by G. R. Lyons
“I didn't say you could– Just where do you think you're going?” his father called after him, slamming the door shut and hurrying to follow.
Vic headed for the kitchen. Sure enough, he found his mother there, and she dropped the dish she was drying at the sight of him.
“Victor! My gods, I–”
“How dare you just barge in like–” his father fumed.
“Silence!” Vic yelled.
His mother gasped, and his father clenched his jaw, turning red with fury.
“You've said more than enough over the years,” Vic told them. “Telling me what an abomination I am. Telling me that what happened to Cam was all my fault. And then that gods-awful phone call, telling me you'd taken him off life-support yourself.” He paused, fighting not to completely lose his temper. “Now it's my turn to talk, and you're going to listen.”
Mother pressed a hand to her mouth, and Father stared him down, both of them blessedly silent.
Vic reached for Cam's bracelet again, clutching it in a tight fist as he took a deep breath. “Yes, what happened to Cam was my fault. If I'd just stayed home with him, or even taken him straight home when I realized he'd followed me to that club, the attack never would have happened. He would have grown up, and continued with school, and met a nice girl. Hells, he may have eventually even found some small way to finally make you proud,” he spat at his father.
The man scowled, but didn't say anything.
“But I turned my back on him, because I wanted just one night to myself,” Vic went on. “Just one night to be free while you were away. And Cam was taken because of it. I've been carrying the guilt of that every single moment for the past fifteen years. I've spent every day since then, trying to make up for it. Trying to help other kids in similar situations so that no one would ever have to suffer like he did ever again. I've made my life about trying to do the hard, painful work of finding lost kids or getting teenagers off the streets, all in an attempt to make up for my complete and utter failure with Cam.”
His father muttered something under his breath, and Vic shot him a look.
“And while you only ever visited Cam in the hospital the one time,” Vic went on, “when Dr. Garrison called you to tell you what had happened, and you came home early from your trip, and screamed at me in the middle of the hallway for letting Cam get hurt, I visited him every week. Sometimes more. I spent countless hours begging his forgiveness, begging him to wake up, promising him that I was going to do everything in my power to make sure he got to live his life again.” Vic paused, shaking his head. “But you never came. Not once. And I checked. Believe me, I did, checking and double-checking the visitors log every time I came in. I kept hoping I'd get to go in one day and tell Cam that his loving parents had been there to see him while he was sleeping, but you never showed. So, instead, I kept telling him you were probably just busy, and that, surely, you'd be there next time. But the days and weeks and years passed, and you never came. You abandoned your son.”
“Victor,” his mother cried.
“Until the day you pulled the plug,” Vic went on, ignoring her interruption. “Twelve years, he was in that hospital bed, all alone, and not once, in twelve years, did you go see him again, until the day you snuck in there like thieves in the night, knowing that I was out of town and couldn't stop you.” He glared at his parents in turn. “You took your own son off life-support and let him die.” Vic sucked in a breath, fury and grief clogging his throat. He swallowed hard, and said, “You let him die right when he was about to live again.”
His mother gasped, and his father blinked dumbly for a moment before he demanded, “What?”
Vic slowly inhaled through his nose while he clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to scream, and said, “Cam was going to live again. I'd been working with a team of doctors for several years, looking for any sort of treatment that might repair the damage to his brain and bring him out of the coma.”
His father scoffed. “Well, if any such treatment did exist, they would have done it–”
“That's just it,” Vic interrupted. “It didn't exist, but it does now, thanks to the research they did on Cam. They were weeks away from performing the operation, and if you had only talked to someone—me, or one of his doctors—you would have known that before you went and murdered him.”
“Don't be putting that on me,” his father fumed. “You can't be sure that it would have worked–”
“Well, it would have!” Vic yelled. “Four weeks after Cam died, they performed the surgery on a patient with a similar condition, and it worked. The patient woke up and lived.”
Father paled, and Mother choked out a sob. “Oh my gods…”
“But–” Father worked his mouth, failing to find a response.
“Cam would have lived if you'd only given him a chance!” Vic yelled at them, unable to contain his grief any longer. “We were so close! Twelve years of waiting and hoping, and we were so close, but you took that away from him. You took his life away. You took away his chance to live again, to walk and talk and breathe and learn and love. You took away everything. He couldn't even come with me today to face you because he still hates you so much for it.”
His mother's sobs stuttered while his father blinked dumbly at him. “He what?”
Vic almost blushed when he realized what he'd just blurted out, but he couldn't take it back now. Besides, his parents deserved to know just how much Cam was suffering because of them.
“Cam's a ghost,” he told them. “We've spent a lot of time over the past couple years, talking and healing. I've been helping him try to deal with it all, trying to give him therapy as best as I can. It's not enough, but it's something, and he's getting better every day. He's just not ready yet to face either of you.”
“Bullshit,” his father spat. “You've gone out of your mind.” The man barked a laugh. “Ghosts. My gods. Has your guilt really made you that insane?”
Vic glared at the man. “'Good riddance.'”
His father frowned. “What?”
“'Good riddance.' That's what you said after his heart stopped. You muttered those words under your breath so that Mom wouldn't hear, then patted Cam on the leg and walked out of the room.”
His father paled, then stumbled back and caught himself on the counter, chest heaving as he stared up at Vic. “How– When did– But how could you possibly know that?”
“Because Cam was there,” Vic told him. “The moment he died and left his body, his ghost was there in the room with you. Saw you standing over him. Saw Mom crying, and heard you say those words.”
“Oh my gods,” his mother sobbed, covering her face with both hands, then whirled on his father. “You said that about our son?”
“I–”
Vic watched his parents stare at one another, wondering if he should tell them the rest. Would Cam want to say it all himself someday? Then again, Vic needed to get it off his chest now, while he had the chance. This would be the last time he ever planned to see these people, so he was going to make it count.
Still, the memory of Cam telling him this part still sent a chill through him, almost able to hear his brother's voice as he pictured Cam stuck in that hospital bed.
Swallowing down the grief yet again, Vic said, “And he heard you, before you did it.” His voice was thick, so he cleared his throat, sniffed, and tried again. “Even in the coma, he heard you in the room, heard you talking about him. He was so relieved you'd finally come to see him, until he heard you talking about doing it quick before you got caught.”
“Oh gods,” his mother cried, hiding her face.
“And he screamed at you,” Vic said, unable to stop a few tears from racing down his cheeks. “He screamed and begged you not to do it. He didn't want to die. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he was powerless to stop you. He knew there was a treatment just weeks away, that he was going to live again, and that you were taking that chance away from him. He screamed at you to stop all the while you
were taking him off the machines.”
His mother wailed, and his father sank to the floor, holding his head in his hands.
“And I wasn't there to stop you,” Vic continued, dashing the tears away, only for more to show. “Once again, I failed to save my brother while he was lying there, helpless. And you killed him.”
Silence fell over the room, made heavier somehow by the soft sounds of his mother's sobs and his father's panted breaths.
Vic scrubbed his tears away and squared his shoulders. “Cam might come to you one day.” He sniffed, then continued, “And when he does, you're going to listen to every gods-damned word he has to say.” Vic paused, looking down at them, then turned and started to leave the room.
“Oh, is that all?” his father scoffed, the bully making a reappearance through his grief. “No other hate to throw at us?”
“Isn't that enough?” his mother cried, glaring at her husband for a moment and then hiding her face again as she continued sobbing.
Vic turned and looked back at his father. “Do you really want more?” he growled. “Because I could go on. I could tell you how terrified I was, growing up, knowing that you'd never accept me if and when I came out. I could tell you how exhausting it was, trying to always be perfect for you so that you'd stop berating Cam for all his health issues. I could say how frightened I was, at sixteen years old, being kicked out of the house at a moment's notice with nothing more than a bag of clothes and no way to support myself…But you know what? None of that matters,” he said, realizing their truth only at the moment the words came out of his mouth. “Not anymore. I've waited so many years to air my grievances with you, but my own don't matter. I only came here today for Cam's sake, so you could know just how much you hurt him, how you destroyed him by robbing him of another chance at life. Besides, all the things you did to me? I wouldn't change a thing. I have a good life, with work that I love, that makes a difference. And I have Cam's forgiveness.”
With that, Vic walked away and let himself out of the house, more weight dropping off his shoulders with every step he took. He never slowed. Never looked back. The battle was won, even if it was all in his own mind.
He got into his car, and before he could reach for the button to switch it on, he felt an invisible weight grab his arm and lean against his side.
“Hey,” Vic gasped, and reached out to hug Cam. “I thought you weren't coming. Are you alright?”
Cam nodded, then grabbed his notepad. I was in the car with you when you came over here.
“What? Why didn't you say anything?”
I knew this was gonna be hard for you. Didn't want to throw you off your game once you'd worked up the nerve to go in there. Cam paused. I don't know how you did it, Vic. How you walked in there. I'm not sure I can ever face them.
“That's fine, kiddo. That's completely up to you. You never have to see them again if you don't want to.”
It's just…I feel like I should, someday, you know? But I'm still not ready.
“Nothing wrong with that. You just take your time.”
Cam nodded against Vic's shoulder again. It was hard not to go in there. You guys were all thinking of me so hard, it was difficult to resist the pull.
“Shit.” Vic kissed the top of his head. “I didn't even think about that. I'm so sorry.”
It's alright. I managed to stay put. And I wanted to be here when you were done, to see how you were.
Vic blew out a breath. “It was rough,” he admitted. “But good. I feel…lighter now. Freer.”
Good. I'm so glad. Cam paused, tipping his head back for a moment, then wrote, You look better. Not quite so haunted. Cam paused again. Is that ironic, considering you have a ghost sitting beside you?
Vic barked a laugh, then threw his head back and let the laughter roll out of him. He felt Cam laughing along, and they let it all out together until Vic had a tear running down his cheek again. At least it was a tear of joy and relief that time. He wiped it away and shook his head.
“Alright, brat,” he said, chuckling again as he kissed Cam's hair and reached to switch on the car. “Let's go home.”
Cam drew a smiley face, then set his notepad aside and leaned against Vic the whole drive back.
Vic held his brother and smiled to himself, feeling even more weight leave him. Fifteen years of carrying the guilt for what had happened to Cam, and he was finally starting to feel like he could live with a little less of the burden. It would never be truly gone—he knew that—but he'd never be worthy of Colby if he didn't also face his demons.
His smile faded away as he realized there was one more thing he had to do.
Chapter 26
COLBY SCRAMBLED out of his nest when he heard the doorbell ring. He wasn't quite done with his task, but Treble were having another rehearsal that day, and there was no way he was going to miss it.
He rolled up the shades, the sudden daylight flooding in through the windows making him wince. Blinking rapidly, he waited for his eyes to adjust, then straightened the comforter back out, fussing with it until it was just right and the bed looked untouched, and left his room.
The sight of all those big men in the entryway made him pause and hold his breath for a second, until he remembered that they were all nice and safe and that being around them meant he'd get to hear their music again.
Vic had said it would take time for him to stop reacting with fear whenever he was around other people. A part of him wished it could just happen, wished it could all be over, but he knew that couldn't be. The more he talked to Vic—and Cam, for that matter—and learned just how long it could take to get over a trauma, the more he understood that the journey was unpredictable, but at least he was making progress. A few, tense moments were so much better than running away to hide in the dark.
Slowly but surely, things were getting better.
Colby even surprised himself by smiling as the others greeted him. The sight of Zac's collar was still unsettling, but the more he watched Zac and Adrian interact, the more he saw just how connected they were. The same with Ryley and Asher. The depth of feeling in the couples was almost a tangible thing.
He envied that.
Colby glanced at Vic, seeing the smile on the man's face as he got settled on the couch with his cello. The sight made his heart beat faster. He loved seeing Vic so happy.
Curling up in the rocking chair with Sharma sitting on the floor beside him, Colby watched Treble play, eyes darting from one instrument to another. It was all so beautiful. Like the gardens in the backyard were beautiful. If those gardens could have been turned into music, it would have sounded just like what Treble played.
“Alright!” Zac said when one piece came to an end. He and Ryley had been playing off one another, almost seeming to playfully fight as they faced one another in the middle of the room. “I think we're ready.”
Ryley grinned, and Vic gave a nod as he smiled.
Colby looked around, wondering what they meant.
“We're gonna be doing some shows,” Vic explained to him, and nodded at Asher. “Asher's uncle got us a regular gig at one of his places, so we'll get to start playing in public again.”
“Oh,” Colby said, though he wasn't quite sure what all that meant.
“You could come watch,” Ryley suggested with a beaming smile, then his expression slowly sobered. “Though, it'll be crowded…”
Colby tensed. Being out of the house and around a lot of strangers? Even to hear Treble play, he wasn't sure if he was ready for that. Watching them in the house, with just the six of them in the living room, was difficult enough. Getting easier, but still difficult. He couldn't imagine anything bigger.
But he was getting better.
“Maybe someday?” he asked, looking at Vic.
Vic smiled at him. “Yeah. Someday. When you're ready.”
“We'd love to have you there,” Zac said, and Ryley nodded along.
“And,” Asher added, “Adrian and I would be right there with you, s
o you wouldn't be alone. We could all go together.”
Adrian gave a shy nod of agreement.
Colby blushed and ducked his head, feeling all of them watching him. Sharma tried to crawl into his lap, clearly sensing that he needed the comfort, but the dog was too big and only managed to get his front legs draped across him. Colby sank his fingers into Sharma's fur and looked at Vic. The big man was smiling softly at him.
“Someday,” he whispered, making it a promise to both Vic and himself.
Vic grinned, and the sight eased something in Colby's chest.
When practice was over, Colby saw a tense look come over Vic's face, and the man pulled Ryley aside while the others packed up their things.
“Is there some time this week that we could meet?” Vic asked quietly.
“Yeah, of course, babe,” Ryley said. “What's going on?”
“I can't talk about it here,” he said, nodding significantly at the others. “And it's not something I want to say over the phone.”
Ryley frowned. “Now you've got me worried.”
“No, no, it's not bad. Well, it is, but…” Vic huffed out a breath. “There's something I need to tell you, and you deserve to hear it in person.”
Ryley's eyebrows went up. “Alright,” he said, dragging out the word. “How about we meet for lunch tomorrow? Our old place?”
Vic gave a sharp nod. “Yeah. That works. Thanks, Ry.”
“Of course, babe.” He reached out and rubbed Vic's arm. “Whatever it is, it's gonna be alright.”
“Gods, I hope so,” Vic muttered.
Colby frowned, watching Vic as he said goodbye to his friends and shut the front door. Vic wandered back over to the living room and put his cello away.
“Vic?”
Vic looked up from fastening the last clasp on the cello case. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
Colby nudged Sharma aside and stood, fidgeting beside the rocking chair. Vic gave him a smile and sat in his place, drawing Colby onto his lap. Vic held him close, and Colby let out a sigh.
