Chapter Text
On the first Monday of June, they embarked on a road trip towards nowhere.
It was late morning when they pulled out of Jake’s mom’s driveway. The sunrise above was the kind where the sky splintered into wisps of clouds and bright red bled through. The bursts of color always reminded Bradley of tangerines, of scraped knees, or the bleed of sidewalk chalk down the driveway.
He watched the sky flicker in gradients as Jake pulled onto the highway.
The final destination was set, Bradley supposed. Upon Jake’s acceptance of a job in San Francisco and Bradley’s commitment to about five more years of school, they’d signed a lease to a small one bedroom apartment to start what Javy referred to as the domestic bliss of their lives.
But how they got there – well, that was up to mileage, and the navigation system, and the whim of what they wanted to do and who they wanted to visit.
It was his car, but Bradley hated driving in the mornings when the fuzz hadn’t cleared from his head. Jake knew this part of town better than he did, anyways. The high fences and neatly trimmed hedges were a far cry from the loping willows he’d grown up running around, even if they’d lived a mere fifteen minute drive away from each other.
They passed by familiar streets, playgrounds, and school yards, all as Jake gave running commentary – “Here’s where I went for youth soccer. I wonder what Mr. Greene is doing nowadays; he was my favorite coach, y’know?” – and Bradley listened, half-asleep, comfortable in the envelope of Jake’s voice.
He liked the different take on their town. Places mired with regret, and fear, and long, drawn out stand-still arguments with Mav after his mom’s funeral took on a different role.
That was the difference between them. Bradley had fled the moment he could, while Jake continued living in it.
In the trunk were clothes and belongings they’d deemed necessary to survive. Emergency supplies, mementos from college, non-perishable snacks which Jake’s mom had refused to negotiate on. Jake’s cleats. Bradley’s gloves.
He’d left his football gear back at his mom’s place, and had given Jake the excuse it was too clunky to stuff into the trunk of his old Subaru. Really, it was because he’d had enough of the bruises and the ferocity which had sunk into his bones. He couldn’t shake it out.
“Where are we headed?” Bradley asked, shedding his hoodie as the day warmed up.
Jake flicked on the air conditioning before answering. “Down the coast?”
“Sure.”
“Alright,” Jake said, tossing Bradley his phone, “Look up some motel or something, and I’ll get us there.”
“We can switch whenever,” Bradley reminded him.
“You just don’t trust me with your baby,” Jake teased, tapping his fingers in a staccato beat on the steering wheel, and Bradley didn’t argue, because Jake was right.
The Subaru had borne him through many miles between hospital and home, between Boston and the suburbs, and the one long, frustrating summer when Jake had taken an internship two states away and Bradley had missed him terribly.
Bradley retaliated. “Let’s go to New Jersey?”
“Gross,” Jake replied.
He wrinkled his nose and didn’t finish grimacing until Bradley set a better destination. Bradley liked it most when it was quiet in the car; the front dash warm, the hum of the motor comforting, and Jake occasionally whistling along to the radio.
They’d taken one other road trip together before: a weekend away at a New Hampshire bed and breakfast when the leaves were red and golden. It’d been hours of hiking in the mountains, quiet away from roaring crowds and the bustle of a college campus.
Jake asked questions which usually would’ve made Bradley’s skin crawl – but Jake hadn’t minded if the silence between them stretched as Bradley thought, and had been more than happy to fill the space himself. He’d realized then how he could probably tell Jake anything and come out okay.
It was hard to remember in the moments his throat felt raw but he hadn’t had one of those in a few weeks now. Jake flicked on the radio and let Stevie Nicks do her thing. Bradley closed his eyes and leant back into his seat.
They didn’t stop much, that first day. There was little down the coast of Rhode Island they hadn’t already seen over the years. Summer painted the trees uniformly lush. There was only so much green Bradley could watch before getting bored. He enjoyed the break of the coast as they turned onto the bridge.
“Block Island?” Bradley proposed when they wondered what to do around midday.
“Just Newport,” Jake countered, which was more logical, and feasible, given there was no need to wait on the ferry schedule and they could continue on whenever they pleased.
They paused for lunch and watched the bare-bones crowd as they waited for their food. By beauty of it being a weekday, their fellow patrons were mainly retired couples and the occasional mom out with a stroller sprinkled in. Tourists hadn’t descended upon the area yet.
If Maverick was correct in his ability to keep up with old classmates, Wolfman was somewhere, sweating in his office further out. Bradley entertained driving by the base just for memory’s sake.
The streets were breezy and beautiful in the small, quirky way Bradley loved on the East coast. Building walls were painted baby blues and soft yellows, chipping off at the edges. The scent of the sea was ever present, and Jake perked up from more coffee in his system and sheer proximity to the ocean.
If Jake loved soccer less, he would’ve spent his life in the water.
Bradley allowed him to steal the remainder of his fries as they finished their meal. “I’m exhausted.“
“We didn’t even get that far.”
“Didn’t sleep well,” Bradley complained.
“Not my fault.”
“Partially your fault.” He threw a rolled up straw wrapper at Jake, who grinned, leaning back against his chair.
His hair was unstyled, fluffed up from his carelessness in the exact way Bradley loved. “All I’m saying is if you went to bed when I told you to, we wouldn’t have this issue.”
Bradley shrugged. “Mamma Mia was on.”
“Loser,” Jake murmured. He swiped the picked out tomato from Bradley’s sandwich and flagged the waitress down for the bill. “C’mon – I wanna get something sweet.”
The bell above the door to the ice cream shop jingled, a pleasant sound light in the air. Bradley assessed the long, long list of handwritten flavors and agreed when Jake settled on chocolate chip cookie dough – a classic, no surprises.
The girl behind the register flashed a winning smile at Jake as he placed their order.
He knew what people saw when they looked at them. They weren’t touchy in public, and it invited flirting with the both of them, which Jake found amusing, most times. Bradley couldn’t shake the feeling of people seeing him and wanting someone more fun, especially next to Jake’s easy charisma. There was friendly, and then there was magnetic; Jake was the latter.
He yawned. Jake gestured towards the coffee menu, but Bradley shook his head. “I just didn’t fall asleep until, like, two-thirty.”
“Maybe because I didn’t come over.”
The girl behind the counter eyed Jake again from beneath the curtain of her hair. Bradley felt bad, but he reached for Jake’s hand. His boyfriend didn’t even blink as he pulled Bradley towards the array of toppings to choose from.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Definitely sleep better where you’re around.”
He’d developed a bad habit borne out of weeks on end switching shifts with his aunt in the hospital in high school, amplified with the distance of campus to home. It was hard to catch more than four hours straight without feeling like he needed to check his phone for news. She used to strong-arm Bradley back to the house. To at least take a shower and complete his courses, and send off apology emails to his professors from a desk.
Jake was a light sleeper. During the final months, some part of Bradley must’ve detected that if anything were to happen, Jake would be first to know.
He still slept most soundly with his head cocooned in Jake’s arms and moving with the gentle rise and fall of Jake’s chest.
“Well, no issue with that for the foreseeable future,” Jake handed over a twenty dollar bill to the cashier. “You didn’t want a scoop, right?”
Bradley shook his head. He would steal from the cup Jake ordered, picking bits of chocolate or cookie dough out of the ice cream. Jake grabbed two spoons in preparation.
The benches were empty around the small ice cream shop, but they didn’t get to relax for long. Summer torrential rain caught them by surprise, though they both should’ve been able to feel it in their bones at the overcast of gray above their heads. Jake hollered something Bradley couldn’t hear as they ran through the torrent to gain reprieve in the car.
A short two blocks away, but he felt like he’d run a marathon, sliding in behind the wheel. The soles of his shoes squelched unhappily. Jake’s hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt completely soaked through. Both of them laughed, breathless.
“Fucking unlucky,” Jake snickered.
“We can stop at a laundromat someway through.”
Bradley leaned over to kiss Jake’s wet, cold lips. Somehow, the ice cream was already leaving a sticky mess all over their hands, even in a cup, and Bradley groaned as he threw napkins over to Jake. Regardless, it was a worthwhile mess.
Lazy, sleepy towns built upon a single intersection were a dime a dozen on the way down. They pulled up to a motel of Bates-esque decor. Bradley hesitated, but Jake rolled his eyes and called him a wimp and dragged their backpack of toiletries in with them.
His irrational fears were quelled by their fellow motel residents, a family led by a dad in a golf shirt and white tennis socks. It was only seven in the evening, but he felt like he could drop asleep on the spot.
Jake stretched, arms reaching for the ceiling the moment they unlocked the door to their room. “I need a fucking shower.”
Bradley sprawled out on the bed, happy to be able to lay down even as the duvet’s stale smell hit his nostrils. “Shampoo’s in the front of my bag.”
Living out of a suitcase wasn’t exactly the hallmark of a good time, but Bradley had spent many hours going back and forth, for games, for interviews, for his mom’s treatments. The good hospitals had been an hour's drive away, and so he’d camped out a fair few nights towards the end for his mom.
He had a routine now: keys in the front, toiletries in a clear plastic zip, and a spare shirt and socks always at the ready. Jake didn’t need reminding, already unzipping the bag with a threadbare towel slung over his arm.
“You brought your pilot's license?” Jake poked around further in the depths of his bag.
Bradley shooed him away.
“Feels wrong to not have it. Seems to run in the family,” Bradley took the card out of Jake’s fingers — it wasn’t the best photo he’d ever taken.
Jake snatched it back.
“Do you respect any form of privacy?” Bradley sighed.
“Two older sisters, Bradley,” Jake moved his fingers in an annoying waggle. “Privacy was a privilege, not a right.”
No matter how infuriating, everything Jake did was like catnip. It made Bradley feel slow and silly, endeared by the sheer obnoxiousness.
“Maybe we can go flying.”
“Sure, baby.”
By the time Bradley took his turn and finished showering, Jake had stolen his sweatshirt. He wiped the remnants of water from his eyes and crossed his arms. “Thief.”
Jake hummed, unbothered, flipping through the five channels the motel had on a TV Bradley swore was plucked right out of the nineties.
“Give me my hoodie back.”
Jake aimed a kick at what Bradley assumed was where he thought Bradley’s shin was supposed to be.
“Jake, I was gonna sleep in that.”
“Sucks,” Jake said lightly as he set the remote down on the nightstand, having given up on the repertoire of digital entertainment. He opened his arms, beckoning for Bradley to join him.
“Thief,” Bradley muttered again, although he was pleasantly warm and comfortably held in Jake’s arms.
Jake made a humming sound.
“Fucker.”
Jake tightened his hold on Bradley’s neck.
“Assho – gurh,” Bradley gurgled as Jake put him into a chokehold: not tight enough to hurt but enough for Bradley to attempt a good thumping in retaliation. “Seresin, you fucker.”
Jake released him with a cackle. He tugged the covers over and up, until he peered at Bradley from one small divot of the comforter, and all Bradley could see were Jake’s mischievous eyes and his mop of hair, fluffing up the way it always did after a shower and he didn’t blow it dry.
Bradley resisted the urge to flick Jake on the forehead. Instead, he turned the remaining lamp off and tugged the covers off enough to make space for himself.
“Let’s go to New York tomorrow,” Jake said into the dark of the motel room as he worked a hand around Bradley’s waist.
It wouldn’t have been a road trip if they didn’t hit the city. Bradley hadn’t been back since Thanksgiving with Nat, spent getting high in the East Village as a means to avoid thinking about what they were going to do with the rest of their lives.
“Okay,” Bradley replied. Jake kissed his cheek, and then Bradley fell asleep almost immediately.
11:08 AM
To: N. Trace
I'm in the city and don’t want to pay for a room
11:09 AM
To: N. Trace
So this is me asking if I can crash at your place
12:34 PM
From: N. Trace
Lol fair. Ask the front desk for a key!
12:46 PM
From: N. Trace
Also if I find out you and Seresin had sex in ANY part of my apartment, you’re dead to me
He breathed a sigh of relief the moment he parked their car into Nat’s building. The luxury resonated as hot city air burst into their face the moment they stepped out of the cool shelter of the garage.
Natasha’s apartment sat empty most of the time, with its big open floor plan and her nicely renovated kitchen. The Traces had bought it as a nicety if she ever wanted to move back to the city. She’d taken a job in Chicago, instead.
Manhattan was a distinctly different monster in the summer. The sidewalk was a hodgepodge of tourists and their kids fresh on vacation, all dragging their feet as New Yorkers tried to pass in a timely fashion.
Bradley hauled Jake past Midtown and convinced him to head towards the West Village – equally as touristy, but at least with trees overhanging the hot asphalt roads. There were small wine bars and kitschy shops boasting beaded bags with sardine patterns. Bradley wondered who had the time and money to spend on any of it – standing in line, drinking spritzes in the sun next to piles of trash.
He’d asked Natasha many times why she wasn’t taking any of the jobs which offered her a nice, fancy life in the city she’d grown up in and she’d pointed to boredom. Bradley supposed the overwhelm must’ve faded at some point.
By the time dinner rolled around, they’d trekked about twenty-thousand steps and had only seen a quadrant of the island. Natasha’s recommendation was a restaurant on the 56th floor of an all-glass building, with decor which made their nicer shoes feel like ratty sneakers. Low lights adorned the bottom of the thick marble bar top, and the server placed a menu with prices so high and ingredients so convoluted Bradley didn’t even bother reading.
Jake stuck his tongue between his teeth in contemplation. “Pick a number, one to ten.”
“Eight point five.”
His answer earned him a punch to the arm.
“Okay, okay,” Bradley laughed. “Six.”
Jake ordered the sixth drink on the menu, uncaring of the actual taste. Bradley picked at the offered fancy crackers, dainty in a small golden bowl.
“Natasha’s so full of it.” Jake snorted. “A place to watch the game, my ass.”
“There is a television.” Bradley said, nodding towards where a new pitcher had taken the mound. He wished he could hear the broadcast. “My theory is she already hates her new job and is taking it out on us.”
The lights above dimmed further, casting the planes of Jake’s face in deep shadow. Bradley wished he’d picked up some of his mom’s art skills – she could sketch out a rough approximation of someone with little more than twenty minutes. Faint scritch-scratches on torn sheets of paper had been deposited safely into a desk drawer in the house over the years.
“How is it?”
“Good, and maybe worth the price.” Jake swirled his drink, an orange peel bobbing on the surface. “But only maybe. Ask me again when the bill comes.”
Bradley watched a woman in a blue pantsuit and matching heels settle at the bar. “Nat has good taste, usually,”
“Not with the guys she dates.”
“Jake,” Bradley chided. “Alex isn’t that bad.”
“He’s not good,” Jake pointed out, and Bradley had to agree on that distinction.
Even the decor in the bathroom was enough for Bradley to roll his eyes. He took stock of himself in the mirror to feel better: the dark circles under his eyes were fading, his hair was still nicely in place, and he knew what he wore was one of Jake’s favorites. A dark blue thin-knit shirt with white piping around the open collar – Jake had been unable to keep his hands to himself on that particular dinner date and Bradley had taken note.
The sight awaiting on his return from the bathroom was highly unwelcome. He’d gotten used to it; had needed to, because there wasn’t a night out which didn’t result in something akin to Jake being hit on and Bradley rolling his eyes, throwing an arm around Jake’s shoulder in easy claim.
But the sight of a man bold enough to slide into Bradley’s vacant seat and ordering him a drink, even as Jake shook his head, made Bradley feel crazy.
He could never claim to have a cool head, not when someone encroached on what he wanted. He nudged the guy to the side, uncaring of the scrape of the chair, and pressed Jake back against the bartop. Jake’s pleased laugh was swallowed up into their kiss, tongue and teeth and possessive desire to make sure everyone knew they’d come together and meant to leave together.
Someone wolf-whistled. Before Bradley had his fill of Jake’s mouth, a rough hand tugged him back by the shoulder.
“This isn’t that kinda place,” the gruff voice of a waiter chided. “Keep it kosher.”
“Boring kinda place, then,” Jake shot back. He slapped his card down. “Let’s go, sweetheart. We can eat at a place where it won’t cost us a hundred bucks for three bites.”
They laughed as they stumbled out of the bar. The farce of their display would be a funny story to retell down the line, and Jake was walking backwards, staring at Bradley with bright green eyes. He could only follow, caught in the beauty which was a tipsy and elated Jake.
“Did you see him glaring?” Jake crowed, loud and illuminated by the overhead light. “Couldn’t handle someone else getting what he wanted.”
Bradley dragged him in. Even without alcohol in his system, his head felt floaty; Jake often had that effect.
He didn’t care if his shirt was stuck to his back from the muggy heat of the subway, or if someone had spilled their halal cart onto the platform and it was sticking to the bottom of his shoe. This – the grime, the rumble of the tracks, the sticky air, and Jake looking at him – was the most romantic city, a cacophony crash for the two of them.
Through a few threatening texts, Bradley managed to force an actual recommendation out of Nat. He took charge of ordering their slices, loading the tops with red pepper and doled it out to where Jake waited, bobbing his head along to the music.
As they ate, Jake remained lit up from the glitter-glow of the city lights outside the window. For the first time since graduation, Bradley felt content.
When he was a kid, his mom would tell the story about how she and Dad fell in love. How it’d been a lickety-split instant connection and they’d fallen headlong right in. Every time Bradley heard it, he’d thought of the risk, of the sheer unlikelihood of that sort of love working out in a logical manner. And though he loved the romance, loved how hard his mom loved, he didn’t think he’d want that.
He’d been right. Sitting at a small metal table in the middle of the night with a guy he’d known in clearer and clearer snapshots over eight years was a slow cascade. He’d gotten to watch Jake unfold, and Bradley cherished it.
“Would you live here?”
“In the city? It’d be fun for a few years, maybe,” Jake shrugged. “But it feels claustrophobic.”
“What, you don’t like all the construction?”
Jake rolled his eyes and swung his legs towards Bradley so their knees touched.
“It feels like a place you go when you already know people.” Jake wiped the oil on his fingers onto the paper plate. “Like, if you were studying here, sure. I don’t know if I’d want to go it alone.”
“I think you’d make it by yourself just fine.”
Jake’s mouth flattened. “Sure I would. But my point still stands.”
“I didn’t mean –” Bradley swallowed his bite. “I didn’t mean I want you to go it alone.”
Jake shook his head. “No, I know.”
At his mom’s funeral, Bradley felt both too young and too old. Grief stretched his skin tight as he hosted. It was a sick thought but that was what it was: people looked to him to carry Carole Bradshaw’s legacy and he was old enough to know they saw him as a young man, not a kid afloat.
Jake worried most when Bradley didn’t have his shit together. He’d turned down two solid job offers in New York so their paths would continue aligning, once Bradley decided he was going to commit to Berkeley for the next few years.
They hadn’t talked much about what it meant.
“I’d live here, maybe, if I could afford it.” Bradley righted the conversation. “Maybe after I finish my PhD, you and I could get jobs here.”
Jake’s smile curled around his next bite. “Already planning ahead, huh?”
“I mean, every time we’ve dropped in, you love it.”
He remembered Jake coming back from an onsite, fresh-faced and red-nosed from the still nippy March air. He’d regaled Bradley with the office, the view of the Brooklyn Bridge, the amazing food.
And Bradley held the weekend they visited for a concert dearly. They’d only been able to afford one evening in a tight hotel room with a full bed tucked against the wall and the shower, but the swank of the lobby made up for it. He’d sent many, many videos to his mom.
“Yeah, it’d be nice.” Jake tossed their leftovers into the trash and cast a look towards Bradley before clicking his tongue. “C’mon. Let’s head back.”
The heat of Jake’s leg against his thigh on the subway was indication enough for why Jake wanted them to hide back to the apartment. Bradley reached for his hand, rubbing his fingers against the sensitive spot at the base of Jake’s palm.
He wasn’t disappointed. The moment Bradley stepped out of his shoes, Jake pushed him up against the door.
Bradley felt the cold floor underneath his feet, in sharp contrast to the heat of Jake’s body pressed against his stomach. He could smell the last lingers of Jake’s cologne and it made him dizzy with want.
“Technically,” Bradley gasped against Jake’s mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “Nat will hurt us if she finds out.”
Jake undid the first two buttons of Bradley’s shirt. “So she won’t find out.”
The aviation museum out in Dulles looked like Mav’s hangar out in the desert on steroids. Jake choked on his own spit when Bradley told him as much.
“There’s no way he’s got this much shit, hanging from the ceiling.”
“Well, no,” Bradley admitted. “Still. It feels like a museum when you go in.”
He and Jake appraised the Nieuport with its red, white, and blue bullseye painted under the wing.
“How many times did you visit?”
Three times – once, with his mom at fourteen before she started getting sick, because Mav promised he’d teach Bradley how to fly. The second was as a trade-off reward for fixing his chemistry grades. The third was only for a few hours, for Mav and his mom to have a conversation he wasn’t privy to.
He felt like more of a mess today than he’d ever been, and that was saying something. Bradley didn’t want to know if he’d changed in Jake’s eyes. The O word was loud and ugly in his mind.
Jake didn’t shy from Bradley’s anger but he never intruded on Bradley’s grief, even though it took up a lot of the space between them nowadays.
He continued reading the exhibit plaque. “The Mustang must’ve been cool.”
“It was. Anyways,” Bradley opened the museum map. “Let’s go to the gift shop.”
They stopped by the Floyds’ place on the outskirts of Lynchburg for the weekend, because Jake had texted Bob Floyd, and Bob had told Mrs. Floyd, and Mrs. Floyd had insisted.
After New York, the open fields were a welcome reprieve. The city gave Bradley an itch under his skin, as if he should always be doing something. Like if he didn’t, for one moment, he would fall behind. It was an ever persistent presence in his mind. Bradley avoided picking at the pressure point. He avoided thinking too hard, to be honest, because the moment he did, it opened up a world of hurt.
The house was spread out and low in the middle of a big sweeping hill, unnaturally green grass surrounding it and what looked like a shed out back. Bradley spotted a dog running in the expanse of land, barking at the birds above.
The sky opened up right as they were getting their backpacks out of the car, and so they ducked into the Floyd abode as quickly as possible. Bob dropped a towel to clean up the mud they tracked inside.
Robert Floyd was, from all Bradley knew, a by-the-book individual who stuck to the rules and made a point to iron the collar of his shirts before class. It was inconceivable to imagine him growing up in a house bursting at the seams with color, knit blankets piled into cozy lumps on the couch.
The dog, a lab with his paws covered in mud, bounded into the house, tongue lolling.
“Arnie,” Bob introduced. “He’ll jump and slobber on your face if you’re not careful.”
Even in his own house, Bob looked distinctly out of place in a polo Bradley assumed was supposed to be casual. It looked more like he was about to take a call about a campaign trail.
He and Jake stood in the kitchen discussing Bob’s new job, and Bradley tuned their voices out in favor of sitting at the dinner table and watching mist settle into the grass.
Nothing made sense in the decor. Sports equipment and memorabilia, wall tapestries which reminded Bradley of his second-grade art teacher, and overstuffed furniture. It was a living room pieced together seemingly in dashes of inspiration, as if someone had had a vision and then discarded it a quarter of the way through.
Once the rain was firmly done, Bob brought them out to the path a few miles behind the property. The muscles in Bradley’s legs screamed as he followed behind Jake, who led them at a blazing pace. But the exertion felt good after so much time cooped in a car.
“Not a bad view,” Jake commented after they reached the top. “Didn’t expect all this when we were driving up.”
Bradley agreed – the beginning tendrils of the mountains stretched in the distance, and the sky was faint and pink after a summer shower. “How far does your property go?”
Bob pointed to a long stretch of fencing. “All the way there. Arnie likes it.”
Said dog barked in agreement by Jake’s feet. Most animals tended to like Jake. Even their grumpy old Bradshaw cat had taken a shine to Jake the first time Bradley had brought him home, plopping unceremoniously onto Jake’s lap.
Their shins were covered in more mud by the time they got back to the house so Mrs. Floyd waved all three of them to a quick wash before dinner.
Jake snuck a kiss as Bradley tugged on a fresh shirt.
“Don’t start something,” Bradley warned.
“Wasn’t trying to,” Jake waggled his eyebrows. “Pervert.”
“Dumbass,” Bradley whipped a towel at Jake, who only danced out of the way and shut the bathroom door on him.
Bob was nowhere to be found when Bradley emerged into the kitchen, but Mrs. Floyd had finished up what she’d been in town for and was already dressing a chicken on a sheet pan.
“Jake says you’re handy enough with a knife,” she said, smiling warmly as she adjusted the apron around her waist, “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Bradley managed, and he took the offered apron with a large hand.
Washing and chopping the carrots alongside Mrs. Floyd made him feel like he was twelve again, helping his mom cut all the vegetables for a chicken noodle soup. It was her go to remedy for any bout of sickness – a head cold, a fever, a sore throat.
Bradley missed the taste. He’d picked up all of the same ingredients, down to the discount broth with the yellow packaging in an attempt to recreate it. The soup hadn’t been the same.
He hadn’t let Jake help with any of the funeral arrangements, nor asked him to attend. He’d known then, at the stubborn set to Jake’s mouth, that in any other circumstance, Jake would’ve picked a fight. But he’d kept the protest to himself and let Bradley go off on his own.
“Did you boys cook a lot in college? I’ve never seen Bobby pick up a pan.”
“I tried,” Bradley grinned. “I was definitely responsible for a fire alarm in the middle of the night when we were in the dorms. It got easier when we moved off campus.”
“Did you and Jake live together those years?”
Bradley blushed. “No, but we were at each other’s a lot.”
Jake was a no-fuss eater, with little inclination to cook besides assembling a few ingredients into a sandwich. He packed his schedule so full Bradley often caught him between classes, shoving said mediocre sandwich into his mouth as he sped across campus.
Before he’d gotten too bogged down by the weight of the end, Bradley would cook for them. Simple meals, but enough to feel like he was taking care. He liked how Jake would perch on the counter, correcting the freshman’s homework with snide comments.
Dinner was simple and hearty, roast chicken and vegetables from the oven. Mrs. Floyd had opened the windows to let in the breeze. Jake cooed with his charm laid on thick, and Bradley could only hide his snort behind his drink so many times. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt, some moments, courtesy of Mrs. Floyd’s stories.
“Thanks for helping out,” Bob smiled at the two of them as they cleaned up the kitchen.
Truth be told, he’d only exchanged a few words with Bob, more a part of Jake’s wide network of friends. But Bradley had had a government studies class with the guy, and by all means of hospitality, he was perfectly nice and easy to get along with.
There must’ve been so many people like Bob on campus who Bradley never got the chance to talk to. He’d been pulled away so often. There were days he’d look out at classmates to envision what it was in their lives they also kept under lock and key.
Bradley listened to Jake and the Floyds discuss stops in Tennessee worth visiting, cozy amidst the blankets as the evening mountain chill entered the air.
“You boys need anything, help yourself.” Mrs. Floyd said once the big grandfather clock in the corner chimed midnight, waving goodnight. “Fridge is packed. Lord knows I won’t be able to get through all of it myself.”
Bob was next to bid them a good night.
Due to mistimed coffee and the allure of privacy for just them two, Jake and Bradley were still up at three in the morning, trading a debrief and warm observation of their hosts. When Jake’s stomach grumbled, Bradley offered to make them mac and cheese under the single light of the range, pulling out a pot with as much delicacy as he could.
“The only thing Mav was good at in the kitchen was making junk food. He figured as much butter and cheese to kill a horse could make anything taste good.”
Jake laughed. “He’d be right.”
Jake placed a block of cheddar in Bradley’s waiting hand. They would do a rudimentary grocery run to replace it, in thanks for Mrs. Floyd’s generosity.
“Do you still want to talk it out with him?”
Bradley drained the water from the macaroni noodles. “I don’t know.”
The shape of Mav’s lie looked just like his mom. Bradley wished he hadn’t looked through old files, wished he had enough courage to confront his godfather. But that was the nature of a lie three and a half years old. At some point, the statute of limitations needed to pass.
Bradley had sworn off alcohol after blacking out horrifically the fall right after his mom died. He’d woken up to a broken chair, his jersey ripped in three places, and a gash across his left knee. Neil hadn’t been able to tell him the details, as drunk as he was himself, but Bradley knew what the ache of a punch felt like intimately. His black eye had lasted for two weeks.
Still, he liked the look of intoxication on Jake. He got a faint flush, all across the upper parts of his cheeks, and that pink would bleed down to the hollow of his neck. Two and a half beers was enough to get Jake to that point, which was why Bradley relished how they were now, squished up opposite each other in the backseat of the Subaru.
“I had everything planned out,” Jake said, taking another swig as Bradley watched. “Since I was thirteen. Winning the Northeastern league. A sports scholarship. What I was going to major in, what clubs I was going to join. And then I did it.”
“Always liked that about you,” Bradley said.
“You hated it in high school,” Jake rolled his eyes. “I remember you called me a try-hard.”
Bradley grinned, proud. “Right.”
“But now that we’ve graduated, and we’re, like, adults,” Jake said, leaning back against the worn seats, “I dunno. I planned all the way up to here. Now, I don’t know what’s next.”
“You have a job,” Bradley reminded, rubbing Jake’s knee, “We signed a lease. I’d say you’re doing pretty good.”
“Yes,” Jake agreed, and his head lolled against his own shoulder, hair flopping into his eyes in a way that made Bradley want to reach out and push it back for him. “Yeah, those are all good things. But that doesn’t change the fact that I feel like I’m just, like, checking off boxes. College. Job. Moving out. Woohoo.”
Bradley cracked his knuckles. “Do you think it’s because you won’t be playing anymore?”
“Probably,” Jake said, placing his beer in the cupholder. “But it’s not like I haven’t known, y’know? Didn’t think I’d play forever.”
Jake closed his eyes and sighed, so deeply that Bradley wondered if he’d fallen asleep. The purple of Jake’s eyelids in the peek of light through the car window was all Bradley could watch. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb the expression.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Jake says, quiet and sudden, as if taken aback himself that he’d broken the silence. “Do you?”
“Baby, I don’t think I ever have.”
“No,” Jake hummed, “I guess not.”
“I’m a go with the flow kinda guy.”
Jake turned to appraise him. “I don’t know — applying for graduate programs, signing a lease, and moving across the country takes some pretty big planning.”
Over the years, Bradley had learned a lot about Jake Seresin. He liked kettle-cooked chips, especially the folded over ones with extra crunch. He had sisters he didn’t know how to talk to. He slept with one leg out from the covers, often.
And he had the kind of singular focus which pushed him to try harder and aim for better and better. Bradley admired Jake for that.
Bradley, on the other hand, had the kind of singular focus which ended in as close to self-combustion as possible. When Bradley ran, he would do it until his lungs felt like collapsing, until he was forced onto his back on the grass, until all he felt was the throb of the muscles in his legs and the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
It made him a great pick for any sport, the kind of guy who lived and breathed for the competition and didn’t care much about anything else. What Bradley hadn’t told the college scout or any of his coaches was that without the Navy, he didn’t care because he didn’t know what else there was to care about.
This much he knew: if he thought too much, he wouldn't be able to get out of the hole his mind inevitably dug, and then he’d get angry, and then it’d feel like radio static in his chest until he got over it. Which was to say, he rarely ever did.
Mom used to help with the translating. It was difficult, the last few months, to have the tables turned. For Bradley to try and guide her into remembering who it was by her bedside, to fill in the blanks.
Most of what had come out of his mouth was jumbled, thoughts in a knotted string. It was the same now.
“Maybe I do plan, sometimes, for big things that are big deals.”
Jake ran his thumb over the lip of his beer. “You calling me a big fucking deal, Bradshaw?”
He smiled, thinking of Jake holding court on the lawn those first bright spring days back in college. He would often be draped over one of his friend’s shoulders, laughing so loud it carried.
“I mean, aren’t you?”
“Damn straight,” Jake tilted his chin up, smirking.
At sixteen, Seresin had been everything Bradley hadn’t been. Golden haired, cocky, good at everything he picked up without looking like he tried. He’d hated watching Jake swan across the field: wanted to fight him and be near him in equal measure.
“I didn’t plan this far, to be honest. Wasn’t very happy as a teenager and didn’t see the point.” Bradley admitted.
Jake cocked his head. “Are you happy now?”
He assessed the catalogue of his life. Losing his dad so early had opened a pit in his stomach, a chasm most people his age had no life experience filling. He hadn’t responded to any of Mav’s texts in three weeks. And Bradley had locked up the old house and ignored the bills breathing down his neck.
Jake spread a warm hand over his thigh.
“I’m alright,” Bradley decided.
He traced an old scar down Jake’s first knuckle.
“I’m really excited for the apartment,” Bradley said.
“Me too.”
In high school, they’d been fiercely competitive and refused to get along. As any good all-American son does, Jake played two seasons of football before returning to his first love. They’d kept their interactions to a minimum – had only called each other by jersey and last names even on the team – until the first game Bradley’s junior year, when he was informed by their coach that Seresin wasn’t on the team anymore, and he had nothing to worry about for starting wide receiver.
He’d taken it upon himself to track down Jake at his soccer practice, geared for a confrontation. In the shifting swirl of his life – his mom in and out of the hospital, the tired wrinkle in Mav’s eyes as he assessed Bradley’s Academy application, facing off against Jake Seresin had become a good consistent outlet.
He could remember it to this day: the way the sun hung low as it approached sunset, the chatter of teammates taking a break in between suicides, and the buzzing in his ears. It had been a head rush of anger, a fidgeting itch in between his shoulder blades he needed to settle.
He’d stormed over to where Jake laughed with one of the senior captains and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which was “Why the hell aren’t you playing anymore?”
In hindsight, Bradley knew it must’ve been supremely odd — they hadn’t exchanged more than critique which bordered on bitching towards each other on the same team.
But Bradley hated wasted talent anywhere; both in himself and in someone else. He’d been hell-bent and frustrated at losing the only worthy opponent he’d had in years. It didn’t matter if Jake’s presence on the team made the possibility of him being benched higher. He’d craved the competition.
“I don’t,” Jake had sputtered, “I’ve always – what’re you – Bradshaw?”
“Yeah,” Bradley had spat out, disregarding Jake’s astonishment, “Why aren’t you playing?”
He distinctly remembered Jake’s expression in the moment: confused, annoyed, distrustful. “Why the fuck do you care?”
Jake’s mouth had been so pink, his cheeks flushed. It was the first time in a long while anyone had talked to Bradley without an underlying pity. In that moment, he’d felt two distinct things: sheer frustration, and an urge to kiss Jake.
Of course, then Bradley had shoved him and Jake had shoved back, and their first meeting outside of the confines of football had resulted in a near fist-fight. Jake’s teammates had pulled him away, shouting at Bradley and warning Jake on getting spotted by the coaches.
Bradley had come away with almost-bruised knuckles and a feeling for Jake’s anger under his teeth. Some screw was loose in his head, because he liked the taste of it.
He didn’t like how Jake was holding back now. Clearly frustrated with the wrong turn he’d driven them down, but refraining from bitching into Bradley’s ear.
“I’m not fragile, Jake.”
Jake sighed, a mournful hiss. “What does that mean?”
“I mean, you’re mad I took us on a thirty minute detour. You’re allowed to be.”
“It’s fine,” Jake shrugged. “Not a big deal. We just missed our check-in time.”
“Yeah, so you’re allowed to be mad.”
“I’m annoyed,” Jake clarified. “Yeah. I just really want to get off the highway before the storm hits. Weather report says hail.”
“Jesus,” Bradley huffed. “Okay, yeah. I’m trying to get us there.”
“Could drive faster.”
“She’s going as fast as she can.”
“We should’ve taken my car,” Jake griped, crossing his arms.
“You hate your car,” Bradley glared sideways. It felt good , for Jake to be arguing with him. To be normal. Jake had never held back until a few months ago. Bradley never wanted him in anything but full force. “C’mon, you think I’m dumb for missing that turn.”
Jake glared back. “I do, maybe.”
“So tell me that.”
Jake cursed under his breath. “The hell are you doing, Bradshaw? Picking a fight? You want me to be pissed off, because I told you to pay attention to the turn earlier? Because I said we should’ve picked a closer place to stay for the night?”
“Yeah,” Bradley admitted. “Yeah, because I would be, and you know it.”
The mountains faded in the rearview as the skies opened and Jake’s avid weather reporting proved correct. Bradley bid a hasty retreat into a gas station. He worried for the poor Subaru’s windshield until they pulled in under a covered spot.
He tore open a fresh pack of gum and popped a piece into his mouth.
Jake broke the ruckus of the storm. “I don’t expect you to be the same guy,”
“Why?” Bradley asked harshly. “My mom dying doesn’t change a single thing about why I like you.”
He crawled into the backseat and waved for Jake to follow. Jake hesitated only a moment more before he hunched over the gap and joined, knocking his head against the roof of the car and complaining about the bump it’d leave. His weight was a heavy comfort. Bradley used one of his flannels as a cover and hugged Jake to his chest, content with their legs sprawled on top of each other. They waited for the storm to stop.
They’d orbited each other their first two years of college – exchanged perfunctory nods in the gym, ignored each other in the dining halls, and each time Bradley saw Jake walking around with his friends on campus, he took a different path.
Junior year fall forced them into the same creative writing class for a generic credit to fill. They were too old to fist-fight and too awkward to get along, which meant Bradley sat with the heat of Jake’s body next to him every Thursday afternoon at three, and ignored the way Jake had a bad habit of chewing on the tip of his pen.
He didn’t know what to do with the want. Some part of him just hoped the shine of Jake’s easy grace would make Bradley feel more at ease.
People liked him, and people surrounded him, but Bradley didn’t care for the easy invites to parties. He was liked but Jake had always been adored or hated. Something about the polarizing split attracted Bradley.
Mom used to say he was a slow decision maker but the moment he did, Bradley went full force, pedal down, driving himself over the cliff. He waited for her to hang up first before he headed back towards the field, the roar of the crowd pounding in his ear drums.
Jake had his equipment bag slung against his hip, the deep maroon of the jersey a compliment to the flush on his cheeks from exertion. October air nipped at Bradley’s hand as he waved Jake over to the side.
“Congratulations,” Bradley blurted out the moment Jake came to a stop, because Jake had single-handedly pulled the 2-1 score off for the team, in his opinion, and he’d always been beautiful coming off of a victory. “You were great. Deserve that win.”
Jake gave him a once over and kept quiet. Bradley floundered, bravery already shifting into shame and discomfort, rolling in the pit of his stomach.
“I know we’re not friends, by any means,” Bradley started again, stammering. His luck was a roll of the dice but the double-sixes were on his side: Jake picked up the hint and closed the gap between them, kissing Bradley soundly.
He hadn’t recovered from that moment on.
One hit was enough to crave another, and another, and what should’ve been a careful consideration for the span of his romantic life quickly fell to the wayside.
They’d done things upside-down: spent the night before a first date, a fancy dinner he could barely afford before studying together late into the early hours. Jake met Carole before Bradley had gotten the nerve to ask him to be properly together.
None of it mattered. Jake remained, new and old, in Bradley’s life.
They did the math around their budget and decided to splurge for a nicer hotel in Nashville with a pool. Somewhere to dip into and laze about – to wash off the residual stress of exams and interviews, and scrounging up enough money for a first, last, and brokers fee. Of family cataclysmic chain events.
Jake emerged from the water’s surface with his hair pressed flat to his forehead
Nobody else was around on the pool deck. Friday night meant people like them – tourists – were flooding onto Broadway with fake cowboy boots and jean jackets. In the distance was the sound of drum ricochets and yells of drunken glee. Bradley whipped his hand over the water’s surface and sent a splash over Jake.
He spluttered in protest.
“I’ll drag you in again.” Jake warned.
Bradley stuck his tongue out.
Jake scoffed and decided to abandon his threat. He floated onto his back, arms spread lazily out by his side. Bradley watched the twitch of his feet under the low blue surface.
“I think we should go try that hot dog truck.”
“Better go now,” Jake flipped off his back, treading water and squinting at Bradley. “Before the crowds from the bars make the wait, like, twenty minutes.”
“I can dry off and go grab it for us.”
Jake shook his head. “No, I’ll come with you.”
“Clingy,” Bradley teased.
Jake didn’t protest, smiling as he swam closer. “I hope I feel like this for a long time.”
“Like what?”
Jake came to a stop at the edge of his pool. He sprawled his hands out wide around where Bradley sat and pressed his cheek onto Bradley’s wet thigh. “I don’t know. Just this, with you. It’s been really nice.”
Neither of them were good with their words, but Bradley could guess. Somehow, driving down the endless stretch of highway and dipping in and out of gas stations and dinky little motel rooms was the lightest he’d felt in a long while. It didn’t matter if life was in limbo. He could take the time to float, too.
He moved a small piece of Jake’s hair back, to tuck it behind his ear. “It has.”
“You got anywhere you don’t wanna go?”
Jake was at the wheel again, driving them through the outskirts of Memphis. Nashville was a faint memory already, a haze of neon and bars spilling into the streets, and Jake tight against his side as they watched a live band play the house down.
They’d stopped for six-in-the-morning donuts, hot from the fryer and coated in cinnamon sugar, before embarking onwards. He could still feel the sweet sitting in his stomach, a pleasant weight.
Bradley turned to face the sun through the window, still half-asleep. “Just don’t bring me anywhere near Ohio.”
“Did you wanna go see your dad?” Bradley asked, and to both of their surprises, Jake said yes. They set a route for Austin and went on with the car filled with a nervous type of silence – Jake, clearly antsy with his own decision, and Bradley, trying to stamp down the disdain he felt towards a man he had never met.
Jake’s parents had divorced when he was twelve, and his dad had remarried quickly to a woman closer to his age; a woman less obsessed with academics and research and tenure, who could give him the attention he needed.
That’s what Jake had told Bradley, anyways, in a tone which left no room for argument regarding his take on the situation.
Still, Bradley held a grudge. He was good at holding grudges, but he felt this one was warranted. Jake’s dad hadn’t attended a single one of his games in college, or their graduation. Jake had supplied many excuses for him, but Bradley’s aunt had been on a business trip in Sacramento the night before they walked and had caught a red eye to make the celebration.
The thing which made it difficult was that Bradley really, really liked Jake’s mom. She was a little stern, and a little intense, but she always had a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls ready when he visited Jake during the holidays.
She never asked hard questions, and she took sport just as seriously as her son which was all it took for Bradley to get along with her. When she asked about his mom and Jake had cut in with a cough, the exchanged look between them had made Bradley feel okay enough to confess he needed to get to the hospital in a few hours.
Underneath the layers of Jake – the confidence, the drive, the focus – lay a bone-deep, devastating romantic. He’d wondered about this hidden kernel of truth until Bradley met his mother. The divorce had done the opposite of ruining her faith in love which resulted in Jake having doubled-down on getting it right from the initial fall.
Jordana Seresin was a mirror of her son, and it was difficult for Bradley to understand how someone could just up and leave someone who loved so wholeheartedly.
Of the things they teased each other for, Bradley never touched that trait. He’d had a supremely unlucky life, and Jake was his bright streak.
Texas heat was intoxicating and suffocating all at once. As they drove through, Bradley counted the billboards for the injury lawyers, the churches, the megacorps which promised blue business skies. They played I Spy until they ran out of options which weren’t water towers and long-haul trucks.
“Let’s take a break?” Jake asked, and Bradley agreed.
They pulled into a HEB to refill on gas and got lured in by the bright neon colors of the Slurpee machine in the window. They wound up sprawled on the hood with a bag of Doritos between them, slurping identical blue raspberry Slurpees through yellow straws.
Jake stuck out his tongue and asked for confirmation the food coloring had seeped in.
“You’re getting more freckles,” Bradley noticed.
Jake turned to squint into the car mirrors. “Where?”
“Here,” Bradley laughed as he traced the constellation of little marks along Jake’s cheeks. “All the way over your pointy ass nose.”
“Shut up,” Jake grinned. “You’re just jealous because I never broke mine.”
He’d come close once, apparently. A try on a skateboard down a railing and a bad fall had left Jake with a wretched bruise spanning the expanse of his cheekbone. Bradley had begged for pictures and been refuted each time.
Inevitably, the nerve-wracking decision had to come to fruition. Jake’s dad lived in a big house with a big lawn. The sprinklers went off right as the clock turned two on the dash, as they pulled in. A minivan waited in the open garage door; it spoke to the cul-de-sac safety of a rich neighborhood.
“I haven’t been here in years,” Jake laughed tightly. “Think it was the end of high school. I came here for a week before we started college, with my oldest sister.”
“How was it?”
“Fine,” Jake closed the car door behind him. He was starting to get a t-shirt tan on his arms, the golden line apparent on the flex of his bicep. “His new kids are sweet. I met up with them on the Cape once.”
‘New kids’ spoke to something old, tucked on the shelf of Jake’s odd one-off secrets. Bradley craved the ability to hold all of them in his hands. He figured they’d trade the worst ones further and further down the line.
“How do you want me to be?”
“How you normally are.” Jake worked out a kink in his neck. “You don’t need to come in, if you don’t want to. There’s a Holiday Inn ten minutes out that usually has space.”
Bradley assessed the long driveway. He couldn’t imagine watching Jake walk up alone without feeling an ache burrow under his skin. “No, I want to stay with you.”
He didn’t know how Jake’s dad felt about boyfriends but Jake didn’t seem to be worried about holding his hand. The glass of bottle of wine they’d picked up was slippery in his fist, beaded up with condensation quickly now that it was free of the cooler.
When the door opened, Bradley immediately knew the face – an echo of Jake’s, well worn with laugh lines. Silver gray hair was swooped into a neat coif. He could empathize with how hard it was to escape the pull of a doppelgänger.
“Jake,” Mr. Seresin said, and Bradley could tell from the pitch of his voice how the strain between father and son went both ways. “And you must be Bradley. It’s nice to meet you. Come on in.”
They escaped traffic by pulling into a local farm stand. True to form, Jake wandered off within three minutes, bored by Javy and Bradley’s inability to settle on a snack for the ride to the lake. Last Bradley checked in on him, he was flipping through the postcards and chit-chatting with the shop owner.
“So you met the fabled distant dad,” Javy tossed a pack of sunflower seeds to Bradley. “How’d it go? Shotgun at the door, mean-mugging, shovel talk?”
Bradley snorted. “Not at all. He showed me baby pictures and I met Jake’s half-siblings. They let us stay in the guest room for a night.”
“Figured,” Javy sighed. “I’ve always heard they’re nice folks. It feels weird on the outside but – ”
“It works, I guess,” Bradley finished. “Jake was happy we stopped by. That’s all I really care about.”
“You think you’ll ever tell your godfather?” Jake asked one day, as they looked out at the deep turquoise blue of a lake in Arizona.
“He knows about you, and the apartment,” Bradley said, glancing over the rocks for one of prime skipping velocity.
“No, about how you know now.” Jake clarified, because he knew Bradley well enough to know about deflecting, about distractions, and about Bradley’s inability to talk in a straight line. “His lie about your papers.”
Bradley selected a pebble and ran a finger across the smooth, cool surface. “Probably not.”
Jake waited until Bradley hurled the pebble into the lake. He pulled Bradley in by the belt loops of his jeans, so their fronts were pressed against each other, so Bradley could feel the steady rise and fall of Jake’s chest. And then Jake kissed him sweet and soft and slow.
“For what it’s worth, I’d love you either way,” Jake said after. “If you want to keep pursuing it.”
Jake had been surprised the first time their paths crossed in the dorms, because Bradley hadn’t shut up about the Navy their entire four years together in high school.
“I assumed you’d be at the Academy,” he’d said in greeting. “Valedictorian, state champ, a legacy – a shoo-in.”
At the time, the rejection was a failing of Bradley’s own, which meant he’d approached with more teeth bared than he should’ve. Jake kept his mouth uncharacteristically shut this spring as Bradley gave his response for a graduate program.
When he got the nerve to voice it out loud, he would tell Jake he was sick of a dream which needed so much grit. “That means a lot.”
Jake pressed his thumb to the inside of Bradley’s wrist, drawing a slow circle. They watched the ripples of the water in silence before heading back to the car.
Bradley had lost his virginity to Jenna Whitman in the backseat of the Subaru after junior prom, drunk on cheap beer and fumbling his way through unlatching her bra. He didn’t hold the memory in high esteem, mainly because he’d come in less than a minute and she’d been reasonably disappointed. And he didn’t like her, not really, not the same way he did Jake.
Jake, who had pushed them into the same backseat now and was settled on his thighs.
“We could catch a flight,” Jake murmured against his mouth, as he slid Bradley’s henley up over his stomach. His weight was heavy on Bradley’s legs, a solid, warm comfort. “Go anywhere. Just never show up at my job.”
“That’s too impulsive, even for you,” Bradley said, forgetting the rest of his thought as Jake moved his mouth to the soft spot where his jaw met his neck.
He allowed Jake to kiss down his chest before he pulled him back up, and settled his thumbs on the crest of Jake’s cheekbones. This remained one of Bradley’s favorite things: beneath the blazing intensity Jake held on the field, there was still something delicate in the way his features felt underneath Bradley’s touch.
“If we break up,” Jake had said back when they’d signed the lease, sight unseen, “I’m staying in the place.”
“Break up?”
Jake had swayed where he’d stood, pen still in hand. He hadn’t met Bradley’s eyes. “Contingency planning.”
Bradley thought about it now, in the odd sad tilt to Jake’s mouth as he pulled back. He realized Jake hadn’t kissed him this way in a good three weeks. Urgent and all-consuming – the way Bradley liked to feel small in.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Jake slipped his fingers between the waist of Bradley’s boxers, brushing the skin there. “What?”
He brushed his nose against Jake’s Adam’s apple, feeling the hard swallow.
“I...”
“Just tell me?”
“Do you still love me?”
The blunt and ungraceful question tumbled out of Jake’s mouth before it seemed like Jake himself was ready. He flushed, and glared at the spot right next to Bradley’s face.
Bradley grasped his face to turn it back. A trick of the light, maybe, as to why Jake’s eyes were glassy. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely. Jake, what?”
When Jake didn’t respond, Bradley did what he knew. He pressed pleading kisses to the corners of Jake’s mouth, at his jaw, and carded his fingers through Jake’s hair. His fingers quested up Jake’s back, stroking the strong planes of muscle as they shifted.
“Forget it,” Jake said. He licked into Bradley’s mouth instead, tasting like their dinner and the hoppy beer which accompanied it. “I’m being fucking stupid.”
“No,” Bradley pulled back. “No, you’re not. I – I guess I haven’t really been around, recently.”
Jake scoffed. “Yes, you have.”
Not enough, Bradley thought. His chest clenched painfully at the question which still lingered in the air. Not nearly enough, if Jake was looking at him and thinking about backup plans. Wondering if Bradley still felt the same.
“How long have you been wondering?”
Jake shook his head. “It’s not the most important thing for you to be thinking about, right now.”
That wasn’t true. He spent most of his days purposefully not thinking about his mom, or Mav. There wasn’t much at the forefront of his mind except a tumble-waterfall of open-ended ideas.
How he felt about Jake wasn’t one of those.
At some point, he had been able to tell Jake most things. Somewhere in the last year, between learning of Mav and his mom’s lie and burying her, he’d lost it. He’d never felt the need to reiterate after the first time, because it wouldn’t change, and it’d never been an issue. Bradley had assumed Jake had known.
”Can I make you see how much I do?”
The sound Jake made against his mouth was a whimper more than anything, though Jake would never acknowledge it. Bradley pulled him in closer.
When his mom died, Bradley’s first thought was of his dad.
His second was Jake.
He was at her bedside. A saving grace to hold Carole’s hand until the monitor flat-lined with his aunt’s arms around his shoulder. He didn’t know what to say for a good few hours; staring at the empty field on his phone, trying to type out how shipwrecked he felt, fragmented on the shore.
Jake must’ve felt something at the other end.
Are you okay?
No, Bradley had written back, before he’d called.
He was imagining a lot of things: the dust of the desert filling his lungs, the steering wheel so hot it sloughed off his palms. The shape of the low hills, hovering and fractured in the heat. The aimless nature of their roadtrip faded as they passed a sign welcoming them to California. The yellow flowers on the sign reminded Bradley of the type his mom used to plant in the front yard and he wished he could send it to her.
He told Jake. Jake snapped a picture.
“You’ve been driving for forever,” Jake stretched his arms back around the headrest.
“I want to go for a run,” Bradley groaned. “Is that crazy? Like my legs need it. I’d probably die of heat exhaustion in five minutes, but I need it.”
“Let me drive.”
“No,” Bradley protested. “Then I’ll be stuck in the passenger seat, and it’ll be worse.”
“You’re so high maintenance.”
“Me?” Bradley scoffed. “Sure.”
Jake reached over to honk at a car that cut them off. “Takes one to know one.”
Their new apartment had the benefit of a large window which stretched almost the length of one wall, letting in sun and fresh air. Bradley peered out into the street. It would be a bitch to find parking if they got unlucky, but he saw couples walking their dogs and a guy with a backpack slung precariously to the side, biking down the hill. He could imagine both.
Bradley tucked the house keys into his pocket. He’d make sure to attach them to the dinky souvenir keychain he’d picked out in Hollywood with Jake’s name to prevent losing them.
The alcove meant for a bed had been oversold. It would fit a full, maybe, and they could make do with no headboard and one edge pressed tight against the wall. They usually slept two in a row anyways, with Jake’s nose pressed into the back of Bradley’s neck.
“I figured we could go to the nearest place for some quick groceries.” Jake pulled out his wallet and a fresh shirt from his bag. “Lemme look it up. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of fast food and protein bars.”
Watching Jake with his bottom lip bitten tight was a rhythm and familiar sight Bradley couldn’t bear to be apart from. By nature of the stack of exams at the end of every semester and the quieter housemates Bradley had, he’d grown accustomed to watching Jake focus on his laptop, nose scrunching every so often as he thought.
He was alluring the way the ocean called when you stood at a cliffside. Bradley moved Jake’s wallet and phone out of his hands and tugged him in.
“I’m sorry,” Bradley said against Jake’s temple. “I should’ve let you come to my mom’s funeral.”
Jake shifted in his arms. “Why are you bringing that up now?”
“Been thinking about it a lot, while we were driving around.”
The sigh of the air conditioning kicking into gear filled the silence.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jake said after a while. “But if you keep…there’s only so much room for me, this way, y’know? I don’t like being shut out.”
Bradley held on tighter. “I’m not trying to.”
“I don’t blame you, baby,” Jake continued. Bradley felt the rise and fall of an unconvincing shrug. “I don’t know how it feels.”
When Bradley couldn’t say anything more in the moment, Jake pressed a kiss to his cheek and squeezed his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go grab some food.”
Eager to stretch their legs and bask in the sun, they walked to the closest little corner shop. As the mist burst over the vegetables, Bradley reached for Jake’s hand again. It made them inefficient, one hand taken by the other’s, but Bradley didn’t want to let go and Jake seemed fine to lead the way through the narrow aisles. He held on until it came time to check-out, and Bradley needed to grab his wallet.
Jake blew up the air mattress in the span of time it took for Bradley to unpack the groceries and unload the trunk with their rag-tag assembly of belongings. He’d changed into an old pair of sweatpants and a white tee, drawn tight over his shoulders and loose around his torso.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nah,” Jake shook his head, putting away the cereal. “I don’t wanna hear it.”
He reached for Jake’s waist. “I love you. A lot.”
Jake’s lips were chapped but still soft. “Well, I do like hearing that, even if I know.”
Being honest with Jake was easier in the place to be made theirs. The bone deep weariness of driving cross-country made certain truths simpler to say out loud, less tension held in each syllable.
“I’m scared.” Bradley admitted once he closed their front door for the final time that night.
Jake cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to scare you away,” Bradley said. He fought the urge to bite at his nails. “You’re right. You don’t know how it feels, y’know? And I’ve been trying to keep you out of it, because it’s all probably too much.”
Despite the fear – despite the admission and the concerned wrinkles on Jake’s forehead – Bradley walked closer, to lean down and kiss him.
“Bradshaw,” Jake said quietly. He only ever called Bradley by his last name these days when he was too vulnerable to not put up a front. “You need me to chase away all your ghosts, you just say the word.”
“I’m getting more comfortable with them, to be honest.”
The air mattress shifted as he sat down besides Jake. His boyfriend curled into his side, warm. He wished Jake fell asleep later than him most nights, so he could have that comforting weight against his chest and he could rub soothing patterns through Jake’s hair.
Jake shifted. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He couldn’t resist the pretty jut of Jake’s jaw as it clenched – the certainty in Jake’s eyes as he looked on towards the empty floor. “It’ll get easier, with time, I think. For me to realize you’re gonna be okay if I’m not, all the time.”
“That’s kinda the point of this,” Jake waved his hand towards the undecorated walls and the yet to be filled cupboards over the sink. “Unless you think I followed you here for no reason.”
“Nah,” Bradley smiled as he tugged Jake’s down onto the mattress. “You wouldn’t be caught dead. Figured we were on the same page, for you to drive about four thousand miles with me.”
“Exactly,” Jake scoffed. “Clearly, I would’ve just flown out.”
He writhed in protest as Bradley’s cold hands found their way under his shirt, snickering at the pleas for warmth.
Inevitabilities would occur. They’d fight and Jake would forget to pay the electric bill, probably, and Bradley would pull all-nighters alongside a bout of other bad habits. But he wanted everything, in a way which he knew was foolish and probably unlikely, but he’d try for mornings together over toast and coffee. To be there to fix Jake’s collar before he left for work.
“So, furniture,” Jake said as they stared up at the faint crack down the middle of the ceiling. When he turned, he gave Bradley the full force of that white, megawatt smile. “Wanna try and find garage sales this weekend?”
Bradley could imagine the appraisal of Jake’s judgment as they hung up one of his old band posters. Could imagine fixing a table leg or a chip on a coffee table carefully to give it a new life. He could feel the handle of a screwdriver in his palm already – turning, working, creating something fresh and unburdened for the both of them. The idea was nearly solid.