Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 29
I woke up before Jack, the memories of last night still fresh in my head.
The room was dim and still, sunlight just beginning to filter through the basement windows. Jack was curled toward me, lips slightly parted, and the tiniest thread of drool hung off his bottom lip and was soaking into the pillow. And even like that, he looked like an angel.
I lay there for a few more minutes just watching him breathe before I peeled myself out of bed and trudged upstairs in my hoodie, underwear, and socks. The smell of coffee greeted me as soon as I hit the kitchen.
Mom was at the table, already dressed in her scrubs to head off to work, with a massive mug of coffee and her laptop open in front of her. Mr. Bojangles was snoring under the table like an old man who'd just finished Thanksgiving dinner.
"Morning, honey," she said with a soft smile as I shuffled in.
"Morning," I mumbled, grabbing my own mug and filling it with enough caffeine to bring me back to life. I kissed Mr. Bojangles gently on the snout as I sat down across from her.
"What are you working on?"
"Just a little research," she said, sipping her coffee. "You know… that Jack sure is something else. He's a lovely and special boy."
I could feel my whole face heat up. "Yeah. He is." I let out a nervous little laugh. "Honestly, I don't even know what life would feel like without him anymore. He's… yeah, he's technically my boyfriend, but he's also, like, my best friend. Like, best-best friend. Like, the person I'd call first if I got abducted by aliens or won the lottery or accidentally set something on fire." I knew I was rambling and probably sounding like a total lovesick goofball, but I didn't care. I loved that boy so much that it kind of broke my brain a little.
She closed her laptop halfway and looked at me. "Relationships aren't easy, especially when you're a teenager and your hormones are going crazy all the time. But you are both much more mature than most boys your age. If you both put in the work – respect each other, listen, forgive fast, pay attention to the little things, talk about your feelings – you'd be surprised how long something like this can last, if that's what you both want."
Her words made something in my chest go warm and tight. That was exactly what I wanted; I just didn't know if he felt the same yet, and I didn't want to freak him out by saying something too soon ... and I'd undoubtedly make it sound super awkward, too.
"You know, I also met your father in high school." She smiled again, and she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Just make sure he feels special. And loved. Every single day. When you put good things out into the world, good things come back to you. Hold on to him. He's a keeper."
I nodded, swallowing hard. Having my mom's approval for my relationship with Jack meant the world to me.
The truth was that a thought had been gnawing at me lately. I told Jack I loved him all the time – maybe too much. It just sort of spilled out, like I couldn't stop it. I was always reaching for his hand, brushing his shoulder, kissing his cheek, wrapping my arms around him whenever I could. I needed to be close. But was it too much? Too clingy? Too… needy? I started to wonder if what felt like love to me was veering into something heavier – something unbalanced. What if my feelings were stronger than Jack's? What if all my affection was becoming too much for him to carry?
That scared me a lot.
I tried not to spiral. Tried not to let those thoughts crawl too deep into my mind and overtake my happiness. But they were always there, lurking in the shadows of my brain like little anxiety gremlins.
Jack shuffled into the kitchen a while later, hair sticking up in all directions, rubbing his eyes like a sleepy raccoon. He grabbed a mug, poured some coffee, and gave Mr. Bojangles a playful swat on the butt before planting a quick, sleepy, and sloppy kiss on my lips.
Then he froze – because my mom was standing there watching.
But she just smiled lovingly, not like she'd caught us doing something we shouldn't be doing. "Good morning, sweetheart," she said.
"Morning," Jack mumbled, ears turning pink.
Mom told us she was looking at getting two days off next week. We could take a couple of day trips, she said – maybe to the Henry Ford Museum at Greenfield Village, "an 80-acre open-air museum showcasing 300 years of American history through hands-on exhibits and live demonstrations," or so the website said. They even had recreations of Thomas Edison's laboratory and the Wright Brothers' workshop. Another option would be to drive to Michigan's Adventure, a large amusement park in Muskegon, Michigan. Or we could even go to a Tigers baseball game at Comerica Park and stuff our faces with hot dogs and pretzels. I hadn't been since Dad died. The idea felt... bittersweet. But also, kind of exciting. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad spring break after all. I'd get to introduce Jack to my home state, little of which he'd seen outside the walls of our prep school, after how many years now?
We ate our cereal in quiet contentment, then wandered back down to the basement to shower together, which was becoming somewhat of a regular occurrence, at least while we were home. A really wonderful occurrence , where we got to explore each other more intimately and talk about how much we loved each other … all while getting clean. And clean-up was a breeze!
Afterward, wrapped in towels and fresh air, I decided it was time to talk.
I'd been thinking about it since last night, and since my conversation with Mom. If what we had was really something serious – forever serious – then we needed to talk about more than just cute boys and classes and why Vernors was superior to all other ginger ales. There was still so much more we had to learn about each other … from the mundane to the intimate.
I suggested we go hiking out in the woods behind the house. Back to our spot – the one by the fork in the creek. The place we'd camped during Thanksgiving break. I'd been with Noah then, technically, but in the background of my heart, I knew I was already in love with Jack. When I was there with Jack, we'd sat in that tent, so close together, and I'd had to fight back the tears because I'd wanted to kiss him so badly.
We packed our bags with snacks, drinks, a blanket, and our tablets, and we set out. Mr. Bojangles charged ahead, like he was the guardian of the forest, barking at squirrels to keep them off his turf.
The air was cool and clean. Sunlight spilled through the trees like golden syrup. By the time we reached the creek, we were both breathless and grinning. We laid out the blanket and collapsed on it, shoulder to shoulder, staring up through the canopy of green and light.
"I want to talk about something," I said finally, my voice more serious than I meant it to be.
Jack immediately looked panicked. He started gnawing on his fingernail. "Are you… breaking up with me? "
"What? No! " I turned to him, completely taken aback. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you're being all serious and stuff," he said, his voice a little shaky. "And this is like… an important place for you. And I thought everything was going great, but maybe you're tired of me or bored, or … I don't know ."
I took both of his hands in mine and looked at him right in his eyes that were already slowly filling with tears.
"I love you," I said. "So, so much. That's not what this is. If anything, I wanted to talk about getting more serious."
He let out a deep sigh of relief.
"But there is something that's been eating at me for a while, because I'm actually kind of insecure about it, and I talked with my mom this morning, and she was saying that if we wanted our relationship to work long-term, we needed to communicate and tell each other how we feel."
He nodded slowly.
I took a deep breath and continued. "I'm always telling you how much I love you, right? Always touching you, kissing you, hanging on you, saying how much you mean to me. I'm worried it's maybe too much. That it might be overwhelming for you. I don't want to pressure you or scare you off or have you think that I'm, like, this cheesy, clingy, and pathetic dork. This is my first really serious relationship – Noah doesn't count – and, I guess, I don't know what I'm doing or if I'm just being paranoid …"
Jack blinked, then blushed, then gave me a little half-smile that turned into something much brighter.
"I love you, too," he said, so earnestly I thought I might melt. "Like, more than you can imagine. You're not being paranoid. I'm, like, literally obsessed with you. I think about you all the time. And yeah, I'm not great at saying it, but when you say it? It makes me feel so … wonderful inside. So… wanted . So maybe we're both just freaks. I love you hanging all over me and being clingy. I'd never want you to stop doing that. I never got hugged as a kid, so I'll take all I can get now!"
Then, hesitating, he added shyly, "I hope we can be together forever."
That was it. I launched myself at him. We rolled around on the blanket like lunatics, squeezing each other, tickling each other, kissing each other's cute faces, laughing and gasping and whispering "I love you" over and over again. We were definitely two very intense teenage boys, madly in love with each other. It was everything I'd dreamed of and more.
Of course, Mr. Bojangles thought we were playing, so he dove onto the blanket with a bark and started licking our faces like we were his personal chew toys. His big wet tongue hit both our mouths, and we squealed in horror.
"Gross, Mr. Bojangles!" Jack groaned.
We were still giggling when I quieted down and looked up at him again.
"There's something else."
Jack raised an eyebrow, still wiping dog drool from his chin.
"It's about… sex," I said. "When I talked to Noah the other night, I started worrying that maybe I am a prude. That I'll frustrate you the way I frustrated him."
Jack's whole face changed. His eyes softened instantly.
"Nick," he said, putting his hand on my knee. "Noah's a dick. You're not a prude. You're thoughtful. You care. We've already done a lot, and we're just figuring stuff out together. There's no hurry. And yeah, if you wanted to go faster? I'd be okay with that. But only if you wanted to. And it's not like I'm any more experienced than you. You're the only boy I've ever kissed and the only boy I've ever 'done stuff' with. I don't know what's supposed to come next, when, or how. I've just kind of been waiting for you to show me."
He touched my cheek.
"We've got time. We've got forever, right?"
I nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Forever."
We hiked back home, fingers intertwined, Mr. Bojangles trotting ahead like he knew the way home better than we did. Then Jack did something so … Jack . He ran a few paces ahead, dropped his shorts, and gave me a perfect view of those pale, fleshy butt cheeks.
"Dude, you're gonna make me hard! I laughed.
"I'm already hard," he giggled.
"Doofus," I said, lightly smacking his still bare little bottom.
That night, we ordered Chinese food – Peking duck, fried rice, shrimp toast, Ma-po tofu, and crab rangoon – and devoured it in front of the TV. Then we took another long shower, slower this time, full of soft kisses and sweet words, and perhaps giving certain areas extra attention while soaping each other up.
After washing the "evidence" down the drain and drying each other off, we curled up in bed for a movie marathon, wrapped in blankets and each other.
And I knew, with no uncertainty at all, that I loved him with every ounce of my being.
Not just high school crush love.
This was the kind of love that was going to stay, if I had anything to say about it.
And that night, I tried to show him that, not just tell him, by slowly crawling under the covers, curling my lips over my teeth to keep them from getting in the way (or so I'd read in my many hours of research!) and enveloping his rigid boyhood in my mouth. I didn't think anything could turn me on more than his soft moans, his fingers running through my hair, his little gasps and grunts, and his musky scent. I slowly, carefully bobbed up and down on his hard dick. It wasn't the largest, but it was the perfect size for my mouth, and the skin was so soft. I almost let out a cheer when I was able to get it deep enough that my nose brushed up against his pubes. A few times, he had to tell me to watch my teeth, but eventually I started to get the hang of it.
Jack then shifted himself around to where we were lined up head-to-toe, and he then took me in his mouth at the same time. While he was sucking me, he rubbed me all over, my most sensitive spots, from my balls to my perineum, and grabbed big handfuls of my ass. When he started putting pressure on my perineum – that small spot between my balls and my butt hole – is when I totally lost control of my senses and all rationality, with my entire being focused on the sensations Jack was causing in my cock. I was so far gone that I couldn't warn him that I was about to shoot. When I did, I was amazed when he swallowed it all. So, when it was his turn to shoot, I made sure to greedily guzzle every last drop of his boyjuice, too. Yeah, it tasted a little weird, definitely not my favorite taste in the world, but it was a part of my Jack, so I loved it anyway. I just hoped all the noise we made didn't wake up my mother!
Every time we made love, all I wanted to do when we finished was to wrap him up in my arms and cuddle; he fell asleep on my shoulder as I ran my fingers gently through his messy, bleach-blonde hair.
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I noticed was that Jack wasn't in bed with me.
Panic.
Like, real, heart-thudding panic. Co-dependency at its worst.
I bolted upright, sheets tangled around my legs, the cool air of the basement suddenly feeling like a bucket of ice water. Had my mom found out? About last night ? About the very thorough showering? About the not-so-innocent Netflix-and-Chill that had turned into… well, way more "chilling" than "Netflix"?
I tried to calm myself down by reminding myself that my mom already knew everything – well, mostly everything – so how mad could she really be? But there's a big difference between imagining your son and his boyfriend being intimate in the abstract and walking downstairs to find them curled up together, naked, under a blanket. That's not just awkward – that's next-level trauma. And once that thought landed, I started to spiral all over again.
I was going to die. Spontaneously combust. Just – poof. Vaporized by embarrassment.
I mean, who wants their mom to know anything about their sex life? I still felt weird that I even had a "sex life" now.
I threw on a T-shirt and a pair of underwear and practically sprinted up the stairs, my bare feet slapping against the floor. If she had found out, I'd never be able to show my face again. I'd have to move to rural Iceland. Change my name. Become a purveyor of Hákarl , a delicacy of rotten, fermented Greenlandic shark meat.
As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, Mr. Bojangles let out a sleepy groan from his spot under the table, then scrambled to his feet and padded over to greet me with his usual sleepy-tail-wag-butt-wiggle combo. I gave him a quick kiss on the snout – and then froze.
Because sitting at the kitchen table… were Jack and my mom.
Looking at photo albums.
No.
No.
No, no, no, no, NO.
I heard her say, "And this one is when Nicky dressed up as the Detroit Tigers mascot for Halloween. Oh, and here's Baby Nicky getting a bath in the kitchen sink! And this one is of Little Nicky running around the house with his diaper around his ankles!"
Jack chortled and said, "Well, I may be biased, but I think Nick is just the cutest thing ever, and it looks like he's always had a cute tush!"
I made a strangled noise. "MOM! You're not showing him pictures of me naked , are you?! And I do not approve of my mother and my boyfriend talking about my tush , in any context!"
She gave me a smirk that was at least 40% evil. "Oh, honey, it's not like he hasn't already seen it all every day when you two take a shower together. Nothing to be embarrassed about."
I gasped dramatically. "I will not have my virtue besmirched, Mother!"
And how the hell did she know we showered together?!
Mr. Bojangles must have ratted us out!
Jack looked like he was trying not to laugh, but he was also clearly enjoying my suffering. I covered my face with my hands and groaned like someone had just shown my preschool graduation video at my funeral, set to the music of Bat Out of Hell .
I had literally just lived the best day – and night – of my entire life. And this was what I woke up to.
"So, boys," Mom said, shutting the album with a dramatic little snap. "I have to work a double today, but I've arranged to have Tuesday and Thursday off next week. What would you like to do?"
Jack and I exchanged a look, already knowing.
"We were thinking Michigan's Adventure on Tuesday," I said. "And maybe a Tigers game on Thursday night?"
"It'll be a lot of driving," she warned.
"We don't mind," Jack added quickly. "It'll be fun."
"Well, you don't mind since I'll be doing all the driving," she corrected him.
Jack blushed and quickly looked down at the floor. I knew he was beating himself up inside.
I wasn't especially heartbroken about skipping the Henry Ford Museum. I mean, yay old cars, but… not exactly screaming spring break excitement.
Mom got up to finish getting ready for work. As she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door, she gave each of us a kiss on the cheek: full lipstick and everything.
"Behave," she said, with one eyebrow raised in that mom knows more than you think she does kind of way.
"Mom!!" I hissed.
Jack grinned and didn't even wipe the lipstick off his face. Like, he actually liked it. Had he… never been kissed by his mom before?
I watched her drive off through the front window, and the second her car disappeared around the corner, Jack and I exploded into action.
We sprinted up the stairs toward the bathroom, with Mr. Bojangles chasing us like it was some kind of competitive event. It took considerable force and tactical maneuvering to keep him out of the bathroom – mostly involving Jack pretending to throw a toy down the hall, which distracted him just long enough to escape.
Once we were alone, the door locked and the shower running, we made very, very good use of our alone time. Let's just say we both needed to hold onto the towel bar to stay upright by the end of it. At this point, I think it's safe to say we were well on our way to becoming full-fledged sex addicts. As in, if there were a frequent flyer program for sex, we'd already be Platinum Elite by now. There was still just that one last boundary that we hadn't been prepared to cross yet. I think it intimidated both of us. And neither of us felt the urgent need for it anyway. We were perfectly fine with what we were doing for now.
An hour or so later, we were sprawled out on the couch, half-dressed, watching cable news, and letting our brains melt from the latest nonsense spewing out of the White House. I think one of us mumbled something like "maybe the world should end." Then, we decided we needed to go outside before our eyeballs turned into indoctrinated mush.
I suggested we walk to the mini golf place just a mile or so away, but first, we let Mr. Bojangles out for a quick loop around the yard. He took care of his business, barked at a neighbor's trash can, and then permitted us to leave.
The place was packed. Apparently, everyone in the entire county had the same idea for spring break. While we waited for our turn, we stuffed ourselves with Coney Island hot dogs drenched in mustard and raw onions, plus a whole bucket of fries. We both agreed that our breath could now kill small animals, although Jack couldn't stop himself from leaning in for a kiss when the coast was clear. It actually wasn't too bad.
And then came the mini golf.
I don't know what Jack's deal was – maybe he was some kind of mini golf hustler – but he annihilated me. Every putt was calculated. Every bounce was perfect. I swear, if there had been ESPN commentary, they would've called him a generational talent.
After the second round, I threw my hands up in surrender and stuck my tongue out at him.
He grinned. "Admit defeat."
I flipped him off instead.
He blew me a kiss in return.
Then we hit up the batting cages – and that was where I got my revenge.
I cracked nearly every pitch, while Jack missed half of his and kept grumbling about "stupid robot pitchers with attitude problems," sounding so much like Jonah that it was uncanny. He turned to me with his helmet tilted sideways and asked why I wasn't playing baseball at school.
"I'm decent," I said. "But not that good. Harrison West's team is super competitive."
He looked like he was about to argue, but I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and told him to shut up, and it was time to pick a bowling ball.
The bowling alley was our final stop, and we were… equally bad. Lots of gutter balls. Lots of cheering when the pins didn't explode in all directions. Jack spent the majority of his time complaining about the rental shoes.
"They smell like the inside of a dead ferret," he muttered, inspecting one with deep suspicion. "Or maybe this is where Mr. Johnston gets the 'secret ingredient' for his tea."
"No, I think that comes from the residue of the human fecal matter that he spreads on the walls of his office," I suggested, while simultaneously trying to stop myself from gagging.
For dinner, we wanted to try something different, so we went to an Ethiopian restaurant we found from a flyer we'd picked up on the street. Tucked between a laundromat and a tire shop, the tiny restaurant was easy to miss – except for the warm aroma of berbere spices drifting into the street. Inside, the walls were painted in bold red, green, and gold, adorned with woven baskets, faded maps, and portraits from Addis Ababa. Small wooden tables with patterned cloths and low stools created a cozy, communal atmosphere. The air was thick with the scent of garlic, ginger, lentils, and freshly toasted injera. Soft Amharic music played in the background, and everything – right down to the incense – felt like a warm welcome. It seemed perfect for a "date night."
We devoured the Doro Wat, Gomen, and Atakilt Wat like starving adventurers, scooping up everything with soft, tangy injera that perfectly soaked up the rich, spicy sauces. The most enjoyable part was eating with our hands. No silverware. The Kitfo – raw, seasoned beef – was a bit too intense for our Midwestern and Californian palates, but we gave it a fair shot before quietly setting it aside. Still, we couldn't stop laughing between mouthfuls, wiping our noses and gulping water as the heat crept up on us. It was the kind of meal that left us messy, full, and glowing – like we'd just survived something unique together.
By the time we got back home, we were bloated and half-delirious. Mr. Bojangles greeted us by dropping his leash at our feet like, ahem, walk time, peasants.
We took him around the block, waddling more than walking, as we talked about our day, which included mini golf, batting cages, bowling, and the delicious Ethiopian food. It was truly the perfect date – relaxing, chill, and loads of fun. It seemed like we were always dealing with some really heavy stuff, so it was nice just to forget everything for a while and be teenagers again.
Then came one last shower – quieter this time, more about the comfort than play – and we climbed into bed, both of us naked under the covers, with Mr. Bojangles plopping himself dramatically between us like he was protecting our virtue or something. Too bad for Mr. Bojangles, because Jack and I had already lost our virtue – in the shower, in my bed, at school, on the sleeper sofa, in the kitchen …
We started a movie but didn't finish it. Halfway through, we'd already drifted off – legs tangled, hearts full, the weight of the day pulling us gently under.
I felt Jack's breath on the back of my neck, the slow rhythm of sleep. Mr. Bojangles snored softly near us. After all the exercise and eating we'd done that day, I couldn't even think about sex – for once!
"What are you doing, drilling for oil?" my mom asked as she glanced at me from across the kitchen table.
My leg was bouncing under the table like it had a motor of its own while I tried (and failed) to finish my oatmeal. I couldn't help it. My nerves were on fire.
Earlier that morning, she'd come down to the basement to wake Jack and me up for our trip to Michigan's Adventure. We'd been naked. Naked. Fully, stupidly, blissfully naked under the covers, still curled into each other like the world outside didn't exist. If she'd pulled back the sheets, I think my head would have imploded. And she would have seen my boner. EWWW!!!
Thank God she didn't. She just stood at the foot of the bed and said we needed to get moving so we could beat traffic. Jack and I played it cool – except we were both sweating bullets under the blankets until she left. But as she was walking back up the stairs, she stopped, turned, and came back down a few steps. "You guys really need to crack a window and spray some air freshener down here. It's smelling a little … funky." With that, she spun around and headed back upstairs.
I thought I was going to die all over again. Please, God – let her think it was just the normal stench of sweaty teenage boys and not … anything else.
We didn't talk about it. We just made that wide-eyed, holy crap, we almost died face at each other and scrambled to find our clothes, make the bed, and look for the Lysol. Clearly, my mom wasn't stupid, and I was pretty sure she had a pretty good idea of what we had been getting up to, but she was remarkably cool with it – although that didn't stop her from leaving condoms and brochures in conspicuous places throughout the house for us to find.
But even that wasn't what had my stomach twisted in knots.
It was the fact that my mom had invited Tommy Reese to come with us today. Tommy. My old public-school friend. We weren't super close anymore – mostly just friends-of-convenience back then, bonded by proximity and the occasional tennis match – but still. I hadn't seen him since we hit some tennis balls together during Christmas break; we hadn't even texted since then, and now she was forcing my worlds to collide. I was perfectly happy to see Tommy. He was my friend, after all, and I needed all the friends I could get. I just wasn't sure how Jack might react to an interloper in the week that was supposed to be just for us, not to mention she hadn't even asked me to get my okay first. He could be funny and goofy, or he could be jealous and snarky. Which Jack would we see? Bottom line: I wasn't a happy camper – I was the camper who just found out someone else had invited themselves into his tent.
Jack was trying to act chill about it, but I could tell he was feeling off . I didn't blame him. Tommy didn't know anything about who I was now. About who we were. And I had no idea how to introduce Jack. "My friend from school" felt like a slap in the face to Jack. But saying "boyfriend" to someone from my old life – especially someone who might not take it well – terrified me. Granted, I had never heard Tommy say anything negative about gays, other than the occasional use of the expression, "That's so gay, bro!" But that didn't really count in my book.
We stopped for food first. McDonald's, because obviously. A sack of Sausage McMuffins, greasy hash browns, orange juice, and medium-roast coffee with lots of cream and sugar. I was clinging to my coffee as if it were a life vest. But maybe pounding that much caffeine wasn't the brightest idea, so I chased it with a large orange juice – basically guaranteeing we'd be pulling over again in fifteen minutes so I could pee. Which, naturally, sent my brain on a detour to the idea of peeing next to Jack. That immediately morphed into Jack holding it for me, and then – boom – my shorts were suddenly hosting a full-blown "growth spurt." Fantastic. Just what I needed: a road trip boner brought to you by bladder anxiety and bad imagination management. One second I was worried about finding a bathroom to pee, the next I needed one for a completely different reason.
We pulled up to Tommy's house, and he was out the door before my mom even shifted into park. Jack and I watched as he jogged down the walkway, all long legs and lanky energy. He was tall, kind of cute in that goofy, effortless way. Baggy shorts, black T-shirt, a silver chain glinting under his shirt. His messy hair poked out under his black ball cap like it had given up trying to behave.
We rearranged seats – Tommy up front, Jack, and me in the back. The bag of McDonald's goodness made its way around, and we all ate in silence. No one wanted to be the first to talk. It was too early. Too weird.
Eventually, Tommy dozed off in the front seat, his face smushed against the window. Jack and I, finally feeling brave, laced our fingers together quietly and leaned against each other. I must've nodded off, too, because the next thing I remembered was Tommy gently shaking my shoulder.
"Hey, Nicky. We're here."
I blinked, groggy, and realized Jack was still sleeping on my shoulder. His head tilted, mouth open slightly, drool trailing onto my shirt. And we were still holding hands. In plain sight. OH. MY. GOD.
Tommy's face was unreadable. He just got out of the car and walked toward the line for daily pass holders with my mom.
Jack stirred. "What happened?"
"We were holding hands. In our sleep. Tommy saw."
Jack yawned. "Well, at least he knows you're mine now, so that he won't be getting any ideas."
"Don't you care about being out?" I asked, starting to panic.
"Babe, we're practically totally out at school. Who cares? Just be careful of where we are and don't start boning in the middle of the street. It'll be fine," he reassured me.
He had a point. We had pretty much been out at school, but that was a safe space. This was public. It was something different. And especially in Michigan. Very red Michigan. Outside of our little bubble at Harrison West and a couple of other places, like Ann Arbor (Go Wolverines!) and Detroit, the state was a deeply conservative place where two boys holding hands could cause problems that we would rather avoid. But being a California boy, I doubted Jack would have even thought of that.
Fortunately, when I explained it to Jack, he got the picture and agreed it was safer if we just acted like your typical straight buddies – for now. Which was fine, except I wasn't great at hiding the fact that I wanted to climb him like a jungle gym, and we had a habit of giving each other googly eyes every five minutes.
The only thing I figured we should do now was to get on as many rides as possible, allowing for as little conversation time as possible with Tommy. Then there wouldn't be a chance to talk about what he saw this morning in the car. We started the day with the rollercoasters. Thank God for the Fast Lane passes. We hit Adventure Falls first – classic log flume chaos. We were soaked – every one of us. My shirt stuck to my chest like it had been glued on. I was freezing cold from the very start of the day and would likely spend the rest of the day in some form of discomfort. Not very auspicious.
Then came The Corkscrew, bumper cars (where Jack may or may not have targeted Tommy with a level of intensity that bordered on vengeance), Flying Trapeze, and Grand Rapids.
Still, there was almost no conversation between us boys. I actually started to wish Jonah was there to break the proverbial tension. My mom tried. Really. But the silence was brutal. Every time I looked at Tommy, my brain just screamed he thinks I'm disgusting. He didn't say or do anything homophobic, to be fair, but I just knew.
Meanwhile, while I was spiraling, Jack was having the time of his life, tossing out snarky one-liners like he'd been hired as the park's unofficial comedian. On the Ferris wheel, he glanced at Tommy and said, dead serious, "If this thing gets stuck, I'm eating you first. Nothing personal." Tommy's eyes went wide like he was about to jump, then he broke down laughing. A little later, as we passed the funnel cake stand, Jack pointed at the cloud of powdered sugar drifting through the air and declared, "That's how I want to go. Death by funnel cake." But the best might have been when we walked past a poor mascot sweating inside a giant woodchuck costume, and Jack, without missing a beat, muttered, "That guy is definitely rethinking all his life choices. I bet he was an English major." At that point, I was pretty sure Jack had gone fully rogue and was one comment away from unleashing pure, unfiltered chaos on the entire amusement park.
We stopped for lunch at Dockside Fries. Smoked turkey legs the size of my arm, piles of French fries drowning in salt and vinegar, and a massive jumbo-sized Mountain Dew. It hit the spot and would guarantee several trips to the bathroom. Jack picked up his turkey leg, turned it over like he was about to give a lecture, and said, "Pretty sure this is the only time I'll ever be holding something this big and greasy in public without getting arrested."
Tommy choked on his Mountain Dew so hard that I thought I was going to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver. He was laughing and coughing at the same time, tears streaming down his face.
Me? I just buried my face in my fries, praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Of course, that only made Jack smirk wider, clearly pleased with himself. He was two turkey bites away from getting banned from Dockside Fries for indecency.
After finishing our lunch without getting banned from the restaurant for life, we flopped onto a bench to let our stomachs settle. My mom and Jack went off to the bathroom, and suddenly, it was going to be just me and Tommy.
Alone.
I was running through every possible scenario and "coming out" speech in my head – something about love and identity and how it was 2025, for god's sake – when Tommy plopped down beside me, unusually close.
It was now or never. Tommy and I were going to be friends again or not.
"So… that Jack dude," he said casually, "is he, like, your roommate?"
"Yeah," I muttered.
Silence.
"He seems pretty cool. Hilarious, unique sense of humor."
"Yeah, he is."
"Is he like that all the time? Must be a riot to live with him."
"Not really all the time, but yeah. He's cool."
Even more uncomfortable silence. This time, dragging on more than usual, and my stomach was tying up in knots. Why did he have to know anyway? It wasn't a big deal. Or, at least, it shouldn't be a big deal.
Tommy sat forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, picking at the label on his soda bottle. He glanced sideways at me, then quickly looked away. "So… is he, like… your boyfriend or something?" His voice had that shaky edge, like he was bracing for me to laugh it off or get mad.
I swallowed, my heart thudding so loud I was sure Tommy could hear it. Every instinct screamed at me to laugh it off, to dodge, to hide. But I'd promised myself I wouldn't lie about Jack – not ever. "Yeah," I said finally, my voice barely steady. "He is."
Silence stretched between us, thick enough to make me want to crawl out of my skin.
Then Tommy nodded once and said, "That's cool."
I blinked at him. That was it?
He smirked a little and added, "He's pretty cute. Though, honestly, I don't know why he'd go for someone like you and all your neuroses."
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it, half snort, half relief. Tommy grinned wider, and suddenly the air didn't feel so heavy anymore. I don't know what possessed me, but I leaned over and hugged him – really hugged him. And he didn't stiffen or pull away; he just hugged me back, tight.
"I wish you'd told me sooner," he murmured. "You shouldn't have had to hide it. We still would've been friends. Maybe better friends if you'd been more open about yourself."
"Yeah, maybe," I said, trying not to choke up. "But I hope we're definitely friends now. I've missed you."
Tommy slung an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze, and it felt good – steadying, like I wasn't as alone in the world as I'd thought, especially outside of Harrison West, which was the only place I often felt I could be more like my authentic self.
By the time we pulled apart, we were both laughing. The ice hadn't just broken; it had shattered. My biggest secret was out, and Tommy still wanted to be my friend. Relief surged through me – right up until it hit me that my mom and Jack could come back any second and catch us in this Hallmark moment. Knowing my luck, they'd assume Tommy was the boyfriend and Jack was just along for the fries.
When my mom and Jack came back, they immediately noticed the shift. Tommy and I were talking like old friends again. Jack looked slightly relieved. My mom looked smug. Tommy had his arm around me, and we were joking away like old times, gossiping about kids and teachers at my old school and telling him a little bit about the boarding school experience.
The rest of the day flew by. Lazy River, Logger's Run, Sea Dragon, and not one but two rounds on Shivering Timbers, the fourth-longest wooden roller coaster in the world.
By the time we dragged ourselves back to the car, we were sun-dazed, slightly sunburnt, and completely wiped. The three of us boys squished into the backseat together, still damp and sticky, and just talked.
Like, really talked.
Tommy and Jack started swapping "Nick stories." Embarrassing ones. Ridiculous ones. They ganged up on me like they were on a mission to see who could humiliate me more. I kept groaning and hiding my face, but honestly? It felt kind of amazing. Like something that wasn't supposed to work… actually did.
When we dropped Tommy off, he high-fived Jack and gave me a quick bro-hug . "Let's hang out more," he said. "And when you're not at home, text me. I want to hear all the rich-kid gossip from Harrison West!"
"Yeah," I replied. "We should. I'll text you and we can hang out the next time I'm home for the weekend or the holidays."
And I meant it. I was looking forward to being friends with Tommy again. Real friends, without all the awkwardness. And, unsurprisingly, it was Jack who was the catalyst for this breakthrough, both coming out to Tommy and deciding to be friends again.
Back home, Mom took a clearly frustrated Mr. Bojangles out for a walk while Jack and I dragged our exhausted butts into the shower. There was no play this time – just rinsing off theme park grime and letting the steam loosen our tired muscles.
We collapsed into bed, still damp, skin warm from the day. Mr. Bojangles climbed up between us and flopped his head on my stomach like he was done pretending to be a good boy. Jack and I both got pretty sunburned, so we took turns rubbing aloe on each other's burned spots. Of course, all that rubbing and touching each other got me hard again, but I was too tired to do anything about it, and so was Jack.
We didn't even make it to the end of the movie we were trying to watch before we passed out.
Tomorrow could be for recovering; tonight was for sleeping and dreaming wonderful dreams.
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