_

11/01

3:14 a.m. _

T—

I’m impressed that I’m still awake enough to write you but I guess I’m wired from the party. We had a huge turnout at Big Dick’s (the bar in Harrisburg that my dads own and I occasionally bartend) for the Halloween Bash, so I was helping out until close. Some of the costumes were amazing, and I attached a few photos of my favorites. Take careful notice of the second photo. I think you’ll find sexy Woody and Buzz Lightyear to your liking.

I didn’t dress up. I’ve never really done the whole costume thing. I did wear a black T-shirt with a skull on it, so that kind of counts, right? It’s Halloweeny.

We also hosted a costume contest, hence the huge turnout. Participants paid five bucks to enter, and we’re donating all proceeds to Channels Food Rescue, which delivers donations to food banks. We awarded prizes (a punch card for ten free drinks at the bar) in three categories: Scariest, Sexiest and Most Unique. Everyone paraded out at ten, and then we put ballot boxes at the bar, so people could write their choices on the card they were given at the door (no ballot box stuffing or cheating).

Scariest costume was a guy named Ben who went full-on zombie. Makeup, latex, rotting flesh, bloody clothes. It was movie-worthy stuff. I wish I’d been able to snap a picture for you. Sexiest was a guy I know from the gym. Everyone calls him Steel and it’s probably because of his abs. A perfect eight-pack and they were on display (along with everything else) because his costume consisted mostly of body paint, glitter and fake leaves glued in various places. He called his getup a Tree Sprite, and he took our one rule (no bare penis) literally. No clothing other than the leaves-covered g-string was touching his skin. Sexy as hell.

Most Unique was pretty punny. Guy named Malcolm glued mini cereal boxes all over a suit and pants. Every cereal box had a tiny knife or ax embedded, and a blood splatter. What was he?

Personally, I would have voted for the guy who wore about a hundred paint sample strips in dozens of shades of gray. Yes, he was Fifty Shades of Gray. Ha ha.

My dad made up a few Halloween-themed drinks for the night that sold well. No one got too drunk or got into a fight, so that’s always a plus on holidays. Maybe by next year you’ll be able to come out on your own, and we’ll have a good time. —G

_

11/01

9:36 a.m. _

G—

Cereal killer! Epic costume!

I’m sorry I missed the Halloween Bash at Big Dick’s last night. It sounds like you had a great time. Noel wasn’t able to take off because it’s Halloween, and he’s a cop, and he has to be out there in case people do stupid shit. And let’s face it, people will always do stupid shit on Halloween. When I was a kid, the day before Halloween was called Mischief Night, and it was when teenagers went out and toilet papered their neighbor’s house, or threw rotten eggs at their car. I never did, because if I’d been caught my parents would have grounded me for the rest of my life, but a lot of my friends did. Did you do Mischief Night?

Now that it’s November, I guess everyone is starting to think about the holidays. Do you do anything big and special for Thanksgiving? I checked back, and every year I’ve spent it with Noel. He doesn’t fly back to Arkansas. He only does that for Christmas, and only on Christmas Day, early, so he can spend Christmas Eve with me. When I read stuff like that, it makes my heart hurt. Noel is an amazing friend to me, and all I ever feel like is a burden.

OOHH! I can’t believe I forgot to mention this (ha ha): I think I may have had a minor bit of progress, thanks to that drug trial. Today I remembered breakfast is served at eight o’clock. I didn’t have to look at my schedule! It was surreal to have it pop into my head, and when I checked the schedule I was right. I can’t remember lunch, but dinner is…thinking…five thirty? *checking, brb*

YES I AM RIGHT!

HOLY SHIT!

Sorry but I have to go call Noel! Talk to you later! —T

* * *

The train-whistle ringtone that Noel had set for Tristan’s phone at Benfield scared him into rolling right out of bed. He hit the floor with a solid thud that made Shane cry out somewhere above. Tristan called so rarely that his heart was pounding before he could accept the call.

“Hey, are you okay?” Noel asked.

“I’m super fucking fantastic!” Tristan’s voice was pitched high with whatever had him so excited.

Noel took a second to focus on the alarm clock. Quarter to ten in the morning. He’d only been home and asleep for two hours. Shane stared down at him from the bed, dark hair sleep tousled, his eyebrows slanted. “Okay, what’s going on?” Noel asked.

“I remembered what time breakfast and dinner are. I fucking remembered those two things!”

“You did?” He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the ache in his backside from the landing on his room’s hard floor. “Shit, Tris, really?”

“Yes. I knew, but I couldn’t think of lunchtime, but then I did think of dinnertime all without having looked at my schedule. I think it’s working. Could it be working? It can’t be a fluke. God, please don’t let it be a fluke.”

“Calm down, you’re babbling. Deep breaths.”

“Okay, what?” Shane asked.

Noel explained while Tristan breathed heavily into the phone. Shane’s entire face lit up with the news.

“Did you write it down just in case? That you remembered this?” Noel asked.

“Of course I did.”

“Okay, good. You need to call Dr. Fischer and let him know. This is your first real breakthrough.”

“It is, isn’t it? I figured as much. I don’t have any notes nearby about remembering anything else, so yeah, this is it. Holy shit.”

Pure joy seized Noel’s heart. His throat closed and his eyes stung. Tristan wanted this to work so badly, and it appeared he was getting his wish. A tiny portion, but it was a start. Besides the weekly appointments, they’d gone to Mercy Hospital twice since he began the study in order to do full neurological assessments with Dr. Fischer. Memory game tests, physical exams and blood work. Both times Tristan had left discouraged because he’d failed the memory tests.

Maybe it wouldn’t happen with the snap of their fingers. Maybe it began with the small things, like remembering a time on a sheet he’d looked at every day for years.

“I don’t know what to say,” Noel said. “I’m so fucking happy for you. I really hope this is the first step.”

“Me too. I know it’s not a cure, and I know I can’t expect to remember something new every day, but Noel…I don’t…shit.” Tristan’s voice got rough, on the verge of his own tears.

“Be happy, Tristan. Let yourself be happy over this.”

“I will. Gah!”

The cry of pure joy made Noel laugh.

“I have to call the doctor before I forget or something,” Tristan said.

“I’ll remind you, believe me.”

“I know you will. Gah! Bye.”

Noel laughed again as he hung up, then tackled Shane to the bed with a shouted, “Best news ever!”

Shane planted a hard kiss on him. “It’s amazing news. The drug trial is working.”

“Looks like.”

“Maybe one day I’ll walk into his room and he’ll know my name.”

“I hope so.” Too wired to sleep anymore, Noel rolled back out of bed. The smallish master bedroom didn’t have the width or depth that he needed to pace, so he settled for bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Shane turned on his side, head propped on his hand. “You look like a kid who’s just been told Santa’s making a personal stop for milk and cookies.”

“It kind of feels that way. Three years. Three years, and he might start getting his life back.”

“You will too.”

Noel startled. “I have a life.”

“Yes, you do, but your life has centered around Tristan ever since you guys were bashed. He’ll always be your best friend and important to you. I know that. But one day, if Tristan really gets his short-term memory back and goes out into the world again, he won’t be your responsibility anymore.”

“I know that in my head.”

“It’s getting your heart to catch on?”

“Yeah.” Noel wanted Tristan well more than anything else in the world.

Please, God, give this to him. He deserves it and so much more.

* * *

Gabe hauled the black garbage bag out to the trash cans behind the house, shivering the entire time. The weather had gone from Indian summer to cold and windy overnight, and he was still getting used to grabbing his jacket for simple chores. Like carrying out the remains of Debbie’s Friday night binge—Chinese food cartons and a wine box.

At least the gnats would start dying. All they needed was one good frost to take care of the little fuckers.

Debbie had been passed out on the couch when he got home from Big Dick’s earlier in the morning, so he’d left her there, written to Tristan about the party, and then crashed for a while. The sound of Debbie hitting the wall outside his room on her way to the bathroom had woken him again, so he stayed up and started cleaning.

Her bedroom door slammed a little after ten, right as he was carrying out the trash.

Let her sleep.

He went back inside and hosed the downstairs with room freshener. Once it was properly fragranced with lilacs, he checked his phone for messages.

His very dead phone, because he hadn’t plugged it into the charger when he got home.

“Fantastic.”

Tired and frustrated by the life he’d chosen to stay in, he trudged back to his room to plug the damned thing in. That done, he booted up his game console, and then logged into his email. The message from Tristan made him smile and dulled the sting of his morning. The contents at the very end made his heart pound and his hands sweat.

He remembered something.

Gabe hadn’t known Tristan long, but he understood the importance of this morning’s breakthrough. He could only imagine Tristan’s phone call to Noel, the two of them celebrating the news.

He hit Reply.

_

11/01

10:09 a.m. _

T—

The fact that you remembered not only what time breakfast is served, but also dinner, is AMAZING news. I am so thrilled. Look at me smiling in that photo you have, and imagine it ten times wider. I’m rooting for you so hard.

I am not ashamed to admit that yes, I went out on Mischief Night. I was a bit of a hellion in high school, and I probably gave both my dads gray hair from some of the shit I pulled. My friends and I did some amazingly stupid things, like setting off firecrackers under people’s windows and setting them off inside of carved pumpkins. I probably made a lot of little kids cry because their hard work turned into burnt pie filling. Sometimes I think back and am amazed I never ended up in juvenile detention.

Do you know what Skype is? Search for it when you have time. If your computer is new enough and has a camera, we can talk to each other over a video feed. It’s different than the phone, because we’d be able to look at each other. Maybe it will help with you remembering me.

Gabe’s heart gave a funny lurch at the idea of speaking to Tristan face-to-face again. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. He didn’t Skype too often, because pretty much everyone he called was on the same cell carrier, so why bother? But he’d talk to Tristan. He’d give him another lifeline into the real world, the thriving world outside the walls of Benfield. Outside the restrictive walls of his own mind.

He wanted to be that lifeline so badly, and he had no idea why.

After adding his Skype info, he rambled a bit about a few more of his Mischief Night prank days. Reminiscing was fun. He didn’t see the guys he used to know much anymore. They’d fallen out of touch after high school ended, and while Gabe looked back fondly on the friendships, he didn’t miss them. He rarely thought about them, except during moments like this.

Those thoughts inevitably circled back to the whirlwind of being fifteen and embracing the fact that he liked boys. So many things in a matter of months. First kiss with a guy, first blowjob, first getting naked, first guy he fucked.

First guy who fucked him.

Last guy for almost ten years too.

Gabe stared at the unfinished email, so many memories and thoughts bubbling to the surface. Allowing a boy who was way too drunk and way too eager to fuck him had seemed like a good idea at the time. As good as any idea a horny fifteen-year-old can have. Gabe hadn’t started working out yet and was still two growth spurts away from his current height, so he’d been unable to make him stop.

It hadn’t been nearly as awful three months ago when he did his bottom scene with Shane. He’d been attentive and careful, giving Gabe hope that maybe with the right partner he’d enjoy it. For now, he was content to top the shit out of his scene partners at Mean Green.

None of that went into his email to Tristan.

Nothing else seemed important to write, so Gabe signed off and sent the latest communication. Then he signed on to Skype, put his laptop aside and grabbed his game controller. Time to do something mindless until he worked the club tonight.

A plan that got shot down by his ringing phone. For a split second, he glanced at his laptop, irrationally hoping that Tristan had been on his computer and so eager to talk that he’d already set up Skype. His moment of joy was cut down by the name on his phone screen. Chet.

“Hey, man,” Gabe said.

“Tony, baby, how are things?” Chet asked in his trademark seductive purr. The man defined silver fox in a way few could, and he knew how to turn on the charm.

Good thing Gabe didn’t go for older men. “Same shit, different day. What’s up?”

“I have some potentially exciting news for you. I got a call from a producer for Puppy Farm, out in New York. They’re interested in you.”

Gabe blinked at the wall. Puppy Farm was one of the fastest rising gay porn studios in the country, and they were quickly becoming the hottest ticket in the industry despite being only a few years old. In his two years doing scenes for Chet, to his knowledge—because someone would have bragged about it—no one from another studio had ever called for a Mean Green Boy before.

“They’re interested in me?” he said, mostly to confirm he hadn’t completely misheard Chet.

“Yes, they are, and before you ask, they want you to top.”

“Why me?”

Chet laughed. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, baby. You make the screen sizzle when you handle the guys you fuck. And you have the kind of big dick that audiences love to see pounding a tight little hole.”

Gee, he paints such a lovely picture of my profession.

Except it wasn’t his profession, exactly. Gabe enjoyed doing porn, but he didn’t want it to be his identity. The same way he didn’t want waiting tables to be his future career. He hadn’t figured out his goals yet, and doing a scene with a studio as big as Puppy Farm could bite him in the ass sometime down the road.

Hell, any of his porn could.

“It’s cash upfront, of course, but they’re making a nice offer,” Chet added.

“How much?”

When Chet told him, he nearly said yes on the spot.

The entire reason he needed the extra cash was sleeping it off down the hall. He’d have to be gone at least one, maybe two nights, and he couldn’t leave Debbie alone. His dads wouldn’t stay with her, or allow her to stay with them. He’d never ask Jon to bear the brunt of her madness, not with Henry so sick.

“How much time do I have to think about it?” Gabe asked.

“Think? What’s to think about?”

“It’s a big deal, a lot of exposure I’m not sure I want, and it’s hard for me to get away, okay?”

“Look, try and let me know something by the end of next week, all right?”

“Okay, thanks.”

Gabe hung up. Chet had never gone out of his way to grow the studio, but saying yes was a big chance for Chet. Tony Ryder getting featured in a Puppy Farm scene meant more potential subscribers to Mean Green. He understood that, and he didn’t want to make Chet look bad to another producer by saying no. But this was Gabe’s choice. He wasn’t going to make it lightly.

He glanced at his silent laptop, willing it to ring. Willing it to give him someone to talk to for a little while. Even if he couldn’t get advice on this from Tristan, he still desperately wanted to talk.