Page 43 of Lost Boy
He squeezes me tighter.
I don’t want to be upset or relive painful memories, but he deserves to know a little.
“My dad got sick when I was twelve. Cancer. And I got angry. I wasn’t there for him. I couldn’t grasp the idea of no one helping him when he went into hospice. All those doctors around, and they just let himsuffer? He died without me being there. It’s not something I can ever fix or change.” I have to live with this regret for the rest of my life, and it’s why I prefer to be numb. But of course, I don’t tell Ryder that part.
Ryder remains quiet, so I continue on. “I know my dad’s guitar is in that case. I always thought my mother sold it for drugs or booze. I had no idea Uncle Joel had it this entire time.” I pause for a moment, realizing I’m grateful for that fact. “I’m glad he had it so she couldn’t get her crazy hands on it.”
“I hear you about crazy mothers, dude. I’m sorry. And I’m really sorry about your dad too.” Ryder hugs me even closer, if that’s possible, and I melt into him, his words soothing something inside of me. “I think you should consider talking to someone about it, or at least your uncle. I don’t know all the details, but I do know there’s nothing you should blame twelve-year-old Fallon for. You can always talk to me too. Okay?”
His words hit hard, and I can only nod and take another hit, finishing off my birthday blunt.
Nothing he says can change the fact that I wasn’t there for my dad in the end. He was sick and dying, and I was too scared, too upset at the world to spend time with him.
That’s enough talking for now.
* * *
Ryder squats down. “Here. Hop on. I’ll give you a piggyback ride.” He doesn’t point out that I ran out here with no shoes or socks on, just like he didn’t mention that I had no coat. Instead, he offered his own and is now offering to carry me.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, not wanting to be a bother. My bare feet are cold and sore. I wasn’t thinking. I hesitate at the edge of the dock, reluctant to step into the sandy grass that leads into the backyard.
“Just hop on, Fal. It’s no biggie.”
I accept his piggyback ride and press my chest to his back, wrapping my arms around his neck. Ryder stands, scooping me under my thighs and guiding my legs around his trim waist.
My dick is rubbing against the hard muscles of his back, and I understand now why grown men don’t give each other piggyback rides. Dicks get in the way, and boners would be mortifying. As if the thought alone encourages it, my cock fills as Ryder bounces along the backyard with me clinging to his back.
“Don’t drop me.”
“You weigh a buck forty max. I won’t.”
I huff, a little indignant at his comment about my weight.
“I like your size,” he corrects. “A lot.”
My dick throbs, pulsing embarrassingly hard against his back. I throw his own words back at him. “Sorry. Just an automatic response to stimuli.”
He laughs at that, “Touché.”
We continue on, the backyard a long expanse of rolling hills that are perfectly landscaped, surrounded by ancient pines and towering redwoods. It’s nothing like Philly. The moonlight enhances the surreal aspect of it and the pure, raw beauty of nature. I wouldn't want to get lost out there.
“So, if you’re feeling up for it, we should at least go back and have your ice cream cookie. I’ve been excited for you to try it, and I know Sofie is too. You don’t have to open the guitar,” he adds.
“Okay,” I agree, not wanting to upset my uncle and his new family. They’ve been nothing but accepting and giving toward me.
“Okay,” he echoes, backing me up. “Let’s do this.” Ryder hitches me higher up his back, my dick rubbing against him harder, rougher.
“Ry,” I warn, pressing my hips firmly into him so he knows exactly what I’m warning him about. Need I remind him of how easy it can happen for me when I’m around him?
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I’ll try not to bounce so much. You can’t go in there with a hard-on. Georgie will call you out and never let you live it down, no matter what just happened.”
“Shit,” I say, because wow, that’s harsh. But then again, she did say that Ryder wet the bed until he was ten.
“She has no filter. Says it’s an Irish thing.” He shrugs his massive shoulders, even with the heavy weight of my body on his back and my arms around his neck.
“Put me down, then.” Not sure my dick will go down otherwise.
“Not yet. Let’s get to the deck first.”
