Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom 2)

As the monster truck revved its engine and gunned it toward the ramp, Jamie’s hand shot out and gripped Marcus’s naked lady forearm. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The massive tires crashed down on the cars in a deafening crunch of glass and squeals of twisted metal—and it was so satisfying and weirdly cathartic that Jamie couldn’t stop laughing. When he glanced over at Marcus, he was staring at Jamie’s hand on his arm. He quickly took it back. “If you tell my brothers about this, I’ll deny it.”

Marcus was frowning at the hand Jamie had removed from his arm. “Where do they think you are tonight?”

“They weren’t around to ask me,” Jamie said, jerking back when an ancient Toyota pickup was smashed like a pancake. “It’s Rory’s night off, so he’s with Olive trying not to propose before their one-month anniversary even passes. Andrew is working the bar.”

The announcer’s voice over the loudspeaker broke in, promising more bone crunching after a short intermission and the lights turned on, illuminating Marcus’s thoughtful expression. “Would you usually be on, like, a…date or something?”

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“No reason. I just saw you slide those digits to Father Time at the bar last night. Maybe if you hadn’t lost the bet, you’d be out with him.”

“First of all, he wasn’t that old.”

Marcus snorted.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “All right, fine. I date older guys. It’s easy.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Christ, this was hitting way too close to home. And by home, he meant this so called friendship between him and Marcus. He’d gotten out the door with his self-respect intact tonight by telling himself he was only going to Monster Jam because he’d lost a bet. Not because the thought of hurting Marcus’s feelings made him want to gouge out his eyes. Here he was again, though, trying to shield Marcus from the obvious truth. He didn’t want Jamie as just a friend, no matter how he probably denied it to himself.

Jamie wasn’t doing Marcus any favors by shielding him from reality. He wasn’t doing himself any favors, either, by swallowing the truth of how hurtful it could be when someone refused to acknowledge him in public.

“I date older guys because most of them aren’t scared. To be who they are. A lot of them are past that.” Jamie exhaled slowly. “I’m never going to wait around again for some guy to figure himself out. Especially when they don’t really want to. It’s exhausting.”

There was a flicker of discomfort in Marcus’s eyes, before it was replaced with rapt curiosity. “Again? That’s happened before?”

Jamie didn’t answer, but he could hear the wheels turning in Marcus’s head.

“Did it have something to do with the incident?”

“The incident.” Jamie laughed, even though a crack formed straight down his middle. The incident. The incident. “Is that what people call it?”

They both had to stand so someone in their row could sidestep by with a tray of nachos. When they sat back down again, Marcus looked like he was chewing something distasteful. “Finding out what happened to you on the beach six summers ago is kind of like playing telephone. Most of the lifeguards we work with now weren’t there at the time. But I thought what happened to you was just some drunk idiots looking for a fight.”

Just like the other night in the bar, Jamie could feel the hands. Sticky, clammy hands, dragging him toward the water. Too many of them to count or fight off. The police sirens. His brother being loaded into the back of a police car, because of Jamie. Because of his idiotic decision. He took several calming breaths and pasted a blank expression on his face. “Relax, Diesel. Let’s just watch some cars get mutilated, all right?”

During the second half of the show, they didn’t laugh as much, but the tension between them ebbed after a while, even if the groove etched between Marcus’s eyebrows seemed to be permanent. When it was over and they’d left the stadium, they took a bus to the LIRR station and hopped on the line back toward Long Beach. The train was packed full of rowdy monster truck enthusiasts headed back to parts unknown, unfortunately, so Marcus and Jamie were forced to stand in the corner by the sliding door. At the next stop, even more people piled on, pushing their way into the crowded car—

And that’s how Jamie found himself pressed against Marcus.

It was a slow progression. They were already inches apart, which was certainly too close for Jamie’s comfort. Then inch by painstaking inch, the distance closed and Marcus hips nudged Jamie back against the tinted partition that blocked them from the seated passengers of the train car. Desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Marcus, Jamie’s gaze cut to the side, toward the other standing commuters. All of their backs were turned. It was as if he and Marcus were really alone in the dim, rocking train car—and that was bad.