To put my last week into words, I would have to figure out my thoughts first, and that has proved a real challenge.

And it's all Eli's fault.

When we're in public, he's his old self. Not his old old self, but his most recent old self. Pre-kiss, post-life-changing trauma Eli. The same Eli that spilled hot stew on my father's lap and who does his best to ignore me at school.

When we're alone, on the other hand... well, that's complicated.

And I absolutely hate complicated. In fact, it has never been medically diagnosed, but I am fairly certain I am severely allergic to all things complicated. I avoid them like the plague, for fear of shortness of breath, acute eye rolling and critical boredom.

I have to admit, though, there is something about Eli's brand of complicated that I can't quite shake. I can't really put my finger on it, but it makes it feel worth the health risks.

He is very inconstant, almost capricious. Or, at least, that's how it comes across from the outside. The more time I spend with him, however, the more I get the idea he is an extremely calculating person. More than anyone would ever think to give him credit for. 

For the past week, we spent most of our off-school and off-practice time stealing rare, secret, heated moments in The Lodge's empty kitchen or staff room. And after hours in the Ice Arenas too. Especially in the Ice Arenas.

It is during these precious moments, when the two of us are alone, that he drops the act no one ever dreamed to think was ever an act. Only when there isn't a single soul to witness his transformation, does he reveal this side of him I could never have guessed existed, even in my wildest dreams. Although I confess, before this year, I never even considered dreaming about Eli Blake.

That seems almost preposterous now. How could I have missed it? Well, because he hides it well. And because I wasn't looking. Which is ridiculously frustrating on its own.

After my summer of self-discovery, the world is suddenly colored in a whole new palette of possibilities. To think every day I spent ignoring this part of myself could have been spent exploring it. It feels like time wasted. Time I could have spent uncovering the unseen side of Eli Blake.

This new secret side of him is completely raw, and sure, and intense. And I am all there for it. Not unlike his usual self, this fiercely confident Eli doesn't talk much. But no one will ever hear me complain about that.

During my summer with Rafael, the really helpful pool guy, it was fun to have that little dance with him. That sort of will-I-or-won't-I. I had just decided to explore my sexuality, and getting to know the guy who'd lead me through it was part of the fun. Eli wants none of that 'getting to know each other' bullshit.

It's like he has this very well-defined line when we're together. We can throw around some flirtatious banter, make out and feel each other up over our clothes, but we can't ask what our favorite colors are, or chat about intimate personal thoughts.

It's like he opened a door to show me this new side to him when we're making out, and made up for the loss by shutting every other door. And, again, I'm not complaining.

Because that initial dance was part of the fun with Rafael, but Eli is different. He's a physical guy. And this thing we have is physical as well, I think. Which is perfect.

There was this one time, however. On Sunday morning, right after Chloe and I came back from the Pacific Coast Pairs Sectionals. I call it morning, but the sun wasn't even up yet. Usually, I am not the kind of guy to willingly go for a spontaneous practice session at the Arenas before sunrise, but Eli texted Saturday night and how could I possibly refuse?

We both put our skates on and stepped on the ice. The same ice. I watched him skate around the hockey rink twice without a word. That's usually what I do while I wait to see which version of him I'm getting — cold and quiet, or quiet and heated. 

It took him longer to decide that day, so I decided to talk.

I kind of do that a lot, when we're together. I don't like long stretches of silence. Since Eli doesn't do much talking himself, I feel the need to compensate on my end. That time, however, I had a purpose. Something I'd been rolling around in my head for days, trying to figure out how to approach it since that night at the rink, when I couldn't believe he had actually tried to kiss me.

"So..." I mused.

He lifted his eyes from the ice to look at me, skimming in my direction.

I skated away before he could reach me, circling around him. "How long has this been a thing?"

His face betrayed nothing.

"My thing?" He asked evenly "The gay thing?"

Hearing him use that word took me off guard. The plain tone he said it in downright shocked me.

I tried not to let it show too much.

"Gay, huh?"

Eli didn't say anything back, and I should have been expecting it. As I have mentioned, he is a man of few and rare words. At least, around me. The only times he gets talkative is when he's returning my obvious teasing. But that only happens on the times we don't do other things.

I cleared my throat to try again, circling around him as I said, "I might be mistaken here, but didn't you use to have a girlfriend? Natalie? Pretty girl, big eyes, around five-three, solo ice dancer?"

"What're you trying to get at?"

That was when I realized that, even though Eli makes a point to come off as evasive and noncommittal in order to discourage people from prodding, prodding might actually be my only option. 

Eli has spent his whole life grooming his deviation skills. I always thought myself an expert, but he lives his deviation technique every day. If I wanted to get anything out of him, I had to go in with the explicit, direct questions and hope he didn't shut me down.

"Was she supposed to be your beard or something?" I asked him. "The perfect girlfriend to throw conservative, meddlesome noses off their scent?"

Eli worried his bottom lip between his teeth, starting for the edge of the rink before making a tight turn. "Maybe," he said, skating past me.

"Maybe?"

He circled around me once, twice. Just as I was starting to think he wouldn't give me anything else unless I pushed, he spoke again.

"She asked me out, okay?" He slowed down but didn't stop moving. "I had no good reason to say no, so I said yes."

The way I see it, a raging hidden gayness burning within would be a perfectly good reason for a guy to say no to going out with a girl. But I guess that's my personal view.

"Why did you stay with her for a year?" I asked.

He shrugged. "She was nice."

I gave him a skeptical look. His answer was weak and he knew it. Which was probably why he spoke again.

"I didn't like her the way I was supposed to, but she made it really easy to like her in every other way."

"Does she know?"

"No," he replied brusquely.

"Does anyone know?"

"No."

No one, except me.

"How long have you known?" I tried.

I swear, that was when I expected him to shut me down. He caught my gaze in his instead, and said, "I guess... since the point I started noticing I wasn't as much into girls as my friends."

"Some people aren't into other people like that at all. Girls or boys," I countered. I knew I was pushing it because I wanted sordid details, but never has that ever stopped me.

Eli's jaw tensed and I could tell he didn't appreciate my insistence. Tough luck. I can't help myself. And he can't really expect that I won't have questions. Even if he would rather not give me the answers.

"When my friends started getting excited about girls," Eli started a little reluctantly, just as I was starting to think he might be getting ready to punch me, "I only kept getting excited by my favorite hockey players, or my favorite male teachers, or my brother's friends."

I grinned. And he knew what was coming. It was during that time gap, in which I was trying to decide whether I should make fun of the little boy crushing on his big brother's friends or the little boy jerking off to a poster of his hockey hero, that Eli kissed me, effectively ending the conversation.

That is always how it happens. He always decides what we do when we are alone. Sometimes, we spend a whole evening just skating and teasing each other until the rink closes. Sometimes, as soon as everyone's gone, he pushes me into the rink boards, or drags me into the locker rooms, and we're off. There's no request, no flirting, no wooing. He just grabs me and goes for it.

With Rafael, I noticed he appreciated a few lewd jokes and suggestive innuendos before we hooked up. A little game before the real event. Some pre-foreplay foreplay. But Eli goes straight to it. Like a guy who has no time to waste. And I suppose he would feel like that, if he has spent the last few years as a closeted teenager in Brunson.

To my honest astonishment, I can't say I dislike his style. Rafael and Malibu were fun, and hot, and exciting. It had all the glamour of a first-time attraction, or a new adventure. There is something about being with Eli, though. Something urgent and frenzied and amazing. It's blunt and restless, but also sweet and enticing. His hands are sure in their inexperience, his lips skilled in their desperation.

There's a certain thrill in the sneaking around as well. In the secret-keeping. To him, it's his reality. He has to hide himself for whatever reason he convinced himself of. I simply enjoy this one thing, this one experience, this one relationship, this part of my life, that no one else knows about. Even my friends.

It is surprisingly, and addictively, refreshing.

Living in a small town makes it hard to keep secrets. Being the only son of the richest man in said small town and neighboring residences is like living as a tester sample of a celebrity. Everything I do, people talk about it. Everyone I meet, people comment on it. Everywhere I go, people somehow find out.

And sometimes, if I'm oh-so-lucky enough, even things I don't do and people I never met get talked about.

"Earth to Liam," Mack's voice brings me back to the here and now. That is, the cafeteria at the end of our lunch period. "Are you going to get up, or should we just skip Trig?"

Natalie shoots her a warning look, which Mack does an outstanding job of ignoring.

"Come on," Chloe urges. "You'll get to gawk at some hockey players in your Trig class, instead of doing it when you're supposed to be holding me over your head."

"Man, I should've signed up for Trig," Gus whines as I stand up from our table to follow them.

"It wouldn't do you any good. They're all firmly settled on Straightopolis," Mack says.

"Statistically, that can't be true," Gus argues.

"How would you know?" I shoot back. "You failed Statistics."

"Excuse you," he tuts. "A C-minus is a pass."

"Not if your dad bribed the teacher's family," Chloe muses.

"My parents made a donation to local commerce, as they are prone to do," Gus says. "The fact they donated to Mr Gibson's parents' shop that year was a mere coincidence."

If I didn't know that was a load of bull, I would actually believe him.

Mack and I walk into our class together, and my eyes zero in on the back of one particular beanie-covered head. Instead of his signature maroon-colored hat, Eli is wearing a grey one today. That's new. And new is always fun.

To my surprise, Mack doesn't head straight to our usual seats at the back. I follow her to the hockey players' corner. Eli's eyes spot us approaching, but his face reveals nothing.

"You guys heard about the party?" Mack asks casually, conversationally, perfectly inconspicuous. Like she has absolutely no ulterior motives. 

What can I say, she's a sneaky bitch.

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it," Trent — I'm still not overly confident that's his name — replies from his seat, with a smile. He's the kind of guy that's always smiling. Like he knows a joke you wouldn't really get if he told you.

"Not if the boose is on you," a beefy, blonde guy next to Trent voices in agreement. I don't know this guy's name, but I know he's a Brunson guy. Like most of the kids in our school.

Before, I might have interpreted that 'you' to mean us, the party organizers. In the light of recent learnings, I have a feeling he means us, the Lake City crowd. The rich kids.

Mack's eyes zero in on Dean Miller. Like an eagle spotting a rabbit in an open field. "See you there then," she throws in with a wink, just before she turns to to walk away.

I follow her to our seats, narrowing my eyes at her as she does her best to ignore my silent accusation.

"Really?" I deadpan, because she's ignoring me too successfully. 

She finally looks at me. "What."

"I know you love to joke around and all, but since when are you into guys like Dean Miller?" I scoff.

She shrugs. "I told you. I like tall guys."

"And here I thought you liked guys with a little substance as well. Like, say, a personality," I bite back.

She twists her nose. "I tried personality. Turns out substance talks too much." She gives me a pointed up-and-down look, which I find extremely offensive. "I'm trying something new this year. Something easier," she adds.

"You want an easy fuck you don't have to stay and talk to, you mean."

She sighs. "When you say it like that, it makes me sound so vulgar."

I shake my head. "You really think Dean Miller's the guy for that? You'd be better off with Trent Coleman. He's got that empty-headed jock vibe too."

Mack gives me a weird look. "Who's Trent? You mean Trey?" 

That's his name!

Mack smiles deviously. "Anyway,. Already did that," she says. "Trust me, he talks."

"Fine," I huff. "Then Owen fucking Holmes. Even he'd be better than Dean Miller. And God only knows he needs a stress reliever. If you talked to him, he might actually be down." I give her a cynical smile.

She returns it in kind. To be honest, cynical is a better look on her than it is on me. She was born to wear it.

"And then I'd hear Gus bitching until the end of eternity. Nope. I want Dean," she asserts.

"I can see that." I roll my eyes. "Though why, is beyond me."

"Because I can," she states plainly.

And, damn, I am really not the person to argue with that reasoning.

***

This was longer one. And it's coming in a little late too, because I had a long day!

But how are you feeling about the development in Liam and Eli's relationship? And what are your thoughts on the MacKenzie/Dean subplot?

Also — out of curiosity — are all the name characters easy to track whenever you read each chapter so far, or should I try to make it clear who they are whenever a secondary character appears?

As always, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a vote or a comment :)