Page 27 of When Glitter Meets Gold

He hangs the jacket in the far corner of the tent. “Doesn’t matter.”

He stoops to dig around in a pile of neatly folded items, then crosses the tent to hand me a towel and some clothing.

“They won’t fit, but it’s better than wet clothes.” His gaze drops, and he turns to the tent’s arched entrance. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Don’t go back out there.” I dab my hair with the towel, surprised at my outburst. “I mean, you’re soaked worse than I am. Just turn around I guess.”

He considers it for a moment before deciding that averting his gaze is an acceptable way to navigate around how naked I’m about to get.

I slide off the soaked sweater, my tank top and leggings, breathing a sigh of relief when I find the jacket did a good job of keeping at least my underwear dry. I mop my damp skin with the towel before pulling Jack’s huge gray sweater over my head. Pine and leather fills my senses once again, blanketing me in warmth like a bedtime tea.

“I changed my name a long time ago.” Jack’s somber voice hums from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder, oblivious that he’s also in the process of undressing. He’s standing sideways, running a towel through his hair. Completely fucking naked.

I snatch my eyes away as guilt breathes fire through my body.

And suddenly, he’s not the boy I’ve been treating him as, and the image of the twelve-year-old kid dissolves into something that never was.

He’s not sculpted and chiseled the way Drew is in his Instagram photos. Instead, he’s solid and defined, in alumberjack sort of way. His arms are thick, his back wide, his entire body is just enormous.

I twist again when I think he might’ve added at least one item of clothing, but Jesus Christ, he’s still butt ass naked. My thighs clench together.

I slap a hand over my mouth because I think I just made a squeaking sound when my eyes latched on to the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen.

I force my eyes to look away, rubbing down my legs vigorously with the towel, my mouth gaping open like one of those damn basking sharks feasting on plankton.

“What, uh, what about your name?” I cough, making a fist to hit my chest.

Jack continues as if nothing happened, oblivious to my spying.God, I hope he’s oblivious.

“Are you okay?” he asks curiously.

“Of course. The rain just got into my…mouth. From when I was outside.” Wide eyed, I whisperwhatthe fuckto myself. “You were saying?”

“Right. You probably won’t remember,” Jack continues in a tone that suggests my outburst has fallen under the radar, “because he excelled at putting on a show for visitors, but my dad was kind of a jerk. He took off when we were kids and left my mom to pick up the pieces.”

I’m stunned into silence. This is the first shred of personal information he’s offered, and all my filth-ridden mind can do is continue to picture the perfect symmetry of his globe-like butt cheeks.

Focus Sara, for the love of shit.

He swallows audibly. “So we changed our last name. Got rid of the final thing that tied us to him. I went a step further, getting rid of my first name too. I knew it bothered my mom to yell the name of her asshole ex-husband everytime I screwed up, which was all the time back then.” He sniffs out a muted laugh as a vague memory of the Bakers surfaces in the shutoff corners of my mind. I remember now, Jack and his dad shared the same given name. Things must have been bad for him to detach to that extent.

“I’m so sorry. That’s awful.” My voice fades to a hush as I think about the things that never register as a kid. I remember his dad vaguely, mainly his strictness, and how everyone straightened out or got out of his way when they saw him coming. He was like the teacher you didn’t dare misbehave in front of. I guess I’d always assumed the strictness was necessary in their household of unruly children. I’d been too young to consider the strictness was something more sinister.

Now I wonder if the kid’s behavior was all just a coping mechanism for a miserable upbringing. It’s not enough to forgive what they did to me that day by the swamp, but a new torch of understanding is shining onto the details of that day all those years ago.

I’m about to ask what I should call him, if Jack is no longer an option, when he speaks again. “My life can get a little…nuts,” he continues over the distinct sound of material brushing over skin. “Which is why I come out to places like this, to get away from it all. Catch my breath. Make sure I don’t turn into the same asshole my dad was.” There’s another beat of silence, in which he seems to reflect. I decide to keep my question for another time, afraid that if I interrupt him, he’ll retreat into that hard shell again. He continues, “I inherited the radio from a friend who was tossing it out because it only worked half the time.”

I feel a hitch in the air, like perhaps he’s regretting talking about his family.

I scramble to offer up a response before I lose his trust,casually piling my damp hair into a fresh knot to keep the illusion of nonchalance and forcing every ounce of pity from my voice.

“And to the man who wants to disappear for a while, that was the appeal? I get that.”

“Yes.” His tone leans toward satisfied, perhaps pleased that we’re conversing, rather than regretting he’s just spent the last five minutes depositing his vulnerabilities to me.

“Are you decent yet?” he asks, changing the subject regardless.

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