Page 56 of Poolside

“I’m stressed about work.” He carefully held the line under one thumb, bracing the base of the pole against his hip. “My boss has been throwing a bunch of extra work on my plate leading up to the promotion.”

“When do you interview?”

“After the Fourth.”

“How’s the swimming going?”

“Good, actually. Chuck’s a good teacher.”

“I told you so.” Keaton adjusted the faded baseball cap he’d grabbed along with the fishing gear. “So, work stress? That’s it?”

Tommy scrunched up his nose. “No. There’s…” He trailed off. This was one of those moments that, somewhere in the back of his mind, he could identify as abig deal. Telling one of his closest friends about his bisexuality, about the fact that he was falling for his best friend who kept rejecting him, and just how much it hurt Tommy’s heart…that felt like something big.

“I think I’m falling in love with Chuck.”

Well, shit.

Keaton’s mouth opened, then closed again. His forehead wrinkled, like he was deep in thought, and then smoothed out again. He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I can see it.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, man. You’ve always looked at Chuck like he was someone special.”

Tommy scoffed. “Heissomeone special.”

“Exactly.” Keaton pulled his line in, the whir of the reel harmonizing with the buzz of the crickets. “So you’re falling for Chuck.”

Tommy told him everything. Well, everything but some of the more graphic details of the things he and Chuck had done together. And as he talked, he realized just how much he was hurting. His pride was bruised after Chuck’s rejection. He’d meant it when he called Chuck an asshole, but he could also see where his friend was coming from. Chuck had known that he was gay for twenty years, and Tommy’s interest had, objectively, come out of nowhere.

But Tommy was as certain now as he’d been the morning after he’d first kissed him. Whatever he was feeling for his best friend was the most real thing he’d ever felt, leaving his stomach twisted in nervous knots of anticipation every time he got into his car to go swim. His heart threatened to beat out of his skin every time he saw Chuck, with his copper curls and freckles dusting his skin.

“Damn,” Keaton muttered as Tommy finished his story with the way things had left off in the locker room. “You guys are really in it, aren’t you?”

Tommy snorted, but it did nothing to mute the melancholy. “We’re in something, that’s for sure.”

Keaton watched him carefully. “Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Tommy started, and then had to swallow against the ache in his throat. “I’m sad, man. I’m really fucking sad and hurt. But he’s Chuck, and if he showed up right now and said he wanted me, I would say yes. Every fucking time, I’d say yes.” He grabbed his beer and drained the last of it, crumpling it with his hand before tossing it up the bank behind him. “I just thought for a minute that he felt the same way I did, and I let myself hope. A part of me thinks there has to be a reason—Chuck wouldn’t hurt me just to be cruel. Doesn’t make it feel any better, though.”

“Even if he had a great reason, it wouldn’t excuse him hurting you.”

Tommy tried for a smile, but based on the understanding tilt of Keaton’s mouth he hadn’t succeeded. “I understand why it might not make sense, you know. Being bisexual, having interest in men like this, is all new for me. But,” he paused to slap at a mosquito on his neck. “Chuck isn’t new. He’s been there the whole time. It just took me a while to wake up to the fact that loving him waslovinghim, you know?”

“Honestly, I don’t, but I believe you. And regardless of why he did it, Chuck hurt your feelings, and that’s the kind of thing that he should apologize for.”

“Right.”

“Tommy.” He looked up and found Keaton staring at him intently from under the frayed brim of his hat. “Make sure he apologizes. I know that he’s Chuck and he’s wonderful, but even the best people do the wrong thing sometimes.”

Tommy turned back to the still water, the stretching branches of tupelo trees reflected on the surface. His bobber sat there, unmoving. He cleared his throat and turned back to Keaton. “How’ve you been?”

“My grandmother’s sick.”

“Mamaw?” Tommy had met Keaton’s grandmother a few times over the years. The tiny woman had always been sharp and funny—he supposed she had to be, as the matriarch of a family with as much economic and political power as the Redds had in South Carolina. “What’s going on?”

“Cancer.”

“Shit.” Tommy put down his pole and, with mud squelching between his toes, walked over and pulled Keaton into a sticky, sweaty hug. “I’m so sorry, man. I know you two are close.”

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