30. Huckslee

Huckslee

F uck, this hurts.

The floor pitches again, concrete walls like a vice, and I turn away before I embarrass myself further by puking all over his Docs.

"Sorry to interrupt," I mutter, dashing up the hallway toward a door that reads ‘ Employees Only .' Taylor calls after me, but I will make a mess in this hallway if I don't get out now.

The door opens to some sort of back alley between buildings, and I barely have time to catch Matthew leap away from Xed before bending over and throwing up all over the ground. Everything I've had to eat and drink tonight comes back up, barely missing my shoes. It burns so bad my eyes well up, stomach muscles working painfully against the force of it.

There's a low curse and a hushed conversation behind me before the door slams shut. And then there's a tentative hand on my back .

"Damn, man." Matt stands above me, brows wrinkled in concern. "Looks like someone took ‘order whatever you want' too far. You okay?"

I don't respond because I physically can't; all effort is focused on not getting the contents of my insides on anything important, like my clothes. When my body has finally expelled everything, I stay bent over for a few minutes, eyes squeezed shut as I just try to fucking breathe.

The hand on my back sweeps around in wide, soothing circles, and it feels nice. Grounding. So, I let Matthew do that for a bit longer than I should as I try to piece my thoughts together.

Eventually, when I don't feel like passing out, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and straighten, wincing as I clear my throat. "Thank you."

"Of course, man." Matt smiles crookedly as he backs up a step, giving me space. There's something in his eyes, though, an anxiousness that has me doing a double take as I study him curiously. His mouth is tight despite the smile, his brows pulled in, and he looks like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Xed and I were just talking," he explains quickly, biting his lip.

"Okay."

His big eyes fly to mine, a hint of fear flashing. "It's the truth. Just a heated conversation. I mean, not heated like that , but we-we were just–"

"I get panic attacks," I cut him off, not only because it's painful watching him try to save face but also because it's none of my business what I just saw the two of them doing .

He blinks, clearly not expecting me to say that. "Oh..."

"Yeah..." Curling my fingers into my hair, I tug on the strands as I glare at the ground. "Sometimes I can kind of feel when one is coming. Like a tingling in my fingers or muscle spasms. Hard to explain. Other times, though, they kind of hit out of nowhere."

"Is that why you threw up?"

"Uh." I grimace as my stomach churns again when I think about Taylor and Blondie. "Partly. When I'm like that, though, I sometimes get tunnel vision and don't really notice what's happening around me until it's over."

It's pretty much the truth, especially if it's bad. When I first got to California, I came to once in the middle of a grocery aisle surrounded by concerned shoppers and had no clue how long I'd been freaking out. It took a long while, constant therapy sessions, and the right meds to finally make the anxiety and panic attacks less debilitating.

A frown pulls at my lips. Speaking of therapy, I haven't had a session in months. Maybe my therapist back in Cali can do a FaceTime or a Zoom call…

"So what set you off?" Relief softens Matthew's features as my words register, even though it's a lie. I did, in fact, see something, but I'm not about to say anything.

I'm not Taylor.

The thought brings a fresh batch of knife wounds to my gut.

Taylor...was in that bathroom with Blondie. Probably getting his dick sucked by the looks of it .

Why does the thought of him with someone else tear me up like this? He's my stepbrother, for fucks sake. We're not...we're not anything to each other.

Just each other's first kiss and first love .

First and only person to ever break your heart.

And just like that, the anger is back, pulling me into its poison, eating away at whatever feelings I may have had toward Taylor ten minutes ago before I saw him banging some stranger in a dive bar bathroom.

Fuck you, asshole .

Spinning away from Matt, I head back through the door, seething and aching with rage. "I need another drink."

He follows behind, those big feet of his clunking along the floor. "Look, I don't want to be a downer, but maybe you should slow down, Huckslee."

No. Hell no.

"And why would I do that when Taylor so generously offered me all the alcohol I can drink?"

He curses as we step into the bar area again and peels away, muttering something along the lines of ‘ gonna tell that stupid idiot to close the damn tab. '

Royce looks up from his phone when I appear beside him, looking relieved and shaken. "Hey, I just texted you. Are you okay? Your stepbrother was over here like two seconds ago asking where you went–"

"I'm fine, but he's about to close his tab. Let's go order as much shit as we can."

And we do. Seriously, I should feel bad at the table in front of me lined with a shot of every bottle they have in the bar, but I don't. (Which, according to Google, is very much illegal, but Juanita seems to march to the beat of her own drum, and I think she's my new best friend.)

Mixing liquor is never a good idea. The more Royce and I drink and dance, though, the less I give a shit. Whatever booze I threw up is quickly replaced, and I feel Taylor's eyes on me the entire time. Blondie is nowhere to be seen, but he's watching me with an expression I can't read whenever I glance over at the pool table.

I fucking hate it.

I fucking hate him.

For making me feel this way. For never getting out of my head. For hurting me.

But mostly, I hate myself for hurting him back.

The longer the night goes on, the drunker I get. I don't even think we finish all the shots, vaguely remembering Royce handing them out like candy. I think he quit drinking a while ago, but I can't seem to stop.

The longer Taylor stares, the more I want to forget him. Forget his bright eyes that can't seem to pick a fucking color, forget the way he kisses even though it's never left my mind in over four years, forget the joy on his face from building a fucking snowman. Even the feel of his mouth on my cock, which is so sick and twisted that I'm even thinking about that.

Sick and twisted.

Toxic.

He's no good for you , Royce said.

I'm no good for him.

We're no good for each other, and yet

I

Can' t

Let

Him

Go.

Juanita announces last call, which means it's somewhere around one in the morning. I don't even remember the hours passing—where did the night go?

Royce wipes his eyes as he laughs after we finish a terrible karaoke rendition of Cher's ‘Believe,' pushing outside into the chilly night air.

"I've got my man coming to pick me up," he says as we lean against the outside of the bar, sharing a cigarette. "Want a ride?"

Wait, why am I smoking? I don't even smoke. This stuff tastes like shit.

Huffing a cough, I hand him the cigarette and shake my head. "I'll call an Uber."

"You sure, babe? He won't mind."

"Yeah," I grin at him, having difficulty focusing on his face. "S'all good, man. Thanks for hangin'."

"You're fun as hell, Huck. Let's do this again."

I think I agree, even though I don't ever want to drink like this again in my life. Can't seem to think straight. Eyes hurt.

Royce's ride pulls up, and after a tight hug, I'm alone, leaning against the building. So I slide to the ground, squinting down at my phone as I pull up the Uber app and try to get my hand to stop moving for five seconds so I can fucking see. When the Uber is ordered, I lean back while waiting. The wall is cold against me, cooling my heated skin, and a breeze dries the sweat on my neck. It feels so damn good that my eyes sink closed, only for a minute .

Just for one minute.

I'm so exhausted that I'll just close them until my ride shows up.

Just a minute…

"Wake the fuck up, Huckslee!"

Next thing I know, I'm being shaken violently, and I peel my lids open to glare up into two blue-green eyes.

"Ah, what the hell?" My head is pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears. "Stop shakin' me!"

Taylor stands above me with his hands on my shoulders, brows pinched. His teeth are sunk into his bottom lip, gaze bouncing around my face in a panic-stricken way, and hell, if that doesn't sober me right up.

"Why are you sleeping out here?!" His voice is shrill, loud enough against the quiet night that I flinch. "Where the fuck did Royce go?"

"Wasn't s-sleeping." Frowning up at him, I lift my phone to his face. "W-was waiting for my Uber."

He looks at it for a few seconds, reading the screen, before his expression hardens.

"Jesus Christ, Huck." Grabbing my phone out of my hand, he turns it around so that I can see. "Your driver called and texted twenty minutes ago looking for you. Pretty sure they're gone by now."

"What?!" Shit . Does that mean... I've been sleeping against this building for almost half an hour, looking like a homeless person? In the cold? "Fuck, dude."

Now that I notice it, my teeth chatter as my body shivers violently .

Taylor stares at me briefly before releasing my shoulders, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Check your pockets. Make sure no one robbed you while you were out."

Ah, hell.

I pat myself down, pulling out my wallet with frozen fingers to ensure nothing is amiss. When everything is accounted for, I sigh in relief and try to stand. The minute I do, the earth tilts on its axis, and I fall with a groan, head swimming. Clearly, I'm still fucked up.

"Goddammit." Taylor tries to catch me, looping his arms under my own, and I notice his wince as he pulls me to my feet. The warmth from his body floods me as he presses me into the wall for stability, and my arms tighten around him involuntarily.

He stiffens, trying to back away. "Let me go, Huck."

"S-sorry," I chatter, willing my frozen hands to unhook themselves from around his shoulders. "C-c-cold."

My arms fall from him, and I brace for the frosty air to hit me when he steps away.

But he doesn't. He hesitates, keeping our bodies flush, his face tilted down so I can't read his eyes.

"Did Royce leave you like this?" There's a catch in his voice, almost like anger, and I shake my head quickly.

"No, I was-s awake when h-he left. T-told him I'd be f-fiiiiine." That last word turns like a whine as the cold wind hits me, and I find myself burying my frozen nose into the crook of Taylor's neck. He jolts but doesn't move, thank fuck, because I feel like a damn icicle right now. Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if my lips are blue .

We stay like that for a moment, pressed against each other outside of the bar, and eventually, Taylor's warm cheek falls against the side of my head.

"You scared the shit of me," he whispers, hot breath against my ear, and I murmur a ‘ how so? ' into his skin. "When I walked out here and saw you slumped over like that... you're ice cold, Huckslee. I tried to wake you twice. I thought..."

He trails off, and the reality of what he's saying hits me like a ton of bricks.

Dead. He thought I was dead.

Fuck.

Guilt flattens me like a steamroller, causing my arms to come up and crush him to my chest. His grip tightens on me as well, and for a moment all the bullshit falls away while we just hold each other.

"I'm s-so sorry, Taylor." My voice breaks, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. "So goddamn sorry."

"You could have frozen to death, man. What were you thinking?"

I shake my head, trying to burrow further into him even though I'm as far as I can go. "Wasn't thinking. Was t-tired. Drunk."

"I shouldn't have let you use my tab," he mutters, and I feel his swallow against my lips. "You have a drinking problem, Huck."

"I know. I know."

I do. Had one for a while, but it's only gotten worse since coming back. Which is hilarious if you think about how strict Utah's liquor laws are compared to California's. How the hell does that make sense ?

The door of the bar flings open, bursting whatever bubble Taylor and I had found ourselves in because he pulls away from me quickly. It's almost painful, like a bandaid being ripped away, taking a piece of myself with him. Matthew and Xed step out onto the sidewalk, eyeing us curiously, and my heart sinks when Christian steps out after them with Blondie tucked under his arm.

Reality is a cold, hard, big-tittied bitch.

"What's going on, Tay?" Christian asks slowly, glancing between us, and I turn away to pull up the Uber app again, not interested in hearing this conversation. My insides feel hollow, like they've been scooped out with a spoon. I get about ten feet away when Taylor calls my name, and my plan is to ignore him until his hand wraps around my arm, yanking me back.

"Where do you think you're going?" His nose is scrunched, adorably irritated. If it weren't for the empty feeling in my bones, the look on his face would make me smile.

"I'm calling another Uber."

He spins around and tugs me back toward the bar. "Yeah, I don't think so. I'm driving you home."

Driving? So he's still sober?

"Taylor, no." I try to dig in my heels, but he's strong, and I'm still freezing. And drunk. "You don't have to do that. It's fine."

"It's not fucking fine, Huckslee. Something bad could have happened to you. And if I ever see Royce again, I'll kick his ass for not making sure you got home safely."

He pulls us into the parking lot, where his yellow truck sits next to a black Subaru. Christian is near the passenger door, glaring daggers at me. There's no Blondie to be found, and I can't say I'm sad about that .

"It's not Royce's fault, I told him I was fine. Really, Taylor, let me call an Uber."

He says nothing, depositing me next to Christian before rounding to the driver's side. Matthew and Xed exchange their goodbyes before climbing into the Subaru together, and Christian opens the passenger door as he motions for me to get in. His nostrils are flared.

"I'm not going with you guys."

He growls before grabbing my shoulder and manhandling me into the cab. "Get the fuck in, you cock blocking asshole."

"Get your hands off me, dude." I crawl into the middle seat beside Taylor, seething as Christian jumps in next to me. "I didn't cock block shit."

"You're doing it right now, fucker." He slams the door with a huff, crossing his arms. "I'd rather have Kelsie's sweet ass sitting next to me instead of yours, but someone ," he glares over at Taylor, "had to go all Superman and swoop into the rescue. Again."

I only catch on to one part of what he just said. "You think my ass is sweet?"

Can't help it. Still drunk.

A snort comes from Taylor as he pulls out of the parking lot while Christian mutters something in Spanish that's too fast for my ears to hear.

"What the fuck ever," Taylor laughs, and I find myself studying his face, trying to commit the smile to memory. "You get laid almost every day at this point. Pretty sure you're a sex addict, dude. "

"And you're a fucking monk," Christian fires back. "Seriously, cari?o , what's up with you? It's been like three months since you've gotten some pussy."

"Whooa." My mouth speaks before I can stop it, Taylor going rigid against my side. I hadn't realized I'd leaned into him.

"My sex life isn't your business, asshole," he mutters, staring straight ahead as a flush spreads on his cheek. I try not to stare; I really do, but he makes it so hard when he's this close to me. That hollow feeling inside me is slowly starting to fade.

Three months?!

"Kinda hard not to make it my business when we live together. I notice things. You went from fucking just as much as I do to nada . And I'd know if you were getting any because the walls are thin as fuck. You come loudly."

Oh my god. How does he know that?

I don't even know that.

Fuck, I wish I knew that.

"Christian, for the love of all that is holy, please shut up," Taylor hollers, face getting redder, but his best friend is having none of it.

"What didn't you like about Kelsie? She was sexy as hell. Was the blowie in the bathroom bad or something?"

And the hollow feeling slams back, enveloping me tenfold.

I should have known better. Just because Christian said he wasn't getting any didn't mean he wasn't getting head .

Turning away, I blink rapidly out the windshield, trying to get my breathing under control. Taylor's fingers tighten on the steering wheel, but he doesn't respond .

Christian continues. "She was down to let us share her, man. You know how much I like it when they do that. I bet she'd even let you—"

Taylor reaches out to crank up the radio, drowning out whatever Christian was about to say, and I've never felt more relieved. For fucks sake, I didn't want to hear any of that.

Straightening away from him, I focus on the passing buildings to occupy my mind for the rest of the drive. At one point, Taylor bumps my knee with his, but I scoot away, leaning into Christian instead. His jaw feathers at the corners, but he doesn't look my way.

Eventually, after grabbing some late-night tacos and water to soak up the liquor, we round a corner, pulling into a driveway where Christian's old Bronco sits near the front porch of what looks like a duplex.

My eyes fly to the side of Taylor's face as he puts the truck in park. "I thought you were taking me home?"

"Logan's apartment is on the other side of the valley." He gets out, still not meeting my gaze. "My place was closer. I can take you home in the morning."

Christian grumbles something in Spanish but gets out, leaving the door open for me. He doesn't even wait for us as he stomps up the steps and unlocks the front door, slamming it shut behind him. A lighter sparks, and I see Taylor leaning against the front of the truck with a smoke in his mouth, staring after his best friend.

"He's such a pissy drunk," he mumbles around the cigarette, inhaling deep as he leans his head back. I watch his throat flex with a swallow .

"I'm sure getting laid would have helped. Sorry to ruin your night."

He shrugs, not responding as he blows out smoke, and for some reason it pisses me off.

"Look, I can just call an Uber from here. No need to stay. Thanks for the ride." Even though I'm now further from Logan's apartment than I was at the bar, but whatever. It's fine.

"Get the fuck inside, Huckslee." Taylor leans down to put the cigarette out on the driveway before heading up the steps. When he gets to the front door, he pauses, waiting. So I reluctantly follow, feeling a little unwelcome.

The inside of his apartment is nice, though clearly a bachelor pad. It's a bit messy but not disgusting. It's just ‘lived in by two single men,' if that makes sense. There are a few dishes in the sink, and the trash needs to be taken out, but honestly, it feels pretty homey. The walls are plastered with band and motocross posters.

Taylor leads me to a door just off the kitchen, and I freeze when I realize I'm about to walk into his bedroom. A place I've never entered, a boundary I never crossed. Even when we lived together.

The room is decently sized, with a desk in the corner holding a laptop and a lava lamp. There's a queen-sized bed against a wall completely covered in photos, so many that I find myself floating over to look. Most of them are of him, Salem, and Christian, posing with silly faces or in front of cool shit. Doing cool things, like climbing a rock wall or snowboarding. Some of Matt and Xed with a little girl who must be Matt's daughter. There are a few with people I've never seen before, but one picture in particular catches my eye. It's closest to the bed, near enough to be in his direct line of sight if he turns onto his side. Squinting, I lean over to study it and feel my heart skip when I recognize where it's from.

It's him and me, seventeen years old at our parents' wedding, dressed in tuxedos and bruised all to hell. I have a black eye and his nose is two sizes too big.

"It's the only picture we have together, so…" He clears his throat behind me, voice uneven, and I turn to watch him unlatch a wire cage in the corner, where a rabbit is making noise. "Bathroom is through that door, fresh pack of toothbrushes in the cabinet. Feel free to use one. And by feel free, I mean please do. No offense, Huck, but your breath is rank."

An embarrassed laugh leaves my throat as I head into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. It's small but not claustrophobic and smells like Taylor's body wash. I do my business, taking a piss and finding a toothbrush, but my mind keeps circling back to that photo. Why would he have a picture of me on his wall? And right where he'd see it first thing in the morning? A feeling blooms inside me, warmth and softness I can't place spreading throughout my chest.

When I finish up, I enter the bedroom again to find him sitting on the side of his bed in his tank top, smiling down at the rabbit on his lap.

"This is Baby Bones," he says, holding the animal up for me to see. "BB or Beebs for short. Saved her from Christian's python."

Dropping to my knees before him, I try to focus on the bunny instead of panicking about a giant snake nearby. "Hi, Baby Bones. Nice to meet you." Reaching out to pet her black ears, I take in the white pattern of a skull on her face. "That's natural?"

"Yep. Cool, huh?"

My throat closes at the adoration on his face, reminding me of how he used to look at our cat in high school. "Whatever happened to Lasagna?"

His eyes darken as he sighs deeply, turning toward a photo of an orange ball of fur on his nightstand. "Ah, pasta cat. May she rest in peace."

I don't know why, but the sadness in those blue-green irises fucking guts me, so I lean over his knees and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his stomach. "I'm sorry, Taylor."

His breath hitches as he sets BB on the bed before lightly touching my shoulder. "Thanks. It's okay. She was old. I gave her a good life."

Still, my hold on him tightens, silently cursing the animal gods for blessing us with pets that live for far too short a time. I'm definitely more sober now than I was before, but the effects of the alcohol are still swimming in my system, and I'm a sad sap when I drink.

"Not just for Lasagna," I mumble against his shirt, breathing him in, "for everything. All of it. I'm sorry for hurting you."

He's quiet for a long time, so long that I don't think he'll respond, but his arms slowly come around me as his fingers gently entwine with my curls. "I hurt you, too."

Pressing a kiss to his sternum, I shake my head. "What I did was so much worse."

"Huckslee, I broke your arm," he scoffs, "nearly drowned you, crashed your car, embarrassed you in front of our entire senior class, and beat up your dad. Not to mention all the other fucked up shit I did in high school. What you did to me was pretty mild in comparison."

"Don't do that." Leaning back, I frown at him, finding his gaze above my head. "Don't downplay it like you deserved it. You didn't deserve to be treated like that, and I'll never forgive myself."

"We both did things we can't take back."

His eyes are still everywhere except where I want them, and it makes me crazy, so I reach up to lightly cup his cheek. "Taylor. Look at me."

Those pupils expand, his attention bouncing around for a moment before landing on me, and the weight of his gaze hits me like a crashing wave. I lose myself in the emotion passing between us like a torrent threatening to chew me up and spit me out. Anger, fear, regret, longing. It's all there, written in plain language on the strands of his eyes, and I'm powerless to turn away from it. His lips part, tongue darting out to lick at the skin, reminding me of what it felt like when he did that to the tip of my cock, and I inhale sharply.

My other hand comes up, thumb running along the dark circles beneath his lower lids. "Did I do this?"

He says nothing, only searches my face with a hint of caution that has me pulling away, dropping my arms from him before getting to my feet. Everything feels shaky and unstable, but I manage to remain steady as I back up a step. Putting space between us.

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch?" I ask unevenly, running my hands through my hair where I can still feel his touch .

Taylor studies me while I watch his rabbit play with some toy under the desk, and then he reaches down to untie his Docs. Kicking them off, he scoots onto the bed until he's against the headboard near the wall and then pats the empty spot beside him. It looks like an invitation, but something in his eyes tells me it's not. No, I know what this is, and it fucking breaks me.

But I take off my own sneakers and lie down, feeling the warmth of his body as he leans over me to click off the lamp. When he settles in, we turn to face each other, light from the bathroom enough to make out his glittering gaze as he looks at me. Every part of my being aches to touch him, but I don't. I'll never touch him again without permission. Even if it never comes.

"Huckslee," he whispers, but I shake my head.

"Please don't."

Don't ruin this moment. Don't make it hurt more than it already does.

He sighs, swallowing audibly. "But I have to. I need to. As of right now, this bed is Delaware, so just listen. Please."

There's a desperate urgency in his tone that makes my skin crawl, a dread yawning in the pit of my stomach. But I take a deep breath and close my eyes to shield myself.

"Okay."

And I just listen. Like I should have been doing from the very start.