Chapter Eleven
Mark failed his test.
Deacon knew it the moment Mark slunk through the front door of the bar, pulled up a stool, slapped his cigarettes on the bar, and sat there in a slouch. So no lingerie tonight. Not that Mark wouldn’t be up for it, Deacon was sure, but not everything had to be about getting off. Sometimes, when you’d failed an exam, you wanted to eat chips and dip and watch bad sci-fi movies instead. At least that was how things went in Phi Sig.
“I thought you were quitting,” Deacon said, nodding at the cigarettes.
“I’m quitting tomorrow,” Mark muttered.
Deacon got Mark a Coke and counted down the minutes until the end of his shift. Walking back to campus, Mark was quiet. Then, underneath the statue of Prescott, he suddenly turned to Deacon. “Does it matter if I’m not smart?”
“What?”
“Hot won’t last,” Mark said. “Smart gets smarter, but hot just turns into pathetic, right?”
“You’re not pathetic,” Deacon said, trying to figure out where Mark was going with this, and then just admitting defeat. “You’re also not stupid. And when does hot turn pathetic? Two weeks down the track, or two years, or twenty?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said in a low voice.
“You’ll be hot even when you’re eighty,” Deacon said. “With a neck like a turkey’s.”
“Phi Sigs go for smart,” Mark said. “That’s what Blake said today. ‘You need to lift your game, little bro. Phi Sigs only go for smart.’ Fuck, Deke, Blake got more questions right than me. Blake!”
“You’re smart enough,” Deacon said. “But you’ve never read American lit in your life before, right? There’s a whole lot of cultural baggage and history and context and stuff that of course you don’t get, but it’s not because you’re dumb; it’s because you haven’t been exposed to it.”
Smart or hot. He wondered if Mark really thought those were his only options, and if they were mutually exclusive. Deacon thought Mark was both. Not that his grades reflected his smartness, but grades never told the whole story. Even Phi Sig knew that. Okay, so a guy had to maintain a decent GPA, but they weren’t Mensa. And a student like Mark would probably do a whole lot better in Phi Sig, where studying wasn’t seen as a mortal sin, than in Alpha Delta, where nobody cared what your major was as long as you could do a keg stand.
Deacon took Mark back to his room. Matt was working tonight, and James was at the library, so they had the place to themselves. Deacon turned on his laptop, and they watched a dumb shoot-’em-up movie, curled up on the bed together.
Mark fell asleep somewhere before the ending.
Deacon smoothed Mark’s hair back from his forehead. Asleep, with all his attitude stripped away, there was no trace of angry bunny at all. Just tired bunny. Sweet bunny. Maybe lost bunny, who had looked up at the stars only to discover that they were wrong, that he didn’t recognize them anymore.
Mark snorted once or twice and drooled a bit against Deacon’s chest. Deacon didn’t mind.
As the credits of the movie rolled, Deacon’s phone buzzed. He tried to keep the sigh out of his voice as he answered. “Hi, Mom.”
“Deacon.” She sounded breathless. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, stroking Mark’s hair. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s only six more days to go,” she said, and Deacon knew she wasn’t talking about when Ben arrived home. She was talking about when Ben died, because there was no way in hell her brain would let her believe, even for a moment, that it could turn out any other way. As though entertaining the thought that Ben might just be okay would jinx it.
The worst part was, a lot could happen in six days. And if, God forbid, something actually did happen to Ben, for the rest of her life their mom would live with every single irrational fear totally validated. She would be unmanageable then.
“It’s like any other thing, Mom,” Deacon said. There was a fine line between humoring her and pandering to her. “A day at a time, remember?”
That was what every therapist ever had said to her.
“Yes,” she said. “Oh God, Deacon. Don’t come and visit me this weekend. I couldn’t bear it if you were in an accident.”
Because in his mom’s world, nothing could ever be allowed to go right. If Ben didn’t die, then Deacon absolutely would, on his way to the family reunion.
He hadn’t heard her this bad in a while. Usually she was embarrassed by the way her brain worked, and covered up her embarrassment by either joking about her fears or getting angry at herself and swearing a lot. But right now, she just sounded scared.
“You know I drive safe,” he said, trying to forget the whole phone-sex thing with Mark.
“I don’t think I should leave the house tomorrow,” she said.
“Okay.” All this time he’d been telling himself she’d be better once Ben was home, but maybe he was as delusional as his mom. He didn’t know that she’d improve. Wasn’t it more likely that she’d find some other thing to obsess over? Once, when Deacon was thirteen, she’d refused to drive the car for a month because she’d seen some program about a sinkhole that had opened up and swallowed a lane of traffic. It wasn’t enough to be scared of traffic crashes or stuff that actually happened every day to people. No, his mom had to pick something as completely improbable as a sinkhole.
Deacon closed his eyes as she began to talk. The same old litany of fear and worry and shame.
“I know,” he said whenever she paused. “I know, Mom.”
Mark stirred against his chest. He opened his eyes and peered up at Deacon blearily. Deacon averted his gaze.
“Mom, he’ll be okay,” he said. “He will.”
Please, please, please, God, don’t make me a liar.
Mark shifted slightly. He slid his right hand up Deacon’s shirt. He pressed his palm lightly over Deacon’s heart and splayed his fingers. He caught Deacon’s gaze and held it solemnly.
Deacon wasn’t sure what Mark meant by the gesture, but he was comforted by it.
“It would just figure. If after all this time…”
“I know, Mom,” Deacon told her, his throat aching. “It’ll be okay.”
“Honey,” she said, and there was pity in her tone. Real pity, as though she knew Deacon’s ignorance would wound him terribly when Ben inevitably came home in a flag-draped box, but he just wouldn’t listen. “You can’t know that!”
Mark rubbed his palm across Deacon’s chest and snuggled closer. He was so warm and so solid.
“I know I can’t know for sure, but it’s what I believe,” Deacon told his mother.
Please, please, please, God, make it true.
His mother took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m bothering you.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “You can always call me if you’re worried.”
She was silent for a while.
“Mom?”
“I just wanted to check in,” she said quietly. “Make sure you…you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. And Ben’s gonna be too. All right?”
“All right.”
Deacon knew she wasn’t convinced, but it was the best he could do.
“I’ll be there this weekend,” Deacon promised. “I wanna see you and Ben.”
“Okay.” Her voice was small.
“I love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.”
They hung up. Deacon didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Mark kept his hand on Deacon’s chest.
“She okay?” Mark asked finally.
Deacon nodded slowly. “She will be. Once Ben’s home.”
“Are you nervous about seeing Ben?”
Deacon peered down at him. “Why would I be?”
“Dunno.” Mark paused. “When my mum and Jim first got together, he took her with him on a trip to Europe for like a month. Not that long, I know, but I remember when it got close to time for her to come home, I got nervous. Like maybe I thought she’d be different after spending all that time with him, or I worried I’d act like an arsehole because I kind of resented her going in the first place.” He met Deacon’s gaze briefly, then looked away, running a hand over Deacon’s chest again. “Sorry. Not the same thing.”
“No.” Deacon shifted, staring at the ceiling. “I get what you’re saying. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. When I think about Ben coming home, I only think about how it will affect my mom.”
But it would be strange to see Ben. Spend time with him—not just a couple of days while Ben was on leave. Deacon wondered if Ben would be different. If they’d still have anything in common. If they ever had.
Mark traced a wrinkle in Deacon’s T-shirt. “You ever get tired of being good?”
“Good?”
“Yeah. You’re a good student and you belong to a good fraternity and you take care of your mother. And you refuse to serve alcohol to minors even if everywhere else in the bloody world, they’re not minors. Do you ever want to be just totally selfish and awful?”
Deacon tried to laugh. He’d never seen himself the way Mark described him. His GPA wasn’t as good as James’s. He’d used Phi Sig mainly as a way to ensure he belonged somewhere without having to go through all the effort of actually making friends. And his thoughts about his mother were often far from selfless. He’d told her to call him anytime she felt worried. What he’d meant was Please don’t need to call. Please just be okay.
He wanted her to be able to fix herself, which wasn’t any more rational than her fears about Ben.
“I can be pretty selfish and awful.”
“I doubt that,” Mark said. “I’d recognize my own kind.”
“You’re not—”
“Hey,” Mark said. “I’m not fishing for reassurance. I know who I am. I’m like the Good Samaritan’s bum of a younger brother who’s always asking to borrow money and putting it up his nose and never paying it back. And everyone’s like, ‘Why can’t you be more like Henry?’”
“Henry?”
“That’s the Good Samaritan’s name. I’ve just decided.”
“I don’t think you’re like that.” Deacon really didn’t. He remembered how Mark had looked sleeping. Remembered Mark picking out the lingerie. “It’s called a gift, Deke.” Mark was sweet. And Deacon could only imagine how Mark would react to hearing that. Which was maybe why Deacon said it: he was curious. “I think you’re sweet.”
Deacon braced himself for Mark to laugh at him, or to tell him to fuck off. He felt Mark tense, and he tensed as well. But Mark didn’t respond, except, after a while, to ask, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever thought?”
“The worst thing I’ve ever thought?”
“Yeah.”
“Something I’ve thought about doing, or, like, if I were directing the next Saw movie, here’s a scene I think would be great?”
“The thought that most makes you feel like a horrible human being.”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Deke.”
Part of Deacon wanted to refuse to have this conversation. But he was interested in the question, and its answer. And for some reason, he felt safe talking to Mark. “Uh… Okay. When Ben first left, sometimes I’d imagine that he did get killed. I guess because sometimes, when my mom freaks out about stuff, I get freaked out too. Like these are things I should be worried about, but because I don’t worry about them, they’re gonna sneak up on me and happen. So I thought if something did happen to Ben, it would be almost a relief. Because then we could stop worrying about it. And I’d know how it felt to deal with something that bad—whether or not I could handle it. That’s pretty shitty, huh?”
“Oh, come on. I wished loads of times Jim would fall into the ocean and get eaten by a shark. Or roll down a flight of stairs testing one of his castor sets on an office chair. And if you knew Jim, you’d know that’s like saying you want to drop-kick a baby otter. Jim’s so fucking nice.”
“But he was an outsider. And he married your mom. So I can see where there’d be some resentment. And besides, you didn’t really want him to die.”
“I don’t know, Deke. Sometimes I did. Or thought I did.”
“Thought you did. That’s the important part.”
“Did you really want Ben to die?”
Deacon thought. Of course he hadn’t. It was just that imagining it had come more naturally than he’d expected. “No.”
They were silent a moment.
“So, uh…” Mark swallowed. “I can’t promise you much. I’m not a hopeless romantic, and sometimes I forget that people generally like it when you do nice things for them. I’ve never been anyone’s boyfriend. And I probably could, in my own way, out-douche a lot of the Alpha Delts.” He turned his head slightly and pressed his face against Deacon’s chest. “But I…” He turned again so he wasn’t speaking into Deacon’s T-shirt. “But you don’t have to be afraid to tell me anything. Because I won’t judge you for it. And you don’t have to worry about not seeming like a good guy in front of me. Because I guarantee I’ve been a worse guy. And if you need anything from me, just ask. I’m not the best at figuring out what people need on my own. But if you tell me, I’ll try to give it. That’s what I can promise you.”
Deacon’s throat tightened. He ran a hand once more through Mark’s hair, making a fist around a hank of it and tugging gently. “Thanks,” he whispered. “That’s a better offer than I’ve ever gotten before.”
Mark tilted his head up, and Deacon could see the cocky grin was back. “Maybe I’m a better guy than you’ve ever gotten before.”
Deacon laughed. “Maybe.” He combed his fingers through Mark’s hair. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever thought about?”
Mark’s expression grew sober. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. I answered.”
“There’s seriously too many bad thoughts to sort through. If I think of a really juicy one, I’ll let you know.”
Deacon snorted. “Not fair.”
“Hey, I didn’t make you answer. I just asked. And then prodded a bit.”
Deacon wound his arms around Mark and rolled sideways, crushing Mark to him. “All right,” he murmured. “I’m going to assume your refusal to answer is because you’ve never really had a bad thought in your life.”
Mark squeezed Deacon back, throwing his leg over Deacon’s hip. “Delusional,” he muttered. But he sounded pleased.
Deacon’s heart still pounded from Mark’s promise. “If you tell me, I’ll try to give it.”
“Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I might need you to stay the night. And wake up with me tomorrow.”
“Good. Because I’m so comfortable I wouldn’t leave this bed if you paid me.”
“Even when I do this?” Deacon squeezed tighter. Mark grunted.
“Especially when you do that.”
Deacon smiled.
“What if your roommates come in?” Mark asked.
“We’ll keep our clothes on.”
“I already told you what I could promise. Did you hear keeping my clothes on anywhere in there?”
Deacon snickered and buried his face in Mark’s hair, easing his grip on Mark’s body. “No.”
“Then it’s anyone’s guess what state your roommates will find me in.”
“Pennsylvania,” Deacon murmured, then snickered some more. He really did feel good now. Warm beside Mark, and safe.
Mark laughed. “You sound like you need to go to sleep.”
Deacon nodded into his hair.
“All right,” Mark said softly, running his fingertips down Deacon’s spine. “Clothes on, lights out.” He reached out and switched off the lamp on Deacon’s desk. Settled back next to Deacon, pulling him close. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The smile wouldn’t leave Deacon’s face, even as his eyes fell closed. “Okay. See you.”
He probably fell asleep with that dopey smile on. And he didn’t care.
* * * *
Deacon was about the one thing going right in Mark’s life at the moment. Classes sucked. Quizzes sucked. Bengal sucked. Quitting smoking sucked. And Brandon was unhappy, which completely sucked. He pretended it didn’t matter that he’d quit pledging, but Mark saw the way his gaze was drawn to Mark’s stupid pledge badge—apparently Matt had not been happy to find that on the floor of the bedroom in Phi Sig. Deacon and James had barely managed to talk him down from mounting a counterattack, since Matt was so convinced the Alpha Delts had sent their pledges into the house to cause damage. Mark had offered to swear solemnly he’d only ever sneaked in to suck cock, but Deacon seemed to think that wouldn’t help.
“So, you’re pretty serious with this guy from Phi Sig,” Brandon said, stirring sugar into his coffee.
The barista at the place on High Street had refused to serve Mark, so they’d found a place a few blocks away that at first seemed like a seventies-themed diner, but turned out to be the real deal. Sticky linoleum floors included. The coffee was bad, but it was cheap.
“I don’t know,” Mark said and hated that he didn’t. “I s’pose.”
“What’s his major?” Brandon asked curiously.
“Um,” Mark said. “Engineering? Something brainy. I can’t even understand the titles on half his textbooks.”
“You’re going out with someone, and you don’t even know what his major is?” Brandon raised his eyebrows.
“For starters,” Mark said, “we never officially started going out. We’re a one-night stand that went horribly wrong. And I might not know exactly what he’s studying, but I know some other stuff. His mum lives in Chambersburg, and his brother is coming home from Afghanistan at the end of the week.” And I know what he thinks is the worst thought he’s ever had. I know he likes seeing me in ladies’ underwear. And that he actually makes cuddling fun.
Brandon smiled and set his spoon aside. “That’s good.”
“Yeah, that’s good.” Mark tapped the napkin dispenser. “What about you, Bran?”
Brandon started. “What about me?”
“Well, you’ve canceled on me twice this week for coffee,” Mark said. “And usually I’m the one who forgot he had a class or a quiz or a dental appointment or something. You don’t double book, Bran. You have a magic brain.”
“I don’t have a magic brain,” Brandon mumbled.
“You totally do. So are you avoiding me? Or are you avoiding everyone? Or are you ditching me for a better offer, because I would completely understand that.”
“Apart from classes, I haven’t really been leaving my dorm,” Brandon admitted.
That was what Mark was afraid of.
When Mark had started at Prescott, someone from the students’ union gave him what he thought was a show bag, except it had condoms and dental dams in it instead of fairy floss and plush animals made in China. And somewhere in among all the pamphlets that warned him not to have unprotected sex and share needles, Mark remembered there had been one about mental health services for students. Had Brandon got the same bag of stuff when he’d started? And had he read it or just thrown it out like Mark had?
“I think that…” Mark began. I think you’re in more trouble than you’re saying, and I think you would never admit it in a million years. “I think that maybe I need your help to pass American lit.”
Brandon frowned. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Mark forced a sheepish grin. “I’m flunking. Seriously flunking. Can you tutor me?”
Brandon straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe. I’m not that great at lit.”
“I need all the help I can get,” Mark told him, back on the truth now. “Will you do it?”
Brandon sipped his coffee. “If you think it will help.”
It will at least help one of us.
“I know it will,” Mark said. “I’ll try too, I promise. If you tutor me, I won’t slack off.”
“All right.” Brandon sort of smiled.
“But you’ve got to do me a favor too,” Mark said.
“Aren’t I already doing you a favor?” Brandon asked. “Tutoring you?”
“Shit. Okay, I meant I’m gonna offer to do you a favor. Because you can’t stay in your dorm and avoid the world. Alpha Delt isn’t everything. It isn’t even most things.”
“Try telling my dad that.”
“I will. Better yet, you tell him.”
“Yeah, that’ll go over well.”
Mark didn’t know Brandon’s dad, but he did know that at eighteen years old, it was time to stop caring what went over well and start living your life the way you wanted to live it. At some point, life had to stop being about making your parents happy.
Which is why you’re pledging the fraternity your stepdad told you to?
That was different. He’d pledged Alpha Delt so that he could get kicked out and rub it in Jim’s face.
And okay, maybe a little bit to make Jim happy.
Jim was, after all, part of his mum’s life now, and Mark couldn’t help being terrified of whose side his mum would be on if Mark managed to alienate Jim completely.
And Mark did think Jim had more to offer than overly enthusiastic recommendations of museums. There was some stuff that was even easier to talk about with Jim than with his mother. He couldn’t think of an example off the top of his head, but he was sure there was something.
“Anyway,” Mark said. “We need to do something fun.”
“Like?”
Mark thought for a minute. What was everyone always going on about that was fun around here? “We should go to the zoo.”
Brandon snorted.
“I’m serious! I’ve heard at least three people tell me to go to the Norristown Zoo. You like zoos?”
Brandon hesitated. “They’re kind of sad.” A thoughtful expression came over his face. “But not if you’re high.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “Brandon. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I’ve got some pot in my dorm. I’ve been smoking sometimes to help me relax. Don’t tell anyone.”
Mark decided to save his lecture on dubious methods of self-medication, because the idea of going to the zoo high sounded perfect.
“And, uh,” Brandon went on, “I went to the zoo stoned once in high school. It was pretty fun.”
Mark set down his cup. “It’s settled. We’re getting high and going to the zoo. Do you have money for the tip?”
“We’re going now?”
“When better?”
“Don’t you have lit tomorrow? Maybe we ought to get started on your tutoring.”
Mark waved his hand. “We can do that this weekend. Come on.” He stood as Brandon fished out some quarters for a tip.
“Okay,” Brandon said. “But you know you’re crazy, right?”
“Most definitely.”
Brandon grinned as he set down the money. He looked happier than Mark had seen him in a while.
They were about to head out the door when Mark’s phone buzzed. Bengal. All pledge bitchezz at the house in one hour.
“Shit,” Mark said.
“What is it?”
Mark glanced at him. “Uh, Bengal. Wants the pledges over at the house.” And bitchezz meant it was gonna be a pledge torture session, not a house meeting.
Shit, shit, shit. Any other time, Mark would have blown Alpha Delt off and suffered the consequences later. But he was absolutely determined now to defeat Bengal, and to do that, he needed to attend the hazing sessions. Needed to push Bengal to take the game too far with someone who’d fight back. Like himself.
Brandon nodded, his smile gone. “You’d better go.”
“I really don’t want to. But I…” Probably not wise to tell Brandon about his plan to annihilate Bengal. He had a feeling Brandon would disapprove.
“But you can’t just blow them off,” Brandon said.
“We’re going to the zoo stoned tomorrow, though. I promise. Soon as American lit’s done.”
“Don’t you have another class in the afternoon?”
Damn Brandon and his magic memory. “It’s canceled,” he lied.
“Okay,” Brandon said suspiciously. “Tomorrow.”
“I’m really sorry, Bran.”
“No problem.”
It definitely was a problem. Fuck Bengal.
They left the coffee shop and headed back to campus.