“Where else would we go?” More clenched hands. More wobbly lips.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“We’re going someplace that can help you.”
“What the actual fuck, Stuart? You hang out with me all day, get me to trust you again, and you kidnap me?”
“First, watch your mouth. Second, stop being dramatic. What I’m giving you is a chance to be a part of our family again. Don’t you miss us even a little?”
“Yeah. I miss you.” Mom’s cakes. Grandma’s pork chops. So many relatives for Easter, the kids had to eat on the porch. Pushing Hannah on the tire swing. The sound of the aunts singing while they did dishes. Dogs playing in the yard. Dad with a sleeping grandkid on his lap, telling a long-winded story. So many memories his heart couldn’t hold them all. “A lot.”
“Father’s been praying about you ever since the spring. And he has a solution. One that will let you come back, take your rightful place in the church. Raise us up in song.”
Two years ago, Trevor would have been willing to walk through fire like the crazy guy on the radio to ensure that future. But he wasn’t the same now. “I can’t change who I am. I’m gay.”
“So you keep insisting.” Stuart tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “And that’s okay. Father wants you to come out publicly—”
“I am—”
“Let me speak.” Stuart’s tone channeled their grandfather—commanding and patronizing in a single syllable. It was the tone Grandpa had used even on their own father to cut off disagreements. “You will renounce this television show. You will say that your near-death experience has brought you closer to the Lord and made you see the error in your ways.”
“It hasn’t,” Trevor snapped, but Stuart kept on speaking.
“You will say that while you know you will wrestle with your homosexual affliction, you are choosing to live a celibate Christian life. You are seeking intensive spiritual counseling to help you deal with that affliction.”
“So that’s it? I just have to say publicly I’m not having gay sex ever again?”
Four months ago, he would have taken that bargain. He wasn’t entirely proud of that fact, but there it was—he would have kept his family and confined his sex life to guilty “transgressions” far from home, until finally he was either caught in his lies or died. Because that was what Stuart was really asking him to do—cut off a piece of himself and watch it wither away and hope that it didn’t kill him in the process. But he knew better now—it would kill him. Guilt and shame were every bit as toxic as the ketones Dr. Cho was so worried about.
“And quit this travesty of a show. And get the spiritual guidance Father has arranged for you.”
“And that’s where we’re headed now?”
Stuart nodded sharply.
“And you didn’t think it might be nice to give me a choice about whether to go back at the hospital? You lied to me!”
“No. I avoided a scene. Those show people were a distraction.”
“Those show people don’t lie to me!” But I lied to them. “And I have a boyfriend, too.”
“Yes. I know. Father made me see one of your online episodes. Disgraceful.” Stuart shook his head.
Trevor should be feeling sick shame, knowing that the family had seen his exploits. Seen him kiss another man. Hold his hand. Talk sweetly to him. But instead, he held his head up. “It’s not porn. And it’s not acting either. I love him.”
“No. You don’t. You chose to come with me. You did the right thing. You chose us over that show.”
I’ve been played. Stuart had known exactly who Jalen was back at the hospital. But he had arranged it so that Trevor felt forced to deny the one person who was telling him the truth.
“I’m going to be sick.”
“You’re not five. Don’t try childish tactics, Trevor.”
“I’m serious.” Trevor had to rub at his throat, like that could ease the burn of bile. “I’m going to vomit.”
To his surprise, Stuart put his blinker on, took the next exit. He pulled abruptly into the cracked parking lot of an abandoned fast-food franchise. “This is a rental. I’m not driving all the way to Montana with your stink in the car.”
Still stunned that Stuart had listened to him, Trevor reached for the backpack at his feet. Montana. Holy fuck. I’ve got to get out of here.
Stuart slapped his hands. Hard. His smile had all the warmth of the old pump behind their house in January. “I knew it.”
“What happens if I don’t go along with this plan?” Trevor asked slowly.
“That’s not an option. You’re confused and you need our guidance and this charade has gone on long enough. It’s time for you to come home, Trevor.”
“I don’t think I can,” he said, the finality hitting him in a way it hadn’t in March.
“What did you really think? That we’d see you prancing around onstage singing those songs and realize the error of our ways?”
“No.” Yes. He hadn’t ever let himself consciously think it—not once—but apparently, some secret part of him had thought that someone in the family might see and have a change of heart. Remember they loved him. Surely someone would reach out to him. An aunt, a cousin, one of his sisters. Someone would care.
Except this wasn’t a movie. There weren’t going to be any tearful reunions in his future. There was only this—his family willing to ship him off to “counseling” in Montana so he could emerge “fixed” and provide them with the wholesome image they wanted. There was only him wrestling his bags from Stuart, knowing with cold certainty that this would be his only chance to escape.
“Trevor. Think. Don’t you want to wake up Sunday morning knowing that you are one of us? Don’t you want to take your rightful place in the church? You do this, you walk away now, there’s no coming back, not ever.”
“Are you going to let me go?” That was the real question, and it frightened Trevor to realize that he didn’t really know the answer, didn’t really know this stranger sitting next to him, a stranger who still hadn’t unlocked the door, his hand hovering over the Power Lock button.
“What? You think I’m going to run you over?” Stuart’s laugh was not a soothing thing. “Father sent me to collect you. Not murder you. You want to go live your heathen lifestyle and die of AIDS, you go right ahead. Faggot.”
In the spring there had been shouting. And praying. And talk of “interventions” and “counseling” and tears from his mother and aunts. But no one had said that word. It crackled with finality, a line crossed that could never be traversed again.
Did you grieve? Dr. Cho’s question rang in his ears. It wasn’t only his diagnosis he’d been avoiding facing—it was what had happened with his family on spring break. He hadn’t even begun to grieve the loss, and he’d let that denial blind him to Stuart’s true intentions.
Something must have shown on his face because Stuart said it again. “That’s right, faggot. That’s all you’ll ever be.”
“No, I’ll be me. And that will be enough.” It would have to be. With a mighty heave, he shoved the door open and half fell out of it, tugging his bags after him. It sucked that he had to worry about Stuart taking off with his meds, purely out of spite. The second Trevor’s ass hit the asphalt, bags landing in his lap, Stuart peeled out of there.
Oh fuck. Trevor didn’t have the first clue where he was. Or what to do now. He hadn’t exactly left things good with the show people—or Jalen.
“Hey, buddy? You need help?” An old man pushing a shopping cart piled high with trash bags of cans called from the sidewalk.
Help. He hadn’t asked for it in the spring when his family pushed him out. Hadn’t told a soul about what happened, too ashamed to even tell his friends at the GSA what a spectacular failure coming out was. Hadn’t asked anyone for help when job leads hadn’t materialized. Hadn’t asked for help with diabetes. Hadn’t asked for help when he started feeling sick. Hadn’t asked for help earlier, when he felt overwhelmed with all the doctor
s and visitors and Stuart’s sudden appearance. No, he’d done the same thing over and over again—shoved people who could assist him away.
“Yeah. I need help,” Trevor said, and fished two bottles of water out of his pack along with his phone. “You want a water? Think you could tell me where the heck I am?”
Jalen had never been less sure of where he was. Oh he knew he was in a hotel room with Carson, playing some stupid first-person shooter game because the alternative was talking, and he’d managed to avoid that all day. Keep busy. Keep moving. He’d sidestepped questions from random strangers at the festival about how Trevor was, signing autographs and smiling and wandering around for hours, not seeing anything, not hearing the bands onstage, not seeing Michelin’s big headliner act even though it was right there in front of him, not talking to anyone on the bus back to the hotel.
Everyone gave him a wide berth, like his wallowing might be contagious. Or like he might snap off some heads, which was probably closer to the truth. Carson had shoved the controller into his hands the second they were in the room, “Here. Let’s blow up some things.”
And so here he was, utterly lost but killing zombies, even though he had way more in common with the aimless wandering corpses than the hyped-up paramilitary avatars.
“You hungry?” Carson asked as a round ended.
“Nah.” Jalen wished he had a room to himself, but Carson and Carter still weren’t speaking, so he was stuck with Carson while Carter got the room that should have been his and Trevor’s.
“Kaitlyn said we’re filming a special segment as soon as we get back to the studio tomorrow. Do you think they’re sending us home?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Carter will be devastated if they do.” Carson’s voice was both wistful and strangely affectionate. “He wants this so badly. But I don’t know how they can keep us if we can’t keep up the boys-in-love brand. Heck, they can probably get more mileage out of our breakup.”
“We didn’t break up. We weren’t really a group. Just a stunt.” He wasn’t talking about Stand Out! and he had a feeling Carson knew that. We weren’t really a couple. Just a publicity stunt that got out of hand. Every look, every touch was scripted, even the ones that seemed private. Nothing was special. Nothing real. Nothing to cling to when it counted.
“That day on Granville Island—it felt real,” Carson said, aimlessly flipping through take-out menus in a hotel binder. “It felt like we’d finally come together. Like we could build something real and make great music and have fun at the same time. But then everything fell to hell.”
“Yup.”
“Do you think he’s coming back?” Carson set the binder aside.
“I think Carter would come crawling back if you gave him half a smile.” Jalen leaped so far out of the danger zone, his thigh muscles burned in sympathy.
“That’s not what I meant.” Carson rolled his shoulders. “Trevor. Do you think Trevor’s really coming back tomorrow?”
“I’m going for a walk.” Jalen pushed off the bed. He shoved his feet in his sneakers, not bothering with socks, and grabbed his hotel room card. Maybe he’d find the hotel gym. Burn some of this anger out.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Carter followed him to the door.
“You didn’t.” Jalen wasn’t lying. He’d been upset for hours now. Carter’s prodding didn’t hurt as much as annoy him—one more fly on the shit heap that was his day.
He opened the door to find Dawn, hand poised to knock.
Oh hell. He loved his sister, he truly did, but she was the last person he wanted to see right then.
“I need to tell you something.” She clutched her big leather bag to her front. “Quickly.”
“Quickly,” Jalen echoed, standing aside so she could enter the room, because the alternative was talking in the hall, and he’d had more than enough of people poking in his business today.
“I’m just stopping by to let you know that I’m going to go pick Trevor up from some parking lot outside Tacoma. I’m pretty sure there’s a long story there, but I’m also sure that because he called me and not you, he probably doesn’t want me sharing with you.”
“Fuck.” He let his head fall back against the plaster wall, the textured surface prickling against his scalp. He did not want to know that Trevor was most likely stranded. Like an idiot, he dragged his phone out of his pocket—no missed calls or texts. What? Had he really expected Trevor would reach out to him?
Yes, apparently he had, because a deep searing pain hit him in the ribs. You’re nothing to him.
“You guys fought right?” Dawn didn’t wait for him to answer. “Come with me. You can talk it out with me on the drive there, and then make up on the drive back.”
She made it sound so simple. “No,” Jalen said woodenly.
“Oh come on, Jay. Don’t be like this. The show needs—”
“Don’t tell me what the show needs,” he exploded, all the anger from the day finally unleashing. “The show needs us to be a couple. The show needs the drama of Trevor almost dying. The show needs us to make up. Well, who the fuck cares about what I need?”
“I do.” Dawn’s face crumbled. Oh hell. She better not cry. “I know you love him and he’s good for you, and if that happens to help the show, well, sue me for caring about both. Your group is falling apart—” She waved a hand between him and Carson. “And that makes me so sad. Not just because of the show. Because you guys have something really special together. And Trevor does love you back.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Jalen turned so she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see the sting in his eyes. “Look. He called you. Not me. He doesn’t need me anymore.”
“He might not need you, Jalen, but he still wants you. You don’t have to always be the rescuer to be loved. You know that right?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He did, though—he could hear the echo of Mama Kern’s pop psychology in her lecture.
“You’re always trying so hard—to be a good son, a good brother, a good boyfriend. You’re pretty awesome exactly as you are. And I think Trevor agrees, and if you’ll come with me—”
“I won’t.”
It didn’t matter what Dawn said, he wasn’t enough for Trevor. Would never be enough. Trevor had made his choice and Jalen had come up wanting.
Chapter Twenty-one
@NextDirectionShow Way to throw down
@MichelinMosesOfficial! What a fabulous night!
@StandOutJalen I got nothing.
@CarterNCarson Anyone got some puppy pics or something?
Dawn was exceedingly nice on the ride back to the hotel, which irritated Trevor to no end. She acted like picking him up in an iffy part of town in her tiny rental car was just another part of her job description. Which, actually, probably was even more depressing.
“So I told Carter you were coming,” Dawn said when they were close to the show’s hotel. She had breezily gossiped about show news and the festival for the first half of the ride, never once mentioning Jalen.
“Carter?” Trevor’s stomach went ahead and lodged itself somewhere near the engine. He already knew he wasn’t going to like this.
“Yeah. We needed to split Carter and Carson. For . . . reasons.”
“I thought . . .” It didn’t really matter what he thought. Yesterday, when he’d had Jalen’s warm body to look forward to, even if it meant Carson in the room, seemed so far away. Jalen had clearly made his choice, and Trevor couldn’t feel one bit bad. He’d shoved Jalen away, given him no reason to come after Trevor.
It was why he’d called Dawn. He’d known she’d come, even if mainly out of a show-preservation motivation. That and he really didn’t want to explain to Jalen that he’d chosen wrong, at least not yet. He didn’t have the right words for the apology he needed to make.
So he should be grateful to Dawn, grateful that Jalen wasn’t with her, grateful he had more time to collect his thoughts.
He wasn’t.
“Being adopted is really weird,” Dawn said in a complete conversational shift as they turned off the highway.
“Oh?” Trevor tried to manage the bare minimum of polite interaction.
“Sometimes you don’t even realize you’re doing something because of your past. Like I had this boyfriend a few years ago, and I seriously could not fall asleep if we didn’t say good night on the phone. He thought I was being all clingy, and we ended. My mother pointed out that it was probably related to my past—even though I was only three when I was adopted, my memory of being abandoned in an empty apartment lingers on some subconscious level.”
“Oh wow.” Trevor didn’t really know what to say about that. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“My point is that even though I’ve got the best family on the planet now, those early fears still influence how I react.” She paused expectantly.
“This is about Jalen right?” Trevor went ahead and bit.
“Jalen tries too hard to be good and useful and helpful. He needs things to fix. And you kind of pushed him away.” Dawn’s words scraped like pine needles on Trevor’s conscience.
“He can’t fix my diabetes. Or my family.” Or me. Would he even like me if I wasn’t so darn broken? Dark questions swirled around Trevor’s brain.
“I know that. And he knows that. But what I’m trying to say is that I think he takes rejection harder than he’ll ever let on. And what comes out as clinginess in me comes out as anger in him.”
“This is all a very roundabout way to tell me he’s angry and that’s why I’m bunking with Carter tonight, right?”
“Guilty.” She gave him a nervous little smile as they pulled into the hotel. It was a budget chain place, and he could spot the Keg Stand guys gathered in the hot tub room, while two of the Heat Loss guys smoked near the back entrance. “But what I’m really saying is, don’t let his anger scare you away. Fight for him. He deserves someone who will fight for him.”
“I’m not sure I know how,” Trevor admitted. But I want to.
Love Me Tenor Page 23
