The Resentment by T. O. Paine

Author:T. O. Paine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Swallow Books
Published: 2022-06-10T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

MASON

Mason sits in the passenger seat of Trent’s Mustang wondering if he should get out first. They’re the only ones in the parking lot. This late in the fall, no one else is visiting the park, especially on a weekday. Hope fills Mason’s heart. The chances they will make out are greater with no one around.

Trent gets out and spreads his arms. He tilts his head to the side, making his neck crack. His black leather jacket kinks in all the right places.

“Is it okay if I leave my backpack in the car?” Mason asks.

“Sure. It’ll be safe here.” Trent pops the trunk and retrieves a duffel bag. “Which way?”

“Over here.” Mason walks toward an opening in the split rail fence that borders the lot.

Trent joins him, and they stroll down the path toward the beach. Mason remembers the trees being taller when his father used to bring him here, but that was only because he was smaller. An urge to hold Trent’s hand strikes him, and he resists. Trent is not his father.

Mason slows down.

Trent walks onto the sand, and his boots sink. Lake Washington ripples near the shore where he drops the duffel bag. “Is here good?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Trent sits on the water’s edge.

Mason has his nicest jeans on—his only nice jeans. Scuffed from the fight yesterday, but still his nicest. “Do you have a blanket or something?”

Trent unzips the bag. “No. I didn’t think of that.” He plunks a six-pack of beer onto the sand.

Bud Light. Cans.

Garrett would have rolled his eyes and refused to sit down without a blanket and a bottle of wine.

“I have a blanket in my backpack.”

“You do? Why?”

“Never mind.” Mason sits next to Trent, facing the water. Not too close to him and not too far away.

“Here.” Trent hands him a beer.

“You know I’m not old enough to drink.”

“That’s okay.” He raises an eyebrow. “Wait. You’re not going to tell anyone I contributed to the delinquency of a minor, are you?”

“No. I—”

“Just kidding. Here.” Trent takes the can back, opens it, and foam runs down the side. It drips onto his jeans, and he lets it soak in.

The beer stings Mason’s tongue. The bitterness offends his taste buds, and he swallows to get rid of the flavor, but that just makes his throat burn. He smiles at Trent and raises the can, but his eyes begin to water.

Trent grins and puts his beer to his lips. His Adam’s apple moves up and down between his sculpted neck muscles like a man rowing a boat. He finishes it off, crushes the can—“A-h-h.”

Mason takes another drink, tries to chug it the way Trent did, and gags.

“Easy there,” Trent says.

Mason wipes his mouth.

Trent gazes out over the water. “It’s beautiful. You’re so lucky to have grown up here.”

“It’s usually raining.”

“I would have spent all my time here if I’d grown up on Mercer. Too bad your dad didn’t bring you more often.”

The lake does look nice today.

“Where did you grow up?” Mason asks.

“A small town in Kansas.

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