Fix Me

By Van Cole

I'm Happy To Be Back Home… Even Happier When I See An Old Friend

Pahrump, Nevada.
I've missed you.
England's wild green landscape is nothing like the flat orange desert.
I was raised here, I've come back to renovate the house for my mom.

You'll never guess who runs the local construction company – Eric, my childhood best friend.
I've been in love with Eric since high school, as if coming home wasn't complicated enough.

The name's Eric.
Recently divorced, father of a six-year-old, and a project manager for a construction company.
I love my kid, and the money's good – but it's lonely, and stressful, to say the least.

I just heard Will's back in town.
It'll be nice to see him again.

Fix Me is a standalone Gay First Time Best Friend Romance with a HEA and NO cheating!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Van Cole
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223864400

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

WILL DANIELS

About three minutes after getting off the plane, tarmac radiating heat and sun so bright my eyes were stuck in a permanent squint, I remembered why my mother had complained about the weather so often. It was a dry heat, thank God for that, but by the time I was herded into the arrival gate with my fellow cows and sheep, I was thankful for the overactive air-conditioning that beat down on our shoulders with a blast of cold air as soon as we entered the building.

The airport was sixty-five miles from my destination. A single straight shot through the desert and over the mountains. I had seen the long stretches of orange and wheat-yellow from the plane, and the salt-white sand dunes, and the tip of Mount Charleston. 

Say what you wanted about Nevada; it had a wild kind of beauty to it. The lack of humidity made the clouds look fake, as though painted on a canvas. The vibrant desert colors were so different from England, which was all green and blue and wet.

A lot of people had been surprised when I chose to move away from home. Not just out of town, but out of the State, and eventually out of the country entirely. Depending on who asked, I always gave them a different answer: a change of pace, a scholarship, a job opportunity I couldn't say 'No' to.

My parents understood, though. My mom was one of the most supportive people I had ever met in my life, and we regularly kept in touch. So, when my dad called saying she'd fallen, and hurt herself badly enough that she would likely need months of physical therapy, and a chair, what choice did I have but to come home and help?

I hailed a taxi and gave him the address. The drive from Vegas to Pahrump, Nevada, was objectively not very interesting, except for the fact that it had been so long since I'd been here. I gazed on bright lights of the strip and the tall skyscrapers with wonder, at the billboards boasting shows and casino specials and restaurants that served enough food to sate an army of lions.

It was all so...American. So, Las Vegas. There was nowhere in England that even came close. The roads were wide and light so that tires wouldn't melt in the heat, and there were so many people all going about their day. Probably more in this city than half the island back home.

The color composition of Nevada, and the desert in general, was a polar opposite to England. I had settled down in North Yorkshire, which was all rolling hills covered with long grass, and permanent rainclouds, and a feral kind of beauty that was as lovely to look at as the desert, in my opinion. Even though the taxi had the air conditioning cranked up high, the window was warm when I pressed my hand against it.

It took just over an hour to get to Pahrump, to my parents' house, which sat on the edge of the town – small enough to be called tiny by American standards, but still so sprawled out and populated that I only knew where to go because I had grown up here.

Say what you wanted about the desert, it was vast and cheap to live here. The population of Pahrump was either old or too young to move out on their own yet.

I was out the door before the car could even pull to a halt, and pulled my bags out after paying. The front door opened as I approached the front gate, revealing my father. And, as the door opened further, my mother beside him in her wheelchair.

She smiled at me, her eyes brimming with tears. I dropped my bags and ran to her and hugged her as tightly as I dared.

Will, she breathed, clutching back just as tightly. I felt my father pat my shoulder before he left to go get my bags. Oh, it's so good to see you, baby.

You too, mom, I replied, pulling back just in time for my father to come back with the bags. I moved to one side, and gently tugged on the handles of the wheelchair so that he had room to carry them past her. I should have come back sooner. Maybe if -.

Nonsense, she said, waving her hand dismissively before I could apologize. I knew that, objectively, there was nothing to apologize for. I hadn't pushed her, or built the steps, or broken her hip and femur myself. I'll be up and about before you can blink, just you wait and see!

I bit my lower lip. Still, I said slowly, there's gotta be something we can do, just until you're back on your feet. I know you were talking about renovating the master bathroom anyway – why not just do that now? You can make it more accessible, make this whole place a little more wheelchair friendly.

She sighed. We don't have the money for that, she said gently.

I do, I replied, without hesitation. Or at least enough to make payments or something. Don't worry about that.

My father's lips pursed, and he and my mother shared a considering look. I've heard Eric got into construction, he finally said with a conceding nod. He might be able to give us a quote that we could handle, or at least let us know what kind of work will go into it.

I blinked at the name, a sudden flutter in my chest. Eric? I repeated weakly.

My mother met my eyes, and smiled. You remember him, don't you, dear?

Of course, I did. Eric was my best friend in high school. He was the kind of guy who was friends with everyone, but we always hung out after school, and stayed the night at each other's houses, and when we were old enough to get into trouble we'd drive out to the desert at night and light off fireworks and drink shitty beer we stole from Eric's big brother.

He was charming and sweet and could make anyone laugh. People liked being around him. I had liked being around him. Too much, some might say.

I...didn't think he'd still be in town, I said weakly.

Yes, my mother said, as my father nodded. I followed them into the house, holding my bags as he wheeled her into the living room. It was just as I remembered it, colored tan and beige with art from local Native artists, and tourist kitschy shit from across the border, and entire shelves dedicated to photographs of me throughout my child and teen years. Never left, really. Except for his honeymoon.

The fluttering feeling in my chest struck something like a bird hitting a window. I met my mother's eyes in the reflection on the glass doors of the shelves where she kept her fine china. Right, I said. I hadn't received a formal invitation, since I was out of the country at that point, but Facebook was perfect for being peripherally aware of other people's lives. Eric had gotten married, two years after I'd left.

My father cleared his throat. Your room's how you left it, he told me. I imagine you're pretty jetlagged.

Yeah, I admitted with a sheepish grin. I took my bags from him. I'll just take a short nap – need to readjust to this time zone one way or the other.

I'll wake you in a few hours, he promised. We'll grill up some steaks.

Sounds good. I carried my bags into my room and shut the door behind me – he was right, it was just how I'd left it. The bed looked so much tinier than it used to, crammed into a corner and dressed in the same dark blue sheets I'd had in high school. The bookshelves were sparsely packed, but what books were on there focused on business management and the psychology of the office. I had always been fascinated by people, and how they behaved, and knew that making friends and networking was going to get me much further in life than good grades alone.

They'd taken out the area rug that had covered most of the floor. Probably for the best, the poor thing had been worn down to the bare fibers by the time I went off to college. I tended to pace at night, restless.

I set my carry on down at the little writing desk that was scuffed and had been the scene of many late nights. The bean bag chairs in the corner of the room held many memories of study sessions and impromptu naps when said study material would put me to sleep. There was a large window that looked out to the neighbor's house – or it used to. There was a large privacy fence there now.

I pulled out my toiletry bag from my suitcase and went into the bathroom across the hall, so that I could brush my teeth and get ready to take a nap. I looked more tired than usual, with dark circles under my eyes, making them look almost black. My hair was greasy from the long flight and recycled air, and there was a dark spread of five o'clock shadow over my face.

Look like a fuckin' hobo, I told my reflection, who merely grinned back. I brushed my teeth and used the bathroom, washing my hands with a sigh. Already coming back home felt weird – I hadn't been here in so long; it was like decades had passed and only a moment at the same time. Were it not for the small, cramped nature of my old room,