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    His father swiped a hand over his belly and brought it to his nose.
    “I ruh-ruh-rubbed some lotion on you, whuh-whuh-while you were asleep. Didn’t want you to get sunbuh-buh-burned.”
    Martin turned his head in Marty’s direction and smiled at him from behind his shades. “Thanks, Biscuit Pants. Don’t know what I’d do without you looking after me.”
    “I don’t know either.” In an attempt to lighten the mood and to get the easiness back with his dad, he smiled and added, “Luckily you don’t have to find out.”
    Martin’s smile grew even wider at the increasingly rare, toothy grin Marty treated him with. It had been a long time since Marty’d felt the desire to smile like that. Even with all the crazy thoughts running through his mind, he couldn’t deny that the cabin had a nice effect on them both.
    Martin sat forward and brought a leg up. He ran his hand up and down a few times, then lowered the leg and worked his thigh over.
    “Didn’t I get it all?” Marty asked.
    “It’s only in a few places,” his dad said getting up. “I’ll just rub it in a bit more, no worries.”
    Martin repeated the same action with the other leg, and then scooped some of the splattered coconut cream off the wall and rubbed it on his chest. Bending down, he picked up the bottle and cap, and walked over to Marty.
    “Sit up straight. You’ve taken care of me, but you’re already red…you should’ve done yourself first.”
    Marty froze for a second, then brought his feet down on either side of the lounger and sat forward. How many times had his dad rubbed sunscreen on him? More times than he could ever count. So why was he so nervous now? Marty told himself that all he had to do was keep his mouth closed, because if he tried to talk, his annoying stutter would be a dead giveaway.
    His dad lifted a leg behind Marty’s back and over the chair. After Martin settled in behind him, the insides of Martin’s hairy thighs hugged the outside of Marty’s. He heard a blob of cream squirting out of the bottle and his dad’s hands rubbing together. “Lean forward a bit, rest your arms on your knees.” Marty did and was acutely aware of how close his dad was—his pubes actually pressing into Marty’s butt. With slow, dexterous motions, Martin started at the base of his spine and worked his way up Marty’s tight back. Despite the damn butterflies, which had somehow turned into small birds, he couldn’t help but relax under the firm touch.
    Martin laughed as Marty groaned when he hit his shoulder blades. “Jeez, you’re so tense. Relax, Bubba.”
    Marty laughed but didn’t dare speak. When Martin finished up with his neck, Marty had in fact relaxed. Martin stood, adjusted the back of the lounger down flat, and walked around to Marty’s front.
    “Lay down, Stinky,” Martin quipped.
    Marty ripped off a few paper towels from the roll on the small table between their chairs, and wiped the sweat off his forehead and from under his pits. “Real fu-fu-funny.”
    Marty laid back and Martin straddled the lounger. It wasn’t like Marty hadn’t had massages before. It seemed Mr. Williams, the baseball coach’s assistant, was always rubbing cramps from Marty’s thighs or calves. Martin lifted first one of Marty’s legs and then the other, so the backs of his thighs rested on the top of his dad’s. Deftly, his dad massaged the cream into his skin. Martin didn’t spend as much time on Marty’s chest as he had on his back, but when his strong, slick fingers traveled past Marty’s stomach and reached his thighs, he thought he might just throw up from his stomach’s endless somersaulting. Then, just to seal the deal, the worst possible thing that could’ve happened did happen.
    He popped a bone.
    Not his usual kind either. This was a full-on, clear fluid already bubbling out of the tip, woody. Marty curled his toes and ground his teeth. His dad didn’t let up or slow down. When he was done with the left thigh, he