Chapter 31: Second Opinion Required
The silence in Karn’s penthouse bedroom felt thicker than the plush carpet underfoot. For a week, it had hung between them like a physical barrier. Pete knelt naked on the cool hardwood floor near Karn’s massive, minimalist desk, sorting digital files Karn needed reviewed. The familiar task felt alien now. Karn sat rigid in his ergonomic chair, staring fixedly at a holographic projection above his console. He hadn't spoken a single word to Pete since that chaotic night in the bathroom and bedroom.
Not "Hand me the projector." Not "Faster, Riverton." Not even his name.
Karn would just hold out a hand, palm up, eyes averted, expecting Pete to place the correct data chip or tablet into it. If Pete needed direction, a curt gesture was the only response. Once, Pete had stumbled slightly reaching for a stack of reports. Karn’s hand shot out automatically to steady him, fingers closing briefly around Pete’s bare bicep. The contact was electric and brief. Karn yanked his hand back as if burned, his jaw tightening, eyes flickering towards the window as if the cityscape held vital answers. He didn’t look at Pete’s face.
Pete noticed the glances, though. Quick, stolen moments when Karn thought Pete was engrossed in his work. Pete would feel the weight of Karn’s gaze on his back, or on his profile. He’d turn his head, slowly, and catch Karn staring. Every single time, Karn whipped his head away instantly, a flush blooming hot and vivid across the tips of his ears, staining them crimson against his pale skin before he schooled his features into impassive focus on his screens.
At night, the distance became a chasm. Karn retreated to his side of the enormous bed shrouded in thick, buttoned-up flannel pajamas – striped, collared, the kind Pete’s grandpa wore. Armor, Pete thought miserably. Karn slept pressed against the far edge, facing away, rigid as a statue under the expensive duvet. The vast expanse of unused mattress between them felt colder than the marble floors.
The silence gnawed at Pete. Was Karn disgusted? Angry about the accidental grope? Did he regret asking Pete to stay? The weight of Karn’s avoidance felt heavier than any command to strip naked. After seven days of suffocating quiet and Karn’s palpable discomfort, worry outweighed confusion. Pete needed an outside perspective. Someone who knew Karn, but not the whole messy truth.
He waited until Karn was locked in his morning workout in the penthouse gym, the rhythmic thump of weights echoing through the door. Retreating to the dim, quiet living area, curled on the sleek sofa with his comm-unit, Pete called home.
"Pete! Sweetheart!" His mom’s warm voice filled his ear, a balm against the penthouse chill. "Everythin' alright? You sound a bit… flat."
"Hey, Ma," Pete managed, forcing lightness. "Yeah, yeah. Just… penthouse life, you know? Quiet. How’s the farm? How’s Tarn doin’?" He steered the conversation, needing the anchor of the familiar before diving into the murky waters of Karn Thorne.
"Oh Pete, that boy!" His mom laughed, the sound rich and warm. "He’s a whirlwind! Works harder than two hired hands, bless him. And so curious. Askin' 'bout every root and shoot. Just finished replantin' the south quadrant with me yesterday. He’s a quick learner, got real grit. And manners! Always says please and thank you. Puts your old teenage sulks to shame!" She chuckled again. Pete felt a genuine smile tug at his lips, picturing Tarn, Karn’s usually sleek city cousin, covered in honest dirt.
"That's great, Ma. Real glad he's workin' out."
"It is great," she agreed. Then her tone softened, perceptive as ever. "But that ain't why you called, is it sugar? Somethin' eatin' at you?"
Pete hesitated, the comforting image of the farm dissolving. "It's… Karn, Ma." He took a shaky breath. "He just… ain't talkin' to me. Like, not a word. For a whole week."
Silence on the line, then a thoughtful hum. "Hmm. Karn Thorne, gone quiet? That's like sayin' the creek stopped flowin'. What else?"
Pete spilled it, careful to omit the naked lifting and the incident. "He won't look at me. Like, at all. Hands me stuff without even glancin' my way. But… I catch him lookin'. When he thinks I ain't watchin'. And every time I turn and catch him? His ears go beet red, Ma. Instant tomato. And at night…" Pete lowered his voice, feeling silly. "He sleeps way over on the other side. In full pajamas. Like he's scared I got cooties or somethin'. It's… weird. I dunno what I did."
His mom made a soft sound, understanding. "Oh, honey. Okay." There was a rustle, her voice muffled for a second. "Tarn? Sweetie, grab the comm. It's Pete. He's got himself tangled up thinkin' about Karn."
A moment later, Tarn's cheerful voice replaced his mom's. "Pete! Hey! Your mom's teaching me how to make sourdough starter! It's like mad science with flour. Awesome!" The genuine enthusiasm was infectious.
"Hey, Tarn," Pete echoed, the worry momentarily pushed aside by Tarn's bright energy. "Glad you're likin' it. Farm life suiting you?"
"Suits me great! Seriously, Pete, your mom's the best. So patient. And the sky out here… wow. Makes the city feel like a shoebox." Tarn paused, his tone shifting slightly. "Your mom said Karn's being… Karn-ish? What's the Purple Prince done now?"
Pete repeated the observations, keeping it surface level: the silence, the averted gaze, the stolen looks followed by flaming ears, the pajama fortress at night. "He just… froze up on me, Tarn. I dunno why. Did I mess up? Offend him somehow?"
The silence on the line stretched, thick and heavy. Pete held his breath, the penthouse living room suddenly feeling vast and cold despite the city lights twinkling below. He could almost hear Tarn processing his words about Karn’s silence, the averted gazes, the flannel pajama armor.
Then, Tarn went completely silent. Not a rustle, not a breath. Pete frowned, pressing the comm-unit closer to his ear. Had they lost connection?
He heard it then, faint but distinct: Tarn’s voice, muffled as if he’d covered the receiver, talking directly to Pete’s mom. "Mrs. Riverton? Seriously, why is my brother-in-law such an idiot?" The question hung in the airwaves, laced with affectionate exasperation.
Pete’s mom’s giggle followed, warm and knowing, crackling down the line. "Oh, Tarn honey, Pete was always like this!" Her voice softened, tinged with maternal amusement. "Honest as the day is long, bless him, but subtle as a brick. He definitely doesn't understand why Karn’s clammed up."
"Exactly!" Tarn’s muffled voice agreed. Pete strained to listen, feeling like an intruder. "He wouldn't say it out loud, Mrs. R. He’s too… Pete."
Pete’s mom sighed, the sound fondly weary. "You’re right, sweetie. He wouldn't. Now, listen… I reckon our Pete might’ve accidentally scared Karn off. Or…" Her voice dropped conspiratorially, "...done somethin' unintentional. Somethin' Karn was maybe… hopin' for? Ready for? But Pete wouldn't clock that, bless his boots." The implication was clear, startlingly perceptive.
Tarn’s voice came back sharper, excited. "He definitely wouldn’t say it! But I’d bet my best boots, Mrs. R… Pete must’ve touched him. Accidentally! While Karn was naked! That tracks, right? Karn gets flustered, panics, shuts down." Tarn paused dramatically. "Because Karn? He… Pete. Like… …him … him."
Pete’s stomach dropped. His own nakedness felt suddenly exposed, even miles away. He gripped the comm-unit so tight his knuckles ached.
His mom’s laugh boomed down the line then, rich and full-bodied, the sound she made when something was utterly ridiculous yet undeniably true. "Oh, Lord! Just your brother-in-law!" She gasped for breath between chuckles. "Seemed all primed and ready for that thing… bless his heart… but didn't realize poor Pete wouldn't even know what that thing was after all!"
The sound of Tarn joining in, his laughter mingling with Mrs. Riverton’s earthy amusement, filled Pete’s ear – a wave of shared understanding crashing over him. Then, abruptly, the connection cut out. The cheerful dial tone buzzed, stark and final in the quiet penthouse.
Pete lowered the comm-unit slowly. Confusion warred with a creeping, icy dread. They knew. Somehow, impossibly, Tarn and his mom had pieced it together. The accidental touch, Karn’s naked state, the intense, confusing aftermath. They’d sketched the scene with terrifying accuracy, like they’d been standing invisible in the marble bathroom, watching his mortification unfold. The casual intimacy of their dissection, their shared laughter at Karn's expense and his own obliviousness, left him feeling horrifically exposed.
It wasn't just that they suspected. They knew. And they thought it was… funny?
The massive penthouse windows seemed to press in, reflecting his own pale, stunned face back at him. The silence left by the call felt heavier than before, buzzing with the echo of their laughter and their terrifyingly correct assumptions. Fear prickled along his spine – not fear of Karn’s anger anymore, but fear of their perception, their knowing grins miles away. Fear that the fragile, confusing thing between him and Karn wasn't just his burden to carry anymore; it was gossip-worthy fodder for the farmhouse kitchen.
He sat frozen on the sleek sofa, the plush fabric suddenly scratchy against his bare skin. The cityscape glittered below, indifferent. Karn was probably still in the gym, unaware his private turmoil was the subject of lighthearted dissection back in Riverton. Pete buried his face in his hands. The weight of it all – Karn’s avoidance, the accident, the revelation of Karn’s potential feelings, and now this – pressed down, suffocating. He needed… something. Air? An explanation? To crawl into a hole?
Slowly, shakily, Pete stood. The polished wood floor felt unnervingly cold under his bare feet. He padded silently across the vast living area, the echoes of Tarn and his mother’s laughter chasing him. He pushed open the door to the bedroom, a cavern of shadows broken only by the sliver of light from the ensuite bathroom. Karn wasn’t back from the gym yet.
Pete slumped onto the edge of the enormous bed, the cool sheets doing nothing to soothe the burn in his cheeks. He replayed Tarn’s words: brother-in-law. Why the hell would Tarn call him that? It made zero sense. Karn wasn't married, had no sisters Pete knew about. The utter absurdity of it scraped against his already raw nerves. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, gritting his teeth. "Too stupid," he hissed into the quiet gloom, the words sharp and jagged in his throat. "Just too damn stupid to understand anything."
Meanwhile, back at the farmhouse, the warm scent of baking bread filled the kitchen. Pete’s mother wiped flour-dusted hands on her apron, still chuckling. "That Karn," she sighed, shaking her head. "Always three moves ahead on a spreadsheet, sharp as a tack. Got a plan for rain delays and market fluctuations, I'll wager." She handed Tarn a steaming mug of tea. "But this thing with Pete? Honey, I swear he's wanderin' lost in his own heart."
Tarn blew on his tea, grinning. "Fastest processor in the city, Mrs. R. Except when it comes to his own feelings. Especially the mushy ones." He took a sip. "Bet you my last biscuit he’s sittin’ in that fancy penthouse right now, heart goin' ninety miles an hour, and hasn't got the foggiest clue it's love settin' the pace. Just thinks it's indigestion from that expensive water."
Pete’s mother’s expression softened, a touch of sadness mingling with her amusement. "Poor boys. My Pete, bless him, couldn't spot romance if it bit him on the nose wearin' a sign. And Karn? Handsome, smart… but about as experienced with real love as a newborn colt on ice." She patted Tarn’s arm. "Still. Ain't it just the funniest, saddest thing you ever did see? Two strong, clever lads, trippin' over their own feet 'cause they can't see what’s right under their noses? More'n friends already, clear as day." Tarn nodded, eyes sparkling. "Gonna be a sight when the penny drops for both of 'em. Explosive. Can't wait."
Hours crawled by. The rhythmic thump from the gym ceased, replaced by the muffled rush of the ensuite shower. Pete didn't move. He tracked Karn’s progress through the penthouse by sound alone: the soft click of the bedroom door, the rustle of fabric as Karn, predictably, pulled on the thick flannel pajamas – his nightly armor. The mattress dipped as Karn settled far on the other side, rolling immediately onto his side, presenting Pete with that rigid, unapproachable back. The deliberate distance across the vast expanse of unused bed felt like a physical wound.
The darkness deepened. Moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, silvering Karn’s silhouette, highlighting the tense line of his shoulders hunched protectively. Pete stared at that back, remembering Karn’s flinch at accidental touches, the crimson tide flooding his ears when caught staring, the raw panic in his eyes after Pete’s clumsy grip in the bedroom chaos. He remembered Karn’s choked voice: "I’m not… not ready yet!" What wasn’t he ready for? The question burned. Maybe Karn was just… ashamed? Of Pete? Of whatever messy feeling Pete’s accidental touch had sparked? The thought was a knife twist. But beneath the fear and confusion, a quieter, desperate need solidified: he couldn’t lose Karn. The silence was suffocating them both.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the stillness. Taking a shuddering breath that sounded unnaturally loud, Pete pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. The cool sheets whispered under his palms as he began to crawl, slowly, cautiously, across the king-sized expanse towards Karn’s rigidly turned back. Each inch forward felt like crossing a minefield. Moonlight glinted off Karn’s dark hair, spilled over the tense curve of his spine beneath the flannel. Pete’s hand hovered, trembling, for a long, suspended moment just above the fabric covering Karn’s shoulder.
He touched him. Lightly. Just the barest graze of his fingertips against the worn cotton.
Karn flinched violently, jerking away as if electrocuted. He twisted his head slightly, burying his face deeper into the pillow he clutched like a shield. But in that fractional turn, the moonlight caught the wet, glistening tracks streaking down his temple, the shimmer of unshed tears clinging to his lashes. The sight punched the air from Pete's lungs.
"I didn't mean to scare you away," Pete whispered, the words raw and thick in the silent room.
He didn't hesitate. Driven by a surge of protective instinct that obliterated protocol and fear, Pete closed the remaining distance. He wrapped his arms firmly around Karn’s torso from behind, pulling him back against his chest. He hugged him tightly, anchoring himself to the trembling warmth beneath the flannel, burying his face against the back of Karn’s neck where the scent of expensive soap mixed with something uniquely Karn. He felt the frantic tremor running through Karn’s body, the dampness where Karn’s cheek pressed against the pillow, the way Karn initially froze, rigid with shock.
Then, slowly, incrementally, Karn’s tense muscles began to unlock. A shuddering breath escaped him, ghosting warm against Pete’s forearm. He didn’t pull away. He leaned back, just a fraction, into the embrace, his head tilting slightly where it rested. His hands, which had been clenched white-knuckled on the pillow, loosened their death grip. One hand slid down, fingers tentatively brushing against Pete’s forearm where it crossed his chest, a silent, almost unconscious acknowledgment. The rigid shield he’d maintained for a week began to dissolve under the simple, fierce pressure of Pete holding on.
Pete held him tighter, his own earlier confusion momentarily eclipsed by the visceral need to offer this anchor. He felt Karn’s shaky exhale, the tremors gradually subsiding into something softer, more exhausted than panicked. The frantic drumming of Pete’s own heart started to slow, syncing with the slower, deeper breaths now lifting Karn’s chest against his arms. Karn shifted minutely, turning his head just enough so his cheek rested fully against Pete’s bicep instead of the pillow, his damp lashes brushing Pete’s skin. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The rigid posture of avoidance was gone, replaced by a profound, bone-deep weariness and a surrender to the unexpected comfort.