He’s on the beach. That isn’t the beginning or the end of the story, but it’s the only fact Zac is certain of. They were in Georgia – no, Tennessee. Maybe Alabama. Now she’s in Georgia, he figures, and he’s on the beach.
The hotel is pretty cheap, not because he doesn’t have the money but because he thinks it’s what he deserves. The sign out front says “EXTENDED STAY” and that’s as close to a plan as he has.
He only has the one suitcase so it isn’t long before all his shirts start to smell like sweat, salt and beer. He walks to the first tacky tourist store he finds and buys a new wardrobe; the Hawaiian prints and tie dyes make him feel like he belongs and doesn’t belong all at the same time.
Zac’s new routine is simple. He begins the day with soggy toast, runny eggs and lukewarm beer in the cafe-slash-bar attached to the lobby. Once he’s got some sway in his steps, he pulls a neon plastic chair – buy one get one free – right into the edge of the surf. He buys cheap paperbacks and sits under the sun reading them all day. The pages get wet and sandy sometimes and the words start to run away. He makes up his own stories to fill in the gaps.
At night he lays in bed peeling his sunburns and wondering when anyone is going to come looking for him. He knows they figure he’ll either come back or he won’t, and they don’t really care which one. It’s settling and unsettling at the same time to know that he could just disappear into ocean and they probably would never know. No one would miss him.
Except maybe, just maybe, one person.
He loses count of how long he’s been there. Maybe two weeks, when finally someone plants their chair next to his, blocking out the early afternoon sun. It’s him. Of course it’s him. The only person who would come looking.
“Carrick.”
“You can’t hide from your life forever,” he says and Zac knows that he means him. He can’t hide from him forever.
“I wasn’t trying to.” It’s a lie.
“I know,” Carrick says. He means he knows it’s a lie. He means he knows it all. He always does.
They sit in silence for a long time. Zac tosses his book down when the tide comes in and watches it wash away when the water rolls back out. He thinks about messages in bottles and what sort of cry for help his might contain. Is this a cry for help, running away like he has?
He has no messages. He has nothing. He’s empty, void, except for one small feeling growing where he guesses his heart might be. Another beer will shut that up.
Carrick wiggles his toes in the sand and water and Zac mimics him. He rubs his sandy toes on Carrick’s and watches him squirm a little in his chair. It isn’t a bad squirm. He settles back into the chair with the kind of contended sigh that always follows a little flirtation between old friends.
Flirtation. He tries not to dwell on that word and all that it implies but its too late. His brain is already turning the word around and around, looking for all the different things it could mean. None of them make his stomach or that spot in his ribcage feel any better.
They sit on the beach in silence like that for a long time. It might have been hours, but Zac has mostly lost the sense to tell. He stopped wearing a watch or charging his cell phone after only a few days. The tide is low and all evidence of their foot games in the sand has been washed away. Carrick stands first and folds up his chair, holds his hand out to help Zac up.
He stumbles. The parts that don’t ache feel like jelly and he heaves and pitches toward Carrick. With a strength that surprises Zac, Carrick takes hold of him and somehow keeps them both upright and mostly steady. His hands are soft and thin and Zac likes the way they feel wrapped around his back, guiding him toward the hotel. His arm feels like lead when he lifts it to point toward his room.
Carrick reaches his hand into Zac’s shorts to find the key card and he blushes at the contact. His hand lingers a little longer than it needs to and both boys look away as quickly as they can. Zac presses his head against the door and waits for the click of the lock.
He falls into the room but Carrick is there to catch him, tiny but strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling their bodies together. He blushes more, his damp shirt pressing against Carrick’s and their bodies so close he can feel how fast the other boy is breathing. His own breaths are shallow and fast and it’s starting to scare him.
They’ve been this close before but they don’t talk about it. Just little moments – their eyes getting caught on each other, hands running down arms too long, passing too close in hallways. Just a moment. Then it’s over.
This moment doesn’t end.
Something in Zac’s head just snaps and he digs his fingernails into Carrick’s arms, afraid that his friend will run. It’s a stupid fear and he knows it but he holds on anyway. Then his lips are on Carrick’s, pressing hard against the other boy’s surprise. He’s embarrassed by how chapped they are but Carrick doesn’t seem to mind. Their tongues duel for dominance, neither boy sure exactly how this particular dance is supposed to go.
Zac wins and his still unsteady legs guide them to the bed. They tumble onto the stiff mattress and scratchy sheets, a mess of limbs and damp clothing. They lie for seconds, minutes or hours – Zac can’t tell anymore, not when he isn’t sitting and facing the sunset over the ocean – until Carrick finally pulls away from the kisses.
“When was the last time you showered?” he asks, his nose wrinkled up in a way that Zac thinks is absolutely adorable.
“A few days, unless salt water counts.”
“Come with me.”
He’s standing, pulling Zac toward the tiny bathroom. They step into the tub together and wiggle out of their sticky clothes. Zac leans back against the shower wall and watches his friend adjust the knobs and fiddle with the washcloths and soap. Cool water pours down over him, a welcome feeling on his perpetually sunburnt skin.
They wash each other. Zac’s hands aren’t as steady as Carrick’s but he can tell that he ought to return the favor. They’re like kids, covering each other in soap and lathering their hair into ridiculous new ‘dos. When the water washes them clean of all the suds, they are left with nothing between them but air. Zac can’t hide as much as he’s tempted to. He can back himself into the corner, but Carrick will only follow him. He could run from the shower, but he’d rather be in the corner.
He’d rather be closer.
He slides his wet body against Carrick’s, enjoying the way it feels. Carrick’s skin is smoother than his own and he revels in the feeling of it. He runs his hands up and down Carrick’s chest, pauses to feel his heartbeat. It speeds up and his own matches it, beat for beat.
Carrick steps out of the shower and offers Zac his hand. Zac likes the way their hands fit together and he focuses on the feel of it as Carrick leads him back to the bed, not even pausing to dry off. They fall back into the bed, back onto the sandy sheets but barely take notice of it. Zac can’t help placing tiny kisses all over Carrick’s face and neck. He tastes and smells like soap and just… Carrick. It’s cheesy but it’s true and he likes it. There’s always been something so different, so distinct about his best friend.
His best friend. It isn’t Taylor or Isaac or Kate and it hasn’t been for a long time.
“You’re my best friend,” he mumbles, and realizes how stupid it sounds but Carrick’s chuckle doesn’t sound mocking.
“You know you’re mine, too.”
“I’m yours?” Zac breathes out, looking up.
“Of course.”
It means more than just the words themselves. It means everything. He kisses that perfect spot just above Carrick’s collarbone and scoots closer until their bodies are touching all over, warm flesh already slick with sweat in the room’s heat. It shouldn’t be normal to be so close but Zac can’t imagine anything that would feel more right than being this close to Carrick. He’s thought about it before, in brief and fleeting moments he’s imagined their bodies touching, and the real thing is so much better than any of the thoughts and hopes he’s tried to pretend weren’t happening.
Now it’s all happening.
Carrick sighs into Zac’s hair and Zac tries not to giggle at the way it tickles his skin just a little. He presses a few more kisses against Carrick’s chest, then trails the kisses up his neck, coming to rest right in the crook of his neck. He can feel Carrick growing hard and he knows he is too. Their bodies are just too close, it was unavoidable. There’s nowhere to hide, nothing to deny now.
He pulls back to look in Carrick’s eyes, trying to find the answers he wants without having to ask the questions. Carrick nods just a little, an almost imperceptible movement. Zac starts to ask if he’s a mind reader but thinks better of it.
His heart is beating fast but his movements are slow. He wants to savor this. Zac runs his hands up and down Carrick’s chest, just feeling the smooth, warm skin. They kiss slowly, gently, and with all the comfort and ease of old lovers. Carrick is waiting for Zac to make his move; Zac thinks he’d be just as content to lay there and do nothing at all. But he’s not going to pass up what he’s been trying to deny he’s been dreaming of.
With shaky hands, he works his way down Carrick’s chest, taking time to play in the little trail of hair leading down. The hair is thicker, coarser than his own; it’s these little, subtle differences that he wants to notice and memorize. Their bodies are similar and yet not. These thoughts in mind, he takes a deep breath and runs his hands down the length of Carrick’s penis, feeling each groove and vein and how they differ from his own. He grasps it lightly, tries to mirror the movements he’d use on himself.
Carrick moans. Zac thinks it might be the best sound he’s ever heard and not just because he’s always admired (and maybe been just a little bit jealous of) his friend’s voice. But it’s because he caused it. It’s enough to make him nearly moan as well, even though Carrick’s hands are only grasping at his hips and not touching him anywhere that really ought to make his breathing accelerate.
He gains confidence and his hand speeds up, which only increases the frequency of Carrick’s moans and the way he digs his fingernails into the flesh on Zac’s hips. His own hardness is pressed painfully between them and he wiggles his hips a little, urging their bodies closer still. Carrick takes the hint, and takes Zac in his hand. Their movements are a mirror image now, almost battling but without any real sense of urgency.
Zac rolls onto his back, needing to give up and let someone else take control. Everything had been spirally out of control and although this vacation of sorts was a way to get a hold on things again, he trusts Carrick. He trusts him enough to relinquish his delicate grasp on things to Carrick, and only Carrick. He crawls on top of Zac tentatively, still grasping at his hips as their bodies slide around. Zac rolls his hips upwards, pushing against Carrick’s.
It’s needy but it isn’t demanding. He just has to be closer. Carrick wants it too, Zac can tell. He’s grinding, too, and the way he scrunches up his face is only turning Zac on more. He digs his fingernails into Carrick’s back and watches the boy squirm above him.
They roll around for hours, just touching, just trying to learn each inch of each others’ bodies. Zac gets the feeling that Carrick has done something like this before, thinks he even remembers a drunken half-revelation along those lines, but it’s all new to him. It feels like coming home and it makes him feel like a teenager again.
He comes, and it’s a surprise as much to him as it is to Carrick. The friction of their bodies pressed together, tangled in the sheets, is just too much and everything is all white light and heat, then sticky. Carrick’s eyes go wide for a minute, then he grinds harder, faster and soon he’s shaking and trembling too.
Morning light is starting to stream in through the windows when they finally sleep. Carrick grabs a towel form the floor to wipe up their mess but neither of them even suggests a shower. Neither of them really say anything; Zac can’t think of any words that wouldn’t just sound stupid compared to what they’ve shared. So he doesn’t say a thing, just falls asleep with his cheek pressed against Carrick’s and a smile on his face.
When they wake mid-morning, Zac showers quickly; this time, alone. Carrick follows his lead and when they’ve both dressed, they resume the routine Zac has established. This time it’s a little less lonely. They hold hands under the table and the waitress raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Zac orders a soda instead of beer; Carrick has a strawberry milkshake.
Zac doesn’t take a book to the beach this time. He sits in his chair with Carrick by his side, the cool water rushing up on their legs. Zac can’t resist running his hand up and down the other boy’s arm, just a gentle touch. Testing the waters. Carrick doesn’t flinch away and he snakes his hand down his arm, until the two are holding hands.
When high tide comes in, they grab their chairs and run, giggling as they go. Then, with an evil gleam in his eyes, Carrick grabs Zac by the hand and drags him back into the water, shoving him down into the crashing waves. Zac struggles back to his feet and kicks them around wildly, sending salty water crashing all over Carrick. If he felt like a teenager the night before, he feels like a kid now. He likes it.
It’s the same routine for days. Breakfast – now minus the beer – in the cafe, then hours lounging on the beach. Sometimes they read, sometimes they play in the water, sometimes they just sit in the sand and talk about nothing. When the sun goes down and its so dark they can barely see each others faces or that spot where the water begins, they go back to the hotel room and lay in bed touching.
On the fourth day, Zac thinks he’s ready. They’re in the tiny shower, trying in vain to scrub off all the sand. Carrick caresses Zac’s arms gently with the washcloth, trying to sooth the peeling sunburn. Zac doesn’t care if it hurts as long as it’s Carrick touching him. He pulls the washcloth out of his hand and closes the gap between their bodies, shoving Carrick again the shower wall and kissing him hard.
Carrick’s mouth falls open in surprise and Zac takes the chance to slip his tongue inside. Their bodies are still soapy and they slip around a bit, struggling to find a handhold on each other’s skin. In only moments, heat is coursing through Zac’s body and causing him to harden against Carrick’s leg. Carrick’s own growing hardness is pushing against Zac’s stomach and he reaches down to touch it, to give his friend some relief.
He groans into Zac’s mouth and it turns Zac on even more. He’s ready for this. He’s certain of it. He slides his hand off Carrick’s dick and pulls Carrick’s hand behind him, urging him on. Carrick pulls back from the kiss and raises an eyebrow. Zac nods.
It hurts more than Zac expected but he won’t ask Carrick to stop. This is what he wants, what he needs. Zac has to brace himself with a soapy hand on Carrick’s hip to keep his balance. He leans his head forward and rests it against Carrick’s chest. He’s trembling, too, more than Zac expected.
When Carrick adds a second finger, Zac thinks he might pass out. He’s already seeing stars behind his eyes and he wonders if he could come just from this. He doesn’t want to find out. He needs more still.
He pulls back from Carrick and quickly moves their bodies around, rearranges them so that Carrick is behind Zac now. He plants his feet as firmly against the shower floor as he can and his hands press against the tile wall so hard that his knuckles turn white.
“Are you sure?” Carrick whispers in Zac’s ear, his breath tickling Zac’s skin.
“Never been more sure of anything,” Zac replies and squeezes his eyes shut.
Carrick closes the gap between their bodies slowly, his wet chest pressed tight against Zac’s back as he eases himself into Zac’s tight hole. Zac can’t stop the low groan that escapes his lips. Carrick matches it with a groan of his own as he begins to thrust, slowly at first but building speed when he’s certain that Zac doesn’t want him to stop.
Neither of them last long. It’s all too new to Zac and it’s more than he can handle; he grabs his own dick and jerks himself off while Carrick thrusts, trying to match his pace so they come at the same time. His own load splashes against the shower wall just seconds after he feels Carrick’s fill him.
They collapse against the shower wall, still entwined together. Zac can feel his knees shaking and he’s not sure he’ll be able to stand much longer; he’s pretty sure Carrick feels the same way. Carrick sighs and loosens his grasp on Zac’s waist, slowly slips out of him and leans against the other wall.
The two are left needing another shower, but they don’t have the energy and the water’s gone ice cold anyway.
Zac stumbles out of the shower, barely pauses to wipe a towel over his body, and collapses into the bed. Carrick follows a few seconds later, wrapping his arms around Zac and pulling their damp bodies together again. Neither boy says a word.
When Zac wakes in the morning, he’s alone in the bed. His stomach turns in fear and he wipes the sleep out of his eyes as he looks around for Carrick. He isn’t there.
Before he can really start to panic, he hears the door unlock and there’s Carrick, his arms piled full of folded clothes. He looks sheepishly at Zac and sets the clothing down on top of the dresser.
“I’m not even going to tell you how much money I spent doing that, or how far I had to walk to find a laundromat,” he says.
Zac doesn’t know what to say so he just smiles and sighs. He feels kind of silly to know that he needs Carrick to take care of him like that. But he does, it seems. He feels so helpless and he knows Carrick can see it.
He doesn’t even look at Zac, just picks up their suitcases and begins stuffing the clothes into them. Zac sighs. He pulls himself from the bed and starts to tidy the room, picking up all the trash and things that he’s accumulated during his stay. It feels silly but at least he’s doing something so he doesn’t feel like a child being babysat.
Zac.”
He flinches a little, even though Carrick’s voice is soft and soothing as always.
“Yeah?” he says slowly, looking up to see Carrick coming close to him, reaching out to touch his arm.
“We can’t stay here forever,” he says, almost whispering. “I’m sorry. You know we can’t.”
Zac tries not to react when Carrick’s hand brushes against his arm, tries not to curl up inside himself as his best friend wraps his arms around him. He knew this day would come, and he wants desperately to be upset that it has.
But that’s stupid.
He has to go back home and start over now. He always had to; he just delayed it as long as he could. It won’t be fun, but he supposes it’s better than staying gone so long that his brothers kick him out of the band and his wife completely disowns him. He imagines she’s long gone from their house already, and he thinks he’s okay with that.
It’s being alone again now that he’s grown accustomed to Carrick’s presence that bothers him. It’s that feeling, that dread of being completely and totally alone, that makes him shiver when Carrick’s nose brushes against his face. Zac wants to forget how it feels because god only knows when he’ll feel it again.
Zac wiggles out of Carrick’s grasp and finishes packing his few belongings in silence. He’s accumulated quite a stack of books, and he tosses some of the better ones into Carrick’s suitcase. Something to remember him by when they’ve parted ways.
Once the packing is done, Carrick heads to the front desk with a wad of cash to pay off the bill. Zac shuffles down to the beach with his bags tossed over his shoulder. He needs one last look at the place where he’s made his temporary home.
He plops down onto the sand without a chair or blanket. The sand makes his legs itch and he knows he’ll regret it later, but for the time being, it doesn’t matter. He just needs to sit a while and soak in some more of this place before he’s convinced that his time there is done.
Only a few minutes pass before Carrick’s shadow descends over him. He’d know that shadow anywhere. He stands silently behind Zac for a few minutes before sitting down beside him, their bodies just barely touching.
“We have to go, Zac,” Carrick says.
Zac nods, but doesn’t speak.
Carrick sighs, but he sounds content, not upset. He fishes around in his pocket for a moment, then hands two small slips of paper to Zac.
Plane tickets.
Zac has to read the tickets three times before it sinks in. The same destination. Two tickets to Tulsa. He looks up at Carrick and smiles. It’s the kind of smile that he can even feel all the way down to his toes, and Carrick returns it in kind. Without a word they stand and gather up their bags, then walk off the beach hand in hand.
A new life, Zac thinks. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.