by Chase Potter
With barely the warning of Carson wrinkling his nose, he sneezes. It’s sudden and violent, and bits of snot and spit fly out of his nose. He looks as surprised as I do, and even though his expression is cute, I’m also annoyed. Has no one ever taught him to cover his mouth?
“When you sneeze,” I tell him. “Do it into your elbow, like this.” I demonstrate with an exaggerated fake sneeze, and for the first time since I met him earlier today, he actually smiles.
“Okay,” he says with an earnest lilt. “I will.”
And somehow this parenting thing seems suddenly more possible. I’m an adult, and Carson is a child. One who’s willing to listen to me, it seems.
At that moment, I get a whiff of him again, and my next priority seems dictated for me. “You need to take a bath.” I point to the bathroom. “I’ll toss your clothes into the wash, and we’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
“I haven’t had a bath in a long time.” He sounds worried.
“I believe it.”
He gets up, and I walk with him to the bathroom. I plug the tub and start the water running for him. The rush of running water echoes in the tub and the bathroom, and he looks on as I point out the shampoo and conditioner and soap.
“Where are the bubbles?” Carson crosses his arms, and I get the feeling that this request is non-negotiable.
I raise an eyebrow. “Bubbles?”
He looks at me with wide eyes as he points to the water, and for the moment this is the most important thing in the world to him. “For the bath. I always have bubbles. You have them, right?”
I’m about to say no, but a distant memory is tapping me on the shoulder. A girl I was dating a year or so ago gave me a bottle as a gift. Who gets a guy bubble bath, anyway?
“Actually, yes.” From deep under the bathroom sink, I retrieve the old but unopened bottle of bubble bath and set it on the edge of the tub. “There you go, little guy.”
“You have bubbles, so I’ll take a bath,” Carson reasons. “But only because I like you.”
An odd sort of embarrassment tingles in my face. “Well, thanks. Just, um, toss your clothes out the door, and I’ll put them in the wash.”
Carson shoos me out, and I don’t have to wait more than a minute for him to throw his shorts and t-shirt and socks and underwear onto the floor outside the bathroom. Gingerly picking them up, I ferry them to the washing machine and douse them in detergent.
I’ve just started the load when Carson’s voice calls from the bathroom. “Matthew!”
What could he possibly want?
“Matthew!” Louder this time.
I knock lightly on the bathroom door. “What is it, buddy?”
“Come in,” he commands, and I do as he says. The empty bottle of bubble bath lies abandoned on the floor, and Carson is concealed from the neck down in a mountain of bubbles.
“Whoa. I didn’t say you could use all of it.”
“I accidentally put all of it in.” He grins. “Oops.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure you did. What was it that you needed?”
“Shampoo my hair?” he asks, pointing to his head and tapping three times.
“Uh…” Somehow I don’t think that most eight-year-olds actually need help washing their hair.
“Pleeeeease.”
To be honest, he’s kind of adorable right now, and he is my brother after all. “Sure, Carson. I’ll wash your hair.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Matt?” James says, but I don’t speak. A second scrapes past, and then another. “Hello?”
I drag in a breath, and I know he can hear it. It’s been two days since I had sex with Alex, but I don’t have the strength to talk to James right now. I couldn’t bring myself to go to work today, and I shouldn’t have even answered his call.
“Damn it, Matt,” James says, more insistent now. “This is serious.”
The best response I can manage seems to fall flat. “I know.”
“Sure,” he snaps. “But did you know that Alex Price is tearing through the city records? He’s having boxes from the city archive sent over to his office today. The stuff from years ago that was never recorded digitally.”
And in that instant, I realize that Alex is going to find out everything. All the time I’ve been falling for him, he’s been getting closer to the truth. I’ve tried to tell him, but he never believed me. But now he’s going to find out for himself exactly the kind of guy that I am.
My lungs are being crushed beneath the weight pressing down on my chest, and my voice is hoarse. “So what now?”
James’s heavy sigh hits the microphone and crackles in my ear. “I’m working on it. But you need to make sure that your office is squeaky clean. Get rid of everything you have on any of the deals.”
I wish I could believe that James has a way of fixing this, but Alex is stubborn. And if he’s starting to search the city’s archives, it’s only a question of how long before he pieces everything together.
“I slept with him.” The words reverberate inside me like a massive tolling bell, and I can’t believe I just admitted that. To James of all fucking people.
Silence, the kind that suffocates you.
“You what?”
I should say something but I can’t.
“Holy shit, Matt. That’s brilliant.”
I must have heard wrong. “Huh?”
“I mean, the solution is unconventional and pretty gross. But if anyone could pull it off…”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand.
“Blackmail him, of course.”
“That’s…” The words don’t find their way out. Instead, I say, “That’s a felony.”
James laughs. Not the cold kind, but the kind that means he’s actually found humor in what’s going on. “If that’s what it takes to protect you from the first dozen or so. Besides, you came up with this one all on your own.”
“I didn’t —” The words die in my throat as I realize what I’m admitting to.
James is quiet for several moments. “So you fucked him just because you wanted to? Interesting…”
“Go screw yourself.” Heat rushes into my cheeks, but I want to put the idea out of James’s messed up mind. My mouth starts rolling on its own, but I’m not sure if I’m trying to protect myself or Alex. “No one cares about the gays these days. Trans is the new taboo. Being gay is the political equivalent to driving a foreign car.”
I can sense the thoughts churning inside James’s head, but I don’t have to wait long to hear his rebuttal. “Being gay, sure. But a gay sex scandal is different.” His tone flares with excitement, cunning, and suddenly I don’t even want to hear the rest.
He doesn’t give me that courtesy.
“Just imagine for a moment that a story leaked of Alex Price sleeping with the subject of his own investigation. Or better yet – photos of him balls deep in another guy’s asshole.” James pauses, musing, “Or you in him, it doesn’t really matter.”
“You’re disgusting.” I hate that we’re talking about how to destroy Alex’s career just to save ourselves. The thought of hurting Alex like that is actually making me sick to my stomach.
“That’s exactly my point,” James says. “You had a visceral reaction to that image, and so will everyone else. Politicians, judges, parents, community leaders, voters. Everyone. They’ll have his head on a platter. He’ll be forced to resign, and he’ll never hold elected office again.”
I take a breath, letting the plan roll through my head. It’s awful, and it’s cruel. But it’s a way out, and James knows it. “So,” he says, “You’d simply threaten him to drop the investigation or his career and life get dragged through the media frenzy of a sex scandal.”
Before I can even respond, James continues, “It’ll be impossible for him to prosecute.” James speaks in a measured cadence, confident in his logic. “The very motive of why you are the target of the investigation will be called into question. Is Price going after you because you c
ommitted a crime or just because you broke his heart?”
I think of Carson. The boy I’ve kept safe for years. He doesn’t have another family to go back to, and I refuse to let him get eaten up and spat out by the foster care system. I swallow, and my jaw tightens. But then I think of Alex. The time we’ve spent together and the way I feel about him. I think of the eyes that always find mine, the stubble on his cheeks, and the way he holds me like he’s never going to let go.
“I could never hurt him like that,” I breathe the words.
Tension spills across the line, and finally James sighs. “You’re not thinking this through.”
“I’m serious.”
James pauses, then concedes, “Fine, we’ll do this your way while he sifts through city records and gets closer to the truth, but the moment he realizes what he’s really found, you better start looking out for yourself. You got that?”
“I have to go.” My voice is on the verge of breaking, and I hang up before James can say anything more. My shaking fingers set the phone down on the counter, and it takes all my effort to stop my breaths from running over one another.
If it came down to destroying Alex’s career to protect myself and Carson… would I do it? The question eats away inside me.
What I know for sure is that this… thing I feel for Alex, it’s not just going to go away. It sticks in my chest, carving a hole in my heart and burning through my veins with every beat. I’m falling for him, and I can’t stop.
My feet guide me across the hardwood floor to the other side of the kitchen. My fingers tug on the cabinet handle, and it opens for me. Expensive bottles stare back at me, and for once I don’t give a shit about that fact. I just need something that will go down easy. A bottle of vodka beckons me. It’s smooth, and that’s all I need. Plucking a bottle from the shelf, I open it and tip it back.
* * * * *
Carson backs in the front door and drops a duffel bag on the floor the moment he’s inside. He glances at me as he fills a glass of water from the sink. “Thought you were picking me up today,” he says, and I should be worried at his tone.
From the couch, I look away from him, and my eyes stare unseeing at the distant view of the city. “I forgot.”
“No shit,” Carson counters. “I waited for an hour before giving up and taking the train.”
An emotion almost like guilt bucks against the inside of my stomach, but I’ve already been marinating in that feeling so long that it barely even registers. Carson marches across the room to stand between me and the window.
He’s giving me the death stare, but even in my current state I can tell that beneath his anger he’s mostly just hurt. Something about the pulling note in his voice, the sound that warns he’s more upset than he’s letting on. And the way his lips press into a line.
They’re the tiny things that only a father would know about his son, and as much as I’ve tried to convince myself over the years that Carson and I just share a brotherly relationship, it’s not really true. The problem is that I never really trusted myself to be a parent.
“What’s going on?” he demands, his voice shaking with an icy hurt. “You’ve been distant with me for days, and not only did you leave me stranded, now you’re acting like it doesn’t matter.”
I don’t even know if I can take care of myself right now.
“Matt,” he pleads.
I finally let myself look at him. “I… I just…” My words slur, only a bit, but Carson notices immediately.
“Are you drunk?”
My cheeks flush, and I don’t know what to say. My alcohol-lubricated thoughts slip out of my grasp every time I try to catch one, and Carson just watches me as I come up empty. He’s on the verge of tears, but something is changing in his expression. The anger and hurt are getting crowded out by something else.
I’m still trying and failing to come up with an explanation when he walks over and plops down on the couch beside me. He watches me closely, and when he speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper. “This is about Alex, isn’t it?”
First James, now Carson. Is there anyone who doesn’t have me figured out?
I hesitate, trying to balance both the huskiness and the drunkenness in my voice. “We’re not, um…”
He gives me a knowing look. “Oh really?”
I’m about to argue, to tell him he’s got the wrong goddamn idea and that it’s none of his damn business anyway. But emotion slams into my chest, and suddenly I just… can’t. I can’t keep lying to myself or to Carson. Wetness appears in my eyes, and I don’t have the strength to fight that either.
I’m breaking apart, in front of Carson, and then he does something I never would have expected.
He moves close and encircles me with his arms. I let him pull me into his embrace, not that I could resist right now even if I wanted to. He’s warm and strong, and it’s hard to believe this is the same kid I used to carry on my shoulders just a few years ago. He holds me tight, and no matter how hard I clench my teeth together, it doesn’t stop me from crying into my little brother’s shirt.
When he finally releases me, my breathing is snuffly. I don’t know where to go from here. It’s not fair to put this on him, but I don’t have anyone to talk to. Not about this. The words are weak in my mouth, but still I say them. “I don’t think I’m gay.”
Carson keeps his eyes on me for a long moment and then he shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you can’t fall for a guy.”
My mouth opens, and then I shut it again. “Doesn’t it?” I ask, and genuine curiosity ventures into my tone.
He gives me a long look. “You really want to know what I think?”
I swallow, and I need to know. My relationship with Carson is frustrating at times, and it’s always been challenging, but I wouldn’t trade the years with him for anything. He’s the most important person in the world to me, and I need to know. “Yes,” I breathe.
Carson doesn’t hesitate. “I think you should be you. There are always going to be people who tell you what you can’t do. People who demand that you wear a certain identity on your shirt, people who don’t believe that you’re genuine if you don’t fit into their box.” He pauses, watching me. “And if you like this guy, if you feel safe and comforted and loved when you’re with him… then who the hell says you shouldn’t? I think you should be you. Screw everyone else.”
Some of the tension in my chest dissolves with my exhaling breath. “I didn’t mean to fall for him,” I confess.
“Does that matter?” Carson asks, and I’m acutely aware that Alex recently asked me the same thing.
“Well… yeah,” I admit. “It’s not supposed to be this way. I’ve never even considered myself as bisexual or whatever. I don’t generally find guys attractive or have a desire to be with them. And I just feel like that… cheapens the way I feel,” I take a breath and keep rambling. “Like the people around me are never going to believe that this is what I really wanted.”
Carson’s eyebrows pull together. “Why the hell do you think that?”
I can’t believe I’m talking to Carson about my sexuality. But I’m drunk, so it doesn’t seem so awful. Maybe the regret will come later. “You don’t suddenly become attracted to something. You’re either gay or bi, or you’re not. You don’t become something you’re not.”
“Says who?” he demands. “A bunch of old gay dudes with a chip on their shoulder about what can and can’t be? That’s an outmoded definition of sexuality, and people who think that way are just ignorant.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. Carson has always been confrontational. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious. I’m sure it was different when you grew up, but now…”
I raise an eyebrow. “What?”
“People aren’t so uptight about it anymore.” He nibbles on his lip, and I get the sudden feeling that he’s afraid to share something.
“What?”
He gets a shy little smirk and makes a point to push the hair out of his
eyes. “You know that sleepover I went to a couple months ago?”
“Sort of. What about it?”
“It was just a bunch of guys, and while we were watching a movie, I cuddled with my friend Jake.” He shifts his gaze away, then back to me. “I was enjoying myself, so when he asked if he could kiss me…” Carson takes a breath. “I told him it was okay.”
What in the hell? This conversation is going nowhere that I expected it to. “You did what?”
He rolls his eyes, but I think he’s more amused than anything else. “Really, Matt?”
I ignore my own glaring hypocrisy. “Are you gay?” I ask with alarm.
“Nah,” he says with a casual assurance. “I think Jake might swing more towards guys, but that’s not the point.”
I force my mind to make sense of what he’s saying, and not for the first time, I really wish I were sober for this. “Uh, what is the point?”
“The point is that people my age are moving past the idea that you’re either gay or bi or straight. Sure, most people eventually adopt one of those identities, but the idea that your identity defines what you can and cannot feel is pure bullshit.” He pauses and then adds, “Okay, that’s the end of my spiel.”
I’m trying to process, but between the booze and the sheer amount of information that Carson just dumped on me, I’m struggling. “Um… so you really kissed a guy?”
Carson throws his head back in exasperation. “Seriously, Matt?”
“Your other friends didn’t freak out?”
“They thought it was funny, that’s about it.”
I’m savoring every bit of this, more so because of how rare it is to get insights into Carson’s personal life than because of any bearing on my own situation. “Is that common with your friends?”
“They’re all pretty open, yeah.”
“Wow,” I say through a long breath, and Carson turns his face away.
“Jesus, Matt, you smell like a distillery. How much did you drink?”
“Enough.” I hesitate. “Probably too much.”
He watches me closely, but I can’t tell if it’s a look of judgment or not. Eventually he asks, “So you really like Alex, huh?”