29. EDDIE

Chapter twenty-nine

EDDIE

F rank and Julianne's unexpected visit left a strange atmosphere; their questions and knowing looks made me – made us both – ill at ease. There was nothing in the world to stop me from saying, "Max and I are seeing each other." Everyone seemed to think, or at least suspect, that I was gay anyway, and heck, they were probably right.

But I had to think about Max. He was not in the same position as me. He lived here. His life was here. And I had to think about Jared, too, not so much in whether or not he should have a "gay dad," as he himself had put it, as his adoration of Max. It would be a significant shift, and possibly a slight betrayal, for me to now turn around and say, "We aren't all best buds after all. Max and I are actually in a relationship."

And then I wondered: were we ?

Lost in my thoughts, I made my way through the house to see Frank and Julianne out. We made awkward conversation, and Julianne repeated her offer of a family cookout, maybe that weekend, maybe over here in the garden "now it looks so nice." I agreed in the vaguest way, saying we would love to, meaning Jared and me, without promising anything.

With each passing moment, the weight of their unspoken scrutiny seemed heavier. We were all walking through the house, thinking about the near-naked man they had found in my back garden and Julianne's suggestion that she had heard he was there a lot.

After they were gone, Max followed me into the house.

"Julianne is up to something," he said.

"Do you think so?" I asked, although I knew she probably was.

"Do you think we should worry, Eddie?"

I shrugged.

"About what?"

"About what people might say."

I said no, but I was not at all sure. "Are you done with the garden?" I asked to change the subject.

"Yeah."

He was still very sweaty.

"You look like you could use a shower."

"Yeah, that sounds amazing," he said. For a moment, I almost suggested joining him, but then I said I needed to send some emails. He nodded without complaint.

I watched as he made his way upstairs, then listened to the faint sound of his footsteps from upstairs. With each thud, the tension of the visit began to fade.

I listened to the sound of the shower running and then to him singing to himself from inside the bathroom, some rock song I couldn't place. It felt like such an intimate moment, a glimpse of a life we might have had together: my man showering, me just listening to him being my man.

With a soft sigh, I leaned against the wall, allowing myself to listen. I closed my eyes and thought of his body in the water, in the steam. I thought, too, of when we were younger, in high school, in the locker room after a game, or when he moved in at my mom's: it was like a long line of erotic thoughts I had about him, stretching back and back.

That was what was so powerful, so intoxicating: that whole history of desire between us.

And as I stood there, caught in the throes of longing, I knew that I couldn't resist going to him.

I made my way upstairs. As I reached the bathroom door, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

The steam from the shower enveloped me. I laid eyes on Max in the shower cubicle, his naked shape blurred by the wet mist in the air and the pattern of water droplets on its glass screen.

Without a word to him, I took off my clothes, each piece falling to the floor: my shorts, my shirt, my underwear, and finally, each of my socks. Naked, I walked up to the screen and slid it back. He turned around and smiled at me.

"I thought I might join you," I said softly.

"Come in, then," Max replied, his tone casual, yet he was grinning hungrily.

He extended a hand to me and pulled me toward him, the water hitting my body as he drew me into a kiss. His other arm then reached around my waist, and I felt his fingertips brush my buttocks.

Pulling out of the kiss, I searched Max's eyes, trying to discern how he was feeling about the unsettling events of the afternoon. There was a quiet intensity to the way he looked at me, and as his penis grew hard, we stood there, connected by each other's gaze.

"Are you okay?" I asked, letting my hand brush his cheek.

He smiled and kissed me.

"I'm great."

My hand moved to cup Max's cheek, and we started to kiss again. Everything else faded away – doubts, tensions, worries, the future. There was only Max and me, and for now, that would be enough.

He turned me around and put his mouth to my ear, jaw, and neck. I pushed my body back against his, feeling his erection against my buttock. I felt him push his penis against my body, and then, as it slipped inside, I gasped.

We had sex. When it was over, he turned me back around and pushed me against the wall of the shower cubicle, and I felt so small and safe in his embrace.

There was a moment of silence; the only sound was the pounding rhythm of the water.

"I love you," I said with my head in the crook of his neck, soft on his shoulder.

"What?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"I love you."

For a moment, he was silent. And then, with a soft smile, his forehead fell against my cheek.

"I love you, too," he murmured.