Page 11 of Rebel

Chapter 4

NATE COULDN’T STAND to go back to his rooms, not with his blood running so hot. Sam Hutchinson was a stubborn bastard: unforgiving and immovable as a damned stone. Well to the devil with him! If he wanted to sacrifice their friendship on the altar of his wretched beliefs, then so be it. Let him live a false life, let him deny his feelings and pave the way to his own destruction. Nate was finished with the man. And he was finished with Rosemont, too, this bastion of starched old men and their starched old opinions. His father couldn’t hold him here forever; he refused to be held.

He’d return to Boston as soon as he could and forget all about Sam Hutchinson. How much did the troubles of his heart matter next to the troubles their nation faced? Not at all, was the answer.

Those were fine intentions. But when Nate looked about him he found that his anger had brought him to the very riverbank where he’d made his ill-judged confession to Sam. Night had transformed it into a place of silver and shadows, trees brushing water that gleamed in the moonlight, cicadas singing in the grass. He could almost see Hutch sitting on the bank, looking at him with fear and want all twisted up together. Christ, what a damned mess.

The fight slumping out of him, Nate dropped to the ground and peeled off his coat. It was a warm night, fragrant and earthy. Peaceful, there by the river. He tried to draw some of that peace inside himself, but it was a hopeless task. He was too upset.

Not with Hutch, not really. He was angry with the world. He’d been angry with the world for a long time—a world that told him ‘this is how things are, this is how they’ve always been, and this is how they’ll always be’. He was angry with unthinking, uncritical men who couldn’t envisage a better future. And he was angry with a world that condemned him to a life of deceit and inauthenticity—a life without Sam, without the comfort of the bond they’d forged.

A rustle in the trees made him turn, startled. A racoon, perhaps?

“Tanner?”

He scrambled to his feet at the sound of Hutch’s voice, astonished and absurdly hopeful. But when Hutch stepped out of the shadows clutching Nate’s copy ofJulia, all hope died. He wouldn’t even accept a gift. Christ, it was little enough. Nate tried to rein in his hurt, reminded himself that Hutch was trapped by the same stifling world as him. He wasn’t to blame.

Taking a breath, he squared his shoulders. “You’ve come a long way to return it.” He held out his hand for the book. “You could have given it back on Monday.”

Hutch didn’t answer, only stepped further into the pool of moonlight. His fingers were bone-white against the book’s black binding, his expression flitting from one emotion to another so fast Nate couldn’t tell what he was feeling. “I don’t know Latin.”

Nate blinked, wrong-footed. “What?”

“You wrote—” He jerked the book, brow furrowing. “Was it for me, what you wrote?”

Nate looked away, into the dark trees behind Hutch. A gentle breeze ruffled their leaves, the hushing whisper doing nothing to soothe his spike of distress. “Of course.”

“What does it mean?”

Nate allowed a bitter smile in lieu of losing his temper. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing damning.”

“No, I know that.” Hutch spoke quietly, his voice rasping, and Nate’s attention snapped back to his face. “I just wanted to know what you… Oh,God.” Suddenly, he crumpled in on himself, curling around the book. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go—”

“It’s a quote. Cicero. It means ‘A true friend is a second self’. I…” He didn’t know what to say, knew only that he couldn’t bear it if Hutch walked away. “I thought it was appropriate.”

Hutch stood half turned away so Nate could only see his face in profile. “A second self?”

“He’s describing fellowship, a bond of friendship.A single soul inhabiting two bodies—that one’s Aristotle, by the way. It’s how I felt—how Ifeel—we are, you and I.”

He could hear Hutch breathing, shaky and uneven. He hunched in on himself miserably and Nate longed to put his arms around those powerful, vulnerable shoulders. “Hutch— Sam. It’s all right. I don’t expect you to return—”

“I think about it all the time.” Hutch stared at the ground as he spoke, voice muffled. “I try not to; I know it’s a sin. But I can’t help it. I think about it all the time. About… About you. Touching you. And…other things.”

Oh God. Oh yes. Yes!

Nate was weak with relief, with wonder. He knew exactly what that admission cost Hutch—what it said about his trust in Nate—and how it felt to be left out there alone with your confession. He hurriedly said, “I think about you, too. I think about kissing you—your mouth, your shoulders, all over.” Hutch shivered and Nate took a halting step forward. “I think about holding you in my arms.”Christ, having you inside me. Fucking you. “I think about you all the time, Sam. I can’tstopthinking about you.”

Hutch made a soft sound in his throat, not quite a sob. “I want— I want… Oh God,Nate.”

“Shhh, it’s all right.” He reached out and let his fingertips brush the bones of Sam’s wrist, tuck beneath the edge of his cuff. “This isn’t wrong.”

“Itis,” Sam hissed, turning to face him. His gray eyes looked black in the moonlight, tears glistening on his lashes. “I know it’s wrong, but God help me, I want it anyway.” He fumbled his hand into Nate’s, gripping his fingers so hard it hurt. “I just want you so badly, Nate. I can’tstandit.”

“Sam…” His name left Nate’s lips on a huff of air as he put a hand to Sam’s face, cradling his cheek. With a desperate sound, Sam pressed his face into his palm, eyes screwed shut, and in that moment the tether on Nate’s heart snapped and he soared. “Don’t cry,” he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to Sam’s forehead, to his damp lashes, tasting salt. “Everything’s all right.” Sam shook beneath him, skin flushing hot, breath catching as Nate brushed their lips together. Lighter than a feather, that first kiss, and then firmer, slipping one hand into Sam’s hair, keeping the other against his face. “Sam,” Nate breathed against his lips. “See how good this is? It’s not wrong. It’s beautiful.”

Sam gave a wrenching gasp, clutching Nate’s coat, and Nate hauled him into his arms and held him. All around them he could hear the whispering trees, the soft burble of the river, the nighttime noises of the woods, and it felt like a cocoon keeping them safe. This place, this moment, was theirs. Magical, enchanted. Gently, he stroked Sam’s back, caressed the short hair at the nape of his neck, and felt Sam shiver in response. Nate’s heart ballooned, swelling too big for the narrow confines of his chest, and he smiled into the darkness.

Time passed, and eventually Sam lifted his head, pulling back enough that Nate could see his face. He looked troubled, but calmer. “I feel like I’m going mad,” he confessed in a whisper. “I’ve never wanted anything like I want— Hell, Nate, I don’t even knowwhatI want. I just know it’s with you.”

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