You & Me

by Tal Bauer

“I don’t know what to do.” The admission was agonizing, the words clawing inside my throat. “None of us do. Being a parent is like driving a car without brakes. You grip the wheel and hold on tight, pray you don’t crash too hard.”

We both grimaced. I shifted, moving my own knee against Landon’s. Landon dropped casual touches easily, and I hadn’t been touched, other than a handshake, for three years. Landon’s shoulder squeezes and knee brushes burned me like a brand. They were moments where, for a single second, I wasn’t alone in the world. I existed. I was a person, and another person’s warmth reached me.

“You drink wine now?” Emmet pressed the end of the pork cutlet into the sizzling oil. “Like Mr. Larsen?” “Yeah. We’re friends. He taught me a few things.” Football, wine, a new and robust appreciation for cock and muscled bodies, as long as both belonged to Landon.