Page 31 of The Try Line

"I would have begged you to run away with me instead."

For all these years, I’ve assumed he left because he was disgusted with me, because I'd betrayed him, even if I didn't know it. It seemed a given that he wouldn't want to be with me, that I wasn't worth the trouble. The way I'd felt with him that last week, that last night, being together was too good to be true. It felt impossible that he could truly feel as strongly for me as I did for him. And while every time we'd touched or kissed had been mind-blowing for me, I realized after the fact that it might not have been good for him. I probably just came across as overeager and unexperienced. And the sex? Fuck, that night was—there aren't big enough words to describe what it was to me. Fucking transcendental.

But maybe it wasn't the same for him.

More than anything, I thought he didn't want to deal with the mess I'd unknowingly made of his life, and that might still be true, but knowing that he still wanted mechangeseverything.

Even after I'd screwed up everything. Even after knowing I'd knocked up his sister. Even after I froze him out, unable to do more than stare at the wall for a good hour after Janel finally left.He still wanted me.

Or maybe it changes nothing, after all these years.

I'm frozen to the couch, my head and heart throbbing as I rethink everything and try to make sense of my life. Part of me feels relieved. Vindicated, even. Another part of me hurts more than ever before. Because I know now that it absolutely could have been different if I'd shaken off my shock before he left, if I'd chased him down and confronted him. If anything, I wouldn't have lived the last eighteen years thinking he left because he hated me.

The rain feels amazing. It’s cool and soothing against my skin. After a migraine, I often feel sensitive and overstimulated. Something as simple as the texture of a fabric, a tag, or someone touching me can feel like sandpaper. When this happens, water is usually my go-to relief. I especially like to put my hands and feet under the faucet in the tub and feel the water hitting them, but it's a terrible waste of water.

When it's raining like this, steadily but not too hard, I don't need to waste any water at all. I just stand in the middle of the yard, look up at the sky, and let it wash away my pain. It could only be better if I could be naked, but I don't want to get the cops called on me. As it is, my neighbors are probably wondering who the fuck the half-naked tattooed man standing in my yard is. It's just dark enough that it's possible they could mistake me for Jason. Tattoos on Janel's professional athlete brother would be far less scandalizing.

A few years back, I was in the garage with the doors open, because the weather was perfect. An older couple that lives down the street was walking their dog, or rather, pushing it in a stroller, and saw meworking out in the garage. Imagine my surprise, and Janel's mortification, when a police cruiser pulled into our driveway to investigate a potential break in. I don't see what the big deal is about the tattoos, and I couldn't care less what a bunch of snooty old twits think about me, but it's important to Janel, so I keep the door closed and my sleeves down for her sake. Even when we were young, she'd have me cover up and take my lip ring out every time we visited with her parents, even though they’d seen them before. Everyone just pretended I didn’t have them.

I wonder if they know about Jason's tattoo? Is that the only one he has?

As though he's been conjured, Jason yells out at me from the covered porch. "What the actual fuck are you doing?"

"Taking a shower," I snark. "Have you seen my rubber ducky?"

"Good to know you haven't gotten less weird," he mutters.

"I heard that."

He snorts, and then he's next to me. I'm looking up at the sky with my palms turned up like I'm receiving some kind of gift from the heavens, clearly enjoying the rain shower. Jason is just watching me, though. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to read into his expression or remember how much his blue eyes remind me of the clearest summer days. I never considered how interesting it was that I loved them so much, when I've always preferred the rain.

"Feeling okay then?"

I nod, careful not to open my mouth too much lest every thought in my brain spills out.

"I would have begged you to run away with me instead."

Fuck it. Talking isn't what got us into this mess. Maybe if we talked more, we'd make fewer stupid decisions.

"All these years, I thought you left because you hated me."

"I do hate you."

Ouch.

"Tell me how you really feel," I deadpan, determined to hold on to my humor.

"I don't think you really want that."

Finally, I turn my head to face him and open my eyes. He's already soaked, water streaming down his face and bare shoulders. His grey tank top is plastered to his defined chest. Water droplets trickle over the curved muscles of his biceps, which tighten as I look him over. Did he just flex for me? Surely not. I fight a grin, but I'm not sure I'm successful hiding it.

"Why not? It's not like we can do any more damage," I say, shrugging like it doesn't mean much. Which is total bullshit. It means everything. And I don't know if I'll ever get true closure, but this seems as good a time as any to get it all out in the open. "Hit me, big guy."

Jason's eyes narrow and then he huffs, turns on his heel, and storms inside. I count to ten in my head to not appear too eager before I follow him inside. There's a towel waiting for me, and a topless Jason in my kitchen, wringing his shorts out over the sink. The towel around his waist isn't doing much to hide the shape of his cock, bobbing heavily with each movement. I tear my eyes away from it and have a silent conversation with my dick, which is getting ideas again.

I wrap the towel around my waist and shuck off my shorts before stepping onto the hardwood floor. The drying streaks on the gleaming surface tell me Jason knew better than to leave wet footprints on the floor. Then again, he's probably used to it, seeing as Janel's parents have always been strict. It took a couple years for Janel to ‘properly train me’, as she calls it. Before marrying her, Iwould have done little more than throw a towel down to soak up the water. Now I know that polished hardwood floors require special treatment, and I'll need to come back with a microfiber towel and the special cleaning solution so she doesn't have to come home and clean up after me.

Most of the time I can find value in her high standards and appreciate how she helps us maintain them, because things do stay clean and orderly. But sometimes I wish she'd relax. Like when Jase was little, and we'd bake together, I always felt like she was more concerned with the mess than the process. No matter how much I told her I'd clean the whole kitchen from top to bottom after we were done, she couldn't stop herself from interrupting the process to wipe a single crumb. Even while he was enjoying his freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, she constantly wiped his face and hands instead of just waiting until he was done.

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