Page 56 of Bro Code

“I can’t.”

Louis pinched him again, scowling.

“Fuck– I really can’t.” He was already close. He couldn’t believe how fucking good Louis felt, how good he was at this, how crazy it was that they were even doing this. It felt filthy and desperate. He wrapped his other hand around the back of Louis’ head too and just held on, thrusting faster and harder, losing all sense of control.

“I’m gonna come,” he whispered. Louis pinched him again, but he didn’t care. “Fuck. I’m gonna come. I’m coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He thrust all the way down, smashing Louis’ face hard against his lower abs, holding on tight with both hands because he was afraid he might fall down. Louis didn’t swallow everything so much as he drank it, and finished with a hum that sounded almost grateful.

He didn’t remember zipping up and getting out of the bathroom, but he found himself back at the table they’d left. Louis appeared a moment later, looking like he’d just gotten fucked himself, and Riley’s stomach dropped as he realized he hadn’t even tried to reciprocate.

“Fuck,” he said. “I didn’t even–”

“Babe, it’s all good,” said Louis. He smiled and pulled him in by the shirtfront as he leaned across the table and kissed him. Riley tasted himself on Louis’ tongue as it went into his mouth, and then Louis was taking him by the hand and pulling him back toward the dance floor.

This time, Riley went without argument.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Louis

Agreat night out had to be paid for, and Louis was paying for it dearly the next morning.

His eyes crawled open around ten, and he immediately shut them, because the light was like a scimitar cleaving open his skull. He lay there for a long time, taking stock. Very thirsty. Very nauseous. Very much not looking forward to opening his eyes again. He experimented with one, then the other.

This was a hangover of Odyssean proportions.

It was Sunday, and the team’s flight back to Montreal didn’t leave until three, so he had all day to recover. He rolled out of bed and staggered into the shower, and emerged feeling precisely twenty percent better (he was a data scientist, he knew how to measure these things.)

He couldn’t face leaving the room, so he ordered room service for breakfast, then found his phone in the back pocket of his jeans where he’d left them on the floor last night, and sat on the bed to text Riley.

A missed call and a voicemail from Chloé on the lock screen.

Sighing, Louis shut his eyes. He was going to have to call her. There was no way around it: it was Sunday. The team’s flight didn’t leave until three. He had all day.

He quickly texted Riley to thank him for taking a chance last night, then sat looking at the unplayed voicemail in his inbox. It was short: probably just asking him to call her back. If it had been an emergency, she wouldn’t have left a voicemail — she would’ve called more than once. And if she’d done that, he would’ve picked up.

She picked up after five rings. Her voice was quiet, and he was relieved to be greeted by that and not hostility. “Hey Fré,” she said. “Thanks for calling.”

“Sorry I missed you last night. We just finished a long week.”

“No problem,” she sighed. She sounded tired. The porch door creaked open on her end and then banged shut behind her. He knew why she always went out there to take his calls: she didn’t want Papa to overhear. Not that he would punish her for talking to Louis or anything like that. It would’ve just been an awkward vibe in the house.

“Sorry I haven’t been in touch,” he said. “It’s been a really crazy ten days.”

“Sure, no, it’s fine.”

A small silence.

“So what’s up?”

She sighed again. “So they did the biopsy on the tumor they found in her lungs. It’s the same as the one they found in her breast. They think probably it’s in her bones as well.”

It was like a physical blow to his stomach. Louis swallowed and nodded.

“They think it started in her breast,” said Chloé. “The back pain and the cough are probably from this, but they’re doing more labs to make sure that’s not something else. They’re calling it Stage Four. Which is…you know. Bad. But not terminal. Or, no, sorry, it is terminal, but I mean, not like right away. I think they said ‘treatable but not curable’? I’m not sure, exactly, they need to do more tests.”

Louis said, “Okay,” but it got stuck on the way out. He cleared his throat and said it again.