The soft gray light coming through the window and the sound of the rain added to the sense of being miles away from the real world and its problems. Why couldn’t I hide here forever? I curled my fingers around the backs of Eric’s knees.
He sighed, then leaned down to kiss the top of my head. He draped his arms over my shoulders and I leaned into his stomach. We stayed that way for long moments, the contact more about comfort and homecoming than sex.
Parts of my psyche relaxed in a way they hadn’t ever. For the first time in my life since I’d left La Crosse swearing never to return, a wave of homesickness washed over me. It was a strange kind of homesickness, more a yearning for what could have been and never was rather than sorrow for what I’d had and what I’d lost.
With a final kiss, Eric stepped away from me. I let him slip through my fingers, a metaphor that was not lost on me. That would be the last time I ever let that happen.
“Get dressed and let’s eat,” he said. “I’m starving.”
“Yes, sir.”
We opted for eating in front of the television instead of the kitchen table, but we used real plates and silverware and poured the beer into actual beer glasses because as Eric said, we were fancy like that. The couch was just what I would have expected, a huge leather sectional made for napping with recliners on both ends and pull-down tables between the seats. His entire house was comfortable and cozy, everything was soft or pretty or homey. No sharp edges. Many of his things were familiar to me. The same blankets on the back of the couch.
It was so much the opposite of the way I had been living, it was hard to wrap my mind around. I wasn’t even the same person from day to day, let alone year to year. Ninety percent of what I owned, I could leave behind without a thought.
Knowing that Eric was still the same, somehow made it feel like I could actually, maybe, go home again.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to tell him what I’d been doing, who I’d become in the years we’d been apart. Maybe I could—and for the first time, I thought it might be possible—go straight. I had some money in the bank. Maybe I could just simply…walk away. From my past, from grifting. From Carson Grieves in general. Eric and I could leave together this time. Find someplace we both loved and settle down.
After we figured out what was going on with Leo, of course.
I could hide it from Eric in the meantime. He wouldn’t grill me on it. After all, it wasn’t as if he was digging too deeply into where Ryan got his income. I could tell him it wasn’t from working nine to five; that was for sure.
“You kept a lot of things from your dad’s house,” I commented as we got settled.
“I’m a nester,” he said. “Whenever I had to move to a new place, I unpacked as soon as I could. I like all the familiar things around me. It gives me some continuity, you know?”
“Was moving around a lot hard on you?” I asked.
“I hated it,” he answered simply. “If I never move again it will be too soon.” He took a long pull of his beer. “And yet, I miss it.”
“Which do you miss?”
“The game, of course. I love playing hockey.”
“You can still play locally.”
He frowned. “Not really. I don’t want to hurt myself more. Plus, I know I was only a low-level player and not to toot my own horn but…”
“But you’d kick the ass of most of the guys on the beer leagues.”
He laughed softly. “Well, it wouldn’t be fair. I’ll say that much.”
“Do you miss anything else?”
“I miss the rhythm, the routine. Even though the months and years were unpredictable, the days were always the same. In a lot of ways, it’s like being in school. I knew what I should be doing every hour. I liked that. I haven’t had this much unscheduled time since”—he thought about it—“my whole life, except for That Summer.”
He didn’t have to specify which summer. ‘That Summer’ would always be the summer his mother had died. The summer all the restrictions on us were lifted and we ran wild through La Crosse, two lost, grieving boys with only each other to turn to. Our friendship had always been solid, literally born into us, an extension of our mothers’ love, but That Summer it had bloomed into so much more.
We’d had no idea it would be dead by Christmas, killed by fear and youth and uncertainty.
And looking back now, I knew it had been love. Young love, first love, but no less real for that. And I had to hope that the roots were still there, maybe dormant but definitely solid and healthy. I needed it. I needed Eric more than oxygen. If he could give us a chance, I would make it work. Starting today.
“What time do you have to be back at the rink?” I asked.
“I don’t,” he said through a mouthful of breaded shrimp. “As someone reminded me recently, I’m the boss. Plus it’s Saturday.”
“In that case, why were you even there?”
He shrugged. “Not like I have a lot of other things to do with my time.” He pointed the remote at the TV. “You’re sure you want to watch this one?” he asked of the movie I had selected.
“I can’t even believe you would question my choice. ‘Cars’ is a masterpiece of modern cinema.”
“I’m not arguing against Lightning McQueen’s status as both the hero we deserve and the one we got, I just didn’t know if it was part of the Carson Grieves oeuvre.”
Fuck that guy, I wanted to say. “Just start it, Tiny.”
We inhaled the food as if neither of us had eaten in six months, scraping the plates for the last drop of sauce.
“Oh my God,” Eric moaned, leaning back against the couch with a hand over his stomach. “That was amazing. I want to go back already. I wonder if they have desserts. Oh, do you think they do brunch? Beignets and all?” He looked so excited about the possibility.
“We’ll find out.” I stood up and gathered up the plates.
“Just put the dishes in the dishwasher,” he said.
“Okay, do you want another beer?”
“Please.”
Eric sat in the curve of the sectional, the long swaths of couch stretched out on either side of him inviting me to lie down, put my head on his lap the way I used to. I didn’t, choosing instead to sit in the middle of one of the sections, not touching him, but not far either. I handed him his beer, and we tapped them together. “Cheers.”
We watched in silence as I tried to figure out what to do next. Sitting next to Eric, wanting to touch but not daring to was giving me flashbacks. I remembered endless afternoons watching TV in his basement in the days before our first kiss, trying to hide my erection, and tortured by the nearness of his body, with the smell of his sweat and body wash. I remembered the first day I’d noticed he was hard, too.
The next day, he’d followed me into the shed, pushed me up against the hot metal wall, and kissed an orgasm out of me. It still ranked as one of the single hottest moments of my life.
I must have switched positions one time too many, because Eric sighed, held up his arm, and patted his leg. “Come on. Lie down. I know you want to.” He didn’t look at me as he did. Seemed I wasn’t the only one remembering the past.