Jack

by A M Snead

  Gideon sighed heavily. “Yeah,” he whispered, then laughed softly but it lacked humor. “I guess I thought if anyone could accept the truth about me, it would be David.” He shook his head. “Turned out I was wrong. If I’d known it would ruin our friendship, I probably would have kept quiet.”

  “How long had you been friends?” Jack asked.

  “Hell,” Gideon murmured. “Since we were ten. Inseparable almost from the day we met.” He chuckled quietly. “I hadn’t exactly been thrilled about spending my summers at bible camp, but David went every year and I hated being away from him for such long stretches. We did everything together.”

  Jack frowned uncertainly. “And you telling him you were gay…destroyed the friendship? Just like that?”

  “Well…” Gideon’s face pinched. “There was a little more to it. Or…a lot more.” He looked at Jack, heavy remorse in his eyes. “It was my fault our friendship broke apart. I was in love with David, and somewhere along the line I’d convinced myself he felt it, too…but was just too afraid to admit to having feelings for another boy. I thought I was doing him a favor by helping him face his true feelings. I was so sure he loved me, too.”

  Jack stared at him. “And…?”

  The man shrugged and swallowed thickly, shifting his eyes to the photo as they filled with sadness and pain. “And it turned out I was wrong.”

  This is NOT going to be you in twenty years, Jack insisted to himself. Still locked into a love that never stood a chance. Deal with Garrett now and be done with this shit before you end up bound by the same chains as Gideon and Scotty.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly.

  Gideon nodded slowly and looked away from the photo. “Yeah, well, it was a long time ago. Water under the bridge.”

  Jack shifted in his chair. “It seems the heart can be easily fooled when it wants to believe something,” he mumbled.

  “And you think that’s what happened with you?” Gideon asked. “Your heart was fooled by Garrett?”

  Jack had yet to decide if he admired Gideon for his directness or considered it a less than favorable trait in the man. “Maybe.” Jack shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. Like with you and David…its water under the bridge for me, too.”

  “Mm-hm.” Gideon nodded and murmured, “Like with me and David.” He nodded again. “I believe you.”

  “Well…” Jack fidgeted beneath Gideon’s stare. “Speaking of Garrett, I was wondering if we could go ahead and do the shoot tomorrow, rather than the day after.”

  “Tomorrow?” Gideon rested his elbows on his desk. “As I mentioned before, you’ve had a long day today, shooting the skit and dealing with your parents. Are you sure you don’t want to take a day and recuperate?”

  Jack shook his head. “No,” he sighed. “I’m good to go. I just want to get it done.”

  “Done and over with?”

  “Yes,” Jack admitted.

  “I understand,” Gideon said softly. “If you really think you’re up for it, I’ll talk to Garrett and let him know we’re shooting a day sooner.”

  Jack stood up. “Thank you.”

  “I aim to please,” Gideon murmured as Jack walked to the door. His chair groaned as he shifted and leaned back again. “You know, Jack…” he added, halting Jack at the door. “The funny thing about water under the bridge…it never really dries up, but just keeps flowing.”

  Jack looked at him, not entirely sure he understood his meaning…but getting the gist of it anyway. Jack nodded mutely and left the office.

  ♥

  Gideon watched the door close behind Jack. The kid was in denial. Gideon knew all about denial. Jack believed if he got the scene with Garrett done and over with, he could move on and work at forgetting the guy. If so inclined, Gideon could tell Jack a thing or two about the difficulties of “moving on” when the heart wasn’t ready to let go.

  He looked at the photo and traced the line of David’s face, so young in the picture. His fingertip slid over David’s lips, encased behind glass, cool to the touch. The first—and last—time Gideon had kissed those lips, they had been cool against his mouth. Not for lack of passion, but the chill of the lake water.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Gideon unzipped his jeans and shoved them down his legs, kicking the pants off his feet. “I’m pretty sure God would understand us wanting to go swimming rather than go to bible study when it’s so freaking hot.” He glanced at David and nodded. “And I think it’s okay to detach your bible from your hand now and then. We’re at church camp, I don’t think you’re gonna encounter a random herd of heathens anytime soon.”

  When Gideon started to shove down his boxers, David stared at him. “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m going skinny dipping,” Gideon snorted and commenced to remove his shorts. “What does it look like?”

  David watched him tug his boxers off his feet and chuck them aside then straighten up, his body awash in moonlight. Something flickered behind David’s eyes and he turned away quickly. “You should at least keep your shorts on.”

  Laughing, Gideon said, “Kind of have to be naked to go skinny dipping.”

  When Gideon jumped into the water, David turned back around, hesitated then walked to the end of the wooden deck. Gideon came up out of the water and swiped his hair back over his head, then grinned up at David. “Well, you have a nice swim,” David said, “I’m going to group.”

  “Wait!” Gideon swam back to the deck and reached up, grabbing the edge. “Come on. The water feels great. Seriously, God isn’t gonna strike you dead or anything for wanting to cool off. I mean, it’s kind of his fault—he made it so hot tonight.”

  Anxiousness tightened David’s face. “I don’t—”

  Gideon was suddenly standing on the deck before him, dripping wet, body emanating a cool draft. He snatched David’s bible from his hand and dropped it on the deck then grabbed David and jumped back in the water with him.

  Gasping as his body hit the cool water, David sank beneath the surface. He kicked his feet and swam to the top, then gasped again. “You jerk.”

  Gideon laughed. “You’re all wet now anyway. Get rid of your clothes and let’s swim.”

  “Thanks a lot,” David muttered. His shirt clung to his skin and he quickly unfastened the buttons and peeled it off, throwing it up on the wooden walkway. His pants sucked around his legs but he left them on.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Gideon grinned then splashed him in the face.

  “Hey!” David scowled then laughed. He cupped his hand and smacked the surface of the water, sending a rooster tail into Gideon’s face. A water fight broke out and then Gideon surged forward, grabbed David’s head, and dunked him then shot away. David surfaced with a gasp then swam after him with purpose. Gideon laughed and kicked his feet harder, deliberately splashing David in the face. Turning his face away, David lunged at his friend and caught Gideon’s neck with his arms, trying to shove him under the water.

  Gideon laughed and twisted around, facing David, and clutched his head as if to dunk him a second time. David tried to jerk free, their bodies bumping together beneath the surface. Gideon got hard fast and David went rigid suddenly when he felt Gideon’s stiff erection jabbing his thigh. His eyes widened a little and his laughter died. He pulled back, but Gideon kept hold of his head, moving with him.

  “Gideon, wha—”

  Gideon hadn’t planned to kiss him, but suddenly his lips were on David’s mouth, and he held on, prolonging the kiss, his tongue snaking into David’s mouth—and David was responding! Oh God, he was actually kissing him back!

  David flattened his hands on Gideon’s bare, wet chest, gripped briefly then shoved hard, thrusting himself back from Gideon, gasping. “What…what the hell?” He was trembling, staring at Gideon who just stared back, unremorseful. David swallowed hard, then fear and anger rushed in. “Why did you do that? It wasn’t funny!” He wiped his mouth as if the act had disgusted him; but had it? The sudden tightn
ess Gideon had felt in David’s jeans suggested otherwise.

  Gideon shrugged and smiled. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  “Then what…?” David was having a difficult time meeting the other boy’s eyes. His brow cinched tight. “Why would you…?”

  His smile widening just a little, Gideon moved his arms beneath the surface, causing his body to drift toward David. “It wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean…you kissed me back.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Gideon’s hand trembled as he swiped it slowly over his mouth, his heart pumping hard in his chest. For over two decades he’d been trying to convince himself that he had been wrong, that David hadn’t kissed him back and it was all just wishful thinking. And that he had imagined the hardness in the other boy’s jeans when Gideon had pressed his naked body against him. He didn’t want it to be true. Not anymore. If he could believe that David had felt no desire for him, felt no interest at all in that way…then maybe the thoughts and dreams of what could have been would stop haunting him and he could “really” move on, be free to accept the affections of a man who wanted him “as is” and didn’t see anything in him that needed changing. He longed for that freedom but feared he would never experience it. If he was ever going to break free of David’s memory…it would have happened by now.

  How was it possible that one single memory—one kiss—could entrap a man’s mind, his heart, for decades without relenting? Maybe it wasn’t the kiss that imprisoned Gideon but that glimpse of a promise behind it—distant and weak…but still there.

  Taunting and tormenting him.

  68 “The Broken Silence”

  “Did you talk to Jack?”

  Garrett’s hand paused around the doorknob on his way into his bedroom. He frowned and looked down the hall where Scotty stood half out of his door, his gaze glancing off Garrett’s face with nervousness and uncertainty. “What?”

  “Jack…” Scotty said quietly. “He came to your room while you were gone.” He looked away, eyes shifting to the floor as he absently traced a fingertip up and down the doorframe. “He was…upset.”

  “Upset?” Garrett’s heart thumped hard against his ribs and he slowly released the doorknob. “Upset…how?” He moved in Scotty’s direction, taking slow steps. It had been a long time since he and Scotty had had an actual direct conversation. “Was he angry?”

  Scotty shook his head without raising his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “He was…in tears.”

  In tears? Had Jack come to his room to talk to him about all this shit between them? “Did he say anything?” Garrett murmured. “Did you talk to him?”

  “Yeah.” Scotty looked up as Garrett drew closer. “I heard him say that…that he knew you wished you guys had never met, but…but that he didn’t wish that. And he said that…”

  “What?” Garrett pressed, his heart beating faster, harder.

  Scotty glanced away. “You should ask him,” he mumbled. “I-I shouldn’t be telling you any of it.” He withdrew into his room but didn’t close the door.

  What else had Scotty overheard Jack say? The sudden need to know everything urged Garrett to follow Scotty into the bedroom. The kid looked a little stunned when he saw him step inside. “Did Jack say anything to you?” Garrett asked.

  “I told him you had gone to town, and he just said he would talk to you later.” Scotty shifted his feet. “That’s why I asked if you had talked to him. He seemed like…like he really needed to tell you something.”

  Garrett stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “I…I haven’t really talked to him today.”

  “You should,” Scotty whispered and turned away slowly.

  Garrett stared at him, puzzled by his apparent change of heart. “Why are you telling me this, Scotty? I thought you didn’t like Jack?”

  Silence settled over the kid as he stood motionless, staring at his nightstand. “I didn’t dislike Jack,” he said quietly, a thickness to his voice. “I just didn’t like that…that you liked him so much. Or that everyone did.” He shrugged and discreetly wiped at his eyes. “I was jealous. It was like…everyone who used to like me, liked him so much better.” He sniffed. “But I get it now…why everyone likes him so much. He’s a good guy.”

  Garrett wasn’t sure how to respond—to Scotty himself or what he said about Jack. Scotty had a sensitive psyche, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. If Garrett was too nice…would he take it to mean something it didn’t? He knew how desperately Scotty wanted to be loved, but Garrett had hurt him once, and he sure as hell didn’t want to do it again by unintentionally misleading him.

  “Yeah,” Garrett mumbled. “I guess.” He stepped back. “Well, uh…thanks for letting me know.” He tapped his fingertips absently against the doorframe. “I’ll…see you around.” He backed out the door, then halted stiffly when his gaze fell across an item on the nightstand, partially concealed behind the lamp. But Garrett recognized it instantly. Dropping all formality or nervousness, Garrett crossed the room with swift strides, catching Scotty by surprise when he reached around him and grabbed the item off the stand.

  Scotty gasped a little and stepped back. His legs bumped the bed and he dropped onto the edge.

  “Where did you get this?” Garrett thrust the pocketknife at Scotty. “This is mine. Did you go into my room and take it?” He loomed over the kid.

  Scotty cowered back. “I-I didn’t get it from your room,” he choked. His tears thickened. “It…it was given to me.”

  “By who?” Garrett demanded. “It’s my knife, Scotty. No one has the right to give you my stuff. Who was it?”

  Fear and confusion shadowed Scotty’s eyes. “I-I thought it was from you,” he whispered. “It…it was left for me in here. I thought maybe you had…” He swallowed thickly and turned his face away as a tear slipped free. “I-I should have known it wasn’t you.”

  Garrett drew back. Who the fuck would go into his room and steal his knife—and then give it to Scotty? The last thing Scotty needed was a knife. Most everyone in the house knew about Scotty’s problems. Giving him something like a pocketknife would surely be a token of encouragement to keep doing it. Wouldn’t it? Who was so cruel and fucked up that they would try to push Scotty deeper down into that dark abyss?

  Or maybe he’s lying and he really was the one who took it from you? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, though Garrett hated to think that was the case.

  He spoke more calmly as he looked at Scotty. “Whoever gave it to you, stole it from me. You had to know I wouldn’t give this away, Scotty. It’s one of the few things I have that mean something to me.”

  Scotty glanced at the knife. “I know,” he whispered, brow knitted in a troubled frown. “It meant more to you than I did.”

  “That isn’t true,” Garrett murmured. “But you shouldn’t have accepted the knife without asking me about it first. Do you have any idea who gave it to you?”

  Scotty didn’t answer, just turned away and stared down at the bed.

  Exhaling slowly, Garrett didn’t press the matter and walked to the door.

  “Why do you hate me?” Scotty whispered, tears in his voice, stopping Garrett at the doorway.

  Garrett turned around. “I don’t hate you, Scotty.”

  “You do,” Scotty said thickly and faced him, tears brimming. “You don’t look at me, you don’t talk to me, it’s like…I don’t even exist to you anymore.”

  “Scotty…”

  “Was I that bad of a boyfriend?”

  Garrett’s chest squeezed at the depth hurt in the kid’s eyes. “You weren’t a bad boyfriend at all, Scotty. That…that isn’t why I keep my distance.”

  “Then why do you?”

  Garrett’s gaze came to rest on the leather bracelets around Scotty’s wrists. “Because I blame myself…for that,” he whispered, his throat knotted. “Maybe if I’d done things differently…hadn’t hurt you so bad, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”

  Scotty shook his head, tears welling t
hicker. “It wasn’t your fault. I-I never blamed you.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t remember doing it,” Scotty whispered unsteadily. “I-I don’t…”

  Garrett frowned. “What do you mean you don’t remember?”

  “I went into the studio…where we’d shot our first scene together,” he murmured. “I lay down on the bed and I was crying, but I just remember falling asleep, then…waking up to someone holding me and calling for help.”

  Garrett nodded slowly. “Royal found you,” he murmured. Whatever Royal was or wasn’t, the fear and horror in his eyes was genuine when they’d come into the studio and found him holding Scotty, blood all over him as he cradled the kid in his arms. It was the only time Garrett had seen the man cry or show concern for someone other than himself. It was right after that disturbing incident that Royal had left, citing his interest in becoming a “real” actor and wanting something better than a career in porn. Garrett remained uncertain whether or not that was his true reason for leaving. The shadow of fear that had darkened his eyes when he’d found Scotty nearly dead—still lingered behind his stare the day he’d walked out of Gideon’s home. No one had seen him since.

  “I know.” Scotty nodded. “At first, I thought it was you holding me.” He ducked his head and hugged himself. “I’m sorry, Garrett.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Scotty.” Garrett moved toward the bed. “It was just…a bad situation all around,” he said softly, anguish squeezing his voice. “I…I never meant for you to get hurt so bad. I did really care about you, Scotty. I never lied about that.”

  “I shouldn’t have tried to hold onto you,” Scotty choked quietly. He wiped at his eyes with a shaky hand. “I wish…I wish I wasn’t so fucked up.”

  Garrett’s vision blurred, distorting the troubled boy before him. “Scotty, you’re not fucked up,” he whispered. “You’ve had a fucked-up life, but you aren’t fucked up.” Guilt punched Garrett in the heart; he had said exactly that very thing to Jack, told him that Scotty was fucked up and had been long before he’d come to Gideon. The recollection of his words made him feel like shit in the face of Scotty’s tears and the anguish of how he saw himself. Garrett had told Jack that they had all tried to get through to Scotty, make him feel welcome and a part of them—but had they given up too soon? Where was the cutoff point in trying to help someone as hurt and broken as Scotty? Should there even be one?