Page 49 of Something Like Winter
“Consider it a parting gift. For Ben, more than you, I suppose. Salvaging your social status is beyond even me.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Not if Bryce gets a second chance,” Stacy said. “So what are you going to do with yourself, Mr. Wyman?”
“Keep on running.” Tim sighed into the receiver. “It’s what I do best.”
__________ Part Two:
Austin, 1999
__________ Chapter Twelve
Tim traced his finger along Travis Kingston’s back, playing connectthe-dots with the freckles scattered across his shoulders. The sheets were pulled down to his waist, the morning sun already hot. Travis stirred and yawned, running a hand through his mop of dark brown hair. Tim could imagine him rolling over, greeting the day and stealing a kiss, regardless of morning breath. Instead Travis jolted awake, like he always did, flipping over and sitting upright.
He looked down at Tim, who almost mouthed the words along with him. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
“But you were drunk,” Tim finished for him, flopping on his back with a sigh.
“I was!”
“So was I. So was the whole damn fraternity, but you don’t see them in bed with us, do you?”
“Don’t be disgusting.” As Travis got out of bed, Tim checked him out and wished, just once, that they could have a normal morning. That as closeted as they were, they could recognize the door was locked, their fraternity brothers were sleeping off their drink, and this private moment was perfect for a little fun.
Instead, Travis knocked over empty beer bottles on his way out of bed, scurrying with a panicked expression to stop them from rolling too far along the floor. As if the noise would give away what he and Tim had done—what they always did, but only when drunk.
That wasn’t quite true. Sometimes Tim was sober, like the first time Travis had stumbled into their room and climbed into Tim’s bed by complete accident.
Right.
“I’m hitting the shower,” Travis said, one hand on the doorknob, the other full of clean clothes. He stared at Tim like he was missing the obvious.
“So?” Tim prompted.
“So you’re in my bed!”
No one would come in their room at this hour, and even if they did, Tim doubted they would remember which bed belonged to whom. But he knew Travis would stand there like an idiot until he did something, so Tim got out of bed and leisurely scratched himself, giving Travis a good look at his morning wood. Face flushed and jaw clenching, Travis turned his head, refusing to look at him.
Tim had meant to be funny, but now he was pissed. “Stupid hick,” he huffed, stomping over to his bed and ripping back the sheets so he could get in. He even smashed a pillow over his head until he heard the bedroom door shut. Then he tossed the pillow aside and groaned.
The thing was, he liked Travis. They had first met as University of Texas freshmen and pledges to the fraternity, the noble Alpha Theta Sigma, the very same fraternity his father had belonged to. What he couldn’t picture was his father going through initiation. Most of the hazing was harmless and dumb, like having to answer trivia questions correctly or do pushups. Or race to eat an entire large pizza alone, chugging a beer between each slice. Sometimes they faced sleep deprivation or had to exercise until they dropped. But the worst had been when they were teamed up, handed shaving cream and razors, and told to shave each other completely from the neck down.
Tim had been teamed with Travis, the experience anything but erotic. For him, at least. Travis nicked him so many times, Tim worried he would lose his junk completely, so self-control hadn’t been an issue. Travis wasn’t so lucky. Maybe Tim was a little too careful with the razor, because when he got to his pubes, Travis started getting hard. Fraternity brothers were walking around like drill sergeants, screaming at each team to be the first, but Tim also couldn’t help wondering if they were weeding out the gay guys.
So Tim had started talking about his grandma and her foot fungus that spread up her whole leg, smelling terrible as it ate her flesh. All fiction, of course, but Tim’s descriptions were repulsive enough that Travis got himself under control. They weren’t the first team done, but they weren’t the last. They made the fraternity. Tim didn’t interact with Travis much after that until his second year when they were assigned as roommates.
Tim never thought they would end up sleeping together, or that he would like Travis as anything more than a frat brother. Not that Tim’s interest hadn’t been piqued. Travis spoke with a country drawl, the sort of accent everyone assumed Texans had. In the Houston area, everyone sounded normal, aside from saying “y’all” instead of “you guys.” Austin wasn’t so different, but in some places, like Dallas, the accents could get just as exaggerated as those on TV. That’s how Travis sounded, and that, combined with his freckles, gave him country-boy charm.
Travis often spoke of his family back home in Kentucky, especially his little sisters. He seemed like the kind of guy who would be a good dad, a family man. Or a good boyfriend, if he could accept himself. Only when drunk did the real Travis emerge. He even told Tim once, slurring heavily, that he loved him.
But he didn’t. Tim knew what it was like to be loved, and this wasn’t it.
Travis didn’t return to the room after showering. He would avoid Tim for the day, maybe longer. Then he would get over it, acting like nothing happened until the next time he decided to get drunk. Being in the closet was one thing; being in denial was a completely different game. Fate had found someone even more messed up than Tim to give him a taste of his own medicine. If only Benjamin could see him now.
Tim rolled over and sighed. Thinking about Ben would only make a bad morning miserable, so he closed his eyes and tried to get some shuteye. He had just managed to doze off when the longhorn jolted him awake.
The longhorn was a compressed air horn, like the kind used at sporting events, that was taped to a megaphone. The result was excruciatingly loud. And annoying. When a fraternity meeting was called, some poor sap would be sent walking down the hallways, blaring the longhorn to get everyone’s attention. They had five minutes to reach the main common room unless they wanted to get demerits, and those meant cleaning up puke after a party or other horrible jobs they couldn’t even get maids in to do. Being part of a fraternity was about as much fun as being in the military, especially the way Quentin ran the house.
