by Edie Danford
The combo of scents shot a sudden sensory memory through my body. My mom and I running like hell together through a dark fall night.
The news of my dad’s affair had just hit the news. He’d been on a road trip telling God knew what kind of lies to everyone who crossed his path. My mom had picked me up from a school event and we’d gone out for fast food, another rarity. We’d pulled onto our street right as dusk had turned to full dark. She hadn’t been expecting a reporter to be camped out on our driveway. It had been one car, one question asked pointedly, but it had been enough to set off her protective instincts. She’d thrown the car in reverse, her grip on my arm tight enough to scratch my skin through my jacket.
We’d ended up parking a few blocks away and had run through a series of yards to get to our back door. Our next-door neighbor had been burning a fire—the first of the year—and the smell of smoke and grass and the grilled steak they’d had for dinner had made my fast-food burger knock at the back of my throat.
If I closed my eyes right now, I knew I’d be able to hear the break and the tear-clogged anger in my mom’s usually sweet voice. “Don’t look, Joshie. Just run,” she’d shout-whispered behind me. “We’ll be okay when we get into the house. We’ll be okay.”
As I kid I’d been sure my mom had been overreacting. Sneaking through yards and acting like some lame news reporter was an assassin had seemed kinda crazy. But as I looked back on that night now, I realized that sometimes our brains shut down and all we can do is choose fight or flight.
As I exited the alley and headed up the sidewalk away from campus, I knew I’d be okay tonight just like I’d been that night with my mom. As long as my legs kept working and I kept the puke from spewing—at least until I got to the tower—I’d be okay.
Chapter Fifteen
Nick
I GOT WAYLAID by Anthony on my way to Green House. He was freaking because Gabriel had finally shown up at Ellery. A month and a half late. No explanation, apparently, and yet he didn’t appear to be in any trouble with the college. Or anyone else. Except Anthony, of course. Go figure. I didn’t. Want to figure. Anthony did. So I did my best to calm him—took ten minutes, maybe more, and I had no clue if he’d heard a word I said—but by the time I was in sight of Green House I was the one who was freaking.
I’d sent a couple more texts to Josh telling him I was on my way, asking him how things were going with Pete. I hadn’t expected detailed answers, just something like his standard frownies or smilies or whatever. Instead I got nothing.
Nineties music, as usual, was blasting from the speakers inside Green House. In honor of it being a super-party weekend—and shockingly good weather—they’d set up a big dance floor on the lawn.
I headed straight for it. If Pete was here, that’s where he’d be. Guy loved to buck and grind. And, yep, there he was, three guys surrounding him. No Josh and right now Josh was all I cared about. I headed into the house. Lots of people I knew, lots of offers of beer and wine and other things, but nobody had seen Josh. I came back outside, my heart beginning to pound harder as my search became more frantic. I made a circuit of the house and then came back to the dance floor. Shit. I had to talk with Pete.
I pushed my way past five or six people, getting my ass pinched and my gut elbowed for my effort, and made it to within shouting distance of Pete. “Hey!”
His eyes lit up when he saw me. Or maybe it was just that his eyes opened. They were heavy-lidded enough to appear closed—they got that way when he was drunk, stoned, horny. Right now it looked like he was all three.
I grabbed his arm when he tried to grind on me. “Don’t want to dance,” I hollered in his ear. I tugged him toward a part of the yard where the music wasn’t so loud.
“Where’s Josh?” I asked, trying not to sound like I was freaking out.
He grinned. “Hi, Nicky!” He pressed a sloppy kiss to my cheek. “I’m having a great time. Just got blown in the bathroom. Oh my fucking God. So surprisingly good. Best one I’ve had in months—”
“Where’s Josh?” I repeated.
“God, Nick. I don’t know. He seemed like he wasn’t into this scene and I stopped paying attention—”
“When did you see him last? And where?”
“Here,” he said, waving at the lawn where we were standing. “Not too long ago.” He hiccupped. “I think he was mad. Might’ve left.”
My heart stopped pounding. For a second it stopped altogether. “Why? What did you do? What did you say?”
“I—” He exhaled another hiccup. “I don’t know.” His face got a tiny bit more serious. “I might’ve fucked up. I might’ve talked about some Notch Spot stuff—”
“Jesus fuck. Pete—”
“But only because Gabriel met Mike and Mike mentioned it first! And then Gabriel found out I knew Mike. And you. And I thought…maybe Josh already knew all about it?”
“Oh God. I fucking begged you!” I choked on a gasp. “Not two hours ago, I begged! You don’t remember? I wanted to tell him on my own time, in my own way.”
Pete raised his brows—his practiced, innocent, cute look. “Um. Too late?” His slow blink told me this was payback. Probably not fully conscious payback, but still. He’d been mad about my silence over the last few weeks. He’d been hurt and upset about my relationship with Josh. And so he hadn’t held back when he’d seen an opportunity to chuck a bomb at it.
I clenched and unclenched my fists. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe. I turned away. Then I started running.
“Nick!” Pete hollered.
I didn’t answer. He didn’t need an answer. He’d dance and fuck the night away. He’d have fun doing it. Pete wasn’t the one I needed to worry about.
I wanted to fly to the tower—wings would have carried me up the street and the drive and stairs so much faster than my exhausted feet. I had to stop three times on the way to catch my breath. The last time I made myself calm the hell down. Showing up at the tower in tears, screaming and wrenching out my hair would be bad. I needed to explain shit to Josh calmly. In a way to make him understand. I had to think of a good way to put it all together. In words and sentences that made sense.
As I walked across the flagstones, at last at the tower’s door, I looked up at the topaz-gold lights shining from the second floor and realized I hadn’t come up with any good words or sentences.
I found the spare key under the fake rock and unlocked the door. I’d thought for a moment about knocking, but knocking—making him come all the way down to meet me—would be stupid. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure he wanted me here.
“Josh?” I called as I shut the door behind me.
“Yeah, up here,” he said, his voice sounding blessedly deep and true and normal.
I slowly climbed the stone steps, slower than I’d ever climbed them before. I wasn’t a conquering knight tonight. I was a pathetic serf come to beg forgiveness.
When I got high enough to see the couch—the spot where he was almost always waiting for me—I was bummed to see it was empty. Bed was empty too, I noted as I turned the corner and stepped into the room. He was at the small table beneath the window. Laptop open. A few books taking up the space across from him, a few more books at his side.
“Hey,” he said, sitting back in the chair, crossing his arms. He was wearing a bright green tee I’d never seen him wear before. I couldn’t quite make out the words.
His expression wasn’t familiar either. No smile making his lips crooked, no friendly glow in his eyes.
“Hey.” I cleared my throat. There was god-awful gunk in it.
“How’s Kelsey?” he asked.
“Um…okay. I mean, as good as you’d expect. I left her with Lauren and Lena.”
“That was some seriously bad shit,” he said.
I nodded.
The light was hitting his profile in a surreal way, turning his handsome features into something cold and carved, like one of the marble busts sitting on the shelves upstairs.
&n
bsp; “I like Lauren and Lena,” he said. “I love it when people pull together like that, when they show genuine friendship and caring. Restores some of my faith in humanity.”
I nodded. Shit. Were we going to talk about Lauren and Lena? Maybe not. He likely hadn’t been thinking about Lauren and Lena when he’d said that.
I looked around. I really wanted to sit, but if I took the couch or the bed, I’d be too far from the table. I didn’t want to have to shout to make myself heard. And the other chair was next to him and full of books, the top one propped open as if he’d been taking notes.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. “So,” I said.
He nodded. Like a marble statue would nod. Coolly, with a single jerk. “So?”
“I talked with Pete and he said some stuff…” I swallowed, searching for words. “He said some stuff from my past came up and I wanted to explain.”
His fingers lifted slightly from where they were wrapped around his elbow. “I’m listening,” he said finally.
“For a long time…” My voice drifted, fading as it rose toward the fancy ceiling and I tried again. “For a long time I felt lost. And fucking—lots of sex with lots of guys—seemed to help me find my way. I tried other ways. But it was the way that worked best.”
I paused. I didn’t know how much to explain. I didn’t know what he wanted to hear. I just knew I wanted my kind, sweet, friendly Josh back. Not the Josh who sat there stoically. He didn’t seem to be judging, or angry, or even particularly curious. He just seemed to be…waiting.
“And so what did you find?” he asked.
“What?”
“You said you were lost. What did you find when you were fucking all those guys?”
“I… I don’t know. I don’t know, really.”
“Pleasure? An ego boost? Random holes to stick your dick in?”
He paused for an answer but I didn’t have any. God, I wished I did because it about killed me when he continued, “Was it a different thing with different guys? Did it add to the thrill to categorize them, put them on a matrix, put the data up for everyone to see?”
The ache in my throat was taking over my body. I couldn’t speak.
“Come on, Nick. What huge need was in your life that you needed to fill that way? What did you fucking find?”
Okay. Here was some emotion. Anger and hurt. But he was tempering it and the fact he was holding back almost hurt worse than the anger itself. A tear was tracking its way down the curve of my cheek and my chin. I ignored it.
“I was just looking…for something.” The words scraped against my raw throat. I didn’t care. The pain seemed right. “Meaning maybe? Seeking. I don’t know what. It started as an ego stroke, sure. But also, you know, I love sex. It feels good—for me and for the guys I’ve been with. And I’ll apologize for a lot of shit but I won’t apologize for feeling good and making other people feel good too.” I wiped my chin and tipped it high. “And then I found you. And I felt like I’d been hit over the head—you knocked something loose and I felt free for the first time to…to be a different version of me.”
“A different version.”
“Yeah. I guess. I know it’s fucked up. I don’t really know how to explain it. Can I—” I looked longingly at the couch, at him, at the bed. “Can we sit down together? I really just want to touch you. Hold you.” My voice cracked. “For you to hold me…”
He stared at me. His jaw was moving, just slightly. I could see the muscle working under his marble-cool skin. Something gleamed on his cheek. A tear?
Oh God. What the hell had I done? “Josh? Please—”
“That can’t happen. What I saw tonight…” He stared into his laptop’s screen. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a breath. There were tears on both of his cheeks now. He brushed them away. “That Notch Spot shit. With me. And my picture. And my… What would you call them? Stats? At the top of some list—” He broke off the words and swallowed audibly, as if he felt sick.
I wanted to fall to my knees. “Oh Jesus. Josh. Baby, I’m so sorry. That picture…I didn’t put it up. Pete must’ve uploaded it from somewhere.”
“Does it matter where it fucking came from? It’s there, Nick! I saw it.”
I shook my head. My chest seized as I thought of the violation I’d participated in. I hadn’t posted a photo of Josh, but I was guilty of posting pics of other guys on occasion. Always with their permission and never their faces—it had sometimes freaked me out how participation was so universally enthusiastic—but that little fact didn’t matter at the moment. This fuck-up with Josh was shining a light on the big picture that was the Notch Spot, and I’d never look at it the same way again.
I sucked in air and tried again to explain. “I know this probably won’t make a difference to you right now, but it didn’t get broadcast to the world. It’s a private group—me and Pete and a couple friends. I didn’t think I’d ever see you after that night in Boston.” I scrubbed at my burning eyes, my hands shaking, wanting so badly to reach out and touch him. “And I haven’t logged on for weeks—”
“Shit!” He grabbed a tissue from a box I hadn’t noticed earlier and jammed it against his eyes. “Fucking hate to cry,” he mumbled. “I’m not even sad. I’m fucking angry!” He dropped the tissue and looked at me. “You can try to explain it a thousand ways but I know what I saw. Seeing that, hearing that—I felt like I didn’t know you at all. That you”—he gestured at me—“and me”—he pointed at himself—“don’t exist the way I was thinking we did.” He shook his head. A bunch of times. With feeling. Not like he was statue at all. “It made me rethink every choice I’ve made about spending time with you. Beginning with that first night. When you took my hand. And asked me about my birthmark and where I was from. And kissed me and pretended not to know me and then pretended to be fucking nice to me when I offered you my goddamn ass!”
“Josh—”
“And all the while I was scoring points for your fucking sex league, providing you with plays to share with your so-called friends!”
Oh God. His last words throbbed with pain, bass-deep with awful emotion. I could sense them sinking into my skin, saturating the air, soaking into the tower’s old stones. The stones must’ve hated them, must’ve thought they tasted horrible. They spat them back out in awful echoes that rang in my ears. The sacred and the profane in-fucking-deed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure he’d heard, so I said it for him and for the stones a lot louder. “I’m sorry, Josh. If I had to do it again, if I could take it back…” God, weren’t there any words for the way I was feeling? “I’d like to try to explain. If you would be willing to hear—”
“No. I don’t want—I don’t think I can stand—to hear anything about it right now.”
I swiped away tears so I could see his face. He was staring at me. Utterly human and defeated now. Tired and pale. Eyes red-rimmed and wet. I’d done this to him.
He shut his laptop. “Honestly, I’m dead tired and I just want to be alone—”
I held up my hand. “I get that. I do. I don’t want to put pressure on you. I just want to let you know how—”
“You need to go.”
My teeth clacked together as if a trap door had opened beneath my feet—I’d dropped to the ground floor and landed hard. He wanted me to leave. Now. “Okay,” I rasped. “When can I come back? Or when could we meet? Because I think the sooner that I—”
“I don’t want you to come back. I don’t want to meet. I can’t…be with you.” He sighed. As if he were carrying a big burden he wanted desperately to set down.
He didn’t want to meet. He couldn’t be with me.
I closed my eyes. I’d known this was gonna happen. I knew I’d end up giving him my heart and that he’d find it lacking and hand it back. I wasn’t the right kind of hero for Prince Josh.
“I’m sorry Nick,” he said, giving my heart another twist, screwing it painfully back into my chest. It didn’t f
it anymore. It would never fit again. “I can see you’re upset. It’s been a shit night and maybe I’ll see—maybe we’ll both see—things differently later. But I don’t think I can come back from this. I realize now how fundamentally different we are. Tonight I felt like a fucking forty-year-old dealing with a bunch of kids still stuck in junior high…”
I exhaled a strangled laugh.
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can reconcile the version of Nick who would put my ass on the Internet as a prize with the version of Nick I thought I was sharing my life with here in these rooms.” He pushed back his chair and stood.
For a stupid second I thought he might come toward me. If he got close enough I could pull him into my arms. And then maybe I could show him—make him feel how sorry I was. My skin knew how to speak to Josh’s skin. It knew how to show him how much I needed him. It could show him there was only one version of Nick McQueen who mattered. The one who loved Josh Pahlke.
But he didn’t come close. He walked over to the sink. He opened the cabinet and got a glass. He filled it and then he came toward me. “Drink this,” he said. “You don’t want to get dehydrated. This kind of night will take it right out of you. I’ve had about a gallon since I got home.”
Nope, wouldn’t want to get dehydrated on my long walk back to campus. Needed to be healthy and invigorated for when I got back to my own bed, my own room, my own life.
I looked down at the water. The surreally pretty distortion of Josh’s long, golden fingers through the glass—the steadiness of his hand—made me angry for some absurd reason. I wanted to smack the glass out of his hand, hear the glass splinter into shards and see the water soak into the stone floor. I wanted to take that kind, concerned look off his beautiful, tear-streaked face.
But anger was easy. Anger would’ve been a reward, a relief. I took the glass very carefully. Then I took a small sip of the cold, flavorless water. My throat would reject anything else. I walked the glass back over to the sink. I poured out the remaining water, turned on the faucet, squirted a dollop of his fancy soap into the bottom of the glass. I washed it gently and then rinsed it. After placing it in the drainer, nestling it amongst other glasses of the same shape and size so it wouldn’t stand out as the one I’d used, I turned off the water and wiped my hands on my jeans.