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“Mr. Harris?”
Evan blinked at the man behind the desk in the marble-covered lobby. “Yes?” he croaked. Clearly, he hadn’t wandered into the wrong building, but how did the man know who he was?
“Mr. Bishop asked me to send you straight up.”
Evan’s exhausted brain put the pieces together as he realized Russ must have told them he was expecting a visitor. Evan listened carefully to the directions of how to get to Russ and Stephen’s apartment. “Thanks,” he said quietly, his anxiety coming back to life.
Evan re-read the text Russ had sent for the thirty-seventh time as he waited for the elevator. Fifth floor, Unit 508. He repeated it like a mantra as he walked down the quiet, carpeted hallway. He had to stop halfway and lean against the wall to stop the dizzy, sick feeling from taking over. What am I doing? he wondered. Why am I here?
He slid down the wall as his knees went out under him. Oh, right, I have nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. He drew his legs up and rested his head on his knees, trying to breathe through the choking panic.
Unit 508. I can do this. Unit 508. I can do this. Unit 508. I can do this. Unit 508. I can do this. He repeated this until he was able to raise his head, struggle up to a standing position, and make his feet move forward. 502, 504, 506 ... and there it was. He stared at the silver numbers on the wall beside the door. 508. He double-checked the text message and drew in a deep, shaky breath as he raised his hand and rapped on the door.
As he waited for Russ to answer, his heart slammed in his chest as if he’d run the whole way to Atlanta. His knock was so quiet he began to doubt anyone had heard it, but as he lifted his hand to knock again, the door opened.
“You made it,” Russ said with a relieved smile, as if he’d been worried about Evan. No one ever worried about Evan.
“I think so,” Evan croaked.
Russ laughed as if he’d said something funny and held the door wide open. “Come on in.”
Evan followed, trying not to gawk at the fancy kitchen and perfectly decorated ... well, everything. It looked like the kind of place you’d see in a magazine, but comfortable. He blinked dumbly when he realized he’d missed what Russ said. “Sorry. What was that?”
“I asked how the drive here went.”
“Um, okay, I guess.” Evan shrugged. He recalled an endless feeling of panic at the overwhelming sprawl of Atlanta and the confusing tangle of highways leading into Midtown, but not much else.
Stephen stepped out of another room, smiling as he held out a hand. “Hello, Evan. I don’t think we’ve officially met. I know you were there when I buried my father, but to be honest, I was so focused on that, I didn’t pay a lot of attention to anything else around me.” His tone was apologetic, as if Evan might be offended that Stephen hadn’t noticed him before.
Evan had been a pallbearer for the funeral, and it was true Stephen had seemed to look right through him, but he hadn’t taken offense to it. Evan was used to people looking through him. He was quiet and introverted, and even the school bullies, who picked on the noticeably weird kids, had left him alone.
The real question was why would a guy like Stephen notice him? Evan flushed when he realized Russ and Stephen were both staring at him. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he mumbled. “And thanks for letting me come here. I—I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” His eyes stung with tears when, once again, it hit him how alone he was. Dependent on a couple guys he barely knew. Sure, he and Russ had texted and talked on the phone a handful of times since the funeral, and he felt like he could trust him, but how well did Evan actually know Russ?
“Hey, it’s okay, Evan.” Russ patted his shoulder and squeezed. The touch was innocent enough but it made Evan feel warm all over and the panic subside a little. “Come on, let’s sit down and talk,” Russ coaxed as he let go. Evan sucked in a deep breath. “You want something to drink? Beer? Something stronger?”
Stephen glanced at Evan. “Are you twenty-one?”
“Uhm, not until the end of February,” Evan admitted.
“I think under the circumstances we can ignore a few weeks.” Stephen shot him a smile that made him feel a little weak in the knees. Technically, he was probably old enough to be Evan’s father, but he sure didn’t look like any older man Evan had ever seen. Guh. He made Evan a little woozy just looking at him. “I wanted to be sure you weren’t ... quite as young as you looked.”
Despite his discomfort, Evan managed a small joke. “Sixteen?”
Stephen gave Evan a rueful smile. “No, Russ mentioned you’d been working at the funeral home for a few years, so I assumed you were an adult, but I wanted to be sure. I know you still lived at home.”
Evan sighed, all the air going out of him and making him feel like a deflated balloon. “I was only living there until I could save up enough to leave Putnam.”
“You want to tell us about what happened today?” Russ asked.
“I guess.” Evan shrugged.
Russ fixed him a rum and Coke—the only drink Evan could think to ask for—and he sat on one end of the fancy L-shaped sofa, feeling horribly out of place.
He took a sip of the drink—strong enough to make his eyes water—and stared down at the glass. He peeked up through his lashes as Russ sat down next to Stephen on the other section of the sofa, watching them surreptitiously. Stephen draped an arm over Russ’s shoulder, and Russ rested an elbow on Stephen’s bent knee. They were so casual about it, so comfortable touching each other.
“Evan?”
He raised his head, staring wide-eyed at Russ, who gave him a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to, but if you want to talk about what happened ...”
Evan didn’t. Not at all, but since they were letting him crash here, he figured it was the least he could do. He took another gulp of his drink before he began, hoping the liquid courage would do its job. “Um, so there was this casket sales rep,” he explained, thinking back to what had happened earlier that day.
***
Evan didn’t know why he’d let Michael flirt. Or why he’d flirted back—just a little. Why he was now standing in a deserted room in the basement of the funeral home and letting Michael lean in, ask him if he wanted to go out sometime.
“I—I can’t,” Evan said. “My uncle ...”
Michael gave him a lopsided smile. “But what if you met me in Montgomery? I live there, and your uncle would never have to know. We could go out to dinner and then ...”
Evan might be a virgin, but he still knew what the “and then” implied. He wanted dinner and to be kissed. He wanted the “and then.” He wanted it all, but he was scared about what it would lead to. He was stuck in Putnam, working for his uncle, and he was terrified he’d get caught. It was too risky. No matter how desperately he wanted it.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Maybe, someday, when he’d saved up enough to move away from this horrible little town, but not now.
Michael’s smile faded. “But you are interested, right?”
Evan glanced around. “Y-yeah. But I can’t. It—it isn’t safe.”
Sighing, Michael brushed the back of his fingers against Evan’s cheek, and Evan’s knees went all wobbly at the contact. “Well, that’s disappointing.” Michael pulled a business card out of his pocket and tucked it in the inner pocket of Evan’s suit coat. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“Okay,” Evan agreed, knowing he’d never do it. He glanced at Michael, who still stood close, his hand pressed against Evan’s chest. Evan’s heart raced, and he wondered if Michael could feel it. He needed to step back, get some distance, pretend like it never happened. But there was a cute guy standing close and he smelled so good, and he looked at Evan as if he was something special.
Evan licked his lips, Michael leaned in, and Evan only had time for one fleeting thought of, Oh, God, I really shouldn’t do this but I want it so bad, when he heard something that made his stomach knot.
“Evan Kyle Harris,” Uncle Waylon shouted. Evan staggered away from Michael, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. “What in the hell is going on here?”
Evan stared at him for a long minute, feeling as though the whole planet had suddenly stopped spinning.
“N-nothing,” Evan finally stammered. “Nothing, sir, I swear. Michael was just ...”
His uncle’s eyes narrowed. “Just what?”
“Evan had something in his eye. I was trying to help,” Michael said. “That’s all.”
What did Uncle Waylon see? What did he overhear? Evan wondered. His guts felt like they were filled with ice water, and he stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets.
His uncle leveled a hard glare at Evan. “Is what he said true, boy?”
Evan nodded jerkily. “Y-yes.”
“You sure this pervert wasn’t trying somethin’?”
Gulping, Evan shook his head.
“’Cause they’ll try to prey on young boys like you, Evan. Try to convert you.”
Evan choked down disgust and shame. Uncle Waylon was giving Evan an out, but Evan couldn’t throw Michael under the bus. He’d never been anything but nice to Evan. “No, Michael didn’t do anything,” he insisted, but apparently, he wasn’t convincing enough.
Waylon turned to Michael, face red, as if his tie was strangling him. “I want you out of here. I’ve had my suspicions for a while, but I had no proof. I don’t want your kind here. Tell your supervisor to send another rep. I won’t deal with you again. I’ll switch companies before I let you bring your perverted lifestyle here again.”
“Sir!” Michael argued. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious, you little fag. I want you gone, and I’ll make it happen one way or another,” Waylon said. Michael left without another word, but Evan couldn’t look at him. His heart pounded in his chest as his uncle turned to him. “Go upstairs and wait in my office. I don’t know what to do about you.”
In his uncle’s office, Evan sat across from the big oak desk, shaking and trying not to puke in the trashcan as he listened to his aunt and uncle argue about what to do with him.
“I’ve always wondered if there was something wrong with that boy,” Myrna Lambert said. “His father’s trailer trash scum. Can’t say I’m surprised his son’s a pervert. Bad blood.”
His uncle grunted. “I had my doubts too, especially after the queers from Atlanta were here. Evan seemed awfully keen on them, but I thought maybe he was just soft.”
“We can’t risk it, Waylon. I know you want an heir, but God did not provide us with a child, and I think he’s telling us Evan can’t be trusted. If he’s ... one of those people, I’m not risking it. My sister—bless her heart—made a foolish decision, and we’ve all been paying for it since. I don’t see why we should risk our good name and business any more.”
His uncle muttered something under his breath, too quiet for Evan to hear. His aunt’s tone was shrill and clear as she continued. “What if he made a pass at one of our clients? You know they’re all oversexed and can’t control themselves. We have our reputation to consider.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I hate lettin’ all the money we invested in him go to waste, though.”
His aunt sniffed. “What’s done is done. All we can do is wash our hands of him now.”
Evan cringed as the office door opened. His uncle’s face was redder than before, and he scowled at Evan. “You’re done here, boy. Get your things and get out. I have my eye on you. Don’t even think about taking anything I paid for. All the time we put into making somethin’ of you, and I can’t believe this is how you repaid me. You’re a worthless, useless little fag, and I wish I’d never wasted my time and money on you.”
“Uncle Waylon, I didn’t do anything,” Evan protested. “Nothing happened.”
“Will you swear on the Bible? Swear on the Bible you’re a God-fearing Christian and you respect Jesus’ teachings. Swear you’ve never had impure thoughts about a man, and I’ll let you stay.”
Evan hesitated, torn because he didn’t like the idea of lying, even if he didn’t believe the Bible was anything more than an old book of stories people took far too literally. The hesitation was all it took. “You can’t. I knew it.” His uncle sounded almost triumphant. “Get out of here you perverted freak.”
His aunt sneered as he left and told him she’d be calling his mother right away. Evan didn’t have the energy to argue. Nothing he said would change her mind anyway, so all he could do was go home and hope for the best. He left with his favorite pen, a handful of granola bars, and the battered sci-fi paperback he’d been reading.
His whole life was over in one fell swoop. All because of Michael Wheeler’s interest and Evan’s inability to lie.
***
Evan stammered his way through the story of his short-lived flirtation, near kiss, getting fired, and finished the story with a brief description of the time his father spent screaming at him. “Then I packed my things, called you, and came here.”
Stephen looked grim by the time Evan finished, and Evan couldn’t take another second of Russ’ concerned stare, so he set his nearly empty glass on a coaster on the end table and stared down at his hands.
“Your father didn’t hit you, did he?” Stephen asked, frowning at him.
Evan shook his head.
“Mine did.” Stephen’s voice was soft, but it made Evan jerk his head up to look Stephen in the eye. “When I came out to my parents, my father punched me in the jaw. I never saw it coming.”
“I think my dad might have, but he was so drunk he could barely stand upright,” Evan admitted.
Russ swore, and Evan saw Stephen rub his back reassuringly. “Did he hit you in the past?” Stephen asked.
Evan shook his head again. “Nah. He liked to scream about what a worthless piece of shit I was. ‘Fucking useless waste of air’ was his favorite insult lately, but he never hit me.”
Russ exploded off the sofa, his voice rising. “What the fuck is wrong with people? Your father, Stephen’s father, my aunt ... I don’t fucking understand it.”
Evan stared while Russ paced, and Stephen calmly stood and stopped Russ with a single touch of his hand. Stephen gripped his shoulders, rubbing gently, and Evan watched Russ soften. He’d seen Russ do nearly the same thing for Stephen at the funeral, and it awed him. Although he’d seen gay couples in movies and on TV—thanks to the internet—he’d never seen one in real life until he met Russ and Stephen. Watching them made him ache so bad he could feel it burning in his chest like a hot coal. What would it feel like to be wrapped up in a man’s arms? Held close when he was angry and hurting? Protected and made to feel safe? Would it banish the lonely feeling that skittered over his back in the middle of the night? He wanted that more than anything.
“I guess I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be.” Russ scowled. “You shouldn’t have to feel like you’re less than anybody.”
Evan shrugged. Maybe. But he was less than. Less than guys like Russ and Stephen who had it all together. Who were sure and confident, successful. They had impressive careers, good looks, and a great relationship. They had everything. And Evan ... well, he had nothing. His whole life was in his beat-up old car, his possessions nothing more than two bags, a laptop, and a couple suits. Pathetic.
He swayed in his seat, nearly sick with exhaustion. He wasn’t used to alcohol, and the drink hit hard on his empty stomach.
“You look like you’re going to fall over,” Stephen said. His tone was kind, and it made tears prick Evan’s eyes. “We’ll set up an air mattress for you. I’m sorry; I wish we had a guest room, but you’ll have to make do with the living room.”
“That’s fine,” Evan choked out, feeling a little overwhelmed. He was lucky he wasn’t sleeping in his car. Speaking of which ... “I need to get my bags out of my car. I’ll—I’ll be right back.”
He fled before he could so something stupid like burst into tears. The cool air outside helped a little, and he dawdled by his car, needing the time to pull himself together.
“You can do this, Evan,” he said quietly. “Be brave.”
But he wasn’t brave. He never had been.
By the time he reached the apartment again, he felt more under control, but his head still swam a little from the drink. Stupid, he lectured himself. Trusting a drink from guys you hardly know when you’re sleeping in their apartment, relying on them for everything. You think they’re trustworthy, but what if they aren’t? What if they’re planning to do something horrible to you?
He hesitated before he knocked on the door, fear making his imagination run wild. But when Russ let Evan in the apartment, all he saw was a rearranged living room and a stack of blankets and pillows. He heard the whine of a pump inflating an air mattress and felt a wash of guilt for doubting Russ and Stephen’s intentions.
“You didn’t have to get this for me,” Evan protested as Russ picked up the packaging from what was clearly a brand-new air mattress.
Russ shrugged. “We needed it anyway. My sister comes to visit sometimes.”
Evan wondered if it was true or if Russ was merely being nice, but he didn’t argue. After the mattress was inflated and the bed was made, Russ and Stephen gave him a quick tour of the apartment. They showed him where the light switches were and asked him to turn out the lights when he was ready, then disappeared into their bedroom with a quiet goodnight. Evan used the half-bathroom near the entryway and changed into his pajamas.
He stared at his thin, pinched-looking, pale face in the mirror and wondered what in the hell he’d done to deserve near-strangers being so nice to him. As he walked through the apartment, turning off the remaining lights, he imagined someday he might have his own place. Nothing like this; he just wanted something cozy he could call his own. The goal seemed impossible at the moment, completely out of reach.
With a sigh, Evan turned off the lamp on the end table and crawled under the covers. As he lay on the air mattress—staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling—he wondered if he’d wake up in his old bed tomorrow and find out he was still trapped in Putnam.
He was used to the sounds of a blaring TV and loud arguments as he went to sleep. But the quiet sounds of male voices murmuring in the other room reminded him he was far away from his former home. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, he felt safe.
Evan clung to the soft sheets, rubbing his cheek against the pillow, and wished with everything in him that if this were a dream, he’d never wake up.