Somewhere Only We Know - 32. An Unexpected Confrontation

Riverbend eased into Sunday the way tired towns often do — slowly, with the faint hiss of mist lifting from the pavement and the distant thrum of a bus engine waking the quieter streets. Inside the apartment building, the radiators clicked and rattled, the pipes groaning like they resented being asked to work at all.

Kitt stepped out of the shared bathroom blinking against the flickering fluorescent light — a towel draped around his shoulders, hair still damp, sweater clutched in one hand. His pulse was calmer than last night, but the warmth beneath his skin remained, humming low and steady.

Matt.

His name alone made Kitt’s steps falter.

He walked down the hall toward his room to dress, still dazed by everything that had happened yesterday — the reunion, the truth spilled between them, the way their bodies had learned each other like a language they’d been waiting years to speak.

He hadn’t slept much, but what little he’d gotten had been warm, deep, and full of Matt’s breath lingering somewhere in his memory.

He went into his room, pulled on jeans and a soft sweater, and stepped back into the hallway — only to find Mateo already leaning against the second-floor railing like a gargoyle in pajama pants.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Mateo drawled, his grin wicked. “Or should I say ‘good morning, post-orgasm glow?’”

Kitt groaned. “Mateo.”

“What?” Mateo lifted both hands innocently. “You dumped the whole telenovela on me last night. The least I deserve is mocking rights.”

Kitt tugged his sleeves over his hands. “Please. No graphic details in the hallway.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Mateo said, practically bouncing down the stairs, “I already got them last night.”

Kitt flushed scarlet. “I didn’t—”

“You absolutely did. You were emotionally compromised,” Mateo said, waving him off. “It was adorable.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped outside, cold morning air brushing their cheeks. Mateo shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and bumped his shoulder lightly against Kitt’s.

“You okay, cariño?” he asked — not teasing now, but warm.

Kitt let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I think so.”

“You look okay,” Mateo said. “Better than you’ve looked in… months.”

Kitt swallowed, eyes drifting toward the distant curve of Maple Street.

“He said he loved me,” he whispered. “And he will wait for me.”

Mateo’s smirk softened entirely. “Then I’m really happy for you.”

Before Kitt could respond, Harbor’s bark echoed over the sidewalk. Tom turned the corner with the dog trotting proudly ahead, leash swaying. The golden retriever went straight to Kitt, nudging his knee until Kitt crouched to scratch behind his ears.

Tom raised an amused brow as he approached. “You two are out early. Everything alright?”

Mateo stepped forward, all too eager to be the messenger. “Oh yeah. Kitt had a little romantic adventure yesterday.”

Kitt shot him a murderous look.

Tom blinked. “A… what?”

“Kitt saw Matt yesterday,” Mateo said simply. “And it went… really well.”

Tom’s expression shifted — not surprised, not prying, but touched with quiet understanding. He looked at Kitt with soft, steady eyes.

“I’m glad,” Tom said. “Someone needed to give you some joy.”

Kitt rubbed the back of his neck, face hot. “It was… good.”

Tom nodded, falling into step beside him as they walked toward the youth center. “Do you want to go back to Lakehurst soon?”

Kitt’s breath faltered.

“I…” He tightened his sleeves around his fists. “I’m still scared.”

Tom didn’t answer immediately. He waited a full moment, letting the air settle around them before speaking.

“That’s reasonable,” he said gently. “Fear doesn’t vanish overnight. And your father… he’s trying, but he won’t be healed in a day. You’re allowed to be cautious.”

Kitt nodded, staring down at the sidewalk cracks.

“But,” Tom added softly, “you’re also allowed to be happy. You’re allowed to love someone without apologizing for it.”

Kitt swallowed hard.

“I want to see him again,” he whispered. “But… I’m not ready to go home.”

“Then you don’t,” Tom said simply. “Not until you’re ready.”

Kitt breathed out shakily, grateful and overwhelmed in equal measure.

“But your parents,” Tom continued, “especially your mother… she deserves to know you’re okay.”

“I sent a postcard.”

“And it helped her sleep,” Tom said. “But maybe another small note? Nothing revealing. Just… reassurance.”

Kitt hesitated, but the idea didn’t crush him the way it used to.

“I can try,” he murmured.

“We’ll do it together,” Tom replied.

They reached the youth center. Children’s laughter drifted from inside — bright, warm, grounding. Kitt only comes in the morning once a week when he didn’t work at Javier’s. He immediately felt something inside him settle, like stepping onto solid ground after months of drifting.

Riverbend wasn’t home.

But it wasn’t exile anymore, either.

It was the space in between — the space he needed to breathe.

Tom pushed open the blue-painted door. “Come on, kid. Let’s work.”

Kitt stepped through, the warmth of the youth center washing over him. He felt Mateo’s hand ruffle his hair as he passed. He felt Tom’s quiet presence behind him, steady as ever.

He wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.

. . .

Nearly a hundred miles away, Matt Everest woke with a smile he didn’t even try to hide.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, chest full, heart stupidly bright. Every time he blinked, the lake flickered behind his eyes — Kitt’s cheeks flushed pink, hair falling into his eyes, the way he said I love you like he’d been waiting years.

Matt exhaled shakily, running both hands over his face.

He had his person back.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But enough to breathe again.

Downstairs, he found his parents in the kitchen. Eva turned with a knowing smile.

“You look happy,” she said.

Matt shrugged, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”

Michael folded his newspaper. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Dad,” Matt answered, grabbing a mug.

His mom leaned against the counter. “Anything you want to tell us?”

Matt hesitated, heart fluttering in his throat.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “I’m just happy Mrs. Wellington got Kitt’s postcard. And I know that he’s doing OK. That’s enough.”

His parents didn’t push.
They didn’t judge.
They didn’t pry.

They simply let him have his smile.

And Matt realized — with a swell of gratitude — that this was exactly what he wanted for Kitt.

A place where smiles didn’t need explanations.

Where love didn’t require fear.

. . .

Kitt hadn’t meant to walk this way—it just happened. His feet took him down Maple, across two side streets, and before he realized it, he was standing in front of the Riverbend Natatorium. The doors were locked this early, the big windows fogged from the morning swim team’s practice. But he knew the smell, even from outside: chlorine, rubber caps, old tile, speed and nerves and memory.

He slowed, barely breathing.

Inside, he could almost see the ghost of himself on the starting block—lean, tense, focused. He could almost hear the rising whistle, the roar of crowd noise swelling as heat after heat tore through the pool.

And he could see Matt.

Not in the water, not on the blocks, but in the stands—baseball cap backwards, sitting with his elbows on his knees, shouting for him like he was the only swimmer in the world. Kitt remembered the last meet clearly: the echo of the gun, the crushing burn on the final fifty, the way his lungs had nearly exploded as he touched the wall second. He remembered twisting up to see the scoreboard, numbers blurred through water, and hearing Matt before seeing him—You did it! Kitt, you did it!

Matt had hugged him dripping-wet afterward, chest heaving with pride, muttering into his shoulder, “You’re going to regionals. I knew you would.”

Everything had felt… possible then.

Now, staring at the natatorium doors, the ache was sharp, clean, almost physical. He missed the water. He missed competing. He missed the boy who sat in the stands cheering like Kitt was his whole world.

Maybe that was why, when he got to the youth center later, he headed straight for the old public computer rather than the sign-in desk. The monitor took ages to wake. The browser lagged. But he typed Lakehurst High football schedule with trembling fingers.

There it was.
The next home game.
Two days from now.

His breath hitched.

He hadn’t planned this. He didn’t even know what this was. But the idea rooted itself in his chest—quiet, stubborn, undeniable.

He wanted to see Matt again.
Even if from far away.
Even if only for a moment.

. . .

Two days later, Kitt slipped into the Lakehurst High bleachers just as the sun dipped behind the field lights. The crowd was loud, bundled in jackets and scarves, stomping on metal bleachers to keep warm. Kitt kept his hood up, sitting near the top, where shadows softened the lines of his face.

Down on the field, Matt looked different. Bigger somehow. Sharper. He moved with a confidence Kitt had never seen so fully realized. When he stepped behind the quarterback line—focused, steady, jaw set—Kitt’s breath caught.

This was what Matt was meant to be.
This was the future Kitt had always known he’d reach.

The game started fast—Matt’s throws clean, powerful, beautiful arcs cutting through the cold air. Every time he looked toward the stands out of habit, Kitt’s heart lurched, terrified he’d be seen, desperate for him to look just one more time.

Matt jogged back onto the field after the timeout, breath fogging in the cooling air. The crowd roared around him, the lights blazed overhead, but his eyes—out of instinct, habit, ache—lifted toward the bleachers.

He always looked.
Every game.
Every quarter.
For almost a year.

And every time, the answer was the same:
No one.
No blond hair glinting under stadium lights.
No blue eyes tracking him from the stands.
No Kitt.

His chest tightened with the familiar, practiced disappointment—until something inside him stuttered.

Second row from the top.
Far left.
A hood pulled low.
A scarf wrapped high.

Just another bundled spectator—

Except Matt knew that posture.
Knew the tilt of that head.
Knew the sharp, slender line of those shoulders.

His heart stopped, then slammed back to life so hard it nearly flipped him forward.

Kitt.

It was him.
It was him.
Here. In the stands. Watching him.

A wild, bright surge shot through Matt’s veins—electric, dizzying, alive. He blinked hard, once, twice, to be sure he wasn’t imagining it.

Kitt didn’t move.
Didn’t wave.
Didn’t even look directly at him.

But Matt knew.
God, he knew.

Warmth filled his chest, fierce and overwhelming, pushing against every rib. He hadn’t felt this powerful—this certain—since the day Kitt first cheered for him from the same bleachers. Since long before everything fell apart.

And then it hit him like a snap in the air:

Kitt came for him.

A breathless laugh almost escaped him.

Coach Harding barked his name, snapping him back into formation. Matt dropped into position, eyes still burning from the sight he wasn’t ready to lose.

This time, when the ball snapped into his hands, Matt didn’t just play.

He played for Kitt.
For the boy in the hoodie on the bleachers.
For the one person whose presence made the whole world tilt back into place.

Every throw was sharper.
Every call more confident.
Every step faster, lighter, steadier.

The stadium erupted as Lakehurst tore down the field, but Matt heard none of it. All he could feel was the echo of that moment—the heartbeat of disbelief and joy.

Kitt was here.
Kitt had come back to him.
And that was all Matt needed to win.

But Kitt didn’t stay until the end—he couldn’t.
If the clock ran out, Matt would run straight for him.
He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

So with three minutes left on the scoreboard and Lakehurst firmly ahead, Kitt slipped down the metal steps and disappeared into the night.

. . .

He didn’t expect to see anyone in the parking lot.
He especially didn’t expect his parents.

His mother was turned toward his father, saying something under her breath, but Stephen was staring off toward the stadium doors—tense, hollowed-out, different.

Kitt spun on his heel the moment he spotted them—Susan near the back of the crowd, Stephen standing rigid beside her. His breath caught, panic flaring hot and immediate. He didn’t think; his body simply reacted. Run.

He took two quick steps backward, already turning, already bracing to sprint across the lot and disappear between the parked cars—

“Kitt!”

His father’s voice cut through the cold evening air.

Raw. Unsteady.
Nothing like the voice that had thrown him out months ago.

Kitt froze mid-movement, heart punching against his ribs.

He didn’t turn.
He couldn’t.

Then Stephen’s voice came again, louder this time—cracked open, trembling at the edges.

“Kitt—I’m sorry!”

The words hit him like a collision.

Kitt’s breath faltered.
His world stilled.
His shoes rooted to the concrete as if the asphalt itself refused to let him flee.

Slowly—slowly—he turned his head.

Stephen had taken a single step forward, but no more, as if afraid getting closer would shatter whatever fragile thing kept his son standing still.

His face was flushed, jaw tight not with anger, but something that looked painfully close to fear.

“Kitt,” he repeated, voice breaking around the name, “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Kitt’s vision blurred, heat rising behind his eyes. He had never heard his father say those words.
Not once.
Not in his entire life.

Susan’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes already filling. “Sweetheart,” she whispered, “oh God—Kitt.”

Kitt’s knees nearly buckled. The parking lot lights blurred. For months he had imagined this moment in only two ways—either violent or impossible. Not like this. Not with his father looking at him like a man drowning.

Stephen swallowed hard, fighting emotion like it was a battle he wasn’t used to losing. “I was wrong,” he said quietly. “About… everything. About you. I thought I was protecting you. I wasn’t.” His jaw trembled once. “I hurt you instead.”

Kitt felt his shoulder shake as he let out a choked breath. “Dad…”

“You don’t have to come home tonight,” Stephen said, voice low, steadying. “Or tomorrow. Or ever, if you don’t want. But you have a home. You always do. And I swear to you—I will not throw you out again. I will not… fail you like that again.”

Susan stepped closer but didn’t touch him, respecting the trembling tension in Kitt’s stance. “We love you,” she choked. “We just want you to be safe. Please come home to us.”

Kitt covered his mouth with both hands, tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. “I— I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

Susan nodded gently. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

Kitt wiped his face, breath shaking. “I… have people helping me. People who’ve taken care of me. I can’t just leave them.”

“Then take your time,” Stephen said softly. “But come home when you’re ready. Please.”

Kitt nodded, crying openly now. “I… I want to. I do. Just… not yet.”

His parents both breathed out—relieved, devastated, hopeful.

And Kitt finally understood that maybe—just maybe—running wasn’t the only path left to him anymore.

. . .

The bus rattled as it pulled away from the stadium, the night pressing cold and bright against the windows. Kitt sat in the very back, forehead resting against the glass, watching Lakehurst shrink with every passing block. His reflection ghosted faintly in the pane—pale, shaken, eyes still swollen from crying.

He kept replaying it.

His father’s voice.

I’m sorry.

He had waited his entire life to hear that word, and somehow it still didn’t fit neatly anywhere inside him. It was too big, too heavy, too sharp at the edges. His heart couldn’t hold it without aching.

Susan’s hands trembling as she cupped his cheeks.
Stephen looking smaller than he had ever looked.
Both of them begging him to come home.

Home.

The word felt unfamiliar. Soft in the wrong places. Hard in others.

He wanted it. God, he wanted it.
But he also wanted the life he had built in Riverbend, fragile as it was.

The bus hummed beneath him, carrying him back toward the dim little apartment he had fought so hard to survive in. Back toward the youth center, Tom, Javier, Harbor, and Mateo. Toward people who had given him kindness without conditions.

He closed his eyes and let the motion rock him, but sleep wouldn’t come. His mind wouldn’t settle. Every time he blinked he saw his father’s face—red, scared, cracked wide open with something like grief.

He exhaled shakily.

What now?

By the time the bus hissed to a stop in Riverbend, Kitt felt wrung out, every thought threadbare. He trudged up the stairwell, legs heavy, bones tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.

His door felt too quiet.

His room felt too small.

After fifteen minutes of staring at the ceiling, he gave up. Slipped out into the hallway. Climbed one flight of stairs.

Mateo’s door opened before he even knocked—just a few inches, a crack of warm yellow light spilling into the dim corridor. Mateo stood there in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, hair flattened on one side from lying down.

He took one look at Kitt’s face and stepped back to let him in.

“Bad?” Mateo asked softly.

Kitt didn’t trust his voice yet, so he nodded.

Mateo shut the door gently behind him. The tiny room smelled faintly of vanilla body spray and cheap detergent. Kitt stood in the middle, lost, hands still trembling.

A moment passed before Mateo said, just as soft:

“Come here, cariño.”

Kitt didn’t hesitate. Mateo pulled him into his arms, warm and steady, pressing a hand to the back of his head. The kind of hug that didn’t demand anything—just held him together when he couldn’t hold himself.

Kitt’s breath broke. Tears filled his eyes again, hot and exhausting.

“They want me to come home,” he whispered against Mateo’s shoulder.

Mateo’s hand stroked the back of his hair. “And do you want that?”

“I don’t know,” Kitt admitted. “I’m scared. Everything’s different now. I’m different. And I… I built something here. I’m not ready to walk away from it. Or from you. Or Tom. Or Javier. Not yet.”

Mateo tightened his arms briefly. And then, after a long breath:

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I need to tell you something. Before you start deciding things based on me.”

Kitt pulled back slightly, eyes red. “What?”

Mateo sat on the bed, pulling Kitt down to sit beside him. His expression was calm but serious, something rare for him.

“I’m leaving soon.”

Kitt blinked. “Leaving?”

Mateo nodded. “I’ve been saving. For years. Every shift. Every tip. Every stupid gig at Lavender Light. And I finally have enough.” He swallowed. “I’m heading south. First Florida. Maybe somewhere bigger after. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but… I can’t stay here forever.”

Something in Kitt’s chest pinched—sharp, unexpected.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked.

Mateo’s laugh was small, almost sad. “Because you latch on, Kitt. You love hard. And I didn’t want you making plans around me.” He nudged Kitt gently. “Your life is bigger than this town. Bigger than me.”

“But you’re—” Kitt’s voice broke. “You’re the first person who saved me.”

Mateo’s expression softened. He cupped Kitt’s cheek with one warm palm, thumb brushing away a tear.

“And I’m still proud of you,” he whispered. “But I won’t be here forever. And you—” he pressed his forehead to Kitt’s— “you have a boy who crossed counties looking for you. A boy who loves you so much he practically breathes in your direction. You’re not losing me, cariño. You’re just… growing past me.”

Kitt couldn’t stop the tears now. They spilled hot and silent.

Mateo tugged him down gently until they were lying side by side on the tiny bed. He curled behind Kitt, an arm draped loosely around his waist, warm and protective in the dim light.

“Sleep here tonight,” Mateo murmured. “No overthinking. No deciding big things. Just rest.”

Kitt nodded into the pillow, breath uneven.

Mateo held him closer.

“Besides,” he added quietly, a tiny smile in his voice, “you’ll still see Tom at the university. Once you get in, you’re stuck with both of us.”

A strangled laugh escaped Kitt—half sob, half relief.

The room settled around them. The radiator clicked. The hallway grew quiet. Kitt closed his eyes, letting himself breathe for what felt like the first time since the parking lot.

Eventually, sleep found him—slow, heavy, warm—Mateo’s arm around him the whole night, steady as an anchor in a world that kept shifting beneath his feet.