Yearning Young

Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2019 Deidre Huesmann

ISBN: 978-1-77339-892-1

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Audrey Bobak

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Christie, for her unending support and occasional kick in the pants. You are a fabulous beta-reader and I legit could not ask for better.

YEARNING YOUNG

Burning Britely, 2

Deidre Huesmann

Copyright © 2019

Author’s Note

As we glimpsed in Burning Britely, Braeden doesn’t have the best home life. It’s explosive, dangerous, and abusive. Here, we’ll be taking a walk in his shoes, seeing life from his perspective.

While Jeff’s coming-of-age could be relatable, Braeden’s coming-of-age can be frightening. His situation may seem dramatic and over-the-top, but there are real people raised in homes similar to his.

Braeden’s story will hurt. He feels very intensely, and you’ll see his veneers crack. It may be hard for some to read. I only hope that once you start, you stick with him the whole way through.

In the end, let’s remember that, while love is powerful, and while we want to do everything we can for those we care about, we must take care of ourselves, first.

—Deidre Huesmann

Chapter One

Braeden didn’t know why he woke up in the middle of the night—at precisely midnight, according to his alarm clock—when there was nothing wrong. The house was quiet. No screaming from the kitchen. No crying down the hall. No stumbling footsteps outside his door. It was a rare, completely silent night.

He lay under the covers and contemplated the ceiling. So what if he was up? It wasn’t like he had to worry about class tomorrow. Being expelled had some perks.

As soon as he thought it, he could practically hear his boyfriend’s rebuke: This isn’t a joke. You’d better be studying for your GED. I’m not going to college until I’m sure you are.

A small smile pulled Braeden’s lips. I have a boyfriend. Only a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have thought that could happen. He’d have told anyone he was straight, one hundred percent, no questions asked.

Braeden grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The backlight stung his eyes as he turned it on. He unlocked the phone—with a six-digit passcode, since he didn’t trust certain family members not to snoop—and opened his photo album.

Tempting as it was to text his boyfriend, there was one tiny problem: Jeff didn’t have a cell phone. Plus, Jeff did get to worry about school. In just six hours, he’d board the bus and be on his way to Lowry High, probably hanging out with his new, less-than-straight friends. All while Braeden would sit at home and ponder what to do with his life.

Funny how breaking one bigoted asshole’s nose could turn his world upside down. In some ways worse than others.

So, all of that sucked. But there was a light amongst it all, and that light was Jeff and how goddamned adorable he was.

Braeden couldn’t hold back a smile as he flipped through the photos. Some of them had been taken when Jeff wasn’t looking. Braeden liked those a lot. They caught Jeff in his most honest moments. Like studying for a test or rubbing his mouth in that nervous-habit way, or cleaning his thick glasses, or that split second when he was casting Braeden a furtive glance, like he was hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Fucking. Adorable.

Not that Braeden ever said so. His boyfriend was a teensy bit sensitive about his five-foot-three—no, five-foot-two-and-three-quarters, Jeff always insisted—height. As such, any compliment that called attention to it. Like cute or adorable.

Braeden didn’t mind Jeff’s height either way, but then, he’d always been the tallest in his relationships. At almost eighteen years old and nearing six-foot-two, few claimed any height on him.

Plus, Jeff was the first boy he’d ever dated. The only, in fact. And it would probably stay that way, no matter what else happened.

Someone texted him—an old classmate. Carrie. Braeden sighed, more annoyed than anything. She always texted when he ought to be sleeping. Or eating. Or showering. Her timing was inconvenient.

Braeden thumbed the text aside. She could wait a few hours.

He scrolled to his favorite photo of the week, one he’d taken just three days ago. If his family was any semblance of normal, he’d have it as his background. But the only person in the Britely household who knew about him dating Jeff Young was his sister.

The picture was one Jeff had been ready for, for once. His head was tilted up, his fine blond hair nearly in his eyes, glasses starting to slip down his nose. Braeden had asked him to smile, so Jeff, in standard form, had given the slightest of smiles … and the slightest sign of flipping him off at the bottom of the screen.

Dating a dude was totally new to Braeden. And yet, not strange, for the most part. Not with Jeff. From the moment Jeff had kissed him, it had just felt right.

Then again, from the moment judgmental Jeff had accepted his baby brother, Braeden had already decided he was one of the best people he’d ever met.

He tapped his phone off and plugged it back in. That, too, made him grin, because Jeff would have sighed and said, "You know leaving it plugged in kills the battery, right?"

Though his thoughts were centered on a pleasant subject, he still couldn’t sleep. Braeden grew weary of shifting and turning without any relief in sight, so he sat up, pulled on a pair of basketball shorts, and made his way to the kitchen.

His house was enormous, far bigger than five people needed. Over three thousand square feet with huge bedrooms, a study, a finished basement, and everything else a typical home required, it was too much space. Yet there wasn’t enough. Not for Mom’s impulsive knickknack or clothing purchases or Dad’s demands for personal space.

It sure as hell wasn’t enough for the two clashing egos that were his parents.

Braeden padded into the kitchen and retrieved a glass. He filled it with water from the fridge. It was instantly ice-cold and refreshing to drink. It also tasted clean. Sterile. Like any potential impurities had long since filtered out.

What a wonderful metaphor for his family: all filtered and little substance.

Braeden quenched his thirst, rinsed out the cup—because God forbid if his mother found fingerprints on the glass—and set it in the half-empty dishwasher. He turned to head back to his room but stopped.

The front door jiggled. The lock turned.

Braeden’s blood ran cold, like it had been replaced by the fridge water.

The front door creaked open. It closed more quietly. Heavy footsteps lumbered past the foyer. Braeden saw a pair of shined shoes first, then an immaculate gray suit with a ridiculously long inseam. Then a hand grasping a briefcase, all the way up the long arm and to the face atop the suit. Square, angular, with downturned eyes and a permanently furrowed brow.

John Britely stared at his son.

Braeden Britely stared at his father.

Why couldn’t his dad keep normal hours? Braeden wasn’t stupid—lawyers didn’t spend all night, every night at the office, 365 days out of the year. Whatever else his dad did, he kept infuriatingly secret.

Infuriating, because it left Braeden as the only meat shield between his mother and siblings every single day.

John scowled. What the hell are you doing up?

Braeden closed his eyes. At least it was what the hell and not what the fuck. His father must be in a good mood.

Couldn’t sleep, he said.

John snorted. "You can’t sleep?"

No, sir.

His father stared at him, eyes hard as flint. Don’t you dare say you can’t sleep when you threw your life away.

Braeden’s jaw tensed.

A goddamned GED, muttered John, glaring at the wall. I ought to send you to the prep school.

That had always been the threat—that Braeden could just as easily be shipped off, closed away elsewhere, like he was an item to be packaged and stored in a warehouse. Getting expelled had ruined Braeden’s good-faith efforts. Successfully convincing his father that Lowry High’s diplomas were adequate enough had been a hellish task.

But Braeden had no other choice. He couldn’t leave Brenda and Bryce to their own devices, not with parents like theirs.

John rubbed between his eyebrows. What a fucking disappointment.

Braeden said nothing because there was nothing to say. A quiet anger seethed in his chest, but he knew better than to react.

John sighed. Don’t disgrace yourself further. Go to bed.

Braeden nodded. Yes, sir.

He made sure to give his father the appropriate space when walking past him, a minimum of eleven and a half inches. Considering the many, many rules surrounding John Britely’s personal space, perhaps a huge home wasn’t so ridiculous.

Braeden made it halfway down the hall before his father’s voice stopped him. Jeffrey Young.

Shit. There was always that moment of panic when Jeff was brought up, always that fear of, Do they know? Braeden fought not to clench his fists and give himself away. He had to be cool. Calm. Not indicate that Jeff was anything more than a friend or tutor.

Braeden turned and shoved his hands into his pockets. He kept a neutral face. Something he was very, very good at. Years of practice and bearing the brunt of his parents’ problems had taught him perfected neutrality was the only way to keep his head above water.

What about him? Good. His voice came out mild. Like Jeff was of little consequence.

John Britely narrowed his eyes. Green eyes, just like his mother, just like him, like his sister, Brenda. And Bryce…

Is he tutoring you today? asked John.

Braeden weighed his responses quickly and carefully. I’d planned on it. Unless there’s something more important, then I can reschedule.

Do that, said his father. You’ve been doing nothing long enough.

I’m studying, said Braeden quietly.

Fucking around with your friends isn’t studying. When Braeden began to protest, his father’s voice sharpened. This is not up for debate. Forcing you to go to school is a waste of my time. We both know you’ll just skip the second you turn eighteen. I’ll be damned if you disgrace this family further. Job search. Tomorrow. I expect tangible results.

But the GED—

Spend your off hours working on it, said his father coldly. You have all the time in the world, now.

Braeden pressed his lips together. Getting a job wasn’t a matter of money—his father was a successful real estate lawyer. He made enough to keep Brenda on her favorite hobbies, his wife satisfied with her shopping and pill binges, and Braeden and Bryce quiet with enough useful gifts. It wasn’t a matter of work ethic, either, because John had previously talked of bringing Braeden into the firm once he finished law school. Which, until Braeden had been expelled, had been a foregone conclusion in everyone’s mind.

This was punishment, pure and simple. Whether John was skeptical of Braeden’s sexuality or not, the fact he enjoyed spending time with Jeff was enough to make their time together a target.

Braeden gave a short nod. No arguments. This wasn’t the time nor the place.

John Britely shouldered past him and vanished into the basement.

Braeden let out a tense sigh and ran a finger through his hair. His knuckles caught in his curls, the strands knotted from what little sleep he’d gotten.

Stopping him from studying with Jeff … expecting him to do everything on his own. Braeden supposed he was technically capable, but it compressed his heart to imagine his afternoons completely bereft of his boyfriend. Afternoons without Jeff’s dry humor. His faint smiles. His glasses sliding down his nose because they never quite sat right.

Braeden’s fists clenched. Aside from his siblings, Jeff was the only positive presence left in his life.

Like hell his father would step all over that.

Braeden slipped into his room. He crawled atop the covers and lay there with his hands twined behind his head, staring at the ceiling, hating every long, agonizing moment that ticked by until dawn broke.

****

Calling Jeff wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Before they started dating—and before Braeden had been expelled—it had been simpler. The noose around his neck had been there but not so noticeable. Now it pulled a little tighter with each new rule his parents flung his way. He barely had any privacy. Any alleged trust his parents had held in him was long gone. Most laughably, his mother had forbidden him having any girls over.

All the more reason to keep his relationship with Jeff quiet.

Still, it meant there could always be an eavesdropper around the corner. It didn’t matter where Braeden went, someone could be there. His mother might enter the room when he thought he was alone. His father might ring when his finger hovered over the call button.

Fortunately, Jeff was understanding. He’d seen some levels of dysfunction in the Britely family already. So when Braeden did finally get hold of him in the afternoon, Jeff’s first words were, You okay?

Braeden sat on the steps of the porch. John was at work, and his mother had gone on one of her shopping sprees—allegedly. Just as likely, she was scamming about for pills. Brenda was probably hanging out with friends—she preferred not to be in the Britely house if she could help it. The only person left was his little half-brother, Bryce, and he was in the living room playing with blocks.

Yeah, he said. More or less.

Safe?

Braeden knew what he meant. It’s just me and Bumble Bee.

He could practically hear Jeff nodding. If you’re calling, I guess tutoring is off tonight.

Braeden’s heart clenched. Jeff was so stoic, acted so standoffish, that it pained Braeden to hear when hurt bled through.

Sorry, he said softly. Dad says I need to get a job.

Jeff said nothing.

"He doesn’t think the GED will get me