Free Under the Empyrean Sky by Chuck Wendig

Heartland Lottery, which will be announced in a handful of hours when the town clock strikes the midnight bell.
    And it’s then that Wanda whispers in his ear, “You wanna go under the water tower?”
    An Obligation Day tradition. The newly betrothed couples, all of them hornier than a Capote water ox with two dicks instead of one, go beneath the water tower to the east of town in order to get to know each other better.
    Cael doesn’t want to. But he’s mad at Gwennie. And he’s a little bit drunk from drinking with Lane. So before he even knows what he’s saying, he agrees. “Yeah, let’s go.”
    And he waves on Lane and Francine, too.
    “No,” Lane says, “I dunno about that.…”
    But Francine smiles sweetly and pulls him along, and Lane goes with it.
    They leave Main Street and all the light and noise and descend into the ring of darkness around town, corn pollen whispering against the hard earth.
    And soon a massive shadow darker than the gloaming appears. The water tower rises before them, shifting shapesand silhouettes hiding within the cradle of its wooden legs. Every time the wind stirs, the tower groans and stutters, eliciting an excited gasp from those beneath it as though it could come tumbling down at any moment.
    Francine leads Lane away. Wanda’s hands find Cael’s chest, and she holds her palms flat against him. “I don’t know what to do,” she says.
    “I don’t know either,” he lies.
    “Maybe we should talk. We could just stand here. For a while. And talk. We don’t really know each other. I’d like to know you better. Wouldn’t you like to know me better?”
    There it is again, that sense of desperation coming off her. The fact is, he
doesn’t
want to know her better. So instead, he just leans in and kisses her. He feels her teeth clack hard against his. Their noses smash together. Her tongue finds his, and it’s like a dog licking a mess off the floor: wet and inelegant. Cael thinks,
Ugh, get off of me
; but he doesn’t move and neither does she, and there they stand for a while, groping each other inexpertly while Cael tilts an ear and listens to the others do the same.
    He’s listening for something. Some
one
.
    For one of Gwennie’s telltale moans. Or sometimes she squeaks. Like a little mouse.
    It isn’t long before footsteps approach and he hears themurmur of familiar voices. A new pair of shapes emerge—one smaller shape arm in arm with a much larger-bodied blockhead.
    Cael pulls away from Wanda.
    “Did I do something wrong?” she asks, following after him. But he’s not listening. Not to her.
    “
You
,” he says, stepping in front of the shape that resolves into Boyland Barnes Jr.
    “Yo, McAvoy,” Barnes says. With a snort, he adds, “Wanda Mecklin, huh? Here at the water tower? You lucky dog.”
    “Sonofabitch—” Cael says, and he steps forward with the full intent to tear that bastard’s head clean off his neck and shove it back up his ass. But Gwennie steps between them and catches the full force of Cael. She’s strong. Always was. “Gwen, move!”
    “Don’t be an ass,” she says.
    “He sank our boat!”
    “That’s not what this is about.”
    Boyland plays dumb. “I didn’t—What? What’s he accusing me of? I’d never.”
    “Go to hell, Barnes! May Old Scratch steal your liar’s tongue.” Cael tries to spit on him but misses.
    Gwennie grabs Cael and hauls him away from the water tower. She lowers her voice. “This is over. It has to be. You can’t do this.”
    “Boyland,” he says, the name like slug’s ichor dripping from his lips. “
Boyland?
”
    “Like I picked him?”
    “And yet here you are with him. Under the water tower.”
    “And here
you
are with Wanda Mecklin. I could say the same thing about her.” She mimics Cael’s blustery incredulity. “
Wanda? Waaaanda?
”
    “I was here looking for you!”
    “Did you think your tongue would find me down her throat?”
    “I was hoping you weren’t here. And yet you are.