In the middle of Des Plaines Illinois three boys find themselves in a tangled knot of angsty lust and amateur love.
Evan Webster has an average American life. When he isn't at swim practice or the movie theater, he's trying to make time to study bi...
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The bathtub spout was still dripping from Nadine's soak, but all the suds had been drained out and replaced with ice. Danny sat in the frigid, slushy-like liquid. His head was drooped and his breathing was shallow. An hour had passed since he had been plopped into the tub. The ice was half melted and the house had gotten quiet.
Chris had driven Heather home, leaving Bones to care for Clem. Nadine was trying to claim sleep after managing Danny's latent episode. Evan was on the bathroom floor, sitting snug against the front of the tub with his head against Nadine's pink-tiled wall. He hadn't left Danny's side, even as fatigue weighted his eyelids.
Through the barely-open slits of his eyes, Evan noticed Danny bobble his head. He sprung forward, propelled by Danny's pain-stricken grumbles and groans. His brown eyes blinked, slow—sensitive to the ceiling light. He flashed his tiny pupils—once, twice, and then his gaze landed on Evan.
"Conejito," Danny croaked. His eyes were threatening to close again.
Evan's heart skipped a beat, but he ignored it. With the faintest touch, he swept away a straggling piece of hair on Danny's forehead—lingering a bit too long.
"Hey," Evan whispered, but his sleepiness made the word resemble a sad whistle.
Danny tilted into the contact, savoring the feeling of Evan's hand against his cold cheek. Evan didn't reject him. Instead, he ran his thumb along his vacant smile lines. He missed seeing the curved creases form whenever Danny laughed at his jokes.
"What happened?" Danny's voice sounded coarse. He looked down at himself, not remembering climbing into an ice bath. His couldn't think of a logical reason as to why he was still wearing his clothes either.
Evan smoothed his dark hair. "It's not important," he told him. "You're here. You're safe. That's all that matters." He'd explain the rest later.
Danny tracked Evan's hand with withdrawn eyes—confused, but not entirely off-put. Even in his most vulnerable state, Danny still felt the most content when Evan was near him. And even after everything, Evan still wanted to be the one by his side.
Their sightlines connected when Danny spoke, wondering, "I thought you hated me." His tone sounded more like a declaration than a question.
Evan leaned over the rim of the tub, careful and cautious. He dragged his hand downward to cradle Danny's face, pausing for a moment just to stare at those kind brown eyes.
"I don't hate you, Danny," Evan murmured, then sighed. "I love you." He wanted him to know. There was something about dragging Danny's hazed body into a bathtub that made those words less scary.
Tears welled within Danny's eyes. He didn't want Evan to see his internal torment, so he turned away and broke their contact. It was the subtlest movement, but it was enough to send a ripple of pain through his spine. There was no way he could get up and walk away. Every muscle felt bruised.
"I'm trying to stop," Evan confessed. "I swear. I'm trying to stop loving you." Like a drug. Maybe Jackson was his rehab?
That was all Danny ever wanted—for Evan to love him. But not like this. This was a version of himself he never wanted Evan to see.
"I don't deserve it," Danny shook his head, still too weak to fully sit up. His throat burned. "You said it yourself, I'm not worth loving."
Had Danny truly believed that? Is that what led him down this path? Did Evan's perception of him really matter that much?
Evan's vision blurred, obscured by a fast onset of tears. They were both on the verge of crying now.
"I said that to convince myself," Evan relented. "It didn't work. I should have never said it. You're worth loving, Danny. You just—"
"Aren't worth forgiving?" Danny asked, low. He swallowed, attempting to stop himself from choking on an oncoming sob. "Why forgive Jackson but not me? Why be with him and not me?" Danny said the words and realized that's how Evan must have felt when Jackson told him the truth.
Evan supposed it was easier to forgive Jackson because he had never expected anything from the redhead other than disappointed. It was almost effortless to go from resentment, to disappointment, to understanding, to forgiveness, to intrigue...to kissing. But it was incredibly difficult to go from love, to betrayal, to heartache, to distrust. Forgiveness wasn't as willingly given after something so devastating.
"I forgive you," Evan said. He wasn't sure if he truly meant what he was saying, but he knew it would be true one day. He could never hold a grudge forever. He figured he was allowed to say one—temporary—white lie, especially if it was for Danny's sanity.
"But you won't forget," Danny spoke, soft. "And neither will I."
Evan opened his mouth to object, but the creaky noise of door hinges stopped him. The bathroom door was courteously being shut, for privacy. Evan turned his head, and as a flash of red hair disappeared behind a hanging robe and lufa, he knew Jackson had heard everything.
