Page 109 of Finding Delaware

“Logan’s apartment is on the other side of the valley.” He gets out, still not meeting my gaze. “My place was closer. I can take you home in the morning.”

Christian grumbles something in Spanish but gets out, leaving the door open for me. He doesn’t even wait for us as he stomps up the steps and unlocks the front door, slamming it shut behind him. A lighter sparks, and I see Taylor leaning against the front of the truck with a smoke in his mouth, staring after his best friend.

“He’s such a pissy drunk,” he mumbles around the cigarette, inhaling deep as he leans his head back. I watch his throat flex with a swallow.

“I’m sure getting laid would have helped. Sorry to ruin your night.”

He shrugs, not responding as he blows out smoke, and for some reason it pisses me off.

“Look, I can just call an Uber from here. No need to stay. Thanks for the ride.” Even though I’m now further from Logan’s apartment than I was at the bar, but whatever. It’s fine.

“Get the fuck inside, Huckslee.” Taylor leans down to put the cigarette out on the driveway before heading up the steps. When he gets to the front door, he pauses, waiting. So I reluctantly follow, feeling a little unwelcome.

The inside of his apartment is nice, though clearly a bachelor pad. It’s a bit messy but not disgusting. It’s just ‘lived in by two single men,’ if that makes sense. There are a few dishes in the sink, and the trash needs to be taken out, but honestly, it feels pretty homey. The walls are plastered with band and motocross posters.

Taylor leads me to a door just off the kitchen, and I freeze when I realize I’m about to walk into his bedroom. A place I’ve never entered, a boundary I never crossed. Even when we lived together.

The room is decently sized, with a desk in the corner holding a laptop and a lava lamp. There’s a queen-sized bed against a wall completely covered in photos, so many that I find myself floating over to look. Most of them are of him, Salem, and Christian, posing with silly faces or in front of cool shit. Doing cool things, like climbing a rock wall or snowboarding. Some of Matt and Xed with a little girl who must be Matt’s daughter. There are a few with people I’ve never seen before, but one picture in particular catches my eye. It’s closest to the bed,near enough to be in his direct line of sight if he turns onto his side. Squinting, I lean over to study it and feel my heart skip when I recognize where it’s from.

It’s him and me, seventeen years old at our parents’ wedding, dressed in tuxedos and bruised all to hell. I have a black eye and his nose is two sizes too big.

“It’s the only picture we have together, so…” He clears his throat behind me, voice uneven, and I turn to watch him unlatch a wire cage in the corner, where a rabbit is making noise. “Bathroom is through that door, fresh pack of toothbrushes in the cabinet. Feel free to use one. And by feel free, I mean please do. No offense, Huck, but your breath is rank.”

An embarrassed laugh leaves my throat as I head into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. It’s small but not claustrophobic and smells like Taylor’s body wash. I do my business, taking a piss and finding a toothbrush, but my mind keeps circling back to that photo. Why would he have a picture of me on his wall? And right where he’d see it first thing in the morning? A feeling blooms inside me, warmth and softness I can’t place spreading throughout my chest.

When I finish up, I enter the bedroom again to find him sitting on the side of his bed in his tank top, smiling down at the rabbit on his lap.

“This is Baby Bones,” he says, holding the animal up for me to see. “BB or Beebs for short. Saved her from Christian’s python.”

Dropping to my knees before him, I try to focus on the bunny instead of panicking about a giant snake nearby. “Hi, Baby Bones. Nice to meet you.” Reaching out to pet her blackears, I take in the white pattern of a skull on her face. “That’s natural?”

“Yep. Cool, huh?”

My throat closes at the adoration on his face, reminding me of how he used to look at our cat in high school. “Whatever happened to Lasagna?”

His eyes darken as he sighs deeply, turning toward a photo of an orange ball of fur on his nightstand. “Ah, pasta cat. May she rest in peace.”

I don’t know why, but the sadness in those blue-green irises fucking guts me, so I lean over his knees and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his stomach. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”

His breath hitches as he sets BB on the bed before lightly touching my shoulder. “Thanks. It’s okay. She was old. I gave her a good life.”

Still, my hold on him tightens, silently cursing the animal gods for blessing us with pets that live for far too short a time. I’m definitely more sober now than I was before, but the effects of the alcohol are still swimming in my system, and I’m a sad sap when I drink.

“Not just for Lasagna,” I mumble against his shirt, breathing him in, “for everything. All of it. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

He’s quiet for a long time, so long that I don’t think he’ll respond, but his arms slowly come around me as his fingers gently entwine with my curls. “I hurt you, too.”

Pressing a kiss to his sternum, I shake my head. “What I did was so much worse.”

“Huckslee, I broke your arm,” he scoffs, “nearly drowned you, crashed your car, embarrassed you in front of our entiresenior class, and beat up your dad. Not to mention all the other fucked up shit I did in high school. What you did to me was pretty mild in comparison.”

“Don’t do that.” Leaning back, I frown at him, finding his gaze above my head. “Don’t downplay it like you deserved it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

“We both did things we can’t take back.”

His eyes are still everywhere except where I want them, and it makes me crazy, so I reach up to lightly cup his cheek. “Taylor. Look at me.”

Those pupils expand, his attention bouncing around for a moment before landing on me, and the weight of his gaze hits me like a crashing wave. I lose myself in the emotion passing between us like a torrent threatening to chew me up and spit me out. Anger, fear, regret, longing. It’s all there, written in plain language on the strands of his eyes, and I’m powerless to turn away from it. His lips part, tongue darting out to lick at the skin, reminding me of what it felt like when he did that to the tip of my cock, and I inhale sharply.

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