to you. I’m talkin’ to Mr. Strong.” He faces him again. “I’m a hard worker. I will put in the work. This opportunity … I … I threw it away, and it’s my only shot of makin’ something out of myself. I’m beggin’ you to give me another shot.”

“We already got a replacement,” I cut in yet again, folding my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Hoyt glares at me over his shoulder once more. “It ain’t your opinion that matters. You don’t run this farm. Mr. Strong does. It’s only his opinion I need right now.” He faces Gary. “Please, sir. I let my family down. I let you down. I need to afford college. Give me a chance to make it up. I’ll even work for free for today, just to show you I’ve got what it takes. I learned everything already.”

“Gary,” I say, smirking at him from across the room. Hoyt just keeps his back to me. I can tell he’s seething from my presence.

Gary props his elbows up on the desk. “I really do appreciate you comin’ in like this, Hoyt. It’s no small feat to admit when you done wrong, and that is worth somethin’ around here.” He lets out a soft sigh, then grimaces. “But I’m afraid Harrison’s got it right. We have a replacement.”

“So quickly …?” Hoyt’s gaze drops to the floor. “But I … But it was just the day before yesterday that I—”

“I know, I know,” says Gary soothingly. “It doesn’t seem fair, I know, but it’s just the way the cards fell. You left. We needed the extra help. Someone was there, waitin’. And now the spot’s taken again.” He shakes his head. “I’m afraid we just have to—”

“I’ll work for free for a whole week,” Hoyt goes on, turning desperate. “Please. Give me another chance. Whole week. Free. I’ll show you I remember every dang thing I was taught. I won’t let you down. I owe a lot to the Strongs for makin’ me what I am, for givin’ me the opportunities I had in school. Your nephew changed my life and gave me a purpose. Let me repay that. Please. Please.”

Gary leans back in his chair, appraising Hoyt.

Then his eyes shift to me. “Well, we could use the extra help. But despite all you say, Hoyt, I’m afraid it isn’t, in fact, my opinion that matters when it comes to takin’ you back.”

He squints at Gary, confused. “What do you—?” He follows his line of sight—to me.

Then Hoyt Nowak shits a brick.

Gary clears his throat. “It’s your immediate supervisor who’s got to approve your rehire. He’s the one whose opinion you need.”

And now Hoyt and I have an old-fashioned stare-off.

His burning, resentful, fearful eyes.

My confident, awaiting, stony eyes.

Hoyt appeals to Gary one last time. “Sir …”

Gary gestures at me. “Harrison.”

It must take every last scrap of everything Hoyt has to even muster the humility to turn and face me. And when he does, he turns slowly, as if still urgently searching his mind for a way out of having to talk to me. I can see the discomfort in his eyes.

He gathers his thoughts. Then he speaks to me—by speaking to the floor. “I know I let you down. I let the pressure get to me.”

“You let everyone down.”

“I know. I went about it all wrong. I …” He takes a deep breath. He really doesn’t like saying this. “I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have been so … difficult to deal with.”

“Difficult in what way?” I ask innocently, tilting my head. “Go ahead, now. Spell it out a bit. Just so I know you understand.”

Hoyt meets my eyes, scowling, jaw tightening.

I might be enjoying this too much.

Then he shuts his eyes. And at once, all the anger falls away from his face like a curtain. “I was arrogant. I was acting out. I … I think I’m lettin’ my own fears control me … my fears about what people think of me.” He looks at me. “It shouldn’t matter, but it does. I didn’t walk onto this farm with a clean slate. I’m well aware that it’s my fault everyone’s got an opinion of me. So … this ain’t just about a job. Or about affording college. It’s about me proving I can be a better person. I want to be better. And I …” Hoyt lifts his chin. “I want you to keep being hard on me, Harrison.”

The cocky smirk on my face fades.

“I need it,” Hoyt goes on. “I don’t want to run you over with my … my bullish behavior. I think you did me more good in just a day than anyone’s ever done me. We might’ve locked horns, but I gotta respect that you know what you’re talkin’ about, and I still got quite a lot I can learn from you. More than just the farm stuff. I think … you can make me a better man.” His eyes become wet with emotion, but his voice remains level and firm. “Please just give me a chance, Harrison. I wanna do better. I wanna be better. One last chance, it’s all that I’m askin’ for. You don’t even gotta pay me the whole first week. Just keep my sorry ass around a lil’ bit longer.”

I study him for a while, watching the worry dance around his face, his beseeching eyes, his tightened jaw.

I hate that it isn’t just an instant no. I hate that I’m actually considering it at all. I hate that my parents’ voices are in my head right now urging me to exercise compassion.

It takes a lot of anger sometimes to exercise compassion.

“Please,” he begs again.

His eyes growing deeper with need by the second. It would be so satisfying to look into those eyes and say no.

“Please, Harrison.”

But I’m not myself when I look at him. I’m something worse. I feel like I’m staring into the face of every opponent I ever had on the football field. I’m squared off with every adversary I’ve faced since my football days. I’m staring into my youth—and all the guys who didn’t give me the time of day, no matter how badly my heart raced when I was around them.

I’m staring at myself.

“This … This is gonna be your last shot, Hoyt,” I finally tell him. “One more screw up, and you’re—”

He straightens up at once. For a second, I think he’s about to hug me. Then he lifts his chin. “You won’t regret it, sir. I swear.”

I peer at Gary, then nod. “Sure hope I don’t.”

Chapter 10
Harrison

I try a different approach this time.

It’s called: Harrison keeps the hell away and lets Hoyt fuck up all on his own.

But when I pass by the barn, I see Hoyt working hard, shovel in his hand. When I pass by the pigs, I see him cleaning out the trough. As I walk by the paddock, I spot him grooming the horses with Fred as a guide, listening to instructions and following along.

By dinnertime, he seems totally back in with the group, eating at the table with everyone else. Emmalea shares a story about a run-in she had with Reverend Trey and his hubby Cody at Country Lovin’ this morning on a trip into town. Hoyt makes a remark about how the reverend’s big sermon a while ago about keys and honesty and “freeing ourselves from our own cages” touched him, and that takes the conversation in a new direction. “Hmm, I didn’t take you for a big churchgoer,” says Rust as he goes for another dinner roll. To that, Hoyt just shrugs and says, “Maybe there’s a lot ‘bout me you don’t know. I’m pretty much an open book … except for maybe a chapter or two.” That last part makes Rust chuckle, and just like that, it seems like their beef is over.

But I’m sitting at my end of the table, listening to all of this, and I just can’t shake the nagging feeling that it’s only a matter of time before Hoyt shows his true colors again.

Wait until tomorrow, I tell myself. He’ll be back to his old self.

But tomorrow comes, and when I walk by the barn at sunrise, I find Hoyt already there, hard at work. His back is to me, so he doesn’t notice me watching him.

I don’t get it. I’m genuinely stunned.

What came over him? What changed from just a couple days ago when he was yelling in my face?

I can’t make any sense out of it.

Later in the day, I catch sight of him heading to the coop. He’s just in a tank top today, and as he walks with a bag of feed hoisted over his shoulder, his tank top is pulled up slightly, showing off his waistline, his low-hanging jeans, and the white waistband of his underwear. Just that little peek of skin is enough to distract me in the middle of letting myself out of the sheep enclosure, gate now half-open, me standing there like I just turned to stone.

The way his jeans shift and move as he walks.

His hips. His lean, toned midsection. His ass, which my fingers still fondly remember from grabbing a hearty handful of it.

But it’s more than just superficial visuals. It’s something about his sudden turn-around. His determination. His focus. With every effort he makes. With the sensitivity he employs as he enters the coop, minding the chickens at his feet, then setting down the bag. With his smile as he looks down at the chickens, saying something to them, like he’s greeting a bunch of familiar feathered friends. The spackle of mud on his face he doesn’t even seem to mind. The flush of heat in his cheeks and the sweat on his brow.

What the hell is coming over me …?

That answer comes in the form of a sudden shove at my side, which is inexplicably forceful enough to cause me to fall against the gate. Then the culprit flies past me, escaping the enclosure.

“Hey!” calls out Emmalea, who’s on horseback nearby. “Peeps got out!”

“I see that!” I shout back, annoyed, as I take off running after my favorite pain in my ass.

That troublemakin’ sheep Peepers.

But just as I round the corner, here comes Hoyt, soaring out in front of me at record speed, chasing down the rogue sheep. He was in the coop just a second ago, and now—“I got her!” he shouts as he zips across the grass, his voice turning into a squeal echoing over the field. “I got her! Dang she’s fast! But I got her!”

I slow down as I watch, mouth agape. Peepers rounds the distant outside corner of her enclosure, racing to escape capture as Hoyt comes up to her tail. At first, he tries to reach out and grab her leg, but trips, somersaulting forward and crashing face-first to the dirt. He gets right back up and keeps running without missing a beat, like the boy didn’t just eat grass, as Peepers bleats merrily on, like she’s enjoying a brisk jog under the sun. Her delightful baas sound like happy taunts at her sweaty, tireless pursuer.

Then she comes around the front and heads straight for me.

I spread my hands. “Here, girl!” I call out, seesawing from left to right, predicting where she’s heading.

Then she darts off to the far left, way out of reach. I leap to catch her, miss by a hair, and crash to the ground.

Hoyt soars over me like he’s doing hurdles, then descends on her in seconds. Mysteriously, she stops running and faces off with him, bleating playfully. He takes hold of her around the neck, then starts laughing. “Jeez, you gave me a workout, girl!” Then he turns around and looks at us. “Now how do we get her back in the pen?”

Then Peepers slips from his grip and takes off running again.

“Dang it!” He goes after her once more.

The story of how Hoyt wrangled Peepers back home becomes the whole talk of dinner that night. Emmalea is hitting the bottle again, and she’s full of laughter and jokes, poking fun at how Hoyt had no idea what he was doing, yet miraculously managed to get her back to the rest of the flock. “I really didn’t have a clue,” Hoyt says with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, laughing. “I just went runnin’ after her like a squirrel was in my underwear boxin’ my nuts or something. I thought I had her, like, three times, and y’all weren’t kidding, that sassy sheep is as slippery as soap!”

The sound of laughter keeps ringing in my ears as I stare from the head of the table, dumbfounded at how everything has turned around so dramatically from just a few nights ago.

I can’t get over it. He’s a new person.

But why can’t I trust it?

Even days later, Hoyt is still putting in the work, impressing everyone and joining in every conversation at the table. Hell, even Turtle seems taken by him, and on Saturday night, he pulls out his ukulele and improvises a cheery tune during dinner about Hoyt’s triumphant feats of the week, highlighting each one—like when Hoyt got to ride a horse he’d saddled himself. But no sooner than he mounted her, she decided to take a giant dump right there. And as Hoyt stared over his shoulder, aghast at what was happening, everyone around him busted out laughing. Emmalea was in tears. I was watching from the barn, arms crossed, unsure what to make of any of it.

Tonight, as I watch everyone relax, party, and have fun with each other, I become a big brooding fly on the wall, detached from everything, just an outsider looking in.

At one point, Hoyt meets my eyes from across the room, like he was searching for me. He’s on the couch with a few others. I just stare back, silent and blank-faced. After a moment, he returns his full attention to whoever’s talking, and I resume my beer.

The night is winding down when I go to the fridge to get one last bottle. Just as I shut the door, bottle in hand, he appears at the counter next to me like a ghost from thin air. “Hey, man.”

I pop open my bottle and nod at him. “Hoyt.”

“I know I already said it a few times, but …” He leans against the counter. “Just wanted to say thanks again. Y’know. For giving me another chance. You didn’t have to, but dang it, you did.”

I don’t quite make eye contact with him. “Better thank Gary for that. He’s got a huge soft spot for you, clearly. He apparently wouldn’t let you work for free, either.” I kick back my beer.

“Yeah, I noticed! That paycheck was a surprise.” He clears his throat, clearly searching for something else to say. “So how ‘bout that day I caught Peepers? Phew, she’s wild.” He lets out a laugh. “She’s … She’s wild, that one. Wild sheep. Wild Peepers. Heh, yeah.” He draws silent, then clears his throat, out of words to say.

He’s awkward and fidgety. The exact opposite of his usual cocky self. I’m not sure what to make of that.

“You did good,” I decide to tell him, then glance at the clock hanging on the wall. Saturday nights in the bunkhouse always go long and hard. “It’s getting late. Better turn in.” I turn to go.

But Hoyt isn’t done. “What’s it gonna take?”

I stop and look at him. “Huh?”

“For us to actually work together again. For us to … be okay.”

His eyes are intense as he speaks, but not angry. His tone is firm, yet pleading. It doesn’t take a psychologist to see his need for my approval seeping out of his pores. He’s desperate for all of his past grievances to just vanish. Forgiven. Absolved. Poof, gone.

He’s a guy who’s used to being let off the hook. That was my first and only impression of him since the day he arrived.

But there’s something different about tonight …

“We are okay,” I tell him. “What more do you want?”

“You know it’s more than that.”

“I’m just having a beer, blowing off steam … and now my tired ass is headed home. You and I are okay. Don’t stay up too late. The morning is always on its way. Night.” I turn to go again.

He slips from the counter and steps in front of me. “C’mon.”

I sigh. “What is it, Hoyt?”

His foot taps the floor with impatience as his frustrated eyes search mine. He licks his lips, which I notice he does whenever he thinks about something troubling him. It pulls all of my focus. I can’t look away from his lips as he licks them in thought.

“I was just …” he starts. I watch his lips as he talks. “I was just hopin’ you and I could … get past that first day. And I mean really get past it. I want a clean slate with you, Harrison. Dunno why, but your opinion of me really fuckin’ matters, excuse my language.”

I give him a look. “You want me to like you or something?”

“I mean, you don’t gotta fall in love with me or nothin’,” he teases, going for charming. Then he quickly turns serious again. “I just want us to be alright with each other. Like, really alright. None of that ‘just saying you’re alright, but really hating me in secret’ crap. Can’t stand that. I feel like that’s what my mom and stepdad do, and I hate it. I don’t ever want that for myself.”

“Your parents are like that?”

“Pretty much. I mean, not all the time. Maybe it’s normal. Are your parents like that?” he asks suddenly, adopting an interested tone of voice. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Or not?”

I stare at him for a moment before deciding to answer. “Nah, the opposite. They … sorta gush with adoration for one another every chance they get.” I shrug. “It’s kinda gross, actually.”

He chuckles. “I prefer gross parents over … whatever kind of song and dance mine do. You close with yours?”

Are we actually talking? Are we getting to know each other? “We’re fairly close, but don’t talk as often now. I used to visit them every weekend for a huge Sunday dinner. Between my Bahamian dad’s peas and rice—not the lil’ green things you’re probably thinking—and my Texan mom’s southern cooking, I always had an eclectic spread of food to enjoy growing up. Mmm, damn, I can taste my dad’s chicken souse now. Trust me, we always ate good at my house.”

“What’s chicken souse?”

“Spicy as hell is what it is. Basically a chicken soup with lime and chilis.”

“Hmm, sounds tasty.”

I laugh. “Anyway, they moved to Houston a few years back for my dad’s job. That’s where all of my mom’s relatives are from.” It suddenly hits me. “I haven’t visited them since before Christmas. Kinda tough to get away from the farm for very long.”

“Hey, you can still be close without seein’ them,” says Hoyt. “No rules about that. I’m sure they understand. All of the animals here depend on you.”

“On all of us,” I amend. “I’m just one in a team. A cog in the machine, spokes on a wheel.”

“Yeah, but you’re driving that machine n’ steering that wheel. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I give him a look. “This ass-kissing gets you nowhere with me, Hoyt, except your lips on my ass and nothing more.”

He shrugs. “I’m just speaking the truth, not blowing smoke.”

I down the rest of my beer, then set the bottle on the counter with the other empties. “I’m heading out. Get your sleep, Hoyt … wherever they got you sleeping in here.”

“On the couch,” he says. “But I share Turtle’s trunk.”

I didn’t ask, but alright, good to know. “Night, Hoyt.” I turn.

“I’m gonna get better,” he says to my back.

I glance at him over my shoulder.

“Still got lots I can get better at. Lots to learn. I’m gonna put in that effort you want. I’ll show you, Harrison. I’ll work my dang ass off, day in and day out.” He crosses his arms. “If it’s sweat you want, sweat I can give you.”

I stop at the door to the mudroom, staring at him.

Thinking about the way he looked in the field today when he peeled off his shirt and got to digging in the dirt.

His peachy skin, glossy and wet.

His determination, red-hot like his cheeks.

I don’t answer him. I just leave the bunkhouse before I have a total mental collapse. I cross the yard, push into the cabin, then peel off all of my clothes and go straight for the shower. I crank it as hot as I can bear and let the water pour over the back of my head as the steam fills my eyes.

His words swim in my ears with the noise of the shower. If it’s sweat you want, sweat I can give you. His hardened, unwavering eyes. His set, squared jaw. His obsessive focus on pleasing me, satisfying me, wanting my praise. If it’s sweat you want …

I wish those words didn’t sound as sexy as he made them.

Chapter 11
Hoyt

Work hard. Work tirelessly. Keep your head low.

Don’t keep sneaking glances at Harrison.

Focus on the cute animals. Do it for the cute, stinky animals. Nothing else matters.

Don’t keep sneaking glances at Harrison.

Carry this over here. Carry this over there. Discover that it is actually humanly possible to sweat from your eyeballs.

And don’t … keep … sneaking … glances … at … fucking … Harrison.

Stop praying he will come around. He may never come around. I can’t waste energy on that, not when I’m busy all day long with chores around the farm. They don’t need me over with the cool machines and the fields of crops, and that’s fine. I’ll keep doing the tiring, thankless tasks needed with the animals where I’m needed.

Work hard.

Keep your head low.

Stop sneaking glances.

Damn, this work really does take everything out of you. I have come to discover that after three long weeks at this place. But isn’t that what you do when you put all your love into your work? You have nothing left for anyone else.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Can’t even remember the last time I gave a thought to Toby or his boyfriend and the headache I put them through senior year.

I have a new focus now. A new tether.

A new purpose.

Sometimes, I hang around outside the bunkhouse at night and pretend to be checking out the stars, but really I’m glancing across the yard at Harrison’s, wondering what he’s up to. When the noise of his nightly endeavors reaches my ears, I will sneak over to his place, come around the side, and watch him work, hidden away like some shameful squirrel.

He makes furniture.

Dining room chairs. Rocking chairs. Weird chairs.

Cabinets. Tables. Cute little desks.

Harrison makes other things, too. Doghouses. Tiny decorative boxes I’m sure serve some kind of purpose. Wooden wind chimes, like the pretty one hanging on his porch with the shells. Window shutters. I swear, the guy can make anything.

At least once a week, I notice Harrison leaving the farm in the middle of the day when everything seems settled.

It coincides with when his furniture disappears.

I guess making and selling things is his side hustle.

It’s on an unusually cloudy, overcast Friday afternoon that I spot Harrison heading to his truck. It’s my cue. “Hey, Harrison!” I call out, hurrying across the yard from the mudroom.

He stops at the driver side door and looks at me. “Hoyt?”

“Where you headed?” I ask, diving right in.

He looks totally caught off-guard. “To run an errand. What’re you doing? Don’t you have—?”

“Finished my morning chores already,” I explain. “Was just tidying up in the bunkhouse. Are you delivering some furniture?”

“I’m sure there’s something you can do ‘round here.”

“Turtle’s still trying to figure out the thing with the sprayer. Even Lea had nothin’ left for me to do. So … can I tag along?” I approach him and spot the table in the bed of the truck. “Whoa, that looks cool. Is that what you’re delivering?”

A flicker of annoyance passes over Harrison’s eyes. Finally, he gives in. “Yeah. Delivering it to Goodwin Designs.”

“I’ve got time to kill. My chores are done. It’ll just be a quick trip, right? Let me come with. C’mon.”

I know I’m pushing my luck. As well as his buttons. And there might actually be a good dozen of things I could and should stick around here to do. But I’m dying for a little time away, and this is the perfect opportunity.

Not to mention maybe a chance to butter Harrison up more.

“I can help carry it,” I go on.

“For Pete’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, turning away.

“Can’t you use the extra muscle? C’mon, you’re not gonna make your client carry that table inside, are you? Looks pretty big and heavy.” I click my tongue and shake my head. “I bet it’ll look a lot more professional if you got a second pair of hands on that—”

“If I say yes, will you shut the hell up?” snaps Harrison.

“Yup.”

“Fine. We’ll be gone an hour, tops. Tell Lea or Fred, whoever you find first.”

Fuck yeah! “They’re way out in the field. I’ll leave a note in the house. Be back in a couple of minutes!” I call over a shoulder as I hurry inside. He shouts back: “I’ll give you ten seconds!”

Soon, I’m in the passenger seat of his truck, and we’re kicking up dirt on our way off the farm and ripping down the country road. The wind is in my hair and crashing across my smiling face. I’m riding cloud nine with my arm hanging out the window as I watch the fields of corn and wheat fly by like oceans of yellow-green hair dancing in the wind.

“Man, I don’t think a square kick in the nuts could wipe this smile off my face right now,” I announce for no reason.

Harrison just drives, one hand over the top of the wheel, and says nothing.

“Isn’t it good now and then?” I ask him. “To get off the farm? I mean, you gotta know everyone regards you as the boss. Not Gary. You’ve got free reign to do whatever it is you want.”

That makes him lift an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“The others. I mean, I didn’t mean they hold it against you or nothin’. They all love you. Not that you need to hear that,” I add. “Because you’re, uh, y’know … you.” Here I go again, running my mouth and letting every stupid thought just fall right out. “You can go whenever you want. You know you’ve got an amazing team you can trust to leave the farm to.”

“It’s not my farm,” says Harrison rather firmly. “It’s Gary’s.”

“Yeah, but what’ll Gary do when he passes on? No kids of his own. His wife doesn’t want the burden. He’ll leave it to someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who—”

“I don’t need you tellin’ me this,” he cuts me off. “I know what I mean to the Strongs. What’s got this bug up your butt anyway about what he’ll do with the farm? He isn’t dying tomorrow.”

“I’m just sayin’.” What was I saying? “You got a lot of … clout. Everyone likes and respects you.”

“Sure, okay.”

“Even me.”

Harrison brings a hand to his temple and rubs it, irritated.

I shrug. “I guess my whole point was just … it must be nice to get off the farm. I always wondered what you do when you’re not on it. I mean, other than this furniture thing.”

He wrinkles up his face. “Furniture thing …?”

“You go out now and then, don’t you?” I ask. “You go out with your friends? I know you hang with Tanner sometimes.”

“Uh, sure, of course. He’s my best friend. Why are you—?”

“No one seems to know the real you, that’s why. And it makes me wonder sometimes what you’re keepin’ to yourself. I might seem like the kind of guy whose friends know everything about him, but I can guarantee you right now that isn’t true.”

Harrison lets out a soft sigh. Then he indulges me. “That so?”

“My closest friends don’t really know the real me.”

“Well, maybe your ‘closest friends’ weren’t really all that close with you in the first place,” he suggests.

“Does Tanner really know the real you?”

He glances at me, frustration in his eyes, then faces forward without answering. With a quick twist of a knob, he turns up the volume of the radio, which I didn’t realize was playing at all. The twang of country music fills the truck, and I listen to lyrics about broken hearts, bikinis, and ‘summer fun in the sun’. I guess that’s supposed to signify that our conversation has ended.

I twist the volume quiet for a second. “My point was that you don’t gotta stay closed up all the time, y’know. It’s probably why you’re so dang stressed out and uptight.”

“Uptight—?”

“What you need is someone to confide in,” I go on. “Someone you don’t like very much.”

He frowns at me. “Are you talking about you?”

“That way, you know I won’t patronize you or say dumb shit you don’t wanna hear. We can, like, keep each other real. Be each other’s vent or shoulder. I’m basically the perfect friend.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a—”

“Just think about it,” I tell him, then twist the volume back up to full, drowning out whatever he’s trying to say with more whiny lyrics about broken hearts. After shooting me a look, he turns his eyes back to the road, and we remain quiet the rest of the way.

I didn’t realize the trip would just be five minutes long. Our destination, Goodwin Designs, is located at the Landry Ranch, just down the road from Gary Strong’s farm. I should’ve realized that, but somehow the excitement of getting to leave the farm for the first time in weeks made my brain stop working. After making our way up the long driveway, we go past the main house and pull up to a gravel area behind it, where an attached guesthouse sits.

Harrison kills the engine. “Help me unload the table,” he says, then hops out of the truck. I come around and assist in carrying it—still covered in a protective tarp—to the door.

Before we’re even halfway there, the door swings open, and out steps a handsome man with a creamy complexion, bright eyes, and styled, medium-length blond hair. He wears a buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, cascading untucked over a pair of jeans. He’s barefoot when he steps out to greet us. “Harrison!” he calls out, shocked. “I thought it wasn’t gonna be ready ‘til Sunday!”

“Early delivery!” sings Harrison with a cheery smile, which catches me off-guard considering how moody he was in the truck. “Got the finishing touches done last night, and figured I’d come by for a surprise. Do you and Chad know where you want it? Or—”

“Who do you think makes all the decisions around here? Not the guy who can’t tell the difference between beige and eggshell.” He notices me. “Oh, you brought a strapping young assistant …?”

“Hoyt,” I introduce myself after we set down the table in front of the door. I reach for a handshake.

The man—Chad Landry’s husband, I assume—gives me a nod as he shakes my hand. “Well, well. Strapping young assistant has manners. I’m Lance.” He’s still shaking my hand as he glances at Harrison and lifts an eyebrow. “Is this the new troublemaking hotshot I’ve been hearing about?”

I scrunch up my face with confusion as Harrison clears his throat. “He graduated high school this spring and needed a job. Gary offered. Now he’s shadowing me for the summer.”

“Shadowing.” Lance—still shaking my hand—smirks. “That’s a mighty lot of words to have still not answered my question.”

Harrison, clearly not up for playing games, keeps his cheery smile pasted on as he pats the table. “Where do you want your hot new beauty, Mr. Goodwin?”

“I got him right where I want him and I’m shaking his hand,” says Lance coyly. Then he lets go. “Kidding. You’re jailbait, and I’m still not sure what the rules are here for flirting with young men.”

I blink, confused. “Uh … flirting?”

“Ignore him,” Harrison says to Lance. “The boy’s kinda thick and everything goes over his head.”

Lance frowns, studying me. “Hmm. Why’s that make him even more adorable? Sorry, I’m coming off strong and we just met.”

I feel like I’m missing something. “Hey, I ain’t thick,” I retort to Harrison belatedly.

“You have to understand,” says Lance, “I’m a kind of Spruce-born California re-transplant. It’s confusing, and you are in no way obligated to understand it. I’ll show you boys where to bring the table. It’s the spot where Chad’s old ugly table used to be.”

Lance holds open the door to the guesthouse as Harrison and I lift the table and bring it inside. The guesthouse is an open room with a connected living room, dining, and kitchen area. Past the kitchen leads to a bedroom and bathroom, from the looks of it, and the other way past the living room appears to be a room full of sewing machines and baskets full of bolts of fabric. Lance leads us to the middle of the empty dining area, where we set down the table. Harrison smiles at Lance. “Ready for the big reveal?” Then he peels off the protective tarp, and before our eyes now sits a beautiful, smooth mahogany table, dark in color, with decorative etchings all around the edge and down the legs.

“Fucking beautiful!” cries Lance with sudden gusto. “Oh, and all the details on the sides …! You’re truly an artist.”

Harrison chuckles. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would, and farther. It’ll go so great with Chad’s chairs. You matched the color perfectly.”

“Tried my best,” admits Harrison.

“Ugh, now I’m wondering if we got this all wrong and should put this in the main house. I mean, we still need a table here, but now that I see it …” He shrugs. “Y’know what? I’ll let Chad decide. He’s got this weird emotional attachment to the table in the main house. Something to do with his ex Jo, but that’s another story. Also, Millie would probably gnaw on the legs and ruin it. She’s got a weird leg-gnawing obsession. That’s our dog,” he adds as an aside to me. “Anyway, enough of that. How much do we owe you?”

“Chad already paid,” says Harrison. “You owe me nothing. Got the chairs?”

Lance throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Stored them in my little studio. Wanna see? It’s kinda my spare studio, used for when I just want to play around with new ideas, experiment, all that. My bigger studio is in the main house, but—Y’know what? I’m talking too much. Come in, the both of you. It’s a mess, but if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to call myself a true designer.”

He takes us to his studio—the room with the sewing machines and baskets of fabric off the living room—to get the dining chairs. Lance can’t help but to show off a few pieces he’s working on, one of which reminds me of a dress I think I saw someone wearing at prom. Actually, more than one. Now that Lance Goodwin is the big name in local fashion, everyone in Spruce, Fairview, and about three or four other nearby towns want his clothes for all kinds of occasions, from weddings to school dances to ritzy galas.

“Oh, no, don’t look over there,” Lance quickly says, shielding a certain area from sight. “I’m working on a thing for Nadine’s inauguration and—Is it called an inauguration? I don’t know—and it’s a total mess, she’s gonna hate it, I have so much work to do on it. It’ll be my first piece featured on TV, which is kind of amazing, but terrifying, too. Chairs are over here.”

After we move all six chairs to the table, we take a seat and Lance starts spilling his heart out to us about everything. “It isn’t the weirdest thing, I guess,” Lance is going on, “Nadine and Cassie becoming besties overnight. I was pretty sure Cassie giving my career the funding and takeoff it needed was going to put a target on my back as far as Nadine was concerned, since word around town was they were arch nemeses, but man, did it do the opposite. It started with Nadine showing up on my doorstep and cheerily demanding we do coffee one day, because she had to get all of the inside scoop on me and Chad after his big coming out speech at church. Then suddenly she was my best friend and wanted me to dress her at every event she ever attends—in perpetuity. Little did I realize that would lead to her and Cassie Evans mending fences and Nadine wanting to throw her hand in making my business a success.” Lance shrugs. “Win-win for me, I guess?”

Harrison folds his arms on the table. “Now with her becoming mayor soon, she’ll be on TV all the time, with you dressing her up like a doll. Sounds like a great advertisement, too.”

“And dress her up, I will.” Lance chuckles, then frowns. “But it is a lot of pressure. I’ve been snapping at Chad more than usual. He can be a handful. Honestly, I wouldn’t wish anyone to be in poor Nadine Strong’s shoes. She claims she’s handling everything well, but every time I see her, she looks more frazzled than the last. Girl needs six tequilas a day to manage all that stress.”

Harrison laughs and shakes his head. Lance goes on talking about the Strongs and how things have changed since their high school days. Harrison’s cheeks warm and his eyes go watery as he listens to Lance, and his laughs seem to come easier.

What is it about Harrison right now that’s sticking out like a sore thumb? Is it his total lack of moodiness? I don’t see the dark curtain over his eyes, either, or the usual strain in his face. He’s converted into a bowl of pudding on the table in front of Lance.

I didn’t think they were all that close. Why do Harrison’s eyes sparkle when he looks at him?

“Anyway, long story short, I don’t think you’ll get to see Chad today,” Lance finishes up. “That man’s got his hands full, especially since Old Man Mitch dropped a bomb on him that he may have to retire. Something to do with his back.”

“Ooh, that’s no good,” says Harrison. Then he eyes me. “Mitch is Chad’s foreman. He’s got a different way of running things here, much more hands-off than Gary.”

“Ranch pretty much runs itself,” Lance puts in with a shrug. “I know Gary and Chad have a great relationship. Chad’s always over there meeting with Mr. Strong about this or that.” He shrugs. “I have nothing to do with any of that. I just mind my own business. Literally. My own business.” He gestures at the studio. “And happy life is a happy wife. Or is it the other way around?”

As Harrison laughs, I realize my mind is still caught up in a whirlwind of confusion and unanswered questions. I think it also has to do with Lance bringing up his husband’s coming out speech, and Reverend Trey’s sermon about turning keys.

Suddenly I can’t contain my thoughts. “Can I say somethin’?”

Lance and Harrison turn to me. “Well, go ahead,” says Lance. “You’ve got the floor.”

“I just wanted to say …” I fight a sudden urge to chicken out. I straighten up my back. “I thought your husband was, uh … really brave. To do what he did.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow. “To do what?”

“In front of everyone at the church. His, uh … speech.” Is this stupid to say? Why is Harrison giving me a look? “I thought it at the time, too. Even told a friend of mine I was there with. I … I thought it was really cool of Chad. To do what he did. To set, like, an example for everyone. Or something.”

As I fight back a blush—or whatever the hell’s happening on my face right now—Lance appraises me, nodding slowly. “Thanks for that,” he finally says. “Very sweet of you.” He eyes Harrison. “Your strapping young assistant is sweet.”

“I really mean it, too,” I press on, pulling Lance and Harrison’s attention back to me. “The whole thing about turning keys, settin’ ourselves free from our own cages …” I clear my throat. “I thought it was powerful. And it was brave, Chad’s speech.”

Lance smiles. “Well, too bad Chad isn’t here or else you could tell him yourself. And maybe someday, we won’t need to call it bravery. Just a statement as boring as announcing what you had for breakfast. Three eggs over easy with a few slices of cantaloupe, by the way.” His smile fades. He tilts his head, studying me. “But is there a specific reason you’re saying this, Hoyt?”

I hesitate. “Huh?”

“Are you coming out to us? Is that what this is?”

My heart is suddenly in my throat, suffocating me. “I—wait, what? No.” I let out a bark of laughter. “No, no. I’m not. I was just meanin’ … I just meant I thought Chad was brave to—”

“Calm down, cowboy,” says Lance with a laugh. “No biggie.” He glances at Harrison. “Y’know how to pick them. He’s even high strung like you, boss man.”

I flinch. “High strung …?”

Ignoring me, Harrison frowns at Lance. “I didn’t pick the boy, that’s all on Gary. I’m only high strung because I got way too much on my plate at all times of the day.”

“Yeah, but who’s doing the serving?” asks Lance. “You and I both know if you just let go the reins a bit, that farm of Gary’s will run just fine with the workers you’ve trained. Your ‘plate’ doesn’t need to be as full as it is. Besides, that’s how we put on the spare tires, and men our age gotta watch out for that.” He shoots me a look. “Not young men his age, of course. Seriously, what is your waist size, Hoyt? 26?”

Harrison clears his throat rather loudly, then rises. “Anyway, time’s flying. We gotta head back to the farm. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to give me a holler.”

Lance gazes at him questioningly. “Of … Of course. Okay.”

“And give Chad my regards, too, whenever he gets in.” Then Harrison turns his hard eyes onto me. “Ready to go?”

“Wait,” says Lance, rising. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all,” says Harrison, pasting on an abrupt smile. “We’ve just gotta get back. Lost track of time. Maybe one of these nights, I can bring by some beer and you, me, and Chad can chat and … and reminisce about the old days or something.” He lifts an eyebrow my way. “Ready to go?” he asks again.

I guess I’m supposed to take the hint. I rise from my chair. “Yeah, we better get back. Lunch break is … probably over by now. The others will need me for the afternoon stuff.”

Lance’s eyes dance back and forth between us. “Hmm, okay. Oh, if everyone else at the farm is having lunch right now, what about you guys? Did you two eat? Chad and I had friends over the other night, and there’s a butt load of brisket in the fridge if you want any. You could—”

“We’re fine,” Harrison insists. “Had a bite before we left. But I appreciate it anyway. Enjoy your table, Lance.”

We definitely did not have a bite before we left. But I keep that fact to myself and follow Harrison out of the house. Lance stands at the door, gazing at us with questions in his eyes, as we hop back into Harrison’s truck and, after one last wave, take off.

Chapter 12
Harrison

We’ve barely left the driveway when Hoyt asks, “Why did we have to leave so abruptly?”

I keep my eyes on the road. Despite trying not to think about my miserable experience of my high school reunion a few years ago, the feelings keep rushing back. Feeling alone. Feeling empty. Feeling invisible.

And watching the train wreck that was Lance and his Chad become a full-circle miracle of love before my eyes.

“Do you gotta take a dump or somethin’?” asks Hoyt.

I’m happy for Lance. I am. I never thought much of Chad, but I’m truly happy for Lance that he found someone to fulfill him. All this time since the reunion, I’ve wondered if I was really attracted to Lance at all, or if it was just that I was attracted to what he was, what he had, and what he found in Chad.

Why does it feel like I’ll never find that for myself?

“Did Lance, like, make you feel uncomfortable or somethin’?” Hoyt is still reaching. “He seems like a nice guy to me.”

“Just shut up, Hoyt,” I mumble, miserable.

“I’ll shut up when I get one damned answer from you.”

“I said shut—”

A loud pop. My truck lurches suddenly, goes lopsided, and the loud and grating noise of metal fills our ears as my truck slows. I pull over to the side of the road and kill the engine. Well, fuck me.

“Flat tire,” I announce unnecessarily.

Hoyt is silent.

I turn to him—only to find him gripping the center console with one hand and the handle to the passenger side door, his body stiff as a board, his eyes wide, panicked. He’s holding his breath.

I lift an eyebrow at him. “Hoyt?”

He still won’t move. He won’t even blink.

“Hoyt. It’s just a flat tire.”

Finally he comes to, drawing his first breath. “Y-Yeah. I know. I know that.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“N-Nothing.” He blinks several times, draws another jagged breath, then abruptly lets himself out of the truck.

That’s when it hits me. His own car wreck. Totaling his truck and nearly getting himself killed on account of a runaway dog. I grimace, annoyed at myself for not putting two and two together.

Not to mention I probably ran straight over something on the road and could’ve avoided it, had my mind not been so hung up on the visit with Lance and my own abyssal lonesomeness.

I shove out of the truck, slap the door shut behind me, and go for my spare. Hoyt is already there, complete with the jack, which catches me by surprise. As he gets to work, I just cross my arms and watch. It’s barely been a minute before he starts struggling with the jack, grunting to himself in frustration. “The hell—?” he mutters, fighting with it. “How does this—?” He grunts some more as he messes with it.

I can’t help but chuckle, amused by him.

Hoyt, however, doesn’t find it funny at all, apparently. “The hell you laughin’ at, old man?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering what the heck you’re doing.”

“I’m tryin’ to do a—urgh!—nice thing and change your—fuck!—stupid-ass tire, that’s what.”

I shake my head. I can’t stop chuckling. “And you plan to accomplish that by humping it to death?”

He rises at once and squares off with me. “Now’s not the time to start somethin’, Harrison.”

I still have tears of laughter in my eyes as I stare him down. “I ain’t starting anything. You’re the one humping my flat tire in the middle of the road.”

Something softens in his eyes. “I’m just trying to help here. I am tryin’ to, like, actually help you, yet still you’re treating me like the scum of the …” He shakes his head. “Fuck that. I’m even tryin’ to be a friend, Harrison. I asked genuinely if something was up with you, since you got all weird at Lance and Chad’s.”

Now all the laughter is gone. “Hoyt, you don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Exactly, I don’t, because you won’t say a dang thing about it.”

“So how about you drop it, and drop the tough guy act, and let me change my own tire.”

Hoyt steps right up to me, his face in front of mine, nostrils flared. “You know what I don’t get? You are supposed to be the nicest fuckin’ guy in all Spruce. Everyone sees you that way. That’s what I was told before Gary hired me. You’re Spruce’s sweetheart. So tell me somethin’. Why is all that love and compassion you got in you reserved for everyone else, even a bunch of chickens n’ pigs you’ll probably eat for breakfast some morning …”

Every muscle in my body tightens up like a wire. “Hoyt …”

“… but not one scrap of it for me? Why, Harrison? Tell me!”

I grab him by the shirt, slam him against the side of the truck, then press my lips to his.

An electric warmth swarms my chest.

Hot and exciting and prickling with energy.

A warmth I’ve never in all of my life known.

A warmth that could crumble me into pieces of unadulterated joy and tears.

Just from one stolen kiss.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t resist. I press my lips to his and feel all of that tension in my body unwind in the space of seconds. With my lips on his, our faces together, his breath on my cheeks, nothing else in the world matters. I have no problems. I have no worries. I have no responsibilities. I only have him.

Our hips come together, and we are body to body.

Crotch to crotch.

Chest to chest.

My fingers curl, tightening around the material of his shirt, as our mouths press harder and harder together. The kiss is so deep, so forceful, so filled with urgency, it hurts.

I had no choice. I had no control. It was like a magnet, the way our lips joined, the way our bodies crashed together.

The way that even now, I can’t seem to pull away from him.

We’re attached. Electricity and gravity and forces I can’t even see, but feel with the whole of my body.

The very next instant, Hoyt shoves me off of him. I step back and stare at him, out of breath.

Hoyt stares back at me, equally out of breath, eyes wide, his lips red and parted.

Neither of us say anything. Neither of us move.

That’s when the horror sinks in.

What the fuck have I done …?

Hoyt turns away suddenly, eyes still wide and unblinking. He crouches down and, in total silence, resumes changing the tire. I stare at his back, standing right where I am, mortified beyond words. I can barely breathe.

I don’t even know how it happens, but the tire is changed, and suddenly I’m back in the truck, staring blankly ahead. Not a word is said when Hoyt enters the truck after finishing. I turn the key, then off we go down the road.

There is only silence and the road.

Four tires, the dirt tumbling beneath them, and silence.

Silence, and my tightened knuckles on the steering wheel, and the air blowing past outside …

And fucking silence.

I muster the strength to glance at Hoyt. He’s looking out of his window, hands hanging limply in his lap. I can’t tell if he’s angry, or in a daze, lost in thoughts, sickened, or freaked the fuck out.

He has a right to be each and every one of those things.

It’s the longest five-minute truck ride I’ve ever experienced. Every second crawls by like an ant. Every minute, glacially slow. I finally pull into the long driveway of Gary’s farm, then steer my way to my spot next to the cabin.

My heart is pounding something fierce when I shut off the engine. I turn to him. “Hey, Hoyt. I—”

He’s out of the truck the next instant. I stare at his back as he heads off to the bunkhouse without a word. My mouth is hanging open. My eyes are glassy.

I’m at a total freak-out level of loss.

Chapter 13
Hoyt

I feel like someone else.

Floating around the farm like I’ve got no clue what’s going on.

My blank eyes see a chicken, and that feathery little mother clucker is minding her own business, dancing and pecking at the ground, and I don’t even remember why I came over here to the coop. Didn’t I collect the eggs already?

I’m standing at the door to the barn, gazing out at the horses trotting around the paddock, whinnying playfully at each other, but literally nothing is there in front of my eyes.

Nothing except Harrison’s face—angry one second.

Then descending on me the next with his lips.

It was me and Toby in the bathroom all over again. It was us, in a secret world of our own, no one around, just us, just our lips, just our breath, just our bodies.

Except it wasn’t Toby. It was Harrison.

And it wasn’t me stealing the kiss.

It was him.

My heart hasn’t slowed down since that moment, pressed to the scorching-hot side of that truck. I didn’t even notice how hot it was, too distracted by what was happening with my lips.

And his lips.

Our lips.

Did that really just fucking happen …?

One of the horses stops suddenly and seems to stare at me from across the grass, as if reading my thoughts—or at the very least sensing that something is very off about me.

What if Harrison was just toying with me? What if it’s a joke? Wasn’t he laughing just seconds before he kissed me? It didn’t feel like a joke. It felt very real.

Painfully real.

Did word get out about what Toby said at that party once? Did word get out about our kiss? Is all of Spruce whispering about it, and all this time, I never knew? Is that why my sister asked?

Did Harrison know this whole time?

The thoughts spiral around inside my head as I walk aimlessly across the yard. Is Harrison gay? Is that why he was so awkward after we left Lance and Chad’s? Is that why he had fucking hearts dancing around his head while we were there?

I can still vividly remember how it felt in that bathroom when I kissed Toby last fall. I didn’t know how to express whatever was going on inside of me. I had no idea what to do with my feelings. They came out wrong. And they came out all over Toby’s lips.

Is that what happened at the side of that truck?

Did Harrison just come out all over my lips …?

My heart is pounding when I enter the bunkhouse for dinner, only to find that Harrison isn’t there. After we serve ourselves and gather at the table, I expect him to come late, but he doesn’t. “He’s got some client deadline to meet,” answers Emmalea when Miguel asks where he is. “Workin’ on some furniture piece or some other. He’s probably eatin’ on his own.” Fred grunts and makes some comment about Harrison needing to construct them all a new set of bunk beds, to a few halfhearted chuckles.

I can barely stomach a single bite of my food. Everything is bouncing around inside of me like my insides are suddenly made of rubber.

Why would he go and do what he did, then disappear?

“Hon, your food’s gettin’ cold,” says Emmalea at my side. “You off in daydream land or what?”

I notice I’ve got the attention of the table. “Nah,” I quickly say with a chuckle. “Just stuff on my mind.”

“Stuff on your mind …?”

“Yep, it’s what I said.” I offer a blank smile.

Emmalea smirks. “Well, that stuff in your mind’s gettin’ in the way of the stuff on your plate. Anything you wanna share?”

I glance at the others. Everyone is annoyingly invested in this little exchange over here. Even Turtle, who has stopped mid-bite to pay attention.

I shrug and grab the first thing that comes to mind. “My little sister’s birthday is in a couple days.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. Didn’t know you had one. Is she just like you? How old is she turning?”

“Eleven—and she’s nothin’ like me, and I want to keep it that way,” I add, causing everyone to laugh.

Emmalea nods. “Well, I’m sure you can work out somethin’ with Gary, get you an afternoon off to enjoy her special day with her. A big brother’s gotta be there for his little sister, right?”

I nod. “Damn right.”

“Good thing. Now eat every last bit of that plate up before I turn any more into your mama,” she orders me. I let out a chuckle, then obey. And for a nice little while, things feel normal again.

That feeling’s wiped clean away after dinner.

Rust and a couple others go to bed early, tuckered out, while Turtle serenades Emmalea at the couch. I find myself doing some laundry in the mudroom by myself.

Yes, it’s deliberate.

No, I don’t need to do any dang laundry.

I’m here because I can see Harrison’s cabin straight out of the screen door and the window. There’s no light coming from the back side of the house, as far as I can tell. So from the looks of it, he’s inside tonight, and not “chasing some deadline” like he told the others.

It’s obvious he’s avoiding everyone.

More specifically: me.

Then again, I did sort of bolt from the truck the moment we pulled in. What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? I still needed to process what the hell happened.

I needed to relive the moment a few times in my head.

Just to be sure of something.

Yet here I am, in the stupid mudroom, doing stupid laundry, and being absolutely sure of absolutely nothing.

Except that I can’t let this go.

I abandon my laundry and push my way out the screen door. The grass and gravel crunches beneath my shoes as I cross from the bunkhouse to Harrison’s. The floorboards thump like my heart as I ascend his porch, then stand before his door, knuckles ready.

I stop, my knuckles hovering at the wood, ready.

But am I really ready?

Do I really want to do this?

Once that can’s open and all the worms spill out, there’s no shutting it back up.

Wait. Who am I kidding? The can was spilled all over the place thanks to the man on the other side of this door. We’re already at the point of no return.

I knock.

No answer.

“Hey,” I say to the door. “Listen, I learned from last time. I’m not bargin’ my ass in. But I know you’re in there.”

Still no answer.

“I hear your heavy footsteps.” I don’t actually hear anything; it’s just a tactic. “C’mon. Answer the door.”

Nothing.

I lean back against the porch banister. “Alright, then. You can ignore me all night, but I’m gonna stay right here until you open that door. You and I need to talk.”

The door swings open. The big and broad-shouldered shape of Harrison eclipses the lamplight inside. He wears just a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, barefoot. The hard stare he gives me is brooding and intense. He says nothing. He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he stares me down.

I push off the banister. “That’s a start. Now are you gonna let me in like a decent, hospitable person?”

He says nothing at first. Then, finally: “We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

I give him a look. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“Dead sure. Go to sleep, Hoyt.”

The moment he turns, I step forward. “We need to talk about what happened today.”

He turns to stone, then unleashes the fierceness of his eyes on me once again. Goddamn, that stare …

Suddenly I consider chickening out. I mean, am I even ready to talk about the whole thing? I felt a dozen times more confident a few minutes ago—before actually standing here on his porch in front of him, staring him down, demanding his time.

His face is unreadable. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

But it must be something like what I’m thinking, right? He’s either afraid, confused, or just as unsure whether or not he really wants to talk about it at all.

“So?” I prompt him. “You gonna let me in or not?”

“Nothing happened,” he says, then turns his back on me one last time.

My foot stops the door from shutting in my face. “You call slammin’ me against the side of your truck to make out with me ‘nothing happening’ …?”

The next instant, Harrison grabs a handful of my shirt, yanks me inside, and slams the door shut behind me.

Then his angry face is in front of mine. “Fine, Hoyt. You want to talk? Let’s talk. It was a mistake. We were yelling at each other. I got angry. The end.”

I lift an eyebrow. “So … you resolve your arguments by makin’ out with the person you’re angry at?”

His face is fuming—and very readable all of a sudden. “No. I—” He sputters between ten different words. “Shut the hell up, Hoyt. I don’t know what the hell happened.”

“You straight up made out with me,” I answer for him. “You threw me against the side of your truck like I was a ragdoll and attacked my mouth.”

Harrison’s eyes clamp shut. “You wouldn’t … stop going on and on about … about whatever it was you were going on about …”

“It was you having love for everyone in Spruce except me.”

“Right, that. And I couldn’t hear another second of it.”

“So you kissed me to shut me up? If this is what goes on when you get angry, buddy, you need to find yourself a better coping mechanism, ‘cause someday you’re gonna kiss the wrong dude.”

Harrison looks like he’s about to erupt lava from his ears, his every breath crashing against my face. His eyes are still shut. “Whatever that was,” he finally says, his voice impressively level, “it isn’t gonna happen again. I lost control. That’s it. It’s over.”

He looks so vulnerable right now. I never thought I’d see this side of him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really. Not gonna happen again.” With that, he turns away, marches to his desk, then grows eerily still as he stands in front of it, his back to me.

I stare at him for a while. Silence fills the space between us, a sharp, wire-tight silence. So many questions still hang in the air unanswered. He isn’t helping me here. He isn’t explaining. He isn’t telling me what I need to hear.

Why is he making this so hard for me?

“Harrison, I …” My feet shuffle as I move towards him, then I stop at once, thinking the better of getting too close. Why do I feel like my nuts are sweating? “I … I need to understand …”

“Nothing more to understand,” he says, “other than it was a mistake and won’t happen again.”

“But why did it happen at all?”

He spins around suddenly. “What exactly do you want me to say, Hoyt? That I’m confused? That I’m gay? That I’ve got feelings and no one knows and I’m freaking out? That maybe even to some degree I wasn’t sure until I kissed you? And … And now the first man I finally kiss—after thirty years of nothing—isn’t a man at all, but a … a fucking teenager …?”

It’s like an assault of darts, all of them hitting the wall around me, not a single one landing. “Wait a sec …”

He leans back against the desk, fingers to his temples, his crazed stare dropping to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“First of all, I ain’t no dang teenager …”

“I shouldn’t have done it. I can’t believe I did that.” He hides his face in his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck …”

“I’m eighteen adult-ass years as of last October. Second of all, I was the first dude you ever kissed?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up …”

I’m trying to process so much all at once. “Harrison, man, you have got to stop freaking out about this. If you freak out, I’m gonna freak out, alright? And I don’t want to.”

He drops his hands. His face is puffy and his eyes are glassy with fear and frustration. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I did it. I … I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t have the words to talk about it. I’m just really sorry.” He shuts his eyes again, wincing. “This is … This is so fucking embarrassing …”

I try to keep my cool. “What’s the big deal? So … you like guys apparently. No one cares. Did you notice where we live?”

He pops his eyes open and gives me a look.

“That’s it,” I insist. “You like guys. Maybe you’re just figurin’ it out. And we were …” I spread my hands. “I don’t know … caught up in a moment of anger and confusion …?”

He tilts his head. “How are you acting okay about it now? The moment we got back and I parked the truck, you couldn’t get out of it quick enough. You took off like the car seat bit your tushie.”

I avert my gaze. I do remember how I felt in that passenger seat—the cold panic crawling up my throat like a scream waiting to happen. Not knowing what to say. How to react. How to feel.

How to express what that desperate, hungry kiss felt like …

“I—I don’t know,” I blurt, slowly pacing over to the foot of the bed, then sitting on it. “Guess I’m just … tryin’ to figure out how I feel about everything, too.”

Harrison squints at me. “How you feel about everything …?”

Do I tell him about Toby? About our shameful secret moment in the bathroom? About the kiss? “Yeah. How I feel. I’ve … got a lot of feelings about this, too, y’know.”

He crosses his arms, studying me. After a moment, he says, “What exactly are you saying here, Hoyt?”

“I don’t know.”

His eyes narrow with frustration. “You don’t know?”

“I said I don’t know,” I snap. “Feelings. I’ve got feelings, too. About all of this. About what happened.”

“What kind of feelings?”

“I said I don’t know!”

Harrison pushes away from the desk. “Are they good feelings? Bad feelings? How can you not know what feelings you got? We’re both on the edge of losing our shit here, and if you got something on your mind, you’d better—”

Then it comes flying right out: “It wasn’t the first time I kissed a guy, alright?”

Harrison stops in his tracks.

A look of surprise slowly overtakes his face.

I say the rest to the floor. “I kissed Toby. Kinda the same way you kissed me, except in a bathroom at school. Last fall. Somethin’ just sorta … came over me. And I kissed him.” I shrug. “It wasn’t … It wasn’t exactly a welcomed kiss. He was kinda mad about it.”

Harrison drops into the desk chair right next to him. He can’t seem to believe what he’s hearing.

“You wanna talk about embarrassing?” I let out a laugh. “How about this tasty tidbit: I had just pissed my pants in front of my whole dang classroom, thanks to Toby. That’s the reason I was in the bathroom. But that’s a … whole other story, and I ain’t gonna put you through it. Only thing you need to know is: I kissed Toby. And I’ve got feelings about it. Good and bad.”

There’s only silence after I speak. I dare to sneak a glance over at Harrison. He’s got his bewildered eyes glued to the floorboards, unblinking, probably still in shock.

I take in the sight of Harrison. His vulnerability as he just sits there in that small desk chair, at a loss. The edge of panic across his face. The watery, deep look in his eyes—which in this moment makes him look excruciatingly beautiful, like some kind of lost god of boundless beauty and strength, stranded from his throne in Mount Olympus, tortured by his unfamiliar human emotions …

And he’s being kept company by a mere mortal.

By me, similarly tortured by emotions.

Thinking about that kiss. His lips on mine. My back to the scorching hot metal of his truck.

A thought enters my mind. A daring thought. My heart races as the thought swells into images and deeper feelings—his lips, his eyes, his hands against my body.

“Uh … Harrison …?”

He doesn’t answer. He just closes his lips and swallows, his overwrought eyes still pasted to the floor.

I just go for it. “Maybe we should, like … I don’t know … do it again …?”

His thick, pensive eyebrows pull together. He slowly lifts his gaze off the floor and stares at me in disbelief.

I shrug. “Just to see.”

“Just to see what?”

“How it feels or whatever. But … maybe this time, we can do it less … forcefully. Less in the heat of the moment. More ‘cause we just want to … y’know … see.”

“We’ve seen enough,” says Harrison, moving his dazed eyes back to the floor. “Besides, you’re young enough to be my son.”

That makes me snort. “Not really. Unless you happen to know a lot of eleven-year-old dads.”

“We’re not kissing again, Hoyt.”

“Why not? Just to try it. To figure out how we feel about it.”

“No.”

I rise and cross the room, bringing myself in front of him. “It’s just a kiss, Harrison. You don’t gotta make a huge deal out of it.”

He rises, too, putting his face in front of mine. “And I said no.”

And then he grabs hold of my face and kisses me.

My hands fly to his wrists for some reason, holding on, as the pair of us scuffle over to the wall, where my back presses.

His lips attach to mine like they were made for them, plump and soft, then growing firm as the kiss intensifies.

Everything inside me unravels like a fucking ball of yarn—the ball rolling freely across the floorboards, drawing bright, colorful lines anywhere it wants, happy and excited and scared and lost.

Kissing him feels so fucking good.

And a little terrifying.

He lets go of me at once and backs away. “Damn it, Hoyt.”

The second the kiss ends, I want more. “Hey, now. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel anything there.”

“You gotta go,” says Harrison, turning away.

“Like hell I do.”

“Go.”

I grab hold of his arm—which feels like a handful of granite, yet sounds like smacking the tightest ass you can imagine—then swing him around. Harrison parts his mouth to protest.

My mouth covers his instead.

He falls back against the desk, nearly sitting on top of it, as my arms wrap around his back. I pull myself against him as best as I can, right between his legs, as I devour his lips.

Our breaths come out and explode in urgent, hungry bursts.

I can’t get enough of this man’s mouth.

He pulls his face away. “Damn it, Hoyt, stop doing that!”

“It ain’t me. It’s our lips doin’ all the bad.” I go for another.

Our mouths press together. Eyes shutting. Bodies giving in. He doesn’t resist at all, melting into the kiss as our lips lock.

Then quite suddenly he does resist, shoving me away. “Hoyt!”

“I swear, it ain’t me.” I kiss him again. He pulls away. “Are you doing this? Are you makin’ us kiss? Hey, that was all on you the first time.”

He scowls at me. “Fuck you, Hoyt.”

“Fuck you right back, Harrison.”

Then suddenly it’s him grabbing hold of the back of my head and directing my mouth to his, this time accompanied with the deepest, most guttural moan that it vibrates our faces. I grab at his shirt, tugging it in every direction with no actual intention.

He squeezes my body against him like no tomorrow as the kiss grows alarmingly powerful.

And it’s still not powerful enough for either of us.

My dick is so fucking hard right now, it aches, pushing against the confines of my tight jeans.

Suddenly he’s off the desk and I’m stumbling backwards. Then the pair of us are standing in front of the door, lips still locked and finding new ways to attach to each other, breath exploding from our nostrils. One of his hands grabs low, cupping my ass. I realize that’s a great idea and reach around to his backside, squeezing a mighty, desperate, horny-as-fuck handful of his cheeks. I grind his crotch against mine.

My back finds the door as he presses against me. The kiss has become so strong, it aches my teeth. His hands slip under the front of my shirt and drag up my abs, clawing at them with need. I tighten my grip of his ass. The loose material of his sweats makes it feel like I’m grabbing every bit of him with no clothes on at all, my fingers sliding into the cleavage between his muscular buns of goddamned steel.

Suddenly the kiss ends. He stumbles over to the bed, leaving me. “Fuck,” he grunts, catching his breath.

I’m out of breath, too, staring at him, my back still against the door. “Harr—Harrison …” I shake my head. I grab a big handful of my crotch, surprised to feel my dick throbbing through the denim. “Harrison, I’m … I’m fuckin’—”

“Don’t talk.” He sits on the edge of his bed. “Fuck,” he grunts again, then clutches his head with both of his hands.

“I’m so fucking hard right now.”

“I said don’t talk.” He puts his head between his knees.

“We gotta do more. We gotta try more. I dunno about you, but I am not getting any sleep tonight, not unless we figure out—”

“You gotta go.”

For some reason, that makes me let out a choked laugh. “Like hell I do! You’re as much responsible for what’s goin’ on in my pants right now as I am.”

He glances over at me.

Specifically: at my crotch.

His eyes lift to mine. “That’s your own problem. And you have about a dozen ways to deal with it. One of them’s called your own damn hand, conveniently attached to your body.”

“Yeah, my problem is conveniently attached to my body, too. Don’t you have a problem of your own over there?”

“No.”

I come to the edge of the bed, putting myself right in front of him. “Difficult to hide a problem in gray sweats,” I tease him.

He glances down, sees it, then looks up at me without making any effort to hide it. “If you don’t get out, I’m gonna put you out.”

“Can we just jerk off together or something?”

“Go, Hoyt.”

“C’mon. This place is, like, a fuckin’ farm of sexual frustration. Even the animals are frustrated. You get a good look into Peepers’ eyes? She’s horny as fuck every day. That’s why she’s runnin’ off.”

“Hoyt …”

“So why can’t we just jerk off and make out or something? We are obviously discovering something here. You had a thing for Lance. I had a thing for Toby. Neither of those things worked out.”

His eyes turn dark. “Now you’ve said too much.”

“Why be miserable apart when we can be miserable together?”

He rises from the bed and grabs a less-than-gentle hold of my shirt. “Hey!” I protest as he takes me over to the front door. “Hey, c’mon! How can you throw another dude out of your cabin with that situation in your sweats?”

He lets go and nods at the door. “Out, Hoyt.”

“Just a quick jerk-off, dude. Or some more making out. Or …” Damn. How desperate do I sound right now? “You aren’t gonna make me go back to the bunkhouse with this in my pants, are you?”

He burns me with his eyes. “Don’t make me carry you like a sack of chicken feed across that yard, because I will.”

“Well if you do, you’d better watch your eyes, ‘cause my dick is so hard it could poke one of ‘em out.”

He slowly grows closer to me, then closer, then so close my back is against the door again. His face is in front of mine.

“Hoyt … don’t …” His voice is soft, barely there. “Just don’t … don’t make this complicated. Don’t tell anyone. Keep this between us. I’m not ready for all the eyes of Spruce to be on me.”

“Me neither. Who would I tell anyway?”

“No one, that’s who.”

“Harrison, c’mon.”

He takes hold of my arm—gently, to my surprise—pulls me out of the way of the door, then opens it. His eyes are like pages of a book spilling out, full of emotion and uncertainty, but he keeps silent as he steers me out of his house.

“Whatever it is you want,” I tell him, now out on his porch, “I want it, too. That’s all I’m sayin’. That’s all I’ve got.”

Harrison looks me in the eyes. “All I want … is for you to be up at the ass crack of dawn to do your work.” He swallows, averts his eyes, then says, “Night,” before closing the door on my face.

Chapter 14
Harrison

You’d think on a big farm it’d be easy to avoid someone.

So why, no matter where I turn, do I always seem to run into Hoyt?

He’s by the barn grooming all of the horses, and every time he rubs their flank with his brush, his tight butt does this distracting wiggle in his jeans.

Then he’s magically at the chicken coop right when I walk by, and I see him talking cutely to them, crouched down, his tank top pulling up his back just enough to show a peek of his skin and the waistband of his underwear. And as if sensing me, he glances over his shoulder, meets my eyes, and smirks.

I think I’ve found my solace with the sheep, only to find that Peepers has locked her eyes on me, and I’m left wondering if all the animals on this farm really are horny and sexually frustrated.

Goddamn it, Hoyt.

If only I realized what kind of summer storm last night would summon, I’d never have answered that door.

I can’t stop thinking about him. The way his lips felt against mine. The way he clung to me as our mouths wrestled. I can still hear the gasps of air from his lips between kisses, as if he’s making them in my ear right now. I close my eyes for just one second, and I’m right back in my cabin last night.

I didn’t want him to leave.

But I couldn’t let him stay.

How could I possibly encourage anything with an eighteen-year-old who doesn’t have the first clue about the world? In what dimension would it be right for me to take advantage of his youth and his innocence and his hunger for exploration?

His curious hunger.

His insatiable appetite.

His restlessness and frustration, which is so much like mine.

“Another weak spot?”

I turn my head. Hoyt is strutting over to me, thumbs hooked in his front pockets, a cheesy smirk pasted over his face. Why is he walking around today like the canary that’s outsmarted the cat?

“In the fence,” he clarifies, as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Is Madam Peeps trying to escape again?”

“No.”

He stops and leans against the fence next to me. Our elbows touch. “See what I mean? About her?”

I frown. “What?”

“How Peepers always looks like she wants to fuck something senseless? I’m tellin’ you, she’s horny.”

I roll my eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to tell if an animal’s in heat if it came right up to you and humped your ass.”

“Is that what you wanna do?” Hoyt gives me a pointed look. “You wanna hump my ass?”

My heart flies up into my ears and fire burns in my cheeks. I look away, fuming. “For fuck’s sake …”

He nudges me with his elbow. “C’mon. It was a good joke. Hey, isn’t this fun? It’s like we got a secret or something. You and me.” He lets out a squeaky chuckle. “Damn, now I wanna hump my ass.”

“Be my guest.” I shove away from the fence and head off.

He catches right up to me. “Don’t you think it’s kinda fun? It’s something to take your mind off the monotony of all this work, at least, if you look at it that way.”

“I don’t find the work monotonous,” I say back, annoyed. “If you don’t like the work, maybe farm life isn’t for you.”

“I’m startin’ to like it here.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I feel like I’ve finally won you over a little.”

“Get your hand off my shoulder.”

“Hey, can you come with me to the toolshed? I’ve been sent on a mission to find something and can’t for the life of me find it.”

I shrug his hand off. “What’re you looking for?”

“I dunno the name. Just come and help me, alright?”

And off he goes ahead of me, making his way to the toolshed. I let out a sigh, then follow him, figuring it’d be best if I help him, just in case Gary sent him on this mission, or someone out in the fields who’s waiting on him to return with a certain tool. Fred gets mighty agitated when people take long to return. I know so; he called me a “dang slowmagoma” for taking too long to bring him a paint roller.

I enter the toolshed, only to find Hoyt not there. “Hoyt?” I call out, turning around.

He rushes out of the dark and tackles me, gripping my waist with his hands and thrusting his lips onto mine. My back crashes against a workbench, causing all of the bins of screws and nails to rattle, as his mouth works over mine with need.

It’s heaven in an instant. Last night’s racing heart is back with a vengeance, consuming me whole.

His taste. His smell. His strength. His virility.

I could never have dreamed a mere kiss could feel so good.

Then I come back to my senses and shove him off of me. “For fuck’s sake, Hoyt!”

“What??” he protests. “You know you want it. Come on.” He lunges for my mouth again.

I fight him off for half a second.

The other half of that second is spent giving in, and kissing him right back, my arms wrapping around his slender waist and pulling him against me. His hard dick grinds against mine through the material of our jeans. I cup his ass for extra leverage, pulling him against my body like he’s my fucking possession.

I pull from his lips for a second. “We can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can,” he hisses before pulling my lips back onto his.

The workbench creaks under my weight as Hoyt presses me against it with his body. The toolshed is dark, with the lights off and the sunlight peeking through only a crack in the door and a few small fissures in the roof. All I see is a hint of Hoyt’s face as we make out. All I smell is him, his homely scent, the fabric softener in his clothes, mixed with a hint of earthiness and sweat and something oddly clean—whatever he shampoos his hair with, maybe? His lips are so soft, it feels like every time he kisses me, it’s a wordless promise of how truly gentle and sweet he is inside.

Hoyt Nowak. Gentle and sweet.

Sensitive and vulnerable and lonely.

Kissing me. Urgently wanting me to kiss him back.

None of these things make sense.

“Hoyt,” I murmur against his lips—his crazy soft lips. “We got to stop. Someone can just walk right in and—”

“They’re all busy in the fields. We’re alright.” He kisses me.

“How do you know that?” I mutter, saying the words against his lips, as we’re apparently incapable of taking even a tiny pause.

“I just came from there. Lea’s been showin’ me some stuff.” Now he stops for two seconds. “Since your stubborn ass wouldn’t trust me out there.” Then he resumes kissing me.

I don’t ever want this kiss to end. It feels so fucking good, to know that all of my pining over the years for the touch of another man’s lips on mine wasn’t for nothing. It’s as amazing as I dreamed.

Actually, it’s infinitely better.

And as long as I’m kissing him, I feel like nothing was ever wrong or missing in my life. I wasn’t spending countless lonesome nights in my cabin for nothing. I was just waiting, apparently—waiting for someone like Hoyt to come along and pull me right out of my dark corner and into the light.

He set my heart ablaze.

The soft sound of singing touches my ears. Hoyt hears it, too. At once, we separate, then become very busy looking for a tool we aren’t here to find. A second later, the toolshed opens, and in saunters the slouched, skinny shape of Turtle humming a tune to himself. “Hello, boys,” he greets us with a mild nod, then saunters over to the metal bin that holds a few tools. He pulls out the hoe, inspects it, then strolls right back out of the shed, still humming.

Hoyt and I stop pretending to be looking for something. He lets out a sigh. “Close call, huh?”

“Too close.”

He comes right up to me, ready to continue where we left off, but I put my hands to his shoulders. “Hoyt, I said it was too—”

“I know what you said, but your body’s sayin’ something else. Do you think Turtle noticed the bulge in your pants?”

I won’t dignify Hoyt’s question with a glance down at my own crotch. “I don’t care what my or your body is saying. We can’t do this and … and have ‘close calls’ and what-have-you. We’re just lucky it was him and not Emmalea, who’d ask every last question about what we were looking for, whether she can help us, and—”

“So?” He takes hold of me and goes for a kiss.

I’m not quick enough to stop him this time. And maybe a part of me—a very reckless, desperately horny part of me—wants to indulge in every last spark of desire bouncing around inside me. I don’t want to stop, either. I want to kiss him. And the more we kiss, the more I’m wanting to put my mouth in other places, too.

I break away from him. “Hoyt, it’s just a matter of time before someone catches us, and I am not ready for that nightmare.”

“Is it really such a nightmare? To be out and proud in a place like Spruce? It’s boring news, just like Lance said. Ain’t gotta be an announcement. Or some big speech at church like Chad did.”

“This isn’t just …” How do I put this without wounding Hoyt’s precious feelings? “This isn’t just about being gay. It’s …” I turn away with a huff and head for the door. “Forget it.”

Hoyt puts it together. “Wait a minute. You don’t care if people know about you. You care if people know about … us …?”

I stop at the door. “There isn’t any ‘us’, Hoyt. All we’ve done is kiss and annoy each other.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

“Yeah, well …” I have to let out a laugh. I can’t believe this is even something I’m having to deal with. Never in a billion years. “I am not gonna stand here and debate this with you, Hoyt. You and I are not something that’s gonna happen, regardless of how we feel. Sure, we might’ve used each other to, well, ‘discover’ ourselves …”

“Used each other …?”

“But now that that egg’s cracked wide open,” I go on, “you and I are free to … explore whatever the hell this means for either of us.”

Hoyt comes up to me and swats my hand off the handle to the sliding toolshed door. “Are you seriously tryin’ to tell me to go and find someone else to figure this out with?”

It’s not all that easy to push him away—whether physically or emotionally—when his pretty face is right the fuck there. I shrug. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Someone more your speed.”

“More my speed?” He huffs. “You mean more my age.”

“You said it, not me.” I reach for the door handle again.

Again, he swats my hand away. Damn, he’s annoyingly affective at swatting my hand away. “Harrison, I don’t want to figure this out with someone else. I know you. I trust you. I started this with you. I want …” He makes weird, forceful gestures at himself. “I want to do whatever my body wants to do. With you. I fucking love it. And I want more of it. And I know you do, too.”

This boy is becoming a serious pain in my behind. “How in the world am I the best option for you? I’m just your default ‘cause I’m here. World’s a big place. And Spruce is even bigger.”

“That don’t even make no sense,” spits Hoyt.

Finally I snap, bringing my face right in front of his. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing either, Hoyt. I don’t know the first fucking thing. Hell, if we’re being technical here, you even had more experience than me before we kissed last night. Or at the side of my truck on the road. How exactly am I supposed to be any damned help when I don’t know anything about anything?”

“So let’s figure it out together!”

“I’m not figuring out anything with you except how to lose sleep and go gray at thirty!”

Hoyt reaches down and slaps his hand right into my crotch, grabbing a handful of me through my jeans—then squeezes, like he’s damned well claiming it as his.

I drop my jaw and stare at him. Our eyes are locked.

“What I’m hearing,” he says, “is that you lost sleep over me?”

“Hoyt …”

His squeezing, greedy hold turns into a massage. I should pry his hand off and shove him away, but every single cell in my body is now pointing straight to his fingers, which curl around my fast hardening dick. I don’t want him to let go. I fucking love what he’s doing and want more of it.

He brings his face close to mine—kissing close—but holds back as he peers into my eyes. “You gotta stop denying yourself.”

I can barely grit my teeth. With my dick in his hand, with his lips so close to my own, I have no willpower left in me to resist.

“I’m gonna leave this toolshed,” he says. “That’s me showin’ you some respect—y’know, after grabbing your nuts, but how else were you gonna listen? But I refuse to let you end whatever we’ve got going on out of plain fear. You aren’t a coward, Harrison. You are the kind of man who sticks to his convictions, who gets what he wants … and who doesn’t step on anyone’s hearts to get it. You are exactly the kind of man I wanna be.” His eyes drop to my lips. “And the kind of man I feel safe enough to … do things with.”

To do things with. To do things with …

Does he even realize what those words do to me?

“If you feel the way I do,” he tells me, “even just a little tiny part of you, and you want to see where the hell we can take this … then meet me tonight in the horse barn. After lights out. I will be there whether or not you are. But it’ll be a lot less a waste of time if I’m not alone.”

He brings his lips to mine.

I shut my eyes, anguished by how good his kiss feels.

Abruptly, his lips are gone—as is his hand from my dick. He pulls open the door and shoots me a look. “I sure hope I see your ass later … sir.” Then he sees himself out, leaving me stranded with my tortured thoughts in the semidarkness of the toolshed.

Chapter 15
Hoyt

I lie back on the couch, waiting.

Turtle sings to Emmalea about a chicken named Nugget. And because she enjoys it so damned much and Turtle is surprisingly clever with his improvised tunes, he goes on to sing about a kitty named Barky, waxing poetic about why we don’t have cat farms.

Would they just shut up and go to bed already?

It’s on the cusp of midnight when Emmalea yawns for the first time. Then Turtle puts away his guitar, and Emmalea retires to her bunk. She gives me a sleepy-eyed, “Night, Hoyt, baby,” on her way. Then the lights turn off, and the usual nightly darkness falls over the bunkhouse—broken only by the buzz-saw snoring of Fred.

Once certain everyone is asleep, I slip off the couch and toss on a pair of shoes. I can’t go out the mudroom since that’s where Turtle sleeps, and the last thing I need is for him to wake up and sing me an improvised ditty about sneaking off in the night to do naughty things. So I leave through the front door, then go around the whole house and cross the field towards the horse barn.

It’s the longest damned walk I’ve ever taken across this field.

And in the dead of night, too.

It’s the first time I’ve been here this late, and to be honest, it’s creepy as fuck. The whole barn is dark. Weird noises come out of everywhere. All the horses are out in the paddock either sleeping, being bored, or staring at the stars doing whatever it is horses do at night. My heart pounds as I wait. And I mean pounds. I feel like I can easily pass out if I don’t calm myself down.

So to put myself at ease, I decide to throw together some old blankets and towels on the ground of a nearby stall. It isn’t much. It’s actually a sad excuse for a comfortable spot, but options are limited in the barn, and us doing anything on possibly-urinated-on horse bedding isn’t gonna cut it for me. At least the smell is halfway decent. That, or I’m actually getting used to the animal funk.

Then I sit on my makeshift bed and fidget impatiently as I wait for Harrison. My foot bounces in place. I gnaw on my inner cheek. I keep hearing noises that aren’t anything but the building itself or my imagination running wild.

The minutes inch by like snails.

Very annoying, very slow, very spiteful snails.

What if he doesn’t come? What if I’m out here until two in the damned morning, waiting on something that’ll never happen?

What if I was an idiot to ever think this was a good idea?

I get up and stroll to the back end of the barn where the other wide door leading out to the paddock is left open all night, then watch the horses. One of them gazes over at me, likely wondering what I’m doing here at this time of night. You and me both, girl.

And who am I kidding anyway? Harrison is probably laughing at me from the comfortable confines of his cabin. What a joke, he’s probably thinking of me. He’s just some dumb, dreamy-eyed kid who’s obsessed with me. I’m sure he’s kicking back and jerking off all by himself just thinking about that, amused as all get out.

Or he’s tortured and confused, just as unsure whether or not this is a good idea as I am. I’ve put him in a sticky situation. He’s a methodical man, that much is obvious. The guy has probably made a spreadsheet of all the pros and cons of indulging me tonight by meeting me here. It’ll be hours from now before he finally deduces that it’s a totally terrible fucking idea.

We could’ve met at his cabin.

Perfectly reasonable.

But then we’re just a short walk across the yard from prying eyes. Not to mention how it’d look if someone steps out to check the circuit breaker if the lights in the bathroom go out, as they so often do. Then they could notice something going on in the cabin, notice I’m not on my spot on the couch, and then put two and two together. That’s two and two I’d rather not be put together. Mental note: we really should call out a damned electrician about that bathroom circuit that keeps tripping.

I didn’t even bring my phone. I got here in such a hurry, I left the thing stuffed in between the couch cushions. What if he texts me? Doesn’t he have my number from my hiring paperwork or something? No, he wouldn’t text you. He’s too paranoid about having someone find out, and he’s never texted you before. Besides, all of my paperwork is probably in Gary’s office someplace. Harrison has nothing to do with that.

I think.

Maybe I don’t know as much as I think I know.

I hear the creak of a door. I turn, startled, only to realize it’s just the nightly wind blowing outside, causing things to move and stir. Fucking nature. I glance back at the horses, only to find them all far away, not one of them paying attention to me anymore.

Even they got bored of waiting to see what’s gonna happen.

My eyes close. I lean my head against the side of the barnyard door and cross my arms. With my heart still racing, I feel like I’m instantly slipping into a dream. I feel his lips touching my own in the toolshed. Then in his cabin the night before. I feel his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place, like he’s afraid I’ll run away. It is like some kind of magic spell, the way his kisses transport me to somewhere far, far away … free from people, free from society … a place for just the two of us, alone, with nothing but stars and cool breath and vastness around us.

His warmth is the only thing that keeps me from freezing.

His kiss is the one and only thing that keeps me from floating into outer fucking space.

All my life, I’ve wanted something this deep. This meaningful. This special. A guy all to myself. A guy who is my secret to keep. A guy who needs me as badly as I need him.

Someone who sees through my bullshit and doesn’t just fall victim to it. Someone who pushes me to be a better person.

Someone exactly like Harrison.

At first, it’s just a crunch of straw beneath feet. Then another. Then yet one more, softer, closer.

My eyes shoot open and I spin around.

Harrison stands there. Plain white t-shirt that looks like it was stitched onto his body, making his warm brown skin glow in the subtle moonlight coming in. Jeans that hug his muscular thighs—and I can only imagine what that does to his steely buns. Boots. No hat. His sensitive eyes sparkle. And he stands there, all of that, all of him, as if he just stepped out of my fantasies and came to life.

Oh my god. He actually came.

“This still isn’t a good idea,” he says.

I crack a smile, still in shock. “You came.”

“Doesn’t mean I think this is a good idea.”

I push away from the wall and come up to him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t smile. He just watches me, his eyes shimmering and beautiful and ever-so serious.

I stop in front of him. “So … what do we do?”

His eyebrows pinch together. “Huh?”

“It’s just us … you and me. We’re all alone. Everyone’s asleep except the horses.” I cross my arms. “So what do we do?”

“You realize if Gary were to find us out here, or learn that we came out here and did anything in his barn …”

I snort. “C’mon, Harrison. He won’t know unless one of us tells him. Everyone’s asleep, like I said.”

“Still, if he finds out, or if someone else catches us here and—”

“You’re too paranoid. Hey.” I reach out and take hold of his arms, giving them a squeeze. He glowers at me in response. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me. We’re as alone as alone can be. Just us. And them horses out there.” I swallow hard, dropping my gaze to the ground for a second, then try again. “So tell me what to do.”

He gives me a look. “How am I supposed to know?”

“Okay, just … tell me what you’re feeling. Or something.”

“Fucking freaked out is what.”

I squeeze his arms again. “Let me rephrase my question, then. What do you … want … to do?”

That makes him hesitate. The more I ask, the more he seems to close up. “I … I-I don’t know,” he sputters, averting his gaze.

It’s gonna be up to me to start things. “Can I kiss you …?”

He doesn’t answer—a cold mountain of fear and desire.

I lean forward and, after a moment’s hesitation, put a soft kiss on his lips. Our eyes close at the same time, entering a world of nothing but pure feeling and prickling anticipation. After second of hesitation, he kisses me back just as softly, matching my slow, careful energy. Am I leading this dance, or is he? My hands slide down his arms and come to rest at the small of his back. Our lips know exactly what to do. It’s the one and only thing we’re totally damned practiced at by now.

I pull away from his lips. “Now touch me.”

“Huh?”

“Put your hands on me. Touch me.”

He obeys, wrapping me in his arms and gently hugging me against him as we continue kissing. I’m already rock hard. It is an indescribable sensation, to be so horny and so emotional all at once. No kind of jerking off can simulate this complexity. My mind isn’t capable of imagining this experience on its own whatsoever.

The touch of his hands on my body, what that does to me.

The feel of his soft lips against mine, and how it’s a pristinely balanced mixture of unfiltered joy and terror.

Why does it make me as excited as it does scared? Am I afraid I’ll never feel this good in my life ever again? Am I already scared of it vanishing, like everyone and everything good does in my life?

I push the thoughts away—by literally pushing at Harrison as we kiss, guiding him backwards to my improvised cushion of old blankets and towels. Harrison barely notices they’re there as we descend upon them, his back to the makeshift bed, and me on top of him, straddling his waist as we kiss.

His hands slip beneath my shirt, cool fingertips running over my skin. Then they slide down to my waist, where his hands find a perfect fit grabbing hold of my ass and squeezing.

I don’t know where to go from this. All I want to do is kiss him and enjoy this for hours, because it’s all I know how to do. It’s all we’ve done. Is something supposed to come next? Is he expecting anything? Should I know? Is he expecting me to know?

None of those questions seem to be occurring to him, because all he does is keep his eyes closed and kiss me back.

It feels like hours that we make out, subtly grinding against each other, still fully clothed. I realize I’m sitting on his crotch, and with each hump, I’m feeling something there.

His dick.

Hard as steel.

Pushing with urgency against his jeans.

I stop and pull back from his face. “Are you wantin’ to do, like, something else?”

Harrison blinks at me. “Something else?”

“Yeah. With less clothes on or whatever.”

His eyes search for an answer. He scrunches up his face in frustration. “I don’t know. I want to do whatever feels good.”

“You’re really fuckin’ hard.”

“I know.”

“I feel you poking me back there.”

As if in response, his cock flexes in his jeans. He must be totally throbbing—like I am. He frowns at me. “It’s not like I can help it.”

“So obviously you’re feeling good. Me, too. But do you wanna feel … better?”

He gives me a questioning look. Then it seems to hit him. “I’m not … I don’t think we …” He snorts with disbelief. “Are you sure you wanna move that fast?”

“I’ve got you right where I want you. I’ve been waitin’ for this for I dunno how long.” I bring my face really close to his. “I want to do everything with you, Harrison.”

He stares into my eyes. “Alright,” he finally says, still slightly bewildered. Then he sits up and brings his lips to mine again. I put my arms around him and give in to the kiss.

I feel like I’m floating.

Then he pulls away again. “Everything?”

“Yeah, it’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“But …” His eyebrows pull together in that cute way they do whenever he’s puzzling something out. “Everything is … a lot of things. What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“Whatever comes to mind. Stop overthinkin’ it.”

His eyes narrow. “All I do is overthink.”

“So let me help you out with that.” I press him back against the towels, then move my lips to his neck. I feel his body sigh with pleasure as I make a necklace of kisses across his neck. My fingers rake up his abdomen, pulling up his shirt. Then I crawl down and bring my lips to his abs. I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this. My lips press into his ridges of muscle. I slowly go lower and lower until my chin is flirting with the crotch of his jeans.

I’ve never had my face this close to another man’s crotch. Well, intentionally, that is; in the heat of the moment on a football field, your face can get just about everywhere on your rivals’ and teammates’ bodies. But Harrison is different. I can stay here as long as I want without a twelve-player pileup as an excuse. I can do whatever I want, too.

And I know he wants me to.

I can feel it in how tense his body just became, as I’m sure he is agonizingly aware of where my face is right now.

I drag my hands down to his jeans, then pop open the button and slowly unzip them, revealing his package contained in a tight pair of underwear. “You’re a briefs man, huh?” I tease, continuing to unzip, feeling all cocky.

When he’s fully unzipped, I realize the true breadth of what he’s been packing.

It’s a lot of breadth.

It’s a lot of packing.

“G-Goddamn,” I breathe out.

Harrison, who was apparently leaning back and ready to drift into another dimension of bliss, looks at me with concern. “What’s going on? Something wrong?”

“I …” Literally speechless here. “Nothin’. It’s nothin’. I just …” I decide to play it off. “That’s a … a mighty big boy you’ve got.”

He frowns, apparently taking my compliment to be some kind of grievous criticism. “So?”

Seriously. Am I really ready for this? My heart’s pounding in my nostrils. “I … I know just about anyone I’ve ever shared a locker room with would kill to pack what you’re packing. Damn, that’s a monster. Am I makin’ this weird?” I ask suddenly. By the look on his face, I guess I am. “Hey, look, it just makes me wonder … like, did you and Tanner ever compare?”

He scoffs at me. “C’mon, man.”

“In the locker room? My teammates and I, we’d compare. It’s hard not to when you shower with them all the time, just sayin’.” I can’t stop talking suddenly. I sneak another peek down at it. “It’s beautiful. It’s—It’s a lot. But it’s sure a sight to impress just about anyone who’s ever seen a dick.”

“Hoyt.”

“Good thing the horses are all outside. Even they’d be jealous.”

He sits up, bringing his face close to mine. His voice is low. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

I meet his eyes. “What?”

“We can just kiss. We can just spend time together. We don’t have to do a damned thing.”

I squint. “What’s makin’ you say this? I want to do things.”

“I can see it in your eyes. You’re clearly freaked out.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “After you telling me to not overthink it … now who’s trapped in their own head? Look, don’t pressure yourself. I know you … want stuff. I want stuff, too, but—”

“I’m ready,” I tell him.

Despite my heart racing.

Despite my mouth and throat going dry.

Harrison takes another long look in my eyes, then nods as he seems to decide something. “You know what? I got an idea.”

“An idea …?”

“Yeah. Switch places with me.”

I’m confused by that, until he gently takes hold of my arms and lays me back on the towels, right where he was lying. Then he positions himself by my side and stares down into my eyes with a patient, longing look.

“Alright,” he says. “I’m gonna take the lead here for a bit. You tell me what feels good. You tell me what you like. And if there’s anything I do that you don’t like, tell me to stop, and I stop.”

I consider him for a second, unsure what to make of this. “I’m not freaked out by your dick.”

“I’m thinking it might be better this way.”

Does he think I’m chicken? “Says who?”

“Says the guy who just saw the cat climb all the way up a tree before realizing how tall it is, then too terrified to come down.”

“Huh?”

“We gotta start slow. Baby steps. For both our sake.”

“Wait a damned sec.” I sit up. “Am I the cat??”

He lets out a choked laugh, then puts an assuring hand on my chest and pushes me back down. “Relax, Hoyt. You already did the heavy lifting, getting my stubborn ass out here so we can be alone. Let me take over for a bit, alright?”

I think it over. Then I shrug, decide to let him have this, and throw my hands behind my head as I lie back. “Alright.”

He smirks at me, then drags his eyes down to my chest. When he puts his hand there, I close my eyes. His fingers are slow and so unexpectedly gentle, I find my body growing stiff and silent, like I’m afraid I might spook away an animal.

“Your heart’s pounding,” he notes.

“Y-Yeah.” I’m breathing kind of funny, too. The excitement is back with a vengeance. I have no idea what he’s about to do.

After lingering on my chest for a while, his hand gently slides down to my abdomen. I feel him tug on my shirt before his hand slides under it. I part my lips as his fingers play across my skin. All kinds of happy, sensitive jolts chase their way through my body from his mere touch. I’m pure electricity.

And really fucking hard.

“You like that?” he asks softly.

I nearly laugh when I answer. “I fuckin’ love it all. Keep doing that, touch me all over, get your fill. Fuck, I love this.”

I hear the smile in his words when he says, “Glad to hear it,” then continues slowly stroking my abs and chest with his hand under my shirt. Obviously guys have touched me before. Throwing their body at me. Tackling me to the ground with force. Wrestling me for fun at a friend’s house and being dumb. Quick, bro-ish hugs of encouragement. Circling up before a play. Slapping my ass.

No one has ever touched me like this. Sensitively. Caringly. Lovingly. The sensations that fire all over my body are unlike any damned thing I have ever felt.

For the first time in my life, I’m alive. Actually alive.

I’m excited and thrilled to the point of feeling sick with joy. Isn’t that crazy? To be so fucking happy, you feel sick?

All of this, just from the soft touch of his fingertips to my skin.

His hand slides back down, where he caresses the side of my hip, massaging my hip through the jeans. His hand skirts around my crotch, either respectfully or teasingly, and starts massaging the other side, slowly rubbing and squeezing.

“Comfortable?”

It’s like he’s asking my permission. I can’t imagine my face is showing anything but a blissful grin of liberation. “Yeah, man.”

His fingers slide over my crotch.

I bite my lip.

My cock is so fucking hard, it flexes automatically the second I feel the weight of his hand there—desperate to be touched. He is gentle as he massages my bulge through the denim. With both of my hands behind my head, I’m all his. My body. My chest. My abs. Now my throbbing cock inside my jeans. Every part of me is his to play with. I’m his toy, and that’s exactly what I want to be.

But I’m learning quickly that Harrison isn’t the kind of guy to abuse or disrespect anything—even his willing toys. He treats me with more esteem than I could have ever imagined.

The button of my jeans pops open. His other hand must have come into play, because I still feel him massaging my cock through the rough, denim material. My zipper slowly lowers, and already I can feel tension releasing, my cock desperate to come out.

“So you’re a sporty boxer-briefs boy, huh?” says Harrison, mimicking the same tone of voice I used on him.

I smile. I like that he plays back with me. “You bet I am.”

His hand slides into my jeans. The moment his fingers graze across my hard cock through the very thin, clingy material of my boxer-briefs, tingling bolts of excitement race through me. It feels like he’s touching my cock bare. Each time it flexes against his fingers without my control, I feel like I might explode.

“Someone’s excited,” he says.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper under my breath, half to myself.

His fingers close around the base of my hard cock and balls, clenching them through the tight, thin material of my underwear. I’m so fucking excited that I feel myself leaking just from his firm squeeze, and I’m desperate for more.

Suddenly, there’s heat on my dick. His breath, as his mouth draws close. Then I feel his lips on it, pressing kisses to every inch of it, from the base up to the tip, then back down to the base again.

My cock flexes again, but this time it meets the resistance of his mouth. That inspires Harrison to greedily close his lips around it, bathing my bulge in his warmth.

I can’t help but let a moan escape.

He’s doing everything right. He’s making me delirious.

His mouth lifts from my crotch. “Feeling good?”

“More than good,” I whimper.

I feel him tug on the waistband of my underwear, stretching it open. My throbbing cock falls out, meeting the cool night air of the barn—and Harrison’s lips, as they softly press to the warm, firm flesh of my cock, then kiss it all the way to the tip. Oh my god, is this really happening? His tongue darts out, wetting my cock as he licks it. Still firmly gripping the base with his hand, I can barely resist moaning as his sultry, passionate kisses make a goddamned wet wonderland of my cock.

Then his mouth opens and takes in the tip.

I’m helpless to resist the moaning now.

The way he twists his whole mouth and tongue around it has me overloaded with sensations that explode all over my body. I feel like I’m already coming. How can he unwind me so easily?

I grab hold of the back of his head, feeling the soft prickles of his hair where it’s buzzed, then sliding my fingers up to the silky, tiny tight curls on top, where I squeeze.

He seems to like it, because he goes down, swallowing it all.

“Fuck, Harrison …” I whimper.

He works my cock as tirelessly as he works his muscles every day on the farm. I am completely consumed by the amount of electricity flowing through my body. Every descent of his mouth is slicker, yet tighter than the last, until he has me begging for every breath I suck in, openmouthed.

I’m already close. “H-Harrison …”

He lifts his head up, immediately replacing his mouth with a hand as he switches to stroking my cock with his hand. When I open my eyes, he’s shifted his body back up onto our barnyard bed to bring his face closer to mine. “Kiss me,” I moan. He obliges, and the gift of his full, pillowy lips on my own is just the hair I needed to spill over the edge.

I clutch him, fingers curling.

My body discharges electrical currents to every fingertip and toe as he jerks me sensuously.

I come like I’ve never come before.

My mouth opens against his as my whimpering breaths turn vocal and loud. Everything shakes as wave after wave of sweet and delirious relief erupts from me.

Every last stress I had.

Every worry that lived in my body.

Every sore muscle and ache from the day’s work.

All of it is gone as I fall back against the ground, spent, feeling like a plate of lazy, happy noodles.

“Well, if that smile on your face is any indication …” he says.

“Yes,” I finish for him. “I’m fucking great. I feel fantastic.”

He lays back next to me, his hand still on my dick. “Dude, I feel like I’m … I feel like …”

“Just enjoy it,” he says. “Bask in it. I know I am.”

A wind blows past outside, stirring the walls and causing all the grass to whisper and dance. I hear the distant trotting of one of the horses, followed by a playful neigh.

“I swear, the whole universe is just … gone,” I murmur, lost in my own dreaminess, “and all that exists is you and me.”

“Got that right,” he says.

I turn my head. His shirt is still hiked up slightly, showing his pants where I opened them. I smirk, then reach down to take hold of his dick. He grunts as I curl my fingers around his bulge, then give it an appraising squeeze. Damn, boy.

“You don’t gotta do anything,” he says.

I lift my head up and give him a look. “What do you mean? I’m not gonna leave you high and dry. I want to reciprocate.”

“I’m actually pretty content, believe it or not.”

“Liar.”

He gazes at me. “I want to take my time with this, Hoyt. We’re in no hurry. One step at a time.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’m happy right now. Indescribably happy. I feel … free.” He glances down at my hand. “Which is strange to say while you’re cupping my junk like it’s about to run away from you.”

“You’re still hard.”

“So are you,” he reminds me with a squeeze of my cock—which he also still hasn’t let go of. “I feel amazing, Hoyt.”

I smile. “Me too.”

“Seeing the happiness on your face right now, seeing what I’m capable of making someone else feel …” He shakes his head. “That alone is worth everything. Hmm, and just when I started to think my world was this small, small place … you went and pushed your way into my life like a stubborn bull … and you split it wide open.” A smile spills over his face as he shuts his eyes. “Split it wide … the fuck … open.”

Split it wide the fuck open.

Those are the words I’m hearing over and over in my head, an hour later, when I’m back in the dark bunkhouse on the couch. I stare up at the ceiling with butterflies of elation dancing around inside me and a stupid smile I can’t wipe off my face if I tried.

Harrison, I may never truly understand you, but boy am I ever glad I found you. You broke my world apart, too.

Chapter 16
Harrison

Every day used to be the same.

Now nothing will ever be the same.

“Can you help me find somethin’?” asks Hoyt, strolling up to my side as I’m checking on the pigs. “Sure,” I answer mildly, then follow him off to the toolshed.

The second the door shuts, we go at each other senseless with our hands and mouths. Sharing feverish kisses. Grappling with one another’s bodies. Groping each other’s dicks.

Just a regular pair of horny animals, that’s what we are.

Another day: “Hey, can you help me with this thing?” he asks, finding me in the fields with Fred. “Yeah, one sec,” I mutter, finish up with Fred, then head off casually with Hoyt.

To another storage shed by the house.

Where we go at it yet again, this time managing to shove our hands down each other’s pants and jerk each other off.

I feel like a thirty-year-old teenager, living out an adolescence I never had. Experiencing my puberty in fast-forward. My heart, galloping at any time of the day for whatever it is Hoyt and I have in mind when we finally get each other alone.

Another day: “Hey, Harrison, can you check this out? Thing’s making a weird noise.”

“Harrison, I want to show you somethin’. Got a minute?” he says yet another day, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Hey, Harrison, I did that thing you asked me to do. Can you come make sure I did it right?”

“Hey, Harrison, I’m out of fuel. Where do you keep the gas?”

“Hey, Harrison, the sprayer is acting up. Can you help?”

“Hey, Harrison …”

“Harrison …”

And every single time, with a totally put-on, lame, casual tone of voice, I answer: “Sure thing, be there in a sec.”

Then we’re in the dark behind some closed door, and the ever so comforting sound of his jagged breaths and mine fill the space as we go to town on each other, losing ourselves to the passion.

I can’t say there’s any known part of me that could’ve possibly predicted that this is how my summer would be spent: running off with an eighteen-year-old, keeping shameful secrets, experiencing a long-overdue sexual awakening, and discovering more about myself than I ever thought I would.

And every night after the lights go out, we have a routine. My stomach fills with butterflies of anticipation as I put on something nice, yet easy to take off—sweats, shorts, t-shirt, whatever I have. I double-check myself in the mirror. I smile giddily despite myself. Then I take off across the long field, practically on my tippy-toes.

To our special, secret spot in the horse barn.

He’s always there first. “Hey, pretty,” he greets me each time, then tugs on my shirt, dragging me to our clumpy, makeshift bed, and down we go to try something else with each other.

I get used to the sound of his soft voice in my ear, whether he intends to whisper and moan into it, or it’s just by chance. It has become an aphrodisiac to me, listening to him get so turned on by each and every little thing I do to him. His whimper. His groan.

And he is insatiable.

Every little bit I give him, he wants more.

The boy has got limitless energy and limitless stamina.

“I swear,” he says after another aggressive make out session, “I could probably come twice tonight if you give me, like, maybe a good fifteen between. Hell, I’ll probably only need ten.”

I laugh and shake my head. “You gotta learn to pace yourself, Hoyt. You’re a machine.”

He turns onto his side and faces me with dreamy eyes. “What do you masturbate to?”

I lift an eyebrow at him. “The hell …?”

“Just curious.”

I chuckle. “Really? I don’t know. Hot guys …?”

“C’mon. I know you have a fantasy or somethin’.”

I consider it for a moment, my eyes dancing across the dark, oaken planks of the ceiling high above us, barely lit by a single lantern we put on just inside the stall. “I always had a secret lover fantasy. Someone no one knows about. Someone who’s all mine.” I chuckle. “I just dunno if I can handle the whole ‘audience’ thing that being a couple seems to include. I’m a private person.”

“So … you mean you are literally living out your fantasy … with me?” He lets out an excited chirp. “Am I gettin’ that right??”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t go getting all full of yourself now.”

“No, no, no. This is awesome. I fuckin’ love it. I always wanted to be someone’s fantasy. I mean, not to sound all egotistical—”

“You do.”

“—but it really turns me on a lot, to be the object of someone’s obsession. Makes me feel special. Needed.”

“Good.” I consider him. “So what do you masturbate to?”

Hoyt shrugs. “Lots of things. Sometimes weird things. I kinda like feeling a certain way when I masturbate.”

“A certain way?”

“Yeah. Strong. In control. Yet also kinda … being watched and admired? Okay,” he says quickly as I stare at him, “don’t judge, but I got a fantasy, too. Sometimes, I jerk off thinking about myself … fucking someone. I don’t know who it is. I think I used to imagine it was a girl in class, but it wasn’t ever about who I was fucking. It was about how it felt … and how I looked in the mirror next to the bed we were fucking on.”

Now I’m thoroughly lost—to the point of laughter. “What in the fuck, Hoyt?”

“It’s not that weird!” he cries out, joining in my laughter. “I wonder sometimes if it’s even me doing the fucking, or if I’m just watching somewhere. Like … as if I’m someone else. The guy in the mirror isn’t always me. Or he doesn’t quite look like me. He’s just big and strong. Confident. Gets what he wants. And when he looks at himself in the mirror, checking himself out, that’s the point in which I’d …” He shrugs. “Well, it’s when I’d come.”

I consider him. “Interesting.”

“Maybe I was just jerking off to the idea of a hot guy all this time, and wasn’t sure whether I was getting hot to the idea of him or of who he was fucking.” He shrugs it off. “Never mind.”

I smirk. “I guess it isn’t too weird. Maybe a little self-obsessed, to get off thinking about yourself …”

“I said it wasn’t necessarily me …” he cuts in.

“But thanks for sharing that.” I look up at the ceiling again. “Maybe it’s a safer fantasy for you. It’s like you’re hiding in plain sight the fact that you’re into men, even from yourself.”

“Huh. Didn’t think of it that way.”

“Anyway, I’m glad I can be some part of you finding yourself, Hoyt.” I can’t believe those are words that actually came out of my mouth just now—words I truly mean. “I’m glad it makes you feel special, to be someone’s fantasy.”

He studies the side of my face. “I want you to feel special, too, Harrison.”

I turn my face to him. “I do.”

“Nah, I mean … really special.” He swallows. “That’s why I … I want to be that guy in the mirror. I think I’m ready.”

For a second, I actually don’t follow. “Huh …?”

“I … I want to go all the way with you.”

Wait, what? I sit up and look at him. “You want to what …?”

He sits up, too. “Sorry. Did that freak you out?”

“Hoyt …”

“I’m ready. I want to. I’ve been ready since the day I took your ass down in the pig pen.”

I’m about to say something else, then frown. “Boy, it was your ass that I took down. Don’t twist it around.”

“Well, one of our asses is about to be taken right now.” He meets my eyes. “Because I really … really want it.”

We’ve skirted around this subject before. “Hoyt, listen to me. When the summer’s over, and you run off to college …”

“Hey, now. That’s ages from now.”

“… you will have totally new experiences and possibilities to explore all of this with other guys. Y’know. Guys your age. And I’m flattered you wanna do all of this with me …”

“C’mon.”

“… but you’re gonna regret not waiting.”

“No, I’m not.” He brings his face close and lowers his voice. “I hear what you’re saying. I really do. I can imagine endless kinds of experiences I could have in college. But I don’t want to ‘figure my sexuality out’ with some bumbling moron my age in a dorm room that smells like week-old ramen and Cheez-Its.”

“It’s more than just ‘figuring out your sexuality’, Hoyt. We’re talking about actual sex here. Your virginity.”

“We’re talkin’ about yours, too, then.”

I was armed with about ten more points to make. His remark makes me freeze, my eyebrows pulled together critically.

“So if I run off to college,” Hoyt goes on, “and I find all these other guys, younger guys, idiots who don’t know anything … who does that leave you with?”

I look away. “That’s my problem to solve. Not yours.”

“Maybe I don’t think you should be on your own. Hey, look at me.” Hoyt takes a hold of my chin and turns my face to his. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re in this together, Harrison. You and me.”

He brings his lips to mine, kissing me.

It’s so difficult to think straight when he’s kissing me.

The next thing I know, his shirt is gone and he’s unzipping his pants. After kicking them off, he comes after me, pulling my shirt up and yanking it over my head. His lips return to mine like they never left, and it’s to my back that I go, bewildered by his sudden urgency. “Just don’t think,” he breathes as he kisses me. “I want this, Harrison. I want it so bad, and I want it with you.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” I muster the strength to take hold of his arms and pull his mouth away from mine. I look into his eyes. “If we do this, we have to do it right. We need to be safe, and—”

He grabs at his pants suddenly, then pulls something out.

A condom.

I stare at him, shocked. “You already—? How’d you—?”

“Couple days ago, when I ran into town with Fred to pick up a few things. I … picked up some stuff of my own.” He reaches back into his pants and pulls something else out: a tiny bottle of lube. Then he shrugs, like I’m just supposed to accept that this actually happened while he was out with Fred at a store. “Don’t worry,” he quickly adds. “He didn’t see. I got them on my own, stashed them away in my pockets.”

“Hoyt …”

“Seriously, don’t worry. Look, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now. I’m ready. I’ve been ready. I want to do it.”

“But what if I’m not ready?” I sit up again. Hoyt settles into my lap, his ridiculously tiny bottle of off-brand lube in one hand, a condom in the other. “We haven’t even figured anything out. Like who’s doing who. I don’t even know if I’m a top or a bottom or …” I feel stressed suddenly. “This is going too fast, I think.”

“Okay.” Hoyt pockets the lube and condom. “Sorry. I’m being my old pushy self again. You aren’t ready. That’s okay.” He takes a breath, then shrugs. “You know what? We can just relax tonight if you want. Talk about nothin’. Or chat about more masturbation fantasies, if you prefer.”

I’m surprised by how quickly he backed off, choosing to stop and respect my wishes. I study him with uncertainty, unsure of what to say or do. Am I holding back too much? Is he right? Could I be denying myself the most amazing experience ever?

But is denying myself also the more responsible thing to do?

Shouldn’t I be the big, smart adult here?

Why am I even considering changing my mind …?

“I may not go to college.”

His words pull me from my thoughts. “You … what? Why?”

“Might have to defer. Maybe a year, year and a half.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “There’s my stepdad’s words, spillin’ right out of my mouth. But maybe he’s right. I didn’t get into UT. And even if I did, without scholarships, it isn’t gonna happen. Maybe it isn’t realistic to save up enough money over the summer to afford even community college in Fairview.”

“Don’t give up hope so quickly, Hoyt.”

“I’m telling you all this because …” He struggles for a second, then meets my eyes. “Because maybe your idea of what I’m gonna find out there is just as unrealistic.”

I wrinkle my face at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not gonna meet other guys my age. I’m not gonna meet other guys at all. Is that what you told yourself at eighteen?” he asks suddenly. “Did you tell yourself you’d find a special guy?”

I don’t like thinking back to that time. Nostalgia is bittersweet in the way it hurts while making you smile. I remember the happy days with Tanner and Kirk and the guys. I know how I felt when I was part of a team.

I know how fast that feeling disintegrated after we graduated and became adults.

“So what I’m saying,” Hoyt goes on, “is that if you’re sayin’ I should hold out for someone my age? That isn’t gonna happen. I’m here right now. I like you. I trust you. I feel more myself in this stinky place than I ever have … and I think that feeling started the day I met you.”

He takes hold of my hand. Then he takes the other. His touch is gentle yet assuring. He doesn’t say anything else.

I didn’t have my twenties to date. I didn’t have the whole far-off college experience Tanner had, though he claims he didn’t do anything with the gay guys he met. I didn’t run off to Los Angeles like Lance did to be free and find myself.

I spent the past decade shoveling manure.

Harvesting crops.

Fine-tuning my expertise in furniture making.

Am I crazy to think Hoyt might actually have a point …?

“Alright,” I say.

He was rubbing my hands. They stop as he lifts his eyebrows at me questioningly, waiting, held in suspense.

I look at him. “You do realize … that if we do this together … you and I … we’re going past the point of no return.”

Hoyt looks me right in the eye. Then he brings my hands to his warm bare chest, where I feel his heart racing. “Harrison,” he says. “We’re already far beyond the point of no return.”

My lips part.

He comes forward, and takes my mouth with his.

I’m pressed to my back as he crawls over me, his lips on mine as we kiss deeply. It’s a different style of kissing than before, the way he drags his lips over mine, now and then teasing them with his tongue. His breath is warm and clean, and each time one kiss ends, another begins seamlessly.

He’s just in his sporty boxer-briefs, and I’m in just my jeans—but not for long. Without interrupting our kiss, he fumbles blindly for my pants, managing to unzip them. I assist in wriggling my hips and legs out of them, then kick them away, now just in my briefs. Our crotches grind together, both of us hard, both of us aching, both of us never getting enough.

“How’re we doing this?” I ask while we kiss, my words turned into soft breath on his cheeks.

“I think …” We can’t stop kissing. “… it might be smartest …” His lips are so firm yet supple. “… for our first time …” He tastes perfect. “… if you’re the bottom.”

“Yeah? Does that …” I could kiss him all night. “… make you feel more comfortable?”

He pulls away and shoots me a look. “Have you seen your dick? I’m gonna need some practice rounds or somethin’ before I try taking that up my tight tushie.”

Tushie. Adorable. I got him calling his own ass his ‘tight tushie’. “I’m all for what makes you feel great.”

“All of this. Every bit of this. It makes me feel like the king of great.” A smile stretches over his face. He puts a big kiss on me, then pulls away again, brow furrowed. “What position should we do it? I kinda want to watch you while we do it.”

“My legs are a bit big to fit over your shoulders,” I point out.

“I can manage it. Do you know how many pounds I lug over these shoulders a day?” He gives me a cocky look and shrugs, as if to show off his shoulders. “I can handle your little legs.”

“Uh … ‘little’ …?”

He makes a quick (and startling) maneuver of yanking off my underwear, and tossing my legs over each of his shoulders. Then he fetches the lube and condom out of his pants as he addresses me. “Y’know, I’m just gonna prove it by keeping these legs right here the whole time. You’re gonna see how strong I am.”

Here’s the old, cocky Hoyt coming back. Proving how big and strong he is. Ready to show off to his teammates.

And in the heat of this moment, I’m kinda all for it.

Until I feel the cool touch of his fingers at my butthole.

“Whoa, whoa …” I protest at once.

“Hey, I gotta apply some lube first. You have to relax.” He tells me this in a babyish, calming voice—like he’s the expert here. “You don’t want it to hurt, do you? It’s gotta be nice and slick. Loosens you up a bit when I do it with my fingers. Safe sex is good sex.”

I am at a total loss. “What did you do? Watch a YouTube video on how to anally penetrate your boyfriend?”

Hoyt squints at me. “The better question is, is there any less sexy way to say ‘anally penetrate’? No, Harrison, I didn’t watch a how-to video.” He keeps gently teasing my hole. “I … may have watched a video or two.”

“A video or two …?”

“We don’t gotta get into the details. I just did some homework ‘cause I don’t know the first thing ‘bout the first thing.”

The tips of his fingers are already inside me.

I rock my eyes back. “Alright, that does feel pretty good.”

“And it’s not even my dick yet. Hey, if I do anything that hurts or pinches, you’ll let me know, right?”

“Go a little deeper.”

“Now, now.” He leans over me, bringing his face close. “You gotta learn to pace yourself, Harrison.”

I shoot him a look. “I don’t appreciate my own words being used against me.”

“It’s good advice, though, isn’t it? Kiss me.”

I take hold of the back of his head, claiming my control, and bring him in for a kiss. With his fingers gently working my hole and his lips on mine, I feel drunk with pleasurable sensations. It’s no time at all before I’m perfectly at ease, my muscles relaxed.

I knew it would feel good.

I never predicted it would feel this good.

He shifts slightly, startling me. When I peek my eyes open, other than a lot of Hoyt’s face, I see him rolling on his condom. It’s kind of cute, watching him do it blindly as he kisses me—and one-handed, at that. Then he starts to jerk himself off with the lube, slicking up his covered cock.

Is this really about to happen?

He pulls away. “I’m gonna start slow, alright?”

“You’ve got me so relaxed, I don’t think it matters how you start.”

“Don’t go puffing up your chest so soon,” he teases me. “I may not have a big ol’ daddy dick like you, but—”

I wince. “Don’t ever call it that.”

“—you’re still super tight. It will feel incredible, and until I’m ready to try it myself, I’m gonna be jealous as I fuck you.”

I laugh. I am not myself. I’m eighteen-year-old Harrison, fresh out of high school, giddy that the new boy on the farm is into me, touching me, his fingers in me, and his sweet lips over mine. “It’s too bad we don’t have a mirror right next to us, or else you could be seeing your hot-ass reflection, just like in your fantasies. A hot guy in the mirror, showing his strength, pumping away.”

A thoughtful smile stretches over Hoyt’s face. “Y’know what? I think I’ve found myself a new fantasy. It’s this. Right here. You. Me. That look on your face. That spark in your eye.” He puts a kiss on me, then looks into my eyes. “You’re my fantasy, Harrison.”

I stare back at him, taken. “I think you’re mine, Hoyt.”

When his fingers are gone and the real thing touches me, my eyes rock back, and I realize we’re in for the ride of our lifetimes. There is a bit of pressure at first, but it’s not painful at all. Hoyt must have really done his homework, because my hole is relaxed and ready as he gives it a gentle thrust of his hips. He slides in the tip, then continues to work me over, curiously at first, then with a touch more force. I bite my lip as he slides in further. Hoyt’s eyes snap to mine when I grunt. “You alright?” he asks. I nod at him, then take hold of his head again and bring his lips to mine.

That kiss alone inspires us both to feel safe, to feel connected, to experience this incredible moment of intimacy together.

He clings to my legs as he rocks his hips, gently at first, then with increasing, exciting vigor. I feel his cock thrusting back and forth inside of me, which sends waves of excitement throughout my whole body. The sensation alone has me rock hard in seconds.

I can’t explain it other than I had no idea sex would feel this good. I was always afraid it would be painful or uncomfortable. Is that because Hoyt is the perfect size for my ass? Is it because he’s put me so much at ease that my body isn’t resisting him?

It’s almost too good to be true.

Then I feel his slick fingers wrap around my swollen cock.

I was wrong; now it feels too good to be true.

“Oh, fuck,” I breathe against Hoyt’s lips.

He smiles into our kiss. “We’re both gettin’ off this time. I’m not letting you take a back seat to anything anymore. When I get off, you get off. When I feel pleasure beyond my wildest dreams, you’re right there in the dream with me.”

His hand slowly strokes me.

Just those slow, careful strokes are enough to cause electricity to cascade across my body. I grab hold of him tighter and kiss him deeper, overwhelmed.

He starts thrusting his dick inside me faster, all while keeping his pace on my dick slow and steady. His dick plunges in deeper with every push of his hips, unlocking me one shove at a time.

“You are my dream,” he moans against my lips.

He’s getting close, too. “I’m so glad it’s you,” I whisper as we kiss, our breath becoming one, the heat off our bodies becoming one, our bodies united. “You’re the only …”

“I’m so close.”

“You’re … You’re the only one I trust.”

“I’m right there with you, Harrison. I’m so close.”

“Oh, f-fuck …”

Everything becomes rough in the space of seconds. Suddenly, he’s quivering and moaning as he releases inside me. His hand on my cock squeezes in just the right way as he jerks me off, making my moment of release that much more desperate and sensitive. I let out the deepest sigh as I spill across my tensed abs and all over his hand. Both our orgasms seem to last for ages as we sigh and moan across each other’s faces, undecided whether to kiss or cry or shout out our pleasures.

Then we collapse on one another. My legs are on the ground. Hoyt is in my arms, hot and sweaty and full of stickiness between us. We catch our breath in the steamy semidarkness of the barn, spent beyond our wildest expectations.

“That …” he moans, then can’t finish his sentence.

So I do it for him. “… was the best damned thing in my life.”

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. “Wow.”

“Wow,” I agree.

Then the pair of us just lie there in each other’s arms, with Hoyt resting on top of me, slick and smooth and hot as a flame.

“I’m gonna remember this,” says Hoyt.

“Me, too.”

“Forever. I really mean that. I am gonna remember the night we dared to come out to this barn … to our spot … and change our lives forever.”

“I feel like a new man.”

“You just made me a man, Harrison.” Hoyt lets out a laugh of delirium and relief. “Oh, Harrison … you just made me a man.”

Our exhausted embrace becomes a cuddle as we curl up on the now nearly-sopping-wet mass of towels and blankets. The tiny lantern by the stall door is our only light—golden-yellow and soft, spilling over us like a nighttime secret. I smile as I caress him, at total peace with myself, with my soul, with my once-lonely heart.

I don’t feel an ounce of loneliness anymore.

Not an ounce of misgiving.

I am the happiest I have ever been.

Hours pass. A night of dreams pass, too. When I open my eyes, I’m on my back, and the tall gambrel ceiling of the horse barn stretches overhead in long planks of dark, durable oak. Morning sunlight peeks in through the high-set windows, creating long fingers of golden-white glass and revealing dust particles dancing in the air like tiny orbiting planets.

I turn my head. Hoyt is still asleep, as beautiful as ever. Straw is caught in our hair, glued to our chests and arms.

And as I stare at him in the soft, morning light, the reality of what we’ve done settles in my stomach like a stone.

A point of no return. Our joint virginity, a thing of yesterday.

All that remains is us, and what we did, and what comes next.

Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?

Chapter 17
Hoyt

It’s a close call.

As in, another close call.

Harrison woke me out of a dead sleep, and I realized morning had already come. I didn’t know I was capable of getting dressed in four and a half seconds, but my panicked ass got dressed in four and a half seconds, and the moment I flew out of that stall leaving Harrison behind to dress, I ran straight into Emmalea, who’d been looking for me. “I’m with the horses!” I said with an embarrassing squeak in my voice. She burned me with her suspicious eyes—not realizing a half-naked Harrison was in the stall just behind me, frozen in place—before deciding to believe me, then taking me out to the fields with her to show me more stuff. That gave Harrison the chance to sneak out of the barn on his own and start his day.

Close call, indeed.

My back is sore all over. I’ve got a tender spot on my head. I do not recommend ever sleeping on the floor of a horse stall. But if that’s the price I have to pay for what happened last night, I’ll pay it a dozen times over.

Because my heart is singing today.

As I help Emmalea and the others, I catch myself smiling for no reason. The sun is burning especially sadistically today, and I don’t seem to mind; I’m giddy and have boundless energy to spare. I almost walk straight into Fred, who calls me some weird long made-up word, and I just laugh and call him one right back, which makes him wrinkle his face at me in confusion.

Nothing can wreck this perfectly perfect day.

They keep me busy in the field all day. Lunch is the first time I reunite with Harrison. I know how to keep a low profile, and I’m all about keeping what we’ve got a secret, but I can’t help cracking a little smile whenever Harrison and I make eye contact. Though he seems significantly more careful about showing his happiness, he still gives me a nod back, at the very least.

We didn’t get a chance to talk all morning, so when the time comes for Harrison to make his leave, I have no idea whether or not we plan to meet in the barn tonight again. I catch up with him outside the door of the mudroom. “Hey, hey, wait up,” I call out.

He stops at the foot of his porch. “Just need to grab something before heading back out there.”

I stop next to him and lean against the porch banister. “That was a close call this mornin’, huh?”

He glances out at the field, then nods stiffly at me. “Sure was.”

“You look jumpy, Harrison. Don’t worry. Everyone’s off doing their thing. No one’s around.”

He meets my eyes, then lets out a sigh. “You’re right.”

I smirk. “You shouldn’t be stressed today. After last night …?” I let out a delirious laugh. “Fuck, man, every time I blink, I’m right back there with the itchy straw in my butt crack.”

That makes him chuckle. “Sure. Me, too.”

“C’mon.” I take a few steps closer to him. “I want to hear how you’ve been feeling all morning. It’s been killin’ me, working out there in the fields with Lea. I thought I was supposed to be the new animal-tending bitch boy.”

“Animals are everyone’s responsibility. That’s just where you were started, I guess.”

“You guess? Aren’t you the guy who’s in charge of everything around here? The unofficial foreman? Y’know, if you wanted, you could have me assigned permanently to the animals. That way, I’m always out here on your end of the farm, and—”

“After all of your begging to ride the tractor like a big boy, how will it look now if you’re wanting to come back to the animals?”

I shrug. “Like I miss Wilbur and Charlotte and Peepers?”

He thinks it over for a moment, then nods. “I’ll talk to Lea.”

“Good. We have to name more of the animals, by the way, if they aren’t already. That’s my birthday present to my sister. Don’t respond to that now, I already see your lips tryin’ to move. More important thing I’ve gotta ask first.” I take another step closer to him. We’re next to each other. “Are you gonna stop being a coy boy and tell me how you feel about last night?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Coy boy …?”

“Or a shy guy. Scare bear. Couldn’t think of what to call you.”

“I’m not a bear, for one. And secondly …”

“Don’t evade the question.” I nod toward his door. “Y’know, we could … have a little rendezvous right now in your cabin. I’ve got at least ten minutes before Lea comes lookin’ for me again.”

Harrison glances out at the fields again. Something settles on his face—something pleasant. He allows himself a smile. “It was … like a dream.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel that way. Not ever. It was amazing. It was exciting. All of my fear was gone. I knew exactly who I was, who I am, what I want.” He faces me again. “It was great for me.”

“My words exactly.”

I go for a kiss.

He resists for half a second out of paranoia, then gives in. The moment our lips connect, it’s like fire and beauty and magic in my soul. If the heart has a food it requires, it’s this, right here, right in this moment, whatever unseen magic his kiss gives me.

The kiss ends, and he gazes into my eyes.

That’s when it hits me. “Wait. What day is it?”

He squints for a second, thinking. “I think it’s the—”

“My sister’s birthday.” I step up onto the porch and pull out my phone. Sure enough, I see the reminder I set for myself. It must have dinged at me while we were still in the barn, waking up and freaking out. I look up. “Harrison. I’ve got a big ask. A real big ask.”

He nods, already ahead of me. “When does her party start?”

“Probably in the afternoon. It’ll go into the early evening.”

“Is it alright if you get there around dinnertime?”

“Sure, shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Alright, I’ll let Lea know. Once you do your afternoon work, instead of going to the bunkhouse for dinner, you can take off.”

“Great! Thanks.” I pocket my phone, then realize something else. “Well, uh, actually …”

“Yes?”

I come back up to him. “I need a ride.”

He studies me for a moment. Then he cracks a smile and looks off, shaking his head. “I swear, Hoyt …”

“What?”

“You don’t fool me. You’re just trying to get me alone again.”

I scoff at that. “There’s far less elaborate ways I can do that. I could pull you into your cabin right now, like I just suggested a second ago. I could ask for your assistance with somethin’ dumb and tear off your clothes in the toolshed.”

The look in Harrison’s eyes turns hungry, likely imagining exactly the picture I’m painting.

Good. “Look, I just need a ride to my sister’s birthday party. A short ride into Spruce.”

“And you can’t ask a friend? Or your parents?”

Has he forgotten everything we’ve talked about? “My friends can suck it,” I go on quite sincerely, “and my mom and stepdad will be busy runnin’ the party, obviously.”

After another moment of misgiving, he finally gives in. “Okay. After I’m finished for the day, I’ll give you a ride.”

“Thanks.” My eyes slide down his body, yet again thinking all about last night. “I liked gettin’ to fall asleep in your arms. I’ve … I’ve never felt that before.”

“Me neither,” he admits.

“I want to do it again. Have sex. Fall asleep in your arms. We … could maybe do it in your cabin next time …?”

I take his hand.

Harrison glances off yet again, as if to check for any onlookers or prying eyes, then yanks me against him and puts his other hand around my back, sliding down to cup my ass and give it a hearty squeeze. “Mmm,” he groans, kisses me, then says, “You’re gonna make me lose everything, you know that.”

“Lose everything?”

“My virginity, you took. My peace. My loneliness. My heart.” He gives me a look. “My mind.”

I stare into his eyes. “Ain’t that a good thing?”

“Don’t know yet,” he says—I think teasingly, not sure.

I study him. “Is this still exciting for you? Sneaking around? Being a pair of naughty boys, up to no good, doing it wherever we can do it, even if the horses watch?”

“It’s terrifying.” He shrugs. “And I guess a little fun, too.”

“A little …?”

He gazes off at the farm. “As long as the animals are tended to and we’re doing our duties, we’re not harming anyone. Still …” He separates from me. “We have to be careful.”

“Right. Spruce rumor mill. Gary catchin’ us … yadda, yadda.” I shrug. “Would it really be so bad, though? If people knew?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking that?”

“I’m just sayin’ …” I’m not really sure what I’m saying, actually. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a few folks out there already talkin’ about me. Rumors they heard. Maybe from a certain party where I might’ve gotten into a shouting match with someone … who may or may not have announced that I kissed Toby.”

“Really?”

“And who knows. Maybe some people around town whisper about you, wonderin’ why a big, kindhearted beauty like you isn’t snatched up yet, why you don’t date, why you show no interest in the single gals around town …”

“I don’t show interest in anyone,” he says.

“I want to have sex with you again. I want to be alone and just talk for hours with you. I want to fall asleep in your arms.”

“You want a lot.” He lets go of me rather suddenly, then heads to his door, leaving me on the steps.

I spread my hands. “Where are you goin’? So is that it? You’re just storming off because I mention that some people around town might be wondering about us already?”

“No. I’ve got work to do.” He glances at me over his shoulder, the door half-open. “And so do you. I’ll take you home for your sister’s party at dinnertime, but you gotta make sure everything’s tended to first.”

“Harrison.”

He slips inside and shuts the door, leaving me by myself. I give his door a scowl, then decide to leave him alone. He obviously has got his own thing going on in his head, and the last thing I want to do is make it worst by pestering him.

Hot and cold. That should be his middle name. Harrison Hot-And-Cold Kemp.

And you can just call me Hoyt Clueless-As-Fuck Nowak.

Dinnertime rolls around quicker than I expect. I already took a quick shower and changed, and it’s outside the mudroom sitting on an overturned crate by Harrison’s truck that I wait. When he finally emerges from his cabin, he’s in a pair of jeans with a loose, oversized gray t-shirt. “C’mon,” he calls out to me as he swings into his truck, and I hurriedly oblige.

When we’re on the road and the farm is behind us, I notice he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. After a moment of thought, I take his hand into mine.

He shoots me a glance. “You want to hold my hand …?”

I web my fingers between his. “Sure. It feels kinda nice. I just wanted to try it.”

He cracks a little smile—though it seems more amused than anything. “Alright.”

“Doesn’t it feel good? To hold my hand?”

His eyes are on the road as he shakes his head in wonder. “I swear, you never cease to surprise me.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Are we boyfriends now?” he asks, still carrying that amused tone of voice. “Is that what this is? You want to be my boyfriend?”

“I don’t care what you call it. We’re something, though.”

“Something?”

“Yep, we are.” I squeeze our fingers together tighter, then let my thumb start rubbing across the top of his. “Don’t have to have a name. But you’re stuck with me, Harrison.”

He gazes at me. The look on his face has changed. It isn’t one of amusement anymore; something sincere has taken hold of his eyes as he looks me over for a moment, before returning his gaze to the road. “Stuck with you, huh.”

“I like you, Harrison. You’re a good man. You have a good, big, bottomless heart, unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. Maybe even bigger than Toby’s. And that guy was like a tall sack of lovin’.”

He makes a strange face, then laughs. “You and your words.”

“I’m serious.” I bring his hand up to my mouth and kiss it, then lay it back down. “You amaze me, Harrison.”

He smiles with his eyes still on the road. “You too, Hoyt.”

We don’t say much else the rest of the ride. I feel so full to the point of bursting with joy inside, it’s difficult to contain it. Is this what love feels like? Is it too soon to feel it? I haven’t felt this with anyone ever before. I feel like I could dance on top of this truck, poke the sun right out of the sky with my finger, and throw it like a Frisbee into the rest of the stars. I could march down Main Street with Harrison’s hand in mine, not giving a shit what anyone said or thought. Maybe the inspiration from Reverend Trey’s sermon is still living in my bones, thriving like a brilliant idea.

Is Harrison my key? Is he who will unlock me from my cage?

Is he the one who will finally set me free …?

Harrison pulls up to the curb of my house, then brings the truck into park. He lets go of my hand and gives me a pat on the back. “Go make your sister’s day special with your fashionably late arrival,” he teases me. “Tell her your boss says happy birthday.”

I glance at my house thoughtfully, then turn back to him. “Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

His lips part, caught off-guard, then he chuckles. “Nah, nah. I don’t want to, uh … I mean, it’s your family, and I—”

“Blah, blah, excuses, excuses. C’mon. Don’t you want to try a piece of stale kiddy birthday cake? It’s probably got so much food coloring in it, you’ll be pooping pink and blue for a week.”

He wrinkles his face at me. “You make the invite so enticing.”

“If I go in there all alone, I’m gonna get tackled by a bunch of little girls with too much energy.” I reconsider it. “Well, or maybe not. I keep forgetting how old Gemma’s gettin’. Eleven. She ain’t six anymore.” I meet his eyes again, pleading. “Come in with me.”

I watch a literal arm wrestle occur across his face as he winces and fights it. One side wins. “Alright.”

“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air.

“But just for a few minutes,” he insists. “Then you can call me in a couple of hours to come pick you up.”

I smirk.

I have no plans to let him leave after just a few measly minutes.

When we reach my front door, I’m about to give Harrison the rundown on my family and what to expect—when suddenly the door opens and my stepdad appears. He scrunches up his face as he looks at me. “You’re not the pizza guy,” he observes mildly.

I quirk an eyebrow. “No …?”

He glances around me, as if to check again, then squints as his eyes fall on Harrison. “Oh, hi there.”

“This is Harrison,” I introduce him. “He works with me at—”

“Of course, I know all about Harrison. Good man.” My stepdad extends a hand. Harrison shakes it, smiling politely. Then he goes right back to squinting. “Pizza’s supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I got hungry girls.” His eyes turn to me. “Was wondering if you’d come. Gemma’s been asking about you every five minutes. We’re waiting on a couple large pizzas and cinnamon rolls to make up for the fact that the big birthday cake Deena made got botched up—should’ve followed the dang recipe—but now that you’re here …”

“Gems can’t have her party without a cake,” I protest.

“S’what I said, but your mom—”

“We got that covered,” says Harrison suddenly.

I turn to him, lifting an eyebrow. “We do?”

“Yep. My best friend’s hubby. T&S’s. They have premades, sell them every day. I’m sure he’s got something.” Harrison parts from us with his cell phone out, taps a name, then brings it to his ear. “Hey, Billy? Sorry to bug you, but—Yeah, I’m great, thanks! How are the boys? … Hah, of course! Gotta cherish those teenage years. Hey, I got a favor to ask you …”

My stepdad crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “He was nice, to take you back on the farm. Didn’t expect it.”

I give my father a look. “He’s more than nice. He’s got a heart the size of Alaska and gives me more chances than I deserve.”

“Summer didn’t have to be this way, y’know.”

I roll my eyes. “Not this talk again.”

“Kept telling you this whole past year, if you hadn’t gotten all caught up with that drama, paid more attention to your grades …”

“Really? We’re having this talk now …? I’m here for my sister’s birthday party, not for a lecture.”

“You keep on puttin’ me off and off, but if you done taken me more serious when it mattered most …”

The more angry he gets, the thicker his southern twang gets, yet his voice never becomes raised. I wonder if I’ve ever heard him shout. “Too late for that, isn’t it? I’m making a man out of myself on the farm. You’re just not there to see the progress I’ve made.”

“Seems a bit too little, too late, son.”

“Funny, you only call me your son when you’re tryin’ to make me feel small.”

He gives me a harsh look at first. It softens as he thinks on it some more. “That ain’t true,” he finally says, but I hear the doubt in his voice as he averts his gaze.

“Got it!” exclaims Harrison suddenly, pocketing his phone and returning to us, beaming. “Billy isn’t at the Shoppe right now, but he just confirmed that someone else had to cancel their birthday order on account of a sick kid, so there’s one fresh premade cake waiting for us. Can’t say what it looks like, but a cake’s a cake, right? I can go pick it up now.”

“We’ll go pick it up.” I nod at my stepdad. “Don’t tell her we’re doin’ this. It’ll be a little surprise. No, no, it’s alright,” I say over his mild protests. “Harrison and I will go pick up the cake and be right back to save the day. How do I spell my sister’s name again? Just kiddin’. See you in a bit.”

My stepdad, slightly bewildered, gives us both a vague wave and a, “See you soon,” as we head back to the truck, then returns to peering off left and right, still waiting on the pizza guy.

In the truck, Harrison gazes at me. “You alright?”

“Yep.”

“You seem tense. Did you and your dad—?”

“Stepdad.” I cringe at myself. I only ever say that in the same way he only ever calls me “son” to condescend me. I shrug it off, force a smile, and insist on a mood change. “So how do you like being my unpaid, super-handsome chauffeur tonight?”

He smirks. “Chauffeur? Is that what I am?”

“Don’t forget the ‘super-handsome’ part. You’re in this with me until the end.” I look at him. “Hope you won’t think twice about comin’ out with me next time I ask.”

“I will.” He starts the engine. “I’ll think three times.”

And we hit the road again.

It feels like returning home as we head down Main Street, straight through the heart of Spruce. After spending so much time out on the farm, I welcome the familiar sight of the storefronts. Each one has its own charm, and I know most of the families that run them. The best part about Main Street is there are no fast food chains or brand names anywhere to be found; it’s all mom-and-pop shops, locally-owned businesses, and places I’ve known since I was a kid.

T&S’s, or the Tucker & Strong Sweet Shoppe, is the go-to spot for all things sweet and delicious. In other words: the place where every well-meaning diet on Earth goes to die. Harrison pulls up to the front, cuts his engine, and the pair of us step out.

I barely make it to the door before I hear my name. “Hoyt!”

I turn. To my surprise, my high school pal Julio is there, along with his girlfriend Stacey, and another former teammate Lee, who happens to be Toby’s stepbrother. The trio of them seem to be in the middle of an evening on the town. Julio is a thickly muscled guy with big, powerful legs, a golden brown complexion, shaven head, and the most keen-looking, observant eyes on our football team. Stacey is a curly redhead with ivory skin that flushes rosy-pink at the cheeks, with sharp green eyes circled by an abundance of dark mascara tonight. Lee is a tall and towering stick of a guy, tanned, messy-haired, with a permanently lazy look in his eyes.

“Julio! Lee! Stacey!” I come up and give each of them a half-hug and handshake. “Haven’t heard a peep from any of you. How’s it going? You ditchin’ me for the summer or something?”

Julio shrugs. “Nah. Just been hanging with G-Man a lot, since he got me a job at the movies. We share a lot of shifts.”

He got him a job? “Oh. He said there was an open position, but when I went—” I blow it off. “Anyway, no biggie. What’s Benji up to? I haven’t heard from that punk since graduation.”

“Well, usually he’s with me at G-Man’s. What’s going on with you, Hoyt? Why aren’t you answering Benji’s texts?”

I give him a look. “Huh?”

“Benji said he invited you over a couple times, but you didn’t reply.” Julio squints at me. “You calling him a liar or something?”

“No. I—” Is he being serious? I haven’t gotten a single text or call from any of them. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the signal. I get, like, no damned reception out on Gary’s farm.”

Lee lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “So it’s true?”

Julio gasps. “Dude, I thought that shit was made up! Are you seriously a farmer now??”

The way Julio asks the question makes Lee and Stacey bust out laughing. “Sorry, sorry,” says Lee, recovering. “I just can’t picture you in overalls and big rubber boots.” Stacey snorts mid-laugh and says, “I can,” which causes the pair of them to double over again.

I just watch them laugh it up for a bit, shaking my head. “Hey, you guys might think it’s funny, but farm life’s no joke. It’s some of the hardest work I’ve ever done.”

Lee wipes tears from his eyes. “That’s hilarious, dude …”

Julio shakes his head. “Man … Aren’t you still tryin’ to get into UT? Or has that train sailed?”

“It’s either ‘has that ship sailed’ or ‘has that train left …’ Never mind,” I say, cutting myself off. I’m so not in the mood to be poked at by my friends when all they’ve done is ignore me all summer. “I’m saving up for UT. My ass hasn’t given up yet. You know how I am: determined. Fuck Fairview Community, know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” says Julio, still annoyingly amused. “Fuck Fairview.”

“Besides, money’s pretty good on the farm,” I point out. “Hell, by August, I can have enough saved up to—”

“If we don’t go now, we’ll be late for the movie,” Stacey points out suddenly, coming up to Julio’s side. She winces at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, but we’re kinda late.”

I nod, then stuff my hands in my pockets. “Sure, no problem.”

Julio slaps me on the back. “It was nice seeing you, Nowak. I’m just … still tryin’ to picture you as a farmer.” That sends Lee and Stacey into a laughing fit again. “No, no, seriously,” Julio insists to the others, but that only makes him start laughing.

The sound of their laughter. The tears in their eyes.

Anger swells up inside of me in an instant. I swat Julio’s hand straight off my shoulder like a fly. “All of you can just fuck off.”

The laughter dies. Julio squints at me, lifting his hands. “Hey, hey, calm down …”

I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m mad. “Y’all are a bunch of assholes, y’know that?”

“Dude, we’re just playin’.”

“Benji says he’s been trying to get ahold of me? Really? That’s bullshit. Y’all have been ghosting me all damned summer so far.”

“Ghosting you?” Julio snorts. “What are we? Lovers? No one’s ghosting you, man.” He glances at Lee, laughter in his eyes, then smirks. “Except maybe your little boyfriend Toby, who’s probably having more fun on the beach than any of us.”

Something snaps red-hot in my brain.

I grab hold of Julio’s shirt and slam him against the brick wall of T&S’s with a grunt.

Stacey lets out a gasp and steps back.

Lee’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as he shouts, “Whoa!”

Julio just stares me down, entirely unaffected by my action.

Before having a second to marvel at how I was able to budge the block of muscle that is Julio in the first place, I get right up in his face and scowl. “Got somethin’ you want to say to me, Julio?”

Calm and collected, he stares right back into my eyes like he can see straight through me. “I don’t know. You tell me, big man.”

My eyes have become two fiery stones, fresh from the volcano that just erupted inside of me by his words.

Julio is the one in front of whom Toby yelled at me, spilling our secret unintentionally—the kiss in the bathroom, our private moment, our everything. It was at a get-together at G-Man’s, and I spent the rest of that night denying it, laughing off Toby’s words, while Julio kept shooting me suspicious glances from across the room, like he was trying to figure me out.

He’s giving me that same look right now.

Like he knows.

“Hoyt.”

The sound of Harrison’s voice brings me back from that day. I let go of Julio’s shirt and step away from him, out of breath. Julio stays against the wall, studying me, eyebrows pulled together with tension. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he has a lot to say.

“Hoyt,” says Harrison again.

“What?” I snap, looking at him.

Harrison just stands there, stony and wordless, as if waiting for me to read his mind or understand something I’ve done wrong. But I feel too angry to understand anything right now.

“Just go,” I nearly growl at Julio and the others. “Don’t want to miss your stupid movie.”

After a second more of staring at me, Julio puts an arm around a rather affronted Stacey, then heads off without another word. Lee slows as he walks past me, mutters, “Sorry for laughin’, didn’t mean anything, really,” then follows the others down the street to the Spruce Cinema 5. I’m left staring at the wall of T&S’s. All I see is red as I take one breath at a time, trying to calm down.

Harrison eclipses my view. “What was that?”

I shut my eyes and shake my head. “Forget it. Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

“I said it was nothing. Now let’s get the damned cake and save my sister’s birthday party.” I turn away and head for the Shoppe.

Chapter 18
Harrison

We’re back in the truck. A pretty pink-and-blue cake sits on Hoyt’s lap in the passenger seat. Just as Billy promised, it’s the last premade they had available: a monster cake, with big teeth and scary eyes. The guy at the counter added some pink squiggles and details to make it more “appropriate for a girl’s birthday”, but it did little to make it cute and only succeeded in making it slightly more terrifying. That’s what we get for Billy not being there, but a cake is a cake, and it’ll taste just the same. Hoyt was fuming too much to pay much attention to anything. Apparently there are no less than eleven other parties and celebrations occurring all over Spruce, hence the lack of a selection.

“Hey.” I pat his shoulder. “We gonna talk?”

“I’m tryin’ not to blow up here.” He stares down at the cake. “Motherfucker. They spelled her name wrong.”

“Whatever that was with your friend …” I start.

“It’s with a G, not a J. Damn it to hell, I even made the joke before we left the house.” Hoyt pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am not gonna blow up, I am not gonna blow up …”

My own patience is running thin, too. “You can’t go causing a scene like that out in the streets, Hoyt. You work on Gary’s farm now. You represent the Strongs.”

“I know that.”

“People were watching you guys. You didn’t notice, but I did.”

“I said I know that,” he snaps, then takes a breath and shakes his head. “I’ve been representin’ the damned Strongs since I was a freshman in high school trying not to let Coach Strong down.”

I sigh. “Well, I’m just saying, your behavior reflects on all of us. Myself included. And if—”

“You think this is what I’m gonna be for the rest of my life?” Hoyt snaps again, his eyes on the verge of tears as he turns them onto me. “This is just for now. My summer job. Nothin’ more. I’m not a fuckin’ farmer. Once the summer’s over, I’m off to Austin where I’ll … where I’m gonna …” His fuel runs out. He stares down at the cake. “I’m finally gonna … I’ll finally …” He shuts his eyes.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Of course he isn’t staying at the farm. I told myself that many times already, didn’t I? Hoyt is just here for now. His stay at Gary’s is temporary. Once he’s got the means, he’ll be gone before I can even say goodbye. And just like I told him would happen, he will be off to college, meeting guys his age, guys he’ll be hot for.

Except we’ve already gone past that point of no return.

We took each other’s virginity. It already happened.

I knew I should have practiced restraint that night.

“Sorry,” he finally says, his voice shaky. “I really am. I’m … I’m sorry about all of that. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s alright.”

“No. Stop excusin’ my shitty-ass behavior. I shouldn’t have … I shouldn’t have lost my temper with Julio, and I shouldn’t have said I’m not gonna be a farmer forever or whatever. Who knows. I may be here for a hundred years before I can afford to even buy a decent truck. Maybe I’ll realize I love farming. Maybe football was just a … fun, dumb thing I did in school. Amounts to nothing. Not all of us can be the Spruce Juice that Tanner was.” He gnaws on his lip and sighs. “Sorry. I think I’m just … scared of losin’ myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Football star. My buddies. Big weekend get-togethers. Team parties. I knew what I was a few months ago. I loved my life. Now I feel like it all went out the window the day I graduated. All of my friends … everything I knew … it’s all fuckin’ gone.”

I take a breath. I remember losing the instant camaraderie of my teammates, too. I remember my life changing in a flash after high school ended and all my strings were cut loose. “It might feel like you lost everything right now, but you haven’t. Tanner went off to college, sure, but he came back to Spruce. Kirk got married and had a kid with Bonnie, and he’s stuck around, too. Hell, ten years later, Lance even came back, and look how happy Chad was, having waited for him … sorta. It’s all part of life … part of growing up. People change. Some stick around, some don’t.”

“I’ve been clinging so damned hard to my life, to my friends, to everything,” says Hoyt, “like I can stop any of it from changing, like I can stop everyone from movin’ on and forgettin’ me. Tighter I cling, faster it goes.” He sighs. “We better get to the party before this stupid monster cake melts.”

“The cake isn’t melting. We can stay as long as you need.”

“Let’s just go.”

My own heart is heavy and the last thing I feel is ready to go, but I’m trying to stay strong here for Hoyt. “Maybe your sister will like the monster cake,” I point out, starting the engine. “It’s sort of adorable. Terrifying, too, but adorable.”

After a moment of looking miserable, he finally nods. “Yeah, the lil’ weirdo’s gonna love it.”

And off we go.

When we pull up in front of his house, the sun’s mostly down, leaving just a few ribbons of dark blue light across the sky. I kill the engine, then walk Hoyt (and the monster cake) to the door. As it opens, I find myself stepping into a loud, cluttered house with a bunch of laughing girls. They’re playing a video game in the living room at full volume, its playful music sounding like it’s trying to outmatch their laughter. Dodging the colorful balloons scattered across the floor, Hoyt meets with his mother and puts the cake on the kitchen counter next to a half-empty box of pizza, which I’m guessing finally arrived. They barely have a chance to talk before his sister notices his arrival from across the room. “Hoyt! Hoyt! Come over and help us beat this level! We can’t get past it!” Hoyt snorts over his shoulder, instantly putting on a show for his sister. “Y’know I don’t play that Candy Castle ridiculousness! I’m a grown man!” Then, proving all of that to be an act, he daintily rushes up to the couch, sits in the middle of all the girls, and shouts, “Gimme that controller! I’ll teach Evil Queen Sugarcane who’s boss!” The girls laugh and shout out excitedly. From the looks of it, this isn’t the first time he’s been a source of entertainment for all of them.

I stay awkwardly at the entryway, feeling out of place. Maybe I should just go now that he’s here and back in his element. I can return for him later on like I said I would.

The moment I have the thought, Hoyt gestures at me over the couch. “Hey, girls, you see that guy over there? He’s Harrison, and I work with him up at the Strong farm. Say hi! Don’t be rude!”

All seven girls turn their heads. “Hi, Harrison!” they shout in perfect unison.

“Ladies,” I say back, giving them a tentative wave and a smile.

“He’s shy,” says one of the girls who wears a paper crown on her head, pursing her lips with interest. That must be the birthday girl herself, his sister Gemma. She’s got his eyes and mouth.

I take a few steps into the living room. “Nah, I’m not too shy,” I say, trying to put on an air of comfort and ease.

“He’s just pretending he isn’t shy,” says Hoyt while keeping his focus on the TV screen. “He’s totally shy. You should probably attack him with a ton of invasive questions and attention.”

I glare at the back of Hoyt’s head.

Then Gemma’s eyes find it: “CAKE!!” she cries out. All of the girls abandon the couch at once as they rush up to the big table amidst Hoyt’s protesting and the parents shouting in the kitchen. Gemma gasps when she sees it. “It’s a dragon!! … I think. Is it?” She looks over her shoulder. “Hoyt? Is this a dragon?”

“It’s whatever you—dang it!—want it to be. These Candy Corns won’t stop attacking me! It can be a kangaroo with fangs, or a pink, fire-breathing ferret. Shoot, this level’s harder than I remember! Or it can be my face whenever you wake me up too early.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely my brother’s face,” Gemma decides, and all of the girls laugh.

As the parents fuss over cutting pieces of cake for all of the apparently-cake-starved girls, I watch Hoyt as he puts his focus into the video game. His face zones in. His eyes squint with keen, unwavering determination. It’s clear the boy needs something to distract him from the bad fight he had on Main Street not fifteen-something minutes ago, which I’m sure is still weighing on his mind. I guess the proud duty of getting past the tough level in his sister’s video game was exactly it.

That, and a monster cake.

It’s just a quick hour later when parents start to arrive to pick up their respective daughters. Only two of the girls stay for the slumber party portion, for which they retire to Gemma’s room and start doing whatever eleven-year-old girls do. It results in a lot of giggling and shouting, whatever it is. Probably making fun of icky gross boys at school.

Or are they beyond that age already?

I don’t get kids.

The four of us adults are in the kitchen cleaning up. I reach to grab a couple of paper plates when his mom puts a hand on mine and meets my eyes. “I want to say I appreciate you.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Uh … thank you?”

“For all you’ve done for my boy out on the farm,” she clarifies. “And especially for giving his stubborn butt another chance when I know he messed up big time a few weeks back.”

I glance over at Hoyt, who is busy talking to his stepdad in the kitchen, washing things in the sink.

I shrug. “He deserved another chance.”

“I’m not sure he did. But you gave him one, and I’m glad you did. Haven’t seen him happier.” She smirks in his direction, then takes the dirty paper plates out of my hands. “I’ll take care of the rest. I know you gentlemen have to head back soon. Every night’s a school night when you work with animals.”

I smile, appreciating the saying. “Funny, Gary told me that my first day on the job. Never forgot it.” I reconsider. “Well, back in my twenties I might’ve forgotten it once or twice …”

She chuckles and swats my arm. “I always liked you, Harrison. I can see it now, why you get along so well with Hoyt.”

Always liked me …? “Oh yeah?”

“Of course. Your sense of humor. Your focus. You’re like the big brother he never had. Hoyt … He looks up to you. I know he’s too proud to ever say it, but he thinks the world of you. I got the texts to prove it.” She chuckles. “He needs someone like you in his life. Been too carefree all his childhood. Needs some discipline.”

If you only knew. “Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Nowak.”

“Deena, please. Formalities ended the day I stopped teaching. You’re welcome here anytime. If only Carson was still here to see the man you’ve grown into …” She stops herself. “All’s I want to say is thanks.”

I smile vaguely, but feeling like I’m missing something. “Well, I very much appreciate that. Thank you … Deena.”

After everything is cleaned up, the parents say goodnight and head to their room after stopping by Gemma’s to tell the girls to keep it down and where to find juice or snacks if they need them.

“Well, guess we’d better head off,” says Hoyt with a sigh, after clicking off the kitchen light.

I consider him for a sec. “We can hang out for a while longer if you want. You don’t seem ready just yet to head back to the farm.”

He gazes out at his dark living room and the sliver of light spilling out from Gemma’s room in the hallway, where the sound of girls giggling can still be heard.

I come up to him. “Let’s chill on your patio for a while. Let the night air sink in. Take a breath. How’s that sound?”

He shows a struggle on his face before finally giving in with a nod, then fetches a couple cans of soda off the counter and tossing one at me on our way out.

His patio is a slab of cement extending from the back door that faces a sea of dead grass and a couple of trees. On the patio is a small grill that looks like it hasn’t been used since 1981 as well as an old rocking chair. Hoyt sits on the edge of the concrete, feet in the grass. I join him, crack open my soda, and kick it back.

“So what was all of that really about?” I ask after a while.

Hoyt squints at me. “All of what?”

“The fight. Your friends. I heard him mention Toby. He called him your boyfriend.” Hoyt looks away, seeming pensive. “Did you have feelings for him? Is that why it set you off?”

He lets out a sigh, then stares thoughtfully at his can. “Yeah, a bit. Big feelings. But it was confusing and always came out wrong. I don’t really know if I had true feelings for Toby, or if I was just … desperate for someone to pay attention to me, the way that only he could.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t excuse anything. But—”

“No judgment here,” I assure him. “You’re talking to someone who thought a dude he hadn’t seen in ten years was going to just magically fall for him over the course of a high school reunion.” I try to laugh, but it comes out sad and wimpy. “So … it’s okay if you have weird feelings about it. I understand. Your friend shouldn’t have pushed your buttons like that.”

“I don’t know. Maybe my buttons need to be pushed.” He is about to go for another sip, then sighs and sets his can aside. “So what does that make us? A pair of sad rejects?”

“Speak for yourself,” I tease him, nudging him in the ribs.

He looks at me. “I don’t feel like a reject when I’m with you. I feel like you’re the only person who’s ever given me your full … everything. I feel like you really see me. All the parts of me. Even the sides I try to sweep away from everyone’s eyes like dust under a rug.” He peers at my lips, as if considering them. “I’ve never felt this way before, Harrison.”

I gaze into his eyes, feeling so grateful to have him by my side. Still, I can’t help but feel like he’s got demons trapped in him that I can’t do a damned thing about.

Chasing an instinct, I lean toward him.

He puts a hand on my chest. “Nah, we can’t.”

I lift my eyebrows. “What?”

“Kiss. Or anything.”

I wrinkle my face, then settle back into place. “Wasn’t gonna.”

“Yeah, you were.” Hoyt snorts. “I can see that hungry-ass look in your eyes. You were wondering whether you should go in for a kiss. You can’t. My sister’s bedroom window has a perfect view of us. No idea if they’re too busy with each other, but just one peep out that glass, and they’re gonna have a show.”

I glance back at the wide pair of windows—one of them to the living room, the other to Gemma’s room, I’m guessing. I shoot him a look. “Who do you think I am? A man who can’t contain himself?”

“Maybe.” Hoyt grabs his soda and kicks it back.

My eyes wander behind him to the old rocking chair.

I do a double take.

Hoyt follows my line of sight. “Oh, that. Hey, don’t go gettin’ all critical on it, Mr. Perfectionist,” he teases me. “It was my dad’s.”

I get to my feet and walk up to it, studying it—the rigid shape of its back, worn and asymmetrical, and the arms, slightly out of alignment, imperfect, raw. No artful details etched up the legs or along the back. No extra sanding along the edges. Unpolished.

Hoyt has turned around, watching me. “I must’ve been seven or eight when my dad got that rocking chair. It’s old, I know, and it sure isn’t up to your standard of furniture … but I love it.”

“No, it … it sure isn’t up to my standard,” I agree, running my hand across the rough arm, remembering, “because my standard has improved over the past twelve years.”

Hoyt gazes up at me, not following.

I turn to him. “This is one of mine.”

It takes a second for it to register. Then his lips part as he stares at the rocking chair with fresh eyes. “Wait. You mean …?”

“This chair …” I let out a laugh of disbelief as I continue to examine it. “This must’ve been one of the first things I built. There was a man who came to the school to visit the shop teacher when I was in class. He had a broken rocking chair. I volunteered to fix it, because I always liked a challenge. Shop class was my jam when I wasn’t playing football,” I explain, glancing over a shoulder at Hoyt, who listens, glued to my every word. “I made all sorts of things. It’s where my love for carpentry came. In the process of trying to fix the chair, I … sorta broke it.”

“You broke it??”

I laugh at Hoyt’s reaction. “Yep. It was an accident. I freaked out. But I was determined to make the man happy. I rebuilt the whole thing from scratch, and … voila.”

Hoyt gets to his feet and joins me, observing the rocking chair as if for the first time. “You mean all of my life …?” he starts.

“Yeah. You’ve been rocking in a chair I made. How did I not put two and two together?” I ask, flabbergasted.

Hoyt shrugs. “Maybe ‘cause my dad’s last name was Needler.”

“Needler …” I feel the prickling of memories coming back.

“Yep. Nowak is my stepdad’s name, which Gemma and I took when my mom got married to him.”

“Needler. Needler …” It hits me. “That’s right. Carson Needler. And your mom was Mrs. Needler back then, not Nowak. She was a teacher at Spruce High, right? A history teacher?”

“Social Studies, actually,” he corrects me, “but yeah, that’s … that’s right. She stopped teaching after my dad died.” He shakes his head as he puts a hand on the rocking chair, struck. “I don’t know what to say, Harrison. I didn’t realize this piece of work was yours.” He meets my eyes, bewildered, full of emotion. “It’s the only thing I have left of my dad.”

I look at him, touched.

He takes a seat in the rocking chair, feeling it. A soft smile takes over his face. “Y’know, Gemma was born just a few months before he died. She has no memory of him at all. It’s kinda sad, but I always told her if she ever wondered what he’s like, just come out and take a seat in this chair, and let yourself rock for a bit. He will come to you in your dreams.” He closes his eyes and lays his head back, as if to bask in the starlight. “I don’t know much about how it all happened. My parents sort of shielded me from all of the details. He got sick, from what I understand, then …” Hoyt stops rocking suddenly and gazes up at me. “Sorry. This story doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“Maybe it does.” I crouch next to the chair and take Hoyt’s hand. “You have more than just this chair. You’ve got your dad right here,” I say, putting my hand on his chest, feeling his heart as it beats. “You’re a good man, Hoyt. Like him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.” I bring my hand to the side of his face, stroking his cheek. “I can see it in your eyes. You always strive to be better.”

“I’m not like him. My dad was … such a good man. He’d be so disappointed in me, in how I’ve acted, in who I’ve turned into …”

I bring my lips to Hoyt’s, silencing him.

It only works for five blissful seconds before he pulls away. “I let my dad down, Harrison, and you know it. I’ve got a temper. I have all this rage in me. I don’t know how to love anyone without hurting them. I pushed all my friends away. Hell, the only guy I ever kissed couldn’t move farther away from me.”

“He’s just a few hours away in a beach town, Hoyt, he didn’t run off to Honolulu.”

“I know.”

“And besides.” I take his other hand, too. He meets my eyes. “I kissed you. Several times. Look where I’m at. Right here.”

He stares at me for a while. After a moment, he nods. “You’re right here.”

“Not going anywhere at all. Not running away. Here.”

“Here.”

We both fall silent, staring into each other’s eyes. Then quite suddenly he doesn’t seem to care who’s watching as he brings his lips to mine, kissing me under the moon and the stars. It’s a firm kiss with a tinge of desperation in it—but soon it feels soft, sweet, and tranquil, as if the kiss itself is all the proof Hoyt needs that I won’t vanish the moment our lips part.

He pulls away and chuckles suddenly, letting go of my hands and rising to his feet. After a quick stretch, he turns to me. “I’m thinkin’ I’ve had enough feelin’ sorry for myself for a night.” He nudges me. “Wanna fuck off around town before heading back?”

I lift an eyebrow. “What?”

“C’mon, it’s barely ten. There’s something I wanna do. Let’s go.” He elbows me playfully as he walks past, heading for the door. I give the rocking chair one last look, feeling like I’ve just greeted and abruptly said goodbye to an old friend.

Chapter 19
Harrison

Per Hoyt’s direction—or order, depending on perspective—we take my truck back into town. People are walking the streets. The windows of every restaurant, bar, and café are filled with faces. A movie must have just let out at the Spruce Cinema 5, because we have to stop a while longer at the light to let a crowd of laughing, happy teenagers cross. Saturday night in Spruce hasn’t looked this busy in a long while. I guess that’s thanks to the summer, to the kids being out of school, and to who knows what else—something in the air that’s desperate for fun, sweet relief, and freedom?

Three things we all could use a little bit more of lately.

I pull into the parking lot of Hoyt’s surprise destination and take the first spot I find, lost in the middle somewhere among the crowd of cars. I stare through my windshield, in shock. “Wow, I … I didn’t realize it opened already.”

“The Strong Fitness Zone,” says Hoyt, reading the neon sign glowing over the huge doors. “So much bigger than I imagined it’d be. I heard they have a bunch of dance studios in there, too.”

“Of course. Jimmy’s whole thing is dancing.” I turn to him. “So this is what you wanted to do? Go check out Jimmy and Bobby’s new giant fitness complex?”

He shrugs. “We missed the grand opening last weekend. Let’s go! I heard they have trampolines.” He hops out of the truck and starts making his way before I can sputter, “Trampolines??”

Inside, it’s ten times bigger than it looks on the outside. The left side of the enormous complex is filled with rows of brand new workout machines, all of them apparently color-coordinated by types and muscle groups, with a whole section for treadmills and bikes. A colorful, soft-floored track outlines the entire complex where people can jog. Straight ahead is a nutrition center that appears to serve smoothies, protein shakes, and power bars. Off to the right, there’s a whole gymnasium full of trampolines, padded areas for gymnastics, and a big pit with foam blocks and a rope over it. Along the back, I can see big rooms behind glass walls that are probably used as dance studios, places to do yoga, organized classes, stretches, maybe host birthday parties … I have no idea.

The entire place is so damned big and overwhelming, I’m sure I still haven’t seen the half of it.

“You could fit the whole population of Spruce in here tenfold. They sure they needed all this space?” I ask, staggered.

“Hey, now, no need to go exaggerating. Everything is free all opening week, from what I heard,” he points out. “Except for the ‘Get Strong!’ smoothie bar and class enrollments, of course. Hey, should we get a membership? They’re offering discounts. Shoot, I wish this was around just a year ago. I’d have worked out here instead of the old crummy school gym. Phew, I could’ve gotten a job here, had they been hiring when I was lookin’. Or were they and I didn’t notice? Oh, they got a climbing wall!” Hoyt takes off.

Before I can go after him, I catch sight of Tanner Strong at the large semicircle of a front desk. Of course he’d be here to support his brother’s big opening. “Hey, Tanner!” I call out.

He spins around. “Harry, my man!” Then he rushes right up to me and gives me the biggest, bone-squeezing hug. He matches me in size and muscle, though I can tell he’s put on a few comfort pounds around the middle. His short hair is haphazardly parted in an attempt to tame it, so mirroring his younger brother Jimmy in both style and messiness, and his eyes beam with happiness. He’s in a pair of shorts and a tank, which suggest he might be here to try out the facility in addition to supporting his younger brother.

“Where are Billy and the kids?” I ask him when we part. “Billy mentioned he wasn’t at the Shoppe tonight. I’m guessing he’s—?”

“Here,” Tanner confirms, “and he told me what you’d called him about.” He leans in. “Hoyt’s sister’s birthday party? Wow. I was hoping you two would get along, and I gave you a hard time about not giving him a chance, but hell, I didn’t expect you guys to become best friends.”

He has no fucking idea. “Well …”

“That’s just like you, though, steppin’ in to help wherever you can. Does your heart know any limits? I told you. I said it. You got a big heart, and look at how you glow when you use it!”

“It’s just the decent thing to do. I didn’t think much of it.”

“There you go, bein’ your modest self.” He slaps me right on the shoulder and gives me another half-hug. “So I take it Nowak’s proving himself out there? Got him in a diaper yet to suckle your big daddy titties?” He cracks himself up. “Sorry, sorry! Fuck, it’s still funny as hell. Can’t let you live that one down, bud!”

“Yeah, actually you can,” I say, giving him side eye.

“Look, I have to assume everything’s going great. The boy’s still there after all, right?”

“He’s doing just fine.” I look around. Speaking of, I lost track of him. “I’m happy with the work he’s putting in.”

Among other things he’s … putting in.

Stop it.

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Tanner. “Hey, have you seen Jimmy yet? He’s struttin’ around like the peacock who’s already made a million bucks. That guy … I sure hope we did enough to promote this place, though. I want it to succeed, but damn it, you just never know. Business ventures are always risky.”

“And this is a … mighty big venture,” I agree, glancing around.

“Only time will tell. Bobby seems more worried and sensible, always minding where the money goes. And besides—Oh, hey, are you being run ragged by my uncle or something?” he asks, cutting himself off. “You haven’t been by the ranch since Christmas. Billy said he wants to have you and the guys over for dinner sometime soon. Maybe a Fourth of July thing? We’re inviting the Kings over, too, since their girl is off spending the summer on the beach.”

“Your mom isn’t doing her usual?”

“Nah, she’s gonna be too busy with mayor stuff, since she’s being sworn in last week of June. That’s why we want to throw something together ourselves. Don’t gotta give me an answer now. Just consider it. Toss the idea on the back burner. Hey, you wanna sign up for a membership while you’re here?” he asks suddenly with a nod at the desk behind him. “Discount this week only!”

“I’ll consider it for sure,” I tell him, though it’s unclear if I mean the membership or the gathering. Okay, I have definitely lost Hoyt to the madness. “Hey, if you see Jimmy, can you congratulate him for me? I gotta find Hoyt.”

“Will do! Jimmy’s—Wait. Hoyt’s here? You came with Hoyt??”

“Later, Tanner!”

I head off as he shouts, “Don’t forget the fourth!” at my back. The place is swarming with people. I’m nearly run over by a gaggle of rogue kids racing by when I finally spot Hoyt standing at the entrance to the roped-off rock wall area. He notices me and pouts. “There’s a dumb line,” he says with a roll of his eyes as I approach. “Don’t think I’m gonna get to hop on that wall tonight.”

“I didn’t even realize Spruce had this many people to occupy such a huge space,” I mutter, astounded.

“There’re probably a lot of folks here from Fairview, if I had to guess. Word got around. Fairview also has a big and flashy gym complex, though it’s now old news. They’ve got big competition here with Strong Fitness, for sure! Hope Jimmy and Bobby won’t have to deal with nasty marketing war tactics.” He looks at me. “Y’know what doesn’t have a line, though?”

I quirk an eyebrow in suspicion. “What?”

Five minutes later, we’re standing in front of a wide array of rectangular trampolines set into the floor. Kids and adults alike are bouncing around from trampoline to trampoline, shouting and laughing and having a blast.

And I stare at all of that wicked fun and go, “You want me to jump around with you like a child? Seriously? Hell no.”

Hoyt is already kicking off his shoes. “It’ll be fun! Don’t leave me hangin’ here, Harrison. This’s, like, the after party of my sister’s birthday. We’ve got steam to blow off, and what better way to do it than jump the fuck around??” He rushes up to the trampoline area and hops straight on.

Then I get to watch him turn into a gleeful, laughing child.

As if he wasn’t already enough of one.

“Harrison!” he shouts between jumps. “Get!” Jump. “Your!” Jump. “Ass!” Jump. “Out on the trampolines!!”

I glower at him, in total disbelief that he actually wants me to do this. “Y’know I’m not eighteen anymore. I could break.”

“You’re thirty, healthy, and fit! Shut up! No excuses! Jump!” He stops impressively abruptly. “Y’know what? Maybe you need a bit of help.” He hop-walks his way off the trampoline floor, then marches right up to me.

I back away in protest. “Hey, now!”

Suddenly, he’s crouched at my legs and yanking off my shoes. I nearly lose my balance as I try to fight him off, but Hoyt is ever so stubborn—and strong—and won’t let go. That boy’s got a grip like no other. Before I know it, I’m in my socks, and Hoyt’s grabbed me by the hand like a toddler. “Out! C’mon, big boy! Let’s do it!”

“Big boy?” I laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

We step out onto the trampolines. I underestimate exactly how bouncy the floor is and find myself nearly falling straight on my face before Hoyt catches me. He helps me get upright again, then pats me on the back. “Good, now jump!”

“I’m gonna break this whole thing!”

“Jump, I said! C’mon!”

Hoyt won’t let go of my hands as he starts jumping. I have no choice but to match him so he doesn’t yank my hands straight off of my arms. By the third jump, we’re already way higher than I’m at all comfortable with, the whole world flying upwards, falling downwards, flying upwards again …

And suddenly I’m laughing. “Holy shit!”

“Right?!” he shouts back in my face.

“Fuck me, we’re high!” I let out another manic laugh. “Oh, fuck! Shit! Whoa!”

“Dude, language!” he shouts at me between jumps, trying not to crack up himself. “There are kids around!”

“I know!” I shout, eyes on him. “I’m jumping with one of ‘em!”

Hoyt lets go of my hands, laughing, and starts hopping from trampoline to trampoline. I’m already pretty sure I can’t stop my vertical momentum at this point, so I just stay right where I am, bouncing from Earth to Heaven over and over again. It isn’t long before Hoyt starts showing off his physical talents, going from standing to sitting between his jumps. “Hey, look, watch this!” he shouts before doing a full-on backflip. “Yeah,” I shout back at him, three trampolines away, “I’m not even gonna entertain the idea of trying that, but have fun, you show-off!”

I never realized that the only ingredients to eternal youth are twenty seconds and a bouncy trampoline floor.

I feel like a damned kid again.

It doesn’t end there. “Watch out!” he cries half an hour later when we’ve moved to the foam block pit. He takes off running down the runway, leaps, and catches the rope that hangs over the pit. He’s gathered an audience of children and teenagers by this point, and they cheer him on as he swings and makes obnoxious Tarzan noises, filling the room. “I’m king of the jungle, baby!!”

I’m on the side of the pit, marveling at his boundless energy. I can’t help but laugh and clap along with everyone else, though I’d be lying if I said a part of me wasn’t totally mesmerized by him.

This isn’t the same Hoyt on the farm.

This isn’t the Hoyt I knew as Toby’s tormentor, either.

Hoyt is an enigma I keep thinking I’ve got all figured out, until another onion layer peels right off, revealing yet one more part of his soul I’ve never seen.

Who the hell are you, Hoyt Nowak …?

I have no idea what time it is when we finally leave, but Hoyt is laughing at everything easier than he should be, and I’m feeling as delirious as if I’m drunk without a drop of alcohol in my system. “Where to next?” he asks through his laughter. “Man, we’ve gotta come back to this place, like, every weekend.”

“Gonna need a membership for that,” I point out as I stick the key in the ignition.

“Do we? Can’t you hook us up? You’re Coach Tanner’s bestie.” He frowns. “Coach. Phew, I’ve gotta get out of that habit. He’s just Tanner now. Tanner, Tanner, Tanner.”

“It’s getting late. We should head back.”

“C’mon. Let’s go and get ice cream from T&S’s! I might have to apologize to someone there for being snappish earlier. Or the Cold Spoon! I haven’t been there in forever.”

“You haven’t been there in forever ‘cause it closed, like, three years ago.”

Hoyt gapes at me. “It did??”

I take hold of his hand across the center console. “You and I can have more fun another night, but no matter how late we stay out, we’ve still gotta be up early tomorrow.”

Hoyt lunges over the console and kisses me suddenly.

I’m so stunned, it takes me a second to realize he’s kissing me. At first, it’s like I totally forgot how amazing his kisses make me feel—like I’m right at the peak of a jump on those trampolines, up high in the air, floating, happier than I’ve ever been.

Then I remember I’m in my truck in the middle of a parking lot where anyone and their drunk uncle can see us. I push him off of me. “Hey, hey, contain yourself!”

He laughs. “Why? We could have a little fun while we’re out here, can’t we?”

My heart’s racing just from the look in his eyes. “Hoyt …”

“You’re right.” He bites his lip, then settles back into his seat. “I gotta be a grown man, now. Gotta do grown-man things. Like practice restraint. And be boring, and go to bed early every day for work, and—”

“You alright?”

He reaches abruptly across the console and cups my crotch with a hand, giving it a squeeze. He lifts an eyebrow suggestively and gives me a look that could scare the Devil. “I just thought of another grown-man thing I can do.”

I stare back at him warningly. “Hoyt …”

Before I can stop him, he unzips my pants, slips my dick right out, and wraps his mouth around it.

My very first instinct is to grab him and pull him right off of it with some huffy protest about public parking lots and staying out too late and other adulty, responsible, daddyish insistence.

The next instinct, I grab the steering wheel to brace myself, drop my jaw, and feel the joyous edges of paradise.

All of that boundless energy I applauded earlier, he’s still got it, and now I’m experiencing a full-scale pleasurable assault of it.

“One day,” he says when he comes up for air, “I’m gonna fit this whole thing in my mouth.”

I stare down at him, for a moment pulled back to reality. “You gotta stop doing that, Hoyt. We’re not in the barn. We’re out in—”

“I know. Isn’t it exciting??”

He goes down on me again.

I rock my eyes back and suppress a whimper of delight.

Is he unwinding me, or am I unwinding him? Is he driving me crazy, or have I uncaged a beast in him that’ll forever refuse to be put back in? Who is responsible? We’re like a dangerous chemical reaction that’s been waiting to happen. Scientists couldn’t figure out a way to keep us apart. The world of Spruce, Texas is doomed to a certain end now that we’ve mixed our forbidden chemistry.

And I can’t get enough.

I want more of it, whatever this is that keeps me from my old, strict, bound-by-the-rules self. I’m free for the first time in my life.

Hoyt sets me free.

And yes, I do realize I’m making these revelations while he’s got his lips around my cock.

But how else am I supposed to feel? I thought this was it for me at thirty. Just me, the animals, and my honest work. Smiling at my friends’ successes. Cheering Tanner and Billy on for another year together. Swallowing my pride and telling myself I’m happy for Lance and Chad, despite my empty heart crying every night.

Then Hoyt comes along. And he pushes his way into my life. And he insists to stay. And he refuses not to be looked at.

He refuses not to be adored.

“Fuck …” Hoyt is performing way too efficiently. It’s not much longer before I’m close. “You gotta pull back.”

He lifts up, but keeps his mouth at the tip of my cock when he twists his face to get a look at me. “Why?”

“I’m about to explode, that’s why.”

“And that’s a problem because …?”

“Because I’m not gonna come in your mouth.”

Hoyt considers it for a moment. Then he turns his cheek. “Can you come on my face, then? C’mon, I want it.” He drags his tongue up the sensitive underside of my cock, causing me to squirm.

I swallow a groan. “Hoyt, I’m warning you …”

“So am I.” He gives me a few strokes of his hand. “C’mon.”

“Hoyt …”

“Not that I’m givin’ you much of a choice,” he teases, then gives me a few more strokes, then a few faster ones, and then he doesn’t stop as he jerks me off over his cheek.

I can’t stop it. The next thing I know, I’m letting out a sigh of complete abandon, as wave after wave of pleasure rockets through my body. I stare down at Hoyt, taking in his look of delight as I let out rope after rope across his smiling cheek. He strokes my cock throughout the whole orgasm, heightening all of the sensations to a point that it’s almost too much to bear.

When I’m finished, Hoyt lets my cock slap its way right back into the confines of my underwear, now wet, and sits up. “Now that was a nightcap if I ever saw one,” he says with a proud laugh, then pulls down the sun visor to get a look at himself in its mirror. “Damn, you just about covered my whole left cheek!”

I stare at him, still catching my breath, a dreamy half-smile on my face. “And I guess you’re gonna wear that on you all the way back, ‘cause I don’t have any tissues in here.”

“I ain’t complainin’,” says Hoyt, grinning at himself in the mirror, inspecting it like I just gave him a makeover.

Is this really my life?

I pull out of the parking lot, then make my way along the edge of town toward the country roads. Soon, the lights of the heart of Spruce are behind us, and the long stretch of road leading toward Fairview lies before us. Halfway there, I pull off into the long and winding driveway that takes us through the fields, lit only by my headlights, right up to the side of my cabin, where I kill the engine and hop out of the truck.

“Quite a night, huh?” he asks, stepping out, too.

“Yeah. Late one at that.”

“Right.” He lingers by the truck, only a bit of his face lit by the light coming off of my porch. “Late.”

I glance at the bunkhouse. No light comes from it. The others must be asleep already and didn’t wait up for Hoyt to return from his little sister’s birthday party. “Judging from the darkness in the mudroom, even Turtle’s gone to sleep. Looks like it’s your chance to sneak in and take a shower.”

“And wake everyone up?” Hoyt snorts and thrusts his hands into his pockets. “Nah, not sure ‘bout that.”

I lift an eyebrow. “So you’d rather go to bed with … all of that on your face?”

He adopts a playful look, then saunters over to me. “What’s wrong? Don’t like seeing you all over my face?”

I glance at the bunkhouse again. “Hoyt …”

He draws closer. “C’mon. Kiss me. Give me a big ol’ kiss at the very least before you send me off to that lonely-ass bunkhouse.”

Tonight has been a series of tests. Tests of bravery. Tests of patience. Tests of how far I’m willing to stretch the notion of what others think of me, what they believe, or what they suspect. How many people saw us having ridiculous fun together at the Strong Fitness Zone? I can’t even say. I was barely paying attention.

All of my usual caution is on vacation tonight.

For whatever reason.

For however long.

I take hold of Hoyt, hug his waist against my own with hunger I don’t think I’ll ever satisfy, then press my lips to his for a kiss. I can smell myself all over him. It drives me even wilder as I lose every bit of control I was pretending to cling to. Our kiss deepens.

Between our kisses, he breathes a question. “Can we …?”

Well, half a question. “Can we what?”

“Go inside? I don’t think I’m ready to go to the bunkhouse.”

I thought this might happen. I was nearly certain of it the whole ride home, feeling him cling to me like a lovesick puppy.

I’ve always longed for a guy to cling to me like that. For a guy to put me first, above all. For a special, amazing guy to want me in ways I never thought anyone could.

Maybe I’m not ready to retire to my bed alone, either.

I take him inside and shut the door. Hoyt slinks in, kicks off his shoes by my bed, then slowly pulls his shirt off. I’m stuck at the door, glued to the sight of his body as it reveals itself to me. Then he unbuttons his pants, slips them off, and drops them at the foot of the bed. I think he’s done when he then pulls down his boxer-briefs, steps out of them, and tosses them casually onto my desk on his way to my bathroom. His tight buns dance for my eyes as he slowly saunters inside, then leaves the door wide open as he turns on the shower. He pulls open the shower curtains and peers at me over his shoulder. His eyes are sharp and determined. His jaw is set, tight and strong. His youth in this moment is only present in his pretty face, the rest of him full of knowing confidence, virile and strong. The tiniest smirk teases its way onto his lips before he steps in, and the curtains sweep him out of sight.

Tonight, my soul is alive. I’m set free, in every way I’ve ever dreamed of being set free.

I take off my clothes piece by piece. Then, heart drumming, I walk into the bathroom, pull open the curtain, and join my man in a cloak of steam, water, and his sweet, sweet kisses.

Chapter 20
Hoyt

We stayed up so dang late.

We cuddled on his bed, stared up at the ceiling, and talked on and on about our lives, sharing the most random things.

I told him about the ghost story game I always play with my sister. I told him about a time I almost burned down the house trying to cook breakfast. I told him about this time I snuck friends over and had a party when I was supposed to be babysitting.

I had Harrison in tears of laughter, as we cuddled against one another, his warm body enveloping mine.

We kissed a lot, too.

A lot.

“Remember to set your alarm,” he told me at one point. I took my phone off the nightstand to do it, then suddenly remembered a story I’d forgotten and had to tell him.

There’s no telling when we finally drifted off.

But when we wake up …

“FUCK!” shouts Harrison, bolting up so fast, I nearly fall off of my side of the bed. He’s on his feet scrambling around the cabin, fumbling through drawers for his clothes. “Get up, Hoyt!”

I rub the sleep out of my eyes. Sunlight pours in through the windows. “Shit, it’s mornin’ already?”

“I can’t believe we slept through both of our alarms!” he snaps as he hops in place, tugging a pair of socks on.

I glance at my phone, then am struck by guilt. “Oh, shoot. I … I must’ve forgotten to set mine.”

“Fucking forgotten,” mutters Harrison, furious, as he pulls on a pair of pants so fast, he nearly tears off a leg. “Damn it.”

“It’s alright!” I assure him as I get out of bed and start to put on my clothes from last night, with no other options. “Turtle does the animals pretty much every day, too. They won’t starve.”

“They won’t starve,” parrots Harrison, annoyed. “You can’t just trust everything will get done, or that others will pick up your slack. You can’t—”

“Dude, I know that. I said I’m sorry.”

“Actually, you haven’t yet. Not that it makes a difference.” He pulls on a shirt, slaps a hat on his head, then heads for the door.

I can understand being pissed, but what the hell? “Harrison.”

He stops.

I pull on my shirt, then get to my feet, my pants dangling in my fist. “I’m sorry, Harrison. I got caught up last night, and … and maybe I took things too far. But I was havin’ fun. Weren’t you? I think you deserve to have some fun in your life.”

He closes his eyes. Harrison’s effort in gathering his patience and cooling off from his kneejerk explosion of anger is obvious.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, softer.

His eyes snap open. “It’s nearly eleven, Hoyt. Get your pants on, and …” He lets out a sigh, then closes his eyes again.

I toss my pants at the bed and come up to him. Standing in front of him, I feel his slow, steady breaths on me. I reach and take hold of his hand. He lets me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He nods. “Turtle … probably started with the animals.”

“Yeah, he did,” I assure him without even knowing.

Harrison speaks with his eyes still closed. “Turtle is … exactly the type to just pick up others’ slack without asking. Even if he seems like he’s stoned off his butt twenty-five-seven.”

“Twenty-five hours a day, yep,” I say, going along with it. “We can have Mars-length days if you want, it’s all good.”

He peeks an eye open. “Mars has twenty-five hours a day?”

“The only subject I did great in for whatever reason.” I pull him closer. “Look, I was havin’ a tough night. You were just makin’ sure I was okay. I crashed on your floor.”

He gives me a look. “What’s this?”

“In case anyone asks. You have nothing to worry about, okay? I’m your responsibility, so it makes sense. Hell, we’re basically best friends now.” I give him a reassuring squeeze of his arms. “Sound legit to you? Sounds great to me. Good cover, too, for why we’re around each other so much lately.”

“Cover …” Harrison sucks on his tongue for a moment, then sighs. “Alright. I’m going.”

“Everything’s alright, I swear.”

“Sure.” He gives my shoulder a halfhearted pat, takes a deep breath, then sees himself out. I stay at the door for a second before going on my way, too.

Why do I get the feeling today’s gonna be a long day?

For a moment, I’m in a panic as I hurry out to the animals. But upon inspecting them, I’m relieved to find them tended to. From the pigs to the chicken and the sheep, everyone looks happy and fed. I spot Turtle near the toolshed, where he seems to be toying with a machine part of some kind. He spots me, gives me a mild nod, then continues his work. The others must be out in the fields.

Feeling like everything is in order, I decide to push away all of my worries and carry on, looking for something to do.

With such a late start to my day, it isn’t much longer before I spot some of the others trotting back from the fields on horseback for lunch. Emmalea spots me near the paddocks and gallops right up to my side. “Well, well, you’re an early starter!” she calls out.

I wince. “I know, I’m sorry, I just—”

“I mean, to wake up and start your day before any of us were even awake? And after staying out late for your sister’s big party?” She lets out a laugh. “Boy, I want a sip of whatever magic coffee you drink that gets you up so fast.”

I blink. Wait a sec. “Oh, well, I—”

“Don’t sweat it.” Lea swings off her horse and hands me the reins. “Take care of her. I need to go start lunch. Fred’s in a mood today and doesn’t wanna do the cookin’. I swear, I round everyone up so much, I oughta be named the damned forewoman for keepin’ this place goin’ some days.” Then off she goes.

And I’m left with the horse, staring at me from the side of her long face. I swear there’s a hint of suspicion in her eye, like she knows what we’ve done in the horse barn, but won’t say, because she’s a super cool horse who keeps secrets.

Did the others even notice I was gone?

Well, when a cover story writes itself and falls into your lap, who are you to try and change it?

Soon, I’m hanging out on the front step of the bunkhouse in the small sliver of shade the wall provides at this time of day. I’m not-so-patiently waiting on Harrison to come back. He’s later than usual, which wouldn’t normally bother me, if it wasn’t for the day and current circumstances.

That’s when I hear murmuring around the corner, coming from Harrison’s cabin. It throws me, since I didn’t think he’d have come around the back way to his place. Curious, I creep along the side of the bunkhouse and poke my head out. I spot Harrison and Gary in the middle of a conversation on the porch. Harrison has a pensive, serious expression, no smiles, and after every few words that Gary says to him, Harrison nods. I can’t make out the words, but Gary’s tone doesn’t sound altogether harsh or reprimanding, so I have to assume it isn’t anything bad.

Of course, Gary never sounds harsh or reprimanding, so I guess even if it is something bad he’s come over here to chat with him about, I’d never know.

Quite suddenly Gary seems done. He pats Harrison on both of his shoulders, says something else, then turns, heading off the porch and walking away, likely back to the main house. Harrison is left standing there, his face still tense and expressionless.

I waste no time and make my way across the yard. Harrison looks up when he sees me approaching, but his face remains cold.

I stop at the foot of the porch. “What’d Gary want?”

Harrison doesn’t answer. After a moment, he leans against the banister, crosses his arms, and stares off, gnawing on his lip.

Alright, this can’t be good. “Harrison?”

“It was Gary.”

I lift an eyebrow, not following. “Gary …?”

“He’s the one who woke up early and fed the animals, did the rounds, all of it.” He’s still staring off. “He was feeling happy this morning, woke up early, and thought he’d come and do you a little favor, on account of your being out late last night.”

I gawk at him. “Really? That’s … awful kind of him.”

“Until he realized you had no intention of waking up at all. Until he realized that if he hadn’t woken up and so generously performed his random act of kindness, the animals would not have been fed. He even waited around, enjoying the morning air, and was sure he’d see you at some point or another so he could ask all about your sister’s birthday party, how your family’s doing …”

My stomach sinks further and further into the earth with his every word. “I … I fucked up.”

“No. I fucked up. I’m just as much to blame for not waking up on time.”

“Harrison, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He faces me. “I’m not mad at you, Hoyt. I’m mad at myself. There were several times last night I could’ve said no, or could’ve insisted we come back, call it a night …”

“I wouldn’t let you,” I remind him. “I pushed us to stay out.”

“I could have set a second alarm myself,” he goes on. “There are a million things I could’ve done. Look, this was just one time, one morning, but … reputation really matters to me. My duties matter to me. This farm …” He takes off his hat, wipes his brow of sweat, then pops it back on. “This farm is my life.”

“I know. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Harrison. I really am.”

“I know you are. It’s fine.” He finally pushes away from the banister. “By the way, you had a raging case of diarrhea last night. Too much birthday cake.”

I’m about to apologize again when his words stop me. “Wait. Say what?”

“That’s what I told Gary. Why you crashed on my floor, to not wake up the others with your constant trips to the bathroom. Why you slept in. And why I forgot to set my own alarm or whatever.”

I’m sputtering. “Are you … Are you serious? Jeez, couldn’t you come up with a less graphic lie? Thought we had a story already!”

He goes to his door, then glances over a shoulder at me. “You know what’s the worst part? I never once lied to Gary.” He sighs and opens the door. “Until today.” He eyes me. “Go to lunch, Hoyt. The others will wonder where you are.”

He closes the door behind him.

I stare at it for a solid minute before returning to reality.

Lunch hour is weird as fuck. Apparently, Gary caught hold of Emmalea just before heading back to the main house, and now all of the farm knows about my nonexistent bowel dilemma last night. As I eat, it’s difficult not to interpret every concerned glance my way as someone wondering whether I’m gonna need to race to the bathroom to prevent Armageddon. Each time Emmalea looks at me especially, I see deep concern and sympathy in her eyes.

Concern and sympathy I don’t deserve.

And don’t want.

I was right about today feeling like a long one. Long doesn’t cover it.

By dinnertime, I still haven’t seen Harrison. I excuse myself from the table—which for one terrified second pauses everyone’s conversations, like they think I’m about to drop a nuclear warhead in the toilet—and head to the mudroom to get a look at the cabin across the yard. The lights are on. Harrison is probably keeping to himself tonight. I stand there at the screen door, glowering.

Do I give him space? Do I go over and demand that he talk to me? Do I just stand here and fume?

“You okay?”

I jump at the sound of Turtle’s voice. “You walk so damned quiet,” I note, “you missed your calling as an assassin.”

“Heh. Funny.” Turtle comes up to the screen door, dead-eyed and curious. “We lookin’ at somethin’ …?”

The nice thing about Turtle is that small talk is easy. Nothing surprises or bothers him. I decide to be honest. “I was wondering if Harrison’s planning on joining us for dinner or not.”

“Hmm.” He gazes across the yard, squinting. Then he faces me expressionlessly. “So are you guys a couple?”

I stare at him. Hard.

What did he just ask me …?

Turtle stands there like a statue, blank-faced and waiting. He does that alarmingly well: standing perfectly still, patient, a robot waiting for its next input, programmed to blink every five or six seconds so it seems just barely human enough.

I swallow hard, then finally come to. “What …? No. Why?”

In a tone as level and boring as dirt, he says: “I see you go over there at night. I see you guys go together many times a day, often to a secluded place like the toolshed, like that one day I ran into you both. I see you guys smile at each other in ways that suggest you two have history—current history. Late last night, I saw you two come back together, then go into his cabin, which you never left. And before you went in, I saw you two kissing by his truck.”

With every word he utters, my heart climbs higher up my body, until it finds an impossible home somehow in my face. Each beat makes my eyes bulge and my teeth clatter.

I can feel my own fear in my eyelashes.

We haven’t been as careful as we thought.

“I’m observant,” says Turtle casually, then shrugs. “It’s a gift.”

A gift, he calls this. I turn back to the screen door, speechless.

What do I say? What would Harrison want me to say?

“I won’t tell no one,” he says in his perfect drone. “That has to happen in y’all’s own time. My cousin Ethan’s gay. I know all about respecting your privacy.”

Now that’s rare. “Okay.”

Turtle lets out a snort. “I’m the only other person here who’s actually from Spruce, like you and Harrison. I know the town isn’t all that respectful with keeping people’s secrets—or keeping its nose out of ‘em. But I am. I don’t know much about much,” he goes on, “but what I do know, I know well. I respect others’ privacy. I’d ask if your stomach is good, but I’m guessing it was never bad.”

After a moment of staring at Harrison’s cabin, still in shock, I slowly nod. “Totally fine.”

“Good. If you wanna hear a new song, I’ll be singing it tonight. Do you think Lea likes me?”

That pulls me out of my thoughts. “Lea? She’s old enough to be your—” I stop myself, realizing I’m being a hypocrite here.

Turtle shrugs. “She has nice hair.”

I glance back at the yard. “Who am I to judge what makes you happy? Go for it.”

“It doesn’t make me happy yet. It makes me confused. Song’s about a sheep and a horse who fall in love, by the way.”

Turtle sniffles loudly for no apparent reason, which I guess is his way of ending the conversation. Then he turns and heads back through the kitchen to the house, his feet barely making a sound.

I’m left staring at Harrison’s cabin, wondering if that’s what we are: a sheep and a horse, trying to make sense out of all of this, trying to pretend like a real relationship between us isn’t totally impossible …

But am I the horse or the sheep?

Chapter 21
Harrison

The folded-up sheet of paper weighs heavily in my hand.

I’ve been staring at it for far too long in the dim nighttime lighting of my cabin and having too many thoughts, struggling to form a specific feeling about it—and the words printed on it.

Maybe it’s okay to not feel any certain way. I can just sit here and feel nothing at all, if I wanted. I happen to do that pretty well, even without a supplement of alcohol from the bunkhouse.

Yeah. That sounds optimal.

Let’s not feel anything.

I toss the folded-up sheet of paper onto my desk, having decided not to decide how I feel, and head for the shower. The hot water is running and I’m down to just my briefs when the door to my cabin swings wide open without even the courtesy of a knock.

I turn to find Hoyt standing there, pensive, glowering.

What a shocker.

“Sorry to just burst in like this—” he starts.

“No, you aren’t.”

“—but I just can’t let it go. I don’t want you to lie to Gary or ruin your reputation or compromise your morals. Especially not for me.” Hoyt slaps the door shut behind him and comes right up to the bathroom doorway, fully dressed and arms crossed. “Won’t have you do that. And I ain’t worth it.”

My eyes dance up and down him, head to toe. “Alright.”

He flinches. “Alright …? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“You caught me in my underwear. The shower’s running. Yes, that’s all I’ve got to say. ‘Alright.’ Just said it again.” I peel off my underwear, then open the shower curtains.

He flings them shut and faces me. “Harrison.”

I look at him. “Whatever you’ve got to say, Hoyt, just out with it, please, don’t tap dance around it for an hour before saying what you came here to say.”

Hoyt squints at me in suspicion. “You seem like you already know what I’m here to say.”

“You putting in your two weeks’ notice?”

His lips part. Then he squints even more. “Say what?”

“There you go, tap dancing like you always do. I’ll save you the trouble and the breath.” I give a nod at my desk. “Guess you dropped it out of your jeans pocket last night.”

He looks confused for a second, turning to gaze at the desk. After a moment of reluctance, he heads over to it, looking around. “Am I supposed to be seein’ somethin’ here?”

“That piece of paper. Folded up by the lamp.”

His eyes land on it. He picks it up, for a second seeming not to even know what it is. Then he opens it. “Oh. This.”

“That.” I pull the shower curtains open again and step inside.

“Yeah, some chick at the front desk of Strong Fitness Zone,” he goes on, talking to me from the other room, “she tossed this application at me when we were heading out. Forgot about it.”

“She put her number on it, too,” I remind him.

I hear the crinkle of paper as he turns it over. He must have brought it with him into the bathroom. “Huh. Didn’t notice.”

“It’s okay, y’know. If you want to call her.”

“Huh …?”

“Or if you were planning on filling out that application. Get a job at the Strong Fitness Zone. Might be more your speed. Fun. Lot of people your age working there.”

“Wait a sec,” he protests. “Where’s this comin’ from?”

“Not to mention the pay,” I go on as I lather up some soap in my pits, “which very well might be better than here. Though it’s hourly, so not sure if that’s reliable. Depends on how Jimmy and Bobby are running things.”

“Wait, wait, stop.” He pokes his head in around the curtain. “What are you even talkin’ about?”

I eye him. “I know you said you didn’t mean the words, but in the truck, you said all of this is just for now. ‘My summer job,’ you called it, and nothing more. You insisted you’re not a farmer.”

His eyes harden. “I meant it when I said I didn’t mean them.”

“But they came from somewhere, Hoyt. I saw your eyes light up last night when you were having fun with your sister. And at the gym, leaping into big pits full of foam blocks, eyeing that big rock wall, jumping on trampolines … You were in your element.”

“You were havin’ fun, too!”

“I don’t wanna keep you from living your life. Out here, you’ll just suffocate.”

He reaches into the shower, shuts off the water, then glares at me. “Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not, Hoyt. Those were literally your words.” I turn the water back on.

He twists it right back off. “Turtle knows.”

I was reaching for the shower knob again, then freeze and look at him. “He knows what?”

“Us. You. Me. Everything. He’s secretly a ninja and as wise and knowing and sharp-eyed as a fucking actual turtle.”

I stare at the shower curtain, surprised.

“Was it the toolshed …?” I ask, trying to piece it together. “Did he actually catch us that day in the toolshed? Or—?”

“What does it matter?” Hoyt cuts me off, then shoves a towel at me. “I’m not puttin’ in my two weeks’ notice. I didn’t keep this stupid application in my pocket for any special, secret reason. I forgot all about it, in fact.”

I guess I’m gonna have to live with half a shower tonight. I take the towel and start drying off. “Hoyt, this is about more than just that sheet of paper. This is about your long-term happiness. You have goals and dreams. You want to attend college. You need money for that. You also want a vehicle. You need money for that. Like I said, the pay at Spruce Fitness Zone—”

“Strong Fitness Zone,” he corrects me.

I snort. “See? You’re already in the mindset.” I step out of the shower, stroll over to my dresser, and put on some briefs. “Y’know what? Maybe this is just one more sign.”

“I don’t believe in stupid signs,” sasses Hoyt, leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom.

“You should, because you’re being showered in them. That application in your pocket that’s now in your hand. Your family last night at your sister’s birthday party. Some girl’s number.”

“Pfft, I don’t even like girls that way.”

“And now Turtle’s figured us out.”

“I can’t escape the way I feel. I … I can’t help how deep these … these feelings of mine are for you.”

I face him. “You need to live your life, Hoyt. Your real one.”

“I am!”

“This heated thing we’ve got going on between us … despite how perfect it seems, despite how deep and inescapable you think your feelings are for me … it’s just summer sweat off our backs.”

“Like hell it is!”

“A fling. You opened my eyes. I opened yours. And it’s over.”

“No, it ain’t.”

After slipping on some loose shorts, I come up to him, my face in his. “It doesn’t mean it wasn’t worthwhile. It meant a lot to me. It means a lot to me. But you’re young …”

“I wish you’d quit fuckin’ talking to me like a child.”

“… and one day, you’ll realize I was right in setting you free.”

“You’re wrong.” He takes hold of my head and presses his lips to mine with force. “You’re wrong, Harrison. We’re not a summer fuckin’ fling, you bastard.” He kisses me even harder, pushing me back until I’m against the desk. “What we got, it’s more than that, and you damn well know it. You’re just being your stubborn self.”

“You’ve gotta go, Hoyt.”

“Kiss me back. Fucking kiss me back.”

“I gave this a lot of thought. All day. All evening. All night, up to just mere minutes before you barged in on my shower. I know it’s the right thing to do.”

He lets go of me with a huff and steps back, furious. “Why are you just givin’ up on me like this? I said I don’t want anyone else. I like it out here. I like spending time with you. I think I …” His eyes turn wet and his lips tremble. “I think I’m fuckin’ in love with you, Harrison.”

I sigh. “You don’t know what that is.”

“Stop tellin’ me what I know or don’t know!”

I stare at the floor for a while. He doesn’t say anything more, his words lingering in my ears along with the soft dripping sound my shower always makes after it’s been turned off.

In truth, I’m not sure about this.

I might sound sure, but I’m riddled with so much doubt that it aches to see Hoyt almost crying in front of me.

I think I’m fuckin’ in love with you, Harrison.

Why did he have to say those words? He’s young. He’s full of emotions he doesn’t understand yet. I’m his first everything. He’s my first everything. We’re both ill-equipped to deal with this.

All I know is that my feelings for him are intense.

Incredibly intense.

That’s why I can’t rely on my feelings to make a decision on what’s right. I have to reason it out. I have to consider what our lives could look like a year from now. Five years. Ten. Is he really willing to be the twenty-eight-year-old hottie who has resigned to being a young house husband to a man who complains about his back after a long, hard day of work and takes blood pressure meds because he’s concerned about his health and pushing forty?

Hoyt won’t consider any of this. All he’s driven by is emotion. Passion. What he wants.

Not what he needs.

That part’s up to me to help him see.

“Hoyt …”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I’m in love with you.”

“I don’t deserve that,” I tell him. “You need to be saying those words to someone you met out there in the real world. You’re only saying those words to me ‘cause we got stuck on this farm together by circumstances out of our control.”

“Bullshit.”

“Take that job.” I nod at the application, which he still holds on to, now crinkled by his tensed grip. “You’ll see. In just a matter of a week, I’d reckon. You’ll realize how much better off you are.”

“No.”

“Hoyt, I’m telling you …”

The next instant, he balls up the application and throws it at a tiny waste bin I keep in the corner. It misses and hits the floor. “I ain’t goin’ to that fucking gym. I’m staying right here.”

I sigh, then pick up the wad of paper and begin to patiently smooth it out against the edge of the desk. Another moment with no words passes—just breaths and heat and tension. Hoyt sits on the edge of my bed suddenly, his eyes on my efforts. When I finish, I present the application to him again.

“It’s still crinkled,” he says.

“Whose fault is that? Here.”

He swipes it out of my hands, then stares at me challengingly. His breaths are slow yet forceful, as if we just got done wrestling around in the pig pen again.

When he speaks, his voice is soft. “You really want me to go?”

Of course I don’t. Don’t ask me that. Let this be easy, to let you go. “I want what’s best for you, Hoyt. And I think it’s best for you.”

“Even if I don’t want to go?”

“What we want now … doesn’t matter as much as … what we’ll realize we should have wanted later on.”

Hoyt doesn’t move for a while. Then he falls back on the bed with the application pressed to his chest and stares at the ceiling. “I hate life sometimes.”

I sit on the bed and lie down next to him. “Me too.”

“What you want, you can’t have. What you should want turns out to be bad for you. Or wrong timing. Or some other dang thing gets in the way.” He turns his head to face me. “Are you sure?”

I turn my face to his, too.

His sweet, puppy-dog eyes.

His half-pouting lips, which look unfairly kissable right now.

No, I want to say. I’m not sure at all. Stay one more night. Keep my bed warm. Prove to me how fucking wrong I am about this.

Instead: “Yes. I’m sure.”

Hoyt sighs. Then he gets up and moves to the door. He glances down at the wrinkled-up application. “Guess I’ll … talk to Gary. At least this time, I’ll actually tell him before I just up and go.”

“I’m sorry, Hoyt.”

He doesn’t look at me, his eyes still on the application. “Me too,” he whispers, then leaves.

Chapter 22
Hoyt

We pull up in front of the complex and come to a stop. I tug on the top button of my dress shirt, annoyed at how it chokes my neck. “Still think this doesn’t need to be done up all the way.”

“Looks most professional,” insists my mom. “The job still isn’t guaranteed to you, y’know, just because Tanner put in a word for you and his brother—”

“I know, I know. Besides, I don’t want a handout. I wanna earn this myself on my own merit.”

She pats me on the thigh. “Go win it, son.”

I try to smile, then realize I can’t. I let out a deep breath, then eye her. “That’s what you used to say before all my games.”

“Isn’t that what life is? Just one big game? Go win it!” she then repeats with more zest.

One big game.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

“Thanks, Mom.” I reach for the handle.

She takes my other hand suddenly. I stop and look at her. She leans over the center console, puts a kiss on my cheek, then says, “I don’t want you thinking about anything else when you’re with the interviewer. Stay focused. Keep your answers short. Confident. Chin up. You deserve whatever you want outta life, you hear me?”

Don’t think about anything else.

Not the farm. Not the sweet animals.

Not Harrison.

Not the warm embrace of his arms. Nor the soft touch of his lips on mine, full and plush and pliable. And definitely not how sexy he looks when you’ve caught him in a state of undress, like you did last night in his cabin.

Right before saying goodbye.

To him. To the others. To the farm.

My heart isn’t in it, but I pretend like it is when I smile and pat my mother’s hand. “I appreciate it.”

“Now go … win … it!”

After she shoos me out of the vehicle, I approach the building, which is considerably quieter than it was the other night. Inside, I see a number of people occupying the workout section, walking around enjoying the facilities. With a glance the other way, I see what looks like a couple of organized birthday parties going on by the trampolines and gymnastics area. It feels a little strange to come in here without the intention to have fun.

Leaving the farm was annoyingly easy. All of the others, from Emmalea to Fred to Miguel, even Rust, and of course Turtle, were sad to see me go, but wished me well on my future endeavors—whatever they ended up being. Gary was totally understanding, providing no resistance whatsoever with my decision to leave. He said that while he appreciated my help, I could leave knowing full well that the farm would be taken care of by those remaining, as I expressed worry that I’d be leaving him shorthanded. After he cut me a check for my last few days, I bid him farewell, then sat out on his front porch, waiting for my mom to come pick me up. I spent the next twenty minutes staring off at the bunkhouse and cabin across the field, trying my best to ignore the pangs in my heart.

I’d already started missing the farm and hadn’t even left yet.

“Hi there, Hoyt!”

I come out of my thoughts to find that same chick at the front desk. She clearly spotted me before I spotted her, because her eyes are all on me. She seems to have just spruced up her long, wavy blonde hair, bringing it all to one side where it cascades over her perky boobs. She smiles at me and wiggles her fingers for a wave.

Phew, here we go. I walk up to the counter. “Hey there. I’m here for my—”

“It’s Rhea,” she says.

I blink. “What?”

“My name. I wrote it on the application I gave you, along with my number.”

“Sorry, right. Hi, Rhea.” I try on a smile. “I’m here for—”

“An interview, I know. Jimmy’s gonna conduct it himself.”

“Oh, is he?”

“Yep. Did you know we danced together back in high school?” She chuckles at herself, throws her hair, then shrugs. “Of course, I didn’t know he was gay back then …”

“I think he’s bi, actually.”

“… otherwise I’d have stopped barking up that tree. Anyway, we’re friends now, Jimmy and I, and he’s given me a nice job here at the receptionist desk, so that’s something, right??” She laughs, bubbly and soft. “Oh, I hope you get the job, Hoyt! You’d be a great addition to the team! Not to mention how much fun we’d have!”

Yeah, I’m sure she’s got all sorts of ideas of what kind of “fun” we’d have. Sorry, but all of those ideas are fantasies that’ll never happen.

I take a patient breath. “Is there a place I go for the interview? Or should I just—”

“Jimmy’ll come get you himself when he’s ready. You can just hang out here and chat with me if you want.”

She smiles and tilts her head.

I smile back, lips flat and strained.

From out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone emerging from the workout area. It’s Julio in a pair of blue Nike gym shorts and a loose white tank. He stops when he sees me. The pair of us are like bulls with horns locked, staring warily at one another, as if unsure what the other will do.

He gives me a chin-lift, breaking the ice.

I return it mildly. “Hey, man.”

He flings his workout towel over his left shoulder, then slowly approaches. He gives my outfit a nod. “What’re you all dressed up for? Job interview? What position you going for? Manager?”

I shrug. “Dress to impress, right?”

“If you say so.”

Things still feel stiff and awkward between us. He looks like he’s either waiting for an apology, for an explanation, or for me to just go off on him again.

I decide to give him all three. “I’m sorry I went at you a couple nights ago. I was touchy about the whole farmer thing, sure, but you were being a dick.”

He shrugs. “I thought it was funny. Benji would’ve, too, if he’d been there. Hell, even Lee laughed, and that guy never laughs. Just can’t picture you doing farm work.”

“Well, now you don’t have to.” I give my application a smack of my hand. “Trying to get a job here now. I left the farm.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Why’d you leave?”

“Wasn’t for me.”

“Hmm.” He crosses his arms, looking me over. “This getup doesn’t look like you, either.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

He meets my eyes, a glint of defiance in them. “Maybe if you want me to know you better, you should just start … talking.”

I stare back at him, hard, jaw tensed.

He doesn’t so much as blink, matching my intensity.

Rhea, who clearly can’t handle the tension, chimes in with another of her bubbly laughs. “You know, my friends and I would bicker, like, all the time, and whenever we got like that, we’d just go and do something together that we loved. Usually it was going to the Beauty Boutique in Fairview, or taking a trip down to the beach, but sometimes—”

The words snap out of my mouth: “I’m gay.”

Julio’s face remains exactly the same.

Rhea’s does not. She looks at each of us, confused, the rest of her story hanging on her lips, unspoken.

Finally Julio lets out a sigh and shrugs. “Okay. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Not really.”

“Obviously I knew,” he goes on, “thanks to Toby. Why did you keep it from me all this time? Shit, if I’d known that was the reason you were all weirdly focused on him all these years, I’d have—”

“Wait, wait, slow down.” I let out a chuckle and lift my hands. “I only just recently realized that’s what was happening all those years with Toby, okay? It’s not all cut and dry like that. In fact, I wasn’t completely sure until after I started working on the farm, and …” I realize that maybe I shouldn’t say any more, considering he did just see me out with Harrison the other night. It isn’t really in my place to out both of us. “… and did a lot of soul searching,” I finish vaguely. “Now you know. It’s … out there. I’ve said it.”

“Yep, you said it,” agrees Julio, his expression softening. Then slowly, a smile stretches over his face. “I’m so proud of you.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Proud?”

Then he comes in for a hug so fast, it almost knocks me over. He slaps my back three times, hard and loud, then pulls away with the biggest grin on his face. “So fuckin’ proud of you,” he says yet again. Are those tears in his eyes? “Now I don’t gotta act weird in front of Benji when he asks who you’re summer-flinging it with—”

“‘Summer-flinging it’??”

“—and why you don’t return his calls—”

“I said it was bad reception!”

“I’ve been keeping this damned secret in since last fall, man. Fuck, why’d you do that to me?? Never mind. Hey, you want to tell Benji and Lee? Or should I?”

“Uh …”

“Actually, why don’t you do it yourself? Got any plans after your interview? We’re hanging out at G-Man’s tonight to game. No Stacey, just us guys.”

While Rhea continues to stare at us in complete bafflement, I nod at Julio. “That sounds great, man.”

He comes up close. “Hey, I know you were bummed out about not getting accepted into UT, and it’s shitty how competitive the whole thing is, but Benji and I were throwing around the idea of getting a place near campus together. And …” He eyes me. “… we thought it might be bad ass if you came with us.”

That news has my eyes growing double. “Wait, what?”

“Rent split two ways? Good. Three ways? Even better.”

“You want me to go to Austin with you guys?”

“Why the hell not, man? Wouldn’t it be awesome? You could get a job around campus. Get to know professors and people there. Figure out what you gotta do to get in. Maybe you’d start in the spring semester! Once you’ve got the money and jump through whatever hoops, I’m sure they’ll accept you.”

“You really think so?”

“Or hell, if you’re still feeling burned by UT, you can go to a community college out there instead. Not Fairview. Far away from this town, out in the real world. And, uh, now that I think about it, Austin’s gay scene is kinda big, too.”

This is still weird, to talk so openly about it with Julio. “That’s, uh … awesome, I guess.”

“Anyway, just think it over.” He slaps my back again. “I’ll give you a call later. Benji and Lee are gonna be stoked to see you.”

I’m in a daze. “Yeah, awesome. I’ll … I’ll see you guys tonight.”

“See you tonight.” He slaps my shoulder one last time. “Proud of you. Fuckin’ proud of you.” Then he heads back to the workout machines, grin still pasted across his face.

I didn’t expect to have that kind of an interaction with Julio. It leaves me feeling far happier than I thought I could feel today, for a moment penetrating the dark cloud that has hung over my head and poured its heavy raindrops relentlessly since I left the farm, drenching me in its melancholy.

Now, I almost feel fucking great.

A totally new me.

A totally new Hoyt.

“Well …” murmurs Rhea finally, staring down at the counter. “Don’t I feel like an idiot.”

I’m about to respond when I spot Jimmy Strong approaching down the aisle. He’s a slightly shorter, slimmer version of his big brother Tanner, with a far cuter face (sorry, Coach) and a stylish sweep of hair that for some reason gives me major boy-band vibes. “Mr. Nowak!” he says in a chipper, happy voice, extending a hand that I quickly shake. “Welcome to the Strong Fitness Zone! You’re right on time for the interview, and I’m four and a half minutes late. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not a problem,” I assure him, then hand off my application. “Sorry about the wrinkles.”

“Dog got to it? Just kiddin’, no biggie. Follow me to the back where I can ask you all of the boring questions. Got your ID and social handy like I asked? When can you start, by the way?”

I leave a sullen Rhea at the front desk, following Jimmy Strong down the aisle between the workout machines. The luster of this place seems lacking. Maybe it’s because last time I was here, it was with a certain someone else, someone who filled my heart with so much joy, it could have burst on those fun trampolines.

But all of that is behind me now.

Isn’t it?

“Immediately,” I answer.

Chapter 23
Harrison

It’s been a week since Hoyt left.

A whole damned week.

I’ve come to Gary’s office looking for Gary, but instead, I find Hoyt’s paperwork still lying out on the desk for some reason. Next to it, a pen, a sticky pad, and a half-empty coffee mug.

And no Gary.

He left his lamp on. The night is still young. He’ll probably be back soon, so I just have to wait a little longer.

While staring at Hoyt’s paperwork.

And his signature.

Which even a week later still looks fresh.

“Oh, there you are,” comes a voice.

I turn to find Lance at the glass double doors to the office. He is wearing a simple off-white shirt and grayish pants with boots, yet somehow makes it all look like a very intended fashion choice. Maybe it’s the hair.

“Lance?” I murmur.

“Me.” He smiles. “Hi, Harrison.”

“Hey there.” I step away from the desk. “If you’re looking for Gary, I think he stepped out.”

“Nope. You’re the man of the hour. Actually, I do have a thing to drop off to Gary from Chad, but that’s not why I’m looking for you. I … wanted to ask you a little something, and figured a drop-in was more personal than a lame phone call. Checked your cute little cabin first, but the fellows and lovely lady at the bunkhouse said you might be here talking with Gary. Did you talk to Gary yet, by the way? Should I come back?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure he’ll show up when he’s meant to. Come on in,” I say, gesturing at one of the chairs in front of Gary’s desk. “Take a seat, if you like.”

“Oh, I won’t be long. I should head back before it gets dark. I can just leave the thing for Gary on the porch.”

“No problem.” I fold my arms and lean against the desk. “So what brings you to me?”

Lance smiles and spreads his hands. “First off, Chad loves the table. So do I. Thing is, we like it so much, now he wants to use it in the main house instead, and the dining room chairs we had for it don’t quite match the whole … whatever’s going on in the main house. Long story short—”

“You want to put in an order for matching chairs.”

Lance grimaces. “Only if it’s not a problem.”

“Not at all. How many?”

“Six, I’d say.” He reconsiders. “Maybe eight, actually, just in case. Is eight too much?”

“Nope, all good. When do you need them by?”

“You’re so sweet. At your convenience, really, no rush at all. We can work out the rest of the details another time,” he insists. “I just wanted to … put in my order in person, so to speak.”

“Consider it placed,” I assure him with a smile.

Lance wrings his hands for a second, then comes right up to me. “Okay, let’s cut to the chase. Where’s that cutie you brought with you to unload the table?”

I lift my eyebrows in surprise. “You mean Hoyt?”

“I don’t mean to pry, but …” He turns quickly, shuts the doors to the office, then faces me. “This convo is about to get a little … private. You can totally level with me. I am a safe space. We have been neighbors for a few years, right? Former classmates? Can’t we call each other friends by now, you and I?”

My heart’s already racing. “Yes, of course. Neighbors, friends, all of that. What are we, uh, leveling about?”

“Last time, when you were at the ranch and abruptly had to go, I know you insisted I didn’t say anything wrong, but I still felt like I struck a nerve. Particularly with cutie-pie.” Lance gets right up to my face and whispers: “Is he gay? Is he into you? Does he flirt all day long and it’s kinda getting on your last nerve, but you don’t want to say anything because he’s young, and your best friend is Tanner and he was his coach in school and maybe you’re protecting him? Is that it?”

I stare at him, bewildered.

That’s a very tangled braid of half-truths and wrong guesses twisted together too tightly to respond to just yet.

Lance has a sudden misgiving. “I’m overstepping, huh? I’m … I’m kinda feeling that same tension right now, like I’m just striking right at the nerve yet again.”

“It’s just …” I drop my gaze to the floor, suddenly unsure how I want to approach this.

He takes a step back, letting me off the hook. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

“No, no … It’s just that I—”

“Seriously, ignore me. Don’t indulge my terrible habits. I am just deeply deprived of social interaction out on Chad’s farm. Would you believe I actually look forward to going over to Cassie’s to discuss business? I mean, the Evans’s estate is … kind of amazing, like visiting a royal family or something. Totally different than the Strongs. But I look forward to tediously discussing numbers and marketing strategies with her. It’s weird.”

“I can imagine.”

“Oh, speaking of the Strongs, I’m so deprived of socializing, I’m even considering going to that Fourth of July party Tanner and Billy are apparently throwing tomorrow. Really, how desperate am I? Very,” he answers for me. “I’ll see myself out. Thanks again regarding the chairs and being an amazing human being in general, Harrison.” He turns to go.

I sigh. “Lance, it’s … complicated.”

He stops at the glass doors and turns. “Sorry?”

“The Hoyt situation. He … He kinda left.”

“He left? Why’d he leave?”

I hesitate, unsure whether I can really trust Lance as a friend. I’ve never actually utilized a friendship this way before. Not even with Tanner. Can I really put all of my secrets into someone else and trust they’ll stay where I put them?

With Hoyt no longer here, I’m realizing how fucking alone I really am. None of the others on the farm are particularly close to me. My parents don’t know the first thing about anything to do with my personal life or love life, and likely prefer to keep out of it for the most part. Who do I have, really?

Maybe Lance has been the best friend I could’ve had all along, and I’ve been failing to utilize him.

I need to tell him everything.

“Friends?” I ask, gesturing between the two of us. “Neighbors and friends? You and me? I can trust you?”

“Oh, hell yes,” exclaims Lance. “You and me all the way.”

“Alright.” I nod at the chair. “Take a seat, then.”

“Oh. This is a ‘take a seat’ kind of story. Got it.” He comes up to the chair, plops down in it so fast his hair bounces, then he lifts his face. “I’m here for you, Harrison. Confidential neighbor chat. Let’s hear it.”

I take another big breath. This is strangely hard for me to get out—harder than I imagined it would be.

“So … the thing is …” I’m shaking. All over. “… Hoyt and I …”

“Yes …?”

“We …” I close my eyes. Maybe that’ll make this easier. “We were involved. With each other. For the past month or so. I was his first, and he was my first. I ended it. He’s too young. He needs to have experiences with guys his own age. I don’t wanna hold him hostage here on the farm. That’s … the reason he left, too.”

I wait for a while.

I wait for a while longer.

Then I peek open my eyes.

Lance is leaning back in the chair with a knowing smirk on his face. “Called it,” he says.

I frown. “Called it …?”

“About you. Back at the reunion. I always knew. And I am very much holding back a yelp of profound excitement at the fact that you finally told me.”

“Really?” I let out a sigh of disbelief. “Are you serious? Tanner doesn’t even know.”

“Oh, really? Hmm. Thought you guys were closer. Then again, Tanner doesn’t know how to keep a secret, so that part pans out. Honestly, I thought he was covering for you when I asked him.”

Wait a sec, what? “You asked him …?”

“Oh.” Lance grimaces. “Sorry. I pried a little. It was right after our reunion, if I’m remembering correctly, couple years ago. All I did was ask once, it wasn’t a big thing, and he said he always had his doubts, but thought you were either gay or saving yourself for marriage—which he thought wasn’t likely since you never actually date. He and Kirk allegedly had a whole chat about it once, and—”

“Kirk, too??”

“Look, I’m not trying to start anything,” he says quickly, “but it’s what Tanner said. Why are you panicking? Have you forgotten where you live? This isn’t Fairview, for fuck’s sake.”

I wish people didn’t think so badly about Fairview. All of the farmhands are from there, except for me, Hoyt, and Turtle.

Well, just me and Turtle now.

“I know you’re a private guy,” he says, “so I won’t try to keep cracking you open like an egg. It’s your prerogative. But now that you’ve told me …” He meets my eyes, smiling. “I realize it means you trust me, and that touches me. Thanks, Harrison.”

It takes a second to register that I’ve actually told him. My big secret is slowly spilling out, person by person. I wonder if this was an option the whole time, to share myself to those I trust one at a time, without sparking some giant show and a coming out party thrown by Nadine Strong and the whole PFLAG chapter.

“There’s something else,” I decide to say.

Lance tilts his head, curious.

I take a breath. “I wanted to tell you about myself. Back then. At the reunion. I was hoping to get you alone so we could have a conversation, just you and me … but of course we know someone else had your attention.” I say most of this while not maintaining eye contact; it makes it easier to talk to his shoes, or the desk, or that crooked picture on the wall Gary refuses to hang right. “I had this wild hope that we’d become friends after I came out to you, that I’d finally feel less alone after all these years. Silly, huh?”

Lance shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound silly at all.”

“What’s sillier is … I think I had feelings for you, too.”

He parts his lips. “Oh …?”

“Part of that whole fantasy in my head was thinking we might hit it off at the reunion. Y’know … you’d pull me out of my bubble. And I’d put the country-boy back into you after all of your time in California. Maybe we’d complement each other in some way. Don’t worry,” I quickly add, noting the look of concern on Lance’s face. “I’m not confessing some deep, secret obsession with you. It’s just my experience at that reunion made me see how badly I wanted someone special for myself. I wanted my own Chad. Or my own you. My own Billy … Tanner … Cody … Trey …” I let out a sudden laugh. “It feels kind of amazing, saying all of this finally. But after years of seeing everyone else find their special guy, I just … really wanted my own. Whoever that is.”

“Whoever that is …” murmurs Lance thoughtfully, nodding. “Isn’t that the worst puzzle of all? Figuring that part out?”

I glance back at the desk, where the paperwork sits. “Yeah.”

“And who’s to say it isn’t cutie-pie?”

I snort. “Twelve years’ age difference says so.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Harrison? C’mon. You wanted us to be friends, right? Friends tell each other the truth. So here’s a little truth bomb: you’re just worried about what others all over town will think.”

“Uh, of course I am.”

“And what do you think people thought of me and Chad? Do you even know how many pushy people out there nosed into my relationship, telling me I was an idiot for forgiving Chad for all the hell he put me through in high school? That I’m a doormat, that I let him walk all over me, that we shouldn’t be together? Know what I say to all of those people? Fuck them. They don’t know me. They don’t have the experiences I have, nor the backbone, nor the heart in my chest. This is my story. Not theirs. They don’t get to write it. I do. This is the man I fell in love with, and who in the fuck are they to judge?” Lance rises from his chair and sits on the desk next to me. “You have to follow your heart, Harrison. That’s the point. No matter what. The heart leads us to where we belong. The mind tries to hold us back with puritanical-ass reasoning that was forced on us by others who have not walked in our shoes. It’s an age-old war of passion and duty, isn’t it? Ask any gay grandpa on his deathbed what he’d rather have done with his life. The answer is always to have followed his heart more.”

I glance at the floor. “That’s a lot to think about.”

“Don’t be overwhelmed, Harrison, my adorable hunky friend. Just listen to me. Actually, no. Listen to your heart.” He puts a hand on my chest. “Who does it beat for? Who does it race for? Late at night, when all you got is a brain full of thoughts, who does your heart ache for? Listen to it, Harrison.”

We both look up when we hear a distant door closing with a heavy bang—likely the front door. Gary must be back.

“Also … and I speak from experience here … it may be a totally perfect sign if you and cutie-pie didn’t get along at first,” says Lance as the pair of us stare at the glass doors, waiting for Gary to appear, like a countdown. “If cutie-pie makes you want to scream, even better.” He chuckles, as if remembering something himself. “And if he absolutely infuriates you to the point that you’re pretty sure you want to kill him … then he just might be the one.”

I take hold of Lance’s hand, still on my chest, and smile. “You are a great friend. Truly. I wish we did this sooner.”

“Your heart started racing like crazy the moment I described him, by the way.”

I turn to him.

He faces me, too. “The answer seems pretty damned obvious to me.” He winks. “Also, it sounds like cutie-pie infuriates you a great deal. Now that’s true love, if I ever heard it. Maybe he even infuriates you worse than Chad ever infuriated me. Yikes.” Lance hops off the desk. “You might be in trouble.”

Gary appears at the glass doors. When he opens them, he lets out a delighted murmur of surprise. “Lance, what a pleasure!”

“Mr. Strong, hello, hello! I won’t be long. I just have a delivery for you from my annoying husband. It’s in my car.”

“Sounds lovely. Harrison?” Gary lifts his eyebrows at me. “Hi there! Did you need something? Or—?”

I can’t for the life of me remember why I came here to see Gary in the first place. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter; I feel light as air, like I can do anything. “Nope.” I join the pair of them. “But I think I’ll help unload this delivery.”

Lance smiles, then eyes Gary. “Isn’t he such a gentleman?”

Chapter 24
Hoyt

One moment, I’m the bumbling new guy, overwhelmed with the giant space and the clanging noise of weights crashing and the shouting children from the trampolines.

A tiny week later, I’m racing around like I run the place. They have me hosting kids’ birthday parties already. I cover at the front desk some mornings, answering the phones and signing up new members. Yesterday, I got CPR certified. And after a small mishap with a workout machine that I was miraculously able to fix—on account of a tiny trick I learned on the farm from Turtle, no less—I am now the designated go-to guy for oddball techy jobs.

It’s amazing how fast I integrated into this place.

I have so much damned purpose here, I didn’t even realize it was possible for me to feel so useful.

The moment it’s five o’clock, I hurry to the employee lounge, clock out, then change out of my uniform. Soon, I’m rushing to the front doors in a fresh pair of clothes, where I wave at Rhea at the receptionist desk. She waves back. “Lookin’ good, Nowak!” Yes, she recovered from the devastating news the day of my interview. Then off I go out the doors.

Outside, I find Jimmy leaning against the side of his truck, which is parked in front of the building, engine running.

I stop in front of him. “My answer is yes.”

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yep. Got nothin’ to do tonight. My parents don’t do anything for the holiday, my sister is at a friend’s house, and my buddies are just blowing up crap in G-Man’s backyard, and that doesn’t appeal much to me right now. So I’m on my own, and my answer is yes.”

He gives me a nod. “Well, then. As soon as Bobby finishes up, sounds like the three of us are headin’ on over to the ranch.” He pulls open the door. “Your chariot awaits, buddy.”

I grin, then hop right in.

Sitting in the back seat of Jimmy’s truck makes me miss my own. I throw my arms over the whole back seat feeling like king of the castle as Jimmy drives us out of downtown Spruce and into the countryside. The whole way, Bobby worries about leaving the gym to their management staff, then keeps wondering whether he got finished with his work for the day or if he forgot something. What amazes me is that no matter how strung out Bobby seems, Jimmy just calmly steers the truck with one hand while using the other to stroke his fiancé’s hair, assuring him that everything’s going to be alright. I’m touched by the show of affection, the way they’ve got each other’s backs, their unquestionable support for one another.

I can’t wait until their big wedding this Christmas when they finally make it official. You know my ass is gonna be there, you can bet your bottom dollar.

Thinking of that makes me even more determined to go to the thing tonight.

Because I know he’ll be there.

Sooner than I realize, the Strong ranch looms in the distance. He drives down the long dirt road leading to the front of the main house, then parks along the side. The front of the Strong house is beautiful and impressive, with a wraparound porch, lush bushes and flowers, and a pretty cobblestone pathway leading around to a swimming pool and seating area on the side. The pathway also cuts across the field, lined by a pretty white fence, and disappears into a thicket of trees, beyond which I believe Tanner and Billy live in a small house by a large pond, also on the property. After Jimmy kills the engine, we get out of the truck and start our trek down the fence-lined path toward the trees.

The moment you pass the threshold of trees, the world is at once changed. Like the trees themselves are a wall between you and the rest of the world, they encapsulate the grove in which the Tucker-Strongs live, creating some kind of ethereal, blue-green canopy. The house doesn’t look as small as I imagined it. Truth be told, all of the parties I ever attended here took place at the main house. I don’t think I’ve ever been here to Tanner’s private abode. The path leads to a deck, which wraps only one side of the house and the front in an uneven L, with a short length of deck that juts out into the large pond like a dock. Through the windows, a warm, golden glow of light shows through, and the sound of happy chatter and laughter is heard. “Guess we’re not the first ones,” Jimmy says as the three of us approach the door.

Of course, Jimmy doesn’t need to knock; he lets himself right in. The house is a little bigger and homier than Harrison’s, but has a similar open-room concept, with the living room, dining area, and kitchen visible and undivided by walls. Jimmy and Bobby instantly head on to mingle with the others who are here already, most of whom I know. Tyrone and Omar King, Kelsey’s dads, look busy chatting with Billy about his spread, which fills a table along the wall. Tyrone is a tall man with deep, chestnut skin, kind eyes, and a tightly-shaped beard interrupted only by a scar running down his cheek. He left the force a while ago. His husband Omar, a bald, stout man with a russet complexion that reddens at his cheeks whenever he lets out one of his cheery straight-from-the-belly laughs, is the town veterinarian and knows everything about everyone’s pets. I wonder if he knows about that stray dog that took my truck from me. In the living room stands Reverend Trey with his husband Cody, who is an intimidating, straight-faced Army vet with sandy, weathered skin and a sea of stubble across his cheeks.

Also present are a few others I know are friends of Tanner and Billy from their high school days, including a guy who visited the school pretty often named Robby with his girlfriend Vanessa. Near them are Kirk and his wife Bonnie. Kirk’s a former football player himself, now sporting a massive beard and a dad belly. His pretty wife is chirping away with Lance, who I just now noticed.

The moment I spot him, he seems to spot me too, and a smile washes over his face. He waves me over. Since Jimmy and Bobby took off to do their own thing, I oblige. “Hey, there,” I greet Lance and Bonnie. “How’re y’all? Happy fourth, by the way.”

“Happy fourth!” sings Bonnie, a glass of wine in her hand. “You’re Hoyt, right? The new kiddo working for Gary?”

Lance grimaces and leans into her, answering on my behalf. “Not anymore. Jimmy and Bobby stole him away to work at their new gym like a pair of thieves.”

I laugh. “Well, it didn’t go down like that exactly …”

“It’s a more exciting version of the truth,” reasons Lance.

“Gary was really great to me,” I assure her. “I just think the fast-paced, hectic nature of the gym works better for me.”

“Phew, you are brave,” says Bonnie. “I tried taking Kirkland Junior there and had a panic attack when I couldn’t find him. The bugger had run off and met up with some friends at the jungle gym in the kid zone. I think Kirk might’ve gotten a membership. He’s been trying to get back into shape the past several years, but with a kid and his stressful job …”

“He and I both,” says Lance with a roll of his eyes. “I had all sorts of high hopes moving in with Chad, starting up this business with Cassie, and now I feel like a slug when it comes to having any extra energy to do anything, let alone stay fit. Meanwhile, Chad is still a brick house of solid muscle running his ranch, that asshole, making it look easy.”

I notice his absence. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Oh, he has all sorts of stuff he’s finishing up at the ranch. I’m sure he’ll be by for the fireworks … at which time I believe Cody and Trey will be leaving.” He grimaces and leans in to quietly add, “Trey is insisting it’s because they have plans with his dad, but the real reason is that Cody is sensitive to the fireworks. I’m pretty sure Tanner said they’d happily go without them, but Cody insisted they do it for the kids who love them. He didn’t want to rob them of the fun, y’know? Cody is such an amazing human being. Did you know back when he was in the Army, he saved his best friend Pete’s life by throwing himself between him and a freakin’ bomb?”

“I don’t think it was a bomb,” says Bonnie, who also leaned in to listen, nearly spilling her wine. Then she frowns. “Or was it …?”

“Well, it was something that lodged a bunch of shrapnel in his body. I heard the whole story from Marybeth at the clinic. Do you know her daughter Jeanie?” Lance asks me suddenly. “I think she was a grade or two ahead of you? Into art? Never mind. Anyway, that’s how Cody and Trey met. Trey was his nurse, or his physical therapist, or … something … I might be confusing things.”

“You’re always confusing things,” teases Bonnie.

“I’m just trying to keep my card in the Spruce Gossip Club!” he defends himself with an innocent lift of his hands.

I glance over my shoulder, scoping the rest of the faces here. I spot another football buddy of Tanner’s whose name I can’t recall. He’s with his girlfriend, too. There are some other faces I certainly don’t know, which is making me realize this whole “gathering” has gotten a lot bigger than I think it was originally intended to be. When Jimmy offhandedly mentioned this Fourth of July thing, I got the impression it was just a few friends. Not half the town.

But the one person I truly did expect to come doesn’t seem to be here. Tanner’s best friend. The man responsible for every single emotion in my system right now.

A certain fucking Harrison.

Where are you?

“You know,” says Lance once Bonnie finishes telling another story about Cody, “I don’t think everyone’s here just yet.”

I turn to him. “Really?”

“Yep. I’m quite sure at least a few more faces are expected to show up. Maybe someone special.” He gives me a knowing look.

A wrinkle of suspicion touches me.

Why do I get the feeling Lance knows more than he lets on?

A burst of laughter from the kitchen draws my attention. It looks like Jimmy is trying to prove to someone that he can do handstand pushups, while Bobby rolls his eyes talking to someone else nearby. Jimmy keeps falling over, but refuses to give up, each time shouting, “No, no, I got it! I’m just havin’ an off day! Gimme room, guys! C’mon!” By the counter, Tanner seems to be laughing his ass off the most, tears in his eyes.

I don’t know how long I’ve been mingling and enjoying small talk with Lance and Bonnie, but soon I’ve got a hotdog in my hand, and I’m hanging out on the deck with several others while Billy gets busy at the grill firing up some more tasty meats, since we’re all eating them too fast. Marcus and Josh, Billy and Tanner’s kids, have emerged from their bedroom to eat, finally getting over their initial shyness. Marcus is more quiet and reserved, pretending not to know me, which I guess is okay, since he only started at Spruce High in the spring as a freshman. His little brother Josh is much more energetic, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s on his fourth hotdog and probably his third can of soda. I’m guessing they found their footing here in Spruce—and the Tucker-Strong family—just fine.

The sun is on its way down, which tells me it’s been a handful of hours since I arrived. And a while more since I’ve been out here in this heat trying to socialize and act like I belong here at all.

And still no Harrison. Where the hell are you?

Finally, I realize I can’t stand another second of it. I can’t even enjoy this tasty-ass hotdog in my hand, which I only assume is tasty, since I haven’t taken a single bite. I set it down, then quietly excuse myself from the others. I step off the deck and stand at the side of the house with my phone. I thumb through my contacts.

His name stares me in the face.

I close my eyes, take a breath, then send a text:

ME

Hey.

I know. It’s a profoundly moving first text after not speaking for over a week. Gives him a lot to work with.

He texts back rather quickly:

HARRISON

Hey. What are you up to?

I frown.

What am I up to?

That response seems more casual than I expected.

Annoyingly casual.

Infuriatingly casual, in fact.

I jab my fingers to the screen and reply:

ME

Wondering where ur ass is, thats what.

I smirk triumphantly, satisfied with my text.

His response comes in the form of a voice behind me: “My ass is right here.”

I spin around so fast, I drop my phone on the ground. He’s in a tank top, half-tucked into a tight pair of jeans that remind me of how exquisite it feels to be trapped between his muscular thighs, with a backwards cap on to complete his look—and an irritatingly dashing smile that makes his eyes sparkle in the evening sun.

Not that I’m in a mood to be charmed by his smile.

Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. “Where the hell—?” I start to ask.

“Just arrived. Had some business to take care of on the farm.” He pockets his own phone, picks mine up off the ground, weighs it in his hand, then gives me a look. “Dying of boredom already?”

I lean against the side of the house and shrug. “Not really. It’s pretty fun, actually. Hung out with Lance most of the time so far.”

There’s a flicker of surprise across his face. “Lance?”

“Yep. Did you tell him about us, by the way? Either he’s got a sixth sense about secrets, or someone spilled a bean or two.”

He hesitates, then says, “He basically forced it outta me.”

Thought so.

His eyes dance down my body, taking me in. I can sense his racing heart from where I stand. And all his troubled thoughts. I can take a stab at a few of them, too.

I decide to open the door first. “How’ve things been out there on the farm? Does Peepers miss me?”

His eyes meet mine. “I’m sure she does.”

“How ‘bout Wilbur, Charlotte, Baconator, and Lord Big Butt?”

His face wrinkles up. “Baconator? Lord Big Butt??”

“I gave some of ‘em my own names. Call it a favor to my sister, who thinks it’s the greatest cruelty to not name all the animals.”

“They are all named.”

I gasp. “How come I never learned them all??”

“Guess you never asked, and yes,” he says, taking another step toward me, “all the pigs missed you, too. Especially Lord Big Butt, whichever one that is.”

I take a step toward him. “Anyone … else … miss me?”

We stop in front of each other.

His eyes burrow into me, as if desperate to convey something.

All I really want to do right now is climb him, prove to him how wrong he was in pushing me out of his figurative bed, and turn his lips puffy red from how aggressively I’d kiss them.

In a soft voice, he says, “You know I missed you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” He gazes at my lips, then flicks his eyes away. “It wasn’t ever a question whether I had feelings for you, Hoyt. It was just a question of what was best for you. Of what is best for you.”

“You should let me worry about that,” I tell him.

He looks at me. “So was it best? To leave? To see what life was like off of Gary Strong’s acreage?”

“It’s just been a week. Maybe too soon to tell.”

He sucks on his tongue in thought. Then he starts patting my phone absently against his chest as he studies me. “How’s life at the Strong Fitness Zone, then? You like your new job there?”

I consider it honestly. “It’s … tons of fun, actually. I’ve been put to a lot of use since they hired me on the spot.”

“I knew they would. You’re not the same cocky kid you were when you showed up on Gary’s doorstep. I’m proud of you,” he tells me, meeting my eyes again. “Really proud.”

I chuckle. “Been getting that a lot lately. Everyone’s so ‘proud’ of me.” I smirk. “I kinda came out to my friends, by the way.”

He looks surprised. “Really?”

“All of them. Julio, Benji, G-Man, Lee … To be honest, it was a lot less eventful than I expected it to be. Julio already wants me to join them in Austin and split the rent on an apartment. He’s the one who’s ‘so proud’ of me. Lee seemed like he already knew, but that’s no surprise. Toby probably told him. G-Man was so stoned, the news went over his head, had to tell the poor guy twice. Benji thought I was kidding, let out this stupid laugh, then realized I wasn’t, and suddenly he wanted to know everything. I think he’s convinced I already have a secret boyfriend in my pocket.”

Harrison’s eyes falter at those words.

I’m not sure if it was the “secret boyfriend” part, or the whole maybe-moving-to-Austin bit.

“For a moment, I couldn’t answer Benji,” I admit.

“What do you mean?”

I give him a pointed look. “You and I … whatever we have … it felt like my leaving the farm didn’t end it. You and I, we’re still a … a secret something. It’s just paused, like a movie.”

“Like a movie …” he murmurs, studying my face. I notice his lips purse ever so subtly, as if begging to be on mine again. The man doesn’t make a move. And of course he wouldn’t. He’s too respectful. He’s too mindful of my feelings, of my emotional state, of what he thinks is best and right for me.

He’s such a good man, I sometimes wonder if I even deserve him. Maybe I should have looked at it the other way: What if there is a better, kindhearted thirty-something waiting to meet Harrison someday? What if it isn’t my happiness that’s in question, but his?

But my heart beats too potently for him to mind anything else that isn’t in front of me. I feel like there’s a part of my soul missing when I’m not with him. It’s anguish, sleeping in a lonely bed, after learning what it’d be like with him. I can’t be expected to ignore that.

“I’ve missed you too, Harrison. A lot. A crazy lot.”

He closes his eyes. “Hoyt …”

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna pitch a fit or slam you against this wall right here, tear off your clothes, and worship that body of yours, no matter how badly I know you want it.”

His eyes snap open and he frowns at me.

“But I’ve given it a lot of thought over the week,” I carry on. “And … I may have come up with a proposal.”

“A proposal …?”

“Yep. Of how to move forward. A proposal for us. I think you’ll like it because it has several things you said you want for me.”

He quirks an eyebrow and narrows his eyes. “Now you’ve got me both suspicious and curious.”

“Just how I like you.” I snatch my phone out of his hand and pop it back into my pocket, then meet his eyes. “Here’s my simple proposal: We try this thing out between us. You and me. We go at it with an honest effort. You be my boyfriend. I be yours.”

His eyes search mine, looking for the catch. “How’s that any different than—?”

“We don’t work together anymore,” I go on, pointing out the obvious, “so I won’t interfere with your responsibilities. I’m in my loud, fast-paced element. You’re in your stinky element. Ugh, I miss those stinky animals. I’ll be saving up for college. Apparently I can get a good deal on a used car from Lee’s dad, who’s a mechanic and can pull strings for me. In the meantime, we’re free to be us. To want what we want. To spend time together. And to just …” I can’t help but hook a finger into a belt loop of his jeans and pull his waist against mine ever so subtly. “… do what we want. No dumb excuses. No hiding. No horse barn shenanigans.”

He bows his head, struggling. “Hoyt …”

“Don’t you see? I get all of the things I want. You get all of the things you want. Our lives are left intact if this doesn’t work out. I ain’t missin’ out on nothin’. Can’t you see how badly I want you all to myself? Can you see how badly I want to be your man?”

“Hoyt, you are not making this easy …”

“But it is easy.” I take hold of his face. “I told you once that I feel like anyone I’ve ever loved has run as far away from me as they could. And you said you weren’t running anywhere.”

“I know.”

“You’re right here.” I press a hand to his chest, then grab his hand and press it to mine. “I know my dad lives in me, Harrison. I can see it now, and you helped me see that. But I don’t want you to just be another fuckin’ memory living in my heart of something I loved and lost. I don’t want you to be … an old rocking chair on my patio. Do you know how many nights I slept on it this week?”

For the first time, I see an ocean of hope in his eyes when he gazes at me. He wants this. He wants this just as badly as I do.

Then suddenly: “You slept on that old thing?”

“Yes. I have the back aches to prove it.”

He takes a breath, then lets it all out. “You know, I feared that taking you for myself would keep you from something, that we’d come to regret it someday. But …” His face softens. “Maybe I had it backwards. Maybe … Maybe I’d regret it if I let a man like you slip through my fingers.”

“You would,” I agree with total sincerity. “I mean, I’m a pretty damned good man. And hot as fuck, too. Not to mention—”

He kisses me, shutting me the hell up. I melt against his body, energy coursing through me at the touch of his lips I so missed.

The tiniest creak of wood causes us to pull apart and turn. At the foot of the deck stands Lance, who has appeared. He smiles at us like a proud father. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes,” he sings.

Harrison gives me a look. “I guess if we’re gonna do this, we’d better go all the way, then.”

I lift my eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

He takes my hand—and then I understand. My heart races as together, we join Lance, hand-in-hand, and ascend the steps back onto the deck to return to the party—as one.

Chapter 25
Harrison

At first, it’s the most terrifying experience of my life.

All eyes on us.

Everyone notices right away.

Some conversations stop completely. Someone stops chewing their hotdog simply to stare at us. Someone else drops their beer.

It’s like a vacuum just opened up in the air and sucked out all the sound and breath, leaving us with nothing but shock, awe, and complete disbelief.

A tidal wave, held in suspension.

Then it crashes, all the sound of the party returns, and no one seems to pay us mind at all. I wonder if the moment of shock even happened in the first place or if it was all in my head.

“It definitely wasn’t in your head,” says Hoyt later on when we’re getting food together from Billy’s buffet spread inside. “I felt the eyes. I felt the thoughts.”

I’m almost giddy when I chuckle, slapping more sliced meat on my sandwich. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. I feel weightless.”

“Me too.”

It’s almost difficult to conceive, how easy it happened. A mere moment ago, no one knew. Now, everyone at the party does. And that’s enough people to ensure all of Spruce will know by morning. Hell, I’d even give it by the time the sun goes down.

I’ve never felt relief this sweet before.

And—a bit unrelated—I’ve never tasted a sandwich this sweet before. “Damn, this is amazing,” I cry through my mouthful when we’re gathered with all of the others on the deck, holding my plate under my mouth as I serve myself bite after bite. “Billy, what am I tasting in this meat??”

“What I put in all of my meat,” Billy insists. “Love.”

He’s met with a bunch of groans and eye rolls.

Billy frowns at them. “Fine. Bourbon.”

It’s a special experience, lounging around with Hoyt next to me, the pair of us relaxed and unafraid. I can imagine this exact same outcome at the farm, had this happened in a different set of circumstances. I could easily hear Emmalea’s laughter at a joke Hoyt tells, except he’s sitting right next to me on the couch, his arm thrown around my back. I could imagine Turtle singing some corny song about us. There would be no need to hide anymore. No more heart-pounding, fear-infused visits to the horse barn late at night; we could just relax in the comfort of my cabin, in a soft bed, just like that last night we stayed there.

Before everything went sideways.

Now the world feels right again.

But more than right: it feels new. I can’t even compare how I’m feeling right now to any other time in my life. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. I’m an outsider looking in, marveling at how relaxed we appear, comfortably sharing a wooden lounger together on Tanner and Billy’s deck overlooking the pond and enjoying a summer evening among friends. We’re totally at peace. I’d daresay we’re the happiest we’ve ever been.

Whether I’m an outsider looking at myself or not, one thing is pretty damned clear: I am one lucky fellow.

Trey and Cody take off early, since apparently they have plans with Trey’s dad back home. Before leaving, however, Hoyt makes it a point to speak to the young reverend. “About your big sermon last year, the one about cages and keys, when Lance’s husband came out, uh, I … I just wanted to say thanks for that. And also for giving me the key to, uh, let me out of my own cage or whatever.”

To that, Trey smiles and says, “Well, I hate to break it to you, Hoyt, but you’ve had that key in your pocket all along. You just found the right time to turn it.”

Hoyt shrugs. “Or the right guy.”

Trey smirks at him, shoots me a happy look, then says, “Well, it seems like all your stars aligned, good man. I hope to see you two this Sunday!” Then, after taking Cody’s hand, the pair of them head off, leaving Hoyt strangely misty-eyed and happy.

Soon, the remainder of us make a little trek to the open field between the Tucker-Strong grove and the main house, out where every star in the universe is visible in the endless stretch of sky. As we spread out on the soft grass on an assortment of blankets and lawn chairs, Tanner and a firework-happy Joel get to work setting things off. Hoyt cuddles by my side as we lie on our backs, staring up at the sky as it bursts apart in colors, sparkles, and smoke. Just in time, Chad shows up in all of his rancher glory, scoops Lance up in his arms, and carries him to a nice spot near the trees, where they watch the show from a distance, slightly secluded.

Hoyt turns to me at one point, a wistful smile on his face. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

I gaze right back at him. “Yeah, it is. The way everyone just … accepted it instantly. No questions. No weirdness. It’s as if the two of us were already a couple in most of their eyes. As if we—”

“I meant the fireworks.”

I blink. “Oh, right. Those. Yeah, they’re fine.”

Whether it’s my dry reply, or Hoyt was joking, he bursts into laughter so loud, it competes with the crackle and explosion of fireworks in the sky, and I can’t help but join in. Soon, both of us are in tears, laughing as the heavens rain down on us in an array of colorful sparks and bright flashes.

I didn’t realize I could feel this happy.

I guess I never gave myself the permission.

Until Hoyt came into my life and turned it all upside-down.

When the fireworks show is over, it’s time for some to call it a night. Kirk and Bonnie leave first, since they have to relieve Kirk’s mother Clarice from looking after Kirkland. Joel and Mindy leave next for the very same reason, as their two-year-old twins are in the lovely care of a trusted babysitter who lives on their street. After that, the Kings take off, followed by Robby and Vanessa, and finally Lance and Chad. By the time midnight rolls around, it’s just us and the Tucker-Strongs cleaning up the mess left behind.

“Really, you don’t have to do this,” Billy insists as he picks up glasses and plates everywhere.

“It’s no prob,” I assure Billy with a smile.

A burst of laughter draws our attention. We glance across the room at Hoyt, Jimmy, and Bobby, who apparently have a hundred stories to share with Tanner about funny stuff that has happened at the gym over its first few weeks being open. They have Tanner in tears of laughter as he hangs on their every word. Marcus and Josh are in their pajamas playing video games on the living room TV together, now that everyone’s gone home and the house is back to being their kingdom.

Billy shakes his head. “Honestly, I never would’ve called it.”

I turn to him, a stack of paper plates in hand. “Called what?”

“You. Him.” He shrugs. “I mean, I’ll admit it, Hoyt is a cutie. And though there are parts of him that are … incorrigibly childish … he’s also very sensitive. Have you seen him with his little sister?”

I smile. “I had the privilege of attending her eleventh birthday party and seeing just how he is with her upclose.”

Everyone bursts into loud laughter again as Hoyt goes on with whatever story he’s got. “No, no, seriously!” he’s saying, as Tanner practically rolls on the couch, busting a gut.

Billy shakes his head. “Feels like just yesterday you and I were talking about Toby and the tough time he was having in school … and now to see Hoyt and how he’s turned around? Toby, moving on to live on the beach with his boyfriend …? It’s strange, to think how fast things turned around over this past year with everyone. I can remember last summer like it was yesterday.”

“I know. Time moves slowly and quickly here in Spruce.” I toss my stack of plates into a trash bag, then go for another.

Billy touches my hand.

I look up.

He smiles. “I’m happy for you, Harrison. I really am. If I had known you were keeping this secret inside you all of these years, I’d have reached out and been a friend. I was always a call away.”

I smile. “I know, Billy. I appreciate that more than I can say.”

“And I’m still a call away. Me. Tanner. Trey and Cody. Lance and Chad down the road from you. The Kings, too. You’ll never be alone. You’ll never be without friends or someone to call. Don’t you even hesitate for a second, even if it’s 2 AM and you’re out of options and—” Billy reconsiders with a glance at Marcus and Josh playing their video game. “Actually, okay, maybe if it’s 2 AM, text first before calling,” he amends with a wince.

I laugh, then pull him in for a hug. “Thanks, Billy.”

I’ve always had friends.

But until today, I hadn’t known just how true and perfect my friends really are.

Hoyt and I head out soon after that, leaving Jimmy and Bobby to hang for a bit with the family. We walk in quiet contemplation, holding hands and strolling leisurely down the cobblestone path leading out of the grove.

“I feel a strange peace inside me,” says Hoyt.

I glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like for the first time in my whole life, I genuinely feel like everything’s gonna turn out just the way it’s meant to.”

A smile touches my lips. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“I had a really great time with you tonight, Harrison.”

“Me too.”

“I feel like …” He lets out a little chuckle. “I feel like we could have a hundred nights just like this one. You and I. We could … We could really work out in the end, y’know?”

His bubbly optimism is infectious … but it doesn’t wipe away the lone seed of doubt still floating around inside of me.

“What is it?” he asks when I don’t respond.

“Nothing,” I insist, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“No, no. Tell me.” He stops and takes both of my hands. “You can say anything, Harrison. Bare your soul to me. Share your fears. That’s part of this whole boyfriend thing, right?”

I lean against the fence that lines the cobblestone path, then pull him to me with a tug of his hands. He falls against me, and our lips come together. Whenever we are kissing, I feel like nothing can possibly go wrong in the world.

I wish I could preserve this happy, safe feeling when we kiss and experience it every second of every day.

Hoyt pulls away—the kiss ended, the safe feeling gone. “Come on, Harrison. Tell me.”

I gaze into his eyes. “What happens when the summer’s over? Will you leave for Austin to be with your friends? Maybe Julio has a point about meeting professors, retesting, reapplying … You may still get into UT for the spring semester if you try hard enough, y’know. Not to mention Austin’s community colleges.”

Hoyt nods slowly, understanding. “You don’t wanna lose me.”

“But I don’t want to hold you back, either.”

He puts a kiss on my lips, bringing me back to that safe place. Then, with his mouth close to mine, he says, “For now, we’ve got each other. Who knows what the rest of this summer will bring. Is it okay if I don’t know yet what I’ll do come the fall?”

I run a hand through his soft hair, remembering our moments in the barn, just us without the world, secluded, safe, and alone.

I think I’m going to have to trust the fates with this one.

“Of course,” I say. “It’s okay not to know right now. Whatever you decide … you have my full support.”

“I know I do.”

I glance at my truck, which awaits us on the distant driveway, then lift an eyebrow at him. “Need a ride?”

He smirks. “Your place or mine?”

I pull him against me tightly and kiss him. Mmm … that sweet, safe feeling. I hold him so tightly, I may never let him go again.

Epilogue
Hoyt

The end of summer has come.

It’s the beginning of September. My very first day of college is here. My first class is in two hours. Today, the next chapter of my life at last begins. But before it can start, I am forced to face my greatest predicament so far. It’s a choice—an impossible choice.

“Just pick the polo already,” says Harrison from the bed.

“Don’t rush this decision!” I bite my lip with frustration as I stand at the foot of his bed in just my underwear, holding a shirt on a hanger in either hand, outstretched. A red t-shirt. A heather gray polo shirt. One is casual college boy. The other: preppy college boy. The shirt is loose-fitting. The polo is form-fitting.

“Hoyt, you’re overthinking it.”

“Why can’t I make any simple decisions today?” I fling both shirts at the bed, fed up.

Harrison, meanwhile, is lounging on the bed like some bored demigod with no clothes on at all, one arm propping him up, the other behind his head, showing off his sexy pits, biceps bulged. My boyfriend is a literal buffet of muscle, sex, and sweat, the sight of him tempting me to taste every last thing he’s got to offer.

He meets my eyes. “Maybe try putting on a pair of pants first? That might help you decide.”

“No. I need to know which shirt I’m wearin’ before I can pick which pants. You do tops first, not bottoms.”

“I …” Harrison squirms with his face. “I want to make a sex joke with that, but I’ll refrain.”

“Better to refrain,” I warn him, “because I’m about to lose my dang mind with these shirts.”

“Tops do bottoms, bottoms don’t do tops.”

“Harrison,” I sing warningly as I swipe the shirts off the bed again and head to the closet, only to discover a green shirt I forgot to consider. “Oh. You. I forgot you.”

“If the bottom dictates the top, sounds like you got a power bottom.”

I whip out the green shirt, only to realize it’s a tank top. “No, I can’t wear a tank top on the first day. What message am I tryin’ to convey here? That I’m some summer bum from Spruce lookin’ for an easy degree?”

“Oh, did you decide what degree you’re going for yet?” asks Harrison, as he spontaneously decides to stop being a child with his sex jokes.

“Counselor said I don’t gotta decide.” I tilt my head as I lift the red shirt to my chest and glance at myself in the mirror. “But I’m thinkin’ kinesiology. I like the idea of becoming an athletic trainer or physical therapist.”

Harrison sighs happily from behind as I continue to fuss at the mirror. “You’re gonna go so far, Hoyt.”

I peer over my shoulder at him—and catch him saying that to my ass. “You sayin’ that just because you’re staring at my ass? I’m well aware these are your favorite pair.”

He smirks. “You better pick out your clothes real soon and put them on so I can tear them right back off of you.”

“Promise?”

That earns me a growl. “Hoyt, I’m warning you …”

I chuckle to myself. “Listen, you better leave me alone before you make me late for class on my first damned day.”

Before I can so much as draw another breath, Harrison flies off the bed and appears right behind me. I see him in the mirror as his arms wrap around my waist and pull me against him.

His big cock, fully hard, makes its presence known as it flexes with all its strength, pressed firmly against my ass.

To be fair, Harrison is really fucking difficult to resist.

And I do need something to help me relieve a bunch of stress right now.

I squirm playfully in his hold. “I … guess we do have time for a little quickie.”

“How about a big quickie?” he asks.

Quite suddenly, whichever shirt I wear to my first day of class is the last thing on my mind. We’re right back on the bed. From the way he’s looking at my ass, and knowing the kind of pleasure only he can give me, it seems like I’m about to be the bottom this lovely Monday morning.

We’ve taken turns all summer. It seems like it’s the perfect speed for us, to routinely hand control back and forth. Sometimes he’s got the mad hunger and takes the reins, steering me like his naughty steed. Other times, I get as frisky as a cat and can’t help but to climb him, tackle him to the bed, and have my way with that mountain of a man.

But strangely, my favorite part isn’t always the sex. It’s how he is afterwards, when all the energy is calmed down, and a glaze of sweat dresses our deeply breathing bodies, and he’s got me tucked away in his arms like a precious treasure.

Harrison is a special, one-of-a-kind, beautiful soul.

He’s not someone you casually pass by. He’s someone who you must savor. He’s someone who takes his time, and with whom you feel like you’ve got all the time in the world. He makes time slow. He makes time freeze. He’s like some kind of magician in that way, having the uncanny ability to make you feel like you’re the only person in the whole world who matters to him. Tomorrow is just a distant, faraway thought. Yesterday and all its woes doesn’t exist. There’s only now. Only the love in our eyes. Only our adoration.

He cherishes me as much as I cherish him.

I’m so in fucking love with this man.

When we’re finished, staring up at the ceiling, in each other’s arms, out of breath, with time coming to a complete standstill (as I explained it so often does when he’s around), I say, “I love you.”

I feel him smile against my neck. “Love you, too, Hoyt.”

“I know it’s just for a day of class,” I go on, “and I’ll be back for dinner and all that … but I already miss you.”

“It’s just Mondays and Wednesdays, and the occasional Friday afternoon. You’ve got the perfect schedule. Strong Fitness won’t even miss you, since you’ll have every weekend free.”

“I still miss you.”

His hand slides up my naked body and takes hold of mine, our fingers weaving together, then pressing to my heart. “I think you might be missing your friends more.”

I give that some thought. Maybe he’s right. It was bittersweet, bidding Julio and Benji farewell when they left together for Austin. It was a Saturday when I dropped by to help them pack, then said goodbye, and demanded they keep in touch. I’d already seen pics of their apartment from when they scoped it out. I wonder if there is some other version of me that would have chosen to go with them—a third person in their vehicle, with all my luggage, tearing down the road with the music blasting on my way to UT, the place I insisted I wanted to go. Life feels so different now.

“I do miss them,” I admit, “but in a happy way. I know I’ll see them again every Thanksgiving and Christmas, and maybe spring break, too. And of course all next summer.”

“That’s very true.”

“But … if we lose touch, or they make a lot of new friends, or join some crazy fraternity … and maybe they don’t come back to Spruce as often …” I shrug. “I guess that’s just part of life, too. You don’t always keep in touch. Sometimes you outgrow friends. Or …” It’s difficult to picture my life without my buddies. But maybe this strange, self-discovering summer has shown me what that’s like. “Or you find new ones yourself. Regardless, this summer’s shown me that I’ll never be alone, no matter what.”

“Me neither, thanks to you.”

I turn my head slightly. “Me?”

“You’re the reason I’ve gotten so much closer to Billy, Lance, even my best friend Tanner. Hell, even my parents know now, and we’ve never been closer, even with them all the way in Houston.”

I remember the conversation vividly. I was there, holding his hand and encouraging him. “I can’t wait to meet them someday.”

“Oh, they’ll be here for Christmas, I’m sure. I think Jimmy and Bobby invited them to the big wedding. They invited damned near everyone, actually. Toby and his boyfriend, too.”

Toby and his boyfriend … I try to imagine how I’ll feel when I see them again. Now that I’ve got Harrison in my life, I imagine I’d feel pretty damned happy. Hell, maybe we can all go on a double date when they’re in town. Or is that pushing it too far?

“I think I’ve finally come to a decision,” I announce. Harrison shifts his head, listening. “The polo.”

After a moment, he nods affirmatively. “Thought so.”

Soon, I’m fully dressed with my backpack over my shoulders, ready for class. Harrison’s got just his jeans on when he walks me out of the cabin and stands at the foot of the porch to see me off. “You sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?” he asks, crossing his arms. “I made myself free today, just in case.”

I shake my head. “I know, and I appreciate that, but I got this. It’s just a fast drive down the road, anyway. Fairview Community’s showin’ as just an eighteen-minute drive from here on my phone,” I say, giving it a wiggle in my hand.

Harrison smiles at me, warm and happy.

“Wait!” a voice cries out from the bunkhouse across the yard.

I turn to find a bunch of faces pouring out of the mudroom. First it’s Emmalea, the one who cried out. “Don’t you go leavin’ for your first day without letting us say good luck!” she shouts. Then Turtle comes out with a bigger smile on his face than I thought he’s physically capable of. Fred and Rust are next, followed by Miguel, whose hair is now just past his shoulders.

“Aww, you guys,” I call out to them as we meet in the middle of the yard. “Look, it ain’t that big a deal. I’m just gone two days a week. I’m still here. There’s nothin’ to cry about or—”

Emmalea slams into me with the biggest, lung-crushing hug that could even rival Harrison’s worst. She’s in tears when she pulls away. “Oh, Lord, Jesus, help me, I am terrible at goodbyes!”

“It ain’t goodbye!” I protest.

Soon I’m swarmed by all of them giving their version of a good luck, congratulation, or farewell—despite the fact that I am going to be right back here in a matter of six or so hours for a nice and lovely dinner Emmalea is preparing. It’s ridiculous, really, the amount of emotion that’s pouring out of her right now. Of course, she has no kids of her own, and though she could technically pass as my much older sister or young aunt, she’s taken somewhat of a maternal role over me. Who am I to deny her that?

Soon, I’ve made my rounds, assured everyone I would be back for dinner. Then I’m at my car—which I was able to get, thanks to Lee’s dad pulling his strings at the local dealership—and waving goodbye to everyone, including a smiling, happy Harrison. I start the engine, then take off down the dirt road off of Gary’s property. The farm grows smaller and smaller in my rearview as I make my way out to Fairview, whistling to myself with the windows down and the air blasting its way in. Summer is slowly letting down her hair as the cooler, gentler fingers of autumn start taking over.

The little monster charm hanging from my rearview mirror catches the sun for a moment, as if to wink at me. It was a gift of congratulations from my family when I got this car—but really it’s Gemma who found the cute trinket at a market, and it reminded her of her birthday cake. I give it a pinch with my fingers, smile to myself, and say, “Love you bunches, Gems. Time for your big bro to venture out … and try not to make a fool outta himself in front of these college folks.”

I swear, the little monster winks back at me.

Epilogue
Harrison

I sit on the edge of the couch watching the TV intently. Turtle sits on the back of it with his feet on the cushions, his ukulele in his lap, having paused the song he was playing. Emmalea stands behind the couch leaning in, having come up from the kitchen to listen, her cooking interrupted. Rust sits on the arm of the couch. Miguel and Fred are at the dining table playing cards, but their game is interrupted as they pay attention to the TV, too.

It’s Nadine Strong making a speech on the local news channel. That’s officially Mayor Nadine, who has been Spruce’s mayor for the past two months now. It’s so strange, to see her on TV. She almost doesn’t look like her normal self. Whatever business attire she’s wearing is Lance’s doing, but her signature curls done into something of a beehive with her big hoop earrings showing is all her doing. She addresses the town with confidence and class. I’m used to seeing her unhinged and frazzled. This focused version of her is an unexpected yet welcomed surprise.

Rust nudges me. “What do you think?”

I shrug. “I think she’ll be a great mayor. More effective, more active, and way more present than Mayor Raymond, for sure.”

“Mayor Raymond was a tool,” mumbles Emmalea. “And I’m sayin’ that and ain’t even a Spruce citizen.”

“In spirit, y’all are,” I say with a smirk.

“Hmm. Maybe we got dual citizenship then,” says Fred.

“There’s no such thing,” mumbles Miguel.

“Sure there is,” says Fred. “Fair-Sprucians.”

Emmalea snorts. “You and your made-up words. Freddy, I’m gonna get you a dog-gone dictionary for your birthday, I swear.”

“I don’t need no gabnabbin’ dictionary!” he growls back.

I laugh, then realize I’m out of beer. I hop off the couch and head to the kitchen to get another from the fridge, surrounded suddenly by the delicious aromas of Emmalea’s cooking. With a quick check of my phone, I see it should be any minute now that Hoyt’s home. Why do I feel like some puppy waiting on his owner to come back from work? What’s next? Am I gonna run up to the door and bark at it the moment I hear his car crunching gravel?

“How do you think he did?”

It’s Emmalea, having returned. She stirs a pot on the stove and gazes at me with happy little sparkles in her eyes. Either she and Turtle are finally hooking up after a whole summer of flirting and unbearable ukulele songs, or she’s in one of her silly moods where she’s overjoyed about Hoyt and I being a couple.

I lift an eyebrow at her. “Hoyt? At school? I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I know you’re worried about him.” Her voice is soft, making our conversation private, unheard by the others as they continue watching the mayor’s speech. “I had a friend who went to Fairview Community. She called it Fairview High 2.0,” she says with a light chuckle. “It’s such a tightknit community, feels like just more high school. Nothin’ too stupid-fancy or intimidatin’—no fraternities or anything like that. Just classes, decent food court, a cool garden atrium thing between the science and math buildings, a fountain with two statues of a naked Apollo and Artemis together …”

“Aren’t they twins? Brother and sister?”

She wrinkles up her face. “How am I supposed to know? They are freakin’ gods. They can do whatever they want.”

I snort. “You know their names, but you don’t know if—”

“My point is, it’s a nice little campus—and maybe I made it sound a tiny bit fancier than it really is—but Hoyt is gonna feel at home there.” She pulls open the oven to check on something, then eyes me. “And when the young man comes back for dinner, he’ll feel even more at home. Isn’t it nice? Seeing him bloom before your eyes?”

I nod, still stuck in my head as I lean against the fridge with my new beer, which I haven’t opened yet. “Yeah … it is.”

“What’s the matter?”

I look at her, then laugh. “No, no, nothing’s the matter.”

“Tell me. It’s alright. What is it? You worried he’ll regret not goin’ to Austin?” She hits me on the arm. “You ever gonna wake up and see how much he loves you? And this place? He doesn’t wanna leave Spruce no more than you want him to. He loves his family too dang much. And that family now includes all of us.”

Despite still feeling the clutches of doubt around my stupid heart, I put on a smile. “You always got the right words, Lea.”

“Yeah? Well, apparently so do you,” she says back, smirking.

Her change in tone catches me. “What do you mean?”

“I just had a talk with Gary. He made a … decision about me and my future here.” She gives me a look. “He didn’t say this, but I’m pretty sure you had somethin’ to do with it.”

Of course I know what she’s talking about. I shrug and play coy. “Hmm? What decision? No idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” She leans in and lifts her eyebrows. “Gary named me the official forewoman. The title I always wanted and, I feel, deserved. With a fair raise in salary. I know you’re the one responsible for makin’ it happen.”

I smile. “Well, sounds like congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, well, it won’t be official-official ‘til Gary tells the others himself sometime later this week. He wants to make a big deal out of it, didn’t want me to say anything just yet.” She shakes her head as she studies me. “But there’s somethin’ I just don’t get.”

“What’s that?”

“Why aren’t you the one with the title?” She wipes her hands off on her pants, then faces me with her arms crossed. “Why me?”

“Easy. Because, like you said, you deserve it.” I crack open my beer and take a sip from it through my smile.

The truth is, it was only a small part of a rather life-changing conversation I couldn’t have seen coming. Gary called me to the main house for a drink and to discuss “a little somethin’ of no great importance” earlier this afternoon. We sat in a pair of chairs by his back window, and he talked to me about his vision for the farm over the next ten years over a glass of bourbon. I agreed with him about every aspect: Emmalea’s promotion. An expansion he wants to plan out. A deal he’s excited to work out with his brother, with the Landrys, and the other local farmers and ranchers.

That’s about when, in describing his grand vision, I quickly realized I wasn’t a part of it. “But what about me?” I asked.

He gave me a wistful smile. “Harrison, you know I look at you like my son. I love you like one, too. Heck, even long before you started workin’ here, I watched you in every one of your football games when I was there supportin’ my dear nephew. Every party you attended at the Strong ranch, conducting yourself with dignity, with humility, with respect … I lost track of the amount of times I heard Paul and Nadine praise you, how wonderful of a friend and a teammate you’ve been to Tanner all these years. You always lead every action of yours with heart and spirit. You’re a loyal soul, a strong soul, and shoot, I don’t think Tanner’s ever had anythin’ bad to say about you, not one bit. I’ve seen you blossom from a young, rambunctious teenager out on that football field … to this mature, focused man of thirty I see before me today.” He peered down at his glass of bourbon thoughtfully. “But … I’m afraid this farm isn’t your life’s endgame, son.”

“Sir …?”

“I don’t want you to be tied down here, wasting all of your … your potential. I want you to go even further.” He nodded at me. “That’s why I’m gonna invest in your furniture business.”

My jaw nearly fell off. “You’re gonna what?”

“It isn’t just a hobby. You’ve got a real eye for furniture. You don’t hear the talk around town. People ask ‘bout you. Talk ‘bout you. Your work. Harrison, your beautiful work could sell out a whole showroom floor. They’re not just well-made. They’re comfy. They’re practical. And they’re art. Don’t you realize that? I believe in you, Harrison. I say strike while the iron’s red-hot.”

“Gary, sir, I … I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, then. I’m investing in you ‘cause I believe in you. Hell, you can even keep all your business here on the farm if you wanted. Stay here. We’ll build you a workshop.”

“Gary …” I could barely even form words. “How can I possibly pay you back? I wouldn’t even be able to begin. This is too much. I can’t accept it, sir, I—”

“We’ll work out all the details later. Don’t worry about payin’ me back a cent. Haven’t you been listenin’, son? Look, we’ll pull a Lance and build your business right here on the property, right where you live.” He set down his drink suddenly and put an encouraging hand on my leg, patting me. “I want to see you succeed. I hope you will let me invest in you and help you realize those dreams I know you have in your heart. You gotta think big, Harrison. You are worth more than you ever give yourself credit for. Try to see yourself the way I see you … the way others see you.”

I left the house in a daze. My future had been torn straight out of my hands and replaced with a new one—a better one I couldn’t have begun to imagine for myself.

Perhaps that conversation is what brings the words out of my mouth now to Emmalea. “You just need to have faith in yourself, Lea. You’ve always had it in you to run this farm. Everyone looks to you for answers. Not me anymore. That’s ‘cause you know every damned thing about every damned thing.” I smirk at the stove. “Plus, you keep us all from starving. Remember that week when you were sick and we had to stomach Fred’s mystery meatloaf?”

She shakes her head. “Harrison … I don’t know what to say.”

I borrow Gary Strong’s words. “Then don’t say anything.” I lean in. “Personally, I can’t wait to see the looks on all their faces when they learn this farm’s finally got the forewoman it deserves. They’re gonna be so happy for you.”

“Oh, we’ll see if they’re still happy after a week with me in charge.” She cracks her knuckles and smirks.

I grin.

The door to the bunkhouse bursts open, and in struts Hoyt wearing his fitted gray polo and jeans, looking just as fresh as he did when he left. Quite instantly, the mayor’s speech is forgotten, and everyone swarms Hoyt to razz him about his first day. “How’d it go, college boy?” “Hey! Bomb any tests yet?” “How hot is your professor?” The questioning and general teasing goes on and on as Hoyt laughs and rolls his eyes, dropping his backpack by the door and placating everyone with, “Hey! My day went fine! I obviously survived it! You’re all a bunch of punks, by the way, but I love y’all just the same. Damn, that smells good! Is that dinner??”

The bunkhouse swells with the noise of laughter and chatter as we eat one of Emmalea’s best meals in ages. Hoyt sits right by me, and his face is beaming so infectiously, I can’t help but burst with happiness despite myself. When he’s feeling happy and I see that joyful light in his eyes, nothing can bring me down.

It feels so amazing to have someone in my life I care about.

Somewhere I can put all of this love I’ve hoarded inside of me for so long.

After dinner, the explosively happy energy carries on. Miguel, Fred, Rust, and Hoyt engage in a card game that has everyone in the house taking sides. The whole time, Hoyt is telling story after story of what happened during his day, including stuff about his weird or interesting classmates, his professors, and about a dozen other things. With the way he’s talking, you’d think he just had his first month of classes in one damned day. Then afterwards, Turtle picks up his ukulele and starts to improvise a song about Hoyt’s first day, and before long, everyone is busting out laughing. At one point, even Turtle cracks himself up, and we’re all gifted with the very rare occurrence of an actual laugh from the musician.

It’s midnight by the time we head to my cabin across the yard. The moment we spill inside, Hoyt goes straight to my bed and plops right down on his back, arms and legs spread.

“Fuck me,” he exclaims, spent.

I’m carrying his backpack for him and set it on the desk chair. “That a request, college boy?”

He snorts. “After this mornin’? I’m gonna need a few days to recover from that. Hey, what’re you doin’ all the way over there?” He pats the bed next to him. “College boy needs some lovin’.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Demanding, are we?”

“Can you undress me? Phew, I’m so dang tired, I don’t think I can even move an arm.”

I come up to the bed and pull off his shoes one by one. As he continues to lie there like a ragdoll, staring up at me with those cute doe eyes of his, I unbutton his pants, then work them right off his legs. I crawl over him and hold myself over his face, staring down at him with a mixture of adoration and wonder. After the day I’ve had, it’s a wonder I haven’t burst apart from happiness.

“What about the shirt?” he asks, like I’ve forgotten.

“I don’t know. It looks kinda cute on you, college boy. Maybe I want to cuddle you in it for a bit before I get you all naked.”

His lips curl up into a silly grin. “You like how I look?”

“I like that you’re here on my bed,” I tell him. The more I say, the softer my voice gets. “I like the way you look back at me, like I’m the only one who’ll ever have your heart. I like that you seem empowered after your first day of college, and not … well …”

“Seriously? You thought college would freak me out?”

I bite my lip. “Well, I mean …”

“What? Really? You thought it’d be too much for me? Or … do you mean you thought I’d …?”

I avert my gaze, uncertain how to answer.

He brings a hand to my chin and pulls my face right to his for a kiss. All of my worries are obliterated in seconds, just from the touch of his soft lips on mine. It’s so unfair, how he has the power to magically erase my thoughts by doing that.

When the kiss ends, I meet his eyes again. “Are you happy?” I ask him softly.

“Yeah, ‘course I’m happy, Harrison,” he answers. Then he lifts his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

“More than I’ve ever been,” I admit.

He studies me, searching for the words I won’t say. Then quite suddenly he finds them. “Harrison, let me tell you something. Are you listening to me?”

“Yep.”

“You sure?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Hoyt. You’ve got my undivided attention. Tell me what you’ve got to say.”

Without warning, he grabs me, flips me onto my back on the bed in one swift move, then straddles me. I stare up at him in surprise, as he pins me to the bed with a diabolical grin stretched over his face.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he says. “I’m happy. I’ve got you. I’ve got my friends in that bunkhouse. My other friends a call or text away. My parents and sister, just a short drive down the road. I even have a car now. It’s got a shitty radio, but hey, a car is a car, and I ain’t complaining.”

“I’d kiss you, but you got my arms pinned to the bed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you anyway, because I’m not done sayin’ what it is I got to say.”

“Yeah?”

Hoyt brings his face really close to mine. He lets go of one of my arms and brings his hand to my hair, which he strokes softly and thoughtfully. The smallest, dreamiest smile washes over his face—a smile of true contentment. “I know I’ve said it enough, but I think in times like these, it needs repeating.” He kisses me, then gazes into my eyes. “I’m crazy about you, Harrison. I love you. I’m all yours. I have never been more happy or more certain about a damned thing in my whole life.”

“Not me.”

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Huh?”

I break from his grip in an instant and grapple with him. This time, to my surprise, he puts up a decent fight. We roll around on the bed, him grunting as he tries to pin me again, but despite how freakishly strong he is for his build, I manage to win out with my size and strength and get him on his back. Straddling the helpless college freshman at the waist, I gaze down at him in victory.

“As a matter of fact,” I go on, “this whole summer, I’ve been filled with more doubt and uncertainty than I ever have before.”

Hoyt’s face is still cutely scrunched up. “What’re you saying? You have doubts about me? About us?”

“The only thing I felt certain about at the beginning of this summer was that no one would ever know my heart,” I tell him. “I never felt the need to advertise I’m gay because what’s the point? There wasn’t anyone here for me anyway. Everyone who appeared got snatched right up by the quicker guys. Hell, there was even a time when I was interested in Trey. Faked an injury on the farm just to go to the clinic and see him six or seven years ago.”

Hoyt lets out a laugh of disbelief. “You serious??”

“Yep. Pathetic, right?”

“I was gonna say hilarious and clever, but—”

“Anyway, Cody came along,” I go on, “and the rest is history. When Lance came into town more recently for our high school reunion, I got all excited again, thought this was my moment …”

“I can hear your tail waggin’ now.”

“… then Chad was there to wrangle him up. Since then, I lost hope. Every last scrap of it. For as many guys are in this town, it sure can feel mighty small at times. And besides, when all my love is going to the animals and into every piece of furniture I make … what do I have left in me to go out searching for Mr. Right?” Now it’s me stroking his hair. “I’ve got a lot of doubt in my heart about you, Hoyt Nowak. Why does this all feel too good to be true? How can you fall into my lap right when I need you the most?”

“Well, technically I’m underneath your lap …”

“You restored my hope, Hoyt. All of it. You made me certain about something in my life, for the very first time.”

“You should write all this down on a piece of paper and give it to Turtle,” he tells me. “Sounds like lyrics to a damned song.”

“I’m being serious, college boy.” I jab my fingers under his pits, and for one glorious moment, panic strikes his face as he lets out a bark of laughter. I let go and bring my face close to his. “It may take me some time to realize this is my life now. Be patient with me. It may take me some time to trust the happiness I’m feeling after so long of truly believing I’d live the rest of my life alone.”

He sits up and puts his arms around the small of my back with me still straddling his waist. We lock eyes, clutching each other. In this moment, neither of us are vying for power. We gaze into each other’s eyes as equals.

“But despite all that uncertainty,” I tell his eyes, “there’s one fact I know absolutely for sure.”

“That my hair is perfect today?” suggests Hoyt.

“Nope.”

“That I’d win in a tickle fight?”

“Doubtful.”

“That I look hotter with my clothes off?”

I press my lips to his, shutting him up. That I love you, I’d tell him, answering the riddle, but our kiss deepens too fast. Then our hands become involved. Soon, I’m sure neither of us remember what the hell we were even talking about. Just as certainly as there is a bed beneath our bodies, heat between our lips, and a summer’s worth of sweat down our backs, the love Hoyt and I share is something I will soon learn to never doubt.

The End.

Thank you for reading!

Did you enjoy Summer Sweat?

There’s always more stories brewing up in Spruce, Texas! Be on the lookout for a Spruce Christmas special coming later this year, as everyone gets ready to celebrate Jimmy and Bobby finally tying the knot—which draws a familiar face into town. Is love in the air?

Sign up for the Daryl Banner Newsletter to keep up with all the latest from Spruce as well as other series!

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Have you read the other books in the Spruce Texas Romance series? I’ll tell you about the first five books, plus some other books and series I think you’ll love – ALL of which are also available with Kindle Unlimited!

Football Sundae is the very first book in the series. If you haven’t read this book yet, it is a total must-read, as it tells the “sweet and succulent” story of how Billy and Tanner fell in love. Set nine years before the events of Summer Sweat, Tanner Strong comes home from college for the summer, hiding his discouragement about the tough competition he’s facing on campus, no longer the “big fish”. Billy Tucker, eager to run off to culinary school to pursue his dreams, works at his parents’ diner while secretly serving up his special desserts to customers, one of which Tanner takes a taste of. It captures his sweet tooth—and his heart—and sets the pair of them on a hilarious (and very steamy) path together. We also meet Harrison for the first time, as well as Tanner’s younger brother Jimmy who is only fourteen in this book.

Born Again Sinner takes place three years after Football Sundae. The story centers around Cody Davis after he is sent home injured from the Army, where he must undergo physical therapy in Spruce. After scaring off a number of nurses, his last resort is Trey Arnold, the town reverend’s son. This is a truly special story that, if you haven’t read it yet, will grip you by the heart early on and never let go. Cody and Trey’s connection is strong, emotional, and surprising. Prepare yourself for a rollercoaster of a story that will end leaving you feeling happy and complete.

Heteroflexible takes place two summers later (we are now three years before the events of Summer Sweat) and follows best friends Jimmy and Bobby as they come home from their second year of college to enjoy a fun summer. After one fateful night in a hotel together, secrets are revealed, and their summer takes a surprising (and entertaining) turn. There is so much to unpack in the story of how Jimmy and Bobby got together, you simply have to read this book to get the full picture. It’s wild. It’s fun. And it’s packed with sexual tension.

Wrangled tells the story of California-based fashion designer Lance Goodwin coming home to Spruce for his ten-year high school reunion. He reunites with everyone in his class, including Tanner, Billy, and Harrison … as well as his high school tormentor Chad Landry. But Chad is not the same person he was, and when the two finally meet, everything Lance thought he knew is flipped upside-down. This is one insane reunion story full of drama, hilarious circumstance, and deep emotions. Experience the secret world of Lance’s sassy mind in this book if you haven’t already, and especially if you want to see how Lance and Chad got together! A pink jockstrap and a wrestling scene wearing singlets might be involved…

Rebel At Spruce High is the fifth book in the series and centers around Toby Michaels, who is now a senior at Spruce High. When the rebellious city-boy Vann moves into town, an unlikely yet undeniable relationship forms between the two. In this book, we also meet Hoyt, who has been Toby’s tormentor for years, and we witness several surprising turns between them throughout the book. We also get a behind-the-scenes look at how Nadine Strong came to run for office. This book also introduces the setting for the beach-themed Spruce spin-off series, starting with In Too Deep: A Texas Beach Town Romance.

Tap here to check out the Spruce Texas Romance series!

Want to hear about some of my other books and series? If you liked Summer Sweat, I think you will LOVE my other work!

In Too Deep is the first book in my new beach-themed Spruce spin-off series set in a seaside Texas town that’s first introduced at the end of Rebel At Spruce High. It follows Jonah and his best friend over the course of a wild weekend vacation to Dreamwood Isle. When Jonah meets the intriguing local Kent who works the funnel cake shop on the boardwalk, a chain reaction of sparks, circumstance, and insatiable appetite sets off. This is an exciting start to a bold new series I think you will LOVE! If you haven’t tried this book yet, I recommend you dive in now, because book 2 is coming soon and you don’t want to miss out!

Tap here to check out In Too Deep (A Texas Beach Town Romance)

Are you in the mood for something more serious, gritty, and with the potential to emotionally impact you for weeks after finishing?

When I See You Again is a unique novel and a true labor of love that took me a long time to conceive and write. With each chapter taking place five years later, this book spans the lifetimes of two boys who, after forming an unlikely friendship, blossom into men and fall in love. Friends come and go. Lives change completely between chapters. But something endures between these two men that nothing and no one can touch—not even time itself.

Tap here to check out When I See You Again: A Novel.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, if you’re looking for some totally fun and escapist gay stories, I have the perfect series for you! It’s called the Boys & Toys. I wrote these novellas a bit like a TV show that follows the lives of four best friends. Think of it like Sex And The City, but with gay men. I have two “seasons” of these novellas, with each season following a different quartet of men. The seasons can also be read in either order. Experience their lives in an intimate, fun, and engaging way. You’ll go out partying with these boys, pursue dreams with them, suffer all of their worst embarrassments and rejections, as well as feel the thrill of their gratifying victories in the end. From personal trainers to struggling actors to suppressed fetish-seeking businessmen, the Boys & Toys are filled with romantic adventure and entertainment to the very last page.

Tap here to start the first season of Boys & Toys!

Tap here to check out the second season of Boys & Toys!

The whole first season is also available in a boxed set here!

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Thanks so much again for reading Summer Sweat. I truly hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to keep in touch with me, consider joining my Daryl Banner mailing list, or connecting with me on social media!

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Happy reading, always!

XXOO ~ Daryl