Hush (20 page)

“Okay,” he promises, not stopping to wonder if he
can
. He’ll promise anything to keep Wren here right now, because the hope that he’ll figure out how to keep him, how to change this explosive energy into something more lasting, keeps him going and going and going.

Wren closes his eyes and shudders through a few deep breaths. Cam runs his hand up Wren’s arm, focusing all of his energy on harnessing what Wren wants—sensuality, desperation and need–and pushing everything else away. His thumb runs just inside the muscle around Wren’s armpit and then along the beautiful arches of his collarbone. Cam thinks of his own body, the thrumming need for more, his dick, somehow still hard.

“Wren,” he says, “
fuck
. Touch me,”

Wren turns to him, his eyes dangerous and dark. “If you want.”

Cam battles back a frown; there’s something wrong in Wren’s tone, his delivery. Wren sends him something then, hard and fast, and takes Cam down with the hot, wet suction of his mouth.

He doesn’t let Cam
get
him off that night. Instead, he brings him to an orgasm in no time at all and feels the edge of pain cresting with Cam’s pleasure loud and clear. When Cam reaches for him, Wren shakes his head and climbs onto Cam, holding him down again; with one stare Cam gets the message and lies back passively and obediently while Wren touches and touches him. Wren touches every part of Cam’s body carefully—his armpits, behind his ears and knees. He traces each toe and runs his hands up Cam’s thighs. Then he spreads Cam’s legs roughly and parts his ass cheeks.

“Lube,” he commands, and Cam fumbles for it with pleasure-stupid movements.

Wren’s hands are shaking, a fact he tries to hide from Cam. His heart pounds so hard it hurts, and something buzzes in his head.

He’s got one finger inside Cam, too fast and sudden, when he realizes he’s completely shut himself off and isn’t sensing Cam’s need.

“Oh, god—” he stops his hand immediately. “Are you okay? Is this okay?”

Cam gives him a puzzled look. “You can’t tell?”

Wren’s rarely asked, and he’s not about to explain why he can’t tell. But as soon as the words are out of Cam’s mouth, he seems to understand. “I’m good. Whatever you want right now—”

“Don’t,” Wren says roughly, and moves his hand, finger surging in and out. He bends his finger a little at the tip and drags it out until Cam’s breath comes short. Once he’s found Cam’s pros­tate, it’s no work to get another two fingers in and he milks Cam’s plea­sure slowly. He keeps his touches light but certain with his other hand, fondling Cam’s balls and cock and sending him waves of pleasure. He’s never done this, managed to bring Cam to dry orgasm over and over.

“Oh god, oh god,
ohmygod
,” Cam moans, almost crying. He’s gripping the edges of the pillow and his eyes are clenched shut.

“More,” Wren says.

“I—” Cam swallows and arches into the next one. “I can’t, it’s—it’s starting to hurt.”

“Okay, just one more.” Wren uncurls his fingers and takes Cam softly into his mouth. “Should I…” he starts to drag is fingers out, “pull them out?”

“No, just don’t move them,” Cam asks. Wren keeps them still, three fingers still in the tight vise of Cam’s asshole. He works the last orgasm out of Cam so tenderly, with the gentlest kisses and touches and murmured encouragement, until Cam comes with a sob, arching his spine so hard and deep even Wren is surprised.

“You’re a lot more flexible than I thought,” Wren notes later, once Cam is cleaned up and boneless against the bed. Cam seems to be floating in some space that isn’t sleep but isn’t quite aware­ness either.

“I know,” he slurs. Wren can feel Cam’s energy, untethered, reach­ing for him. Wren is reading something he’s not felt from Cam before, and although he’s reeling in a different way, his whole body poised to fly, skittering along a thin plane of fear, he’s more afraid to leave Cam alone like this than he is to stay.

He sits next to Cam for a long time. The only part of his body he’ll let touch Cam is his hand, heavy against Cam’s slowly beating heart. He doesn’t time how long it takes for Cam to slip into real sleep, but as soon as he does, he takes Cam’s phone from the night­stand, texts Nate an all-clear and dresses. He covers Cam with a blanket and closes the door quietly when he leaves.

“So we’re our own team
by default?”
Nate asks, settling at a bar stool next to Ellie.

“Yep,” Nora says decisively. “Cam and I are proven winners; nothing’s gonna break this magic team apart.”

“Please,” Maggie breaks in, “who won the last few?”

“I seem to recall that the overall win-to-loss ratio works in our favor,” Cam says. Wren rolls his eyes but smiles, eating maraschino cherries from his drink; he likes to savor them slowly. Everyone at the table eventually surrenders their cherries to him if they have them.

“Whatever. We’re on a consecutive win streak,” Wren points out.

“Okay, then,” Nate says. “What you’re saying is that Ellie and I are really just decorative?”

“And half of you are so pretty,” Cam jokes. Wren laughs sud­denly, and then clears his throat and looks away.

“No need to stroke my ego,” Nate says, “I know you think I’m hot.”

“Shut up,” Cam says, and kicks Maggie, who has started giggling too. Wren is biting his lip trying to stop laughing, and Cam shoots him a look.

“All right,” Maggie sits straighter. “We’re about to start. Every­one stop hitting on each other and get your game faces on.”

“Damn,” Nate smiles at Ellie. “I don’t think I prepared enough for this.”

“I didn’t bring my study notes either,” she jokes back.

Nate is quiet when they
get back
to the house, which is a little odd. Cam is only half paying attention to him, though. Wren is fresh in his mind, but also strangely distant. He’d been himself tonight in a way it took him a long time to reveal—joking and competitive and
funny
. But there had been nothing between them, no spark from Wren, no looks that spoke of more. What happened between them the night before seems to have spooked Wren. Cam wants to promise himself that he’ll do better at reining his feelings in, but it’s impossible when Wren sees past and breaks down every wall. Cam can lie with words, and even with his face if he wants to, but what’s deep inside is sewn into him and he can’t hide that.

“That was… fun,” Nate says casually as he sits on his bed. His movements are careful and precise. He’s got something to say.

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?” Cam has no idea where Nate is going. “Did Ellie have fun?”

“Yeah, she did,” Nate says. He’s distracted.

“I’m glad you brought her. Outside of here I don’t see you much,” Cam observes. Does Nate’s bringing her mean she or they have passed some sort of test, or
is
this the test?

“Hmm,” Nate says. He plugs his phone in and checks it, Cam knows, to make sure his alarm is set—Sunday is Nate’s early work­out day, for reasons that completely elude Cam.

“What’s up?” Cam says, point-blank. He’s tired and distracted enough to want to just get the conversation done.

“What’s going on with your man?” Nate asks, looking Cam in the eye.

“What do you mean?” Cam hedges.

“What’s with the guy you’ve been hiding from us? And what’s with that guy Wren, too?”

“Uh—what?” Cam says, stupefied.

“There’s something strange going on between you two. I can totally feel it.”

“Oh, don’t be Maggie,” Cam dismisses him.

“I’m not,” Nate insists. “I know you, man. There’s some­thing going on. For a while you were unusually happy or some­thing. But now…” His brow furrows. Cam looks away and swallows down some­thing that is rising in him. “This has been a weird and crazy year for you. I worry that you’ve gotten yourself into some­thing—”

“I’m a big boy, Nate,” Cam snaps, and then tries to soften his tone. “Sorry. Just… trust me?”

“It’s not about trust. You have been sitting on some secret, and it’s bugging you. And there is something with that Wren guy—like, are you into him? Can you not—?”

Cam takes a breath. He’s confused; he has no idea how to lie effectively here, especially when he doesn’t
want
to lie. And he’s not sure Nate is the font of wisdom on this subject, when he’s only
just
decided to try a monogamous relationship. There’s no way to do this situation justice, not when it’s so nuanced and he’s so unsure
and
bound by his promise to follow Wren’s ridic­ulous rules. Well, rules that seem ridiculous now. Wren might be able to delude himself into thinking that this is still a game, but it’s
not
.

“I’ve told you guys, I can’t talk about it.”

“Cam, dude, that’s fucked up.”

“What do you know?” Cam says with heat he can’t bite back. “Nothing. Just butt out—” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry, never mind.”

“It’s okay,” Nate shrugs. “I want you to talk to me, but I can’t make you do it.”

“For what it’s worth, I want to.”

“That’s not all that comforting.”

Cam shrugs. “I have something I don’t want to lose and I have to figure it out.”

Nate stares at him for a long time. “I don’t understand why you can’t—I wouldn’t tell anyone—”

“Just… trust me. I know it’s a lot to ask. But look. All I can say is that he… has the
ability
,” he pauses and lets that sink in, “to know.”

“Oh,” Nate’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Let—” Cam closes his eyes and wonders if these words will qualify as breaking the rules. “Let me think about it?”

“I guess if that’s what I can get, I’ll take it,” Nate says.

Me too
. Cam settles back and waits for Nate to shut off the light. In the dark, Nate takes a breath as if he’s going to speak; he must change his mind, because nothing follows but a silence so heavy it feels like a blanket.

* * *

It’s the most genuine kindness
that does Wren in. He knows Cam is kind, of course, but seeing it when it matters most—

If Wren loves anyone in his life, other than his family, it’s Nora. Nora makes him crazy half the time, and often they snipe at each other and slam doors, but regardless, Nora is his constant in this life. She aches for someone to share her life with romantically, intimately, in a way he cannot provide.

Wren has just arrived when he sees Nora and a strange guy at the bar. The guy has awful, bleached-blond hair stuffed under a hipster beanie, and he’s crowding Nora’s body with his, much too close—she has a
look
on her face that sets off Wren’s warning bells. But before Wren can get to Nora’s side, Cam is there, smiling at her. His body language is so familiar it could easily read as intimate; it is enough to fend off the strange guy.

“You know,” Nora says not unkindly, by the time Wren has joined them, “I don’t always need a guy to rescue me.” She directs this at Wren as well. Before he can respond, Cam speaks up.

“I didn’t do it because I’m a guy, or because I think being a guy makes me some sort of protector. I did it because I care for you and could tell he was making you uncomfortable.”

“Which I appreciate,” her voice is gentle, “but you helping sends guys like that a message that perpetuates certain behavior. I can do this on my own. And maybe it’s naïve of me to think that acting on my own will change brutish behavior from boys who’ve been conditioned to think I’m weak because I’m a small woman, or just a woman, but change starts somewhere.”

Cam looks so pleased that it sends a bright ray of light through Wren’s heart. Cam can’t know that there is so much more to her story, and how each step like this is her way of fighting to get something back.

“Nora,” he says so softly into her ear that Wren has to work to hear it, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Nora beams and kisses his cheek. “Thank you for caring enough to want to help.”

“Should you ever need it, send up a bat signal. But from now on, I’ll let you work it out.”

Somehow, in this moment, it’s as if Wren has never seen Cam before. Not his face or his body, but his
self
, complete.

Cam excuses himself a few minutes later to go to the rest­room, and Wren feels himself pulled toward Cam; the startling realization that there’s a reverse pull, that there has
been
a reverse pull, makes his fingers go numb with cold and fear. He’s never been pulled before, and this is strong; he’s helpless. And so he follows as he must. He leaves the table without an excuse and runs to catch Cam.

Even when he’s taken Cam in public, it has always been with an element of secrecy. But the hall of a crowded bar isn’t secret. This doesn’t stop Wren from turning Cam around to search his lovely eyes in the near dark, even when it feels as though Wren’s heart might climb out of his chest, it beats so hard with fear.

Being pressed into a wall
and kissed
by Wren is not something Cam saw coming. It’s not shocking, exactly, because Wren is noth­ing but a hurricane of unpredictability and change in his life. Still, it’s surprising. Cam has had a shitty week of terrible classes and fielding phone calls between Peyton and his parents about trouble she’s found herself in. Just now his concern for Nora is battling his desire to respect her wishes. And he feels an increasing press of anxiety over wanting to talk to someone about this
thing
between him and Wren. He’s been steeling himself for more distance, for some sort of severance.

Instead, what he gets are the sweetest, most insistent and search­ing kisses Wren has ever given him. When he pulls away, Cam can’t help but chase his lips; there’s never been a flavor like this between them.

“What?” Cam says softly. The chatter of the crowd and the blar­ing sports programs almost drowns it. Wren looks as shocked as Cam feels. Cam has a moment to wonder at that before Wren frowns and pulls further away. Not being able to read Wren the way Wren can read him is so frustrating, sometimes. Later, Cam won’t know what came first or what influenced it, or why Wren suddenly pressed him back with one hand on his chest and an intense look of concentration.

“You told,” he says flatly.

“What?” Cam resists the urge to bat Wren’s hand away, as if breaking the physical connection might keep Wren from reading the surge of guilt that rises in him. Cam knows Wren won’t listen to his words, or hear the nuances of what actually happened with Nate; Wren’s sensing gift is not honed well enough to override his fear.

“You
told
.” Wren pushes away and turns. Cam grabs his hand quickly and pulls him back. He’s not going down without a fight.

“I didn’t. It’s not like that.”

“Take your hand off of me,” Wren spits.

“Listen,” Cam begs.

“There were rules. You broke them.” Wren wrenches his hand free. Cam winces; he didn’t realize how tight his grip was.

“Don’t run away,” he says with heat, surprising himself. “You’re looking for a reason. Don’t. Please.”

“Fuck you.” Wren backs away; in the unnatural lighting of the bar Wren’s skin is distorted by shadow. “Don’t pretend you know what you’re talking about. That you know me. Don’t fool yourself.”

“Fuck
you
,” Cam says, unsurprised by the words despite their foreign taste. “You
know
it’s—”

“No,” Wren shakes his head and turns, dodging Cam’s hand when Cam tries to pull him back again. It’s a final insult to feel himself unable to move and follow, and to know in the aftermath, when he’s come to himself, that Wren has compelled him and taken away his last chance.

Cam stays where he is
in a daze
for so long that Maggie comes looking for him. A framed poster behind his back digs into his mus­cles. The quality of sound in the bar has changed, and he hadn’t realized that trivia has started.

“What’s wrong?” she says, placing her hand on his cheek. “Cam, what’s wrong?” She shakes his jaw gently to get his attention.

“N–nothing,” he manages. He can’t feel his hands. Why can’t he feel his hands?

“Cam,” her voice is infinitely gentle. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m—”

“It’s one thing to tell me you can’t tell me. But don’t you lie to me,” she insists. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the wall.

“Can we just leave?” he begs.

“Yeah,” Maggie smiles. “I’ll let them know—”

“No, no, can we not go out there?” he grabs her hand quickly.

“Wren didn’t—”

“Just—” Cam interrupts, and her eyes sharpen.

“Okay,” she says, understanding dawning bright in her eyes. “I’ll text them.”

Cam doesn’t—can’t—wait a second longer, not when the walls feel too close and threaten to press even more. He finds the back exit and stumbles out. The night is so clear it hurts; the air is clean compared to what he’s been breathing. The city air is noth­ing compared to Nebraska air, which is as clear as the blu­est waters. But this is cleansing in a different way. This is air he hasn’t breathed; this is a new moment, away from the last.

When Maggie comes out, he shakes his head. “You should go back in,” he says.

“No, I want to be with you.” She’s so beautiful to him, even when he knows she’s not conventionally pretty. Chicago plays warmly over her skin. She’s changed her hair—it’s shorter.

“No, go play.” He stands his ground. Everything slams home at once. How deeply he’s tied himself to a hope, how entwined he’s been with Wren, the role he’s played in some strange obsession. Whether it is his or Wren’s, he has no idea; he only knows that it is too dark for what his heart needs.

“Cam, don’t be an idiot, it’s not like anyone is actually going to play right now. With both you and Wren gone, everyone knows something—”

He interrupts her before she can finish that sentence, because even in the cleanest air he couldn’t contain this panic. “I have to run.”

He hasn’t run in weeks. Cam has always centered himself under the sky and into his body with feet hitting the street and breath tearing from his lungs. Has always chased the indescribable after­glow of burnt-out muscles and hot lungs. The memory stings because he hadn’t realized it was something he was missing.

“What?”

“Just. I have to run.”

“Cam!” she calls after him. But he’s already off, overdressed, unprepared and rubbed so raw.

Wren was a high
. He lays into the air in front of him too fast. Maybe Cam wanted more, but a high was all he was getting because it’s all Wren could give him.