Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“No, that’s okay. Another time.”
Charlie nodded and stroked his beard—a clear indicator that he was concerned—but just dropped a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Let’s get you back to the couch.”
Jack wanted to scream. Also to burn the couch.
“Take care, bro,” Charlie said when Jack was settled, and as he walked out the door darkness closed over Jack again.
* * *
That night, when Simon returned with the dogs, he lingered in the doorway instead of coming inside. Jack accepted the licks and headbutts of the returning animals and felt his stomach lurch as Simon edged out the door.
He didn’t want Simon to go, leaving him all alone again to stare at the ceiling or the TV or a book or the animals.
“Um. Hey. Simon?” Simon turned. “Could you help me? With something.” Jack gestured to his cast. “Damn thing.”
Simon nodded and Jack wracked his brain, having spoken without thinking this through.
“Uh, in the kitchen.”
They walked to the kitchen. Jack’s crutches made every step an effort, giving him plenty of time to think.
What are you doing? What exactly are you trying to do?
“There’s, uh, coffee filters up there. Do you mind grabbing them?”
Jack pointed to the cabinet above the refrigerator and Simon stood on his toes to catch the edge of the cabinet. The line of his back was graceful, even beneath the oversized sweater he wore. He snagged the sheaf of filters and moved to set it on the counter next to the coffee machine, but he froze.
He turned slowly and looked at Jack, and Jack saw the neat stack of coffee filters Charlie must have placed there earlier.
Simon was looking at him like he’d played a nasty trick.
“Sorry. I thought I was out,” Jack muttered. “My brother—”
But Simon was already nodding and making his way to the door.
“Sorry,” Jack called after him again, but Simon didn’t answer, and the loneliness of a long night engulfed the house.
Chapter Five
Simon
“Goddamn motherfucking shit!” Simon let his head fall back and knock against the doorframe of his grandmother’s kitchen.
“Some of us are mothers, dear,” his grandmother trilled from the pantry.
“Shit, sorry!” Simon called back.
She emerged with her arms full of flour, sugar, and other canisters that indicated baking was imminent.
“What’re you making?” Simon asked at the same time as his grandmother said, “What happened?”
They both smiled.
“Snickerdoodles,” she replied, and he said, “Nothing.”
She raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to begin measuring the flour.
Baking was something they’d done together since Simon was a child. Kylie had never had any interest, always more excited about going fishing with their grandfather or playing soccer with the neighbors. But Simon enjoyed the way having something to do with his hands took the pressure off his mouth. He enjoyed the way his grandmother would narrate each step and all he needed to do was be with her. The fact that everything she made was delicious didn’t hurt either.
Snickerdoodles meant she was feeling nostalgic. They’d been something he’d loved as a boy—the taste and the word both—but he hadn’t requested them in a very long time.
As she creamed the butter and sugar, Simon felt a familiar calm settle over him.
“It was nothing, really,” he said. It was always easier for him to speak unprompted. “I thought for a second that he—Jack—was... I don’t know. Making fun of me. But it was just a misunderstanding.”
The moment he’d seen the coffee filters and felt Jack’s intense eyes on him he’d remembered others. Just say one thing, freak! What’s wrong with you? Can you even say your own name? Simple Simon, Simple Simon.
“It was stupid.”
“What’s this Jack fellow like?”
“Tall,” Simon said without thinking. “Um. He’s nice-ish. Pissed off that he can’t take the dogs out himself, I think. He seems like the kind of person who’s used to being able to do anything he wants.”
His grandmother nodded and looked studiously at the cookie dough. “Handsome?”
Simon shot her a look. “That casual and innocent act does not work on me.”
“Who’s acting?” she said, cupping her hands beneath her chin in a ludicrous nod at a Shirley Temple pose. “I’m as casual and innocent as they come.”
He rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh.
“Yeah. Yeah he really is.”
“Mmm,” his grandmother mused.
* * *
The next morning when Jack opened the door, his hair was rumpled and his sweatshirt was rucked up on one side, revealing a peek of muscled stomach. He blinked and gave Simon a sleepy smile.
It hit Simon like a punch in the gut. What would it feel like to step forward and be wrapped in those powerful arms, press his cheek against the softness of that sweatshirt and the firmness of the muscles beneath it? What would it be like to stroke Jack’s mussed hair into place and kiss his soft, smiling lips?
A shudder shook him. That didn’t happen for him. That would never happen for him.