Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Someday you’ll meet another kid who feels passionately about the same stuff, and you’ll become fast friends.” Sam never liked organized sports—not unless it was a game inside his computer—and was a huge bookworm, so he’d rather hang around the house and read or play videos. Emerson often wondered what his mom might suggest if she were here, and the honest truth was he didn’t know. She’d definitely always encourage him, and so Emerson did as well.
“I know what that feels like,” Rhys said suddenly, and Emerson had a feeling he knew where he was going with this.
Sam pushed up his glasses. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Nobody really understood why I was attracted to adventure sports. It wasn’t football or baseball.”
“Or basketball or soccer,” Sam added, and Audrey rolled her eyes but kept quiet. She knew how sensitive Sam was about certain topics.
Emerson had been expecting Rhys to talk about being gay in a sea of heterosexuals. He hadn’t considered his choice of activities because he was actually way more social that Emerson ever was. The weather could be temperamental in Maine, but Rhys was outdoors doing stuff he enjoyed more days than not.
Emerson also felt like he was waiting on the sidelines while everyone else was dating and girl crazy, and in that regard, it was always comforting having Rhys as a friend. He was simply himself and never made Emerson feel strange about being an introvert and only being part of a handful of school clubs that interested him, like the one that involved him in community service during summer breaks. Emerson played little league at some point, but that didn’t pan out in later years, though he remained a fan of a few pro or semiprofessional teams.
And damn, in light of his recent revelations about himself, the synapses were firing off in his brain. He wanted to say it out loud, but he didn’t want to ruin their moment. They were smiling and laughing, and Sam seemed pleased that Rhys had normalized his feelings. Fuck, he wanted to kiss Rhys right then and there. He pushed up from his seat to fill his glass with more ice water and calm his racing pulse.
“Did the adults always tell you that you needed to be mindful of your surroundings?” Audrey asked with an eye roll, and Emerson almost laughed as she parroted a recent conversation they’d had about curfew and also catfishing, considering how much time she spent on her phone.
“As a matter of fact, they did.” Rhys glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “And look what happened!”
Sam and Audrey laughed nervously, as if uncertain whether they should.
“You couldn’t help what happened,” Emerson said in a quiet voice.
“He’s right,” Audrey added, and he was proud of her. She recognized that Rhys was feeling pretty low and could probably use a pep talk of his own.
“Yeah, but it still sucks all the same.” Rhys shrugged. “So that’s the thing, Sam. You never know what’s gonna happen. Stay true to yourself and do what you love anyway.”
“Will you?” Sam asked, then bit into his garlic bread.
Rhys lifted his fork again, which seemed a struggle for him. “What?”
“Still do what you love?”
Emerson noticed how Rhys swallowed thickly. “Well, not tonight.”
Emerson felt a strange stitch in his chest as Audrey and Sam laughed.
“Can we be excused?” Sam begged after finishing his last bite of bread, and when Emerson relented, they both rose to rinse their plates and place them haphazardly in the dishwasher. Emerson looked away, knowing he’d rearrange them later, simply thankful they’d even remembered.
Rhys still hadn’t made a dent in his plate of pasta, and Emerson didn’t think it was because he wasn’t hungry. It could’ve been his cooking, but more than that, he noticed how Rhys struggled with the repeated motion of lifting his fork to his mouth. He wondered if he’d missed a dose of his pain meds. He was convinced he had when Rhys dropped the utensil, which clattered to the floor.
“Damn it,” Rhys said, gritting his teeth.
“Here…let me.”
Emerson reached for a forkful of pasta from Rhys’s plate and lifted it to his mouth.
Rhys’s eyes went wide as he stared at Emerson. “You don’t have to feed me,” he said thickly.
“You’re obviously in pain,” he muttered, quietly enough that the kids wouldn’t hear him in the next room. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Okay, Nurse Rose.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and Emerson supposed it was fitting. And maybe someday it would come to fruition. “I guess that’s what friends do, right?”
“It’s absolutely what friends do,” Emerson replied, his cheeks burning.
Then Emerson fed Rhys bite after bite of the creamy pasta, slowly and deliberately, and as he did so, he could feel Rhys looking at him—really looking at him. Like he was studying him, trying to figure him out, and Emerson didn’t think Rhys was even aware of his scrutiny until Emerson looked backed at him and stared into his eyes.