Meet Me in the Blue (Hemlock Harbor, #1)

by A.M. Johnson

Rook looked down at our tangled fingers, his lopsided grin appearing again as I said, “Guess we’ll both be loners… together.”

“Then this will be our blue hour, Rook.” His smile spread wide as he turned to look at me. “This will always be our time.”

We want you to know we love you unconditionally, straight… or gay, we love you and want you to do whatever makes you happy.”

I wished it was as easy as gay or straight. What if being alone was my happily ever after? Would that be so bad?

But friendship was a funny thing, and like the miles between us, he grew more distant with every missed text, or phone call.

Christmas. I’d tried to reach out when we all found out about his dad, but it had been clear I was the only one holding on, and after a while, the grip I had on the past hurt more than it was worth.

“Meet me in the blue,” I said. “I’ll always be here.”

He’s straight, Nora. He’s just a friend. He’s not into me like that. I can’t keep hoping. He loves you. He’s waiting. He’s confused. He’s here. He’s yours.

Because I failed. Because I couldn’t admit it. Because I was afraid of disappointing everyone. Disappointing you.

He had always belonged here. Belonged to this town, to my family. I only wished I could have too.

It was otherworldly, the colors steeped in grays and blues and deep greens. A place where, regardless of the cold, the seagulls always squawked, swooping, and flying overhead.

Quiet enough I could hear the distance my absence had created between us.

“I wasn’t ready then, and I’m not sure I’m ready now. But I want to be here. I’m a selfish asshole. I shut everyone out and wasted so much time.”

He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. I hated how my fingers trembled.

“I failed. At everything and I couldn’t come back here and prove everyone right.”

He moved his hand, taking the steadying heat of his touch with him. “You’re right about one thing,” he said, his grip tight around his menu. “You are a selfish asshole.”

“Thank you… For caring about me. But I promise, my sexuality is as confusing for me as it is for you.”

“I’m not straight.” The three words snapped the chains to the concrete blocks holding my feet to the ground. “I’ve never said that out loud before.”

“I’m right, though. Maybe you’re demi or ace, who knows. Christ, there’re so many labels now. Want to know what I think?”

“Fuck the labels. There are all types of love, Rook.”

“You love Luka. You love him like I loved Carter, and having, or not having sex with someone doesn’t define that. Not for me and not for you.”

I thought of him, and maybe he couldn’t love me the way I needed him to, but he did, love me. And all the pain inside me intensified, crested like an ocean wave in a storm, but from up here I could see everything, and I decided happiness was forgiveness.

“And I don’t care about whatever sexuality is what. Sometimes love is just love.”

With his nervous laugh as the silence in the kitchen deepened, and his amber eyes that reminded me, no matter what, I’d always belong to him.

Luka tried to move his hand, but I held on tighter, lacing my fingers through his. Palm to palm, he lowered his eyes, staring at the connection.

I always liked the way his pale skin looked against the darker shade of my own.

I’d always loved Luka, no matter how or why. Forgiving him was easy. But in a week or a month or an hour, Luka’s life would be irreversibly altered, and if I left him alone in that terrible void to fend for himself, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

“No more apologies. No more anger. I know you, Luka. You did what you did, and we can’t change it. But it’s done, and we’ll deal with it.”

“I always need you… Shit… Rook, I lo… I…”

fingers tingling as I trailed them over the tattoo. “I need you too,” I said the four words in a shaky whisper. “You’re my best friend… I love you too much to throw that away.”

“I love you too,” he said, but it wasn’t like that. Like I love you.

Those three words for him meant growing up together, camping, s’more sticky fingers, Magic the Gathering, and awkward teenage angst. They meant f...

But he’d never looked at me like that before, like his heart could finally, finally, hear mine.

My stupid needy heart was a bramble of hope and years of yearning.

In high school, I’d practically lived in his hockey jersey, and I’d loved how it had made me feel like his.

It had been stupid and childish, and I guess I still had some growing up to do because seeing him in my clothes made it feel like he was mine too.

“Did you like it when I wore your jersey in high school?”

“It made me feel proud.” “Proud?” “Like you belonged to me.” “I did… I do. I’ll always be yours,”

“Luka…” he called my name like he’d forgotten something. “I… I’m yours too.”

“Even when you’re mad at me?” I asked, my heart dropping in my stomach, and his full lips pulled into a crooked smile. “Yeah, Luka. Even then.”

“What I mean is… you’re special, Rook, you’re not like those idiots on your team. You’ll find someone…”

I’d never enjoyed kissing. The wet and sloppy warmth of another person’s mouth hadn’t ever appealed to me.

But I found myself wondering what Luka would taste like. Would he be all nutmeg and maple sugar?

His lips parted, a surrendered soft sound escaping his throat as I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, to the spot where the maple syrup had gathered.

The contact warmed my cheeks, closed my eyes, and muted the world around me.

It wasn’t rushing blood and fire.

It was years of waiting and confusion and forgiveness. I wanted this building pressure, this urge to expose every nerve as his hand slid up my chest to my neck, and his nails scratched my skin.

“You can’t kiss me like that…” His voice was raw, scraped thin and vulnerable. “You can’t kiss me like you mean it if you don’t.”

“I don’t want to lose my best friend again.” “You won’t.”

“It was everything I’ve ever fucking wanted, and it scares the hell out of me. I don’t think I could survive it this time… if it didn’t work out.”