Andy was glad he’d gotten through to Zachary when he had, because the winter was hard. The town rippled with gossip about his mother’s worsening drinking problem and the fact that, according to the papers, Alastair Pennington wasn’t giving an inch on the money.

Despite his personal problems, Zachary had indeed mended his ways after their fishing trip. He had manfully apologized to Scott and his friends, earning their grudging respect. He was polite and personable, at least most of the time, so the occasional bad mood was more easily forgiven. He didn’t make any more real friends, but at least he seemed finished with making enemies, and even when the gossip about his family made the rounds at school, most of the kids left him alone about it.

Zachary didn’t seek out Andy’s company, but neither did he push Andy away when they encountered each other. Then, one afternoon when Mr. Milam was running late again, Andy looked up from fielding practice to see that Zachary was waiting behind the left field fence, not huddled on the cafeteria steps as he usually was. His book bag was slung over his shoulder and a book dangled from his hand, as if he had simply gotten up from his reading and strolled over, drawn by sudden curiosity or... something.

Andy dared not imagine Zachary was watching him. Still, he spent the rest of the afternoon acutely aware of Zachary’s presence, of those clear eyes that might or might not being paying any attention to his performance.

He’d been less nervous playing in front of college recruiters. When Mr. Milam’s truck at last clanked into the school driveway, Andy’s disappointment competed with relief.

The day after that practice, Andy felt brave enough to take his lunch tray over to Zachary’s lonely outpost to eat. Zachary had surprised him, now it was time to surprise Zachary.

Zachary’s eyes widened when he looked up and realized Andy was joining him for lunch, but he slid the book he was reading out of Andy’s way.

“Thanks,” Andy said.

“To what do I owe the honor?” Zachary asked, turning his gaze back to the book.

“My ham croquette got smart with me. Thought I’d bring it over so you could stab it to death.” When Zachary greeted that with skeptically lifted eyebrows, Andy grinned. “Just felt like a change of scenery.”

Zachary glanced up, tilting his head slightly to make it clear he was looking over at Andy’s previous lunch table. “I can see why,” he muttered.

Over the past few months, Andy had come to the conclusion that many of Zachary’s seeming insults were actually manifestations of a very dry sense of humor. Some of them, though, truly were insults, and Andy wasn’t sure which one this was. He decided to laugh, anyway – it was true. Russ was a nice guy, but even he joked that he’d been beaten with the ugly stick as a baby.

Zachary’s expression lightened at Andy’s laughter. “I’d heard you were a baseball player,” he said, staring fixedly at his open book, “but I didn’t know you were good.”

Andy suppressed the urge to blush at the praise. “Well, I hope so,” he said. “A scholarship is my only ticket out of this place.”

Zachary at last abandoned his pretense of reading to look at Andy with interest. “Really? Where are you looking?”

“I’ve had a couple of sniffs,” Andy admitted, hoping it didn’t come off as bragging. “Alabama, South Alabama. Georgia sort of glanced in my direction.”

“That’s really great.”

Andy couldn’t help but stare a little. From his earnest tone, it sounded like Zachary meant it. “Thanks.”

Zachary slid a scrap of paper into his book and closed it, his movements slow and deliberate. “I’m surprised you’re so eager to get out,” he said. “You seem to like it here.”

The snide undertones Andy might have normally expected in such a comment were absent; Zachary really was curious. Perhaps surprise was what made Andy answer truthfully, imprudent as it was. “Yeah, well. Let’s just say I’d probably end up on a bus out of town, one way or another.”

For a moment, the subtle reference didn’t register with Zachary. Then his eyes widened and his mouth opened a little, as if he needed just a bit of extra air. The reaction passed quickly, though; Zachary’s expression returned to normal and he covered his momentary lapse by picking up his fork.

Andy reached for his own fork and started eating, wishing he could sink under the table. Why the hell had he said that? It wasn’t like anything could happen between them. This was Custer County, and Zachary had pretty, blond Ornery, back in Switzerland. Dammit, things had been going just fine, then he’d gone and admitted...

Stupid.

Andy cast about for something to fill the awkward silence. “Listen, a bunch of the guys are going to the backwaters on Saturday, to fish and goof around. Wanna come?”

Zachary impaled his ham croquette on his fork, and Andy nearly laughed in relief at the familiar gesture. “Thanks,” Zachary said, quietly. “But Grandfather has me doing a few things that day.”

“Oh, that stinks,” Andy said, grimacing. “Chores on a Saturday in the spring? That old man’s a sadist. What kind of things?”

“Painting the shed.” Zachary spoke the words as if he’d never heard of such a thing in his life. He took out his distaste for the task on his lunch.

“Well,” Andy said, considering his words carefully. “Maybe I could come help you. It’d go a lot faster that way.”

Zachary’s fork slipped from his fingers and clattered onto his hard plastic plate. He didn’t move to pick it back up. “That... that would be great,” he said softly. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Zachary looked straight at him and smiled before he quickly lowered his eyes. Andy was suddenly very, very glad he had offered.

#

Turned out Zachary did own a pair of blue jeans. He was wearing them when he answered the door Saturday morning, just after sunrise. Astoundingly enough, he wore a t-shirt as well, a long-sleeved style with a logo in what Andy thought might be Italian. Still, it was closer to normal than anything he’d seen Zachary in yet.

“Morning,” Andy greeted. “Ready to go?”

“Yes. Come on in; I just need to put my cup away.” He took a long swig of coffee from the mug in his hand as he turned. Andy stayed just inside the door; he’d worn old, grungy shoes and didn’t want to track anything inside the house. But he had a nice view as Zachary walked to the kitchen to lay his cup in the sink, and he had to bite down on the urge to suggest to Zachary that he wear jeans more often.

Zachary led him down the dirt path to the storage shed and pulled the creaking door open.

“We painting inside or out?” Andy asked, suddenly dreading the idea of having to move Mr. Milam’s lifetime collection of junk out of the way.

“Outside.” Zachary looked over his shoulder with a wry expression that told Andy he completely understood his question. “Grandfather said I’d find everything I’d need over... here.” He found the corner and pointed.

Andy stepped over to where Zachary was pointing and surveyed the collection of paint cans, primer, brushes, rollers and trays. He looked up at Zachary, frowning. “Where’s the rest?”

“The rest?”

“This is for the new paint. We have to get old paint off, first.”

Zachary blinked. “Oh. Um...”

Andy smiled, realizing – as he had suspected – that Zachary might know a Matisse from a Monet, but he hadn’t the faintest idea of what went into painting a storage shed. “If it’s okay, I’ll just poke around. Mr. Milam has a bunch of tools; he probably has everything around here, somewhere.”

Zachary made a “be my guest” gesture and stepped aside.

An hour later, Andy was up on a ladder, scraping away the peeling remnants of an ancient paint job, while Zachary labored on the lower sections. They chatted from time to time, but otherwise worked in amiable silence. Zachary worked harder than Andy had expected him to; he might be a brat, but once Andy showed him what to do, he got it done.

“So,” Andy ventured, wondering how badly it was going to hurt to broach this topic. “You and Henri doing the long-distance thing?”

Zachary was silent for so long Andy began to think he had blundered. But finally, Zachary gave a dry cough. “We... we weren’t really...”

He coughed again, and that was when Andy figured it out. “Oh,” he said. He did his best to sound chagrined and sympathetic, when inside he was grinning with inappropriate joy. “A one-sided deal, eh?”

“Yeah,” Zachary mumbled. “Something like that.”

“Think there’s still a chance?”

A short, sharp laugh greeted that. “We’re not likely to ever see each other again,” Zachary pointed out. “So, no. Besides,” he added, his voice falling. “He hasn’t... kept in touch.”

Andy let his arm fall, both to give it a rest and because he was suddenly filled with so much guilt that his whole body felt heavy. Homesickness, a crumbling family, an alcoholic mother, a strict grandfather, a weird new town, a weirder new school... and a broken heart. What hadn’t Zachary Pennington been dealing with all this time?

“That sucks,” Andy finally said, raising his arm to resume his work. A woefully inadequate thing to say, but all he could risk, at the moment. Anything more, and he’d betray himself.

Zachary didn’t reply. The sound of his scraper grew louder.

Andy glanced down, watching him work. Zachary’s sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and the sinews in his long forearms were taut with effort. His hands were covered to the wrist in smudges and flakes of the old gray paint, and there was a drifting of it in his hair from Andy’s work above him. A gray streak crossed one cheekbone to the bridge of his nose.

Andy had wrestled with the desire to touch Zachary since the first time he’d seen him, but at this moment, knowing he was in pain, Andy had never wanted more badly to put his arms around him and just... hold him. To let him know that there was a safe shelter for him in the world, that when his family let him down and his friends fell silent, Andy would be there.

But he was afraid. Afraid Zachary didn’t feel the same way, afraid he would be too proud to admit if it he did. Afraid to ruin this strange, fragile friendship by pushing too hard, too fast.

Then again...

Which was worse, to offer comfort that wasn’t needed, or to withhold comfort that was?

Andy lowered his arm again and stepped down a rung. Zachary looked up when the ladder creaked, and when he saw Andy coming down, he stood up.

Andy got to the bottom of the ladder and hesitated, his hands on the rung above his head, his instincts and his fears warring mercilessly in his chest. Zachary just stared at him, his lovely eyes curious and a little wary.

“Zachary—”

“Zachary!”

It was a woman’s voice, coming from the house. Andy watched Zachary’s brows furrow. “Mom?”

“Zachary? Where are you? Good news!”

Zachary walked around to the front of the shed and Andy followed, rounding the corner just in time to see Mrs. Pennington picking her way down the worn path in bedroom shoes and a bathrobe. Her hair was askew and she hadn’t a drop of make-up on, but somehow, Andy thought she looked better than he’d ever seen her.

“Zachary! I just got a call from Freddie.”

“The lawyer?” Zachary asked.

“He’s a genius! Didn’t I tell you he was a genius?” She reached her son and grabbed his shoulders. “He’s gotten us an emergency order – the accounts are unfrozen. Your trust fund is safe; Al has to resume paying your tuition and child support, immediately, until the final settlement is signed. Isn’t it wonderful!”

Zachary put his hands over his mother’s, and for a moment, Andy thought he might push her away. But then his fingers tightened, and he nodded. “That’s great, Mom.”

She was obviously unimpressed by his reaction. “Didn’t you hear me, sweetie? You can go back to Zurich. I can go back to New York. We can get out of this shithole town and go back to our lives, and—”

She broke off abruptly, seeing Andy for the first time. Her hand went immediately to the closure of her robe, though she was already well-covered. “Oh. I’m so sorry; I didn’t realize you had a friend over.”

“Oh, um... This is Andy. He’s helping me with the shed.”

“Ma’am.” Andy stuck his hand out, then remembered it was covered in paint and withdrew it, an apologetic smile crossing his mouth.

Mrs. Pennington’s hand pressed harder against her chest and her face took on the tight look that Andy normally associated with her. “Well. Maybe you can take a little break and come inside to talk about this, sweetie. Family business, you understand,” she directed at Andy.

As if Andy hadn’t heard every heart-breaking word. Still, he was nothing if not a gentleman. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding. “You go on,” he told Zachary. “I’ll keep going out here.”

Zachary licked his lips. “I’ll be there in just a minute, Mom. Let me just get this last...” He gestured vaguely toward the shed. Mrs. Pennington, now eager to get out from under the gaze of a stranger, nodded and turned back toward the house.

Zachary watched her for a moment, then brushed past Andy on his way back around the shed.

Seeing the look on his face, Andy turned and followed him. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Zachary knelt and began scraping at the wood again. Paint flakes flew from his scraper.

Andy crouched down beside him, putting his hand over Zachary’s to stop its motion. “Hey. You aren’t fine. Talk.”

“What’s to talk about? I’m going home, didn’t you hear?” He stared at Andy’s hand on his, and neither of them moved.

“Why doesn’t that make you happy?”

“It does,” Zachary said. “Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it...” He trailed off, his face so tense that Andy knew he was fighting tears.

Why wouldn’t it? Maybe because his ritzy school was full of boys who knew now that Zachary wasn’t really one of them, that he was the bastard son of a gold-digging floozie from a hick town in Alabama, whose fortunes could be swept away by a stroke of his stepfather’s pen. Maybe because waiting for him there was a blond-haired boy who didn’t love him, who hadn’t even bothered to write or call.

“It’s not home anymore, is it?” Andy asked.

“No.” Zachary shook his head, sighing as if relieved to finally speak the words. “No place is. Not there, not here...”

“Well, that’s not right at all.”

Andy dropped Zachary’s hand like a hot potato and whirled around to find Mr. Milam standing at the corner of the shed, the perennial scowl on his face. Andy started to rise, but the old man held out his hand in a stilling gesture. “Don’t get up, young man; you were doing just fine. But you’re wrong,” he said, looking at Zachary. “Here is home, if you want it to be. It’s where you’re from; it’s in your blood. And you’re welcome for as long as you want to stay.”

Mr. Milam nodded, as if confirming to himself that he’d said everything he came out say. Then he leveled his gaze at Andy. “Stay for lunch.”

“Yessir,” Andy got out.

Mr. Milam turned and shuffled back to the path.

“How’d that old geezer sneak up on us like that?” Andy whispered.

Zachary’s mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “It’s one of his less endearing traits.” But his smile faded quickly as his thoughts returned to his dilemma. He looked at the hand Andy had been holding, as if the answer might lie there. “What do you think?”

“Me?” For a moment, Andy entertained the idea of telling him the truth. Telling him that his mother’s “good news” had driven a knife into his chest. Begging him to stay because Andy didn’t think he could face waking up and going to school the first day Zachary wasn’t there.

But the truth was selfish.

“I think... you should do whatever makes you happy. Go where you want to be. You’ve suffered enough for your parents’ shit; now you have a choice – so do what you want.”

“Do what I want,” Zachary echoed.

He stared at his hand a moment longer, then used it to reach up and touch Andy’s face.

Andy’s eyes widened so quickly he could feel the strain in his eyelids. But even more, he felt the butterfly touch of Zachary’s trembling, paint-streaked fingers on his cheek, felt the slight pull they exerted, downward. Felt himself follow that pull, leaning forward just enough...

...felt Zachary’s lips touch his, light and soft and scared.

Andy reached for Zachary’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer, accepting his kiss, deepening it. His fingers tightened, his mouth caressed Zachary’s, discovering a velvet warmth he hadn’t expected but instantly wanted more of.

A small sound from Zachary’s throat, relief and joy, reflected perfectly Andy’s own soaring, hammering heart.

Then it was time to draw back, time to pull apart and breathe. Their hands dropped away until they knelt facing each other but not touching. For one frozen moment, Andy watched Zachary in silence, both of them adjusting to the new reality they had just created.

Zachary had been brave enough to kiss him. Andy could be no less brave now. “Do what you makes you happy,” he repeated, his voice low and soft. “But if it makes any difference, I want you to stay.”

A sobbing laugh escaped Zachary, and for a moment Andy thought he had upset him. But then Zachary looked up, and reached out to brush his fingers across the back of Andy’s hand. “No one said that to me, back at school. Funny how good it feels to hear it from you.”

Andy leaned in and kissed him again, gentle this time. “Stay.”

“Yeah. I will.” His smile broadened into a grin. “At least until we take the bus out of town, right?”

Andy nodded, grinning himself, but taking Zachary’s reminder to heart. It was just over a year until high school graduation. They could be careful for a year. After that, there was the rest of their lives ahead of them, and the rest of the world waiting for them to discover it.