While he did, I picked up his notebook. There were numerous sketches of me, all in various positions of sleep. I loved being his muse, loved holding Lane’s attention that way. I closed the book and made sure to put it in his bag.
When he came back, I went down to do the same. The house was quiet, all the lights off. I really didn’t believe anyone heard us, but it still felt wrong to have fucked there.
The rest of the weekend was similar to the first day. We spent time together, went to the park, played games, ate good food, one big happy family, no one knowing the secret Lane and I were keeping—one we couldn’t hold forever. Sooner or later, we would have to tell our parents who we were to each other.
When we returned to my condo, we fell back into our routine, where none of the other shit mattered. We laughed and talked and fucked. I gave him shit for being messy, and he walked around the house like the nudist he apparently was, painting art of faceless men, painting us.
It was a Saturday morning, a few weeks after the family get-together. Lane was painting naked, as always, and I was cleaning the kitchen, when my cell rang. I looked down to see Hutch’s name on the screen. We hadn’t caught up in a while, and I immediately felt guilty. I was so wrapped up in my own life, I’d forgotten he was going through some major shit too. Last we’d spoken, his family basically wasn’t talking to him.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” I asked him.
“Better, actually.”
I cocked a brow, even though he couldn’t see me, and leaned against the counter. “Must be if you’re calling to talk to me like a normal human being…and not keeping your feelings inside. What is this magic? Who are you, and what happened to the Hutch I know?”
He chuckled. “Aaaaand, fuck off. You’re not much better.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. I’m much, much better than you, than most people really,” I teased, enjoying a laugh with him. “Seriously, though. How is everything?”
“It’s good. Maddy has forgiven us. I had long-overdue conversations with my parents. I’m…fuck, I’m happy, Isaac. I’m happy, and I’m in love, and I can’t let myself feel guilty about that.”
A swell of pride filled my chest, mixed with a little envy. “Good for you, man. I’m happy for you.”
God, I wanted what Hutch had, but the only way to do that was to actually move forward.
I rubbed a hand over my face, frustrated with myself for my insecurities. I was tired, so fucking tired of keeping in how I felt about Lane. “I’m in love with Lane,” I admitted, and damned if that wasn’t almost as freeing as it had been when I’d told him.
The line was quiet for a moment. I waited for Hutch to take that in. Hoping he wouldn’t feel the disgust I figured a lot of people would when they found out. I’d deal with it, but I didn’t want that for Lane.
“Does he feel the same?”
“Yes.”
“Who knew he had such bad taste?” Hutch said. “I’m gonna have to talk to him about that.”
Warmth filled me, came close to overheating me, and I’d welcome the burn. It was…fuck, it was the perfect response. “I’m a motherfucking catch,” I told him.
“And slightly delusional.”
“He’s my brother,” I replied, getting serious.
“He’s your stepbrother, as you made sure to tell me before. It doesn’t matter if other people see it differently. That’s not the reality of the situation. All that matters is that you love him, Isaac. And you have for a long time, haven’t you?”
“I’ve loved him almost from the start. Even when I didn’t realize it, I loved him. I never wanted a relationship because I never thought I could have him, and…damn, Hutch, he’s it for me. He will always be it for me.” I held my breath, unable to believe what I’d just admitted to him, how much I’d told him about how I felt.
“The two of you should come over for dinner tonight. I should make sure he realizes how terrible his taste is.”
“Not as bad as Ryder’s,” I countered. I wanted to do what he asked, though. I wanted to spend time with Lane and my friend. “I’ll talk to Lane about dinner. I probably shouldn’t have been telling you, but—”
“Yes,” Lane cut me off. I turned to see him standing in the hallway, watching me. “I don’t even know who it is, but if he asked us to dinner, yes. And you will always be it for me too.”
“It’s not nice to eavesdrop,” I replied, heart in my throat.
“Shut up and tell him yes, Isaac.”
“It’s Hutch,” I told Lane, then to my friend, “Did you hear him? Apparently, I’m forced to be in your company tonight.”
“Don’t try to hide it. You can’t wait.”
“What time should we be there?”
“Six,” Hutch replied. “I’m happy for you, Isaac.”
“I’m happy for me too.” I ended the call, cocked a brow at Lane. “You know that means you have to get dressed, right?”
“Damn it! Can’t he come here instead?”
I chuckled, went to him, pushed his hair off his forehead. “You’re a mess.” I didn’t know how he always ended up with paint all over himself. Likely because he didn’t care.
“You like me this way.”
He was right. I did.
“Ugh. It’s you,” Hutch said the second he opened the door to his condo.
“You’ll have to excuse my friend. He suffers crippling insecurity every time he’s around me, which results in terrible jokes and trying to one-up me, yet failing at every turn. What have we talked about, Hutch? It’s okay not to be as good as me. It’s okay to be jealous. You should be happy with who you are.”
Hutch rolled his eyes. “Why is it every time I see you, I hate you more?” he said playfully before looking at Lane. “Hey, man. It’s good to see you again. It’s been a couple of years.” He was referring to the one and only time they’d met.
“You too.” Lane reached out, and they shook hands.
“Stop stalling and help me cook!” Ryder’s deep voice came from inside.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Hutch replied.
“Are you sure you want us to stick around for that?” I teased, making my friend shake his head.
I signaled for Lane to go in front of me, then placed my hand at the small of his back when we got inside.
“It’s almost done. This guy just needs to finish the pasta.” Ryder pointed to Hutch. He rinsed his hands, dried them, then held one out for Lane. “Hi, I’m Ryder.”
“Lane. Nice to meet you.”
“What’s up? It’s good to see you again,” Ryder told me.
“I’ll try not to vomit on you this time.”
Ryder chuckled, and I felt Lane’s curious gaze on me. “The night I met him was the night after our hike. I got a little drunk. It wasn’t pretty. I blame you.” I winked so he knew I was just playing around. The best way to deal with it was to make a joke out of it, if you asked me, and I also didn’t want Ryder to think that was typical for me.