What You Own

by A. M. Arthur

  “Yeah,” I said, almost growling the word.

  Bobby leaned down and whispered something in William’s ear. William nodded solemnly, then clapped Tommy’s shoulder. “What do you say you and me go check out the food table?”

  “Yes!” Tommy said.

  The pair moved into the crowd, leaving Bobby uncomfortably close to us in the crowded lobby. Adam stayed behind my arm, stiff and quiet. I didn’t try not to glare at Bobby. I had too much hate in my gut for him and his old pals.

  “I know this isn’t the time or place, but I may never get another chance,” Bobby said softly, hard to hear over the other chatter. His eyes glittered, like he was actually upset or something. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I repeated, and the word tasted bad.

  “More than I can ever say. I won’t try to explain, because it’ll sound like excuses, and I don’t have any good ones. Alcohol, peer pressure, you name it. But what I did to you—what I helped do—was wrong.”

  “You mean what you got away with.”

  Bobby flinched. “Yeah.” He looked ashamed, and I didn’t much care. He could rot.

  “How long have you known?” Adam asked, his voice all quiet and curious.

  “That I’m gay?” Bobby said. “I think I suspected in high school, but didn’t really know until freshman year of college. That’s when I met William.”

  “Does he know?”

  “About my part in the bashing? I told him. We had a big fight, almost broke up, but we worked through it.”

  “Good for you,” I said with a heaping helping of sarcasm on top.

  Adam nudged me in the ribs, which was annoying, because I didn’t owe Bobby anything. Not politeness and sure as shit not forgiveness.

  Bobby gave me a long, sad look that I didn’t like. “Anyway, I won’t take up your time. I just needed to say I’m sorry. So sorry. Especially to you, Ryan. If anyone did something like that to William, I would run them down with my truck.”

  My heart fluttered, and my stomach soured. I willed him to stop talking, but something told me he’d said too much. Adam was looking at me sideways, mouth flat, eyebrows pressed in that deep V he got when he was thinking hard. “Thank you for the apology,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it. He was not forgiven, and I just wanted Bobby to go away.

  “Yes, thank you,” Adam said.

  Bobby didn’t add more or try to shake our hands. He slipped away, and I wanted to shake myself off like a dog does when it’s wet, to get the feeling of Bobby off me. To get rid of the phantom aches in my ribs, the pain in my wrist, the stabs of gravel under my knees. My insides turned to jelly, and this was a really bad time for an anxiety attack.

  Adam figured out the problem pretty fast. He took my hand and wound a path to the private hallway, right down to the empty office next to Lou’s. He shut the door behind us, then wrapped his arms around me, breathing hard himself. I held him tight, needing to feel him—his heartbeat, his warmth, everything, alive and safe. Not bleeding and unconscious in an alley.

  I took deep breaths, trying to calm my galloping heart. It was racing like a spooked horse, and I wasn’t much different than one. Seeing Bobby dragged up everything I didn’t want to think about until after tonight’s performances, and now it was on Adam’s mind too. Dammit.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Adam said.

  The comment surprised a bark of laughter outta me. “No kidding. Tommy’s been comin’ here for over a year, and I never knew he had a gay uncle.” That was stupid. I had no reason to know such a thing.

  Adam seemed to know what I meant. “Small world.”

  “Guess so.”

  He pulled back far enough to look at me. I couldn’t seem to look up farther than his chin. “Rye, why do I get the feeling that Bobby was apologizing to you for something I don’t know about?”

  Aw hell. “Because he was.”

  Adam tensed. He didn’t pull away, though. “Tell me.”

  “I was gonna tell you about it after the show tonight, I swear. I don’t want no more secrets, hoss, not between us.”

  “Did you leave out something about the night of the bashing?”

  How did he do that? “Yeah. When I told you about it, I sorta skipped somethin’.”

  His hands skated up my sides and came to rest on my chest, fingers splayed. “Look at me.” I did, my own hands trembling, and instead of the anger I expected, all I saw in his eyes was love. Curiosity. Determination. No reproach, no annoyance.

  He gave me courage when I had none of my own. “Remember when I said they dragged me behind the dumpster, and Sam had me up on my knees?”

  Adam nodded. “And then someone yelled your name.”

  “That was after.”

  “After what?”

  I swallowed against the vile stuff trying to fill my throat. “Chad said he’d break your other arm unless I gave him a blow job.”

  His eyes went wide. Nostrils flared. Something dangerous darkened his whole face, and he looked like a bull about to charge.

  “I couldn’t stand him hurtin’ you anymore, so I did it.” My voice was breaking apart, so thin I wondered if he actually heard me, and my mouth tasted sour. I swallowed and nearly gagged. “Not for very long, though, ‘cause he hit my gag reflex hard and I threw up on his shoes.” My only semi-good memory of that whole ordeal—until Chad kicked me in the face with a vomit-soaked sneaker.

  “Fuck, Ryan.” Adam cupped my cheeks, hot skin on cold, his eyes blazing with furious tears. “Fuck.”

  Saying it out loud and seeing Adam’s reaction somehow lessened the burden of carrying that ugly memory around. My courage got bigger, a little brighter, squashing down the bile in my throat.

  “Did you tell anyone?” he asked.

  “Sure I did. I told the police when they took my statement. I told my parents. Your daddy knew too, because I heard my daddy yelling at him about it when we learned about the deal he made with those guys.”

  Something like rage engulfed Adam, and I grabbed hold tighter in case he shook himself apart with it. “My dad knew? He knew and he still—fuck!”

  “It’s over and done, babe, it’s done.” I hugged him hard, wishing I could pull him right inside myself and keep him there until he’d calmed down. It wasn’t really done with, and it might never be, but I needed him to calm the hell down. “I kept you from getting hurt worse than you were, and I’m okay with that.”

  “But you got hurt, and I’m not okay with that.”

  “I know. That’s why I love you so much.”

  “Me too. God.”

  We held each other in that little office until someone knocked on the door. Ellie popped her head in. “Five minutes, guys.”

  “We’ll be right there,” I said, a little hoarse.

  She glanced at us both, flashed a sad, understanding smile, then left.

  “You okay to do this?” Adam asked.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t know why I felt so okay about it. Maybe because the one person I wanted to tell for so long finally knew. Maybe I could let go of a little more ugly. “How about you?”

  Adam shrugged with his eyebrows. “If you see my father within five feet of me, make sure I don’t punch him in the face.”

  He looked pretty serious, and that worried me. “I’ll keep myself between you two, okay?”

  “Good.” He leaned up and brushed his lips over mine, and that kiss was exactly what I needed. “Let’s go do this. For Paige Center.”

  “For the center.”

  Adam

  I’d experienced a range of emotions in the seven weeks since Ryan came back into my life; emotions that ran the spectrum from sheer joy to utter terror. As we walked across the emptying lobby and through the rear auditorium doors, I felt a black rage unlike anything I could identify. It cohabitated with a calm peace that existed because Ryan had confided in me, and because nothing he could say to me would make me stop loving him.

  The rage was directed squarely at my father and t
he lawyers who’d agreed to whatever deal he’d cooked up. A deal that had allowed three high school jocks to get away with nearly killing us—and that allowed Chad to get away with putting his hands on my boyfriend. I loved and hated what Ryan had sacrificed for me. For all the grief I’d put him through these last few years, I didn’t feel worthy of his loyalty or love.

  A small section of chairs near the stage left wall had been roped off for the performers. Because of the small wing space, singers went up in shifts and waited their turn. All of the adult performers and child-wranglers were already seated, and our generous guests were slowly settling into their rows of wooden folding chairs. Joe and my father had been given special seats in the front row, along with a few other deep-pocketed business owners who’d written big checks in exchange for their names and business ads in the back of the program where the auction basket contributors were listed.

  Tommy stood on his chair and waved at Ryan, before his uncle pulled him down. I could have gotten along nicely not knowing where Bobby was. I still couldn’t wrap my head around that particular twist in the plot. The apology had been so sincere, and so unexpected, I’d wanted to accept. Now I was glad I hadn’t.

  Lou stepped onstage with a microphone in his hand. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of all ages and persuasions. My name is Lou Paige, and I’m the director here at the Emmett Paige Community Center. Welcome to our first ever Broadway Revue Fundraiser.” Applause made him pause and smile. “Thank you. This event would not have been made possible without the hard, fast work of our dedicated fundraiser committee, and if you’ll indulge me a moment, I’d love for them to join me onstage.”

  My insides curled up, terrified of the idea. I’d sung in front of the other performers a few times, sure, but I hadn’t lost my stage fright. I still hadn’t actually performed in front of a neutral crowd. Ryan squeezed my hand, and then we followed Ellie, Larry, and Susan up onto the stage on a soft wave of applause.

  “This revue was the brainchild of those two young folks, Miss Ellie Wright and Mr. Ryan Sanders,” Lou said. “And once they had Larry and Susan Bishop on board, I couldn’t say no to the idea. The lad on the end there, Mr. Adam Langley”—I blushed to the roots of my hair— “has been our liaison with Langley-Quartermaine Financial, who were generous enough to underwrite the cost of this evening’s festivities. So thank you very much for all of your hard work.”

  I’d hoped the next round of clapping meant we could escape the spotlight. Ryan decided to lengthen my torture by asking Lou for the microphone.

  Breathe. In. Out. Calm.

  “Good evenin’,” Ryan said in a strong, calm voice I didn’t recognize. “I’m sure you’re all eager for the performin’ to start, but I really wanted to take a few minutes to tell you why you’re here tonight. This building you’re in? It’s not just a rec center for kids to hang at on weekends for free acting classes. There are a lotta kids in our community who have nowhere to go before and after school, except empty houses or the streets. There are a lotta kids in our community who don’t have someone to help with homework, to encourage them to do better in school, or to challenge them to try somethin’ new. The center gives those things to these kids.

  “We have a lotta teenagers who come here too, for the same reasons. We aren’t blood, but we are a family of our own makin’, and we need your help to stay open.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been volunteering here since I was eighteen. I was goin’ through my own rough time back then, and bein’ here saved my life. It really did, in ways I can never explain.”

  I held my entire body rigid so I didn’t reach for him—touch his arm, shoulder, elbow, anything to comfort him. I couldn’t do that while everyone was staring in our direction. I looked out above the sea of faces, unable to meet anyone’s eye.

  “I know I’m not the only person the center has helped, and I won’t be the last. The adults who volunteer do it out of love. The kids come back because they feel safe and cared for. Please, help us keep these doors open. Our kids need your help. Thank you.”

  He handed the mike back to Lou, and we trooped off the stage. After we sat back down, Ryan snagged my hand and held it between our seats. In the dark, I doubted anyone could see—and really? I didn’t care if they did.

  The kids were fantastic. They made mistakes. They occasionally sang off-key, but they had fun. And the adults in the audience were having fun too, if their applause and laughter was any indication. Ryan’s Saturday class of teenagers finished off our first segment of performances with “Seasons of Love,” a cappella, and it was beautiful.

  As the lights came up to half-strength for intermission, my nerves jangled. A little over an hour until I did something I should have been brave enough to do years ago—public performance in front of a live audience.

  “You want somethin’ to drink?” Ryan asked.

  “Please.”

  I stayed put like a chicken, while Ryan braved the throng. I watched him, chatting and shaking hands, until he disappeared. My chair wouldn’t seem to let go of my ass, even though I should be out there, doing my part to chat with local newspaper reporters and add more zeroes to those donation checks. Staying in our section felt safer. Besides, my father was out there somewhere, and I was still too angry with him to risk getting within punching distance.

  The last thing our fundraiser needed was extra media coverage because of a father/son brawl. Then again, “Wealthy Father Disowns Gay Son During Benefit to Support Local Non-Profit Community Center” would get attention on our situation.

  The silent auction winners were announced. The ten-minute warning bell clanged over the loudspeaker. The majority of the kids were herded off to one of the classrooms for the rest of the evening. We’d ordered a special “Thank You” cake for the kids, its top covered in edible photos taken of them during the last few rehearsals. I finally pried my ass off my chair and slipped backstage.

  Ryan and Ellie joined me a few minutes later. I sipped at the bottle of room-temperature water Ryan brought for me—cold water was bad for your vocal chords.

  “How are you?” Ryan asked.

  “Terrified. You?”

  “You’ll be great.”

  He shrugged out of his suit coat and into the leather jacket he’d brought for his costume. Ellie handed me the flowy top she’d worn over her body-hugging dress, then fluffed out her hair. I watched from the wings as they did their number, each note perfect. The audience laughed and tittered in the right spots, understanding that the entire song was a flirtation between the two characters.

  Ryan came offstage grinning, his cheeks flushed and eyes dancing with joy. Performing loved him, and he loved it, and I loved seeing him so happy. In the darkness of the wings, he kissed me soundly, and my heart beat hard with something besides nervousness.

  Two more numbers went by, my anxiety growing with each passing moment. My insides felt watery, and my heart kept pounding sharply. My fingers were trembling so badly from adrenaline that I nearly dropped my water bottle several times. Ryan had to help me take off my jacket and tie.

  The stage went dark.

  “Break a leg, babe,” Ryan whispered. “You were meant to do this.”

  I kissed him, steeled my spine, wrapped “Mark’s” scarf around my neck, then walked out to center stage. The music began, a familiar, thrumming beat. I fell into beats and strums I knew by heart, backward and forward, and in the same instant the lights flashed up, I began to sing.

  Everything I had went into that performance. The audience wasn’t there. Nothing existed except the music and the lyrics, and then the harmonious sound of Ryan singing with me. We moved around each other on stage, using choreography committed to memory years ago. The moment lasted forever, and then it was over.

  I blinked stupidly into the lights, not recognizing the thunder in the room as applause until Ryan grabbed my hand and reminded me to bow. I squeezed his fingers, grinning like a fool, and soaked up those few seconds of attention. Held them close to my heart un
til Ryan let go, and we walked off the stage.

  I tackled Ryan, and he stumbled backward until he hit the wall by the curtain pulley. My chest heaved with silent laughter, and I hugged him hard, not caring if anyone else in the wings saw. He kissed my temple. I buried my face against his neck, grateful and happy and so full of energy I didn’t know what to do with it. I’d never felt more alive than in that moment.

  “That was amazing,” I whispered, just loud enough to be heard over Larry and Susan’s hilariously off-key performance ten feet away.

  “You were amazing,” Ryan said.

  “Thank you for getting me to do this.”

  “Hey, you made all this possible on your own. I was just here for moral support.”

  “You’re more than that, and you know it.”

  We stayed huddled there, in our little corner of the wing, through the rest of the performances. After the final act, Lou took a mike out onto the stage amid thunderous applause. Ryan and I stepped closer, hands still clenched tightly together.

  “As our evening together draws to a close,” Lou said, “I want to once again thank every single performer and behind-the-scenes volunteer that helped make tonight’s benefit revue possible.” He waited for the applause to die down. “I’d also like to thank each and every one of you for attending tonight, and for your generosity. You’ve made a difference in someone’s life, and we’re all extremely, humbly grateful. Good night.”

  We hadn’t rehearsed it, but it seemed like the right thing to do in that particular moment. Ryan and I pulled the stage curtain closed on Lou and our amusing, successful Paige Center fundraiser.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ryan

  The auditorium and lobby were still kinda nuts when Adam and I left our hiding place. The kids were out and full of sugar, and the adults were making use of their final liquor chips. We still had lots of food to eat, and I helped myself to a plate of these little pie tart things that a lady called a “keesh.” Or something. Adam said they were like egg pies, only with spinach and mushrooms. With my nerves worn off about my confession and performing, I was hungry.