by Sarina Bowen
I stay quiet, because I’m terrified he’ll stop talking if I say something. This is the first time he’s spoken at length about his family. No, about his feelings. Luke Bailey doesn’t share.
“But I get that it’s hard. When I give her an inch, Mom still uses me shamelessly,” he says gruffly. “She always has. Joe was her favorite, but we all knew that kid was going nowhere. Me, on the other hand—I was smart, ambitious, motivated. I was working two jobs by the time I was fifteen. She knew which son was going to be her meal ticket, and she used every trick in the book to guilt me into giving her whatever she wanted.”
I raise a hand to cover his on my shoulder. I caress his hand, and he traps mine there with his thumb.
“So yeah,” he finishes. “It’s not easy. But I’m really trying not to enable her anymore. And that’s what you’re doing with your dad—you let him get away with his bad behavior, and as long as you keep letting shit slide, he’ll keep doing it.”
I gulp down the lump in my throat. “So what do you suggest I say? Because I’ve tried asking him to back off, and it hasn’t worked.”
Luke kisses the back of my neck. “Yeah, you’ve asked. And what I’m telling you to do is tell him. This is your life, not his. He doesn’t get a say in what you choose to do with it. That means you can’t let him bully you into stuff anymore—running for frat president, this finance internship that—no offense—you are going to suck at.”
“No offense taken,” I mutter. “I hate business, and I particularly hate finance.”
“Exactly, and you need to be firm about that. Draw your line in the sand, babe. When we get back to school, you need to phone him up and say, ‘Dad, this is how it is. I’m not interning at your company this summer. I’m going to Chile to play with Shamu—’”
I snicker. And I wonder if he realizes he just called me babe. But I don’t mention it, because it’d probably send him into a panic again.
“‘Furthermore, if you keep snooping around in my bank accounts and making judgments about my purchases, I’m going to apply for another credit card that you don’t have access to. Also, I am not back together with Annika. I’m bisexual and I’m spending the weekend with a guy. In fact, I’m about to suck him off.’”
I curl over in a wave of laughter. “Oh, is that so?” I demand between chuckles. “You’re about to get sucked off?”
Abandoning the massage, Luke twists me around so we’re facing each other. The combination of heat and tenderness on his face makes me shiver. “Come here, Keaton.”
Keaton. He usually calls me Hayworth, and it always sounds like he’s keeping his distance. But not today.
“I’m waiting.” He crooks his finger.
So I move, pushing him down on the bed like an overeager puppy. “You got something you need to say?”
“Yeah.” His voice is husky. “You’re pretty great. That’s all. Now forget about your pushy old man and kiss me.”
My Best Idea Ever
Keaton
“Fourth gear is huge, did you notice that?” I ask, leaning back in the passenger’s seat. Luke asked if he could drive home, and I was all too happy to say yes.
I’m just plain happy. Last night was everything.
The concert was a good time. We’d stood there at the foot of the stage, dancing, Luke’s hands on my hips. And naturally when we got back to the hotel, I was ready to give the king-sized bed another workout.
“Are you sore?” Luke had asked me between kisses.
“Kind of,” I’d admitted. We’d been crazy men the night before. “But athletes don’t complain about pain.”
“Sure, but…” He’d popped the button on his own jeans. “Maybe you’d better fuck me, then.”
He’d said it just like that. Like we were deciding between the stuffed mushrooms and the chicken wings on the appetizers menu. But I didn’t question it. I’m not a stupid man. A half hour later I’d had him gripping the headboard and moaning my name.
Getting out of town was my best idea since throwing a winter beach party. My best idea ever.
“Yeah, fourth gear has lots of torque,” Luke agrees, downshifting to make a lane change just for fun. “And it feels like fifth is just for cruising.”
“Uh-huh.” The sun is warm on my face, so I close my eyes. “I’ve never dated anyone who wanted to discuss my manual transmission before.”
I realize my mistake the second I make it. “You know what I mean,” I mumble.
He’s quiet for a second. “No, I do. We are heading in that direction, Keaton. I get it now.”
I’m so surprised that I actually stop breathing.
“No sense in me arguing the point. I just hope you know you’ve got an amateur on your hands, here. I’ll probably do everything wrong.”
“I’m not worried,” I say quickly.
“Really? You should be. People are going to notice how much time we spend together. What are we going to say?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” I admit. “I’m an amateur, too. At this. Can’t we sort that part out on our own time?”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “As long as there aren’t any leaks on our top-secret security team. Like Tanner grabbing your phone and opening up the wrong app…”
I snort. “I have that sucker well hidden. But there will probably be a point in the future when you feel less like it matters, right? This semester ends in just a few weeks. Next year you’ll already be president…”
Now I’ve done it again. I’ve assumed that we’ll be together next year.
“Suppose it won’t be as big a deal,” Luke concedes. “Eventually.”
We lapse into silence again, but my whole outlook has changed this weekend. All my patience has paid off.
Luke Bailey acknowledges that we’re a couple? Pinch me.
When I woke up this morning, Luke was sleeping curled up against my back, his arm wrapped around me. It was so peaceful that I held still as long as I could, just to make it last. And when he finally woke up, he didn’t untangle himself right away. He kissed me between the shoulder blades instead.
I want that again. And I like it a whole lot. I’ve always known that coupledom felt right to me. The part I didn’t understand is that it works even better for me when that other half is a man.
Here’s the part I haven’t told anyone—even Luke. I’m starting to wonder if bisexual is even the right label for me. Lately my sexuality is tilted further toward men than women. Lately I notice men everywhere. It’s as if I took my blinders off and started seeing everyone differently. The shapely biceps, quads, and glutes of the men of Darby, Connecticut are everywhere suddenly. Which is weird, because I’ve been surrounded by athletes my whole life.
Before, though, I might be admiring a guy at the squat rack thinking, nice form. These days I just think...nice.
“You’re thinking pretty hard over there,” Luke says as he passes a Toyota.
“It’s all good. I’m well-fed. The sun is out.”
“You’re feeling the warm glow of sexual satisfaction,” he says and then snickers. “But all vacations end, Hayworth. The minute we pull into town, you’ll have to pull a poker face when everyone asks where you’ve been.”
“So what if I do? I just wanted to spend some time with you. And I’m going to keep on doing that. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”
“Yeah, okay.” He clears his throat. “Sounds good to me.”
I chuckle, because the discomfort in his voice is so hard to miss.
“Go ahead and laugh,” he says. “But I am trying.”
“I know you are.” I reach over the console and squeeze his hand.
He squeezes mine back.
It’s all fun and games until we get back to town. There’s no parking on College Street as we approach the Alpha Delt house. “Sometimes I find a spot over on Elm,” I suggest.
He’s coasting down the street at maybe fifteen miles an hour. But even if Luke were driving faster, there’d be no way we’d miss a
ll our housemates in the front yard, or the cop car double parked out front with its lights on.
“Holy shit,” Luke says. “What do you think happened?”
“I have no idea. There’s no ambulance, at least. Pull up behind the cops.”
He does. And I open the door and step out.
“Hayworth!” Judd calls. He comes walking toward me. “Have you seen Bailey?”
Instinct makes me turn to look at the car. Luke is already standing, his gaze taking everything in.
“Why?” I croak. Because I sure have seen Bailey. All weekend. Everyone is staring at us now.
Did I fuck this up already?
Two cops come walking toward us. “One of you Luke Bailey?”
“I am,” Luke says, his voice wary. “Why?”
“Step away from the car.”
Luke closes my car door and tosses me the keys. His face is already white.
“Whose vehicle is this?”
“Mine,” I say immediately.
But they aren’t even glancing in my direction. “Luke Bailey, please put your hands on the hood of the car. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right—”
“What is this about?” Luke growls.
“Hands on the car!”
His hands land on the hood immediately.
“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
“Yes,” Luke says. “But…”
The next sound I hear is the click of handcuffs on my boyfriend’s wrists.
“Holy shit,” Judd says. “They’re throwing Bailey in the pokey.”
I Can’t Breathe
Luke
I’m in the back of a cop car, and I can’t breathe.
Keaton just watched the cops handcuff me. My entire fraternity just watched them push me into the car. There’s a fucking cage between me and the guy in the front seat. I don’t even know where they’re taking me.
All I know is I have never been afraid like I am right now.
My breath is coming too fast, in rapid puffs. But I still can’t get enough air. Like I’m drowning back here. “Can you... open the window?” I gasp. “I can’t breathe.”
“You’re breathing just fine,” says the cop in the passenger seat.
“No I…” Alarm races through me. “I feel dizzy.”
“You’re just hyperventilating,” says the driver. “Breathe through your nose.”
Hyperventilating? I thought that was a joke for TV sitcoms. I clamp my lips together and breathe through my nose. But it feels horrible. Like I’m suffocating. And my arms are trapped behind me, awkward and useless.
What the hell is happening?
Forty minutes later, my breathing is back to normal. But everything else is still chaos. The police take my wallet out of my pocket and use my ID to enter me into their systems. “What’s the charge?” I ask.
“Burglary.”
“What? Of what?”
“Where’s your school ID?” one of the cops asks.
“On a lanyard... In my room?” I guess. “It’s not a law that I have to carry it.” My bravado is thin. “I didn’t steal anything. Why am I here?”
They don’t answer. And then I’m walked through the humiliating procedure of being fingerprinted. At least the handcuffs are off.
They take a mug shot. I stand in front of that thing that shows your height. And I turn to the side when they ask me to.
I want to die the whole time.
“Why am I even here?” I keep asking. But nobody will explain. My mind whirls through the possibilities. There aren’t many.
This has to do with Joe. I’m sure of it, even if I can’t guess how.
Finally someone shows me into an interview room. It’s barely larger than a closet.
“Now will you tell me why I’m here?” I ask.
“You’re going to do the telling, and I’m going to do the asking,” the cop says. He has a salt-and-pepper flat top and no neck.
“Okay, ask me questions,” I grunt. Maybe I’ll learn something.
“Which campus buildings does your student ID open?”
His first query startles me and tells me nothing. “Well, lots of them. The gym. The library. Classroom buildings. Just like anyone’s ID.” My mind races. What could he be getting at?
“And where is your ID right now?”
“It’s... I have no idea. Probably on my desk? I haven’t needed it since Friday.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone is disbelieving. “Do you have a Red Sox cap?”
“Sure. Like half the people in New England.”
“What color?”
“Uh, black with a red logo on the front. I don’t wear it often, though. Only on a really bad hair day.”
“Was yesterday a really bad hair day?”
“Not at all.”
He opens a folder and pulls out a single sheet of paper. It’s a poorly rendered photo of a guy holding something in front of his body. You can’t even see his face, but he’s wearing a Sox cap that looks a lot like mine.
“Who is this?”
“That’s you, wise guy. This shot is from yesterday. They have security cameras in the computer lab. Sorry if you didn’t notice that before.”
I blink at the picture. It might be my brother? This picture sucks. “I was nowhere near here yesterday,” I say, unwilling to guess at why they think this is me.
“Yeah? Your ID logged into the system three times. Once in the Vanderbilt Library and twice in the business school.”
“Oh Jesus.” Now I understand. “Look, my brother broke into my room on Friday. I thought he only took cash. He obviously has my ID. I’d bet money on it.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah. Joe Bailey. I only have one brother.” I’m rambling now, but my brain is busy piecing it all together. He took my ID, and he used it to wander around campus looking for computers. He went to the library first, but that space was too public.
The business school would have been quieter on the weekend.
“You say he broke in to your room? At the frat house?”
“Yeah, he picked the lock on my bedroom door. I thought he only cleaned out my cash. I didn’t notice the ID. Or the hat. Actually, I think he has the same hat.”
The cop scowls. “You were stolen from, and you didn’t report it?”
My heart sinks. “It was just some cash. And he thinks he has a right to my stuff. I was relieved he didn’t pick off anything that belonged to someone else. And what would even be the point of reporting him? My mother takes cash off me every chance she gets.” I hate everything I’m saying. It sounds awful. Who would believe me if I come from a family like that?
“But this is you,” the cop says, sliding the photo toward me.
“No it isn’t.” I jab a finger at the photo. “And I didn’t take whatever he’s holding. It was the computer lab, you say?”
“Did I? I don’t remember.”
“Oh, please.” His tone is infuriating. “I’m not taking the blame for this. Joe isn’t the sharpest guy. If you pick him up he’ll still have whatever he took. He’s the reason I don’t live at home anymore.”
“You’re throwing your own brother under the bus for this?”
“Yes!” Although it sounds awful. Like we’re all a bunch of crooks. “Yes,” I say anyway. “Because he clearly intended to do the same to me.”
The cop scratches his head. “So, someone steals your cash and your ID. And you don’t worry about why, huh? Oops!” He throws up his hands. “Seems kind of convenient, that’s all.”
“No! I didn’t realize the ID was even gone. I was headed out of town.”
“Where?”
“Um…” Fuck. What the hell can I even say to that?
“You’re the smart brother, right? The college student? You tell your brother that you’re headed
out of town. You also tell him where to find your ID.”
“No! It’s not like that.”
“Where’d you go out of town, anyway?”
“I…” I am so fucked.
“Did you go with anyone else? Did you stay in a hotel? Did you use a credit card, or your EZPass?”
If only I had used a credit card. But of course Keaton paid for everything. And there’s no way I can drag Keaton Hayworth III into this.
It turns out I’m not the smart brother at all.
“I need a lawyer,” I say slowly. I should have said that right away.
“Are you sure? That just looks guilty. If you were out of town, that’s easy to prove, right? We can sort this out like men.”
“Like men.” I sigh. Yeah, I’m never telling him how I spent my weekend. “No, I need a lawyer to untangle this bullshit theory of yours.”
“You got someone to call?”
And that’s the big question in my life, right? I don’t know any lawyers or how to find one in a hurry. Calling home is out of the question. Mom is no help and Joe wants me to go to jail for him.
Keaton, though. He’d know exactly who to call. But I won’t drag him into this.
“How do you get a public defender?” I ask the cop.
“Be prepared to wait,” he says. “I’ll let ’em know.”
He heaves himself out of his chair and stomps out of the room.
I hear the lock click into place as he leaves me behind.
My Brain is Full of Static
Keaton
I always thought of myself as the kind of guy who keeps his head and who knows what to do in an emergency. Once, I rescued a drowning couple from the ocean, and everyone praised my cool demeanor and quick thinking.
Well, that’s gone now. My brain is full of static. My ability to think has fled the room. And it’s all because of the look on Luke’s face as the cop pushed him into the back of the patrol car.
