We Could Take To The Highway
Chapter Seven
By: Jondy Macmillan
"Get up. C'mon, get up. Rise and shine," a voice singsonged in James's ear, and he was so not a morning person. He rolled onto his side, pulling the pillow over his head as he went, but it did nothing to deter Kendall. He laughed, yanking the pillow away so that the world outside James's closed eyelids became miserably bright.
"Why don't you want me to sleep?" James groaned, making a blind grab for the pillow, but wherever Kendall was, it wasn't in arm's reach. He sighed and cracked an eye open, surveying the room. There was Kendall, at the foot of his bed, looking entirely too self-satisfied.
"Because I enjoy your company," he chirped, and tossed the pillow back on the bed. James frowned, because this was certainly not the guy he'd left standing in their motel room the previous night, forlorn and confused. When James had returned from his drive, ten miles out to a near-empty biker bar with greasy chicken wings and a friendly waitress keep the beer flowing with no sign of an ID, Kendall had already passed out. James's mind had been buzzing around, like it was filled with champagne bubbles, but the taste of barbecue sauce and stale lager had tasted sour in his throat. He'd pulled on a pair of threadbare sweats and fallen asleep wondering if anything would ever be okay again.
"Are you sure?" James couldn't stop himself from asking, his voice self-deprecating and scratchy from sleep.
Kendall's smile faltered, but it made a reappearance almost instantly, and he said, "Come on. We're going to go tour Yellowstone."
"I thought you wanted to get to Minnesota, like, immediately."
His friend tilted his head to the side, and now he wasn't quite meeting James's gaze, "I changed my mind."
James wanted to ask what brought about the sudden switch, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Kendall was obviously trying to be nice, but even so, it was an olive branch, a broken arrow, a white flag of surrender that came a little too late.
James felt his exhaustion like a physical ache, like a heavy cloak he couldn't take off. But obediently, he stumbled out of bed and got dressed, and let himself be guided into the car in a listless haze, ignoring Kendall's attempts at chit chat. Logan and Carlos called this his diva-tude, but James figured he had every right to be tired and pissed. He'd tried and tried and tried all across the better part of the Northwest, and now he was done being magnanimous.
Never mind that everything was his fault to begin with.
James had never been to Yellowstone, but given his last experience with a national park, he wasn't exactly thinking kindly thoughts in its general direction.
Life could be so lame. He'd had all these expectations, and some of them had been fulfilled (being an international superstar, Check), come truetruetrue, but when he thought a certain moment, second, daymonthyear would be good, better than good, he was inevitably let down. James certainly wasn't holding out much hope for the rest of this week, much less their impromptu tour of America's finest natural bounty.
He'd gotten used to the wide open space, the red cliff-faces and burnt tan mesas leading out to the western seaboard. But the further north they drove, the more he began to see vegetation; big, old trees and shrubs and a whole hell of a lot of ice. At first it was gradual; distant glimpses in the mountains, like the view from the motel. Then he spotted patches of slush that faded into huge frozen plains, a whole wasteland in waiting. The patches became more frequent, solidifying into powder puff piles as the snow thickened, drifting out into the road in whirling tornados, like dust storms turned to sparkling diamonds.
Snow made James think of Christmas, even though it had already come and gone. They'd spent the holiday in Los Angeles, filming a special for some charity or another; one of Carlos's bleeding heart causes. He was always trying to help people.
It was one of his best qualities.
They'd flown their families out to stay at the mansion, because they had enough room for a small third world country, and they'd never really been forgiven for missing the first Christmas they'd spent in Los Angeles. Anyway, this last holiday had gone off without a hitch. James remembered stringing lights on the tree with Kendall, the glow of his face changing from green to blue to red to golden. The way they'd snuck into the kitchen past midnight and spiked their eggnog and watched How The Grinch Stole Christmas, and Kendall was humming the Whoville song for the next week and a half. It drove Gustavo insane.
And now, like he could read James's expression as easily as any book, Kendall light up like a Christmas tree, "It's been forever since I've seen this much snow."
"Yeah. Thrilling," James drawled, feeling his stomach clench, because even though he was so mad at Kendall he kind of wanted to punch him in the face with a brick, the winter wonderland meant they were one step closer to home, to the day when he'd just- poof!- disappear from James's life.
Kendall smiled in reply, not bothered at all by his friend's oh-so-obvious sarcasm, and he might as well have been the Mona Lisa for all James knew what it meant.
And despite his anger, James wanted to know what Kendall was thinking, desperately. It would have been so much easier if he could have seen inside of the blond's head, could have guessed the how and the why of the actions that had lead them to this moment, this fleeting smile here on a long stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere, but nothing was ever that simple. Everyone had a story, and mostly they never got told unless the person it belonged to decided to speak. Kendall was keeping quiet, his poker face perfection.
They drove on and on and on, the overwhelming silence gaping between them, filled only by the rumble of the old Saab's engine. Eventually they slid on through a row of white, empty booths. There weren't any park rangers taking money for admittance, giving out maps or words of advice on not feeding the animals. It was the off off off season, and as Kendall pointed out, there were at least eight other entrances to the park, totally unguarded. He'd only chosen this route to see the big wooden sign that read Yellowstone National Park.
They'd only been driving in the park for ten minutes or so when they discovered their first herd of big, shaggy buffalo with wide, kind brown eyes. They stood in the middle of the road like barricades, regarding the car with a hint of wary animal instinct and the weariness that came from hundreds of years of becoming accustomed to the fact that this land was no longer their own. They littered every visible surface, grazing the tips of grass stalks that had managed to break through the snow.
Kendall honked and revved the engine, but it took half an hour for them to get around that first herd. He drove for a while longer, past signs that pointed out touristy locations, the roads icy and empty, before pulling over onto a relatively dry patch of dirt beneath a thick canopy of trees.
"Get out," Kendall ordered.
"Why?"
"We can't see anything locked up in the car," he replied, "Time to hike."
"I'm not sure I'm up to hiking," James said, glancing down at his jeans, which he'd paid Way Too Much for.
"What happened to you? You used to be fun," Kendall raked a hand through his blond hair casually, his eyes filled with mock accusation and more than a little daring.
"I'm still fun," James replied indignantly, unable to stop himself from rising to the bait.
"Oh, really?" Kendall goaded, "Then you won't mind hiking."
"Hiking's not fun, it's work," James grumbled.
"That's not what you used to say."
"I never said hiking was fun," James replied, not tricked.
Kendall groaned, "Oh, but you think running is? You run. I've seen it."
True enough. Back home James went running every evening he could, trying to sweat out whatever was on his mind.
"Yeah, that's maintenance. Nature doesn't just bless you with muscles like these, man."
Kendall shook his head wonderingly, "Is everything you do to keep up appearances?"
"No. I spend time with this one douchebag who drags me out of bed at ungodly hours and likes to ruin my beauty sleep."
Kendall grinned.
"Jerkface," James muttered, climbing out of the car. Hiking, ugh.
They spent hours exploring Yellowstone. By late afternoon, they were trudging along beneath a blood red sky, touring hot springs in dreamcatcher colors; brilliant turquoise and burnished saffron and the gold-orange of dawn. Pine tree green, a strange neon chartreuse, a murky ochre, and a deep blue that reminded James of the Pacific, with its shaggy surfer boys and bronzed beach bunny girls and anonymous starlets dipping their toes in the water, hoping to catch a tan. Steam rose from the pools' depths, solid white mushroom clouds in the freezing cold air. The wooden planks of the platform beneath his dusty, scuffed, once fashionable boots creaked and splintered, keeping them from falling into a tan, sludgy mud that someone in Hollywood would probably bottle and make use of in a high priced spa. Some parts had been flooded over with cooled, clear water, and under the force of weak little currents the mud had been shaped and molded, designs like the pattern of marble etched onto the surface.
They found the uninspiring dirt mound that housed Old Faithful, surrounded by a fence to keep tourists from getting too close. There were benches surrounding most of it, like an amphitheater, but James was convinced they were the only people in the whole park. He imagined in the summer there would be hundreds, milling around the geyser like colorful birds, waiting for nature to perform for them, to prove its power. Big buildings loomed in the distance; a gift shop and a café, both closed. When the geyser did go off, a towering, phallic pillar half obscured by its own spray and steam, James found himself wishing that all the manmade structures would up and vanish. It was hard to appreciate natural majesty when there was so much that wasn't natural.
The air smelled earthy, like pine and dirt and wetness, the crisp scent of freshly fallen snow making his breaths sharp and deep and clear. He'd forgotten under the allusion of being a Hollywood star, a faux California boy that he wasn't born and bred for glamour. At heart, he was a backwoods country bumpkin, white trailer trash, and it was a secret he fought to conceal. But Kendall seemed to revel in it. He seemed happier and more upbeat than he'd been this whole trip, and his smile made James's breath catch in his throat.
They were making their way out to a waterfall in the early dusk when Kendall said, "James- "
He had that tone, that let's-have-a-conversation-with-our-serious-faces-on tone that made James's stomach clench.
"Let's not."
"What?"
"Let's not talk about whatever it is you want to talk about."
"Whatever it is I want to…" Kendall repeated, trailing off. James nodded.
"You mean," Kendall said vaguely, waggling his fingers enigmatically in the air, meaning everything.
"Yeah. This is the first time in days we've been cool. Let's just stay that way. Drama free."
Kendall's mouth gaped open, and then he closed it. He blinked, swallowed, and said, "Alright. If that's what you want."
"Definitely," James said without conviction. But he meant it, he really did. They'd been fighting for the better part of the week, and James was used to this part of their relationship, the give-take bickering that once was commonplace before California, before he was just so grateful to Kendall for making his dreams come true. But he was used to good parts, too, the parts where they would be companionable and the best of friends, and it was kind of nice hiking around a deserted National Park to finally be getting back to that.
He knew where they both stood at this point, honestly. Kendall didn't want him. He wanted Kendall, and he was so, so mad that Kendall was a dense idiot who acted like being wanted signified the end of the world. There was nothing left to talk about there.
So they wouldn't.
They found a waterfall connected to this sparkling, babbling river. Not very fast, but definitely deep in parts. There was a buffalo (because they were everywhere), trotting through the water, already up to his chest in it.
"Dude, that looks fucking freezing. Stupid Buffalo's going to get hypothermia," Kendall muttered.
"I don't think Buffalo get that."
"Learn that one from Logan, did you?" A wicked smile graced Kendall's lips, and he said, "I dare you to jump in."
"What? No. You're certifiable."
"Not up for a polar bear dive?"
James shivered, "It's like a million below zero out here. My ears will fall off. I like my ears."
"I like your ears too," Kendall replied, solemn, for just a beat. It stilled James's heart, but then he grinned again, "C'mon. I bet I can stay under for longer than you."
Privately, James thought that it was true, because Kendall was a stubborn bastard and would probably let himself drown before losing a bet. But he had a rep to protect, and James never turned down a dare. All his bluster was just posturing, biding for time, because the creek looked crackly cold and uninviting.
"You're on," he said, his voice going all deep and masculine.
Which didn't reflect how he felt at all. His balls were probably going to shrink to the size of peanuts. Ugh.
So like idiots, they stripped down to nothing and cannonballed into the river. James didn't even have time to think that Kendall, the object of all his pent up lust and love was literally naked next to him. He didn't have time to remember any kisses or that one stolen, blissful blowjob, even though as the water enveloped their heads their bodies slid against each other eel slick, the water freezing but viscous. James was too busy clawing for the surface, pulling Kendall's elbow, dragging him up with him. Even the thrill of heat Kendall could send through him every time their skin brushed together wasn't enough as the air compressed from his lungs, turning them to metal, to steel.
When they broke the surface, James gasped for air, and it still felt like he couldn't breathe. Both of them paddled for the banks. James hoisted himself into the snow, panting.
"Right, and I'm the crazy one," he huffed. At least he hadn't meant to nearly kill them.
He pulled himself out of the snow and turned, searching for his clothes, his jeans and thin leather jacket hanging like mournful flags over a splintered wooden fence. Except then he realized that Kendall wasn't next to him, and he turned and saw his friend floating on his back in the river, dunking his head under once for good measure, just to win the bet. Then he stood, grinning, a boy carved of ice. James thought that if he slapped Kendall in some buffalo skins and streaked him with the blood of their slaughter, he really would look like he belonged to this land, to the mesas and plains and the thickly wooded forests.
Night had fallen, somewhere along the way, and watching Kendall there, sparkling with starlight, teeth chattering, James realized that he loved him more than he'd ever be able to say. And it was wonderful, and it was terrible, and he knew it would leave scars on his heart for the rest of his life.
And he couldn't even bring himself to fully resent Kendall for it. Not everyone had a foil, that one person who confronted them and made them love, made them hurt, made them feel every inch of the spectrum of emotion they could and then left, walked away, so that their victim had no choice but to accept the agony or learn to stand tall. Most times James knew it was a curse, a laceration across a heart that never really healed, but sometimes, sometimes it was a blessing.
Sometimes it made a person grateful they got to feel that much at all.
So, no, not everyone had a foil, but he'd always had Kendall, and maybe, if things ever became okay between them again, he always would. James needed things to be okay, to be just like this moment, because he wasn't sure if he could manage living and walking and breathing without him. He was eighteen, and he still had all these raging overactive teenage hormones that weren't quite ready to settle down, so there was a chance that he was being overdramatic, but he didn't think so.
Because if he was totally honest with himself, he'd felt the same way for his entire life.
When they were twelve and got in a fight over who could take the class turtle home for two whole days, he'd felt like he was gasping for breath.
When they were sixteen, and the possibility of BTR being disbanded forever loomed over their heads, and Kendall wasn't doing anything to save James's dream. Kendall who'd been his biggest supporter for James's entire life, who was the only reason his dream had come true in the first place, had given up. James had resolved that he was an inconsiderate dick and hadn't spoken to him for close to two weeks, signing a contract with that asshole Hawk and talking about destroying him. It had made James feel raw and scratchy and kind of like he'd been punched in the gut until he'd seen Kendall in the studio, singing his idiotic silly song, the one he'd made up to piss off Gustavo, the same way he'd been making things up since they'd first met, just to make James smile.
And the fight they'd gotten into a little over a year ago, when they'd both been after the same girl, except James had kind of known he hadn't liked her at all; he just hadn't wanted Kendall to have her. Or more correctly, her to have Kendall. And they'd gone three months without talking outside of the studio, the longest fight they'd ever had. And James had felt physically sick, and thought maybe that was what love was, something that hurt so bad it made you vomit and feel psychologically unsound.
He needed things to be okay so he wouldn't have to walk around feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked off the Earth. But even now, sifting through the crumbly bits of his heart, James couldn't shake how grateful he was that he'd met Kendall, that he'd kissed him, even if it might've still brought about the end of the best thing he'd ever known.
Kendall finally emerged from the river, the water endless, glittering behind him. He was all James could see.
He splayed across the snowy, his body moondrenched and silver, his hair getting too long, curling around his ears. The snow was thick and heavy, January at its best, and James had forgotten how cold the cold got.
"Dude, we need to get in the car, now."
Even through his violent shivering, Kendall laughed, and with no shame at all pulled on his clothes. They dashed for the car and turned up the heater full blast, waiting until circulation returned to all their fingers and toes before setting out again.
They drove down to Jackson Hole that night, to a restaurant built out of polished, knotted wood. James was fascinated with the shapes of the rings in the design, the way the shades of brown faded from deep, dark, rich brown to a mottled rust to a light beige. There were big burgundy cushions so soft his butt must have sunk at least two inches deep into them and a huge plate of red meat close to bleeding. The ceramic was so hot James burned the skin of his forearm, leaving a long, thin, red mark, like he'd sliced a razor down his vein and it had left a scar. They bought burning hot drinks made of apple cider and bourbon with orange peels floating inside. The goblets were nearly the size of their heads. The whole place had this caveman-chic gentleman's club feel to it, not least because of Bambi watching them from a plaque on the wall and the chandelier made of antlers.
And then, right before they paid the bill, James began to sneeze.
Kendall's eyes snapped to his, sharp, and he reached across the table, his fingers warm against James's cheek, or maybe cold; he couldn't tell. It should've been a clue.
"You're burning up."
James shook his head, because he didn't get sick very often, and he'd never believed that old wives' tale about the cold giving you…well, colds, but by the time they got back to their motel- the same one from the previous night- he felt like he was dying.
Kendall forced him into bed, even though James didn't feel sleepy. He must've been, though, because the next thing he knew, he was down for the count. He had fever dreams of palm trees and flashing lights, handprints in cement and throwback Hollywood glamour. There was Kendall, in an old school zoot suit, a fedora tilted to shadow his eyes, but even so James could tell he was staringstaringstaring. In the dream, he reached out, brushed his fingers across James's forehead. Kendall pressed the back of his hand against James's fevered flesh the way nobody had since James's mother, long before the separation.
"Be okay," Kendall murmured, and it sounded like a command.
The landscape shifted, changed. James was standing on a sandstone and red clay cliff, lips parched as he stared out into a wide open blue sky. There were hawks, or eagles, or- James didn't know very much about birds, but these were graceful, huge, soaring. Down below was a valley, filled with buffalo blood, and Kendall stood there, wrapped in a cape made of thick, dark fur. He pushed James over the edge.
James woke up. The digital clock on the nightstand read that it was well past three in the morning. He got up and made his way to the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, his face was pale white except for two burning spots of pink high on his cheekbones, the long spread of his lashes dark.
He looked like a little boy.
He felt like one too. For the first time since the trip had started, James just wanted it to be over.