Finding Delaware (State of Us #1)

27. Huckslee

Huckslee

S leeping in a bed with three other people isn’t as unpleasant as I initially thought.

Even when I wake up to Salem’s hot morning breath on the side of my neck and Logan’s leg tossed over us, it feels oddly...nice. Safe, I guess. Despite all the shit that happened last night, it was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time. Even the sight of Taylor on his back with his hand resting on Logan’s hip doesn’t piss me off. It feels like we were all going through our own things last night and just needed comfort or something. Knowledge that we aren’t alone. I’ll be honest; it’s a weird bubble I don’t want to leave, but it pops the minute Taylor’s chest moves as he wakes and turns toward me. Like he sensed my alertness.

Fixing my face into a scowl, I watch as he flashes me a sleepy grin and stretches, the hem of his shirt—Tweety Bird flipping two middle fingers–riding up to showcase his completely lickable abs. He moans into the stretch, the sound bolting through my cock, and I have to shove Logan’s leg off before he feels it jerk against him.

And now everyone’s awake.

Nice going, Taylor .

I glare at him as Salem pulls away from me, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry. You’re like a space heater. So warm.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

Logan tightens his hold on her, grumbling and unwilling to get up. He’s never been a morning person.

On the other hand, Taylor springs to his feet with a chuckle, his dark hair adorably sticking up in the back where it flattened against the pillow. “Mornin'!”

Those bright blue-green eyes slide over to me, and I can’t help but remember the way they looked last night when they darkened after Salem joked about me fucking him. How they glazed with interest as if he actually imagined it. Just like I did. The way he’d look, bent over for me, the sounds he’d make…

And now I’m hard. Great.

“What’s for breakfast?” Salem extricates herself from Logan’s hold, kissing his forehead before reaching up to tighten the messy bun on her head.

“Bacon in the fridge,” Logan mumbles, pressing his face further into the pillow. “Eggs. OJ.”

“Please tell me you brought coffee.” I roll out of bed, wrapping a blanket around myself not only because it’s freezing but to hide my boner.

Salem crawls to the edge of the bed, pulling on a thick robe before stuffing her feet into a pair of fuzzy red slippers. “I brought some. Logan doesn’t like it. ”

“Cuz he’s an absolute menace.” Taylor raises his arms above his head in a move that has his back and ass muscles flexing before following her downstairs, and I curse him silently. I wasn’t this aware of him until last night when he climbed on top of me. It’s going to be a problem.

Hanging back, I take a moment to stand there and cool off. Get my bearings. Try to process everything that took place over the last twenty-four hours.

“You alright?” Logan’s voice comes from the bed, gazing up at me with one eye open.

“Yep.” I nod, for once feeling like it’s the truth. “All good.”

Because I am. Really. Yeah, the whole thing with Taylor is irritating, but I don’t feel like I’m spiraling. I feel...lighter this morning. Rested. Settled.

“Good.” He closes his eyes, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the sun from the wall of glass downstairs. “Bring me breakfast.”

I did not, in fact, bring him breakfast.

Salem went up there to jump on the bed until he came downstairs, grumbling the entire time. After everyone had eaten and showered an hour and a half later, we were out in the freezing cold, dressed in snowsuits, getting the snowmobiles ready. There are only two of them, and for some reason, I thought I’d ride with Logan until he climbs on behind Salem, which leaves…

“So, who’s gonna be the backpack?” Taylor asks, adjusting the goggles under his helmet. I just scowl at the snowmobile like it personally offended my grandma, and after a moment, he laughs.

“You’ve never been on one of these, have you? ”

Fuck, how does he read me so easily?

Shaking my head, the scowl deepens when I catch his grin before he climbs onto the machine.

“Hold on tight, spider monkey,” he drawls, patting the seat behind him.

“Really? You’re quoting Twilight?”

He shrugs as I take my place against his back. “It’s Salem’s favorite movie.”

“Actually,” she shouts next to us, voice muffled by her helmet, “he’s lying. He’s seen it a hundred times–”

Taylor cuts her off by starting the snowmobile, and my arms barely have time to wrap around him before he lurches forward. He takes the lead, guiding us through trees and over the frozen terrain with hand signals, and holy shit, I didn’t expect snowmobiles to be this fast. Nearly as fast as a dirt bike, except with gears instead of wheels. And just like a dirt bike, Taylor handles it with expertise, navigating us over bumps and dips like it’s second nature to him.

I’ll admit, the scenery we pass is breathtaking. As much as I miss the warmth and forests of California, nothing compares to Utah’s winter. The sun reflects off icicles dripping through frozen birch branches, creating kaleidoscopes of color against powdered snow. A sea of white falls over pine trees like icing, flakes sparkling in the air.

As Taylor accelerates, we pull into a clearing, weaving the snowmobile in a zigzag that has me tightening my hold on his middle. His shoulders shake with laughter before he whips us into spins, snow spraying around us in wide arcs. Salem and Logan follow suit, doing doughnuts in the fresh powder, whoops of joy ringing out over the engines .

My lungs empty as a shout bursts from me, one arm up in the air while the other clings to Taylor for dear life. I feel lighter than air. For once, every thought and worry leaves my brain other than this very moment. Despite the adrenaline shooting through my veins, the noise inside me is calm.

Eventually, Taylor brings the snowmobile to a halt and motions with his hand for me to get off. When I do, I watch curiously as he guns it toward a tall hill, riding up the side of it and clearing air before coming back down. Like the slope is a half-pipe or something. He does this several times, and a soft laugh to my left has me looking down at Salem, who’s shaking her head affectionately as she films him.

“I call those the Taylor zoomies,” she grins.

Honestly, it’s fitting. The way he’s jumping up and sliding down the hill repeatedly reminds me of a golden retriever who’s been let off his leash. It’s oddly endearing.

Once he’s gotten it out of his system, we’re back on the trail again, and by mid-day, we stop at a vast lake after an hour or two. The early afternoon sun glints off the lake, beams of light dancing through the trees. It’s so bright without the helmet that I pull out my Oakleys, shoving them on to shade my eyes as I gaze out at the frozen water from a wooden dock.

It’s beautiful and quiet, all sound cushioned by the surrounding snowfall like we’ve stepped into a snow globe. If I could, I’d paint the scene before me. But I’ve never been good with paints, much less landscapes. Pencils are my strong skill, and even then, I feel my sketches lack a sort of realism to them. Proportions are usually too big, dramatized, or wonky. It’s why I gave up the comic I was working on in high school; I’ll never compare to the late greats like Steve Ditko or Jack Kirby .

Despite the sun, a chill hits me from being out in the cold all day, which has me crossing my arms with a shiver. The snowsuit I borrowed from Logan is warm, but the air hitting my neck bites. A thermos appears in my vision, and I look over to see Taylor standing next to me, lines on his red cheeks from the ski goggles on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Nose pink. He looks so fucking cute that I automatically scowl.

“Here.” He shakes the thermos. “It’ll warm ya.”

I don’t know why I’m expecting something like rum or whiskey when I take a swig, especially when he told me yesterday that he’s two years sober, but what I’m not expecting is the thick, hot sweetness that rolls over my tongue.

“Hot chocolate?”

He grins, flashing his crooked incisor when he nods in encouragement, and I find myself staring at his bright eyes as I take a few more gulps before handing it back to him. The color in his irises seems more green today against the sea of white surrounding us.

After he screws the lid shut, we gaze out at the frozen lake in silence. Logan’s laugh comes from behind us, followed by Salem’s voice, but I don’t feel like joining their conversation right now. I like the calm I’ve found near the water.

But, of course, Taylor has to disturb it because the guy doesn’t know how to shut up.

“Want to ice skate with me?” He throws an offering hand out to the lake, and I raise my brows over my sunglasses.

“Are you kidding?”

That damn grin taunts me again.

“Uh, negatory.” My eyes sweep over the lake. “Who knows how thin or thick that ice is? ”

His lips smack in protest. “Where’s your sense of whimsy, Huck?”

“My sense of self-preservation outweighs it,” I choke out, and I feel him freeze next to me. The look on his face clearly indicates he’s been taken off guard, but he recovers quickly, and I stare at him perplexed until the words I said dawn on me.

Sense of self-preservation .

What, the knowledge that I want to live threw him for a loop?

My chest tightens painfully as I turn away. I guess I get it. The whole trust thing, remember? Between the looks of worry I get from my grandparents and Logan, I should be used to it by now. And I am. Even if it still stings a little when it happens, I understand. But coming from Taylor? Something about it hurts more, and I can’t understand why.

Things get awkward after that. I wish he’d join Logan and Salem and leave me be. The peace I felt earlier, that comfortable buzz inside of me, is fading fast with his presence so close, different from when I was pressed against him on the snowmobile. Against the cushioned hush of the lake, his nearness feels almost intimate, making my skin itch.

“Have you ever ice-fished?” He blurts suddenly, startling me, and I shake my head.

“Nope.”

“Me either.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I’d go ice fishing. With you.”

Brows pulling down, I turn to find him gazing at me cautiously. My lips twitch, and as hard as I try to keep it in, a laugh bursts out of me because that was just...such a weird thing to say. And the way he said it. Haltingly, like he was unsure how to speak.

“I’d go ice fishing with you, too,” I chuckle, grinning widely, but then it falls off my face when I remember who I’m talking to.

This is Taylor fucking Tottman, and I’m supposed to hate him. Because he’s an asshole. And selfish. And the cute, charming act he’s got on right now is just that; an act.

As if sensing my sudden shift in mood, his face tightens, shoulders tensing like he’s bracing for something. We gaze at each other momentarily before I pull away, turning toward where Logan and Salem are sunbathing on a nearby picnic table.

“We should probably head back to the cabin soon.”

“Yeah. Right.”

As he follows, the dejected tone in his voice makes my jaw clench, but I say nothing while we all pile back onto our snowmobiles and head out. I catch Salem’s helmet turning toward Taylor occasionally as if she sees something she doesn’t like, but whatever. Not my problem. Taylor’s feelings are not my problem.

We must have gone far because it takes us over an hour to get back to the cabin. The hearth is freezing because someone (Taylor) was so excited to go snowmobiling that he forgot it was his turn to load the fireplace before we left. As he begins piling in the wood, I let off a string of grumbled curses that have Salem narrowing her eyes at me before locking myself in the bathroom to shower.

Good mood gone. Peace bubble popped.

Fuck you, Taylor.

My mood improves slightly later that night.

Salem and I are on opposite ends of the sofa, sharing a blanket while she does homework, and I attempt to draw in my sketchbook. Logan and Taylor are sitting on the floor playing Monopoly, and I’ll admit that Taylor’s hatred for the game is pretty funny. He’s been bitching and moaning about it since they started playing.

“All right, I give up.” He throws his hands in the air, face bunched up as he shoves his properties toward Logan. “Take all my shit. I’m done.”

“You’re such a sore loser.” Logan gathers his winnings with a satisfied smirk, and Taylor scrubs at his face.

“I do not understand this fucking game. Who enjoys escaping from the reality of paying rent and taxes by playing a game about paying rent and taxes?!”

I raise my hand with a pencil, eyes still focused on my sketch. “Me.”

Taylor scoffs. “Says the Poli-Sci major.”

Blinking, I force myself to keep my gaze down instead of glancing up at him. How does he know I’m going for a Political Science degree? Logan may have mentioned something.

Christian’s voice from that night at the rally replays in my head .

“Baby boy never misses any. And if he does, he gets moody as fuck.”

I honestly thought it was an exaggeration, but if it wasn’t? An uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut, and I shift around on the couch to displace it.

As Logan cleans up the game, Taylor rises with a huff before unceremoniously plopping down between us, sending her textbook on media ethics sliding to the floor.

“You fucker,” she grunts, and he smiles as he picks it up for her before turning his attention to me. To the sketchbook on my lap.

He watches quietly until Salem kicks him in the thigh.

“You still draw?” He clears his throat as I shoot him a look.

“Obviously.”

Taylor says nothing, only studies the sketch I’m trying to do of the lake.

“I didn’t, for a long time,” I admit with a shrug, “but I’m trying to get back into it.”

“Yeah?” Another kick from Salem. “Um, so I might have an idea for you if you’re interested.”

With a raised brow, I turn to look at him, waiting. His eyes nervously bounce from mine to the sketch, and I grit my teeth impatiently.

“So, Christian and I had this idea–” A third kick to his thigh. “ Salem , Christian, and I had this idea of expanding our T.O.T brand into things like merchandise. Shirts and hats and stuff. Maybe stickers. We would need an artist to help with the designs, and I figured since you’re an artist and all...” His fingers pick at a loose thread on his sleeve. “If you wanted to, you know, collaborate. Help with ideas. ”

I stare at him wordlessly because I don’t know how to respond.

“You’d get compensated, of course,” Salem pipes in. “We’d pay you for the work, and you’d get a cut of the sales. You’re not expected to work for free. Unlike me.”

She snickers at Taylor, who rolls his eyes before placing them on me expectantly.

My lips pull down while I blink a few times. “I’m...not very good.”

He holds a hand out for the sketchbook. “I highly doubt that, but let’s see.”

That self-conscious feeling churns in my stomach again like it did when Logan’s dad and Maisie were looking, but I hand the book over to him and focus on the fire as he slowly flips through it. Salem leans in, making little ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs.’ It’s a new sketchbook, so there isn’t a lot in it yet, but a slight sound comes out of Taylor’s throat that has me whipping my head toward him. I go very still when I see what he’s studying with wide eyes.

Shit . I forgot that was in there.

Motherfuck.

“This is my bike?” Taylor taps the page with a finger, lips parted as he brings it closer to his face. He’s almost enraptured, completely awed, and sweat starts to bead on my neck. The wheels are bigger than they should be, and big puffs of cartoonish smoke billow out of the tailpipe.

Faking an easy shrug, I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I was trying something new, is all.”

“Your attention to detail is amazing, man,” he laughs, pointing at a spot near the rear fender. “I scraped it right there when I overcorrected a landing at a buddy’s house and laid the bike down. And look at all of my decals!”

Yeah, the amount of time I spent studying his IG posts to get everything right is embarrassing. I was going to add him in, too, eventually, but thank fuck that I didn’t. I don’t think I’d ever come back from that embarrassment.

Handing the book back, his eyes shine as he smiles brightly at me. “You’re a real artist, Huck. I’m serious. Those are so good.”

Damn, the pride in his eyes. It makes me feel…

I hate the way it makes me feel.

“I agree,” Salem nods. “You’ve got talent, Huckslee. Think about our offer. If you’re interested, let us know, and we’ll sort out the logistics.”

I huff an anxious laugh as I shove the book into my bag. “Logistics. What, are you their manager or something?”

“Marketing manager.” She rolls her eyes before glancing over her shoulder at where Logan is fixing dinner. “I’m trying to make my boyfriend their business manager, but he’s being a little bitch.”

“I don’t know the first thing about managing a business, Salem,” he grumbles, chopping onions, and that gets a laugh out of me.

“Isn’t that, like, the whole purpose of your college degree? To learn how?”

“Doing something in theory and practice are two totally different things.”

“How will you learn if you don’t try, babe?” She squints at him. “Why do you think I do all this shit for Taylor and Christian without getting paid? The experience. Knowledge. Duh. Well, and plus, they’re both broke as a joke.”

Dinner is spent with the two of them poking fun at each other while Taylor chimes in, and that peaceful feeling starts to settle over me again. It’s kind of...easy spending time with them. Despite all the heavy stuff between Taylor and me, the vibe that all three of them put off is warm and inviting, like family.

After moving to Cali, I spent a lot of time alone. Sure, I had my grandparents over the summer, who were amazing and took me on trips whenever possible. I had my roomie Shawn, who’s pretty chill and taught me to surf. A few friends from classes. I had my teammates, but they were just that; teammates. Coworkers. I never really hung out with any of them off the field. And then there were the boyfriends. One boyfriend after another, no relationship lasting longer than a year at most, because despite how hard I tried to make things work, I always felt...lonely. And fake.

But I loved the ocean. A painful, almost homesickness chokes me up when I think about how much I miss that wide-open, churning vastness. Sitting on a surfboard, tossed about by something alive and free and more significant than any of my problems. But still. The sea never made me feel this way, even on its calmest days. And I don’t know how to handle it because I ran away from Utah in the first place to feel like this. So why is it hitting me now, here, of all places?

Once dinner is cleaned up, Logan and Salem head upstairs while Taylor follows like a lost puppy. I stay on the couch, listening to their conversations while working on homework. I planned on sleeping down here; I really did. But when their chattering starts to fade, I find myself heading up, throat closing with emotion at how they all make room for me in the bed like it’s an unspoken invitation.

Taylor’s eyes meet mine briefly before they sink closed, and I can’t help but think:

After all these years, why does it feel like I’m finally coming home?