Page 45 of Finders Keepers
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“Wesley!” Nate burst in the front door. “Holy shit, you’ll never guess what happened.”
Silence.
The refrigerator buzzed steadily. The AC unit whirred. Then the lack of scent registered. No food, no laundry. Every day that Wesley had been here, he’d cooked or washed clothes. Nate had come to anticipate the scent of a meal or the lingering smell of laundry detergent or fabric softener when he walked in the door.
Nate ventured further into the condo. His stomach churned. His bones grew heavy, his feet leaden as he trudged through the space. The stacks of laminated cutouts that had sat on the far end of the dining room table were no longer there. The old afghan Wesley had dragged from home and had draped over one piece of furniture or another, and had snuggled under when they watched television was nowhere to be seen.
Nate halted in the doorway to Wesley’s room. His heart sank. His neck and arms turned cold.
The room was empty. Wesley’s clothes. His school stuff. The bed wasn’t made either. Another thing Nate had liked seeing every day—the way Wesley had tidied up after himself.
Wesley was gone.
Someone must have pulled his lungs from Nate’s chest and wrung them like a dishrag because gasping for air wasn’t working.
They’d both known it had to end. Wesley had school; Nate had hockey. Life had to return to normal.
But what the hell? Why now?
Why hadn’t Wesley waited, said goodbye?
After everything Nate had done. After everything they’d shared?
Not that he expected or even wanted repayment. But a goodbye wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
He’d thought they could remain friends at least. Nate had no illusions about utilizing Wesley at the club any longer, not after the sex they’d had here.
But here he was. Abandoned yet again.
Why?
There must truly be something wrong with me.
Even a closeted gay school teacher didn’t want anything to do with him after a mere few weeks of knowing him.
Well, if his mom or his dad didn’t want him, what made him think anyone else would?
Fine.
Nate had made it this far on his own, right?
He didn’t need anyone.
Nate stood in the doorway to Wesley’s room and swallowed against the boulder in his throat. The space was now void of the avalanche of clothes Wesley had brought.
A splash of turquoise caught Nate’s eye. He pulled the soft cotton that was Wesley’s favorite shirt—a blouse actually—from under the far corner of the bed.
Nate buried his face in it. The faint scent of Wesley’s deodorant and body wash, his essence, seeped into his soul and he couldn’t breathe it in deeply enough. The shirt wasn’t Nate’s to keep.
Tears slid down his cheeks and he swiped them away. Took a shuddering breath.
What the fuck was so wrong with him that no one wanted to stick around?
First Mom, then Dad. The Lumberjacks had just booted him halfway across the country.
But Wesley had come along and had embraced him with open arms. First as a stranger, then as friends, then as lovers.
