Page 26 of Seeing Grayscale

My head flies in his direction.

“There are four bedrooms,” he continues. “I don’t mind staying on the second floor if you want space.”

“You don’t want to go home?” I ask, curious. All of his stuff is at his house. I’m sure he’s got a great bed, too.

“I live there, but it isn’t a home. Not really.”

“Oh.”

That’s all I’ve got at the moment.

He glances at me. “You can say no, Gray.”

And have him leave me fucking stranded? Not happening. “It’s…fine. Still not fucking you, though,” I say, making that line in the sand extremely clear.

“I’m not doing this to get in your pants,” he snaps. “I don’t—I’m not—”

Oof. That struck a nerve. “I’m justsaying.”

“And so am I. That’s not what I’m trying to achieve. I’m not gay.”

“Said every closeted manever,” I drawl and snort.

The leather under his fingers squeaks. “I’m simply stressed about work; my dad is overbearing, and I want to see this through because I said I would. I don’t break my word.” That little bit of skin poking through his beard is flushed ruby. His eyes frantically scan the road like an alien mothership is going to land on us.

“Okay,” I say gently. “Sorry,” I throw in just for good measure.

With a heavy sigh, he releases the wheel with his right hand and rubs his jaw. The silence is thick, clouding up the damn car while I wait for him to say something. I don’t know what I expect him to say, but my stomach drops when he finally speaks.

“I lied,” he whispers. “I am gay. It’s…a habit to deny it. But I’m not lying about anything else.” He looks at me. “I promise you that.”

The cabin isn’t acabin, not really. It’s a rustic beachfront house, but I know it cost a fortune: two-story, gabled roof with—you guessed it—pale blue paint. A big tree overhangs the left side of the house, a smooth paved road leads through the private property, and down a pathway facing east is a personal dock complete with a pricey speedboat.

It's isolated from the rest of the bougie community. This house seems as ifitis too good to be lumped in with the rest of the ones we drove past. The only other house is a way down the road, and you'd have to scream with all your might to be heard. With the sun setting, oranges and pinks light up the sky, and dark clouds roll in from the west, threatening to swallow all that color. It feels symbolic—ironic, even.

I take one step into a place that isn’t meant for me, and everything turns grey.

“I’ll show you around, get you settled, then leave. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back, but make yourself at home,” Hunter says before getting out of the car.

This is the first thing he’s said since his confession. I didn’t know what to say earlier, and I could tell he was extremely uncomfortable afterward, so I don’t realize he’s opening my door until my eyes snag on his narrow hips directly in front of myface. He’s got my brand-spankin’ new crutches tucked to his side.

“Sorry,” I mumble, holding my food close with one hand while reaching for the frame with the other. My leg doesn’t want to cooperate, though. The pain has only increased due to the long car ride.

“Here,” a hand shoots out, “let me.”

I go to hand him the bag so I can grab the crutches, but he sighs and takes my free one instead. With care, he pulls me up and onto my feet. It’s the first time I've noticed how smooth and warm his hands are. I’d clocked the lack of callouses before, but feeling their absence against my skin is different.

Fuck, I don’t hate it either.

“Just a bit more, and then you can elevate that leg,” he says, offering me a timid smile.

My heart thumps harder, and he doesn’t release my hand. Instead, he guides me to the crutches, easing each under my armpits. The gentle way he handles me is so foreign that I go along with it. Only then does he release his gentle grip, and he walks beside me to the front door and unlocks it.

A sudden dryness takes over my mouth and lips, years worth of residual dehydration choosing now to cause an effect. I wet my lips quickly, following Hunter inside, and hold my crutches in a death grip.

I’m…fuck…I’mrattled.I don’t know why, either.

When I see a couch with a chaise in the front room, I head straight for it. Hunter chuckles, flipping on the light. “That was fast.”

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