Love Underneath

By Luke Hartwell

A groundbreaking merger of genres, Luke Hartwell's latest novel, Love Underneath, is as distinctive as its predecessors. Hartwell has created a beautiful, sexy story of guys who love. Hunter, a high school senior, finds himself with no place to go and ends up sharing a bed with the friend and classmate he once had abandoned. Brandon, who has been in love with Hunter since ninth grade, finds having Hunter in his bed every night an intimidating dream come true. After graduating, the two boys part. Years later Brandon receives an unexpected call from Hunter, who has been married twice and has a son. Now, he's come to realize Brandon was always the love of his life. Love Underneath is a multifaceted novel about human relationships. As Brandon meets Hunter's son, Ben; Ben's best friend, Taylor; Taylor's father, Case, and the gardener, Jorge, the novel takes twists and turns that intrigue and delight. As with all Hartwell fiction, the characterizations, narration, and depth of feeling leave an impact.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Watersgreen House
• Release date: Jul 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463905197

Luke Hartwell

Luke Hartwell is the award-winning author of the novels Atom Heart John Beloved, Nathan's Story, Love Underneath, Desire, and several short stories. Luke has always been attracted to the gay boy in love with straight boy dynamic, and many of his books explore those relationships.

Book preview

Part One:

Pulse of the Continent

Chapter 1: Come Sit with Me?

I guess I have always known I am attracted to my own sex. Even as a young child, I remember when my friends would be talking dirty about girls’ bodies, all I could think of was that they themselves were more interesting. Their bodies fascinated me. Girls seemed alien. My self-awareness grew the older I got. Older boys particularly fascinated me. If any one of the handsome older boys I knew had taken me under his wings, I would have been in heaven. I found many boys my own age attractive, as well. Younger boys held their own appeal. I kept my thoughts and my hands to myself, but my thoughts were all over the boys, and my hands were all over myself. I entered high school a fourteen-year-old virgin, but by then I knew for sure I liked guys.

My best friend as a kid was a cousin a year older. We had some good times, and I definitely found him attractive, but we had begun to drift apart when I was twelve. He did not do well in school and had decided to become a bad boy. I did fine in school and declined to follow him down that path. My aunt and uncle began to have trouble with him. My parents seemed relieved I no longer asked to have him over or spend the night at his house.

Kids in my neighborhood were either older or younger than me. Although I would have loved it if Brad Holstead, who was three years older and lived two houses down the street, had shown any interest in being friends, he did not. My neighborhood was a wasteland when it came to comrades.

High school brought a whole different set of people into my life, however, and everything suddenly got a lot more interesting. There were kids from another middle school whom I had never seen before, and some of them appealed to me more than the familiar faces with whom I had grown up.

The blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who sat in front of me in English class certainly caught my eye. His name was Hunter, I found out soon enough, and he was both smart and trouble. Girls loved him. So did I. It was no accident I was sitting behind him. I had chosen that seat so I could look at him and listen to him without being seen. He had friends sitting on either side of him, and their banter before, after, and sometimes during class was different from what I normally heard. They were all three popular. That was it.

I decided I had to get to know him. Somehow.

That chance came when the teacher paired students up for an assignment by simply walking down the rows of desks saying, you and you. Hunter turned around to acknowledge that we were a pair. We nodded at each other.

The next day in class, we had to plan what to do for our project. Hunter turned his desk around to face mine.

I found it hard to talk to him. I wanted too badly to make a good impression and found myself stuttering when I do not usually stutter, mumbling when I do not usually mumble, and laughing nervously when I do not usually laugh nervously.

For his part, Hunter was calm, cool, and intelligent. As his friends still were on either side of him with their desks turned around to face their partners, Hunter still had them to talk to if he chose. We did, however, need to plan the assignment, and when Hunter gave me his full attention to get on with that, I could hardly find coherent words to say.

Hunter did most of the planning that first day, but that night at home, with my brain functioning again, I thought of some good ideas to run by him the next day, which I did. Hunter was impressed and didn’t mind saying so. I took his compliments in stride as best I could, managing not to stutter, mumble, or laugh nervously. By the end of the class hour, I could see he was comfortable with me, which had been my goal. I could get comfortable with him later. I was getting there.

I wish I could say that we quickly became best friends, but it did not work out that way. Hunter had a lot of friends and had a lot of girls wanting to be his girlfriend. I had girls interested in me, too, and a few old friends, so I concentrated on surviving ninth grade while watching Hunter from a distance. Still, we had met, we had interacted, and it had gone well after the shaky start. Now, when we saw each other in the hall, we might say, How’s it going? if we weren’t too preoccupied with those around us, and if we were too busy to talk, we would at least give a nod.

In tenth grade I had no classes with Hunter, but I was still watching him, in love with the idea of him, craving him, fantasizing about him frequently. The entire year, however, was a bust when it came to Hunter. I made no progress getting to know him.

Then, in eleventh grade, I found myself in physics and calculus with him the first semester, and as odd fortune would have it, neither of us knew a soul in either class. We stood out in both classes—and I am reluctant to say this, but it is true—because we were the two best-looking guys in the class and we were not nerds. I had never imagined that not being a nerd would ever bring occasion to feel awkward, but in those classes, it did, and I could see that Hunter felt it even more than I felt it. That I don’t belong in here look was all over his face.

Also fortuitous for me, the two classes were on either side of our lunch period. We sat by each other in both classes for half the semester, going our separate ways at lunch. I noted where Hunter sat in the cafeteria and who was at his table. I already knew who Hunter hung out with. They were all popular kids, but not the school jocks or the student council types. They were normal but popular, and much of their popularity had to do with their physical appeal and good humor. My own associates were about as nondescript as students come, which is why I have not mentioned any of their names or any details about them. Although they were not nerds, they were bland enough to go almost unnoticed around school. I knew them, and that was about as far as my relationship with them went. I often felt that we only associated with each other for social protection, so we would not be seen individually as outcasts. It worked. People assumed we were best of friends and left us to ourselves. Conversation among this group was dull, dull, dull, but at least we had each other to talk to. Not every minute was dull. Once a week, one of us might say something funny.

One day in class, after the bell rang for lunch, Hunter and I gathered our stuff and walked out the door together.

Come sit with me? Hunter asked casually.

Sure, I replied, my heart leaping in my chest. It was about as unexpected as if he had casually asked if he could give me a blow job.

Where’s your locker?

Near the library.

Mine’s just here. Come with me.

I followed Hunter to his locker, where he dropped off his stuff and grabbed a tiny bottle of hot sauce, then he walked with me to my locker and then to the cafeteria. We went through the line together, engaging in small talk, entered our pay codes, and walked to Hunter’s usual table. I was intimidated by his friends and would have loved nothing better than for Hunter to have chosen a neutral table where we only knew each other. But Hunter sat down with his friends, motioned for me to sit beside him, and said, Hey guys, this is Brandon.

Yep, that’s me. I am Brandon.

His friends were, well, friendly, and no one tried to shake my hand in some stupid fashion, which I appreciated. They just said hello and continued their conversation, including me in it from time to time, which I also appreciated.

Hunter took the little bottle of hot sauce from his pocket and liberally sprinkled it on anything on his tray that would taste better hot.

He always does that, one of his friends said, noticing me staring.

Hunter just looked at me and smiled, returning the bottle to his pocket.

Yeah, Hunter likes it hot, another friend said, and there was moderate laughter to match a joke that was only moderately funny.

Probably why he asked you to join us, another friend sitting on the other side of Hunter remarked, and that brought a bit more laughter than the first comment. It also brought him a quick and hard shove on the shoulder from Hunter.

You think he’s hot? Hunter asked the guy, turning his joke on himself.

This brought some appreciative noise from the table, but the guy was undaunted. He looked around Hunter, studied me, and said, Let’s just say if he was a girl I would think he’s hot.

Same thing, Hunter said. You think he’s hot.

Whatever, the guy answered, suddenly seeming embarrassed and looking anywhere but at me. But I had got a good look at him when he leaned forward to look at me. Not bad. I did not know his name, but if things did not work out with Hunter…

It felt weird being talked about this way. No one had ever mentioned to me before, in my presence, the suggestion that I might be hot. Someone on occasion had told me that a girl thought I was, but I had always heard those remarks second-hand, not in person. Was I? I knew I looked okay. I hoped that on the one to ten scale, I was closer to Hunter’s ten than I was to the six-and-under scores of the other guys in our physics and calculus classes. I supposed I could conceivably be thought of as hot by some people. In any case, I found I did not mind the suggestion at all. I found that it made me feel like I was not out of place at this table. I looked at everyone sitting around me, all smiling, obviously not minding that I had joined them. They were all eights and above on that scale. I felt oddly comfortable. Perhaps that had been the point of the pointed banter, to immediately put me at ease.

It had worked. For the first time all year at school, I was having a good time.

Chapter 2: Hanging Out

After lunch, Hunter walked with me back to my locker. As I was getting materials for calculus, he asked, What are you doing after school?

This came as another shock, even after he had invited me to sit with his group at lunch. I was struck by the injustice of it. I had longed for more than two years to casually say that to him, but I had known it was impossible due to my not knowing him well and the difference in our social status in the school hierarchy. Now I saw how easily he could do it. He could suddenly be curious about me and ask the question casually and calmly because he had no doubt that I would want to be his friend, and if there was something wrong with me and I didn’t, he would take it in stride, knowing there must be something wrong with me. There wasn’t.

No plans, I said.

Want to hang out?

Sure.

I’ll meet you here at your locker.

Okay.

We walked to calculus, and I was too dumbstruck by the good fortune of the day to speak. Apparently, Hunter was feeling a bit awkward too now, which was unexpected. We said nothing to each other, reached our classroom, and took our seats next to each other.

During class we kept looking at each other and smiling. I had no idea why we were doing this, but we were, and it was hard to keep from laughing. Then, suddenly, I lost control and laughed right in the middle of class. Hunter’s head instantly went to his desk, his teeth biting his arm, trying not too successfully to stifle himself. Those teeth! That arm! Fuck me, I was already in love.

The teacher called our names, but we were two of her best students. She liked us and didn’t make a big deal of it. We regained our composure and class continued.

After my last class, I went straight to my locker and waited for Hunter. I had to wait a few minutes, and for at least the last two of those minutes I began to think he had either forgotten me or ditched me, but then I saw him round the corner, looking my direction.

Hey!

Hey!

You drive to school?

Yeah.

So do I. Why don’t we leave your car in the parking lot for now and go riding around in mine?

Sounds good. Your gas.

Hunter smiled.

No way, he said. "If we use my car, you will buy the gas. I’ll be stopping up the street so you can fill it up."

I thought he was joking, but I wasn’t sure. He looked at my dumbfounded face, laughed, slapped me lightly on the back of my head, and said, Come on! He was smiling broadly. I expect I was doing the same.

I knew his car. For as long as he had driven it, every time I saw a car like it go by, I looked to see if it was him. For the rest of my life, that make and model would remind me of Hunter.

He put some music on, and I was surprised to discover it was a band I really liked.

"Wow. I can’t believe you have this!"

You like that band? Hunter asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

I love this band!

Me to! I don’t know anyone else who knows them!

Neither do I.

A link was established, and it was a good one. Hunter’s pleasure was written all over his face. We drove around, talking, and discovered that we had a lot more in common than just two classes and music. For instance, we both had been living with stepfathers we could hardly stand since the age of ten. It was freaky that we not only both had stepfathers but had gotten them at the same age. We also found we had similar tastes in films and liked following the same sports. Best of all, we both played tennis. This gave us a great excuse to hang together, but we were hitting it off so well, I began to feel confident we wouldn’t be needing excuses.

Still, tennis was a good place to start. Once or twice a week for the remainder of the semester we got together to play a match. Sometimes we would do something else before or after, but often it was just the tennis, and that, for a while at least, was enough.

We discovered that our skill sets balanced each other. Neither of us overpowered the other on our serves, though we both were good, and our matches always were close. For some reason, we got in the habit of always playing best-of-five-set matches, even if it meant stopping play after two or three sets and finishing another day. We had been playing at courts near the school which were decent and equally convenient for both of us, but after finding how much we enjoyed playing together, we moved to newer courts near Hunter’s house that had lights. Now, as winter approached and the days grew shorter, we would not have to interrupt our after-school matches before we wanted to because of the dark. The cold was not a problem. We lived in the suburbs of Austin, where it is warm enough to play tennis year-round.

That is precisely what we did!

Chapter 3: Circling the Block

At school, I began to get to know some of Hunter’s friends. At the lunch table I felt more at east joining in conversations and found I had no reason to be intimidated. I could be just as funny and interesting as anyone else at the table. I especially liked Brian, the guy who had made a joke about me being hot. He had got on my good side right from the start.

I had classes with Brian and some of the other guys at Hunter’s lunch table, and after a while, we began to sit together in class and talk. I got to know them, and as I did, I began to sense that my status at the school had changed. More girls were flirting with me now. Not as many as Hunter dealt with daily, but more than just a few. It was not long before Hunter was telling me that so-and-so liked me and wanted me to ask her out.

Hunter himself seemed to always have a girlfriend, but he liked hanging out with his buddies more than hanging out with girls, so as soon as a girl became too possessive and demanded too much of his time, she was history. He could afford to be that way. Few other guys could.

Increasingly, he wanted to know why I did not want to go out with any of the girls he mentioned, why I had never had a girlfriend of my own. I was not ready to tell him yet. I wanted to wait until I knew we were solid as friends. I felt we were getting there, but we were not there yet.

Hunter, however, must have begun to suspect the truth. One day as I was giving him a ride home after tennis, he asked, Remember that time in ninth grade we were paired up for that English project?

Yeah, of course I remember. It was the first time we ever talked to each other.

Yeah. You were nervous as hell. I thought you were just shy, but later I saw you’re not really that shy at all.

Not so much.

You reminded me of some of the girls who try to talk to me but are too tongue-tied to speak.

I found myself scared into silence. I knew if I just sat there and continued driving that Hunter would continue talking, but I was very afraid of what he might say. I felt my life, my future, would be revealed in the next few minutes.

Hunter had been looking straight ahead as he spoke, but now I could see he had turned to look at me.

You have something you want to tell me, Brandon?

Is it anything you want to know? I asked, figuring at that point we both knew what was up and I would give him the option of hearing it or not.

Yeah. I want to know.

Then you know. Do I have to say it?

I guess not, if you don’t want to.

I’d rather not.

I kept driving. His house was not far away now, and I found myself going slower, feeling this conversation was not over.

Do you mind if I say it for you? You can just tell me if I’m wrong.

I swallowed hard.

All right.

You’re gay.

Hunter paused to see if I would deny it. I let the words sit there, unrefuted.

And you were attracted to me in the ninth grade, so it was hard to talk to me at first.

Another pause. I slowed the car to a crawl.

And you’ve sort of been in love with me since then, or at least found me appealing.

I was at his house, but I did not stop. I decided to circle a couple of blocks.

You missed my house.

I thought you weren’t finished. I didn’t want to just sit there in front of your house having this conversation.

I think I’m finished.

I did not like the sound of that. For the first time, I turned to look at him, but I found that he was staring straight ahead now and would not look at me.

I circled back to his house, stopped. Hunter sat in the car just a moment longer than was needed, as if he was thinking of saying something else, but if he was, he changed his mind. He got out, again paused slightly, then shut the door. I drove away, looking in my rearview mirror as Hunter walked toward his front door, never looking my way.

Chapter 4: Always Have Been

School was awkward. As mentioned, several of Hunter’s friends were my friends now. As mentioned, Hunter and I sat side by side in two classes. It would seem unusual to the world at large if we stopped sitting together, if I returned to my old lunch table. So, I didn’t. I continued just as before, and I could see that Hunter was relieved. Appearances mattered in high school, and at school we appeared as if nothing had changed. However, we stopped hanging out after school. I felt we were now just acquaintances. I had lost his friendship before I really had it.

Time went on. Eleventh grade ended. I got a summer job at a multiplex cinema, and one of my coworkers, Tomas, was more than a little attractive. Lanky guy with blond hair, a last name that was East European and hard to pronounce, and sex appeal to spare. Unfortunately, we worked different shifts, so I only saw him in passing. That wasn’t enough. I became obsessed with him. His last name was so unusual that it was easy to find in the phone book. Once I knew where he lived, I drove by his house whenever I was in the area just to see if I could get a glimpse of him.

It wasn’t just our work schedules that worked against us being friends. He also had a very clingy girlfriend, Leslie, who kept him occupied most of the time. My persistence paid off, however, and soon we were hanging out together on days when he was free. We sometimes got together for tennis, but more often he drove me around in his sports car. I noticed that when Leslie wasn’t around, he never mentioned her, but he did mention just about every pretty girl he saw, under the guise of hooking me up.

When we first started playing tennis, I was a lot better than Tomas, but he was a year younger than me, and he improved in leaps and bounds. Before long, he could hold his own, and the games began to be more like when Hunter and I played. In any case, slapping the fuck out of that little ball was a great way to relieve stress. I wanted to slap Tomas across the face and shout, Go for me!

Tomas and I were very different. He liked to talk girls, cars, fishing, and golf—all things that bored the crap out of me. I had to go fishing with him once. Golf, too. Those trips were requirements if I wanted to remain his friend. He didn’t demand that I go, but I could see clearly enough that it was required. I at least had to give them an honest try. I did, but Tomas could see easily enough that I wasn’t into either one, and he didn’t pressure me to do either again. I think he appreciated my willingness to try, was disappointed in the result, but didn’t hold it against me.

Our friendship hinged on playing tennis together and driving around together. He liked having me in the car with him. I liked being there if only because his looks and sex appeal were enough for me. If I was with Tomas, I was happy.

Perhaps he picked up on this. One day as we drove around, he reached over, put his hand on my leg just below the thigh, and said something—I don’t remember what—in a mock-sexy voice, perhaps trying to sound gay. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I did nothing. I think he thought I’d slap the hand away. As I didn’t, he let go of me, turned the car around, and drove to a muffler shop, where