I glanced at the date on the email. It was the day after the twins’ accident. Son of a bitch. How could that have been? I glanced at the time stamp on the email. It was the night before Mason left. That made absolutely no sense. How would Bill have known Mason couldn’t be here? What the fuck was going on?
I couldn’t wait to see the video of Weaver punching him. I was sure the twins would enjoy watching it over and over.
I parked in short-term parking and ran into the terminal. Before I’d even gone ten feet, I saw Mason standing by the baggage claim, a backpack over one shoulder and his ubiquitous phone in his hand.
His face was pale, but his cheeks flushed pink when he saw me. We both stood there, looking at each other for a moment, both of us frozen. I wasn’t even sure who moved first, but before I knew it, he was in my arms and our lips met for a scorching kiss.
When we finally came up for air, I had to subtly try and reposition myself, because somewhere along the way I’d dropped a metal pipe in my pants. To my delight, Mason seemed similarly affected.
“Mason, what—” I began, but he stopped me.
“Lee, I can explain everything,” Mason began, “And I really want to, but if we’re going to make the con on time we have to leave right now,” he said. “And we have to be on time. There’s more riding on this than you know. I want you to know that I love you, too, and I just hope you can forgive me for everything once you know the whole story.”
There was worry and fear in his eyes, but Mason’s beautiful blue and gold orbs glittered with passion and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning back in to taste his lips. This was my Mason, not the terrified mess of a man who had left me in the hospital waiting room.
“Transform and roll out, then!” I whispered against his ear. He laughed and his eyes glittered with emotion as we headed out to the parking lot hand in hand.
We practically flew as we made the drive back to the convention center in record time. Somehow, even my body felt lighter now, like I’d been carrying around this huge weight so long that I didn’t even recognize how much it had worn me down. We parked in the area reserved for exhibitors, and I led Mason into the Hall.
The Hall was huge, seating several thousand people at full capacity. We were at that, if not a little more, so I was hoping we didn’t get a visit from the Fire Code inspector. As I ran by one of the open hall doors I noticed there was a volunteer at each door checking IDs. Big signs were posted that read “Eighteen and older only, please!” What was that about? Had I missed out on something at the cosplay contest? Some of the costumes were a little risqué , but never anything too naughty…
I was just leading Mason back stage when I ran into a couple of familiar faces: Brannon Eames, owner of EB Cards, and his wife, Anna. The Eameses were long-time friends of the twins, and were in charge of managing the volunteers assisting with the event. They had given the twins a great deal of much-needed help and guidance in setting up their store. Bran was a tall, lanky fellow, while Anna was petite. Well, “petite” except for the fact that she was eight-and-a-half months pregnant with their first child, and looked utterly miserable.
“Brannon! Anna! How are you?” I called out, dragging Mason with me. I wrapped my arms around Anna and gave her a gentle hug.
“I’m not going to break, asshat,” She grumbled, squeezing me tighter. “Besides, maybe if you squeeze hard enough, it will pop this booger out.” She smiled up at me, her eyes twinkling, but face a little pale as she glanced over at her husband. Bran looked like he was about to lose it. He was carrying a battered gym bag that seemed to be stuffed to bursting. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the way he anxiously watched Anna, I figured it was a bad case of “Soon-to-be-Dad” disease. At his feet was their border collie, and Bran’s therapy dog, Gracie.
Bran had always had anxiety issues, but the imminent birth of his first offspring seemed to be magnifying things tenfold. Gracie was a fully trained service dog and was wearing her vest alerting people that she was working. She had helped Bran and Anna through some really trying times and was as much a part of the family as the new baby would be. She leaned reassuringly against Bran’s leg, her tail wagging happily as she recognized me.
“Bran! Good to see you!” I clapped him on the back as he smiled.
“Lee! You guys made it! We’ve got about ten minutes before Cameron goes on. That was cutting it close!” he looked over at Mason.
“Yeah, well, there was a… miscommunication.” I grumbled, looking around to see if Conyers was in sight. “Bill thought he canceled. Important thing is, he’s here now.”
“Mason,” Anna said, her soft voice catching the artist’s attention. “We really appreciate you coming all the way out here. It means a lot to our families, and to the LGBTQ community in Ohio.”
“Thank you for having me,” he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable with her thanks. His awkwardness faded when he saw Gracie.
He knelt down so that he was eye level with her.
“And who is this beautiful girl? Is it okay to pet her?” he looked up at Bran and Anna, and my estimation of him went up. Not many people realized you should restrain yourself around service dogs.
“It’s fine,” Bran said, smiling down at them both. “Her name’s Gracie. She’s my little lifesaver.”
Mason held his hand out to Gracie for her to sniff, which she did immediately, then softly licked the back of his hand with her pink tongue. The look on Mason’s face was beatific. He ruffled her ears and wrapped his arms around her, cooing and saying the nonsense things you say to babies and animals.
I felt something strange, a kind of ache deep in my gut as I saw him babying Gracie and I imagined for a moment that he was doing this with our dog. Or our child.
The word made my thoughts come to a screeching halt. Child? Did I want to have kids with Mason? He just looked so… at home, holding her, talking to her. Something curled tight in my stomach and made it hard to breathe, but in the best way possible, as I realized I did. I wanted everything with him.
Bran and Anna stepped away to answer a question from one of the many people running around backstage and Mason looked up at me.
“She’s a sweetheart,” he said, smiling up at me. His blue-gold eyes shone as he looked up, his hand buried in Gracie’s fur. I realized with a start that their hair was almost the same color.
“She’s not the only one,” I rumbled, loving the flush of pink that swept through his cheeks at the heat in my words.
“Five minutes, Mr. Cameron,” one of the many volunteers running around backstage called.
Mason patted his pockets until he found and pulled out a USB drive.
“Bran, I saw you guys got the request from my manager to check IDs. Can you give this to your A/V guy? Have him load up the file titled ‘Mason’s Run’. I’ll take the rest from there.”
Bran looked confused, but nodded and rushed off with the USB drive.
“Well, looks like I have to go, “ Mason said, straightening and looking at Gracie wistfully.
“I dunno, we’ve got five minutes. How much trouble do you think we could get into in five minutes?” I asked.
He seemed to seriously consider it for a moment and his eyes flashed mischievously, but then he shook himself.
“Later,” he said firmly. I had to laugh.
“Have you been working on your speech?” I asked. He paused, licking his lips nervously.
“Yeah. A lot. I think… I think you’ll like it,” he said, smiling tentatively at me. “And I think Professor White will agree that… it’s something I’m passionate about.”
“I’m going to go take my seat, then.” I started to turn, but he stopped me, his hand on my arm. His fingers were so cold, they must have been numb, whereas my own skin felt heated.
“There should be seats reserved for you in the front row,” Mason said.
Damn, all this mystery was going to drive me crazy! What had happened to Mason? I needed to find out what had happened, but I knew I c
ouldn’t push him right now, right before he went on.
Bran chose that moment to rejoin us and assured Mason that the materials were cued up and ready to play. He looked at Mason a little oddly, and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
It was Mason’s turn to reply without hesitation. “Absolutely.” Bran clapped him on the shoulder and wished him good luck. “Have you seen Bill… Conyers, anywhere?” he asked nervously.
I laughed. “The last time I saw him he was on the floor with a broken nose, courtesy of my sister.”
Mason’s eyes grew wide. “He had a broken nose?”
“It was a sight to behold,” I said laughing. “He tried to cop a feel of my sister. He might need reconstructive surgery now.”
My laugher must have been contagious because Mason started laughing too. I loved this side of Mason. He seemed stronger, more confident than I’d ever seen him.
I stepped close to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling our bodies close together.
“A kiss for good luck?” he asked.
“As you wish,” I whispered. Our lips met in a searing kiss, full of hunger, happiness, relief, and every other good kind of feeling. When we finally pulled apart, his eyes were glassy, his beautiful lips pink and swollen. And I didn’t think I looked any better. It was what I was coming to think of as Mason’s “freshly fucked” glow.
“Good luck,” I whispered, then turned to walk away from him and take my seat, questions still whirling through my head.
As I left the stage area, I saw Conyers arguing with someone outside the stage door. The man he was yelling at was a tall man in his early forties, dark hair with just a few lines of silver running through it. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the word “Security” emblazoned across his extremely well-muscled chest. Not that I was looking, of course.
“Who am I? I’m Bill Fucking Conyers, you overgrown gym reject,” he spat at the man guarding the stage door. “Now get out of my way!”
I didn’t remember seeing the man with the convention volunteers before, but I figured he could have been hired as additional security for the event.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you are no longer on the approved backstage entry list for the event,” he said calmly.
“Approved entry? Who made an ‘approved entry’ list? This is my con, goddammit,” he insisted. “I’m here with the speaker, John Dowling.”
The Security Guard eyes glanced over at Conyers and I swore the man growled.
“John Dowling is not the speaker for this event, Mason Cameron is. I know Mason Cameron, sir, and you are not Mason Cameron,” the guard continued.
Conyers scowled. “Of course not, I’m not that degenerate piece of filth! I am with the replacement headliner, since Mr. Cameron was not able to attend.”
“Ah! I see the mistake now,” the guard said. I thought for a moment he was going to let him through, but instead he stretched his arm out to completely block the way through the door.
“Your mistake, that is. Mr. Cameron is here, and should be going on stage in about, oh, thirty seconds. If I were you, Mr. Conyers, I’d take your seat. You don’t want to miss any part of the show. Afterward, I’ll be more than happy to escort you to see Mr. Dowling. I’m sure it will explain everything.”
Conyers fumed and swore, but I saw him and a couple of his church buddies moving out to the auditorium to take seats on the far right side.
I made my way out the stage door to the seat reserved for me in the front row. To my surprise, Weaver was seated on one side of me and Jeri on the other. I eyed her for a moment.
“How’d you get in here?” I asked. “I thought it was eighteen and overs, only.”
She grinned at me mischievously.
“I have my ways…” she replied enigmatically.
Before I could question her further, the lights lowered in the hall and the applause started. After a moment, the emcee for the event walked out onto the stage.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to Akron!”
The crowd roared, the applause and noise momentarily deafening.
I looked out across the crowd. I’d already heard numbers from the con attendance director, and this was definitely the biggest crowd they’d ever had. And it was only day one!
“Hope everyone’s having a great time out there! I’d like to send out some big congratulations to the winners of our Cosplay Contests!” About a half dozen people in various costumes with make-up and props were brought out and received their awards for their efforts.
The MC then came back on and everyone quieted, “Ladies and gentlemen, as you all know, we have restricted entry tonight to those who are eighteen and over, because we are going to be talking about some very adult topics. We are happy to welcome the fantastic counselors from Vista Counseling Services as they join us this afternoon. After the presentation they will be available in the food court to speak with anyone who feels the need.”
Now I was the one confused. What the hell was he talking about? Counselors?
“Now, all the way from Seattle, please join me in welcoming artist and writer of the hit graphic novels, “Dark Angel”, Mr. Mason Cameron!”
The crowd went wild. I saw rainbow flags flying across the auditorium, a few hand-made signs saying “We Love You, Mason!” as well as a variety of other signs of support.
Then I saw a few rows of seats that were occupied by people who were seated with Bill looking around angrily, refusing to stand or even applaud. Some of them seemed to be holding books of some kind on their laps. Could they be Bibles? I couldn’t tell from this distance, and I quickly forgot all about them as Mason took the stage.
He walked across the stage, hands out, waving at the fans, looking like sex on a stick. A faded black Crossroads Gin band t-shirt hung snug against his lean frame, his black jeans hugging his ass as if they were painted on. Had he been wearing that on the way in? Damn, how had I not realized how hot he looked?
On the drive here, he had been quiet, subdued, and incredibly preoccupied. Now he was all smiles, his face open and oddly happy. Not what I was expecting, considering how things had gone the last time he had spoken publicly.
Again, that weird feeling churned in my gut as I saw him smile, felt his gaze catch mine, not to mention the sudden rush as my cock thickened inside my jeans. Behind Mason a montage of pictures began playing along with a bluesy song that I thought might also be one of Crossroad Gin’s.
“Hello, Akron!” Mason purred into the microphone. It was the strangest feeling… It almost felt as if his voice held weight, like fingers brushing against my skin.
“So, I hear you folks kinda like comics… Is that right?” he asked.
The crowd went wild. Behind Mason the projector screens began flipping through montages of his work. I wasn’t that familiar with all of it, hadn’t even read any of it until recently, just heard what my brothers had talked about. The video was jarring, pictures of beauty and reality interspersed with ugliness and hate. The music volume dropped and Mason began to speak.
“Some of you have heard of my books, Dark Angels,” he looked out over the hall, his eyes catching on mine as the crowd cheered. His voice, which had seemed a little thin at first, strengthened as he spoke.
“I was supposed to come in here today and give you a really generic rah-rah speech about Dark Angels, comics, and entertainment in general.
But thank you, Professor White, for saving all these good people from that boring speech. You reminded me that if I wanted people to understand, I had to share something I was passionate about,” he stated, nodding his head toward a back corner where I saw Professor White and a group of college students seated, all with notebooks in hand and I remembered, extra credit. Check.
“I will warn you, some of what we are going to talk about tonight is very disturbing. But when I decided what I wanted to share with you this evening, I was told… well, threatened, really,” he said, his voice gaining clarity and strength as he glared at the side of the
room where Bill and his cronies sat, “That if I came up here and shared my presentation about LGBTQ characters in comics, that I would be exposed.”
Mason’s voice deepened ominously at the last word, and the crowd murmured uncomfortably. What was he doing? Threatened? By whom? Over what?
I saw confused glances going back and forth between attendees, no one quite sure where this was going. Weaver’s hand slipped out and wrapped around mine, squeezing.
“All my life, I’ve had choices taken away from me, and I’m pretty damn sick of it. So, I decided to do some ‘exposing’ of my own,” Mason continue.
A video appeared on the screen behind him. It appeared to be a cell phone video. It showed a red-faced angry looking… Dowling? That was the cop who was investigating the hit-and-run on the boys. What the hell was this about?
The video began, and Dowling’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers.
“Bill here has been an excellent partner in the business. He found me a unique way of laundering some of the business money that was deeply in need of cleansing,” he said, jerking his head over at the man I could see at the corner of the video.
“For a fee, of course,” Conyers added. Dowling nodded in agreement as Conyers continued.
“Idyllic Midwest. Churches on every corner… No one looks too closely at the money that goes in and out of a church. Not even the Feds. I can run just about any amount of money through the church books I want. Drugs, guns, whores. Doesn’t really matter.”
The screen buzzed for a minute, as if there was interference, but then continued.
“Bill will reach out to the Convention Committee and tell them you’re sick, or your pet goldfish died… I don’t really give a fuck. You aren’t going to be speaking at that convention. I can make much better use of your mouth elsewhere…” his voice dropped off as his gaze roamed Mason’s body.
Helpless fury began building in me as I sat there in shock while the video played.
“Let me explain what happens if you disobey me in the slightest. If you are late, one of them dies. If you run, someone else dies,” he said, nodding towards the photos of my family, along with some people I didn’t recognize, but from Mason’s descriptions, I would guess they were Zem, Lizzie and Evan.
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