Chapter 15

 

 

December

 

REX DRIVES us to the funeral with one hand on the wheel and the other heavy on my thigh. He’s been so calm this whole time, so steady. I could see it in him the night we met—how solid he was.

 

 

THIS MORNING I woke up to Ginger crawling into bed next to me while Rex was still asleep, one arm thrown above his head.

“He’s gorgeous and awesome,” Ginger said matter-of-factly.

“I know, right?” I whispered back. “What the hell is he doing with me?”

She smacked me lightly and rolled her eyes.

“Listen, Ginge, will you come with us to the funeral? I’m afraid I might murder one of the guys and then the two remaining ones will turn on me, which will make Rex kill them and really I don’t want to be responsible for Rex going to prison on top of all this….”

“Obviously, I’m going to the funeral with you, you idiot,” she said, but she smiled.

Rex ran down to the bodega on the corner and got eggs and bread. After a late breakfast, Ginger called my brothers at my dad’s house to get the specifics of the funeral while Rex and I changed. She figured they wouldn’t be rude to her at least. I don’t know why she’d think that after all these years. She started with the phone on speaker, but after Brian made some disgusting comment and Ginger told him he should go eat a dick and he replied, “Why don’t you get Danielle to do that since it’s his favorite thing to do,” she took it off speaker and went into the kitchen.

Rex let out a controlled breath, shaking his head, and clenched his fists.

“Honestly, Daniel, I’m impressed you can even be in the same room as them,” he said.

“I…. Brian’s not usually so bad. When I was younger, we were—well, not friends, but friendlier? We’d play catch or poker sometimes when he didn’t have anyone else to hang out with. And Sam. He calmed down a lot after he and Liza got married. He never really gave me too much shit because he was so much older.”

I knotted my tie and shrugged into my jacket, which Ginger had taken one look at when I pulled it out of my backpack and immediately hung in the bathroom to steam while we all had our showers. Rex ran his hand down my lapel.

“This is the suit you were wearing the night we met,” he said softly. I couldn’t believe he remembered. I was only wearing it for an hour.

“It’s the only one I have,” I said. “How do you…?”

Rex’s eyes never left mine.

“I remember everything about that night, Daniel.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he took a deep breath and his eyes skittered away from mine and back to knotting his own tie.

 

 

“SO, WHAT’S the deal with this funeral?” Ginger says from the backseat. “I mean, are you all secretly Jewish or something? I thought you guys waited, like, weeks before you buried people so you could do whatever voodoo you do to make bodies that can rise from the grave.”

Rex snorts.

“Fucking Vic,” I say. “He and Sam worked out some kind of deal with his cousin or something. I don’t know. They wouldn’t hear a word against him. Jesus Christ,” I say, running a hand through my hair, “I just hope this doesn’t turn into that scene in that movie you made me watch after you broke up with Stephen.”

“Oh yeah, Death at the Funeral,” Ginger says. “Ha, good movie.” Then to Rex she says, “The body falls out of the coffin.”

“Yeah, I saw it,” he says, his hand tightening on my thigh.

“Knowing Vic, he might bury Dad even if he’s not actually dead just to make a buck,” I say, going for levity, but it just comes out a little shaky.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Dandelion turns morbid when he’s uncomfortable,” Ginger says to Rex, leaning forward to stick her head between our seats. Rex smiles at her in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” he says, rubbing my leg with his warm hand.

“Dude,” I say, “you’re kind of turning me on. Do you want me to show up to my father’s funeral with a hard-on?”

Rex shoots me a dark and filthy look that says if he had his way he’d have me showing up everywhere with a hard-on, but he just pats me on the knee and puts both hands on the wheel.

“Brian said there’s going to be some kind of party in the shop?” Ginger continues.

“Yeah. For everyone who can’t make it to the cemetery today. You know my family: it’ll just be a shit-ton of beer and fried chicken and they’ll drink and cry and undoubtedly those creepy twins will smoke in the shop and set a garbage can on fire. There are these friends of my dad’s,” I tell Rex, “who no one can tell apart. Like, sincerely, I don’t even think my dad could tell them apart. He just always calls them The Twins, and no one’s ever seen them when they weren’t together. They’re super skinny so it kind of looks like they’re just one person that got sliced in half.”

Rex’s hand is back on my knee, gently. It’s as if he can hear how fucked-up I feel in everything I say. I feel better than I did on the drive to Philly—seeing Ginger’s helped a lot—but now I feel kind of… sick. Just vaguely nauseated, like I’ve forgotten something important or am about to get in trouble. I shouldn’t have eaten those eggs.

 

 

BESIDES ME, Rex, and Ginger, my brothers, Liza, Luther, and a few of the other guys who work at the shop are the only ones there. It’s a graveside service, and, credit to Vic and his cousin, my father’s body does not fall out of the coffin. Sam shook my hand when we walked up, and nodded to Rex and Ginger. He looks sharp, in an overcoat I’ve never seen before, and I’d lay money that Liza went out and bought it for him. He holds Liza’s hand the whole time. Brian looked okay when we started, but now he’s crying. He’s trying to stay quiet, but tears and snot are dripping down his face and his sleeve is shiny from wiping them away. He doesn’t have a dress coat and Colin made him take off his Eagles down jacket at the graveside. It’s fucking freezing out here, so now Brian is shaking too.

Colin. It’s the strangest feeling, but Colin looks how I feel. He looks sick. He has circles under his eyes, and his hair, which is usually buzzed, has grown out some and looks crumpled from sleep. His lips are chapped and cracked from the cold and his eyes are puffy. When they lower the coffin into the ground, Colin squeezes his arms around his stomach and I realize I’m doing the same thing. Trying to hold it together from the outside in. Only he’s failing.

I’ve never seen Colin cry. His eyes are scrunched up and his neck is corded and I can tell that he’s nearly puking with the attempt to stay quiet. Sam is crying, Liza holding his arm. Tears are running down Luther’s weathered face and he’s making no attempt to hide them.

I am not crying. I am not sad. I am sick and numb and guilty with not crying.

I haven’t been to a funeral since my mom’s. At that one, everyone put roses on top of her coffin. One of my mom’s friends gave me a rose. White. She told me, “Put it on top of Mommy so she can take a part of you with her.” This—of course—terrified me, and I put the rose next to the grave, hoping no one would notice. One of our neighbors walked up last, and when he turned back after putting his rose on her coffin, he kicked my rose into the grave. For months, I had nightmares where I was just sitting in class or taking a shower and I would feel a tugging in my stomach. I’d look down and see the stem of a rose sticking out of my belly button. Then a hand would reach for it. My mother’s hand. She’d take hold of the stem, thorns cutting her palm, and she’d pull. The stem would slid out of my stomach, ripping its way through, until finally the white bloom, now stained red with my blood, slid out. She would drag me into the darkness, tethered by the stem.

I tighten my arms around my stomach and Rex pulls me into him.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his mouth next to my ear. I shiver and nod.

It’s just so ridiculous. That something like grief could course through each of these people, desperately contained, as the ritual unfolds, for the sake of… what? And the idea that my father is now a dead body inside a wooden box—absurd.

For a second, my mind wanders to the cholera epidemics, when fear of accidentally burying a family member alive resulted in coffins fitted with strings tied around the toes of their loved ones that led to bells, so that if they awoke, interred, they could signal for help. I’ve taught Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado” and “The Premature Burial” in classes before and always pictured these suitably dark, crumbling, atmospheric tombs. But it’s 2:00 p.m. and the sun is shining and it’s muddy. There’s a man talking about my father who never met him and never will. My brothers are pillars of grief, mourning a man they adored. And I’m standing here thinking about nineteenth-century American horror stories. It’s too fucking absurd. I make a noise that sounds disturbingly like a giggle.

Colin’s head snaps up and his eyes meet mine. His face is red with pain, his lips bitten to blood. His look is disgusted. Murderous.

My brothers hate me.

Or, at least, don’t care about me.

And I don’t like them.

I’m standing between the only two people in the entire world who give a shit about me, and who the fuck knows how long at least one of them will stick around.

The service ends and Luther and the others walk off after hugging my brothers—manly, aggressive hugs, with back slaps and shoulder squeezes—and nodding uncomfortably at me. Luther shakes my hand.

Liza’s still holding Sam’s arm, but now she takes Brian’s hand too, and he leans into her like a little kid. They stand there gazing at the grave. Colin is nearly vibrating. He’s wearing a suit that’s too short in the arms and a raincoat that I recognize as my dad’s, which is tight in the shoulders. His shoes are worn and polished, now spattered with mud. Colin’s losing his shit. Crying audibly and shaking his head like it’s happening to someone else and he can’t understand it. He takes off toward a copse of trees. I shake off Rex’s arm and walk in the other direction, toward the bathroom, thinking that if I’m going to throw up I may as well do it in a toilet.

I can see Ginger take hold of Rex’s arm to stop him coming after me. Bless her.

My face and ears feel hot and flushed. Once, when I was five, just before my mom died, we went to the Jersey Shore and I played in the water all day. Brian would bury me in the sand and I’d have to break free before a big wave came. I built a sand castle and waded into the waves to pee in the water so I wouldn’t have to leave the beach. It was, I thought at the time, the best day I’d ever had. I got a terrible sunburn and my skin peeled for a week. That’s how I feel now: so full up with heat that my head is throbbing.

I make it to the bathroom and puke into the toilet. I feel like something that’s been lodged in my guts for years has come loose. Everything I said to Ginger and Rex last night was the truth. I do feel a kind of regret that I’ll never be close with my father, a kind of mourning for what could have been. But I’m also so angry that it feels like poison is coursing through my veins.

My head is throbbing and my mouth tastes like puke and I’m making a sound I don’t even recognize. In my head is only screaming. Screaming because you loved my brothers more than me even though, at first, I tried to do everything you wanted—anything to make you smile after Mom died. I tried to put on a play to distract you and you told me that only girls put on plays. I made it onto the track team and you tried to act pleased, but we both knew if it wasn’t football or basketball or hockey then you didn’t care. Screaming because you let my brothers tease me and beat the shit out of me and made me believe that was normal. Screaming because when I told you I was going to college you told me that it was a lot of money to let someone else tell me what to think. Because when I got into grad school you said, “That’s nice, son,” and never mentioned it again. Screaming because when I got my PhD, you didn’t care. Screaming because when I moved away, you couldn’t talk to me about anything except a damn car.

Screaming, screaming, screaming because when I told you I was gay—even if you never said it—you looked like you wished I were dead.

I throw up again, until there’s nothing left to come up. Acid is burning my throat and the back of my nose. I drink a bunch of water from the tap and stuff gum into my mouth that Ginger gave me earlier. She said, “Chew instead of punching.” Smart girl.

I leave the bathroom, just wanting some fresh air, and start walking in a random direction. I’m sweating, the kind of cold, oily sweat that comes with puking, and the cold air blowing through my clothes is making me shiver. Goddammit, I should go back to the grave and find Rex. I either want to fuck him so hard I can’t think of anything else or drink until I pass out.

The smell of cold dirt clears my head a little and the breeze freezes the snap of mint in my mouth. I feel a little better and veer toward what looks like a storage shed, thinking I’ll duck inside to sit down for a second and text Rex that I’ll meet him at the truck in ten minutes. The door’s open and I walk inside.

At first, all I see is Colin’s back, shoulders shaking, and my only thought is that I should turn around and walk out, because the way Colin looked back at the grave site, if he gets me alone it won’t be good.

I don’t even notice the other figure at first because it’s so dim in the shed. Then it registers that Colin is crying on someone, someone whose arms are wrapped around my brother’s shaking form.

A man.

A man is… holding my brother. There’s no other way to describe it. A man is holding my brother gently, and Colin is clinging to him, crying his heart out.

The man is broad and taller than me and Colin—much taller. His dark eyes meet mine over Colin’s head. I can see him tense and Colin must feel the change in his body because he turns around, though the man keeps hold of his shoulder. Colin looks destroyed from crying, but when he sees me his expression changes to something I’ve never seen before. Absolute panic. And it’s so clear that I almost laugh.

“Holy fucking…,” I start to mutter, but I can’t even get any words out. I drop into a crouch, my elbows on my knees, just looking up at Colin. With a man. My brother, who has treated me with nothing but revulsion since he found me giving Buddy McKenzie head in an alley, is gay. I can see it all in his panicked face.

Colin looks back at the man, as if he’s going to help, and then he holds out a hand to me, as if to placate. I stand up.

“Look, Dan,” he says, “don’t—”

But I throw myself at him before he can finish the thought.

“You fucking liar,” I yell, grabbing him by the lapels of our father’s coat and dragging him close.

My vision blacks out with fury. I thought I was angry at my father before, but this is murderous rage. I ram into Colin, every single nasty, homophobic word, every disgusted look, every punch and slap and shove slamming into me with the force of a brick wall. My weight bears him down to the dirt floor and I get in two punches to the face before he shakes off his surprise and fights back. He boxes my ears and gets me once in the stomach, but I am filled with a heavy rage so strong it feels like I could rip his head off and barely even break a sweat.

I push his shoulders to the ground and put my forearm to his throat. His fist slams into my lower back, just missing my kidney, and I rear back. A punch to my mouth, one to his stomach, and then we’re just wrestling on the floor, grappling, grabbing whatever parts of each other we can, both trying to inflict the maximum amount of pain. It’s only when a strong arm rips me away that I realize I’m still screaming at Colin.

It’s Rex.

The man who was with Colin is still standing exactly where he was when I walked in, watching.

Rex pulls my back tight to his front and I break off, my voice gone. Colin scrambles to his feet, bleeding from his nose and mouth, and spits out blood on the dirt floor. I can’t catch my breath.

Colin hangs his head.

“I—” he starts to say. “I—please, Danny—”

“Don’t fucking call me that, you fucking liar,” I yell at him, lurching forward, but Rex holds me back. My voice is broken.

“But, can I—?”

“How could you?” I yell, and my voice gives out completely. I’m vaguely aware of tears running down my cheeks, but I never look away from Colin. His expression is pure self-loathing and I realize that I’ve seen echoes of this expression my whole life. It’s just that I always thought they were directed at me, not reflected back on himself.

Rex is holding me up, now. I can’t believe it. I cannot wrap my mind around it.

And I can’t even imagine how destroyed Colin must be over our dad if he let a man hold him at the cemetery where we all were.

Rex is making desperate eye contact with the other man, clearly trying to figure out what’s going on, but the guy is stone.

I shake my head when Colin doesn’t say anything, and turn to leave.

“Dan,” Colin says from behind me, his voice strained. “Don’t tell Brian and Sam. Please. Please?”

I spin around to look at him. He’s crying, tears running through the blood from his nose and leaving pink tracks down his face. His scraped up hands are out to his sides, beseeching. For a moment, all I want is to do exactly that: tell Brian and Sam and watch Colin’s world come tumbling down. But I take a deep breath and give Colin a single nod. Then I close my eyes and leave, because I don’t have a voice for any of my questions, and I’m pretty sure Colin doesn’t have any answers for me.

 

 

REX CATCHES up to me a few yards from the truck, where Ginger is standing, waiting for us. When I see her chomping on a huge wad of gum, I realize I must have lost mine sometime during the fight with Colin, but I don’t know if I swallowed it, it fell out, or what. I lift a nervous hand to my hair, hoping I won’t find it there.

“What in the fuck happened to you?” Ginger says, blowing the gum out of her mouth like a spitball from a Bic pen. I shake my head in disbelief.

Ginger looks at Rex, who’s by my side again.

“Seriously, babycakes, what the fuck is going on?”

“Colin’s gay,” I say, and it’s a screech, like how my voice is after a particularly late night of bar tending when I’ve had to shout at people all night.

Ginger laughs uncomfortably and cocks her head.

“I don’t get it,” she says.

“Colin is fucking gay, Ginger,” I say. “I just saw him.”

She searches my face and when she sees I’m not joking or messing around, her mouth drops open.

“Holy…,” she breathes out.

Rex tries to put his arm around me, but I feel like fire ants are crawling all over me. I’m covered in dust from the floor of the shed; I can feel that there’s blood on my face in addition to tears, and traces of the puke taste are creeping back into my mouth. For all that, I can’t stand still. The idea of getting in the truck makes me nearly come out of my skin.

“I’m going to walk,” I say, though it sounds like every word scrapes my throat. “I’ll meet you guys at Ginger’s.”

“Are you kidding? It’s like six miles,” Ginger says.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, shoving some more gum into my mouth. “I just need to get some air.”

Ginger and Rex are looking sideways at each other in an extremely irritating way.

“I’ll walk with you,” Rex says.

“No,” I say. “Thanks, but you don’t have to. I’ll see you later.”

“It wasn’t a question,” Rex says, and tosses Ginger the keys to his truck.

 

 

I WALK in the general direction of Ginger’s, looking at the city I’ve lived in my whole life as if I’ve never seen it before. Rex trails along gamely beside me, not saying anything, but never letting me more than a few paces out of his reach. At first it’s fucking irritating and I want to turn and yell at him that I’m not a child. That I’ve gotten along just fine without him for this long and he can fuck off back home. But the truth is that I haven’t.

I haven’t gotten along just fine. In fact, I’ve barely gotten along at all. And always, always, some of it has been because of Colin.

I’ve been mad at him and—if I’m being honest—scared of him for so long that I’ve forced myself to forget that I used to worship him. When Mom died, he was the one I ran to after the nightmares woke me up. When I was eight and he was fourteen, I’d watch him get ready for high school, wishing that I looked just like him. He was the one who first got me into music, blaring rock stations whenever he was in the shop instead of sports radio. He had a great voice too, and he would wail along with Steve Perry, Axl Rose, and Freddie Mercury while he changed oil and rotated tires. I’d sit in the doorway to the kitchen and listen, thinking maybe we’d start a band someday. When I was ten and he was sixteen, even though by then he was too cool to bother with me, he crashed our dad’s car and broke his arm and I ran back and forth from the kitchen to the living room to bring him sodas and chips, desperate to make him feel better.

He was never exactly nice to me back then—he’d always pat me on the back a little too hard and take the last cookie out of my hand—but it felt fraternal, just regular brotherly shit, the same as he gave to Brian and Sam gave to him.

It changed before he ever found me with Buddy McKenzie, though. Around the time I was twelve or thirteen, I gave up on trying to be like the rest of them. I stopped pretending I was watching the football games or that I cared when they discussed the fall lineups. I didn’t hang out in the shop anymore, letting my dad tell me which tool was which. I stopped laughing at their unfunny jokes and pretending that I didn’t care when they “accidentally” ripped my library books. I stopped talking and asking questions. I pulled back every overture that I’d learned from experience would be met with disapproval and rejection because that’s when I knew.

Knew I was gay. Knew that I wanted to get the fuck out of that house. Knew that I wanted a different kind of life than beer and ball and cars. And they knew it too.

Colin was the worst, but it was all of them. They took it as disapproval. They became convinced that I thought I was better than them when the truth was that I just knew they would never like me if they knew who I really was and what I really wanted. Love me. They would never love me.

And they didn’t. Not really. They stopped. But only Colin turned truly poisonous, as if he saw my retreat as an attack.

Now, though. What? Did he see me doing what he wanted to do? I don’t think so. Colin may be gay—Christ, the sentence even sounds insane in my head—but he loves working at the shop, loves the cars, loves sports. And he fucking loved our dad. Would do anything he said. So, when he saw how badly my dad reacted when I told him that I was gay, it would have made it a thousand times harder for him to do the same. If he even knew then.

And instead of confiding in me, he turned it inside out and terrorized me instead.

I can’t imagine how it must have felt, calling me a faggot all these years and seeing my dad and my brothers go along with it. Fuck. How could he do it?

We’ve been walking for three or four miles when Rex breaks the silence.

“Can we stop for a coffee or something?” he asks, startling me.

“Yeah, of course,” I say.

We duck into a café and I order coffees to go while Rex uses the bathroom. I realize, as he comes back, that he probably meant he wanted to stop and sit down to drink a coffee and get warm.

“Did you want to sit?” I ask, hoping he’ll say no.

“Um, no, it’s okay,” he says, uncertainly.

I really think he wants to stay, but I jump on it and walk out the door. I just can’t be around any of these people right now, sipping their fucking chai lattes and triple skinny caramel whateverthefucks.

Rex slides his hat back on and takes the coffee.

“Thanks,” he says. I can tell he wants to say something, but he just keeps walking with me.

After another few blocks, he drains his coffee and tosses the cup.

“I never went to my mom’s funeral,” he says.

“What? Why?” I ask, realizing that while I’ve been busy wrapping myself in a blanket of my own shit, Rex is probably dealing with some pretty heavy memories of his own.

“When I took up with Jamie,” he says, his voice low and his chin tucked into his jacket, “I started spending all my time with him. Just, he was the only one who talked to me, and that felt… good. I didn’t see much of my mom in the evenings because she had this boyfriend, John, who didn’t like me, and she was working all the time during the day. So, I didn’t think anything of staying out with Jamie. Maybe six months after I met Jamie, John got a job in Colorado and my mom told me we were moving out there. But I didn’t want to leave Jamie, didn’t want to start all over again.”

He pauses, looking around for something to do with his hands. I hold up my half-drunk coffee to him. He takes it, smiling gratefully and wraps his hand around it.

“I told her I was staying. We had a real go-round about it. The only time we ever really fought.” He shakes his head. “I told her I was tired of following her all over. Told her I was staying. And I did. Jamie said I could stay at his place, said his parents wouldn’t mind, but of course they did. So I’d sneak into his room after they went to bed and sneak out again before they got up in the morning. I’d eat breakfast and lunch at school and scrounge something up for dinner. Then—” He stops short to avoid a dog-walker’s tangle of leashes and looks longingly after the dogs.

“Then, you know, That thing happened with Jamie about three months after. In the hospital, I kept wanting to call her, but I didn’t want her to worry. Gave a fake name at the hospital and skipped out before they could discharge me. Didn’t know what to do, so I hitched to Colorado. I’d missed Jamie’s funeral while I was in the hospital. By the time I got to Colorado….”

“Oh god,” I murmured.

“She was already gone.”

We walk in silence another block or two.

“How did she die?” I ask, hooking my arm through Rex’s.

“Pancreatic cancer. She must’ve been sick for a while and never knew it. She hated doctors. Wouldn’t ever go. She’d been losing weight for a year or so, but she was always trying to lose weight. Always on some diet or another. She was happy about it. Bought a new dress and all.”

“John didn’t let you know?”

“I guess he tried, but he only had Jamie’s parents’ number, and I wasn’t there. She died two weeks before I got there. If it had taken me even a few days less to get there…. So, I’ve never been to a funeral before today.”

I pull him close to me with the arm hooked through his, bumping our hips together.

“Fuck,” I mutter. Because what else is there to say?

 

 

WHEN WE get back to Ginger’s, she’s in the shop and waves us upstairs to her apartment. I feel like I should say something more to Rex, but how do you soothe a pain someone’s lived with for so long as opposed to just irritating it again?

I sit on the couch and I’m vaguely aware when Rex sits next to me and slides his hand into mine.

Is Colin dating that guy? Maybe I read things wrong. Maybe they’re just friends. Or…. I shake my head.

“So, do you know the man who was with your brother?” Rex asks, like he plucked the thought right out of my head.

“No.” After a while, I continue. “I just—I can’t understand how he… could be with a man. He thinks I’m disgusting. Or, even if he just hates being gay even though he is, who would want to be with him if he hates them? And that man—I mean, not to stereotype, but he looked pretty, um, powerful? Like, it’s not as if Colin could just close his eyes and pretend he was with a girl, you know?”

“Well, you never know what people are into,” Rex says.

I know he’s right. Christ, I’ve never known it better than today because never in a million years would I have imagined seeing Colin being held by another man.

I feel the kind of confusion that’s seeped into my bones. The kind of confusion that makes me question everything. That makes me wonder if maybe Colin never hated me at all? Or maybe he hated me even more than I ever imagined, just for different reasons. I can’t think about it right now because if I do I’ll go crazy. I can’t think about any of it.

“Rex, I….”

“What, baby?” he asks, immediately turning to me.

“I know this sounds trashy or pathetic or whatever, but I just really want to get wasted. I can’t—” I shake my head. “I can’t deal with any of this right now and maybe if we were home I… but we’re here and I just… I just can’t.”

“I understand,” Rex says, though he looks apprehensive. “Well, I’ll look out for you, of course. What do you want….”

“Just whiskey,” I reassure him.

He nods, clearly relieved.

“Jesus, what did you think I wanted?”

He looks embarrassed and ducks his head.

“I don’t know. Just… you’ve said things before that made me think maybe you used to—” He searches for the words. “Escape in more extreme ways.”

“Yeah, I used to dabble, I guess, but I don’t do that shit anymore.”

“Good,” he says, and his hand tightens on mine.

“I just—I don’t want you to think I’m a loser who drinks all the time. I don’t, really. I just… sometimes it helps.”

“I can help too, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, cupping my face and running rough thumbs over my mouth. “Maybe this isn’t the time or the place, but I’m here.”

I look into his beautiful face. His expressive mouth that always tastes like home. His whiskey-colored eyes, which, if we were alone together, would be the only drink I’d need. I throw a leg over his lap and straddle him the way I did the night we first met. Only this time, he doesn’t pull away. He holds me tight, even though I’m sweaty and dusty and bloody and disgusting. Even though I’m a mess. He holds me tight and looks into my eyes as I kiss him. I twine my fingers into his thick hair and kiss him with everything I have. Not trying to turn him on, just wanting to crawl inside his warmth, his comfort, and hibernate until it’s safe to come out.

Unfortunately, Ginger didn’t get the memo because that’s when the door opens.

“Whoopsie,” she says as we pull apart. Then her face turns stormy. “Daniel Mulligan, are you getting blood on my couch? Take a shower, you dirtball!” Then she turns to Rex and smiles sweetly. “Why don’t you help him out? I’ll take care of dinner.”

“Whiskey, Ginge,” I ask her nicely.

“I know,” she says.

In the bathroom, Rex strips me out of my dirty clothes, murmuring disapprovingly at the bruises he uncovers. He pushes me under the hot water before taking off his suit. There’s a knock at the door as Rex steps into the shower with me.

“PS,” Ginger says, “You’ve got exactly eleven minutes before that water turns ice cold.” Shit, I forgot that.

“Better be quick, then,” I say, and drop to my knees in front of Rex, nuzzling into his crotch, just wanting to feel close to him. He starts to harden immediately and his hand strokes my hair, but he pulls backward.

“Daniel, no, you don’t have to—”

I pull his hips back toward me and lick down his length, from root to tip.

“I want to,” I say. I just want to do something for him. Something right, for a change.

“Baby, please, maybe it’s not such a—mmmf!” He breaks off in a moan as I run my teeth gently over the tip of his erection. He tastes like Rex, salty and a little sweet, like a hot martini. I take him all the way into my mouth, hands running up the backs of his thighs, and as he starts to rock his hips toward me, I don’t have to think about anything except the feel of his fingers in my hair, his muscles under my hands, and his pleasure. I suck him hard, palming his ass.

“Shit, Danny,” Rex says as I swallow around the tip of his cock. I’m trying to make him come hard and fast and still have enough hot water to wash my hair. All it takes is applying everything I’ve learned Rex likes over the last few months at once. A lick here, a nibble there, a finger here, and he’s gone, coming down my throat with a torn-off moan. But when he reaches for me to return the favor, I just reach for Ginger’s shampoo. I can’t feel that vulnerable right now. I won’t be able to hold it together.

Rex is looking at me strangely. I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls away, catching my chin in his hand. What more does he want from me?

“Hey,” he says, his voice deceptively gentle. “I know you’re not okay. Next time, let’s both be here, all right?”

I drop my eyes to the tile and get shampoo in them for my trouble.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“No,” he says, “please, no. You felt amazing, I just… I don’t like when you’re so far away. I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

“Okay,” I nod, knuckling water out of my eyes.

“Daniel, god. I—” He looks at me searchingly, so intent on my face that I nearly look away. But he doesn’t finish his sentence. Just pulls me close to him and puts my forehead against his shoulder as he washes the shampoo out of my hair. The hot water is about to go, so I pull him out the door just as it turns freezing. It’s not a shock anyone should experience if they can help it.

I brush my teeth. The taste of all that gum is starting to make me feel sick again.

I throw on jeans and a T-shirt and walk into the living room to pour myself a drink as someone knocks on the door. Ginger comes bustling out of the kitchen to answer it.

“Hey, folks,” the guy who must be Christopher says. He holds up a bag from his sandwich shop in one hand and a bottle of Bulleit in the other.

“Well, I like you already,” I say lightly, taking the whiskey from him. With his free hand, he high-fives Ginger, then pulls her into a kiss.

“He likes me,” Christopher says, winking at me. “That means I’m approved, right?”

“Maybe,” Ginger says. “What’d you bring me?”

“Half a Reuben made with pastrami and half a grilled cheese BLT, two potato knishes, and a cream soda.”

“You’re approved,” I tell him, as Ginger rips into the bag like a velociraptor.

“Are there pickles?” Ginger asks.

“As I value my life,” Christopher says.

“Hey,” I say, holding out a hand to him. “I’m Daniel.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighs. “The man I have to impress in order for Ginger to even consider taking me seriously. Nice to meet you.” His smile is gone as instantly and naturally as if it were never there. “I was really sorry to hear about your father. Family—no matter what, it’s intense.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Hi,” Rex says, coming out of the bathroom. “I’m Rex.”

“Daniel’s boyfriend—” Christopher nods. “—Christopher. Nice to meet you.”

“I like him,” I say to Ginger. “He says good, nonstupid sentences.”

“Yeah,” Ginger says, “and he never says idiotic sexist shit that’s disguised as a compliment.”

“Rare,” I say.

“Virtually nonexistent when coupled with good looks and good deli.”

“Statistically.”

Christopher and Rex look at us like we’re crazy.

“Aaaanywaaay,” Christopher says, eyebrows raised, “I’m just making the delivery. I know it’s not a great time for socializing. I hope I get to meet you under better circumstances soon, Daniel.”

Ginger raises an eyebrow at me. I raise one back at her.

“No, stay,” I say. “At least for dinner. You brought it, after all.”

“Yeah, stay,” Ginger says, her smile sweet and private. Then her expression changes. “As long as you’re not sharing mine.” She clutches her mismatched sandwich close and takes a step backward. Rex laughs.

“Okay, sure, thanks,” Christopher says.

 

 

WE EAT, drink the bourbon Christopher brought, and talk. It’s nice and strangely normal despite it being the first time that Ginger and I have each had a date with us. And, of course, despite it being the first time that Ginger and I have each had a date and my father has just died and my homophobic prick of a brother has turned out to be gay. But who’s counting.

Christopher lives up to his good entrance. He’s nice and interesting and not at all a douchebag. And he’s clearly out of his head crazy about Ginger, which is a big plus. Rex has turned a little shy and isn’t saying much. Ginger and Christopher are doing most of the talking, and Patty Griffin is playing in the background.

I had a drink before I ate half of my sandwich and another afterward. I’m finishing my third now and I can feel the tingling in my fingers and the looseness in my joints that says the Bulleit has hit its mark. I hand Rex the other half of my sandwich and head off what I’m sure would have been his protests that I need to eat with a head shake.

“I can’t,” I say, and settle in with my drink. Ginger and Christopher are on the couch and Rex is sitting in the armchair. I’m sitting on the floor, elbows on the coffee table (read: hand near the bottle), but if I lean back a little, I can rest against Rex’s shins.

Patty sings “When It Don’t Come Easy,” and I pour another drink and lean back against Rex’s legs, closing my eyes. This song kills me. Rex spreads his knees, so I’m leaning against the chair, and I rest my head against his knee. I have one arm around his calf before I even realize it, like his leg is a stuffed animal or something that I’m trying to cuddle with. Patty sings “Florida,” and all I can hear is her voice, like sand tied up in honey and light.

Against my closed eyes, the funeral plays over and over, the coffin lowering into the grave somehow morphing into Colin hitting the dirt when I bore him to the ground.

Suddenly, my stomach lurches as a memory hits me, shaken loose by who knows what combination of grief and booze. I’m ten and Colin is sixteen, a junior in high school. It’s the winter after Sam moved out and Colin is in a perpetually bad mood. He lifts weights in the back of the shop every spare minute and if you interrupt him, god help you.

One afternoon, there’s a snowstorm and the elementary schools close early, though the rest stay open. My dad’s garage isn’t open full-time yet, so he’s at a shift at one a few miles from our house, so I can’t call and have him get me. I trudge home around noon, the snow turning to ice, and go in through the garage so I can leave my iced-over snow things there to dry. When I go into the kitchen, I hear the radio on in what was Sam and Colin’s room, which Colin now has to himself, so I go push open the door, thinking Colin left the radio on, since he should be in school.

Colin’s lying on the bed, his pillow over his face. He’s still wearing his shoes and one is untied. Thinking he’d fallen asleep, I walk over and pull the pillow off so he doesn’t get too hot. When I do, his eyes open to slits and I can smell the stink of my father’s rum. I force myself to look at the memory closer, because the part I remember clearly—Colin slapping me, telling me never to come into his room, and then going back to sleep—isn’t, I don’t think, the point. The point is the bottle of pain pills my dad was prescribed after he slipped a disc in his back. The point is that it’s half empty and Colin is drooling drunk and buried in his bed.

My eyes fly open. The record is over and Ginger is putting on another.

Did Colin try and kill himself? I want to talk to him. I want to ask him a hundred questions, but I can’t imagine reaching across the chasm and trying to actually communicate with him. How can I hate someone this much and suddenly feel so sorry for them? How can the person who made me so miserable suddenly be the only person who might understand what it was like to grow up in my family?

I gulp down the rest of the bourbon.

It feels like everything is moving very slowly. The room seems fragmented: squares with pictures in them and corners and the soft square that’s the bed. Then it all blurs.

“Daniel,” Rex says softly. I realize I’ve got a death grip on his leg.

“Daniel,” Rex says again, his voice near my ear.

“Huh?” I tilt my head up to look toward him. It’s like I don’t even recognize him, it’s so shocking to see him in the context of Ginger’s chair.

“Come here, love,” he says, and he lifts me into his lap effortlessly.

But why? Then I realize Ginger didn’t put the record on and Christopher is looking at me with a sad expression. Why are they all staring at me? Aside from the fact that I’m a grown-ass man who just got hauled into someone’s lap. Rex looks strange. Smeary.

He brushes his hand over my cheeks and I realize that I must be crying. They’re looking at me because tears are streaming down my cheeks even though I hadn’t noticed. But when Rex touches me, it’s like the clock starts again and I’m suddenly aware that my back hurts where Colin punched me, and my face hurts where Colin punched me, and my chest feels tight, and these are definitely tears.

“Rex,” I say, but I don’t have anything to say to him. It’s more like I’m asking for something, but I don’t know what it is. “Rex,” I begin again, thinking maybe the sentence will finish itself.

“I’m here, baby,” he says, and he pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back. I’m so embarrassed. I feel like a little kid, doing this in front of everyone. Jesus, I don’t even know Christopher. I pick my head back up. Ginger is walking Christopher to the door.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, but he shakes his head and waves me off like it’s nothing.

“Feel better,” he says, and he pecks Ginger on the cheek and leaves.

Ginger walks over to me.

“I’m going to check on the shop,” she says. “You’re okay here?” I nod.

The door closes behind her and I look at Rex.

“Sorry,” I say, confused. The tears are still running down my cheeks, but I don’t feel like I’m crying. I feel like I’m leaking.

Rex shakes his head, then pulls my face to his and kisses my lips softly.

“Do you think I should call Colin?” I ask.

“What do you think?” Rex says.

“I don’t think he would talk to me. He never has. But… I don’t know. What if he… what if… you don’t think he’d hurt himself, do you?”

Rex is immediately alert.

“What makes you say that?”

“I… don’t know. I just had this feeling like maybe he’s tried it before. But I don’t quite remember.”

“It can’t hurt to call,” Rex says, proving he’s never tried to call Colin before.

I fish my phone out and find Colin’s number. It rings and rings, but I hang up before his voice mail comes on.

“You don’t want to leave a message?”

“I don’t know what to say.” But my finger is hitting redial anyway. This time, I leave a message. “Colin, it’s Daniel.” I pause, not knowing what to say beyond this point. “I, um, I kind of wanted to talk to you about some stuff. But, I don’t know. Maybe not. About today, I mean. And maybe always? Um. Anyway, call me if you want. Or not. Okay, bye.” I hang up the phone, roll my eyes at myself, and drop the phone on the coffee table in disgust. Rex pats me on the back awkwardly; not even he is able to pretend that wasn’t the dumbest message ever.

I retrieve my glass from the floor and pour a finger of bourbon into it. Ginger knocks tentatively at her own door.

“Come in,” I say, and swallow the bourbon, sinking down onto the couch.

“You okay?” she asks. I nod, suddenly irritated to be here instead of in my own bed. Well, really Rex’s bed. My bed sucks.

“So Colin’s gay, huh,” Ginger says. “What in the fuck is the world coming to?”

I just shake my head. I feel woozy.

“Will you put Patty Griffin on again?”

“Sure,” Ginger says.

When she sits back down, I reach for the bourbon and pour us each another.

“You guys are my favorite people,” I say. “Thanks for being with me at the funeral today.” I miss my mouth when I take a sip, my lips weirdly numb, and spill.

“Shit,” I mutter, and pull my T-shirt off with one hand, swiping at my chest with it.

Ginger eases the cup from my hand and puts it on the coffee table.

“Hey!” I protest weakly.

“Daniel,” she says, leaning forward to look me in the face. “I love you more than anyone in the world. You’re my favorite person too. I just wish you didn’t have to be wasted to say it.” She gives a meaningful head toss in Rex’s direction.

“I don’t,” I insist, trying to figure out whether it’s true or not.

“I know it’s a terrible day,” she goes on. “I’m not judging. I just… you get that your brothers are drunk all the time, right? You get that your dad was drunk all the time? I just don’t want you to go back to a place you can’t crawl out of. You know?”

My head is pounding. I know she’s right. But I’ve actually been doing really well since I moved to Michigan. I guess not working at a bar helps.

“I’m gonna crash,” I say, and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. She and Rex are talking quietly when I come out.

“Daniel,” Ginger says quietly. “Are—”

“We’re fine,” I say. I scrub my hands over my eyes. “I know,” I say, answering her earlier question. “I know and I don’t want to be like that. I’ve been doing good lately, I promise.” Then I drag myself over to the bed and fall in, my head spinning. It feels like I sink all the way down. I try to kick my pants off, but only get one leg out before the room starts spinning.

After a few minutes of breathing deeply, the room stills and Rex gets into bed. When he lifts the covers, he sees the state of me and huffs out a breath. He untangles me from my pants and drops them over the side of the bed, then gathers me to his chest and strokes a warm hand up and down my spine.

“Sorry, Rex,” I say. “Didn’t mean to be so terrible today.”

“You weren’t, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

“I threw up and got in a fight at a funeral ’n made you walk in the cold ’n got drunk,” I slur into his neck. His hand feels so good it’s melting my spine. I can practically feel myself slumping into liquid on top of him, dripping down to fill in any empty spots.

“I’m sorry you threw up,” he says, and that makes me start to laugh, only it comes out wrong and Rex pulls me tighter to him.

“Feel so much better when you’re around,” I tell him. “’S not fair you get to be with you all the time.”

I can feel Rex smile. I hope he doesn’t think I’m a drunk. Like my brothers. Like my whole fucking family. I burrow my head into his neck, thinking that maybe if I can get close enough I’ll just be absorbed into him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

“I want to leave tomorrow,” I say, my voice so rough it’s barely even there.

“What about the wake? Party thing?”

I shake my head and pull the blanket up so it’s almost covering my head.

“Don’t want to go. They won’t care anyway.”

“All right,” Rex says. “Sleep now, love. Just sleep.”

 

 

I DON’T even notice when Rex drives us straight to his house when we get back to Michigan.

“Oh, sorry,” he says in the driveway. “I didn’t ask if you wanted me to drop you off?”

Do I want that? I have no clean clothes and I desperately need to do laundry. There’s no food in my house. I could go get my laundry and do it here, I guess. No, I can’t, because my car is dead. And if—

“Hey.” Rex squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s go get your laundry and bring it back here. We can stop and get some groceries and I’ll make dinner while you do laundry. We can just go from there, okay?”

I nod, relief flooding me.

While I’m doing laundry, my phone rings, practically scaring me to death, and I walk into the living room to answer. It’s Virginia Beckwith, my dissertation advisor and all-around mentor from grad school.

“Hey, Virginia,” I say. “How are you?”

“Well, Daniel, I’m well. You?”

“I’m okay,” I say, not wanting to get into any of the shit about my dad, not to mention field questions about why I didn’t come see her when I was in town.

“Listen, you remember the junior faculty position that you applied for last year at Temple?”

“Yeah, sure. I thought the interview went well, but then the line got canceled because they didn’t have the funding to hire anyone. At least, that’s what they told me.”

“Yes, that’s my understanding as well. You were at the ASA meeting in Detroit, no?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you probably heard about the, er, incident regarding Maggie Shill?”

“Oh, I saw it.”

“Yes, very bad form, of course. Well, Maggie Shill was up for tenure at Temple this year and because of the… incident, she didn’t get it.”

“Oh wow.”

“Point being: I got a call from the chair of last year’s search committee. He asked me about you—where you had ended up, whether you were happy there. Since Maggie Shill was denied tenure, she’s leaving Temple, which means a nineteenth-century Americanist position has opened up. They don’t have the funds for a senior hire, so they’re opening it to junior faculty. The chair of the committee indicated to me that they would very much like you to apply for the position.”

“Wow, Virginia, thank you. I mean, yes, that’s great.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t like you up there in Michigan, away from even a decent library.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, listen, I’ll e-mail you the details. Of course, it’s early still, so the official call won’t be out until next month, but I wanted to make sure you could get a head start on putting your materials together. Yes?”

“Yes,” I say, because that’s what you say to Virginia.

“All right, then. You’re well?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. All right, Daniel. I’ll send you that information. Bye-bye.”

“Bye.”

“What’s up?” Rex asks, clearly having heard from the kitchen.

“The, um, the job I really wanted last year—well, almost the same job—might be open again this year and they want me to apply.”

“That’s great,” he says. “Right?”

I nod. But there’s a weight settling in my stomach that feels like a cannonball.

“What’s the job?”

“It’s a nineteenth-century Americanist job.”

“Isn’t that perfect?”

I nod again.

“It’s at Temple,” I say.

“Where’s that?” Rex asks.

“Philadelphia.”

“Right,” Rex says. “Well, of course they want you.”

“Just to submit an application.”

“Still,” he says. He kisses me on the cheek. “Listen, Will’s going to come over in a few minutes to drop Marilyn off, okay?”

I nod.

“I think your laundry buzzed,” he says, and heads back to the kitchen.

Marilyn comes bounding into the laundry alcove as I’m switching the loads, nuzzling my hand and trying to jump up on me, which I let her do because I think it’s cute and because Rex can’t see.

“Hey, girl,” I say, dropping to my knees to hug her around the neck. “Did you know that my timing is epically off?” She licks my face as if to say I know better than anyone, since you were driving down the road at the exact moment I was trying to cross it.

“Daniel?” Will sticks his head around the corner. “Rex says you’re good with cars?”

“I’m okay,” I say.

“Mind taking a peek at mine?”

“Yeah, sure.” I grab my coat and follow him outside. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I don’t think, but I’m heading back to New York and I just want to make sure she’ll make the trip.”

“You’re leaving?” I say, gesturing for him to pop the hood.

“Yeah. I took some time off work to see my sister, but now I have to get back.”

I look up at him. His jaw is set and he looks stressed.

“You’ll break poor Leo’s heart,” I tease as I scan his car’s guts. “Does he know yet?”

“I’m going to tell him now.”

“Well, be nice to him; he’s a good kid.”

Will stares at the ground.

“I know.”

“Your car is fine. You obviously just had it serviced. So what is this really about?”

Will looks slightly sheepish at having been caught.

“I guess you really do know about cars.”

“I know enough.”

“Listen,” he says, his tone sincere, “I’m sorry about your father. Really sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Turns out you’re not so bad. Maybe if we were both back east, we might even be friends.”

I nod when he pauses since he seems to expect it.

“So, okay, look. I want to tell you something. About me and Rex.”

My blood goes cold and I snap my head up to look at him.

“No! No, shit, sorry, nothing like that.” He clears his throat. “I want to tell you something about before we broke up because I think maybe you’re actually pretty good for Rex. I know he cares about you a lot and I think you care about him too.”

“I do,” I say quickly. “What?”

“As I’m sure you already know, Rex and I broke up because I left town. Well”—he makes an expansive gesture—“mostly. Anyway, when I told Rex I was leaving he said, ‘I guess part of me knew it was coming. I hope you’ll take care of yourself.’ That was all. And after that—he was never the same. He was still sweet, supportive Rex and he asked me about my plans and everything. But he was gone, even though we didn’t break up until I left, three months later. He was there, but he’d dropped the gate down, right? He wasn’t going to be vulnerable with me after that. If anything, he was more invested in lending a hand, being a help. But that was it.”

As Will talks, the cannonball that’s felt like it was lodged in my stomach since Virginia’s call turns into a block of ice. I’m shivering and something like panic is creeping up the back of my neck.

“So,” I start to say. “So, um.”

“So,” Will says. “I’m trying to help you. I don’t mean that your relationship with Rex is the same as mine—far from it. But I think maybe you and I are more alike than I wanted to admit. Which means that maybe I know a thing or two about how you operate. Like, maybe you didn’t grow up with a whole hell of a lot of positive fucking reinforcement. So, maybe you get that from people in your profession. And maybe you think you need that because you can’t get it anywhere else. And if that’s your choice, that’s fine. I just think….”

“What?”

“I think Rex is good for you too. So, if you think that you can leave and he’ll be here waiting for you if you change your mind and come back… he won’t. He might mean to be. He might swear up and down that you should follow your dreams—in fact, I’m sure he would because that’s the kind of guy he is. But he shuts down if he thinks someone is leaving him. He shuts down and then it’s too late. And maybe I just don’t want that to happen to you the way it happened to me. And I really don’t want to see Rex hurt. That’s all.”

He sighs and kicks at a rock on the driveway.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that,” he says. “But I’m glad I did. Don’t fuck it up. I want you to be here the next time I come into town.”

I nod. Though I’m loath to admit it, what Will said about Rex makes a lot of sense. Rex offers help to protect himself. It’s something to fall back on when he’s uncertain. Something he can offer to show he cares without making himself too vulnerable. But how can I tell the difference between that and what he says is how we trust each other: by letting each other help? I really don’t know.

“Daniel?” Will says, snapping my attention back to him. “Take care of him, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. Will shakes my hand and gets in his car. “Will,” I say, and gesture for him to roll down his window. “You’re not so bad either. Have a safe trip.” His smile is pure victory as he backs out of the driveway.

I sit down on the front step. I don’t quite understand how my life got so out of control. How did things turn so fucked-up just when I thought I was getting everything together? And why do I feel so… so fucking vulnerable?

No, not just vulnerable. I feel panicked.

It started with the phone call about my dad, sure. But, everything with Colin—I still can’t wrap my mind around it. It’s like I have to re-see my whole life—every interaction with him—through a new lens. He hasn’t called me back either, no surprise there. Then Virginia’s call….

The Temple job is everything I thought I wanted all throughout grad school. Secure, prestigious, teaching smart students, working with brilliant faculty, having the budget to bring speakers to campus, having access to great libraries and archives. It was perfect.

Last year.

And now? Now, just the idea of leaving Rex fills me with the strongest panic of all. And the look on his face when I said Temple was in Philly… he looked resigned. Like he knew it would happen. Just like Will said.

Fuck! Everything is spiraling out of control again, the way it used to when I was a fucked-up kid with no self-control who would act before thinking anything through. Only back then the sensation was thrilling, like a kite string unspooling into who knows where.

Now I just feel like I want to puke.

I go back inside to finish changing my laundry loads, but find that Rex has already done it.

“Did you?” I gesture toward the laundry when I find Rex in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he says. “Will gone?”

I nod.

“You didn’t have to,” I say.

“It’s okay,” Rex says. “You were helping him with his car. I can help you, right?”

I look around the kitchen. Rex has bread dough rising and something that smells heavenly is in the oven.

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” he says. “Why don’t you relax? Take a bath or something. I’m going to go to my workshop for a bit.”

My breath starts to come faster as I notice the salad dressing he’s made from scratch in the mustard jar on the counter. All I can hear is what Will just told me and Rex saying he can help me. It’s like there’s a screaming in my head that is Rex pulling the gate down, just like Will said. My heart is pounding so loud and so forcefully that I can feel it throbbing in my ears. I blink to try and wet my dry eyes, but they’re all prickly.

“Please don’t be all helpful!” I blurt out. “Don’t slam the fucking gate down and pull away!” I’m babbling. I can hear myself, but I can’t stop. I need, need, need to break through Rex’s unflappable calm.

“What?” Rex asks, puzzled, approaching me with arms out like you would a wild animal.

“Rex, Rex, please don’t!” I’m full-on panicking. My voice sounds incredibly loud even though I can feel that I’m almost whispering. I am begging Rex not to shut me out, not to give me help instead of himself, not to leave me, and he is staring at me like I’m out of my mind.

“Baby,” he says, “please. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, just calm down and talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Will said—” But I’m breathing too fast to explain. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm down, but all I see is that coffin, heaped with dirt, my white rose sliding over the edge of another grave, my brother clutching a bottle of pills, his fist connecting with my face. And all of it shrinks backward at only one thing: Rex. And I’m convinced I’m going to lose him.

“Daniel, Jesus,” Rex says.

He scoops me up and carries me into his bedroom. He puts me in bed and crawls in after me.

“Lie down and just breathe,” he says.

I try to breathe, but now the tears are coming too fast for me to hold them in. And this time, I know getting mad won’t do anything.

“Please don’t be helpful,” I gasp, kneeling on the bed.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me what Will said,” Rex insists, holding my face in his hands.

“He said when you think someone’s leaving you slam the gate down,” I manage to get out through my tears, “and then you’re nice, and polite, and helpful, but you’re—” I sob. “You’re not there.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rex says. He pulls me into his lap. I am a fucking mess of tears and snot and shame.

“Please, I can’t lose you,” I tell him.

It all comes out in a rush of pain and fear and sadness, and I cling to Rex, sobbing into his chest.

“Please,” I’m saying to him over and over until I hardly know what I’m begging for anymore, only that it’s the most important word I’ve ever said.

Rex holds me, cradles me in his arms, and rocks us back and forth, stroking up and down my back and running his fingers through my hair. When I’m finally calm enough that I can breathe without hiccupping, Rex pulls away just enough to look at me.

“This is about Temple?” he asks. “You think that I expect you to leave, so now I’ll pull away like I did with Will?”

I nod frantically. Rex smooths back my hair and nods too.

“Look, we don’t have to talk about that right now, okay? We have time to figure everything out.”

His thumbs smooth my tears away and everything about him is so gentle, from his fingers on my face to the way his strong arms are holding me. And his expression is soft and open in a way I’ve never exactly seen it before.

“Daniel,” he says, stroking my face. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t you know? Don’t you know how crazy I am about you?”

My hands fist in his shirt and I stare into his eyes, blinking slowly. I guess I did know, but I never imagined he might say it.

He cradles my neck in his hand, thumb stroking my nape.

“I—I love you so much.”

He says it quietly, but it’s like a bomb going off.

I freeze. And yet, a warmth starts to bloom in my chest, melting the block of ice in my stomach. And apparently it melts it into tears, because I’m leaking again.

“You do?” I say, stupidly, which I know is not how this is supposed to go.

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe I don’t already know this.

“Yeah. Of course I do. How could I not?”

I throw my arms around his neck and cry into his hair. I have never cried like this in my life. Huge, surging gasps of tears that leave me feeling lighter instead of heavy, hopeful instead of desperate.

“I—I—” I start to say.

“Shh,” Rex says. “You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s hard for you and—”

What I was trying to say is that I know I’m messing this all up. But I don’t need to. Because Rex is holding me close and making the kind of promises that I could never have known how to believe before now.

He leans back, lying down slowly and taking me with him. He pulls the covers over us, enveloping us.

I feel like a washcloth that’s been wrung out, so drained I can hardly do anything except attempt to move every part of my body as close to Rex’s as possible.

“Oh god, I fucking love you,” I choke out into Rex’s neck, and I can feel his whole body electrify. “I do,” I mutter. Saying the words makes my world tilt to the side. Saying the words is the greatest jolt I’ve ever had. Rex’s arms come around me and pull me down so I’m lying on top of him and he holds me like he’s never going to let me go.