On Sunday afternoon Rose got a lift home from church with Kristin Tull. Ten minutes after that, the back yard was full of people wielding chainsaws and ladders. They made short work of Rose’s overhanging tree. Jason sat in his room and scrolled through news sites on his phone while Rose and Kristin took lemonade and sandwiches to the volunteers. A while after that Rose poked her head in and said she was going to bingo with Kristin.
“Those Catholics can run a damned good bingo night,” she told him.
“You’re hanging out with Catholics now?” Jason teased her.
She played along. “They’re not so bad. So long as you don’t poke your fingers into their cages and rile them up.”
Jason laughed, but it felt hollow. Everything had felt hollow since he’d held Nate’s hand in the hospital. Seen that thin white scar. “Have fun, okay?”
He became engrossed in news about North Korea. Thought of Francesco from Reuters, and wondered what he was doing now. Strange, but he missed Francesco more than he missed Zac. Maybe what he missed was the lifestyle. Living on alcohol and cigarettes and adrenaline. Being free, and fearless.
“What if there was no tomorrow?”
Jason had lived for years like there was no tomorrow. He wasn’t sure it had been worth it. And not because of his injury, but because of who he’d hurt to get where he wanted to be.
“What I did, that’s on me. Not you.”
A familiar nausea spread through his gut.
It’s my fault.
He tried the words out, and they hurt worse than his leg—and deeper.
He remembered another time, long ago, that he’d let those words into his mind and felt this same jag of sickness through the core of him. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror in this very house. The silence—the absence of his father’s laughter, his mother’s uncanny impressions of movie characters. Not even iconic characters, necessarily. Robin Wright in How to Kill Your Neighbor’s Dog. Joan Cusack in Broadcast News. Her voice had been so malleable, her impressions so precise. He was afraid that in this silence, he’d forget even the echo of her. Nothing but the soft creak of Rose moving in the back bedroom. The almost audible press of the walls around him.
It’s my fault.
I should have been with them.
I should have told them not to go.
He’d trembled, wanting to slam his fist into the mirror. But that seemed so cliche.
I shouldn’t have needed them so much.
It had felt almost good, to slash himself with blame again and again. To let in the first stirrings of doubt. What if there was a higher power? What if karma was real? What if he’d lost his parents because he’d deserved to lose them?
And now he began to feel that cold, self-destructive ecstasy again.
It’s my fault.
Nate.
That scar.
It’s mine.
With the words came a slam of agony, followed by a wonderful floating sensation, better than morphine. He’d never been Nate’s savior. Not that night at UW, not ever. He’d always been a pissing, shitting animal, like every other pissing, shitting animal on the planet. He hadn’t deserved his parents’ death, hadn’t deserved to have his leg blown up—didn’t deserve nightmares of Nate alone and bleeding, whittled to nothing by Jason’s cruelty—any more than he deserved happiness, or peace. Because there was no such thing as “deserving.” The universe’s mythical rewards and punishments were pure human narcissism. He’d wanted a better world, once. But there was only this world. And “better” wasn’t an achievable goal, a line on a graph. The good rose in waves, the bad always caught in its troughs, waiting for a turn.
Just as suddenly, he was back in his body.
No.
No you piece of shit, you don’t get to do that anymore. You don’t get to use cynicism to bail on your guilt. Don’t get to use the world’s ugliness to justify your own. You don’t get to say, “I’m sorry”; you don’t get to say “it’s my fault” and hope those are magic words.
Not when he has that scar.
“That’s on me, not you.”
No.
You carry your share of the burden.
There was a soft knock on his door.
He jumped, surprised to find his hands were shaking. “I’m not going to bingo with the Catholics!” he called.
The door opened. “I wasn’t going to ask you to.”
“Nate! Shit!” Jason realized too late he was sitting on his bed in a T-shirt and boxers, and wrenched his comforter over his leg. “What are you, uhh…what are you doing here? I mean, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Nate glanced curiously around his room. “I only spent one night in the hospital. And I came to help with the tree. Then, when everyone left, I came back.”
Jason shifted, heart pounding. “Are you sure you want to be here?”
Nate nodded solemnly. “Yes. I don’t know what it means, but I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything. My eyes are open this time.”
So were Jason’s. And all he could see was the wreck he’d made of Nate’s life, and that thin, terrible scar across his left wrist.
“Nate, I—”
Nate closed the distance between them and sat on the end of Jason’s bed. He gestured to the comforter covering his leg. “Can I see it?”
Jason shrugged, and tugged the comforter off.
“Oh.” The word barely a breath.
The leg was a mess, from the thigh all the way down to the foot. What hadn’t been torn open by shrapnel had been carved up by surgeons. It was like the trunk of a gnarled, diseased tree. Thick ropes and knots of scar tissue. Hollowed-out places where the flesh had been gouged away. Divots and bumps where screws and wires had been inserted. Shattered bone replaced with steel and titanium.
“Gentlemen, we can rebuild him,” Jason said. “We have the technology.”
Nate laughed softly, reaching out to touch the whorl of angry scar tissue around Jason’s knee. His smile slowly faded. “I’m glad you came home. I’m glad you didn’t die over there.”
In this moment, Jason wanted nothing more than to be alive.
“I couldn’t have died,” he said. “I had my lucky coin.” Nate looked up expectantly, so Jason lifted the chain over his neck and passed it to him. The coin spun between them. Mosque. Teardrop. Mosque. Teardrop. “A kid sold it to me in the market.”
Nate caught the coin in his fingers and inspected it. “Wow.”
“It’s a five Afghani,” Jason said. “It’s pretty much worthless.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Jason laughed despite himself. “I guess it worked, sure.”
Nate handed the coin back. “I guess it did.”
Silence settled between them again, uncomfortable, expectant. If fate, or God, or some other unknowable force had spared him for this moment, Jason didn’t understand why. It would always be awkward between them. Nate might have said he’d forgiven him—hell, it might even be true—but the weight of that forgiveness was heavy enough to throw them off balance and keep them there. Whatever this thing between them was, how could it be even? Jason would always owe Nate more than he could ever repay.
So why the hell was Nate here? And why was he looking at Jason like he was the one who was afraid of being judged unworthy?
“Listen,” he said with a sigh, drawing the thin chain from his lucky coin between his fingers.
“Don’t.” Nate’s eyes were wide, and he looked so much like he had that night at UW Tacoma—a scared, naive kid—that Jason’s breath caught. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.”
“Fuck. I have no idea what I was going to say.”
“Then be quiet,” Nate whispered. He twisted suddenly, shifting closer, his denim-clad thigh pressing up against Jason’s bare skin. “Just for once, be quiet.”
Then they were kissing, Nate’s fingers tugging at his hair. His tongue, unpracticed and clumsy, following Jason’s tentatively. Jason nipped at Nate’s bottom lip, loving the small, surprised sound that escaped him. He kept one hand on Nate’s hip, and slid the other one under his T-shirt, following the curve of his spine upward, and feeling Nate shudder under his touch.
“Jason,” Nate whispered, the name as soft and reverent as a prayer.
“Stand up for me,” Jason said. He caught Nate’s wrists in his hands as he obeyed, guiding him so that he stood between Jason’s knees. “I want to do something for you, okay?”
Nate nodded, then his eyes widened when Jason dropped his wrists and hooked his fingers around the waistband of his jeans and went for the button of his fly.
“I...um…” He swallowed.
He was already hard, his erection pressing against his skinny jeans. He’d had a big dick for a slim kid, Jason remembered, or at least a kid who managed to only look half-grown everywhere else. Four years hadn’t filled him out much at all. Taken some of the edges off his sharper angles maybe, but he was probably still wearing the same size jeans he always had. Probably would until he was eighty and had a little paunch overhanging his belt.
Jason tugged the button on his fly open and pulled his zipper down. Nate was wearing blue briefs, the fabric straining across his erection, damp at the head of his dick.
“Usually I’d get on my knees for this,” Jason said, showing Nate a wry smile he hoped would ease his nerves. Nate looked as serious and round-eyed as a bushbaby. “But I’m afraid that’s out of the question for me at the moment.”
“Are you gonna...” He couldn’t get the question out.
“Gonna blow you,” Jason said. He rubbed his palm over Nate’s dick, and a visible shudder ran through him. “You ever done this before?”
“N-no. Only done...only done what we did.”
“Shit.” Jason pressed his mouth to the outline of Nate’s dick and exhaled slowly, heavily. “You’re gonna blow so fast.”
If he didn’t hyperventilate first.
Jason peeled Nate’s briefs down. His erection looked fucking painful, as red and shiny as a burn. Jason licked his palm and then closed his fingers around the shaft. He was pretty sure he had some ancient lube in the bottom of his bedside cabinet, left over from high school, but the way Nate was leaking he doubted it’d be necessary. Besides, he’d have his mouth around him in a second.
Nate swayed on his feet, making a sound almost like a whimper as Jason tightened his grip.
“Look at you,” Jason said. “You’re beautiful.”
Nate made a face. “Standing here with my pants down.”
Jason smiled, and let go of his dick. “You’re right. Will you take it off for me? All of it?”
Nate swallowed again, then nodded. “Yeah. Will you do that too?”
“Yeah. You first.” He wanted to watch.
Nate reached behind him and tugged his shirt over his head. Skinny, but not scrawny. He was beautifully made. His neck and lower arms were a shade or two darker than the rest of him. His chest, expanding with every breath he sucked it, was smooth. The sparse hairs he had were fine and almost invisible against his flesh. His nipples were small, and pinched tight with arousal.
He shoved his jeans and briefs all the way down and stepped out of them. Long, lanky legs. Jason could still remember the way they’d been wrapped around him once, urging him deeper. And, just like that night, Nate was trying to shield his dick with his hands.
Jason pulled his own shirt off. His boxers took longer. His erection snagged in them a few times as he struggled out of them awkwardly. Once, he’d been like a fucking dancer when it came to this. Could undress himself and another guy in a series of smooth steps, in the time it took to make it the distance between the front door and the bedroom. Now it felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a cage fighter just trying to get his goddamned underwear off.
“Here.” Nate leaned over him, and caught the bottom of his boxers. Jason braced his hands on his mattress, lifted his ass, and Nate slid the boxers off him.
“Thanks.”
Nate hesitated with one hand out and his eyes half closed, like he was either blessing Jason or trying to pull thoughts from his mind through sorcery.
“It’s okay,” Jason said softly.
Nate placed his hand on Jason’s shoulder. Trailed it hesitantly down Jason’s chest then moved it lower until he almost brushed Jason’s dick. Jason blew out a breath and looked at Nate’s hand.
“I don’t really know what to do,” Nate admitted.
“You step a little closer. And you spread your legs.”
“And what if I don’t want to?” Nate challenged suddenly.
Jason shrugged and looked away, the quick sting of that going deep. Why should Nate trust him to lead this dance? Look where it had gotten Nate the first time. “You don’t have to.”
“I do want to,” Nate said quietly, stepping forward. He spread his legs. His dick was slightly below Jason’s mouth, and Jason leaned down to kiss it.
Nate gave a stifled, nervous laugh. Jason looked up at him and smiled. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t kn—” Nate threw his head back and gasped as Jason tongued his slit.
“What?” Jason whispered again, letting the word buzz against Nate’s shaft. Nate’s head dropped forward. He opened his eyes again, but didn’t meet Jason’s gaze. Stared at his ruined leg instead, like a wide-eyed kid at a freak show.
Shit. That was unfair.
This was Nate Tull. He didn’t have a nasty bone in his body.
Should have, after everything Jason had done to him, but he didn’t.
Jason shifted his hands to Nate’s narrow hips. Couldn’t help smoothing one over the cheek of his ass, feeling the muscle tighten under his touch. God, but he’d love to get inside that ass again. Take his time with it, not like last time. Use his fingers, and his tongue, and blow Nate’s mind.
But for now he’d settle for blowing Nate’s dick.
He leaned in again and licked his lips. Almost laughed when he heard Nate’s needy moan. Shifted one hand from Nate’s hip to the base of his dick. Held the hard, heated shaft steady while he licked the slit again.
“Jason!” Nate shuddered.
Jason sucked the head of Nate’s dick into his mouth. His own erection throbbed, and he ignored it. Focused on Nate instead. There was a burning need inside him to make this good, as though a blowjob could somehow make things right between them.
A long time since he’d done this for anyone. Even longer since he’d done it without the sour taste of latex on his tongue. He and Zac had always played safe. Jason had almost forgotten what a guy’s dick tasted like.
Nate’s fingers found his hair and tangled in it, trembling.
Jason bobbed his head down, then back again, sealing his lips around Nate’s shaft and working his tongue against the underside.
Stared up at him, mouth stretched around his dick. Nate stared back, eyes huge, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Jason hummed, just to let Nate feel the vibrations.
“Jason— I— Oh, God!”
Oh, God, save my eternal soul, or Oh God, I’m coming?
The second one.
Jason swallowed as his mouth flooded with cum. Too much and too fast. It dribbled out over his lips. He sat back, wiping his mouth with his hand.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Oh, shit.”
Jason swallowed again. “What are you sorry for?”
Nate was trembling. His chest was flushed, and his face was an even brighter red. “That was...that was too fast, right?”
Jason tugged him down to sit beside him on the bed. He was afraid that if he didn’t, Nate would run. “First time a guy offered me a blowjob, I came when he licked his lips. I still had my pants on.”
He’d also been fifteen and could have come if the wind had changed, but no need to mention that.
Nate’s mouth quirked in an anxious smile. He made a twitching gesture. “I should, um, should do something for you now.”
If the pitched intonation at the end of his words didn’t sound so much like a question and didn’t give away his fear, Jason would have agreed in a heartbeat. Instead, he ran his hand along Nate’s thigh, watching the hairs stand to attention in the wake of his touch. “No, you don’t have to do anything. I’m okay.”
Nate’s gaze darted to his erection and away again. “Really?”
“Peachy,” Jason said.
“Sure. You’re peachy.” Nate snorted. “Have you been hanging out with the bingo crowd too? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of word they would use.”
“Yeah?”
“And most of them were born in the 1940s.”
“Jeepers,” Jason said. “I mean, golly, mister.”
This time Nate’s smile was genuine. He knocked Jason’s shoulder with his own. “I really should go.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t mean like I’m running out of here because I’m ashamed or something. But I’m supposed to be back at the camp tonight.”
“Shouldn’t you be off work? You were in the hospital.”
“I like the camp. I like feeling useful.”
As you help your dad teach kids how to hate themselves?
He knew Nate was better than that. Shit, it was possible that even Reverend Tull was better than that. Maybe he really did think he was doing the best he could for those kids. Not that motive mattered when the end result was the same.
Something about good intentions and the road to hell...
“Okay,” he said.
Nate stood up and began to collect his clothes. Turned awkwardly away from Jason when he pulled his underwear and jeans back on, as though his modesty was just now catching up with him. Anyone else, and Jason would have teased him about it.
Oh, so I can suck it, but I’m not allowed to look at it?
Because anyone else would have seen the funny side. Jason didn’t know if Nate would. And he was afraid that Nate would regret what had happened, and that his self-recrimination would catch him when he was alone. What then? Would he take a blade and open up that scar?
“Listen,” he said, as Nate pulled on his shirt. “I want to give you my number.”
“Okay.”
“So we can talk, you know? If you need to talk about what happened.”
“Oh.” Nate’s face became guarded suddenly.
“What?”
“I thought...” Nate cleared his throat. “I thought you were giving me your number so we could meet again like this.”
Jason smiled and choked a little as a laugh tried to escape. “Really? You want that?”
“Yeah.” Nate answered Jason’s smile with a cautious grin of his own. “Yeah, I think I do.”
Back at the camp, guilt hit Nate like he knew it would. Sitting around the fire with the kids, toasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories, it wasn’t the thought of his own sin that bit back at him. It was his happiness. Everything had felt so right with Jason. Okay, his nerves had almost overcome him a few times, but it had been worth it. Not just because he’d come—Nate was no stranger to jerking off when he absolutely couldn’t stand the building pressure any longer—but everything. The thought of letting a woman do that to him turned his stomach. But with a man, with Jason, it was different. It had felt perfectly natural. It had felt like all the pieces that hadn’t really fit before were finally falling into place.
And now guilt showered him.
Not for what he’d done with Jason, but because he’d told all these kids that they shouldn’t look for happiness in the same place.
He gazed across the fire at Tyler, who was animatedly telling a ghost story. He’d started with the flashlight under his chin but was now swinging it wildly, sending the beam across tree trunks and campers’ faces, and into the night sky.
“And then William slowly untied the ribbon,” Tyler said. He paused, glancing around to make sure he had his audience’s attention. “And Annie’s head fell off!”
“That was unbelievably lame,” Steven said.
“Shut up, douchebag.”
“Hey,” Nate said, but the two boys were already in a shoving war, laughing wildly while a couple of the other campers whooped. “Enough.”
Nate could barely hear his own voice. Tyler goosed Steven under the arms, then slid his hands down Steven’s sides as Steven cringed and squirmed, nearly overturning his lawnchair. Then Tyler swiped a hand between Steven’s legs and gripped briefly before letting go. Nate looked to see if anyone else had noticed, but nobody reacted. Emily finally stood and said, “Hey, hey. Let’s settle down, okay?”
Tyler scooted his chair closer to Steven’s and slung an arm around Steven’s neck. He grinned up at Emily. “Okay.”
“Get off me.” Steven shrugged out from under Tyler’s arm. But he was grinning too.
Nate didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t reprimand them, since he wasn’t even sure he’d seen what he thought he’d seen. Could have been the firelight playing tricks on him. And if he said something and the boys denied it, and no one else had seen it…
Besides, Nate wasn’t going to make an issue of it in front of the whole camp. He’d talk to Steven and Tyler privately. And he’d talk to the counselors too—see if they’d noticed any inappropriate interactions between Steven and Tyler over the last few days.
He stared over the crackling flames into the darkness of the woods. Maybe he needed to take a walk, clear his head. He had that fear again—the fear that Steven and Tyler were deliberately challenging him. That, in looking the other way, he was allowing them to tarnish their souls, ruining their chance to know God’s love in eternity.
But also, he didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. It was up to Steven and Tyler whether they wanted to be here, whether they took Moving Forward’s lessons to heart. As long as they weren’t inciting mutiny in the other campers, then who the hell was Nate to accept a blowjob from Jason and then tell Steven and Tyler they couldn’t touch each other.
They’re kids. They need guidance. That’s what they came here for.
No. They came here because their parents made them. And now they’re playing along until they’re eighteen and can do whatever they want.
How would Nate have felt at their age, if someone had told him he couldn’t make his own choices because he was too young?
Nate had a bizarre desire to ask Jason’s advice. Stupid, because no way would Jason take the issue seriously. Jason thought Moving Forward was evil. He’d probably root for Steven and Tyler to fool around as much as possible, to prove that gay conversion therapy didn’t work.
But Nate wanted to ask all the same. Because even though Jason could be untrustworthy and selfish, Nate had always admired his strength, his courage, his convictions. His willingness to explore even the world’s most deadly places. He wanted to lean on Jason, wanted to let Jason open the world up to him. He’d wanted that four years ago, and he wanted it now.
But he wasn’t going to be a pushover. Wasn’t going to let Jason mock his faith or tell him who to be. Nate was his own man now. and even if his ideas about who that man was were starting to crumble, he wasn’t going to put himself back together in some mold Jason approved of.
He just had to find the compromise. Between his beliefs and reality, between faith and desire, and between Jason and himself. He’d concentrate on that for now and worry about his responsibility to his family, to the camp, later.