Chase in Shadow

by Amy Lane

  “Not even baseball?”

  And now Donnie’s chest relaxed under Chase’s head. “Yeah, you stupid fucker. We can play baseball. What in the hell were you thinking, Chase?”

  Chase closed his eyes, and for one of the few times outside of Tommy’s bed or even his home or his car, allowed himself to feel like Chance did. Chance was cocky and sure of himself. Chance was adventurous and sensual. Chance didn’t let anything get in the way of his pleasure and was damned proud of the fact that he could pleasure another person.

  Chance didn’t have any pesky morals or worries about hurting another human soul interfere with fucking or being fucked in the most outrageous, loudest, prettiest, sell-it-to-the-cheap-seats way possible.

  I was thinking I’d rather be Chance than Chase any day of the week.

  “I needed the money.”

  “There’s better ways to get it,” Donnie sighed, his voice unyielding. The guy was going out of his way to be human to Chase, after Chase had blatantly lied to him. Chance the porn star did not belong in Donnie’s sweet little fairy-tale world—but Donnie hadn’t kicked him out of it. No, Chase’s best friend since the second grade had draped his arm around Chase’s shoulders and invited him to talk, really talk. Chase needed to do better.

  “No, there’s not,” he whispered, and because Donnie knew him, Donnie looked at his face, and Chase wasn’t sure what his expression really was, but it made Donnie close his eyes in pain.

  Donnie looked away, toward the house, and for a panicked moment, Chase wondered if Alejandro was coming out, because if he was going to talk, Tommy would have been first on the list, Donnie second, and Alejandro somewhere behind Kevin and before Mercy. He liked the guy, but he wasn’t going to pour his heart out to him.

  “Chase, man, I love her. You know that, right? She’s great. She’s fun and she’s not stupid and she’s a nice, nice girl. But you know what she’s not?”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Say it. Just once, I need to hear you say it. You’ve obviously admitted it to yourself, because otherwise you wouldn’t be… f… fuck!”

  Donnie couldn’t say it. Oh shit. Donnie couldn’t say it, and Chase had to say it.

  I’m gay. I’ve always been gay. I’ve always known. You’ve known it too. I’m sorry I’ve lied, I’m sorry I hurt you with my lie, but mostly I’m sorry I’m gay.

  His voice was liquid and floating in his ears when he said, “I fuck other guys for money.” The red door bulged at the hinges, bowed out, oozing liquid at the seams, and Chase’s breathing quickened as he shoved up against it, putting his shoulders into it, forcing it flat and seamless, reinforcing the caulking at the gaps.

  “Yeah,” Donnie whispered, tightening his arm. “Look at you. You’re sweating and your face is practically gray. God, Chase. What the fuck are you doing?”

  Chase took a few deep breaths and straightened up, shaking off Donnie’s comforting arm. “When I’m on the set,” he said roughly, “I’m flying.”

  Donnie closed his eyes. “You know, if you could just tell her the truth, you could fly someplace not on camera. You know that, right?”

  Chase could still taste Tommy—he’d snuck a cigarette in the back yard before he’d come in for coffee, and the bitter smoke of it had been on his tongue. Chase didn’t care. He wanted Tommy there, wanted to clench his hand so tight it hurt. Tommy would make this moment with Chase’s best friend easier; Chase just knew he would.

  “I made promises to her,” he said weakly, because the thinness of those promises, with everything he was doing behind her back, was almost as transparent and bitter as the smoke.

  “Those promises include that guy who dropped you off?” Donnie asked quietly, and Chase took a step away.

  “We can’t talk about Tommy,” he said, knowing it was childish. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, like he could keep Tommy right there and nobody could know and nobody could comment and nobody could ever take Tommy away.

  “Yeah, why’s that?” Donnie had never been hurt. He wasn’t afraid of anything. He took two steps toward Chase and put his hands on Chase’s shoulders and Chase felt his spine collapse in on itself. He kept his arms crossed, but now he was protecting his own heart as much as he was holding Tommy to it.

  Tommy’s perfect. Tommy’s not part of my bullshit.

  “Tommy…,” Chase mumbled, maybe just to cling to his name. “He’s special.”

  Donnie nodded. “I recognize him from the site, but you haven’t done a scene with him.”

  Tommy’s not a scene. Tommy’s real. Tommy’s mine.

  “Tommy’s special.”

  Donnie pulled Chase back in under that comforting arm again. “Chase, man, what’s the worst that could happen if you tell Mercy you’re gay and that you’re going to live with Tommy and do something that doesn’t make you break into a cold sweat and turn the color of Kevin’s underwear?”

  Every bad thing my father ever said about me would be right.

  “That’s just being mean.”

  “Answer the question, jerk-off!”

  I’d be the reason my mother… my mother… I’d be the thing behind the red door, Donnie. I’d be that thing. I’d be the worst thing I could imagine. I can be a cheater and a porn star and a douche bag but don’t make me the thing behind the red door.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, because he couldn’t answer the question, and God bless Donnie, and all men who had grown up loved and knew how.

  Donnie’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and tightened. “You love him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Try to do right by him.”

  Too late.

  “I’m a douche bag.”

  Donnie’s voice broke a little. “That’s a fucking lie. You take that back!”

  “I’m… the things I’m doing—”

  “You’re fucked up, man. I’m not denying it. But there’s not a mean bone in your body. Hell, I’ve watched you fuck on camera for hours—you fuck like a god, you know that?”

  Chase pulled back, absurdly pleased. “You think so?” and Donnie started to laugh, but the laugh was wrong. It sounded more like tears. “What’s wrong?”

  Donnie shook his head and wiped his eyes. “It’s your voice, Chase. Just now. It’s that same voice you used when you first pitched a game. We were like, seven, and you were so good, and I’d never seen you look happy, and you did.” Donnie shook his head again. “Man, Kevin’s gonna be here any minute. I forgive you, okay? Just—just be careful.” Donnie put his hand on Chase’s chest for a minute, splayed it out, big fingers, wide palm and all, and Chase looked at it dumbly, not sure why it was there.

  “You got something wrecked in you, Chase. If you ever want to fix it, let me know.”

  Chase nodded, and they heard the distinctive backfire of a Ford Escort that had been made before any of them had been born. Kevin had arrived.

  “Aw fuck,” Donnie said, backing away and wiping his eyes. “That asshole’s gonna park that thing in ’Yandro’s driveway for a week. I gotta go get some newspaper or it’s gonna stain the fuckin’ pavement.”

  By the time Kevin pulled up, Chase felt like maybe, maybe, the next breath wasn’t pulling his lungs over a daisy field full of razor blades.

  SPRING training was awesome. Chase had forgotten the simple joy of physical exertion, one that didn’t involve contact with another human being and that simply demanded he did his best. His body was an amazing machine. On the conditioning field he enjoyed toning it and tweaking it and basically preparing it for top performance. There was no soul-searching on the conditioning field or in the baseball diamond. The rest of his life could have been acres of carnage from a bloody emotional war, but when he was on the field he was perfect, golden, and happy.

  Donnie didn’t mention his job, Kevin didn’t know about it, and all the other guys cared about was whether he could send that ball from the pitcher’s mound at over eighty miles an hour, and he could, and every time he let i
t sail through the air and knew it rang true, it was like his whole life, his whole body, became that little point of perfection in the strike zone.

  Even the coach—a taciturn man in his late fifties who didn’t do a lot of happy-happy/joy-joy encouragement—told him he was going to have the season of his life. He started thinking about ways to get Tommy and his other friends from work to come see him play. He wanted to share this with them. He wanted Tommy to be proud of him, in this area, even if Chase could find nowhere else in his life that Tommy could praise with a full heart.

  I’m beautiful here, Tommy. Come see me be beautiful.

  He texted Mercy every night before she fell asleep, and Tommy every morning when he woke up. Then Tommy again, right before Chase went to sleep, so he could pretend Tommy was the one he’d give a kiss good night to if he was home.

  I’m beautiful on the field, Tommy. I’m a douchey fucker in real life, but come see me be beautiful here.

  DEX, Tommy, Scott, Cameron, and Kane came to see his third home game. Mercy was there too, with her girlfriends, and Chase waved at all of them when he came out on the field. Friends from work, meet girlfriend. Girlfriend, meet friends from work. I gotta go pitch my heart out now; it’s gonna be somethin’ special.

  And it was. All of the extra time in the gym making his body pretty had paid off in unexpected ways. His fastball was faster than it had ever been, and his throwing speed was phenomenal. He fielded three pop-up flies in one inning, just because he could dance so fast, he could beat the catcher to the midline. When the game wrapped up—Hornets eight, Gators ten—and he retired from the field, he got an ovation, and when Donnie, who played first base, ran toward the dugout, he gave Chase a shove and told him to bow like a good trained monkey. Chase took off his cap, and people—not just his people, either—stood up and applauded—and he thought he’d ride that applause for maybe the rest of his life.

  Mercy knew he was going out with friends afterwards, so she ran down to the bottom rail and kissed him in the spring sunshine. He smiled at her, gave her a kiss, and waved to her girlfriends, who all smiled at him like he was some kind of hero, and then waved to the guys from Johnnies who had all come down too.

  “We still going out?” Dex asked, and Chase nodded, trying hard not to see Tommy’s fierce and miserable expression next to him.

  “Was planning on it!” Chase said enthusiastically. Normally he would have gone out with Donnie and Kevin and the other guys from the team, but it was one of those nights where everyone seemed to have something going on. Donnie had his sister’s birthday, Kevin actually had a date, and half the team was flunking history and was having a study weekend starting that night. Chase had texted Dex and offered free tickets to anyone who wanted them, and the rest had evolved from there.

  Tommy caught his eyes and nodded quietly, and Chase turned to Mercy. “I’m gonna stay over at someone’s house tonight, ’kay babe? I’m pretty wired.”

  “’Kay—I gotta be at work early tomorrow, Chase, that’s fine.” She gave him a good-bye peck on the cheek, and Chase turned to the guys saying, “Meet by the locker room!” before he trotted after his team.

  He was happy—blissfully happy—before a painful slug to the arm almost knocked him off his feet.

  “Holy fuck… Donnie?”

  They were in jog mode, and Chase caught up to him

  “Jesus, Chase—you’re really aiming for that douche bag thing, aren’t you? God, after that, I think I’ll fucking make you a nametag and stick it on your front door!”

  Chase just looked at him, puzzled, and Donnie smacked his own head repeatedly with his palm. “God! Chase—you are the most clueless bastard I have ever fucking seen! How bad do you think that little display with Mercy just hurt the guy you say you love?”

  Chase stumbled, all pretense of jogging forgotten. Suddenly the brilliant game, the spring night scented with lilac, the excitement of seeing his friends from work someplace where they could keep their clothes on… it all drained away, and he hardly felt like he had the energy to walk to the locker room.

  “Oh God,” he muttered, his lips going cold. “I didn’t mean… I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it that way… I mean… Oh Jesus, Donnie!” His lower lip was trembling and he felt like he’d been slugged in the stomach and not just the arm.

  Donnie turned around and looked at him and stopped his own jog, dropping his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Didn’t even hit you, did it?”

  Chase shook his head, feeling like he had when he’d been in fourth grade and his dad had told him that if he ever brought a kitten home again, Victor would run it over with the car. Chase had shown up on Donnie’s doorstep that night with the kitten, and Donnie’s mom had kept it for him for the next eight years, when the poor thing had died of some sort of cat disease.

  “I… I just wanted them to see me play. I didn’t know Mercy could make the game too.” She’d originally had to work, but she’d traded shifts for the next day so she could see him play.

  Donnie sighed and came back, throwing that arm around his shoulder and steering him for the locker room in the back of the college gym. “Chase?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Has it occurred to you yet that you’re not really cut out for the double life thing?”

  “I tried to break up with Tommy once.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not good for him. He needs someone better.”

  Donnie’s laugh was humorless. “Now see, if you’re going to break up with someone, the least you could do is tell them the truth.”

  “That is the truth.”

  “It’s a big fucking lie, baby. That’s why it didn’t work. If just once you could tell the truth to everyone involved, you might actually survive to be happy.”

  You don’t know what you’re asking.

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

  And he did too. They went out that night to a gay bar, because even Scott, who claimed to have a girlfriend, knew that dancing in a gay bar could be a lot more fun—and less strings attached—than dancing in a straight bar. Besides, his girlfriend knew what he did for a living, and apparently the fucking of other people didn’t bother her, as long as the other person was male.

  But Chase saw Scott and Dex dancing to a slower song, Scott’s hands framing Dex’s hips, and Dex staring at Scott like the world was in the guy’s eyes, and something in his chest twisted hard enough to hurt.

  “What’re you looking at?” Tommy asked. In spite of Donnie’s words, Tommy had been ebullient all night, cracking jokes, hyper as hell, cackling with glee. They had danced—not like they had in San Francisco, but in a way, the lack of intensity was refreshing. They actually heard the music, felt each other’s bodies, moved in sync. The other guys jumped on the floor with them, and it was like the game—total immersion into physical activity, muscles, sinews, heartbeat, blood and bone, all of it throbbing to the music. Dancing with Tommy was better than beer, and Chase was old enough to drink legally now.

  But still, as the slower song took over the floor and Dex and Scott writhed together, sex without skin, intercourse without penetration, orgasm without climax. Chase couldn’t help but watch them and wonder at the desolation on Dex’s face whenever Scott wasn’t looking at him.

  “I’m feeling bad,” Chase said, wrenching his face away. The guys had called him “Chance” all night, in spite of the fact that they’d seen his real name on the lineup flyer and heard it over the intercom. To them he was “Chance,” but not to “Tango.” He wondered if he’d slipped up and called Tommy by his real name that night. They’d all heard Scott call Dex “David,” and no one had even blinked.

  “About what?” Tommy put his hand on the back of Chase’s neck, and in spite of the boniness and the big knuckles, it was comforting. Chase closed his eyes and leaned back into the touch, feeling the slow music in his bones.

  “I shouldn’t have made you see us together,�
�� he said softly, standing up and taking Tommy into his arms and pulling him out onto the floor while Staind’s “It’s Been A While” eddied around them like a black whirlpool. “I didn’t mean to be a clueless dick.”

  He felt rather than saw Tommy’s smile. “You are a clueless dick. Don’t let it shake you.”

  Chase let out a breath and pulled Tommy closer. If Tommy cocked his head just so, he could nestle it against Chase’s shoulder, and Chase liked that so much.

  “For you, tonight, I won’t,” he said.

  Kane and Cameron came bounding by, restless with the slow music. “You guys ready to blow this place?” Kane asked, playfully dragging Cameron by the hips so his crotch ground up against Cam’s ass. “I’m bored!”

  “Go the fuck away,” Tommy said dreamily and without rancor. “I’m dancing.”

  “Oh God! Boring!”

  “Don’t worry,” Chase told them, winking at Kane, who had the attention span of a drunken monkey. “It’ll pick up in a minute.”

  Sure enough, it did on the next song, and the throbbing, joyous dance mob resumed. But later that night, after they closed the place down while singing with The Ramones and “What I Like About You” at the top of their lungs, Chase got into Tommy’s car and that other song, the slow, pensive one, seemed to gather around them like a cloak, like they’d been pulled under by it and never come clean.

  Tommy went with it and pulled it up on his iPod, and they were so close to his little house that he’d only played it twice before they pulled into the garage. It was enough. Chase heard it in his head as they moved without hurry through the darkened house and undressed, the sweat and bitter alcohol from the club still on their skin.

  Tommy shucked off his T-shirt, his silhouette dark against the glow from the sodium light outside the window, and while his hands were in the air, Chase captured them above his head. Slowly, so slowly, because he wanted this to last, he kissed down Tommy’s jaw, enjoying his stubble as it rasped against Chase’s lips. He scraped his teeth along the join of neck and shoulder, then scraped them along Tommy’s collarbone, loving the feel of the smooth skin, the tang of his sweat, the prominent ridge of his bone. There was a lump directly between Tommy’s shoulder and his chest, from when he’d broken the bone in the sixth grade, and Chase loved knowing where that was, loved knowing why it was there. He’d seen the picture of Tommy in the hospital bed, looking surly and embarrassed, and had felt Tommy’s mother’s worry, whether she knew who Chase was or not.