7. Huckslee

Huckslee

T aylor's hand found mine again somewhere between the house and the backyard, causing my brain to short-circuit. Half of me wonders if I'm hallucinating. The anxiety meds and pain pills must be scrambling my brain because there's no way Taylor fucking Tottman is holding my hand right now.

What do you want, Taylor?

I want to see you.

Please.

His palm is warm in mine as he leads me onto the track, and he squeezes before letting go. Moonlight shimmers down from a clear night sky, giving his dark hair blue hues under the stars. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he glances at me sideways, uncertainty rippling across his features. It reminds me of the night after the wedding when we opened up to one another, and I can't force myself to look away.

I should be furious with him. Hell, I was furious with him. Last night, I sat in bed and cried until the sun came up. When I couldn't handle the pain in my arm anymore, I knocked on Dad's door to tell him I tripped. The whole time, I was cursing Taylor in my mind, wishing every bad thing on him I could think of, even coming up with ways to make him feel what he made me feel.

But then, he surprised me at the hospital by telling my dad the truth. And yeah, I'm pissed at him for it because my dad ripped into me for lying to him, but Taylor told the truth. And then he apologized. An honest, genuine apology, too. Not a fake one, for Dad's sake. Still, I was pissed at him. Not in the ‘I want to hurt him' way any longer, but definitely in the ‘he could disappear and I wouldn't give a shit' kind of way.

Then, the motherfucker knocks on my door, shakes me to my core by grabbing my hand with a tenderness I didn't know he even possessed, and now here we are—standing in our neutral zone because, for some reason, he wants me to trust him.

What is happening right now?

"Look, Huck," Taylor starts, running a hand down his face before looking up at the sky. "Last night was wrong. And I'm so fucking sorry."

He swallows, throat flexing as his eyes meet mine. There's a question in them, a pleading like he wants me to forgive him, but he doesn't ask. I don't know what to say because he's right. It was wrong and probably the shittiest thing he's ever done to me—the worst he's ever made me feel. So I tell him that.

He nods slowly, glancing away. "I know. I could blame it on a shitty night and the alcohol, but that would be a cop-out."

"What set you off? "

Sighing deeply, he tugs at his hair. "I don't... I don't know, man. It's hard to explain. I don't really understand it myself."

"So let's talk about it," I say quickly, desperately wanting to understand because Taylor is so rarely this candid with me. "Maybe I can help?"

A nervous laugh leaves his throat. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" Stepping closer, I place myself in front of him, looking down into his eyes with raised brows. "Why do you hate me so much, Taylor?"

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "I don't hate you, Huck. Not even close."

"Then what? Why have you made my life fucking hell the last few years? Was it because of what happened in eighth grade? Because if you didn't feel the same way–"

He tenses immediately and backs away, causing me to stiffen as well. Multitudes of emotions war across his face—guilt, anger, apprehension.

"I told you not to bring that up again," he grits through clenched teeth, his hands fisting like he's physically holding himself back from taking a swing.

"Why? Because you kissed me? Because you liked it?"

An almost pained grimace hardens his features. "Don't."

"Or what? You'll break my other arm?!" With a scoff, I turn away. "This is pointless. I'm fucking done trying to find something good in you. Your friendship would have been enough even if you didn't like me that way, but I'm just a fucking queer, right? And God forbid you associate yourself with a faggot—"

"Shut the fuck up, Huckslee," he growls, cutting off my words .

Before I can process what's happening, he's spinning me around and crushing his mouth to mine. It's like an electric shock to my senses, the feel of his soft lips sliding over mine like velvet.

"What are you doing?" I murmur.

Taylor laughs, a husky, breathy noise that shoots right to my dick. "Silencing your bullshit."

His fingers snake up the side of my face, curling into my hair, and a gasp fills my lungs. He takes advantage of it by slipping his tongue inside, gliding against mine, tasting of mint and nicotine. My arms wrap around him, palm coming up to cup his jaw, the kiss messy and sloppy in the best way.

It's nothing like the sweet ones I've shared with Royce. No, this is desperate, needy, almost frantic as I hold him against my chest, grinding our bodies together, all of my neurons firing at once.

A low groan rolls from his throat before he rips himself away, our breaths loud and ragged against the quiet night air. We blink at each other for a few moments before his dazed eyes drop down his body, and I catch the tented bulge in his sweatpants before he quickly turns around.

"Fuck."

Looking down at myself, I notice my own cock at full mast, the tip too close to peeking out of my waistband for comfort, so I reach down to adjust it before glancing up at Taylor. He still stands with his back to me, hands on his hips.

Nerves have me tensing as I watch him, waiting for the explosion to happen. "Tay?"

"Just gimme a minute," he says, rubbing a hand down his face before it tangles in the hair at the base of his neck .

We stay like that for a while, facing away from each other as we wait for our dicks to go down. The situation would be funny if it were anyone else, but Taylor's temper has repeatedly proven to me that he has a short fuse, so I hold in my laugh as I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally, after what feels like twenty minutes, he exhales slowly. "I need a smoke after that."

He covers his eyes, and I can't hold it anymore. A snorting laugh bursts out of me, shaking my shoulders, and Taylor turns around with wide eyes, looking like a deer in headlights. His baffled expression only makes me laugh harder, and he flashes me a grin that shows off a crooked incisor.

"Don't be an ass," he chuckles, blushing as I shake my head.

"Sorry. Your fucking face. I swear."

His smile slowly fades, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he glances away. Something in his expression shifts—a slight change that raises my hackles.

"Huck, that was..." He squints, gazing off at the track as he tries to find his bearings. What comes out of his mouth takes me entirely off guard. "That was a mistake."

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath. I stare at him incredulously, mouth agape. He sighs heavily when his eyes find mine again before raising them upwards. "Don't be like this, man."

"Like what?" Is he serious right now? "Like you've kissed me not once, but twice now, and both times you've taken it back? "

"I shouldn't have lost control like that," he grumbles, everything he's saying like a vice around my lungs.

"Yeah," I agree, the anger in me rising again. "And I should have known better than to trust you."

His head snaps up, hurt flashing in his eyes as he steps toward me. "Listen, let me try to explain."

Shaking my head quickly, I spin around to head back toward the house, "I'm done with this. Done with you. It's too fucking confusing, and I'm tired of it."

"Huckslee." His hand grips my non-splinted arm tightly. " Please ."

The desperation in his voice stops me in my tracks.

Pausing for a few moments, I nod once, not turning around. Cold fingers slip down my arm, running from the crook of my elbow to my wrist before falling away. It's a touch that sends goosebumps over my skin.

"Look, my father is an asshole," he says haltingly, and I exhale in exasperation.

"I know, you've said that before."

"Shut up and let me talk, Huck."

My jaw feathers at the corners, molars grinding, but I stay silent.

"As I'm sure you know, my dad's shop is my racing sponsor. Without his backing, I wouldn't have been able to enter the competition for the scholarship next year. Plus, he owns my bike. Whatever prize money I get from winning goes toward paying it off, not to mention all the tickets and fines I've gotten from…well, from being me."

Okay, and your point ?

It's on the tip of my tongue to say those exact words, but instead, I hold back as Taylor continues.

"He's an old-fashioned guy, my father. Very set in his ways. One of the reasons Maisie left him. Let's just say he has very particular opinions on a woman's place in the household." He huffs a humorless laugh. "So, you can imagine his thoughts regarding...unconventional relationships are very outdated."

At that admission, I turn around to see Taylor's bright and open eyes on my face, pleading for me to understand. His teeth work his bottom lip again—the lip my teeth were biting on.

"Unconventional," I repeat slowly, trying to understand what he's saying.

"Yeah. As in...relationships that aren't strictly of the ‘male and female' variety. And he's very vocal about it."

Understanding dawns on me, loud and clear. "So your dad is homophobic."

Taylor nods grimly. "Yep. With a capital ‘H'."

"He's where you get it from, then," I add, somewhat resentfully, and Taylor's eyes flash angrily.

"I'm not my father," he snarls, whirling away as he starts to pace, "and I'm not a homophobe. I have nothing against gay people."

"Just me, then?"

Another punch to the gut from this guy. How many times am I going to open myself up to him so that he can hurt me?

" No , Huck," he growls in frustration, halting his pacing to meet my gaze. "Look, if my dad had any kind of suspicion that I was gay, he'd take away my sponsorship. He'd take my bike. Any chance I had at getting that scholarship would fly out the window, and I need that scholarship, man."

"Are you?" I ask quickly, snagging onto only one part of his speech, even though I know what he's trying to tell me is important.

He blinks. "Am I what?"

"Gay?"

"Fuck no," he snaps, and I rear back at the intensity in his tone. Taylor notices immediately, growling again as he resumes his pacing. "I don't know, Huck. I don't think so."

The way his dick reacted to our kiss earlier tells me otherwise, but his sexuality isn't my concern. I have enough issues with my own sexuality, thank you very much. Yes, I'm in the closet, but I don't lie to myself about it.

Breathing slowly, I reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose. "So why don't you just find another sponsor?"

"Tried that. No one will take me. I'm a bit of a bad influence. Not like you, golden boy," he smirks. "Plus, when my father found out I was searching for someone else, he got...upset about it."

The way he winces when he says that last part has a sick feeling churning in my stomach.

"Did he get violent with you?"

"What?" Taylor's eyes widen as they snap to mine, and he quickly shakes his head. "No, no. Nothing like that. He's just unpleasant to be around when he's angry. That's all."

Like father, like son.

I relax slightly, taking him at his word, and he surprises me by stepping forward to grasp my wrist .

"I need that scholarship, Huck," he says again, eyes burning into mine with such intensity that I find myself drowning in their oceanic depths. "I'm not good like you. I don't have the potential of a full ride or wealthy parents. I really don't give a shit about football. Motocross is my life—the only thing that matters to me. And with the possibility of college, I can actually leave this place and make something of myself. So you see, don't you? I can't risk losing everything."

"Okay, I get it," I grumble, because really, I do. I understand. We are similar in that I don't really care about football, either. But I'm good at it, and it offers me a chance to leave this town for good. So I get it.

What I don't get, though…

"So tell me why you turned into such a jackass," I demand, pulling my wrist from his grip. "After the eighth grade. Why did you hate me so much?"

Taylor sighs, covering his eyes again with a hand.

"I was a little...obsessed with you," he admits, grinning sheepishly, and I hate how fucking cute it makes him look. "Even more so after we...kissed. My father kind of caught on and made some comments, pretty much told me that if he caught us hanging out again, he'd take my dirt bike away."

I go still. "Your bike?"

He's kidding, right?

"Yeah. So I pretended to hate you even though I didn't. And I guess, over the years, it just kind of became easier to lie to myself, too. Because I...we couldn't be anything. We can't be anything. To each other."

A roaring fills my ears, the blood in my veins close to boiling. My cheeks heat with shame and embarrassment .

"Are you telling me," I start slowly, trying my damnedest and failing at keeping my voice calm, "that you spent the last three fucking years torturing me because you didn't want your daddy to take away your precious bike?"

His eyes widen at my tone, nearly bugging out of their sockets as his face twists into a sneer. "Fuck you, Huckslee."

Oh, I'm mad. Beyond mad. I'm fucking fuming. Everything comes to a head, all the times I sat in detention because of something he did. All of the bruises and all of the lunches spent eating alone in my car because he tripped me one too many times in the cafeteria. The rumors, the hurtful slurs, that time I had to go to urgent care because he somehow got the combination to my locker and slipped Christian's pet tarantula inside, causing me to fly into a panic attack. He'd overheard Logan telling the science teacher I had arachnophobia and thought it was fucking funny. All of the times I wished I could disappear, all of the misery and hate. Over a goddamned dirt bike.

"God, I'm so fucking stupid." I laugh humorlessly as I turn on my heel, heading back toward the house. "Despite all the shit you've done to me, I pined after you for years. Years . You really couldn't care less about anyone but yourself, Taylor."

His voice comes from close behind as he follows. "You can go fuck yourself with your judgment, asshole."

I spin around so fast I almost get whiplash as my hand wraps around his throat. Yanking him to me, I put myself so close to his face that our noses brush.

" Me? Judge you? How many times have you called me names because of my sexuality? Or my grades, or my clothes? I'm the golden boy, right? With the rich daddy? Or am I the fucking sissy bottom bitch, fairy boy queer, Taylor? Because I can't keep it all straight anymore."

"I'm s-sorry." His hand grips my wrist as I squeeze.

"I don't want your apologies! I want you to take back all the damage you've done to me. Can you do that?"

He wheezes against my hand. "Would...if I...could."

The whites of his eyes begin to darken, veins going bloodshot, and some sick part of me likes the sight. To see him be the one struggling to breathe for once, powerless to do anything about it but drown like he made me feel over and over and over again.

There's an addictive rush of power that comes from having someone at your mercy, and I'm living for it. Living for the way he dangles in my grip.

And that's when it hits me like a fucking brick that Taylor isn't fighting back. He's literally standing there, letting me choke the life out of him.

Immediately, I drop him, his knees hitting the ground with an audible crack. Inhaling sharply, he bends over to cough into the dirt, massaging his throat. When he raises his head to peer up at me, I notice a slight bluish tint at the corners of his mouth, and all my anger just...vanishes into thin air. A bone-deep exhaustion takes its place, so draining that my own knees threaten to buckle.

"Just stay away from me, Taylor," I sigh wearily, rubbing my temples before turning toward the house again. "Leave me the fuck alone."

This time, he doesn't follow.