Noah saw white lines, invisible ink on Wade’s inner thigh; felt the press of Wade’s leg around his back; breathed in the tension mounting between them with each churr of his pen.
Wade sucked in his breath.
Was he remembering the morning at the inn? Their detour on the way back to Port Ratapu? On the cliffs above the river, forgotten train track rusting behind their bench, just then the only people in the world. . . .
“Noah?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you always draw when you’re nervous?”
“I . . . is it obvious?”
“It was . . . a feeling. I hoped so.”
“You hoped I was nervous?”
“That I was starting to read you, beyond words, you know? . . . Don’t stop drawing, I like it.”
“Beyond words?”
“Like listening to a car engine and knowing exactly what needs repairing.”
“Well, I don’t need repairing.”
“No, but you want something.”
“I should think that was obvious. . . . Mmm. Again, Wade. . . . Better. . . Much better.”
“There’s something very professor-ish about you, Noah. I slacked at school, but you make me never want to slack off again. . . . Okay stop grinning. Oof. God, you’re hot. . . . Yeah, there. Can I—Can I touch you?”
“Like this . . . Tighter. Don’t have to be so gentle.”
“You look . . . you feel . . .”
“Amazing, isn’t it . . . Yeah, like that. God, yes. . . . Just angle . . . A rod implant. It’s o-okay, you can ask, Wade.”
“Would it feel good, if I tasted you?”
“This won’t last long. Squeeze my sack . . . Christ. . . . My turn.”
“. . . Fuuuuck.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Stop smirking. C’mere. . . . That was intense, Noah.”
“I thought we should wait before we . . . but . . .”
“Yeah, same.”
“You have other questions.”
“Now you’re reading me beyond words.”
“Like an engine.”
“I like how you use your hands.”
Noah stopped sketching. The clock above the mantelpiece ticked loudly. He and Wade stared at one another across the short distance, energy crackling between them.
Abruptly, Wade got to his feet. “It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want to be too tired to drive.”
Responsibility resurfaced in Noah’s mind. He dropped his sketchbook and stood too. “You care, Wade. I like that about you.”
The stone in Noah’s pocket pulsed, like a beating heart. Wade’s perhaps.
It rolled off his tongue in a whisper. “Would you like to stay over?”
Wade stepped forward, cutting their three-foot gap to two. The rush of air bubbled to his toes. He wanted to.
Wade rocked back on his heels. “I’m having breakfast with Mum tomorrow. About the loan.”
Oh. They wandered silently to the door. Wade sank into his boots, and the shift of the laces sounded loud between them. He drummed up a smile. “Another time. Sleep well.”
Jacket zipped to his throat, Wade backed over the threshold. “I do. Sleep well. In Port Ratapu.”
Noah lifted his gaze to Wade’s.
“It’s your bed.”
Noah frowned. “Sorry?”
“The room I chose when I broke in.”
“Yeah.”
“It was smaller so I didn’t think Franny would be using it. And it had that wonderful wardrobe.”
“For your toolbox.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know that one was mine?”
“Something about it . . . and then I saw the other room and Zach’s name was carved under the windowsill and my room had to be yours. It was smooth, no dents, no grooves, no greasy smears on the walls. The room of someone who took good care of his things.”
The way Wade said it. Like a wish. My room had to be yours.
The gap between them lengthened and still Wade walked backward.
He’s torn between his family and me.
That’s why they didn’t touch.
That’s why Noah didn’t ask to.
The shadows swallowed him.
Noah drifted to bed, and lay there imagining Wade in his old room, on his old mattress, hugged by his old sheets.
Even with the distance, connected.
Whatever obstacles were in their way, he’d meet them with kindness and patience.
Restless, Noah took Zach for a beer the following evening.
The local was unusually crowded, throngs of younger men and women around the tables, jamming up the bar. A one-man band had Zach cringing as he squealed on his harmonica.
Jenny caught their eye and waved them over to a table she was clearing. “Here you go. Though you might have to share if we get more singles coming in.”
“Singles?” Zach scanned the room again, less eagerly than he would have a few weeks ago. “Not sure I belong here, then.”
Jenny laughed and patted his shoulder. “Of course you don’t honey, but you’ll be a good wingman to your brother, I’m sure.”
“My brother is—”
Noah shook his head firmly, and Zach dropped it.
Jenny clutched her wet cloth to her chest with a pained grimace.
“The Churchills’ve come.”
“The Churchills?” Zach squealed. “Duck!”
“Too late.”
A pack of religious wolves had sniffed them out and were prowling in their direction. He and Zach clutched one another’s hands under the table, Zach panicked, Noah trying to calm them both.
