Past
GROWING UP, THE friend I could relate to most was Jenson—we both came from broken homes. Our families weren’t wealthy like Victor’s or Junior’s, and we had jobs by the time we were fifteen. Even though we had similar backgrounds, Jenson and I still had our differences. He always needed a girlfriend, whereas the last thing I wanted was to be tied down. My parents’ divorce probably had a lot to do with it. That, and the fact that when my older sister and I stayed at my dad’s house every other weekend, he would openly talk about the issues he had with my mother. His main issue, my sister would say, was that our parents married too young and didn’t get to experience life without the other. She was sixteen when she said that to me. I was nine. For some reason, her words stuck with me. Probably because I was always looking for the “real reason” they couldn’t work things out.
As much as I loved and respected my father, I always said I wouldn’t end up like him. I wouldn’t leave my family just because I had an adventurous itch I needed to scratch. When I was a teenager I had girlfriends, but none of them held my attention long enough to be long term. It wasn’t that I wanted to screw around or sleep with someone else. It was as simple as having different interests or the fact that I couldn’t stay on the phone long enough to have a conversation without falling asleep. Beyond that, I really liked women. I liked the smell of them . . . the taste of them . . . and I liked trying to figure them out. My sister, Sophie, would hassle me and tell me I was becoming our father—which I didn’t appreciate—and then I’d remind her that I wasn’t involved with anyone.
“That’s the problem, Bean, you’re not George Clooney. You can’t be a lifelong bachelor.”
“Clooney gets some serious ass. I wouldn’t mind being him.”
“Yeah, but I want my kids to play with your kids at some point,” she would remind me.
“Well, I haven’t found the right girl yet.”
And that was the thing. I hadn’t. Not that I was looking, but I’d like to think if I was fucking her, I would know she was the right one for me. It’s not like I got women in my bed without having a conversation with them first. All of them made my blood go straight to my cock, but that was about it. The last time I’d been in love was when I was twelve, and according to Sophie, that didn’t really count. I just needed to keep having fun while I was in college—everything else would fall into place.
That’s exactly where my head was when Vic called to invite me to a party he and his fraternity brothers were throwing. He was attending UCLA, while I was in Cal Tech—which are really close—so we were able to hang out every weekend. I was already planning on going to the party, but when he mentioned Elle was visiting him for the weekend and would be there, I was completely sold. I showered and avoided the calls from Pam, the girl of the moment. I was determined to go to this party and relax with my friends, and taking Pam meant I’d have to babysit, because she was one of those girls who got drunk off of one drink, and then still had ten.
I pulled up to the party and greeted a couple of guys I knew before heading to the back where Vic always hung out playing darts. He came into my line of vision and I had to laugh, because he was guarding the keg like it was a shrine.
“What’s up, douchebag?” I said, patting him on the back when I reached him. He backed away and turned to me with a lazy smile on his face that made me chuckle. “Bean! Grab a cup. Actually, grab two. I’ve been standing in front of this shit for an hour waiting for you to get here.”
“You could’ve told me to bring more beer,” I said, laughing, as I reached for a red cup.
“Nah, I got you, I got you.” He poured me a beer and finally stepped away from the keg.
“Anyone else coming? Jenson? Junior?”
“Jenson’s . . . I don’t know what he’s doing, but he’s back home, and Junior went to visit Rose’s family.”
I let out a low whistle. “It’s getting really serious now.”
Vic nodded, his face looking as terrified as I felt at the time about getting serious with somebody.
“Whatever. As long as it’s not me, I’m good,” Vic said, shrugging.
I chuckled. “You and me both.”
“I never thanked you the other day . . . for coming with me,” he said, his voice taking a serious note. I clinked my cup to his and shrugged. I’d gone with him to get checked because some girl he’d been fucking called to tell him she had an STD. It wasn’t like I went in the room with him or anything, but I could tell he was pretty messed up over the news, so I went for moral support. He didn’t want to tell anybody else about it. I’m not sure he would have even told me if he hadn’t taken her call while we were out surfing together.
“That’s what brothers are for. Have you . . .” gotten the results, was my question, but it seemed too serious to speak aloud at a frat party, and I wasn’t sure he was ready to answer.
“Negative,” he said, throwing back the rest of his beer. “Everything came back negative.”
I let out a long relieved breath. I wasn’t sure what I would have felt if he’d had another answer. We weren’t kidding when we called each other brothers. I couldn’t remember a time when Vic wasn’t in my life, which is a big deal nowadays when friends were as fickle as the weather. He was there when my parents divorced, when my dad got sick—and everything in between. His parents took me in for weeks on end in the summer, when my mom was away on work trips and Sophie was off in school. Not that an STD meant death, but it was serious enough to make me realize how lucky we were to have dodged that shit thus far.
“You need to use a condom every-fucking-time, dude,” I said in a breath, taking a gulp of my beer.
“I know. I know.”