The thing that got to Simon most wasn’t the anger. Oh, he was plenty furious for a long time, with a black rage that made him want to scream the entire way home. He’d slammed the door, threw things, flung himself down onto the couch. That all came naturally, but it wasn’t the hard part.

The sadness, as bad as it was, wasn’t the worst either. That came in waves, right as the anger began to recede, like trading one tide for another. This brief happiness, a tiny flickering flame in the darkness, snuffed out forever. Yes, there were tears. Yes, there were visions of being alone for eternity. But as he clutched a pillow to his belly, curled on his side on the sofa, wracked with sobbing, that wasn’t the worst part, either.

“It’s the guilt,” he said to Pete.

* * *

Karl hadn’t been around when he got home. Just a little note on the refrigerator that he didn’t see until well into his emotional onslaught: Burns needs new hiking boots. We’re shopping. Back later. Fight the power.

The agony was too much to bear alone. He needed someone around. He thought about calling Karl, making him talk even though he was out with his friend. What was a brother for, if not to support each other in their times of need? Yeah, right. Call Karl weeping and choking, and he’d be saying You knew what you were getting into. He’s a rich boy. Worse, he’s a Cray. You know all about the Crays. They don’t love anything but money. How did you think it would turn out, in a tug-of-war between you and their Great God Money?

“Shut up, Karl,” he’d whispered to the empty room.

When his phone rang, he assumed it was Evan, and let it ring.

“He can rot,” Simon said to his pillow.

It kept going, and he pulled it out of his pocket to throw it across the room. Fuck Evan and whatever empty apology he was going to offer, he would just—

“Oh,” he said, when he saw who it was. He tapped the screen. “Hi, Pete.”

“Hey, I know you’re probably boning your new pal, but Rex ditched me for movie night over with Lucas, and your idiot brother’s off shoe-shopping or something, and I’m bored, dude. I’ve got a six-pack of Coors and no social skills, you doing anything actual?”

“I’m really, really not boning my new pal,” Simon had said. “Come on over. But buy a couple more six-packs first.”

* * *

“Guilty?” said Pete. He was still on his first beer. “What did you do, screw around on him?”

“Yeah, you know me, Mr. Player.”

Pete gave him a sympathetic look. “Pure as the driven snow. I know. I’m the same way. Let the world sleep around as it will, Loyal Pete will never stray. But what do you have to feel guilty about? Simon, if you don’t mind me saying so, you seem like perfect boy-next-door fuckbuddy material, no homo.”

“None taken. The guilt is…it’s deeper than anything like that. You remember the quarry, when Rex fell in. I just stood there, trying to figure out what to do. This is kind of the same thing. Evan is drowning. They’re pulling him under, and I’m not saving him. I’m letting my anger—”

“Whoa, pardner. Let me stop you right there. Rich boy chooses his money over you, and you feel guilty for not saving him?”

“I know. It’s stupid. I don’t claim it makes any sense. It’s just what I feel right now. Guilt. Like I let him down. But when he started saying all this stuff about my dad…”

“That was some sick shit.”

“He doesn’t believe it.”

“But he brought it up.”

Simon lay back on the couch. “I know. It was so shocking, Pete. I mean, Leonard Cray was different from the rest of them. He was kind, he was thoughtful…but why would I sleep with him? Where would anyone get that idea? Even if I had been interested—”

“Which you weren’t.”

“—which I wasn’t, he sure as hell wouldn’t have been. He didn’t care about anything in life, but electricity and Evan. And Evan never paid him any attention, so electricity was it.”

“Truly a Nikola Tesla for our time.”

Simon sighed, and lifted his head enough for another swallow of beer. “I’m never doing it again, man. No more guys for me.”

“No more rich guys, you mean.”

“Nope. I’m swearing off the entire gender. I hurt, Pete. I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve never felt this bad before. Evan ripped my damn heart out.”

“He’s a bastard, all right.”

“But that’s just it, he isn’t. I mean, not deep down. He has reasons.”

Like his son. He couldn’t mention that to Pete. Even now, even when his heart ached over being broken up with, he couldn’t divulge Evan’s secret to anyone.

You don’t mean as much to him as his son…but that’s normal. Right? In the grand scheme of things, sons rank higher than boyfriends.

He could remember the joy on Evan’s face when he played with Reg, that first day that Simon had intruded at Maura’s house. The pain Evan had expressed, when speaking of the need to keep Reg a secret from the world.

Pete was staring at him. He took a long, long slug from his can, then set it on the table. “What’s the story here, Simon? What’s so special about this guy? I’m not just giving you shit, like we did the other night. Forget he’s a Cray, fine. Why can’t you just let him go?”

“He’s different, Pete. He isn’t like any other guy I’ve ever met. For some reason, he wants the whole world to think he’s shallow. Pleasure-seeking, vain, with his expensive suits and his parties. But I think he just likes covering up the truth with all that. Deep down, he’s just a lonely guy who could never get close to his dad, and the rest of his family was such a disaster…who did he have in life? Somehow, instead of becoming bitter, or permanently damaged, somewhere down past that shallow exterior lurked someone real. He awoke something in me, Pete, and it only got deeper, the more I discovered about him.”

“Dude, that is the gayest thing you have ever said. But I understand. He clearly means the world to you. So let me shift gears and just ask…does it have to be over between you two?”

Simon pushed himself up, and cradled his knees between his arms. “Yeah, of course. I mean, I’m furious at him.”

“Fury fades, though.”

“I know. But I can’t get him back. His family won’t allow it. They have all the control, all the money, all the power…”

“Fuck, man, don’t you know anything about the Crays? They always fucking cheat. Have you not listened to any of Lucas’s many, many fine speeches about them? They cheated the Phelps family out of land, they bought up tons of property without ever telling the people who owned the land how much mineral wealth was underneath…and that was all the great-granddaddies of Ash and Callum and Evan. God only knows what they’re up to now. Insider trading, money laundering…they’re a dirty crew, Simon.”

“I don’t think Evan—”

“No. I’m not saying Evan is dirty. But damn, whenever Archibald Cray and money are mentioned in the same sentence, you know something criminal is going on.”

“That doesn’t help, Pete.”

“I’m just saying, maybe their hold over Evan isn’t as strong as you think. If you like him—if you love him—maybe you need to think like a Cray, instead of a Bowden.”

“Think like a Cray.”

“We did it before, remember? Nobody could find Lucas, but we knew where Ash and Callum would take him. We’ve known that family a long damn time, Simon, and we know every inch of this town. Tell me truthfully, if you could get Evan back, would you take him back?”

Simon thought. Would he? Evan had hurt him so badly. He had been almost blinded by rage, there in the office, but hadn’t he seen Evan there? Hadn’t he seen the pain Evan was in, himself? He felt he was trapped, cornered, no options. Not a position anyone likes to be in.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’m too confused. Too mad, too upset.”

“Sure, sure. You gotta feel what you feel. I’m just saying, you’re smart. You know that family. Maybe there’s a way to win him back. But only if you want him.”

“Only if I want him.”

Simon lay back, his mind whirling after the third beer. If I want him…