2

Wren

 

“Wren, wait up.”

     I turned and tipped my Gatorade to my mouth while I waited for Alex, Michael, and Cal to jog over. Hot off the practice field, sweat poured down their flushed faces while their chests heaved with the simple effort of breathing. I remembered those days.

     “Good practice?” I asked when my former teammates were close enough, giving exhausted high fives to each of them. Michael and Cal would be juniors this year, and although Alex and I were seniors, I’d known all these guys since elementary school.

     “Yup,” Alex answered for them. “We’re headin’ to Taco Waco. You comin’?”

     “Can’t.”

     Cal eyed me up and down while Michael’s dark glare scanned the parking lot.

     Alex tucked his chin, pissed with my answer. “Why the fuck not? First, you ditch the football team, and now your friends.”

     I rolled my eyes as Cal chuckled and said, “Dramatic much?”

     Alex backhanded his shoulder. “Fuck off.”

     Michael pushed through Alex and Cal, breaking up their shoving match. “Calm down, idiots,” he growled, but his attention was fixed on his brother, Jamie, sitting at a picnic table in the shade.

     “You calm down,” Alex laughed as he turned and then narrowed his gaze in Jamie’s direction. “Your brother’s always waitin’ on you like some chick on that tip. A little gay, if you ask me.”

     “No one asked you.” Michael stomped off and tossed over his shoulder, “We’ll meet you there.”

     “What did I say?” Alex called after him.

     “Why’re you working out so hard, Wren?” Cal asked me, probably to distract Alex from getting a fist in the face. Michael didn’t like anyone picking on his brother. The fact that he hadn’t gone off on Alex was a mystery.

     Cal distracted me too, though. His gaze lingered on my arms before fluttering back to my face as if he knew he had stared too long.

     I inhaled deeply at the implied compliment, straightening to my full six feet, three inches. Though I hadn’t been on the training field with the guys, I’d just spent the last two hours working my ass off with Mr. Stevens from the fire department.

     “Why not?” I asked and swallowed more of my drink to cool off. I didn’t have a good answer, and though becoming a firefighter after graduation was an option, it felt more and more like a lie lately when I used it as a reason to go hard.

     “Whatever.” Alex rolled his eyes. “You gotta eat, bro. Let’s go.” He stepped in the direction of the student parking lot, his cocky attitude fully expecting us to fall in line.

     “Told you. Can’t.” My phone dinged with a text. Probably Momma, again, nagging me about when I’d be home. “My estranged stepbrother moves in today. Gotta get home and do shit.”

     “Estranged?” Alex cocked his head. “He weird or somethin’?”

     Cal snickered.

     “No, dumbass. Estranged. Means he ain’t been around,” I rolled my eyes. “He called Sam up, and now he’s comin’ to stay.”

     “Like, forever?” Cal asked.

     I shrugged. “Hell, if I know.” My phone chimed again. “Fuck me. I already hate having a stepbrother, and he ain’t even here yet.”

     “Is he only technically a stepbrother, or have you met him before?”

     I shook my head, but Alex spoke before I could tell them no. I’d never met this kid, only heard about him from Sam, my stepdad.

     “Families be complicated, man. I’ve got a sister, a half sister, a stepbrother, and this kid that was, like, a cousin, but my folks adopted him.” Alex glanced to the left with a squint as if it took too much brainpower to figure it out.

     I laughed. “Dude, I know your family.” Everyone knew everyone’s family in this town.

     “Wilkerson!”

     Though it was my name, the three of us snapped our attention in the direction of the shout.

     “Great.”

     “Sorry, man.” Cal gritted his teeth with a scared smile, then ducked out of Dodge with Alex as the football coach stormed my way.

     “Hey, Coach.”

     “Wilkerson,” Coach said again, huffing and puffing. “What the hell I gotta do to get you playin’ football this year?”

     “Sorry, sir. I’m just not interested.”

     He eyed me up and down. Yeah, I’d sprouted like a weed during my freshman year. I had a few inches on almost everyone, and thanks to the training I did with Mr. Stevens, I had about fifteen pounds of muscle on all but Michael, probably.

     “Dammit, boy. Why can’t you see reason? The school needs you. I know you got roughed up in junior high, but you’re bigger’n any of them boys out there. You afraid?”

     No. Maybe. At any rate, not in the way Coach probably thought. I’d been a scrawny thing up until ninth grade and got the shit kicked out of me a time or three. On the field and after games, didn’t matter. Not that I went looking for fights now or anything, but I knew they wouldn’t end the way they had then.

     Football had been fun as a kid, but I just wasn’t into sports like everyone else. I had the size for it, sure, but just because I was a big guy didn’t mean I had to do the stereotypical manly shit. Plus, I hated all the attention that came with it.

     Wearing that uniform and helmet was one thing, but when they came off, I just didn’t think I could deal. Our football team wasn’t even all that good, yet in the hallways at school, they were celebrities. No, that sort of attention was not for me.

     “No, sir, I’m not afraid. It’s just not a good idea for me, Coach.” I got my reasons, you pushy bastard. “Sorry.”

     “I’m gonna keep tryin’.” He’d been saying that since the end of last season. “First game’s not for a month or so.”

     “I gotta go, Coach.”

     Before he could think of some other guilt trip to pile on, I turned on my heels and jogged to my truck. Fuck, it was hot. Even the sky said it was too hot to go on. Clouds were already pushing out the blue, but I’d be home before the bottom fell out. I slowed almost immediately and took another cold drink.

     The parking lot emptied quickly as the football team left practice and the cheerleaders, who had been making banners for the new school year, left for the day. Michael was long gone with his brother. Alex ducked into his beat-up Civic, and I glanced at a few other players as they shrugged out of T-shirts and pads before hopping into their cars. Nope, they sure weren’t the best team in our division, but some were looking good this year.

     When I raked my gaze over Spencer, I had the urge to spit. Jackass was on the defense and a serious twat. He’d been that way since seventh grade. You’d think I’d be used to it, but I wasn’t. He and his little crew joked and shoved each other while the girls near them giggled at their horrible manners. Dickheads. Why they were so popular with the girls? Sure, they were nice-looking, but, Jesus, were they that shallow?

     Spencer folded into his little souped-up Jetta and peeled out of the lot with some chick’s hair streaming out the passenger-side window. He’d spent a ton on the custom paint job, so I’d heard. I wanted to key it so badly.

     One of the last to leave was Cal. Speaking of looking good … Cal Winters had starred in a few of my more confusing daydreams. Of anyone I knew, he was the most attractive, the most interesting, and still not enough to make me do something stupid. Like admit these things out loud.

     He ducked into his own truck. The country song that blared when he started it up was louder than the engine. I told myself there was a ton wrong with Cal, mostly to keep the daydreaming to a minimum, but there truly wasn’t. He was nice and approachable, an all-right guy, but he was annoyingly straight.

     Not that I was gay.

     Okay, not that I was admitting to being gay.

     The remaining cheerleaders rolled the banners and placed them in the back of someone’s momma’s SUV. Their shorts were short, their legs soft and tan. They bounced in all the right places. I should’ve been attracted, but I wasn’t.

     I pushed the ever-present argument out of my mind. Again. It wasn’t as if I’d die from making it through high school without labeling my sexuality. Plenty of people didn’t get laid until college, right? And even if I did label it, I sure as shit wasn’t messing around with anyone in this town. That was a heap of trouble I wouldn’t tangle with.

     I jumped in my old Chevy and let the engine roar to life. Yeah, first glance at me, and you’d see redneck, but I didn’t give a shit. So I liked my truck. It’d been lifted a tiny bit before I got it, and the off-roading KC lights across the roof gave it that country-boy glamour.   

     You’d never hear country songs out of my speakers, though. Actually, you’d never hear anything. They were busted. I popped in my earbuds and hit a playlist at random. “California Girls,” the Van Halen version, blasted in my ear. Daddy had loved this song. Rolling the windows down because this antique had power nothin’, I tapped the door with the music and drove home, mufflers blaring.

     A few neighbors had complained about my truck’s loud, throaty exhaust—nothing special was on it, just old—so I went a little easy on my street, then coasted onto the driveway and off to the side in the beaten-down grass where I parked.

     “About time,” Momma said as she met me at the front door.

     “What’d I do?”

     Mommas didn’t meet you at the door unless something was wrong.

     She waved a hand, then hurried to close the door behind me. “Nothin’ yet. Get on upstairs and shower, then I could use a hand in the kitchen.”

     I turned around and rolled my eyes so she couldn’t see it. “Jesus, Momma. He’s just a kid. You ain’t gotta act like it’s the gov’nor coming to dinner.”

     “Boy, get up them stairs and do what I said.” She grinned with the last word, taking any heat from them.

     Taking the steps two at a time, I stripped off what I could without tripping myself and headed for the shower. The upstairs had been my domain since we moved here after Momma and Sam got married. Now, I’d have to share it with Sam’s kid I’d never met. Not that I had a say in it or even a good understanding of it. Sam hadn’t said much about why his son was moving in, and Momma hadn’t either. She was thrilled, of course. That was more than evident.

     I put on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of shorts that didn’t smell terrible, then sat behind my cello. Normally I’d play from now until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, but today, I only got a few bars into a Vivaldi Concerto when Momma called to me from the bottom of the stairs.

     “Fuck me,” I whispered and propped the instrument on its stand in the corner. Most days, she practically beat me out of the kitchen, and now she wanted my help?

     “Yes, Momma?” I tried for sweetness, and it must’ve worked. Momma put me to work dumping and mixing ingredients in bowls, then washing vegetables.

     The two of us popped our heads up when a door slammed outside. By the second door slam, we’d glanced at each other, then hurried to the front porch. I stayed in the shade as Momma flew down the steps and out to the driveway.

     “Tate!” She waved just as a dark-headed, skinny kid rounded Sam’s truck.

     Tate, right. Now I remembered his name, but— Hold the fuck up.

     The kid was nothing like what I had expected. First off, he wasn’t a kid. Tate was my age, at least. Second, he was fucking gorgeous. I’d never in my life seen anyone so beautiful. Every bit as tall as Sam, the sun shone down on him like a cool breeze rather than the slap with a wet towel as it did everyone else. He glanced at me for all of one second, then back to Momma, who looked as if she might have a fit.

     “Hey, Tate!” Momma was definitely fighting an instinct to hug him. She was the hugging type. She reclasped her hands tightly in front of her chest, as if she had to hold them to herself or they’d fly away. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. We’re so glad you’re here.”

He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and Sam carried two more he’d pulled out of the back of his truck before they made their way closer to the house. With every step, Tate got hotter and prettier and sexier. Well, hell, maybe I was fucking gay ’cause damn. My throat went dry, my chest grew warm, my toes curled, and my dick jerked to attention.

     Holy shit.

     The walkway from the truck to the porch wasn’t that long, but each of his steps took a lifetime. And with each one, my dick got harder and harder. I turned to the side, hoping I passed it off as moving to help carry something, and adjusted the growing length.        Fuck.

     Dark brown, wavy hair I wanted to run my fingers through. Full lips I could rub my thumb over. A thin frame I could swallow with my own. Good grief, I just wanted to touch him.

     Momma fussed over him as he smiled down at her. I hadn’t paid attention to a word of it. When they reached me, Sam handed off one of his bags. Tate lifted bright green eyes to mine. His smile only faltered for a second, but that was all I needed for the cold splash of reality to soak me.

     Old insecurities reared up vivid and just as ugly as I was in my head. He was too pretty, and for a second, it made me forget I sure as shit wasn’t. In that dazed moment, my mind had run wild with fantasies, and all he saw was my face, my scar, my reason for pretty much everything I didn’t do in life.

     “Tate, this is Wren,” Sam said as we all met under the porch shade.

     “Hey.” I tucked my chin, as if that’d hide me.

     Nothing like reality to flatten a boner. At least I didn’t have that to worry about now. Course correcting from delusionville, I spun on my heels and slammed open the front door. Momma chattered on merrily, and Sam grinned like a proud new daddy as he trailed behind the two of them. If I shut this door with me outside, would they notice?

     “I’ve got sandwiches ready if you need a snack, but supper’s in a couple of hours,” Momma said. “You’ll have to let me know if you’ve got any food allergies.”

     “I don’t have any,” Tate said. His voice slinked inside my head the same as the sight of him had and forced me to take a deep breath. I held him there, reluctant to let go of even the smallest piece of him.

     “Neither does Wren,” Momma said.

     Tate glanced at me with my name. I couldn’t read the twitch in his lips. Was that a smile? Was he laughing at me?

     “Y’all are just the easiest kids ever.”

     Tate sort of chuckled, then asked, “Um, bathroom?”

     “Yeah.” Sam clapped his hands. “Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

     I followed them upstairs, leaving plenty of room so I couldn’t accidentally smell him. God, if he smelled as good as he looked and sounded, the trifecta of my downfall would be complete.

     Sam stood at Tate’s window when I entered the once spare room and sat the bag I carried beside the others. I didn’t stop to chat, just hightailed it outta there. All too soon, I’d be forced to spend time around Tate, so I’d enjoy my freedom until it was stripped from me.