No Sacrifice

by Grace R. Duncan

  Chance’s phone went off, drawing his attention from the mounds of cable piled around him. He pulled it out and scrunched his eyebrows in puzzlement at the caller ID. Vannah almost never called him unless something was wrong. He swiped his finger over the screen. “Hello?”

  “Chance, oh God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he would… I mean, it never occurred to me. I… is there anything I can do? Any way I can—”

  “Whoa, hold on. What’s wrong? What happened?” The feeling building in Chance’s gut said something was very, very wrong. He took a deep breath, and when Vannah didn’t answer right away, he tried again. “Vannah? What happened?”

  “I guess you’re not near a TV?”

  “No, I’m in one of the storage closets. Tell me what’s going on.” Chance was not going to panic. He wasn’t. But he wanted to. Badly.

  “Uh… shit. E! News just outed Patrick.”

  “What!”

  “E! News. They just ran a story. On TV. They, uh, got video of y’all’s kiss at dinner the other night and just did a segment on TV about it.”

  “Oh God,” Chance whispered, eyes sliding closed. His stomach dropped out, and he found it really hard to breathe all of a sudden.

  “I’m sorry, Chance. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Wait, what? Didn’t mean to what?”

  “I… I think Gareth called ’em. Told ’em y’all’d be there. And I let it slip where you’d be.”

  “It’s not your fault, Vannah. You didn’t call them—my asshole of a brother did. I mean, I knew they’d get pictures, but I don’t think they knew what they had until his tip.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Fuck. I gotta go, Vannah. I gotta find Patrick. This is not your fault, okay? I’ll call you soon.” He hit the screen a little violently and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He knew, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, this was about to get really ugly.

  “Patrick Aeden.” Mama’s voice was too calm. That was the first thing Patrick realized. She used the two names, and her voice was way too calm. “Tell me that was a publicity stunt. Something you and the studio cooked up to help promote the show.”

  Patrick had the very brief thought that it would be so easy to say yes, to tell his mama what she wanted to hear, and it would all be over. But it would only delay the inevitable, and despite staying in the closet this long, he didn’t lie. He had to swallow three times to moisten his throat enough to speak. But he managed to force out, “No, Mama, it’s not.”

  “It’s not. It’s not a publicity thing. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Patrick gripped the phone, dimly aware somewhere in his brain that he was either going to drop it or throw it because of the state he was in. But he was too busy trying to remember how to speak to be able to worry much about his phone. “It is.” Saying more than a few words at a time was beyond him in that moment.

  “So… the man we welcomed into our home as your best friend this Christmas wasn’t your best friend. He was your lover. You left a perfectly good woman to turn gay. You ruined your marriage, screwed up your son’s life, hurt me gravely, and all for what? Some perverted sex? I can’t begin to understand this, Patrick Aeden! I thought you disappointed me over the divorce, but this? Disappointment doesn’t begin to cover this. What… how… I… I just can’t…. Did you think I’d never find out? Did you think you could just keep your oblivious mama in the dark, not bother telling her the truth? When did it become okay to lie? To me? To everyone!”

  “Mama—” Patrick had no idea what to say. The words were stuck. He was still too stunned, in too much shock to speak.

  “Don’t you ‘Mama’ me!” his mother roared. Patrick flinched, pulling the phone away from his ear briefly. When he put it back, she was talking in a much calmer tone of voice. “I… I can’t believe someone in my family, someone I gave life to, would do this to me. I can’t handle this. I…. You better straighten yourself out, Patrick Aeden Tearney! I did not raise you to do this. I didn’t raise you to turn gay! I didn’t raise you to turn your back on your family! I thought I taught you how to be a good husband and father! Not give up at the first little sign of trouble! You need to figure out your priorities. I….”

  It took Patrick a moment to figure out the line went dead. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms were damp, and he couldn’t breathe.

  Because at least some of what she said was true. He was to blame for his marriage ending. He’d known that for some time. He should have tried harder to love her, should have worked to find a way to make things good. Instead, he’d given up and walked away.

  The phone rang again, and Patrick nearly dropped it when he saw who it was. He swallowed to clear his dry throat again and answered. “Noa?”

  “What the fuck were you thinking, Patrick?”

  Patrick blinked. “What? Noa? I—”

  “Shut up. Just shut up. Mama is going crazy here. She is crying her eyes out! How could you do this to her? Mama doesn’t deserve this! She’s done nothing but be good to you! I can’t believe you’d be such an asshole, Patrick!”

  And before Patrick could so much as utter a sound, she hung up. Just as he was about to put the phone back in his pocket, it rang again. But when he saw Devin’s number, he silenced and ignored it. He wasn’t in any shape to hear the same things from his younger brother that he just got from his baby sister.

  He hadn’t noticed the room clear out, but when he looked up, it was empty. Rhys stood on the other side of the wall, watching him, but Patrick waved him away. Rhys frowned but nodded and walked off.

  He was still standing there, lost in thought, when Chance came up. He was out of breath—he’d obviously been running. “Baby?” he asked, stepping up.

  Patrick stared at this man, the one person he’d loved more than almost anyone in the world. He’d never felt for anyone what he felt for Chance. And he knew Chance had put his heart and soul into their relationship. Chance looked…. Patrick couldn’t quite decipher the look. Somewhere between terrified and tortured.

  “I… uh… I….” Patrick stuttered, then shook his head. He moved over and sank onto a chair, dropping his head into his hands. “Chance, I….” He shook his head again. “I… I can’t do this.”

  Chance crossed the room and squatted next to him, laying a hand on his leg. “Can’t do what, baby?”

  He looked over at Chance, at the concerned face, and only felt worse. What was he doing to this man? What was he putting this man through? The one he loved so much? “I….” He tried to suck in a breath, but he struggled, his lungs not wanting to work. “I….” He shook his head. “You. Us. I… I can’t do this to you, Chance. It’s… it’s not fair. You deserve so much better than me.” He swallowed convulsively and gripped his thighs hard to keep from reaching out to touch.

  “Hey, baby, don’t talk like that.” Chance reached up and brushed back some of Patrick’s hair, then cupped a cheek. “We can handle this together.”

  But Patrick pulled his face out of Chance’s hand and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to. I just fuck everything up, Chance. I fucked up my marriage with Em. I’ve already fucked up with you, and I’m only going to make it worse. Do it again and again.” He snapped his mouth closed, battling his breathing for a moment. “You deserve someone who’s not going to do that. Who doesn’t have to be in the closet. They’ll never accept it, you… us. It’s… I just… I can’t.”

  Chance stared at him without moving for a long moment. “What are you saying, Patrick?”

  Patrick closed his eyes. “I think you need to find someone else. Someone who’s as out as you are. Someone who’s not going to fuck you up.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. Isn’t that for me to decide?”

  Good, he sounds angry. Patrick shook his head. “I don’t think you’re thinking clearly. I’m no good, Chance. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

  Chance stood up and took a half step back. Patrick couldn’t look at the face he loved, couldn’t see the anger building, the pain he
was sure would be there. “I see,” Chance murmured. “And—” He stopped himself, and Patrick heard him breathing fast but kept staring down. “So… I… I don’t get a say in this, is that right?”

  “That’s right,” Patrick managed.

  “You’ve just decided for us.”

  Patrick nodded, not able to put the word to it. What else could he say? How could he make Chance understand? But the words didn’t want to come. He took a breath, though not very deep, and finally forced himself to speak anyway. “I’m… I can’t be with a man anymore. With you. I can’t be bi—I can’t be out, like you. I’m not you. I… I just can’t do that. I’m sorry.” He whispered the last, his throat finally closing, eyes swimming. He kept his gaze locked on the floor, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, hoping Chance would just accept it.

  And, conversely, hoping he wouldn’t.

  “I see.” The tone of voice was completely devoid of emotion, but Patrick forced himself to keep looking down. “Well, then, if that’s how you feel… that you don’t want me anymore….”

  Patrick nearly choked on his breath. Not in a million years. The only thing I want is you. But he knew he couldn’t say that, not if he was going to get Chance to go find someone who was healthy and good. “It is,” he managed to say. He felt like he was being strangled, like he was about to collapse in on himself, but he forced himself to respond. He hadn’t cried since he was a little boy, but tears threatened, and his vision swam again. He fought them with everything in him, unwilling to let them fall. He wouldn’t give in. Would. Not.

  Chance said no more. Patrick listened to the footfalls as his lo—former lover left, and every step felt like ice cutting through him. He sat, unmoving, unable to, because if he did, he thought he would fall apart into a million little pieces.

  Like his heart was doing in that moment.

  He had no idea how long he stayed like that, trying to breathe, fighting tears, torn. Patrick wanted desperately to run after Chance and beg him to listen to an apology, tell him it was a mistake. He also wanted to curl up in a little ball and just… stop. Cease to be. Because he didn’t think he could take the searing pain growing in his chest, the knowledge of how much he hurt the one person he loved more than anyone else in the world.

  Finally, he had to move, whether he wanted to or not. He had a child to take care of, and if nothing else he needed to hold it together for Avery. He stood up, pulled his phone out, and unlocked it. He ignored the list of missed calls, the six texts from Devin, the two from Flynn, and the other two from Colin and Leia. He’d guessed Mama hadn’t gotten around to telling Alana and Quinn yet. Or maybe they were so upset they couldn’t even text.

  He pulled up his last-dialed numbers and hit the one with the Canadian area code. She picked it up on the first ring. “Patrick?”

  “Em. I need a favor. How soon could you come pick up Avery?”

  Chapter 27

  It felt like something was pounding on the inside of Patrick’s skull, trying to get out. Patrick buried his head farther into the pillow, blocking out the rest of the light and trying, though probably in vain, to get rid of the pounding.

  He really didn’t want to get up. And, since he still had a few days of break left and Emily had Avery, he didn’t have to. He pulled the blanket a little higher and rolled over.

  His conversation with Emily had not gone as well as Patrick had hoped. She had managed to get flights the very next day and worked it out so she could get Avery and fly back that same afternoon. And though her time in LA had been exceedingly brief, she’d managed to nearly tear him a completely new asshole while she was there. She’d called him a few choices names—the tamest being “idiot,” the rest whispered in deference to their son—then proceeded to outline all the reasons for him earning said names. How could you let him go? Are you really going let your mother decide your sexuality? You need to go find him, get down on your knees, and beg for forgiveness, suck his cock to prove you mean it—this had caused Patrick to blush horribly—then beg him to come back. She’d shaken her head, smacked his, then collected Avery and the little red suitcase and headed right back into the airport.

  He’d hoped for a bit more support, though why he’d expected that, he couldn’t figure. She’d told him, in not so uncertain terms, to fix what he’d broken. The only encouraging words she’d given him—which he couldn’t really take to heart—were that it could be fixed. Which was why she refused to tell Avery Chance was gone for good. They’d told him Chance had to “go away” for a while, and then she’d given Patrick a hard stare.

  He didn’t try to tell her it wasn’t a matter of fixing. He couldn’t fix himself, so he couldn’t very well fix the breach between him and Chance. Instead he kept his mouth shut, hugged and kissed Avery, waved at Emily, then got back in his car.

  And tried to call his mother. Again.

  The first couple of times he called, she simply wouldn’t answer the phone. But he’d kept at it, determined to at least try to talk to her about this. After about the fifth or sixth try, she started answering. But only to hang up on him without speaking.

  Which she did that time too. He’d gone on to read the texts from Flynn—who’d said in text form the same basic stuff Noa had screamed at him over the phone—then read Devin’s, which had used much more colorful language than Noa and Flynn. And a lot more words to say the same thing.

  Even Colin and Leia had texted, though probably only because he refused to answer the phone. There were only four people in his family he would answer the phone for: his mother, of course, Tutu, Quinn, and Alana, and none of them had tried to call yet. He figured Tutu was letting things settle down and would chew him out later.

  Colin and Leia’s texts hadn’t been quite as bad as his other siblings, at least. They’d mostly chewed him out for not having talked to Mama before this. But Patrick didn’t think that really would have made a lot of difference in the end.

  And Quinn and Alana had sent very basic messages. Alana did say he should have told Mama sooner, but she also said it wasn’t right of Mama to freak out like she was. Quinn’s entire supporting text said: “Dude, chill. It’ll work out.” Which hadn’t been very comforting because Patrick knew better. Not so long as Mama wouldn’t talk to him and Chance was gone, the latter of which would be forever.

  In frustration he launched his phone across the car, where it bounced harmlessly on the floor mat. Then he turned the ignition a little too roughly. After a stop at the liquor store, Patrick turned the CD Chance had made him for Christmas on repeat and spent the next few days on his couch, emptying the Jameson bottles he had. He couldn’t sleep in the bed he’d shared with Chance, so he’d simply stayed on the couch.

  He’d lain there, drinking straight from the bottle, and every time he rolled over, found himself staring at the place Chance’s guitars had been. All of Chance’s things were gone. The paperback on the coffee table. The instruments. The clothes in the closet and dresser. The stupid razor in the bathroom.

  When he’d gotten home that night after the story broke, Chance was nowhere to be seen, but his stuff was still there. It was only by virtue of having to take care of Avery that Patrick hadn’t spent the whole night staring at Chance’s clothes or dragons or instruments.

  The next day, though, he’d left a note on Chance’s door that he’d be gone for a few hours to take Avery to the airport. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping Chance would be there to try to refuse to leave or if he’d get his stuff and make the break final. When he got back, Chance’s things were gone and his house key was on the bar, so he had his answer. He’d stared at that key for way too long. Then opened the first whiskey bottle and managed to get drunk for the first time in a ridiculously long time.

  He wasn’t sure how long ago that was. He’d done very little since except sleep, listen to Chance’s CD, try to call his mother, field texts from Devin, and ignore calls, texts, and voice mails from Rhys, Angelo, Sebastian, Marcy, and Sophia. There was even one in half-English
, half-Portuguese from Pablo that he couldn’t quite understand except the tone sounded worried.

  He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He’d fucked up and he deserved what he had.

  The only one he wanted to talk to still wasn’t speaking much to him. A few days after the story broke, he managed to get his mother to actually speak to him. Unfortunately, the call had been very short. She’d asked him if he’d stopped this “gay” nonsense. When he tried to explain he wasn’t gay at all, but bisexual, that didn’t seem to help. She hung up on him again.

  The next couple of calls didn’t go any better. They went back and forth about his bisexuality, with him trying to explain it was who he was and that maybe he did mess up with Emily but it was over. Emily was remarried and staying that way.

  Eventually, she gave up trying to push him to reconcile with Emily, but then she changed tactics. Instead, she insisted he was just lying to himself and her. She tried to say his bisexuality was just something he was doing to hurt her. And the coup de grace, that it was one big lie he was telling both her to hurt her and himself to make him feel better about it. When she’d dropped that on him, he’d been the one to hang up.

  And then throw his phone across the room. It now had a nice crack across the middle of the screen.

  But the calls hadn’t gotten any better. By the end of the week, their conversations had boiled down to one question from her and one answer from him.

  “Are you still lying to yourself and me?”

  “I’m not lying, Mama. It’s who I am.” Click.

  He didn’t know why he didn’t just give in. He was so tempted on more than one occasion. He wanted to, but he just couldn’t bring himself to lie to her—despite what she already thought.

  He’d stopped trying to call only to say the same thing, and instead tried reasoning with her through e-mail and text, only to get the same response. He was pretty sure she was down to copying and pasting the single line over and over.