Carter and the Biker Boy

The following story is purely fiction involving fictional individuals of different ages being engaged in sexual acts. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Please do not read any further if you believe that this topic may offend you. If you are under the age of 18 or reside in a location where it is not legal to read these stories, then please hit the back button and leave now.

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Carter and the Biker Boy

Chapter 12

I got back home exactly at one in the afternoon from my nice long bike ride. My emotions were still all over the place. It was so dumb breaking down in the park and being caught by that guy and his son. The man must have thought I was a total wimpy faggot. If he only knew the truth about why I was crying and was an emotional wreck, then he'd realize that he's right, I am a wimpy faggot and must find a way to get a hold of myself before Mom gets home and wonders what in the world is wrong with me.

I'd been home for about an hour or so. I had showered, cleaned the house up the best I could, and was now anxiously awaiting a text from my mom letting me know her plane had landed in Chicago. My best guess was that I'd hear from her about three or four pm. She had told me that she'd text me once she'd cleared customs and was on the bus that would bring her to Rockford. My Tia would pick her up and would more than likely bring dinner over for us or have us go to their house for dinner. I just laid around, watched another episode of "Love, Victor" and waited for her text.

The episode of "Victor" was just about over when my phone chimed, letting me know I had a text. Thinking it was my mom, I quickly picked it up. Much to my surprise, it was Dylan.

< HEY CARTER-MAN.

<HEY

Was all I responded back to him. While I was very surprised and happy to see his text, I decided to proceed very slowly, and not just fall for him because he texted me.

<HOW ARE YOU? IS YOUR MOM HOME YET?

<I'M...HERE. NOT YET.

<WERE YOU ON THE BIKE PATH TODAY?

<YES

<I SAW YOU.

<YEAH

<R U OKAY?

<NOT REALLY.

<B CUZ OF ME?

<YEAH (insert sad emoji)

<CAN WE TALK THIS AFTERNOON?

<NO.

<WHEN? I REALLY NEED TO TALK TO YOU.

I really wanted to be cruel and send him a response like "Well I have no desire to talk to you after the way you hurt me yesterday. Don't go away mad, just go away."

Instead like a dummy I wrote back:

<OKAY.

<WHEN PLEASE? (inserts puppy dog eyes emoji)

<TOMORROW NIGHT AFTER 6 PM.

<AWESOME. TTYT.

What in the world was I thinking? Was I really going to talk to Dylan again after the way he brutally had his way with me last night? An overwhelming part of me did, but another part of me wanted to stay very far away from him. Unfortunately, the overwhelming part of me now could not wait until mom left for work tomorrow night.

Shortly after the exchange of texts with Dylan, my mom texted me and let me know she had just cleared customs and was now waiting for the bus to bring her home. She did say to be ready in about an hour when Tia Rosa would stop by and pick me up so we could all go to the bus station on the east side of town where we would pick my mom up and then go back to have dinner with Tia Rosa and Tio Javier at their house. Tia had made beef and chicken taquitos, refried beans, and Mexican rice and of course her homemade salsa. It had seemed like forever since I'd had a wonderful homemade Mexican meal. It was going to be great!

Sure enough, and hour later, Tia Rosa pulled in the driveway with Javy to pick me up. It was so good to see both of them, and even though Javy and I had spent the time together until his parents came back from Mexico, it was great to see him again. We both sat in the back seat of my Tia's black minivan talking about anything that was not related to what we'd done for the time we spent together. He did ask me if we could hang out for another night before school started, and we tentatively made plans to hang out next weekend. He now had soccer practice five days a week and felt confident that he was going to make the varsity soccer team. I didn't say anything to him about Dylan or what Dylan had said about making sure Javy would NOT make varsity.

Once we got to the bus station, we waited for about fifteen minutes before the huge gray bus pulled into the bus terminal. After about seven people got off, finally my mom stepped off the bus. I was so incredibly happy to see her that I ran up to her and gave her a huge hug. She was so happy to see me as well.

"Angel, my baby, my love! It is so good to be home and feel my son in my arms! Look at you! I think you've grown!" I wanted to tell her that I now had a few dark pubic hairs that had sprouted above my dick, which had also grown a half inch since I'd last checked, but I didn't think she'd find it amusing. So, I just blushed instead, and said "I think you're right!" Once we got her suitcase and a box she had brought from Mexico out from the storage compartment that was on the lower part of the bus, we got in Tia Rosa's van and headed to her house. Mom and Tia talked in Spanish the entire time about my mom's cousins. It must have been some good gossip, since my Tia kept saying "De veras!!?" (Really!!?) At least Javy and I could talk about our own stuff without them listening. He quietly told me that he hadn't jacked off in three days so he would have energy for soccer practice. He then told me that he has been getting something like a couple dozen hard-ons a day for no reason, and most of the time he's sooooo horny. I just nodded and laughed, telling him that I knew the feeling all too well.

We had an awesome dinner at my Tia's house. Tia Rosa was a fabulous cook, inheriting my abuelita's cooking style and her cooking skills. With our bellies now full, Javy and I went to his room to play Minecraft for a while as my mom, Tia and Tio talked for several hours. Javy's little brother Hector was in the room with us, but then Javy told him to go play. Then he started talking to me about...well, you know...

"So, Angel, I see your biker boy was at your house yesterday. Let me guess what you two were doing, and I bet it wasn't playing video games." I looked at him with a surprised look on my face.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked in an innocent voice.

"Come on, hombre, I know you and Dylan been doin' it." Javy whispered while using the joystick to maneuver through the maze on the screen. "I just know." I didn't know how to respond, because of how mean Dylan was with me. I did trust Javy, and family always watches out for family, even though Javy did break my leg in the soccer game last year, he still could be trusted not to tell anything I told him in confidence.

"Yes," was all I said and then followed it up with "but he wasn't very nice to me."

"What do you mean?"

"He was different than other times. It's like he was another person. There's something weird about him, and I'm not sure what it is." Javy continued to stare at the screen and his game and didn't say anything for a minute or so. Finally, in a slow, quiet voice he asked me:

"He wasn't like that before with you, was he? When you guys did it before?"

"No, in fact he was very different. Like a different person. He did text me this afternoon and wants to apologize." I offered more information than I really wanted to, but I needed to talk to someone I could trust.

"Damn, Angel. Well, I can't let you get hurt. You're my cuz man, my primo. I gotta look out for you, just like I did with those losers Connor and Terrell. No matter what, we're familia, sangre (family, blood). If you need help working it out and he hurts you again, you let me know. Okay?"

I almost had tears in my eyes, but as I nodded my head in agreement and started to sniffle a little, Javy paused the game, and gave me a big hug, kissing me on my neck. Immediately, my dick hardened, and as I stole a glance at Javy's soccer shorts, I could tell he had a tent as well, the outline of his thick dick was visible as it curled upward to touch his groin.

"We need to sleep over again one more night before school starts, cuz." Javy whispered in my ear before breaking the embrace. I nodded in agreement and just wanted to rip his shorts down and suck on his dick like there was no tomorrow. But being that his brothers could come into his room at any time, I knew better. And it's a good thing I didn't, because moments later Luis, Javy's other little brother pushed the door open and told me in Spanish that my mom was ready to leave. So Javy and I hugged one more time, this time standing up. I could feel him so very hard against my own hardness and I told him that next Friday I'll tell my mom that I wanted to invite him over. I think neither of us could wait for the upcoming weekend when he could sleep over at my house.

"Que Bueno, primo. Hasta Viernes." He was good with that and would be anxious to see me Friday. Tia Rosa took us home, and finally my mom and I were home by ourselves. We talked into early Monday morning.

"You don't have to work in the morning? I asked her, surprised that she would want to stay up so late.

"No mi amor, mi jefe (my boss) texted me when I was in Mexico and told me that due to changes in the nursing staff, I have to go back to working nights starting Monday night. I'll have the twelve hour overnight shift, six nights a week, for four weeks. Then it will be back to just eight hours on third shift, for a couple of months. I hate to leave you home alone, but maybe some of those nights if you get lonely Javy can come and stay with you. I take it you boys behaved while I was in Mexico?"

"Claro que si, mama. Todo esta bien con Javy y yo." I reassured her that all was well between Javy and me, and that I'd love to have him stay with me on some nights.

"Bueno. Ya hable con tu Tia, y esta bien con ella tambien." I was glad to know that my aunt was good with it too. Javy was right. Family does look out for family, and in our culture familia es mas importante: family is more important.

Mom continued to tell me all about her trip, especially to Mexico City. She showed me pictures of the places she visited. She actually got to see the Balet Foklorico at El Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City, as well as La Villita, where the Virgen de Guadalupe shrine is located. To those of us who are Catholic, as many Mexicanos are, La Villita is like no ordinary church or shrine. The pictures on her phone were amazing, and now I could not wait to go back to Mexico with her someday.

My abuelita was doing a lot better when Mom left San Miguel De Allende. As soon as she will be well enough to travel, her and my abuelito will be returning home to the states, probably in about a month or so, mom told me. I really missed both of them and couldn't imagine life without either. I felt so much more relaxed with my mom home. She was going to ask me about Dylan, but then she started falling asleep and told me that we had to get up reasonable early tomorrow so she could take me to get some school things. We would talk about Dylan tomorrow. Now I was a little nervous but knew that if I left out MOST of the dirty details, she would be fine and would not press me further to tell her everything.

*** We didn't get up until almost noon on Monday. Mom was very tired and since she had to work from seven in the evening until seven in the morning, she needed to get her sleep. She lazily shuffled past my room to see me reading another Stephen King novel, Mr. Mercedes.

"Buenas tardes, mi amor," she said as she yawned and stretched. "How did you sleep?"

"Muy bien, mama," I replied, putting down my book. She came in and sat on the edge of my bed, and then laid back on the bed next to me.

"It feels so good to finally be home. It was so good to sleep in my own bed! The beds at my cousin's house and then my Tios' house in San Miguel were terrible. This is the best night of sleep I've had since I left. And I can tell you, I am not ready to go to work tonight. But vacation is over, and I must get back to work."

"Yeah, wouldn't it be nice if every day was like a vacation day?" I replied, not thinking that I'd been on summer vacation... all summer. And of course, Mom called me on it, and then she tussled my straight, messy blonde hair with her hand, then began tickling my sides and stomach me to make me scream.

"I missed you so much, mi amor. Next time we will go together to Mexico. Mis Tios were asking about you and when I showed them your picture all they could say was "este muchacho tan guapo."

"Mom! I'm not THAT handsome."

"Si mi amor, they kept asking where you got your handsome looks from, and I told them that you got most of them from your father's side of the family, only getting your beautiful ojos de café (brown eyes) from me." That was one of the first times in a long time that my mom had mentioned my father to me. I know she wasn't ready for my next question, but I had to ask.

"Mama, I have a question." I couldn't say it in English, so I just blurted it out in Spanish.

"Que paso con mi papa?" My question took her by surprise, as she'd never really mentioned anything to me about my father. She took a long breath and began.

"Well Angel, I knew sooner or later you would want to know about him, and I am sorry that I haven't talked to you about him before. So here's the deal..."

"Your father and I met in high school, our senior year. Mis papas really didn't like him at first, but he knew how to charm them, bringing abuelita flowers, and helping abuelito in the garden and work on his car. So of course, they grew to like him. We dated on and off while I went to college, and my last year of nurses training, we had broken up for a month or so over something really dumb -- and I don't even remember what -- but then he came crawling back to me, and a month before graduation he proposed to me. We got married a year later, and just about 9 months later, you were born. Then there was something about him that changed. We stopped having -- well, you know -- sex, and he was always tired because he was working late at the automobile plant in Belvidere. But the odd thing was is that one of our mutual married couple friends saw me at the store one night, and I asked the man why he wasn't working overtime like your father was. He looked surprised and said that they had not worked any overtime in over two months. So I knew I had caught your father in a lie. Now I just had to find out what he was lying about. I must have looked like the dumbest person in the room because I could see it in their eyes that they feared the same thing I did. They both apologized and the man actually told me that he would help me figure out what was going on. He did say that your dad was seen leaving work with this one young man, and several people had commented that something seemed odd about the way they acted around each other."

I could tell that mom was getting emotional now, so I asked her if she wanted to get up and have some breakfast and coffee, to which she did. She had brought some conchas back from Mexico along with some other Mexican bread, so we sat at the kitchen table and over breakfast, she continued. "Long story short, Angel, your father was...fooling around with this young man." She became very emotional, and we both started crying.

"I am so sorry mama. Is that why you were not surprised when I told you..." I stopped short of telling her because the reality of who I was suddenly came crashing in around me like the walls of an exploded building falling on top of me. "Oh no mama... tell me this can't be true," was all that I could say. She hugged me and we both cried for what seemed like an hour. Finally she composed herself and once again spoke.

"But it doesn't stop there, mi amor. When I confronted him outside of his work as he and this man drove together to his house, at first he denied everything, but then the man who was obviously gay was shocked to learn that your father was married to me and that he was a father of a year old boy who looked just like him. So he had been two timing both of us. And it does not stop there. He stopped seeing this man, got tested for HIV and was clean, but we never had sex again. I couldn't trust him. Then I found out that he was going to Shorewood Park AFTER putting you to bed at night. I was working overnight at the hospital, and he was meeting up with and having sex in the park with young guys, most who were underage. This was discovered after he got caught by the cops who were working undercover. I had to bail him out of jail, and when your Tio Javier, Tio Miguel and Tio Jaime found out, they beat the living daylights out of him. They worked him over so bad that he had to have something like 20 stitches in his face. They told him that we were over, and that he was not to come near me or you ever again. Since he got charged having sex with underaged young men, he was given something like five years in prison and then had to register as a sex offender for something like twenty years. He was relocated out of Illinois, and I honesty have no idea where he is living now. It has not been easy raising you on my own, but I could not put you in harm's way in case he ever touched you inappropriately."

I was in shock. It suddenly seemed like everything in my world changed, and that there was no way that I wanted to ever be compared to my father. Maybe me thinking I was gay was just something I was going through -- something that I'd eventually grow out of. I never wanted to be like my worthless father, getting caught blowing young guys in the park and worse yet, hurting the mother of my child. It was way too much information overload for me, but after all I did ask my mom, who now was staring blankly out the kitchen window -- her right index finger tracing the rim of the now empty and cold coffee cup. After a prolonged silence between us, she spoke.

"I am so sorry you had to hear this, Angel. I knew sooner or later you would have to know the truth about your father. But just know that I love you more than you know, and no matter what, I will never turn you away for who you are. I never want to lose you. I know you have a good head on your shoulders and will make good choices in your life. And never forget that your family will always look out for you. Your padrinos (god parents) love you so much, just as much as one of their own, and the rest of your Tios will help you anyway they can."

Once again, we embraced, and I thanked her for all that she'd done for me. We then agreed that we would not let my father's actions ruin our day. So we got dressed and headed to Target to get some school supplies. After fighting the crowds at Target, we went to Kohl's department store where Mom bought me three pairs of jeans, several nice Nike shirts, and a new pair of Nike sneakers. We then went to Old Navy and I got several pairs of very cool new boxer briefs, socks, and some nice plaid button up short sleeve shirts. I already had a few pairs of khaki cargo shorts, but Mom bought me a couple more pairs just to make sure I'd have enough shorts that actually fit me. It was a great day and we laughed and had a great time trying on clothes and being silly. In one short afternoon, I got all the items I needed for school, and all of the clothes I needed as well. We had shopped up an appetite, so we decided to go to Buffalo Wild Wings for an early dinner. Mom only had a couple of hours before she had to go to work. As we waited for our food to show up after ordering, she asked me about Dylan.

"Okay, Angel. Let's talk about your time with Dylan. How did that go while I was in Mexico?"

I didn't want to be too detailed, but I knew if I left anything out, she would ask. Several minutes before our food arrived, I began.

"Well mama, it was pretty cool. After Dylan got back from his baseball tournament -- which he won by the way -- we hung out for and went for a bike ride out to Rock Cut. He told me about his tournament and some of the guys from his team. It sounded like they had a good time. Then when you called and said you were going to stay in Mexico with your primos, he immediately called his mom and asked it if was okay if I stayed with them until you got home."

"Oh really? That was so nice of them to make sure you didn't have to stay alone at home anymore. I take it that you went to stay with them until yesterday?"

"No, I stayed until Saturday morning."

"Why didn't you stay until Sunday? Did something...happen? What did you do!?" Then quietly she leaned toward me and asked, "Did you wet the bed, amor?" I could feel my face turning bright red, partly because she asked me such an embarrassing question in the restaurant, but partly because I did sort of wet the bed, just not by peeing in the bed.

"No mama! Nothing! I didn't do anything. We had an awesome day on Friday. We went to the park, then stopped here to check on the house, and then went back to his house to swim, eat dinner, shoot some hoops and stuff. Then he got a call from one of his friends from the team, they invited him to a party on Saturday night. And then we played some video games, ate some pizza and went to bed around midnight I think."

Our waiter showed up with our food, and I hoped Mom would drop the conversation, but she continued to ask more while we ate.

"Then what happened?"

I didn't want to tell her exactly all that happened. I just couldn't, at least not at the restaurant. I left out a few details as I continued. "We both went to bed. He has a spare bed in his room. I think it was something like three in the morning. Anyway, he starts calling me Dayne, and was asking if I was awake. He then asked if he could sleep in bed with me, it was like he was....scared or something." Mom gave me a confused look, but she was believing the part about Dylan wanting to get into the bed. "When he finally woke me up, I told him no, I didn't want him in bed with me. But he still forced his way in the bed and put his arm around me and pretended to fall asleep."

"Oh that's a little weird. Did he still call you Dayne?"

"Yes, until I finally asked him if he could go sleep in his own bed. He just nodded and went back to his own bed. It was like he was in a trance or something, you know, as if he was sleep walking. But he didn't have his hands and arms straight out from his body though."

"Hmm. What did he say to you in the morning?"

"I got up, got my stuff together and decided to come home. It was too freaky, and I just told his mom that I had to get home before you came home. She was so nice, and I felt so bad leaving, but I think there is something up with him and that family."

"Why do you say that?" Mom asked, now interested in hearing my thoughts.

"Because a when I was helping him take out the trash on Friday morning, I accidently went into a closed room and was looking for the garbage can and Dylan came rushing down the hallway and told me to get out of the room, that we weren't allowed in there."

"What was the room like? She asked while wiping the barbecue sauce off her fingers.

"It was like a boys' room, kind of like mine when I was ten or twelve."

"And he hasn't said anything about it to you yet?"

"No. He does want to come over this afternoon and maybe he'll tell me what it's all about."

"What are his parent's names again?"

"Ryan and Diane. His name is Dylan, of course, and his sister's name is Abbie. And their last name is Collins."

"Hmm. Doesn't ring a bell. Sometimes there are names of families who have a tragedy who come through the E.R. and we remember the case and the family name. But that doesn't sound familiar. Well, let me know if he tells you."

"Okay mama, I will. Do you think that maybe somebody in his life named Dayne died in that house? Or like there's an evil spirit or a ghost wandering around in that house? Now I'm scared mama!"

"Oh papi, I don't think it's anything like that, do you?" Then after she took a big sip of her soda her eyes got wide and with a spooky voice, she whispered "the ghost of Collins hollow is coming to get you Carter Angel!" I felt chills run down my spine and almost screamed a tiny high pitched scream, but covered my mouth, not realizing my lips had barbecue sauce all over them.

The rest of dinner went well, and soon we were on our way back home. There was no more talk about Dylan and the experience at his house. I really was afraid Mom would ask more private information about him, but thankfully she didn't. I thought for sure she would ask if he was gay, but she didn't. That would have been a difficult question to answer and was one of which there was no certain answer, just yet.

Mom didn't feel like going to work, but knew she'd have to go sooner or later. As she got dressed and took the rest of her wings from the restaurant out of the refrigerator and put them in her lunch box, she was ready to leave for work. She gave me a hug and kiss, told me to behave and not stay up too late, and just like that I was alone again as she took off for work. It wasn't but ten minutes or so later that Dylan texted me, and said he was on his way over to my house if that would be okay with me. I texted him back that it was and within another twenty minutes, he rang the doorbell. He did not look like the confident, sexy, happy looking Dylan I'd come to know. Instead, he looked down, almost dejected, and as if he'd been crying, evident when he took of his Oakley's and came in the house. He had a white plastic Target bag with him.

"Hey Dylan," was all I could muster to say. I put up a cautious front with him, letting him know that I was not happy with how he treated me. And he sensed this right away.

"Hi Carter-man. Could I please come in?" he asked in a sad, almost apologetic, dejected voice. I thought for a second or two, just to add to his sadness. I hated being mean like that, but he didn't treat me right at all.

"Yeah, I guess you can come in." I finally said to him in a slightly sarcastic tone of voice.

"Thank you. Here, this is for you. I hope you like it." He handed me the Target bag, and I immediately sensed that it was a peace offering of sorts. Opening the bag, I saw it was the latest Stephen King book, "Later!" I saw this on Amazon and thought about ordering it but was going to wait until Mom got home. My eyes said what my words didn't.

"Thanks Dylan! You didn't have to do this. But I was just looking at this book online and it looks soooo good!"

"You're welcome. It's the least I can do to make it up to you for the way I acted Friday night and Saturday afternoon here at your house. That was uncalled for. For that, I want to um, apologize for the way I treated you." Just like an obedient puppy, I quickly smiled and told him it was okay.

"But it just wasn't like you. I mean you had always been so... gentle with me but when I told you what happened during the night at your house, it seemed like it struck a nerve. I was really scared. Can you tell me what happened? If it's like, confidential and all I think I get it, but I'm not quite sure I want to be with you anymore if you're going to be that way with me again."

He had been looking down at the worn spot in the gray berber carpeting that was a foot away from the toes of his shoes. When I told him how I felt, he looked up at me, ran his fingers through his long dark brown hair pushing it back out of his eyes. I could sense his nervousness, which I hated seeing him like this, and thought maybe I was being too demanding. But as he took a deep breath, it obvious that he was ready to get something off his chest.

"I'm not sure where to begin. But first I have to tell you that it is nothing that you did at my house, to me, or to my family. They think you're a great kid and friend of mine and have said that you can stay over anytime. It's just that...I..."

Whatever it was, Dylan was doing all he could to not break down in front of me. I began to feel really bad for him. Here was this big strong guy about ready to cry like a baby. All I could think of to say was "Take your time. It's okay. I'm not one to judge you or make you feel bad."

"Thanks" he was beginning to sniffle now, and I thought for sure the words would not come out. But he tried to speak again. "It is just that somedays I forget to take my medicine. Um, Friday I had so much fun hanging out with you that I forgot. And when I don't take my medicine, I get really angry and say and do things that are not right. I also found out that I have parasomnia, which means that I do things in my sleep, like sleepwalk and so on. So that is why I don't remember um, being in your um, bed with you when you stayed the last night. And then I kept calling you Dayne. Carter, I am so sorry." He now broke down and was crying like a little kid. I felt so bad for him. He just sobbed and sobbed. I put my hand on his muscular shoulders and he moved closer to me, so I hugged him.

"It's okay, Dylan. I'm sorry to hear that you have that. I knew it had to be something like that because it was like, well, like it wasn't you, but someone else. Especially when we came here, and you pretty much raped me. It really hurt me mentally and physically too. But I have to ask, okay? If you can't tell me that's fine. But why did you call me Dayne? He looked up at me with his puffy red swollen eyes, took a deep breath and as soon as he blurted it out, he began crying all over again:

"It's because you remind me so much of my little brother, Dayne. He died when I was fourteen. He was twelve." His sobbing intensified, and I was now almost in shock with the news Dylan just told me. "Even my mom said so."

"Oh my god Dylan, I had no idea. I'm so, so, sorry." Now I began to cry as well. He stood up, pulled me into a hug with him and together we sobbed for what seemed like an hour. I then spoke. "So can you tell me what happened" I whispered up to him as his hands explored my back while we were still locked in an embrace.

"Well, like I said, he was twelve. Loved sports even more than me, and had natural athletic abilities. Thing was though, that he was about your size in sixth grade. He wanted in the worst way to play football this one fall. Mom didn't want him to, but Dad said that he could. So it was his first game as a running back. He was doing really well. We were so very proud of the way he was playing. Then with the game tied and only twenty seconds left, the quarterback handed off the ball to him and be broke free from the pack of defensemen and off he went, running at full speed toward the end zone, which was probably seventy yards away. He made it into the end zone, scoring the winning touchdown just as time was ready to expire and the game was going to be over. I ran out of the stands and down to the end zone to congratulate him. He was so happy, dancing and jumping up and down. When his teammates got to him, of course they surrounded him and we were all jumping around him and were going to lift him up, but he fell down to the ground and never got back up. I got his helmet off and tried to help him, but he died in my arms -- his deep brown eyes pleading with me for help and were totally lost in what was happening -- and by the time the ambulance got there and rushed him to the hospital, he was already gone. We found out later that something had burst in his brain and the doctors could not save him."

Dylan continued. "He was the best brother a kid could ever ask for. We had so much fun when we were kids. We had so much fun fooling around with each other, which Mom and Dad knew nothing about that. That's why when I met you, you just reminded me of Dayne in so many ways, except the sports stuff." He then laughed a bit. We were such a happy family then. Dad was around a lot then, but after Dayne died, he and my mom fought a lot, as she blamed him for letting Dayne get in sports. Slowly and slowly my dad is spending more time away from us, and my mom is ready to give him an ultimatum: Either spend more time at home or she is going to file for a divorce. It's so damn unfair and sad, Carter. I don't want my parents to separate."

I gave Dylan another hug and told him that I forgave him for what he did. He then told me that the doctor told him that the sleepwalking was a result of the PTSD that he suffered seeing his only brother die on the field in front of him. The anti-depressant medicine the doctor gave him had been helping him a lot, as was being involved in sports, even though his mom was always a nervous wreck that something would happen to him. I just felt so bad for him. He broke our embrace, and sat down on the sofa, exhausted, sweat covered, as if he'd just ran a marathon. I got him and myself a bottle of water, and we sat on the sofa, staring at the random show that was on the television. Neither of us said a word for maybe fifteen minutes, as we were lost in our thoughts.

The words couldn't come to me that would make Dylan feel better. I just felt so terrible for him losing his brother like that. Finally, his words broke the silence between us.

"I know you probably think that I'm like this totally messed up kid that has to be on meds the rest of his life in order to live a healthy life. But the meds do help, and although I still have to take them, it's not as bad was when I was younger. Even though it's been two years since his death, there are days like today and this past weekend where it's hard to make it. And I have a lot of friends around me that are really great. Not all of my friends know about what happened to Dayne, but those who are my really close friends do know, friends like Knox, Chase, and my best friend Jonah, who you haven't met. Without those guys around me, and now you too, I'm not sure how I could go on." He looked like he was going to start crying again, so quickly moved close to him and wrapped my arms around him again.

"Look Dylan, I'm not entirely sure how to help you, but I can tell you that the way you've treated me as your friend this summer and how you said you'd help protect me and all when I start school in a few weeks really tells me how good of a friend and almost a `big brother' figure you've become to me. I've had loss in my life too. I don't have a dad. I recently found out what happened to my dad when I was just a baby. He, um, pretty much left my mom and me and then got in trouble with the police and got sent to prison for five years and has to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life. I mean it's not as bad as your brother dying and all, but he'll not ever be in my life. It sucks. So maybe we can just be there for each other in more ways than just one. I'm trying to deal with the whole thing about my dad being what he is, because now I think it has something to do with how I am. I do not want to be like him, as I am sure you can understand. We both have experienced hurt in our lives. I'm up for being there for you if you'll accept my support."

"You know, Carter-man, you're one very smart kid. I feel so bad for you not having your dad not being around. I'm cool being there for you. I think we can be good for each other, too. I'll try to help you as much as I can, and when I need a best bud around to talk, I think I can trust you. Thanks, little buddy."

We hugged again, and I wanted so bad to feel him and touch him, but as I held him close to me, He wasn't like he was before. He truly embraced me like a friend -- a friend who was dealing with the hurt and pain of losing his little brother. As much as I wanted to feel him, I knew it wasn't the right time. It was comforting enough to know his story and know that I would see him again. The clock in the kitchen read that it was nearly eight o'clock, and the sun was creeping near the western horizon. Dylan and I broke our embrace, and he realized that he had to get home since soccer practice was going to start at seven o'clock in the morning, which meant he had to get up an hour earlier. We said our goodbyes, I thanked him for the book, and he left on his bike. I went to my room and laid on my bed perusing the first few pages of the new book Dylan bought me, while listening to my playlist on Spotify. Despite the way the weekend had ended with him, I was super happy to know that my biker boy was going to be part of my life for some time to come.

Author's note: A difficult chapter for Carter and Dylan, obviously. But both characters grew closer emotionally and walk away stronger in their friendship.

This is NOT the ending of their story, but one that begins a new chapter, if you will, as the summer comes to a close and school begins. Thanks for being patient and reading their story. - ATC.