Yearn Read online

  Yearn

  Khi & Dre

  A.D. Ellis

  Thanks to J.R.G. for a couple of these EMS stories & Brian and Julie for the EMS information.

  Always so grateful to have friends with so much knowledge.

  To Tenise and Michael for being the first eyes on my work after it leaves my head. It’s always so hard to send a baby out, but I trust you two to alpha read.

  To Anita for being my next line of defense against inconsistencies, errors, and holes.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  1. Andre “Dre” King

  2. Khi Harris

  3. Dre

  4. Khi

  5. Dre

  6. Khi

  7. Dre

  8. Khi

  9. Dre

  10. Khi

  11. Dre

  12. Khi

  13. Dre

  Epilogue

  Series Epilogue

  Also by A.D. Ellis

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Khi and Dre were created from the personalities and real-life experiences of real people. Their perceptions, opinions, and lived experiences may not be yours, but they are very real and very valid. Thank you for respecting this.

  One

  Andre “Dre” King

  “Get in and don’t speak,” Khi ordered as he unlocked his car. He was parked outside of The Salty Lizard in Indianapolis where we’d spent the weekend with our friends and roommates celebrating Logan’s twenty-first birthday.

  I rolled my eyes. “The entire drive back to Remington? I’m not allowed to speak?”

  Khi started the engine and gripped the steering wheel as he took a deep breath. “Look, it’s ass-crack early, we have an unplanned required meeting with our boss, and we can barely stand to be in the same room with each other on a good day. Talk if you want, but I haven’t had caffeine and I can’t promise there won’t be bloodshed.” He backed out of the spot and we were on our way.

  “I think that was more words in one breath than you’ve spoken to me since you moved in.” I settled in, tucking my long braids away as I tugged up my hood.

  “We don’t talk. Makes things better,” Khi groused. “For everyone involved.”

  He was right, we didn’t talk. Which was really awkward since we shared a room. But I wasn’t sure about the makes things better part. Khi and I had a history and it included a lot of animosity that seemed to have only festered over the past decade. Probably would have been better to work that shit out. I was leaning toward willing, but Khi had made it clear he wanted none of that.

  I’d been living at my aunt Bev’s house—fondly referred to as Remington Place—for a short time when Khi had shown up. From what his sister, Gabby—an old friend of mine and now housemate—had said, Khi had been through a disastrous break-up and needed a place to regroup.

  Lucky me, I was the only one with a spare bed in my room, so Khi and I were forced to room together. At first, I thought maybe we could clear the air, but I’d quickly realized Khi’s hatred of me was as solid as ever and he was fucked up over the break-up. Plus, we worked opposite shifts—yeah, another bit of luck, we’d both ended up as first responders on the Remington ambulance crew—so we barely saw each other. I slept while he worked, he slept while I worked, and we avoided each other as much as possible in between.

  “Can we at least stop for coffee? I can’t face Julia without caffeine.” I slipped on my shades as the early morning fall sun peeked over the horizon. “Thought about fixing some before we left, but I didn’t want to wake the guys so early.” I huffed. “Can’t believe we have to miss brunch with our friends. I love a good friend brunch.”

  Khi grunted and slipped in an earbud as if to block me out.

  Whatever, fuck him. The guy had been a jerk in high school and he was a jerk now.

  With hopes of a coffee stop on the way, I turned up my own playlist and attempted to doze. But damn memories of high school kept flitting through my mind like they always did when Khi was around.

  Picture it. My freshman year. I’d been an über band geek and drama freak in middle school and entered high school with every intention of carrying that over. Band and theater were my passion way back then. Working with the costumes was an added bonus and probably where my desire to work in the fashion industry got its start.

  Back then, I was opinionated, rich, sheltered, and under the impression I’d run the world one day.

  I was also deeply closeted.

  I shifted in my seat and frowned at the memory. In the closet wasn’t entirely accurate. At that point in time, I’d barely even allowed the idea of being attracted to guys to seep into my brain. I wasn’t exactly in the closet, more like in extreme denial.

  But denial would have meant I’d admitted I liked guys.

  Suffice it to say, mostly thanks to my mega religious parents, I was a fucking mess. But at that time, I didn’t even realize it. I’d changed and grown a lot since high school—thank God, even though a lot of that changing and growing had been at the hand of painful situations—but I doubted Khi knew anything about present me and only remembered past me.

  And, hell, even I didn’t like past me.

  I opened my eyes when the car slowed and made a turn. “Coffee? Bless you.”

  “Gotta get gas. Don’t take too long, I’ll leave your ass here.” Khi opened the door and unfolded his long, solid body. The man was a grumpy asshole and always had been—at least with me—but there was no denying he looked amazing in joggers and a hoodie. And that ass in a pair of uniform pants was enough to make me need 911 services.

  I climbed from the car and stretched. “Want anything?”

  Khi looked at me as if I’d grown two heads. “No.”

  Rolling my eyes in a huff, I shook my head and walked toward the gas station. It was early, surely to God they had fresh coffee.

  I made a quick stop in the restroom before grabbing coffee, doctoring it up, making my purchase, and heading toward the empty car—at least he hadn’t left me. A few minutes later, Khi came strolling out with a cup of coffee.

  I gestured toward his cup. “I offered to get you a coffee. Least I could do for the ride.”

  “Don’t need anything from you except silence,” Khi grumbled as he climbed back into the car.

  I followed suit, feeling prickly. “Fine. Whatever.” I shot him a look. “Aren’t you nearly thirty? The childish silent treatment is a bit much.” I reached for my earbuds, but not before I heard Khi mumble something about just needing to get through this drive. “Yeah? Just want to get through the drive? Well, same for me. The sooner we can get this meeting over and done with, the sooner we can return to our regularly scheduled program of never seeing each other and never speaking. You’re not the only one who would rather not be here right now.” I was talking with my hands and Khi gave me a disgusted look, but I didn’t care. I was worked up. “Every so often, I think that maybe you and I should discuss this whole hate thing we’ve got going on, but then you go and remind me of what an arrogant prick you’ve always been and I realize that it’s not worth it.”

  His lip curled into a sneer before he shoved his own earbuds in, turned on his music, and pulled out of the gas station just fast enough to have me sloshing coffee on my pants.

  “Mother fucker,” I mumbled.

  This drive needed to be over. Stat.

  I caught a glimpse of Khi’s profile before I slipped my sunglasses over my eyes. What a waste of a gorgeous man. I remembered the first time I’d met him. Gabby and I were friends from band and theater and I went to her house. Khi had walked in and immediately bristled. “What’s he doing here?” he’d demanded.

  High school senior Khi hadn’t had the same solid build as now, b
ut he’d been just as attractive. Star of the basketball team, Khi had skated between popular jock and mysterious loner status. He never seemed to be with any one crowd, but no one ever really gave him shit from what I could tell. Honestly, his scowly face was menacing enough that I wasn’t sure who’d want to.

  Khi was the first guy I’d not been able to push out of my head and a major crush started that day. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was distant and aloof, usually seeming annoyed as hell by my presence, but he put up with me being around because of Gabby. Despite his obvious wish I’d disappear, the way he made me feel wouldn’t go away.

  And when I found out he was gay, my little ninth-grade homo heart had no clue how to process that information. Of course, that was because I was dead-set against being gay. I hadn’t even dipped my toes into giving a name to what I was feeling toward Khi. No way. I couldn’t be gay, wouldn’t be gay.

  My parents spoke daily about the abhorrent sins of homosexuality—honestly, looking back, I wonder if they deep-down, subconsciously suspected about me and put the preaching into effect to steer me back to the good and righteous path—and I knew without a doubt they’d disown me if I gave even the slightest hint that I found males attractive.

  So, my dumb obnoxious ass opted to make it very clear I was disgusted by homosexuality. What better way to prove I wasn’t gay than to abhor the very thing I was trying to hide?

  With a sigh, I leaned my head against the cold window. God, I’d been such an ass back then. Sneering at anything LGBTQ, making snide comments, spreading rumors. All to take any possible speculation off myself.

  By the end of my freshman year, I’d nearly given myself an ulcer with my behavior and trying to figure out a way to go to a conversion camp I’d been reading about. But how to get there without admitting that I needed converted?

  My stomach rolled at the thought of how much I’d hated myself back then—it was a weird combination of hating who I was, hating what I was doing, and hating that I couldn’t just be myself and happy.

  Thank the good Lord, I never figured out a way to get to that camp. But that didn’t stop my self-hatred and hiding. Although, after Khi graduated, I toned it down in the hate-all-things-gay department—I think since my crush was gone, it seemed like there wasn’t as much danger of me being found out.

  For the next three years, I focused more on friends, band, theater, and fashion instead of exhausting myself trying to hide the fact that I found guys attractive. Luckily, my group of friends often went out as a whole rather than coupling off so I didn’t really have to worry about dating. So, I was still completely hiding, just mixed in with a friend group rather than being an ass.

  Shifting in my seat, I tried to ignore the irritated feeling under my skin. I hated who I’d been back then and how I’d handled myself. Yeah, I’d been a confused kid, but it hurt to think of the way I’d acted and how much time I’d wasted hiding the real me.

  Mostly, I hated that I’d hurt Khi. Or, maybe hurt was the wrong word. Could you hurt someone who hated your very being?

  I wondered if he’d ever stop being an asshole long enough for me to apologize for what happened the day he left.

  Two

  Khi Harris

  Of all the damn people in the world for me to be stuck in a car with, why did it have to be Dre King?

  The hatred between us ran deep and showed no signs of stopping.

  I’d known him for about ten years, even though we’d just recently ended up back in each other’s circle, and he got under my skin as much now as he did back then.

  Sure, at least he’d finally come out, but beyond that? He was still annoying as hell and the person sure to piss me off quicker than anyone.

  What about Blaine?

  I gritted my teeth at the memory of my ex-fiancé.

  Fine, the angry fire I felt toward Blaine was more than I felt toward anyone else in the world.

  But Dre was still the man who could make me stabby just by walking into a room.

  Why?

  Honestly, the answer to that question was difficult to pinpoint.

  I’d seen the kid around school back when he was a freshman and I was a senior. He was the quintessential theater and band geek, which meant I should have had no reason to interact with him.

  As one of the better players on the basketball team, my only goal was to get a scholarship and get out of Bellville—away from my drunk-ass father and the memory of my absent mother.

  But my damn little sister, Gabby, had befriended Dre so I ended up seeing him around a lot more than I wanted. The first time Gabby brought him to our house, I nearly died of embarrassment. We were the epitome of wrong side of the tracks in our trailer park, even had the car up on cinder blocks that my unemployed dad swore he was always going to fix and never did. Either Gabby didn’t realize—or didn’t care—that guys like Dre King grew up a lot different than us.

  I knew he lived in the fancy subdivision in a huge house with parents who made more money in three months than we’d see in a year. I hated his nice clothes, his nice house, and his involved parents from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  Dre was everything I wanted to be.

  But then, I got to know him a bit and realized he was also everything I swore I’d never be.

  I’d been an outcast—written off—basically since birth. Or at least that was the way it’d always felt. I constantly felt the need to prove myself, always fighting a chip on my shoulder.

  In my little Midwest town, with a Black father and white mother, I was born with a strike against me. My given first name was Reginald, after my father, but I’d been called Khi since birth and I would never go by that man’s name. The only things my mother gave me were her blue eyes and her back as she walked away. The two people who were supposed to love me had screwed me over more than I liked to think about.

  I recalled year after year of teachers being surprised I was smart for a Black boy, coaches joking they’d thought I’d be a lot better since I was Black, and fellow students never able to figure me out. I didn’t fit with any one group—too white for the Black kids, too Black for the white kids. While, I wasn’t super popular, no one ever gave me any shit which I guessed was lucky—just ignored me for the most part.

  I remembered the day I came out in eighth grade. I’d spent nearly a year coming to terms with the fact I was gay. I’d finally decided that I was already the kid from the wrong side of the tracks with an alcoholic father and basketball as my only way out, I figured I’d grasp onto my truth and be my authentic self. Plus, I knew having a gay son would piss my dad off even more than knowing I was good at basketball, but not great. I swore he’d only agreed to have kids with my young, naïve mother—before she took off for a better life—because he was under the impression we’d turn out better than him and support his sorry ass.

  Well, joke was on him, Gabby and I did turn out better than him, but we both left that trailer and never looked back.

  So, there I was, a high school senior when I met the infuriating cute little asshole, Andre King. At that time, the only things I took time for were homework, my sister, and basketball. I’d been out for over four years, but I had zero room for dating or relationships.

  Which meant the stupid little crush I started to have on Dre completely fucked with my head. He was too young, too rich, too different from me. And then he started to show a side I’d not been expecting. When I’d first met him, I thought there’d maybe been a bit of interest shining in his eyes, but it soon turned to derision.

  I’d never in my life seen a kid who tried so hard to deny his sexuality. Overall, I didn’t give a damn if he wanted to be in the closet or not, but when he started the shit with badmouthing all things LGBTQ, making snide comments, and spreading rumors, I had to admit I was shocked. It was likely for the best because Dre and I had zero business having any sort of involvement, but his blatant disgust of me turned the annoyance I’d already felt toward him into full-blown
dislike.

  And then the day came for me to head off to college, leave town—hopefully for good—and be the best I could be.

  A day that my hatred for Dre was cemented in my soul.

  “What do you think this meeting is about?” Dre asked, tearing me from my trip down memory lane.

  I glanced over and took in his dark brown skin, deep brown eyes, and long black braids. One thing I’d never been able to forget was his killer smile—it was still great and it just pissed me off even more.

  Maybe he’d finally found himself and come out—good for him, I didn’t wish for anyone to have to hide themselves—but that didn’t change the fact that he was an ass back then and he was an ass now.

  Were you much better back then? Are you any better now?

  I ignored the thought. Didn’t matter. Dre and I were nothing to each other. We were much too different and we just needed to survive this temporary roommate situation and move on to bigger and better things while forgetting the other even existed.

  Even if I didn’t hate him. Even if he didn’t get under my skin just by breathing. I’d sworn off anything resembling a relationship after Blaine. Hell, I struggled even with friendships. I’d been burned and vowed I’d never again trust anyone with my emotions, my heart.

  “How the hell should I know? We got the same damn text. That woman is a complete hard-ass and there’s no guessing what burr she’s got up her ass this time.” I drummed my thumb on the steering wheel.

  “She may be a hard-ass, but I think she’s good at what she does.” Dre took his earbuds out.