24. Jeffrey

"You want…dating advice?" Blair slurped his orange soda, brow quirked. "From…me?"

"Yes." My cheeks were hot and my hands felt sweaty. Blair was driving. We were on our way to check out another lead for my ongoing hunt for answers to help Mutt, and we'd just stopped at a shitty Mexican food place that had surprisingly good burritos for lunch.

Blair had plowed through his in record time. Swear to God he'd only taken two fucking bites of the thing, and happy-food- danced the whole time. And now we were on the road again, and I was still nursing my own burrito.

Truth was…I wasn't all that hungry.

Talking to hunters made me nervous. And though I'd told Blair this wasn't all that new to me, he still didn't know the full truth. Not about what Lydia had put me through. Not about my training.

My therapist had said that sharing the truth might help me feel less like I was drowning, and I wanted that…I really fucking did. But the words just…didn't want to come out. They felt stuck and clogged and every time I tried to open my mouth to tell him something else came out.

Like now.

I also hadn't meant to ask for dating advice. Well…I had. Just…not this very second. That was gonna be after I told him the truth. He was probably wondering, if I'm being honest. It was a giant fucking red flag that I already knew as much about the supernatural as I did.

Blair seemed to assume it was because I remembered growing up in Elmwood, and I'd let him.

But…

Fuck.

I was so tired of hiding.

And I just…I wanted my brother back. Maybe I'd never truly had him at all. Because I'd been a liar from the start—but I wanted to try. I wanted to give us a fighting chance to be what we should be. Maybe without the trauma-based codependency—as that hadn't served either of us.

I knew that now.

I'd craved it when I first moved here.

I'd resented Richard and Collin in a way because it had felt like they'd replaced me.

But…that was a good thing. I realized that now. Blair needed support just like I did, and he'd found that. After he'd overheard my angst-riddled freak out he'd been softer somehow. It was weird. Before he'd looked at me like I was going to break. Like I was fragile. Like I was two seconds from blowing myself up.

But that had relaxed.

And fuuuuck.

Okay.

That meant my therapist was right.

The truth really had helped.

"I have a boyfriend," I said, awkwardly.

"Yeah, I know," Blair snorted. He slurped at his drink again.

"And that's not…weird to you?"

"Weird why?" He frowned at me as he pushed his cup back into the cupholder and both his hands tapped at the steering wheel. Taylor Swift was blasting, and we were vibing to the beat, Blair's black chipped nail polish flashing.

"You know because he's like…a dude."

Blair looked at me like I was stupid, which I suppose was fair. And then, like he was talking to a toddler he very slowly said, "You are aware that I'm gay, right?"

I glared at him, because he was being an asshole, then soldiered onward, not dignifying that with a response. I'd been the one that fucking brought him to his first gay bar, of course I fucking knew. "He's a dude. And a werewolf."

"And I'm dating a vampire." Blair cocked his brow at me pointedly. "What's your point?"

"Touche." I relaxed a little, and Blair did too—almost like we were telepathically connected like freaky circus twins. At an impasse, we both remained quiet for a solid five seconds before I broke again. "So."

"So," Blair echoed.

"Boys?"

"Boys." Blair snorted, shaking his shaggy mane like I was being an idiot. Which I guess I was? So I laughed too.

Just ask him.

Rip off the Band-Aid.

"How do you like…woo a dude?" I asked, cheeks flushed. "I mean. With girls I always just told them their hair was pretty, and like…listened to what they said and repeated it back to them." This was such a weird parallel. We'd had a conversation so similar to this, not all that long ago, only it had been Blair asking me for advice, and not the other way around.

It was a testament to how much I'd changed that I could ask for help at all.

" Woah ." Blair twisted to look at me. "Asshole much?"

I grimaced. "I didn't—I mean. Fuck. You're right." Damn. I hadn't really thought of it that way. My cheeks flushed with humiliation I definitely deserved. "I just."

Trees whirred by the windows, painting the horizon black as the wheels stuttered over murky, mushy fallen leaves. Above, dark gray storm clouds climbed across the sun, blocking it from view for a moment before splitting apart once again.

"Why exactly did you do that?" Blair called me out after a beat of silence. "I always thought you were like…I dunno–"

"What?"

"Perfect?" Blair shrugged a shoulder. "But if you were perfect, why secretly act like such a dick?"

"I..." I wasn't even sure how to answer that. With Martha I'd been better. I'd cared about her. But not the way I was supposed to. We'd dated for a while, off and on, and it'd been great for appearances. Lydia had liked it, and it took the attention off of Blair and his gay-scapades. Which he'd thought Lydia didn't know about but she usually did. "I guess I didn't realize I was being a dick," I admitted, cheeks hot. "Fuck." My stomach churned.

"And now you do?"

Did I ever love Martha?

No.

The answer came quickly enough I immediately felt sick.

"Yeah." I picked at my seatbelt, wondering how the hell this had gotten so turned around. "Mutt is…different. But I'm different now too."

"No shit."

" No , I mean…" Man. Just how many lies am I fucking keeping? "Before I dated mostly to keep Lydia off my back—and to keep her attention away from you." Blair made a wheezy sound.

"What?" his voice was flat.

"Whenever I had a girlfriend she'd get so sucked up into schmoozing her family, she'd lay off you for a while, you know? And it just…felt easier . Made me what she wanted me to be. I was…desirable or whatever. When I had a lot of attention it meant she did too. She liked that." God, this was harder than I thought. "Plus the girls didn't mind. Most of them only dated me because they wanted to brag about fucking me."

"That is so fucked up I don't even know what to say," Blair pulled over to the side of the road. The same way I'd pulled to the side for Collin when we'd had our little heart to heart. "Give me a second to think. Because what the fuck, Jeffrey."

"Right."

I stared at the clouds some more. Stared at the shadowy gaps between the trees and the mountains that flickered behind them, fog colored and smoky with the late autumn chill. The window was cold to the touch, and it soothed my feverish skin as I pressed against it, leaving a streak of clear glass within the condensation.

"Let's start with the obvious. You…" Blair shook his head, staring resolutely forward as he formed the words rattling inside his head. "You didn't like the attention?" When he twisted to look at me, his pale green eyes were wide and hurt. The but you said you did, was implied. He didn't need to say it for me to know what he was thinking.

I wanted to lie.

I wanted to pretend like I hadn't just blown the top off Pandora's fucking box.

But…

Blair was strong enough for the truth now. Maybe he hadn't been before, but he was a different person now, just like I was. Maybe eight-year-old Blair couldn't have handled this. Or sixteen-year-old Blair. Or even twenty-year-old Blair. But the Blair in front of me wasn't the same person he'd been back then—angry, bitter, always scared.

This Blair had decided to live. He'd taken his first steps on his own, and he'd found who he was—through trial and error—but still.

He was strong enough.

And maybe…just maybe, I was strong enough too.

If I didn't end this torture who would? This was a prison of my own making. I was a guard as well as an inmate, and it was finally time I felt some peace.

So I tapped into my inner Mutt and told the truth. Bluntly . To the point.

"No." My heart skittered. "I hated the fucking attention."

"You hated the?—"

"All the eyes, and the–the fucking…false niceties. No one fucking liked me. They didn't. How could they? I wasn't even a person. Just a fucking puppet Lydia made. A card trick to impress her friends. Stupid and fragile, and fake."

Blair's eyes were wide and alarmed. "You know how I love guitar? And music?" I added.

"Yeah?" Blair kept staring at me. He was looking at me like he didn't recognize who the fuck I was, and that was fair. I'd never actually let him know me.

"The part I hate the most about it is the fact I have to sing in front of other people. I only do it now to remind myself that it's different. That I'm not a party trick anymore, and that I'm doing it on my own terms."

"But you…" Blair shook his head. "But you always loved that shit. The parties. The medals. The—the— you know what I mean. "

"No," I shook my head. "I didn't love it. I don't ." I bit my lip, and my heart hurt. "I just…I just wanted to survive, you know? And if I became who Lydia wanted me to be then she…" I trailed off.

"Then she?" Blair prompted.

"She would stop hurting you."

"What the fuck." Blair was shaking, and I was too. "What the actual fuck." And then he was pulling me into an apple-scented hug, and his arms were wrapping tight around me—and I just…fuck. I could breathe again. "What the fuck." He repeated a broken, jittery record.

"I hate baseball," I admitted, unable to hug him back because it didn't feel like I deserved it. "I hate parties." I sucked in a breath. "And those baseball retreats Lydia and I always went to? Yeah. They weren't fucking sports related."

My heart hurt.

"Unless you count hunting monsters as a sport. Which I guess…some people probably do."

"What—" Blair pulled back and I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair, my voice wobbling.

"Look. It's probably easier if I just show you."

So I grabbed the hem of my shirt, and even though I was terrified—yanked it up.

Blair stared at my torso like his brain had completely broken.

"What—" His hand hovered, like he wanted to touch the jagged myriad of scars on my skin, but didn't know if it would hurt me. "Fuck." He sucked in a breath, eyes wet, and I just… "Why didn't you tell me?"

Fuck.

"Because it was my fault we were in that mess," I said, voice cracking. "And I just…"

"No it wasn't." Blair shook his head, then pulled me into another awkward hug. "It wasn't. It wasn't your fucking fault." The gear shift dug into my ribs but I ignored it.

This time I hugged back.

And it was good and right and warm.

"I don't think I ever felt safe a day in my life," I admitted, one last final truth, "Until I met Mutt."

Blair shook as he squeezed me closer. We were a jittery, quivery mess.

And then we both jerked away at the same time—because that was enough of that—and coughed awkwardly. "Okay, so." My cheeks were still hot, my shirt officially back into place. "Boys?"

"Boys," he agreed for the second time that day.

Apparently Blair's advice for dating men was to:

"Get sloppy when you give head."

"Care about what they have to say."

"Use a lot of tongue."

Advice one and three were pretty much the same fucking thing—and self-explanatory, so they didn't really help. He did, however, give me some solid date ideas. And after I'd told him how obsessed with Disney movies Mutt was— Lady and the Tramp in particular—we came up with the most genius idea for a first official date.

I just…needed to actually ask Mutt out first.

Because Blair had been incredibly unhelpful, and I was curious, I texted Richard for advice too. He, at least, didn't talk about blowjobs.

Me

Do you have any advice for dating men?

Richard

Why are you asking me this?

Me

Just answer the question, asshole

Richard

I am not qualified.

Me

Not qualified my ass. You literally have a boyfriend.

He didn't reply, so I sighed and texted him again.

Me

Why aren't you qualified?

Richard

I've only dated one person. Blair.

Me

Yeah, I know.

Richard

I imagine every person is different. And as I only know how to date Blair, I don't think the information I've learned is relevant to you.

I was two seconds from giving up, but decided I'd give it one last shot—because I was stubborn and also…maybe it was my turn to need a big brother right now. Richard must've known that, because he stopped fucking with me and gave in pretty immediately.

Me

Can you just…try? Jesus fuck. It's like pulling teeth.

Richard

Give me a minute.

It took Richard half an hour to reply again, and this time he had a comprehensive list.

Richard

Romantic gestures are always appreciated. Quality time. Listening when they talk. Little gifts that remind you of a person, simply because you'd think they'd like them. Try to understand where they're coming from, especially when you're arguing. Don't keep secrets. They have a way of getting out, and all they do is hurt the people you care about.

It was weird. Everything Richard had just listed was stuff I could recall Mutt doing for me. He was just…naturally good at dating, I guess. Even though he was an overgrown puppy with a constant hard-on.

When Blair dropped me off at home, Mutt was waiting for me like usual. In dog form today. Now that I was on a roll telling people the truth, I was half-tempted to straight-up call him out. But…the silence was nice too. And I figured if Mutt was in this form today it meant he needed it.

"You wanna go for a ride?" I offered, because I wanted to get my mind off the weird car conversation with Blair, the dead end with the hunter, and the date I was planning.

Mutt wagged his tail happily, and that was that.

I fed him cheeseburgers again, this time sitting in the back of my pickup truck. And I plucked away at the strings of my guitar, working on the song I was writing with my back to the cabin, and my head tipped up toward the stars. Mutt wagged his tail lazily, keeping my legs warm, his big head settled on my thighs.

It was nice.

Easy.

The perfect end to a difficult day.

"I hate talking to people," I told him, still strumming away. "I wish I could be like you," I shrugged a shoulder, staring into his bottomless blue eyes. Mutt woofed softly and I grinned, cheeks hot. "You wouldn't believe the day I had," I admitted, uncharacteristically chatty now that I was with him. It was a little awkward at first, because I'd never been all that open with my feelings. But the second I started I couldn't seem to stop.

I told him everything. Told him about the bird shit on Avery's head—Gregory was a serial shitter now. Told him about my fears and my worries. Told him about Blair's dating advice, and how he looked happy, and it didn't hurt anymore.

Told him about Lydia.

About some of what I'd been through.

An hour passed.

I was chilly and shaky, and wished I'd thought to bring heated blankets for us so we wouldn't have to go back. But I felt better.

Because I may be shit at dating, but Mutt wasn't.

And this had been a pretty damn good date.