2. Asher

TWO

As complicatedas it was to put my finger on the moment it all started, the hardest thing was remembering when I first knew I hated Jordan. It wasn't the explosive sort of hatred. Instead, I hated him in a slow and steady way. After all the wrong things he'd said and done, there was neither a murderous tendency toward my big stepbrother nor a wish for any harm. What I felt for him was a deep longing for him never to have existed.

And this feeling hadn't caught me off guard.

I once stood on a sandy beach when the tide was coming. Waves licked at my feet. Each time, they reached a little further, and as they receded, sand pulled my feet deeper. Before I knew it, sand had cemented around my ankles.

This was no different. Each time the wave that was Jordan's contempt for me came, it pulled me deeper into my dislike for him. And whenever he came to me late at night — my eyes shut and my hand playing his role — I ignored the nastiness I felt for him, only for it to roar back to life twice as strong once I was done.

The night he told me I was nothing to him should have sealed it for me. But it didn't. The oddest thing happened. All the terrible encounters that had piled up between us had already made me look at him as more of an enemy than a friend, let alone as part of my family. Hearing the words from his lips vindicated me. Not a shred of guilt remained in me for having used him so freely in my fantasies.

In the vacuum of his absence, I discovered how much I wished he had never entered my life. Not that I could blame Mom and George for any of it. They hadn't realized what it would mean to bring a guy like Jordan into my life. They hadn't known what effects a tall, well-shaped, clever, and witty young man would have on someone as impressionable as me. Had they expected me to fall in love with Jordan, I doubted they would have risked it.

Fall in love. What a crazy idea. Jordan wasn't someone you fell in love with. He was like a sunset; gorgeous to look at but incapable of feeling anything for you. You were nothing to him. The best you could ever do was admire him from a distance.

When a boy excelled at everything he touched, you couldn't find a way to connect. You resorted to the next best thing. Resentment.

When Jordan's freshman year ended, he announced he would spend his summer break with Beckett Partridge and his uncle, Nate, rather than join us at the lake house. I wouldn't have expected to feel a thing. Except, as we finished our dinner, and George told us, blood drained from my face. He can't even visit? I demanded internally, my grip tightening on my fork and knife. Do we mean so little to him?

"May I be excused?" I asked dryly after another bite of meatloaf.

"Of course, honey," Mom said.

"Are you alright, champ?" George asked.

Prickles rose along my neck. "I'm fine." I set my plate by the sink, wiped my lips with a paper towel, and stalked off to my room. That fucker. I hadn't realized I had hoped to see him until I knew I wouldn't. I hadn't known what my expectations had been until they were taken away. But now I knew. I knew by the emptiness they had left in my mind.

Another quiet afternoon by the lake; Jordan diving, emerging from the clear blue water, shaking his head, and spraying the water in every direction. Not gonna happen. Had I hoped for Jordan to see me after half a year of absence and realize, at long last, that I was more than just his kid stepbrother? I wasn't a kid anymore. I had spent my time well, focusing on hockey and conditioning, pushing my grades up, preparing for my final year, and hoping to get the same scholarship as Jordan. Of course, I hoped he would see that. I hoped it would make him realize that there was more to me than he had ever cared to notice.

The three weeks we spent in the lake house that summer were depressing. There wasn't a gym within a ten-mile radius, so I needed to swim every morning to stay in shape. At the height of summer, ice was a distant memory, and a proper rink was a pipe dream. I had an abundance of free time. Absolutely nothing kept me busy or distracted.

One evening, close to the sweet and merciful release from the cage that this summer vacation had turned into, I sat down in the living room and surfed through channels. Mom and George were washing the dishes together. I paused on some figure skating competition and got absorbed in the solo performance of a young man who did such wonders on the ice. He swirled around and performed acrobatics that I hadn't dreamed of. His lithe body appeared even thinner in his tight clothes. He spun and moved like the laws of physics didn't apply to him.

I didn't hear George until he spoke, and then I realized he was sitting on the back of the sofa, looking at the screen. "Wonderful," he murmured. "I didn't realize you liked figure skating." I saw him grin from the corner of my eye. "Or is it just a ‘skating' thing? Too long since you were on the ice?"

I chuckled. "It's a ‘cute boy' thing," I said in a cheerful voice, then realized I'd admitted it to him for the first time.

"He sure is cute," George mused. He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

"Excuse me?" Mom called, wiping her hands on a kitchen cloth.

George winked at me playfully and the strongest sense of kinship connected us. He was my ally. And until this moment, I hadn't realized I needed one. Not that Mom was my enemy. Her surprise was hard to read. "Oh, um," I stammered. "I think…"

"Honey, it's alright," Mom said. "You simply caught me unprepared."

My brows knitted slightly. Was I supposed to prepare her for it? It didn't seem fair. "I didn't think you'd…"

"Eileen," George said at the same time, but that was when the last thing I wanted happened. The door of the house opened and my big stepbrother entered with a wide grin on his face. "Am I too late for dinner?"

"Jordan!" Mother clasped her hands together and pressed them against her face.

"Son?" George's eyebrows shot all the way to his short-cropped hair. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't not visit, could I?" Jordan dropped his duffel on the floor and crossed the large area at the entrance of the house to hug my mother, then his father, and clasped my hand lightly for the briefest of moments. Not a hug. Not even a proper handshake. "‘Sup?" He took his hand back before I could feel his warmth. A light trace of cool sweat remained on my fingers. I wished I could bring it to my lips without anyone noticing.

I bit my lip. Anger warred with joy. He was as tall as ever and his shoulders were somehow even broader than last winter when I had seen him for the holidays. And he had just stolen my moment. I had only just said those words aloud, no matter how unplanned it had been, and Jordan stole my thunder.

"I'm returning to Northwood on Wednesday to spend some time with the guys before Murray starts drilling us for the season," Jordan said as if there had been no conversation without him in this house. "But I wanted to surprise you before you go back to civilization." He laughed by himself.

"You sure surprised us, Son," George said, but he was visibly happy. "Wednesday? That's perfect. We are leaving on Thursday morning."

I knew that George had to go back to work on Friday. A client, an older woman, wanted to build additional rooms on one side of her house, and George had agreed to come out and assess the job before the week's end.

"This night is full of surprises," Mom said.

"Eileen," George repeated just as Jordan asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, your brother just decided to tell us he likes boys," Mom said conversationally.

"Mom," I huffed, heat rising to my face.

"What? Jordan is family. Do you think he'll think any less of you? Nonsense, Asher." Mom folded her arms in the middle of her torso and shook her head at me for having such a low opinion of my stepbrother.

As if he thought anything of me…

"That's cool, man," Jordan said, his jaw stiff. Oh, it bothered him to be called my brother. Before the words were out of his mouth, Jordan's attention drifted to the TV. "He's good. I think he has a good chance to qualify for the Olympics."

I could tell that this new information made no difference at all to him. I was still just some guy occupying space on the sofa. I would have bet that Jordan wouldn't react if I had said he was my crush, my only type, my sole desire. He'd shrug and move on just the same.

"See? Asher, you're almost eighteen. Honestly, you shouldn't have kept it a secret," Mom said.

"I wasn't keeping it a secret," I said sullenly. "I just didn't think it was important." And I hadn't wanted to make a big deal out of it. I had known which team I was on since I was eleven. I had never pretended otherwise, but it had never seemed like something I needed to announce. My friends from school had same-sex parents; I had a lesbian English teacher; three of my friends were queer, and a dozen friends admitted they were bi-curious. I had a straight teammate who was always trying to kiss guys ‘jokingly.' No one cared. It was as simple as that.

If, long ago, I had had some concerns about it, my mom's gay friends dispelled those. She wasn't a bigot.

"But all the talks we had," Mom said like it was important.

I shrugged. She had vaguely taught me about the birds and the bees. I had been uncomfortable with seeing my mom put a condom on a banana that I'd had no desire to tell her about my sexuality for weeks after that. "It's fine, Mom. I already know what I need to know."

"I'm not so sure about that," Mom said sternly and gave a determined nod.

I wanted the ground to swallow me. George was paying attention to everyone in the room, Jordan to no one. Mom was focused on me and I knew exactly what she had in mind. I gave an exhausted sigh because I could see where this evening was going.

Mom found her laptop and said she must not be disturbed. George patted my shoulder again and said, "It's all good, Asher. I hope you know that." I nodded. Jordan was doing something on his phone.

Two and a half hours later, I was called out of my room for the most embarrassing family gathering of my life. Mom had cast her laptop screen to the TV in the living room and the PowerPoint presentation had a very suggestive eggplant sticker and the two male symbols next to the title. Sexual Health and Tips in Male-Male Relations.

I was on the verge of screaming, except that my mouth was so dry that I could barely make a sound.

"Oh, God," Jordan muttered, moving reluctantly. "I thought we'd play Risk or something."

"We are talking about risks," Mom corrected him. "And benefits. And the equal importance of consent."

"Mom?" I pleaded.

George mediated, as always. "Come on. Let's do this, you all. You've got nothing to lose and everything to win." And so began the slow, embarrassing torment of my mother's presentation. It was a neat thing and I half suspected she'd made it five years ago when she'd done the same but for straight sex. She did begin with, "I shouldn't have assumed, Asher, when we last had this conversation. It's my personal failing, but I am going to correct that tonight."

Why Jordan had to be present — or George, for that matter — was beyond me. I hated that my stepbrother sat next to me, partially interested, mostly uncomfortable, and occasionally snickering. Mom droned on about PrEP and PEP, the importance of protection even when your partners tested negative for the obvious, and the sorts of symptoms and tell-tale signs for various things I didn't want to think about. And when it was over, I was hugging a pillow that decorated the couch, trying to curl into a tiny ball and become invisible. I was nearly eighteen years old. I didn't need to be humiliated like this.

But George wore his little smile throughout, supporting his wife. Jordan slipped away as soon as it was over, and I didn't see him anymore. His room was once again next to mine, although not even a bathroom separated our walls in the summer house. When I finally escaped the torture of my mom's lecture, I paced my room along the wall that was between Jordan and me.

Our rooms faced the forest behind the house. The backyard seamlessly transitioned from a mowed lawn and tended rosebushes to wild nature without even a fence to separate the two. A well-used dirt path led from the house to the lake on the other side of the forest. I would make that journey tomorrow morning in hopes of avoiding everyone who'd witnessed the horrors of my mom's presentation.

My room was modest but functional. It had a desk and a quality chair on the left side, a big bed with a wrought iron frame and a thick, firm mattress, a round carpet on a dark hardwood floor, a dresser with a large mirror above it, and a small built-in closet all to my right. A nightstand stood under the window that faced the forest. Next to it was the balcony door I never used. The balcony itself covered the entire back side of the house, giving Jordan and me equal access. A spare bedroom opened to the balcony, too, but it was never used. Mom and George used the downstairs master bedroom that faced the front lawn instead.

When I was younger and more naive, I had spent nights dreaming of Jordan stepping out on the balcony, bathed in moonlight, wearing little or nothing at all. In my dreams, he crossed the short distance between our rooms. My door would be miraculously left open and he would silently slip inside. The thin, see-through curtain would alert me that he was wearing only his boxers or, sometimes, a towel around his waist. I would pretend I was asleep, but he would hear my breathing change and come to the edge of my bed. "I love your slutty lips," he purred, and my groin would catch fire. I would bite my lower lip and whimper, waiting for him to make the next move.

But he had never crossed the invisible barrier that separated his side of the balcony from mine. He had never been curious enough to see what was going on inside my room. He'd never even pulled a prank on me, let alone spied on me in dirty, sexy, shameful acts.

That night, my dreams were full of men. Some I knew well, others only from a distance, but they were coming and going all night long. None of them would have attracted me in real life, but dreams had a way of changing that. The ones I least expected turned me on the most, an erection waking me up before anything happened. And then, frustration followed. Why isn't it you? I demanded of an imaginary Jordan, quickly reminding myself that he was best left alone. I didn't want to pine. I didn't want to be this person. It filled me with both guilt and shame that I had spent so much time fantasizing about my stepbrother. At times, I had simply blamed my mother for her lack of foresight. Other times, I thought I was plain wrong. Something had to be fucked up to make me want him so badly.

And when the morning finally brought me some relief from the dreams that lacked Jordan, I packed quietly, made some sandwiches for myself while Mom and George had a quiet breakfast in front of the house, and snuck in the back to visit the lake.

There, I sat on the edge of the pier, watching the ripples on the surface. The early morning sunshine kissed my skin, and I undid the buttons on my light cream linen shirt, letting the sunlight caress my torso. A pair of dark sunglasses protected my eyes as I let my head hang back. My denim shorts were tight, warmed up quickly by the sun's strengthening rays. My feet dipped into the lukewarm water.

Nothing was happening around me. Gentle gusts of wind made the deep green leaves of the forest behind me rustle. Water splashed lightly against the shore. And then his footsteps scraped the wooden pier and I swallowed a groan. "If I were you, I'd be hiding out here, too," he said in that husky, deep voice of his.

I didn't flinch or move. I kept my eyes closed and focused on the sensations around me that didn't include Jordan Mitchell. After a moment, I sighed. "Yeah, well, I didn't choose to be born to a control freak."

"Yeesh. That's not nice." Jordan made some sounds behind me. His backpack dropped on the planks. Something else moved. And I realized he was undressing.

I will not look. As soon as I forced that command into my mind, I opened my eyes and deadpanned at him. In the single heartbeat between my gaze landing on his body and my words welling to the surface, I appreciated his mountainous physique. I bet you sweat when you fuck, I thought. I bet nobody would lick you as hard as I would. I swallowed and squirmed, my crotch heating up. "It's fair," I said. "I didn't deserve that whole lecture."

Jordan wasn't looking at me. His gaze was on the horizon where the far edge of the lake was bordered with spiky evergreens so distant that they almost blended with the sky. He sucked his teeth. "I guess we all learned something," he half-muttered. I wasn't sure what his game was. Was he annoyed he'd had to listen to it? Did he blame me? And how come he wore those ridiculous flamingo shorts and still looked sexy as hell? "I guess Eileen doesn't know — or maybe she spared you — but you should be careful. Guys can be…pretty bad."

Anger that I hadn't realized was simmering in me came to a boil. "Girls can be pretty bad, too, but you don't see me lecturing you."

Jordan's mouth was a tight line. He exhaled through his nose. "Fine. Be that way."

As he stepped one pace away from me, it set a fire under my ass. He wouldn't get away with it just like that. "What way am I?"

Jordan's lips tightened even more. He didn't look at me. At all. "Explosive," he said heavily. "Like a firecracker. And bratty, if you must know."

I forced out a bitter laugh. "You're the one warning me about guys. What do you know?"

"Fine," he said in a flat, uninterested tone. "I won't give you friendly advice, Asher."

I fixed my sunglasses higher up my nose to remove every chance of him seeing my eyes. It hurt to hear him speak like this. He was so detached from me that he could never understand the weight of his words. But I couldn't resist taking a bite at him for this. "I seem to recall that I am nothing to you. Not even a friend." You have disappointed me every chance you got, I thought. You don't get to be friendly with me when it suits you.

"Alright. I won't meddle." He stepped to the edge of the pier. He was about to do one of his smooth nosedives. It was like he fed on me witnessing how he excelled. He positioned himself so that his right foot was in front, toes curling and hooking the edge of the planks, and his chest broadened as he inhaled.

"Good," I said. "You shouldn't. I can handle myself."

I could swear I heard him grind his teeth. "You're hooking up, huh?"

Heat swelled in my head, making me dizzy. "No," I said hoarsely, then realized what I'd just admitted. "Yes." Fuck. "I'm not hooking up," I said in the end.

His muscles relaxed like he was meditating and preparing to dive. He stood still, looking at the lake, breathing steadily. "Maybe it's none of my business. Maybe you're right." He glanced at me. I was sure that all he could see was his own reflection in my dark sunglasses and the thin line my lips formed. "Even if we don't get along, I don't wanna see you get hurt by someone who wants to use you."

I straightened, dusted my hands to keep them occupied, and shook my head. "I've had enough of this. All the sex talk I needed — and more — was done last night."

Jordan gave a tired sigh, bent over for one glorious instant when his big, peachy ass perched up and his lower back curved in, then leaped into the water. He barely made a splash despite being built like a boulder. A sexy boulder I would let sit on my chest if he wanted, I thought.

I picked up my things and decided to search for peace elsewhere. Not in the house. Mom and George loved their time alone and that was as far as I was willing to go. Whatever they did in their privacy was best left to my subconsciousness to deal with.

The refuge I sought presented itself in the forest. An old chestnut tree had fallen down, probably under the weight of last winter's snow, and made for a great spot to sit in the carpet of leaves and lean against. Just last summer, I'd spent countless moments in this forest, biting my lip and hoping Jordan would run into me, cock his head, see me in a new light, and have his way with me without asking me a goddamn thing.

Damn him.

He was leaving soon again. I wouldn't see him for half a year, then half a year again. And just after that, all the ways in which he had subtly shaped me would culminate, and I would live next door to him once more.

My last year of high school flew by in a heartbeat. The big moments happened. Christmas included Jordan, but Easter didn't. My graduation was Jordan-free, too, even though I had distantly hoped he might show up. When my acceptance letter and full scholarship arrived, I told my friends but found no way to tell Jordan without it becoming awkward. In the end, George told him, and Jordan made only a passing remark when he came for his summer break. Only three days like the summer before.

If I had nurtured any hope at all to arrive at Northwood that fall and move into the house with my stepbrother as an existing ally, it winked out the moment I stepped inside the house. For one thing, Jordan had driven there with Beckett two days before I was ready to leave. And when I arrived, it wasn't Jordan who welcomed me, but the de facto captain, Caden Jones. Fate dealt me a crappy hand in my first week. I allied myself with Caden, a handsome, fair, and reasonable guy on the brink of earning a great deal of influence on our team. Then Coach Murray announced that Beckett Partridge would be the team captain this year, leaving my only new friend at a disadvantage and me in his corner of a freshly split team.

For months, everything remained as it had always been. Jordan trailed Beckett like a loyal bodyguard, quietly excelling at everything he touched like the god-given fuck that he was. And I stood firmly with Caden as he moved between spiteful brilliance on the ice and a total disregard for hockey altogether. But then, Caden and Beckett led us to victory against the Vikings and celebrated by tonguing each other in front of the entire rink. And even with that rift put to rest, I found myself as far away from Jordan as I had ever been. Not even being a rising star on his team made me any more important to him.

All I ever got was a sniff, a lifted index finger in a passing lecture, and a disappointed shake of his head.

And that was when I knew I would never be good enough. Not for fucking nor befriending. Until the end of days, Jordan would be a distant, unreachable aspiration as ever, and I would be a tiny smudge on his lens, not even important enough to wipe away.

By the time snow buried our campus and Christmas rolled around, I was almost at peace with that.