Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 13
I woke up just as the sun was peaking above the horizon. I never used to be an early riser, but Harrison West seemed to have changed all that.
The house was still wrapped in shadows, the faint blue of early dawn filtering in through the kitchen windows. Outside, the trees stood bare and silent, their limbs etched against a steel-colored sky. The air smelled like woodsmoke, earth, and something older – like the bones of fall were finally settling in. A long sigh before the first snow.
I padded across the cool linoleum and grabbed the camping checklist I'd written out last night. Tent. Lanterns. Flashlights. Sleeping bags. Extra blankets. A queen-sized air mattress, because comfort was non-negotiable. This trip – it had to be perfect.
I hadn't gone camping since Dad. I wanted Jack to be as blown away as I was on my first camping trip.
Back then, it had been different. Tents and stories. Ghosts by the fire. His laugh echoed through the trees. But even now, years later, I remember how safe I felt in the woods with him. How small the world got, in the best way. Just trees, wind, and sky.
And now I was bringing Jack, and there was no person I'd rather share this with. No, not even Noah.
Jack, who drove me absolutely insane . Jack, with his wild declarations about edible moss and the "spirituality" of turtles. Jack, who avoided social activities at all costs unless I asked him to do it "for me." Jack, who also – somehow – made me feel seen. Heard. Cherished. Like I didn't have to try so hard to be anything other than exactly who I was. It was so easy being with Jack. We were so different, yet we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Jack, who remained untouchable.
I wasn't sure what was happening between us. But that was something to deal with another time, because now was all about me enjoying this time with Jack with no distractions. Our chance to truly know each other and finally earn the title of best friends .
Of course, I knew this trip mattered, and I knew I needed to keep pushing Noah out of my thoughts for now, no matter how guilty I felt about it. That could wait until Monday ... or whenever. This was all about Jack. Making him feel seen and heard.
The smell of breakfast was already filling the house. My mom made an egg and hashbrown casserole with crumbled sausage, bacon, and oodles of cheese, and left it to cook overnight in the crockpot. The scent wrapped around everything like a blanket.
Mom kissed my forehead on her way out. "I'm going to brave the Black Friday madness," she said, grabbing her purse. "Then it's another double at the ER. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon."
I gave her a quick hug. "We'll be careful."
She gave me a look – half affection, half exhaustion. "Tell Jack to wear extra socks."
"I will."
"And take pictures. I want to see your secret forest kingdom."
With that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I looked toward the basement door.
Still quiet.
Jack was probably still tangled in blankets, curled into the corner of the pull-out with Mr. Bojangles at his feet. I hesitated for a moment. Then I decided to start putting together breakfast for him.
Casserole. Toast. Mango juice. A sliced-up banana. Coffee – black, because he hated sugar in it and claimed it made him feel "like a grown-up loser." I balanced everything carefully on a wooden TV tray and made my way down the stairs.
The basement was dim, lit only by the slant of light coming through the tiny window well and sliding glass door.
He was still asleep, his hair a chaotic halo on the pillow, mouth slightly open, one arm flung across his chest like a shield. He looked… soft. Unguarded. Vulnerable. Not like the Jack I usually saw. Not even like the Jack I'd fallen asleep beside.
This Jack looked breakable. But beautiful, too.
I knelt beside the bed and nudged his shoulder gently.
He groaned. Mumbled something incoherent about a rusty hangar and a jar of Vaseline.
Rolled over.
"Hey," I whispered. "Good morning."
He blinked, squinting up at me. Then – his eyes widened a little.
"You did not just bring me breakfast in bed, you doofus," he growled, but I can see the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling shy. "Thought it'd be nice."
He stared for a second longer.
Then: "I can't believe you," he muttered. His voice was hushed. Not sarcastic. Not performative. Just… stunned. "You're really killing me here, ya know? All romantic and shit."
We sat cross-legged on the bed and shared the plate, passing the same fork back and forth between us. I watched his shoulders relax with each bite. At one point, he looked at me with something like awe. It felt bittersweet because I could tell so clearly that he was deeply in love with me, but I couldn't reciprocate the kind of love he wanted and deserved.
We gave the last piece of sausage to Mr. Bojangles, who snatched it mid-air and then promptly flopped down on the rug, triumphant.
By nine, we were packing up.
I showed Jack how to roll the sleeping bags tightly and wedge them into the hiking packs. We packed snacks, MREs, dry socks, long-sleeved shirts, water bottles, a small med kit, and my tablet for later. Jack was in charge of snacks and entertainment. Which meant he brought trail mix, gummy bears, some sandwiches, chips, and a paperback biography of Rasputin.
"My brain is chaos," he said. "Might as well embrace it."
The queen-sized air mattress got folded and strapped under my pack. Jack watched with mild shock.
"You're seriously bringing all this?"
"If I'm going into the woods with you, we're doing it comfortably."
He smirked. "You're really going all in on the 'romance' thing today."
I didn't respond. Just smiled.
My phone buzzed.
Noah. Fuck.
sorry i didn't text yesterday. i was feeling kind of down. i miss you. i love you. <3
I stared at the message for a long time. Sadly, I kind of wished I didn't receive it. Not now.
So, I locked the screen and slid the phone back into my pocket.
Jack was already tightening the straps on his boots, not looking at me.
We left the yard together – Mr. Bojangles leading the way, his tail a happy metronome as he darted back and forth through the leaves.
The forest was still half-asleep at this hour.
Most of the trees were bare, their leaves scattered like confetti on the ground. But a few evergreens stood defiant, their needles glistening in the slanted light. The sky was overcast, but the air was dry. Crisp. The kind of cold that woke you up in your bones.
We followed the path I knew by heart, ducking under low branches, hopping over roots.
The trail narrowed as we moved deeper, the silence wrapping tighter around us.
Jack didn't say much.
But he kept pace with me, eyes wide, drinking in every detail.
Finally, we arrived at my secret kingdom.
"This is it," I said. "My spot."
Jack stared.
"Wow," he breathed. "This is incredible."
Tall grass grew wild across the clearing, waist-high in places, soft and golden in the afternoon sun, swaying like ocean waves when the wind stirred. At the base of the hill, a grove of old trees – mostly sycamore and sugar maple – stood like a wall of sentries, their thick trunks and overlapping branches forming a kind of gateway into the peninsula itself. It always felt like crossing a threshold into somewhere magical. Somewhere secret. The dappled shade they cast was cool and heavy, filtering the light in soft, flickering patches on the mossy ground.
Just beyond the tree line, the grass thinned out and gave way to a patch of gravel and pale, sun-bleached sand that sloped gently down to the water's edge. The creek here was crystal clear and moved lazily, gurgling over smooth stones and forming deep pools near the bend. A ring of gigantic boulders stood across the far bank like ancient guardians, their surfaces worn smooth by decades of water and weather. One of them was nearly flat on top, and I'd long ago nicknamed it the Throne Rock – because from up there, you could see the whole campsite: the tents nestled between trees, the fire pit circled with stones, the bags of marshmallows waiting to be skewered.
It felt like our own private kingdom. No parents. No school. No one to tell us who to be or how to act. Just the sound of birdsong and rushing water, the rustle of squirrels in the underbrush, and the soft buzz of summer insects. The kind of place where you could stay up all night telling stories, roasting hot dogs until they were blackened and blistered, and stare up at a sky so full of stars it didn't seem real. The kind of place where secrets could be spoken aloud and silences didn't feel empty.
It wasn't fancy. But it was ours.
We crossed the stones, covered in moss, and Mr. Bojangles bounding ahead like a scout. The earth was soft here, the ground level, the trees spaced just enough to let light filter in without making it feel exposed.
I set up the tent. Jack offered to help but admitted sheepishly that he'd never been camping before.
"Ever?" I asked.
"Suburbia doesn't train you for outdoor survival."
"You're lucky I didn't bring freeze-dried fish heads."
"I'd have eaten them. Ironically."
Once the tent was up and the air mattress inflated inside, we lay out the blankets and pillows. Then we went in search of firewood.
Lunch was tuna salad sandwiches and chips, eaten on a fallen log while Mr. Bojangles tried to steal anything that hit the ground.
We spent the afternoon on an oversized blanket we spread over the sand and pebbles of the tiny creekside beach. I read The Song of Achilles – the story of Patroclus and Achilles, of devotion and fate and unbearable beauty. The ultimate homoerotic love story. Jack alternated between sketching the twisted branches above us and flipping through passages about Rasputin's childhood.
We didn't talk much.
And that was perfect.
As the sun began to dip lower, I built the fire. It took longer than I expected, but Jack didn't mock me. Just sat nearby, turning a twig in his fingers, watching me quietly.
Dinner was MREs, "meals ready to exit your body immediately," as Jack called them. I had picked them up from a military surplus store last summer, curious as to what military rations would taste like. And it was so much less mess and risk of getting third-degree burns than trying to cook over an open fire.
We gagged our way through Mexican-style chicken stew and lemon pepper tuna. Even the crackers and cheddar cheese spread were awful. We laughed. It was pretty gross. But we ate every bite anyway.
Back in the tent, curled up under three blankets, we propped up my tablet on a pillow and picked something we both thought we'd enjoy, Indiana Jones & The Dial of Destiny.
Halfway through, I paused it.
"What'd you do that for?" Jack complained. "I'm really starting to get into this!"
"Jack," I said softly. "We need to talk."
He turned to look at me, wary.
"Do we have to do this right now? Things have been going so well," he complained.
I swallowed. "That first week. When you had that breakdown, I never asked. But I want to know what happened."
Jack looked down at the blanket.
"I saw you with Noah," he said finally. "That morning. Laughing. Close. And I just… snapped."
He shifted, eyes darkening.
"I'd just gotten off the phone with my mom. She called to yell at me about my grades. Told me I was a disappointment and a waste of oxygen. Again. And then some asshole juniors shoved me in the hallway."
He paused. "And then I saw you. Happy. With him. And I thought, 'Of course. That's who people fall for.' Not me."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. It was my fault again for ruining his life. I was poison.
Jack went quiet for a second, then added, "And after I freaked out… I thought there was no way you'd ever want to be friends with me. Let alone…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
"I do," I said. "I want to be friends. Like, really close. I know it's messy with Noah and everything, but we'll figure it out. I just... I don't want to lose what we have right now, because it feels kind of perfect. And yeah, I know my thing with Noah probably isn't gonna last forever – I'm not clueless. I'm not that naïve, even if I act that way sometimes. It's fun for now, but it's not forever. You can be, though. That's why I want you as my best friend. Because I don't want some dumb boarding school hookup or fling to ruin the one thing that actually feels real ."
Jack stared at the tent wall. I could see the tears streaming down his face. Why does this have to be so hard?
I had to reach out and hug him, to hold him tonight. To let him know that I was here for him no matter what, even if he was drenching my jacket with his tears at the moment.
"And your mom?" I asked gently.
He laughed, but it sounded like glass breaking.
"She's a total bitch. A cum-guzzling gutter slut who'll sleep with any twenty-something loser that glances her way. And my dad? He's even worse. I've lost count of how many abortions he's had to pay for—secretaries, interns, whoever he can corner. They think I don't know, but I hear things. I always hear things. They're just a couple of rich assholes who care more about appearances than anything real. I was raised by nannies, shipped off to schools, screamed at, ignored. And now they're cutting me off the second I turn eighteen. They tell me the sooner I get AIDS and die, the better. Or that I should just kill myself and be done with it."
His voice cracked, and so did my heart. But I kept my arms around him. I couldn't let him go, and I didn't want to.
How could anyone treat their child like that?
"I'm not lovable, Nick. I'm broken . I'm too much ."
I pulled him closer to me, and he held on to me even tighter.
"I'm not strong," Jack whispered. "I'm just loud and scared, and I mess everything up. That's why I usually keep to myself – so I don't end up wrecking someone else's life without meaning to. But sometimes I slip. I let my guard down, I laugh, I have fun – like when I'm with you guys – and then it hits me. The guilt. Because deep down, I know all I'm really doing is dragging people into my mess."
He was crying now. Full-body shudders.
I just held him while he fell apart. I didn't know what to say to him.
So I just held him while he let me.
And when his breathing finally slowed, I whispered, "Why me ?"
Jack looked at me through swollen eyes.
"Because you're sincere," he said softly. "And kind. And generous. And actually funny – not fake funny. You're also smarter than anyone I've ever met. And… you're one of the cutest boys at school." He paused, searching my face. "I couldn't help it. At first, I tried to push you away, to make you stop trying to be friends with me. But you didn't. You kept showing up, kept caring, and eventually... I gave in. You're kind of impossible to resist. You're just … good ."
I cringed. I wasn't sure how "good" I really was, leading on both Noah and Jack. That's what it felt like, at least.
"And when you look at me," he said, "I don't feel like I have to fake anything. You make me feel… safe. Like, safe enough to actually let you in. To show you the real me—even if there's a chance you might not like what you see."
We lay down together, our bare skin brushing. I slid in behind him, my bare chest to his back, and wrapped my arm around him. My hand drifted along the smooth skin of his chest and stomach, just light enough to comfort, not provoke.
He didn't flinch.
He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for weeks.
And as we started to drift off – Mr. Bojangles curling into the crook behind Jack's knees – I whispered:
"I love you, too."
I didn't think he heard me.
But maybe… he didn't have to.
I woke to silence.
Not the kind that pressed or hovered, but a clean, open silence – the kind that only exists deep in the woods, in the in-between of seasons. No wind. No traffic. No school bells or hallway voices. Just the faint drip of dew from tree limbs, the gentle lap of water against the creek stones, and the occasional flutter of wings overhead.
Jack was still fast asleep beside me, face turned into the pillow, hair an unruly mop on the pillow. Mr. Bojangles was curled tightly at our feet, nose tucked under his tail. The tent smelled faintly of woodsmoke and damp earth and boys.
I slipped out carefully, layering my hoodie, jacket, and hat. I grabbed a wool blanket, wrapped it around my shoulders, and stepped outside into the cold.
The air hit me like a blessing – crisp, sharp, pure. Everything was touched in silver. The trees, nearly naked now, stretched bare branches into the pewter sky like ink sketches. A few pines still stood tall, holding on to their dignity.
I quickly built a fire in the fire pit and put on some coffee, then made my way across the stones of the creek, careful not to slip, and climbed the large boulder that jutted out near the fork. It was worn smooth by years of rain and sun. I'd sat here with my dad once, years ago. I'd sat here alone more times than I could count. Today, it was just me, wrapped in a blanket, legs pulled up, chin resting on my knees.
And everything came rushing in.
Love. Loss. Jack. Noah. The past. The future. A storm of questions I wasn't ready to answer.
I loved them both.
That was the truth I'd been circling for days, maybe weeks. But what did that even mean? What could a fourteen-year-old heart possibly know of love, real love?
And yet, Noah's kisses made me feel like I was flying. Jack's eyes made me feel like I was seen . I couldn't have both. That would be selfish. Cruel. Noah was my boyfriend. He trusted me. He said he loved me. And Jack – God, Jack. I couldn't keep leading him on. I was going to hurt him, if I hadn't done so already.
But I didn't know how to stop. I didn't know how to choose. And all this angst that I had been carrying around with me for weeks was eventually going to consume me. It had already started.
Just a few months ago, I'd felt like the loneliest boy in the world. Now I had more friends than I knew what to do with. A boyfriend . A best friend . A whole circle of people who actually cared about me. Even casual acquaintances I'd joke around with in the hallways, at the dining hall, or between classes. People who saw me. And the thought of losing any of it scared me more than I wanted to admit.
A groan pulled me from my downward spiral.
Down below, Jack had stumbled out of the tent, rubbing his eyes and stretching in that gangly way only he could manage. He looked around, scratched his stomach – revealing just a tiny bit of bare skin that didn't go unnoticed by me – then wandered a few feet to a tree and took what could only be described as the most leisurely, blissed-out piss I'd ever witnessed.
I looked away.
And then… looked back.
And groaned to myself.
Disgusting. I was disgusting . What the hell was wrong with me, perving on my best friend?
I hated that I noticed things like that, like Jack's flaccid penis exposed to the elements. That I wanted to notice. That I was even entertaining these thoughts when I had Noah. It made me feel like someone I didn't want to be. I felt so guilty , so confused . And just a little horny.
Jack zipped up and looked around, then finally spotted me on the boulder.
He smiled and waved, eyes still soft from sleep.
I waved back, my heart tugging in a dozen directions.
After I climbed down, we organized the campsite and tent in sleepy silence.
"So, did you get a good look at my peen," Jack asked, grinning.
My heart just about stopped beating.
"Relax, man. It looks like you're about to pass out. It's fine. Nothing wrong with checking out another guy's junk," he smiled mischievously.
"Sorry," I whispered. "Just kinda happened, I guess." But I was absolutely mortified .
"So, what did you think?" he asked. "You know, about my dick."
Was this a serious question? How was I even supposed to answer something like that?
"Please, come on … I'm really curious. I've always been really self-conscious of it," he practically begged.
I paused for a few moments, then blushed a deep crimson. "Well, I haven't exactly seen that many, just what I've seen in porn, and it was kind of far away, but I think it's kind of perfect, like you."
Jack suddenly looked very shy and was blushing himself, so I decided to quickly change the subject. I suggested we head back to the house for breakfast and showers, then asked – tentatively – if he'd like to come back out for one more night. One more night before the world came rushing back.
Jack didn't even hesitate. "Absolutely."
After having a couple of cups of the rich Colombian coffee I'd brewed, we walked slowly back toward the house, Mr. Bojangles darting ahead and back, tongue lolling. Neither of us said much. No more talk of penises, thank God. The morning chill kept us bundled and quiet, our thoughts still foggy from sleep.
But I caught Jack looking at me.
Twice.
And not just at me – watching me.
What did he see?
What did Noah see when he looked at me?
I didn't understand why they looked at me the way they did. I didn't feel worthy of any of it. I was just some kid. A messed up kid. Who was already messing up his life, along with at least two other people's.
Back at the house, I whipped up some fried eggs, hash browns, sausage links, and toast, which we wolfed down like starving animals. The warmth seeped into my fingers. The house felt small, bright, and safe in a way that only your own home can be.
After breakfast, Jack grinned at me mischievously across the table.
"You wanna shower with me?"
My body betrayed me instantly.
I cleared my throat. "Probably a bad idea."
"Yeah," he muttered, smirking. "Fair."
While he took the bathroom, I packed up more sandwiches, snacks, and enough MREs to survive an apocalypse. I tried not to think about the sound of the shower running.
About naked Jack.
I failed.
When he reappeared – damp hair, hoodie half-zipped – I busied myself with folding blankets and towels fresh from the dryer so I wouldn't stare.
By early afternoon, we were back in the woods. The sky was overcast, the wind sharper than before. We built a fire first thing. Mr. Bojangles curled beside it like a pro.
The day passed lazily.
We read. I played music softly on my phone, Tracy Chapman's Fast Car, Bruce Springsteen's Thunder Road , and some Adele. Jack sketched fallen branches and weird mushroom clusters. We played fetch with the dog. We barely talked, but it wasn't tense. It was companionable .
Peaceful.
And, in a way, like a secret the universe let us borrow.
That night, we retreated to the tent early.
It was too cold not to.
We shared a blanket, curled together on the air mattress. Jack queued up Free Willy , and I didn't even pretend not to love it. It was one of my all-time favorite movies since I was a little kid.
"Jason James Richter was so my gay awakening," I confessed halfway through.
Jack grinned. "He's still kinda hot."
"Shut up."
During the second movie of the trilogy, my phone buzzed.
From Noah:
<3 <3 <3
Three hearts. No words.
I stared at the screen. My stomach flipped.
Then Jack's phone pinged.
He checked it. Blinked. Then laughed under his breath.
"What?"
"Jonah."
He held it out to me.
The message read:
do u like me yes no maybep.s. ur hair looked really good the other nightp.p.s. wanna see my halloween costume next time ;) it'll be slutty and stupid
Jack shook his head, smiling, but I could tell he was flustered. He tossed the phone aside and sighed.
"I kinda low-key love that little scoundrel."
"I just kind of always have the urge to cuddle and snuggle him. He loves it."
"He's gonna propose before the spring formal."
"I'd say yes just to make him panic."
"You should say yes because he's cute and a total sweetheart."
Jack just shot me a side-eye. Clearly, I wasn't going to be winning any "matchmaker-of-the-year" awards.
The fire had nearly died. The woods beyond the tent were filled with the faint sounds of hooting owls and distant howls. The cold wrapped around us like fog.
After a long pause, Jack spoke again.
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
He hesitated for a long moment.
"Do you think we could ever be together, like maybe in another universe or dimension?"
My breath caught.
The question I'd been dreading all day. All week. Forever. Why did it have to be now? Everything had been going so great!
I turned to him slowly.
He looked small. Not in size – but in the way he was curled slightly toward me. Braced.
"Jack…" I started. Then stopped.
My heart was racing.
"I don't know. Maybe in another universe, another timeline."
I watched the way his face fell. The way he swallowed hard and looked away.
"I just – Noah's my boyfriend. We really like each other, and I guess it's been getting kind of serious. And I don't want any more drama in my life. I just want to enjoy what I have without screwing it all up."
"I understand," Jack said.
Soft. Crushed.
I rushed to add, "But I do love you. You're my best friend . I'm just… confused. My heart is all tangled up. And I'm so scared of hurting anyone. I think you already know how I feel about you, so you've gotta know that it isn't easy. I've got a lot to think about and figure out."
He didn't say anything right away.
Then: "I love you so much, Nick. But I won't cause problems. Not with Noah. I'll be okay. Just… be happy, okay?"
God.
What did I ever do to deserve someone like him? He looked so tough on the outside, but he really was so pure and innocent on the inside. So fragile and vulnerable.
I wanted to cry … or throw myself off a bridge.
But instead, I wrapped my arms around him.
Held him close.
Felt the slow, steady beat of his heart under my palm.
We watched the rest of the movie without speaking. Our bodies warm against each other. The cold was waiting just beyond the canvas walls of the tent. Mr. Bojangles shifted and curled behind our legs.
I don't remember falling asleep.
But I remember the ache in my chest.
And I remember thinking:
I don't deserve either of them.
We woke early on Sunday morning, but didn't say much.
Jack offered a soft "morning" as we packed up the last of our things. I nodded, offered the same, but my throat was thick with something I didn't want to name. Guilt, maybe. Or shame.
We didn't talk while we rolled the sleeping bags or deflated the mattress. We didn't talk while I scattered the last of the coals from the fire pit or zipped the tent into its carry sack. We checked the campsite twice for trash – then a third time, just to be sure.
And still, no words.
My heart was tight the whole way back. Not from the weight of the pack, but from everything I said … and didn't say. Every sideways glance. Every question I was too afraid to ask.
Was he angry? Was he done?
We were still best friends, right?
So why did it feel like I'd broken something?
Was staying with Noah worth breaking Jack? Maybe not …
Back at the house, Mom was already in the kitchen, flipping bacon and slicing cantaloupe like she hadn't worked a double shift and braved the mall the day before.
"Smells amazing," Jack mumbled, dropping his pack by the door.
"Go shower," she said, waving the spatula like a wand. "And don't come back smelling like pinecones and lumberjacks."
We didn't argue.
Jack went first. I waited.
And when I heard the water running, when I pictured it – him, bare, wet, eyes closed, maybe even touching himself down there – I did something awful.
I slipped into my closet, pulled the door shut, and did what constantly horny fourteen-year-old boys often do.
Afterward, I sat there in the dark, chest heaving, a sticky mess on my stomach and chest, and I felt like a monster. A perverted monster.
Breakfast was delicious – pancakes, bacon, eggs, fresh fruit. I barely tasted it. Jack cracked a few jokes. My mom laughed. I smiled when I remembered to.
Jack thanked my mom profusely for having him over for Thanksgiving. She gave him a warm, motherly smile and told him that he's always more than welcome to come visit.
When we climbed into the car for the drive back to school, the silence returned.
Jack stared out the window. I stared at my knees.
Mom glanced back at us more than once. Her eyes in the rearview mirror looked… worried. I couldn't blame her.
Neither of us spoke the whole ride.
We unpacked in silence back in our room, sorted our laundry for Tuesday's pickup, and folded our clothes with mechanical focus. I kept glancing over, waiting for Jack to say something.
He didn't.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"Do you hate me?"
Jack looked up so fast, you'd think I'd slapped him.
"What?"
I shrugged, my throat dry. "I don't know. I just… I feel like I'm ruining your life."
Jack blinked. Then stood.
"Nick," he said. "I was already messed up long before I met you."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off.
"You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me, and I'm not about to let your self-doubt – or your incredibly inconvenient talent for emotionally combusting at the worst possible times – screw that up. Sure, it's not exactly ideal that the guy I'm falling for already has a boyfriend. But hey, I'm a big boy. I'll survive. And so will you. No matter what happens, you're still my best friend."
I stared at him. Jack was always full of surprises. He really had become my rock. That fragile boy that I was consoling months ago was now consoling me, even after I'd broken his heart.
He sighed, walked over, and pulled me into a hug.
A tight, lingering hug.
I hugged him back, trying to ignore the fact that I was now dissecting what kind of hug it was and what it might mean.
Jack pulled away and smiled faintly. "You're ridiculous."
"Thank you."
At dinner, Jack didn't come.
I knew why.
Noah was waiting.
He grinned when he saw me, practically sprinted over, and threw his arms around me.
"God, I missed you so much," he said, his voice warm and breathless. "How was your Thanksgiving?"
"Good," I said. "Pretty quiet. Just home stuff. My mom cooked a lot. We went camping."
I skipped the parts where I spooned with Jack in the woods, cried in his arms, and jerked off while thinking of him in the shower.
As we ate, boys around us shared their stories – one got a new Switch, another broke up with his girlfriend, and someone claimed they ate five slices of pie in one sitting. I nodded, laughed when appropriate, and felt like I was floating somewhere slightly outside myself.
After dinner, Noah and I walked toward the tennis courts, hands brushing, then linking. The sky was bruised purple and pink. The wind had picked up. Flurries began to fall – soft, tentative, like the sky was still deciding whether it was ready for winter.
Behind the bleachers, Noah pulled me close.
And then we were kissing. Hard.
It felt like hunger. Like desperation.
His hands slipped to my belt. Mine to his.
He broke away, panting. "What's gotten into you?"
"I missed you," I said.
Which was true.
Just… not the whole truth.
He sighed. "Things with Jack still complicated?"
I nodded.
"We'll figure it out," he whispered, kissing my neck. "Just not tonight."
Then his hand slipped into my pants. Mine into his.
It was clumsy, fast, intense. Hormonal.
When I grabbed his bare ass, he moaned against my mouth, and I nearly lost it right there. Moments later – we both did.
After, we stood there, breathing hard, flushed and quiet. I reminded myself that I would need to change my underwear when I got back to my dorm room.
"I… wow," he said.
"Yeah," I mumbled.
We zipped up. Smoothed our clothes.
Out of nowhere, he said, "I hope next time you'll let me suck your dick. I think about it all the time."
I blushed. "Yeah, maybe."
And we walked back to the dorm like nothing had happened.
The common room was full.
Sunday Night Football was on, though it wasn't a Lions game. I flopped into an empty chair and tried to pretend I wasn't still buzzing. Could anyone tell what I'd just been up to?
Christian raised his eyebrows. "You survive Thanksgiving?"
"Barely."
"Lions game?"
"Amazing."
Jonah was sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling on his phone. When he saw me, he grinned.
Then leapt into my lap like a cat.
"Oof!"
"Much better," he said, settling against my chest like he belonged there.
Without thinking, I put my arms around him.
He let out a dramatic, satisfied sigh.
Christian groaned. "God, get a room, you two."
I leaned close to Jonah. "Do you actually like Jack, or are you just messing around?"
He looked at me, very seriously. "I like him. But I like you, too."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You're both weird. You're both hot. You're both sad. I like hot sad boys. But you're definitely the better snuggler. I could snuggle with you all day," he said with a cheeky grin.
I blinked.
"He's back in our room," I said. "You should go talk to him."
"I already did," Jonah said, quieter now. "I don't think he's in the mood to talk. But he let me hug him. For, like, a whole minute."
I didn't know what to say.
Part of me wanted to laugh. Part of me felt a pang of something I couldn't name.
Part of me hoped – stupidly – something might happen between them. That it might make things simpler. That Jack might find someone new.
Even if I knew, deep down, that Jonah probably wasn't his type. He may have only been a year younger, but he looked much younger than that.
That night, we lay in our separate beds, the dorm lit only by the faint glow of the hallway light seeping under the door.
Mr. G had just come by for lights-out check.
I stared at the ceiling.
"Jack?" I whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Are we okay?"
His answer was instant. "Of course. I thought we already talked about this."
I hesitated. "I just… I don't know. You've been quiet."
"So have you."
I swallowed. "Jonah says he actually likes you."
"I figured," Jack said. "He's… sweet. Kind of a deranged demon-child, but sweet."
"Do you like him?"
"I like hanging out with him. Goofing around. But… he's not what I'm looking for."
Silence.
Then Jack added, "But I'll be careful. I won't lead him on."
Those words.
Lead him on.
My stomach twisted.
Was that what I'd been doing with Jack?
I turned to my side, facing the wall.
Sleep didn't come easily again.
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