I cringe at her words. When she puts it like that, it’s easy to understand why they would be upset, even aside from me quitting college in the first place. She's right, I should've told them sooner. If something had happened to me here, they wouldn't even have known where I was.
"I was scared you would try to talk me out of it," I say, and before I can add an apology, my dad cuts in.
"Of course we would've tried to talk you out of this. It's a fool’s dream you're chasing, son. I know you think you’re good at acting and maybe you are, but the chances of you making it in that business are —"
"I have a lead role in a new drama series," I interrupt him, frustrated by his lack of faith in my abilities. "I shot the pilot a few months ago, and it got picked up by a major network. They offered me a role for at least the first season, but if the ratings are good, it could be extended for years to come. I didn't drop out of college on a whim, Dad. I did it because it's not a fool’s dream I'm chasing. It's a dream I'm realizing."
There is a long silence at the end of the line, and I close my eyes in anticipation of their reaction.
"What kind of series?" my mom asks, and I hear careful interest, which is ten times better than I had expected.
"It's a drama series called Hill Country, set in Texas, actually. It's about a family on the ranch and the dad dies unexpectedly, so the mom and the kids have to deal with that. I play the oldest son. They were looking for native speakers, and I guess I fit the bill."
"Well, I’ll be," my mom says with a hint of pride. "How about that? And you said you had a lead role?"
"Yes, Mama. There's the mom, me, my sister, and an uncle. So four lead parts, and I'm one of them."
"What about the values in that series?" my dad asks, and I have no trouble understanding the code word values. My dad has always been stricter than my mom, and church ranks right up there with Texas, family, and football.
"It's not a Hallmark Channel movie, Dad. There's cursing and nudity and sex scenes," I say. I could sugarcoat it, but I don't want to. I'm proud of this series, and there is little sense in me trying to hide what it is.
"Son, that's not how we raised you," my dad says, following his predictable script.
And this discussion is the one I feared, the one I've been trying to avoid ever since I knew I was gay. Sure, they weren't happy when I came out, even though they still love me. But their biggest fear wasn't me being gay. It was me choosing a gay life, me rejecting the traditions of the religion I grew up with.
"Dad, I know this isn’t easy for you to hear, but I need you to listen to me. I respect your religious beliefs, but you have to respect that I feel differently."
There's an audible gasp, which has to be my mom. My dad is too controlled to respond like that.
"Are you saying you don't believe in God anymore?" my mom asks.
I close my eyes for a second, fighting back the wave of frustration at this crazy simplification of something that is so much more complex. "No, Mama, I'm telling you that I don't believe in your particular brand of religion anymore. It's not about believing in God. It's about believing in a God the way you and your church paint him, as a God who would send me to Hell just for being gay."
Another gasp, then my father's stern voice. "That's not what our church teaches, and you know it. God loves the sinner, and your sin is nothing worse than anyone else's. Being gay doesn't get you sent to Hell. You just have to fight it and not give in to your gay impulses."
I shake my head, clenching my left hand into a fist as I’m fighting to stay calm. There are few things that infuriate me more than this utter bull, and the worst thing is that he genuinely believes it. He’s not trying to be judgmental or mean. He legit believes this, which never fails to baffle me, because other than that, he’s such a compassionate, smart man.
"We'll have to agree to disagree on that one, Dad. Being gay is not something I can turn on or off. It's who I am. And I refuse to believe in a God who could create me like this only to tell me that who I am is not good enough for him. I don't think that's how God works, not if God is supposed to be a God of love."
"Jackson," my mom says in that pleading tone that has so often made me keep my mouth shut in the past.
"No, Mama, I've kept quiet long enough. I know that you guys love me, but I also know you struggle with the fact I'm gay. I respect that, because I do understand where you're coming from. But you guys have got to accept that I feel differently. I don't think I should have to apologize for who I am, let alone agree that who I am is inherently wrong. I love you guys, but you need to accept that I’m never coming back to the religion you raised me in."
The silence this time is even longer, and I can picture them in my head. My dad, basically an older version of me, pulling my mom close as she tries to keep her composure. It's funny, my physical appearance is more like my dad’s, but I definitely inherited my mom's emotional temperament.
"That's not the path we had hoped for you," my dad says finally. "But we love you no matter what, Jackson. I hope you know that."
"I do, Dad. And I'm sorry for disappointing you. I wish…" My throat closes, making it hard to talk.
"Give us some time to process, okay?" my dad says. "We'll call you in a few days to talk more. We love you, son."
I agree, and they hang up before I can say anything else. I let myself fall back on the couch, the phone dropping from my hand. My throat hurts so much that even swallowing is painful.
"Tough conversation with your parents?" Cameron asks.
I hadn't even heard him come in, focused as I was on my parents. Not that I mind that he's heard it.
"Yeah. They just found out I dropped out of college and moved to LA. Not happy is an understatement, as you can imagine. Plus, I basically told them I quit their church as well, which was the icing on the cake."
Cameron lowers himself next to me on the couch. "Parental disapproval," he says softly. "That's a tough one. I'm sorry, man."
"You're so lucky with your mom," I say, resisting the urge to curl up against him.
It’s as if Cameron reads my mind, because he drapes his arm around me and pulls me close. I don’t even hesitate before dropping my head to his shoulder.
“You can borrow her anytime,” he says, and somehow that makes me feel better.
12
Campy
I step into the apartment after a long day of filming. My muscles are sore, as is my ass, and all I really want is to collapse on the couch and veg out in front of the TV the rest of the night. But, unfortunately, I have interviews with caretakers for my mom, so relaxing isn’t on the horizon for me tonight.
Jackson is sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and his laptop out. That little crooked smile of his is just peeking through as his fingers fly over the keyboard. For some reason the sight fills me with a mixture of happiness and something else…something hot and unpleasant. I want to say it’s jealousy, but that doesn’t make sense, does it?
“Hey,” I greet him as I kick off my shoes.
“Hey, Cam. How was your day?”
“Exhausting.”
He looks up with curiosity burning in his eyes, and strangely enough I find myself wanting to tell him about it.
“I got pounded, hard. I feel like I ran a marathon with a dick in my ass.”
When Jackson’s eyes widen, I worry for a second that I crossed the line into overshare territory, but seconds later he’s cracking up.
“Could you make that sound any less sexy?” he complains. “I was gettin’ a little excited at first, but then you made it sound so…grueling.”
“Dude, it is grueling.” I plop down on the couch next to him and groan as my tired muscles protest and my ass twinges. “Porn is not glamorous.”
“So I’m learning,” he chuckles before returning his attention to his computer and typing again.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“Just chattin’ with this guy,” he answers with a shrug, but
I can see the blush on his cheeks and the little smile again. And now the hot, unpleasant feeling is back.
“Oh?”
“No big deal. I’ve been tryin’ this dating app, but I’m not sure I’m really findin’ the right kind of guys.”
“What do you mean?”
He reaches for his phone, unlocking it and pressing on an icon before handing it to me.
“I know you don’t date guys, but is this typical?”
I look down to see the message center of whatever dating app he’s enrolled in. Off the bat, I can tell a majority of the messages are dick pics and almost all the rest are some version of “want to fuck?”
“Jeez, not even a hello from these guys? They just jump straight to asking if you top or bottom.”
“Right?! Okay, I was startin’ to think maybe I was crazy, but these guys are forward, right?”
“Yeah, this is kind of gross, honestly.” I wrinkle my nose, handing his phone back to him with disgust.
“I had no idea how hard it would be to date. I always figured once I was out of my homophobic little town it would be easy as pie to find a man.”
“Yeah, dating in LA isn’t great, no matter your sexual orientation. Porn isn’t the only reason I’ve been single most of my adult life,” I confide.
Jackson frowns and closes his laptop, looking completely dejected. “Hey, maybe I can help you,” I find myself offering before I can think better of it.
“Help me?”
“Yeah. You’re new in town, but I have all kinds of connections. I’ll ask the guys at work where they recommend scouting for decent ass.”
Jackson snorts and shakes his head. “I told ya, I don’t want ass, I want—” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I’m bein’ too picky, aren’t I?”
“Not at all. Leave it to me, we’ll find you the man of your dreams, I guarantee it.”
He still looks skeptical, but he nods and his smile starts creeping back into place. “You’re a good guy, Cam. I’m lucky I got you as a roommate.”
“Back at you, Jackson. Now, I’ve got to get over to my mom’s to interview some caretakers.”
“Want some company?” he offers.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t. Truth be told, I kinda miss my own ma, yours reminds me of home a bit. And I’d be happy to cook up some more casseroles or do a little cleanin’ for her. I hate thinkin’ of her unable to do for herself.”
His words make my breath catch in my throat. I can’t seem to form words, so instead I just nod in agreement.
Setting his laptop on the coffee table, Jackson stands up and quickly slips his shoes on, and then grabs his cowboy hat off the hook by the door and places it on his head. I’m not sure what it is about that hat, but it’s so damn endearing.
We lock up and head down to my car.
“You can put whatever you want on the radio,” I offer. “This car is old as shit so it doesn’t have anything fancy like a hook-up for your phone or something, but the radio works fine. Although, I’m not sure LA has any country stations that come in.”
He snorts a laugh and uses the dial to search, stopping on a station playing eighties rock.
“I got stuck listening to country music my whole life, I’ll take George Michael or Madonna any day.”
“I knew you were cool,” I joke, reaching over to crank the volume higher so we can both sing along to “Faith” at the top of our lungs.
When we get to my mom’s house, I’m thrilled to see she seems to be having a good day.
“Jackson!” she greets him excitedly. “I’m so glad you came back to visit me.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom. I guess I’m chopped liver?” I joke.
“Of course I’m happy to see you too, my wonderful, perfect son,” she lays it on extra thick, her words making my insides squirm with guilt, and I roll my eyes but hug her tightly.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Not bad,” she assures me. “All this business about having a health care aide is too much. I don’t need it.”
“Yes, you do, and you’re not going to talk me into changing my mind.”
“Jackson, can’t you talk any sense into my son?” She turns puppy dog eyes on my poor roommate.
“Sorry, ma’am but I happen to agree with your son on this one. But, I’ll tell you what, how about if I bake you some apple tarts from a recipe my mama sent me. I bet that would cheer you up.”
“You would win that bet,” she agrees and I send Jackson a grateful look.
The next few hours are spent interviewing a handful of nurses while Jackson keeps my mom too occupied to protest, for which I’m immensely appreciative.
At the end of the night, there’s a kitchen full of meals and treats, and I’ve chosen a nurse to come over every day to take care of my mom’s physical needs as well as cleaning the house and making sure she’s eating.
It’s difficult to pry my mom away from Jackson once it’s time to go, but I eventually manage it.
“She is somethin’ else,” Jackson says as we climb into the car.
“I think she has a crush on you,” I tease and he blushes.
“Maybe if I swung that way.”
“Ew, no, you can’t even jokingly say you’d consider banging my mom,” I complain and Jackson just chuckles. “Seriously though, thanks for coming. You made it a lot easier. I have a feeling she would’ve spent the rest of our stay putting up a protest if you hadn’t been there to distract her.”
“It’s no problem, I was happy to help.”
I glance at Jackson out of the corner of my eye as I drive and my heart gives a little flutter. Whatever man is fortunate enough to catch Jackson’s eye is going to be one lucky bastard.
A few days after promising Jackson I’d ask around for him, the perfect opportunity comes up. Bear orders in lunch for the whole cast and crew and we all gather around a couple of tables to share a meal and talk.
It’s one of the things I both love and hate about working at Ballsy Boys. Bear makes it a priority for all of us to be friends, to get to know each other more than just sexually. It scares the shit out of me that I’ll slip up and let some Cameron bleed into Campy. But at the same time, it’s nice to hang out with the guys. I just wish I didn’t have to keep such a high wall between these two parts of my life.
“Hey, Pix.” I turn my chair so I’m facing Pixie a little better. “Do you date?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bear’s head whip in our direction.
Pixie gives a little one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah, sometimes.”
“I mean, have you dated much since you moved to LA?”
“Do you mean like dating dating, or hooking up?”
Bear growls from his place a few seats down and I turn my head in his direction, trying to figure out what his malfunction is. I find him with his attention fixed on Pixie, his jaw clenched and his shoulders tense.
“Looking for a relationship type dating,” I clarify.
“Oh, no.” His gaze darts toward Bear and I frown, looking between the two of them. Clearly, I’m missing something. “The only man I’ve been interested in like that since I’ve moved is a stubborn asshole, so I’ve hooked up here and there, but that’s it.”
Bear growls again and I’m half convinced I should get out of the way before he lives up to his nickname and mauls somebody.
“Why are you asking?” Bear asks and suddenly, all the guys have their attention on me.
“Oh, well, my…friend… hasn’t been having much luck on the LA dating scene so I told him I’d ask around for him to see where the best places are to meet guys who aren’t douche bags.”
Brewer cocks his head curiously. “Why would you have to ask around? Where do you normally go to find hookups?”
Fuck me sideways.
“Oh, well, um…”
“Can we drop the friend bit and just admit you’re looking for a boyfriend?” Heart suggests.
“It’s not—” I st
art to protest
“His friend’s looking for boyfriend material, and you’re more into hookups, right?” Rebel supplies, saving me from floundering.
“Yeah, um, exactly.”
“Oh, in that case, I am not your man.” Brewer holds his hands up and Tank scowls. “Hey, I’m a one-man kinda guy now,” he points out, leaning over and pressing a kiss to the grumpy man’s lips. Okay, that’s fucking weird to see. I knew they started dating recently, after their video together blew up, but it’s just too fucking odd to process.
“Yeah, you don’t want to ask me because if I had the first clue where to find a boyfriend, I’d avoid it like the plague,” Heart adds.
“Before I met Troy, I used to hang out at this quieter gay bar near my place sometimes. I’ll write down the name of it for you,” Rebel offers.
“Thanks. I can’t believe you’re the only one at the table who isn’t a commitment-phobe. I guess it explains why we’re all in porn,” I joke.
“Yeah, thank god for that because if I was half as afraid of commitment as Troy was, I never would’ve pinned him down,” Rebel says with an indulgent smile that causes a strange, longing ache in my chest. It would be nice to have someone to care about the way Rebel cares about Troy. But fuck, who has time for all that mess? Not to mention the porn issue. It’s just not in the cards.
13
Jackson
I check myself in the mirror in my bedroom, turning around several times and craning my neck to make sure I can see myself from every angle. Then I shrug. I guess this outfit will have to do. The jeans fit me nicely enough, and I like the way they curve around my ass. The moss-green button-down is a level more formal than I usually wear, but it brings out the color of my eyes—or so the sales guy assured me when I tried it on.
I figured my cowboy hat would be too much for the city folks here, but I’m wearing my favorite pair of boots. My hair is styled, I'm clean-shaven and freshly-showered, and I dabbed on some expensive-as-all-get-out cologne. This is as good as it's going to get for a first date.
Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4) Page 9