Welcome back to "Old Flame(s)" -- a tale of Wyatt, a paramedic in the PNW, travelling home for his brother's wedding. Follow along with this story of reconnection in the summer heat of the South.
Feel free to email me with your thoughts! -Weston
Chapter 5
The next morning, I woke up to the sounds of Casey in the kitchen -- a country song about a truck played quietly, intermixed with the opening and closing of cabinets and the rapid clicks of the gas stove being lit. He wasn't being loud, but there wasn't much to absorb any noise he made. I waited, thinking about how to start today and hopefully talk about the night before without spooking Casey back to his room. Real or metaphorical.
I had three options, as far as I could see. One was to ignore it. Go out and pretend like nothing out of the ordinary happened. While Casey would prefer that route, it would be the worst for me so I couldn't go with it. Conversely, I could ignore what would work best for him and confront it directly. However, that would ruin an otherwise upbeat and overdue reunion. It would also guarantee me more alone time and nothing to fill it with. That left the middle ground, act normal but find a way to bring it up calmly. Not exactly my strong suit.
Internal negotiations finished, my attention shifted to my bladder, that had moved from comfortably full to painfully needing release, and an aching case of morning wood. I peeled myself off the bed, wincing as the sunburnt skin pulled taut, and grabbed my underwear from yesterday before heading out. One thing was certain; I wouldn't be clothed, at least a little bit, until I had some answers.
"'Bout time you woke up." Casey said over his bare shoulder when I'd finished and joined him in the kitchen. "I was startin' to wonder if you'd died."
"Save it, Dad." I groaned while stretching my arms behind my head, displaying my chest as widely as I could. I might not be naked, but that didn't mean I couldn't tease him with a show.
I walked to the coffee maker, adjusting my junk on the way, and poured myself a cup before hopping on the counter and taking a moment to enjoy the rich, nutty aroma of the strong brew. I let out a content sigh and smiled.
"It's just coffee. No need to cream yourself."
I looked up and a naked Casey's face was contorted with confusion at my reaction to what shouldn't elicit that type of reaction.
"Yes, but its good coffee. I may live in the hipster capital of the world with a coffee shop on every corner, but that doesn't mean it's all drinkable." I took a sip, savoring the full-bodied flavor before swallowing. "Everything there that's not espresso tastes like bitter water unless I do it myself, so excuse me while I appreciate the mediocrity of `just coffee'."
"Watch it," he warned without looking up from the pan. "It may just be coffee but that don't mean I won't kick your ass for insulting it."
We were back to our usual banter with no awkwardness from last night. Perfect.
"What's on today's agenda, boss?" I asked after taking another drink. "More pool time?"
Casey started plating the bacon and scrambled eggs. "Probably not. Not sure your florescent ass can take two days of it. And anyway," he passed me my plate, "you got a job to do."
Now it was my turn to be confused.
"I told you yesterday you could either help me fix up the place or you could shut your mouth."
"I haven't -- "
"And since we both know there's no chance of you no shutting up," Casey continued through a mouthful of food. "we're workin' on the house."
"Awfully bold of you to assume I know what the hell I'm talking about."
"Can't be worse than what I've got goin' on now, so eat up. We gotta get a move on."
We quickly decided that starting with painting the new construction beige walls and grabbing some furniture would be the easiest and most effective route. By mid-afternoon, we'd bought a shade of deep, blue-green called "Oceanside" with and a midcentury leather sofa for the living room and a dining room table so we could eat at somewhere other than the island. With that squared away, it was time for more food and Casey suggested we go to his favorite local pizza place.
On the way there, the conversation lagged just enough for me to feel comfortable broaching last night's events.
"So..." I begin. "About what happened last night..."
"Nothing happened." His eyes were still fixed in front of us.
"Casey don't give me that bullshit."
There went my "easing into it" plan. I waited for him to respond but all I got the sound of the road beneath us.
"So that's how this is going to be? You're just not going to answer?"
"What do you want me to say, Wyatt?" His voice and focus on the road ahead never faltered, but his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "I got hard, and so did you. It happens. But you don't see me trying to force a conversation about it."
"I'm gay though. It kind of makes sense for me to bone up from a guy massaging me."
"And?"
"And you're straight." I snap. "Dick aside, you seemed more than a little focused on my nipples."
"That was an accident."
"Bullshit."
"Would you let me finish? Damn. Anyway, you reacted so I tried it again -- just playing around. Besides, it's not like we haven't done more."
"Oh so we're acknowledging that now?"
His eyes twitched. I'd hit a nerve and the bitterness in my voice broke Cam's frigid exterior. Honestly, the amount of anger, and pain, behind the words caught me by surprise. Until this point, I'd always thought I was okay with what we'd done. Content with the experiences we'd had together and satisfied with the unspoken bond we had. The way he'd been acting and his dismissal of last night brought everything rushing back to the surface, though. And even though I knew it wasn't the time or place to give into it, I didn't want to stop.
"We never even kissed, Cam. Hell, we never so much as talked about it; we just went on with life as soon as we got off."
"Great. You're mad." he said quietly.
"Yes!"
The years of unacknowledged anguish and irritation were suddenly boiling over, threatening to ruin what could be the first fully honest conversation between us.
"And why shouldn't I be? I wanted more back then, and you wouldn't give it. Or couldn't, I don't know. Do you know how many nights I spent hoping you'd at least kiss me while you were fucking me? How many days I wished you'd bring up the night before? Or how many straight guys I've been with since because it feels good to be used by them? No. You don't. But I come back here and suddenly you're way more comfortable being naked than I've ever seen you. You're touchier than we ever were before, even when we were fucking, and you had a raging hard on."
"So did you." Casey replied as he pulled into the restaurant parking lot.
"That's not unusual or even remotely the point." I turned to look at him directly. "Are you gay?"
"I don't know."
"Bi?"
"I don't know."
"Pan?"
"Jesus, I don't know!" Casey erupted, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "Does it need a goddamn label?"
I'd pushed too far too quickly.
"No. It doesn't. I'm sorry. But I think I'm owed a conversation at the least."
"And why is that? Because we fucked a decade ago?"
"No. Well, yes. But also no. Mostly because I'm your best friend and want you to actually talk to me and not constantly ignore it, so maybe `owed' was a poor choice."
We sat in silence, letting the tension and our tempers lessen.
"I don't know what I am, Wyatt." Casey said, his voice barely above a whisper and his eyes staring at his lap. "Maybe I'm not straight. Or maybe I am, and you're just a one off. Fuck if I know. I just know I've been thinking a lot about what we used to do and how it felt."
"Oh, this'll be good." I heard myself say. It was meant to be a thought, but it came out dripping with sarcasm. Was it tactful? No. Did I regret it? Also no.
"Will you give me a goddamn second? If you want a conversation, then let me talk."
He was right, so I raised my hands in defeat and allowed Casey the time he needed to collect himself. Soon he took a deep breath and talked to the windshield.
"I don't know what I am -- I've never given it much thought until recently. When we were kids, I don't think I wanted to think about it; we were kids having fun. It just felt good. Besides, even if I wanted to say something, I didn't know how to. And I think I thought that if I did, it would have ruined things. Instead, I just kept doing it and you never said anything one way or the other, so I didn't think it was a problem."
"Was I supposed to look at you and say `Hey, so I know you just got done sucking my dick but what do you think this is?'"
"That's my point, Wyatt. It's not that I didn't not want to say something or not want us to be more. I just really know what I wanted enough to feel comfortable saying something. Plus, think about where we were. How well do you think it would've went if we dated? You can't look at me and say it wouldn't have caused issues. Maybe not between us, at least not initially, but we definitely wouldn't have been able to spend nights together. Who knows how our families would've reacted if we came out together at dinner one night. And that's not even considering what would've happened if anyone at school found out."
"Everyone thought I was gay anyway."
"But not me." Casey said, the pain creeping out in voice. "I played football and dated girls and did everything a gay kid shouldn't do. Not saying I'm gay, but it just didn't fit who I thought I was. Or should've been. And before you say something, I'm not saying you can't do those things and be gay, or bi, or whatever. You...you handled the rumors just fine, and nothing bad ever came of them. But I'm not you. I don't think I could've handled them like you did."
"They're easier to take when you're used to dicks." I said with a wink, trying to make up for my outburst earlier.
"I'll give you that. But like I was saying. Did you expect me to put everything on the line? We were kids, Wyatt. I was scared. It's not an excuse, and I know it doesn't make up for the pain I obviously caused you. I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to hurt you then. Or now. I'm just trying to figure myself out. Not all of us can come out the week before senior prom and continue like nothing happened." He punched my shoulder lightly.
"When you know, you know." I laughed back.
"We aren't all so lucky." Casey said, his tone leaving something unsaid. "Which is why Vanessa and I ended things."
"Oh..." I replied, actively not saying more and leaving it open for him to elaborate. Hoping for him to.
"Anyway. Let's get inside. I'm starving. All that gay shit today really took it out of me."
Apparently, that explanation would have to wait. He was back to his normal self, though, so putting a pin in it wasn't the worst idea.
"The gay shit hasn't happened yet."
I opened the door before he could respond and quickly noticed the earthy smell of incoming rain. While there is a lengthy list of reasons to hate the south, there was one notable thing that always made this area stand out -- the storms. The Pacific Northwest gets more rain, yes. But there aren't any bone-rattling thunderstorms. There are barely storms, to be honest. When there are, the only thunder we get is so weak it could be confused with a semi rolling down the interstate. Tonight was sure to be relaxing. Maybe in more ways than one.