Page 12 of Mr. Frosty Pants
Bruno agreed, enthusiastically bounding around in a circle, knocking more mail onto the floor before hurtling into the kitchen. Joel followed, cleaning up the mess Bruno left in his wake and laughing as Bruno shook himself and whined eagerly. A cloud of hair rose and fell around him, joining the clumps of dog hair already breeding big, fat dog-bunnies in the corners.
“I should vacuum later,” he said to Bruno, who stood at his feet grinning up at him with his tongue lolling out. “But, man, Bruno. I’m tired. Sixteen hours a day for three weeks straight will do that to a guy.”
Luckily, his assistant manager, Brandon, would be returning from his poorly timed vacation the next day. Then Joel could finally get a break from the endless work. Not that customers were a bad problem to have. He’d rather the store be busy and the money be coming in than to have plenty of leisure time and no way to pay his bills. Even though he loved writing, his books never sold more than a handful of copies each.
Soon enough he’d take a whole day off and leave the store in the hands of Angel and Brandon and his other three employees, and he’d spend it writing. If only he could hire a couple more part-time employees like his dad had back in the old days, then he’d be set. He might even finish more than one novella a year.
Unfortunately, once Christmas was over, he knew they’d hit a few lean months again before the spring planting rush started. Maybe by summer he’d be eating more than a crockpot of chili for a week. Maybe he’d even be able to afford to see a movie in the theater and reactivate his streaming services.
So many pipe dreams.
Maybe one of them could come true.
After filling Bruno’s dog dish, Joel prepared his bowl of chili, sprinkling the top with the corn chips and grated cheese he’d splurged on. Slumped on the sofa, he aimed the remote control at the TV, but navigating the paltry, free offerings of his HDTV antenna was uninspiring. Sighing, he turned it off.
As he reached for his laptop and powered it on, he knew he should open his latest manuscript and start adding more words to where he left off. But he also knew he wasn’t going to do that. He had another plan for his evening, and he almost hated himself for it. Chili spread over his tongue in spicy bursts of flavor as he logged into Facebook and typed a name into the search bar.
He allowed himself to do this every six months or so. A few times he’d even let his mouse linger over the Facebook messenger icon before he hastily closed down the screen and shoved his computer away. This time, he wasn’t even tempted by that button. No, tonight he planned to torture himself with Casey’s photos again.
There.
Casey and a tall, good-looking black guy who was obviously his boyfriend. They both wore tuxedoes and had their arms around each other. Big grins spread across their stupidly handsome faces, glittering like the New York skyline behind them.
Was it taken on top of the Empire State Building or someplace else? Joel didn’t know. He’d never gone anywhere but Sunset Beach, North Carolina, once with his mom before she’d died. He’d just been a little kid. He still remembered the feeling of the waves crashing over his toes and the sucking sand beneath his feet. Eventually, he’d stood in one spot long enough that the waves had left him in a hole, mired deep enough that his mom, laughing, had to come tug him out.
Joel clicked to the next picture. He’d seen it before, but he wanted to see it again.
It was Casey and the same guy—tagged as Theo Frasier—dancing at someone’s wedding. He didn’t think it was theirs. Surely Becca would have told him if Casey had gotten married. Because while Becca didn’t keep up with Casey per se, she did keep up with RJ, and RJ was in several pictures on Facebook with Casey, so obviously they were still in touch.
And how had that happened, anyway? How hadhisgroup—his band—fallen apart like that? And why had everyone but him seemed to go on to do just fine? Even Becca, now his closest friend, had her life together a thousand times over compared to him. Not that Casey had been part of the band, really. But he might as well have been. He was always there, every practice, staring up at them, his head moving to the beat and his eyes gleaming with fannish adoration.
God, Joel missed that. Even if he’d never deserved it, he’dlivedfor that look in Casey’s eyes. A huff from his feet reminded him that Bruno gazed at him adoringly now, but he was just a dog. He’d gaze at anyone who fed him with the same devotion. Casey had been…Casey. And Joel had flown high as a kite on his gaze, even if he’d always been too afraid to admit what that meant.
Speaking of what it meant…
Why hadn’t he taken the risk four years ago and kissed Casey that last night they spent together on their bench before Casey left for NYU? If nothing else, he’d have felt those lush lips pressed against his own before the punch came. And what if there hadn’t been a punch at all? What if Casey had kissed him back? After all, he looked so fucking comfortable kissing this Theo Frasier.
Joel clicked to that picture next.
In it, Casey and Theo kissed playfully in front of a small Christmas tree. Half of Casey’s mother’s body was visible at the edge of the shot, and Casey’s tiny aunt, Courtney, stood on a chair behind them giving bunny ears and grinning widely.
The picture was clearly taken in New York City in a fancy hotel room and not Casey’s parents’ new house—the gleaming, shining, ridiculously big place Joel had driven by out of curiosity at least a half dozen times. The house that was actually right across the lake from his own property. He could see their bright, back windows glowing in the darkness right now if he went to his bedroom and looked out.
Joel stared at the picture and shook his head, beating himself up for wanting so much that he couldn’t have.
Casey kissed this man—this obviously wealthy, well-connected man—in front of his parents in their super upper-class hotel room, decorated expensively for the holidays, while his accepting aunt stood behind them—literally.Thatwas Casey’s life now. That was the kind of man Casey got to be.
And all the while, back home in Knoxville, across the wrong side of the lake, Joel was alone. He’d dealt with his father’s stroke alone. Ran Vreeland’s Home and Garden alone. And admitted his gayness alone. He’d done it all—faced his fears, dealt with his anger, and endured the endlessly looping sense of betrayal—alone.
Bruno jumped up on the sofa beside him and snuffled at Joel’s almost empty bowl of chili. Joel must have been hungrier than he realized if he’d eaten that much without noticing and despite his heartsick jealousy. Bruno’s jowls dripped with slobber.
“I know. I’m a sad sack,” Joel muttered as he let Bruno lick up the last of the chili. “Wah, wah, wah. I tell you what, Bruno. It’s better to be alone than…”
He had no idea.
Snapping the laptop shut, he closed his eyes. The truth was he didn’t want to be alone and never had, but he knew he didn’t get to be friends with Casey Stevens either. That wasn’t how the world worked.
Not today anyway.
