For New Year’s, Giles and Aaron headed to Walter and Kelly’s place in Minneapolis. Giles was glad to escape Oak Grove and get back to civilization.
Civilized it was—though Walter had offered to take them clubbing, they’d opted instead for a dinner made by Kelly followed by chatting in the living room, sharing stories about college and life. Walter and Kelly talked about their upcoming wedding. Walter’s family had the money, but Kelly wanted to get married in his home church. Apparently Walter’s mother was passive-aggressive and manic-depressive, and Walter spent a lot of time herding her out of the way.
Giles made a mental note to treat his busybody but loving mother a bit better when she fussed around the edges of his life. Clearly she wasn’t half as awful as she could be.
“I loved the a cappella singers,” Kelly said around a mouthful of popcorn. “I wish we could have them at the wedding.”
“Salvo is serious about looking for gigs,” Giles said. “I could set you up. Aaron can speak better for the Ambassadors, but I suspect they’re more of the same.”
“Oh, totally.” Aaron was clearly excited by the idea.
Kelly practically melted on the couch, torn between being moved and seriously fucking excited, and Walter’s gratitude was almost carnal.
Giles pulled Aaron closer to him. “Send us the date and the details, and we’ll get back to you.”
That night was fun, but the next day they headed to their respective homes. Giles began counting the days until their return to Saint Timothy, not because of his family or Aaron’s, not even because he’d go back an official music therapy major.
He wanted to go back because he was so goddamn tired of watching over his shoulder every time they went out in public.
A few times Giles had taken Aaron out on real dates—dinner, a movie or both. All too often they ran into people from A-H. Giles’s friends seemed surprised but happy for him. The random people who knew neither of them well rode the middle, not saying anything but tending to stare.
Aaron’s “friends” were asshats.
They’d start over to tell Aaron hello, only to stop and give puzzled glances instead, as if seeing Aaron and Giles together altered the fabric of their world and they didn’t like it. The shame-and-blames looked ready to have heart attacks.
Giles began to watch over his shoulder past every shadow, and if he and Aaron stayed out too late, he panicked all the way to the car.
Aaron was not amused.
“Giles—what is wrong with you?” Aaron chose to voice this complaint in the middle of the AMC Showplace 16 parking lot.
“Can we please have this argument in the car?”
“No.” Aaron folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me what’s going on. If you’re going to give me a complex, I want to know why.”
So many fucking shadows. Giles’s chest went taut. “Aaron, please. I’ll tell you in the fucking car.”
“Giles, what the hell is wrong?”
A shadow shifted. Grabbing Aaron with a yelp, Giles fumbled with his keys, his heart in his throat.
An elderly man shuffled away from a Buick, casting a curious glance over his shoulder. Giles let out a ragged, hollow sigh.
Aaron stepped in front of him, no longer angry, only concerned. “Giles?”
Fear, despair, rage swirled in a terrible cocktail—and broke Giles. “What’s wrong? They’re going to hurt us. They know you’re gay, and so am I, and we’re openly dating. Throwing it in their faces. They’re going to hurt one or both of us, and I can’t stop it.”
“Nobody is going to hurt us, Giles—”
“They already have.”
Self-preservation roused, trying to muzzle him, but Giles was too scared, too hurt, too angry. He closed the distance between them, lifted the long flap of hair by his ear, pushing it back to reveal his now-faded three-inch scar where hair wouldn’t grow.
“Seventh grade. Ten stitches, trip to the ER, concussion.” He pulled his lip up and pointed to his row of implants on the top left of his mouth before removing his finger to speak. “Tenth grade. I had to wear a partial until my mouth healed enough for them to put the permanent fake teeth in. I don’t have anything left of the broken arm or hand, but if you look close when I play the violin, you can see the way the ring finger of my left hand bends funny. That’s when my mom went to the school board and showed them the video she’d taken in the hospital of me crying after the operation. She hired a lawyer and served them the legal bills and threatened to call the ACLU. They settled quietly out of court. Mom used the money to pay for college and buy me Henrietta.”
Aaron stared at him, stunned into immobility.
Tears burned Giles’s eyes, and he blinked them away as he turned his head. “I can’t stop them if they come for us. They hunt in packs, like dogs. They don’t just call you fag. They take bats to your face. Don’t give me crap about what they think not mattering, because it matters when they try to kill you.” The tears got the better of Giles, and he had to wipe his nose with his sleeve. “If they hurt you, I’d lose my mind. I’d rather get beatings every day for the rest of my life before I let them get you. I know from experience I don’t have a prayer of holding them back.”
When Aaron took him into his arms, Giles jumped, so keyed up now he was spring-loaded. Aaron made shushing noises and drew him in close. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Giles.”
“Fourteen hundred hate crimes involving sexual orientation were reported in 2012. Over half of those instances were gay men. No other group comes close. And that’s only what was reported.”
“Over three million people live in the Twin Cities alone. Even if all those hate crimes happened in Minneapolis-Saint Paul, your odds of escaping that fate are amazingly good.”
Giles dug his fingers into Aaron’s jacket. “I’ve seen how they look at us, at you—”
“You don’t behave this way at Saint Timothy. You don’t freak out if we stay in the music building past nine at night, and I’ve seen you come from the parking lot with nothing but shadows around. You do get there’s nothing protecting you more there than here, right? Maybe there are a few more people here who want to use you to live out their own idiocy, but you take precautions. You make yourself aware. You don’t, though, let them rule your life.”
Intellectually Giles understood what Aaron said, but emotionally he couldn’t let go. “What about Colton? Has he found out yet? He’ll be pissed. He was the worst, always, he—”
“I don’t give a shit about Colton. I assume he’s heard by now, which is perfect. I’d love to never hear from him again.”
“But he’ll demand a confrontation—”
“If Colton finds who I want to fuck so interesting, I’ll explain the prostate to him.” When Giles tried to ramp back up, Aaron stopped him with a soft kiss. “You’re not fifteen anymore, trapped in A-Hell, and neither are they. It’s over. You survived. You won. You can stand down.”
Giles collapsed against the car, into Aaron as he pulled him close. “That’s…what my mom says. I’m dangerous because I survived, because now I know they can’t beat me that way.”
“Your mom is smart.”
Yes, but sometimes it still hurts. Giles swallowed hard and exhaled a shuddering breath.
Aaron kissed his way down the side of Giles’s face. “Let’s go to your house. I want to explore this prostate some more. Take notes in case Colton calls.” When Giles laughed and slid his hands around Aaron’s ass, Aaron spread his legs and closed them over Giles’s knee. “Maybe we should leave him a voicemail.”
This time Giles’s laugh caught at the edge of his throat. I love you so much.
He couldn’t speak, though, so he told Aaron with his kiss.
Chapter Twenty
Saint Timothy was on what they called a 4-1-4 plan: four courses in the fall, one course during the J-term in January, and then a
nother four courses from February until May. When Aaron’s dad had signed up his courses, his J-term class had been Principles of Sociology, with a half course clerking Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons at a local law firm.
Now, though Aaron had yet to formally declare music performance, he took the sophomore-level conducting course, and as a member of Ambassadors his half course was intensive ICCA competition rehearsal. He audited a similar one for Salvo, so he basically had two full courses. The conducting course was brutal, and the rehearsal schedule for the a cappella groups was five times more intensive than any clerking position would have been. Though they couldn’t perform with Salvo for ICCA, Giles and Aaron arranged all the numbers and helped with every rehearsal. Damien pushed them to not only make the notes ring out but to perform, milking the audience for everything he could get out of them.
Most nights Aaron fell into his bed, sleeping like the dead until his alarm told him it was time for him to go to his conducting class. Aaron was having the time of his life.
His roommate? Not so much.
Something serious must have gone down over break, because Elijah wasn’t simply jumpy and moody now. He looked sick. He’d taken up smoking, for one—never in the room, but he reeked of it whenever Aaron passed him. He’d always been thin, but now he was gaunt and shaky, and he dropped things a lot. His parents appeared every Friday afternoon like clockwork, and their disdain for their son was even more open now.
Aaron continued to keep his gay quiet when the Princes were around, but the glances they gave him made it clear they knew all about him. Emily and Reece gave him similar glares. They too were constantly underfoot, and when they left, Elijah usually curled up in his bed, looking like someone had raked him naked over spikes but somehow sealed all the wounds.
Elijah didn’t acknowledge Aaron had spoken whenever he asked what was wrong, and Aaron found every reason possible not to be in the room, because simply being there was uncomfortable.
One day Elijah came home when Aaron was there with Giles, and things went from uncomfortable to painfully intense.
By and large Giles had no reason to come to Aaron’s room—if they wanted to hang out, they met at Giles and Brian’s dorm. That day, however, Aaron had a killer assignment, and despite Giles’s insistence that they had four computers in their room, Aaron wanted his own laptop and the notes he’d left on his desk. Giles came with him. They were on their way out when Elijah came home.
Elijah took one look at Giles and backed up into the hall, pale as a sheet. When Aaron turned to Giles to see what the hell that was about, he found his boyfriend mirroring his roommate’s expression.
Aaron was utterly confused. “What the hell is going on here?”
Neither one of them spoke. Elijah looked rougher than usual—still pale, still shaky, still smelling of smoke. He had red-rimmed eyes and gripped the strap of his backpack on his shoulder as if it were the lifeline holding him to earth. He seemed…hurt.
Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the familiar snarky-nasty turned on. “Giles. You never call. You never write.”
Eyes wide, Aaron turned to his boyfriend, who stared up at the ceiling.
What the actual fuck.
With a smirk, Elijah crossed to his desk, patting Aaron on the shoulder as he passed. “You boys go have fun. Don’t play in the street, always use condoms.”
Aaron grabbed Giles’s arm and dragged him into the hall.
As soon as Aaron shut the door, Giles started talking at ninety miles an hour. “Aaron—it was a long time ago, and it was weird and I never did it again—”
“Wait—what?” Eyes wide, Aaron stared at the door to his room with new eyes. “Are you fucking telling me—Elijah?”
Giles looked ready to cry. “It was a bad night—you were off with Baz, I knew you were fucking him, and it made me crazy—”
Aaron clamped a hand over Giles’s mouth, his heart flipping over in a soft, fuzzy way. “Stop. When I was with Baz? You… Me being with Baz made you crazy?”
“It was me jealous, that’s all. I thought of you the whole time.”
The hall was full of guys, some of them bruisers, but Aaron didn’t care. He pressed a hard, euphoric kiss on Giles’s mouth. Taking his hand, Aaron led him to the alcove under the stairs where he usually called Walter.
Giles babbled the entire way. “I had no idea he was your roommate. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Aaron led Giles to the floor, sat across from him and took his hands in his own. “I’m not angry. Okay? I promise.”
Giles let out a shaky breath.
Aaron stroked the back of Giles’s hands with his thumbs. “I’m surprised, is all. I was never entirely sure Elijah was gay.”
“Trust me. He’s gay.” Giles pulled a hand back to run it through his hair. “I met him on Grindr. He basically used it as his pimp.” Giles blushed hotly. “He…charged me. I paid him for sex.”
Aaron’s eyes about bugged out of his head. “You what?”
“I’m not proud of it, but I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t want to tell you one thing and have him tell you something else. I was really low. I’d wanted to talk to you at homecoming, but I couldn’t get to you before Baz. I got all kinds of depressed when you were dating.”
Oh, Giles. “We never dated.”
“You sure looked like you did. It made me nuts. I hadn’t cruised in a long time, kind of…hoping, but that night I couldn’t take it. I met Elijah online—he used a different name, but it was him. Brian was out, so I took Elijah to my room. He blew me, we frotted. I gave him a twenty. He told me to call him again, but I never did because it felt lousy after. And during, to be honest.”
“It’s okay. Seriously—it’s okay.” Aaron shook his head. “Bible beater by day, gigolo by night. Now chain-smoker.”
“He looks…kind of bad. Has he been sick?”
Aaron threw up his hands. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t so much as smile at him without getting my head bitten off. I’ll be the last person to ever know what’s wrong in his life.”
“You’re really not mad?”
“Really not mad.” Aaron brushed a kiss on Giles’s lips. “Also, since we’re playing confessional—I had sex one time with Baz. And it was as awful as your night with Elijah.”
Giles looked hopeful—but doubtful. “Come on. Once?” A smile played at the edge of his lips. “Awful—seriously?”
“Yes. Once, and it was horrible. It told me everything I needed to know, and I got out.” Aaron rose to his feet, pulling Giles up with him. “Forget Baz, and forget Elijah. I have a conducting assignment to do.” He winced. “Except, shit. I forgot my laptop in my room.”
“I told you. We have plenty of computers.” Giles tugged him toward the stairs. “Let’s go get your homework done so we can have make-up sex.”
Aaron let himself be led away, but as they crossed the common he glanced back at his dorm.
No, he’d never understand his roommate, and he had no delusion they’d ever be anything remotely like friends. But sometimes Aaron worried about him.
By the middle of January, Salvo was on track to be as popular if not more so than the Ambassadors.
Already girls were asking when the tryouts for the fall would be, and they went out of their way to be nice to Giles, ready to grease the palm of one of the student managers. But it wasn’t only Salvo and the wannabe Salvo members changing their tune about him. The whole music department regarded Giles and Aaron as the next dynamic music duo, and he enjoyed celebrity status wherever he went, a kind of elevation well beyond what he’d envied in Aaron and the Ambassadors at the beginning of the year. Somehow over the course of two months, his life had radically altered, and while it was good, it had come way too fast. Giles wasn’t sure he’d ever catch up with himself.
The Ambassadors also welcomed
Giles. Some of that was bleed from being Aaron’s boyfriend, but some of it was because they’d made it clear to the whole college, especially the regents, they considered Salvo their fully equal sister organization.
As a manager for Salvo, Giles got swept in what briefly became an intense political standoff. Though Salvo had been entered in the ICCA quarterfinals along with the Ambassadors, the regents didn’t approve funding for their travel expenses as they always did for the Ambassadors. The Ambassadors declared, upon hearing this, they wouldn’t attend quarterfinals. As they’d come within spitting distance of winning the finals the year before, and this before Aaron and his golden pipes had appeared on the scene, the regents, who used all things Ambassador to raise money, balked. But the Ambassadors wouldn’t budge, not until Salvo’s full funding, all the way to finals if appropriate, was approved.
The regents caved. Now, in addition to the fame he’d already experienced, Giles was one of the nearly martyred folk heroes. He had to leave an extra ten minutes before anything just to allow for the people who would stop him in the hall to talk to him. Sometimes they invited him to parties. Sometimes they asked him questions—some of those were legit, some were clearly invented so they could talk to him.
Nothing like this had ever happened to Giles before in his life. It weirded him the hell out.
He complained to Brian.
“I don’t get it. What do they think talking to me is going to change? If I were cute, that’d be different.”
Brian shrugged. “You’re successful. People always assume success is a virus. They’re trying to catch it from you.”
“Yes, but they act like my leper sores have all fallen away and we’re all pretending I never had them. I remember them. They’re still there in my head.”
“Beauty is in everything. They’ve finally seen yours. Accept it. Embrace it.” Brian swatted him playfully on the leg. “Stop putting yourself down. Just because dick doesn’t do it for me doesn’t mean I can’t understand why Aaron digs you.”
Fever Pitch Page 22
