Chapter Nine

Callum

M y ears are still ringing from the aftermath of Tyler’s so-called road trip playlist when we enter the cabin. He agreed to come with us in the truck, but halfway through, I was already regretting that he hadn’t gone on his bike instead. Mitch’s lame explanation that the cabin was remote and difficult to find on your own sounded good at the time, but after listening to someone called Tyler the Creator for what seemed like days, I’m not so sure. As Tyler the Creator—accompanied by Tyler the Hyper Brat from the backseat—crooned ‘Cause you make my earth quake’ for the millionth time, all I felt was my brain pounding against my skull.

So a dose of the wilderness is exactly what I need. As usual, when we arrive at my grandfather’s cabin in the woods, a sense of calm engulfs me, and everything just melts away. All the noise from the city and the everyday chores. In an instant, it’s just gone like fucking magic and my shoulders automatically drop several inches. At least, that’s how it usually is.

“Holy fuck, Cal-Bear!” Tyler speaks a little too loudly against my left ear. Well, the quiet was good as long as it lasted, I guess. “It’s like fucking Goldilocks and the Bears out here. Sweet!” Then he breezes past me, slapping his hand against his left thigh a couple of times, heading for the back door to the wild property. “C’mon girl! Bree Baby, let’s gooo!” Jesus, if everything is going to be at that volume today, I’m going to need a steady stream of beer coming my way.

“We made it,” Mitch sighs next to me, nuzzling his nose against my beard. I instinctively wrap an arm around him, pulling him close, while we both stare at Tyler who, ass in the air, is trying to help Bree dig a massive hole in the middle of our lawn. “You still sure this was a good idea?” Mitch chuckles, but I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s happy. Like, really, truly happy.

“Yeah,” I murmur into his hair. “I mean, his batteries are bound to run dry at some point, right?” Mitch laughs, shaking his head like it’s the stupidest thing he has heard in a long while.

“I wouldn’t count on it, sweetheart. When he was a kid, he had only one gear, and that was GO!—right until he’d collapse some random place and I’d carry him to bed.” There’s a wistful edge to Mitch’s voice that I’ve now come to recognize as the heaviness of his memories with Tyler. They weigh on him. It weighs on him—that he left Tyler behind.

“Oh shit,” I laugh, watching Tyler already smeared in dirt after five minutes in the wild. Bree gazes at him like he’s a dog whisperer or something. Despite Mitch giving him a long lecture yesterday about the mosquitos and other bugs at the cabin, Tyler, of course, decided to show up in the shortest pair of cutoffs known to man. And his trademark crop top, obviously. Today, it’s a deep forest green because ‘ if we encounter a bear that isn’t as friendly as you, Cal-Bear, I’ll blend right in. Camouflage, baby!’ Camouflage my ass. Even if he managed to blend in with the greenery, the bright orange headband was sure to give him away.

‘What the hell is that?’ Mitch asked earlier when Tyler, in an attempt to put on the headband, nearly gagged himself in the backseat.

‘What? I thought you were supposed to wear something orange in the wild. You know so that the hunters can see you and don’t mistake you for a moose or something.’ Shit, I nearly drove the truck into the other lane, I was laughing so hard. He’s so goddamn oblivious, his logic so random, that my heart can’t take it. Yeah.

“This is fucking wicked!” Tyler pants, running toward where we’ve moved on to the back deck. His cheeks are flushed and smeared with dirt, his cinnamon eyes competing with the sun. Blades of grass are caught in his dark curls and my fingers itch to run through his hair and pick them out one by one. He’s a mess. An adorable mess, sure, but a mess nonetheless.

“I know,” Mitch shakes his head. “I love it too,” he continues, reaching out his large hand, doing what I didn’t dare to. And Tyler lets him. As Mitch ruffles through Tyler’s mop of hair, grass and leaves drop to the wooden deck. And Tyler just smiles all the way up to his sparkly eyes. “There,” Mitch murmurs.

“Thanks, Mitch,” Tyler breathes, tilting his head. “Do we have any food? I’m fucking starving and Bree just told me she could go for a snack break, too.” Simultaneously, we all turn and look back at the lawn where Bree is splayed under the shade of a large walnut tree, legs in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“Yeah, we’ve got food,” I say, moving toward the small kitchen. “Beer, babe?” I throw over my shoulder.

“Yes, please,” Tyler beams, batting his eyelashes as he skips after me. “C’mon Mitch,” he gestures. “Let’s go annoy the crap out of Cal until he growls like a bear.” I’m already there, only it’s not exactly annoyance coursing through my body right now. It’s something else that’s been building ever since that first day in the bakery when I realized how tiny he was compared to my aprons. A feeling that has only intensified the more time we spend together, and that reached a new high this morning when I read the caption on Tyler’s top. Bratty Boy Scout at Your Service, Sir! A sensation that makes my heart pound in my chest while shame pulls at my limbs. I’m attracted to Tyler. And I need to grab that feeling by its roots and squash it. Because I love Mitch and only Mitch and I’m not the kind of guy that would ever fuck around, not even in my head. I would never betray what we have. Never before have I even looked twice at another guy, only ever Mitch. And still…

Mitch blows past me, sweeping his fingers along my lower back, whispering, “I love your inner bear, sweetheart.” Smirking, he opens the fridge and grabs a couple of beers.

“Catch!” he yells at Tyler, who just manages to catch the beer, fumbling around with it, the muscles of his lean thighs flexing as he moves. His legs are tattooed with intricate patterns of dark skulls, colorful snakes, and moths of different sizes. It should look ridiculous with his outfit, but it just… fits. Everything about Tyler just fits. Rubbing at my chest, I catch Mitch sending me a questioning stare, but I just smile back at him, shaking my head while guilt eats me up.

“Fuck, that hit the spot, Mitch,” Tyler drawls, smacking his lips, resting the cold beer bottle against his flushed cheeks. “So fucking good,” he near moans before gulping down some more, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down behind his golden tanned skin. “This is the life, ain’t it, Mitch?” he sends a million-dollar smile in my man’s direction and the smile that Mitch sends back, eyes wet from unshed tears, just melts my heart.

Opening a drawer, Mitch rummages around before he finds a bag of Sweet Chili Doritos, which he throws in Tyler’s direction. Tyler grabs them midair and sends Mitch a dazzling smile that is returned tenfold while my legs nearly become jelly and give way beneath me. I reach out, steadying myself against the doorjamb. As I take them in, a small voice grows in the back of my mind. A forbidden voice that increases in volume with every second that I spend in the same room with the man that I love more than I ever thought possible and this kid that Mitch used to love like his own. What if? What if there was a way that—

“Where are we sleeping?” Tyler blurts out of nowhere, his words accompanied by a series of small burps before he stuffs another handful of Doritos into his mouth, wiping his hand against his chest. Placing the bag on the counter, he then pulls off his dirty shirt, revealing frail pecs with rosy nipples standing out against his olive skin. He’s hairless and flushed, and my attention drifts to something sparkling in the afternoon sun.

“Upstairs,” Mitch rasps, hurrying past Tyler like the goddamn floor is on fire and not just my throat. It’s like I can’t breathe, flames licking at my insides… because Tyler’s nipples are pierced. They are fucking pierced because, of course, they are. Two golden hoops winking at me like they were put on this planet with the sole purpose of mocking me. And as my traitorous gaze slides lower, down his smooth, toned abs, I notice a stud with a green crystal peeking from his belly button. I gulp, and then I gulp again. Between the hoops in his nipples and the piercing taunting me in his belly button, it’s like the Bermuda Triangle threatening to suck me right in.

“Cool!” Tyler calls out, sweeping up his backpack from the floor, skipping after Mitch, who’s long gone up the stairs to the loft. “Wait up, Mitch!”

I move up the stairs slowly, the stuffy air from the loft surrounding me. It’s a small room, just enough space for our king-size bed Mitch built himself, and a set of drawers for our stuff. There’s no fancy bathroom up here; the toilet is downstairs, and the shower is outside under the clear blue sky. Everything is just the way we like it. Simple. Cozy. Ours .

“Dibs!” Tyler calls out as soon as he sees our massive bed. Hurling his backpack in a corner, he literally jumps, turning in the air, and landing flat on his back on the mustard-colored bedspread. Arms and legs splayed out, he looks like a starfish that washed up on a beach somewhere.

“Uhm, I was kinda planning for you to sleep downstairs on the couch, Ty. Seeing that we only have one bed…” Mitch trails off, his voice still with this unfamiliar edge to it.

“Why?” Tyler smiles, leaning up on his elbows, dust dancing in the air around him, those goddamn hoops blinking. “This is big enough.” He pats the comforter beneath him. “We can all fit.” Sweet baby Jesus on crack, that ain’t happening.

“Nah, I don’t think so, kid,” I murmur, throwing Mitch a glare. He, too, looks like he’s at his odds here.

“Why not?” Tyler counters, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Why do you have such a huge-ass bed, anyway?” He looks between Mitch and me, a cute frown between his dark eyebrows, his chest heaving, drops of sweat gathering in his belly button, and… yeah.

“Cal’s a bed hoarder,” Mitch chuckles, bumping his shoulder against mine.

“I am not!” I protest, my voice drowning in Tyler’s carefree giggles.

“You guys are cute, you know that?” Tyler looks between us, an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re like hubby goals.” Nibbling on the bottom lip, which is so damn pink and plump that it should be illegal in all states, he seems to contemplate something. “Thought you guys might swing. You know, huge-ass bed and all.”

“Swing?!” Mitch coughs, beating at his chest. “Nah, we don’t swing.” He swallows, throwing me a quick glance.

“You guys are exclusive, then?” Tyler pouts, the image of innocence as his fingers play with the bedspread, teasing the creases.

“Yes,” I rasp. “Of course we are.”

“Cool,” Tyler beams at me, then at Mitch. Then he leans back, sighing audibly, his eyes drifting to the large windows in the ceiling. “You get a lot of stars at night, right Cal-Bear?” he says, his voice slurry. Then he yawns, nuzzling his chin against the pillow. “I bet you guys do the dirty deed under the stars every time you’re here.”

“Tyler…” Mitch warns.

“Just keep it down tonight, okay?” he drawls, seconds away from drifting off to sleep. “Unless you want company…” he yawns again, turning to his right side and hugging himself. “Then just give me a poke.” Then he’s out, leaving Mitch and me to just stare at him, then each other, our mutual silent, ‘ what the actual fuck?’ ringing through the loft, accompanied by Tyler’s soft snores.