TWELVE HOURS I by Drew Hunt

TWELVE HOURS I by Drew Hunt

High school quarterback Zack Pierce’s life is spiralling out of control.

To hide from his growing attraction to Sam, his best friend and team mate, Zack drinks, smokes dope, and has sex with any girl who will have him.

Things reach a crisis point when Zack’s girlfriend dumps him after she finds out he’s got another girl pregnant. Not knowing what else to do, Zack breaks out his father’s bourbon and calls Sam for help.

The call in the middle of the night scares Sam, who rushes to his friend’s side. Dare he risk everything by confessing what he feels for Zack? The next twelve hours will either make or break them.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.


Zack paced the floor of the den. It was all such a fucking mess. For years, he’d tried to ignore his problems, drinking, smoking or fucking them out of his mind. But in recent weeks, no matter what he did, the scary thoughts kept creeping in. He couldn’t stop them.

Zack reached up and tugged at his hair. It was all over the place, but he didn’t give a shit. He would normally spend ages on his hair, combing, gelling, and styling it just right. Jill would joke he spent longer on his hair than she did on hers. When she’d found out Janet was pregnant, and that he was probably the father, she’d dumped his ass.

He’d been at her house. She’d screamed and stamped her feet. She’d picked up everything from a hairbrush to CD’s, to a little statue of a pony he’d bought her, and had thrown them at him. He’d tried to talk her down, but when he’d gotten close, she’d slashed his cheek with her nails.

Zack reached up to his face. At least it had stopped bleeding.

He’d gotten the hell out of there. Her high-pitched screams had still been audible from the sidewalk. Once home, he’d lost no time in getting wasted on a bottle of his dad’s bourbon. Then not really knowing why, he’d called Sam. He hadn’t known what to say, and, fuck, he hadn’t meant to start crying. What a fuckin’ pussy. But he couldn’t hold it in any more. He needed another drink.

Stumbling in the direction of his parents’ bar in the corner of the den, Zack tripped over the coffee table.

“Who the fuck put that there!”

As he tripped, the glass in his hand knocked against the table and broke, shards scattering over the carpet.

Recovering, he stepped around the broken glass, made it to the bar, splashed a healthy slug of bourbon into another tumbler, added some ice, and threw back the glass’s contents.

“Zack?”

Sam’s voice startled Zack. He jerked his arm, and some of the liquor splashed onto his cheek, stinging like a motherfucker.

“Sumbitch!”

“Zack?” The voice was closer. “What the fuck you been doin’, man?”

Sam’s fingers touched the edge of his cheek.

Zack found himself leaning into the touch. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he jerked backward and swung at Sam. “What the fuck! You a fag or something?”

Sam stepped back, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

The momentum of Zack’s punch caused him to overbalance. He landed face first on the carpet, the glass landing next to him, its contents forming a puddle near his right ear. He could smell the alcohol as it soaked into the carpet. His mom would go ape shit! Suddenly, it all became too much. For close on six years, he had guarded the secret he’d held inside. But now, the break up with Jill, his shitty parents, the pain in his cheek, and now in his chest, were too big a burden for him to cope with any more. He curled into a ball and started to sob.

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