5. Waylon

Chapter Five

WAYLON

I 'm not his friend. That's just fan-fucking-tastic.

That's totally fine though. Maybe we weren't friends, but I thought we had a mutual respect. I thought he maybe gave a damn about me. I know I care about him.

I groan when I sit down on the old lumpy couch in the living room/dining room/kitchen of the world's smallest cabin. How the hell am I going to make this work?

I don't know.

And we aren't friends.

I hate how much his words stung. It shouldn't have bothered me. I'm very good at keeping things professional, but for some reason, that cut me deep. Though I'm pretty sure I did a great job of masking it.

I learned a long time ago that people believe what they want to see. When I was the lonely kid on the playground and teachers would come to check on me, I was great at laughing it off and making it seem like I was just fine.

When my parents tried to "get me right with the Lord," when I came out to them at sixteen, my aunt—who was the only one in my family I ever liked—tried to get me to move in with her. Tried to make sure I was okay. I played that off too. Like I was totally fine with my parents telling me I'd go to hell if I didn't—well I'm not sure what they thought I could do to "fix" myself. Pretend not to be gay, I guess.

That was never going to happen.

My aunt died a year later, and then I went off to college. Never looked back.

So in the end, I was just totally fine.

I know I need to pack my shit and cut my losses, but I can't seem to do it. Maybe it's my stubborn streak, but maybe it's his that's keeping me here. Because no matter how much he says he's fine and he wants me to leave, I know he needs help. I know he's all alone out here with no one to look out for him, and that's dangerous.

My phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket, glancing at the screen to see I barely have any service inside.

That's just fucking great.

I hit answer, hoping it won't drop the call. "Jenny?"

"Hey. Did you make it?" Her voice sounds crackly on the line, cutting in and out, like it's the first goddamn phone to ever exist and not brand-new. I have to talk to Sam about getting Wi-Fi out here.

When I asked him about it, his eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. He let me know there's no internet in the cabins, but a café in town has that—and I quote—"fancy shit."

This is going to be a long damn three months.

"Yes. I'm here. The service is shit."

"What?" she asks loudly, just to prove my point.

I scream into the phone. "The. Service. Is. Shit." And I have no idea why I'm screaming. That's not going to make it any better.

Her voice cuts out, and then a moment later, the signal is lost. Well, that's just fantastic. I gotta tell you, I don't know how the hell places like this even exist anymore. This is goddamn ridiculous.

I type out a quick text to let her know I made it and the service is, in fact, shitty. That I'll call her tomorrow if I can find a spot in town that has a signal.

I raise the phone up in the air—why I think that will help, I don't know—and thankfully, it sends before I place my phone down on the couch next to me.

How the hell is this my life now?

I need to find a way to get Justin to talk to me, figure out how to help him, and then get the hell out of here.

I wake up in the world's most uncomfortable bed. I mean it's somehow both hard and soft at the same time, with a spring poking into my side for most of the damn night. First thing today, I'm ordering a decent mattress. I don't care how much I have to pay to get it shipped out here.

I cannot take another night like last night.

My body aches as I climb off the mattress from hell and make my way into the bathroom—which consists of a toilet, a shower I'm not sure I'll even fit in, and a sink with a rusty old mirror above it. I take a piss and wash my hands before I move into the kitchen.

There's an old coffee maker, but as I search through the cabinets, I'm horrified to find absolutely no coffee.

This. Cannot. Be. Happening.

There's no way in hell Door Dash or Grubhub will deliver out here, and there's also no way I'm going to start my day without coffee.

Nope. No. Way.

So, I do the only thing I can. I stumble out of the cabin in my skimpy black briefs and make my way over to my neighbor's front door. And he is not pleased.

But I don't miss the way his eyes slide over my body, slowly with absolutely no subtlety, checking out every inch of my bare skin. I wish I could say it had no effect on me, but of course it does.

His perusal lights a fire in my blood, but then his face goes back to angry. "What the hell are you doing? You trying to get arrested?"

I smirk at that. "There are cops around here to arrest me?"

He rolls his eyes at me—sadly, he's already fully dressed in ripped jeans and a white t-shirt. "Why are you here?"

"I was wondering if you could loan me some coffee until I can get back into town."

He studies me carefully, his brow furrowing and his pretty full lips pursed in annoyance. Damn, he's cute when he's annoyed. "No."

It's my turn to roll my eyes at him. "Justin, are you really going to deny me coffee? You know how I get without caffeine."

He stares at me, unmoving and cold, but then he huffs loudly and flails his arm behind him, turning his body. "Fine. Just come in. I'll get you a cup."

I grin wide, unbothered by his little outburst. This turned out better than I could have planned.

I move past him, walking into his cabin and barely manage not to jump when the door slams behind me. He could for sure murder me out here, and they'd never find my body. But it is what it is, and damn it, I need coffee.

He walks into the kitchen and grabs me a mug from the cabinet, filling it with coffee and then walks over to hand it to me. "Here. Now go."

"If you don't mind, I think I'll stay here and drink it," I say, taking a seat on his couch—one he must have bought himself because it's brand-new and so comfortable I have to catch a groan from falling from my lips as I settle into the plush fabric.

I take a drink of the coffee and close my eyes, savoring the wonderful life nectar.

I feel him sit down next to me on the couch, but I'm still enjoying my coffee with my eyes closed before he speaks. "Why are you doing this to me?"

I open my eyes and look right into his. "What exactly am I doing to you? Maybe I needed some peace and quiet."

He glares at me angrily. "You're drowning here already. There's no way in hell any of this is relaxing for you."

I smirk at that. He's not wrong, but I'm very good at putting on an act when I need to. "I'll admit the bed is lumpy, and I'm going to have to get some coffee, but I love it. The trees. The quiet. It's lovely."

His eyes narrow. "What do I have to do to get you to leave?"

I take another drink of my coffee and lift my shoulder. "Tell me why you left. Tell me what your plan is." My eyes meet his. "Tell me you don't need me."

I swear that one knocks him off kilter for a brief moment, but unfortunately, he recovers way too fast. "That one is easy. I. Don't. Need. You."

I try not to rear back like he slapped me, but I'm not sure I manage. It hurts. It really fucking hurts, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath.

I try to cover it by taking a large sip of coffee to regain my composure.

Don't let him see the hurt, Waylon. You're better than this.