Beyond The Sea, 5/6
Part Four
---
“Is it done yet?”
Pete kept hovering near the kitchen, equal parts glaring at Patrick and smiling hopefully. When he was hungry, sometimes Pete was a little bitch. Patrick laughed and pointed to the sofa for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Sit,” he ordered.
Pete grumbled, but walked away.
After so many nights spent either enduring Pete’s cooking (which mostly involved slightly-burnt eggs and toast) and Alex and Ryland’s constant interrogation of Pete’s motives anytime they went there for real food, Patrick decided he should put Pete’s kitchen to good use.
He wasn’t that great of a cook, but he could do some simple things. Back in San Diego, living on a student’s budget, he and Frank often had to get creative with what they ate. Having a real budget - namely, Pete’s - made a big difference.
“You’re going to like this. I hope.” Patrick ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the lamb chops he’d just pulled out of the oven. He really didn’t know how to tell if they were done.
“Now can we eat?” Pete sighed from the other room.
“If you shut up.”
Pete bounced into the kitchen, and for a few moments there was nothing but the sound of clattering dishes and silverware, Pete finally remembering to kiss Patrick and thank him moments before they ate.
“This is awesome,” Pete said a few minutes later, when most of the food was already gone, their previously grumbling stomachs finally silenced. Maybe Patrick had taken a little long to cook the meal, but it did taste awesome if he did say so himself. “Is there dessert?”
“Shit.”
Pete laughed, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’ll just take my dessert in other ways.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, but really, he was smiling.
When dinner was over, Pete had the mind to wash the dishes and let Patrick lounge on the sofa for a few minutes, flipping idly through the channels. He wound up on an old Godzilla movie, and even though it wasn’t usually his kind of thing, there weren’t many other options.
Besides, he knew Pete liked it. Lately, Patrick found himself doing a lot of things because he thought Pete might like them. It wasn’t a bad thing - he’d laughed for a good ten minutes after telling Greta that line of thought and her worried statement of, “You know, you can just say no. You don’t have to do those things.”
No, Patrick found himself bringing snacks onto the boat that he knew Pete liked, so after a tour, they could sit on the dock and eat chips and candy and sunflower seeds together. He started wearing more blue, because Pete said one day that he liked the way it brought out his eyes. He even switched his toothpaste because Pete liked the coloring on the red box better than the plain white one.
Patrick kind of liked all those changes just because of the way Pete smiled at him once he figured out what Patrick was doing.
“What are watching?” he asked, collapsing onto the sofa beside him. “What is this?”
“Godzilla,” Patrick said, leaning slowly into Pete. It tickled a little when he stroked his arm, but Patrick only twitched once or twice and then settled.
“Really?”
“Would you rather watch wedding bloopers?”
Pete chuckled into his shoulder, shaking his head. That tickled too, but Patrick just smiled. “Godzilla it is.”
“It’s not like we’re really going to watch it anyway.”
“Oh, we aren’t?”
Patrick smiled, leaning closer and brushing their lips together. “No,” he whispered, closing his eyes, “we’re definitely not.”
Summer
”Pete!” His voice sounded like he was begging, even to his own ears, and Joe cursed himself for that - but not as much as he was cursing Pete. He grabbed at Pete’s hands, trying to stop him from throwing any more clothes into the suitcase he had frantically slapped onto the bed. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Pete laughed bitterly, shaking fingers throwing another shirt into the suitcase. “And what, I should stay here? I don’t have a job here anymore.”
“You can get another one!” Why wouldn’t Pete listen? He wiped angrily at his own eyes, trying to reach for the suitcase and take it away, forever, but Pete snatched it back.
“You think it works like that? That the next university isn’t going to call here and hear all about how I slept with a student? No one hires you after something like this.”
It wasn’t fair. Joe’s parents had been called as well, Joe thrown out of school and Pete had lost his job. He’d been dragged home and screamed at for hours, questioned by the authorities if Pete had abused him or coerced him, and he had given all the right answers, kept his mouth shut about how angry he was that no one realized he was 19 and old enough to make his own decisions. It had been worth it, until he’d arrived at Pete’s apartment, and found half the belongings packed away.
They hadn’t done anything wrong. Pete didn’t have to run away. “You could get another job, doing something else,” Joe whispered. “Anything else.”
Pete sneered, and started to zip up his bag, but Joe threw himself on top of it, putting himself in Pete’s way. “We could make it work. We could go to Antarctica like we planned, or we could run off to Mexico together, or work tables for the rest of our lives, but we’d be together, Pete. Don’t you want that?”
“You’re 19,” Pete said, and it was the first time Pete had ever brought up his age in any sort of a condescending tone. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“I do!” Joe shouted, and when Pete gave a hard tug on the strap of the bag, Joe pulled back just as hard. Pete stumbled a few inches in his direction. “I love you, we could do this. None of this other stuff matters, just you and me. Please Pete. Please.”
Pete watched him, the fight draining from his eyes, and for a moment Joe thought he was really going to say yes. But then he was yanking the bag out from under Joe and hoisting it over his shoulder, away from Joe. “Go get a degree somewhere else.”
“I don’t care about a degree. Where are you going? Let me come with you.”
Pete actually smiled, though it was cruel. It wasn’t until years later that Joe realized why he looked that way just then, or why he whispered, “Somewhere no one will ever find me, especially you,” and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.
Nothing had ever hurt so much in Joe’s entire life.
---
Spring was over too fast. Change had been in the air since April, but by May, Patrick’s vision went dizzy every time he thought about what loomed at the end of the month. Now that it was finally here, he felt ready to throw up.
Joe was home.
Well, not yet, but he was a short drive away from it. Patrick had been left to hang up banners and arrange the party hats. There was double to do, as it was two parties in one. Ryan and Spencer weren’t leaving for another two days, but it seemed silly to have two parties that close together, so Pete had made the executive decision to combine a Welcome Home Party with a Bon Voyage one. The mixed messages seemed to match Patrick’s mood.
“How are you?” Greta asked, glancing up from where she was sprinkling pink glitter onto the party hats.
Patrick opened his mouth to give her some answer about how everything was great, really, he was excited to see Joe in an hour when Pete got back from picking him up at the airport. But that was all a lie.
Patrick was terrified out of his mind.
He and Pete had discussed what happened next in only the most vague of senses. Neither had a good answer, and the closest that Patrick had come was the night before, when curled up in Patrick’s bed at the Ivy League, Pete had whispered, “I promised him I’d keep his bed for him when he got home.” Patrick’s hand had stilled in its place, tangled up in Pete’s hair. Of course Pete had. Why shouldn’t he?
“What does that mean?” he’d asked slowly.
“I don’t know,” Pete admitted, and with a kiss, they had let it slide - it was easier to press closer, to beg for more friction, more skin, more time. It was easier to beg for anything other than what Patrick really wanted - the spring months to stay, forever, and for Pete and Patrick to remain as they’d been for not nearly enough months.
So instead of smiling at Greta and nodding, Patrick shook his head slowly and whispered, “No.”
She seemed to understand, reaching for his hand and giving it a brief squeeze. “Me neither,” she admitted.
An hour later, after people had finally started to trickle in, Greta motioned from the window. “They’re pulling into the drive way.”
Patrick took to a corner, somewhere out of sight. He could still see the entire spectacle from his vantage point as the door flew open and everyone shouted, “Welcome home!” Joe laughed, his smile brighter and wider than Patrick remembered, and a warm tan peeking out from under his Metallica shirt as he set about hugging a few people. When he got to Greta, they each paused until she excused herself and went to get the ice out.
Pete looked happier too. There was a sudden brightness around him, and he kept reaching out to touch Joe’s arm or back, as though making sure he was still there. Patrick wanted to disappear into the floor below.
It happened sooner rather than later, which really, had been expected. Joe spotted him, hidden in his corner, and walked over. The smile waned a little, but it was still there in his eyes, and Patrick felt like he was trying to convey something deeper in the way he pulled Patrick into a long hug.
“I missed you,” Joe said into his ear, laughing as he pulled back. “I’m going to bore the hell out of you with stories about penguins.”
“I like penguins,” Patrick said.
Joe leaned closer, eyes wide. “Want to know a secret? Me too.”
Despite himself, Patrick found himself laughing, leaning against Joe for support.
---
Ryan had to practically drag Spencer out the door for their own going away party. Really, Ryan had found he’d been having to drag Spencer out of bed to do anything at all lately. Mostly, he seemed to just want to lay in bed and sleep, which wasn’t completely out of character, but it was a lot of sleeping. Even by his own standards.
He would have understood if Spencer didn’t like that he was dating Brendon, but instead of ignoring Brendon the way he had when he hadn’t liked Ryan’s tenth grade boyfriend, Chad, he still made small talk. He still gave Brendon pieces of chocolate occasionally when he had extra, and he didn’t complain when Ryan pretended to get them lost on the way to the seal rocks and they somehow wound up at Brendon’s cottage instead. None of it made sense.
Not that Ryan really had a lot of time to make sense of anything lately.
“I don’t want to go,” Spencer said when they arrived at Pete’s house. He could hear music and laughter inside, and Greta saw him from the window and gave them a smile and a wave.
“We’re here, it’s kind of late for that,” Ryan said, and he sounded too much like Spencer for his own taste. He even crossed his arms. “Besides, it’s our party.”
Spencer closed his eyes. “It’s not our party, it’s Joe’s. Pete just invited us here because he felt obligated.”
Ryan laughed. “When has Pete ever done anything because he felt obligated?”
There was no answer to that, though Spencer still tried with an icy glare.
He sighed and pulled on Spencer’s arm. “Will you just come on? We’ll stay for a bit and leave.” Ryan didn’t really want to stay the whole time either, not with such little time left with Brendon.
---
“There you are!” Pete hopped onto the kitchen counter beside Patrick, taking a beer and clinking it against Patrick’s. It was dark outside now, and there were a lot more people stumbling through the narrow hallways. It felt more like one of Pete’s parties.
Patrick nodded slowly. “Here I am.”
Pete sighed quietly beside him, but he seemed determined to make Patrick smile. “On the way back here, this giant stork looking thing was wandering around on the side of the road, but right as I’m getting close, it decides it’s time to fly! So this bird, which is bigger than me, starts to fly right across the road in front of the car, instead of away from it, and I’m screaming and Joe’s laughing his ass off…”
“That’s funny.” Patrick took a long sip from the beer. He wasn’t trying to be a dick, but his heart just wasn’t in it tonight. It was too hard to pretend to be happy.
Beside him, Pete slowly began to deflate.
“What are we doing?” he asked slowly, looking at Pete.
“What do you mean?”
Patrick waved his hand around the kitchen. This wasn’t the time or the place for the conversation. They should have had it weeks, or at least days, ago, but they’d both been too afraid of the answers. “You and me. Are we dating? Are you and Joe dating? If I kiss you, is he going to freak out? Are we just friends?”
Pete just kept watching him, looking more and more tired. “Couldn’t we just try?”
“Try what, exactly?”
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cabinets. “All of us, couldn’t we just try? See what happens?”
Patrick laughed sadly. “That’s what you said at the start of the spring. But he’s home now, Pete.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He turned suddenly to face Patrick, clenching the bottle tighter. “That I somehow didn’t notice? I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t have a plan. I thought I would, but… I don’t. I’m a coward, alright?”
“Maybe you are.” Patrick closed his eyes and took another long sip. By the time he opened his eyes, Pete was gone.
---
Maybe the party wasn’t so bad after all, Spencer thought, somewhere around his fifth drink. There was an endless supply of alcohol, and no sign of Jon Walker.
Ryan was sitting in Brendon’s lap on the sofa, whispering quietly to him. Spencer watched them, feeling his chest tighten, but he forced himself to push it back down. Ryan had always been and would always be his best friend. He’d never been jealous of him a day in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. Besides, they’d be home soon enough, and it would all change again. Nothing ever lasted.
“Hey.”
Except for Jon Walker’s uncanny ability to materialize out of thin air. The paper cup in Spencer’s hands threatened to fold under the pressure he was suddenly putting on it, but he drew in a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. It didn’t work.
Slowly, he turned around. Jon looked just as tired as he did, dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans. Spencer had a weak moment where he wanted to reach out for Jon’s hand, but he felt the anger rising in his throat again.
“I thought you’d be here,” Jon said, swaying nervously back and forth.
“It is my party,” Spencer countered. His logic was fairly impeccable, even with as many drinks as he’d had.
Jon closed his eyes for a brief moment before looking at Spencer again. “I just wanted to talk,” he said slowly.
Spencer shook his head. “I’m done talking. I’m leaving in two days.”
“If I don’t care about that, why should you? Ryan and Brendon appear to be making it work.” He followed Jon’s motion toward the sofa, where they were making out now, and felt his heart sink lower.
“We’re not Ryan and Brendon.”
“Why? Why does Ryan get to date someone and you can’t?”
Ryan was still too caught up in Brendon, but Greta must have sensed the intensity of the situation as she stepped over, carefully placing herself between them. “Is everything okay?” she asked, glancing more toward Jon than Spencer, which hurt.
“We’re fine,” Jon said, and for the first time, Spencer noticed the amount of alcohol on Jon’s breath as well. He hadn’t been at the party for long - Spencer had been on red alert until he finally relaxed enough to have a drink. Which meant Jon had been drinking somewhere else, probably alone, before he came. Spencer almost wanted to ask.
“Get him out of here,” Spencer sighed.
“No.” Jon shrugged Greta’s hand off, and Spencer could see her hesitating, but she stepped back to let Jon do what he needed to do. “I want a goddamn answer,” he said, his voice raising. “You told me you loved me. Doesn’t that count for anything? Don’t I get some fucking reason?”
This time, Ryan was paying attention. He saw the movement on the sofa shifting before he saw Ryan standing beside him, looking hurt and tiny. “You told him you loved him?”
Jon knew his mistake instantly. He slunk back, Greta’s steadying hand on his back to keep him upright, while everyone in the party stared at Ryan and Spencer. He wanted to die.
“We dated,” Spencer whispered, because it was too late now to lie. Too late for so very many things.
“What?” Betrayal flashed in Ryan’s eyes, and he turned first to Jon. Spencer was about to stop him, because no matter how angry he was at Jon, he didn’t want anyone else fighting his battles for him. But then Ryan was turning again, on him. “When? How long?”
When the floor didn’t swallow him up, he cursed every god he could think of.
“How fucking long, Spencer?”
“From the night that you kissed Brendon.”
Ryan’s fists were tiny, but they still hurt when they were aimed at Spencer’s chest. “What the fuck?” he hissed, and Spencer hoped if he just kept his eyes closed, it would all be over faster. “You swore, Spencer, you… I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
It wasn’t at all what Spencer had thought he was going to hear. It felt like a bigger blow than anything else he could have said. Spencer laughed, though it was a surprised, broken thing, and Ryan punched him again. He wheezed a little and let his eyes open. Greta was watching him, swaying on her feet and obviously wanting to join in and pull them apart, but Spencer shook his head at her.
“I thought you’d be mad,” Spencer sighed, quiet.
“I’m mad now!” He didn’t punch him again, but Spencer could see his small fists ready at his side, nails digging into skin. “Do you think that little of me?”
“Brent,” he said, and Ryan continued to stare at him.
He shook his head slowly. “A lot has changed since then.”
“I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to say.
Ryan nodded hesitantly. “I am too. I don’t think we can be friends right now.”
He turned, shaking with anger, and walked out in a scene that felt too much like Spencer’s own exit on Jon for him to feel comfortable. He finally took in a breath and it hurt. Everything suddenly felt too hazy, too disjointed - he staggered back, but there was a wall there to support him.
Jon stepped forward until Spencer held up a hand, wiping angrily at his eyes with his other. “Don’t say I told you so, please.”
“Never,” Jon whispered, shaking his head slowly. “I wouldn’t.”
“You would,” Spencer answered, ducking his head. “You’ve already ruined everything else.”
When the second person walked out on him that night, followed closely by Brendon trailing after Ryan, Spencer tried to remind himself that nothing stayed the same. Even the overwhelming blackness that seemed to cover everything now would subside, eventually.
---
They met at Dirty’s for lunch. The food wasn’t great, but it was open for lunch, and it was more likely that they could be alone. The idea of going back to either Pete or Patrick’s place for lunch like they’d done so much during the spring felt wrong now, and it was through silent agreement they’d settled on Dirty’s to have the conversation Patrick had long been dreading.
“The humpbacks are back,” Pete said, twitching anxiously across the table from him. “Nate called me to tell me he spotted one, off Flea Island. I thought we’d try to track them down with the tour group today.”
“That’s a good idea,” Patrick agreed. “We can start taking pictures for the season again then too.”
Pete nodded, but didn’t say much else.
“Maybe we should talk?” Patrick asked, reaching to lay his hand over Pete’s. It felt cold to the touch, but Pete’s circulation was poor, and he squeezed it, trying to warm his hand up.
“Or maybe we could find the Shannon Dolphins again,” Pete continued on, turning to stare out the window. “They were pretty entertaining last tour, right?”
“Pete.”
He gripped Patrick’s hand suddenly, intertwining their fingers and turning to face him. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you.”
Patrick smiled sadly, nodding. “I know. But you love Joe too.”
He hesitated, but nodded. “It’s not the same, though…”
“No,” he agreed. He’d thought a lot about this. It hurt, but less than he’d thought it would. “It’s not, because you’ve been with him forever. That’s who you’re meant to be with. He followed you, from Chicago. I can’t compete with what you two have. I don’t even want to.”
Pete looked surprised, and it hadn’t been what Patrick meant, exactly, but when Pete pulled his hand back, Patrick didn’t correct himself. Maybe it was easier this way.
“I want to be friends,” he said slowly, and Pete nodded fervently.
“I wouldn’t let you out of that.”
---
“So then Lars and Mustaine keep trying to bite each other, which I thought meant maybe they liked each other, but it turned out Chewbacca used to be Lars’ girl until Mustaine stole her away.”
Patrick frowned, looking up from the water he’d been scanning for whales. “Wait, Chewbacca is a girl?”
“There was some confusion,” Joe admitted, shrugging helplessly. “And personally, I think she swung both ways, which is how we got confused in the first place.”
“These are penguins we’re still talking about… right?”
Joe rolled his eyes, pushing Patrick playfully. “Keep up.”
“I’m trying,” he laughed before rubbing his eyes. “You watch for awhile. I think I’m starting to see things.”
Joe nodded and turned to take over, launching into another story about Chile. Patrick nodded along, trying to listen, but his gaze kept drifting to the open door to the wheelhouse, where Pete was standing, looking tired. They’d been avoiding much conversation in the week since they’d agreed to call things off, but Patrick had faith Pete would eventually come around. He hoped sooner rather than later, as Patrick was eventually going to have to leave.
“There!” Joe shouted, kicking the wheelhouse. “Stop the boat!”
The engines died and Pete stepped out onto the deck, scanning the water for whatever Joe had seen. The water seemed too calm, and even Patrick was doubting that Joe had seen anything, but then, some few yards off, a humpback whale surfaced, shooting water off through her blowhole. Pete’s hand grasped at Patrick’s as his breath caught.
“It’s her,” he whispered.
“Who?” Joe asked, leaning over the edge of the boat to wave at the whale. Her tail splashed as though in greeting, and he laughed, giddy.
Pete’s hand was clammy in Patrick’s grasp, but it felt familiar and right. Patrick held his breath.
“Her,” Pete said, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The girl who stuck around so long last year. She was the last one to leave.”
“Maybe she likes you,” Joe said, turning to share a smile with Pete, but his eyes flickered down to their clasped hands and Pete suddenly realized what he was doing, stepping back.
“We should get going,” Pete said, turning back into the wheelhouse. “We have a tour in an hour.”
---
Patrick got to the boat early one day, before Pete and Joe even arrived, but there was already a girl sitting on her backpack near the boat, looking bored beside two young men racing each other up and down the pier. “Hello?” he asked slowly as he approached - they all had on pretty big backpacks to be tourists, but perhaps they were going camping on one of the islands. It wasn’t unheard of, especially now that the summer months had taken away some of the rain.
The girl shot to her feet, looking nervous but trying to remain poised. Behind her, the two boys fell in line, exchanging glances.
“I’m Cassadee,” she said, holding out her hand and beaming at him. “And that’s Mike and, well, Mike.” The two Mikes nodded. “Do you work here?”
He shook her hand hesitantly, glancing around at the empty pier. It was way too early for a tour, the boat wasn’t even prepped yet. “Uh,” he paused, but at their hopeful looks, he nodded. “But I think you’re kind of early, and Joe keeps the logs of who we’re taking on tour, so you’ll have to wait another hour at least…”
“Oh no,” she laughed, shaking her head quickly. “We’re here to work. We’re from the internship program?”
Behind her, the two boys were beaming, even as they bumped shoulders playfully.
---
“Did you just sort of forget to mention that we had recruits coming in?” Patrick whispered, hoping Cassadee and the two boys couldn’t hear, as soon as Pete climbed out from Joe’s jeep.
Joe looked toward the pier curiously. “It’s too early for a tour,” he said brightly. “But maybe we could charge them extra. I don’t trust the one with Pete’s haircut.”
“What?” Pete spun around to look at them, quickly reaching to fix his hair. “Is that what I look like?”
“Focus,” Patrick sighed. “They work for you. You can’t charge them anything.”
Joe gave them another long look before shrugging. “I don’t remember filling in papers to replace Ryan and Spencer. Oh well, think they get sea sick too?”
“If they do,” Pete said, “we can make Patrick clean it up this time.”
“Oh goody.” With that, Joe bounded off to meet them, leaving Pete and Patrick alone for a moment. They stood in awkward silence, staring at each other, until their cool facades started to slip away.
“How are you?” Pete asked when he obviously could think of nothing better to say.
“You don’t have to make small talk.”
Pete winced, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I thought we were going to try to be friends?”
Patrick sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Isn’t that just something that you say? Go meet your new employees, Pete. I’ll go warm up the engine.”
He wandered off, but it was Joe who tracked his movements, not Pete.
---
Jon had never been a huge drinker. He liked the occasional drink, especially back home in Chicago with Tom when there was nothing better to do, but drinking alone had always felt sad. Now, it didn’t feel like anything at all, which was exactly what he was going for.
“There you are,” Greta sighed as she slipped onto the bar stool beside him, her pretty purple dress swishing with each movement. “I’m taking you home, Jon.”
“Night’s young,” he argued, and downed the rest of his shot. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move, but he didn’t let it stop him from motioning for another drink. Or trying to, anyway. It was made slightly more difficult when she put her hand over his to stop him.
“Come on,” she said, a little more firm.
He shook his head slowly, and some of the sadness he’d been fighting to push down so far seemed to creep up on him. “He said he loved me,” he whispered, closing his eyes once the words were out.
“I know,” she sighed, stroking a few stray hairs off his forehead. “They say if you love something, you let it go.”
“That’s bullshit,” he argued, fingers closing around the cool, empty glass. “If you love something, you don’t let it go at all. If you love something, you don’t want to leave.”
She smiled sadly, and that hurt even worse. “Come home,” she said again, and Jon nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” Jon said, letting go of the glass. “Okay.”
---
“First drink’s on you,” Joe whispered, and even over the roar of the crowded club, the pulsing music overhead, Pete could obviously hear him. He laughed, tilting his head back until it hit Joe’s shoulder, and he smiled upside down at him.
Joe beamed at him, but then shooed him off toward the bar as he went to grab one of the few open tables. He watched young men and women grinding against each other on the dance floor, and even though they couldn’t have been more than a year or two younger than Joe, he felt decades older.
The thoughts faded away as Pete returned, two brightly colored drinks in hand. “Pick your poison.”
“Red,” Joe said, taking one and enjoying a long sip.
“We can do this in America next month,” Pete said, leaning against Joe again. He was always either clingy or completely untouchable. Joe preferred this Pete - the one that had one hand already on his thigh, scratching out private messages into his skin and eyeing him with already overblown eyes that never seemed to stop wanting.
Joe grinned against his lips as they kissed. “Patrick will be there too,” he reminded, but didn’t press the comment any further. This was his night. Pete seemed to tense, but he let it slide away just as easily as whatever pill he’d taken at the bar. “Dance with me,” he whispered when they parted, and Pete obliged, drinks already forgotten.
They never went dancing like this. Usually Joe had to be a lot drunker to even attempt a dance floor at all, but Pete felt slippery warm in his loose grasp, his body swaying and pressing against him in all the right places. His mind started to melt, trying to ignore the hideous music playing overhead.
He always thought Pete was like water. He wasn’t that graceful, but when Joe’s mind made everything stutteringly slowed down and Pete was grinding against him, always playing a silent game of tug-of-war where Joe constantly had to keep reaching for him, reeling him in too close until they were both sweaty and hard, only to release again and watch him gliding backwards, the thought felt right. Water. Pete. He smiled and let his eyes drift closed, enjoying just the feel of their bodies pressed close together.
Joe pressed his lips to Pete’s neck and smiled when Pete was laughing, low and already pretty far-gone. “Tickles,” he murmured.
“Don’t care,” Joe sighed, snaking one arm around his waist and holding him closer. “I’ve always loved you.”
“Mmm.” Pete was falling into him, his hands tangling in Joe’s hair, though he didn’t remember how they got there. “Always?”
He pressed their foreheads together, forcing their eyes to meet. For the moment, the world sped up to real time, but then it was just them, in some bar, a million years ago. “Always,” he whispered.
Pete mouthed the word back, testing. “I love you,” he said, just as quietly, and Joe smiled so wide it actually hurt.
“Take me home,” he said, giving Pete’s hand a light tug, but Pete was laughing and reeling backwards.
“I think you’ll have to take me home, Joe,” he said, and even though the moment was shattered, Joe was laughing and dragging him out to a waiting taxi that would cost entirely too much money to get them home, but that was okay. This was his night, his goodbye, and he’d do it exactly as he saw fit.
---
The sky was overcast, but Jon didn’t mind. It matched his permanent feelings. As he walked from his small cottage to the gallery, he didn’t hurry along like the few other people he saw along the way, trying to get out of the rain. Instead, he pulled the hood of his coat down tighter and walked straight, one foot in front of the other, and wondered how painful death by lightning really was.
“You’re late,” Vicky said when he finally did arrive, dripping water all over the stone floor.
The lights inside the old room seemed blinding, and he squinted against them to even make out her outline.
“No one’s coming today,” he said, shrugging off his coat. “Look outside.”
Vicky clicked her tongue in annoyance, but walked away. They’d had several fights lately, mostly as Jon’s photographs stopped being of pretty, shiny beaches and local wildlife and turned to ominous looking trees and broken, twisted shards of metal he sometimes found washed ashore. A few weeks ago, they had had a screaming match in the middle of the gallery, and after that, she’d mostly been leaving him alone. Jon was happy for the peace and quiet.
That quiet was unceremoniously interrupted as Brendon came stumbling in from the rain, a huge, oddly shaped coat covering more of Brendon than Jon remembered. “You’re late,” Vicky called, shooting Jon with a look that seemed to scream she was an equal opportunist, just watch her.
“Sorry,” Brendon giggled from inside his coat, starting to try and untangle himself. “We only had one coat.”
Jon looked up from hanging a photo to find there were actually two pairs of shoes hidden underneath the gigantic rain coat. He waited, wondering if Pete was going to appear after one of his strange island visits to collect whatever data the new recruits were getting. Instead though, his heart skipped a beat when Ryan, red-faced and laughing, finally broke free.
“Ryan?” Jon asked, startled.
He turned to look at Jon, smiling until he remembered their last conversation, and then his face changed - but it wasn’t to the anger he’d seen so blatantly spread across his features at the Farewell Party. He almost looked.. guilty.
“Hey.”
“When did you get here?”
Jon felt like he couldn’t breathe. The question on the tip of his tongue, the most important thing in the world, wouldn’t slip out. Jon didn’t know which answer he wanted to that question.
Brendon was still trying to untangle himself from the coat, and Ryan paused before answering, pulling on one of the sleeves until Brendon was finally able to stand up straight, probably still as drenched as if he hadn’t worn a coat at all.
“I got here yesterday,” Ryan said, moving quickly across the studio to Brendon’s work. He began looking over the pottery, likely taking in all the new pieces Brendon had done in his absence.
Yesterday. Had Spencer been on the island a whole day and he didn’t know?
“When are you going home?”
Ryan met Brendon’s eyes across the length of the room and they shared a private, soft smile. “I don’t know,” Ryan laughed, and Brendon moved to wrap an arm tightly around Ryan from behind. “I’m just kind of here, indefinitely. I missed it too much. I don’t know how I’m going to afford any of this…”
Brendon beamed at him. “You could make pottery too.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Or maybe just get my old job back. If Pete will have me.”
“I think he’d have you both back,” Jon said quickly. If Spencer was really here, then Jon would break down Pete’s door and force him to rehire them. Anything to make him stay this time.
Ryan’s smile faded, and he nudged Brendon off lightly. “Jon,” he said slowly. “Spencer stayed in Vegas. He thinks…” Ryan wouldn’t meet his eyes, but it didn’t matter. The world was spinning out of control now anyway. “I was too mad. It took us awhile to make up. But he thought he’d put you through enough.” Jon opened his mouth to protest, but Ryan held up a hand. “I know,” he said quietly, “that it’s stupid, but when Spencer gets something in his head… There’s no changing his mind.”
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said when Jon didn’t answer.
---
The next morning, everything seemed to slow down. When he woke up, Hemmy was laying between them, making soft snuffling noises and trying to eat the blanket in his sleep. Pete, who hadn’t slept but looked oddly refreshed, had the paper open - though Joe suspected only for the comics.
“Hey,” he smiled, leaning his head onto Pete’s shoulder and enjoying the feel of Pete’s fingers running lazily through his hair, missing occasionally and poking him in the forehead as he refused to look up from Peanuts. “Is it a good one?”
“It’s all about Snoopy. Snoopy’s way better than everyone else.”
Joe laughed into his skin, sliding an arm around his waist. “You’re a dork,” he murmured, and Pete did look down at him that time, grinning and shrugging.
Then Hemmy was waking up and moving to lay half on each of them, staring them down and obviously wanting attention. Joe pretended he didn’t notice until Hemmy got downright annoyed, pawing at his side, and they both grudgingly climbed out of bed and went to fetch the leash.
The sun was shining brightly now that the rain had stopped, and his arm felt warm in the summer heat as he swung their arms, hands clasped, back and forth. Pete was smiling at him, taking his time as Hemmy trudged along beside, getting himself muddy and stopping frequently to smell the wet grass or tree trunks.
Joe liked the way their hands felt together, and even after all these years it made him want to pull Pete in close and kiss him.
He hoped he’d remember that feeling, and maybe one day get it back.
“There’s something we need to talk about,” he said, and when Pete looked up at him with blinding trust, Joe wished he had someone there to tell him he was doing the right thing. For all of them.
---
“Can we talk?” Jon had placed himself in front of the door, blocking the only exit, so he knew what the answer was going to be even before Ryan gave a hesitant nod, glancing at Brendon.
“I’ll meet you at home,” Brendon said, pulling Ryan into a long, hard hug. When they parted, Brendon was blushing, but he kept smiling even as he dashed around Jon to the outside, where the sun was now shining brightly in stark contrast to that morning.
Ryan paused before putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder and guiding him out the door.
“Don’t take him to the bar,” Vicky called over her shoulder as she swept the cobble floors.
---
Before they’d left for the day, Joe had told Patrick they didn’t have any tours the next day, so they were taking a day off. It meant Patrick got to lie in, but ultimately, there wasn’t much to entertain himself with at the B&B. Ryland and Alex were busy in the garden, though secretly Patrick thought even Ryland looked a bit bored, and the one channel that occasionally came through on the television wasn’t working at all today.
So, despite his better judgment, he went in to work anyway.
“The least I can do is get started on some of the photo identification for the season. I don’t think Pete’s even touched it since Joe got back,” he explained to Ryland and Alex as he leaned in the doorway to the backyard, squinting against the warm sun.
“You could stay,” Ryland said hopefully, as Alex handed him more seeds to plant. “We could play poker. Or someone left Twister here once.”
“He cheats,” Alex warned, elbowing him. “Besides, we’re gardening.”
Patrick shrugged helplessly at Ryland and then disappeared.
When he arrived at the garage at the pier that Pete and Joe had half-heartedly converted into an office, he found the three new recruits already seated around the desk, staring blearily down at photos of the minke whales that had arrived a month or two ago.
“We’re working,” one of the Mikes said quickly, lifting his head from where it had been resting against the table. “Really.”
“Shut up,” the other Mike, who Patrick was pretty sure Joe had nicknamed Jersey after the initial amusement over yelling “Mike!” and seeing them both scramble wore off, sighed. “This sucks.”
Patrick smirked and pulled up a chair to sit beside Cassadee, glancing over the photos. “No luck?”
“They all look the same,” Mike groaned, holding up two photos of dorsal fins. “We’re supposed to match these to old photos too? I can’t even differentiate one from another.”
Patrick squinted at two of the photos for a moment before making a match, Cassadee staring in awe. “You get used to it,” he said, laughing quietly. “Just wait until the fin whales get here later this month.”
“You’re so cool!” Cassadee grinned, grabbing two more photos to stare at them. “And like, a genius.”
Patrick laughed so hard his side hurt, but Cassadee just kept smiling through it, not the least bit deterred. And then she was asking questions about their breeding habits and size, and Patrick was happy to play the tour guide, even off the boat.
---
The vines on Jon’s home had grown long in the summer months, and he’d long since stopped trimming the grass or plucking the weeds. Now, in the daylight, the entire thing looked as though it were being eaten alive by Mother Nature.
Jon almost felt ashamed of that, but Ryan just gave him a soft smile as he unlocked the door and moved into the kitchen to make them tea - coffee just felt too wrong, and he wanted to be sober for this conversation.
He glanced through the door to where Ryan lingered in his hallway, taking in the photos lined there, which were mostly of Spencer now.
“You’ve never been here, have you?” Jon asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping partway out of the kitchen while the water boiled.
Ryan shook his head slowly, still looking at the pictures. “It’s like he was leading a double life,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Yeah,” Jon agreed, slowly. “It was exactly like that.”
The house grew silent then, as Jon finished up the tea and Ryan continued his quiet trek through the halls, taking in artwork and likely noticing the way one of Spencer’s jackets still hung on the coat rack.
Jon brought out the tea when it was done, pouring them each a steaming cup and sitting down in one of the chairs facing the hallway. Ryan took the cup, but didn’t sit. He was twitching nervously, intent on something.
“I got scared,” Ryan said suddenly, closing his eyes.
Jon’s own narrowed a little in response. He didn’t want to be the one who Ryan got to clear his guilty conscience with. But when Ryan met his gaze again, Jon kept his mouth shut.
“A long time ago,” Ryan started again, his voice shaking, “Spencer had a boyfriend, Brent, and then Spence didn’t want to hang around anymore or… He got too busy.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Jon could see he looked nervous, but he still wasn’t certain why. “I hated myself for it, but I told Spencer we couldn’t be friends then, if he had a boyfriend. Because I didn’t think anyone could love two people. And I knew he’d pick me.”
“You suck,” Jon said, rather insightfully.
“That’s what Spencer said too, in Vegas.” Ryan closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. “He didn’t talk to me for a really long time when we left here. And I know… I fucked up. But you don’t know what we’ve been through. I didn’t want to risk losing him back then. And I thought we were over that. I didn’t know he’d go off and have some secret relationship.”
“Do you love him?” It seemed like the only rational explanation, even as Jon’s breath caught.
Ryan laughed, tilting his head forward. “No,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m just a really bad friend.”
“Did Spencer forgive you?”
“Mostly. I think.”
But then… “Why didn’t he come with you?”
Ryan moved to kneel in front of Jon, looking desperate for some sort of penance, like a scared Catholic schoolboy. The thought almost shook Jon out of his stupor, made him laugh, but in the end nothing came out of his mouth.
“I told you,” Ryan said slowly, gripping his hand. “He said he’d hurt you enough. He’s really, really sorry.”
Jon smiled sadly. “Not sorry enough to tell me himself?”
“He’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Ryan sighed, leaning his head forward again before looking up and meeting Jon’s gaze. “But sometimes, he’s the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”
“That makes two of us.”
As far as consolation prizes went, Jon thought this one sucked.
---
“Hey, sailor,” Greta called from the bar stool she was seated at, and Joe couldn’t help smiling. He always knew when she’d had a drink or three - she was a cute drunk, not a trashy one. The type to wrinkle her nose at you and hide her face behind her hands. And on the rare occasion when she had slightly too much, she always called him sailor.
“I’m not a sailor,” he argued, taking the seat next to her and pretending he didn’t notice the way their thighs touched for a moment.
“What are you?” she asked as she motioned for the barman, holding up two fingers, and whatever he brought back looked fruity and cold, which wasn’t Joe’s usual drink of choice, but he toasted her anyway and took a sip.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, laughing. “A failed rock star? A college dropout? A tour guide?”
She leaned closer, quirking one eyebrow. “That phrase never made sense to me. You’re not a guide like a pamphlet or a map. Aren’t you a… tour guider? Otherwise, instead of a grocer, I’d be… a grocery.”
Joe laughed again, surprised. “Any particular grocery? An orange, a can of soup?”
“No,” she shrugged, and the movement seemed over exaggerated, but she played it off well. “Just a grocery.”
“Alright then,” he said, raising his glass again. “To groceries and pamphlets.”
Greta nodded in agreement and took a large sip of whatever they were drinking. It tasted pretty good, at least.
“I’m recently single,” Joe announced, and for a moment, he really thought she was going to spit her drink on him. She recovered, only coughing for a good minute while he rubbed her back. He hadn’t quite meant for the words to come out that way - it was way too soon, but she wouldn’t remember this. The last part he spoke aloud.
She clearly recovered enough to hit his arm, straightening. “I’m not that drunk!” she argued, before grinning. “Maybe I am. But you’re not single.”
“I am,” he protested. “Free as a bird, as a kite, as a… what else are free?”
“Water is free,” Greta offered. “Tap, anyway.”
Joe laughed, nodding. “I’m as free as tap water, then.”
There was an awkward moment when the laughter died down and they stared at each other, not quite knowing what to do. And then Joe was worried she might be sick on him, and really, these tennis shoes were kind of cool.
Instead, though, she seemed to have a moment of clarity. “What do we do from here?”
Joe plucked a pen from his pocket and took her cocktail napkin, scribbling the words 'COME W/JOE & PETE TO LA' in blotty letters across it and tucking it inside her purse. “Just don’t lose your purse tonight, okay?” he asked slowly. “It’s important.”
She nodded as though she understood, and he took another sip from his drink while she smiled around her straw at him.
---
Patrick knew something was up for at least two weeks before anyone actually told him anything. He’d barely been paying attention on the tour, content to let Joe handle most of the tourist’s questions since he’d been doing it all spring, but he did overhear a young woman asking, rather non-subtly, "So are there any nice single men out here?"
"Of course," Joe said, flashing her a smile. "I'm one of them."
Patrick turned so fast to stare at him that he almost lost his balance, and Joe stared back, seeming confused. Pete ducked quickly into the wheelhouse, hiding his face.
"What?" he mouthed to Joe, but his friend just shrugged helplessly and nodded.
Then one of the tourists spotted a curious group of harbor porpoises, bobbing their heads out of the water and swimming alongside the boat. Patrick had to explain how they were some of the smallest of the porpoises, how fishing nets often entangled them and left their species severely endangered and how in a week in Southern California they’d be seeing an even more endangered species of porpoise, the Vaquita.
Finally, when the onslaught of questions seemed to reach a standstill, Patrick politely excused himself to the wheelhouse.
Pete was driving the boat, very intently, and continued to stare straight ahead. But Patrick wasn’t new to this - they weren’t even going at full speed, and they were in open water now, not near any of the islands or rocks. This was usually the time he’d have let the five-year-old boy on board steer.
He stepped as close to Pete as he could get, waiting, but Pete refused to look up. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Pete asked, and he had the nerve to sound chipper. Patrick never wanted to punch something so much in his life.
“Did you two break up?”
The moment of hesitation was really all the answer he needed, but Pete nodded his head slowly, still not meeting his gaze.
Patrick took in a deep breath. “When?”
“Three weeks.”
Patrick reached out then to strike Pete’s arm, and Pete winced, pulling back and rubbing at the spot. This time, he did meet Patrick’s eyes. “Hey! That hurt!”
“Good,” Patrick said, crossing his arms.
Pete grumbled, still rubbing at the spot. “Maybe I deserved it,” he muttered, almost too low for Patrick to hear.
Some of Patrick’s anger deflated, but not all of it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pete slumped against the wheel, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You leave in a week,” he sighed. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
Patrick didn’t wait to hear more, just walked back out onto the boat and instantly launched into a well-practiced speech about the dangers of sonar to ocean life.
---
One of the Mikes, Jersey, had let it slip that he was good with numbers, and that had been the end of anyone else handling the preparations for the LA trip. It almost seemed cruel to Patrick, considering none of the new recruits got to go, having to stay in Ireland to continue counting seals and dolphins and matching dorsal fins, but he kept his mouth shut and packed his belongings.
“Do you need any help?” Alex had asked that morning, peering in on him. He could see Ryland hovering behind, and they both wanted so desperately to do anything that he let them carry down his suitcases and didn’t protest at all when Alex insisted they all have breakfast before he drove Patrick all the way to the airport, where the tour group was meeting.
There was a long and drawn out goodbye after they’d checked in his bags, in which Ryland promised him a free room any time he came back, and Alex made him swear he’d come back at all. But then they were gone, and Patrick found himself sitting outside with Jersey, who had gotten the bus earlier that morning.
“You’d have thought they could have given me a lift,” Jersey muttered when Pete and Joe finally pulled up in their Jeep, rousing the other Mike who had clearly been asleep in the back seat and handing him the car keys. “He got a ride.”
“We like him more. He’s Original Mike,” Pete said, beaming.
Patrick sort of doubted that when he saw Mike begin unloading their huge luggage and dragging it inside, but Joe nodded drearily, wandering inside.
“Bring two coffees,” Patrick called after him, and he thought he saw a weak thumbs up in his general direction.
Pete hopped down on the curb beside Jersey, smiling at him. “So, who’s on board with us today?”
“Uh.” Jersey fumbled through his backpack before producing a ledger. “Colligan, Cash,” Jersey said, pronouncing the word comma, which made Pete giggle and Patrick wish Joe would just hurry up with the coffee already. “Crawford, Ian. DeLeon, Alex. Johnson, Alex. Marshall, Alex.”
“We’re never going to remember that,” Pete said, and Patrick didn’t doubt how serious he was.
“And,” Jersey said, voice raising over Pete’s, “Salpeter -”
“Comma Greta,” she announced herself, and Jersey looked mildly annoyed that she had stolen his thunder, but she didn’t seem to notice. Greta stopped in front of Pete, blocking his sunlight. She smiled brightly down at him, her sun dress billowing in the cool morning air.
Pete squinted up at her, frowning. “You’re coming?”
Joe chose then to return with the coffee, and Patrick reached for his cup, but Joe saw Greta and sidestepped him, offering it to her instead. Patrick frowned.
“Greta!” Whatever remnants of drowsiness that had been present only a moment before suddenly vanished from Joe.
“I’m here,” she nodded, and Patrick swore he saw her smile faltering for a brief moment before he pulled her into a hug, spinning her around, her dress dancing in the air.
“You knew?” Pete looked affronted, but Joe just laughed, glancing at him over her shoulder.
“Didn’t you? Her name’s been on the ledger for a month.”
Pete turned to Jersey for confirmation, and he threw up his arms and nodded. If Pete accosted him, Patrick didn’t wait to find out - somewhere in this airport there was a cup of coffee with his name on it.
---
The five passengers for their tour, it turned out, were all originally from Vegas (except maybe for one, though which one, Patrick couldn’t have told you) and had spent two months backpacking throughout Europe. This was their flight home, but they wanted one last hurrah before - so they’d decided to join the whale watching expedition after being on one of the tours.
All of this, and more, was recounted to Patrick at the gate while Joe got bagels with Greta and Pete went to stock up on candy before the long flight. He’d never have guessed it, but Pete was clearly terrified of flying if the way he kept pacing back and forth down the very long terminal was any indication. He’d been fine until they got through security, but now he was a wreck.
“We’re in a band. Want to listen?” Ian asked him, smiling hopefully and producing two earbuds and his iPod player. Patrick smiled gratefully for the distraction and plugged them in, leaning his head back and letting the music wash over him.
When someone came and sat beside him, Patrick didn’t think much of it, until they started poking him repeatedly. He sighed, not opening his eyes. “Go away, Pete.”
“Patrick,” he whined, and for the briefest of moments, Patrick felt like he was in another, easier time.
He opened one eye, and Pete looked jittery and anxious, his skin paled as his hands shook at his side. Patrick reached out and grasped at his hand, squeezing tightly. “It’s just a plane,” he said, and Pete nodded slowly.
“I think I’m hallucinating,” he sighed, leaning his head onto Patrick’s shoulder. It hurt to know that Patrick didn’t want to push him off.
“Hallucinating?”
“I swear I see Jon Walker sitting by Greta and Joe,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Clearly, I’m hallucinating.”
Patrick glanced around until he saw them, and then he smiled a little, nudging Pete. “You aren’t hallucinating. That is Jon Walker.”
“Oh,” Pete sighed, closing his eyes. “That’s sort of better then.”
---
“I missed Starbucks,” Jon whispered to Patrick, some two hours into their very long flight. Joe had made him trade seats so he could sit with Greta, which left Patrick wedged between a very fidgety Pete, and for once, an equally fidgety Jon. He was going to strangle Joe if he made it off this plane alive.
“Yeah?” Patrick asked, wondering if conversation might calm Jon’s nerves. Or even Patrick’s own, as anything had to be better than suffering through the romantic comedy playing again, or Pete singing the theme song to The Flinstones over and over in his ear until Patrick had finally banished him to wander the aisles and find an empty seat, or prepare to die. “You know there are Starbucks in Ireland, right?”
He nodded. “But it’s not the same.”
“It’s exactly the same, that’s why it’s a chain. It’s like McDonalds.”
Jon shook his head and smiled. “Theirs has curly fries, ours doesn’t.”
“Starbucks doesn’t,” Patrick countered, and Jon seemed to give up easily enough, his shoulders falling into the backrest.
He remained lost in his thoughts and Patrick picked up the in-flight magazine to kill another 30 minutes of boredom when Jon asked, “Why aren’t you dating Pete?”
Patrick looked up, startled. “What?”
“Well, he and Joe broke up, didn’t they?” Jon looked completely calm now, leaning back into his seat and eyeing Patrick with a curious, but lazy, look. “So why aren’t you two together?”
“Why are you on this plane?”
“Greta told me to come,” Jon answered simply, shrugging. “I’m going to win Spencer back. She didn’t believe I’d get on the plane.”
“But here you are,” Patrick observed, and even to his own ears, it sounded dumb.
Jon nodded. “Here we both are. We’ve established why I’m here, now how about you?”
Patrick motioned to the empty seat beside him, still indented from where Pete had been just a few minutes ago, before he’d disappeared to… wherever it was he had gone to stop annoying Patrick. “I’m here for work. And to go home.”
“You didn’t have to go home,” Jon said. “You’re choosing to go home.”
“I think my student visa expiration date would argue with you.”
“Ryan came back,” he countered, leaning closer. “No pattern or action in human behavior is random.”
Patrick smiled, finally opening the in-flight magazine. “What book did you find that in, Jon?”
“I read it in a magazine,” he laughed. “But it still holds true. They broke up, but you’re leaving anyway. None of that is random or fate. We make our decisions.”
He hesitated, because it felt like a cheap shot. But he didn’t mean it that way at all. “Then… if Spencer left, wasn’t that his choice?”
Jon beamed, his teeth flashing even under the dim book-reading lights. “The wrong one. That’s where I come in.”
Patrick grinned without looking up from the magazine. “If you say so, Jon,” he said, and began to skim a section on Chicago, wondering why it didn’t make him feel homesick.
---
Ryan had bought a hammock off one of the vacationers visiting the gallery, and Brendon sat in a chair on the back porch of his tiny cabin, watching Ryan struggle with it, for the better part of an hour.
“I will get this,” Ryan insisted, and Brendon nodded like he believed him, even if he was secretly keeping track of the time and giggling into his cup of lemonade every 20 minutes or so that went by.
It was almost scorching hot out, the way it had been back home in Vegas. Brendon could feel his own t-shirt sticking to his skin, and the way his hair felt damp and heavy. Ryan’s own hair was a tangled mess, sticking up at odd angles in the heat and from his dealings with the hammock, but Brendon thought he looked gorgeous anyway.
“Maybe we should call someone,” he said, as the third hour was fast approaching.
“Like who?”
Brendon began to tick off people on his fingers. “Pete, Patrick and Joe are gone. They took Jon. And Greta. No to Vicky.”
“No to Vicky,” Ryan echoed, straightening and running a hand through his hair. “Do we know anyone else?”
“Spencer isn’t here,” Brendon said, leaning back. “I don’t think we know anyone at all.”
But Ryan was desperate enough to call Spencer, and he disappeared into the house for a few minutes in search of water while Spencer supposedly looked up diagrams on the internet on the other end of the phone line.
---
“Do you have a place chosen to hang it up?” Spencer read off into receiver, and Ryan sighed, blowing air onto his forehead, but his hair didn’t move at all. It was a lost cause by now.
“Yes,” he muttered.
“Okay, good. Do you have a hanging kit?”
Ryan frowned. “What’s that?”
“A hanging kit. I’m assuming a kit for hanging up the hammock…”
“Yes, thank you.”
From his position in the chair, Brendon wagged a finger at him, looking entirely too amused. “Do you need to be separated?”
“We are,” Ryan argued. “By a very large ocean.”
“A lot of good that’s done,” Brendon and Spencer said, simultaneously, and it made Ryan’s head spin a little.
“Shut up,” he said, to no one in particular. “Will anything other than a hanging kit work?”
“Do you have rope?” Spencer asked. “And if the answer is yes, how are your sailor knots?”
“Take a guess,” Ryan sighed, leaning his head back.
“What were you using to hang this thing up with anyway?”
“Nails,” Ryan answered hesitantly. “And sheer willpower.”
There was a crackle on the other end, and Ryan swore he could hear Spencer laughing under it. “Call Gabe,” Spencer said after a moment. “I have a feeling he’s good with tying things up,” and really, that made Ryan wince, but Gabe was nice enough to do it for free. “But first, tell me about Ireland.”
“It’s fucking hot,” Ryan groaned.
This time, it was Spencer’s turn to say, “Shut up. You’re not in Nevada.”
Of course he had a point. The sweat pouring down his back didn’t really agree that it was a good one, though. “You could have come.”
Spencer was quiet for a moment that stretched on just a little too long, and Ryan had to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning anything about Jon’s plans. If things were going to work out, they’d work out on their own. He was done meddling. “I miss you,” Spencer said instead, and Ryan breathed easier.
“I miss you too, Spence.”
---
When Pete finally settled into the seat beside him again, Patrick cast him with a dark look. “Are you done being a 4-year-old?”
“Never,” he announced, proudly, but he leaned into Patrick a little. It was such a stark contrast to the weeks before, when they’d each been avoiding each other at every turn, even refusing to stand next to each other on longer tours. “But,” he started again, slower, “I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” Patrick opened a book Jon had loaned him, and for a time, it seemed as if Pete was going to keep to his promise.
Then he was twisting in his seat, glancing back at their five Vegas guests, and then settling on Joe and Greta.
“Is it weird?” he asked suddenly, turning back around. “That I’m not more bothered?”
“By?” Patrick kept his eyes on the book in front of him, though he couldn’t remember a word he’d just read.
Pete leaned his head back. “By Joe being all over Greta.”
Well. Patrick had maybe thought that was a bit weird. “They aren’t all over each other,” he argued. “I don’t even think he’s kissed her today.”
“Same difference. Should I be bothered?”
Sighing, Patrick did lift his head up. Pete looked tired, but not the kind where Joe would whisper Pete hadn’t slept at all the night before, so watch his driving, before a tour. Not even the kind he had looked those first few days after Joe had left, or for that matter, come back. This was different.
“You feel what you feel,” he said, and hesitantly put a hand over Pete’s.
Pete seemed to take that as a green light for more, and he curled into Patrick’s side as best as he could considering the airplane seats. “I’m sad,” he said, quietly. “But not as sad as I thought I’d be. And that makes me sadder.”
Patrick smiled into his hair, brushing his lips against his forehead. “Don’t be sad.”
Behind them, a roar of laughter sprung up, and they both turned to look at the Vegas boys. Ian had stolen one of the Alex’s rubber bracelets and he and Cash were tossing them into the laps of passengers, watching their confused faces. Pete smiled and moved back to join them, and whatever had just happened between Pete and Patrick seemed to be gone now.
“Thanks,” Patrick muttered to no one in particular, and went back to trying to read the book.
---
Part Six