The next morning, I woke up with the same heavy feeling in my chest. I was alone, unsurprisingly. I half expected to find Peter sitting at his kitchen counter with a “we need to have a chat” look on his face.

I stood at the entrance to his kitchen and waited. He was standing at his coffee machine, had his back to me. I didn’t want to have this conversation. I didn’t want him to tell me that last night was a mistake, that being with me was a mistake.

He turned, and seeing the look on my face, he quickly walked over to me. “No, no,” he murmured, pulling me into his arms. “What’s that look for? You look heartbroken.”

I blinked back tears. “If you don’t want to see me anymore because I’m too much work, I’ll understand.”

“What?” He pulled back and lifted my face so he could look me in the eye. “Yanni, no. Last night was just a hiccup.” He studied me for a long moment before sadness crossed his face. “Please don’t shut me out because of what happened last night. It’s not your fault. I certainly don’t blame you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

God, he was so good to me. I snuggled back into his chest, holding on to him tightly as he rubbed his strong, warm hands over my back. “I’m so embarrassed,” I mumbled. “And ashamed. I hate that I… that he fucked me up. You tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry I put you through that.”

Peter kissed the top of my head. “You have nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I want to be ready. I want to be the boy that you need.”

“You already are.”

“I want to be more. I want to be every single thing that you need.”

“Yanni,” he rebuked me gently. He kissed the top of my head and rubbed my back some more. “You already are.”

He didn’t get it. I pulled back so he could see the seriousness in my eyes. “I want to have sex with you. I want you to make love to me, so badly it burns me in here,” I put my hand to my breastbone. “I want to get my life back, and I want to share it with you. I want you inside me so much I can’t stand it. I ache with need when I think about it, and I think about it a lot, but there is some part of my brain that won’t let me.”

“If it’s what you want—”

“It is.”

“Then we can work towards it. Slow steps, baby steps, okay? I’m not in any rush. We can take as long as it needs. There’s a whole bunch of stuff we haven’t done yet.” He gave me a cheeky smile. “And believe me when I say, taking my time with you is no hardship.”

I fell back into his chest and slid my arms around him. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

“If I remember correctly, you asked me if I wanted to see a Charlie Chaplin film. It was fate.”

I smiled into his shirt, then remembered I had to work this morning. I straightened up quickly. “What time is it?”

“Eight thirty.”

“Shoot, I have to get going.”

“If you’d rather not go, I can call in sick for you.”

“I can’t let them down.”

“I figured you’d say as much.” He went back to his coffee machine and held a cup out for me. “That’s why I made you a double shot. You can drink it in the car.”

I took the coffee and kissed him softly on the lips. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Anytime. It’s what boyfriends do.”

That stopped me. “Boyfriends?”

“Well, I was thinking it was about time we called this what it is. Is that okay with you?”

I think my slow spreading grin was enough answer. “Very okay.” Then I thought about it. “Are we still daddy and son? Can we be both?”

Peter made a choked-off groaning sound. “Oh, yeah.”

* * *

Needless to say, my appointment with Patrice on Wednesday wasn’t an easy one.

As soon as I’d walked into her office and sat down, she knew something was wrong. “What happened?”

I told her everything. How I’d begged Peter to take me to bed, how he’d tried to tell me I wasn’t ready, how I’d begged him. Then how I had freaked out, and how he took care of me. How he told me I was already everything he needed, and how I still asked him for more.

“I want to be normal.”

Patrice was quick to respond. “Normal is subjective. Normal is a dangerous word. Normal is a label―”

“Sorry, wrong word choice.” I tried again. “I want my life back. I want to take back what he took from me. I want to be who I would have been if I’d never met him.”

“He?”

I sagged. “You know who. It was me thinking his name the other night in bed with Peter that caused me to freak out. I had a panic attack because I thought of his name. I don’t want to give him that power anymore.”

“Saying his name doesn’t give him power.”

“Maybe not. But it takes power away from me.”

“Control?” She frowned. “Saying his name takes away your control?”

“Yes. Somehow. I don’t know how. It just does.”

“Then we need to work on reclaiming your control. We’re going to start right now.” She picked up her pen and wrote three separate sentences on her notepad, then turned it around so it faced me. “Read those out loud.”

Lance has no control of my life.

Lance has no power over me.

Lance is a total jerk whose karma will find him.

I shot her a look, and she shrugged and said, “I ran out of ideas and it seemed appropriate.” I snorted out a laugh. She nodded toward the notepad. “Read them to me.”

I read them to her.

“Again. Read them over and over until I tell you to stop.”

So I did. I must have read them twenty times before she put up a hand to stop me. “Who has no control of your life?”

I really didn’t want to say this but I knew what she was vying for. “Lance.”

“Who has no power over you?”

“Lance.”

“Who is a total jerk whose karma will find him?”

I almost smiled. “Lance.”

“It’s just a name. A word, a noun. It has no power unless you give it power.” She pulled the piece of paper from her notepad, folded it neatly in half, and gave it to me. “Take it home, read it a thousand times. Practice your vocal coaching with it, read it in different accents, impersonate different actors. Add your own lines if you want.”

I looked at her skeptically. “This will cure me?”

“It’s not a miracle cure, no. There is no miracle cure.”

I sighed. “You know what the worst part is? That my life is forever changed because of someone else. I’m living with the consequences, the ramifications, the damage. And he just walks away.”

“You know, as a doctor and a lover of science and all things provable, it’s probably unreasonable for me to believe in karma. But I think the universe has a way of righting wrongs, in an action/reaction kind of way.”

“You think karma is physics?”

Patrice laughed. “I don’t know what it is. But I strongly believe people like Lance get what they deserve. Sometimes it’s instant. Sometimes it takes years. If it makes you feel any better, he will be sorry.”

I sighed. “Maybe. But how many more guys like me have to go through hell before the universe stops them?”

It was a rhetorical question, one Patrice didn’t even attempt to answer. But I thought all week about everything we talked about, and even for my session the week after. She started straight back on the Lance-desensitization strategy, asking if I’d continued saying those sentences out loud. Asking if I felt any different when saying it out loud or even thinking about his name.

“I can say it or think it without having an anxiety attack so I guess we would call that progress. But I still don’t like it. I don’t want any part of him in my life, including just his name.”

She was pleased with my progress and gave me some suggestions to get past the mental images, the awful memories of the things Lance did to me when and if I found myself in an intimate situation with Peter. She said it was common for name association and senses like smell and touch to bring back powerful memories.

“Peter and I haven’t tried it again,” I admitted. “Though we did have a phone sex session during the week. We didn’t plan it, but we just kinda went there. It was hot. And last weekend, we made out on the couch that ended… happily.” I cringed. “If you know what I mean.”

“We’re you naked together? On the couch?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“But you were naked with him in bed when you needed to stop?”

“Yes.” I frowned. “Is the clothing significant?”

“Being naked can make you highly vulnerable and exposed. I think that’s very reasonable.” She went on to give some suggestions for sexual acts that didn’t require full nudity. Not that I really needed suggestions. Lord knew in the last two weeks, I’d done my fair share of research on internet porn. I was just warier of what I clicked on now.

We finished the session, and like every other Wednesday night, I went to the Landons’ for dinner. It was just myself and Mr and Mrs Landon. Maybe they picked up on my solemn mood. Even though I tried to hide it, I should have known better.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Mrs Landon asked.

“Just something Patrice said to me last week. I’ve been thinking about it. She spoke of karma and how the universe clears old debts. I mean, I like the idea of that…” I shook my head and shrugged. “But then she also told me that he, Lance―I can say his name now without wanting to vomit―doesn’t have power over me unless I give it to him. I’m the only one who can take back control of my life.”

Mrs Landon gave a small nod. “That’s very true.”

“I can’t help but think they’re connected,” I admitted. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it for a week.”

Mr Landon’s brow furrowed. “You think that karma and you taking back control are connected? Yanni, you’re not thinking of some revenge plot, are you? Some crazy plan to make him pay?”

I balked. “God, no!” I snorted at that ridiculous idea. “I’m not brave or crazy enough to do that.”

Mr Landon put his hands to his heart and exhaled with relief. “Oh, thank God. Getting yourself a role on TV is one thing, but America’s Most Wanted is not the way to do that.”

I laughed, and Mrs Landon fought a smile. “What do you mean, Yanni?” she asked.

“That’s just it. I don’t know.” I let out a long sigh. “I hate that I’m stuck trying to fix myself, and he got away with it. I hate that the most. He just walked away without looking back, and I’m left with a path of destruction in his wake.”

I half expected her to launch into a speech on the steps of grief and how anger and resentment are a part of healing, but she didn’t. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Me too, honey. Me too.”

* * *

On Friday after work, I said goodbye to my coworkers and headed home. It was late, and I hadn’t seen Peter since Sunday night. We’d spoken over the phone, of course, and texted and had phone sex again, but it wasn’t the same. I missed him. So I pulled out my phone to talk to him for the ten-minute walk home.

He asked every single week if I wanted him to drive me home, but it was literally a ten-minute walk. I’d worked at the coffee house for four months now and had never had an issue with walking home on Friday nights.

And this night was no different. He was asking me how George and Ajit were doing. “Oh, they are so good,” I answered happily. “Ajit is over all the time, and they’re really working hard at proving Ajit’s family wrong. They’re fighting to stay together, so it’s kind of sweet.”

“And how about Skylar and Jordan?”

“Well, since you mentioned that they were kind of cozy, I’ve been noticing them more and more now. Something is happening between them, but I haven’t asked. I don’t want to push.”

I walked around the corner, half a block from my house, and stopped cold.

There was a cop car out front. The lights weren’t flashing, but there was a uniform standing on our stoop. “Oh my God.”

“Yanni, what is it?”

“The cops are at my place,” I said. “I gotta go.”

I clicked off the call so I could run, and I raced home. It was crazy how many wild and horrible thoughts could go through your mind in a split second. Was Jordan okay? Had something happened to freak her out again? Was George okay? Had Ajit’s family asked the police to intervene? Was Skylar okay? What time was she working tonight?

God, I ran straight up to where the policeman stood, and I saw a familiar cop just inside the door. I brushed past, and Jordan, Skylar, George, and Ajit were all standing in the living room, pale and wary. “What’s wrong?” I asked, out of breath. “Everyone okay?” I studied Jordan, checking to see if she needed help, but Skylar had her arm around her just fine.

“It’s you,” Jordan said quietly. “They’re here for you.”

I spun to the police officer. “Me?”

“Yanni Tomaras?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember me?” She looked familiar, and it took a second for me to place her. She was the cop who took my statement about Lance hiring Spencer to find me.

“Yeah.” She was Officer Serena Hernandez. Her name badge confirmed it. “What are you doing here? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“We know. Yanni, you’re not in trouble. But I need you to come downtown. There’s been another incident involving Lance Nader.”

“Is he dead?” I asked, kind of morbidly hoping he was.

“No. He’s in custody.”

And it hit me like a freight train. “Oh God. He’s hurt someone else?”

Serena gave a hard nod. “Unfortunately, yes.” She explained there was a guy in the hospital who wasn’t too willing to talk, but if they could just get his statement in conjunction with mine, they could put Lance away for a long time. “Will you help us? He’s scared as hell, and I figured if anyone understood, it’d be you. Can you talk to him? The hospital can’t hold him for much longer.”

Too shocked to do anything else, I nodded. In a daze, I got into the patrol car with the two officers, and they drove me downtown.

* * *

The Good Samaritan Hospital was renowned for treating homeless people. I should know. I’d been admitted here. The smell of hospital food, disease, and disinfectant would be forever etched into my memory. It made my stomach turn.

The walls were scuff-marked, the waiting room full to bursting, the staff inhumanely busy. Nurses scurried from bed to bed and didn’t even blink at seeing me walk in with two cops. It was just another day for them. We were waved through the ER, and Serena led the way to a cubicle at the far end, where she stopped and turned to me. She spoke in a serious whisper. “His name is Tyler Smedley. He’s nineteen, no fixed address.” She paused. “He’s taken a beating, so you should be prepared.”

I felt cold, like I was in a dream, a memory. I told myself I was ready to do this, but when the curtain was pulled back, I totally wasn’t ready at all.

Serena walked in first, standing near the bed. I stood back, trying to breathe, trying not to be sick.

My brain was screaming at me to leave, my stomach felt like it was on a rollercoaster, and my heart squeezed.

Tyler was lying there, so thin the blanket covering him barely made a lump on the bed. His blond hair was dirty, unwashed, as was his shirt. But his face… his eye was swollen shut. A cut had opened his cheek. A blotch of purple colored his jaw. His lip was split.

He wouldn’t look at us.

Serena put a manila folder on the tray table and wheeled it over the bed so it was right in front of him. “Tyler, this is Yanni Tomaras. Lance Nader, the man who did this to you, did the same to him.”

She opened the folder, and it was only then I realized it was my case file. Inside were two photos of me taken on my twenty-first birthday. I almost didn’t recognize myself. But there I was, looking very much how Tyler looked now.

Beaten. Forgotten. Alone and scared to fucking death.

Serena left us but didn’t go too far. I could see her legs underneath the cubicle curtain. I wiped my hands on my thighs and took a shaky breath. “Hey.” I swallowed hard. “So, that’s me in the photographs.”

Tyler’s only reaction was the flare of his nostrils.

“I know what you’re going through. I’ve been where you are.” When he didn’t speak or even look at me, I figured I’d be doing all the talking.

“I was homeless. My parents disowned me because I’m gay; they threw me out,” I said. Something flashed in his eye and I guessed his story was similar to mine. So I kept on going. “I was living rough. Trying to survive, ya know?”

He swallowed hard.

“I’d heard other guys talking about making some money, just for spending twenty minutes with a guy, you know, so I thought I could do that. I hadn’t eaten in a while, and money’s money, right?” God, this would never be easy to talk about. “Anyway, I met Lance on my first night. He had a lot of money, he made a lot of promises, and he wanted me. I thought I’d struck gold. One night became one weekend, and when he realized I didn’t have anywhere else to go, he offered me a deal, of sorts. I could stay at his place. He could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It was something straight out of Pretty Woman, and I should have known it was too good to be true. Even in the beginning, I didn’t like everything that he did to me, but I put up with it because I had food and showers with hot water and a bed. I mean, I’d gone from homeless to living in a luxury apartment almost overnight.

“But he got rougher and meaner as time went on. It started during sex. He’d squeeze my neck, hit me, and hold me down and… make me do things I didn’t want to do.” A cold shiver ran through me. “I begged for him to stop, but he just hit me harder.”

A single tear ran from the corner of his eye down his cheek, but still, he said nothing.

“I lived with him for about a year. In fear, every day. He’d isolated me, secluded me, beaten me, raped me.”

Tyler looked at me then. “You lived with him?”

I nodded. “I thought I didn’t have a choice. But after the last time”—I tapped the photograph of me with my finger—“I knew I had to get out. I left with nothing and went straight to the police. I told them what had happened, but he denied it. Then he hired someone to find me.”

Tyler shot me a look of fear that made my heart ache. “Oh God…”

I shook my head quickly and put my hand on his arm. It was then I noticed the scrapes on his knuckles. “We have to stop him. Together, you and me. My report alone wasn’t enough, but they can’t ignore two of us. I don’t want him to do what he did to us to anyone else.”

Another tear ran a solitary trail down his face. “I don’t think I can.”

“You won’t be alone, and you’re stronger than you know. You’re a fighter,” I said, nodding to his banged-up knuckles. “You fought back. I never did.”

He stared at his hands for a while. “I only met him on weekends, in the bars off Skid Row. Quick cash, you know? He paid well, more than the other johns. So I kept going back. He was so rough, it was always painful. He’d slap and choke me, but this time was different. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was angry.”

I knew that look all too well.

“And it really hurt. He’d always insisted on wearing a condom—and most johns don’t, so it was kinda weird—but then I realized why. No DNA, no proof. So when he hit me and kept hitting me, I fought back. I’d seen enough crime shows on TV, and I knew that if he wouldn’t leave me any DNA, I’d have to take it. So I scratched him.”

“You’re very smart.”

He shook his head and didn’t say anything for a while. “You’ve done all right for yourself, though,” he said, looking at my clothes.

“This is my work uniform. Looks kinda fancy, but it’s just a coffee shop. I’m back at school now, and I have a place to live. I can help you do the same. The people who helped me, they’ll help you too.”

“But only if I agree to the police report, right?” His defensive wall was back up, and I couldn’t blame him. “There’s always a catch with you do-gooders.”

“No, there’s no catch. There’s a place called the Acacia Foundation, and it’s what they do. They help people like you and me, who have been kicked out of our home because we’re not straight enough. They find you somewhere to live, they have work placement programs if you need it, they can get you back into college if that’s what you want.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I sighed. “I’ll help you, regardless. Do the police report, or don’t do the police report. It’s up to you. I won’t not help you because of that. People like Lance Nader get away with it because they know their victims are scared, broke, and don’t have the means to fight back. But we do. And we can. We can stop him. The police out there will take your statement, and that’s it. It won’t go to trial. Lance will take a deal before it goes that far. Even if he doesn’t go to jail, he’ll have a criminal record of physical and sexual assault. With a bit of luck, he’ll lose his job, and he’ll know what it’s like to have things taken away from him.”

Tyler was still quiet and not looking at me again, and I thought our conversation was over. But then he nodded quickly, and more tears fell. “Will you stay? While I talk to them?”

I gave his hand a squeeze. “Yeah, of course.”

Serena came back in then; she’d obviously heard every word. I sat in the corner while he recounted his story and the detective dutifully took notes. His story was so familiar to mine, and although my heart broke for him, it somehow bolstered me as well. I didn’t want another person to ever go through what I went through, and most certainly not at the hands of Lance Nader.

When Tyler was almost done, a nurse came to talk to the other officer who had been standing outside the curtain. They disappeared together for a moment, then the officer came back and poked his head around the curtain. “Mr Tomaras, there’s a Mr Hannikov here. Says you’ll want him here with you?”

Peter. “Yes. God, yes.” I stood up, and the officer waved at someone at the end of the hall. I walked to the curtain and followed his line of sight just in time to see Peter walk in. He took one look at me and visibly sagged. He put his hand to his forehead and through his hair as he walked toward me, relief and pain in his eyes.

I put my arms out and he walked right into them, holding me so, so tight. He buried his face into my neck. “I was so scared for you,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry. I should have called or texted. I was kinda busy and not thinking...”

He put his hands to my face and pulled back to get a better look at me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, but then tears burned in my eyes, and he pulled me back against his chest. “I raced over to your place,” he said softly. “They told me the police took you. Luckily George remembered the officer’s name. He said someone was hurt and they needed your help. I tried three police stations, two hospitals. I tried calling…”

I took out my phone, and there were several missed calls. “It was on silent, sorry. I switch it off when I’m at work, and I forgot to switch it back.” I then realized it was also three in the morning. God, had it been that long? “I’m so sorry.”

He planted a kiss on my forehead, then searched my eyes. “Is everyone okay?”

I shook my head. “Lance hurt someone else.”

Peter’s nostrils flared, but before he could say anything, Serena announced the report was done, and Tyler was free to leave, given the doctor signed him out. I knew what that meant, though. It meant Tyler was going back out onto the streets. I stepped back around the curtain, so both Serena and Tyler could see me. “Where will you go?” I asked him.

He shrugged, exhausted and a hundred miles past done. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” I told him. “You can’t go back out there, not tonight, not like this,” I motioned to his face. “I have a couch. You can sleep on it, and after breakfast, I’ll make some calls and we’ll get you a place to live.”

I hadn’t noticed Peter standing beside me, but when I looked at him, I saw that he was staring at the still-open folder on the table. At the photos of me: black eye, swollen and bleeding lip, cut cheek. How gaunt I was, how dirty I was. How utterly broken I was.

I rushed over to close the file and hand it to Serena, but in my panic, the photos and papers fell to the floor. Like it happened in slow-motion, Peter picked up a photograph and stared at it. His frown was deep and his eyes shone with unshed tears. I gently took the picture from him. “That’s not who I am anymore,” I whispered.

Peter nodded, and Serena took the photo from me and shoved it back in the file. She thanked me, apologized quietly, told us she’d be in touch, and they left. The doctor came in, gave Tyler some pain medication, and discharged him. He gingerly got off the bed and stood up. He was much smaller than I’d realized and so thin. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine,” he mumbled.

“Tyler, I’d really like to help,” I said. “It’s just a couch and a blanket. A safe place to sleep tonight, breakfast and a hot shower in the morning.”

He searched my eyes. “Why?”

“Because good people helped me. I hate to think where I’d be if they hadn’t. And I’d like to pay it forward. If you’ll let me.”

He eyed Peter then, so I introduced them. “This is Peter.”

Tyler frowned. “Thought you said your old man kicked you out.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Well, he’s not my daddy in that sense of the word. He’s my boyfriend.” It was the first time I’d ever called him that.

“Daddy, huh?” Tyler said.

Peter cleared his throat. “Should we be leaving?”

I nodded and we walked at Tyler’s pace out into the cool early morning. We drove to my place and went inside. The house was dark and quiet, everyone obviously sound asleep at half past three in the morning. I made Tyler a pastrami and cheese sandwich while Peter pulled some blankets out of the closet. Tyler inhaled the food, but his one good eye was blinking slower and slower. He curled up on the single chair, his small frame somehow fitting, and I threw a blanket over him. I don’t know if it was the meds the doc gave him or pure exhaustion, but he was already asleep.

Peter patted the seat next to him on the three-seater. I fell in beside him, and he laid us down so he was the big spoon, but I rolled over so I could face him. “I’m sorry about tonight. I made you worry, and that must have been horrible.”

“I thought something bad had happened to you.”

I kissed him softly. “Thank you for looking for me.”

He brushed the hair back from my forehead. “You’re doing the right thing helping him.”

I smiled sadly. “It’s the least I could do. His face will be sore as hell tomorrow.”

Peter frowned. “That photograph…”

“I’m sorry you saw that.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.” His eyebrows knit together. “I’d like just five minutes alone with that asshole. I swear, he’d never touch another person again.”

I shook my head. “No, you’re better than him.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just want him to pay for what he does.”

“I want to make him pay, too. And I’m going to. But the right way. The police seem to think they’ll have enough to stick. I’m ready to take him on now. If that’s what’s been holding me back, I don’t know. He holds no power over me anymore, and I’m going to make sure he pays.”

He kissed me. “You’re stronger than me.”

I scoffed at that. “I’m strong because of you.”

He cradled my face. “No, my sweet boy. You’re strong because of you. You’re a survivor.” He searched my eyes. “You are the sweetest thing and so very precious to me.”

I snuggled into his chest and his arms wound tight around me. “I called you my boyfriend tonight, and my daddy. The one who keeps me safe.”

He kissed the side of my head. “I love you, Yanni.”

My heart burst at his declaration, and I pulled back to look into his eyes. “You do?”

He smiled and slow-blinked. “Wholly and completely. With everything I am.”

Happy tears sprang to my eyes, and with my hand on his cheek, I kissed him. Then I snuggled back into his chest so the sound of his heart could lull me to sleep.