10. Avery

CHAPTER 10

AVERY

As Creed's lips left mine, I inhaled deeply, savoring the taste and scent of him. My family's awkward laughter and uncomfortable shifting stayed in the background. They'd been aware of my sexuality for years but never witnessed it firsthand. But I couldn't bring myself to care, because in that moment all I saw was Creed. His intense gaze held such understanding and empathy, and I felt myself being swept away by it.

We exchanged a quick look, our eyes speaking volumes without words.

Creed mouthed, "You okay?"

I nodded, relieved that he was checking in on me. "I'm fine," I mouthed back.

He turned back to my family and quipped, "If I'd known dinner was going to be this entertaining, I would have come by ages ago." Then he turned to me, eyes dancing. "Avery, I thought you said Thanksgiving was a quiet affair. I feel like I'm in a sitcom right now."

Creed's tongue-in-cheek remark released the tension in the room, provoking genuine laughter from my family. It was a clever jab that he pulled off effortlessly. If I hadn't known better, I would have believed Creed was a part of the family.

His grip on my hand never faltered, giving me the strength to get through this.

Dinner was supposed to be an informal affair, at least by our standards, but I couldn't help but notice Creed's wide-eyed reactions to each new course. "Which one to use?" he whispered, looking at the cutlery.

"The salad fork, the smaller one," I murmured back.

He picked it up and poked at his salad.

Creed stumbled through the rest of the meal, occasionally asking for my guidance on which cutlery to use or how to properly hold a wine glass. "Just follow my lead," I whispered, surreptitiously guiding his hand into the correct position.

Despite his minor slip-ups, dinner went smoothly and I felt more like myself again. "You're doing great," I reassured him as we finished off our dessert.

"I have you to thank for that," Creed smiled gratefully. "I'll have to remember these dining etiquette tips for next time."

"Or just let me sit next to you at every meal," I joked, happy to see him enjoying himself despite his nerves.

And the way Creed reacted to me was unexpected. Once he found his feet, it was obvious he really was a charming guy, and used to thinking on his feet and blending into unfamiliar situations. He was able to keep up an endless stream of conversation, shifting topics to cover for himself when he couldn't keep up in a way that I might not notice if I didn't work in finance and spend my days surrounded by high-end con men.

And he fell into the physical affection part of our fake boyfriend play-acting just as easily as everything else. But I was probably blowing things out of proportion in my imagination because it felt like Creed was unconsciously leaning into me at every turn. He shivered whenever I whispered to him. Was it because my breath hit his neck? Did his pupils dilate when our eyes met? That was the part that must be in my head. I grew up gay in a very conservative, religious community; I was well-acquainted with the kind of secret love affair your brain could invent when it was desperate enough. The imagined lingering glances or the friendly touch that you read too much into. I learned early on how dangerous it was. Something I thought I'd left well behind.

My mother stood up, still surprisingly strong for a woman in her seventies. "As much as Thanksgiving is and will never be the same without my husband and love who has gone to be with the Lord," Mother said, "there are still a multitude of reasons to be thankful. I'm thankful for my kids, Rebecca and Avery. I might complain about your individual flaws, but I want you to know how much gratitude and love I feel for you. I'm honored to have borne the responsibility of loving and raising each of you. And to you, Nathaniel and Joseph. I might not have given birth to you, but you're more than my nephews, you're my sons." Then with an elegant sweep of her hand she said, "All four of you are my greatest gifts."

My mother's words of love touched me, but they also felt repetitive. It was the same sentiment she had expressed last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. Except for the part about my dad having gone to be with the Lord. It almost sounded like a rehearsed script, robotic in nature. But I tried to focus on the positive—at least she was openly expressing her love for us.

Each of us rose to our feet individually to mention the things we were grateful for. Soon enough, it was my turn. I sighed, not relishing the idea of making a touching speech in front of my family. Or was it Creed's presence that made me hesitant? An excuse would have been a good thing to come up with, but I couldn't think of anything.

When he sensed me hesitating, Creed leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Aren't you grateful for anything? You're not grateful for me?"

I rolled my eyes playfully and rose to my full height. "There are so many things that we take for granted and I hope nobody in this room feels taken for granted. I'm grateful for the people that you are and I feel lucky to be a part of this family. So from my heart, thank you very much."

As the sentiment hung in the air, Becca broke the moment's reverence. After taking a sip of her drink, she asked, "So what do you do in your spare time, Creed? We could all do something fun this weekend."

Creed's expression shifted slightly. "I'm not much of a social person," he replied. "The military does that to people. I'm fine with whatever you come up with."

Becca nodded, clearly unfazed. "I'll let you know when something comes to mind. Hopefully, you'll be able to get away from Avery long enough to join us," she teased.

Creed nudged me playfully. "I think Avery would be in a better position to respond to that."

It took everything in me not to let my mouth hang open.

Becca erupted into laughter, but Joseph quickly diverted her attention, and they began to argue playfully as cousins often do about something only they knew.

Creed's sly grin widened. "Don't let your jaw hit the ground, man."

My cheeks suffused with heat, I quickly shut my mouth.

Creed leaned toward me, lowering his voice. "Your sister seems nicer than the rest of them. Is she always this way?"

"Becca's great. I've never had any problems getting along with her. The only thing is that she says what she feels without filters. If there's an award for being honest to a fault, I'm sure it would go to her."

"I think I can deal with that."

As the meal came to an end, my body was heavy with exhaustion and a hint of melancholy. My family was actually nicer to Creed than I'd expected, but being around him stirred up a lot of memories from my high school days of my foolish crushes on straight boys—memories I'd thought were long buried.

And then there was the looming presence of my father's ghost, lingering in every tense moment and filling the room with an uncomfortable fear that he used to instill in our household. The air felt thick with it.

I forced a polite smile before pushing away from the table. My feet seemed unwilling to cooperate with me as they stumbled up the stairs. I was exhausted, tipsy and hardly in control of my motor functions and thoughts.

As soon as we reached my bedroom, I realized Creed and I hadn't discussed our sleeping arrangements before now. The last thing I wanted was for him to think he'd been set up.

Still mulling over my next move, I pushed the door open. Right there in the middle of the room lay a king-sized bed that would easily fit us. My mother had swapped out my old bed for a bigger one, seemingly expecting us to share a room. My heart raced—was this her way of showing that she accepted my choices? Did she really believe that this arrangement would make us feel more comfortable together?

It felt like a small step toward mending our somewhat fractured relationship. Maybe she was finally starting to realize that I was old enough to make my own decisions, and that being gay meant I could choose who I wanted to share my space with. I appreciated her effort, but the sudden shift in our dynamic made me anxious.

I glanced back at Creed, unsure how he'd take it. It wasn't just about the bed; it felt like a lot of pressure. I appreciated my mother's thoughtfulness, though I had a hunch that Becca had played a part in this arrangement. With sweaty fingers, I forced the door shut, hyper-aware of Creed's presence behind me.

"I'll, uh, change in the bathroom," I muttered, grabbing my pajamas and heading for the door. Creed looked like he might say something, but his shoulders slumped with fatigue and he just nodded.

The cool air in the bathroom steadied me as I changed quickly, trying to calm my nerves. But when I returned, I caught a glimpse of Creed pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the taut muscles of his back.

I froze for a second, heat pooling in my stomach before I forced my gaze away. Clearing my throat, I focused on wiping my feet on the mat and climbed into bed, making sure to face the opposite direction. I lay on the edge of the mattress, shifting my body gingerly in an effort to settle in properly.

Seconds later, the bed dipped with Creed's weight. I shifted a bit further.

Being the openly gay one of the two of us had given me an idea of what to expect. One of the most serious fears was being accused of being a pervert. The confused, fourteen-year-old version of myself was stirred by my fear of upsetting my fake boyfriend.

It reminded me of the friends who acted like they were cool with my sexuality till they thought they caught me looking at them a second longer than necessary, and then they were jokingly slapping my back and reminding me of all the reasons why they were straight. The locker room dramas and the inconvenience that came with figuring out ways to shower alone after PE classes to avoid anyone thinking or saying I was checking them out. I'd declined invitations to sleepovers for the same reason…

Every second I spent tonight looking at Creed or appreciating how beautiful he was played on a loop in my head. My heart raced as I held my breath, bracing myself for Creed's reaction. Would he see me as a pervert? Maybe he would unleash his military training and throw a hard punch at me. Or perhaps, in some sick twist of fate, he would walk out the door, leaving me to face the consequences alone. The uncertainty only added to the turmoil brewing inside of me.

I was wrong.

None of those things happened.

Instead, Creed shifted to face me, his expression serious. "Are you scared of me? That's why you're lying on the edge of the bed, right?" His voice was... sad.

I wasn't sure how to respond.

Only the sound of our breathing punctuated the silence in the room, but Creed didn't let the quiet discourage him.

"I'm sorry about the way your family treated you during dinner. You're a good person and you deserved better than that."

With a long, slow exhale, the tension in my chest seemed to roll off like a heavy blanket being lifted. I relaxed my shoulders and settled into a deep sleep.

My eyes flew open, my body still heavy with sleep, and for a few seconds, I couldn't make sense of my surroundings. Then, I heard Creed's muffled cries and saw him thrashing on the bed next to me. Adrenaline shot through me as I realized what was happening—he was having a nightmare.

A solid kick to my hip forced me out of the bed and I hurried over to his side. I stood back watching him wriggle and roll on the bed, as if he was trying to get away from something. Stark fear was reflected on his face, making me wonder what exactly he was seeing that made him panic so much.

Switching on the lamp, I noticed his side of the bed was soaked in sweat. The same sweat that drenched his gray sweats and light blue T-shirt and dripped down his face.

After a few seconds, I inched closer and tapped him gently. Whatever tormented his sleep, I couldn't bear to watch him struggle anymore.

It took another tap to jolt Creed out of his nightmares. As his eyes jerked open, he gasped, struggling to breathe.

"You just had a bad dream. It was only a dream. You're okay now." My fingers lingered on his chest where I had patted him awake.

Creed's gaze roved the breadth of the room, settling on the bed and the soaked up sheets. He glanced downwards at his damp shirt. "I'm sorry?—"

I cupped his face in my hands and tilted his neck until he was looking directly at me. Our eyes locked for a second and I leaned in close.

Looking into his gray eyes, I felt something stir inside of me.

A spark? Was it a flame that crackled inside me, the embers spreading in my chest?

The air around us was a heavy fog that had settled inside the room. Creed was completely still until he finally blinked, his eyes widening. He let out an audible gulp, my gaze fixing on his Adam's apple.

"You don't need to look that way. I swear, nothing hap–" I raised my hands, palms facing forward, to reassure him.

My words, though meant to soothe, only seemed to add to Creed's panic and he jerked backwards, as if he'd been electrocuted. He tumbled off the mattress and hit the ground with a sick thud, his face twisted in anguish. And then, in a flurry of motion, with flailing limbs like a tragic ballet, he was gone, disappearing behind the closed bathroom door, shutting himself off from me and the world.