Page 6 of Leave Me
“Come inside.” Gramps let me go and started rolling over the crushed granite path, Channing jumping in to help with the uphill ramp. “Did you ride straight here from the city?”
“Yeah, it’s less than two hours,” I replied, feeling guilty again that they were so close and I’d never visited.
“Hate the city, myself,” Gramps commented, rolling to a stop in the large, open living room. I knew he meant both San Francisco specifically and cities in general, so I didn’t comment.
Looking around the space, I noticed it was more open, the pathways clear for Gramps’ chair, and a few new pieces of furniture. I loved the pack house when I was a kid. It was an escape from my dad, and it reminded me of my mom and grandma. When Grandma died, and Dad took over as Alpha, he moved back in, and the place had liquor bottles everywhere.
Now, everything was clean, and the two-story stacked-stone fireplace was empty, drawing my eyes up the stone structure to the lofted ceiling, white pine beams bisecting the airy space. The place was home, which I felt deep inside as my wolf settled in my mind.
“Let’s get you settled in your room,” Channing declared when I’d been standing and staring around for too long. She was always a hyper child, not able to sit still for long. “It’s been cleared out, of course.”
“See you for dinner, son,” Gramps called out as I followed Chan up the wooden staircase opposite the fireplace. It felt like his repeating words to reaffirm my gender was a bit forced, but I appreciated it all the same.
Following my sister past the empty bunk rooms, I had to wonder how many members the pack had left in town. My mom always said the size of the pack improved the strength and health of them all, and ours had been dwindling for decades. By the time I left town, my dad had scared off most.
My old bedroom was at the end of the hall, and Chan opened the door to reveal a stripped-down version of what it had been. The hand-carved four-poster bed no longer had the frilly pink canopy or matching bedding, though I’d thrown those out in my teens. The real draw was the view. My old room looked westward over the treetops to the lake below, the sky a clear blue, though I remembered how the pink at the edges of the sunset would light the sky in shades of red and purple.
“Sheets are clean,” Channing informed me. “Get settled, because your friends want to see you.”
“Which friends?” I whipped my head from the view to see my sister tossing my bag onto the antique chest at the end of the bed. “How does anyone know I’m here, Chan?”
Channing matched my raised eyebrows and crossed arms. “Because I told them.”
Sighing, I should have seen it coming. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my old friends. They were good guys. I just felt bad about leaving and not staying in touch. Everything about coming home made me feel like a shitty person.
“Fine.” I dropped my arms and turned back to the view.
“Dinner was ready an hour ago,” Channing called over her shoulder, “so come eat before those knuckleheads get here and drag you out to the bonfire.”
Chapter four
Riley
Traveling the world had been a dream of mine, growing up in such a small town, but I was getting tired of being sent all over the globe. I took my glasses off to rub my eyes, a weariness settling into my bones.
Finishing up an article about the instability caused by a recent presidential election from my last trip to West Africa, I attached the document and sent it off to the editor of the magazine. I hoped they got pictures somehow, because the photographer with me got detained and had his camera equipment confiscated for taking a picture of government buildings.
Senegal was a mix of beauty and strife, and it wasn’t the best place to be a gay man. I could go to the beaches of Dakar shirtless, but I couldn’t safely hold a man’s hand there.
This trip had me thinking hard about what I wanted from my life. I didn’t want to write only serious articles. For once, it would be nice to travel for fun, and maybe write for fun as well.
Over the years, I’ve written some plots and short stories, posted under a pen name on free sites, and I would love the time to explore fiction more. Write the gay romance novels I wish I’d seen growing up. I’d been writing full time for six years, but if I could publish novels and stay closer to my mom…And that wasn’t the only reason I was considering a career shift.
Settling down with one person was my other life goal.
It’s hard to find your person when you’re never in one place for more than a month, especially considering the safety of my work locations. How could I contemplate a life where I left my partner behind and went to places where I could be arrested or killed for who I loved?
College was my exploration, and I knew what I wanted. I liked men who were fit, my size or bigger. Though I was vers, I rarely found men I trusted enough to go beyond a quick orgasm in either role.
It didn’t help when you were still hung up on your childhood best friend.
If I’d never kissed him, maybe I would have been able to get over King. At least, that’s what I told myself. My mind was constantly wandering back to the one time I got to feel his lips on mine.
“I’m pathetic,” I whined, plopping down on the bleachers after fleeing the gym and my senior prom.
The stars were out, and I could still hear the bass thumping from where our classmates were dancing. After having some redneck assholes ask if I was up for Prom Queen, I wanted to be alone.
Of course, King followed me.
