Part 1
I hate weddings.
They're long, they're stuffy, they're expensive, and even though people spend tens of thousands of dollars trying to throw a wedding that “represents them as a couple”, they're all pretty much the same.
So, as you can imagine, I wasn't in the best of moods when I deboarded my plane in the Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport and began my long walk to the rental car counter.
One of my fraternity brothers from college was finally marrying his long-time girlfriend. They'd been together for years, six if I had the math right. When they first started hooking up sophomore year, we all thought it would implode before finals, but now they'd survived his stint in law school, her stint working nights as an ER nurse, and, oh yeah, a whole-ass pandemic. So honestly, props to the happy couple.
To celebrate, they were having a destination summer wedding on Mackinac Island, a tiny resort island off the northern coast of Michigan. Three days of blue water, clear skies, and bright futures.
I was miserable.
It didn't help that, up until a few weeks ago, I was supposed to be here with my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend. She was my girlfriend when we got the invitations. Hell, she was my girlfriend when we booked the flights. But at some point between making travel arrangements and doing the actual traveling, she'd had a change of heart.
And a change of boyfriends.
At first, I thought I'd just bail. I'd cancelled my hotel room almost immediately and I was going to cancel the flight, but I'd been cheap and booked the non-refundable ticket, so I'd have to eat the cost and take a travel credit, which I didn’t really want to do. So, after a few days, I’d cooled off enough to decide I would still go. After all, these were some of my closest friends from college, and I'd feel like a dick for missing their big day because of my dumb problems.
Unfortunately, by the time I'd had this breakthrough of personal growth and maturity, the hotel was booked full.
Oops.
Lucky for me, I knew my buddy Marcus was going, so I'd called him up to see if I could crash in his room.
“Yeah, man! That shouldn't be a problem. I think we booked a double anyway. Let me just check with Sam and see if he's okay with it.”
Sam was Marcus’s boyfriend. I'd never met him. In college, Marcus dated girls, but one day I saw on Instagram that Marcus had a boyfriend and, well, that was that. It was a surprise, to say the least, but he seemed happy, so…good for him.
“Yeah, he says that’s fine,” Marcus had confirmed. “We’d be glad to have you!”
“Thanks, dude, I really appreciate it.”
“Of course! And hey, I’m sorry about Ellie.”
“Thanks, man. I guess I’ll see you soon.”
And so, with that all sorted, I uncanceled my plans, packed a suitcase, and ended up here, loading my bags into the trunk of a rented hatchback and setting the GPS for Mackinac Island.
-- -- --
It was a trek to the island, about five hours by car.
To make matters worse, it was five hours through the middle of nowhere. A few scenic areas – a generous term – broke up what was otherwise 300 miles of mundane open land. Add that to the time I’d already spent that morning flying in from Dallas, and I was an absolute zombie by the time I parked in Mackinaw City and boarded the ferry.
I texted Marcus as the ferry chugged slowly across Lake Huron.
“Should be there in 30-45,” I said.
“Sick! We just got settled in. Text me when you’re in the lobby,” he responded.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and sank back into the bench, closing my eyes. The hum of the ferry was hypnotic, lulling me, alongside the cool breeze and the fresh smell of open water, into something between a trance and a nap. We reached the island before I knew it, and I was honestly a little angry my nap had been cut short.
I disembarked the ferry and found myself hailing – no joke – a horse-drawn taxi. The island was pedestrian-only, so transportation was relegated to golf carts and this shit. The driver, an overly friendly man in his forties, loaded my suitcase onto the carriage. I climbed in beside it. He took his seat behind the horses, cracked the reins, and we set off.
I tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the place. It was uncanny, manicured to perfection, frozen in time. If I found out that in seventy-two hours I was going to be brainwashed and held here forever against my will – probably driving the carriage for the next batch of helpless suckers thinking they were here on vacation – I would not have been surprised. This was the kind of place that just begged for a good sci-fi conspiracy – you know, wormholes or government labs or body snatchers from outer space, that kind of thing – and all this obscene perfection only intensified when my carriage pulled up to the hotel.
Mission Point Resort looked like it fell out of a Victorian postcard. Nestled between a sweeping, green lawn and a backdrop of towering pine trees, the crisp white facade and glowing red roof looked somehow just as imposing as it was inviting. It was like the Overlook Hotel if you put it on a beach in the middle of summer. (I thought about how Ellie would have rolled her eyes at my movie reference, how she was mad at me for three days after I’d made us watch The Shining together. For half a second, I missed her, that sad, sour feeling bubbling up in my stomach. But then my anger settled back in, and the sadness was gone.)
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath as the carriage deposited me at the hotel entrance. I didn’t even want to think about how much money this wedding cost. I knew what it was costing me to be a guest, and even that number was nauseatingly large.
Oh well. Too late now.
-- -- --
As promised, I texted Marcus as soon as I entered the lobby.
“On my way!” he responded almost immediately.
I stood awkwardly, trying to stay out of the way of guests wandering in and out of the cavernous room. The place exuded wealth. Not just wealth, old money. The kind of money that booked trips to places like this without checking the bank account or batting an eyelash. Meanwhile, I’d flown basic economy and rented the cheapest car available to make the drive up here, saving money wherever I could. I felt so out of place.
I was relieved when, a few minutes later, Marcus came bounding into the lobby, decked in khaki shorts, an oversized tee, and his typical enthusiasm.
When he saw me, his eyes lit up and a huge smile broke out across his face. I couldn't help but smile back, forgetting my grumpiness temporarily in the presence of his unshakeable joy. He'd always been like this – a little ball of sunshine who never seemed to have a bad day, who always had a warm smile and a kind word for everyone he met. In the fraternity, we joked he was the house puppy, because he was always doing something to make us laugh and all the girls loved him.
“Drew!” He called, closing the final few feet between us and wrapping me up in a tight hug.
“Hey buddy,” I dropped my bag and wrapped my arms around him, a wave of relief and familiarity washing over me, taking the edge off of the long day.
“Damn, dude, you been working out?” I asked as we broke apart. “You feel bulky.”
“Maybe,” he smiled sheepishly.
I reached out and squeezed his bicep playfully. It felt dense and strong beneath my fingers, different from the fragile-feeling, bony arms I remembered. “You're holding out on us, I see.”
He laughed and rolled his eyes.
Marcus had always been a twig. He'd run cross country in high school and ran recreationally all through college, doing at least one marathon a year. All this running only added to his puppy mystique. We always joked his metabolism could digest a whole horse if it wanted to. After college, he moved to Denver and traded in running for rock climbing. I think that finally put some muscle on him.
“You look good, too, man. You look strong,” he smiled, his eyes quickly scanning up and down.
“Thanks, dude. I've been trying to keep it up. Hard to when I sit on my ass all day,” I shrugged.
“I know what you mean. Can I help with your stuff? I can show you to the room.”
I protested as he took my suitcase off the floor and began to wheel it down the hallway, but he didn't listen, so I followed after him, backpack slung over my shoulder.
“What time did you guys get in?” I asked as we stepped onto the elevator.
“Like one-thirty or something,” he answered as he pushed the button for the second floor.
“Dang, early day.”
“Tell me about it, I think we left my apartment at 4:30 this morning to make our flight. I'm exhausted,” he laughed.
I looked over at him. He didn't look exhausted. His olive skin carried the same sunkissed glow it always had – an enviable perk of his half-Lebanese heritage. He'd grown out his hair a bit, enough so that it started to curl on the top, though he had it cropped short on the sides. He looked great. Stronger but somehow just as young as he had in college. Like he hadn't aged, he’d only become a better version of himself.
It made me painfully aware of my deflating muscles, of the soft padding that had begun to cover my chest and belly since college. I tried to keep in shape, I really did, but with work and a relationship and, I don’t know, life, it became surprisingly hard to find the time.
“What time does this cocktail hour start?” I asked.
“Seven o'clock. I think Sam and I were gonna grab a burger or something at the hotel bar beforehand if you want to join.”
“Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks.” My stomach rumbled at the mention of food. It was just after 5:00 pm, and I became suddenly and painfully aware of how little I’d had to eat all day.
A few minutes later, we stepped off the elevator, padded down the long, carpeted hallway, and entered the hotel room. It was a bit on the small side, with two double beds crammed against one wall, a dresser and tv shoved against the other. On the plus side, it was beautiful – the furniture was a rich brown wood, a leather armchair rested in one corner, and the bathroom looked fresh and modernized. A large balcony overlooked the water, the door to which was open, letting in a warm, summer breeze.
“Babe, I found him!” Marcus called as we stepped into the room.
Sam entered from the patio.
I'd seen him before in Marcus's Instagram photos, but those pictures hadn't quite prepared me for the sheer bulk of the man standing in front of me. He was at least 6’2”, with broad shoulders, a bulky chest, and arms the size of Marcus's thighs. He had brown hair, an immaculately groomed beard, and the general aura of a man who should be chopping firewood somewhere in the mountains.
I wasn't a small guy by any means, but this dude was downright imposing.
That is, until he flashed me the warmest smile and greeted me with the voice of an NPR radio host.
“Hi Drew, it's good to meet you,” he crooned.
I shook his hand, hoping he wouldn't crush me.
“You too, Sam. I've been hoping we'd get the chance to meet for ages! Glad it finally happened.”
“Same. I'm so excited to meet Marcus’s friends. I've met a few here and there when they've passed through town, but this is the first chance to see anyone together.”
“It should be a good time. And, hey, thank you so much for letting me stay with you guys. After the breakup, paying for a room solo was just gonna be too much. So I hope I'm not ruining your romantic getaway or anything.”
“It's a straight wedding,” Marcus said from behind me. “That’s hardly gonna get us in the mood.”
“Okay, fair enough,” I laughed.
“It’s really nothing,” Sam assured me. “I thought it sounded kind of fun. Besides, Marcus and I spend enough time together back home, this is a good chance to make it feel like a real friend trip.”
“Well then,” I said jokingly, dropping my backpack on the bed closest to the door. “Happy to help.”
“Want to freshen up for a sec and then grab a bite to eat?” Marcus asked. “I know Sam and I are starving.”
“Yeah, for sure,” I nodded enthusiastically. “Just, uh, gimme a minute to hit the bathroom. It’s been a long day stuck in the car. Need a pit stop.”
“Gross,” Marcus laughed, rolling his eyes.
“Man knows his priorities,” Sam chuckled.
“Marcus, you would literally announce to the whole fraternity house every time you had to take a shit,” I quipped back.
“What??” Sam asked, brows raising, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You cannot prove that!” He yelled back at me. “He can’t prove that,” he repeated to Sam.
“You’ll just have to take me at my word, I guess,” I smirked, walking towards the bathroom.
“I like this guy already,” I heard Sam say as I shut the door behind me.
-- -- --
We got back to the room a little after six o'clock. The bar had been refreshingly expeditious getting us our food, and now I felt warm and happy, satiated after the hot food and good conversation.
I’d learned a little more about Sam while we ate. He was from a small city in Missouri – which explained his cornfed, farm boy physique – and moved to Denver for work. He was an ICU nurse, of all things. I had trouble picturing the guy in scrubs, but it sort of fit his gentle personality. He'd moved to Denver a few years ago on a travel contract and decided to put down roots. He liked dogs, read Jane Austen, and, from what I could tell, was totally smitten with Marcus.
“Jesus,” I said, yawning. “I hoped food would wake me up, but I think I just want to go to sleep even more now.”
Marcus laughed. “I don’t want to hear it, we’ve been up like twenty-four hours already.”
“We have not,” Sam said. “Just…fifteen.”
“Still too many,” I chimed in, laughing.
“Well, I think I’m gonna rinse off before I start getting ready,” Marcus said. “I need to wash the airplane off me before we go to this thing tonight.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I laughed.
Marcus went to the chest of drawers and retrieved what looked like a small pair of black briefs. I noticed Sam had started unbuttoning this shirt, and for some reason this felt like my cue to leave, to give them a bit of privacy in the room I was totally invading.
I hadn’t really thought about the logistics until now, about sharing a room with a couple for the weekend. I’d only been thinking about how we’d just be three dudes in a room, but now I realized, while that was true, they were also a couple who were bound to want a few moments of privacy. It was like the more casual, collective boyishness of it was competing with the more charged, intimate moments they were used to sharing at home. Like showering, for instance.
“I, uh, actually think I’m gonna run down for a coffee or something. I think I saw that the bar does espresso,” I said, making up the first excuse I could think of. Not that it was a lie. “You guys want anything?”
“I’m fine,” Marcus called out from the bathroom where I heard the glass door open and the water start to spray.
“I’ll take a cortado,” Sam said earnestly. He was slipping out of his shirt now, laying it on the bed and carefully folding it into a tight rectangle.
“You got it,” I said quickly and made my way to the door.
I was down the hallway and standing at the elevator before I realized I didn’t have my phone. I must have tossed it on the bed when we got back, not realizing I’d want or need it again
I sighed, shook my head, and walked back to the room.
I opened the door and stepped inside, then froze. Beside me, the bathroom door stood open, the shower running at full steam. In front of me, in the middle of the room, Sam stood, naked, folding his boxer briefs and laying them on the bed. He looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Forget something?” He asked. He seemed unfazed, unbothered by my return. Merely curious.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “My, uh, phone.”
He turned towards me, his eyes looking around the room, giving me a full view. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help it. The dude was sculpted. Strong, powerful, athletic, and masculine as hell. His chest and stomach were dusted with curls of brown hair. His thighs were like tree trunks, coiled with power and potential energy. And between his legs…well, I’d caught enough glimpses of guys in the fraternity bathroom to know he was doing well for himself. His dick was plump and heavy, hanging beneath a bush that looked just groomed enough to be respectable without sacrificing any of his rugged aesthetic.
I didn’t know why the hell I was looking, but I couldn’t pull away.
“This it?” he asked, stepping over to my bed and retrieving it from off the pillow.
“Uh, yeah,” I nodded.
He walked towards me, holding out the phone. I took it, choking out a thank you, trying to keep my eyes on Sam’s face and not the rest of his body standing a couple feet in front of me.
“Don’t mention it,” he nodded.
And with that, he walked past me, into the bathroom, and joined Marcus in the shower.
-- -- --
“God, can you believe this place?” Marcus asked as we walked out onto the deck. The sun was setting, casting everything around us in a gold-orange glow. The deck faced east, greeting the approaching twilight, its purple light creeping in like fog. Around us, guests of all ages mingled, smiling and small-talking and standing at little cocktail tables draped in crisp, white linens.
“I cannot,” I answered, my voice breathy with awe. “I actually cannot.”
“Yeah, this is…insane,” Sam agreed, looking at the splendor surrounding us.
Everyone was dressed to their summer finest – linen pants, cashmere sweaters, sailor stripes. I was wearing khaki chinos and my favorite navy polo, reliving my fraternity days right down to the boating shoes. Marcus wore navy pants and a white, linen button-down, the top few buttons open, revealing smooth definition beneath. Sam split the difference between us, wearing khakis and a sky blue, linen shirt that fit him like a glove. Tufts of chest hair peeked out from his open collar, and I tried not to stare at them. Tried not to remember what all lay beneath.
We found the bar at the back corner of the deck and retrieved our drinks – an Old Fashioned for Sam, rosé for Marcus, a gin and tonic for me. I laughed a little, internally, at how perfectly our drinks embodied each of us. Of course Sam was whiskey, stout and strong; Marcus was rosé, light and refreshing and just sweet enough to set you at ease; and me, gin and tonic, neutral, standard, somewhere in the middle.
We claimed an empty table near the railing and stood, letting the evening breeze whisper around us. It seemed that the general flow of the evening was to claim a table and let the happy come to us. Eventually we saw them, two tables over, talking to an elderly couple we presumed to be extended family.
“Holy shit,” Marcus muttered. “Beckham looks good.”
He said it with such earnestness, not like he was checking him out, more like how I’d reacted to seeing Marcus in the lobby this afternoon. We were all scoping each other out, seeing who’d changed since college, and how.
I turned to look.
Marcus was right.
Beckham was glowing – his skin tan, his honey-blond hair perfectly coiffed. His teeth glistened as smiled, chatting politely, working the crowd. His shoulders were broad, accentuated perfectly by the tailored shirt he wore. Beside him, Olivia was radiant, her golden hair falling in perfect, graceful waves. They were like a real life Barbie and Ken, too pretty, too perfect. I suddenly felt a knot form in my stomach, twisting beneath a belly that suddenly felt pudgy and soft and embarrassing. Instinctively, I sucked it in.
“Look who it is!” Beckham yelled excitedly as he approached our table. “My boys!”
“Beck!” Marcus called, rushing to hug him.
“Hey bro!” I called. Beckham threw one arm around each of us, squeezing with enough fervor to assure us our loudmouthed, beer shotgunning fraternity brother still existed beneath this perfectly polished exterior.
“How the hell are you guys?” he asked, breaking away.
We chatted with him for a bit, catching him up to speed on our lives over the last few years. I admittedly took a backseat to Marcus, who had more to share – not to mention a boyfriend to introduce. Sam looked attentive and amicable as Marcus chatted, the perfect date for an event like this. At some point, Marcus made a joke and Sam laughed – but I admit, I didn’t hear what it was. I was too busy watching Sam’s hand. It had found the small of Marcus’s back and rested there gently, supportively, like he was simply reminding Marcus of his presence even while Marcus turned on the charm.
It was…surprisingly tender.
To see this big, hulking man defer to Marcus, letting him take the spotlight, it felt strange. And it felt strange that it was strange. It shouldn’t have been so surprising to see this towering guy being so meek and gentle, and yet it was. It warmed something in me, eased something I didn’t know had been tense.
“Isn’t that right, Drew?” I heard Beckham say.
“What?” I asked, my attention snapping back to the conversation.
“I was just saying how grateful I am you’re still here after what happened with Ellie. I know that sucked, but…it means a lot you’re still here, dude.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding my head. “Wouldn’t miss it. Grateful these guys are letting me crash with them.”
“Dude, we’re glad to have you,” Marcus grinned, punching me gently in the shoulder.
Eventually, Beckham and Olivia wandered away, continuing their diplomatic tour of the patio. Sam, Marcus, and I resumed our original positions around the tiny cocktail table, when Marcus leaned forward conspiratorially.
“Holy shit, he looks gorgeous.”
I laughed, trying not to choke on the gin I’d just sipped.
“That is one beautiful man,” Sam agreed, looking over Marcus’s shoulder to where the happy couple had found their next guests.
“They look really good,” I agreed. “He’s definitely glown up a bit since school.”
“God, you can say that again,” Marcus laughed. “Not that he was lacking much back then.”
“Wait,” I paused, my eyes flicking quickly to Sam and back. “Were you into Beckham?”
Marcus flashed a mischievous smile and downed the last bit of wine in his glass.
“He may have been a key player in me figuring out I like dudes, yeah.”
“Honestly, who could blame you?” Sam asked, his attention returning to the table. “At least we know you have good taste.”
“Wait,” I repeated, shaking my head, stifling a laugh, “how did I never figure this out?”
“Honestly, dude? I have no idea,” Marcus laughed. “But I’m relieved you didn’t. It’s not like I wanted to get caught checking you guys out in the showers.”
Sam flashed an amused, understanding smile while I tried not to choke on a bit of spit I’d just accidentally inhaled.
“Wait, so, uh…” Sam asked, leaning his head in, “you’ve seen the groom in all his glory? How is it?”
“It does not disappoint. Olivia is a lucky lady,” Marcus smirked.
Sam just nodded approvingly and finished his drink.
“Anyone want another round? My treat.” He looked at me and winked.
“Uh, sure. Thanks,” I sputtered, catching my breath.
“It’s an open bar, you dork,” Marcus rolled his eyes. “But yes, please.”
Sam leaned down and kissed Marcus on the cheek. “Be right back.”
And I stood there, draining my glass, trying to process what had just happened. I had always figured gay guys were more…open about their attractions to other dudes, but I’d never seen it in action. I couldn’t help but compare that little exchange to my relationship with Ellie, where any mention of me being attracted to another girl, past or present, would’ve led to an evening of avoidance, argument, and an absolute ass-chewing as soon as we got back to the room. But Sam didn’t seem to mind Marcus gushing over another guy. In fact, it almost seemed as if he liked it.
“You guys are, uh,” I spoke, unsure what I wanted to say, “really good together.”
Marcus smiled. “Thanks! I think so. It’s been really good. Really…easy.”
“I’m happy for you. Seriously. I know I might not have said this back in the day, but…you’re my friend, and nothing you could do would change that. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks Drew,” Marcus said, his expression open and sincere. I could tell my words meant a lot, and it made me feel warm to finally get the chance to speak them aloud. Although that warmth could have partially been the gin.
About that time, Sam returned, his hands full of glassware.
“Drew,” he said, handing me another tumbler full of fizzy gin.
“Dearest,” he said, depositing a wine glass in front of Marcus.
“Drink,” he smiled, raising his glass. We all raised our glasses and took a drink, the music swaying us just a little more as the first round kicked in.
“So tell me, babe,” Sam said, leaning into Marcus’s arm. “Did you ever check out ole Drew over here in those frat house showers?”
My cheeks instantly warmed, and I felt myself pull in my stomach for the second time that night, but something about Sam’s tone was playful and disarming. It was dizzying, the speed at which they switched between acting like bros and acting like boyfriends. It was hard for me to keep up.
“Maybe,” Marcus smiled.
I looked at him, my eyebrows raised. Of course we’d seen each other in the showers back then. It was a communal shower room, a tile cube with three shower heads in an eighty-year-old building; it was impossible not to see who was in there with you. Marcus and I had shared the shower a dozen times. Hell, maybe a hundred over those four years. But I’d never really stopped to consider he’d ever looked on purpose.
“And?” Sam asked, swirling his drink casually around his glass.
“He’s got nothing to be shy about either.”
-- -- --
The bathroom fan hummed overhead as I rinsed the toothpaste from my mouth. My reflection stared back at me, a little pink in the cheeks, a little glassy in the eyes. I was still riding the cocktail hour buzz – the blend of gin and starlight and something else I couldn’t quite place. Something that started earlier, when Sam handed me my wallet with his whole naked body just there. Unapologetic. Solid. Unbothered.
Something that had definitely escalated over drinks when Sam and Marcus talked about checking guys out in the shower while I was right there with them. Open. Honest. Unflinching. It was the most uncensored conversation I’d been privy to since the fraternity days when guys would brag about getting laid after a party, only this was way more honest. There was nothing boastful or performative about it, they were just…talking. Sharing the attractions, discussing their experience. And honestly? It was kind of refreshing.
I toweled off my face and stared into the mirror, reflecting on moments from the day. Sam brushing past me to join Marcus in the shower. Marcus complimenting my dick at the table. There was something so radically authentic about them. Here was a couple who didn’t try to sanitize their relationship, to be proper and polite around friends, to act like they didn’t want to rip each other’s clothes off when they had the chance. Every girl I’d dated had tried to act like having sex with me was some dirty secret she’d rather not acknowledge when it wasn’t actively happening. But these two? They wore their sexuality like a badge of honor.
Like they were proud of it.
Not that they shouldn’t be. I’m sure when you land someone like Sam…or hell, even Marcus…you would be proud of the fact that’s who you got to go to bed with. Not that I knew. I mean, I didn’t really know what made one guy hot over another, right? Take Sam and Marcus, for instance. They’re both wildly different physically, but they’re both good looking dudes. I’m sure they’d both be absolute stunners. So what do I know?
I shook my head, trying to flush out the last of the alcohol and turned off the bathroom light. When I opened the door to the hotel room, I caught it: a flicker of movement. Too fast to be noticed, too sharp to be nothing.
Marcus and Sam were in bed – the one closest to the balcony – propped up against the pillows. They were right where they’d been when I’d left for the bathroom, still shirtless, half-tangled in the white sheets. But they weren’t as casual as before. There was a space between them now, an energy buzzing, that wasn’t there a second ago, like they pulled apart too quickly. Like they were caught.
I froze in the doorway.
Marcus glanced at me, then grinned like he always does, like nothing ever phases him. “Feel better?”
Sam just looked at me, quiet and unreadable. His face didn’t flinch. His chest rose and fell, smooth and steady.
“I do,” I nodded. I raised my hands a little, a reflex. “And, uh, hey, don’t mind me.” It came out light, like a joke. But my skin prickled. I was aware of the heat in my cheeks. The way the sheets slid across Sam’s hips as he shifted slightly. The way Marcus’s hand still hadn’t appeared above the covers, probably touching something I shouldn’t imagine.
Why was I imagining it?
Marcus chuckled, warm and unbothered. “You’re good.”
I nodded and moved to the other bed, the one closest to the door. I stripped my shirt off quickly, all too aware of my own body now – how soft I’d gotten around the edges, how my chest used to sit higher, how I haven’t shaved in a few days and the hair on my stomach is coming in darker than I remember. I tried not to look at them again, and I was relieved when Sam reached over and turned out the light.
“Night, man,” Sam said softly.
“Goodnight,” I whispered back.
I shuffled under the covers and lay flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, except for the low hum of the AC and the occasional rustle of sheets from their bed.
Marcus whispered something I couldn’t make out. Sam responded with something even quieter.
I closed my eyes.
But sleep didn't come right away. Not with the sound of Marcus’s voice still echoing faintly. Not with the hum of something still buzzing in the air. Not with the tug of a question I didn’t know how to ask, still swelling in my chest.
To be continued..
