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  “Was my great grandfather’s,” Hunter answered, his jaws moved up and down, eating the way Casey thought a man should eat. Hunter spread his legs more open to take a proper footing and Casey could see the bulge in the worn denim. Jesus Christ, Casey thought, as he fought the urge to look.

  “How long were you two together?” Hunter finally asked.

  "I'm sorry?" Casey said, remembering to lower his tone.

  "You and your girl?" Hunter asked, squinting as if studying Casey's response carefully.

  Casey cleared his throat, “Long time. At least for me.”

  “Years?”

  “Since high school. I just thought, you know, it’d last...a lot longer.” He’d stopped himself before saying ‘forever,’ but he had the feeling Hunter knew how the sentence was originally going to end.

  “You fuck up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cheat on her?”

  Something in Hunter’s voice told Casey that the question was personal.

  Casey risked looking over at Hunter, wanting to make sure there was no doubt about his answer. “No, never.”

  Hunter seemed relieved as he chewed back in his sandwich. “Good.”

  “Loved him,” Casey said thoughtfully as he turned back to his sandwich.

  “What?” Hunter asked.

  Casey realized what he’d said, panicking, hoping to cover his tracks. Hunter seemed to be the type of country boy who would kick his ass just for being gay.

  “Um ... love it. Love this place,” Casey said quickly.

  “It is what it is,” Hunter answered, lost in his thoughts, wiping his mouth with his shirt. “Better head back.”

  “Sure,” Casey said. He took a deep breath and hoped Hunter hadn’t caught what he’d said the first time.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 10

  Casey worked his ass off in the house for the next couple of days, hoping that even if Hunter found out he was gay, somehow the hard work would make up for it. It was a stupid risk, but truthfully it was the only thing he could think of and it was the only thing he could do to keep his mind off McDermott’s scent, McDermott’s hugs, McDermott’s…everything. Lately, it’d been harder than ever to do.

  Everything he did led him back to him. It was stupid to even care about McDermott, Casey thought, but he couldn’t help himself, and wondered if he’d call to check on him or even calm down enough to change his mind and ask him to return. But as the days passed, Casey heard nothing. Not a damn thing.

  He respected McDermott’s desire for privacy, but lately he couldn’t help but think of himself as the trash that you hid under your bed, hoping your mom would never discover it. It was starting to really hurt and Casey couldn’t live that way another second.

  He knew McDermott hated, most of all, how effeminate he could be at times. Try as he may, things just slipped out sometimes, and he found himself carefully guarding what he said and how he said it. He never felt like he could be completely free talking to McDermott; not that they had a lot to talk about anyway. He hated feeling that way. Their high school days were long gone and he’d found himself longing for the days when they were more connected.

  Over the last six months, they’d been like an old, married couple with nothing in common but a thin, fading memory of a time they'd once loved each other. Casey had fought the feeling, but he knew, no matter how hard he tried, things were becoming routine at the least, and more accurately, fading fast.

  Hunter stood next to him as they repainted the kitchen, the scent of aftershave coating the air between them. It was coming along quite nicely, and quickly transforming from orange and brown to white and blue. The color scheme was Casey’s idea actually. He thought it would brighten up the room and Hunter was game for about anything. Hunter kept looking at Casey out of the corner of his eye as if he were thinking something but didn’t know exactly how to say it.

  Hunter had been acting a little funny since the whole creek experience, and it was starting to worry Casey.

  Hunter cleared his throat, “So ... you like Elton John?”

  Casey thought that was an odd question, but answered it anyway, “Yeah, I guess.”

  Hunter bit his lip, “Good singer.”

  He cleared his throat again, “I guess he’s into dudes.”

  Casey’s hand froze mid-stroke and he swallowed. “That’s what I heard.”

  “Yeah,” Hunter said, the thought lingering with Casey.

  “I don’t get why he didn’t just say it.”

  “Say what?” Casey asked.

  “You know. I hate when people hide shit,” Hunter said, shrugging.

  “Maybe he’s just private,” Casey explained.

  Hunter looked him straight on, “There’s private and then there’s lying.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” was all Casey could think of to say, his heart pounding through his chest.

  “I don’t like liars,” Hunter said in a deep, unforgiving tone. "Never have."

  The silence was deafening. Casey slowly lifted his brush and continued painting, as if the last few minutes never happened. He’d heard what Hunter hadn’t said. Someone had lied to Hunter and hurt him. The thought made Casey angry, then guilt took over. He was lying too, and no matter how much he said, it didn’t matter: he knew if he kept it up, Hunter would never forgive him. Whomever had hurt Hunter had hurt him badly.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 11

  Casey knew it was only a matter of time before Hunter kicked him out. He had to know. What was that whole random conversation about? The pressure was too much for him. Casey hated himself, hated hiding who he was, hated not being brave enough to just tell Hunter—and the world—who he was and to face the consequences. Most of all, he hated McDermott for forcing him into the situation in the first place.

  It’s stupid to cry, Casey thought, as he pulled the covers over his head. This was not where he wanted to be at this age: hiding in a room that wasn’t even really his, blubbering in his bed, and hoping no one would hear. He’d imagined by now that he and McDermott would have kids, be deeply in love, living in the open, in a beautiful house. They would go back to their high school reunion and show all those assholes how perfectly their lives had turned out. What started out as a whimper ended up as all-out sobbing. He buried his face in a pillow that still smelled more like the musty closet Hunter had pulled it out of than it did like him. He didn’t even have a fucking pillow to call his own.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Casey sucked up his tears. “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Got chili downstairs,” Hunter said, softly.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.” Casey could hear Hunter just standing there as if he were shuffling around, not sure exactly what to do or say.

  Casey turned his back the other way, staring out the small window at the blackened sky. The stars twinkled and sparkled as if they were just for him. He only wished he was cuddled up next to the one he loved – whomever that might be – watching them. His mother used to tell him if he prayed hard enough, God would listen.

  What a crock of shit.

  Deep in the sky’s Milky Way and lost in thought, he was startled by a sudden sound outside his door. Casey knew if it had been Hunter still standing there, he would have lost it. He dragged himself up from the twisted sheets, pulled open the door with one swift yank, and there he saw it.

  On the floor was a bowl of chili with a note underneath that read, “FEEL BETTER.”

  The gesture of kindness nearly undid him. Why was it a virtual stranger had done more for him in just a few days then McDermott had done in years? And Hunter hadn’t asked for a thing in return; not like McDermott who’d always been telling Casey all of the things he could do to make him happy.

  Maybe that was the problem, the thought struck Casey, as he walked back to his bed with the bowl of chili in his hand. Maybe he needed to stop thinking about all of the things he should’ve done for McDermott and start thinkin
g about doing things to improve himself, but things that he wanted to do. If he wanted to prove to McDermott and the rest of the world that he could stand on his own two feet, it was time to stop making all of his decisions based on other people and start being his own person.

  Now he just had to figure out who that person was.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 12

  Casey entered the barn early the next morning with one thought on his mind: he had to tell the truth. He couldn’t stand holding it in and pretending he was someone he wasn’t. Besides, if he was going to be his own person, he couldn’t do it if he was lying about who that person was. The air smelled of fresh hay and stale manure while the sunlight danced across the yard.

  “Morning,” Hunter said, brushing the black stallion.

  “Here’s the thing,” Casey blurted out. “You say to be honest, so I’m just going to do it.”

  “Okay?” Hunter said.

  Casey took a deep breath and let it all go. “I was dumped, yeah. And it hurt like a bitch, yeah, but it wasn’t by a girl.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, Hunter? I’m gay.”

  Hunter stopped brushing mid-stroke to clear his throat. “Hand me the water bucket, will ya?”

  Casey wasn’t sure what to do or say next. He began to fidget with his pockets. “Oh...yeah. Here.”

  He handed over the bucket in the long, awkward silence.

  “He treat you bad?” Hunter asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your guy,” Hunter said.

  Casey shrugged and started walking toward him. “He was alright."

  “Alright guys don’t kick their guys out for nothing.”

  “Well...”

  “You say you didn’t cheat on him, so what’d you do?”

  “Nothing. Don’t you see? I keep thinking about what I must have done and, ” he shrugged, “nothing. Never mind.”

  The only sound was the stroke of the brush, the horse’s sigh, and a few muted sniffles from Casey as he tried to hold back the tears.

  “Asshole," Hunter mumbled.

  "Excuse me?" Casey said, getting defensive.

  "Any dude who kicks his boyfriend out after four years ‘cause of nothin’ is a ... you know, asshole.”

  Casey worked up a smile. Hunter seemed as pissed off about it as he was, which felt good.

  “If I ever see the guy, I’m gonna have to have a conversation,” Hunter said in his low warning tone.

  Casey rubbed the back of his hand across his cheek, scrubbing away the tears. A smile curved his lips as he realized that Hunter meant what he said. It felt good to have someone stand up for him again. He hadn’t had that since Stephen.

  He worked the brush in smooth circles the way Hunter had showed him, his hand working automatically as his thoughts went to the past.

  The year after Stephen had died, school had been particularly brutal. His brother was a hero. Casey was a scrawny sixteen year-old nothing with a feminine voice and a pretty face. He could still remember opening his locker and finding the note. “It’s a good thing your brother’s dead. He’d be ashamed to have a fag in the family.”

  He’d shoved the note into his pocket and practically ran to his first class, not wanting anyone to see the tears. He’d showed the note to McDermott later and they’d burned it so Casey’s mother wouldn’t find it. McDermott had put his arm around Casey and held him.

  And that’s what McDermott had always done. Casey would get shoved in the hallways, his lunch tray knocked out of his hands. A couple of the jocks would throw him into the dumpster or shove him into a locker. A teacher would snicker when Casey’s voice would crack as he read. There was the time Nick Delmar and his buddies had kept Casey from using the bathroom, saying he wasn’t man enough to go in the men’s bathroom, until Casey had finally, desperate and in pain, ran into the women’s bathroom. He’d received a week’s detention for that. The guys who’d caused it received a lecture about bullying.

  And through it all, McDermott had watched, terrified that if he stood up for Casey, he’d be outed. He’d never participated, but he’d also never given anyone the chance to think that he’d disapproved. Afterwards, in the safe darkness of Casey’s bedroom or one of the many little places they’d found for their trysts, he would hold Casey, smooth down his hair and kiss him. In those moments, Casey had felt loved, but he’d never felt safe. Not like he did the moment Hunter had taken his side. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to have someone have his back.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 13

  Casey never expected that response from Hunter. It sort of liberated him as if it set some demons free out of the darkness and into the light. Hunter had a loyalty about him that was rare, but after staring into those icy blue eyes, Casey should have known that quality was in him.

  After that conversation in the barn, Hunter never brought it up again. He treated Casey equally and respectfully, as roommates do. Day in and day out, they cared for the animals and remodeled the house as if everything was normal from the start.

  But everything was not normal. Not even close.

  Casey first admitted that to himself two days after his confession, when he finally got up the courage to ask Hunter if he could make dinner for them. A real dinner that wasn’t made up of something that came out of a can. As he walked through the grocery store, he found himself not only looking at the food, but also at other household items; things like potholders and kitchen towels that could spruce the place up. It wasn’t until he was in the check-out line that he realized he’d been thinking of things to make the farmhouse feel like home.

  Home.

  The idea that he was thinking of the farmhouse that way didn’t freak him out as much as he thought it should. And that freaked him out. He was still thinking about it as he cooked, and he didn’t even notice that Hunter had come into the kitchen until he heard the squeak of a shoe. He looked up to see Hunter leaning on the doorframe as if he’d been there a while. Casey felt his cheeks flush.

  “Looking good,” Hunter said.

  “What?” Casey’s heart did a little flip-flop.

  Hunter gestured toward the kitchen table where Casey had already set the table and put out the salad.

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “You’ve got a little…” Hunter made a motion at his face.

  Casey gave him a puzzled look.

  Hunter sighed, a sound that managed to be both amused and exasperated at the same time. He crossed to Casey in a few long strides. Casey thought he probably should’ve stepped back, but he was up against the counter, and then Hunter was right in his personal space, so close that Casey could smell the sawdust that told him Hunter had been cutting up the tree that had fallen in the storm last night.

  “You have flour on your face,” Hunter said.

  To Casey’s complete and utter astonishment, Hunter reached out and wiped his thumb across Casey’s cheek. Casey’s skin burned as Hunter dropped his hand and it suddenly became hard to breathe.

  Just then, the oven beeped, signaling that the chicken was done. Casey wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed or relieved as he moved to the oven to retrieve the food.

  “I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” Hunter said.

  Casey nodded, not trusting himself to speak, or even look. Definitely not normal. And things just kept getting worse.

  The more Casey was around Hunter, the more he wanted to be—needed to be. It was building into more than just a crush or even just a friendship. No: Casey was falling for him, and the more he tried to stop it, the more the feelings came rushing in like a storm so strong, nothing could stop it.

  There was something about Hunter that he couldn’t get enough of. Maybe it was his strong, quiet smolder; maybe it was his confidence and how comfortable he seemed in his own rugged skin.

  His killer looks and the way he handled himself didn’t hurt, but it was more than that. Hunter didn’t giv
e a fuck what people thought of him, and he was willing to stand up for and fight for anyone he cared about. There was something about Hunter that told Casey if he ever needed someone to stick up for him, even in public, it wouldn’t be McDermott riding to the rescue.

  It’d be Hunter.

  What he didn’t realize was that Hunter was having similar issues trying to figure out exactly what this was between himself and Casey. He hadn’t really been surprised when Casey had come out, and other than the honesty factor, it really didn’t matter to him. One of his best friends growing up had been gay. The thing that was causing Hunter to lose sleep was that he didn’t understand this connection he was feeling: this desire to spend time with Casey, to protect him. The flare of anger that had gone through him when Casey had talked about his ex had been easy to explain away as Hunter’s usual problem with anyone who treated good people like shit. The problem was, it didn’t explain why Hunter didn’t just want to beat the shit out of this McDermott asshole, but wanted to shake the man and tell him how stupid he was for losing someone as great as Casey. It was because they were friends, he tried telling himself. Casey was a good guy. He worked hard, even if he still was a bit of a city boy when it came to some stuff, and he could cook like no one else. Hunter just wasn’t sure if that explanation was going to be good enough for long.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 14

  Casey took a deep breath and looked down at his phone. He’d been at the farmhouse for over two weeks and had been putting this off just as long. It was the longest he’d ever gone without speaking to his mother, and he knew if he ducked her calls any longer, she’d really start to worry, and that wouldn’t be good for her health.