Keeping Casey: Keeping Him, #1

Chapter One

Ethan Rain had two great loves of his life: hockey and his best friend, Casey Preston.

It was his good luck that he was exposed to both on an almost daily basis.

What wasn’t a great love of his life was Glen Hill College cafeteria food. Other than the fries and the chocolate chip cookies as big as his face, everything tasted bland. Sadly, cafeteria food was also something he was exposed to on an almost daily basis, and it was entirely Casey’s fault.

Though Ethan suspected bad campus food was simply part of the whole college experience. And wasn’t that why he was here? To get an education, experience everything college had to offer, and play hockey?

The latter he hoped his body would allow him to do for several more years, but with his condition, he might have to quit as early as senior year.

Fuck, he hoped not.

Shaking himself out of those thoughts, he stole a fry off Casey’s plate and popped it in his mouth. These remind me of the fries at that chalet we went to in eighth grade.

Casey cocked his head, brow scrunched in thought.

The ski trip we went on with our families. Remember?

Right. Where you spent the whole time avoiding that girl who kept chatting you up.

I wasn’t interested.

Snorting a laugh, Casey repositioned the too-small patty on his day-old bun. Yes, that was painfully obvious.

Ethan grunted. It took more than a few attempts at conversation for him to have feelings for someone. That was demisexuality for you, though—unless he had an emotional connection to someone, he was very much not interested, and some girl he’d just met that he’d never see again didn’t stand a chance.

He’d known he was gay by that point too, so her gender was already a notch against her.

Across the table, Casey bit into his burger with a moan, ketchup dripping out the back and onto his plate.

Ethan stole another fry and raised an eyebrow. I doubt that burger deserves such a luscious moan.

It’s really not as bad as it looks, Casey said around his mouthful.

Your bun is soggy and your lettuce is wilted.

If you drown it in ketchup, you don’t notice. A glint in his hazel eyes, Casey took a second bite, a louder, more extravagant moan echoing between them.

Shifting in his chair, Ethan rolled his eyes and stuffed the fry in his mouth.

If Casey knew how his moaning affected Ethan, he wouldn’t tease him as much. But Casey didn’t know, and that was a secret Ethan would take to the grave. In no version of this universe would he ever tell his best friend he was in love with him.

No, no, and no some more.

And it wasn’t only because Ethan didn’t want to fuck up the best relationship he’d had since birth, but because Casey wasn’t interested in anything long-term. He preferred the occasional hookup—gender not important—and, in his own words, not getting attached. Telling Casey how he felt would accomplish exactly nothing.

Casey hadn’t labeled himself as bisexual or pansexual or whatever, and Ethan had respected that. If Casey didn’t need a label, then Ethan didn’t need one for him.

Ethan himself wore the gay label for anyone who cared to ask. As it was, it wasn’t something he’d explicitly advertised in the month since he’d moved to Glen Hill, Vermont, from his hometown of Lighthouse Bay, Maine, to attend GH—as Glen Hill College was known to the locals. His last four weeks had seen a steady stream of hockey practice, settling into a new routine, and, as of two weeks ago, classes and homework.

If anyone cared to look, though, there was a rainbow-shaped key chain hanging off the strap of his gear bag, as well as a tiny demisexual flag. Not that a rainbow was an indication of queerness, but it said a lot when a guy his age carried one around.

In fact, it said so much that one of his coaches from his time in the juniors in Ohio, Coach Fallon, a guy Ethan had previously looked up to, who’d taken extra time to coach Ethan through his first couple of intimidating months, had curled his lip when he’d spotted it on Ethan’s bag and loudly encouraged him to get rid of it because the gays don’t belong in hockey.

He’d done no such thing.

Instead, he’d racked up the most points of all his teammates—both seasons. Being gay didn’t preclude him from being a good player, and he’d shoved that fact in Coach Fallon’s face for two years.

Ethan deserved to play as much as anyone else, sexuality be damned.

Here, Casey said, nudging the basket over as Ethan helped himself to another fry. Have some more. There’s no way I’ll finish all of these.

I’m good. I had dinner already, at the House, Ethan said even as he took another fry. The House was the Glen Hill Mountaineers Hockey House, which Ethan had been lucky enough to nab a room in even though he was only a freshman. A twenty-year-old freshman, but a freshman nonetheless, same as Casey. Ethan because he’d spent the two years since high school graduation playing in the juniors, and Casey because he’d needed to work full-time to save up enough money to attend college.

What’d you have? Casey asked, raking his thick, chestnut-brown hair off his forehead.

It was Theo’s turn to cook. Another fry went into Ethan’s mouth. He wasn’t all that hungry after his teammate’s meal, but the cafeteria fries had some kind of spicy seasoning that made them addictive. He barbecued salmon and made a vegan risotto and roasted veggies to go with it.

Casey blinked once at him before turning his gaze down to his burger. That sounds good.

I did invite you.

Yeah. Casey sighed and dipped his burger in ketchup. But if I don’t take advantage of my meal plan, what’s the point in having it?

Your meal plan won’t go to waste if you spend one evening having dinner with me and the guys.

Aren’t there rules against having people over at the House, though?

Ethan grunted. The rule is no overnight guests. I can certainly have my best friend over for dinner.

Next time, maybe.

Digging into his gear bag for a water bottle, Ethan eyed Casey as he drank—skin tanned gold from a summer spent hiking at every opportunity, lean torso, defined arms encased in a maroon T-shirt topped with a blue-and-white checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, end-of-day stubble darkening his jaw. Ethan knew what Casey was doing, and it had nothing to do with taking advantage of his meal plan and everything to do with his fear of getting attached. Casey might not say it out loud—he might not even recognize what he was doing—but Ethan knew him better than he knew himself. Getting attached meant developing feelings, which meant, in turn, the potential for getting his heart broken.

Five years ago, Casey had lost his father in the same construction site accident that had killed Ethan’s mother. He held himself back now, stood apart and played it safe, as if even one dinner with Ethan’s teammates at the House would cement the guys within Casey’s small bubble of loved ones, putting his heart at risk.

Casey’s gaze drifted over Ethan’s shoulder. Hey, April, he said around his last bite of burger.

Ethan’s sister dropped a heavy backpack onto the table. Hair the same gingerbread color as Ethan’s was pulled into a messy ponytail, and she huffed as she sank into a chair on Ethan’s left.

Long day? Ethan asked, stealing yet another of Casey’s french fries. As a physics major in her senior year, April had long days full of lectures and labs. Not that Ethan’s days were any easier as a biochemistry major, plus hockey on top of it all.

Giving a grunt of acknowledgment, she reached across the table and grabbed a handful of fries.

Hey! Slapping the back of her hand like she was a naughty child, Casey scowled at her. Those aren’t for you.

Ethan bit back a smile. As an only child, Casey wasn’t good at sharing.

Except with Ethan.

Oh sure. April shoved the fries in her mouth with a grimace Casey’s way. It’s fine if Ethan eats them, but not me? You know, I thought your whole brother-from-another-mother schtick would’ve suffered a setback when this one— She jerked a thumb at Ethan. —was in Ohio, but you guys are as close as ever.

Ethan swallowed a self-deprecating chuckle. Brother from another mother. Ha! He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d fallen in love with Casey, but it had been so long ago that he’d never considered Casey a brother.

There are no setbacks in our relationship, Casey said, wiping his hands on a napkin.

"Except for that time you conned me into participating in our twelfth-grade performance of The Wizard of Oz."

Admit it. Easy smile on his lips, Casey pointed a finger in Ethan’s face. You still have your munchkin costume.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. Laura stole that out of my closet a long time ago."

Uh-huh. Casey waggled his eyebrows at April. He thinks I don’t know that he took it back once Laura was out of her dress-up phase.

He also still has the Cowardly Lion onesie that he stole from the props room after your final performance, April said.

Oh, I know. Casey shot Ethan a fond look.

"Fuck you both. It’s warm," Ethan grumbled.

Laughing, April stood and shrugged on her backpack. I’m getting something to eat. Either of you want anything?

I’m good, thanks, he said. I’m heading to the athletics facility for a swim before practice.

And I’m heading to Club Meet Day at the Student Union, Casey added.

April waved and headed for the food counter with a See you later, then thrown over her shoulder.

"Wouldn’t it make more sense to swim after practice?" Casey asked.

Yeah, but the pool is closed by the time practice ends, Ethan told him. Hauling his backpack onto his lap from where it lay at his feet, he dug out his evening meds and downed them with the last of the water from his bottle. Don’t you have that information session tonight?

Yeah, but it’s in, like, an hour. I’ll head over after I scope out the clubs.

Which club are you joining?

Not sure yet. Tray in one hand, Casey stood, fitting the strap of his messenger bag over one shoulder. Ethan grabbed his gear bag and his backpack and followed him to the trash bin. I made a list of the booths I want to visit.

Shocker. Is it laminated?

Casey flipped him off and kept talking as though there’d never been a break in the conversation. But there’s, like, fifty clubs to choose from. Everything from an animal liberation club to beekeeping to calligraphy.

Hmm. Ethan led the way out of the cafeteria and into the mid-September evening. The sun had dipped behind the nearest buildings, casting shadows across the quad. The campus quad was lush and green, leafy trees providing shaded areas of study, and paved paths crisscrossed in multiple directions. None of those sound like you.

No. They sound like they’re for someone who wears socks with sandals, Casey teased, bumping their shoulders.

Ethan glanced down at his footwear. It was a little too chilly for bare feet.

Running shoes?

It was too warm for them, Ethan mumbled, acutely aware of Casey’s laughter and how it made his stomach bounce.

Honestly. Chuckling, Casey threw an arm around Ethan’s shoulders. At their matching heights of six feet, it was easy for him. You’re still the nerdiest jock I’ve ever met.

His arm was a solid and comforting weight on Ethan’s shoulders, and Ethan silently cursed the fork in the path that would take Casey to the Student Union in one direction and Ethan to the athletics facility in another.

See you tomorrow? he said, moving away from Casey before he did something stupid like kiss his nose.

Yeah. Casey turned to walk backward. Have a good practice. Stay safe. His parting words for the last five years.

Ethan said, Always, and headed for practice.

As a freshman, Casey probably didn’t need to be thinking ahead to grad school so soon. At this point, he didn’t even know if it was something he’d need. But it didn’t hurt to plan for every contingency—hence signing up for a club. It would look good on any future grad school applications, right?

Glen Hill College might be a small school in a small town in Glen Hill, Vermont, roughly twenty minutes south of Montpelier that wasn’t on any bus routes or tourist maps, but its varsity teams were top-notch and its school spirit was unparalleled.

The Student Union was Casey’s favorite place on campus. First, there was the Café Bar, a combination eatery/pub and hangout spot that made the best three-cheese artichoke dip ever. There was also parcel pickup; the GH Bookstore; a small convenience store that sold everything from Post-its to notebooks to canned pasta sauce to milk to condoms; offices for emergency response, campus police, the student-run GH Arrive Alive program, and various other programs and services; The Bean Bag, for the students’ coffee-related needs; a tutoring center; and other odds and ends he’d yet had the time to explore.

In the center of the Union was an open space usually filled with tables and chairs that was more often than not used as a study hall of sorts. Today, it had been taken over by rows of tables staffed by excitable students pimping their club activities.

As he eyed the tables set up in neat rows, he rubbed his hands together, a thrill thrumming through his bones. In the two years since high school graduation, he’d missed being part of a group whose members had shared interests. In high school, he’d been part of the student council every year. At first, it’d been a distraction, a way to keep himself busy after Dad died. If he kept active, he wouldn’t have to dwell on the giant hole in his heart or the lack of a second parental figure at home.

Thing was, Casey had gotten so used to keeping busy that he’d sort of . . . never stopped. The longest he’d sat idle lately was on the three and a half-hour drive to GH from Lighthouse Bay with Ethan last month.

It was crowded in the Union as freshmen browsed the rows of clubs and chatted with members, picking up brochures and business cards or filling in registration forms. There were the typical clubs Casey had expected to see, like the theater troupe and the dance team and the debate team. Then there were various international clubs, enthusiast clubs, clubs for every offered major, and those associated with charitable organizations or hobbies or career development.

It wasn’t until he’d reached the end of the second row that Casey realized he was eyeing them with the notion that Ethan would be joining too. Except Ethan would be busy enough with hockey and schoolwork when he wasn’t in class. If he had a spare moment to even breathe in the next nine months, Casey would give him a medal.

He consulted the list on his phone, committing to memory the clubs he absolutely wanted to visit while he wandered. As he browsed, he paid more attention to what he would be interested in and not what Casey and Ethan would want to join. Often, they were one and the same. There were a few things, however, that Casey was into that Ethan was not, and vice versa.

Like DS3: The Data Science and Statistics Society. Casey wouldn’t join them on threat of death but Ethan would be all over it. He grabbed a brochure for him, just in case.

The tables were set out alphabetically, and since Casey was hovering somewhere between D and E, he headed to the Hs first.

The guy at the Historical Society handed him a pamphlet. We’re dedicated to preserving and presenting GH’s history in an interesting and accessible manner.

Sounded boring and not at all what Casey was looking for. He moved on.

We’re open to anyone who’s taken or is currently taking a history class at GH, said the bespectacled junior at the History Students’ Association.

Guess he didn’t qualify then. Maybe he should just join the Hiking Club and call it a day. There were plenty of trails in Glen Hill he wanted to explore.

He turned to head back to row A and— Ooh, a Folk Dance Club. He grabbed a flyer for Ethan. The man had two left feet when it came to dance, but this seemed like something he’d be into. Not that he’d have the time for it, but he’d certainly get a kick out of it.

In the As, he finally found what he was looking for: the Archeology Club.

We meet weekly on Wednesdays at five. The student manning the table held a clipboard in one hand and had a button that read Archeologists will date any old thing pinned to her GH-branded, long-sleeved T-shirt.

Casey liked her already. Can I have a button?

Yes! Here. She thrust a basket at him. "We also have An archeologist’s life is always in ruins, Archeology research is groundbreaking, and I dig you."

Grinning, Casey took one of each. How do I join?

I haven’t told you what we’re about yet.

Don’t care. Where do I sign up?

She laughed, squeezing his forearm. She was cute—in a button-nose kind of way—and had he met her anytime in the past two years when Ethan was in Ohio playing for the juniors, he might’ve made a pass. But Ethan was back in his life full-time now and that made every mushy, romantic feeling Casey had for him take too much space in his brain, making it impossible for him to be attracted to anyone else.

At least let me tell you my spiel that I worked so hard on. You an archeology major?

Yeah, Casey said, pocketing his buttons. You?

Classical studies with a minor in anthropology. But I have an interest in archeology.

Running a thumb over the old coin on a chain around his neck, he smiled softly. Me too. He stuck out a hand. I’m Casey.

Erica. So, like I said, we meet Wednesdays at five. Here. She picked up a flyer from the dwindling stack and flipped it over, pointing at the bottom. Our website. The weekly schedule is posted there. We cater to anyone who has an interest in archeology, so we’ve got things like pottery reconstruction workshops, guest speakers, social events like potlucks and movie nights, trips to museums or exhibitions, and we also fundraise to help support students heading to archeological excavations and study tours abroad. Most events are free, but we do require an RSVP to our workshops so that we know how many materials we need. She raked blonde hair streaked with pink over her shoulder and cocked her head with a smile. Questions?

Yes. Where do I sign up?

Erica laughed again and passed the clipboard over, where he jotted down his name and email address. That done, he said goodbye and carried onward with one last arm squeeze from Erica. She really was very cute, but there was nothing there—no spark of attraction, not even an interest to see if there could be. Nothing.

Besides, he wasn’t convinced that he would’ve acted on it if he had felt any interest. Even when he and Ethan had been living in different states, his occasional hookups had felt like cheating, despite he and Ethan having never been together.

And never would be.

It wasn’t only because Ethan was his best friend. It wasn’t only because he’d been in love with him for longer than he cared to admit and the thought of anything more, of being vulnerable in a whole new way, made him break out in a cold sweat.

It was because Ethan—steady, solid, dependable, protective, loyal, too-kind-for-this-world Ethan—deserved everything life had to offer, and that included a partner who wasn’t as emotionally damaged as Casey.

Before heading out, he stopped by the Hiking Club to sign up there too. At the last second, he also registered Ethan. Next, he stopped by the Mature Student Club only to discover that it catered to part-time students in