In the three days after my conversation with Val, he called me seventeen times. I didn’t pick up or listen to his voice mails, and I moved from my apartment to a boutique hotel in SoHo to avoid him dropping by my apartment. I holed up in my room, never leaving and always ordering food, turned off Find My iPhone, and didn’t look at my social media accounts until week two of my self-imposed isolation.
Apparently, my usual followers were having a field day. My absence on Instagram had been noticed, and various wild theories had been thrown about, until even prominent gossip blogs were writing about A-Town pulling his “disappearing act” for the first time in years, before detailing the occasions when I’d gone AWOL in the past.
This included, but was not limited to, my mortification after the infamous sex tape had gone viral. Now I wondered if that disappearance, when I’d gone on an alcohol and coke binge in a cheap motel in Newark before Valdrin had tracked me down, was what had sparked my father’s desire to watch me. Control me. And why he’d used Valdrin to do it.
Now, most people were attributing my disappearance to the drama with me, Brett, and Val, and the paparazzi were in full stalk mode in the Bronx. There were pictures of Val coming to and from Cadet’s gym, which I was sure he and his trainer loved.
I felt guilty until the emotion drifted to that cool space at the back of my mind where I’d tried to shove all Val-related thoughts.
Thinking about him hurt too much. I wound up analyzing every interaction we’d ever had, trying to go back in time to figure out when he’d started hanging out with me as a job instead of a friend, but I couldn’t tell when it had all begun. Was he that good a liar? If so, could I even be sure the Val I wanted to be with was real? The question felt unfair because Val was a good person. He’d betrayed and lied to me to try to help his family, and I couldn’t be angry for that. Despite the hurt and the confusion about where we stood, there was no way I could begrudge him that opportunity.
But how had he managed to hide this secret for so many years? And why hadn’t he told me at the time?
I lay back on the bed in my small hotel room and stared up at the ceiling. I didn’t turn on the TV, or read a book, or look at my phone. I just lay in silence with thoughts as heavy as my heart, and wondered if my sense of loss was irrational. For a week, I’d felt loved. I’d had hope. I’d thought that someone, finally, saw something in me that was worthy of care and affection. Something besides deep-throating and power fucking. All of that was gone now, and I wondered if I’d ever feel it again. If I went by history, it seemed unlikely.
The tears should have been all dried up by now, but my chest tightened.
God, I missed him. I missed being in his arms and his bed. I missed his touches and his gentle kisses. I missed us bickering and working out.
Without thinking, I grabbed my phone through a fresh wave of tears and jammed my finger on the voice mail app. There were a number of voice mails, most from Valdrin, scattered over the past week. I picked some at random to play.
“Ashton, please talk to me. I know you’re upset but we can fix this. This doesn’t have to be over.”
“I’m sorry. Please tell me what I can do. It wasn’t all a lie.”
“I miss you so much.”
“Ashton, please call me back.”
“Fuck, Ashton, can’t you give me a chance? I love you and I want to see you.”
“Where the hell are you? It’s been days. Just let me know you’re okay. No one has seen you.”
“I swear to fucking God, if you’re trying to play games and get me worried, it isn’t fucking funny. Regardless of what happened between us, I have always cared about your well-being, and that didn’t change because of this. Let me know you’re okay, or I’ll file a fucking missing person’s report. I’m not playing, Ashton.”
The message had been sent only a few hours ago. After a moment of deliberating, I sent him a quick text—I’m fine.
I stared at it for one second, then two, and then I shut off my phone to avoid seeing his reply. I was a complete coward. It hadn’t occurred to me that people might be worried that something bad had happened. Did they really think it was so easy for me to return to the black hole I’d fallen into while modeling? The one . . . he’d helped to pull me out of.
With a loud groan, I got out of bed and paced the hotel room. There was nothing to do but wallow in my own misery and try to figure out when I would rejoin the rest of the world, but I couldn’t think of a reason to do so. What thing of value did I actually do with my time? And who was missing me besides Val? Maybe the Instagram followers who liked living vicariously through a queer Manhattan socialite, or the designers who paid me to do product placements or model their clothes, or the clubs I should have been making appearances at. Maybe even the paparazzi photogs who made their living by waiting for me to get drunk or sloppy in public.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no real purpose to my life. It was superficial and empty and meandering, just like me.
I stopped pacing and stood at the window, staring down at the street. It had rained earlier, and although there were puddles in the streets and along the curb, there were people everywhere. Shopping, walking with friends or family, talking on the phone—everyone immersed in their own worlds and ignoring the worlds of the people around them. Sometimes it seemed like people weren’t real to each other unless they were forced to interact, and even then it was easy to just view them as one thing instead of many. And that was how almost everyone viewed me.
A rich boy who lived to party.
It was probably why Val had thought I’d get bored of him after a while. Why my friends had once been hesitant to suggest eating in and dinner parties instead of going out to get fucked up every night—they’d assumed I wouldn’t be into it. Why my own family thought I needed babysitters and bodyguards. Why they were willing to pay someone to look after me, because my father hadn’t been convinced I could do it myself.
And why should he have? Why should anyone think I was anything beyond what I showed them? And why should they think I was doing anything right now except performing my “disappearing act” for attention.
I sat on the carpet next to the window and took out my phone, turning it on again. No message from Val. That pinged me harder than I thought it would, given how little I wanted to speak to him. Shaking it off, I clicked on Instagram and went to video mode. I didn’t have time to chicken out as I hit the Record button.
“Hey guys, it’s been a few days since I last posted. I’m sure some people are having fun trying to figure out why that is.” In the past, I would have winked or joked, made an innuendo or implied what fun might have been. Now, I just stared into my phone with a blank face and bloodshot eyes, my hair tied back. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and I realized I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be who everyone likes me to be—the outrageous gay boy with the crazy wardrobe and sex life. I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy some of it—I love being on here. I’m just . . . starting to worry that if no one ever sees the real me, there won’t be a real me anymore. The real Ashton will get lost and disappear.”
I swallowed thickly and pointed to my chest. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m starting to feel hollow. The more my life becomes this one thing, the less it feels like . . . there are other parts to it and me. And then people on the outside, or even people who should be close to me, think I’m hollow too. They do things that hurt me . . . and they think it won’t matter. Because I’m Ashton Townsend, I’m A-Town, the party boy who doesn’t take things seriously. When things get stressful, I sashay to the nearest club or go shopping and forget all my problems. But that’s not me. Or it’s not who I want to be. So, I’m taking time out to figure out . . . who I am and what I want, and where I want to be. Because I can tell you now—I’m not there yet.”
I stopped recording and hit Send before I could change my mind about the post.
Once it finished uploading, I turned off my phone and forced myself to get dressed.
It was time to stop hiding from the world.
The outdoors seemed hostile after so many days of avoiding it. The autumn sun was too bright, the air too unseasonably cold, and I swore people were looking at me. I didn’t know if it was narcissism or paranoia, but every time I made eye contact with someone, their expressions were a little funny. But I wasn’t famous enough for every New Yorker to know my face, so it was most likely in my head.
Huddling deeper in one of Val’s oversized sweatshirts, with the hood pulled low over my head, I hurried down Broadway before turning onto Spring Street. The people rushing around were putting me on edge in a way I hadn’t ever been in Manhattan, and I found myself missing Val’s neighborhood. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place, but it wasn’t a constant rush of strangers flooding around me unless I went down the Grand Concourse.
I took a deep breath once I was away from the bustle and slowed my pace. I had no idea where I was going, or why I was going there, but leaving the hotel was the first step in breaking my usual routine of running and hiding. The sooner I quit doing that, the faster I’d be able to face other people again. Which reminded me that I really needed to call Mere before she, Jace, and Steph sent out a SWAT team to find me.
I searched for my phone in my pockets, came up with nothing, and felt no great loss at the prospect. I’d call her later. The very idea of explaining that the guy I’d defended, and hung all over, and pined for, had been paid to spend time with me, made me want to explode in a fiery ball of mortification. It was bad enough that I’d had a complete breakdown in front of them all, Angel and Aiden included, before asking them to leave the apartment. I was certain Angel had thought I was drunk or high.
Laughter and shouting rang out ahead of me, and I paused near a park to see what was bringing sounds of joy to my miserable existence. A group of kids had split into teams and were playing handball. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Two of them were rocking rainbow bracelets and they all wore T-shirts that said Gateway’s Pride.
A man sitting on a bench at the side was watching and shouting suggestions to them, and his curly black hair caught my eye. Upon a second look, I realized he looked familiar because he was Nunzio.
I started forward, stopped, and debated making an escape before he caught sight of me. Just as I began to backtrack, Nunzio turned his head and his gaze fell on me. He raised an eyebrow and his lips turned up slightly at the sides.
“Hi again.”
“Hi,” I said. “Sorry. I was leaving.”
“Why? It’s a public park. You don’t need an invitation.”
“I don’t want to distract you.”
Nunzio glanced at the kids and then back to me. Again, his mouth twitched up at the corners as if he wanted to laugh or smirk and was fighting it. I didn’t know him well enough to figure out which it was. “I can keep my concentration with models loitering around. Trust me.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that.” I raised my hands and vehemently waved them in front of me. “Sorry. I’m stupid.”
Instead of smiling, Nunzio looked at me sideways with a frown creasing his handsome face. “You don’t need to always apologize or insult yourself, kid. Have a seat and find some chill.”
“Chill is pretty far out of my grasp,” I muttered. “It may as well be on Mars.”
“I see that.”
Flushing, I sat down and stole a glance at him. He was studying me closely. I had to fight the urge to twitch and adjust my hoodie or smooth back my hair. The sudden rush of self-consciousness wasn’t unfamiliar, but now instead of worrying that I looked messy or had said something silly . . . I kept wondering whether anyone would ever take me seriously. If they really had it in their heads that my selfies and fashion obsession and sex life somehow made me immune to hurtful comments and actions. Like I wasn’t real.
I shot another glance at Nunzio and saw that he’d gone back to observing the teenagers playing handball.
“So, is Gateway’s Pride the sports thing you mentioned before?”
“Yep. At the moment, it’s a ragtag band of queer kids who are determined to form an athletic team even though they can’t decide what sport they want to play.” That fond smile appeared again. The warmth in it caused me to smile in return, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “We made T-shirts and stuff to drum up excitement, but it’s not getting off the ground.”
“Because of funding?”
“Lack of funding.” Nunzio blew out a breath and sat up straighter. “Give any more thought to my volunteering suggestion?”
“No. Definitely not. I told you nobody would want me to do it. I’ve tried in the past, and it’s never worked out. I know you think I’m, like, this good person who could benefit kids who are androgynous or nonbinary, but . . . at the end of the day I’m just a mess with a lot of clothes.”
Nunzio’s face darkened. “You need to cut that shit out. When you first came by the center, in a span of five minutes, you did a better job of selling the organization than our last grant writer did, which is why we didn’t get the money for the athletics program after he submitted a proposal without following the guidelines. Cut yourself some slack.”
I didn’t know how to cut myself slack without a glass of champagne and a blowjob, but I nodded. “I’ll try. Sor— Er.”
“Christ.” Nunzio shook his head. “I never met a rich person who spent their time apologizing for themselves so much.”
“Most of them have a lot more confidence than me.”
“Why’s that?”
I shrugged and went back to watching the kids. They were terrible at handball, but it was endearing to watch them trying so hard. A couple of them were so broad and brawny that they reminded me of Val at their age, but he’d already been boxing.
“Most people have things going for them. I don’t.”
“Welp, that’s some bullshit if I ever did hear it.” Nunzio knocked his knee against mine. “You got money, don’t you? Which frees up a lot of your time since you don’t have to sweat it out at a shitty day job like ninety percent of the people living in this country who are actually lucky enough to be employed.”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“Aiight, good. We got that squared.” He crossed his arms over his chest and kept going. “With all that free time, you could be doing something you love to do even if you don’t get paid doing it. Traveling. Writing. Making art. Volunteering since you clearly care a lot about places like Gateway.”
“I’ve tried to volunteer,” I said, protesting. “I told you, people always act funny. And more than just that guy who tried to bang me.”
“Funny how?” Nunzio asked. “Don’t give me a cop-out unless you have receipts to back it up.”
I flushed and held up a finger. “One—the director of AllStar tried to fuck me and when his wife and girlfriend found out, they booted me. Two—New Beginnings, the lady in charge of hiring volunteers told me I wasn’t a good fit because I’d be too much of a distraction. Three—Bright Start, same thing as the last except the guy there actually mentioned my sex tape.”
By the time I finished, Nunzio was laughing again. Trying his hardest to hide it, but there was no biting back a grin that big or the shaking of his broad shoulders.
“Fuck, kid, I’m sorry. But your life . . . How is your life real?”
“I ask myself that question every day,” I grumbled. “Most recently, I found out the love of my life, or whatever he is now, had been paid by my father to basically be my babysitter slash bodyguard. It doesn’t get any more ridiculous than that.”
“Yeesh.” Nunzio whistled. “Yeah, you got me beat in terms of romance drama. Michael just made me wait forever while he pretended we weren’t fucking made for each other. He was too afraid of messing up our friendship.”
“Val says that too.” I frowned. “Well, that’s what he used to say, or that he was worried about treating me the way every other guy does. That was before I knew about my father. Now I just think he didn’t want to get involved with me because he was hiding this huge awful secret, and he knew I’d never forgive him.”
“Possible. But it could also be both.” Nunzio gave a rolling shrug. “I don’t know either of you, but I do know that people fuck up a lot once they’re in their feelings. And they hide things they wouldn’t normally hide. Basically do anything they can to keep from losing the person they love even though all of their running and hiding just makes everything worse.”
“You have that right,” I said bitterly. “I still can’t believe this is real. It’s so ridiculous and embarrassing. I don’t know how I’ll face him again.”
“Is the wound fresh?”
“Um. Yeah. Like a week old.”
Nunzio smiled again, fond and big brotherly, before chucking my chin. “Give yourself some time. And remember—there’s not always weakness in forgiveness.”
I looked at him sideways. “You’re super wise for a total bad boy charmer with an unlikely autumn tan.”
“I’m Sicilian, motherfucker. This olive complexion is legit.” He winked. “And besides that, I’m an educator. It’s my job to have teachable moments with wayward children.”
“Gee thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Nunzio stood, tall and strong in dark cargo pants and a charcoal Gateway T-shirt. He whistled sharply and jerked his chin at the kids. “Ten minutes.”
They groaned, and he waved them off. Their varying protests drew a smile out of me, especially when a lanky kid with thick dark hair and a condescending lip curl threw himself against the wall as if he would cling to it at all costs.
“You’ll pry the balls from my cold dead hands, Medici!”
“He’s Rodriguez now, stupid.”
“Whatever!” the theatrical one replied.
Nunzio snickered. “Couple of characters.”
“Yeah, they are.” I watched the lanky kid as he burst into some kind of fight song, pumping up the remaining handball players. “So, what did you mean about your grant writer not getting you funding?”
“Heh.” Nunzio caught one of the handballs when the taller of the kids tossed it his way. “Gateway is first and foremost a center for homeless and disadvantaged LGBT youth, but over the years the program has expanded. Like you said, we have the clinic, the GED program, counseling, job placement, even social workers who help to reconnect kids with their biologicals.” He bounced the ball while looking between each of the teens. “It’s become like a family, and the kids aren’t shy about telling us when they want more. And a lot of them want an athletics program because they don’t feel safe participating at the public schools.”
“And you didn’t get the grant?” I asked, frowning. “Why?”
“Because the proposal sucked.”
“How could it suck, though?” I asked incredulously. “Gateway has basically become a haven for kids. It provides in all the ways that other places fail. Why not give funding for sports? It’s one of the things that’s almost always denied LGBT kids in school because of the bullying and harassment by other kids and sometimes even staff. I read this article once about queer kids who drop out of school, and a lot of them said gym and lunch were the primary places where they were bullied.”
“Well, Ashton, consider yourself far more knowledgeable on the subject than the other guy. It’s a shame we had someone with no passion working on it instead of someone like you.”
I knew he didn’t mean it as a compliment per se, but my heart swelled anyway. “Maybe you could try again,” I suggested.
“Maybe. It’s not my department, though. Not sure if we get do overs more than once a year.”
“What about a GoFundMe? Or a banquet?” I asked. “I know a lot of people who’ve used them in the past for various projects. I think you could get a ton of traction with the right promo.”
“Maybe.” Nunzio whistled again and drew his fingers against his throat. The kids reluctantly began crossing the court. “Look, I have to go, but I have a proposition for you. And it doesn’t involve me trying to get in your panties, so don’t get nervous.”
“Um, I’ve seen your husband. I know you want nothing to do with my underthings.”
“You got that right.” Nunzio winked. “Anyway, why don’t you come by the center? I’m serious when I said I think you’d be a great addition to the staff. We’re short a couple of full-time volunteers. Since you’re doing nothing but moping in parks while being rich and useless, it’d probably be a much better way to spend your time. Plus, I doubt Cafferty would give a damn about sex tapes as long as you can keep the paps away from our kids.”
He’d said so much so fast that I had to scramble to unpack it before he could slip out of my fingers. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack.” Nunzio slapped me on the back hard enough to startle me. “Being judgmental is the exact opposite of our mission statement.”
“And you’re sure you want me? I mean, like you said, the paparazzi—”
“As long as they don’t mess with the kids, it won’t bother us if they hang around the block. This neighborhood is crawling with them, anyway.”
There was so much hope building inside me, I was just waiting for it to burst, or for him to say never mind. However, his expression was only filled with kindness and a little intrigue until he shot another impatient glare over his shoulder.
“Decker, let’s go!”
My gaze snapped over to the kids again. “Decker?”
“Yeah, that one riiight there.” Nunzio pointed to the kid who was still dancing and singing in the middle of the court. “Runaway with a big mouth and a bigger sense of humor, which results in him riling the other kids up until they’re singing eighties pop songs in the middle of the street. Or the handball court.”
I analyzed the kid, searching for signs of Brett in him, and found familiar markers in his big dark eyes, the shiny dark hair with a hint of a curl, and the long slim body. He looked just like the other members of Brett’s family.
“Do you know where he came from?”
Nunzio shook his head. “Nah. He wants it all hushed up. Apparently, his family has money, and he doesn’t want them tracking him down. I don’t blame him considering they were two steps away from sending him to some kind of conversion therapist after they found him kissing another boy.”
My heart nearly stopped. It was Brett’s nephew. Holy shit.
I tried to school my face into a neutral expression, to just nod and frown instead of making it obvious that my heart was beating out of my chest.
“All right, I’m out of here. You stop by in a few days if you’re interested,” Nunzio said. “And no hard feelings if you’re not. Okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
Another hearty clap on the shoulder, and then Nunzio left with Gateway Pride in tow. Including Brandon Decker.