Page 83 of Tagging Bases

Quietly, I drag the chair out of the corner and position it at the foot of Roy’s bed. The moonlight streaming through thewindow illuminates his face. He looks peaceful, but not in a dead way. More like when you have no worries because your mind is in a dream world.

I remind myself not to be lulled into a false sense of security. I have to be vigilant.

For Esther and Robert.

For Charlie.

For myself.

As time crawls forward, my eyelids grow heavier and heavier, threatening to close and pull me into the sweet embrace of sleep. But I can’t give in. Roy’s well-being rests on my shoulders.

I pinch my thigh hard, the sharp pain jolting me back to alertness.

An hour later, my head droops, chin nearly touching my chest. I catch myself and snap it back up.

I lightly smack my face, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The sensation is jarring, but it does the trick.

For now. I know it’s only a matter of time before the exhaustion creeps back in, insidious and unrelenting.

Another hour later, in a desperate attempt to stay awake, I cross my leg over the other, squishing my balls in the process. I breathe through the pain, focusing on the discomfort. It’s a temporary solution, but I’ll take what I can get.

I study Roy’s face, searching for any signs of distress or discomfort as the hours tick on. His brow is smooth, free of the perpetual frown he wears when he’s awake. His lips are slightly parted, and the tiniest drop of drool pools in the corner.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 3:27 a.m.

It’s going to be a very long night.

Chapter 29

You Haven’t Seen Cheeky Yet

Harrison

New York isthe city that never sleeps. There’s always the hum of traffic or a siren wailing in the distance. And no matter how hard one tries to shut it out, the bright city lights shine through the windows, leaving shadow puppets on the walls.

But here in Bomont, the only sound is the crickets, and the only light comes from the moon.

I’ve been lying in this bed made out of clouds for the past three hours, tossing and turning. Finally coming to terms that I won’t be falling asleep tonight, I slip out of bed as quietly as possible and tiptoe over to the window.

The farm, an ocean of tall grass and shadows, stretches out for miles. Way off in the distance is downtown Bomont—a strip of buildings that aren’t much bigger than Lego blocks from here. Beyond that is Charlie’s old high school, sitting dark and lonely.

It’s weird seeing everything small and far away. In the city, it’s all about being right up close to the action—the buildings, the people, even the dumpsters. Everything is crammed together like one giant, living, breathing piece of art.

A few minutes pass by as I stare out at the nothingness. It’s peaceful here. I see the appeal.Why would Charlie want to leave this?

With that question on the tip of my tongue, I step out into the hallway with the hope that he’s awake, too, so that I can ask.

Charlie’s childhood home is a shrine to suburbia. Family photos hang on the walls. Little Charlie, wearing a royal blue baseball uniform. Teenage Charlie in a tux, posing with a girl in a pink-colored dress and a corsage around her wrist. Teenage Roy, swimming in a red and white cap and gown, with a diploma dangling from his fingers.

The first door I come across is cracked open. I gently push on the door with my fingers and poke my head inside. My mouth pops open.

Charlie, naked as the day he was born, is lazily stroking his cock. When I jerked him off in the alleyway last week, I hadn’t taken a single look at it. I was more preoccupied with his lips then, but now, I take the time to drink in the fact that Charlie McManus is hung as fuck.

It’s long—longer than mine—and thickest at the base. He twists his fist on every upstroke and bucks his hips on every downstroke. His toes curl into the sheets that have been pushed into a mound at the foot of the bed.

I stand there, appreciating the way he throws his head back, mouth slightly agape, exposing his bobbing Adam’s apple.

Who is he thinking about?I wonder.

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