When Alex arrived at St. Catherine’s, Jamie was at the basketball court with a few other boys, shooting hoops. Hands in his pockets, he strolled into the yard and leaned back against the fence, watching Jamie play. The kid wore tight jeans again, black battered Converse, and a tank top that stretched across the muscles in his chest and showed off his ropy arms. The shirt was torn along the front, and the glimpse of his stomach rippling when he moved kept Alex riveted in place. Freckled skin peeked from the torn fabric like a promise. He’s beautiful, Alex thought. He deserves so much more than this place, this life.
They all did.
Jamie had a natural rhythm that made Alex envious, a dancer’s grace that shone through whenever he had the ball and dribbled across the court, weaving around the other boys as they tried to stop him. He laughed when he made the shot, the ball sailing effortlessly through the basket for a three pointer that brought that sunny smile to his face. “Owens scores!” he cried, raising his arms in triumph, and Alex found himself laughing at the kid. He’s not so bad—
“You’re back.”
Alex turned to find Father Nate walking towards him, smiling easily. “I must admit I had my doubts.”
Alex grinned at that. “So did I,” he admitted, turning back to the game. Jamie had the ball again and he made sure Alex was looking when he tried for an impossible shot. Alex held his breath as the ball flew through the air, bounced off the rim, and sank into the hoop. “He’s good,” he said, almost forgetting to breathe again when Jamie winked at him.
“Very good,” the priest agreed. “If only he took school as seriously as he does his balls.” Alex looked at Father Nate, surprised, but laughed when he saw the smile on the priest’s face. “I’m glad you came back.”
“Me too.” Had Alex honestly believed he could forget Jamie so easily? That smile, those eyes, those curls?
He turned back to the game in time to see Jamie throw the basketball at another kid his own age. The ball struck the other kid in the chest and bounced away as Jamie closed the distance between them. “Take that back,” he commanded, anger twisting his face. When the other kid didn’t reply, Jamie grabbed his arms and shook him roughly. Father Nate was already starting across the court, Alex right behind him. “Say it to my face, Mike. Say it again.”
“Leave me alone,” Mike growled, shrugging out of Jamie’s grip. “You heard what I said.”
Father Nate stepped between them. “What’s—”
Suddenly Jamie ducked around the priest and punched Mike hard, his fist connecting with the other kid’s nose. Blood poured from one nostril as Mike grabbed a handful of Jamie’s curls, tugging on them hard enough to bring tears to Jamie’s eyes. “You fucker!” Jamie swore, pummeling Mike’s chest with his fists until Mike’s hands fell away, tufts of reddish gold hair still in his fingers.
Jamie struck him again, hard, knocking the guy down to the ground, but before he could hit him a second time, Alex pulled him back. “Jamie!” He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were on Jamie’s stomach, slipping under the torn shirt to catch on sweaty flesh, hot skin, firm muscles that bunched beneath his fingers. Jamie heaved in his grip, breathless from the fight, shaking.
This wasn’t turning him on; Alex refused to believe it was turning him on. He pulled Jamie back as Father Nate helped the other kid to his feet. “Just stop it right now,” Alex pleaded.
“You’re dead,” Jamie promised, pointing at Mike. The other kid held both hands to his nose, bright blood pouring through his fingers, and when Jamie lunged at him, he cowered back. “You’re so fucking dead, do you hear me?”
Alex held onto Jamie tightly. “Take him inside,” Father Nate snapped as he tugged Mike’s hands away from his nose to assess the damage.
“I ain’t going inside,” Jamie growled, shrugging off Alex’s hands as he stalked away. “Fuck this place. Fuck all of you.”
Helplessly Alex stood on the court, watching Jamie walk to the edge of the fence, where he stopped to kick at a few stones. “God,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. What a way to start their second day together…fuck all of you. How do you respond to that?
Father Nate dabbed Mike’s nose with the hem of the kid’s T-shirt. “Go after him,” he whispered, nodding at Jamie. “Take him for a ride or something. Just get him away from here for a little while, let him calm down. Please?”
Alex sighed as Jamie crossed his arms and threw himself back against the fence, a sullen pout on his lips. “You sure?” The thought of driving around town with Jamie in his car, so close and with nothing between them, no one else around…Alex swallowed against the thought. “I mean—”
“Please?” Father Nate asked again.
Alex nodded. He didn’t have to be told twice. Crossing the court, he dug his keys from his pocket and shook out the car key. Jamie watched him carefully, looking from the keys in his hand to his face and back again, his frown deepening. He thinks I’m leaving.
As he stopped in front of the kid, he smiled but Jamie’s wary expression didn’t change. Daring to take Jamie’s arm, Alex murmured, “Come on.”
This time Jamie didn’t shrug his hand away. “Where are we going?” he wanted to know, but he let Alex lead him to his car.
“Just for a ride.” Alex unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for Jamie. “You need to cool off a bit.”
Jamie slid into the seat. “Can I drive?”
Alex laughed. “Maybe next time.” Slamming the door shut, he hurried around the car and unlocked the driver’s side door. As he eased into the seat, he glanced over at Jamie only to find the kid staring out the window at the basketball court, anger still radiating from him in waves. Starting the car, Alex asked softly, “What was that all about?”
Jamie shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” Alex turned the radio down and leaned back in the driver’s seat as he pulled away from the curb into the flow of traffic. He wasn’t sure where they were going—maybe they’d just drive around until Jamie was in a better mood, stop someplace for lunch, let the whole scene back in the yard blow over. “You can tell me. We’re friends, right?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Jamie shrug again. “Aren’t we?”
With a lusty sigh, Jamie admitted, “He called me a faggot, okay? Asshole.”
Alex knew that wasn’t directed at him. Gently he said, “And so you hit him.” Jamie nodded. “You think you can change his mind if you hit him? It doesn’t take the words back.”
“I can’t just let him get away with shit like that.” Jamie faced the window and didn’t look at Alex. “He calls me a fag and I don’t do anything, they’ll all start in, you know? I can’t let it slide.”
“You can’t fight everyone,” Alex pointed out.
With a short laugh Jamie asked, “What the fuck do you know about it? When’s the last time someone called you a fag?” When Alex didn’t reply immediately, Jamie laughed again. “That’s what I thought. You don’t get it. You don’t have to deal with shit like this and you’re going to tell me what to do? Fuck that.”
Around them the traffic grew heavy, the city bus in front of their car forcing Alex to drive with one foot on the brake. He slowed down as the bus turned off, and then hit the brakes before he could run a red light. Relaxing his grip on the steering wheel, he looked over at Jamie and found his gaze wandering to the hard, flat muscles in the guy’s stomach, exposed through the torn shirt. Alex remembered the way they felt beneath his palms when he pulled Jamie back from the fight. “Last week,” he whispered.
Finally Jamie turned to him, confusion written across his young face. “I was at my parents’ house,” Alex explained, “and my dad asked my mom why he had a faggot for a son. He didn’t know I overheard him but I did.” See? he wanted to add. I know how it feels.
“What did your mom say?” Jamie wanted to know.
The light turned green and Alex eased off the brake, trying to forget the way his father’s words had haunted him throughout the week. He’d remember them at odd times—when he was washing dishes, or buying a sandwich for lunch, or listening to music in his booth at the station. He’d hear them again as if his father were in the same room and speaking them, asking him why he was a faggot, why he liked guys and why he was his son, why it had to be him. And they stung like a thorn, twisting into him until he sighed and pinched his nose sharply to keep the tears from falling, because he didn’t want to admit just how much it hurt.
You’re not the only one, Jamie, he thought, forcing a tight smile at Jamie. You’re not alone; you’re not. “She said ‘not when he’s in the house,’” he replied. “Not ‘don’t say that.’ Not ‘he’s not a faggot; he’s your son.’ Just ‘not when he’s here.’ Like they’d talk about it once I left.”
For a while they drove in silence, Alex watching Jamie from the corner of his eye, Jamie picking at the torn edges of his shirt. Finally Jamie reached over and placed a hand on Alex’s knee, warm through the thin knit of Alex’s pants. Alex smiled at him, but when the hand moved up slightly, Jamie’s fingers curving along Alex’s inner thigh, Alex brushed it away. “I didn’t tell you that so you can hit on me,” he said, ignoring Jamie’s clouded brow and faint pout. “I’m not one of those guys you pick up in the clubs. I want to be your friend, and I just want you to know you’re not alone, Jamie. That’s it.”
“I dreamed about you last night,” Jamie whispered.
Alex looked over at him sharply. Don’t even tell me, he wanted to say, but suddenly he couldn’t form the words, and he stared at Jamie’s arms, remembering the strength in them from his own dreams.
“They weren’t bad dreams,” Jamie said quickly, trailing his hand down the parking brake. Alex thought of that hand trailing down his length like that, those fingers curling around his hardness…who was the one thinking of sex here? He shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind. “We were just talking, that was it. Just talking.”
“What did we talk about?” Alex wanted to know.
Jamie shrugged. “I don’t remember. But when I woke up I thought maybe you dreamed of me, too. Did you?”
I’m not telling you my dreams, Alex thought. But the earnest look on Jamie’s face, the light shining in those deep eyes…he didn’t want to crush that. “Maybe,” he whispered. “I don’t remember my dreams much.” Jamie dropped his gaze, crestfallen, and Alex added, “But you were on my mind when I woke up, if that means anything.”
Jamie grinned. “It does.”