Here I Am

Prologue

PrologueToby

I’m not a fan of the nightlife, and the moment I stepped into this bar, I remembered why. It isn’t just my back aching again, a dull reminder of the injury that prevents me from standing for longer periods of time; I also don’t like the noise and crowds. Simple as that.

I regret letting myself be talked into coming here. Most people around me are either already drunk or well on their way, but I don’t drink. I prefer to stay alert and aware of everything happening around me. Some might call that paranoid or boring, but believe me when I say it’s not. I’m not your typical twenty-six-year-old, after all.

Around me, music is blasting, drowning out the voices of the people in the crowd, leaning close as they shout into each other’s ears. It’s a typical Friday evening, and given that this town only has three good bars to choose from, this place is starting to get packed.

I stand off to the side, nursing a drink I’m not really interested in, half-listening to what my friend Sebastian’s saying and full-on wishing I was anywhere else.

At least my mates are here, the few people in this world I can be myself around. In some way, they’re my own little queer army. There aren’t many of us here in Vermillion, South Dakota—a small city in a mostly conservative state. At least, not many that we know of. My friend Sebastian, the one standing next to me, came out as bisexual four years ago when he was twenty-three. It wasn’t surprising. Even before I got to know him, I suspected he wasn’t straight, but I think he would have come out sooner if he lived somewhere else.

His looks are unremarkable: Sebastian has blue eyes, short brown hair, and faint acne scars on his skin. But that doesn’t prevent people from always wanting to spend time with him. He has this energy people are drawn to: this friendly, straightforward personality that makes him approachable. He’s using it now, chatting up a group of people with his usual charm and enthusiasm. We balance each other out well, I think. I tend to be a bit of a hermit, wary of people all the time, but he can be too trusting, too caring about people he barely knows. We help each other out: I tell him when he’s giving too much of himself to people who don’t deserve it. He convinces me to leave the house when my hermit tendencies bubble up. Which is why I’m here now…I’m not too happy with him at the moment, but overall, I consider him one of my closest friends. It’s been that way since we met four years ago at the rehabilitation center, where he was healing from a broken arm, and I was recovering from a more extensive spinal injury.

Elsewhere in this bar, currently out of sight, is Kai. He’s the little brother of my former best friend, Jonah. I’ve known him for a long time, and I have to say, he’s the closest thing I have left to family. He has a sweet face and dark blond wavy hair, and he works as a bartender at the local wine bar. Kai having Friday nights off and spending it anywhere else than at the wine bar is a rarity—a factor Sebastian swiftly used in order to convince me to go out tonight.

Without realizing it, my gaze drifts from our lively group, scanning the crowded bar, searching for him—for Kai—almost on autopilot. I don’t even register what I’m doing until my eyes start tracking across the room, and even then, it doesn’t strike me as anything unusual. I’m just keeping an eye on my friends, I tell myself. That’s all.

But then, suddenly, I spot him, and in that instant, everything changes. My breath catches, and my pulse quickens once I see where he’s standing and, more importantly, who he’s standing with. On the other side of the room, too far away for him to hear me but where he can see me, Kai is leaning in close to Franklin. Too close.

I can feel my jaw clench as I watch Franklin’s hand settle on Kai’s waist, his fingers trailing along the fabric like he’s got a right to be there. My heart sinks, and my hands wrap tightly around my glass, so tightly that I’m close to crushing it.

Next to me, Sebastian looks at me every so often, shooting me a grin as if to say, Aren’t you glad I dragged you out tonight? But I can’t focus on him or anything except what’s happening on the other side of the room.

Kai is glancing over at me, his eyes flicking toward mine, searching. And I’m looking, alright—trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Why is he letting Franklin come so close? Just push him away, Kai, I try to tell him with my eyes, hoping somehow, he’ll get the message. You don’t have to let him hang all over you.

But it’s like my silent plea only pushes Kai further. He laughs at something Franklin says, turning his head to make sure I see them, I’m sure, every movement more exaggerated, every laugh a little louder. I want to believe he’s doing it just because he’s drunk, or because Franklin is simply there, but every time I look, Kai’s glancing my way, checking if I’m watching. And I am. Frustration bubbles up inside me, sharp and painful, my stomach twisting as Franklin slides an arm around him, pulling him close. I don’t get why Kai is letting this happen. He didn’t even know Franklin before tonight and hasn’t shown any actual interest in dating. So why is he letting Franklin touch him now?

And then, just like that, it happens. Franklin leans in, moving with the unmistakable confidence of someone who knows he won’t be stopped. I wait, heart pounding, barely breathing, sure that Kai will pull away. But he doesn’t. He just gives me one last, pointed look, then closes his eyes and lets Franklin kiss him.

A wave of heat surges through me, and for a second, I think I might actually yell. All I want to do is rip Franklin’s hands off him, shove him away, and drag Kai out of here myself. But I’m frozen, caught off guard, because I don’t understand any of this. Franklin’s hands, the kiss, Kai’s look—none of it makes sense, like I’m missing something right in front of me.

Only then does it start to hit me, a thought creeping up that feels stupid, but it’s the only thing that explains the way Kai keeps glancing back at me. Is he doing this to get a reaction? But that can’t be it…can it? I keep staring, watching the scene unfold, and everything suddenly feels different, like he’s trying to tell me something that I haven’t been willing to see.

Kai kissed me before, back when we were younger, and I brushed it off like it was nothing, friend-zoning him as casually as if we’d agreed on it. I thought it wouldn’t matter. I thought he’d moved on. But now, jealousy claws at me, hot and raw, as I realize that maybe I’m the one who hasn’t moved on, that I might have messed everything up before I even knew what I wanted.

I can barely tear my eyes away, watching as Franklin tightens his grip, pulling Kai closer. Kai’s eyes flash over to me once more, searching, checking, and I finally understand—he wants me to see this. He wants me to realize exactly what I let slip, and, f**k, I do. It’s as if the implications are only just hitting me, as if I only now realize what a dumbass I’ve been. But it’s too late to stop any of it now.

For the first time, I understand exactly what is happening, and it hits me hard. I want Kai as more than a friend. I don’t want anyone else to have him. But now, someone does, and all I can do is stand here and watch, trapped by my own damn indecision.

My eyes start to burn as flashes of heat surge through me. I force my gaze away from the scene, the image of Kai and Franklin printed in my brain. I turn to Sebastian, desperately trying to push down the urge to yank Franklin’s hands off Kai. I open my mouth, but I seem to have lost my voice somewhere in the room between me and Kai. I scrape my throat in an attempt to get it back. Once I find it, I start shouting at Sebastian, trying to make myself known over the music, but he’s too occupied to notice. Desperate, I start tugging at his sleeve, silently begging him to notice me. I need to get out of here. Now.

* * * *

Kai

The music’s loud and heavy, it’s bass sending jolts from the floor up to my feet, traveling up the rest of my body. But it’s nothing compared to the pounding of my heart. I’m standing here, leaning into Franklin, laughing when I barely hear what he’s saying. My eyes keep drifting back across the room, searching for him—Toby. Every time I look, he’s there, watching. But his face is blank, unreadable, like I’m some stranger he just happens to notice.

The worst part is, I don’t think he understands. I’m not here for Franklin; I don’t want Franklin. He’s just…available, willing to throw his arm around me, to lean in, to be close. It was supposed to be enough to get Toby to react, to maybe notice what he’s missing out on. But all he’s doing is standing there, frozen, looking at me with this expression I can’t quite figure out. I want him to feel something, anything, to show me he cares. And still, he just stares, like he doesn’t get it. It’s infuriating, honestly, and a little heartbreaking.

I’m in love with Toby. He doesn’t know it, but I have loved him since I was fifteen, since I was sitting in the back of my father’s car on the way to my mother’s funeral. My father was driving, and my oldest brother sat in the passenger seat. Being the youngest, I sat in the back, in the middle, with Toby on my left and my other brother Jonah on my right.

Toby was twenty then, five years older than me, and he was Jonah’s best friend. He was often at our house and close to my mother, so it only made sense that he would drive to the funeral with us. I was crying then—kind of like I want to do right now—because I was fifteen, and my mom had just died. But any sympathy I was hoping to receive from my dad was lost somewhere during that car ride because he only looked at me through the rearview mirror and told me to “Save it for the funeral.”

That sharp remark was all I got from him, and my brothers were no help either. They were stoic, repressing their grief, but I didn’t know that then. Back then, I honestly believed that I was the only one who was sad and that no one cared enough to give me any sympathy—no one except Toby. When I was crying in the car, Toby was the one that hugged me. He was the one who stood by me during the funeral and the one who hugged me again after.

I was too young and sad to recognize it, but that was the first time I felt something like love. Pointless, really, because he’s five years older than me, and I was just a teenager. Naturally, he only thought of me as a sweet, younger brother he was supposed to protect. But ever since that moment, I always wished he looked at me differently—especially since I’ve turned twenty-one. I’ve been his friend for years and we’ve grown closer since Jonah left town, but I always wished I could be more than that.

* * * *

Franklin’s hand slides to my waist, his fingers pressing in as though to distract me from my memories, pulling me a little closer. I can tell he’s enjoying himself, and if I’m honest, it’s nice to be wanted, to have someone make me feel…desired. But it’s Toby’s gaze I keep seeking out, wondering what he’s thinking. I throw another glance his way, and he’s still there, watching, but there’s nothing in his eyes that tells me he’s jealous or that this is bothering him the way I’d hoped.

When Franklin leans in, I feel my stomach twist. I know what’s coming. This is the part where he’ll kiss me, and it’s not that I want it to happen. But I think maybe—maybe this will be enough to make Toby react. To make him see me. To make him realize that I could be with someone else, that I’m not going to wait forever, even though I might have made it seem that way.

I catch Toby’s eye one more time, hoping, praying for something—a flinch, a scowl, anything that shows he cares. But he just stands there, unmoving, staring, as Franklin bridges the space between us and kisses me. I let it happen, closing my eyes to keep myself from looking at Toby, because it hurts too much. If he cared, he’d do something. He’d say something, anything. But he’s just…there, watching.

It’s like I’m sending signals Toby refuses to read, and I start to wonder if maybe it’s all hopeless. Maybe to him, I’ll never be more than just a friend. The realization settles in my chest, heavy and aching, and for a second, I lean further into Franklin, letting myself get lost in this, because at least Franklin wants me.

But even as I kiss Franklin back, all I want is for Toby to come over here, to pull me away, to tell me I don’t need to do this because he wants me. But he doesn’t move. And with each second that passes, the ache in my chest grows sharper, almost unbearable.

I wonder if he’ll ever understand what I’m trying to tell him. And I wonder if I’m the fool for hoping he’ll finally see.

“You’re place or mine?” Franklin asks me when we pull apart, but his voice sounds somewhere far away in the distance. It’s easily drowned out by the bass and the beating of my heart, but more so: I’m staring at Toby again. He isn’t looking at me anymore; he’s tugging at Sebastian’s sleeve, looking like he urgently wants to say something. Well…I guess that if what he has to say to his friend is more important than me kissing Franklin, there truly is no hope for me.

I turn toward Franklin and find that he’s waiting for me to reply.

“What?” I ask once I realize I must have missed something.

“Your place or mine?”

I swallow hard. Right…I guess I should have seen that coming—I’ve been leading him on for quite some time tonight. Well, whatever, I guess. Toby’s clearly not interested. Maybe it’s time for me to try something new?

I don’t have any special feelings for Franklin. Heck, I didn’t even know him before tonight, and I don’t have a crush or the desire to go on dates with him. If anything, he feels like bad news to me, someone to be wary of. Tonight, he was merely a tool—someone available and interested that I could hopefully make Toby jealous with. But seeing as that doesn’t seem to work, maybe he can at least be a distraction. I’m twenty-one years old, and honestly, I think I’ve been waiting long enough. I’m done waiting for the right time, for the right person. I don’t need everything to be perfect—I just need it to be real.