Three Days in May
by Toby Johnston
Chapter 3
Not Caleb? Like Not-Jared?
I nodded, desperately hoping he wasn't going to ghost me at this point. Willie stayed right by my side as Caleb dashed off into the brush, carrying his shorts in his hand. Damn, his butt looked absolutely delicious—those pale cheeks flexing beautifully as he ran, the cute little dimples on the sides making me hard all over again.
He did come right back, and pretty quickly, too. He must not have had to go very far at all to change…another fascinating data point to file away. Still, those few minutes seemed like forever. The moment he disappeared from sight; I felt a pang. A pit deep in my stomach. I missed him.
Now, he was wearing proper swim trunks—light blue ones that made his incredible eyes pop like crazy. He came scooting over to me and stopped, looking at me with concern, those stunning eyebrows furrowing. "What's wrong?"
I blushed. "Nothing. It's stupid…"
He knelt down, taking my hand. "If something upset you, it's not stupid…"
My eyes flicked down, super embarrassed, as I murmured softly, "I…umm…I missed you…"
He reached out, cupping my jaw and pulling my face up to his. "See? Not stupid. Really nice. Sweet." He leaned in, giving me a warm, soft kiss—a really long one. Pang gone; now I just felt squirmy inside.
I grabbed my fresh, dry towel out of my backpack, and the three of us ran down to the water for a quick, post-sex, wash-off-the-evidence dunk. Of course, hitting the ocean turned my white trunks completely see-through all over again. But this time, I wrapped the towel around my waist; after treating Caleb to a very healthy, very deliberate look-see.
I introduced Caleb to mom and dad, and the guy was as polite as could be—he honestly made me look bad by comparison. He looked dad right in the eye and delivered a firm, solid handshake. I saw the familiar little twitch in the corner of dad's mouth the second he felt it. That's the sign. Dad approved.
We'd barely gotten the handshakes and the yes ma'ams and yes sirs out of the way when a loud scream of DOG! echoed from the water's edge.
The littles—even Amanda—were suddenly sprinting over, completely ecstatic to meet Willie. They were significantly less interested in Caleb, but then again, Caleb wasn't a gorgeous Goldendoodle. Willie instantly became the center of attention, a role he clearly relished. My siblings and I had been lobbying the 'rents for a dog for God knows how long now, so this was basically a dream come true for them.
All three of the kids swarmed him, squatting down in the sand to rain down a barrage of pets, chin scratchies , and ear rubbies . Ben looked up at mom with wide, pleading eyes. "Can we keep him? Please ?"
Mom laughed, shaking her head. "Ben, Willie already has an owner. This is Gray's new friend, Caleb."
Ben instantly shifted his gaze, glaring at Caleb like he was a total traitor who was actively stealing his happiness. Definitely not a man to be trusted.
Right on cue, my stomach growled something fierce. A split second later, Caleb's stomach answered right back with an equally loud rumble.
Dad let out a hearty laugh, gesturing toward the smoking grill. "Looks like you boys have worked up quite an appetite out there in the water. Have at it. There're burgers, hot dogs, and some of that Italian sausage. Go ahead and pile your plates—I think I might have made way too much…"
I immediately started piling my plate, quickly wondering if maybe I should just grab a second one entirely, or if that would look way too piggish. Then I noticed Caleb. He was barely taking anything. I knew for a fact the guy was just as starving as I was—probably more so, considering the workout he'd just put in.
"Caleb, take as much as you want. Seriously, dad will be genuinely offended if you don't," I hissed under my breath, trying not to draw any family attention.
I needn't have worried. Everyone was still fully focused on poor Willie, who was currently acting like he had never received a single hug, pet, or ear rub in his entire life.
Caleb still hesitated, looking down at the grill. "I'm not really that hungry," he tried to say, though his eyes and his loudly betraying stomach were telegraphing the exact opposite.
I could tell he was doing the exact same thing he'd done back up in the dunes when we first met, and he'd tried his hardest not to drool over my tuna sandwich. I knew better than to try using humor this time; that had majorly backfired just a few minutes ago. I racked my brain for a better tactic.
Shoving my loaded plate directly into his hands, I reached over and snatched his empty one. "Hold this for me. If you're not going to fill your plate, I'll take the extra room. I'm starving!" I proceeded to pile his old plate high, trying to instinctively figure out what Caleb would like.
From right beside me, I heard a soft, amused snort. "I know exactly what you're doing, Aquaboy ."
"Who, me?" I queried with all the mock innocence I could possibly muster, keeping my eyes fixed on the tongs. "Should I take one sausage or two…" I wondered aloud.
A brief pause. "Two, please."
I grinned, the victory tasting sweet. "Two it is! Anything else for Round One?"
"No, that's good. Really," he murmured, a soft smile hitting his face. "Thanks, Gray."
"Anything for my new friend," I said, locking my eyes with his as I spoke. I glanced back over my shoulder—the coast was completely clear—and blew him a quick, subtle little air-kiss. He blushed instantly. I blushed too. He did blow me back one though, another good sign.
I got him settled in beach chairs, mine right next to his, then trotted back to the grill to throw together a quick plate for Ben and Jason. They always tended to graze at the beach rather than actually sit down and eat a full meal, but I knew the second we sat down, they'd inevitably swing by to scavenge something off our plates anyway.
Mom and Dad sat down right next to us with their own lunch. And that was the exact moment the interrogation started.
It wasn't done in a harsh way, of course, but that's just what dad does. He starts talking, getting you comfortable and fully engaging you, and then the targeted questions begin to trickle in—all of them seamlessly woven right into the fabric of his casual monologue. I'd lived through this exact evolution time after time with my other friends over the years.
I tried my best to appear totally nonchalant, but inside, I was bracing for a complete train wreck. Caleb had been way too vague and evasive when he was completely alone with me up in the dunes. Something was definitely up with him; I just hadn't figured out what it was yet. And if I could figure something was not right; Mister FBI sitting across from us absolutely would in a heartbeat.
What to do; how to do it.
I was half-listening to the conversation as I tried to figure out a way to wave dad off. Back before mom and the littles came into the picture, it had just been the two of us. A team of two. Over those years, we'd developed a library of silent codes—micro-expressions and subtle shifts in posture that spoke entire paragraphs. As I grew up, the codes matured with us.
I waited for my window, chewing lazily on a hot dog while dad casually asked Caleb about where he lived, his neighborhood kind of stuff. Caleb took a bite of his burger, his eyes darting down to his plate as he started to construct another vague, non-committal answer.
Now.
The second Caleb looked down, I dropped my casual posture. I leaned forward slightly, locked my eyes directly onto dad's, and gave a single, hyper-deliberate, fraction-of-an-inch shake of my head. My expression went completely flat, stone-cold serious, stripping away any hint of the relaxed beach boy. Stand down, please.
Dad caught it instantly. A slightly raised eyebrow—message received.
Without a single hiccup in his voice, dad shifted, turning a warm, completely disarming smile back to Caleb just as the boy looked up from his plate.
"—because if you like hiking," dad finished his monologue smoothly, effortlessly pivoting away from the neighborhood question, "there's a killer trail just over the ridge that Willie would definitely love."
Dad's a master at this. He then completely altered his strategy, shifting the monologue from his usual specific questions about family and where someone lived, to a broader, casual discussion about school in the Outer Banks. That was clearly a topic Caleb was comfortable with; he eagerly launched into the classes he'd just finished up. He, like me, was a rising senior. With the pressure totally off, I managed to learn a lot about Caleb just from watching how he responded to the questions. He was heavy into AP's like me; but very much a Math and Science guy as opposed to History and English, my strengths.
I did still learn a little bit about his family. Born here. Raised here. No mom—though I wasn't sure why yet.
After we finished lunch, Ben and Jason dragged us right down to the water to play. The enthusiasm of littles is completely infectious; before we knew it, they had the two of us performing as their personal launch pads for somersaults into the breaking waves.
Caleb's denser, stronger build meant he was launching both of them way higher into the air than I could manage. I didn't mind at all, though. Whenever I wasn't the one doing the launching, it gave me a front-row seat to watch his back and shoulder muscles flexing in action. My only real problem was figuring out how the hell I was going to wade out of the surf without exposing myself to the entire beach in my glory.
As time went on, I could tell Caleb was starting to get nervous about being down in the open for so long. His eyes kept darting left and right, scanning like he honestly expected a shark to come flying out of the water at any second. I figured he was pushed well past his comfort zone by now, so as soon as Ben declared he was too tired to jump anymore, I officially called an end to the launching, shaking my trunks out to at least break the seal along my shaft—I did notice Caleb sneaking a long peek.
Before we made our exit, I packed up a small cooler with some of the grilled leftovers, just in case we got hungry later—and, honestly, in case I needed to sweet-talk Caleb into taking it with him at the end of the day. Armed with the food, we grabbed Willie and finally headed back up the path to our private perch overlooking the beach.
We were both pretty tired by this point, the intense sex of the morning and the heavy lunch conspiring to completely sap our remaining strength. We lay down at the top of the reverse slope, me sitting up against a patch of beach grass while Caleb lay flat on his back, his head resting heavily in my lap. I was absentmindedly running my fingers through his tangled, sun-streaked locks as I looked out across the broad expanse of the beach below.
"Umm, that feels so nice," Caleb purred, stretching and twisting his long, muscular frame under the heat of the sun. He looked up at me, his brilliant blue eyes locking onto mine. "Your eyes changed color. They were brownish before, but now they're completely green…"
"Hazel," I murmured with a sleepy smile, leaning down slightly. "They change depending on the light, the food, or whose stunning eyes I happen to be looking into."
He flashed a soft, beautiful grin, but my attention was suddenly pulled past him. Down on the shore, I noticed a white SUV—a sheriff's vehicle—driving slowly along the packed sand right in our direction. A deputy with a pair of binoculars was half-leaning out the passenger window, scanning the dunes.
"That's weird," I muttered, just observing out loud. "That's the second time they've driven by today. Usually, you don't see them out here at all."
"Who?" Caleb asked softly, his focus still entirely anchored on my face.
"The sheriff's car," I answered drowsily, my fingers still tracing through his hair. "They must be looking for someone."
In a fraction of a second, Caleb's sleepy relaxation vanished; his entire frame snapping tight as a coiled spring. His eyes went completely wild, his mouth moving in silent panic but producing no sound. He instantly tried to scramble up, but I slammed my hand flat against his bare chest, pinning him down with everything I had.
"Don't move," I hissed, keeping my voice low and urgent. "Stay down. Don't fucking move. If you jump up right now, they'll spot you on the ridge immediately."
Beneath my palm, I could feel his heart hammering frantically against his ribs—thumping way faster and harder than it had just after he'd climaxed this morning. He froze under my grip, though every muscle in his body was screaming at him to run.
Keeping my hand firmly on his chest to anchor him, I used my free hand to casually reach over for my water bottle. I unscrewed the cap and took a long, lazy swig, deliberately projecting the image of a bored beach goer as I watched the white SUV slowly crawl past our position.
"Nothing to see here," I muttered under my breath, tracking them out of the corner of my eye. "Just a horny teenager getting himself off up in the dunes…"
I sat there, my own heart pounding against my ribs, and watched the SUV round the bend of the beach until it finally rolled out of sight. I knew that at some point, the deputy would have to turn around and come back; the only way off this stretch of the beach was back past our position.
When I finally looked down at Caleb, he was crying.
It wasn't loud, sobbing crying, but heavy tears were streaming silently down both of his cheeks. His beautiful blue eyes could not have looked any sadder than they did right then. He just looked completely crushed. My heart lurched violently in my chest. I actually had to bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from crying right along with him—and I didn't even know what was wrong…
"Caleb, what..." My voice hitched, and I couldn't even finish the question.
"I lied. I lied to you…" he said in barely a whisper, his lower lip quivering as he stared up at me.
"You're not really gay, and you didn't enjoy sucking my cock? I whispered back, offering him the warmest smile I could possibly muster. Humor had majorly backfired on me earlier today, but my brain was entirely fried, and I didn't have any other options left in the toolkit.
I actually got a snort for that; and a little smile, but still—it was a smile.
"No," he murmured, wiping at a stray tear. "I didn't lie about that."
Going totally for broke, I pressed on. "So was it that you don't really, really, really like me…or you don't like super-cute, ripped-bod guys in see-through white surfer trunks?"
That got a bigger laugh through his tears. "No. I mean, not no . I mean yes… I really, really, really like one super cute guy in see-through white shorts."
I grinned, already working on a third brilliant question to keep the momentum going, when he softly interrupted me.
"I'm not Caleb..."
I blinked down at him. " Not-Caleb ? Wow, that's a super weird name. Were your parents massive fans of The Spiderwick Chronicles and Not-Jared ? Do your friends just call you Not for short?"
That actually got me a real smile—both his mouth and his eyes lighting up—before he rolled them in mock frustration, or maybe he just thought my joke was incredibly lame. "Asher," he whispered. "My friends call me Ash…"
I leaned down and kissed him. I did it so slowly, so intently, trying to send my love through each kiss—both his eyes, his nose, and finally his lips. I wasn't ready to say the word out loud—it had only been a few hours, for God's sake—but feeling him tremble beneath me, I knew I'd already do absolutely anything to keep him safe.
When I pulled back just a fraction, my eyes filled his. "Grayson Cox Sanders. It is really nice to meet you, Ash."
He reached up, his fingers rubbing my arm softly. "Nice to meet you, Grayson. Asher Parker Coleman, the Fourth."
I cocked my head, giving him my best curious puppy look. "The Fourth? So… as in, the son of Vote for Law and Order, Re-elect Sheriff Asher Parker Coleman the Third ?"
The realization hit me hard. We had seen sign after sign after sign plastered alongside the highway the second we crossed into the county line.
"You're hiding from your own dad?" I asked, the pieces violently clicking together in my mind. "He's got his own deputies out here trying to hunt you down?"
"Pretty fucked up, isn't it?" he said quietly, his voice hollow. "He found out I was gay. Started beating the shit out of me. I honestly thought he was going to…"
He couldn't finish the thought, and I didn't want him to. I wrapped my arms around his strong frame and hugged him as tightly as I possibly could, burying my face against his hair and kissing the top of his head.
"It's okay Ca…umm, Ash. It's okay. You got away. You're safe right now."
"He thought he'd knocked me out," Ash continued, his voice tight with a strange mix of lingering terror and hard satisfaction. "He left me on the floor and went to pour himself a drink. I managed to get up, grabbed a lamp, and clocked him with it from behind. Put him flat on the floor; he broke his precious bottle of whatever expensive Scotch he was drinking on the way down."
I didn't say a word. I just listened, holding him as he poured the whole story out. I didn't need to ask a million questions. I just needed to be his anchor.
"I cuffed him to the radiator with his own duty gear," Ash whispered, a fierce, sharp edge bleeding into his tone. "And then I zip-tied his ankles together, just in case. I ran to my room, grabbed whatever clothes I could throw into a bag, and took off with Willie. I might have stopped to raid his office safe on the way out the door."
"Smart move," I muttered, rubbing his back. "You need money to survive on your own. Anyone would have done the same thing."
"It wasn't just money," Ash murmured. He pulled back just enough to look at me, a dangerous, fragile little grin touching his lips. "I took a ledger. And a thumb drive. It has a backup of a hidden, encrypted folder from his home computer."
I blinked, my brain struggling to keep up with the sudden shift. "A ledger? A thumb drive? Wait…is he hunting you down because you're gay, or because you took that stuff?"
Ash took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling slowly as his eyes locked onto mine with a dead-serious intensity. "Sheriff Law and Order runs the drug trade on this island, Gray. The drugs, the prostitution, probably a dozen other things. And it is all there, in the ledger, on that drive."
"Holy shit," I breathed, a sudden chill running down my spine. Then a memory sparked in my brain. "The deputies parked just off the bridge when we drove in today...they were stationed there to keep you from getting off the island, weren't they?"
Ash nodded grimly. "Yeah. I'm a fish in a barrel here. It's only a matter of time before my luck runs out and they find me."
"We need to get some help. Some real help." I honestly have an amazing ability to state the most blindingly obvious facts sometimes. It's a true talent.
Ash scoffed softly, his eyes dropping. "Yeah? You happen to have a cavalry troop hiding in your pocket, Gray?"
"A cavalry troop? No. My dad? Yes."
Ash gave me that fragile, sad smile again, clearly thinking I was just being naive. "Your dad's a really nice guy, Gray. But what can he honestly do? He's an accountant."
I let out a laugh—a real, genuine laugh that cut right through the tension. "My dad? An accountant? What on earth gave you that idea?" The mental image of my dad leaning over spreadsheets, meticulously counting numbers, debits, and credits...it literally couldn't be further from who he actually is.
"He was talking to your mom when we walked up to the car earlier," Ash explained, looking confused by my laughter. "He was saying something about audits and forensics…"
I grinned, the sheer absurdity of it washing over me. "Okay, yeah. Hearing that out of context, I can totally see how you'd think he was some corporate numbers guy. But he's not. He's former Army Special Forces, and right now? He's an FBI Hostage Rescue Team Leader. He is literally the guy the government sends in to take down terrorists and drug cartels—heavy firepower guys."
Ash just stared at me, his mouth parting slightly as a completely stunned expression washed over his face. It was like his brain couldn't even begin to process the massive cosmic joke of the situation. He had run away from a crooked sheriff and accidentally landed in the lap a real FBI Special Agent…okay, technically the lap of his son, or more accurately his crotch… but still, the FBI agent was right there.
"What I mean is," I pressed on, my voice getting faster as the silence stretched between us, "Dad can really help you, Ash. But you need to tell him everything that's going on. Right now."
The wheels were churning hard behind his beautiful blue eyes. I could practically see him calculating the options, trying to decide whether to trust this new path or bolt. The fear that he might just jump up and run anyway made my chest tighten, and the arguments started blurting out of my mouth as fast as I could think of them.
"Look at me, Ash. Your dad really hurt you. You probably saved your own life by whacking him over the head with that lamp. It's not like there's ever going to be some Hallmark father-son reconciliation here. It's over."
Ash flinched slightly at the word reconciliation , but he didn't look away. He just kept listening, his breathing shallow.
"Plus, he's totally corrupt," I argued, leaning in closer, desperate to make him see the logic. "He's running the drugs on this island. The prostitution. And obviously some—maybe all—of his deputies are in on it with him. You can't outrun an entire police force on your own."
Ash swallowed hard, his fingers tightening against my arm.
"But you have the keys," I said, "that ledger and the thumb drive. You need to give those to my dad and tell him every single thing you know. He will call in the real cavalry, Ash. He'll bring the entire weight of the FBI down on this place."
Finally, fucking finally, he spoke. "Do you really think he'd help?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "He doesn't even know me, Gray. He'll know I lied to all of you. He'll never believe me."
"Wrong. The second you tell him the truth, he'll know exactly why you had to lie. He'll probably tell you he would have done the exact same thing if he'd been in your shoes." I laid that out with all the conviction in my heart, without a single shred of hesitation. I knew my dad. "Besides, if we're being completely honest, he's going to be totally giddy when we tell him."
Ash blinked through his tears, looking thoroughly confused. "Giddy?"
I weighed the air with my hands, bouncing them up and down. "Quiet Memorial Day weekend with the family...corrupt-sheriff takedown...geez, Ash, what should a federal agent do?"
He looked up at me, took a deep breath, and nodded, "Okay. I'll tell your dad. Should we go down there?"
I shook my head. "Nope. I don't want to risk those deputies spotting us if they roll back through. I'll bring him up here. First, let's go grab the ledger and the drive—are they close by?"
"Yeah, yeah," he said, the relief evident in his voice. "I have them hidden back in the brush."
We slid down the reverse slope of the dune, taking absolutely no chances that a deputy might catch a glimpse of us, and slipped into the thick maritime brush with Willie trotting right at our side.
The second we were completely shielded from the beach, I stopped Ash. I looped my arms around his waist and pulled him tightly against my chest.
"I'm so proud of you, Ash," I murmured, looking deep into his eyes. "You're so fucking brave. Getting yourself free. Hiding out on your own..."
I leaned in, kissing him. It was gentle at first, but the sheer friction of the day quickly upped the heat. I pressed my tongue firmly against his lips, seeking entry, and he opened up for me instantly. He couldn't answer me with words, what with my tongue wrestling with his for total dominance inside his mouth, but that was completely fine by me. I didn't need a verbal response—not when I was getting the most awesome non-verbal confirmation possible.
His hands slid down the back of my trunks, gripping my butt and pulling our lower halves together just as tightly as our chests. He was already just as hard as I was. If we hadn't been on a literal rescue mission right now, I would have been actively scouting the brush for a clearing, a fallen tree, or anywhere else we could have staged a wild encore of this morning.
When we finally did pull apart, I saw that specific Ash smile that made me completely quiver. "I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for you," he whispered. " You being so upfront with me. You making all my firsts happen. You gaining my trust and convincing me."
"We're a team," I answered fiercely—instinctively channeling how dad and I have been a team from the very beginning. "Okay…stay on mission. Let's get the ledger and the drive."
Ash led me deeper into the thick maritime brush, then suddenly stopped, looking around blankly. My heart instantly sank. Shit. He forgot where he hid it.
Panic started to claw at my throat as I tried to calculate how long it would take us to scour this entire stretch of woods. Ash took a few steps to the left, kicked at a patch of saw palmetto, and then pivoted, walking in entirely different directions for what felt like an eternity. He kept turning around, squinting, and staring at the exact same patch of green and brown over and over again. My chest tightened. We were completely exposed out here if a deputy decided to stretch their legs and walk into the tree line.
Ash shook his head, looking completely frustrated with himself. "No...wait. We need to go back this way."
He took off at a jog, Willie and I hurrying to keep up with him as the branches whipped against my bare arms. Every snap of a twig sounded like an approaching cop. Finally, he stopped at a dead oak tree growing straight up out of a split between two massive gray rocks. He stared at it, blinked, and then groaned. He turned right around and started leading us right back in the exact direction we'd just come from.
Fear and frustration were warring inside me now. I wanted to scream, to grab him by the shoulders, to tell him to think , but I forced myself to shut up. Pressuring him would only make his brain freeze up worse. I just kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a shiny silver badge emerging from the shadows of the oaks. We were running out of time.
Just as I was about to suggest we start a grid search, Ash halted at a heavily twisted scrub pine. Relief washed over me so hard my knees went weak. He grabbed hold of the bent trunk, effortlessly shimmied up about seven feet, and reached deep into the fork of the branches to pull a tightly wrapped bundle out.
He looked down at me from above, an apologetic, slightly sheepish expression breaking through his panic. "Sorry, Gray. It's hard to find if you're not coming at it from the right direction."
"Got it," he grinned down at me, dropping back to the sand. "Safe and sound."
We sprinted back to our staging spot on the reverse slope of the dune. By now, I was totally paranoid about the sheriff's white SUVs. I carefully popped my head up over the rise—looking hard to the left, looking to the right, double-checking every inch of the beach. It seemed completely clear.
I knew dad would look up the exact moment I texted him, so I kept myself right where he'd expect me to be. I pulled out my phone and fired off a message:
>> Dad. 911. Need u to come to me. Bring ur laptop. Beware of deputies.
He didn't text back. I didn't expect him to. Down below I watched him glance at his phone, then his head snapped up, and his eyes locked right onto me. I gave him a quick, sharp salute.
Without a second's hesitation, dad moved to the back of the Suburban, popped the hatch, and pulled out his black tactical go-bag. I smiled.
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